#iwck

The following themes may be triggering, so please proceed at your own risk: occultism, the supernatural, possession, bullying, blood, gore, self-inflicted harm, violence, vulgarity, and death. Due to the aforementioned cautions, the rating will be set at M for mature.

This book is purely a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and incidents are entirely products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, persons, living or dead, is absolutely coincidental. All credit goes to the creators of Netflix's If Wishes Could Kill it's based off of for the canon characters, plotline, and overarching flow of events. I do not own anything aside from the creative license of elements that deviate from the original works including, but not limited to, plot, dialogue, characterization, narrative, and reader-insert.

Understand that this fictional narrative does not condone engaging with the supernatural realm or any form of violence. The portrayal of characters and their actions is purely for dramatic effect and storytelling purposes.

𝑷𝑳𝑬𝑨𝑺𝑬 𝑫𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑻 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑨𝑹𝑰𝒁𝑬, 𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑺𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑬, 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑰𝑩𝑼𝑻𝑬, 𝑶𝑹 𝑼𝑷𝑳𝑶𝑨𝑫 𝑴𝒀 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑲 𝑬𝑳𝑺𝑬𝑾𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑪𝑳𝑨𝑰𝑴 𝑰𝑻 𝑼𝑵𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑨 𝑫𝑰𝑭𝑭𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑻 𝑵𝑨𝑴𝑬.

A soft intake of breath and even quieter whispers, it seemed to be beckoning you toward its source with every cyclic repetition, syllable by syllable.

Through the impenetrably thick smog, the wisps of air carrying the rasps of desperation on its currents begin to tangle, curling inward on one another, grappling for something in the vast void of nothing.

Little by little, an outline takes form, abstract at first, then gradually merging together into the silhouette of a figure cloaked in the tenebrosity of obscurity like a forest of dark trees with no sliver of moonlight; like a night sky devoid of shimmering stars.

It's near impossible to catch a glimpse of the manifestation, much less stitch together the fragmented pieces of your mind's eye into a resemblance of recognition.

What you do manage to make of that which you conceive of, is a pair of ink-black irises: soulless, sorrowful, and lost.

Try as you might, you can neither seem to turn away nor ignore it.

Its very essence is cold and distant, but simultaneously tinged with unexpected warmth at the blurred fringes, luring you toward a lie enveloped by false truths; toward a nightmare disguised as a daydream.

Helixes of vapor coil and twine around you, one murmuring your surname into your left ear, the second muttering your name into your right ear, and the third is a soundless vortex, aiming straight for your soul.

It closes in on you, looming until it nearly converges with your sole being, only halting when it comes within centimeters of your face before parting in half to reveal the earlier lifeless pair of oculi, still shut in slumber.

Suddenly, the lashes flutter once.

Then, the eyes snap open.

You come to, startling awake, ebony irises unblinkingly staring at the bright white ceiling above you, a stark contrast to the shroud of desolate dimness your somnolence had conjured.

The world outside hadn't even fully woken up yet, day yet to wholly break.

Diffuse morning sunlight filters through your lace curtains, the glass window panels refracting sunbeams to cast feeble shadows as though nature was both the artist and the art, your walls the blank canvas.

Despite the beauty, in the moment, that muted brightness was merely a penumbra, for you were still trapped on the dark side of an eclipse—on the back of a forgotten, empty canvas locked away where not even the most luminous of solar rays could pierce through.

You're frozen in place, arms rigid at your sides on the bed and hands clutching at your bedsheets, fingers clenched so hard in your grip that you can feel your nails digging indents into the lines of your palms. Beads of sweat dot your hairline as you force yourself to take in ragged deep breaths, your heart thumping madly against your ribcage for your mind was your own but your body evidently still was not.

It wasn't a rare occurrence for you to experience insomnia or have such vivid illusions in your dreams, but after years of its recurrence dwindling, the figments waning as you grew older, you thought you could finally be at peace—that you could be free.

Perhaps, you never would be.

The imagery still fresh in your psyche had appeared so chilling, so permanent, and so real, that you can still feel the brush of air against your limbs, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Your nose stings from the smell of the miasma that enveloped you in its mist, the lingering stench of death saturating the atmosphere, unable to be masked behind the aromatic hints of incense. No amount of spice, earthy resins, or traces of floral scents could clear the smoky haze of a room caressed by the Grim Reaper's tainted touch.

That breathy voice, those whispers—those susurrant airy summons—continued to echo long after, ringing ceaselessly in your ears. The sonants resound, but you're unable to discern whether it is a cry for help or a plea for attention.

