#fic.

You shake your head as your hands busy themselves with wringing the washcloth. “He was so handsome,” you sigh, “I almost broke into a rash just staring at him.” You place the now cool fabric back into place across your nephew’s forehead, and press your moist hands against your cheeks in a futile effort to bring a chill to your warm face. Perhaps you’re the one with the fever now.

Your paths do not cross with the young and handsome doctor until sometime a week or two later. Your parents had insisted you bring him a small basket of persimmons on your morning delivery to thank him for Silas’s care, and your sister, Silas’s mother, had insisted that you bring your nephew with you.

So there you were, the pair of you, walking towards the town center to find Jeon Wonwoo’s office of practice. 

Silas squeezes your hand to get your attention and you glance toward him to let him know you’re listening. 

“Auntie,” he starts, “do you think I should become a doctor when I grow up?” 

You almost giggle but hold it in lest he thinks you’re laughing at him. His mother would probably run the streets in excitement if she’d just heard her son’s query. 

“Now why do I have a say in what you should be when you grow up? You can be whatever you want, I always tell you that.” 

His lips form a small pout before he replies; “You’re my best friend, of course you have a say.”

Tears try to fill your eyes before you will them away with a shake of your head. “Well as your best friend I say that you should be whatever makes you happy.” You tell him and lean down to quickly press a kiss to his cheek. “Now let’s hurry to Mister Jeon’s office so he can get his persimmons and you can go to afternoon classes.” 

The doctor’s office isn’t too hard to find, mostly due to the fact that there’s only one of them, and it’s fairly new to town.

As you and your nephew make your way to the entrance you notice the wisteria plants that span the awning. ‘They'll look lovely when they bloom in spring,’ you muse. 

The bell above the door chimes as the two of you enter and the young man sitting behind what you assume to be the reception desk nods in greeting. 

“Do you have an appointment?” He asks once you are closer to the desk. 

“Actually, I’m here with a delivery," you say, shyly holding up the basket, "and payment for Dr. Jeon's house visit." 

"Of course," he stands to receive the basket from you and sets it on the floor beside his chair. You watch him smooth down his dress shirt as he returns to his seat. The man then pulls open a drawer at his side and retrieves a medium sized journal, setting it in front of him and wetting his index finger to flip through its pages. 

"May I know the date the visit took place? As well as the patient's last name and address?"

You provide him with the information and watch as he skims through the cursive written on the journal's pages. 

As you converse with the man about payment you can't help but be thankful about how well behaved Silas is as you do. Although it might have been due to his fascination with the fish in a tank that sat in the waiting area, tucked next to some chairs and a table with a few newspapers, you're no less grateful. 

The two of you leave the office shortly after, your nephew a bit disappointed in not seeing Dr. Jeon, the man who has become the current subject of his admiration. 

"I'm sure we'll see him sometime soon," you say, trying to lift the boy's spirits, "it's a small town after all. Now, run along to class. Your mother will have my head if you're late again." 

Silas bids you farewell with a hug and you watch him jog down the road towards the schoolhouse, his bag swinging behind him. Unbeknownst to you that the doctor you'd been speaking about was watching it all from not too far away. 

Wonwoo is just shy of exhausted as he enters his practice. Removing his hat and tweed coat, holding onto them to hang them up in his office. 

Seungkwan stands from his chair to greet him but before he can utter a word Wonwoo lets out an almost comical sigh. 

"Please tell me I'm done with house visits for the day, I don't think I can handle another matriarch trying to convince me to marry their daughter." 

"You'll be happy to note that all the patients left today are mostly general check-ups." Seungkwan replies with a look of amusement. "Oh and before I forget the daughter of the persimmon farm came by with a basket for you and also took care of their bill for the visit two weeks ago," he continues. 

"I thought I caught a glimpse of her outside. Thank you, Seungkwan, I'll be in my office if you need me." 

Wonwoo closes his office door behind him as he enters, hanging up his hat and jacket on the coat rack to his immediate left. The basket of persimmons sits in the middle of his desk, covered with a cloth that had to have been hand-sewn. It's cream colored with a bouquet of embroidered flowers in the corner, beautiful work. It's a shame he can't enjoy the sweet fruit that lies beneath, work comes first. 

The bookstore's wood stairs creak as you ascend and in turn the bell hanging above the door chimes as you enter. Delight flashes across your face as you lock eyes with the girl who sits behind the counter. She returns your joy earnestly with a small smile and a wave of her hand. 

"You seem to be awfully chipper this afternoon." Jisun notes as you lean against the counter. 

"Maybe because I have it all to myself," You reply, with a smile. 

"I thought you had deliveries to do today?" She asks, confused. 

"Well, I did have one delivery today, to Dr. Jeon's office. My father said if I made that delivery and sent Silas off to classes I could take the afternoon off. I might have to do some this evening though."

At the mention of the doctor's name your friend gives you a coy look, which you ignore. 

Jisun and you fall into easy conversation between the calm buzz of the bookstore and her helping whatever customer needs it. You move to sit beside her behind the counter, to free up space. She tells you all about the planning being done by her mother for her upcoming wedding. Her engagement to the eldest son of the town's pottering family, Kim Doyoung, happened sometime this past winter. Jisun was over the moon when he had asked for her hand; you remember her crush on him from your school days. He was set to take over the family business in two to three years due to his father's declining health. 

"I'm thinking late summer or next autumn, because of the weather. My mother wants it to happen as early as possible, but Doyoung and I are okay with waiting a bit longer. His mother is fine with whatever I decide, she's truly wonderful." 

"I'm sure everything will work out. I just can't wait to atten– your response is cut off by the bell above the door chiming to announce a customer, your and Jisun's eyes snapping to the door. 

To your utter horror, Jeon Wonwoo enters the bookstore. 

You duck behind the counter quickly, praying he hasn't seen you yet and clutching your headscarf so it obscures your face better. 

Jisun gives you a confused look but you wordlessly plead for her to act normal, breathing a sigh of relief when she turns to greet the doctor. 

"Welcome, Dr. Jeon! I wasn't expecting you today."

You're glad Jisun is a better actress than she seems. 

Wonwoo returns her greeting and asks about the store. To which Jisun replies; "It's been fine, not too busy and not too slow." 

"How's Doyoung's father? I understand he's been taking his medicine diligently, but I haven't got around to seeing him yet as I was in the office all afternoon." 

She offers the doctor a smile, "He's doing much better, thankfully. We're all really grateful to you, Dr. Jeon." 

"Please, call me Wonwoo, I prefer to be 'Dr. Jeon' during work hours." 

Jisun smiles, "Of course."

Your squatting position soon becomes uncomfortable but you'd rather die than show yourself now, so you continue to listen to the two converse. 

"And the wedding? I know you've been planning." 

"Well, nothing is set in stone yet, but Doyoung and I are thinking perhaps late summer or even early autumn. Fret not, you and Seungkwan absolutely have a place on the guest list." 

"Looking forward to it then. Sorry to take up so much time with small talk, your father has a medical textbook saved for me. I told him I would be by this morning but I was a bit too busy." 

"I see, it's likely in his study then. I'll be just a minute!" She replies before turning around to the back of the bookstore, shooting you a wary glance before she disappears. 

You hear Wonwoo hum quietly to himself as he waits, and you silently pray for Jisun to make haste. Your legs are burning, not only from the weight of your body but also mostly due to the weight of your deceit. No matter, you cannot possibly let Jeon Wonwoo see you. 

