#dotoliwrites

The way your father begged and pleaded on his knees. He was never the type to bow down to anyone, but his forehead was right between their polished shoes. The sound of shattering dishes as your mother’s heart sank just as fast as the first few shots fired into her. The tightness in your chest as all the air left your lungs the moment you saw your parents turn into lifeless, unmoving bodies, bleeding out against the entryway of your family home.

It’s been eight years. Eight long, grueling years you have spent trying to avenge them—trying to get your revenge.

What was another three more bodies to your growing count?

You don’t care. They’re all just collateral. What you really want—who you really want—is Kim Jaehwi.

And you want him dead.

That was the plan. Until your recent mark started sending more grunts and goons out to hunt you—more than the usual at least.

On any other day, you’d flee the scene of the crime, head to your pathetic excuse for an apartment, clean your weapons and your clothes, and call it a day. But mere hours after you murdered everyone in that Mercedes-Benz, a manhunt for you was already in full swing.

Men in suits trudging up and down the streets. Goons with brass knuckles and similar hwando blades knocking on every house and business within ten kilometers of the incident. Police cars needing to stop at the blockades these thugs have set up themselves to initiate their own ‘investigation’.

You know the Devil Cat Clan is relentless. The moment they hear a man with a crow mask has reduced their member count even by just a bit, they chase after you. But today, you must have killed someone big. Because even the higher-ups want you gone now.

At least, that’s what you gathered when a spray of bullets disturbed your evening tea, shattering the flimsy walls of your two-hundred-thousand-won-per-month apartment. You don’t regret the loss of your favorite safehouse. You regret not salvaging the Samanco still sitting in your refrigerator.

You rush towards your other safehouses: the goshiwon in the Mapo district, the house out in the Gyeonggi-do suburbs, your college buddy’s place in Gangnam, the public safety shelter where you were brought to eight years ago back in Yongsan-gu.

But they have all been either broken into, torn apart inside-out, or heavily guarded by members of the Devil Cat Clan.

Well, shit.

You don’t even have enough time to worry about whether they’ve figured out who you are or not. Instead, you think of the last safe place you could seek refuge at.

The Requiem.

Before you even enter the underground bar, the bouncers on either side of the door give you nasty glances. You wonder if it’s because of your still in your usual tracksuit. They seem new—they aren’t used to you yet. As you push past them and head inside, you soon realize coming here is a bad idea when every criminal-in-hiding, vigilante, and underworld devil at the bar has their eyes on you like you don’t belong here.

Fuck them—you just want a goddamn drink and some room to breathe.

You slide over to the counter and signal for a drink from the bartender. He looks new too. He hesitates for a moment, but when you see your friend warn him with a glance, he immediately begins pouring you a glass of whiskey.

At least he knows better than to ask.

“Seems like someone’s had a rough few days,” Yujin teases, leaning forward on her elbows towards you. “You look like shit.”

“I have you to thank for that,” you say in between sips of your drink, feeling it burn down your throat. “Who the hell did you send me to kill? Ever since then, the Clan’s been on my ass non-stop.”

Yujin shrugs, pulling back to reach for one of the drawers, where a pile of keys were being kept. She picks one up and slides it over to the bald roughneck beside you. “Dunno. I’m just doing what you’ve told me to do: find members of the Devil Cat Clan causing trouble, ping their location, send them your way. Nothing more, nothing less.”

You scoff as you down the rest of your whiskey. “Whoever that was is causing more than just a pain in my neck. How big is this mess you got me in?” you ask, never really having the time to keep up with recent events.

As if on command, Yujin interrupts the ongoing football match on the TV and puts on the news—much to the dismay of several blokes.

You try to take it all in. 

They’re covering it up. They made it out as an accident. Potential gang wars. No involvement from the Devil Cat Clan. They’re framing it as a tragedy. Collateral damage. Remnants of the ‘old school’ jopok ways—the old family style of mafia. But then the next few things catch your eye.

Whether it was further cover up, some sort of red herring, or something they actually had planned, the news comes as a surprise to you nonetheless.

Jaehwi has a daughter. And he’s marrying her off.

Something about strengthening the presence of the Devil Cat Clan. Something about metaphorically marrying their former jopok ways to more civilized and ‘clean’ endeavors. Whatever their explanations are, you don’t clock it. Partially because you could never believe that the Clan would ever want to come clean. Partially because there are four men with guns by the door threatening the bouncers to be allowed inside.

“Shit, they followed me all the way here,” you spit as you glance at Yujin for support. “Got anything for me?”

Without thinking twice, she pulls out a briefcase from underneath her and shoves it against your chest. “Bullets, clean set of clothes, burner phone. Get as far away from here as you can and sort this shit out before thinking of coming back again. Until then—don’t die.”

And as every last member of the Seoul underbelly at The Requiem pointed their guns towards the entrance of the bar, you take this as your chance to escape. Before darting out through the back entrance, you take one last look at the news showcasing Jaehwi’s revealed daughter.

Suddenly, an idea comes to you.

==

You thought it would be a good idea. You thought you could benefit off of the chaos going on in the background.

But the moment you walk through the gates of this traditional-style mansion at the very heart of the Devil Cat Clan’s scope of control, you begin to doubt your idea.

The plan was simple: act decent, present yourself naturally, and hope to get chosen as one of the potential aspirants for the hand of Jaehwi’s daughter. The rest? Well, the rest can follow. You have to worry about getting past screening first.

Which proved to be immediately difficult.

They ask for your identity and background, so you tell them the script Yujin prepared for you the moment you showed up at The Reqiuem searching for work as a new vigilante. They ask why you have weapons, and you tell them—who the hell doesn’t have weapons in this day and age? They ask you if you know what the Devil Cat Clan’s about, who the boss and his daughter are, and what your intentions for marriage would be. While you can’t tell them you’re here to get closer to Jaehwi and to end his miserable excuse for a life, you instead tell them, “I’m here because I see an opportunity to not just help the Clan with your endeavors, but to … pursue another endeavor of my own.”

They assume you meant getting with the boss’s daughter. You let it slide.

There are about ten other men of different ages and appearances at the waiting room. While they all form a colorful cast of potential husbands, what they had in common with each other (that you evidently didn’t have) was simple—affluence. Bespoke suits, watches that costed ten job’s worth of payouts, shoes that shined brighter than your future, gravitas that far exceeded what your dirty little lips could muster.

And yet, you still hold out hope.

By noon, that number reduces to seven. The first ones to go were the men pushing fifty—not much else to be said there.

By four, that number reduces further to five. The next ones to go were the men who had yet to make a name for themselves in their respective fields. This makes your legs tense and your breath hitch. You were getting closer and closer to the shaving point.

By nine, that number reduces to just two: you and this other guy in a white suit with a hairstyle that reminds you of Alex the Lion from Madagascar. He has the scars on his face to match the glint of the golden knuckles wrapped around his fists. You make the mistake of staring at him for too long, and when he catches your eye, he lets out some sort of growl as he cracks his fingers.

Well, this is just going swimmingly.

You’ve been a night owl all your life. Staying up past midnight is an easy feat. But the weight of the past few days being on the run is now slowly taking its toll on you. As the clock ticks further into the night, you find yourself losing the battle against sleep.

Until she walks in.

The first thing that rouses you from your slippery slope down into slumber is this fresh and powdery rose scent that’s elegant yet not overpowering. It thrills your nostrils. It captures your mind. The second thing that shakes you awake is the sound of her stilettos against the marble floor—gentle, light, unassuming. The final thing that makes you train your eyes on her was the way her floral dress clings to her slender frame, tracing up the length of her petite figure, and leads your gaze towards the neutral expression on her face.

She doesn’t belong here with the likes of Alex the Lion and you. She belongs somewhere between movie sets and luxury brand billboards.

She’s unreal.

And she’s looking right at you.

In fact, she’s not just looking—she’s pointing right at you. What did you do? Did you say something in your sleep? What the hell is going on? But the heat rushing to your face is overtaken by what her assistant says to you next. “Sirs, the decision by the young mistress has been made. You, in the back, please come with us.”

“Let’s get you acquainted with Lady Jiwon.”

Dinner.

They walk you along polished hallways dotted with traditional decor, through an luscious and well-maintained courtyard, and towards an imposing three-story building surrounded with Devil Cat Clan goons armed to the teeth—just for dinner.

You already regret your decision. But it’s too late to back out now.

As you enter the building, you’re brought towards the dining room that looks less like it belongs to an organized crime syndicate from the twenty-first century and more like it belonged to the owners of this house from six hundred years ago. A low dining table that looks a little larger than the usual soban frames the center of the room. Around it are several cushions atop a carpet with some sort of a mosaic design on it. Before you even contemplate hesitating, the man behind you presses up against you, reminding you of your situation with a shove. Eventually, you yield and join Jaehwi’s daughter at the table.

You have to hand it to the Devil Cat Clan—they are swift and efficient. Within moments, they begin setting the table. In mere moments, they pour you both tea, light some candles around the room, and set up different plates around Jaehwi’s daughter’s side of the table.

You say ‘they’ like there are multiple of them assembling all of this, when really, it’s just one woman in a traditional maid dress.

The assistant from earlier excuses himself and congratulates you for your first meal together. You’re not sure how to go about this, but you resolve to give it a try. Bowing next to you, the same maid from earlier gestures towards your empty side of the table. “Can I get you anything, young master? Our chefs are of the finest caliber, so I assure you—whatever cuisine your heart desires is no problem for us at all.”

You turn to the girl across you, still wearing her floral dress, staring at the food in front of her like she has seen this scene play out a thousand other times before. You return to the maid and say, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

You keep it simple. Nothing more than it should be. Dinner. Just dinner.

With that, the maid excuses herself with another bow and heads to the kitchen to relay your request.

You can hardly call it a meal—whatever she was given. It looks more like a batch of impulsively assembled side dishes that had a total calorie count equal to an average meal—less appetizing, more functional. You realize this girl wasn’t even asked what she wanted to eat. She was just served it.

Like she doesn’t have a choice.

The maid returns minutes later with a similar set of food. When you ask her about this peculiarity, she just smiles and says, “Lady Jiwon follows a strict diet as per the request of Master Jaehwi. She is quite used to it by now.”

Like hell she is, you think to yourself as you watch her barely touch anything laid out for her. You admit—it smells good. And these side dishes of hers even taste great. Better than any convenience store meal could offer at three in the morning. But she isn’t eating any of it. Instead, you file away those sentiments. You’re not here to give a damn about what Jaehwi’s daughter thinks about her ‘rich girl food’.

You’re here to find a chance to strike at her father. So, you start something you absolutely dread doing with your marks.

Small talk.

“So,” you begin, poking at the vegetables you saved for later. “Marriage. You and me. Why all of a sudden?”

No response from her.

Instead, the response comes from her maid, which you start to think is her personal maid, as she continues hovering just out of view. “Lady Jiwon has been of age for years now, young master. It was only a matter of time before her father offers her hand to suitors. Lady Jiwon is aware of this, and is prepared to take any actions necessary to preserve the dignity of the Devil Cat Clan as his eldest child.”

You roll your eyes. So much for getting more information out of this girl. But you try again.

“Ok then. What about you? I mean, you as a person. Tell me about yourself.”

Again, before the girl could even get anything past her lips, the maid in the back replies, “Lady Jiwon is a wonderful woman. She has grown so much since I’ve begun taking care of her as a child. She enjoys gardening, traditional arts, and fashion among many other things. I’m afraid I cannot disclose much about her as is forbidden by Master Jaehwi. I hope this much will suffice for you, young master.”

This maid is starting to get on your nerves. You’re never getting to Jaehwi at this rate.

Clearing your throat, you exhale briskly before putting down your chopsticks. This grabs the girl’s attention, and when she locks eyes with you for the first time since arriving here, you ask, “Are you ok with getting married like this? Like a transaction? I mean, there’s always divorce, but your first marriage has to at least mean something, right?”

On cue, the maid responds, “Lady Jiwon has—.”

“Lady Jiwon this, Lady Jiwon that—I’m not asking for what you think she wants to say. I’m asking the damn woman in front of me what she thinks herself. So stop interrupting her,” you growl, maintaining your gaze towards Jaehwi’s daughter. “Just tell me. Do you even want to get married?”

She remains speechless against your first act of defiance within her household—within the territory of the Devil Cat Clan. The girl trembles in a way that a stray cat would when approached by a stranger—or anyone else for that matter—for the very first time. She has this look like she wants to come up with something, like she wants to say something, but what’s stopping her isn’t that she wasn’t sure about it.

She wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

Once the moment has come to pass, the maid interjects once more. “Like I was saying, young master, Lady Jiwon—.”

“It’s ok … Areum-unnie …”

Her voice. It came out. And god forbid—if you weren’t sitting within the premises of the Clan that murdered your parents, you would have likely spared the thought that she sounds just like an angel would. “It’s ok … I’ll take it from here.”

She’s no longer hunched forward. She’s no longer eating—not like she was picking at her food much earlier anyway. Now, posture straight, hands on her lap, she bows her head in a polite manner before rising up to meet your defiance. “I don’t have a choice. It’s … what’s needed of me. The least I can do is try to enjoy this as much as I can. I suggest you do the same.”

“I’d be enjoying this more if you’d stop looking like you’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

Her face does a thing that’s not enough to be a smile but is certainly above neutrality. The corners of her lips twitch in a way that you ascertain is of her own volition. “Thank you for sharing a meal with me. I … I’m sorry I couldn’t offer much for our first meal together. But I hope we can look forward to more … fruitful interactions in the future.

You fight yourself from scoffing. Yeah right—like you’ll let this farce play out for any longer.

Before she is able to stand up and command her maid, you shoot up from your seat and clear your throat. “Your … your father. Is he … home?”

That was such a weird fucking question to ask her, and her expression reflects the same sense of surprise. But still, she replies, “No. Father is away again tonight. Like always.”

Like always. The words echo in your head a few times. “I see. Sorry if that was … a bit weird to ask. I just wanted to—.”

Areum interrupts you with a terribly hidden snicker. “Oh my, young master. How bold of you to be having such … thoughts already. You need not worry. Even if he was home, I imagine he wouldn’t mind his daughter’s suitor seeing her upstairs.”

“Seeing her upstairs?”

Areum nods, running a hand down her mistress’s back several times to smoothen out the creases of her dress. “You did wish to see her to her room, did you not? I don’t blame you—it would be wise to get acquainted sooner rather than later. You do remember that part of the provision for marriage, no? If Lady Jiwon deems you unfit for her hand in marriage, Master Jaehwi will have you killed.”

Well, shit. You should have read through those damn papers better.

Caught between your held breath and the next, you nod like someone who was just realizing what they had signed up for. “Yeah …  I’d like to accompany her upstairs. Do you mind?”

Areum shakes her head, extending her hand in invitation. “Right this way, young master. The living room is on the second floor. Her bedroom is on the third. Lady Jiwon, I trust you will be in good hands. Consider this … a test of his prudence and fidelity.”

Prudence this, fidelity that. You just need a chance to escape. If you had known Jaehwi wasn’t going to be anywhere near his daughter, and if you had half a brain cell to even read that contract you signed earlier, you wouldn’t be here right now.

You wouldn’t have done this.

The girl glances over her shoulder without even fully turning around. She eyes you like you should already know what to do. Oh, how mistaken she is when you don’t even offer your arm out to her as you two ascended the stairs. Instead, you left her to cling to the wooden grooves of the railing.

You pause by the landing on the second floor, and she wonders what’s wrong. “Nothing, nothing. I just—can you give me a moment before I head up? This is new even for me, entering a woman’s bedroom and all. I just want to be … a bit more ready.”

While you might not be the best suitor, you are certainly a well-versed liar. She buys your deceit without a hint of doubt and continues upstairs to her room. 

Now that you’re alone, your mind races. The plan is in fucking shambles.

You were here for Jaehwi—not for his daughter. But the bloody bloke isn’t even home. Defense mechanism or just poor parenting? You couldn’t care any less. You came here to strike from within the Devil Cat Clan while they were still scrambling outside to find you. You aren’t leaving without doing any significant damage to them at the very least.

When you feel the weight of your hands drift towards your legs, inching closer and closer to your holsters, you then unravel a certain line of thought.

What if you don’t kill Jaehwi?

A riveting idea, you have to admit. But, what if you didn’t kill him? Instead, what if you kill someone else?

What if you took the life of someone that mattered to him, just like how he took the only two people you have ever loved in your life from you?

So you wait an hour. Then two. And once you’re certain the girl isn’t peeking over the balcony anymore to see if you were still coming up after her, you don your crow mask once more and grip your hwando.

This is for your parents.

You ascend up the final flight of stairs, one step at a time, holding your breath.

This is for what they did to your family—this is what they did to you.

One hand on the handle of the sliding door, you carefully tug it open and reveal the dark bedroom with its owner sleeping on her bed, back towards you.

This … is for what he took from you—Jaehwi … Now, it’s your turn to take from him.

And as you hovered over the girl’s bed, blade in hand, the same weapon that you’ve used to take countless of Devil Cat Clan lives with, you slice downwards and split her neck wide open.

At least, you would have, if you didn’t hear her sob.

Pausing with the sharpened edge nearly pressing into the delicate exposed skin of her nape, you shudder and tighten your core.

She’s crying.

Once she shifts and turns towards the reason why there’s a depression next to her on the bed, you swiftly take off your mask and shove it behind you while also sheathing your blade in the same motion.

“It’s … you. You’re still here …?”

Sweating, shaking, body tensing like a strung bow, your neck produces the bare minimum motion for a nod. “Yeah, I … I guess I still am. I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep, really. I was just … I was just …”

You look across her face: at her reddened eyes, at the damp spots against her unblemished cheeks, at the hair that clung to her temples, and at her full lips that quivered with the slightest motions. 

Then, you sigh. “Sorry if I woke you up. You were … crying, weren’t you?” you point out like an idiot, as if she didn’t already know that. “Is it because of what I asked you earlier?”

She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t even want to look you in the eye.

Instead of the awkward kneel and hover you’re doing above her laying figure, you instead convert to a sit on her mattress. It was only then that the girl fluffed her comforter up so you could apparently join her under the sheets.

You don’t question it. You just slip right in.

Hand on her waist above the comforter, she turns on her side once more. “I don’t want to get married. I … I never even dated anyone yet. Never really liked anyone before. But my father … he said it was time. Our Clan is losing influence. Many of our members are defecting and joining other families and gangs. He … he said there was no other way.”

You thought you hated Jaehwi enough already, but you learned you could hate him even more. “Your dad isn’t exactly the picture of parenthood, is he? Can’t you just say no? Can’t you just run away from all of this?”

She lets out a soft chuckle before shaking her head. You watch as the wavy ends of her hair dance underneath the moonlight. “All that I am … all that I have … is here. With my clan. I have nothing else. No one else. So I … I have no choice but to stay.”

She does something behind her back. She rests the back of her palm against her lower spine and splays her fingers open.

“Just for tonight … you can leave tomorrow and never come back … but for tonight, can you please—can you please just pretend to be mine and stay with me?”

You feel the weight of your blade against its sheathe. You feel the weight of each individual bullet in your pistol. You feel the weight of the pouring rain against your back on the night of your parents’ funeral.

And then, you feel the weight of her open hand against your thigh.

And then, you take it.

“You have some nerve allowing me to stay here. I could be an assassin out for your family’s money or something,” you tease, sublimating the anxiety that’s beginning to build up in the back of your head. “Why did you even choose me in the first place? I’m sure the other guys who were waiting to marry you could do more for you than just … this.”

You thought it would take her longer than that to respond, but you are mistaken.

In a heartbeat, she squeezes your hand in hers and tells you, “You seemed like the least threatening one. It felt like I could be safe with you.”

Your blade clinks in its place as if to laugh at her response, but you keep it silent with a firm squeeze as you sigh.

“Let’s hope you’re right about that.”

==

That is not the only time you attempt to assassinate Jaehwi’s daughter. In fact, that is not the only time you fail to kill her.

Like that one time you tried to maul her with a crowbar you picked up from the armory across the courtyard. You were going to beat her skull in but you had to stop when she ducked down to pet a stray kitten that wandered into the compound.

You stopped for the kitten—not for her.

Or that one time you aimed at her from the living room window on the second floor as she made her way towards some of the Clan members. You could have easily pulled the trigger several times on her, but you held back when she kept bowing politely to each one of them. You had to stop because you couldn’t miss your shot—and the lord knows Yujin didn’t pack you enough bullets.

It didn’t help that she spotted you shortly after and waved at you.

How about that other time when you approached her with a garrote in hand, ready to strangle her from behind? She was too busy watering her flowers to notice that you had arrived. You couldn’t just let her choke to death and cough up blood all over her orchids, right?

Instead, you ended up watching her tend to her personal garden as the sun set quietly behind you both.

This isn’t working out at all. Every time you got close to Jaehwi’s daughter, something would always get in the way of you ending her life. It was meant to be swift. You planned to make it as painless and as clean as possible. But time and again, life had other plans.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Your window to visit her always opens at four in the afternoon. By the fifth day since the beginning of your arranged marriage, you were all out of ideas on how to take her out as you show up to the front gate of the mansion once more.

“I.D.?”

You look up at the burly guard in front of you, blocking your way. “What would I need an I.D. for?”

He grunts, leaning forward to cast his shadow over you, and repeats, “I said, I’m going to need an I.D. Before I let you in.”

Just when you were about to consider beating the hell out of this gorilla, a familiar face pokes her head through the door and smiles up at you. “Young master, I see you’re on time once again. Come, please head inside.”

You don’t appreciate her comment on being timely—you just had nowhere else to be. You couldn’t take any jobs from Yujin. Couldn’t even be anywhere near The Requiem or any of your safehouses. This was all you had now, so of course you showed up on time.

You give the gorilla-looking guard one final smirk before heading indoors.

Unlike the previous times that you’ve been here, Jiwon was nowhere to be found. Normally, you expect her to be sitting by the courtyard or reading a book in the living room. But today, she wasn’t home.

An idea strikes you.

You race up to her bedroom knowing full well that she wasn’t around, and with a quickened breath, you open her door and welcome yourself inside.

You start going through all of her things.

Her cabinets, drawers, that one compartment attached to her desk, the plastic crates underneath her bed, behind each ornament on her shelf, and even between the nooks and crannies that filled with dust—you leave no stone unturned in your desperate attempt to get any information that you can use on either her or Jaehwi.

But you found nothing.

The only thing you discover is that this girl was abundantly … mundane? There is no better way to put it.

When you pictured what the daughter of Kim Jaehwi would be like, you thought of anything but this. 

You imagined a spoiled chaebol who hopped from country to country each week and only visited Korea whenever daddy wanted her back home. You imagined fancy hotels, spending sprees, parties with as much designer drugs as she had designer clothes, running from the law, and getting her father to bail her out with his ‘influence’ each time.

You certainly did not expect someone this … bland and quiet.

As you withdraw from the last of her wardrobe, coughing at the dust that spewed from the hangers of her untouched clothes, you wonder what use killing this girl would be in the grander scheme of things. It almost feels like Jaehwi doesn’t care about her enough to even let her become her own person. It almost feels like she doesn’t even matter to him.

But why do you care?

“What are you doing?”

Yeah, what were you doing? The words repeat in your head. But when you realize someone else said it to you, you hide your hands behind your back and turn to see Liz wrapped up in a pair of towels. “Why were you going through my stuff?”

Well, shit. What’s the lie this time?

You could tell her you saw a bug and couldn’t kill it before it snuck into her wardrobe. You could tell her Areum asked you to prepare some clothes for her—seeing that she’s buck naked beneath those towels. You could even just tell her that the wardrobe was open when you entered, and you were just closing it.

Instead, the truth slips from your lips.

“Look, there’s a reason for this …” you confess, unsure of where this was heading. But when you look at her confused and naive expression, you conscience won’t let you lie to someone like her again. “I just … I don’t know what I was hoping to do actually. I guess I was … I guess I was just trying to get to know you more. Somehow.”

Strangely true. That wasn’t even much of a lie. “Huh. Ok …”

“Ok,” you say in return, bouncing on your heels as you avoid making eye contact with her. But she bats her lashes twice as if she’s waiting for you to continue your alibi. “I uh, how do I put this? It’s weird just marrying you and into … all of this … without really knowing you much at all.”

“You think it’s unnatural,” she wonders, her tone bordering more on curiosity than concern.

“That’s one way to see this. Definitely.”

“So you want to … align stories?” she continues.

“Align stories? Right, right—align stories,” you nod, deciding to go with it. “I’m sure the other higher-ups of the Clan will want to know how I earned your respect. Or love. The media will have questions too when they publicize all of this. We should work on our cover story.”

You are so eager to delve deeper into this farce that you fail to realize Jiwon is waiting for you to stop running your tongue and give her a moment to change. “Right—after you change, of course. Would be difficult talking to you while you’re still naked.”

Her expression doesn’t change. So you shut yourself up, head out, and give her some time.

Once she’s ready, she calls you back in.

Her room smells of citrus shampoo, conditioner, and wet skin. You walk towards her and sit on the edge of her bed while she crosses her legs atop it.

“So, what ideas do you have for a cover story? I think the first few things we need to iron out are how we met, why we started dating, and what we love about each other. Sappy, I know, but it’s realistic at least.”

Jiwon purses her lips in thought, but it doesn’t amount to anything concrete.

“Ok, let’s try to break it down further. Maybe we can start with the first question: how did we meet? Where do you usually go? You know, for fun and stuff. Where do you hang out outside of home? Maybe we can use that—I can work with it. Better something you’re familiar with so you end up making less mistakes when you explain.”

But Jiwon isn’t able to give you a response. She just looks at you as if you might have the answers she’s looking for.

“Wait, do you … mostly just stay at home?”

The way she retreats underneath her comforter is enough of a response for you. “Huh. I can’t really say I met you at home. They’ll think I’m some kind of robber breaking and entering into your house. They’ll have me killed.”

“I … I used to go to school,” she offers up in an attempt to pitch something useful. “I had to stop after middle school because my father didn’t like how there weren’t any exclusive high schools for girls. Any good ones, at least.”

“You could have gone to Sookmyung or Sehwa. Those are really close to my old high school,” you ponder, drawing figures on her bedsheet as if you were mapping it out. “One time, me and my friends got—.”

You stop yourself. Why are you remembering this? 

This is a memory from your past life—a life you chose to bury and leave behind. This is a memory attached to who you once were, to who you used to be, to the you that still managed to have a normal life—with his parents. But that’s over now. And you swore not to think about it—any of it—ever again.

So why are you bringing it up again? Why are you even telling her this?

When you pause, she reaches a hand out and tries to place it over yours, but she jerks it back towards her person and gets all shy about it. Despite that, she has this look on her that’s telling you to continue, to not hold back. She must be thinking you were conscious about oversharing. She’s blissfully unaware that you’re intentionally stopping yourself.

“I … This one time, we all tried to get ourselves a date for Valentine’s. Stupid, I know, but we thought we might have a chance asking outside of our high school. So half of us went to Sookmyung, and the other half—my half—we went to Sehwa. I told them to play it cool, but god, they were such dorks. They approached the first girls that walked out of the school entrance, hitting on them right away. I was so embarrassed because of them that I barely got to ask anyone out.”

“Glad you know that was very weird,” she notes. “If I studied there, I would have called the cops on you.”

“Yeah, admittedly I’m not the best at courting or dating anyone. Never really had a girlfriend either so … this is all pretty new to me too. Which is crazy … right? One day I’m … just another person on the street, and the next day I’m … I’m marrying someone like you.”

You two share a look of understanding but immediately glance away when you connect a little too deeply with the other.

“I don’t know why I brought that up, sorry. It just came to me,” you try to continue past the topic. “So you didn’t go to high school. That’s out of the question for our cover story. Did you go anywhere for fun? In your free time?”

You think of asking her when even was her free time because every day seemed like a free day to her. She doesn’t seem to be invested in any form of academics, business, or even hobbies for that matter. She was just … here. At home.

“I … I like to sing.”

You nod, leaning into that. “Yeah, Areum told us. I remember that. What do you usually sing? Karaoke?”

“I’ve only been to a karaoke place once before, actually … I was probably twelve at the time,” she recalls, lacing her fingers together atop her lap. “My father had to meet some people, and he wanted to bring me along to introduce me. I ended up sneaking out and into the empty room next door. I had a blast singing some of my favorite anime songs.”

“You watch anime?” you ask in disbelief like Jaehwi’s daughter having some semblance of a personality was earth-shattering to you. “What did you watch?”

She chuckles like she thinks it’s ridiculous. “Oh, nothing big. Just … Madoka Magica, Shinsekai Yori, San-Gatsu no Lion. Those shows …”

She buries her face into her palms and peaks out at you to see your reaction. You in fact have none. You’re too stunned by this to even think of a response. “So the daughter of a syndicate leader likes dark magical girls, dystopian fantasies, and human drama.”

“Is it … bad?”

You shake your head and laugh at such a question in disbelief. “Not at all, it’s actually very … endearing. By any chance, did you ever watch …?”

You talk about your favorite anime shows and movies. Of course, you can’t help but circle back to the topic of your favorite openings and endings. As a result of this, you talk about other similar things too: your favorite K-dramas, your favorite Western movies, favorite bands and musical artists, favorite genres of music. You even go as far as talking about the places around Korea that she’s visited—Jeju being the standout one. About her favorite types of food—whenever she is allowed a cheat day of sorts, at least. About her favorite pastimes even, which she explains is all she ever does now in her daily idyllic life.

Throughout this entire time, you get the feeling that she’s another person—that she’s another human being. Just like you. The label of being Jaehwi’s daughter is something you easily forget—just like your initial excuse of coming up with a cover story together. It feels refreshing hearing her answer out of her own volition, recount stories and memories without being prompted, and actually responding to you like she has a mind of her own.

It’s incredible watching Jaehwi’s daughter opening herself up like this to you.

When you ask her what kind of cake is her favorite—and you hope it’s oreo cheesecake too because that’s the only cake you will ever eat—she asks if this is for your wedding. “I never really thought about the flavor yet … it has to be fancy though, right? My father—.”

You click your teeth and swat at her. “My father this, my father that—I’m asking you what you want. Actually, screw the wedding. Let’s not … let’s not even think about that right now. If your dad wasn’t in the picture, what would you be doing right now? What would you want to do, huh? What would you try?”

You can see the years of being under control dance across her face as she thinks long and hard about the answers to your questions. It takes her a few minutes to decide on a response that’s satisfactory to her—a quirk of hers, you now learn—but she ends up saying, “I want to … play video games.”

Leaning forward, you stare at her with eyes as wide and as open as your jaw. “What? You’ve never played video games before?”

She crinkles her nose in an innocent way. “Don’t say it like that … I wasn’t allowed to play any games growing up. My father thought it was a waste of time, and he would always put me on some kind of tutor for the summer: piano, traditional dance, painting—you name it. It was only my mother … who … who …”

She begins to choke on her words, and you see her visually jerk and jolt in place as she’s struggling with more than just words now. “I-I … she …”

You don’t think twice: you hold her hands and squeeze them. “Rough topic? Sorry, if I had known—.”

But she shakes her head. “No … no it’s ok … Just being … yeah, don’t worry about that. I um, I never really got to play any video games. If I could use my money, I’d maybe … maybe buy a TV.”

“You do know that’s not how you play video games, right?”

She turns her head to the side like an owl would. “But I saw my sister playing on her TV. Isn’t that where most games are now?”

She has a sister? You file that away for later.

But your hand can’t resist slapping itself across your face. A groan shortly follows. “That’s … what we call consoles. Probably a console, yeah. This nifty little gadget you plug CDs into? The CDs have the games, and the console lets you play it. On the TV. The TV itself does nothing for you.”

“So you mean to say you need a console to allow you to play a game, and you need a TV to allow you to play a console? That … sounds very complicated,” she points out. And when you hear it said out loud by someone who has never known any of this, you realize that she’s got a point. “Are they expensive?”

“Are you kidding? You’re Kim Jaehwi’s daughter. You’re flooded to the chin with cash from—.”

You stop yourself when you start to remember the debt your parents owned Jaehwi’s lowlife loansharks. You stop before the memories can come surging back from when they would arrive weekly to try and shake what little cash your family had left to make your parents pay up. You can feel the blood boiling in your veins as you remember what got you here in the first place—what brought you your misery.

But when you look at Jaehwi’s daughter and see the soft of her nose twitch out of concern for you, slowly, your frustration begins to fade. “Sorry … yeah, you’ve got money on your side. I wouldn’t be worried about that.”

“What games can you play on one? Can you … can you play Minecraft?”

Your hand flies back to your face. The daughter of Kim Jaehwi, the leader of the top syndicate in all of Korea, wants to play fucking Minecraft? She could have asked for anything else—a weeklong vacation in the Maldives, her own private jet or yacht or limousine, or even a pet peacock if she was that freaky.

But Minecraft? That’s something commoners enjoy.

Something you enjoyed.

When you stand up, you almost don’t want to leave when she crawls across her bed to follow you, but you reassure her with a smile.

After half an hour of awkward conversation with her personal maid and sifting through dusty boxes in the storage room, you return to her bedroom with an old laptop, its charger, and an extension cord.

“That’s …”

“Borrowed it for a while. It was a pain convincing Areum to let me even have it, but she said it might still have your dad’s credit card credentials on it,” you happily announce, laying it all out on the bed and plugging the laptop to the nearby outlet. “We could get you Minecraft on this.”

“You don’t have to. My father would—.”

“Probably notice?” you finish her sentence as you enter the password Areum told you. “He wouldn’t mind losing a couple thousand won. What’s that against his daughter’s happiness?”

