Chapter 10: The Free Spirit and His Song; The Hidden Devil and His Escape.

Alarm clocks were never friends of Yoochun. In order to wake up, he needed at least four clocks, each placed in separate corners of his bedroom and each being equidistance from his king-sized bed. He would set them a few minutes apart from each other, so he couldn't turn them off in one try. Thankfully, he was rarely obligated to go to work in the mornings, unlike Yunho, who usually stayed until late in the evening. Yoochun's career only involved composing songs, which meant that work was mainly finished at home. Even when he had to attend meetings with artists to understand their album concept, he scheduled them in the afternoon or preferably, in the evening.

When his cell phone vibrated on his night stand, he hesitated to answer it and at first, ignored the sound. However, persistence still irked Yoochun's conscience and his hand gradually reached towards his white cell phone. "H-hello," his voice at once cracked.

"Are you almost done that love song?" his manager impatiently inquired.

Yoochun's mind went blank for a minute. What . . . song? "Crap," he unintentionally bellowed.

"You forgot again, Micky?" his manager already predicted. Whenever Yoochun was asked to write a romantic song, he seemed to procrastinate or fail to remember his task. "You're lucky that I phoned five days before it's due to warn you," he pressed on.

"Yes, I know," Yoochun heaved a sigh. "I know. I'll start working on it now and I'll get it done by tomorrow."

"Great!" he felt relieved. "Just drop it by my office any time."

Yoochun replied desolately, "Alright."

Sitting up straight, Yoochun speculated how he was going to create this song. Inspiration was ungraspable at this stage, especially when he was not with her for years. He no longer felt that avidness to see her, yet he still thought of her. His recollection of their relationship did not weaken and instead, grew more vivid. Often, he would compare his other lovers with her. He reasoned why he loved them. Because they were more tolerant, more talkative, more . . .

Subsequently, he would ask: so what? So what if one reigned over the other? He knew, by that time, that he could not write anymore songs associated with love. Love was not supposed to be sensible. For him, it was that connection he experienced with her. Through one glance, he could foresee whether his future would incorporate her.

It did.

It always did.

Then, he stood up and walked towards his desk that was situated beside his night stand. Gripping a pen in his hand, he felt that that was his sword if he were a knight. Actually, he would prefer being the troubadour, playing music to his lover. With this reflection in mind, he began to write. He would etch his sentiments to music notes. Forlorn, regrets, contemplation, seclusion would meld into a ballad, a ballad that reflected her, but dedicated to him.

Changmin had a few known stalkers, who enjoyed taking photos of anything that was related to him. Although Changmin filed a complaint to the school, the administration blatantly ignored him. So, he bet that they were jealous of his popularity and decided that there was nothing frightening about girls. Unfortunately, he had to fight with all his might just to eat lunch peacefully. He didn't particularly enjoy witnessing camera flashes or even knowing that someone was there watching each move that he made. Furthermore, he hated dining at the staff room. There was always some teacher gossiping. Plus, all of the teachers were much older than him, so he could not really relate to their topics of interest. Whatever he blurted always seemed to offend them in some sense.

He could have eaten with Minho, probably his closest friend at work, but Minho was too talkative. Minho did not appreciate food like Changmin, and expected Changmin to respond to his every comment. Rather than make Minho frustrated, Changmin opted to alienate himself and eat in isolation. He just needed to find a new refuge for this school year.

Changmin wandered around the gardens at lunch for the roof top had been taken by new eighth graders. The gardens were not popular with the students; there was a rumour that a student had hung herself from the largest willow tree and that her spirit haunted the area. Although Changmin did not exactly believe in ghosts, he did not want to find a skull on the ground. This was the one reason that prevented him from enjoying his lunch at that location. Now that he had tried all the other places, he was just left with this one.

Thus, he continued to walk until he saw the gigantic willow tree with its branches leaning to one side. He noticed that there was a faint figure sitting underneath that tree. The fog had blurred his vision, making him almost believe that there was truly a phantom, but as he drew closer towards the shadow, he recognized that it was her. That student? He could only profess, "Oh, it's you again."

"Mr. Shim, what are you doing here?" she croaked as her pupils dilated.

Taking a spot beside her, Changmin put his paper bag on the soggy ground. "It's lunch. What else did you think I was doing?" he joked and stuck his hand into the bag to lift a multiple-layered sandwich.

"I-I don't know," she shrugged her shoulders and looked away. "People rarely . . . No, no one c-comes here, except for me."

Before he took a colossal bite from the sandwich that Jaejoong packed, he cheered, "Perfect for me. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

She bashfully answered, "Y-you can stay here, if you want. It's, it's a public area."

"This whole school is a public area," Changmin sarcastically added.

"T-true, but I d-don't own this place, so—"

Changmin patted her back with an excessive amount of force that almost caused her to choke on her saliva, "I'm just joking with you. There's no need to be so serious."

"W-well," she cleared her throat. "It's hard to know when someone is joking. I-I don't like jokes."

Changmin looked at her with some sympathy for she responded with sadness in her eyes. "Then, life wouldn't be fun without all the games," he clearly uttered.

"It's not fun when you're directly involved in the games," she firmly replied and looked back at Changmin. "It's only fun when you're watching them and even when you're watching, there's not much to watch."

For once, Changmin had no idea what to say. He was the king of comebacks, yet he had become speechless and stern. He found himself gawking at her nicely made lunch, which was complete with rice balls, petite octopuses, fried eggs, and a few small sausages. "Did you make it yourself?" he asked out of the blue and pointed his finger at her meal. She warily nodded. "It looks good. Can I try the octopus?" he inquisitively requested. Jaejoong never made octopuses like that.

Using her chopsticks, she grabbed an octopus and said, "I'll place it on your hand."

"Alright," his palm laid flat and once he felt some weight in his hand, he tossed it into his mouth. "Wow! That's really good! Can I try the eggs?"

"O-oh no!" she argued. "T-they're n-n-n-no good."

Changmin pressed on, "Oh come on, just let me try one." She shook her head and covered her hand over the eggs. After a few minutes of silence, Changmin finally added one last remark, "I think girls shouldn't be so stingy. If they hog all the good stuff, they'll just grow in fat. Guys, on the other hand, would grow in height, like me, or in muscle."

Then, she gave in, "Alright, you can have a piece, but only one."

Upon tasting the coveted eggs, Changmin shouted, "No wonder, you wanted to pig out and I thought you weren't the sort to lie."

She warmly smiled for the first time and despondently repeated, "I didn't lie. They are no good."