"Here it is!" Jisun announces cheerfully as she returns, holding up the thick book with two hands and a sense of pride. 

"Thank you, Jisun. How much do I owe?" 

Jisun calculates the total along with a hefty discount sparing no room for argument, before wrapping the book up and handing it to the doctor. 

"You take care now Wonwoo! I'm sure I'll see you soon." Jisun says as she bids him farewell. 

You breathe a sigh of relief at the bell chiming, and the sound of the door closing. Grabbing onto the counter you hoist yourself back to standing much to the torment of your legs. 

"What was that about?" Jisun asks with a confused look as you wince and massage your knees. 

You open your mouth to respond but Jisun continues; "Don't you dare say 'nothing'." 

"I don't want him to see me." You admit, looking at your feet. 

"Why not?" She seems incredulous at your confession, "Is it because of your scar?" 

Your hand instinctively reaches to touch the long scar that runs through your left eye and down your cheek. The scar that "marred" you, the one that made people look twice, the only thing that prevents you from finding love. 

You sigh before giving Jisun a hollow smile, "I have to fetch Silas soon. I'll tell you more later." 

And with that you wave to Jisun and make your exit. 

The reminder of your scar brings awful memories back to the surface of your mind, and they are all you can think about as you walk to the schoolhouse.

Early Summer (Two Years Prior)

"Darling, is your sister ready? The Baes will be here any moment!" 

Your sister hurriedly pulls the curlers from your hair, and runs a brush through them. "Give us forty seconds Mama!" She looks you over in the mirror before giving you a reassuring smile, rushing to pick up the discarded curlers. 

"You look beautiful! Now go see Mama, quickly!" 

You meet your mother in the kitchen and she gives you a once over before kissing your cheek. "My lovely girl." 

Your mother instructs you on when to join them at the table after the Baes arrive and to bring the persimmons she's already cut with you. Figuring you still have time, you move to your sister's room where your nephew is playing. 

"Hi Silas." You say softly as you find a seat next to the boy. 

"Hi Auntie, what happened to your special meeting?" He asks with a tilt of his head. 

"The special people aren't here yet so I came to say hi one more time." You reply, pushing his hair out of his face, it was getting so long. 

You and your nephew chat for a bit more until the commotion from the front of the house draws away your attention; the Baes have arrived. 

The Baes were a modest family, a mom, a dad and two children, one boy and one girl. They owned the town jewelers, and were surprisingly well known. Bae Giwoong, the head of the family, was skilled with his hands, creating beautiful pieces that complimented anyone. Paired with a wife that had vast knowledge on jewels and precious stones, they had done quite well for themselves.

Hyunsik, the son, had come in earnest with his family to potentially ask for your hand. You were quite nervous, but seeing as your sister had married almost four years prior and had Silas, it was only natural that you were thinking about marriage as well. 

The meeting was dragging on. You had presented the persimmons just as your mother had instructed, before taking your seat at her side, across from Hyunsik who you offered a polite but reserved smile. He did not return it, only glancing at you briefly before returning his attention to the conversation between your father and his. 

Soon, the chatter dwindled and the Baes announced their leave. Your father convinced Mr. Bae to have a cigar with him just outside the house before they departed. You busied yourself with clearing the table of the used forks and now empty cups of tea your mother had prepared.

After your tidying, you swiftly move through the house to the window at the front of it, intent on eavesdropping. 

Peering out you see the son and father chatting amongst themselves, your father probably in his study to fetch the cigar he promised Mr. Bae. Leaning closer to the ledge you're able to hear the two as they converse. 

"They're a good family, what do you think of her?" Mr. Bae asks. 

"They seem to be," Hyunsik agrees, "She's adequate, I suppose. If only she didn't have that unsightly scar," he continues. 

Your heart drops into your stomach at his words, as your hand unconsciously reaches to the scar. 

His father mulls over his words with a hum before replying; "You'd have to keep her under lock and key, the poor girl's mangled." 

The dread in your stomach hardens and you want nothing more than to stop hearing these harsh words, but you are frozen in place. 

Hyunsik nods in agreement, "It's really a shame. I'd be able to overlook it if it were anywhere else, I just can't imagine waking up to that face every morning."

You feel the tears before you register that you're crying, and the sensation is enough to knock you back to consciousness. You stand hurriedly and make your way to your room before anyone can see you in this pathetic state. 

 You pretend. In the day you are just yourself, getting errands done and living day to day. You pretend to agree, when your mother tells you that Bae Hyunsik would not be asking for your hand due to the fact that he believes you two wouldn't be compatible. At night you are inconsolable, crying into your pillow until your tears eventually put you to sleep. 

Silas senses a shift in your mood, but as a three year old he only does what he can. Seeking attention whenever you're sitting idle, laying his head on your lap while you stroke his hair. His little hands playing with your free one. 

Eventually, you learn to move on. As does Hyunsik when he marries the eldest daughter of Lee's dairy farm. 

His words, however, will stay with you forever. 

Drawn out of your memories by the clanging of the schoolhouse bell you quicken your pace, keeping eyes out for your nephew. He appears within a few moments, his own eyes searching for you. You wave to him when he finally finds you. 

"How were classes?" You ask as the boy bounds up to you, reaching to smooth his unruly hair. 

"Good!” He chirps, before launching into detail about his afternoon. Keeping the two of you entertained as you follow the road home. 

The days that follow glide by until eventually they all bleed into a week, a week since you’ve seen the young doctor. Your deliveries go as well as can be expected, though they have been slowing down, and your father is busy preparing the year’s saplings. Silas has gone off to visit his paternal grandparents who live a few towns away, your sister going along despite her relationship of apathy with her in-laws. She did say something about Henry’s younger brother finishing his woodworking apprenticeship so she was expected to be present. 

You find yourself bored without your small friend but find time to chat with Jisun every now and again. Miraculously you haven’t run into Wonwoo at all, though you’ve caught glimpses from afar and he has not gotten any less handsome. 

At dusk your mother finds you with a basket in her hands. 

"Did I forget a delivery?" You question eyes falling to the vermillion fruit. 

"No dear, your father is out with the trees still and it slipped my mind that I had promised Mrs. Lee these. You know her youngest just got engaged," She explains. 

"Ah right I had forgotten. I'll take care of it," you reply, taking the basket from your mother's hands and pressing a reassuring kiss to her cheek. 

The walk to the Lee home is not long, but it is closer to the town than to your own home. You greet the few townspeople you come across on the way, offering them small smiles and polite nods. 

The greetings have you in a good mood so you have a little more pep in your step as you bound up the Lee family's porch, curling your fingers around the knocker when you make it to the door. 

"Coming!" You hear a girlish voice say, followed by the sounds of the door unlocking. 

With a slight tug of the door inwards you come face to face with Lee Daeun, the eldest Lee sister, one hand laid on the wood while the other cradles her very pregnant stomach. The polite smile on her face slips when her eyes flash with recognition. 

"I had assumed your mother would be dropping by, not…..you." 

You offer a shrug, "Mother sent me instead, sorry to disappoint." You reply jokingly, trying to ease the tension. 

Daeun doesn't respond right away, choosing to study you for a few moments. The silence becomes awkward quickly so you try your best to remedy it. 

"Congratulations to your sister, what a joyous occasion for her. And to yourself, I didn't know you were with child." You say with a warm smile, probably the most genuine thing the two of you had exchanged thus far. 

You hold out the basket to her, which she takes sliding it up her arm so it rests in the crook of her elbow.