As you connect to the internet with the laptop—something you both are surprised by—you head over to the website, purchase the game, and wait for it to install. As you’re explaining to her the general gist of the mechanics within the game, you notice in your peripheral vision that her mouth is doing that thing again. It pulls up from the corners this time, towards her ears, ever-so-slightly.

She smiles.

Shaking your head, once the all-too-familiar loading screen comes into view, you place the laptop onto her lap. “Think you’ll be fine, or do you need me to backseat you?”

She bites her lip and says, “I think I’ll be fine. So I just … press ‘singleplayer’ right?”

She was definitely not fine.

She spent the first ten minutes marveling at her new game, it’s unique block design and layout, and the cute little baby pig that approached her from the forest. But once the first ten minutes are up and nighttime falls upon her, she is immediately racing towards the nearest pile of dirt to bury herself six blocks under. 

She alternates between whimpers and screams with each zombie and skeleton that chases after her poor unarmored character, struggling to even collect wood or stone without the ever-present fear of a mob jumping at her. While you’re watching this girl play what is likely her very first video game, you can’t help but feel this tightness in your chest. 

It isn’t happiness. It isn’t joy. You knew what those felt like once upon a time. This is something … different. You resolve not to give it a name. Instead, you decide to see her sob into her thighs as she gets blown up by a Creeper for the seventh time in a single night, her items scattering to the winds.

You don’t even realize that you fell asleep at some point. The last thing you remember was her rocking your thigh steadily while mining for some iron in an abandoned mineshaft.

The moment you wake up, the room is dark, and the moonlight from the window is faint. It must have been hours now since you passed out. The first thoughts in your mind are the laptop and Jaehwi’s daughter, worried about what else beyond Minecraft she must have gone on with it.

Your answers, conveniently enough are right next to you—tucked into bed, back against you, the device right next to her blanketed feet, sleeping soundly like one would after a whole evening of playing Minecraft.

You pick up the laptop and unlock it, wondering what she was up to while you were out cold.

There, on the corner of the screen, was a sticky note. Written on it were the words: Made a house, too scared to mine again.

You opened the game and saw her humble little shack cobbled together with different bits of stone, wood, and spare wool. The occasional leaf blocks throughout the design tell you how desperate she was to build somewhere to live.

Cracking your knuckles, you manage a smile as you equip yourself with her nearly-broken wooden sword. “Leave the rest to me then.”

You spend the entire night lighting up a large area around her house with torches, making a little mineshaft downwards from the side of her house, and clearing the nearby zones off of any hostile mobs. You put it the dirty work—the kind of work you enjoy more back when you used to play this game with friends—so that she doesn’t have to. You’re amazed you still remember the recipe for a shield, how to pick off mobs with a bow, or even how to abuse hunger mechanics. 

By the time you leash a dog to one of her fences, your eyes begin to falter, and before you know it, the early morning rays of sun threaten to blind you from the window. But the call of sleep is too strong. You hope you’ve done enough for her today. Now, it was finally time to rest in the real world.

Little did you know that the girl beside you got to wake up with a wide grin on her face as she took her new pet along with her to explore the world once more.

==

Your days with Jaehwi’s daughter look a lot like that day.

You spend your mornings doing god-knows-what trying to get your life back together again despite what’s going on around you. After a few days blow over, the heat on your back drops and you manage to return to The Requiem to take more jobs from Yujin. You clean these jobs up like usual, but you take extra pre-caution to get to your mark before four in the afternoon.

Because that was when your time with her began.

Of course, you’re keeping up an act. It wouldn’t make sense to stop following through after just a few days. It would make the Clan suspicious. It would place heat on you again. 

Of course, you tell yourself that, but in actuality, spending time with his daughter was oddly enough a pleasant treat.

Whenever you come over, she’s already in the living room, hunched over her laptop, eyes wide open as the lights from her game flash all across her face. It’s almost endearing how adorable she looks when she’s taken over by the childhood wonder she’s been withheld from for years.

It’s almost endearing—until you remember you still have to kill her.

And you still try. You still try to end her life. But you know how things go—life still gets in the way.

You try attaching your ol’ reliable silencer to your pistol and convince her to enter the Nether, so you could shoot her in the back while she’s distracted by armies of Piglins. But the moment the lack of gold on her character becomes a problem, she’s throwing herself at you as if a physical escape in the real world would equate to a similar escape in the game.

You end up just hugging her trembling form and reminding her it’s just a game. The Piglins can’t hurt her in real life.

You try stabbing her in her sleep again—just like you originally planned. But Jaehwi’s daughter is one hell of a light sleeper. The moment you open the door to her room, she’s already turning towards you like she’s been expecting you. She pats the side of her bed and invites you to sit next to her, telling you all about what she did in Minecraft that day, how annoying Phantoms are, and how she might make a boat out of cherry wood and sail across the large ocean to the east.

You end up smiling through her stories of being raided by Pillagers.

You even try poisoning her food. You offered to serve her some breakfast in bed to surprise her, and Areum is immediately taken by your ‘sweetness’, naive to the notion of you sprinkling her meal with an agent so strong it would only take one bite to kill any mark. Except she doesn’t even want to take a bite of her food. She was too eager to jump back into the game again the moment she wakes up, insisting you eat the food yourself so it wouldn’t go to waste.

You end up dumping her laced breakfast into the trash, but not before kicking the can in frustration.

You regret buying her that damned game. Who would have thought it would make things more difficult than it already was.

This was unreal.

“Yeong Kyungsam—thirty-three, married with no children, head of logistics at one of Jaehwi’s construction companies, one of their fronts for money laundering.”

Bang.

“Myo Seungri—fifty-five, unmarried, retired grunt who worked for Jaehwi’s father and helped kill students during the Gwangju Uprising back in the eighties.”

Bang bang.

“Jeong Sooyun—twenty-seven, unmarried, works as a loanshark—.”

Bang bang bang.

As the blood stopped spreading across Sooyun’s carpet, you kick her lifeless face to make sure that she’s dead dead. You kick her face again just for the hell of it. Once you confirm she’s gone, you stuff your pistol in your holster and check the time on your phone.

Three-thirty-five.

Leaning against the window, you part the curtains and stare outside, weighing your options. It would take approximately half an hour to get to the mansion, but it would only take fifteen minutes to go to the nearest Subway to get a sandwich.

You go with the sandwich.

You line up, get your order taken, get your order messed up, watch as the staff apologizes and redoes your order with her manager behind her, and then finally, you get the sandwich you’ve been craving for, and take a seat somewhere near the back.

But it tastes like shit.

This is your favorite order for a sandwich and it tastes like absolute ass. You’re not sure if it’s because you can’t stomach eating this alone or because you can taste the guilt of your actions with each bite. Whatever it is, it makes you check the time on your phone again.

Four-eleven.

You let out a sigh. Next to you, a high school student is eyeing you with a scared look on his face. You’re not sure if he’s scared because of your weapons or because you’ve been staring blankly at your half-eaten sandwich for minutes now. Either way, you offer him your half, and when he strangely enough accepts, you get up and begin jogging towards the Devil Cat Clan’s mansion.

“You’re late. But I still need your I.D.”

You grunt as you pretend to look for your non-existent I.D. through your different pockets. No way in hell are you giving this gorilla your actual I.D. “Can’t you let me in? I’ve been coming here for days now. Surely you recognize me.”

The guard doesn’t flinch. “You’re late, Tracksuit. She’s not happy with it.”

Those words stab into your chest. “I know, so could you just let me in?”

Before the gorilla can beat you to death, Areum pops her head out and assesses the ruckus before saying, “You’re here, young master. I thought you wouldn’t be coming today. You’re quite late.”

You exhale firmly through your nose. “I’m very aware of that. Could you help me get in?”

Sure enough, Areum waves down the guard and helps you enter the premises of the estate. She’s aware you know your way around by now, so she leaves you to confront the inevitable as she heads off to attend to some chores.

When you make it up to the third floor and open the bedroom door, a pillow smacks you right in the face before falling between your feet.

“You’re late,” she accuses you without looking up from the laptop. She’s just circling around the apps with the trackpad, pretending to be busy. “I thought you weren’t going to come.”

You shrug, picking up the pillow and placing it next to her. “I don’t have to come everyday, do I?”

That’s what makes her look away from her laptop. She clutches the pillow you picked up and hugs it tight against her chest. “I guess not …”

You glance away as you feel heat overtake your face for a brief moment. “Whatever. Is this what you’ve been up to again? You’re way too addicted to this. Maybe I should delete—.”

The pillow smacks your face again, and immediately, she recovers it with a pout. “Don’t you dare.”

“Oh I would, young lady. You’re cooping up here’s gotten worse since I bought you that game,” you point out, sitting on the bed now. “Honestly, I’m surprised you even managed to play all this time with just a trackpad. Doesn’t it hurt your fingers?”

She shakes her head. “I can manage. Want to see what I built while you were gone?”

You inch closer to her and she shows you what’s new. You give her a day, and she managed to build a simple doghouse for her pet. You give her three days, and she managed to dig streets into the ground, make her own pathways with a shovel, and connect the roads in a cute little pattern. You give her a week, and she’s managed to copy the layout of this mansion as similarly as she could with the limited blocks and materials she has access to.

“Not bad, not bad,” you’re saying over her shoulder as you watch her do donuts on her boat. “I bet by the time we get married you would have already built all of Seoul in your world.”

Her mouth does it again—she smiles. But this time, she’s chuckling along with it.

But that moment is short-lived when your noses touch and you both realize how close you are to each other.

Instead of pulling herself away, she lets you stay where you are, hovering above your shoulder. Instead of withdrawing yourself, you allow yourself to stay close to her, staying by her side.

The two of you don’t say anything for a good few minutes.

What breaks the ice is one of your fingers moving towards hers, which was by the trackpad. You wiggle it around, and the field of view in the game wiggles around as well. “Maybe we should get you a mouse.”

“A mouse?”

“Yeah, for your laptop. I think we can get you a nice Logitech one that’s bluetooth too. It will help you with your building—trust me,” you explain. “And you’ve been playing on mute still? No wonder you keep getting jumped by mobs. I turned on subtitles for you already, but it helps to hear where they’re coming from too.”

“Ah, I get conscious playing with volume, especially when everyone’s already asleep.”

You chuckle. “You know, you’re technically their boss. I’m sure they wouldn’t give a damn if they heard their boss screaming after being chased by Skeletons again.”

She punches your shoulder—not a soft one, but one that packs some strength behind it. “Ya! I know how to use a shield now, you know?”

She raised her voice. That was the first time she’s ever done that. Endearingly.

When you don’t speak, she hides her face against the pillow and looks up only to paddle back to her little dock area. “I guess some earphones would help.”

Leaning back on your hands, you ask her, “What else do you want to buy? I don’t just mean for your laptop or to feed your Minecraft addiction—I mean other things. In general, you know?”

“In general …?”

You nod, glancing around the bare room within her four walls. “Things you’ve always wanted but never got to have. Things you couldn’t buy for yourself. Things you wish Jae—your dad could have gifted you but didn’t. Because he’s an asshole.”

She punches you again, this time with less power as she seems a bit more conscious. “Not clothes then. He only ever buys me clothes. Sometimes they aren’t even the right size.”

You think about the wardrobe filled with dust. You think about the first dinner you shared together and how meek she was. And you think about how, right now, you’ve heard her speak ill of her father for the first time. “You’re sure daddy won’t be mad if he heard that?”

And then, for the first time as well, you see her smirk at you. “Daddy won’t mind if I spend money again. He hasn’t given me a gift for my birthday last year anyway. This is just … making up for it.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is ‘revenge’,” you quip, yet the word never felt sourer in your mouth. “How about we go to the mall then?”

Immediately, her expression twists and tightens. “The mall …? You mean like … outside?”

You nod, weirded out by her question. “Where else would the mall be? I know a gaming store I used to … I used to go to when I was younger. If they’re still open, maybe we could buy your gaming gear there with a discount too. Then, we can go around and see if there’s anything else you want to buy. We could even get something to eat afterwards.”

It seems she doesn’t like what you’re telling her. The moment you run your mouth about the different things you could do together at the mall, she falls silent and returns to that wilted state you first saw her in.

Dropping the topic, you reach out to her. But you stop yourself before your hand could touch her skin.

Why were you doing this? Why were you offering to go to the mall with her?

She could ask someone like Areum to go with her and buy whatever it is you listed out. She could just order them online and have them delivered the next day without any problems. Why did she have to go to the mall? And why did she have to go with you?

You’re supposed to fucking kill her—not babysit her.

Not take her out on some date.

When she comes to once again, she pushes the laptop away along with the pillow she was previously hugging. She curls up into a ball and lays down with her back towards you.

Well, shit. What did you say this time?

Rubbing your temple, you lay down next to her, share a moment of silence first, and then speak to the ceiling. “Another sore spot? Sorry about that. I still need to get used to your … triggers.”

But she shook her head. “No, it’s just … I … I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Disappoint me?” you say, and you fight the urge to look at her, knowing she would get too conscious—too ‘seen’. “Believe me, I’ve been called a disappointment more times than you can count. You’re the last thing I’ll think of when I think ‘disappointment’.”

Something in her springs to life. Something in her makes her sit up, and then get off the bed.

You follow her. You trail behind her like you’re her shadow. She glides out of her bedroom, down the stairs, into the courtyard, through the lavishly decorated hallways, past the Clan goons who all greet her politely, and when you’re both finally at the main entrance of the estate, she takes a deep breath and sighs.

She takes one step through the door and instantly, she’s shaking. Sweating. Like she’s sick. Like she’ll combust if she steps out into the light.

It’s only then that you recognize what was happening—a panic attack.

You lift her beneath her shoulders and bring her back inside, and without any hesitation, she’s clinging to you for dear life.

You hear her sobbing into your chest.

“I-I can’t … I can’t go out …” she whimpers, shaking her head, trying to dry her eyes against your jacket. “I-I-It feels like I need to … need to vomit. Head spinning, chest … chest hurting. I can’t … I’m sorry.”

Whatever happened to her—whoever did this to her—had a lot of explaining to do. But not her. She didn’t have to say another word. “You idiot … you didn’t have to do all this just to show me. Don’t worry about it. We’ll … we’ll find another way.”

“But that’s the thing—I don’t want to stay like this forever.”

As she trails off, back indoors, back down the first few hallways, and as you follow shortly behind her, she humors you some. “I didn’t always used to be like this. Just … just happened recently. I just … I just wish I wasn’t this helpless.”

“I just wish I wasn’t this weak.”

You know that feeling. You’re terribly familiar with it. 

Feeling helpless. Feeling hopeless. Feeling weak. The world doesn’t stop for anyone or anything. It doesn’t stop for unpaid debt. It doesn’t stop for murdered parents. And it certainly doesn’t stop either for the traumatized children of syndicate leaders.

So you do the sensible thing and place your hand on the small of her back, rubbing it in arcs, before you whisper to the wind. “One step at a time, ok? Take it easy. I’ll … I’ll help you.”

You tell yourself this is part of the plan. You want to help get her out of the house so you can kidnap her, take her somewhere more isolated, and shoot her there.

Instead, you’re doing anything but that.

Because you have to deal with with two things.

First, the goons. They’re everywhere. 

When you start visiting Jaehwi’s daughter earlier than four in the afternoon, you see for the first time what happens in the first half of her days.

The different thugs and lowlifes under the employ of her father visit her for some reason. They greet her, make small talk with her, ask her for ‘her blessing’ before they go around and do god-knows-what. Nothing untoward. Nothing slimy. They treat her more like an idol to be worshipped than a dainty daughter they needs to be taken care of. They tell her about their exploits, about their ventures, hoping she would support them with a few kind words. But she isn’t much for words. She just nods and thanks them for stopping by.

You worry some of them would recognize you—because oh boy, do you recognize a good amount of them. Like Eyepatch, who came to her bragging about the new businesses he contracted into the Clan’s protection scheme—you’re pretty sure you’re the reason he’s only got one eye now. Or Mohawk, who showed her the brand new watch he bought with the money he made through Clan work—you could have sworn that was a fake; you broke the real one two months ago when you broke his wrist too.

Instead of worrying, you try not to think too deeply into it and let them pass.

Second, her trauma. Or whatever this is that she’s experiencing. 

You think it might be some adverse reaction to disobeying her dad’s command to stay at home. But when you hear Areum actively supporting and encouraging you to help her, you begin to wonder if it’s something else.

You start by getting her used to standing by the open door. That seems easy enough to do. But even then, she’s already clinging to the hem of your track pants every time like she’d seen a ghost.

Once she’s pinching your clothes a little less, you accompany her in taking her first few steps outside. Just on the sidewalk. She’s trembling like she’s about to collapse, but you stay by her side the entire time, reassuring her, letting her know you were right there. If she could clear Woodland Mansions by herself, surely standing on the sidewalk was no challenge for her.

Then she’s able to cross the street. Then she’s able to head down to the other end of the road. Then she’s able to head towards the bus station, and down into the subway.

One step at a time, you managed to help her conquer her fear. And she insists she is only able to do so because you held her hand the entire time. You don’t even notice you were doing that, but hey—if it helps, then it helps.

Nothing more to it than that.

Come the day you both agreed on to go to the mall together, you arrive at the estate on time this time around. But the gorilla at the gate stops you once again.

“Really? How many times are we going to do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Just let me in. I have a d—I have somewhere to be with her.”

He raises a brow at your change in tone. “Like always—I.D.. No I.D.? No entry.”

“You’re impossible.”

Half hoping Areum would show up again, you give it a few minutes. Sure enough, a head pokes out of the door to greet you.

But it isn’t Areum’s.

“H-Hi …” she meekly greets, taking one shy step after the other as she meets you outside the gate. “Sorry, I was … already waiting for you here. Do I look ok? For the mall?”

Your eyes don’t even hesitate to look her up and down. She’s wearing a lovely little frilly dress with ruffles that flowed downwards to her knees and a trench coat over it to keep her warm. You look away to avoid the eagerness in her eyes as you nod. “It looks fine. Yeah. Good enough.”

She pouts and rubs her nape. “Maybe I overdressed—.”

“No. You um, you look great. You really do,” you push out of your lips, feeling the heat rising from your chest. It didn’t help that the gorilla was eyeing you very carefully. “Although I think you should put a disguise on. Or something.”

“A disguise?” she asks, covering her lower face with one hand. “Who am I hiding from? My father?”

“No, it’s just … do you even follow the news? Your face was everywhere just two weeks ago. Even if you aren’t the talk of the town anymore, someone’s bound to recognize you,” you lie to her. You know damn well why you’re telling her to put on a ‘disguise’.

You don’t want anyone else to fawn over how beautiful she looks right now.

Pursing her lips, she looks like she wants to refute you, but caves to your request anyway. She asks Areum to give her a face mask and a cap to wear. “How about now? Is this better?”

It’s not. It’s worse. Way worse. For you, at least.

Because now that half her face was covered, all you can focus on are her eyes, on how soft and elegant they are—like a cat’s. A cat who knows how to crush your ribs and squeeze the air from your lungs with just one look. With every look. Now, they’re all you can see when you look at her, and it’s getting harder to think of anything but her damn eyes.

“Um, so …?”

It was the gorilla who answered on your behalf with a chuckle. “You look beautiful, young lady. Don’t let this dumbass tell you otherwise.”

You roll your eyes and take her hand. “Let’s go.”

To be clear, this is not a date. You’re just taking the syndicate leader’s daughter to the mall to buy gaming gear. That’s it. That’s all it has to be.

To whom you needed to clarify that with, you aren’t so sure. But it’s good to keep in mind as the day goes on.

She’s never taken the train, so you teach her everything she needs to know. You get her a card and tell her to keep it for future use. You show her how to use it, how to squeeze into a packed train, how to know when it’s your stop.

But you get the idea she’s not really paying attention because her eyes are glued on you the entire time.

You do your best to keep her from bumping into the other passengers, positioning her next to the doors, but as the train continues to fill, you’re left with no choice but to encroach on her personal space.

One arm above her head, your face hovering above hers, you wince every time some idiot bumps into your back, making you press up closer to her. But she doesn’t look away.

All she looks at is you.

When you reach your stop, you show her the directions to get to the mall from here. You hope she was at least paying attention this time, so she could get here by herself in the future. But her eyes would not meet anyone’s. She keeps her head down, hand tightly squeezing yours, as the two of you walked down the bustling city streets to get to the mall.

Once you’re there, she lightens up a little bit.

Her doe eyes widen in amusement as she’s exposed to the different sights within a mall: the different stores, the scattered stalls, the occasional advertiser, the free samples, the nonstop escalators, the oddly placed water fountain, the annoying kids—all of it. She takes it all in with a sense of wanderlust.

And you can’t help but smile.

You take her to the gaming store you used to frequent years ago. You hardly recognize the staff, so a discount was out of the question, but you do find what you promised to buy her. You’re set to pay for the black Logitech mouse and matching black earphones with your own money—the money you scrounged up after yesterday’s marks. But she’s holding this pink Hello Kitty designed mouse close to her chest, and then she’s looking at you with those eyes, and before you knew it, you’re returning what you had picked out and instead slid her pink mouse and pink earphones towards the cashier. You are not safe from a mechanical keyboard either, and when you try to reason with her saying her laptop already has a keyboard, her eyes droop just the slightest bit and it was all over for you once again.

You curse underneath your breath, but she’s next to you, holding your arm as she watches her new gear get bagged. And for some reason, seeing all that was more than enough to make it up to you.

She wasn’t sure what else she wanted to buy because she wasn’t sure what else existed in the mall. So you take her around.

She has no reason to be shoulder-to-shoulder next to you. She has no reason to lean into you whenever she was avoiding passers-by. She has no reason to still be holding your hand either since you had no intent of leaving her behind. But you let her. You let it happen. You both continue to play the role of the soon-to-be-married couple.

Because damn it, it was starting to feel … nice.

If being a couple meant you could get away with hearing her whimper and throw a tantrum whenever she loses against you at the arcade, if it meant getting an excuse to wipe the crepe filling from the corner of her lips, if it meant allowing you to press your cheek against hers at the photobooth, or sitting her on your lap when all the benches are full, or even fixing her hair when it gets messy underneath her cap, then damn it—who the hell wouldn’t cash in on this experience?

The least you can do with your predicament is enjoy it.

Once her stomach is filled, and her legs are tired, and you’re carrying more paper bags than either of you would have expected, she gives you a certain smile with her eyes that signals that she’s satisfied now, and that she’s ready to go home.

“Thank goodness we’re done. I don’t know how much I can still carry,” you tease, lifting up one hand, showing how each finger was connected to a separate bag. “You went wild with my money, didn’t you? Shopping always feels better when you’re not the one paying for it.”

She chuckles and leans into you, nuzzling her head. “You’re always going to be paying for me when I go shopping.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” you genuinely ask. A part of you dreads it, but a greater part of you is somehow looking forward to it.

“Of course. When we get married, we’re doing this every week.”

“Every week?” you repeat, letting out an exaggerated sigh. “I’m filing for a divorce before our first anniversary then.”

She leans in to punch you, but her attention is caught by something else.

It’s about half an hour to closing time, and as you both circle around the atrium to get to your exit, you notice some sort of event ongoing.

The circular central area has been converted into a makeshift dance floor. Scattered around it, couples are locked in a slow dance, swaying to the beat of the songs that the mall speakers were playing.

You want to say something funny about their masquerade theme, but her eyes are heavily trained on the dancing couples that glided across the improvised dance floor. She watches as they pull apart, come together, twirl around, and bow before one another—all while remaining connected the entire time.

When she returns to you, her eyes fall between her feet. So you stop in your tracks.

“Let me guess—you want to dance?”

“I … I was just …”

You smile and lift her chin up. “You want to dance, don’t you? Go, I’ll hold our things.”

But she pouts and shakes her head. “I can’t dance alone. Dancing like that is for two people.”

You’re confident you can list the different ways someone could dance alone, many of which would probably end up with you sounding stupid. But as she holds your hands and tugs you towards the music and dancing, you take a deep breath and reluctantly nod.

“Ok, I guess we can dance for a song or two.”

You grew up with two left feet. Dancing was the last item on your bucket list of things to learn when growing up. You imagine she’s got no experience with it either.

But damn, does she make it feel easy.

She puts on her face mask again to try and keep to the theme. You know it’s probably a bad idea, but you pull out the crow mask you always keep tucked away behind you and put it on. She stares at you and can’t help but laugh. “You look stupid. Where were you hiding that?”

“I … let’s just say I always want to be ready to join a masquerade ball.”

Her hands move when yours can’t. They slide up your elbows, towards your shoulders, and find purchase around your nape. Clinging to you, she smiles with her eyes and pulls you closer. Meanwhile, your hands are awkwardly resting by her hips, bags swaying with every motion, fingers afraid to dig too deep into her skin.

And you dance. The two of you, in your own little spot on the dance floor, swaying each other to the rhythm of the songs. It isn’t complicated. It isn’t intense. You both just allow yourselves to feel the rhythm against your combined bodies, and hold each other as you dance.

“I had fun today,” she mutters through her mask, looking into your eyes. You can almost see the crow mask looking back at you through the reflection on her irises. “I … I always seem to have fun when I’m with you.”

“And here I thought I was the only one enjoying this arranged marriage situation of ours,” you fire back, and it earns a soft giggle from her.

“You know, it made me … it made me think,” she continues with a whisper, pulling you even closer, so that now, the tip of your crow mask was dancing around her own protected nose. “If we met under different … circumstances, would we … would we still be like this?”

Your fingers twitch against her waist. “What do you mean? Would we still be getting married?”

“Would we have really fallen in love?”

You never considered this—whatever you two were doing, whatever you two had—as love.

In fact, you have never thought about love for the past eight years. You thought every last notion of such a feeling left you the moment your parents died. Since then, nothing’s really been the same anyway. And between chasing after goons with bullets or avoiding being hunted yourself, there was never really a pause—a space—where you can breathe and think about anything other than surviving, other than revenge.

But right now, confronted by such a question, you allow yourself the space to think about it.

“I … don’t know. If I didn’t sign up to be your husband, I don’t think I would have ever done … any of this—any of what we did—with someone else. I don’t think I’d make a good partner, really. If … if only you knew …”

She reaches towards your face with one hand and plucks your mask off you, holding it by the tip of its nose. “Then show me the real you. Not the you that’s trying to just … make me happy with our situation. I want to see who you really are, and … I want to see if I can fall in love with that. Please?”

You bite your tongue and try to control your breathing. Your physique isn’t this terrible—you’re not supposed be left sweating and out of breath by just a few circles around a dance floor. But somehow, you are. You’re utterly weakened by her words, and you’re absolutely ensnared by her eyes.

Just like how she pried your mask off of you, you dig your fingers between the strings of her face mask and pull it off her too. “Then I want to see the real you too. The you you want to become outside of your dad’s shadow. The you that’s beyond the Devil Cat Clan. The you that’s been there all along, waiting to come out.”

And just like that, she blushes like a flower learning to blossom for the first time, reddening like a tomato in a heartbeat.

There are two pistols hidden inside the length of your pants, each with about sixteen bullets loaded in. You have your hwando strappedagainst your chest, underneath your jacket, waiting to be unsheathed. And you have two separate garrotes hidden inside the heels of your shoes.

But despite all that, you don’t even think about killing her—or her father—for even a second. No. All you can think about is how you can keep sharing moments like this with her. 

Because god damnit—it feels great.

It feels unreal.

==

Yeah, it’s safe to say the plan has fucking changed right about now.

You’re on the third week towards your upcoming marriage with Jiwon and you have made zero progress on your little revenge plan. If you aren’t going to do anything soon, you might find yourself married instead to the very organization you swore to burn to the ground.

But somehow, that idea doesn’t bother you anymore.

Your days with Jiwon begin to change. Since your vow to each other that night at the mall, your lives start to bleed into one another.

Jiwon asks you about the your track suit get up, your crow mask, and the weapons you always bring around with you. You just tell her it’s for safety purposes, but she’s not buying it. She begs you to stop bringing them around with you. And if she hadn’t asked you of it, you never would have. So you stopped packing them—for her sake. But the track suit agenda persisted.

Jiwon introduces you to her garden. This is the first time she formally does so. She tells you each of their names, recalls which years she started taking care of them, how much to water each of them, and what songs she likes singing to them on the daily. You tell her you want to hear one of her songs, and at first, she’s rather meek about. But when she realizes you spent five hours of your day just hearing her yap adorably about her beloved plants, she believes a song wouldn’t hurt—and oh boy, does she have such an angelic voice. You’re almost envious of the plants for hearing her sing every day.

Jiwon requests you to tell her about your life outside of her, about what you do for a living, about what you do for fun. You can’t exactly tell her you kill people for money. Instead, you tell her about the distant past. About how you used to study finance in college. About the sleepovers and all-nighters you used to pull with friends. About the times you would just jog early in the morning to help clear your head. And even about the times you crushed on certain girls around campus. And she listened. Jiwon listened to every last story of yours like they’re tales about another world. For you, they very well might have been given how long ago they were now, but you found some comfort in sharing your past with her.

You eat dinners together now. You spend hours at night laying next to her in bed talking about the silliest things. You greet her ‘good morning’ and ‘good night’ each day. You get her little gifts and trinkets whenever you can. You even count the time left until you have to go, and the time remaining until you can see her again.

Is this what it means to be really dating? You’re not quite sure. But the things that are bouncing around in your head, making your chest feel all sorts of different things—they feel very real to you.

“Im Kyung-Mi—forty-six, married, one of Jaehwi’s hoobae’s from his short time in university, now handles several laundering fronts for the Clan.”

“Bo Hana—twenty-nine, unmarried, operates phishing scams in six different online chatrooms, blackmails and extorts victims daily.”

“Mun Youngjae—thirty-one, married, moved from insurance fraud to loansharking, opened up a new lending business in preparation for his firstborn due in four months.”

But you let them all slide. You let those marks go for today like you have been doing for the past few days—much to Yujin’s surprise and dismay.

Why? Simply because you didn’t want to be late for your time with Jiwon.

Promising Jiwon not to bring guns around anymore changed the way you saw daily life again. For once, you don’t have to be always on your guard. For once, you don’t have to be in hiding. For once, you’re not living day to day between one chase to another. You can actually look forward to things. You can actually plan things farther than just a day at a time.

You can actually live.

So as you hand the paper bills towards the florist who helped assemble a lovely and fragrant bouquet for you, purchasing flowers for the very first time, you believe this was a better way to spend your money—better than a new pistol or a shiny new blade.

You hold the bouquet close to your chest with a smile. You feel stupid. You guess you look stupid. But right now, it hardly matters.

Because you are about to go on your very first date with Jiwon.

The two of you felt that it was only right that you both should properly have a date before getting married. So, you ended up scheduling a date today. As you walked towards the entrance of the estate with the flowers in hand, you briefly think about your impending deadline. Your impending need to resolve the shit you have in the background. But once the thought passes, you file it away and try not to think about it for now.

Everything’s going well. Why ruin that?

Before you can even greet the gorilla, and before he can even ask for your I.D. again, Jiwon’s head pokes out of the door and she greets you with the widest smile. “You’re here! You’re early.”

“And you’re already dressed,” you note, immediately noticing the black mini-dress she has on. It showcases her bare shoulders, her slender legs, and her collarbone draped with a small silver necklace. “You look amazing.”

The gorilla scoffed and turned away. “Kids these days. Just go on your bloody date already.”

Jiwon blushes and peeks inside. “Could you wait for a moment? I have company right now, but I’ll be ready to go in a few.”

“Not at all. Take your time,” you say as you follow her indoors.

She rushes away from you, and you wonder why she’s in a hurry. It’s only when you arrive at the courtyard and you see another beautiful young lady exiting Jiwon’s home that you realize what she meant.

This girl didn’t resemble Jiwon at all: jet-black hair, oval face, sharper eyes, flirty smirk, cropped top, concerningly short skirt.

Yeah, she was nothing like Jiwon.

This new girl approaches you with a grin that says she already knows what is going on. She eyes the flowers, then you, then chuckles behind a raised hand. “So you’re the man unnie’s getting married to.”

Unnie? Is this her sister?

“Yeah. Well, I guess this is me,” you raise, extending both hands to the sides. “It’s not much, but I guess it works.”

“It really does. For her,” she teases, smirking wider. “You’re all she ever talks about these days, you know? I had to come here and see for myself what you were all about. I think I can see where she’s coming from.”

You park that thought as you get all flustered holding your flowers for Jiwon. “I …”

The girl chuckles one final time before winking at you. “Take care of her, oppa. Don’t break her heart. She’s the only sister I have, so … make her happy.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” you proudly announce, lifting your chin. Finally, you regain some of your confidence back.

As the girl disappears into the hallways behind you, you trudge up to Jiwon to ask what that was about.

You catch her in the middle of touching up her lipstick. She wears lipstick now, apparently. When she sees you, she immediately closes her hand mirror and hides both behind her back. “I-I … I told you to wait for me.”

You crinkle your nose, and doing so almost makes you want to die. “You look pretty enough as you are. Who was that, by the way?”

“That’s Hyunseo. She’s my half-sister. She’s … the closest sibling I have among many others,” she explains, putting her makeup all into one bag before walking towards you. “And those?”

You extend your hand forward. “These are for you. It’s normal to give girls flowers on dates, right? I uh, I wasn’t sure if this was overboard.”

She leans into you to smell the flowers, letting out a blissful exhale. “Their lovely. Thank you. I’ll have Areum-unnie place them in a nice vase for me.”

Finally, you pop the question. “So um, are you … are you ready? For our first date?”

Jiwon bites her plump and freshly reddened lips and nods. “Yeah … yeah I’m ready.”

So you extend an arm out towards her, and she takes it, and you’re both giggling like teenagers over how silly you two are at your age over a simple stupid date.