"Baek Yeonha!"

For a split second, the address transports you back into phantasm, but the distinct tenor alerts of a human presence this time around.

Someone was at the door and from their incessant knocking, they've been there for a while.

With the knowledge that you were finally back in the land of the living, it no longer felt like you were left to drown in the ocean's abyss. Your body that earlier laid heavy as if weighed down by stones and your appendages that were tied to ropes tethered to chasms could at last relax, your lungs no longer burning with each respiration.

"Just a second!" you shout, hoping it's loud enough to hear from downstairs, your shaky voice foreign to your own ears.

Before you even have a chance to recollect yourself entirely, you act on autopilot, hanging your feet off your bed and nearly trip over your duvet in haste when your legs attempt to give out. It was almost comical, the difference in speed and engagement at which you were moving compared to minutes prior, like night and day.

Reaching the foyer, you swing open your front door and Hajoon is there, arm still raised with fist hanging in midair prepared to knock again, backpack strap hanging off of one shoulder.

The early sunshine on high blinds you and you have to squint against it to refocus your vision, but once it clears, this time only Hajoon's eyes that sparkled with the warmth of familiarity look back at you and suddenly, the dream that suppressed you disappears from your rumination, your nerves melting away.

He tilts his head to the side, taking in your disheveled appearance, confusion written all over his face. "Well, hello to you, too?"

You roll your eyes and cross your arms, tapping your foot in annoyance. "Thanks for jolting me awake, idiot. Brought me right out of my sleep paralysis." Narrowing your eyes at him, you point a finger accusingly. "Were you the demon who disturbed me?"

Hajoon simply shakes his head while clucking his tongue in mock disapproval, lowering your hand. "Be grateful I did because you were sure giving Sleeping Beauty a run for her money."

"So, you're saying that I'm beautiful?"

"I'm saying you need more sleep," he deadpans.

"Yah!" You try to kick him in the shin as petty revenge but he dodges it easily, well-versed in the art of defense that comes naturally with over a decade of friendship experience.

He eventually brings his other arm out from behind his back, a cake box appearing in view.

"Do that again and I'm eating this entire thing myself."

"For me?" Your initial displeasure gives way to genuine surprise.

"Who else? It's your milestone birthday."

Although you're touched, you'd die before you voiced it out loud, resorting to teasing instead, your default way of showing you cared. "Now I'm finally part of the elderly club with you."

"Watch it. I'm only 6 months older than you."

"Alright, great elder," you joke, trying not to snicker at the miffed expression on your childhood best friend's face. "You've never done this before, so why now?"

Hajoon looked nervous then to answer, which was strange because he never looked nervous. It wasn't like him to act mushy in any circumstance, temperament like that of a cat who gave the idea of being disinterested outwardly but tender inwardly. He was the kind of character teachers and parental figures trusted automatically. Caring. Calm. Good at everything in an effortless way. This was the Hajoon you knew and grew up with.

But, the Hajoon that stood in front of you right then seemed like a different person. In all seriousness he rambles, almost shyly, looking everywhere else but at you, "Yeonha, you never want or accept birthday presents from any of us and I've been saving up from fixing devices for people to get you something that could at least equal or surpass the theoretical gifts that would've accumulated over those years..."

It warms your heart when you realize Hajoon had always celebrated your birthday with you for the past eighteen years, never once forgetting it. Even if you were alone due to conflicting circumstances, he always made sure to spend the day of with you.

Before he can say more, you fling your arms around his neck so suddenly he has to resort to pulling the cake away so it wouldn't get smushed between the two of you or topple to the floor, whichever had greater potential to happen first. The force of your hug drives him back off the doorstep, so much so, that the container continues to swing back and forth from the handle in his snug hold even when all other movements ceased.

You two rarely ever embraced even though it was a common occurrence during your childhood. Both of you were clingier as little kids, and sometimes you wonder what changed between then and now. Granted, you weren't big on physical touch to display affection, but where you were not so much inclined to it, he was even less than that.

Hajoon freezes at first, arms dangling by his sides. "What is this for?" You can feel his heartbeat instantly increasing rapidly, the thumping sending vibrations through your own chest in the now nonexistent space between the two of you.

"I'm thankful is all," you reply, voice muffled into the line of his shoulder as you attempt to suppress your smile, but you knew he could feel your cheek bunching up where it was pressed against the side of his.