"Yes, well, our family is quite satisfied with her fiancé. He's the son of an artisan, and they live a few towns eastward." Both her hands now rest on her stomach, "As for this one, it's only been a few months. Hyunsik is over the moon, and Momma insists on keeping me inside for the time being, so I don't get out much." Daeun's eyes seize you once more before she continues; "And yourself? I know your family has been searching for suitors, any success?" 

She may as well have doused you in cold water with the way her tone becomes icy. 

"Unfortunately not. I'm not too worried though, I know finding a suitable bachelor can take some time and I'm nothing if not patient." 

A scoff escapes her at your reply. "Worried? I feel you should be rather embarrassed. My youngest sister, a girl who we both watched play with mud when we were all children, is now engaged. Meanwhile you continue to age with no partner to call yours, as well as toting around your poor nephew pretending he's your own. I think it's time you face reality, nobody wants a scarred wife no matter how pretty she is." 

You are stunned into silence, fists clenched and nails biting into the skin of your palms. Every cell in your body fighting the urge to cry at the venom Daeun had spat at you for seemingly no reason at all. 

"Give your parents our family's thanks." Is the last thing she says before shutting the door in your face. 

You stare at the door for a few moments, tears starting to blur your vision, before you turn and hurry away from the Lee's home. 

Hot tears are blurring your vision as you head in the direction opposite your house. You want to find somewhere quiet to cry your eyes out before heading back to your residence and pretending everything is fine and dandy. 

Reaching closer to town, you stumble across the fountain just behind the main street, tucked between a few trees. A veranda shielding it from the setting sun with vines of wisteria weaved through its wood. The flowers are nowhere in sight as their blooming season is still a ways off. You, however, are too busy crying to care much about wisteria.

Shakily you manage to sit at the fountain's edge before your body is wracked with your sobs. Fingers fumble to pull the knot of your scarf resting against your chin loose, and once the fabric comes free you bury your face in it, your tears never once stopping. 

You don't know how long you sit there crying, removing your face from your tear stained head scarf every so often to breathe. 

A soft voice is the thing that finally brings you back to reality, and there before you with worry etched into his wrinkled brow is Jeon Wonwoo. 

Your mind blanks at the sight of him, and it feels as if someone has stuffed cotton in your ears as Wonwoo's lips move but you cannot hear a word he utters. His concerned frown deepens as he gets no response from you, leaning closer. It's as if all the blood in your body rushes to your head and you feel yourself falling backwards as if someone had grabbed onto the back of your dress and yanked. 

Wonwoo cries in surprise as he watches you fall towards the water, arms reaching out to grab you. The sound kicks your brain into gear, it's too late to stop your descent but you throw your hands back to catch yourself. A loud splash echoes through the small area before you are engulfed in the sensation of cold water drenching your skin and clothes. Wonwoo as he lunged to grab you had also met with the fountain water, his hands and forearms submerged, and his body leaning over top of yours. 

Silence buzzes between the two of you as the only thing you can do is stare at each other. It's only then do you truly realize the situation that you've found yourself in. Wonwoo's face is mere inches from your own and the only thing you can think is how much more handsome he looks up close. His strong jaw, sharp nose, and the flecks of honey that swim in the brown of his irises. 

You notice him studying your own face, and as his eyes drift over to the left you remember why you were crying in the first place. Your hand snaps up to cover your scar and this is what seems to break the trance between you and the doctor. Wonwoo can feel the blood rushing to his ears as he scrambles back to his feet, bowing his head and offering apology after apology.

 When you don't respond his eyes meet yours, and he notices you have not made any attempt to remove yourself from the fountain. Your green dress is bunched up over your knees, the fabric now dark due to the water, and your patterned head scarf still gripped in hand. 

Wonwoo's face still feels like it has been set ablaze but he offers you both of his hands, "May I?" 

You nod shakily before he leans over and your hands reach up to grasp his own. He pulls you firmly, but not yanking, and even lets one of your hands go to loop an arm around your waist for a more secure hold. 

You notice how firm his body feels against yours and how much taller he is than you'd thought now that you're practically pressed together. Heat rushes to your cheeks. 

Wonwoo slowly removes his arm from your waist and his hand from yours, taking half a step back to give you some (much needed) space. 

"Are you alright? I feel awful about startling you, but I heard the crying and wanted to know if you were okay." 

"I'm fine," you reply, voice small, "my apologies for getting you wet." 

The doctor's lips twitch and you feel perhaps he wants to laugh at you. You wouldn't fault him, you are soaked to the bone, rivulets of water running down your legs beneath your dress. 

"Water under the bridge." 

You almost giggle at that, but duck your head down and compose yourself quickly. 

Wonwoo continues; "Would you mind walking with me to my practice? I live right above it, and would feel better if I could get you into something dry before escorting you home. I know you live a bit out of town." 

Before you can respond Wonwoo must have realized how he sounded. 

"I know because you left me the persimmons and I treated the young boy, though I didn't see you there. I have seen you around town with him though, just briefly of course, completely coincidentally. I don't go out of my way to catch a glimpse of you here and there. I promise, I'm not a strange person." Wonwoo rambles in an attempt to clear the air, though you're not sure it needed clearing in the first place. 

The space above Wonwoo’s office is quaint, what it lacks in size it makes up for in homey-ness. Books piled neatly from where they spill out of the bookshelf, a warm armchair nestled right beside it. A dining table with one chair, both a dark cherrywood, sits against the wall adjacent to the small kitchenette. There’s a small wood-burning stove that looks well loved. Everything in the space feels very Wonwoo to you. 

Speaking of, you can hear him rustling through the drawers in the other room. He ushered you in despite your protests, not wanting to drip all over his home. Once inside he disappeared for a moment, reappearing with a towel clutched in his hand, and then layed it across the floor in front of you. “Since you feel so strongly about not getting my floor wet,” he’d said, before disappearing once more. 

You fiddle with your fingers, still drenched to the bone, as your clothes drip drip drip onto the towel. 

Finally, Wonwoo exits the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a bundle of clothes tucked safely in his other arm. 

“I’m sure they won’t fit like a glove, but you’re likely grateful for dry clothes either way.” His tone is a bit teasing, and you can only nod in response with your ears feeling hot. 

“The bathroom is just opposite of my room,” He says, passing over the clothes to your hands, “take your time. It’s just about dark so I’ll be sure to walk you home. You can call your parents, or husband, when you’re dressed. I have a phone.” He continues. 

The ‘husband’ comment makes you bristle but you decide to clear the air with Wonwoo at a later time, desperately wanting to get out of this wet dress.

“Thank you,” you reply softly, and turn to scurry into the safety of the bathroom. 

You get dressed quickly, not bothering with your undergarments. You’d rather have wet undergarments than be bare underneath clothes that don’t even belong to you, the thought flushes your whole body with heat. 

Wonwoo directs you to the phone, it rests on a side table next to the armchair,  and you dial your house phone with urgency, despite the slowness of the crank dial. The line rings for a few moments, and as you hear the other line click “Mother?” tumbles from your lips. 

Your mother says your name with surprise, “Darling where are you? Are you still at the Lees’?” 

“No, something happened on the way home. But I’m with Doctor Jeon, you know Doctor Jeon? He treated Silas when he had that god-awful fever. Well, he helped me out, so I’m fine. He insisted I call you before he accompanied me home, so I was just letting you know Momma.” 

You listen to your mother talk for a bit more before you bid her goodbye, her voice ringing out a “Be safe on your way home!” before you set the receiver down. 

