'Et si tu n'existais pas dis-moi pourquoi j'existerais
Pour traîner dans un monde sans toi sans espoir et sans regret
Et si tu n'existais pas j'essaierais d'inventer l'amour
Comme un peintre qui voit sous ses doigts naître les couleurs du jour
Et qui n'en revient pas'
—
Humans are confusing beings.
They have brains as the source of their intelligence, yet that same brain will compel them to forget certain things, whether good memories or bad memories, as if it has its own defense mechanism that is hard to control consciously.
Especially when humans have gone through many traumatic experiences that force their brains to dissociate, getting through days relying on instinct and focusing on how to survive until tomorrow.
Sorn had experienced times when his body was on autopilot, relying solely on instinct, his brain only focused on finding ways to breathe day by day. Perhaps that was what caused him to rarely dream of the past— honestly, he was afraid that if this continued, his brain could forget Selena, the only face that remained clear to him until now.
He didn't even have a photo of his younger sister—so when he rested in this building, a mysterious hideout of the nameless independent group, he often dreamed of the past. Thanks to that, he could see Selena's face clearly, even if it was in a dream, which unfortunately also reminded him of his mother's face, a memory he had long forgotten.
It was both a blessing and a curse. With the fight-or-flight instincts finally quieted, the emptiness that had plagued Sorn since childhood returned, and he found himself disliking this new reality. He had preferred the thrill of exterminating zombies, feeding his addiction to the adrenaline. Now, as he relaxed in this building, his past shortcomings crept back, as if to welcome him home.
This overwhelming familiarity felt like déjà vu, prompting a frown to settle on his face.
Starting with the mysterious man named Ralf, his space cadet blue eyes—he felt a sense of familiarity with that eye color and the way the man looked at him—it was as if Sorn had seen that darkening gaze before, though he couldn't discern what it contained. That gaze made him feel as if he would suffocate in the depths of the sea.
It was probably just his imagination— there was no way he had ever met the man. Even if he had, Sorn had never interacted with anyone for long periods in his life to the extent that they would leave a sense of attachment.
He stood in front of the tightly closed door; it was already 8 PM. At this hour, Sorn usually read books in his room until he fell asleep from tired eyes. He had often knocked on this door but had never done so at night. Sometimes the door would open, and they would only speak briefly before Ralf mentioned that he was going to meet Hilda in the red room. This happened almost every day. It reminded him of Dean's words when the man first met him—that their leader couldn't meet Sorn directly because it was too risky to leave their hideout. After discovering that Dean was Hilda's bodyguard, it seemed possible that Ralf had a purpose for being with Hilda at that moment, allowing him to send Dean to approach Sorn.
His hand lifted to knock on the door once, then twice. The door opened slightly, revealing the head of the man he had been looking for lately. Through the gap, Sorn heard a melody from a song that made his eyes widen.
Ralf signaled for Sorn to come in, and once Sorn stepped inside, he promptly locked the door. Honestly, Sorn felt a flutter of nerves being alone with this man in his room.
The room's furnishings were quite simple, resembling Sorn's own. It contained a teak wardrobe, a single bed, a long sofa, a desk, and a bookshelf—nothing out of the ordinary. The only distinguishing feature was the turntable playing music. Sorn's heart raced as he struggled to grasp the source of this unsettling familiarity.
"You're not asleep yet? It's unusual, you're the type who goes to bed early and sleeps late."
The guy spoke as if he knew him.
Since wandering outside, he had rarely found a safe place to return to his usual sleeping pattern. Perhaps it was because he was here without the worry of how he would survive tomorrow that all his old habits were slowly re-emerging. Sorn narrowed his eyes at the man sitting on the sofa, one hand resting on the edge of the couch while the other patted the space beside him, inviting Sorn to sit there. However, Sorn didn't want to be too close to the man, so he chose to sit on the bed instead.
It seemed he shouldn't have sat there as Ralf's expression immediately changed to a mischievous smile as he playfully whistled.
"Ah, Sorn, my heart races seeing you on my bed."
"Shut up."
"Haha, do you miss me?"
"I want to talk about my status as your assistant. Can you... ugh, turn off the vinyl?"
"Ah." Ralf stood up from his sofa, but instead of turning off the music, he walked closer to Sorn. "Is it not to your taste?"
"Not really, it's just... talking while listening to music isn't comfortable, is it? I'm afraid you won't hear what I'm saying clearly."
The song currently playing was nearing its end, and the atmosphere became strange—a melody filled with messages of longing and romance hung in the air, enveloping the two men in the dimly lit room. Sorn scratched his reddening ear, embarrassed by the odd feeling, while Ralf seemed reluctant to comply with his request. He stood in front of Sorn, watching his every move as if he didn't want to miss anything, even for a second.
When the song finally stopped, it began to play again from the start automatically, as if it had been set that way.
Ralf hummed a few words from the song, and Sorn couldn't help but laugh. The man couldn't sing at all— his pronunciation was off, his pitch was all over the place, as if he were reading a book rather than singing.
"What? Why are you laughing?"
"Your voice is amazing, Ralf. It sounds like a professional singer... you really have talent," Sorn said sarcastically. "… You have perfect french pronunciation."
At Sorn's pointed remark, Ralf raised his eyebrows enthusiastically, the guy didn't seem offended.
"Aha, come on, I'm not French, so how could I pronounce the words correctly?"
"Haha, then how do you know that song?"
"..."
An abrupt silence surrounded them, with only the music continuing to play softly in the background. Ralf remained quiet, fixing his gaze on Sorn, his eyes hinting at something, as if he wanted Sorn to guess it. His lips parted briefly before closing again, suggesting he was unsure about voicing his thoughts. Sorn mirrored the silence, observing the man with jet black hair.
Ralf's eyes appeared weary, and his lips were pale—his hair slightly damp, possibly indicating he had just come from a shower. Sorn couldn't help but wonder what had transpired to make him look like someone who had just sprinted away from a tornado. His appearance was disheveled, despite the fact that his shirt was smooth and free of wrinkles.
"..... You don't remember?"
Ralf's space cadet blue eyes turned melancholic, his lips smiling in an attempt to mask his disappointment. Sorn had no idea what had caused the man's mood to suddenly drop. The mumble that slipped from Ralf's mouth was so quiet it felt like a whisper, carrying a sulky tone that tickled Sorn's ears.
"Ah..."
The song. He remembered a bit about it—a memory triggered by the melody—yet Sorn struggled to recall the details clearly. What he did remember was that it had been very popular in his country back then and that his little sister loved to hum it. There was something he was supposed to remember, a feeling that told him something else was tied to the rhythm of this song.