Just as you're about to pull away to save him from the onslaught of random endearment, he unexpectedly returns the embrace tightly, arm wrapping around your waist only for the briefest of seconds but the gesture lasts long enough that it naturally lifts you into rising on tiptoes, your slippers hanging half off the soles of your feet.

"Happy eighteenth, Yeonha." The tone with which he phrases it is so soft, breath from his exhale at the sentence's end tickling the shell of your ear, that you would've missed it altogether if you weren't paying so much attention.

Unprompted, it's at that exact moment your elderly neighbor saddles by on his morning stroll with his dog. He's all bright eyes and wide smiles at the scene, and even his white Pomeranian, Tteok, wags its tail.

You can't let go fast enough, just about shoving Hajoon away, smile settling into a stiff, almost corporate, grin as you bow politely to your neighbor, waving in embarrassment as Hajoon does the same after regaining his balance from your reflexive shove, sending you a bewildered look from the side that you pretend you don't see.

"Ah...halabeoji...good morning," you greet, blundering.

"Good morning indeed it seems," he returns, gaze flitting back and forth in the space between you and Hajoon with a considerably knowing eye and you wished nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground to crawl into.

You laugh awkwardly, hoping the encounter would end sooner rather than later. Mr. Yang was, without fail, friendly and kind to you and the rest of the kids in the neighborhood yet this is the first time you didn't know how to keep a conversation going with him.

"Enjoy your walk, sir," you come up with at last, subtly hinting to conclude the hap meeting.

"A man as old as me knows when it's his signal to bow out. Don't worry child, I won't tell your grandmother!"

Hajoon scratches the back of his neck, lips pressed together in a thin line, not knowing how to politely correct the misunderstanding when this man was so adamant.

You open your mouth wanting to articulate that there was nothing at all to talk or not talk about, but Mr. Yang was already well on his way, jovially leading his dog along, disappearing quickly down the street with a flair-filled backwards wave.

"Happy birthday to me, I guess..." you grouse, sliding a hand down your face in chagrin, cheeks aflame, as Hajoon tries, but fails, to hold in his laughter beside you.

The sun is up on high by the time you finish getting ready for school and as you go downstairs, you find a table full of all your favorite breakfast foods on display.

Your mouth hangs open at the sight, unable to fathom where it all came from. "You made this in that little of time?" you question Hajoon.

He playfully smacks a piece of paper onto your forehead as he places the last dish onto the dining table.

You reach up and remove the post-it note, seeing your grandmother's neat handwriting scrawled across its surface: 𝑀𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝒹𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 — 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓇𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝓈𝑜 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒹𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶 𝒻𝑒𝓌 𝒸𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇. 𝐼'𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝑜𝒻𝒻 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝒻𝓊𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁. 𝐼𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒾𝓉 𝓊𝓅 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼'𝓂 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝑜𝓌𝓃. 𝐻𝓊𝑔𝓈, 𝐻𝒶𝓁𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝒾.

"Still think I'm capable of cooking this?" Hajoon gestures to the table, raising one eyebrow questionably.

"Actually, I wasn't confident about it so that's why I asked. No wonder my house didn't burn down." You stick your tongue out at him in jest. The wooden chair you pull out squeaks across the floor but even the usually grating sound sounds pleasant today.

"You just get sassier the older you become or something," Hajoon intones, dragging out the chair opposite you as you snicker at his nose scrunching up, a force of habit.

"You signed up for this friendship so now you're stuck with me, whatever version you may get."

"Unfortunately..." he remarks under his breath, all the while placing the bowl of traditional seaweed soup in front of you then pressing a spoon into your right hand and placing a pair of chopsticks beside you.

You cup your hand around your ear and lean your head closer across the table. "What was that? I didn't quite catch it."

"I said fortunately," Hajoon's quick wit response saving him, sending you into a fit of giggles.

"That's what I thought."

In the back of your mind, it dawns on you that Hajoon looked unfairly comfortable in your home; your safe space.

But then again, he always had.

He had been walking into your house without knocking since he was old enough to reach the doorknob. Your grandmother barely looked up anymore whenever he appeared in the kitchen. Truly, half the time she would make him breakfast before she made you any.

It wasn't odd for him to be there, in your humble abode, but it was unlikely for it to be you and him alone.

As the two of you sit in comfortable silence while digging into the homemade feast your grandma prepared, Hajoon places a piece of rolled omelet in your bowl before looking up at you and inquiring, "Is there anything you want to do for your birthday? Maybe after our classes end today or perhaps on the weekend when we're less busy?"