“Thank you for letting me use your phone, and for the clothes,” you say to Wonwoo, who sits across the room from you in that dining table chair. 

“Of course,” he replies, “now let's get you home.” 

The small talk as the two of you walk the path to your family home is pleasant enough. You find that Wonwoo has somewhat of an eclectic sense of humor, and he’s quite witty despite the seriousness of his profession. In no time your home is visible, and you feel a tinge of disappointment at its sight. 

“Well, I suppose this is where we part,” Wonwoo sighs as the two of you stand in front of the gate of your home. 

“I suppose,” you echo.

A long pause ebbs between you both as you gaze at each other.

Suddenly you feel a jolt go through you as you have a realization. You’d forgotten your dress on the floor of his bathroom. 

“My dress,” you say bashfully, “I left it in your bathroom.” 

“That’s okay, I’ll get it washed for you. You can come by the office in the next few days, I’ll have it nice and clean.” He assures you with a soft smile. 

“Thank you,” you reply. 

Before you can turn to leave Wonwoo continues; “I haven’t seen your boy around, Silas was it? How’s he fairing these days?” 

You offer the doctor a tight lipped smile, “His father took him to visit family a few towns over.” You think you have to clear this misunderstanding up before it's too late. 

“Also, he’s not mine. Silas, I mean, he’s my sister’s son. I’m not married, I’ve never been.” 

“I see,” Wonwoo replies, and you feel you may have offended him somehow at his tone but he continues; “That’s good then, I felt I may have been acting inappropriately towards you. Thinking you were married and all.” 

“I didn’t think you were acting inappropriately at all.” 

“That brings me relief. Then you won’t think me telling you how lovely I think you look would be inappropriate either? Considering you’re unmarried.” 

You feel your ears are deceiving you, because surely Jeon Wonwoo didn’t just say he thinks you look lovely. But as you gaze at his face, a handsome smirk paints his lips, perhaps your ears work just fine. 

It seems your mother has never had a more perfect sense of timing as she swings the front door open shouting your name. 

You tear your gaze away from Wonwoo to call back to her; “I’m here! No need to shout.” 

You hear her footsteps as she makes her way to the gate, shooting Wonwoo an apologetic glance. He offers a soft smile in response. 

It isn’t long before you hear the rattling of the gate lock and your mother’s voice again “Honey, what are you doing loitering around outside…“ Her words trail off as she takes in Wonwoo standing across from you. Her gaze flits between the two of you, pausing at your state of dress; a linen shirt and black trousers that were a few sizes too big. Despite her obvious shock your mother paints on a lovely smile and bows her head in greeting to the doctor. 

“Oh my, Doctor Jeon, I had forgotten you’d be accompanying her home! Thank you for helping my daughter out, you’re quite the gentleman.” 

You shoot your mother an incredulous look, not wanting her to embarrass you further than you yourself already have. She ignores you, of course. 

Wonwoo bows his head with a smile, “Not at all. It was my pleasure, your daughter has quite the interesting personality.” 

“Doesn’t she? We have no idea where she gets it from, there’s no one like her in the family.” 

You assume your mother is trying to rope Wonwoo into having something to eat by the glint in her eye so you jump in. 

“I’m sure Wonwoo would like to head home, Momma. He has a bit of a walk back into town.” 

“Do you?” She turns to him, “We’d hate to keep you.” 

“I have some time,” Wonwoo assures her, “there’s no one waiting for me at home.” 

You can’t help but feel betrayed by Wonwoo’s choice to indulge your mother. 

“Really? Have you eaten? Let me pack some food for you to take!” 

And before any of you can say anything, your mother has Wonwoo’s wrist in her grip gently leading him through the front gate and to your house. 

You run a hand down your face before following. 

Your mother leads Wonwoo through the house, through the living room, to have him sit on the ledge just outside the living room doors that open up to the garden. 

“Now you wait right here,” your mother tells him, “I’ll have my daughter fetch you a drink while I pack up something for you!” 

“Thank you,” Wonwoo replies. 

She eyes you meaningfully before grabbing your arm to drag you to the kitchen. 

“There’s some cold yuzu tea in the fridge, take him a glass please.” She sets a medium sized cup onto a saucer, and you recognize it as a part of the china set your family typically uses for important guests. It’s white with some foliage painted on the side. 

You follow your mother’s command as she busies herself with packing side dishes, reaching past her into the fridge where the pot of yuzu tea sits. 

After pouring a cup you garnish it with a rosemary sprig you pluck from the plant sitting on the kitchen’s windowsill. You're careful not to spill as you make your way to where Wonwoo waits, your pace slow. 

He gives you a kind smile as you set the cup and saucer in front of him, thanking you in a soft voice. 

“Your mother made this?” He asks, after having a sip. The tea is quite refreshing, and it's probably one of the best yuzu teas he’s ever had. 

You shake your head. “I made the pot this time, usually whoever finds it running low makes it, between me and her of course. My older sister can’t brew tea to save her life, she takes after father.” 

“Well, it’s delicious. I suppose you’re quite the master when it comes to brewing tea.” 

You shake your head again, bashfully. You feel small under Wonwoo's fond gaze, not sure what is the appropriate way to act when he's showing you such kindness. The two of you sit in comfortable silence, with Wonwoo sipping at his tea and you trying to discreetly study his face. You know you've thought this before but he really is quite handsome. 

"The garden is beautiful, I don't think I've seen one built in the middle of a home like this before." 

"My great-grandfather built this house," you reply, moving so your body is parallel with Wonwoo's, both of you facing the open space. "He traveled a bit with my great-grandmother and when they built this house they took inspiration from some of the homes they stayed in on their travels." 

"I see." He replies, setting his now empty cup down, his knuckles brushing the side of your hand as he does so. 

You pull your hand away, as if burned, and heat flushes your body. 

Wonwoo doesn't comment on this thankfully but you think you see the edge of his lips twitch. 

"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Your mother's voice rings out. Walking to where you and Wonwoo sit with the containers of food wrapped up in an orange cloth. She sets it between you and Wonwoo as she kneels.

"I don't know what you like, so I added a bit of everything! I snuck in a couple of persimmons as well, we have more than enough." 

"Thank you kindly," Wonwoo says sweetly, giving your mother a smile. 

"It's no trouble dear! And don't worry about the containers, I'll have this one fetch them from you whenever." She says, motioning to you. 

"Well, thank you again. I should be getting on my way now, I've overstayed my welcome it seems." 

"Oh not at all!" Your mother pats his arm, "We're always happy to have you Doctor Jeon. My daughter will see you out, don't be a stranger now!" 

Wonwoo gathers the cloth in his fist, and the cup and saucer in his free hand. You take the china, passing it to your mother before leading Wonwoo back towards the entrance of your home. 

Soon you are in the exact same setting you were when you had arrived; you and Wonwoo standing across from each other at the gate. 

"My apologies for my mother, she's the type to flit around even if you tell her to sit still." 

"Not at all. She's quite the character, but I can tell she's also immensely kind. I now know where you get it from." The smile on Wonwoo's lips is teasing and you think about how nice it is to have someone compliment you. 

After a few more short moments of small talk you urge the doctor to be on his way. The sun had already sunk low behind the horizon and the path back to town settled in darkness. You hurry to grab him a lantern, just to help him light his way home, as the roads would absolutely be dark until about halfway into town. 

Wonwoo promises to make it home safely, and he watches you enter your house before turning and making his way to his own. 