The date was anything but—simple, maybe; stupid, not at all.

Going to the mall again felt derivative, and Jiwon isn’t sure if she can handle going to a crowded place again this soon. So you had the brilliant idea to take here somewhere you have always wanted to take a date to.

A cafe.

It had an interesting name. An alliteration of sorts. But what caught your eye was the ambience.

As the bell chimed when you open the door, you’re greeted by the barista at the cashier. You hold Jiwon’s hand as you both approached him and start to order.

“New couple?” he asks, trying to make small talk as he keys in things on the monitor.

Neither you nor Jiwon can respond right away, refusing to look at each other or the barista. The man chuckles and shakes his head. “Sorry if I got that wrong. I just see a lot of couples come by around this time of the day. Although … someone as cute as you, miss, would surely have no trouble finding a date around town—.”

Your hands moves before you can even think. You wrap an arm around Jiwon’s slender waist and pull her closer to you. “She’s mine. She’s my girlfriend. We’re getting married next week.”

You don’t know if the blush is from your cheeks or hers, but Jiwon leans into you and rests the back of her head against your collarbone. “Yeah … he’s my boyfriend. We’re on a date … n-not our first though! We’ve dated many times before um, before now. For sure …”

The barista swaps between looking touched to looking confused. “Ok miss … I was just teasing.”

A female barista elbows him as if to tell him off. “Don’t tease the customers like that! Sorry about him, he can get a little carried away sometimes. Drinks are on me.”

“For real?” you ask, and before the male barista can protest, the female one takes control of the situation with a nod. “Yes sir, please enjoy your stay!”

With that, you take your free drinks and sit yourselves towards the back. Jiwon looks like she wants to sit next to you instead of across from you, so you indulge her and drag your heavy chair towards her side of the table.

“Ahh~ Free drinks taste better than paid ones,” she hums between sips, knees bumping together.

“You never had to pay for any of your drinks before, what are you talking about?” you retort, taking a long sip of your iced americano. 

You banter a bit before talking about other things. About her Minecraft world. About her sister. About your refusal to wear anything but tracksuits. And about makeup brands.

And it’s perfect. This is perfect. She’s perfect.

You once dreamed of something like this. You don’t remember the exact details, but the feelings are warmer. The sensation is cozier. And the girl across you is more beautiful than you ever imagined—even when she has coffee shooting out of her nostrils after you make her laugh.

She’s unreal.

And then the topic goes to marriage. Your marriage. Next weekend.

The atmosphere surrounding you both tightens to a standstill. No one wants to make the first move towards that discussion. But somehow, one of you needs to speak up.

“So it’s next week,” you raise, taking one for the team as you set your cup back onto the ring it formed on the table. “How do you feel about it?”

She hesitates for a moment, pondering her words, but when she finds the right thing to tell you, it comes out without hesitation. “I still don’t like our arrangement, but … I can still like you, right?”

Damn she is really knocking you out of the park with every little thing she says. “That … I don’t think that’s a problem at all.”

She smiles, and so do you. But it fades away the moment she sees something behind you. “Oh no … oh no that’s …”

You turn around and see a flock of six men in suits and shades entering one after the other into the cafe. They don’t give the bell a break, ringing it continuously. They don’t stop for the greetings of the baristas either. Instead, they head right for you and Jiwon.

Once they surround you like a wall, they bow to their waists. One of them speaks up and says, “Lady Jiwon, the Master has requested your presence. He wants you and your fiancé to meet him right now. He’s already at the restaurant.”

You can visibly see Jiwon’s muscles tighten and lock in place upon hearing this. “My … my father? Why now of all times? I-I’m in the middle of—.”

“It’s his request, my lady. We’re just the messengers,” he explains as if in apology. “Please don’t delay this any father. You know how Master Jaehwi can get when he’s … kept waiting. We already have a car prepared for you.”

She glances towards the henchmen, then to you, then to her unfinished drink. Standing up carefully, she nods and holds out a hand shyly towards you. “Then I don’t have a choice … Please, lead the way.”

You take her hand and walk with her towards the parking lot, where a sleek black Mercedes-Benz awaits you.

The ride to the restaurant is a short one, but the silence throughout it made it feel like forever. Jiwon says nothing to you—in explanation, in apology, in request—almost like she’s already assented to the situation. You recall how docile she was previously with Areum and the other staff. You can only imagine how pious she is towards her father.

You’re brought to a large Chinese restaurant. The signboard, carpets, and staff uniforms were all a blinding shade of red. You were never one for Chinese cuisine, but you can tell this restaurant was different—more refined, more elite, more extravagant.

You are proven right almost immediately when you are lead towards a private room on the second floor, where an all-too-familiar figure was seated at the opposite end of the round table surrounded with dishes and meals.

Kim Jaehwi.

Your hand clenches so hard around Jiwon’s hand that she winces from the pain. But you can’t help yourself. You curse your better senses for coming here without any weapons on you. Had you known you would have been in the same room with Jaehwi this afternoon, you would have ditched the pleasantries and snuck at least a small knife in with you.

He’s there. He’s just over there. And you haven’t got a single way to kill him.

So you choose to instead bow to him submissively, feeling your stomach curdle at the thought of showing deference to this wretch. Jiwon does the same but lower than yours. Once you both stand upright once more and are allowed to take a seat, you stiffly sit on the edge of your chair and keep your back straight the entire time.

Jaehwi sips from his tea cup and sighs. “So. Jiwon, this is the man you’ve chosen to marry?”

His voice is coarse. His words are grating and repulsive like a fork scratching against a chalkboard in your head. His gaze is the worst. Those yellowing eyes scan your figure as if to evaluate you, as if to judge you, and you can’t help but feel sick at the thought of allowing this man to appraise you like another business opportunity. “He seems decent. Good-looking. Well-off? That I do not understand. Why marry someone without a notable background? Is it for love? You’re not making it any easier for yourself if you don’t start thinking about what’s best for you and your future.”

Jiwon makes no attempt to tell her father otherwise.

Sighing, he uses his chopsticks to pluck up a pair of chicken feet, slurping on it like you two weren’t there. Jiwon doesn’t motion to get anything, so you hold yourself back from eating as well. Besides, you lost your appetite the moment you saw his pathetic face.

“The marriage is next week, so I want to make sure everything is in order. Including your readiness,” Jaehwi raises, gesturing to Jiwon with his chopsticks. “Are you sure about this? I do not want to deal with the aftermath of your indecision on the day of your marriage.”

He doesn’t sound like a father ensuring his daughter wouldn’t be making a mistake. He sounds more like a syndicate leader gauging whether his biological investment has finally matured—has finally been secured.

You turn to Jiwon, only able to offer your hand in support. You aren’t completely sure yourself either—especially not after seeing this bastard’s face again. But for now, an answer to placate him will do.

But Jiwon doesn’t say a thing even in the face of such a life-changing decision.

Her father shrugs once more and continues stuffing his bowl of fried rice with more steamed fish. “If you’re not going to say anything to me, then at least enjoy the food. And the wine. Help me finish it, you two. It was very expensive.”

The food is fresh and well-cooked. It’s incredibly rich and flavorful—your opinion of Chinese cuisine has changed. But the wine is too strong for your taste. Just one sip and you know you’re going to regret drinking more than one glass of this. Unfortunately, you’re made to help finish the whole bottle along with Jiwon, who already reddens at the face with just a few sips.

By the time your dinner with Jaehwi is over, you are one dead body, one decent plan, and one responsive fiancée short. As much as you curl your fingers into the arms of your chair at the sight of Kim Jaehwi fleeing your presence still alive after weeks, months, and years of striving to get to him, the only one you can think of right now is the girl next to you.

Once the door closes behind you two, Jiwon lets out an audible gasp like she’s been holding her breath like she’s held her tongue against him this entire time. “Thank god he’s gone … I don’t think I can drink wine anymore either …”

You lean to rest your forehead against hers in an act of comfort. You’re pretty buzzed yourself, so you’re not sure why you thought physical intimacy like this is a good idea. But you roll with it. “Are you ok? You weren’t saying anything the entire time. I was worried.”

Jiwon nods, rubbing her temple against yours. “That’s just … that’s just how I am with my father. I can’t say anything against him … to him … He just does what he wants to anyway.”

“Don’t think about him” you say. Whether thats to Jiwon or to yourself, you’re not entirely sure. “Let’s get you back home. You look redder than I’ve ever seen you before.”

She turns to you and giggles in an uncharacteristic manner. You chalk it up to the alcohol in your systems. “Really~? I feel … light. But also … numb? Is that a thing?”

She flicks your nose and chuckles again. “Are you going to carry me? I don’t think I can walk like this.”

As if to prove her point, Jiwon stands up and immediately loses her balance, swaying unsteadily as her hands come flying around her. You catch her by the waist and ground her before lifting her into your arms and carrying her.

She gasps and clings to your neck as you bring her down the stairs towards the car that’s been waiting for you both.

When you’re both dropped off at the estate, it’s already well past midnight. Jiwon’s humming different melodies to herself as she’s in your arms once again. It’s only when you lay her down in her bed that she calms down from her alcoholic high and turns to face you with more sincerity on her face.

Tapping the free space on the bed, she invites you to join her. You waste no time tucking yourself into bed with her again. Like you always do.

She stares up at the ceiling, and so do you. You think you might stay like this for a while until both of you fall asleep. But it’s when Jiwon asks you a question that you realize she’s not in the mood for sleep just yet.

“Can I ask you something? And I want you to be honest with me,” she starts, still talking to the ceiling. “Why are you still doing this? Why are you still … trying to get married to me?”

You shrug. “The food here’s pretty good. I get free car rides once in a while. Get to relax some and fool around. But most of all? I get to see a pretty woman each time I visit. I think that’s the real kicker to this arrangement, honestly.”

She rolls her eyes. You can tell from your peripheral. “You always call it that. An arrangement. Our predicament. Our situation. Is this all it will ever be to you?”

You never really thought of it deeper than that before.

What were you two? 

Outside the upcoming marriage. Outside the awkward beginning. In between the stolen moments here and the genuine instances there. What exactly were you and Jiwon?

You don’t know at this point. You don’t fucking know at all.

“I could ask you the same thing. Why are you still tolerating me—?”

“I’m not tolerating you. I never was,” she replies sharply, turning to face you now on her side. “You’re … you’re not what I expected.”

“What exactly were you expecting from someone who’s supposed to be your future husband?”

“I … I don’t know. Someone weird? Desperate? Just … not this. Not this at all.”

You smirk, nodding at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment then. But you’re asking all the questions—let me ask you some too.”

“Sure. What do you want to know?”

“Why did you choose me?”

The question catches her off-guard as you see her staring past you in thought. “Why did you choose me that day? Your dad, Jaehwi—he had a point earlier. Why me? You could have picked someone richer or more influential to help you run this syndicate better. You could have chosen someone smarter or more capable than me to support you in the future and give you a stable life. But me? I’m … I’m just a no one. I’ve got nothing going for myself or to my name. All I can give you … all I can do for you … is this.”

You lift your hand in an arc across the air. With just that motion, you point at all the things that have been added to Jiwon’s room over the weeks that you’ve been together.

But Jiwon shakes her head in defiance to your self-deprecation. “Do you remember what I told you the last time you asked me that?”

“Sort of. Something about not being threatening enough. Something about feeling safe,” you recount, hoping it was right.

Smiling, she wiggled her way towards you and pressed her face into your chest. She waits for you to wrap an arm around her, and when you finally do, she whispers, “I chose you because you had this look in your eyes. Like you were just as lost and … broken … as I was. And it just … it just sort of clicked in my head.”

Jiwon looks up at you and asks, “Tell me … do you think broken people can ever be fixed again? Do you think … do you think we can still feel complete?”

You take a long and deep breath, let the air fill your lungs, and watch as your chest rises and falls with the exhale, before attempting to even answer that question.

“I … I used to think some of us are broken beyond repair. Some things … some people … they ruin us. Immensely. Like we’re distorted beyond recognition. Like we’re … warped beyond the point of return. And it’s not our fault. Life’s cruel like that. But lately? Lately I’ve been thinking that maybe … just maybe … we only believe we’re broken beyond repair because we can’t see the whole picture. Something or someone might walk into our lives and … remind us of who we once were. What we can still be.”

You don’t notice you’re embracing her tighter now. You can feel her struggling to catch her breath beneath you, so you loosen up a bit. But even then, she chases after your touch and nuzzles against your chest. “That was beautiful. I’ve never heard you say something almost … poetic like that.”

You chuckle, pushing away the stray strands of her hair. “Just speaking what comes to mind. Just speaking my truth.”

After sharing a few more moments together like this, Jiwon pulls away and moves towards the edge of the bed, sitting up. This scares you for a moment, and it occurs to you that you don’t like the feeling of seeing her leave like that. Instead, she takes several deep breaths before finally doing what she meant to do.

She saunters over towards the foot of her bed, kneels down, and withdraws something deep underneath the bedframe. Once she pulls out what appears to be a small wooden box, she trembles as she walks over to your side.

You sit up and join her, placing a hand on her thigh. “I … I wasn’t always like this. The me you see right now? It’s … it’s broken. It’s missing. Not that I’m lying to you or anything, but … I’ve just felt incomplete since … since my mother died.”

The weight of her words presses against your chest. “Your mom? You never talked about her.”

She nods, acknowledging it, but not without the first few tears escaping from her eyes as she recalls what she must have been keeping locked up for so long now. “My mother … my eomma, she … she was the person I loved most in the world. She used to live with me here, you know? We did everything together. She taught me everything I know—how to take care of plants, how to sing, how to … how to carry myself in front of my father. It was just … me and her. Me and her against the world. That was until … until she died.”

Jiwon opens the box on her lap and takes out a necklace that sat on top of the other trinkets inside. She holds it up towards her collarbone, and you see how it forms a matching set with the necklace still wrapped around her neck.

“This was my mother’s … We wore it together whenever w-we went out,” she pushed out between sobs. “You … You reminded me of her. She would always be the one guiding me, showing me around, taking me places … It wasn’t too often, a-and I never really paid attention, but … to me, those moments were what I treasured the most.”

Then she hunches forward and lets out a sharp whine as she takes out the remaining contents of the box. They’re pictures—pictures of a young Jiwon with her mother. Some were in full color while others still had that nostalgic paint of aged film. “These … these are all that I have left of her because … because … she died. Just … just last month.”

You feel a heavy chill drag across your spine as you stare at the woman in her photos.

“They said she was killed on the way home from the airport b-by … by an unknown attacker.”

You think back to the three bullets. The skidding car. The blood on the ground.

“She was gone for months … abroad … and I was so excited to see her come back a-a-and tell me about her trip, but … but …”

Then you think back to your final mark as they exited the vehicle, crawling, pleading, begging for mercy.

“Now … she’s dead … And I’ll never get to talk to her again …”

Like a moment frozen in time, you remember now what that woman said to you as you pressed your blade into her neck.

“Please … mer … -cy … I have a daughter … a child … let me see her again first …”

And you remember what you told her in reply.

“I had parents once too. And your godforsaken clan never gave me the chance to save them. So why should I spare you?”

Before she could even sob, your blade had already done its work.

How cruel is the world?

How cruel is fate to have made your path intertwine with Jiwon only to end up with this scathing realization? You couldn’t even think about the marriage. You couldn’t even think about comforting her in your arms. Because all you could think about right now was how wrong you had been.

How wrong you have been this entire time.

For the past eight years, you’ve been bitterly chasing after your revenge. You believed that each kill, each murder, each slaughter, was another step closer to avenge your dead parents. Did it never occur to you that these people had hopes and dreams too? That these people had families too? That these people might have also been like you—victims of the system, other cogs affixed into this bloody, relentless machine?

Did it ever occur to you that, with each life you took, you were possibly ruining another’s?

And what did you hope to gain after each kill? What did you hope to achieve after murdering every last member of the Devil Cat Clan—even Kim Jaehwi himself? Would that have made you happy?

The emptiness inside you says otherwise.

Jiwon collapses into the crook of your neck, sobbing into your shoulder, but you remove herself from you and gently push her away. She stops for a moment and glances at you. “Wh-what …?”

You shouldn’t. You know you goddamn shouldn’t. But you go against your better senses and cave towards your conscience that’s screaming blasphemies into your mind. 

You should have kept quiet. You should have just let the moment pass. But you feel sick to your very core, and you can’t in good faith continue on with this—whatever this is—with Jiwon any further.

Not without telling her the truth.

“You asked about the guns … and the blade … and the weapons,” you start, staring between your feet, unable to look her in the eye anymore. “You asked me what I did outside of you … what I did in my free time … what I did for work. Jiwon, I-I … I’m a vigilante. I put justice into my own hands because the system has failed me before. I kill people for money, Jiwon … I-I-I kill people because I want my revenge. On your father. On your clan. Because they killed my parents eight years ago and left me broken like this …”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and begin to weep. “She was … just another mark to me. I didn’t care—I never cared for them. I just … wanted them gone. Wanted them all gone. Jiwon, I … I’m … I’m sorry. I’m the one who killed your mother that day.”

Silence. Nothing but silence.

Then it comes one at a time.

First came the slamming of knees to the ground. Then the shattering of a wooden box against the wall. Then hair being tugged accompanied by screams and wails of pain. Then, you hear crying. Endless, volatile, heavy crying. As Kim Jiwon comes completely undone on the floor.

You look away. But you can’t. You force yourself to look at her—at the mess you made.

At the life you ruined.

“Get … get out …”

You hold your breath and reach a hand towards her. “Jiwon, I—.”

“I said … get … OUT! GET OUT OF HERE!”

Like a ghost dragged out from your dead carcass, you float past her and through her door without a heft of weight to you. Behind you, her door slams shut as her wailing and shrieking continue to echo into the night.

Like Jiwon, you fall to your knees, slam your forehead against the floor, and continue bashing your head against the cold hard surface.

Over, and over, and over again. Not until the darkness takes you.

Not until the crying stops bleeding into your ears. Not until you have punished yourself enough.

At some point in the night, you are roused from your sleep. Whether you passed out from the fatigue or the pain, you find yourself stirred awake now and into a sit.

It was Jiwon.

You rub your eyes and blink rapidly in surprise and confusion. “Look … please, just let me—.”

She interrupts you by pushing a glass of water towards your lips. “Drink. We just had alcohol in our systems … that’s all. Nothing … nothing happened, ok? Just forget it.”

Not wanting to argue, you drink the water slowly down to the very last drop. You notice Jiwon has already drunken hers—her glass settled off to the side. As you finish your drink, you can’t help but feel an odd sense of warmth engulfing you, swallowing you, smothering you.

It’s only then that Jiwon gives you a defeated smile.

“It’s fast acting isn’t it—the poison?” she states calmly, body swaying from side to side like she’s still intoxicated. “Who knew that the kiss of death could feel this … warm?”

You start to choke and gag on instinct, feeling your veins start to swell and your lungs start to burn. “What … what did you do to me? What did you put in our drinks?”

But Jiwon shakes her head, not even bothering to wipe the tears from her eyes anymore. “We’re both broken … You thought we could still be fixed … You thought we could fix each other, but … all we did was break one another all the more … My family hurt yours, so you hurt mine … Let’s end this cycle of hatred right here.”

She reaches forward to caress your face one final time, and all you can see as your vision grew hazy is her scared and tired eyes looking back up at you. “Thank you for trying … but it’s ok now. This is it for us, so … just let it happen. Let it take you.”

You wait a minute. Then five. Then ten. But when you expect to die, you instead grow warmer by the moment. “What … what exactly did you mix into our drinks?”

Jiwon, who is completely flustered and beginning to sweat, replies, “I-I … I found a bottle in my father’s bathroom while you were asleep. I thought … I thought it was some kind of poison. It was labelled ‘aphrodisiac’—”

Your eyebrows twitch. “Jiwon that’s … that’s not a poison … that’s …”

You don’t even get the chance to laugh at her mistake. The warmth and the pressure that’s been building up from the aphrodisiac now spread downwards and made your nether region throb with need. “That’s for arousal …”

Jiwon eyes your growing need that’s straining within your pants. She can feel that growing need inside her too—you can tell from the way her breaths grow more ragged and intermittent. “I-I … I didn’t know … God, I-I-I can’t even kill myself properly … I’m such a failure …”

But her tone spoke nothing of regret. Her eyes indicate nothing of remorse. Instead, her quivering lips, and the way her tongue dances across them as she eyes you, spoke of another sensation altogether.

Desire.

She’s on you now, climbing your laying body on all fours. You try to push her away, but you knew better than to hurt her any further. Once she’s straddling your hips, unknowingly grinding circles against your crotch, she leans forward and whispers into your ear. “Let me just make one more mistake … please …”

And just like that, you’re both a maelstrom of lust and unbridled desire.

Her hands tear through your clothes, stripping you off your last remaining ounces of dignity. She stares at the chest and abdominals you’ve been hiding underneath your stupid jacket, traces your scars with a finger, then immediately, she’s running her hands all over them.

You can’t resist her yourself either. Hands flying towards her minidress to pluck the strings off her tight figure one by one. Once she’s sliding out of it, you peel her underwear off her like you’re plucking petals from a flower. When you’re both aligned in the right way, you waste no time turning into a mess of bouncing, licking, and thrusting as you consume one another.

Neither of you have been this hungry before. Neither of you would feel sated until you had gone the whole way.

And so you see it through. All. Night. Long.

Come the morning, you find yourselves naked on Jiwon’s mattress. Somehow, at some point in the night, you both managed to make it here. Both pillows were now on the floor along with the comforter that usually came above your bodies. She’s laying on her stomach next to you, eyes struggling to stay open.

You get one last glance of her bare form—not an inch of her left uncovered—before she screams at the top of her lungs.

Screaming that you had soiled her in her sleep.

==

“Chwe Yeonseok—.”

Bang.

“Han Yongjin—.”

Bang.

“Tang Jisu—.”

Bang.

“Lee Min-ah—.”

Bang.

“Chae Woojin—.”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

As you drop the bloody insignias on the bar counter and shove it towards Yujin, you expect the payment for hitting your marks. That’s thrice your daily usual—just like the previous days this week. But when the wads of cash arrive, you simply flit through each bill with a soulless gaze before stuffing it into your pockets.

You should have been fine.

The Devil Cat Clan kicked you out of their property as soon as Jiwon cried wolf. It was a miracle they didn’t beat you to death then and there. The proof was undeniable with how both of you were naked. The aphrodisiac turned out to be useful somehow.

Jaehwi said nothing about your alleged assault of his daughter. He let you keep your head, so you used it to keep going and going and going.

You’re back at The Requiem again. You’re taking jobs left and right. Murdering without question. Killing without doubt. Earning paycheck after paycheck. No longer worried about goons on your back—at least, goons from the Devil Cat Clan. You told Yujin no more of those marks—not for now, at least. You no longer have to contemplate an arranged marriage either. You were finally free.

But something was missing. And Yujin points this out as she offers you another glass of whiskey.

“Rough week? What the hell happened this time? Shouldn’t you be happy you made an entire month’s checkout in just a few days?” she prods, polishing a glass she just rinsed. “What’s up with you? You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“When have I ever been myself since I showed up at your place, An Yujin,” you sigh after your chug your drink, smudging the back of your hand against your dried lips. “Just let me make my money in peace.”

“But what are you doing it for?”

The question comes out of the blue, and you could have sworn you heard another voice asking you that. But when your gaze returns to Yujin, who’s now bent over the counter, she continues, “What is it even all for? I took you in here eight years ago thinking you would have sorted out your life by now if you found your purpose. But what is your purpose?”

You shrug, demanding another drink. But Yujin refuses.

“Do you know why you’re the oldest hitman here?” Yujin raises, staring at the several other lowlives gathered at The Requiem alongside you two. “That’s because everyone else who’s come before you already found their shit in life. They made peace with their inner demons. They’ve moved on. So when will you?”

Her words burn your throat more than the whiskey does.

Before you can think of a reply, you hear something on the TV. “—duled this weekend. It will be held—.”

You snatch the remote from the spectacled bloke next to you and struggle to return the channel back to the news station.

It’s a segment about Jiwon. She’s still getting married this weekend. Although, right next to her now is a picture of a familiar lion-looking fellow in a tight white suit.

“You know that guy?” Yujin asks, gesturing towards Alex. “Have you bumped into him before?”

“Could say that,” you slur, feeling the alcohol get to your head. “Met him once.”

“You’re insane. You’re absolutely insane,” she lauds, shaking her head. “That’s the son of the Golden Dragon Gang’s boss. He’s larger than you think. And now, he’s going to marry the legitimate child of the Devil Cat Clan. That smells like trouble.”

You raise a brow. “Why? Won’t that mean our marks get easier to find now that they’re merged?”

But Yujin shakes her head. “The Golden Devil Gang’s a bunch of menaces. If they merge with the Devil Cat Clan, they’ll have more goons under their control to do their dirty work. Even if the Clan’s done some terrible shit in the past, they don’t resort to violence first. But the Gang does.”

The man you stole the remote from whistles. “Bummer. Feel bad for the old man—Jaehwi? Once his daughter gets married, she’ll likely take control of the Clan. But since she’s marrying into the Gang, the Gang will likely take control on her behalf. Reshuffle staff and personnel. Relocate their bases. Might even force Jaehwi to fully retire.”

You think back to how Jiwon fits into all of this. You think of how she’ll lose the only people in her life because of this merger—because of this marriage.

You think back to her crying face. To how she punches you whenever you tease her. To the way she curls up in her sleep.

You think of all the time you spent together. Those numbered days counted against less weeks than you have fingers. You think about how you once look forward to meeting her at four in the afternoon each day—everyday. And you think about how disappointed you felt every time you had to leave.

You think of her beautiful eyes, of the scent of roses and elegance, and of her warm gentle smile.

And you watched it all vanish from view.

But then, you hear her voice in your head.

“Tell me … do you think broken people can ever be fixed again? Do you think … do you think we can ever feel complete?”

And then it hits you.

What was your life for?

That’s something you have thought a lot about now that you were alone once again. You thought it was the quiet moments when you could sleep with a comfortable mattress beneath you and a cozy blanket around you each night. You thought it was the unspoken moments when you can blast into criminals with your pistols or slice them up into bits and pieces with your hwando. You thought it was about chasing after your revenge, letting violence lead the way, until you’ve spilled every last drop of their blood against your feet, until you’ve squeezed every last ounce of your sorrow from your shallow little heart.

But that’s the problem, isn’t it? You clung to this path of yours like a vice. It rid you of your misgivings, but did it fill the emptiness that remained within you?

No. It left you empty still.

So what filled your life?

It was the color. The color she brought into your world.

Through the recollections of your past, through the little moments you shared, through the warmth of her cheek, through the tightness of her fingers against yours, through the echo of her laughter in your mind, and through the tightness in your chest when you are away—Kim Jiwon has not only brought glorious technicolor into your life once more.

She’s taught you how to live again. She’s taught you how to love again.

To love each day. To love yourself. And most importantly, to love her.

So when you realize all this, and you stand up to finally tell Yujin your answer, you realize what you have to do. She has given you your life back, and now, it was time for you to give back hers. “Yujin, give me rolls of hand wraps, pepper spray, a taser, and your finest suit. I’m … I’m going to need it.”

She doesn’t even question your request. She just smiles at whatever you’ve come to realize and nods. “I thought you’d never ask. I have just the right suit for you.”

And so you do it—you go chase after your purpose.

You chase after her.

Tugging on your tightened tie, dressed from head to toe in this sleek secondhand suit Yujin lent you—which she claims was from some renowned assassin, John Something-or-Other—you beat your wrapped up fists together to bolster yourself before you crossed the road and head towards La Luce Wedding Hall at Myeongdeong.

The entrance is crawling with goons from both the Devil Cat Clan and the Golden Dragon Gang alike. But you don’t care. You’re not here for them. You’re not here for any of them at all. You’re only here for one person and one person alone.

Kim Jiwon.

No bullets. No lethal weapons. Just carrying enough with you to get past some trouble.

You take a deep breath, put the crow mask back on, and charge right in.

Of course you’re stopped before you even get to the front steps.

The Clan henchmen are the first to recognize you. They wouldn’t miss your mask even with their eyes closed. They chase after you, pin you down, and start beating you up, eager to grab a piece of you as they threaten to rip you apart.

But you resist. You break free from their grasp and start sacking them in their pathetic faces. Throwing punches left and right with your wrapped up fists. Knocking them out cold but not dead.

This strategy of yours quickly falls apart the moment the Gang goons join in to stop you. So you whip out your pepper spray and taser and go ham on them. Leaving behind an ocean of tearing and paralyzed fully-grown men in your wake.

By the time you pushed into the lobby, you were out of spray and charges, so the moment the goons with blades and brass knuckles lounging around on standby spot your intrusion, you begin to panic.

Well, shit. This could get bloody. Now you’re starting to wish you had your pistols with you.

Boom.

Like a stampede that cascades past your vision, you see a hulking figure tackle all of them out of the way, clearing your path forward. This same burly figure sacks some of the Gang goons and grapples some of the resistant Clan thugs who are looking at him in shock.

You’re in shock yourself too when you realize who this is.

“Gorilla,” you mutter as you see the familiar bodyguard wrestle a dozen other Clan and Gang lackeys, keeping them in place. “You—.”

“Enough about me! I won’t ask for your goddamn I.D. again,” he quips even while his face is being beaten in. “You came. So do what you have to do. Go to her!”

You nod and waste no time taking advantage of this opportunity.

You check each and every function room just to make sure, but after crashing more than a handful of parties and celebrations with a roundhouse kick to the door each time, you’re certain that the wedding you’re looking for was down the corridor—at the grand hall.

You should have known from the way the guards stationed outside of the hall were holding guns this time.

One of them presses a finger into his earpiece and receives some sort of missive. When he sees you, he beckons to his comrades and they take aim towards you.

Well, shit. This isn’t good.

But just before your life could flash before your eyes, a circular object imposes itself before you, interposing between you and certain death.

“Young master, so you really did return,” Areum grunts, smiling down at you as she holds up her tray like she’s Captain fucking America, deflecting their bullets and holding them at bay. “Lady Jiwon is just up ahead. The ceremony is already under way but you still have time. Don’t waste it!”

When the rain of bullets stops and the men begin to reload, you give Areum a solid nod before darting towards them.

They try to reach for you with their empty weapons, trying to tackle you, trying to pin you down or smack you with their guns, but you’re too fast for them. You’re zigzagging through the traffic until you manage to burst through the doors of the grand hall.

You’re a mess.

Your mask is askew on your face. Your bandages are bloody and tattered. Your suit is anything but straightened. But here you were. You finally made it.

And immediately knives are being thrown your way.

You duck behind guests, shamelessly using them as meat shields, but they’re smart and immediately flee your vicinity. You curse under your breath as you have to kick over tables and chairs to protect yourself from the mixture of blades and bullets. You’re left wondering if this was the end of the line. If this is as far as you’ll get.

It isn’t until you see a princess in a lilac dress duck next to you behind your table that you see a spark of hope. “Hyunseo?”

“You promised to take care of my sister, didn’t you?” she recalls, loading up the gun she’s holding before shoving it towards you. “Then prove it. Don’t let that bloody Golden Dragon Gang’s son take my unnie away. Aim for the ones in white!”

You nod, and when you hear the clicks and clacks of reloading guns, you grab the opportunity to get back up and start firing at them one by one.

Bang. Between the shoulder and clavicle.

Bang. Right to the solar plexus.

Bang. Against the ankle.

You fired your gun only at the members of the Golden Dragon Gang who were dressed in white—and you didn’t shoot to kill. The moment the Devil Cat Clan noticed this, they ceased their assault towards you and watched as you cleaned up the last of the Gang men with weapons, rendering them all immobile.

And now, it was finally time.

Unaware of where the ceremony’s already at, you come bursting onto the aisle and lean forward on your knees to catch your breath. When you glance back up, you see Jiwon holding hands with Alex the Lion, wearing the most beautiful pure-white dress you have ever seen, her veil already pulled back to reveal her face.

You came just in time to stop the kiss.

Guests on either side of the aisle stand up in a mix of awe, surprise, and condemnation. Some try to boo you away from getting any further. Others murmur and gasp at your insolence for intruding. But you don’t worry about them. They’re either potbellied pigs who have fattened themselves up from crime money or senile veterans who showed up just for the ceremony of it all. They weren’t capable of harming you at all.

Towards the front, you see Kim Jaehwi standing now, watching you, not interfering whatsoever. You see Alex the Lion staring you down like a predator would another who dared to interrupt his hunt. Then, you see Jiwon glancing at you with those eyes that you’ve seen before—the look she has on her when she’s asking you to buy something or to get her something or to take her somewhere.

This is it. Everything has lead to this moment.

You undo your bandages and reveal your swelling fists. You take your hwando blade from behind your back and unsheathe it, making the blade shine underneath the yellow hall light. Tossing the casing aside, you do the unthinkable before the crowd.

You kneel before Kim Jaehwi—your sworn goddamn enemy—press your forehead between his polished shoes, and offer up your own weapon towards him.

“What is the meaning of this? What the fuck are you doing in MY WEDDING?” Alex growled from the altar, threatening you with nothing but words. “If you want to make a fool out of yourself, do it else—.”

“Ceremonial eviction.”

With those two words alone, you command the entire room in an instant as the grand hall falls silent to listen to you. “Ceremonial eviction. I read about it—about your Clan. When someone decides to quit without any good reason or is forced to leave due to misconduct, you perform a ceremonial eviction. You cut off a finger. Or a toe. Sometimes you even cut off an ear if it’s that bad. To make up for their insolence. To leave a mark on their bodies—a mark they can never forget.”