Staring off to the side, you pause to think, but when you look back ready with an answer, you find Hajoon staring at you. "What is it?" When he doesn't answer, you have reason to believe there's something on your face and are about to pick up a napkin to wipe it off but before you can do so, he reaches across the table and pokes your cheek with his pointer finger.

"You always stuff your cheeks when you eat like a chipmunk."

You swat his finger away although you weren't annoyed in the least bit. "Well, this chipmunk has decided what she wants to do this weekend." Hajoon looks at you expectantly, waiting for you to respond. "I want to go visit Hayoung unnie."

Hajoon stops mid-chew, face falling slightly before he puts his chopsticks back down flat on the table. "Yeonha, we've talked about this before..."

You sigh, seeing that reaction coming from a mile away but still wanting to try your luck regardless. "You really would never go back?"

⩤ 𝙏𝙒𝙊 𝙔𝙀𝘼𝙍𝙎 𝘼𝙂𝙊 ⩥

"Yeonha-ah," Hayoung waves you over to where her and Bangwool were in the living room. 

Growing up, you probably spent more time at the Kang's than anywhere else. It helped that you were neighbors first and foremost, but it was also because your grandmothers had been best friends since birth, never having had a fallout in their friendship that spanned decades.

They were so close to the point they decided to settle down next to one another in their hometown after graduating college and getting married respectively, preferring the quaint, quiet, and peaceful, village life on the outskirts of town rather than the hustle and bustle of the overcrowded city landscape.

Your grandma's old residence that doubled as an acupuncture and folk medicine clinic at one point reached an age incapable of remodeling, so your grandparents reluctantly reached the hard but necessary decision of allowing the village head to demolish it. Afterward, they moved back to the city after your adoption, reopening their business again.

It went without saying that Hayoung's grandmother also didn't remain in the same place her entire life, having wanted to be closer to her own children and therefore relocated back to the city as well, though a much greater distance from your own grandma.

Following her marriage, Hayoung's grandparents gifted the couple their village house, sensing how the two fit right into the environment, the preference for remoteness and appeal of being surrounded by nature a mirror image reminding them of themselves in their youth.

No matter the distance, that didn't stop you from coming by your grandmother's hometown often though. She was never against it, and the townspeople doted on you given their exceptional relationships with your family. It was quite the opposite actually. Your grandmother encouraged you to pay visits to Hayoung and Bangwool as long as you didn't go alone. She heavily valued the generational friendships and whenever Hajoon went back, so could you.

Your grandmother was a big part of your life, and ever since the day she took you in when you were no more than a month old, the bond had been forged like iron. She was your biggest supporter and forever your greatest motivation, regardless of blood ties. Not only did she give you unconditional love, so did her closest friends and their families.

You were eternally grateful to have grown up knowing what it meant to both give and receive love, only in abundance and never in scarceness.

It was predestined, the connection between the two families.

But you knew, nothing good lasts forever. Change is inevitable in every facet of life.

You just didn't think it'd change so soon and so fast.

"What is it, unnie?" you sit down beside her, seeing two pieces of blank paper in front of you.

"Can I ask you to write down your name and birthday for me?" When you look at her puzzled, she explains further, "I want to make protection charms is all."

You'd never speak of it to your grandmother, but you were certain you were born with a sixth sense, which seemed to further amplify when you were around those with strong spiritual ties, like Hayoung herself, who had only recently tuned into her own abilities.

It wasn't that your grandmother was a skeptic, or even adverse to the idea of someone having a greater intuition—what some would call the ability to sense the otherworldly—but she was a firm believer in not tampering with anything she couldn't see, or in other words, the unknowns of the world. She liked certainty, stability, and safety.

But you don't blame her because who wouldn't want those things? Search for it? Pursue it?

That peace.

Curiosity only kills the cat.

And like her, even if you were curious, the kind of knowledge that could only be gained at a high price perhaps should remain as ignorant bliss.

After all, there is no such thing as something worth dying for...is there?

You were always hesitant to bring up this supposed sense of yours, in fear of disappointing her. As far as you were concerned, you couldn't even fully understand the extent of your own capabilities yet, much less what it entailed.

Visions, you've seen them.

Energies, you've felt shift.

Spirits, you've sensed them.

None of these ever lasted long enough, unsettled you enough, or lingered long enough for it to be anything more than an attunement.

You never explored it and didn't have the courage to seek it either, so you let it rest idle if only to let your mind rest unaware.