Later that night you lay awake, palm pressed to your racing heart, replaying the moment Wonwoo called you lovely over and over again in your mind.

The next few days are spent with you staying busy, too busy even to go see Wonwoo for your dress. Pruning the persimmon trees and overall maintenance of the farm are the allotted tasks that fall to you. The workload is a bit heavy due to your sister and her family’s absence. 

You’ve taken to sleeping in Wonwoo’s linen shirt, his pants have been washed and folded, but perhaps selfishly, you can't bring yourself to part from his shirt. It smells like him, petrichor with a light musk and the hint of something floral. It's intoxicating and the scent lulls you to sleep better than any tea you’ve ever had. 

Sadly, you aren’t meant to hold on to the young doctor’s clothes forever. You have your mother wash the shirt, and find a bag to put Wonwoo’s clean clothes in so they can be returned to him. You intend to slip out quickly, but when your mother catches wind of your plans she rushes off to grab a few persimmons to send with you. 

“Please, he’ll be sick of persimmons at this rate,” you whine. 

She ignores your concern, slipping the wrapped fruits into your hand. “Nonsense! Nobody can be sick of persimmons,” she argues. 

Soon, you are on your way to the doctor’s office. Unfortunately, with the persimmons in tow. The walk to town is pleasant enough, and you get a sense of tranquility with nobody else on the path except for yourself and the occasional woodland creature that makes an appearance. 

You made a point to doll yourself up just a bit, wanting to leave Wonwoo with a better impression of yourself than last time. You don’t have high hopes, but perhaps just a hope that Wonwoo holds any feelings other than cordiality towards you. Your dress today is a dusty pink, and you’d found your sister’s rouge and applied a smidge to your cheeks and lips. 

The air is somewhat brisk, as it usually is in early fall, but the chill still makes you shiver slightly. Red and yellow tipped leaves sway in the crisp wind, it is undoubtedly autumn. Soon enough you are at the entrance of town, face burning with embarrassment as you catch a glance of the fountain, remembering the events that transpired there. 

Your pace quickens. 

As you come upon Wonwoo’s practice, you are surprised to see him waiting outside. Giving you a small smile and a wave when he notices you. 

“Good Morning,” he greets you with a honeyed voice.

“Morning,” is your soft reply, “do you always mill about outside this early?” 

This makes the doctor chuckle. “No, not usually. I saw you coming up the path from my window, so I figured it was only right that I came to greet you.” 

“Oh,” you try to fight the heat blooming on your cheeks, “I have your clothes, freshly laundered. Mother thought it pertinent to slip in a few persimmons even though I told her you’re probably sick of them by now.” 

The smile has not left his lips yet, and he reaches out to take the bag from your hand, fingers brushing against your own. “I could never be sick of persimmons,” he replies, “after all, everytime I have one I think of you.” 

The heat rushes back tenfold, you are beyond flustered and you think Wonwoo notices because of the way his lips quirk up. You feel your brain has been fried at just those few words and you struggle to form a reply.  Thankfully, Wonwoo takes pity on you, despite being the cause of your non-functioning state. 

“Your dress is upstairs,” he tells you, “I didn’t want it to get wrinkled so I hung it up as best I could. If you’d like, we could go upstairs and retrieve it or I can always bring it down to you.” 

“We can go upstairs,” your voice small as you reply, your heart fluttering shamelessly in your chest at the thought of being in Wonwoo’s cozy home once more.

The fluttering of your heart does not stop even as the two of you climb the steps.

You get a lovely sense of warmth when the two of you enter, and you look at the wood stove still kindling. Wonwoo guides you to sit in his armchair, disappearing to the area his kitchenette is. You watch him grab a resting teapot and pour whatever resides within it into a mug. The mug is then wordless placed in your hands, and you murmur a soft “thank you”. 

“Apple blackberry tea,” he explains, “I thought you might need some warming up from the chill.” 

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” you reply softly, “thank you.”

A small smile twitches at Wonwoo’s lips as he watches you cradle the mug and bring it to your lips to taste the tea. “Your dress is in the other room, give me a moment.”

You nod, taking another slow sip of the delicious tea. Both fruits pair surprisingly well, and it seems to be the perfect blend for a crisp autumn day. 

Wonwoo returns, your dress folded meticulously and resting in his hands. Despite how well worn it is it looks almost brand new, testament to his care of it.

“Oh, you didn’t have to go to all the trouble!” You stand to take the dress from Wonwoo’s hand, fondness swimming in your chest.

The man just shakes his head, “It was no trouble. It's something that belongs to you so I wanted to make sure it returned to you in an adequate condition.” 

You press the garment to your chest, your eyes meeting his. You try to think of what to say to convey your gratitude but nothing seems good enough. 

It's almost as if Wonwoo turns bashful under your gaze as he rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t intend to keep you longer, I would accompany you back to your home but unfortunately I have a few patients to see this morning.”

You snap back to reality at this, “Oh! Don’t apologize please, you’ve done more than enough for me, Wonwoo. I can make my way home no problem. Thank you again, for everything.” You give him a nod, walking past him to the door. However, before you can turn the knob you feel a hand at the crook of your arm, pulling you gently to a halt. 

Glancing behind yourself, you see that Wonwoo has stopped you. An emotion you can’t quite place swims within his eyes, and it just adds to your confusion. 

“Wonwoo..?” You say slowly, when neither of you has spoken for a stretch of moments. 

He uses his delicate grip on you to turn your body so you two face each other once more, and the hand on your arm raises slowly to hold your cheek. Suddenly, his thumb is rubbing against your scar gently. He whispers your name and you feel as if you’ve been caught in a trance, you can’t speak, move, or think. All you can do is breathe and feel Wonwoo’s touch. 

His eyes trace the lines of your face, before they find yours. “From this moment onwards, I intend to court you. If you’ll have me.”

His words stun you, a moment of silence passing between the two of you before it is broken by your mouth, moving faster than your mind can. “Yes, I’ll have you. Of course I will,” You say breathily. 

A smile tugs on Wonwoo’s lips and then he is leaning down to brush his lips over your scar, his hand falling from your cheek and finding your own. 

“Blue or baby pink? For reference, I’m wearing pearls in my hair,” Astrid chirps, framed tinily in the arched doorway of her rococo wardrobe, a dress of each color held at her sides. Her bare soles are against the marble floors, obsidian waves, windblown just so, blur her silhouette to the waist, resembling a fairy with her wings at ease, soliciting the opinion of — “Javi?”

Him? 

Spellbound, Javier peers through his lashes, captive in the fog of a daydream — one out of which the princess’s figure emerges. The sugary cadence of her voice severs him from his daze, and he lifts his chin off of his collar to straighten his spine. The faint, lambent glimpse of his heart beneath the symbolic armor of knighthood evaporates. Three days, fourteen hours, twenty-seven minutes, and his god-forsaken, amorous appetite has proven itself to be of the utmost abstrusity — a liability to his work.

Fuck. Javier curses the primitive urges of men, growing like weeds from the gaps in his practiced composure. A man's weary eyes befall a youthful woman of beauty, contort the expectations of formality that ground him, and twist the rigid, arrow-straight wire to mimic the flare of her hips, inviting his ruin. A hell of his own volition in consequence of neglecting his nature. In part, the fault is hers. If she was a thread short of divine, this war inside him would cease to exist. As is reality, she's anything but, and in a characteristically empyrean manner, she appears in his dreams, an outline becoming whole with each heavy blink, a picture of temptation — he feeds her fruit, licks her saliva from his fingertips. He delves below her skirt, between creamy thighs, doesn't come up for air until he's soaked nose-down, his beard dripping slick and spit galore, his name on her lips, a mantra, Javi, Javi, " — okay, Javi?"