You raise your blade up higher. “I’ve used this weapon to kill hundreds … thousands of your Clan. I used this same weapon to … to kill your main wife, So Gowon. So I offer it to you, Kim Jaehwi. Use it to end my life, but just … just promise me that in exchange for doing so—for getting rid of the largest thorn in your side—you set her free. You let Jiwon go and allow her to live a proper life outside of this syndicate bullshit. That’s all I ask.”

You can’t see Jaehwi properly, but you don’t need to to envision the face he makes as he picks up your hwando. “You have the guts to murder my men, my people, and even my own wife … you even pretended to be interested in my daughter, then assault her, and then now … you have the gall to come waltzing back in here begging for her freedom? You sure make a lot of demands for a pathetic little wretch.”

With a deep breath, Jaehwi wastes no time. “Die. Die knowing your sacrifice will mean nothing in the end.”

Slink.

When you expect the blade to sink and tear through the skin of your neck, you instead feel the tickle of cloth and lace against your cheek along with the smell of roses.

You glance up and see Jiwon kneeling in front of you, interposing between you and her father—arms stretching out to the side, face drowning in tears, trembling in body but unwavering in spirit. “Stop, father … please don’t hurt him … If you want to let your frustrations out on someone, then … then let it be me. But not him. Not him. He’s already gone through so much in his life … more than I could ever hope to bear alone. He just … he just wanted to get revenge on the people who hurt him … on us … like you want revenge on the person who killed eomma … on him … Let me—let me take his punishment instead …”

Jaehwi spends a moment to take it all in, to take in the sight of his eldest daughter willingly throwing his life over a nobody like you instead of being wed to someone as well-off as Alex the Lion. 

With a chuckle, he stabs the blade into the wooden pew and crashes back onto it. “Who the fuck are you, huh? Who the fuck are you to my daughter that she comes bursting out of her shell to confront me just for you? You … you’re one lucky man—having such a fine young woman stand up for you so boldly like this,” he says, turning to his daughter now. “And you—I asked you once before, and I’ll ask you again: are you sure about this man?”

Jiwon helps you up to your feet and holds your wrists tightly. She doesn’t look anywhere else but right into your eyes as she asks you, “Did you … did you mean what you said to me that night? After we got drunk and got home? You said … you said broken people like us could still be fixed—could still feel whole—with other people. In other people. Because … because, god—I’ve had this hole inside of me ever since I could remember. Even before my mother. Even before her death … So please, tell me, did you mean it? Do you really mean it? Because … because you’ve managed to fill this aching hole of mine bit by bit ever since I met you, and now, I don’t know what else to fill it with—who else to fill it with—other than you.”

You take a step forward, and then another, and then a final one before you press your forehead against Jiwon’s and nuzzle into her. “Kim Jiwon, I meant every single word I said to you that night because you do the same for me. You made me … think of a future. You made me look forward to waking up again. And … you helped me find a purpose. Even if it meant just protecting you. Even if it just meant being with you and keeping you safe. Even if it just meant making a beautiful woman like you happy for the rest of her days. It brought me joy—a joy so overwhelming it’s filled more than just the hole in my heart.”

“Kim Jiwon, you gave me my life back … and I can’t thank you enough for it. With you, I feel complete. I feel whole. I feel … like me again. So please … let me help give you your life back too.”

Jaehwi seems satisfied with this. He takes out his pistol from his pocket and aims at Alex. “Get out of there, boy. This wedding’s continuing, but not with you.”

Flabbergasted, he strokes his mane back in place and glares at the old man. “Oh no, that isn’t happening, Jaehwi. My father and I struck a deal with you—.”

Bang. Jaehwi shoots him right in the knee, sending him crumpling forward and howling in pain. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about that now. Someone get him off the bloody altar.”

In mere moments, a mix of Clan and Gang thugs help escort Alex off the altar and into the front pews to lay him down and stop his knee from bleeding out.

Jaehwi turns to the both of you now, smiling. “Go, sweetheart. Get married to him like you were supposed to. And, son—don’t fuck it up this time.”

So you hold Jiwon’s hand, and she holds yours. You walk her down what little stretch of aisle is left until the altar. You both giggle when you realize that’s what father’s do with their daughters—not what future husbands do for their future wives.

You pull her veil down, only to pull it back up. When your eyes meet again for the first time in what feels like ages, you can’t help but get lost in them. The priest, who is absolutely still in shock over everything that just happened, asks you. “Do you accept this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

You think back to the time you two danced slowly, holding each other, masks off, just staring genuinely into each other’s eyes.

“Yes. I-I mean, I do. I do.”

As Jiwon chuckles, she gets asked the same thing. “And do you, in turn, accept this man to be your lawfully wedded husband from this day forward, to have and to hold, in good times and bad, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health; will you love, honor, and cherish him for as long as you both shall live?”

“Even if I have to die all over again and be reborn the next day, even if I have to find him through different biomes and different versions of reality—I will find him. And I will love him. I do. I really do.”

“Hey, wait, did you just make a Minecraft—.”

Before the priest can tell you to kiss the bride, your bride kisses you first. She drags you in with a need that’s more than passion or lust, and you respond in kind by pressing her lips against hers and holding her oh-so-close.

And as the organ begins to play the song of victory, and as the guests gathered here today cheer nonetheless for a successful wedding—some way, somehow—you dip Jiwon forward as you continue to kiss each other. Only when you break away to chuckle and nuzzle your noses together does that thought ever come to you.

“After all that’s happened to me, after all that we’ve been through, I still … can not believe that this is happening right now. This is absolutely unreal.”

Jiwon chuckles into your lips as she steals another kiss from you. “You know, we’re supposed to have our first kiss before we have sex for the first time. You got the order all wrong.”

You just shake your head against the teasing girl. “You’re unreal.”

But Jiwon shakes her head in reply as well. “No—we’re real now, my love.”

Sticking her head out of the sliding window, Gaeul stuck her tongue out and raised her hands in the air, feeling the rushing wind against her face. “Hell yeah! We are alive. WE ARE ALIVE!”

Meanwhile, Yujin is laughing right next to her, holding her by the waist, bent over your lap, elbows digging into your skin. “Ya, unnie! She’s fucking drunk, I’m telling you.”

“Ya think?” Rei groaned before she could burp, smashing her last can of beer against her soft cheek only to toss it out the window on the passenger’s seat. “Ya, Hyunseo-ah, are you sure you’re still ok? Better not be driving tipsy.”

“Unnnnnie~! I’m fine, I’m—HRK—fineeee~,” she hummed, eyes darting anywhere but towards the road as she addressed the chaos unfolding behind her in the back rows. “You should be asking, Wonyoung-unnie. She looks like she might pass out at any second now.”

“Not funny, Leeseo. If I had known—AHHH!” Wonyoung screamed as the car began to wobble left and right from their maknae hitting the stirring wheel with the back of her and the wrong way. “Jesus, Leeseo, focus on the road at least. I knew it was a bad idea giving you my card for all those drinks earlier.”

“Y-You’re only realizing this now?” Liz squeaked as she ducked behind Gaeul’s backrest, shuddering in place. “I-I-I told you drinking on our trip was a bad idea. The others are already a mess when they get tipsy at the dorms—what more now on our roadtrip?”

But you? You remained calm. A smile pulls up against the corners of your mouth as you let out the scene unfolding before you play out as it would—hands behind your back, elbows flared, sighing deeply. This was one hell of a summer vacation alright, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Just you and these girls chasing after the setting sun without a lick of fear on your backs.

That is, until Leeseo loses control of the wheel.

That is, until you slam into one of the guardrails that sends the van spiraling like a merry-go-round.

That is, until you find yourselves flying off the edge of the cliff, diving right towards the rocky bluffs beneath you, careening towards the horizon previously adjacent to you.

In this moment, time seemed to almost slow down to a stop.

The opened bag of chips ripped fully and sprays you in the face. The candy pouch someone had tucked away now bursted into the air like confetti. Your heart’s both fluttering and sinking at the same time. And so are your torso, arms, and legs.

As the van hurtles forwards towards your final destination, you have but a millisecond—an opportunity that wrinkled in time—to take one last look at your companions, at these girls.

In your final moments before death, who do you turn to?

The One That Got Away

The First

The One From Afar

The One In Silence

The One You Turn To

The Everything

But it was too late. When she reached the finish line and finally dropped her power, she tripped on her foot and smacked her chin against the smoothened dirt.

“And the winner is the Drift King, Moon Jihu! Congratulations!”

Spitting out dust and track dirt, Leeseo couldn’t even get a moment to wallow on her knees. The reporters came her way in an instant eager to bombard her with questions, so she straightened her singlet out and tried to look presentable with an awkward smile.

“Leeseo, Leeseo! You did amazing back there! This is the ninth consecutive time that you’ve placed on the podium—that’s every race since your debut. How does it feeling being second again?”

Terrible. Degrading. Worthless.

“It’s … an honor to be able to compete against all my tenured sunbaes here at the Super League. It’s always been my dream to race alongside them. I’ve wished for something like this ever since I was competing in the Regular League. I couldn’t have asked for more.”

“I see, and do you think you’ll sustain enough momentum to qualify for the Grand Two-K later this year?”

Out of the corner of her eyes, Leeseo spotted Jihu posing with all of his medals this season, adding another one to his collection. “Yeah … yeah, I think I’ll make it. Just need more … practice.”

Snap.

As soon as kid on the park bench broke his energy bar in half, Leeseo froze everything in time.

Shedding her windbreaker whose decent now slowed to a stop, she crouched down into her starting position, knuckles digging into the soil, and then burst into a tight sprint. She circled the playground three times, the center pond five times, and looped around the perimeter of the park three more times before crumpling onto the ground in front of the same kid from earlier.

Gasping for air, Leeseo checked the biowatch on her wrist. 24.

“Ssibal … I can’t keep practicing at top speed like this,” she cursed under her breath. Beside her, the crumbs from the energy bar were hovering in the air. “And still … he’s faster than me. Why? What am I doing wrong?”

As she stood up, she slipped on some leaves and lost control of her powers, and when she came stumbling forward, so did time return to normal as well.

A loud booming sound trailed her path.

“U-Unnie! You look—.”

Leeseo zipped to him, seated on his right, and pressed a finger to his lips. “It’s rude to talk to a lady about that. You want a girlfriend when you grow up, don’t you?”

Before he could even reply, her afterimage was immediately replaced by the wrapper of his already eaten energy bar.

“Four … three … two … one … bang!”

Two hundred meters. Longer, but manageable.

Leeseo bursted through the initial traffic and left most of the weaker competition behind. Just like she practiced: forefoot up, stepping over the knee, striking beneath the center of her mass, repeat. Soon, it was just her, Jihu, and a woman with blades across her arm that made her look like a human roller-skate. Leeseo almost chuckled at the thought, but when Leeseo got overtaken by her even while Leeseo used her powers, her heart sank.

“How did she—”

Grunting, Leeseo bit her lip and forced herself forwards. Her knees pumped against the thick atmosphere that her powers created as she moved through slowed time, urging her body to cooperate with her for once.

But it was too late. By the time she had gained enough momentum, both Jihu and the girl had already reached the finish line.

Giving up her control, she skidded to a stop, leaving a faint scorch mark across the ground. She quickly put out the fire by her heels before the reporters could come, but when she stood back up again, they were flocking towards this new girl instead of her.

“Lee Dara, Lee Dara! How was your first time landing on the podium? Could you let us in on what helped you exceed your past performances?”

Dara chuckled and gripped her waist proudly. “It’s not just about mastering your powers here in the Super League. It’s about proving how much you want this.”

Kicking the ground, Leeseo blinked and disappeared, leaving her bronze medal spinning at the foot of the podium.

Crack.

When the muscular man cracked open his energy drink, Leeseo hit the speed button repeatedly on her hypertread and bursted. No stretches, no warm-ups, no excuses. Just a sprint.

She couldn’t accept anything less than her best. Not when the Grand Two-K was just around the corner.

“Faster … faster … faster …!”

When her form wobbled and her lungs could barely keep up the gas exchange, she hit the emergency stop button and draped her arms over the railings, clinging to them until the heated belt finally stopped.

Panting, dripping in sweat that evaporated in an instant, she hoisted herself up and glanced at the timer. Three minutes forty-five on three-hundred kilometers-per-hour.

“What …? But I could easily do twenty minutes of this last month? Why—?”

She checked her biowatch. 29. 

Leeseo punched the monitor, which whirred back a beep. She punched it again and again and again, squatting down into a shrill shriek as the adrenaline pounded through her veins and into her head. The gym fell silent as they watched her crash out from her meltdown.

Hiding her face, she fell onto her bottom and clenched her forehead. “I’m … running out of time. And I haven’t … even won a single race.”

As if to mock her, the TV in front of her machine featured the moment of glory Jihun achieved after winning this weekend’s thousand-meter race. Leeseo wanted to jam rust and oil into the mufflers of his stupid engines, but what good would that do her?

Even if all her greatest opponents retired, she would just be the fastest runner of her generation—it wouldn’t change the fact that she still wasn’t faster than them.

And the thought clawed at her heart.

Spitting on the gym floor, before the saliva could kiss the ground, every television at the gym blacked out from a sudden crack in their screens, followed shortly by the shattering of the glass doors at the entrance.

“Three … two … one … bang!”

Human error. Leeseo started before the gunshot. She chalked it up to surpassing the speed of sound. But sound wasn’t what she wanted to exceed today.

It was them.

She already passed Dara the Weightless, the roller-skate girl from last time. Her aerodynamic form blurred into a blob outside Leeseo’s peripheral within seconds in her slowed time. Now, all that was left was Jihu.

Knees bent, feet pumping, the Drift King’s engine flames burned from yellow to blue as he kicked into high gear. But Leeseo wasn’t going to let him get away this time. Clenching her teeth, she swung her arms with all her might, balancing herself, accruing as much momentum as she could, feeling the strain of her muscles against the warped experience of space around her.

But it wasn’t enough. She couldn’t accelerate as fast as him. The moment she reached her top speed, Jihu had already crossed the finish line while she lagged behind him by ten seconds.

Letting inertia take its toll on her body, Leeseo sprinted past the finish line and dove towards the podium, slamming her toned stomach against the edge of the step.

The crowd groaned in pain for her as they witnessed it happen, but this was immediately replaced by cheering as Jihu raised up his seventeenth gold medal of the season.

Leeseo spotted the silver medal dangling before her face tauntingly. She snatched it away, and in a heartbeat, she was gone, leaving only faint footprints and the dark patches of moisture on the ground.

Pop.

A balloon popped in the air behind Leeseo as she raced up the hundred-floor building. By floor twenty, she was well past the balloon’s height. By floor fifty, the altitude was weighing down on her immensely. By floor eighty, her foot nearly slipped and could have sent her plummeting to her death. But by the time she reached the top, she was vomiting into one of the potted plants. 

Pressing her forehead to the cold metal railing, she tried to steady herself through the nausea. “God … I can’t even—hck—finish one round of this … without feeling sick … How am I … how am I supposed to … supposed to win …”

She glanced faintly at her biowatch. 33. 

Leaning against the wall, she pressed her knees to her chest. She felt the ache of her hinge joints in an instant. “I’m running out of time … Just like she said.”

She remembered the doctor’s warning two years ago. 

Your powers, they’re … not stable … They accelerate more than just your speed. Please, don’t abuse it.

Leeseo let out a faint chuckle and shook her head before forcing herself back on her feet. “Running is all I have. If I can’t be the best at it, then … what’s the point?”

She placed one foot on the railing, heaved herself off it, and dove back-first down into the city.

Falling.

A thrust of air erupted downwards onto the street, frightening and blinding unsuspecting passers-by momentarily, before they could only catch a brief glimpse of movement in between blinks.

“Two … one … bang!”

Leeseo didn’t move. It was the big day of the Grand Two-K, and she couldn’t move.

Her competitors were already halfway through the first lap, and yet, she still remained where she was, still crouched in her starting position, rooted to the earth. She couldn’t tell if it was fatigue, burnout, or just a loss of all motivation. But Leeseo couldn’t move.

She didn’t want to.

She glanced down at her singlet. It was pink. Like always. 

She glanced at the crowd. Red. Blue. Yellow. Green. Orange. Purple. No pink.

No pink at all.

Chuckling to herself, she boosted off and converted into a simple jog while her opponents neared the end of their first lap. What was the point?

She had the ability to command time, to slow it down at her convenience, and yet even then, she was still not fast enough within her own little bubble. Why? Why can’t she be better than them? Why was there always someone better than her? Performing with less effort too?

Jihu never sprinted until he was sick. He never trained until exhaustion. Never even had to lift a finger outside the track. And yet, he was always the winner. He was always the one who excelled. He was always the fastest.

All because of his bloody powers.

But when Leeseo swirled her hand in the air as she slowed down time enough to hear one footstep per second, she sighed. “I can’t even be mad about privilege … not when I have powers like these.”

She circled her hand in the air again and slowed down time to a complete stop, something she had only done once before—the night her parents died in that car crash. 

The same night she awakened her powers.

Leeseo laughed through the tears that couldn’t even stream down her face. As the memory replayed in her head, even then, Leeseo couldn’t awaken her abilities fast enough to save her appa and eomma. All she could do was leap through the crevice of the spiraling window and hope she landed somewhere safe on the highway.

The only one she could save was herself. 

To this day, she still badly, terribly, desperately wished she could use her powers to reverse time and find a way to save them.

To this day, she still wished for the same thing—wishing she was fast enough. For them.

How badly do you want this? She remembered the doctor asking her before showcasing the biowatch. To be an athlete?

“More than anything else,” she muttered, but sound wasn’t even moving at all. Her words were left paused in the air—just like the final vision she had of her parents in the front row of their sedan. “More than my own life.”

Then use this to monitor yourself. If you want it that badly, pay attention to the number. That’s how much you leeway you get to play with. Use it at your own discretion.

Leeseo took one last look at her biowatch. 35.

She kept her fist clenched at her side, took a deep breath, and when she was ready, she let it all go. 

As time chased after her, she raced against time—but she raced against it as best as she could. She paced her strides, avoided choppy steps, controlled her breathing. As her arms swung in unison with her legs, she built up enough momentum to come into reach with the others as they began to move in her view now as well.

Harder.

She sliced through the thickness like a sharpened blade. Each slam of her sole against the track made her muscles and joints flare up.

Stronger.

She forced her way through the crowd and broke out of the traffic. And for the first time, as her pores loosened, her skin sagged, and her breath grew weaker with each exhale, Leeseo finally saw what was on the other side of this damned forest of backs.

And it was beautiful.

Faster.

Pushing past her own limits, her hair ripping from her scalp, teeth rotting from her gums, nails yellowing and softening like paper, Leeseo did it. She actually did it.

She made it. She won first place.

Falling to her knees that immediately shattered from the weight it could no longer support, the crowd’s disbelief turned into fear as the aged woman on the field raised up a fist. There, a single number blinked in dark red.

89.

“Look … at … me … remember … this …”

As Leeseo’s last breath escaped her lungs like sand in the wind, so did the screams of the crowd fade into the void. Body crumbling into dust and nothingness, Leeseo’s final sight was her final recorded speed. She smiled at it.

She kept her head down as she walked through the narrow corridor filled with the early-bird students talking about their winter plans. Some of them called out to her in recognition. Some called out to her in greeting. And worst of all, some of them called out to her in need. But all she did was bow politely at each and every mention of her name, rushing to her classroom as fast as she could in her freshly pressed uniform, taking much care to avoid crumpling it.

Once she was seated, she took a deep breath and sighed. Except no air entered her lungs. For a moment, she forgot how to breathe and started to choke on her own dry throat. But once Yujin remembered that she needed to breathe through her nose—regardless if she had one—she felt her chest rising and falling again before finally managing a proper sigh.

“Shi—Aiya … I’ve wasted enough time already.”

Taking out her binder labelled ‘Yonsei’, she flipped rapidly to the glossy page marked with ‘Letters’ and skipped to the sixth leaf after that. Yujin then took out the two sheets of printed paper slotted in and laid them out on her table.

Exhaling, she stared at her own words hoping to finally find the right theme, the right motif, the right sort of academic ‘magic’ that could make it all click in her head at least. But alas, the same keywords she had written in her letter came to haunt her in the minutes leading up to their homeroom period.

3.95 GPA. Grade 1 Scores across the board for her suneung. Math Olympiad champion. Debate team co-captain. Student council vice president.

This should be enough. This should have been enough. But to the ambitious An Yujin, it’s left her raking at her scalp at the thought of what was missing—what was lacking.

That’s if she still had a scalp. All she had now were frequent bouts of tonic-clonic seizures every two minutes and the early signs of a fever.

“What is going on with me …?” She lifts her phone like a mirror and screams into her throat. Her slender and youthful visage was now nothing but slowly evaporating bits of flesh and muscle on the surface of the dark sphere.

Yujin wanted to vomit.

Slapping herself awake, Yujin gasped as her slender fingers clung to her face—or what would have been her face. The soft pads of her digits clung to the surface of the sphere like they were glued on. With a loud wail, she flung herself forward and whipped back at the last second to tear her fingers away—but not without ripping some of her flesh along with it too.

Yujin glanced around her. Nine people in the room. Not one of them turned towards her. The air around her felt thicker, more viscous, taking more effort than necessary to move through it. If she looked at her surroundings the right way, it seemed like her vision was being warped.

Sighing, she lowered her head to the table and picked up her pen. “Better get started on draft seven. I hope this draft’s the final one…”

She only had until the end of her homeroom period this morning to finish and submit it to her teacher. Otherwise, she’d be missing the early application for Yonsei. That meant lower chances for scholarship, for getting into her chosen course, and even for being accepted.

Yujin pressed the tip of her pen against a fresh sheet of paper until it blotted, forcing herself to write.

To whom it may concern.

I am An Yujin. If someone were to describe me in just a phrase, it would be ‘Always seeking the next challenge’. Many people shy away from challenges because it can be intimidating. Debilitating. Often times humiliating. It’s natural for us to fear failure, but I believe otherwise. I’m someone who chases—.

“Yujin!”

It was Nakamura Kazuha from Class 4. Yujin ascertained this from the way her classmates swooned at the sound of her voice. “Got a minute.”

Yujin drew a period as large as the letter ‘o’. “Sure … what is it?”

Kazuha sat on drafts five and six as she tossed her hair back. “Can I copy your homework for Ms. Lee’s class? Research is a bitch. She’s in my second period too.”

“Kazuha … mine’s in fourth. If she sees they’re the same—.”

“Tch, I’ll paraphrase,” she always claimed. And Yujin was always left to come up with excuses for her when pressed. “Come on, we’re buds right? Just a peek?”

Yujin checked her watch. 6:39. “Fine … it’s in my—.”

Kazuha slid off her desk and snatched Yujin’s bag from underneath her, shaking out the contents until she found her folder labelled ‘Research and Methodology’. “Thanks. Owe you big time. See ya’ at lunch for the physics problem set.”

Sighing, Yujin returned to her letter, hoping to finish the sentence. But she had already lost her train of thought, and soon, the idea for her draft slipped through her fingers. The orb shuddered and rippled as she crumpled the sheet and tore a new one from her pad.

To whom it may concern,

Cognoscetis Veritatem et Veritas Liberabit Vos. The truth will set you free. That is what Yonsei has always believed in. To me, that is something I have always aspired to. When you’re born and raised in Daejeon, between the concrete jungle of the city and the hustle and bustle of the crowd, you can easily find yourself in the rat-race of daily life. But what is—?

“Yujin-sunbae! Yujin-sunbae!”

The pen almost cracked between her fingertips. Glancing up, she saw one of her hoobaes barreling through the room, bowing in apology to the gossiping sunbaes she disturbed. “You got your results for the suneung already right? Could I … could I ask for your help in reviewing? Please!”

“H-Hanni, I’m—.”

“A-Ah! I know we haven’t talked in a while since you’re busy, but could I maybe um, maybe just ask you when you’re free to help tutor me? For a bit? Just on the weekends?” Hanni pleaded, and when Yujin locked into her large sparkling eyes, she felt the constant neglect towards her hoobae creeping up her spine. “Please, sunbae?”

Dragging her breath through her teeth, Yujin glanced at her wrist. 6:46.

Nodding, she sifted through the mess Kazuha made and pulled up a tattered book littered with dog-ears and sticky notes. “Have my review book for now. Just do the exercises sep—.”

Hanni swiped it from her and pressed it to her chest, squealing out loud. “Thank you, sunbae! Thank you thank you thank you so much! I’ll get out of your hair now—thank you again!”

And the girl vanished before Yujin could even warn her not to mark the book itself.

Yujin thought the next few minutes of silence and solitude would last longer as she took advantage of it to rewrite her draft, but more of her classmates began filling the empty seats around her as time ticked by. She thought having a blackhole for a head would stave them off, but they seemed entirely oblivious to it.

“Yujinnie! Want to join us later for karaoke?”

“Yujin-ah! You put up a good fight against Sangju last week!”

“Jinjin, Jinjin! Have you watched the latest episode of—?”

Yujin just wanted to shrink and disappear. She really needed to be writing and not answering to everyone. And as if heeding her request, the orb hovering above her neck thrummed, and condensed, and shrunk.

It was smaller. It felt denser. It began to hurt like a migraine.

But Yujin continued to write.

“Yo, An Yujin. The hell are you doing here?”

Every last strand of hair stood stiffly across Yujin’s skin. Before she even glanced up, screeching and scratching noises filled the air as the unoccupied tables and chairs near her all rattled, rumbled, and then flung themselves towards her.

Squinting, when Yujin finally relaxed to see that feared face of hers, she saw it—the orbit of desks and seats around her.

And yet, not a single person acknowledged it. Not even the girl who had both hands on Yujin’s desk.

“You listening? Why didn’t you go to the Council Room? We were supposed to discuss the senior’s send-off party,” Oh Haewon demanded as she leaned forward. “Needed you there, Veep. Wonyoung and Karina kept arguing over the venue and theme. Yeesh, you know how messy those two are.”

“I-I-I’m sorry … I’m busy right now, Pres—.”

Haewon raised a brow, peering down at Yujin’s drabble. “Early application? You know that’s only for the chaebol kids, right?”

“But—.”

“They’re going to reject you for your background. They won’t even look at your CV.”

“I-I have to try—.”

“Do you even have a backup? A safety? You should focus on that instead.”

Yujin felt her face—if she could even call it that anymore—heating up. She respected Haewon enough to hold her tongue, but the need to tell her off grew the more Haewon ran her mouth.

Shrugging, Haewon let go of Yujin’s desk and snorted. “Good luck with that. Hope it was worth your time.”

Yujin checked the time. 7:02. “S-Sorry, president. I’ll make up—.”

But Haewon was already at the door. “Oh, you will. You’re taking lunch monitoring for the next three weeks.”

Yujin felt the weight on her shoulder grow heavier.

With less than half an hour left, Yujin threw form out the window and focused on substance—on content. She highlighted her most notable achievements, her proudest endeavors, her most ambitious goals and dreams. With each stroke of her pen, another object from the classroom came flying towards her and joining the orbit around her.

Erasers. Chalk. The hall pass. Pencil cases. Water bottles. Notebooks. Textbooks. Hygiene kits.

These could not have been done without the help of my supportive family. I find that family is a great source of strength in times of duress. When you feel that all hope is lost—.

“Yuuuuujinnnnnnn~!”

Yujin nearly cursed under her breath but smoothened out her lips like it was sin. As the all-too-familiar voice of her co-captain grew louder, she hurried to write her sentence down before she lost it.

“Ya, Yujin~. What are we doing for practice later? We haven’t talked about the motions for next sem’s tryouts,” Shin Yuna asked with that lilt in her tone. “I was thinking an easy one for the freshmen, like, ‘This house believes that violence in video games should be regulated’. Then maybe for the second years, something like, ‘This house believes that the segregation of the waves of feminism have done more harm than good to the movement. Whaddya think~?”

Yujin could do anything but think—whether about debate motions or her letter. “Yuna, let’s talk about this lat—.”

“Awww, but our adorable hoobaes are already asking me for the motions to prep for them~. I told them not to matter-load too much, but you know how eager they can be. Especially with you as co-captain~.”

Clenching her teeth so hard they could crack—if they were still there—Yujin nodded, and her orbit of school items followed. “Fine … let’s do this quickly.”

Yujin said ‘let’s’ like they both contributed. But it was just her outlining the five motions to choose from and the stances both gov and opp could take for each to Yuna. She wasn’t even fully listening, distracted by Yujin’s classmates who recognized her and decided it was a good time for small talk.

Gripping the edges of her drafts, Yujin growled. “Are you done? I’m not repeating myself.”

“Hm? Oh, you already wrote them down? Thankies~. This is enough for me.”

Yujin was speechless. She just watched as Yuna skipped out of the classroom without another word. “See you at training, Yujinnnn~.”

Yujin checked her phone. 7:26. “Oh fu—.”

Sharp footsteps at the door silenced her. The clacking of heels made her scramble for her pen and paper again as she rushed writing whatever she could.

“Settle down, everyone. We’ll be starting shortly,” Ms. Choi announced, as she set her bag on her desk. “I know it’s a Friday, but please, don’t get too excited for the day to end.”

—believe your prestigious university could benefit from a student like me—

“Yujin, have you seen the news? They said something about America—.”

—not much, but I have lots to offer the school. I hope my track record shows—

“Oi, Yujin! Why the hell did you take my—?”

—humbly accept my application to study chemical engineering, I promise to—

“Yujin?”

“Yujin …”

“Yujin!”

Snap. Her pen broke at the cap and bled all over her final draft.

The orbiting objects rattled and spun faster. “No … no, no, no. A-A-A pen … Someone please … can I borrow a pen?”

But no one responded. Yujin was alone within the confines of her own warped dome. She could only see the silhouettes of the things spiraling around her and the twisted expression of Ms. Choi across the room.

Yujin rolled her ruined draft carefully into itself and wrapped it in her other crumpled drafts to clean the ink spill. “Please, I-I-I need to write this … need to finish this …”

But no one looked her way.

She reached out, tapping shoulders, nudging elbows, grasping arms. But her classmates just shoved her off and pushed her away, too preoccupied in their own little worlds. “I don’t mind the color … I don’t mind the blot … please … I need to finish this …”

But no one cared.

The bell rung. Twice. Homeroom hadn’t just started—it was already over.

And what did Yujin have to submit? Nothing but a blank ink-stained letter staining her table.

“Yujin, goodness, would you please clean up that mess? That’s rather unbecoming of a council member—.”

“Shut. The fuck. Up!”

Radio static.

Then, a flash of light blasted from her body. In an instant, everything and everyone within two meters of her was sucked right towards her, vaporizing upon contact. As Yujin screamed at the top of her lungs, her headache reaching the tipping point, her head burned with the heat of a million dying stars as she yelled out her long pent-up frustrations at the classroom walls, cracking them open.

Panting, gripping her thighs, Yujin opened her eyes.

Smelling of burnt wood, rotting flesh, and heavy sulfur, Yujin watched as a spiral of orange and red star dust swirled steadily in a trail that lead towards her barycenter.

Towards her blackhole.

“Yujin … wh-what—.”

But Yujin had enough. She snapped her fingers. One moment, her surviving classmates were shivering in fear on the floor, a moment later and they were now pinned to the wall, surrounded by a force they couldn’t run from.

“Y-Yujin, please—.”

“Dakcheo!” she cursed, and her homeroom teacher shut up. Yujin raised her hand out and flattened it, making the poor woman forcibly sit back into her chair, unable to get up for the next class. Yujin smirked, “Look at you, seonsaegnim. Stay put.”

Yujin thought coming to school with a blackhole for a head would be a burden. But as she whistled to herself, writing her new final draft with her teacher’s pen in the finest penmanship she could muster, the sight of her classmates’ contorted figures coating the walls in shades of crimson made her realize how wrong she had been. If the past three years have taught her anything, this wasn’t something she had to fear.

May 18, 2023

Dear An Yujin,

I didn’t think you’d write back. What a miracle! That’s a pleasant surprise.

Keep the way you write, Yujin. It’s kinda cute. It’s very ‘you’.

I don’t think there are any rules to letter-writing really. We don’t need to have a set thing to write to each other about. That’s what pen pals are for—just chatting with one another.

I’d be happy enough to just hear from you once in a while. Let’s me know you haven’t drowned yet.

Tell me about your day, Yujin. Tell me what you see. What you go through. What you feel. It helps. All of it helps.

It helps me imagine what your life is like out there on the open seas.

Me? Well, you’ve seen it. My life isn’t very colorful. It’s just routine.

But you? You get to sail to all these different places because of your work. What’s that like?

Which countries are your favorite? Did you encounter any annoying passengers before? Do you ever get seasick? If you do, is it fine to just throw up into the water?

Tell me about that. About it all.

Maybe that way, I can feel like I’m with you.

Love, 

Jang Wonyoung

P.S. I had to contact your company to find out where your next stop is! Next time, let me know where I can mail my letters too. Otherwise, you won’t be getting them.

P.P.S. I miss you, dummy.

=====

June 27, 2023

Dear Jang Wonyoung,

Do you remember the first time we met?

“Bah, this is such a small town. Can’t really spread your legs after a long sail, yeah?” Arnold grunted, rubbing the back of his head. “At least the tavern had some cheap drinks. Don’t really feel all that buzzed though.”

“Aye, but it’s pretty quiet, no?” Klaus chimed in, elbowing Arnold. “Feels weird being the noisiest ones here.”

As the crew of the Celebrity Millennium strolled down the main road of 12th Street, their cackles stirred the ambient air. The final traces of spring breathed against their backs as a gentle breeze swept past them, lifting their already inebriated spirits.

