I would like to visit you for a while
Get away and out of this city
Maybe you shouldn't have called
But someone had to be the first to break

We can go sit on your back porch
Talk about anything, it doesn't matter
I'll be courageous if you can pretend
That you've forgiven me

I don't know you anymore, I don't recognize this place
The picture frames have changed and so has your name
We don't talk much anymore, we keep running from the pain
But what I wouldn't give to see your face again

So maybe you shouldn't have called
Was it too soon to tell, what the hell
It doesn't really matter, how do you redefine
Something that never really had a name

Have your opinions changed?

"I Don't Know You Anymore" - Savage Garden

Kwangnyang
Friday, October 11th 2002
17.45 p.m.

The longer I stand here, the longer the shadows become. The sun is steadily sinking as I look up his apartment building for the umpteenth time, trying to find enough courage to go inside.

Why so afraid, Ji-Sung? Isn't this what you want? Isn't this what you came here for?

I know he's in there - his car is parked outside. His nondescript white Rio, well-cared for but totally unflashy, and I need only to cast a sidelong glance at the parking lot and see it there.

See it and feel my heart beat just a little faster as it brings back memories of him, of us sneaking out of Seogwipo one night in it to go to a club in Cheju Island, the smell of the upholstery, the car freshener he keeps by the air conditioner, the way his hands grip the steering wheel...

I don't remember this building - I've never been here. He gave me his address once, and I've kept it in my little address book. I wasn't even sure he still lives here until I came here, until I saw his car, until I look up at the imposing building and feel his presence.

Go inside, Ji-Sung...go inside. The sun is sinking. Your time is running out.

Slowly, I pull my sunglasses off and tuck them into my pocket. I won't be needing them anymore. I wore them on the bus ride here to avoid recognition, to disguise myself.

With him, I won't wear any disguises.

I walk inside and immediately head for the elevators, pressing the up button with a shaking finger. When the doors finally slide open, I have to literally will my feet to move and step inside.

Why am I so nervous? Certainly I don't expect a hostile reception. The phone call, after all, as stilted as it was, ended in a pretty civil manner. Nobody slammed down the receiver or cursed or anything. Okay, I wasn't exactly being nice, but I kept my cool. And so did he...did he?

The rumble of the elevator beneath my feet as it hoists me up to his floor provides little comfort for the unease I feel fluttering inside my stomach. I totally don't know what to expect. All I know is that I want to see him. I've wanted to see him so bad ever since I set foot on this land again that I half-expected to see his face in the crowds as we played.

And after our loss yesterday, it strengthened my resolve that I have to go see him now. There will be no victory ceremonies, no parades, no presidential receptions. As soon as I'm finished with this tournament, I'll have to return to Japan immediately.

The door slides open - why so soon? I step outside and look to my left and right. The corridors are empty. This is fast becoming a surreal experience - how everything seems time-compressed, elongated, like a dizzying spectacle out of some experimental movie. I shake my head to clear it, to get some of this nonsense off my mind. Now's not a good time to go crazy.

Many long breaths and countless footsteps later, I find myself standing in front of his door. No need to double-check the number. This is it. And he's in there. I know it. Now comes the hardest part.

I clench my right hand into a tight fist and knock strongly, three times. There's no peephole here - and that's good, since I don't want him to know it's me before he opens the door. I don't want him to have time to compose himself and paste a fabricated expression on his face - I want the raw, naked truth.

There's a rustle of movement from beyond the door, the sound of locks being undone. And when he opens it, it's all I can do not to lunge myself at him.

His face - unchanged, unmade. The blonde hair, the faint traces of scars, the lopsided mouth that smirks ever so mischievously - except he's not smirking now.

"Ji-Sung?"

I force a smile onto my lips, which feel heavy as lead. "Nam-Il..."

"What...what are you doing here? How..."

"It's our day off. We can do anything today as long as we're back at the training grounds tomorrow."

"Oh..." he says. The 'oh' of not-quite-understanding. The look on his faces is still puzzled.

"Can I...come in?" I aks hesitantly.

"What? Oh, sure! Come in, please..." he steps aside to allow me inside his apartment.

I walk past him, brushing slightly against him, and I hear him closing the door behind me. His apartment is just like I imagined it - a little messy, a little cluttered, but relatively clean. There's an essence of him everywhere I look - his favourite magazines on the dining table, his favourite channel on TV, his favourite drinks on the pantry.

"Please, sit down..." he gestures me towards the living room area, quickly grabbing the remote and turning down the volume of the TV. "Can I get you anything?"

"You have water?"

"Sure. Cold?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, just a moment..."

When he sets the glass down in front of me and goes to sit down on the armchair across from me, I have to close my eyes just to keep me focused. I take a long drink and let the water cool my parched throat, trying to calm down and think about what I have to say.

"Sorry about the mess..." he says as I put the glass back down. "I just got back from training and I haven't had the chance to tidy up."