She's calling his name. Imbécil.

"Yes, princess?" He speaks, then swallows hard. "Yes, I'm okay."

"Oh — great!" Astrid exclaims ungainly, her brown eyes flickering about aimlessly. To Javier's confusion, she seems to be hand-plucking her words, as though her response requires effort, when the question posed had been so simple. "I was asking about the dress?" She directs her finger towards the silky fabric of the blue gown, grinning sheepishly. It's held against her chest, giving the impression of being worn. With her pitch-black tresses dancing in the light, her frame draped in cloth cut from the midday ocean, she looks nothing short of a Botticelli. Beautiful. Enchantingly so. "Is this color okay?"

His Adam's apple bobs again, but glory be, his voice flows smoother this time, "Yes. Perfect." He has no time to chide himself for his choice of words, her full, plush lips forming a grin that acquits him.

"Perfect?" Heartened, Astrid flutters away, deeper into her infinite collection of garments, out of sight. "I'm going to properly try it on, then!"

She's at too much of a distance for Javier to hear the swish of silk, and he's grateful, the beat of silence much needed as he strives to regain himself. Minutes pass, one — two — seven. How long does it take to pull on a dress? The answer evades him; he’s only ever taken them off, and that doesn’t take long at all. He thinks to call out, but what would he say if his uneasiness was unfounded? He scowls. How insolent of him to believe she'd return to show him, to seek his approval, to generously provide a second glimpse of herself.

Abruptly, an ugly, stuttering series of gasps derails his train of thought, propelling him into motion faster than his brain can keep up. If the jagged sound wasn't enough to affirm his worries, the sight before him certainly was.

The material envelopes her body erroneously, ill-fitted — the least of his priorities, for Astrid bumbles in place, her mien a painful, inflamed pink. A strip of cloth enlaces her neck, constricting her airflow. With one hand clawing at her throat, her eyes protruding in fear, she uses the other to grasp at the space separating them, gagging out his name, Ja — vi.

"Jesus, Astrid!" Javier can't reach her any quicker, cradling her jaw to detangle the ribbon from her throat, his palm skating to her nape to keep her upright as she swallows large mouthfuls of air, the color returning to her face, her cheeks stained a rosy hue. "Are you okay? What happened?" Urgency laced in his tone, it's jarring when Astrid begins to giggle, nodding, her hair shrouding her face. "Please! That wasn't funny, you could've died had I not — "

"But — you did, Javi! I was — just trying on — the dress, it — was a bit too small and — when I tried to — adjust it, that happened. How — comedic!" For a second time, she’s breathless, words mangled amidst her fit of laughter. Javier's cheekbones glow warm, pouty lips becoming ever the more prominent with a puff of air. 

“If you’re only going to laugh at me, I’ll think better of saving you next time,” he grumbles out, mindlessly trailing his touch lower to the dip of her back. 

“If you don’t save me, who will?” Astrid answers him with a whimsical smile. Javier grunts once more. She’s repossessed her balance, dainty digits flicking soft raven tufts back into place, yet she remains within the compass of his arms. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? Let me see.” Their closeness allows him to examine her swanlike neck, her chin between his thumb and pointer finger, tipping her head one way or the other. No bruises, no scrapes, just delicious flesh that belongs under his teeth — Fuck. “Everything looks fine to me, but it would be smart to contact the physician. Better safe than sorry.” Air caught in his lungs, Javi turns, ignoring her protests as he beelines it out of the closet. 

It isn’t until he’s in the hallway that he breathes again. 

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀ ⠀

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After the Kamui case, Bureau-appointed psychologists mandated a break would be beneficial—even if Tsunemori’s hue indicated otherwise. She acquiesced reluctantly, leaving Mika as interim Shepherd 1.

No way she was going to let this case be passed to another unit.

She says as much, and Ginoza continues, "It’s likely another detainment could aggravate her. Since information’s all the family’s requesting anyway, it's worth trying."

Yayoi purses her lips. "If she blows her cover? We’d end up with nothing and a pissed off family.”

"She won't let that happen. Shimotsuki knows the importance of the job.”

​No shit. Yet from his assumption, it doesn’t sound like facts as much as it sounds like faith.

A chasm grows, planted in her before this. Tsunemori's absence is loud, and knowing she'd agree with Ginoza has Mika grappling with all of it. She doesn’t know what to feel.

That alone makes her scowl. "Well? Are we going to drag this out or what?"

-

She orchestrates their introduction easily. Her target is a creature of habit, easily tracked by internet activity and surveillance cameras.

A day later, Mika’s holo device dresses her in a fluffy, white jacket with heavy jewelry and brand-name heels. She wears the wealth as if she doesn’t know how to spend it.

She is Keiko. Blonde curls. Nouveau riche, newly married, and has the brain of a rabbit.

She joins the wife's book club, an invitation she manages to finagle courtesy of her own Oso connections. This month's book is some government-sponsored wellness drivel Mika absorbs through a summary. And true enough, if she repeats "accountability" and "self-growth", she can breeze through.

Instead, she fixes on her target. Sasaki's wife is slightly older than Keiko. Her blonde tresses hang limply. Her expensive white cardigan and designer shoes look uncared for.

Mika stands ready as the other woman sidles over to her after the meeting.

"Not that I care. But wear the same thing as your senior again, and you’ll be asked to change. It’s common courtesy."

Mika exaggerates her contrition. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I meant no offense!"

“None taken. I figured I’d warn you because some of these women care about that.”

Mika thanks her effusively. The next few days, she commits various faux pas that would make anyone with a brain balk.

Sasaki’s wife accosts her each time with a crash course on social mores. It’s constant enough that Mika thinks, surely this woman couldn't have done anything to her husband.

Surely.

-

Reports state that Sasaki had jumped.

Surveillance showed he had done so of his own volition. No one had access to the rooftop, save for him. But Sasaki, third son of a third son, was still a limb of one of the most influential families in the country. It’s easy enough for strings to be pulled for an inquest and re-investigation.

All attention, perhaps inevitably, falls now on his upstart wife.

The gossip says she cursed him. Her apparent grieflessness and a middle-class upbringing does not help.

Other than rescuing stupid Keiko, the wife remains a non-entity: she makes no waves, rarely speaks in the discussion, and spends most of it lost in a stare at the beige wall.

Mika is adamant to pull her out. One weekend, she invites her to a movie as thanks. Mika’s fatigued from four hours of sleep but it’s a brainless activity, some toothless drama about brothers.

"Do you have siblings?" is naturally asked at tea afterwards.

She risks the truth. "I'm an only child. Although my mom did say I ate my twin in the womb."

​"Cutthroat."

"She'd call it ambitious."

They languish in the pretentiousness of the overpriced bistro. Sasaki’s wife offers, "Your mom and mine seem to have the same humor. She jokes that I'd been switched at birth."

"Some other family’s got your parents' real kid then?"

"More like some imps decided to play a trick and exchanged a human baby with a demon."

"So, which one are you?"

Sasaki's wife falls quiet for so long that Mika feels a ringing in her ears. An uncanny stillness settles in the wife’s face and posture. Then she stirs, holds her teaspoon aloft in an unnatural bend. Her smile pulls slowly into a full show of teeth.