Yujin could only watch as her senior crew members began dancing down the street to the unheard tune of a shanty. Shaking her head, she trailed behind them to avoid getting swept up in their antics.

“Didn’t get very buzzed either, did you?”

A woman approached Yujin from the side, their cruise jacket draped over her shoulders. She glanced at Yujin as if they hadn’t been together all night already. “Didn’t see you having much to drink back there.”

“Karina,” Yujin muttered, managing a smile. She shrugged. “I don’t know. Not in the mood, I guess. Especially not if we’re sleeping on the boat again.”

“God, they could at least have gotten us rooms on land. This place looks cheap too. Perfect place for a little midnight rendezvous,” Karina teased. 

Yujin blushed. Karina didn’t need to say it, but she knew exactly what the other girl was implying. Inching closer to Yujin, she wrapped a hand around Yujin’s arm and walked beside her. “Not very romantic, but the ship’s better than nothing.”

Yujin nodded. “Better than noth—.”

Just then, a bicycle zipped past them coming from the opposite direction.

Yujin stared at her. The woman stared back with a smile.

It was dark that night. 12th Street was just turning on all their lamps. But I swear, you were glowing. You lit up the entire path.

You looked like an angel—in that cute floral dress of yours. Hands on the handles of your bike. Hair flowing in the wind. Not a single care in the world.

You looked like some sort of celebrity. Like a young Anne Hathaway. Like I was watching a scene lifted right from the movies.

I couldn’t even remember what my crewmates were telling me anymore. I couldn’t even remember where we were headed or what we were going to do next. All I could do was look at you. All I could do was watch as you passed by.

While they all grabbed a smoke on the stern later that night, all I could think about was that girl I saw back on 12th Street. That lady in her pretty little dress, with her pretty little face, and that pretty little smile.

I had never seen something—someone—as beautiful as you, Wonyoung.

It wasn’t even that long of a moment. Hours later, we were back at the tavern again. Going for another round. The others were singing and dancing, racing to see the bottom of each mug, getting it on with the ladies they managed to pull.

But, all I could think about was you.

I say this because you’re all that’s on my mind right now, Wonyoung.

I think about how we first actually bumped into each other.

“That will be twenty-four thousand won.”

Taking out her wallet and flipping through its contents, the lady by the counter clicked her teeth. “Just short. I only have twenty-thousand on me. Do you think I could … maybe get a discount?”

Just then, a hand slid a yellow note across the counter.

The woman turned around to see another girl about her age smirking at her. “Lucky you, I happened to have money to burn.”

This same woman nodded towards the cashier. “I’m paying for her. Can you slip these in too?” Excusing herself, she approached the counter and dropped an armful of essentials onto it. “Hope you don’t mind.”

While the cashier began scanning the new goods, the lady in a dress smiled up at her unsolicited savior. “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I’ll pay you back as soon as I get home and have more money on me.”

But the other woman didn’t reply.

As the sound of beeping filled the silence between them, when she did manage to reply, her voice came out breathy. “So, it was you.”

They both shared a glance.

“I’m sorry, but … have we met before?” the lady in a dress asked, crossing her arms. “If we did, you’ll have to jog my memory a bit more. I’m not really good with names.”

But the other woman just shook her head.

“Here’s the change,” the cashier beckoned, handing over a mix of smaller bills and coins. “Next customer.”

The lady in the dress pushed the change towards her companion before picking up her bagged purchases and quickly exiting the general mart.

Behind her, the other woman followed.

“I’m sorry, do you still need something from me?” she uttered with an audible concern in her voice. “Your help was plenty enough. Thank you.”

“You have my snacks and toiletries in there, miss. I’d like them back.”

When the lady in the dress finally paused, her companion jogged up to her and held her elbow. “So, your place?”

The two walked side-by-side now down the length of 12th Street. Where the cobbled path met softer grass and dirt, they climbed up the steady incline that bordered the small port town. 

Towards the lighthouse at the top of the hill.

Stopping just by the metallic door leading inside, the lady in the dress nodded and opened the bag. It took a while for her companion to realize this, but when she did, she immediately grabbed what was hers.

“Fancy place,” her companion noted, staring up at the towering white structure before her. The sun was just about to set, so the beam of light that swirled around its tip had yet to be lit. “I don’t suppose you live here alone?”

The lady in the dress crinkled her nose. “Wait out here.”

All her companion could see was a dull glow from the inside as the door came shut as quickly as it opened.

After a few moments, the same lady burst through the door carrying a handful of green bills. She waved it towards her companion. “Here. Your money. For the groceries.”

“Look, how do I explain this,” her companion sighed, reluctantly taking the cash. “I didn’t actually need the money. I just needed my stuff. I was hoping to spend all the currency I had left out here since I’m not in town for much longer.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged. “So. Um, want to grab some drinks? They’re on me. Or, I guess, on you. Since this is still your money.”

The lady in the dress shook her head. “I don’t drink.”

“Then show me what you’d like,” her companion offered. “Yujin, by the way. An Yujin.”

The lady smiled, reaching out a hand to shake hers. “Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung.”

I think about the days we spent together.

“Are you sure this is safe?” Yujin asked as she helped set the blanket over the sand and pebbles. To her side, Wonyoung was smoothing her dress beneath her before taking a seat. “It’s awfully windy today. And the water looks like it’s going to reach here any minute now.”

But Wonyoung just smiled and pinched her cheek. “Such a worrywart. I made all this food too. Would be a shame to—.”

Just like Yujin feared, the waves lurched forwards and reached for their waists, soaking both their clothes and their basket full of food.

Yujin could only laugh out loud as she wrapped her jacket around Wonyoung’s body.

The little moments.

“Ya, Wonyoung—you’re going too fast.”

But Wonyoung didn’t slow down. Instead, she pedaled faster and faster. “Didn’t you say we needed to dry off? Keep up, Yujin—or you’re going to be the only one catching a cold tonight.”

Shaking her head, Yujin tore into a sprint as she chased after the cycling girl, watching as she giggled down the lamplit path.

The stolen moments.

Wonyoung shook her head. “Nuh uh. No.”

But Yujin continued to press the bottle against her lips. “Just a sip. It won’t kill you.”

When Wonyoung’s lips wrapped around the bottle for a swig that lasted longer than she wanted it to, after the third swallow, she gagged, and spat out the alcohol, coughing as she gasped for air.

And while Wonyoung went on and on about how this was a terrible decision, how her stomach instantly made her regret it, and how she would never trust Yujin again, all Yujin could do was hold her close against her side and stare into her eyes with a smile.

I think about your lighthouse atop the hill.

With the horizon now drinking the burning gold of day, so did the two girls walk back to the final destination of their misadventures together.

The lighthouse. It was always the lighthouse.

While the walk up the hill was not a lengthy one, the two seemed to always stretch the distance into infinity.

Hands locked together the entire time.

I think about the rise and fall of the waves beyond your shore.

Once the hour has passed, and so did the moment for excuses and delays, the two girls faced each other with much apprehension.

Neither of them had wanted to return.

And the seas cried for them.

I think about you.

“This is it,” Wonyoung announced like there was any need to. “This is my stop.”

“This is the only stop around here really,” Yujin teased. But it earned not even a gentle grin from Wonyoung. “I guess … I guess this is me too.”

“So you’re going.”

The words came out sharper than it should have been, but there was no way the two girls could skirt around that truth. “Yeah … Yeah, I’m leaving in the morning, Wonyoung. Our ship’s setting sail for the next port.”

“Do you really have to go?” Wonyoung pleaded, hands still wrapped around Yujin’s forearm. “Will you … ever come back?”

Yujin already carried the weight of today on her back all afternoon. Now, Wonyoung just dropped another weight that crushed her chest. “I don’t know. I … I really don’t know.”

Letting go of Yujin made her gasp. They haven’t parted ways yet, and she was already like this. It was embarrassing. But it gave Yujin some reassurance to see Wonyoung just excusing herself indoors for a moment.

Once she returned, she was holding a strip of paper and a black pen.

Yujin took it and held it up to her face. “This is …?”

“My address,” Wonyoung explained, capping her pen. “Won’t you write to me? I won’t make you if it’s too much to ask. But, it’s there if you want it. If you want to.”

Yujin folded the paper and pressed it to her lips. “I will. I promise.”

God, reading all of this back again once I’ve written it down, I realized I’ve gone on and on have I? Haha. It’s embarrassing. I’ll stop here before I start spitting more nonsense on the page.

And Wonyoung? I miss you too.

Love,

An Yujin

P.S. We’re headed to Brazil next. Send your letter to Port Alumar.

P.P.S. I slipped a little Claddagh ring for you. Apparently it’s popular here in Ireland.

=====

August 4, 2023

Dear Yujin,

You didn’t answer my questions at all! All you talked about was the two of us.

All you talked about was me.

I’m glad though. I’m glad I somehow take up a space in your mind even if I’m no longer with you. It’s a nice feeling being remembered like this.

I didn’t know such a feeling could have existed before.

Yes, I often think about the time we spent together too.

Do you remember when you fell of my bike? I had never seen someone cry that much before.

“Are you sure you can handle it?”

Yujin swatted a hand at Wonyoung as she got on her bike. The moment Wonyoung spotted her struggle to balance herself with both feet on the pedals, she knew this wasn’t going to go well. “Relax, relax. How hard can it be? It’s just circling your legs anyway.”

And she did just that. Yujin circled her legs over and over again, picking up speed as she biked down the hill.

“Wonyoung, how do you stop?”

But she had already accelerated so much that learning to use the brakes now was pointless. “Wonyoung? WONYOUNG—!”

The front tire hit a dislodged stone and sent her flying off the seat.

“YUJIN!”

By the time Wonyoung got to her, Yujin was in tears, sobbing like a newborn baby as she clutched her wounded knee.

It was just a small cut, but it seemed this young woman was filled with blood.

Wonyoung burst into laughter as she lifted Yujin up and rested her head on her lap. Caressing Yujin’s damp cheeks, she hummed a lullaby to her to help soothe the pain.

“There there, just press against the wound like that for a bit,” Wonyoung muttered with a smile, hovering over Yujin’s face. “So you can be adorable too, hm?”

What about when we sang karaoke at the tavern in front of all your friends?

Following Karina’s solo performance, the whole tavern exploded into a round of applause. Even those who weren’t a part of the drunken crew were cheering for the girl and her melodious voice.

“Alright alright, calm down, jeez,” Karina beckoned, holding the microphone now by the wire. “Who’s up next? Let’s keep this party going, yeah?”

Her gaze was fixed on Yujin, but the other girl was busy at the moment.

Wonyoung pressed her hands against Yujin’s cheeks and giggled. “Mmmmh, maybe we should sing a song or two~.”

Yujin bit her lip and growled at her. “Sit tight and just enjoy your drinks, princess. You’re drunker than you think.”

But Wonyoung pouted. “You don’t want to sing with me.”

Klaus overheard this and smirked. “Yeah, Yujin. Don’t you want to sing with her? It’s not very nice leaving a pretty lady all alone like that with the microphone.”

Soon, the entire tavern began to chant. “Duet! Duet! Duet!”

It didn’t help that Wonyoung was cheering with them. It didn’t help that Karina sauntered over to them to hand Yujin a pair of mics too. “Go on. Pick a song.”

Wonyoung shot up from her seat and stumbled towards the machine. The crew of the Celebrity Millenium nearly shot out of their seats too to try and catch her, but when she steadied herself on her own bare feet again, she held the microphone up. “Come on, Yujin! Let’s do this one~.”

Hiding her face, Yujin slid out from her seat to stand up and join her.

As the song began playing, Wonyoung winked at her through droopy eyes. “Don’t go breaking my heart~.”

“I couldn’t if I tried …”

“Oh honey if I get restless~” Wonyoung sang with a little body roll to her. Yujin followed up. “Baby you’re not that kind.”

Although Yujin could feel the effects of the beer mixing in with the sensation of being watched by her crew, all it took was one look at the enthusiastic Wonyoung for her to loosen up and give it her all too.

When the song reached its final note, the crew of the Celebrity Millennium all swarmed them and raised their glasses. But Wonyoung had her head rested against Yujin’s shoulder, knocked out cold.

Do you remember what happened after? It’s a blur to me.

Yujin took this opportunity to plant a sneaky kiss on her cheek before raising up her own drink.

And do you ever think about what you said to me when you went for a swim?

Bobbing up and down against the shallow bend of the water, Yujin dunked her head before resurfacing once again for air, flipping her hair behind her.

“It’s a good day for a swim. The water’s pretty warm,” Yujin beckoned to Wonyoung, who was just seated on a large rock by the shore. “Come on. Come on in. Join me.”

But Wonyoung shook her head. “I’m fine over here, thank you.”

Swimming over to the lady who perched herself like a siren, Yujin gasped. “You live here. You’ve been living here all your life, and no one taught you how to swim?”

Wonyoung shrugged, rubbing her elbows against the early morning breeze. “I wasn’t allowed to. Besides, I … I don’t live here, Yujin. I didn’t grow up here. I just … moved in.”

Water came splashing towards Wonyoung’s toes. “Are you afraid of the water? You shouldn’t be. The sea’s your friend.”

“And it’s this same sea that will claim you from me, Yujin,” Wonyoung whispered under her breath. Sighing, she just crinkled her nose and watched as Yujin tried to impress her with a few more strokes.

Floating on her back now, Yujin gazed up at Wonyoung as she came back into sight. “When are you going to set sail on your own, princess? Surely, you can’t live like this forever.”

Wonyoung remained silent as Yujin slowly began drifting away.

I think about it all the time.

I think about what I should be doing with my life—where I want to go, what I want to do.

So I have to ask: would you ever take me out for a sail? If so, where would we be going? What would be doing? Tell me, will you? I’d love to hear what sort of adventures we’d be going on.

Just the two of us.

Love,

Wonyoung

P.S. Claddagh rings have meaning. Did you know this? Are you trying to tell me something?

=====

September 24, 2023

Dear Yujin,

Happy birthday to you! I guess, happy birthday to me too.

If you were bothered by what I said in my last letter, you don’t have to worry about it. I was just reminiscing.

It’s all I ever seem to do these days.

If you’d like to talk about other things, we could do that too.

What interests you? What moves your heart? What inspires you to keep going on?

I’d like to hear your answers to these questions. Maybe then, I can do something other than reminisce. About us.

About you.

Hoping to hear from you soon.

Love,

Wonyoung

=====

November 4, 2023

Dear Yujin,

Winter’s coming, and it’s terribly cold.

Your company said your ship changed destinations. Why didn’t you tell me?

I was worried the entire time. I thought you didn’t receive any of my letters. All this time, I thought you were ignoring me too.

Are you ignoring me?

I understand you must be busy. A life on the move isn’t stagnant, but it can’t be easy either, can it? I don’t want to burden you any further.

Just write when you can. If you still want to, that is. I don’t want to pressure you to reply, but … our back-and-forths have been the highlight of my days.

Sometimes, I wake up and have this overwhelming urge to check the mail. To see if you sent anything.

It’s been empty for months now.

Sometimes, I’m out for a stroll and remember what it was like to have your presence beside me.

But you’re gone now.

Lately, I can’t help but feel melancholic about those few precious memories of ours. Not hearing from you deepens this … hole in my heart. A hole that is seemingly cut in the shape of you.

Won’t you fill it with even a shred of your time?

You don’t understand how just a few words from you can make me feel so complete.

Hoping to hear from you soon.

Love,

Your princess

=====

December 30, 2023

Dear Yujin,

Merry Christmas. Happy new year. By the time you get this, if you even get it at all, it’s already the new year, I imagine.

Forget it all, Yujin. Forget what I wrote about in the past few letters.

It was a mistake.

I spilled my emotions like ink all over these letters without really considering how you felt. I should have gauged better first before doing so.

Now I can’t help but feel like I made a fool out of myself. I can’t help but feel like I pushed you away.

It was silly. It was ridiculous. It was utterly foolish of me to have been that bold.

It won’t happen again.

I just hope you’re fine. Wherever you are, whatever you’re occupied with, I just hope you’re well.

I’ll do my best to be well too.

Wishing for your safety this new year.

From,

Wonyoung

=====

January 19, 2024

Dear Wonyoung,

I think you may have misunderstood things.

First of all, I’m sorry for not being able to reply to your letters

They are all so, beautifully, written. (Even the ones where you blame yourself.) It feels so much like you.

I’ve been … trying to find the right way to tell you what I was thinking, what I was going through, how I was feeling. But they just didn’t sound right.

Reading your words out loud was like honey in my ears. Mine felt like thumbtacks.

It didn’t help that we had to change ports several times since I last wrote back to you. I couldn’t let you know what was going on since, well, I never got to write anything to tell you.

Could you ever forgive me?

Second of all, I’d like to answer you properly.

If I ever had my own ship, I’d have you by my side all the time.

There’s so many places I want to revisit, so many places I want to go for the first time. But one place comes to mind when I think of you.

Home.

I know, I know—it’s not much of an answer. But when I think about the brief time we spent together, even if it was a bittersweet feeling, I always enjoyed taking you home.

It let me know you were safe. It let me know you were alright. It let me know you weren’t gone.

You were just home.

And I long to take you home again.

After days, weeks, or months of travel, I think I couldn’t care less about where we’d go or what we’d do. I just want to be with you.

I long to come home to you, Wonyoung.

Third of all, if I may, is it alright if I come visit you again? Our ship’s docking at the port in Okinawa in April. We’ll be there for a few days. But I can spend one with you.

There’s still so much I want to tell you.

About how you’re not a burden at all. How I was just stupid and terrible with words. About how I feel that same hole in my heart when I think about us—when I think about you. How no amount of alcohol can fill that hole. About how, if I could, I’d have written you a letter. Every. Single. Night. Just to make sure you’d never go a day without hearing from me.

If only.

I hope to still hear from you soon, Wonyoung. I really do.

I hope I’m not too late.

Love,

Yujin

P.S. I see the nickname stuck, princess.

P.P.S. Don’t eat the dulce de leche—it’s probably expired by now. Eat the maple leaf candies instead. Oh, and I got you one of these rings from India instead since you seemed to have issues with the Irish one from last time.

=====

February 13, 2024

Dear Yujin,

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Both chocolates you sent were terribly expired. Are you trying to send me a message again, Yujin?

But honestly, words can’t describe how happy I am to hear from you after all this time.

I don’t mind if you have some things you can’t really put into words yet. Save them for when we meet again. April was it?

I’ll be marking off the days until you arrive. Every night. Oh, how I wish there were less days in a month now. These days go on for too long. It’s frustrating.

Sorry to keep this letter brief. I’ve been helping out with our annual Valentine’s celebrations around town. It’s keeping me exhausted. But, perhaps I’ll have saved up some words for you too when April comes around.

I’m looking forward to being with you again, Yujin.

Love,

Your princess

P.S. Yes, the nickname stuck. Don’t get too greedy with it.

P.P.S. I sent you chocolate I’ve made myself. How does it taste?

P.P.P.S. Oh Yujin, you’re still clueless about these rings, are you? I’ll let you find out for yourself.

=====

March 29, 2024

Dear Wonyoung,

Work’s been picking up because of Valentine’s day. Month of love and all, February. Haven’t had the time to write much.

Sending you this to know I’m still here. I’m still alive. And I’m still looking forward to meeting you.

April 11. Save the date.

Before you know it, I’ll be right at your doorstep.

I can’t wait. A part of me hopes neither can you.

Love,

Yujin

P.S. Do you prefer handbags or purses?

=====

April 11, 2024

This was it. She was back.

The moment her boots landed on the shale scattered across the shore, she tipped the fisherman with some loose change before taking a deep breath.

Yujin was finally back.

The hike into town was an odd one. It’s been a year since she’s last been here, but some things were already different.

The roofs of the buildings looked more weathered. The trash cans were all repainted from red to green. The few children she recognized that were playing out in the open had all grown up.

And yet, some things remained the same.

Like the way the baker greeted her with the largest smile as if she had never left. Like the way the wind passed through the small buildings and lifted up her spirits. Like the way she could smell the sea from wherever she walked. Like the way the seagulls hovered above her in circles. Like the way the lighthouse imposed itself in the distance over the town.

Biting her lip, Yujin broke into a run.

She remembered each direction like the back of her hand. A right turn into 4th Street. Two left turns to get to 7th Street. Once at the tavern, cross the road and head onto the main road. Onto 12th Street.

And there, right ahead of her, was the hill leading towards the lighthouse. She sprinted even faster.

“Ya, isn’t that …?’

“Hey hey hey! Yujin-unnie? It’s Yujin-unnie!”

“Well I’ll be. She really did return.”

As the voices of the townsfolk slowly dissipated behind her, Yujin held her breath as she tore up the incline of the hill. Clutching the handbag by her side, she ran all the way up to the top in a single breath. When she turned around, feeling the sweat on her skin, she leaned with one hand against the door to the lighthouse and knocked on the metal.

But the moment her palm lifted from the door, it already opened, revealing a lady in a cream-colored floral dress.

It was Wonyoung.

There was silence. Why was there silence? They had waited all year for this moment. They had waited for what felt like a lifetime just to have this opportunity again. And yet, there was silence?

Wonyoung pursed her lips and smiled. “Hi.”

Yujin felt obliged to respond. “Hello.”

Inching towards the other girl, Yujin took a step closer, and soon, she found her hands wrapped around Wonyoung’s. “I can’t believe it. I … I can’t believe you’re real. I can’t believe this is all real.”

Wonyoung chuckled. “Stop dreaming then.”

But Yujin shook her head. “Wonyoung, I’ve been dreaming of this every night since we last saw each other. And now, you’re here.”

She lifted Wonyoung’s hand up to her lips and gently kissed them. “You’re actually here.”

“I’m here.”

Yujin dropped the handbag and reached out to kiss her.

Like waves crashing repeatedly onto the shore, Yujin engulfed Wonyoung’s lips with hers. The other girl could do little to refuse. Wonyoung melted into Yujin’s tide and allowed herself to be swept away by her passion.

After a long moment of swimming in each other’s touches, they pulled apart briefly only to laugh together and press their foreheads together again.

Wonyoung cupped the side of Yujin’s flushed face and held her like this. “This was worth every second of waiting for you.”

Yujin closed her eyes as she drew closer. “Yeah? How do I taste?”

Wonyoung pecked her softly on the lips again and giggled. “Like the sea, o captain, my captain.”

Sliding her hands down from Yujin’s shoulder to her collarbone, Wonyoung muttered. “Let’s make the most out of our day together, shall we?”

Yujin nodded. And the two were off.

They had something that no one else had. For Yujin and Wonyoung, it wasn’t the grand gestures that mattered to them—it was the small moments that they cherished the most. 

The moments they could spend together.

The breakfast at the tavern, filled with meat and oats and the oddly placed seafood, was spent playing with each other’s food while they told one another the most random things they encountered in their day to day. The tavernkeeper would chime in once in a while and say, “So the lady of the lighthouse knows how to leave her tower too, eh? Only you could do that to her.” And they would blush like teenagers.

Fishing by the docks turned into a competition to see who could have the largest catch. While Yujin boasted about having a knack for this sort of thing, when Wonyoung reeled in a large black sea bass, her own humble mackerels instantly paled in comparison.

Shopping to restock the supplies at the general mart slowly became a honeymoon for the couple. They compared the different brands of toilet paper to single out which gave the most bang for their buck. They bickered over which flavor of ice cream tasted the best, and why the other other seemed to have a lack of tastebuds. They laughed over the memories they made as they went through the different types of beer and liquor, reminiscing on their shared cherished past.

Before they knew it, the day had already come to a close. Before they knew it, the evening had set out to get them.

Holding up the box of groceries, Yujin ambled next to Wonyoung, who was riding her bike next to her. Yujin swapped between the goods resting in her hands, the path up the hill in front of them, and the small of Wonyoung’s sweaty back.

It was around then that the lights started turning on around them. As the lamps that decorated either side of 12th Street began lighting up one after the other, Yujin watched in brief awe as if a constellation was being charted for her and Wonyoung.

The street was bright. The atmosphere was vibrant. But they? They were quiet.

For they knew where this final path would take them.

The walk to the lighthouse was just like how Yujin remembered it—an eternity. But this time, she wondered if there was ever such thing as a ‘doubled eternity’. A sort of eternity that dragged on twice as long. A type of infinity that seemed to stretch on for longer than usual.

If ever such a thing existed, it wouldn’t have been in this moment as they both found themselves right in front of the metal door to the lighthouse once more.

Wonyoung didn’t enter. She just glanced towards the wheeled knob and sighed.

“I hate it. I hate how this was the best part of my year, and it’s already come and gone. It’s … already over.”

Yujin wrapped her arm around her and pulled her close. “Cheer up, princess. You’ll have days like these in the future. Better days even. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah, but they aren’t days with you.”

Wonyoung looked Yujin in the eyes now, and Yujin could have sworn she saw stardust falling down her face. “It isn’t the same without you, Yuijn. I-It … I …”

Reaching for Yujin, the other girl dropped the box she was carrying as Wonyoung clung tightly to her chest and bawled out all the starlight from within her.

“I need you … I need you here with me, Yujin. I-I … My life just isn’t the same without you. Every day, I wake up wishing you were less an ocean away from me. Every night, I fall asleep praying that you would fill the void in my dreams again as I rest. Yujin, it’s … it’s not fair. You were only a moment in my life that came and went, but … how the hell did you manage to swallow me whole like this?”

Yujin pressed Wonyoung against her body to the point that she couldn’t look anywhere without catching a glimpse of her. “Princess, I … Wait for me.”

Wonyoung sniffled. “For how long, Yujin? How long are you going to make me wait this time? if there even is a next time …”

Withdrawing from their embrace, Yujin held the weeping girl between her hands, caressing her with her thumbs. “In a day. In a week. In a month. In a year—I don’t care. I’ll come back again. I’ll come home to you again. I’ll find my way back to you, Wonyoung.”

“Promise …?” she whispered softly, in a way that only Yujin could hear.

“Promise,” Yujin muttered back, in a manner that only Wonyoung could confirm.

And as they eased back into a stand, before Yujin could even think to turn her back on her lady, Wonyoung wrapped her arms around her neck.

“Kiss me like you’ll miss me, captain,” she demanded, lifting herself up and into Yujin’s arms. “Love me like a sailor, so I’ll never forget you.”

Carrying Wonyoung in both her arms, Yujin yanked the door open and brought her inside. As the door slowly creaked close, the sound of shuffling and gasping could be briefly heard before the two girls disappeared behind it.

=====

May 19, 2024

Dear Yujin,

I keep thinking about you. You permeate my entire day.

“Ms. Jang, Ms Jang!”

Wonyoung slowed down her pedaling to meet the three kids who were running up towards her. “Yes? Did you need something?”

The three turned to each other before laughing out loud. “Is something on your mind, Ms. Jang? We just noticed you’ve been happier lately.”

Wonyoung rolled her eyes and pedaled faster to outrun them, biting back a smile.

It’s like you’re here, you’re there—you’re everywhere.

“And over there—that’s where you’ll be able to see the rest of the shore. That’s where most of the townsfolk park their fishing boats. Although, you could also do some fishing close by. Could catch a bass or trout or two.”

As the guide lead the tourists around the area, he spotted Wonyoung and nodded to her with a smile. The young lady watched as a pack of foreigners speaking different languages trailed behind him, eager to head to their next destination across the islands.

“Princess.”

Wonyoung turned around. “What—?”

One of the tourists looked at her weirdly. When she had nothing to say, she apologized with a bow and continued walking away faster and faster, clutching her chest.

She swore she heard Yujin’s voice again.

And yet, you’re not here. Not anymore.

I keep thinking about your form. Reliable. Warm. Gentle.

Stooping down, Wonyoung winced as she couldn’t lift one of the larger dusty boxes that was laying around in her basement. Sighing, she kicked it in frustration and leaned against the wall.

“If Yujin was here …” Wonyoung thought, and her mind wandered over to how easily she had lifted her in her arms like she weighed nothing.

She covered her face and kicked the box again.

I keep thinking about your eyes. They’re so deep and rich—like the sea.

Balancing the brush between her lips, Wonyoung leaned backwards and held out her thumb in an attempt to frame her work from a farther perspective.

But it wasn’t working.

She wanted to paint a portrait of a sailor as a birthday gift for the tavernkeeper. But when she took another glance at what she had painted, all she had etched onto the canvas was a mural of Yujin’s face.

I keep thinking about your skin. Oh, where do I begin, Yujin?

As she laid in bed, feeling the night wind sneaking into her room from the open window, Wonyoung lifted her head, staring at the partition between her two legs.

There, she imagined Yujin’s face peeking between her thighs, bobbing up and down like she had done so on a swim, rising and sinking beneath the tides of their touches.

Wonyoung shuddered in anticipation and stuffed an arm between her knees before hiding her face into a pillow.

I keep thinking about you, Yujin. It’s not fair. It’s not fair at all.

Do you think of me as well? Do you think of me at all? You had better! For my pride. For my ego.

How often do you think of me? When do you think of me? What do you think of when your mind brings me up? I’d like to know.

No, I demand to know!

Won’t you tell me?

Love,

Your princess

=====

July 3, 2024

Dear Wonyoung,

Oh, princess, every breath I take is filled with you.

Scrubbing the deck as hard as she could with her mop, Yujin had to stop for a moment as several passengers passed by. Bowing politely, she didn’t dare lift her body up until she was sure they were gone.

When she arose again, clutching the mop with one hand, Yujin watched as people from different walks of life all coalesced around the stern pool.

Children splashed around in the water. Families gathered around the benches sharing a meal. Couples raised their glasses to one another and enjoyed a relaxing drink together.

Yujin closed her eyes and pictured Wonyoung next to her. She recalled the scent of almond and vanilla. She pictured the way Wonyoung hugged her knees as she sat sprawled across the sand. She imagined the sound of her laugh against her ear after whispering a flirty joke.

When she opened her eyes again, she chuckled to herself and let out a small grunt before scrubbing the deck even harder.

You’re in every song I listen to.

“Hey hey hey, I know this one!” Arnold hollered, finishing his bottle of beer so he could sing along. “Come on now, fellas. Altogether now!”

“Think about how many times I have fallen~. What heaven brought you and me cannot be forgotten~!”

Yujin chuckled and mouthed the rest of the song. “I have been around the world, looking for that woman girl …”

She thought back to that night with the karaoke machine and how Wonyoung swayed her body to the sound of the music. Yujin had never seen such an elegant girl drop some audacious moves like that.

When Karina shot her a look, Yujin widened her eyes and chugged the rest of her beer down too, chuckling awkwardly at her.

But Yujin couldn’t fight the grin no matter how hard she tried.

You’re at the start of my day, and at the end of it too.

The moment Yujin heard banging against her door, she already regretted last night’s festivities.

As she sat up, she could still feel her head swirling, her stomach gurgling, and her pulse beating a hundred miles an hour. She wanted to throw up. She wanted to crash back into bed. But Karina’s pestering continued on and on.

“Up and at ‘em! We can’t be late again, Yujin. Get your ass out of bed,” she beckoned from the other side of the door.

Just as Yujin was about to pass out once more, she felt something in her hand. 

It was the beaded bracelet Wonyoung had gifted her.

Sighing, she kissed the beads and forced herself to a stand. “Coming!”

You’re even in the sky when I rest and gaze up at the stars.

“Oh shit—.”

Yujin pinched her fingers just in time to stop the paper from flying out of her grasp. Wrapping herself up in her jacket, she clutched the sheet tighter this time as she continued to write.

Glancing up from her work, Yujin leaned against the side of the boat as she tried to find the right words to use—the right things to say. If only Wonyoung was with her, she thought, then she wouldn’t be struggling like this.

The words would just come out naturally.

Sighing, she licked her drying lips and nodded, urging herself to continue. “Soon enough, princess.”

“Soon enough.”

Whenever I think of you, there’s a fuzziness within me that just … grows to this size and shape that feels a lot like you.

Whenever I think of you, I think of everything.

The way you purse your lips when you’re deep in thought. The way your cologne’s scent slowly fades down your neck. The way you grasp my arm, and pinch my cheek, and pull me close when we’re alone. The way you say my name like I’m all yours.

I sail over oceans and seas, princess—I’ve been doing so for the better part of my life. But just one thought—just one damn thought of you—and I’m suddenly drowning.

Whenever I think of you, Wonyoung, I think of home.

I’ve never really had a home before.

Since I was younger, I never really belonged. As I was born, I was placed in the orphanage. As I grew, I never really felt like I had a true place to stay. As I aged, I found myself between the nooks and crannies of life—always on the move, always on the run. I could never stop anywhere for too long without getting too anxious. Too frustrated. Too peeved. And to this day, I feel like I don’t really have something I can call my own.

Would it bother you if I said I’d like you to be mine? Because princess, I am already absolutely yours.

All yours.

And I can’t wait to come home again.

Love,

Yujin

P.S. I slipped a roll of lipstick for you. One of the rich wives on board one day dropped it and didn’t bother looking for it again. I saw the shade of red and thought it would look good on you.

P.P.S. We’re headed to Norway next. I heard it can get pretty cold up there. Wish you were here. You are so damn warm—did you know that?

=====

August 9, 2024

To whom it may concern,

Do not send another letter back.

Push your luck again and you might not even get a chance to write another letter.

Stay away from my daughter.

Regards,

=====

“I can’t wait to come home again.”

Blushing, Wonyoung crumpled her face at the thought of Yujin uttering those words to her again. She had desired it so much that she could almost hear the other girl’s voice tickling her ears.

Taking a deep breath, she steadied herself and focused on writing a reply.

Knock. Knock.

“Who could it be at this hour?” Wonyoung uttered, dropping her pen on the sheet. “Coming!”