"It's okay." I say. "My place is a lot messier than this."

"So..."

"So?"

The perennial beginning of all stilted conversations.

"How did you...get here?"

"I took a bus." I say matter-of-factly. "Cheap and easy. Been awhile since I last took an intercity bus trip, but I still remember the routes."

I know what you want to ask, Nam-Il...you don't want to know how I got here, you want to know why I'm here. I'll tell you. Just as soon as my heart stops trying to send my pulserate through the stratosphere.

"How is everybody?"

"Huh? Good...I think. They're really crushed, as you can probably tell..." I sigh heavily. "But we'll make it."

"Is Young-Pyo okay?"

"I think so. Haven't talked to him since last night. Well, we all pretty much went our separate ways this morning. Some of us stayed at the village, some decided to go around Busan..."

"I see."

"How's everything with your club?"

"Fine." Nam-Il answers tersely.

"Has Sun-Hong started training with you?"

"Yeah. He's settling in real well, too. Doesn't show his age at all."

Inside of me something is screaming for me to just get down to it. Enough with all this polite bullshit. Say what I have to say, and get this huge weight off my shoulders.

"I heard about you and Hiddink." I say. Oh well...here we go again. "About Eindhoven wanting you."

"Last I heard, it's you they want." he replies.

"I don't know. I'm hoping we can both go..."

"Yeah, me too..."

I'm hoping we can both go, and escape the confines of this country and its suffocating public attention, and be with each other and live happily ever after in a foreign land, like characters out of some twisted, drugged-up fairy tale from late night television.

Silence. The silence of two people not quite knowing what to say. Him not knowing what to make out my being here, me not knowing how to tell him why I'm here.

"Ji-Sung..." he says finally.

"Yes?" I brave myself to look at his face. I realize I've been looking at the condensation beads on the glass in front of me all this time.

"Ji-Sung...why are you here?"

Open up the floodgates with your words, Nam-Il.

In an instant I'm off the couch and throwing myself at him before he even has time to react. I'm flinging my arms around his neck, setting my knees on either side of him as I register a shocked gasp coming out of him.

"I've missed you..." I whisper against his neck, inhaling his scent.

He still smells the same. Just a whiff of air and suddenly I'm back through memory lane, dewdrops glistening in the Cheju sunlight, the sharp scent of freshly-cut grass on the pitch in Seogwipo, rolling around the ground laughing ourselves silly as we wrestle each other, the trill of birds in early morning and the gong sounding from the Buddhist temple near the stadium...

"Ji-Sung..."

Hold me. Please hold me. Don't push me away. I'll die if you push me away. Don't say you haven't missed me, Nam-Il. I know you do. Say you do, please say you do. I feel your arms go around me. Slow, hesitant, trembling. Why wait, Nam-Il? Why wait another minute? Hold me...hold me and don't let me go. Ever.

I let my nose drag along the flesh of his earlobe, through the lines of his face, until I find myself looking into his wide, shocked eyes, our breath mingling in the milimeters between our faces.

"I'm sorry..." I say. "I didn't mean all those things I said to you...when you called. I was just too bitter..."

"Ji-Sung, no." he stops me. "You had every right to be upset with me. To say the things you did. You were right. I was being stupid. I hurt you, and I turned you away when you did nothing wrong."

"Nam-Il..."

"I'm glad you've forgiven me, Ji-Sung. It's enough."

"No it's not. It's not enough for me. And I know it's not enough for you. You can't lie to me, Nam-Il..."

"Ji-Sung..."

"I heard it in your voice. I heard your pain. I felt it." I say. "When I told you that I...that I..."

"That you've moved on?" Nam-Il asks. "Ji-Sung, I'm happy for you. I'm happy for you and..."

"I broke up with Sang-Chul." I say bluntly.

His mouth is hanging open before me, and I have to hold myself back not to surge forward and kiss it. God knows how much I want to...and that's when I realize that it's not quite the kind of shock I expect to see from him. Not Sang-Chul's name, but my admission that I've ended things with him. Not Sang-Chul's name.

"You know it's him, don't you? You must've known...someone must've told you..."

"Ji-Sung..."

"Or you must've figured it out yourself. You're smart enough..."

"I...I don't know what to say." he admits in a whispered hush.

"Then say nothing..." I tell him. "Don't you see? I thought that phone call would be the end of it. That I would be able to get over you, finally put it all behind me and move on. But I was wrong, Nam-Il."

By this time I had settled myself on his lap, his arms going around my waist. I reach for one of his hands and grip it in my own. I can sense his reluctance, I can sense the part of him that wants to pull away.

Don't fight me, Nam-Il...don't you dare fight me. I've come too far to come back empty-handed. I've sacrificed too much. Don't turn me away...don't turn me away again. Not when I need you this much. Not when I've finally realized that it's you I want, that it's you I love.

Don't turn me away again.

On to Part 14