It’s the most genuine smile she's worn.

“What do you think?”

Mika pauses, unsettled. She pretends to be flippant but looks away to fuss over her tea. It’s turned murky and brackish.

"Does it matter?"

“I suppose not,” the wife says, amused.

-

Mika doesn’t need charm to draw her out. It’s simple economics: everyone has a demand, and Keiko provides the supply, a blank canvas for Sasaki’s wife to project her own neuroses.

​It’s during a fundraiser when Mika sees her being approached that she learns that the other woman also follows this logic.

Sasaki’s wife is a dealer in secrets. Her repertoire ranges from mundane to scandalous, and she doles them out for secrets of equal value.

“Why was she talking with you?”

"Such a tone of surprise.” The neon red of the wife’s dress makes it easy to look away. "Am I that unpopular?"

Mika doesn’t even have to force Keiko’s embarrassment. “No, but it’s strange considering they’ve always ignored you. I don’t know why you engage in these functions. You don’t seem to enjoy any of this.”

Sasaki’s wife leans, her gaze criticizing the silk of Mika’s dress. She reeks of alcohol.

“Have they ever told you about my husband?”

​Mika doesn’t flinch. “No. I did hear about it. I just never gave it much thought.”

“Never?”

“Maybe the first time we met. But if you were guilty, the System would have judged you. And it hasn’t, so you can’t be,” Mika asserts, wondering why she herself is so insistent.

“Regardless, aren’t you curious?"

“It’s not my business.”

"Conscientious girl," Sasaki's wife sneers cooly, snapping Mika from anxious to irate. "So was there a point to this questioning?"

“I guess I’m trying to understand what’s in this for you.”

“I could ask you the same. Why are you really here?” For a second, the light of the chandelier casts a strange shadow on the wife’s face, and Mika’s palms sweat.

"The hors d'oeuvres, obviously," she retorts.

“Hm.” Sasaki’s wife holds the load between them before shrugging, no harm done. “I’m bored with this conversation. Unless you have anything else you want to exchange?”

Mika weighs the truths she buries—their costs. Anyone’s mind would break, but something in the wife’s expression defies that expectation. Something says she wouldn’t.

It’s as if she already knows.

But that’s absurd, of course.

“I don’t. Unless you count my skincare routine.”

"Fine. I get it," the wife says, waving her off. "Come back when you’re ready."

-

​The more Mika spends time with Sasaki’s wife, the harder it is to keep Keiko at the forefront. And the more galas, functions, and clubs they attend, the more the other woman comes to life, like a puppet granted his wish to be a real boy.

One day, she starts mouthing off vulgarities during the club unprompted, and the leader demands she leave. Mika follows, too exhausted to argue. Uncharacteristically, she refuses the usual tea invitation and bids her goodbyes early. ​

She can’t stand being in someone else’s skin for a second more.

-

That night, Mika wakes, jarred into consciousness. Her floor mirror from across barely grasps the right of her silhouette.

Something stirs.

Nothing, of course. After a half-sleeping spell, she burrows, head ringing again when a crawl prickles her neck and legs.

"Who's there?"

Mika.

Mika jolts. Nothing has been altered yet everything seems to have dropped its veil. Her reflection looms, as if it has grown, as if it observes. The silhouette curiously leans, pressing against the glass.

"Mika,” something says. It is the voice of a woman in a level, neutral tone.

It doesn’t sound threatening.

Mika hurries for the lights, and everything looks as it should. Her reflection stares with gaping eyes. She throws a blanket over the mirror and keeps the lights on until the sun peeks through her blinds.

It doesn’t sound hungry.

When Yayoi confronts her later, she tilts on the precipice of something.

Is this what Sasaki felt like?

“Listen, I want to apologize. It’s not that I don’t trust you or I think less of you. I'm just concerned. You haven’t been acting like yourself even before all this,” she says directly, measuredly, the only way Yayoi can.

​Mika says nothing.

​“Shimotsuki, are you okay?” She hesitates. “Have you been sleeping at all?"

Stupidly, her eyes dampen. She finds the chasm is actually the maw of a monster, and for a moment, she considers succumbing.

"It's none of your business, Enforcer."

It’s the only time she's ever been short with Yayoi.

-

"I’m taking you up on your offer,” Mika says flatly. They meet at a park near Oso. It is sunny and warm, and the fountain from across their bench is populated by giggling schoolgirls. For a moment, she thinks of statues and her best friends.

Sasaki’s wife has dyed her curls brown and straightened them. She’s even cut her bangs.

“I’m listening.”

“How about an exchange?”

Sasaki’s wife, whatever she is, grins. “I’m listening intently.”

Mika has her own repertoire. She can tell her about her aunt, who was deemed clinically insane.

Hallucinations, delusions–the works.

There’s a predisposition, but Mika has never been diagnosed. If the System says she’s fine, what’s there to fear or dispute?

Her mother is the opposite. She had buried evidence of her twin’s existence as if it would pollute them to bring her out.​

It's in the blood, her mother would repeat. Stay vigilant.

When she announces her career plans fresh off of graduation, her mother balks like she is an unpinned grenade fallen onto her lap.

"Do you have a death wish?” she scorns. For one moment, Mika sympathizes with her aunt.

The unspoken cause of her fate had always been the treatment itself, a last-ditch effort. Her aunt’s delusions had stopped, but she had been carved out into a desensitized shell. She met her end with a car collision while out on a walk. The cause of death was an accident, but Mika knew.

The woman couldn't cope. Death was the price, and she would rather pay it than be made less than herself.

-

But that’s not the secret Mika tells. Among them all, she chooses the one that feeds the monster the most.

As promised, Sasaki's wife listens. She looks thoughtful, like she cares. But instead of reacting in disgust or sympathy or any human emotion, she wastes no time and proceeds to tell her how she killed her husband.

​"I didn't push him obviously…”

She is a dealer in truths after all, and she simply dug out what he kept buried. She spoon-fed him his sins, gradually and gently like slow-acting poison. If not the guilt, it was the unworthiness, the indigestible reality that he could only rise by acting like the criminals he purported to be beneath him.

“If he couldn’t handle what he did, how was that my fault?”

Mika absorbs the words and lets them linger. There’s no achievement to any of this. She stares at the fountain and says haltingly, hollowly, “I don’t know if it was. But I feel like you should be punished anyway.”

“Is that your final verdict?”

“Mine doesn’t matter.”

Insanely, Mika leaves and doesn’t even grapple with what to do with the information.

​In the end, she doesn’t have to.

The next day, Sasaki’s wife strides into the Bureau building quite casually for someone who intends to confess. ​Mika’s coworkers are stunned and pepper her with questions. When Interrogation takes the helm, they redirect to the suspect for answers.

"I was persuaded,” she says, eyes drifting until they meet Mika through the two-way mirror. "Sometimes, you have to say what you did out loud in order to move on. And I’ve said all I needed to say.”

The outcome is a blur, and Mika relinquishes her role in it. After all that, despite the family’s outcries and because her hue cleared her of legal guilt, Sasaki’s wife is released after a brief stint at a holding facility.

She’s sure she’ll never see her again.

-

(When Mika sees a woman who resembles her in passing a year later, the other woman glances over her without recognition and keeps walking.

Must have been someone else, Mika thinks and almost believes it.)

-

Their steady, annoying rudder returns looking like the break didn't do anything.

"So, what did I miss?" Tsunemori asks.