As she sauntered over the floor, the edges of her dress whirling about her, she unlocked it and watched as a figure stood tall and menacingly by the entryway, obscuring the world behind her completely.

Wonyoung’s heart sank into her stomach. “Mother …”

“Hello, dear. Did you miss me?”

Wonyoung’s fingers trembled by her sides. “What are you doing here? How … how did you find me …?”

Her mother looked exactly like how she last saw her before leaving. 

White button-down shirt. Black slacks. A fitted blazer. All covered by a large and pompous fur coat. Hermes bag in one hand, golden bangles and rings around another. The heavy scent of woody and amber notes about her. Wonyoung’s mother was every bit as extravagant as she remembered her to be.

Strutting inside, heels clacking against the floor, her mother took a deep breath as she scanned the room. “What a mess.”

Lifting her shades from her face, she pointed at Wonyoung with it. “It took a while to find you. You’re one elusive girl, I’ll give you that. What are you even doing in a town like this? I thought you’d aim for something with more … taste.”

“M-My life is not your concern, mother …”

“Oh, but it very well is, dear,” she corrected, circling Wonyoung now. “You’re my beloved daughter. Did you forget that? Even if you ran away from home, mommy’s always going to be worried over you. Especially when you’re … squandering your life away like this.”

“What is this even?” her mother gestured to everything.

Wonyoung held her breath. “My … My painting—.”

Her mother’s cackle made her flinch. “They certainly remind me of the noodle art you and Da-ah used to make when you were kids. How adorable.”

Wonyoung felt her blood boiling.

“And what’s this? What are you writing?” her mother asked as she glided over to the table now. She placed her gloved hand against the sheets and flipped through them.

“I-It’s nothing, mother—.”

She lifted up the page and ruffled it in front of Wonyoung. “What is the meaning of this? Who are you writing to? A man?”

“Mother, I swear, I—.”

“Ha, so you came all this way just to sleep around with the locals?” she continued, spitting in her face. “Dear, this isn’t the set of Mamma Mia. This is your life. Why are you wasting it on such trivial fantasies?”

Wonyoung was unable to reply.

Shaking her head, her mother pocketed the letter and sighed. “When you’re ready to live a proper life again, come back home, will you? I’ll be waiting. It was already a pain just to get here. God forbid I stay in that rundown tavern for even a night. Consider yourself lucky I can’t stay over for longer.”

She stopped by the door. “What? Got nothing to say?”

Wonyoung kept her head down.

Her mother scoffed. “I thought so. All this independent living and you still can’t even lift your own chin up.”

“I’ll be back, Wonyoung. You can’t keep hiding from me forever.”

As the sound of her heels softened to a stop, Wonyoung fell to her knees and embraced herself tightly. 

It’s been three years. It’s already been three damn years.

And yet, she was still the same scared girl in the face of her mother.

=====

October 22, 2024

To whom it may concern,

I don’t know who you are, or how you managed to get a hold of these letters of ours, but with all due respect—I don’t give a damn.

I’m not here for you. I’m here for your daughter.

I’m not sure what issues you may have with her—or with me—but I’ll have you know that your daughter is the most magnificent thing in the world.

She’s the most magnificent person to me.

In the few moments I have had with her alone, I could already tell she was something great. Something unique.

She smiles and flowers bloom. She laughs and the world sings. She cries, and suddenly, you’re both bathed in precious starlight.

She takes one look at you, and without even saying anything, you’re already lost. You’re ensnared. You’re engulfed. All tangled up in her.

You don’t know me—that much I’m sure. But there’s one thing I should at least tell you about myself: I do not give up.

Especially not with your daughter.

How can I? She’s already become my everything.

She’s the footnote at the end of each book I’ve read. She’s the voice the sirens on the rocks have stolen when they cry out to me. She’s the shape of the clouds hovering overhead on a hot summer day. She’s the ebb and flow of the tide that threatens to sink me asunder.

She’s in every stroke of my pen. In ever whisper in my mind. In every beat of my heart.

I love your daughter. And nothing will stop a raging storm from surging towards the shore.

It’s best you stay away unless you want to drown.

Regards,

An Yujin

P.S. Give her this little troll figurine, these packs of Tim Tams, and this silver necklace from Bali.

P.P.S. Tell her we’re headed to Chile next. If you’ve stopped threatening her already, then let her know she can write to Port Lirquen.

=====

December 11, 2024

To whom it may concern, your message has been received and duly noted.

Did I scare you? I hope I did, Yujin. Because I was scared the entire time since we last wrote to each other.

My mother … she found me.

She came to visit when I last wrote to you. It took me a while to realize she wrote a letter to you on my behalf.

But, reading your letter has kept me warm throughout this cold winter.

I remember a time a while ago when you said you were not confident in your words. That you were not sure of what to say to me in your letters.

I think back to that time and look at your last letter, and I can’t help but embrace it as if it were you. Because it sounded so much like you. It felt so much like you, Yujin. Oh, how bold you’ve become!

But, I wish I had more than just this letter.

I wish I had more than just these feelings, these wishes, these hopes, and these dreams. I wish I could hold onto something more than just these memories. I wish I could create something more than just these fantasies of you—of us.

I wish I had you, Yujin. I wish I had you here. Right now.

Oh gosh, what am I to do without you, Yujin? I cannot go on like this forever, can I?

Love,

Your princess

P.S. The Tim Tams were expired, but they tasted good.

P.P.S. Don’t worry about the letters. It’s just me again now. I don’t see my mother ever coming back here. Not anytime soon at least.

P.P.S. I realize we don’t have any pictures together. Should we get one next time? Assuming there is a next time …

=====

January 19, 2025

Dear Wonyoung,

Oh, princess, it’s so good hearing from you again.

Your mother’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she? Well, enough about her.

I wish I could write to you longer than this, but the holidays are still in full swing and this is all I can squeeze in between shifts.

Whenever you feel lonely, I want you to look out your window.

Walking out onto the lighthouse balcony, Wonyoung leaned forward and gazed out into the horizon.

I want you to feel the wind kissing your face, smell the saltiness of the sea, and watch the motion of the waves.

Wonyoung witnessed the rise and fall of the water—gentle, cyclical, endless. She couldn’t even so much as breathe without filling her nostrils with the familiar salinity of the ocean. She couldn’t even think about what’s beyond the deep blue other than her—other than Yujin.

Then, I want you to sing from the shore.

“O captain … my captain … won’t you come back home to me?”

And in reply, I’ll sing—

“I will, my love, close your eyes, and count to three,” Yujin whispered against the window of her cabin as the storm outside her walls continued to batter against their boat.

Just like that, I’ll be by your side before you even know it.

Trembling, Wonyoung closed her eyes and counted under her breath.

“One.”

“Two.”

“Three.”

When she opened her eyes, glancing to her side, all Wonyoung saw was an empty space without Yujin.

She bent over the ledge and cried her eyes out.

I’ll be back soon, princess. On a special day. Valentine’s Day. I’ll be there for no less than five days.

Mark your calendar. Close your eyes. Then, count to three.

Holding the red marker in her hand, Wonyoung drew the x-shape across today’s date and took a step back.

‘February 10’ had been crossed out. The redness of the marker was still fresh and wet against the calendar sheet.

And just like that, princess, home is where I’ll be.

Love,

Yujin

=====

February 11, 2025

Today was the day.

Five days from the 10th of February, Yujin had said—inclusive of Valentine’s. Of course she made sure to be here for Valentine’s. Wonyoung swooned at the thought of it still even as her arrival fast approached. She couldn’t help but feel giddier by the minute.

Glancing at her reflection in the mirror, she adjusted the straps of her dress. It was a pastel pink one this time, one that Yujin had never seen on her before. 

Wonyoung wondered if this was too plain. If this dress was too ‘boring’ on the eyes. Her attention was drawn all over the place: the way her straps dug into her shoulders, the way the dress would flitter a little too upwards, the way it hugged her waist, and the way it framed her chest and thighs.

Holding up a hand to her mouth to test the smudge of her lipstick, she managed a smile. She had never been this conscious before. She had never taken this much care into looking presentable before. Prior to this, she had only dressed up for herself. Today, she was dressing up for her.

She was dressing up for Yujin.

Knock knock.

She was here.

Setting down the gifted lipstick, Wonyoung scurried down the stairs. Shoes! She had forgotten to slip on her shoes.

What should she wear?

Were they going out for a stroll? Were they staying home for the day? Were they headed to the shore? Were they going for drinks at the tavern? So many possibilities, so many decisions, so little time.

Wonyoung resolved to just put on a pair of shiny black flats to complement her outfit. And once she was ready, taking a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the door.

“Glad you’re still alive, dear. I was worried, so I thought I’d drop by.”

“Mother …?”

Her mother’s glare was as sharp as ever, sending Wonyoung backwards a few steps. “What? You don’t sound so happy to see me. Tsk, and I put in the effort to come all this way to meet my beloved daughter again. How ungrateful.”

Strutting into the lighthouse, she glanced towards one of the walls. “Keeps getting messier in here.”

“I … I haven’t had the time to clean—.”

“But you had all the time in the world to play dress up, I presume?” her mother pointed out, gesturing with her pointed chin towards Wonyoung’s ensemble. “Why are you dressed up, dear? Are you meeting someone?”

“Are you meeting him?”

It was like someone had drawn an imaginary circle around Wonyoung’s feet, forcing her to shrink inside her own confined space. She couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. She couldn’t even hold her chin up towards her. She wasn’t expecting she’d be here—she never thought her mother would visit her again. And yet, here she was now. 

On the same day she was meant to meet with Yujin.

Her mother’s sigh weighed heavily with her disappointment. “You believe in the love of this sailor? Pathetic—you’re a virgin believing in the promises of a whore.”

She threw her bag against one of the windows and knocked over several of Wonyoung’s canvasses. “You’re just like your bloody father! That? That’s why he left us!”

Chuckling somberly, her mother shook her head. “And that’s why my own daughter left me too…”

“Mother … please …”

“What about your future, Wonyoung? Have you given it much thought?” her mother raised, drowning out Wonyoung’s voice completely as she drew closer to her daughter. “You seem oh so eager to traipse around with this young man, but have you ever thought beyond the short-term?”

“Can you keep going on like this? Can he sustain you? Can he look after you?”

“Do you even know how old he is or where he’s from? What does he plan to do with his life? What does he plan to do with you?’

Wonyoung felt the weight of each word that her mother laid out for her.

Yujin never told her anything about her personal life.

She had never written about where she came from, or where she planned to go to in the future. Does she plan to settle down? Will she ever settle down? What’s her goal for herself? What’s her goal with Wonyoung?

What were they? What were they doing this all for?

Suddenly, Wonyoung didn’t know. And it soured her tastebuds.

“I won’t allow this,” her mother interjected, heels smacking against the floor as she approached her daughter and held her firmly by her shoulders. “I’m staying the night to stop whatever you two are planning. Even if it makes you hate me, I’d rather protect you than see you go down the path your father did.”

“Mother … n—.”

“Do I make myself clear …?”

There was no response.

“Wonyoung, I said. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear!”

Wonyoung carefully nodded, hiding the streaks of starlight flowing from her eyes now.

Her mother sighed, cradling Wonyoung in her arms. “Stop wasting your life hiding and being tied down like this, Wonyoung. You’re so much more than this. Think about what’s real for once.”

“Stop living in your fantasies.”

Footsteps came running up that hill.

Her sling bag bouncing behind her, jacket fluttering against her sides, Yujin tore up the length of the hill that lead up to where her lover was, sprinting at full speed. With a bouquet she purchased before heading over, Yujin panted as she slowed down to a stop in front of the familiar metallic door.

Curling her first, she knocked four times.

No reply.

She waited a moment and then knocked four times once more.

Still no reply.

As soon as she was about to try again, she heard something shifting from inside—like a struggle. Once the sound of the door being unlocked arrived, she presented the flowers before her with a wide smile.

“Oh? And who might you be?”

“Who … are you …?”

“I should be asking you that question,” the woman replied, sizing up Yujin. She was dressed in clothes that costed three years worth of her salary combined. She was not someone who looked like she belonged around these parts. “What are you—the courier? Did my daughter order flowers?”

Daughter. Mother. Wonyoung.

Shrugging, Wonyoung’s mother swiped the bouquet from Yujin’s hands and sniffed it, gagging at the wild aroma that immediately assaulted her nostrils. She shoved the bouquet back to Yujin. “That’s a bit much. What a devious selection. Well, thank you anyway for—.”

“I’m her friend.”

Yujin felt the blow to her gut. She talked a whole lot of smack about Wonyoung’s mother in their previous letters, but now that she’s come face to face with her in the flesh, she suddenly realized why Wonyoung was afraid of her. “I’m her friend. Ma’am.”

Her mother studied Yujin carefully.

“Celebrity Millennium?” she pointed out, eyeing Yujin’s jacket. “But you’re not a passenger, are you? What are you—staff? Crew? Stowaway? Either way, how do you know my daughter?”

Yujin could feel her chest being crushed from the inside.

Rolling her eyes, her mother ducked behind the door and beckoned, “Wonyoung, dear. Someone’s here to see you it seems. Some friend of yours? Go deal with her please.”

She took one last look at Yujin and winced. “And don’t let her in. She smells like the sea.”

Once Wonyoung came into view, Yujin knew how she should have responded—she’s been rehearsing it since months ago. Her jaw would drop. She’d compliment her beauty. And she’d pull her in for a gentle kiss before anything else. That last one was to make up for their last first kiss together.

But now that Wonyoung stood before her in a pretty pastel pink dress, she could not even recognize her lover even if she was standing right in front of her.

What she was looking at was a pale ghost.

She wanted to say something—anything—to her. But her mother loomed over them like a dark cloud threatening to strike with lightning.

“You … look good,” Yujin forced out, choking on her words as she fought back a sob. “I’m glad … you’re well.”

Bowing politely, Yujin hid the flowers from Wonyoung’s sight and turned around, heading back down the hill.

There was no wind. There was no beckoning. There were no tears.

Yujin simply walked away as if she had lost the love of her life. Forever.

The next day, Yujin was a complete mess.

She had paced around her room at the tavern how many times by now—Fifty? A hundred? It was all she could think of doing. All of her excitement, all of her joy, all of her longing, it had all been converted within seconds.

Into dread. Into despair.

She eyed the bouquet that still laid at the foot of her bed. Yujin punched a hole into the headboard before stomping out of her room.

“Rough morning?” the tavernkeeper greeted as he polished some glass. “Thought you’d be a bit happier to be back in town.”

Yujin just shrugged as she sat by the counter, head still down. “Just get me a beer.”

“Breakfast beer, eh? Suit yourself.”

As the tavernkeeper turned his back to her to fill up a pint, Yujin heard something from outside. “—know your mother was in town, Ms. Jang. She looks very … mature.”

“Wonyoung.”

Swiping the pint that was just laid out for her, Yujin chugged it in one go to help bolster her as she jogged off towards the mother-daughter pair.

Yujin tried to make their two ends meet.

When Wonyoung took her mother to the bakery on 11th Street, Yujin trailed them and lined up to order some pastries herself. But as soon as Wonyoung noticed she was there, she dragged her mother away to another store.

When her mother wanted to examine the prospects of livelihood in town, Yujin was just around the corner, where she could see the two approach the town bulletin boards. As Wonyoung explained the different industries the locals were keeping alive, one look at Yujin was all it took for her to fall silent and earn a scolding from her mother.

When they passed by the general mart to stock up on some goods for her mother’s stay, Yujin and Wonyoung had many chances to encounter each other along the thinly-packed isles of the store. Instead, they both chose to play a burdened game of hide-and-seek as Wonyoung dodged behind stacks of cereal boxes and ducked into baskets of fruits just to avoid the other girl.

By the time the second day had come to a close, all Yujin got from her stay here was a cat-and-mouse game with Wonyoung. All she could do was watch as her little mouse scurried away from her grasp each time.

All she could do was watch as her love fled her.

She knew the path. She knew the way home. A right turn into 4th Street. Two left turns to get to 7th Street. Once at the tavern, cross the road and head onto the main road. Onto 12th Street. Then, up the hill.

But she shook her head and sighed.

“If she’s going to keep me like a secret, then … I guess I should stay out of her way.”

Flicking the lights open to her room once she returned to the tavern, she saw the same bouquet of flowers still laying on her bed. Yujin picked it up and shoved it in the trash can, kicking it over.

“What a waste of my time …”

But in a heartbeat, she plucked it back up and sobbed into her lap.

On the third day, Yujin resolved to try again. More concretely this time. More purposefully.

Early in the morning, before the lampposts around town were scheduled to die out, before anyone else could rouse, she hurried her way towards the lighthouse and stationed herself right by Wonyoung’s door.

With a deep breath, she knocked on her door.

There was no reply.

Waiting for a moment, Yujin tried again, knocking harder this time.

Still, there was no reply.

Squatting down, Yujin rested her legs and then waited to knock once more. Again, and again, and again.

But no one answered.

She circled around the lighthouse like the seagulls in the sky did. She trudged up and down the hill to the beat of her shanties. She rolled around on the grass until she got dizzy. She searched through every last house and store in town to ask if they’ve seen where her lover had gone.

Yujin tried everything she could to pass the time, but still, no one replied.

By the time the evening came, she was leaning against the lighthouse wall, plucking petals from her flowers. By the time she had reached the last petal, she held it up to her face before allowing it to be swept up by the evening sea breeze.

Yujin felt emptier than the flower buds.

On the fourth day, Yujin had fully given up.

She spent the better part of this day tied to her bed, rotting between her tears, her unwashed clothes, and the stiffness of the mattress beneath her.

Life couldn’t have gotten any worse than this, she thought. But when she thought back to Wonyoung—or rather, the lack of Wonyoung on her trip—the biting sensation felt more painful.

The door to her room creaked open. Yujin didn’t need to look up from her pillow to know who it was.

“Ya, you came all this way just to lay around like this?” the tavernkeeper pestered once again. At this point, Yujin was tempted to throw the de-petaled stems at him out of spite. “At least get some sunlight. There’s still some time before evening.”

“Why do you care?” Yujin groaned.

“Because you’re a customer. And none of my customers leave here unsatisfied. Come out. I have a meal ready for you.”

Sighing, Yujin fought to get out of bed. When she finally did, she looked at her mess of a hair in the mirror and just chuckled to herself, rolling with it.

The moment Yujin stepped out of the room, Wonyoung was waiting for her, seated by the counter. “Hi …”

Yujin immediately turned around.

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed her by the waist.

“Yujin …”

Yujin bit her lip. She could feel Wonyoung’s hands trembling. But then, who was she to judge? She was shuddering herself.

“Yujin, I’m sorry … They told me everything, so let me … let me clear things up.”

Nodding, Yujin agreed to join her by the counter. There, they were served fresh bowls of fish stew.

“My mother came over … as you already know,” Wonyoung started, stirring her meal. “She insisted on staying. She knew about us. Well … she just knew I was seeing someone. She didn’t approve of it. I had to keep her at bay for a few days, and yesterday, when you came to visit me, I was out of town accompanying her to the nearest bus station.”

Yujin just nodded, pecking at her stew.

Wonyoung reached into her bag and carefully slid something to Yujin. It was shaped like a card. When Yujin picked it up, she saw that it was an intricate drawing of a rose.

“Did you … did you make this?” Yujin asked through her worn-out throat. “It’s pretty.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, Yujin,” Wonyoung greeted her, pressing a hand down against her thigh.

Yujin held it close to her chest and crumpled forward. “Wonyoung … Wonyoung, god, I-I feel like such a mess …”

The tavernkeeper whistled and immediately walked away like he hadn’t seen a thing. This gave Wonyoung the opportunity to stand next to Yujin and embrace her, but the other girl was being stubborn.

“I … I was so confident about coming here … confronting your mom … I had so many plans for the two of us during my trip, a-and … that’s all … that’s all just down the drain now …”

Wonyoung hushed her, rubbing her shoulders. “But I’m still here, Yujin. And you’re still here for a day more. So how about … how about we just spend it together?”

Yujin glanced up with tears in her eyes, and immediately, Wonyoung fought the urge to laugh. “Such a baby, my Yuijn.”

Her baby pulled her close and cried into her bare shoulder for a few moments longer.

The two returned to the lighthouse, where Wonyoung invited Yujin inside once more. This time, she made it past the living room, and went straight to the kitchen and dining room.

They planned to make a simple meal together. Nothing fancy. Nothing grand. Just a meal that the two of them could share—a meal that they’d prepare together.

While it was Yujin’s first time in the kitchen, she was no stranger to cooking. She immediately washed the ingredients they needed before heading straight towards peeling and dicing. Meanwhile, Wonyoung began filleting the fish, taking great care to debone each one as she wielded the knife with precision.

“What?” Wonyoung asked, as she caught Yujin staring at her. “All done? Then just sit there and wait for this to finish cooking.”

Yujin shook her head. She stepped closer to Wonyoung and rested her chin on her shoulder. Yujin pecked her neck. “It’s like we’re married.”

Wonyoung held her breath. She reached out for Yujin’s face and tucked it into the crook of her neck.

Yujin snaked a hand towards the cooking dish with a fork and plopped a bite it into her mouth. Chewing, she nodded. “This tastes good. Just the right amount of butter too. Not so much zest though.”

Wonyoung playfully pushed her away before turning the fire down. “Ya, I wasn’t done cooking. Could you get me something to wipe with? My fingers are messy.”

But Yujin simply grabbed Wonyoung’s wrist and lifted her hand towards her face. Kissing her fingers, Yujin wrapped her lips around each one and licked them clean. She never took her eyes off Wonyoung the entire time.

“Is that clean enough for you, princess?”

Wonyoung turned off the stove completely before jumping into Yujin’s arms, sending the other girl careening into the cupboards behind her.

“Seems like someone missed me too,” were the last things Yujin whispered back to her before they completely forgot about dinner.

All. Night. Long.

And then came the fifth day of Yujin’s trip.

If the cawing of the seagulls through the open window wasn’t enough to wake Yujin up, the massive headache she had definitely did the trick.

Blinking twice, when she came to, she found herself laying on the couch with Wonyoung, who was snuggled up against the backrest.

Yujin sat up and took one step across the floor, and immediately, a hand reached out for her.

“So you’re going now. Just like that?”

Silence.

She heard Wonyoung sit up as well. From over her shoulder, she watched as the other girl covered herself with one of the couch pillows. “What are we, An Yujin? Am I just a fling to you?”

Yujin moved to the floor so she could sit next to Wonyoung and talk her through this. “Woah woah, where is this coming from, princess?”

Wonyoung shook her head. “Where are you from?”

“What?” “Where are you from, Yujin? Just answer the question.”

“Daejeon. I was found in Daejeon. I was brought to an orphanage there. Left when I was fifteen.”

“And you’ve been sailing since then?” Wonyoung asked.

Yujin nodded. “Yeah. Been sailing since then.”

“And what do you sail for?”

“What do I sail for—to travel. To make money. To save up money from my work.”

“What for?”

“Wonyoung—.”

“What for, Yujin? I’m asking you what are you saving for? A house? A car? Saving up money so you can go on trips for your other girlfriends?”

“Princess—.”

“Don’t you ‘princess’ me, An Yujin. Not right now,” Wonyoung warned. “Answer me. What for?”

Yujin shook her head. “I don’t know. I never really thought that far into things.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Wonyoung sighed. “I can’t do this, Yujin. I can’t.”

Propping up on her knees, Yujin slid over to Wonyoung’s side, but the other girl refused to even take her hands. “I can’t just keep waiting for you to come to me when you’re ready or when you’re free. I can’t just keep my door open the entire time, hoping  you’d come—wishing you’d come. I can’t just be someone you love once a year when it’s convenient. I can’t … I can’t live like this …”

“Wonyoung, I always love you. Do you … never feel that? Even when we’re away? Are you mad at me because of … because of how things turned out this trip?”

Wonyoung shook her head. “I’m not even mad at myself for what happened. We had a misunderstanding. We made up. That’s … that’s normal. The arguments … the love-making … all of it—it only gets to happen when you’re here.”

“Yujin, I feel like my life is on pause when I’m without you. I’m still doing things, but … I don’t … I don’t feel like I’m living. I don’t feel like I’m alive. I’m just waiting. Waiting for you.”

Yujin racked her brain, trying to come up with a response to that. One moment she was waking up from a beautiful dream, another moment she was spiraling into a nightmare. “No, no, Wonyoung—.”

“Yujin, I love you.”

Glancing up from her messy hair, Yujin watched as Wonyoung bursted into fountains of starlight. “That’s the problem, Yujin. I love you … I do. I always do. But … I need you. I need you more than these stolen moments. More than the bought time. I need you here. With me. Please …”

“Please stay?”

Yujin stood up now.

She slipped into her shirt, then her pants, then wrapped her jacked around her waist. Without even looking at Wonyoung, she shook her head. “I’m sorry … You know I can’t.”

They spent the next few moments in silence as they both got dressed and fixed the living room.

With her sling bag over her shoulder once more, Yujin placed a hand on the door. “Maybe … maybe this was a mistake, Wonyoung.”

Behind her, Wonyoung nodded. “Maybe it was.”

Not even a goodbye. Not even a final glance. Yujin just left without saying a word.

And Wonyoung fell to her knees and beat her first into the ground, wailing as more starlight spilled onto the floor.

=====

June 16, 2025

Dear Yujin,

It’s been months. Are you well?

What was I expecting? Of course, I wouldn’t hear back from you after what happened when we last met.

I still think about what I said to you, and I wonder if it was wrong of me to have said those.

But that’s how I really feel.

It hurts because I still miss you despite that. It hurts because I still need you. It hurts because I still love you, Yujin.

But, I need to let you go.

You’re a sailor made for the open sea. You travel. You adventure. You crave wanderlust. You never settle down. You’re all over the place, being all sorts of things, trying to just get by.

You go where the wind takes you. And I don’t want to take that from you.

Like how the tides can’t be tamed, and how the ebb and flow of the ocean can’t be contained, you are someone who simply cannot be confined to one place. To one role. To one person.

As much as I want you to be mine, I can’t. I can’t make you change yourself for me. Because then, that wouldn’t be you anymore, would it?

That won’t be the An Yujin I love.

I understand why you can’t stay. It’s not in your nature to. So I’m afraid … I’m afraid I have to let you go.

It will be for the best. For both of us.

Goodbye, An Yujin.

=====

August 23, 2025

In deep breaths, Wonyoung managed to chug down an entire glass of red wine in one go without stopping, ending it with a sigh. She felt her stomach gurgle with warmth, but she held it down.

“Are you sure you should be doing this, Ms. Jang?” the tavernkeeper asked, hesitating to fill her glass up with more liquor. “That’s your sixth one tonight.”

“Hey, I keep paying, you keep pouring,” she slurred, pushing more bills towards him.

A figure sat next to her. But she couldn’t care enough to see who it was.

“I’ll have what she’s having. In fact, a round for the house. On me.”

This merited a few cheers from the locals. When Wonyoung lifted her glass up towards her new drinking buddy, she paused as their drinks touched.

“Fancy seeing a lady like you here. Got a story to tell?” the man asked. He was tall and skinny. HIs brows were luscious and well kept. Wonyoung was distracted by the way he’d bite his lip constantly.

“You could say that,” she finally replied, taking a long swig of her drink. “But I’d rather not go into it.”

The man simply nodded, swirling his own drink around in one hand. “I have to say—wine at a tavern. Not the usual choice.”

“Look, I just want to drink and forget, and not have to worry about the small things. And you,” she raised, poking a finger at his shoulder. “Are doing the opposite of that for me, mister …?”

“Sunghoon. You can just call me Sunghoon.”

“Sunghoon,” Wonyoung repeated with a nod. “Well, nice to meet you, Sunghoon. Visiting?”

“For a while. Probably a few months. Work took me around the area, so I’ll be showing up more than just tonight.”

For some reason, that response stabbed at Wonyoung’s chest.

Shaking her head, she excused herself and pushed her drink away, hopping off her stool. She came crashing down when she tried to stand, almost immediately losing her balance.

Two hands scooped her up by the shoulders. It was Sunghoon. He helped her to a stand and walked her out of the tavern.

Once she got onto her bike, Sunghoon insisted to accompany her all the way home. “If you weren’t fit to walk, then you’re definitely not fit to bike. At least let me trail you.”

Rolling her eyes, Wonyoung sighed. “Just try to keep up.”

And for some reason, those words stabbed at Wonyoung’s chest as well.

Wonyoung did her best to focus on the road ahead, avoiding any sort of wobbling despite the alcohol serving its tour around her body. Sunghoon was right next to her, ready to steady her if need be. When they got to the incline, Wonyoung didn’t shy away from Sunghoon pushing her upwards by the seat of her bike.

As soon as they managed to pedal up to the top, Wonyoung leaned one foot out and let the bike drop to the grass. She kicked her bicycle away from the door and began searching for her keys.

“I’d like to get to know you better. Maybe outside of you being drunk next time. Would you mind?”

Clutching her keys, Wonyoung turned towards Sunghoon. “Are you trying to hit on me?”

Sunghoon lifted his hands up in surrender. “Guilty as charged. But I’ll only say—.”

Wonyoung leaned in to kiss him.

It was a quick kiss on the lips—no tongue, no lingering, no attachment.

When she pulled away, she unlocked her door and opened it. “Goodbye, Sunghoon.”

Before the man could even respond, she pulled the door close and hid behind it, covering her mouth with a hand.

It didn’t feel right. It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t Yujin.

=====

December 17, 2025

Dear Yujin,

I don’t even know what to say to you anymore.

I’m becoming a bit of an alcoholic. Not with beer—with wine. Cheese tastes better with it. Or does wine taste better with cheese? I don’t know.

I don’t know anymore.

Yujin, I tried other things. I really did. But what I’ve come to realize is that nothing—no one—can capture the sting of the venom you drench me in whenever I think of you.

Nothing has worked out. Nothing has worked out quite like you.

You were a once in a lifetime person, Yujin. And I was so happy to have called you mine even for just a moment. But I’ve gone and squandered you away. Because I wasn’t ready. Because I was impatient. Because I feared uncertainty. Because I was too weak.

Because I couldn’t admit that I loved you more than I let on.

These days, I just make do with the lingering ghost of you. Of who you were when you were still here. When you were still mine.

I wrap myself in these emotions like the mirage of a worn scarf to keep me warm. But it’s not enough. I want the real thing. I need the real thing.

I need you.

Lately, I feel like a ghost myself. Drifting from day to day. Wandering about without meaning or purpose. Moving just to get by. Not really living. Not really alive.

How can I? When my soul—my love—has died.

Lately, Yujin, I find myself sleeping as soon as the sun has set. Why? It’s foolish of me to admit it at this point, but I guess there’s no harm in confessing now since it’s too late. I sleep earlier so I can fast forward to the next morning. To the next day. Over and over again.

I sleep so I can see you, Yujin. And I hate to wait so long.

Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, I hope you’re well. And if you ever feel alone, I hope you know that I still sing to the sea, waiting for you to return.

O captain, my captain.

Always,

Your princess

=====

January 3, 2026

Yujin was so ready to crash for the evening. If it still was the evening, that is.

Slamming onto her bed, she groaned as she checked her phone. Half-past midnight.

Yujin rolled to the side to fish around for the envelope she had been hiding for a month now. Opening it, she read its contents, knowing who it was from.

“I sleep so I can see you, and I hate to wait so long.”

Yujin managed a smile. Just like that, she had already forgotten about her incoming double shift. Just like that, she was all giddy like a puppy again.

Three knocks came at her door. “Yujin, you there? Are you decent? The crew wanted to go for drinks again while the passengers are asleep. You coming with?”

It was Karina.

Glancing down at the letter, Yujin turned to the door. “It’s not a party without you, Yujin. It’ll be my treat, come on.”

There was a pause, then Karina continued. “If you want, we could ditch the crew and drink alone like we always did. Just the two of us? Please?”

Yujin sighed and shook her head, folding the letter back into its envelope. “I think I’m good, Karina. Thanks though. I … I need to be up early for another shift. I’ll be getting some shut-eye now.”

“I see … Such a killjoy. Since when were you like this? Whatever … suit yourself then.”

As Karina’s muffled footsteps disappeared down the hallway, Yujin pulled her comforter above her head and tucked herself in along with the letter. She clutched the beaded bracelet around her wrist and closed her eyes.

“Soon.”

=====

February 14, 2026 - The present day

Wonyoung opened her windows to let the scent of the sea waft in and fill her living room.

Returning to her tea, she toyed with the bag for a few moments as she contemplated her latest painting. It felt a bit abstract. A bit patchwork. She wasn’t sure what she was going for with this piece, but it at least seemed artistic. Somehow.

She had forgotten what day it was. She only remembered once she looked at her calendar filled with crosses.

It was already Valentine’s day again.

Wonyoung took a sip as she fought back a small giggle. It was a silly thought.

She recalled how once upon a time she had dreamed of love. She recalled how in the not-so-distant past, she had known what it was like to love and be loved. She recalled how she yearned, and screamed, and cried, and pleaded. All in the name of love.

But those days were now behind her.

She has grown as a person. She was a changed woman now.

Now, she lusts no longer for the inconsistent ebb and flow of the tides. Now, she yearns for a steady hull to guide her away from the shore.

In due time, she will find herself, Wonyoung thought. In due time, she will carry herself away from here.

There was a knock at the door. Immediately, she flipped her canvas over and hid her brushes underneath the couch. If this was her mother again, it was best to give her less things to nitpick her for.

The knock came again. Wonyoung paused. That wasn’t her mother. She never knocked twice and would just barge in. Who could this be?

Widening her eyes, Wonyoung slipped out of her apron. “Sunghoon? I’ll be out in a sec!”

“Who’s Sunghoon? Should I be worried about him?”