"Report’s on the tablet."

"I'd rather hear it from you."

Mika wonders if the difference is enough for it to matter. But Tsunemori clearly thinks it does. This team would rather rely on her than facts on a page.

She manages to brush away any of her feelings about that well enough to revert to a template of how they expect her to react.

"If you insist.” She makes sure to roll her eyes and tells her about almost everything she missed.

Almost.

-

In the end, Mika finds her omission again when she’s not looking. It’s in the archives of a news site she visits while working on another case.

By coincidence, the obituary is next to Sasaki’s.

There is no mention of the grisly details.

Instead, they list: A retired librarian. Avid member of her community. Liked to write and garden. Survived by a son, his wife, and one granddaughter.

​The accompanying picture is of her in a yard. They don’t opt for the customary funerary portrait but an unfiltered candid instead. The sun hat’s shadow obscures her face, but her laugh lines are still apparent and at home against a backdrop of colorful flowers. She can see where Tsunemori gets her smile from.

​Mika says it all aloud again, the whole secret she had paid Sasaki’s wife, in the seclusion of her bedroom, the words regurgitating out of her.

She still doesn’t know what to feel.

But when she takes the blanket from her mirror after all these months and stares at her sullen and driven expression, she at the very least feels almost like herself.​

The Miqo’te chuckled under his breath. Laying against him like so, he felt the soft thrum of Shay’s pulse against his skin. Uncharacteristically, it was his companion still lost in the lull of sleep and Meteor left to contemplate how to extricate himself from bed, if he so wished.

Which, he decided with a cursory glance to the window, he did not. Though the sky had begun to blush from the sun’s rousing, it was much too early for Meteor to entertain the idea of being properly awake. With every day since their almost-last in Ultima Thule, Meteor treasured more than ever the purgatory of dawn, the state between dreaming and waking, in which all burdens of both the previous and incoming days were set down at the door.

Not that either of them had much in the way of burdens anymore. That, along with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn as an organization and their responsibilities as its members, had been let go for some time.

Both of them were sleeping better for it. At least he hoped.

It was with that thought that Meteor coaxed himself to roll onto his side.

He wasn’t surprised to find the dim glow of violet, serpentine eyes gazing down at him. The man would stir at a butterfly landing on a flower a yalm away.

Meteor offered a slight smile. “Good morning,” he murmured, voice scratchy and soft from sleep.

“Mm,” Shay groused in reply. His arm withdrew to rub over his eyes, and then he rolled onto his back to spy the window. “Bit early for that.”

After several years of slaying gods, traversing the rift into other worlds or backwards through time, and defeating the hopeless manifestation of the uncaring universe together with the man, one became fluent in Shay’s mannerisms. Meteor knew an unspoken question when he heard one.

“Maybe. But it is going to be good. I have a feeling.”

It was about the most indirect he could answer the question. Why are you up before me, why are you smiling at me so, are you hiding something, and so on. Still, to prove the point, Meteor pressed close against Shay’s side, exchanging his pillow for the Elezen’s chest.

With his head tucked under Shay’s chin, he couldn’t see his face. But he could certainly imagine it—another thing that he knew so well after studying it for so long. The wrinkle of his nose, the peek of fangs between his lips with the beginnings of a frown. Yes, they could very well make him an Archon by now.

But despite whatever displeased expression the man was making, it was accompanied by the faint brush of long fingers over his shoulder. Fleeting, but affectionate all the same.

Meteor’s head rose and fell with the sigh Shay pushed from his lungs. That was his only warning.

Wordlessly, Shay sat up and Meteor had no choice but to rise with him. He slumped off of Shay’s chest and collapsed unceremoniously back onto the mattress as Shay swung his legs over the side of the bed, making to leave it.

Meteor snaked his hand out to catch Shay’s forearm. “Wait.”

Shay stilled. Then, he canted his head over his shoulder and regarded the Miqo’te through narrowed lashes.

In most circumstances, Meteor deigned not to ask Shay directly for affection. Such requests could come across as demands, but even more than that, he only ever wanted what Shay was willing to offer. But death had a way of shifting one’s perspective, and Meteor came to find that sometimes, on not-quite-mornings when their bed was still warm from their shared heat and his muscles still ached from their shared pleasure the night before, he liked to indulge in a little selfishness.

“Kiss me?”

At first, the other’s face stayed still. It was difficult at times to tell what kind of stillness it was. Still, like a great pine in the absence of wind, was when Shay was thinking, considering, calculating. But then there was also the stillness of the animal sheltered in the undergrowth, listening for the predator on its scent. There was the stillness of a creature playing dead.

Shay huffed. He turned where he sat and leaned over Meteor, the frame of his shoulders obscuring what little light filtered through the window. And Meteor was grateful for it, for it hid his amused smile as Shay bent down to meet his lips.

It was not the starving, voracious ones of the night before. Impossibly soft, especially for the man above him. But it was real all the same, for it tasted sharply of red wine and sleep.

Meteor hummed. His fingers walked the length of Shay’s arm, up his shoulder, until his palm settled against the curve of his neck. Strands of black hair, yet untangled, tickled his knuckles. He threaded his fingers through the locks, and it was difficult to deny himself further indulgence. To coax Shay’s head closer, to open his mouth further, to ensnare the man with whom he shared his bed and more to while away the dawn. What else did they have to do?

Experimentally, Meteor parted his lips, and placed only the slightest pressure on the back of Shay’s neck, trying to guide him closer -

Shay pulled back. “I am not falling for your trap,” he muttered into the thin space between them, all furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. It was always a handsome look on him when he was trying to be serious.

“What trap?” Meteor tried not to lie. Shay was a terrible influence. He tilted his head, fingers still idly toying with Shay’s hair. “I asked for a kiss, that is what we were doing.”

The corner of Shay’s mouth twitched upward. “And a kiss is all you shall get.” He drew back further, forcing Meteor’s hand to slip from the nape of his neck.

The Miqo’te grumbled and flopped back onto his pillow. He watched, lips pursed and tail whipping, as Shay withdrew from the bed fully. But his pout did not stay in place very long, for he was rewarded with the sight of Shay getting dressed for the day. Recompense for the bed now growing cold, he supposed. “You are endlessly cruel to me, you know,” Meteor lamented as Shay pulled his shirt over his head.

“And you,” Shay said over his shoulder, “are insatiable.”

“But what do you have to do so early?” Meteor rolled onto his side.

The other man did not answer as he finished dressing. It was only after that he fastened his belt that he returned to Meteor’s bedside, regarding him with that familiar crease in his brow. “I have other aspirations besides wasting the day in bed, unlike you.” He set his hands upon his hips. “But perhaps if you are lucky, and you get your arse out of bed, you might get more than a kiss later.”

“Like I said, you’re unimaginably cruel.” Meteor fiercely yanked the covers over himself. He needed them now, without Shay to keep him warm.

There were few things that would make Shay smile, but if Meteor was generous, he’d count the lopsided smirk there upon his face as one of them. “You can leave at any time.”

Meteor’s gaze followed Shay to the door. He waited until he was halfway through the threshold before he called out, “I love you.”

Shay paused in the doorway. Meteor studied the rigid set of his shoulders, the brace of his fingers on the doorframe. He was sparing with those words. Neither of them were accustomed to receiving them.

Slowly, Shay’s silhouette loosened. Even from here, Meteor heard the exhale that accompanied the drop of his shoulders.

“Hm.” And then, simple as that, Shay disappeared behind the closing door.