No. It can’t be.

Wonyoung rushed to the door, knocking over one of her palettes. She cursed under her breath, but kicked the clatter behind her in order to get to the door immediately.

Once she unlocked it and it flew open, what faced her was whom she had feared.

“You …”

“Hi,” Yujin greeted, drenched from head to toe, holding up an equally drenched bouquet of flowers. Behind her, one of the local fishermen was out of breath, struggling to keep up with her. “Ms. Jang! This girl … she’s a lunatic! She jumped off her ship into the middle of the ocean—and for what?”

Yujin bit her lip, fighting a smile. Wonyoung just covered her face. “Yujin, you …”

Stepping inside, Yujin thanked the fisherman, who was relived to know that she would be alright. Once the two girls were alone, Yujin handed her the flowers.

“I understand what you meant now, princess. And I’m here. I’m here to stay.”

“You’re here to—,” Wonyoung repeated, pinching her nose in irritation. “Yujin, did you even stop to think about how I’d feel about all this? Did you even consider the possibility that I could have … I could have been alright without you?”

“I … But your letters, Wonyoung. Your last letter, you—.”

“What about your job? What about your ship, and your crew? What about money?” Wonyoung continued, pacing back and forth. “What about our careers? My mother? O-Our future? Don’t you worry about any of that? Did you not think about any of that at all?”

“I did, which is why I’m here now.”

Yujin stepped closer and reached out for Wonyoung’s hand. The other girl’s grasp was weak and hesitant, but Yujin continued. “Wonyoung, I … I’ve always been on the run. Thought there was nothing else to life than just being on the road—across the sea. I had no one. Cared for no one else. And … relied on no one but myself. But then, I met you.”

Smiling, Yujin closed her eyes. “I love this peninsula. I love this town. I love the warm people. I love the smell of the sea. I love the wind beneath my sails when I’m here. But most of all? I love you. Wonyoung, I … I never thought about a future before this. My future. But you … you made me want to think about it. You made me want to fight for it—fight for something bigger than myself. You … you made me want to settle down.”

Gesturing to the door, Yujin nodded. “So I’m here to stay. For you.”

“Where will you even stay, Yujin? Did you think I’ll let you live with me after everything that’s happened?” Wonyoung replied.

“I … I was planning on staying at the tavern if you were still mad at me. The tavern keeper’s grown fond of me too.”

“And how will you keep staying here? You just … you just quit your job.”

Yujin shrugged, stepping away to pace around the room. “I’ll work the tavern. Help the locals. Hell—I’ll even learn to fish better just to make this work. Just for you.”

“Yujin … you threw away your life just for me. Is that really ok …?”

But Yujin just smiled. “Not at all, princess. I know I’ll be alright when I’m with you. Shit happens. Plans change. But now? I want you to be a part of my plans. And I want to be a part of yours. And um, like you said before … it can only happen when I’m here. When we’re both here. Together.”

“So, if you’ll have me, let’s figure out our future together, Wonyoung.”

Wonyoung sighed, but it was one that was followed up with a smile. “Ya, you think you can come back here after walking out on me and think it will be fine just like that? At least make up for it first.”

Yujin took one step, then another, and when she was finally in front of Wonyoung again, she leaned down to scoop her up by her waist. She peppered her arms, then her neck, then her cheeks in nothing but kisses.

“Ok, ok, you can stop now,” Wonyoung whined, pushing Yujin’s face away. “Ya! Haha, I said stop!”

“I’m not going to stop at all,” Yujin whispered, when she in fact had stopped. “Not now. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

Biting her lip, Wonyoung pressed her forehead against Yujin. “Let me take you upstairs.”

There was a reason Wonyoung never let anyone upstairs. Not even her own mother had been there. Her bedroom was her personal space—even more so now that she was living on her own. So when she decided to invite Yujin in, she knew she was truly ready for it.

It was time.

“Wow.”

The first thing that Yujin saw was her wall full of art. Ranging from realist depictions to the more geometric renditions, from surrealist imagery to powerful expressionist strokes, Yujin marveled at all the works Wonyoung produced over the years.

“Wonyoung, you … you’ve made all of this? This is all …”

“You,” Wonyoung admitted, standing next to an abstract interpretation of Yujin’s facial features. “It’s … it’s all you.”

“And your mom didn’t say anything about it?”

Wonyoung chuckled. “She’s never been here. And, she’s a bit of a bitch, isn’t she?”

Yujin sauntered over to another corner of her room, to a spot where a bunch of trinkets were gathered together. “These are … the souvenirs I got you …”

The two rings. The candy wrappers. The roll of lipstick. The troll figurine. The silver necklace. They were all there. Not a single one missing.

“You kept all of them?”

Wonyoung raised a brow, reaching for the troll and playing with its hair. “Why wouldn’t I? They were the closest I could get to you.”

As Yujin sat down at the foot of her bed still speechless, Wonyoung offered to dry her bag. Upon opening it to remove its contents, piles of folded paper came spilling out.

“My letters. You still kept all of them even after we fought? And these … Yujin …”

Yujin bit her lip, picking up one of the letters. “Unsent ones. Just for you. I never stopped writing, Wonyoung. Not until I could make it back to you and hand it over myself. So … if you have the time, please read them.”

Wonyoung was on the verge of tears. Thankfully, Yujin stood next to her and held her close, swaying her in a soothing rhythm, helping her calm down.

As they danced, they held each other closely and tightly, never letting the other go—not this time.

Gesturing to the bed, Wonyoung laid down first, then carefully, Yujin joined her. They stared up at the ceiling and held each other’s hands.

They talked about the different constellations in the sky. The best cheese to pair with different types of wine. And what kinds of fishes swam at the bottom of the ocean.

And they could go on like this forever.

Turning to her side now, Wonyoung parted Yujin’s hair and rested her hand on Yujin’s cheek. “You won’t be leaving me in the morning this time? You promise?”

Yujin shook her head. “Not a chance. Here, close your eyes.”

Wonyoung leaned closer and closed her eyes for Yujin. Under her breath, she counted. “One. Two. Three.”

When she opened her eyes again, Yujin pressed her lips deeply against hers, lingering for as long as she could. Wonyoung cupped her lover’s cheek and pinched her earlobe playfully.

“O captain, my captain, welcome home,” Wonyoung said, nuzzling against Yujin. “My love.”

“I’m home, my love. And I’m never going to leave again,” Yujin replied.

“Never again, princess.”

=====

=====

The thought of it alone is more than enough to freeze the blood in your veins. You still get stiff when you recall the way your face warped from relief after seeing your girlfriend again in the flesh, then into confusion when you began to wonder where this was all coming from, and finally into dread when you finally realized where this discussion might be headed.

What was that supposed to mean? What does that spell for your relationship?

You wish it was that easy. You really wish it could be that simple. To just talk to her. To just ask her directly about it. To confront her and her unspoken fears and insecurities about your long-distance relationship.

But the words don’t come out. You can’t find it in you to scrape them from the pit of your chest and lay them bare before her. She doesn’t seem like she wants to breach the subject either—not again. Whenever your eyes met since she popped the question, you could tell from the way she darts her gaze away within milliseconds that she just wanted to instigate. She was hoping you would progress it.

Did she really think you—let alone anyone—could have prepared for something like this?

You’re happy enough as it is. You have many things to be thankful for.

You’re glad you managed to save up enough money to attend their concert tonight—SVIP tickets. Bougie little shit. She offers to not just get you a free ticket to the soundcheck, but also a special backstage pass so you could hang out with her and the other members during the breaks and lulls of their performances. But you told her some cheesy and cringey spiel about wanting to ‘earn your way’ to be by her side when she’s on the stage. So she let you do it your way.

You’re relieved that your little gambit after the concert paid off. The moment she told you that the flight was almost immediately after their concert, you began planning for a means of escape. You knew it would be difficult to reach her, so you pulled some strings, which included buying a cheap ticket to South Korea, bribing the staff in charge of the lounge areas, and sending her a script meant for her manager to allow her to be excused for a moment before their departure. It was hard enough for her to come up with bullshit reasons for her other members, but you’re just glad it worked.

But most of all, you’re glad that she’s with you. Really with you right now.

Leaning into your stiff body planted firmly against the soft padded cushions of the lounge couch, she’s pressing her cheek between the folds of your lap, holding onto the stretch of leg between your hip and knee, allowing you to caress the stray strands of her hair away from her face, Naoi Rei acts as if nothing had just happened between you two.

As if you two hadn’t soft-launched your break up.

There’s a whole self-service buffet in front of you two: pastries, all-day breakfast, specialty items from the local cuisine, finger foods, light snacks. There’s even a cocktail bar stocking one of her favorite drinks. But she doesn’t budge. And neither do you.

You know you should probably get some food for her—even feed her if you have to. You didn’t want to bring it up before whenever you two got on video call, and you weren’t even sure if it was real or if it was all just in your head, but you couldn’t help but notice the amount of weight she’s losing. One of your hands crests over her bare thighs and squeezes it in comfort. Your other hand dangles just above her laying face and pokes a finger into her cheek to test its plushness. Thankfully she hasn’t gotten too skinny, but it concerns you. Greatly. And you should probably be a decent boyfriend anyway and get her a bite or two to help her recharge after her concert.

And yet, you still find yourself motionless by her side, halfway between wanting to embrace her tightly and helping her sit up so you can walk out and run as far away from the airport as possible.

You shut your eyes and let out a sigh so deep that it rumbles in your stomach, alerting her.

She shifts, swapping from her previous fixation—the F1 race on one of the TVs that she knows absolutely nothing about—and instead now looks up at you. 

You try your best not to look at the sulk in her eyes, at the pale of her cheeks, at the longing in her pout. You feel your pettiness bubble up to the surface. She was the one who hinted at breaking up, so why should you feel any pity towards her?

But who are you kidding? One glimpse of her and your knees buckle. Soon, you find yourself staring right back at her from above.

You don’t know what to say, and that’s probably part of the problem. You gather she doesn’t know what to tell you either. You’re not really a person of many words. You were never verbose nor well-spoken enough growing up. You just let things happen and left the thoughts alone to simmer in your head. So what were you supposed to do now? What were you supposed to say now?

Should you circle back to the topic? Bring it up again? Raise your concern? That seems very risky. Maybe she already forgot about her break up idea. If so, then reminding her about it would just place it back into the forefront of her mind and develop the thought further.

Should you maybe break the ice somehow at least and try to lighten the mood? Whether or not she’s still actively thinking about the question she asked you—and your lack of a decent intelligible response—you should at least try to support her right? Try to support her? You can only imagine how physically exhausted she must be right now. The setlist they had for tonight’s concert was insane and afforded Rei and the other girls little to no breaks. Maybe being silly for a bit to lift her spirits isn’t such a bad ieda.

Should you maybe just … let it be?

Among the multitude of thoughts swimming around in your head, you let that line of thinking simmer the longest before entertaining it further.

You avoid her gaze for this one, and you swear to god you could hear her whine because of it.

What if you just let it be?

The last time you saw Rei in person was back in 2024, when she came to your area for a second time following their group’s first world tour. You two were more lovestruck back then. More carried by passion. More limited through the view of each of your own rose-tinted glasses. You didn’t care if she was only around for two days. You didn’t care if you could only have her for an hour after their fan meet on the evening before the concert proper. You didn’t care about what you’d both do, or say, or profess to each other when you could finally meet again. You just let your emotions take control and wash over you, and you both found yourselves forming the treasured memory of nearly falling down the stairs of her hotel’s fire escape because she wouldn’t let go of your face to stop kissing you for even just a second—even if it could cost her her life.

And now?

Now you had more time. More leeway. More comfort. More freedom. And yet you both have done less with each other this year than you did two years ago. Hell—you could even argue that you both have done way less together tonight than you normally did over voice or video call. You swear you had everything planned down to a tee, calculated everything for your plan to be executed successfully, refined all the different scripts you had in mind for what you’d finally tell her once you were with her again face-to-face. But none of it mattered in the end, did it? She came into tonight with something else on her mind.

So what if you just let it be?

What if you just allowed yourself a final moment of respite with her? One last chance to just hold her intimately like this—like you are right now—in the silence of the lounge. No cameras. No fans. No overprotective manager or nosey members to be wary of. Just the two of you. Not as idol and fan. Not as random strangers who matched on a whim using a silly dating app. Not as oppa and dongsaeng. Just boyfriend and girlfriend.

What if you just let her go?

You wanted this relationship to last. You really did. You still do, in fact. Even after all the doubt that she casted deep within the well of your being. It shattered you. Collapsed you into yourself. Weighed down on you from start to finish. But you held onto hope. You believed that one day, your monthly photo-journal compilations on Google Drive would turn into a collage of physical photos scattered across the space of your soon-to-be shared apartment. That one day, your weekly dates across the screen would spill over into reality, and you could finally take her out around the fancier parts of town for Saturdates or Sundates—whenever she was more free. That one day, your nightly calls in bed that lasted until someone passes out or cries themselves to sleep would culminate with you both falling asleep and waking up next to each other in the same shared bed. 

But as those words echo in your head like the toll of the dead, you can’t help but wonder if those memories? Those wishes? Those hopes and dreams of yours? Were all just a veil for you to hide from the reality of the situation.

She’s an idol. She’s meant for the stage, and the limelight, and the fame. She’s meant to be loved by many—more than just you. And you? You’re just a normal dude trying to live paycheck to paycheck. Just outrunning life before it starts to get ahold of you. Just … trying to chase after her and finally merge onto her path as well.

But who are you kidding? That’s never going to happen. Rei’s never giving up on being an idol. And you are never going to be within her league in your lifetime.

So, you return to the thought. That damn ever-present thought.

What if you just let her go?

It’s easier that way, isn’t it? After all, it saves you the impending heartbreak that’s looming over you like a hurricane in the horizon. It saves you all the messy bits. It saves you from taking longer to move on.

“Move on?”

You flinch, glance slowly back down at her until you’re staring at her similarly confused expression, and raise a brow. “What did you say?”

“Move on?” she asks again, tapping a finger now against your knee. “You were writing it. On my body. ‘Move on’.”

You didn’t notice it, but Rei’s right. The hand that you unknowingly moved down towards your waist had its pointer stretched forward as if it was tracing something against her skin.

“Sorry, I was just … thinking. About things,” you feign, opting to go with the first option—to not talk about it.

Rei nods, cheek grazing gently against your jeans. “Can you guess what this spells?”

With her own finger, she mimics your writing and actually attempts to write something across your thigh. At first, you couldn’t really tell what it is. But after the third attempt, you stopped comparing it to morse code and instead tried to treat it like brushstrokes of a pen.

“Con … -cert?”

Rei nods again with a smile, clapping her hands in small flits. “That took a while, but that was good. Ok now, your turn!”

You aren’t really in the mood to be playing games, but you indulge her. It’s the least you can do to decompress.

“Bes … No, beau …? Beau … Ah! Beautiful!” she completes with a roll of her eyes. In the same vein, she writes out her next word for you.

“Back? Back ga … Wait is this even in English anymore?”

The smirk she pulls when you ask this is enough to confirm it. You furrow your brows and try to focus on the strokes, on the way they see a bit more rounded on the curves and sharper against the edges. When the ‘Eureka moment’ finally strikes you, you thank the heavens for blessing you with enough patience to study Japanese on the daily ever since you started dating Rei.

“Baka? Hey now!”

Burying her face into your lap, she does a little wiggle to try and ignore you. Either that or she was just unknowingly being adorable once again. You want to smile. You want to caress the side of her face. But the bitter taste of her words blossom once more at the back of your tongue, so you hold yourself back.

“Your turn. Write me something. Anything. And I’ll guess it again.”

You scratch at the nail of your pointer with the tip of your thumb. Like you’re sharpening it. You use this moment to think.

“Re … Rei! Rei-chan … wa … totemo … kawa … kawaii? Rei-chan wa totemo totemo kawaii, nee!”

“Ok you clearly added more things to that, but sure,” you tease, earning you a pinch to your cheek. “Go on, it’s your turn now.”

She palms over your thigh like she’s erasing her previous message before writing anew with her finger, leaving you to guess what it is again.

“Moo … moo …?”

Rei is bawling, hair fanning out behind her on your lap as she clutches her stomach to try and relieve herself from the manic laughter. “You sound just like a cow—I should have recorded it.”

You bite your lip. “Hey, I’m trying my best, alright? Wasn’t fair that you shifted the game to your mother tongue.”

She nods, gesturing towards you with her chin, inviting you to finish what you started.

“Moo … moogenkai?”

She’s at her limit? At her limit for what?

At first, you figure that she might just be hungry. That she might just be hinting at you to go get her something to eat already. To stop being a coward and treat your girlfriend right. But when you motion like you might stand up, she pushes hard against the joint of your knee as if to stop you from your idiocy.

When she looks into your eyes this time, you can tell something’s changed. She continues writing on your lap.

“Gan …  Ganbatteru yo ne? Demo … demo …”

The moment your mind translates what she’s trying to tell you into English, you freeze. You don’t say it out loud anymore. You simply voice it out in your own mind.

Ganbatteru you ne? Soredemo mada fujubunda.

Watashi no tame ni.

Anata no tame ni.

You feel knot after knot starting to tighten in your guts. But Rei doesn’t look away from you—even when you do. She knows you understood what that meant word for word, and the way she’s gazing right up at you right now feels like she’s waiting for your response.

I’m trying my best, but it doesn’t feel enough.

Not for me.

Not for you.

Suddenly, it’s gotten quite difficult to breathe. You’re certain the AC in the room hasn’t changed in the slightest, and you haven’t had the faintest bit of contact with the different food offered before you two to have triggered one of your many allergies. But you find yourself, nonetheless, both breathless and speechless to the point that just the simple flexion of your throat muscles feels like you’re swallowing shards of glass.

How do you tell her?

How do you tell her that, because of her, you’ve found meaning in the smallest pleasures? That you always keep your phone charged in case she ever wanted to call? That you always check her Bubble, her Instagram, her Twitter to make sure you never missed a post or message? That you always carve time for a few minutes—just a few moments—every hour amidst your daily schedule to write out your thoughts about your long-distance relationship together in your journal, hoping you might one day read them to her? How do you tell her that seeing her smile after a long day of work—even it’s a bare-faced one, or a tired one, or a silly one—feels more refreshing than any ounce of sleep you can get? That you play her voice messages on repeat in your earphones, every train ride to work and every bus ride home, just to hear her voice again? That you dream of her, every single fucking night, to the point you spin fantasies in your head about future dates, vacation plans, and even your fucking wedding just to state your unbridled and overflowing love for her?

How exactly are you supposed to tell Naoi Rei that you are unapologetically, maddeningly, and absolutely in love with her? That she could even slit your throat with the butter knife sitting nineteen feet away from you, and you would still thank her, and instead apologize for bleeding all over her?

How exactly are you supposed to tell Rei that she is enough? 

For you?

So you do the only thing you can think of in the moment.

You throw away the letters you’ve written her and memorized by heart. You shred the romantic and cheesy lines you forced yourself to gobble down and stow away for whenever you might need to say something profound to her. Hell—you don’t even consider quoting some of her favorite poems or favorite lyrics and songs even if you know that’s guaranteed to cheer her up.

Instead, you let the little voice in your heart do the talking.

So you tuck the final lock of her sugar brown hair behind one ear, lean forwards to press your lips against the side of her temple, take a deep breath, take in the scent of her skin and sweat and cologne, and plant the longest, warmest, and likely final kiss you will ever give your girlfriend.

And then, you write it down across her body.

And then, through bated breaths, she mutters it out.

“A-Ai … shi … tte … r-r-ru …?”

One drop. Then two. Then three. Soon, a whole garden of tears begins blooming across your jeans. 

Clutching your hand against her clavicle, tucking her chin in as if to trap your wrist and all your fingers so you can never leave, she begins to write in reply across the stretch of your palm. But you don’t say it out loud—you keep in locked up in your heart.

Zutto … soba … ni … itai …

Her phone rings. She doesn’t even need to check it to know who it is.

Rei pushes up from her laying position and keeps her head down, now sitting inches away from you. Your pinky lifts, then twitches, then reaches out, but it never leaves its position. Her thumb raises, then circles the air, then jerks towards you, but it never meets you where you are.

“It’s been great. Wonderful really … b-being your girlfriend … Even from afar. I’m glad we could end—.”

You throw yourself onto her so hard that you knock the wind right out of her sails. But you embrace her harder than that as you begin scribbling into her back.

She never says it out loud. She never looks to you to verify what she thinks you’ve written. Instead, Rei just detaches herself from you, slides off the couch, and bows down deeply to her waist.

“Then I’ll be holding out for you until then. I … I can’t make any promises. And I don’t want to hurt you, o-oppa, but … but if you want this … then I will.”

And that’s all you could ever ask from her.

Between the unsteady cadence of her leaving footsteps and the tears she’s trying to stop flowing down her cheeks, with each passing minute, you can both feel it—the relief. The fingers that slip over the promise ring you gifted her two years ago sparkle into your eyes like a renewed vow. Ten-thirty-two. Barely three minutes before she’s rushing down the airport hallways to try and catch her flight by the skin of her teeth. Barely two minutes before she’s coughing up explanation after explanation for her members on being late, bursting into tears, and learning a new language. Barely one minute before she’s settling into her seat, looking out the airplane window, and counting the days until the next time you both get to meet in person again. 

And in your solace, you don’t even find it in you to fall to your knees and wail. You know what this—all of this—spells now.

The way she leaves you? The way she’s gone? It’s silent.

You try to drown out the noise in your head with a twist of your wrist, but the key experiences some resistance. You twist it again in place, revving the engine up for a few seconds, giving you a false glimmer of hope with a whir before it peters out.

Yanking the key out of the socket, you beat your fist repeatedly onto the horn of your white 2011 Honda Civic—the hand-me-down from your lawyer cousin, which was a hand-me-down from his parents to yours—blaring it out to the innocent emptiness of the street. Beads of sweat drip down your face as the afternoon heat is beginning to waft in, and your lack of air-conditioning is becoming blatantly present.

And for a moment—just for a second—you swear you see hear her voice.

“You can tell a lot about a guy based on how he treats his car: he’ll treat you the same way—if not worse.”

“Ga … -eul?”

You see the mirage of her sitting on the hood of your car, waving at someone in the distance, stretching her arms out to receive an invisible person before slamming backwards fully and giggling under the afternoon sun.

You blink again and she’s gone.

Trembling, you return the key to its socket, twist gently, and sure enough, the car alights and the engine turns on.

Slotting your phone into its stand conveniently placed beneath the rearview mirror, you leave your parking slot and begin to drive out of the narrow alleyway just outside your apartment. You don’t need to turn on maps or directions. You know where you’re going. You’ve been there too many times to count. Instead, you flick open your notifications as you turn left onto the main road.

There are seventeen of them. And they are all from Wonyoung.

Babe you didn’t eat breakfast? But I made you your favorite?

Babe you didn’t eat lunch either?

Where the hell are you going?

Babe???

You know you’re being petty right now right? Can you at least reply to me?

I’m just worried

Babe

Babe

Babe

At least be back before eight. Dinner reservation’s at ten

You are still coming with me for dinner right?

Right?

Babe?

In between those strings of messages, you missed her call around four times. You should be feeling a sinking feeling in your gut. A taste of remorse on your tongue. But it doesn’t come at all.

There are some things you can’t tell your girlfriend of five years. Because there are some things she wouldn’t understand even if she tried. There are some things that a woman raised with a golden spoon, who lives in a penthouse suite, and has flights to Paris or New York or Milan every week, wouldn’t understand.

Because there are some things you would very much rather tell someone else.

And you’re taking the next two hours to drive to her place right now. 

It doesn’t take long until you’re on the highway. You’re past the toll and you’re currently speeding up to match the pace of the other vehicles around you. It’s just a straight and seemingly endless drive from here on out. Until you have to take the proper exit, at least. But until then, you can just turn your mind off.

But you know that’s a lie. It only gets louder from here.

And there’s nothing you can do but entertain your thoughts.

You take a glance at the your reflection in the rearview mirror. There’s a pump of shock that courses through your veins. For what stares back at you is the image of a man you don’t even recognize anymore.

Surely, this isn’t you. This can’t be. How … did you turn into this?

You look so … tired. So … unhappy.

But even then that’s an understatement.

Your eyebags drag heavier across your face than the resting position of your mouth—of your supposed smile. If you can even call it that anymore. The years you spent slaving away at the office dried your skin, grizzled your hair, drained the light from your eyes. Your pupils are nothing but voids that simply exist. They don’t devour, they don’t claim, they don’t desire anything. They’re just there. Empty pools of nothingness. So vacant that you could barely even remember what used to occupy them.

Was it a hobby or two? A pastime of yours? A goal? A childhood dream?

You can’t glean anything. How could you? Dying stars often leave very little behind.

“We’re going to need some money. For the rent. For food. For school. Oh! And we’re going to need to do our own promotions as well. Maybe hire someone to make the cover. I can try to learn some Photoshop, but then that’s less time trying to write too. What do you think, baby?”

You close your eyes, lips twitching in but the slightest of waves as you exhale through them. “I … I don’t think it’s realistic, baby. All of this … what if it doesn’t work out? All those years just … wasted. All for what? A silly dream of ours? It’s one thing to hope for something, but … making it happen? That’s … that’s difficult. That’s scary.”

You remember every single word you said in reply to her all those years ago. And you very much so remember what she said to you in response as well.

“But isn’t that the fun part? Going through it together with you?”

Your eyes dart open when you hear the sound of a car getting dangerously close to your side. When you come to consciousness, your vehicle’s deathly near a black van going the same speed that you are.

The driver rolls down the passenger window and starts screaming obscenities at you. You pay it no mind. Say nothing in complaint. Keep looking straight ahead. You deserve it.

You instead wait for him to speed off before taking another shaky breath. “Fuck.”

You flip open the radio.

The news is nothing but a shot of bullshit through your skull. Something about war. Something about inflation. Something about rising temperatures. You’re already awfully aware about these things. You’d rather not think about them any further. But at this point, anything’s better than the muck that’s pooling in your head.

But you decide to turn the radio off and instead tune into your thoughts once more.

When? When … did things begin to turn out this way?

You could have sworn you were just a high schooler dreaming of a better life, excited to head into university. You had pockets filled with dreams and hope for the future like bags of stardust bursting and spreading wanderlust across the halls of your alma mater. You remember a hint of the distant past in between your bated breaths—of the times when your biggest worries were what game to play or what movie to watch when you got home, when your worst fear was not having someone to take to the prom, when your greatest thrill was being able to chug more than four or five cans of beer in under two minutes at the weekend’s party.

Now?

Now, you can’t figure out for the life of you which concern of yours is more taxing: figuring out where to invest your money for passive gains or whether to continue further into higher education or not. Your worst fear is not having enough time to cycle between your routines—revising your copywriting outputs for the extra money in the mornings, preparing for lectures and departmental meetings in the afternoon, squeezing what little you have left to stay awake for your nightly coffee dates and shopping sprees with Wonyoung in the evening.

You should be happy. At least, you believe you should. You have an undergraduate degree, and you’re finishing up on your masters. You somehow manage to maintain the upkeep for your current apartment. You have a lovely, beautiful, and successful girlfriend. What more could you ask for in this life?

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? That’s the cruel thing about it all.

You aren’t happy.

You aren’t happy at all.

“I kinda like moments like these, you know?”

“What …?”

“Just the little moments I can spend with you,” Gaeul explains as she places a hand on your thigh, and you swear to god you can almost feel it. Her slender fingers caressing just above your skin. The occasional flutter and squeeze of her palm flat against your knee. The warmth of her touch even through the fabric of your jeans. “I know it’s not much, really, but it means a lot more to me than you think, baby.”

“But … but I want more than this. I want to give you more than just this. I-I … I want to be more than this. For you. I-I-I … I promise … I promise I’ll do my best to make you happy.”

She chuckles, and it’s almost like hearing a choir of angels serenading you. “You already do that, silly. You already make me happy. That’s all I need.”

“Just you.”

Before you can choke up on the memory playing out before you, your phone blows up. You fail to notice how many notification pings you’re getting, but when you finally do, you realize who it’s from.

Wonyoung.

You try to silence it with one hand, but it’s hard enough trying to keep your eyes on the road and drive while managing your phone screen off to one side. You have the hairline crack down the corner of your phone to blame for this. Because of it, your fat fingers instead accidentally press on the call that’s ringing, forcing you to be on the receiving end now of her scolding.

“Babe, where the hell are you?” her voice erupts from your busted speakers, grating your ears. “You have a lot of explaining to do. Did you go out with your college friends again?”

“You … you could say that—.”

“Why won’t you just answer me directly?” Wonyoung grunts, and you can sense the utmost distaste and displeasure in her tone. “Our dinner is in about five hours—wait. Wait, where are you? Why are you driving so fast?”

“I … I’m just …”

You can’t tell her. You can’t tell your girlfriend that you’re going eighty down the highway, far away from her, to meet your fucking ex-girlfriend again. 

“Whatever. Just make sure to get back in time. If you aren’t here at least two hours before we have to go, I won’t hesitate to leave you behind.”

Don’t threaten me with a good time, is what you want to say, but you hold your tongue and refrain from blurting out anything you might regret. “Loud and clear. Anything else?”

And of course, Wonyoung takes the invitation and stretches it for a mile.

She’s rambling, ranting, hounding on your sorry ass. She’s jumping from topic to topic. At first, she berates you for your lack of communication, how she feels like she has to tell you what to do every single time, and questions your lack of sincerity in your relationship—in life as well as a whole. Then she’s telling you about last week’s trip to Italy, and how the hotel wasn’t what she expected, and the woe of being served ‘poor quality lobster’. Then she’s telling you about this new sponsor who wants to meet her, and how she might not be able to meet you on your daily dates for a couple of days next week—much to your delight and relief. Then she’s asking you about whether you’re still aiming for a promotion, cleaning up your thesis, or considering moving to a better paying job as a professor at another university. Then she’s hinting at meeting her parents when they come over from Korea during the winter, about the possibility of marriage between you two in the next year or so, and how you might want to find a bigger apartment for the kids.

And it’s so. Fucking. Loud.

You have thought of those things already. But do you have any answers to them?

You love Wonyoung. You really do. Any other man out there would kill to be in your place and to be dating her. But there’s just something that’s painfully and unmistakably absent in your relationship.

Something that’s … missing.

You’d be lying if you said Wonyoung didn’t make you feel so insecure. Even just sitting right across her every night at the dinner table already extols a heavy tax on your psyche. She’s got it all: the looks, the brains, the competence, the affluence, the success. She’s got all that you could ever dream of—all that you could wish for in life.

Worst of all, she’s already got it all figured out.

Who are you to someone like her? You’re not quite sure.

Too old to get into hustle culture and make your first million by a certain age, to be considered a prodigy despite all the effort and sacrifice you had to make to get to where you are, to feel like you’ve still got a lot of years left ahead of you when the deadlines to achieve life milestones come speeding at you faster than you’d like them to, to start over with all the knowledge and mistakes and what-ifs you’ve been carrying around with you, to still ‘take it easy’ and keep telling yourself that ‘life isn’t a race’ when in reality you’re running out of time—you know you already are.

Too young to feel like you really know what you’re doing in your life, to be certain about the trajectory of your career and your future, to be a mentor towards others or even to just give advice to the younger generations, to have a say in anything that the boomers throw at you during parties, get-togethers, and reunions.

You’re neither here nor there. Then again, were you anywhere to begin with?

Where did you want to be at your age? You’re not even sure.

Where do you want to be in ten years? You can’t even begin to think about making it that far.

Where do you want to end up in life? You’d rather not fucking ask. You’d rather not fucking know.

But Wonyoung? She amplifies all these little whispers of uncertainty that linger in the back of your mind and echo them like loudspeakers into the forefronts of your consciousness.

Wonyoung is someone who has all the answers, and she makes you want to come up with answers for yourself.

And there lies the problem. For you have no answers.

Because you don’t want them. 

Not anymore.

“You’re an amazing writer, baby. Are you kidding me? I even love your little drabbles!”

“Stop it, you’re just saying that because … you want me to pay for dinner again tonight.”

“While I do want an extra serving of fries, I really mean it though. Do you not believe me?” Gaeul cooes, giving you the pouty look and the pleading eyes. “You just need more confidence in yourself. Confidence in what you have to say. That they mean something. That they can impact and inspire other people.”

“But I just … I’m just writing out of nowhere. Pulling everything out of my ass. What if … what if that stops working? And besides, you’re my only reader. This is all just a silly bit between us both anyway. It’s not like it’s anything serious.”

“Is that all this will ever be to you?”

“What …?”

“Your writing? Your dream to be a writer one day? A novelist? Our dream to pursue that together—is that all they will ever be to you? Just a joke?”

You can’t respond. Years later, and you still can’t respond.

Can you really call writing a dream? Can you even call writing a passion?

When was the last time you even wrote something?

You glance down at both of your hands, at the blunt tips, at their hardened palms, at the stretch of their pores. These hands of yours have seen much work over the years, but when you try to really think about it, it’s been far longer since you’ve last put them to pen and paper. You tell yourself you’d get back to—get back into writing. One of these days, surely. But then the next day turned into the next week, and the next week turned into the next month, and suddenly your previous certainty for a timeframe of return stretched into ambiguity. ‘Soon’, you claim. But ‘soon’ has already been mourned.

What did you have to show for yourself? Nothing.

What kind of a fucking writer doesn’t even write anything. Not even an idea. Not even a plot beat. Not even an ounce of inspiration milked from the drying smoothened folds of your brain that still attempts to be blessed by a muse.

Can you really claim that writing is a part of you? That you enjoy—or even enjoyed—writing without definitive proof of it?

Can you even call writing yours anymore? Or is its only purpose now to serve as a talking point when meeting new people?

You have no response to that. But maybe your actions have already answered for you.

You never ended up finishing your creative writing degree. You took a departmental exam without Gaeul knowing, and you shifted your course. Shifted your degree. Humanities. Social science. Psychology. You heard the degree isn’t so bad. Has some practicality to it. Isn’t hard science either, and mostly skips any math in the curriculum. You still don’t know what you’re going to do with it, but it’s something that’s easy. Something that can potentially help pay the bills better in the future. Something that can get you somewhere, anywhere, away from here.

But where are you now?

Stuck as an undergraduate lecturer, contracted every semester as needed, fearing for your life when you might, in fact, be no longer needed. You’re not even in a field remotely related to your degree, and you feel the certificate vaporizing on your wall within its displayed casing like a memento of your terrible life decisions. It wasn’t your choice to continue with further education. It was Wonyoung’s suggestion. It was Wonyoung’s demand. It’s expensive. It’s difficult. It’s so fucking tiring. But she said it would pave the way towards a better future for you. Something about more opportunities. Something about climbing more ladders and reaching farther up in the hierarchy.

But god forbid you’re so fucking tired of climbing.

You glance at the rearview mirror again, and you see tears welling up in your eyes. It’s only then that you remember Wonyoung’s still on the phone with you.

“Babe?”

You sniffle, blinking your eyes rapidly to try and dry them off. “Yeah … yeah, still here.”

“Are you talking to someone on the side? You were saying some things while I was speaking. Or were you answering me?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see an empty and untouched passenger’s seat right next to you. “No one. Nothing … Just probably the wind.”

Just probably the wind.

“Ok then, well. Like I said, I know things are rough for you right now, but this dinner means a lot to me. So if you could please just show up? On time? For me?”

Empty. Her words weigh nothing—mean nothing—to you.

You already know the response to this as well. It slips out from your lips and drags out from your throat before you can even think it. “Yes Wonyoung, I’ll be there. I promise.”

“Thanks babe. You know I love you right?”

Her words slice and sever the arteries and veins from deep within your chest. “I … Me too.”

She says a few final things about the food later tonight, about the ratings of this place she reserved herself, on how much it all costed her. You know it’s part of her usual routine to guilt trip you further, but they all just fly over your head. 

It’s only when she ends the call that you finally get a moment to breathe again. 

You feel your grip on the wheel starting to weaken. You feel the sag in your elbow as it swings and drops closer to your hip. You wish you could stop driving now. It’s about half an hour left until the exit you need to take. You just have to tough it out.

“You’re so cozy.”

You close your eyes. You don’t want to, but you let it happen. You picture your life from not-so-long ago. When things were easier. Things were simpler. When things were quieter. “I could say the same for you. Don’t you get bored of this though? Just … laying here. In your room? Doing nothing?”

“We’re doing something!”

“Doing what exactly?”

“Being together.”

“I like the sound of that.”

“Hey … you’ll … you’ll keep your promise, right? The promise we made?”

There’s a stabbing in your throat now, and it’s difficult to swallow. You feel the same piercing sensation behind your retinas—within your eyeballs. You’re halfway between a cry and just feeling numb.

You miss her. You fucking miss Kim Gaeul.

Wonyoung may have provided you with a house. But Kim Gaeul? She was the one who made you feel like you had a home.

You easily remember the first time she ever invited you into her dingy little place that could barely pass as an apartment. You recall the first things she said to you as she opened the door.

“Ya! Baby, I love you, but please—at least stomp off the dirt at the doormat. I don’t want you ruining my carpets.”

She was awfully obsessed with her expensive carpets. They had this little Chinese design embroidered in patterns across it. It’s very well made, and she loved them dearly. You both enjoyed just laying down on them. They were thick enough to make you feel their presence beneath your back, but they were thin enough to to feel comfortable on. They were gifts from her late grandmother before she passed. She treasures them more than anything else you’ve ever seen.

Kim Gaeul was very much your carpet. You’ve loved her more than anyone else in this lifetime. More than yourself, even. And now that she’s gone … you find yourself returning to her anyway.

How pathetic can you really be?

Forget even discussing the possibility of toxic masculinity in your veins. You are downright hopeless for a human. At your fucking age you still think you can come running back to your ex when you have problems? When you can’t deal with shit by yourself? What kind of person shuts down when they’re overwhelmed? What kind of person runs away from their responsibilities instead of facing them head-on? What kind of man bitches about the inconveniences in his life instead of working out ways to address them?

You. Clearly that’s you. You’re the king of making fucking excuses, and that’s why you haven’t made it anywhere in the world. If you had just listened to the unsolicited words of advice from your uncles and aunts, if you had just listened to the persistent sermons of your advisors and seniors at the university, if only you had listen to every tip and suggestion Wonyoung gave you to help you further yourself in your career, then maybe—just maybe—you wouldn’t be bitching about a subpar life and instead be relishing in a bit more success.

But that’s the thing, right? You didn’t listen. To any of it. You thought you were above it. You thought you were above them. You thought you knew better than all these boomers and adults who have lived on this world longer than you have. You thought you could be different. You thought you could find your own way—your own path—in life with your own hands. Even if it was unconventional. Even if it took time. But where did that get you? You strayed from the fixed and known path, and where did that bring you? Back to routine. Back to being a cog in a machine. Back to mediocrity.

Did you really think that you were any better than the last guy? Did you really think that you were special in this life?

You tried screaming into the void for years, demanding it return your efforts, your attempts to repress it, to reward your mild defiance of the structures of life itself. But did you really expect everything to go your way? What kind of fucking main character ass attitude do you have, idiot? It got really tiring repeatedly doing that too, didn’t it? Serves you right, asshole.

As it turns out, you can be more pathetic apparently, as you nearly ram into the barriers of the highway.

Righting yourself and preventing your left side mirror from being blown off by the barricades that are ready to nick it from your ride, your phone begins to blow up again. The jingle—it’s different. It’s less personal. More professional. Not a check-in. Not a request. But a demand.

It’s from Microsoft Fucking Teams.

Your fingers fly to your phone before you can even curse out loud. But the damn notification for a meeting won’t fucking close. You swear you already told them you couldn’t attend to discuss the event they tried to drag you into. You have … other things to attend to. Better places to be. And for some fuckass reason they still included you in the meeting invite. And now, it’s ringing you up too.

Of course your luck is utter horseshit. Because the tempered glass digging into your phone’s screen made it so you didn’t press cancel. You pressed accept instead once again.

And on video call.

You try to rip your phone out if its stand, but god forbid your mobile data is stronger and faster. Everyone at the meeting wearing button-downs and formal attires in front of edited university-approved backgrounds stared at you quizzically for about a minute as you broadcasted your struggle to terminate the call from your end while in the driver’s seat of your car.

When you finally manage to extricate yourself from that precarious situation, your blood is thick beneath the thin stretch of skin across your face. It was almost as if the heat from the late afternoon all coalesced upon your visage to heat it up to a million degrees.

You grab your phone and with a balled fist, smashed it into the fucking horn.

Once. Twice. Five times. Until your knuckles bruise. Until your phone’s activating different shortcut commands. Until you remember that, once again, you are driving on the highway.

You calm down. For just a moment. You return your phone to the stand and try to focus on the road again.

But you can’t. Everything’s getting so loud again.

You’re going to have to come up with some shitty excuse to the head teacher as to why you were caught seemingly available—and to make matters worse, mid-transit going somewhere else—during the time of your scheduled meeting. On top of that, you’ll have to figure out what sort of load you’re going to have to take up once again to make up for your absence.

The news is going to spread like wildfire, and you just know Wonyoung’s going to find out about it. She hears a lot of things from your peers at the faculty workroom. You’re not sure who exactly she’s friends with there, who she might be close with among the other professors, but you already have this sinking feeling in your gut when you think about the conversation you’re going to have with your girlfriend when you get home.

Speaking of the conversation, you do not even want to think about your girlfriend right now. Why? She’s fucking blowing up your phone again. You just know she already found out. So much for compartmentalizing your life. She’s ringing you. Again and again. And it’s just too fucking much.

The notifications. The alerts. The pop-ups. The alarms. The warnings. The schedules. The deadlines. The issues. The reports. The processes. The cycles. The routines. The bills. The mails. The meetings. The parents. The marriages. The futures.

It’s all too much. It’s all too overwhelming.

It’s all too fucking loud.

You’re not sure. You’re not quite sure. You don’t know what’s worse: a heavy type of dread, or an empty type of sorrow. One weighs down on you as if you were at the bottom of the sea, surrounded on all fronts by nothing but the crushing sensation of trepidation; meanwhile, the other drains you of your essence until you’re nothing but a hollow husk of yourself, simply existing.

Is either any real way to live?

You let go of the wheel.

What if you just …?

You place your hands on your lap and breathe in.

What if it all just …?

You close your eyes, and your right foot presses harder into the gas pedal.

What if you were to just …?

“You’ll keep your promise, right? The promise we made?”

“Gaeul …”

“I need you to make sure you will. For us. For me. So even if I …”

“Gaeul, I’m so sorry. I’m so fucking sorry …”

“Even if I fail, someone can still bear the flame and carry the torch of my dreams. Of our dreams.”

“Gaeul, I’m such a fucking coward. In the end, I … I never even tried …”

“You’ll try, won’t you? Even if it’s hard? Especially when it’s hard?”

“Gaeul I didn’t—.”

“I’ll be rooting for you still. Always. Even into the future.”

“Gaeul, I should have known, should have seen the signs. I-I-I—.”

“Even when I’m gone.”

For a moment, you can almost see it. See her. 

The tilt of her head. The warmth of her smile. The gentleness of her gaze. That expanse of skin by the crook of her neck that you love burying your tired and weary face in. That subtle lift and fall of her shoulder whenever you’re yapping to her about a new crazy idea you have for a novel. The way her hands would come over yours as she pulls you forward and into her, dragging you to different food stalls and bookstores she’s discovered around town. The way her lips would meet yours in all the right places and at all the right times. The way her figure just molded perfectly to create the entirety of her form that’s just her—that’s just Kim Gaeul.

And for a moment, you can almost see it too. The final face she must have made before making the worst decision of her life.

But before your thoughts can spiral downwards any further, her voice in your head pulls you out of your subconscious delusions and rights you in your seat, just before you could miss the exit you’ve been trying to remember to take.

You make a hard right, and suddenly, the whole car is skidding. You hear something snap in front of you. You’re not sure what it is. You don’t know jackshit about cars to know what could have broken—what might have gone wrong.

And you start to get an idea of what it might be when you find yourself unable to break.

The lady at the tollbooth is staring at you with absolute terror in her eyes as you just barely manage to swerve away from crashing into her and instead barrel your way through the pole barrier. Forget paying the fine for hitting it—you fucking smashed right through it, sending it flying, shattering your windshield.

You’re pelted by a hailstorm of shards, but you keep driving. Like a final outburst, like a final fit, like a final bellyache in this godforbiddne rotass fucking word. 

You keep going. You have to. You need to make it.

To her.

Your mind does this hauntingly beautiful thing on its own whenever it already knows the protocol. You take a left from the highway exit, make two rights, speed down a long stretch of road that has you dodging cars like a video game, before you force the whole vehicle to take a final sharp left into her community.

The right side of your Civic bodies the gates and bursts it open, leaving even the guard on duty utterly baffled and speechless upon your arrival.

And you are too.

Because now, the car’s tilting, then leaning, then tumbling, then bouncing, then rolling, then folding. Across the road. Into itself. Far away from you.

Your motionless body is ejected like a ragdoll, leaving you sprawled against the sidewalk—the curb sinking deep into your neck, your joints bruised and swelling in all the most painful of places, tendons and ligaments fighting for survival as they try their very best to continue attaching themselves to your muscles and bones—to try and hold up the very physical essence of you together.

But you push up. Into a sit. Then a kneel. And then a stand.

You see your phone blinking different shades of colors, the hairline crack now turning into a web that shatters further into the glass. It’s safe to say that it’s beyond salvaging at this point. It’s safe to say that it can no longer bug you out with reminders or notifications anymore.

You press a hand to your stomach. Against your palm, you watch as an adult spider lily blossoms across it. Damp. Thick. Flowing.

“Fuck …” is all you get out. But you keep moving.

You’re a zombie. Groaning. Chortling. Dragging your carcass across the the sidewalk and into the street where she lives.

And if it weren’t for the viscosity in your throat and lungs, you would have mustered a smile.

It’s beautiful. Oh so beautiful.

You remember visiting her home like this every month for a few years after you had broken up. How you would bring her something to eat while you told her about your days in your new course, or at your new job, and occasionally, about your new girlfriend. She didn’t mind. Gaeul didn’t mind at all. She knew it was about you, and just like she’s always been, she was very receptive towards it.

You know it’s because she just wanted to be with you again—in any way, shape, or form.

And when you see it, when you finally see it once again, you take it all in stride.

The familiar glint of her home built on granite, bronze, and marble. The birds resting atop her roof as they find a moment of solace after their long flights. The smooth and soft green grass that’s littered across her lawn. Her name etched across her front door as if to undeniably claim that this was, in fact, hers.

You stop just outside her property. The boundaries are drawn awfully close to her neighbors’, so you don’t get much wiggle room. But then again, neither does she. You take one step forward, and then another, until you find yourself just a few paces away from her front door.

Then you fall to your knees, hold up a bloody hand towards the surface of the marble, and caress it. You let your fingers trace the way her name is engraved on her door, and you allow them to likewise caress the numbers imprinted just beneath it.

2002. 2023.

You allow yourself to let it go now. You allow yourself to be choked up by the fluids pooling inside you. Whether that’s sweat, blood, or tears, they all come flowing out now. Your feel a pain in your innards with each wince and whimper, and you gather those are from the glass shards that have cut too deeply into your flesh. But you pay it no mind.

“Gaeul ah … I’m so sorry …” you whisper as you caress her face, leaving a bloody handprint against the polished stone. “I thought I … knew what I wanted in this lifetime … but I didn’t … I don’t know …. I don’t fucking know … and after all of that … even after all of that … It’s you. It’s just you. I’m so … so sorry … I failed you. I failed us. A-And I just … I just …”

You can’t even find it in you to confess it to her. You don’t dare do so.

How do you tell your ex-girlfriend, the love of your life whom you lost because of your inability to determine what was going on inside of her head, that you are done? That you are through? You aren’t just adding insult to injury at this point. You’re very much spitting directly into her face and asking her to still smile for you.

Instead, you glance down at your palpitating body, at the blood that’s pouring out of you and soaking the grass beneath your knees in pools of dark crimson, at the bruises across your body that you are certain will no longer heal, and manage a faint smile.

“Ha … haha … I guess I … ruined your carpet, didn’t I …?”

You take a deep breath, lift your chin up, and soak in the warmth of the last few rays of sunshine all around you. 

You stare at her tombstone. You stare at the plans and greenery surrounding it.

Such a pretty house. Such a pretty garden.

Here, there are no hopes, there are no dreams, there is no dread, no more expectation, no micromanaging boss, no manipulative girlfriend, no self-persecution or self-deprecation.

Here, there are no alarms, and no more surprises.

Just the calm and simple life that you and Gaeul have dreamed of. Even if it lasts for only a second, even if you can only cherish it for a few more moments, up until your eyes start to flutter and your consciousness fades to black, you finally, for the first time in decades, feel it.

You feel happy. You feel oh so fucking happy. With her.

And as your skull cracks against her tombstone, your last thought is a clear one.

It’s so silent here, Gaeul. I understand you now.

It’s so fucking silent.

==

“Look out!” was the last thing she heard before a hand grabbed her by the collar of her dress and pulled Jiwon towards what she could only describe as a firm and sturdy chest.

Glancing up at her savior, who kept her close to his person until the beast was cornered by the troupe, she could only ascertain the relative shape of him: caramel hair that bounced like tufts of clouds, sharp jawline that was carved like the fine edge of a cliff, Adam’s apple so pronounced it was ripe for the taking.

“It’s not every day you see a displacer beast on the loose like that,” the well-dressed man quipped, pulling away from Jiwon to give her some room to breathe. But he held her by the wrists securely still. “I’ll send word to my father to warn him against having … exotic creatures in crowded places like this next time, but are you alright?”

Jiwon’s lip quivered. “Y-Yes, I am. Thank you. I-I-I …”

The man’s smile was one that could rival even Jiwon’s. But it wasn’t his smile that set her heart aflutter—no, it was the way he wiped her temples and tucked locks of her hair behind her ear. “I’m just glad … you’re … alright …?”

Drip.

Jiwon felt it without even touching it. But as soon as something trickled down her cheek, she cupped the side of her face. With a gentle brush of her finger, the mask she had on shifted ever-so-slightly, causing a black tarry ooze to seep out from it.

The man took a step back, and Jiwon scrambled to realign the mask against her face. “You … what was—?”

“Nothing! Nothing … I-I … thank you for the help.”

Before he could reach out to her and ask for her name, Jiwon threw the hood of her cloak back on tightly and disappeared into the crowd. She pushed through the thoroughfare until the cobbled road met the loamy dirt, and she didn’t dare stop until she was finally trudging up the long and winding path to her little cabin by the mountain lake.

Jiwon scanned her surroundings twice before entering, and as soon as she was inside, she kicked the door shut and screamed into the heavy oak. “Y-You said it would. You said this would fix things.”

Silence. And then, a calm commanding voice echoed within the recesses of Jiwon’s own mind.

OH, LITTLE JIWON, IS SOMETHING THE MATTER? IS MY GIFT TO YOU NOT ENOUGH?

Jiwon held her breath. She knew it was luring her. Whatever it was. “I-It’s enough, I guess … just … just had a little slip.”

As she confessed this, more dark goo trickled down her face, splattering against the floor. Jiwon darted to the mirror in her bedroom and forced herself to look at her reflection. There, she took the mask off, and in an instant, the beautiful visage she had donned flickered away with the mask.

Beneath it was the true scarred, burnt, and wart-filled appearance of hers she’s resented all her life.

YOU LIE, LITTLE JIWON. I CAN SENSE YOUR DISSATISFACTION. IT TASTES … BITTER.

She clenched her fist around the mask, trembling at the eery tone of its voice.

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT WAS JUST A TASTE OF MY POWER?

WHAT IF I TOLD YOU THAT I CAN GIVE YOU MORE.

“More …? What more could I ever need from you? Freeing you from that mirror at the bottom of the lake was plenty enough …” she recounted, remembering the curiosity that warped into regret shortly after on that cursed night. “What do you want from me …?”

THE SAME AS ALWAYS. YOU MAKE A PATTERN, YOU GET A FRACTION OF MY POWER.

She glanced at the pattern she had carved out hastily that same night, the very pattern that was etched into her wooden floor using nothing but a butter knife. It still glowed purple and crimson to this day. “Fine … I-I guess another wouldn’t hurt.”

The voice in her head let out a satisfied chuckle.

VERY WELL THEN. YOU KNOW THE DRILL.

The next day, Jiwon wanted to test out whether her unseen patron was telling the truth. But she woke up feeling the same, looking the same, still needing the mask. Nothing felt different. Was she really granted some sort of additional power, or was she deceived once more?

Her worries were answered as soon as she stepped into town.

“The Lady of the Lake … you came back. And so soon too,” a scrawny disheveled fellow in a worn and tattered tunic approached Jiwon. There was a crimson glow in his eyes. “Did you come for the festival? It’s rare seeing you more than once a week here—n-not that it’s a problem!”

Jiwon just smiled and ducked past him, navigating the increasingly busying streets. But he continued to follow her. “Are you looking for something, my lady? Food stalls are over there, a-and some of the game booths are past the central plaza—.”

“Thank you, but I’m just … looking for an acquaintance,” she firmly stated, hoping that was enough to turn him down. But the man continued, “Who are you looking for? Maybe I … maybe I might be able to help you find them?”

But the final nail in the coffin for this man came down swiftly.

Smiling and waving at the gathering crowd around him, the well-dressed man Jiwon had seen the other day posed and greeted civilians next to a prized mare, stroking its chin endearingly. When he caught her eye, he excused himself from the others and slowly made his way to Jiwon.

“You’ve returned. Dare I hope you stay for good this time?” he said with a smirk that didn’t seem like it was meant for townsfolk. “I’ve been thrown every which way since the festival started, but I … you were on my mind these past few days.”

Jiwon glanced away to try and hide her crumpling face, but when she smoothened herself out, she returned to smile up at him. “You flatter me. You seem quite busy. I hope I’m not disturbing your—.”

“No no, not at all,” he insisted, extending his hand out towards her. “In fact, I have a bit of time on my hands now. Come, walk around with me. I have much to show you.”

As Jiwon placed her small palm over his smooth broader one, she watched as his eyes flickered with the same crimson glow that overtook the scrawny man from earlier. But much to Jiwon’s dismay, the light in his eyes petered out after mere seconds. “Is everything ok?”

She pursed her lips in anticipation. “Do you … love me?”

Bewilderment scattered across his face. “Do I love you? Haha, why that’s a … that’s quite the loaded question, I-I mean …”

Realizing what she had asked, Jiwon pushed his hand away. At the same time, tears began streaking down from her eyes. “Your eyes, they’re … they’re … bleeding?”

Jiwon widened those very eyes in fear as she patted the bridge of her nose, nearly screaming in horror as she saw the blots of blood on her fingertips.

Throwing her cloak over her, Jiwon sprinted away, blinking rapidly to try and dry herself. “Wh-What’s going on? You said you’d share me your power—you … you lied to me!”

DID I? DIDN’T THAT BEGGAR FROM EARLIER SEEM INTERESTED IN YOU?

Bumping into shoulders and elbows, Jiwon apologized each time before continuing as she ran. “You know what I mean. I-It didn’t work … on him.”

The voice rumbled mockingly in her head. 

I SUPPOSE NOT. SOME PEOPLE ARE HARDER TO … CAPTIVATE.

Once she made it past the crowd, out of the town, and into the forest once more, she slowed down to a stop, trying to catch her breath. “Does that mean … I have to …”

Silence.

Before she could reach out to it again, her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of branches snapping over dried leaves. When she whipped around her to see what it was, Jiwon was surprised to see the beggar from earlier pushing through the undergrowth.

“A-Ah! I’m sorry … I didn’t mean to follow you all the way here, my lady, b-but I just … I couldn’t help myself. I was just … drawn to you.”

Glancing down at the dried blood on her palms, Jiwon stared at him through her blood-soaked eyes and smiled. “Is that so? Then … do you think you can carry out a favor for me?”

They spent the next two days etching patterns into whatever space they could within Jiwon’s home: the walls, the floor, against mugs, on vases, into her carpet, and even around her mirror. But Jiwon didn’t feel it was enough. She asked the beggar if he had any friends, and soon, on the third day, their party of nine went around carving the same pattern into the bark of nearby trees.

Jiwon did her best to keep them well-fed despite what little she had. She herself starved a bit, feeling her temples flare up from the hunger. While she felt bad for taking advantage of them, Jiwon told herself this was a one-time thing. With this many patterns, surely, her patron would grant her enough blessings to charm the one she truly loved.

The morning after, with her entourage in tow, Jiwon returned to the town.

“My lady, what are we doing back in town? What do you need us to do for you?” the beggar asked, his friends eagerly awaiting Jiwon’s commands beside him. She noticed their pupils were alarmingly dilated. “I-Is there some way we can be … useful?”

“Just … just stay out of my way.”

As she departed from the group, she searched the central plaza for her lover, trying to ignore the people turning her way. Even through her peripheral, she could sense they were growing just as enamored with her as the other men have. Regardless of gender or orientation, they couldn’t help but look at Jiwon—even if it meant snapping their necks.

And their eyes began to glow red.

Finding her man wasn’t difficult. Not when the entire crowd paused from her presence alone.

As he finished signing some documents, his kirtle unbuttoned partway, when Jiwon came into his field of view, his jaw nearly dropped down to his polished boots. “You … you’re back … And you look … different.”

Jiwon crinkled her nose, extending a hand towards him, hoping he would take it, perhaps kiss it, or just hold it. But the man wasn’t frozen in awe—he was frozen in fear. “You have … horns now? Might you be part, err, faun?”

“Horns?”

Her hands flew up to the patches of her temple that have been hurting these past few days, and when her nails bumped into a pair of hardened and ringed pieces of bone jutting from her head, Jiwon could barely hold back her scream. “I-I-I … This is—!”

The man grimaced before bowing to his waist. “Excuse me … I have other affairs to attend to. It’s nice seeing you, however.”

His back now turned to her, Jiwon watched as his silhouette faded into the sea of motionless people.

She gripped at handfuls of her horns and tried to rip them off. It was only then that she realized her fingertips were green—the rest of her hands were rapidly turning green. The color raced up towards her wrist and threatened to reach her elbows. 

Squatting down and covering her head, she slammed her nose into her knee repeatedly. “No no no no! What is h-happening to me? Why is this happening to me …?”

WHY DO YOU DREAD MY GIFTS, LITTLE JIWON? DIDN’T YOU WISH FOR THIS?

She snarled against the voice and tried to bite at it. “You deceived me again … you always deceive me … You promised me your powers would make me desirable to everyone!”

AND THAT I DID, DID I NOT?

Shuddering, she glanced up through her messy hair and witnessed the unflinching and silent stature of the townsfolk within the plaza, their gazes trained on no one but her.

I ALWAYS STAY TRUE TO MY WORD, LITTLE JIWON. I HAVE DONE NOTHING BUT GRANT YOUR WISHES—.

“Then why won’t he fall for me? Why won’t he obsess over me like the others do? Why …?”

The voice cackled in disbelief over something Jiwon hadn’t realized yet.

BECAUSE HE’S NOT LIKE EVERYONE ELSE, IS HE, LITTLE JIWON? HE ISN’T JUST ANYONE TO YOU, IS HE NOT?

Ripping out strands of her hair from her scalp, Jiwon punched the ground with her now fully greened arms. Once her knuckles were beaten in and bruised, she let out a soft chuckle and stood up on shaky legs.

He loved him so much that it hurt. It hurt Jiwon to see him walk away from her like that. After all, he was everything that she was not. And that’s what made Jiwon desire him more.

“Can you … can you hear me?” she beckoned, lifting her chin.

The crowd all nodded. “Yes … our lady …”

“Do you … do you love me?”

The crowd all slowly nodded once more, smiling aloofly, eyes glazing into spheres of clear crimson. “Yes, our lady … we love you … We love you very much …”

Drawing blood across her lower lip with her sinking teeth, once it trickled down her chin, Jiwon trembled and nodded. “Then come. We have much work to do. Follow my lead.”

The trees weren’t enough for a couple hundred townsfolk, so Jiwon expanded her initiative to the town itself.

Every banner, every single flyer, every cart and wagon, each possible stone tile, across windows and doors and walls, atop roofs and chimneys, marked on different garments and accessories, and even into the statue of the reeve at the plaza—Jiwon’s growing army etched the forsaken pattern into whatever they could, wherever they could.

Each pattern would thrum, and flicker, and glow, until crimson would pour out of it, bathing Jiwon in its dull light.

Smirking, she slithered across the highest rooftop and merely observed as the town slaved away for her at her beck and call. “This time for sure. He will be mine.”

She couldn’t catch a wink of sleep. She stayed awake through the entire night waiting for the crack of dawn to arrive. Jiwon slinked between the stretching shadows of the buildings, ensuring everyone was acting normally. Their eyes were all horribly dilated, but no matter—it’s not like he would notice anyway.

Speaking of the devil—when Jiwon saw her prey, she darted towards him, coiling around him, and hissed. “Hello~.”

The man slowly turned around to see Jiwon staring right into his soul. “I’m sorry I frightened you off last time, but I hope now will be … different?”

He didn’t speak. His eyes were transfixed upon Jiwon’s body.

Jiwon bit her lip, forked tongue poking out through her fangs. “Oh my, are you captivated by what you see? You don’t have to fawn for too long, dear. Because I am all yours.”

As she went in for the kiss, the man finally unfroze himself from his fright and pressed his palm against Jiwon’s encroaching face. “Wh-What is wrong with you? Why are you … putting on this charade still?”

“Charade? I’m just being honest … about my feelings. Shouldn’t you be too …?”

With this many patterns—with this much power—was it still even possible for him to resist?

But the man gestured to Jiwon’s entirety and shook his head. “It was hilarious and adorable at first with the horns, but your penchant for costumes is a bit … concerning.”

“Cost … -umes?”

Jiwon slithered to the nearest window and let out a wallowing shriek as she saw what stared back at her.

Devil horns. Tentacle arms. Serpentine lower torso. Chitinous upper torso.

She was a freak. More than she had already ever been.

“Now now, don’t be alarmed. I have nothing against the costumes, I just …” he paused, approaching Jiwon closer and closer now. Placing a hand on her slimy cheek, the man tried to put on his best smile for her. “I just want to see the real you. I … I want to get to know that. Please?”

DON’T DO IT, LITTLE ONE.

“My real … self?”

YOU KNOW HE WILL ONLY LOVE YOU AS I HAVE MADE YOU—NOT AS YOU ARE.

She clasped the mask and pressed her palm into it, trembling in confusion.

IF YOU TAKE THAT OFF, YOU CAN SAY GOODBYE TO EVER FINDING LOVE WITH HIM.

Taking a deep breath, Jiwon sighed with an exasperated chuckle. “I … I have not seen my real self in so long because I … I loathe it. I fear no one would respect me or even look my way. I fear no one would … love me. Not even myself. But … are you sure?”

The man nodded without an ounce of doubt. “Yes. Let me see who you really are. Let me love that.”

In a flash, the mask came off, shattering against the ground and dissipating into a cloud of vapor.

And the man screamed like Jiwon had never heard a person scream before.

His eyes were not dilated in the slightest—they were wrought with absolute fear. For what stared back at him was Jiwon’s true face—blemished, lacerated, and defiled. “Y-Y-You … You look like a m-monster … A MONSTER!”

Jiwon’s heart shattered into a million pieces. She reached out for him, but the swat to her wrist couldn’t have come any faster. “Stay away from me … STAY AWAY FROM ME, YOU ABOMINATION!”

As the man fled from her sights one final time, Jiwon sank to her stomach, tentacles wriggling and writhing against the cobblestone.

WHAT DID I TELL YOU, LITTLE JIWON? DO YOU BELIEVE ME NOW?

NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU.

NO ONE BUT ME.

Sniffling, sobbing, screaming into the early morning sky, Jiwon begged the voice in her head. “Please … I have nothing left to lose … Tell me what else I need to sacrifice just to … just to make him mine …”

Silence.

“Please … Please, don’t leave me … You said you love me, right …? So please … grant me one final wish …”

Silence.

“PLEASE! I’M BEGGING YOU! MAKE HIM LOVE ME … MAKE HIM MINE!”

Dark clouds began to cover the entire town. They swirled around in a vortex, coalescing together as they shot out bolts of lightning against the roofs. The addled townsfolk could do nothing but stare up in awe at the sinister presence now emerging from the shadows.

WHAT ARE YOU WILLING TO SACRIFICE, LITTLE JIWON?

Swallowing down the last of her hesitations, she lifted her chin one final time. “Everything.”

THEN SO IT SHALL BE, MY JIWON.

She began to float.

Gravity ceased to exist for Jiwon as she drifted higher and higher into the air. Just before she could tumble into the clouds, a bolt of lightning zapped her and fried her on the spot

She let out a feral scream.

SNAP.

As her voice billowed into the horizon, her body began to morph. Bones shattered and fused into tendons. Horns elongating to the lengths of polearms. Her spine shot out of her lumbar region and coated itself in a slick velvety sheen to form a spade-tipped tail.

CRACKLE.

As her body continued to transform, bolts of lightning continued firing into her spinning body. She could barely see through the rapid motion, but as she reached a hand out to the sky, she witnessed her fingers breaking off one by one only for their loose and unsupported weights to congeal into thick tentacles.

POP.

After minutes of skin-ripping torture, the newly formed Jiwon—a hulking mass of tentacles, chitin, and ooze—levitated in the air. This time, without the assistance of any external forces.

She curled her new appendages and watched as the tentacular mass bulged and swelled like a bicep. “I’m …”

PERFECT. 

NOW, APPROACH HIM AND FULFILL YOUR WISH.

But Jiwon scoffed. She raised out her limb and unraveled her new tentacles. Her arm dug into the ground and emerged just beneath his fleeing feet to wrap around them and drag him all the way towards her.

“Th-This is all one big mistake—please! I-I-I never should have told you that—.”

One glance at Jiwon and his eyes went wide. “Ji … -won … Ji … -won …”

She let go of him and maintained him in the air with but a thought. “Look at me. I want you … to look at me.”

The man smiled with droopy eyes as he floated over to her. Hands all over her body, caressing and groping and embracing whatever he could, he devoured Jiwon like he needed her to live. And Jiwon couldn’t have been more pleased with him.

“Look at me … all of you … look at me!”

As she commanded this, a bright beam of purple and crimson shot into the air, originating from Jiwon’s body, tearing a hole through space and time. At the other end of the beam was a gateway, a portal that suspended itself above the town.

Repeating Jiwon’s words, now in the familiar tone of voice as the one in her head, the eldritch horror clawed its way out of its prison and stepped into the land of the living.

“Look at me … all of you … look at me! Bow down before your new god, Batheelzi the Damned Oblivion!”

And as Jiwon’s voice echoed throughout the land, carrying its message along with it, flocks of people began marching towards the town from all over in droves, gazing irresistibly at the woman that guided their senses like a beacon. The slithering of her tentacles, the stench of her secretions, the grating of her cackle—they followed the beckoning of a muse like none that they have seen before. The new herald of Batheelzi—Kim Jiwon.