Coming out of your reverie, you nod, and begin scribbling down the information Hayoung prompted for, while she does the same with Hajoon's.

"You're not going to tell him to write his own?" you speak to her, pen pausing mid-stroke.

Hayoung finishes off the last number and huffs, turning to you. "I only want to keep him safe but you know how he gets when I bring these things up..." she trails off, and you simply hum in acknowledgement, understanding entirely, given Hajoon's unpropitious outlook on mysticism.

"Are you collecting their sajus to check for future compatibility or what?" Bangwool comments off-handedly as he observes, one leg folded in and the other propped up, knee balancing his moving arm. 

"Samchon—"

Bangwool pivots and flaps his hand fan in your direction, a gust of air blowing your hair back away from your face. "Yah, how come she's 'unnie,' but you keep calling me uncle ever since the day you met me, sister-in-law? I'm not that old...am I?" he rattles off in one breath, mock-offended, but still handing you a slice of freshly cut watermelon anyway. The nickname he recently coined for you you've already grown used to, and even Hajoon had long since given up on trying to get Bangwool to change it, knowing it was formed without malice or suggestion.

You can't help but chortle. Bangwool says serious things sometimes but he never sounds it. Somehow, the situation always turns comedic in his presence whether he intends for it to or not.

Yet to think of an answer, Hayoung expresses on your part bluntly and without missing a beat, "Keep up this nonsense talk and she'll call you ahjussi next—and I'm joining in." You hide your laugh behind your hand as Bangwool, flabbergasted, opens his mouth to retort, but before he can, Hajoon comes stomping in from the side room, Hayoung's study.

"Oh, Hajoon—" Hayoung calls out, but as you look over, your earlier melodic laughter dies in your throat seeing how furious he was, more than you've ever seen him.

"What is this?" he cuts her off, not even bothering to greet back, holding an officially stamped sheet of paper and pointing to it. He was gripping it so hard, the edge became wrinkled beneath his fingers, the light page shaking in his hold.

"I can explain—" Hayoung begins, countenance dropping in color, but she's interrupted once more.

"Explain how?" Hajoon runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "That you quit your job? And to what? Chase after nonexistent spirits?"

"Brother-in-law...I don't think you should speak to your sister that way," Bangwool attempts to pacify the situation and act as a middleman although you could tell he was uncomfortable because his posture wasn't as relaxed and playful as it was mere moments ago.

"Don't call me that." Hajoon swivels to glare at Bangwool. "You're an outsider. And outsiders can't speak on family matters."

Bangwool resignedly sighs and shakes his head but the riposte greatly riled Hayoung, who rises from her seated position and goes to stand right in front of her brother. "Kang Hajoon, you've crossed the line this time."

"Have I?" Hajoon spits out mockingly. "At least I'm honest, noona. Unlike you."

"Hajoon-ah," you begin, warning, "you're going to end up saying something you'll regret."

He doesn't respond even though you know he hears you.

"Why do you care so much about what I choose or don't choose to do with my own life?" Hayoung challenges.

"Because!" Hajoon shouts, crumpling the piece of paper and tossing it aside. It bounces off the floor and lands beside you. "Your old job had so much room for growth and development, and not only are you passionate about teaching students, you're also good at it at it so why—" he emphasizes the word, "—do you feel the need to leave all that behind and go after something so futile?"

You open up the crumpled ball and scan the contents quickly.

It was a granted permanent leave from duty.

"Why can't you see that this might be something I'm passionate about too?" Hayoung fires back, voice rising. "I would still be helping people. Saving others is never futile."

"What future is there if you're just gambling with risks and dangers?" Hajoon's fists are clenched by his sides, knuckles turning white from the tension.

"How would this affect you in any way? Huh, Hajoon?" At that point, Bangwool had stood up too, attempting to pull his wife back to no avail.

"Because you're my sister!"

"That's a weak excuse and even you know it!”

"How is it an excuse if it's true? You can do greater things than this.”

There's a short moment of silence before realization dawns on Hayoung and she half scoffs, half laughs, the sound coming out bitter. "So this is what it boils down to. You're ashamed of what I do...of me."

You could cut the tension in the room with a knife.

"Unnie...that's not true..." you jump to your feet and do your best to nudge Hajoon, signaling for him to apologize as Bangwool finally succeeds in drawing Hayoung back a few steps in the opposite direction, the two of you wanting to salvage the situation.

Hajoon sidesteps you and simply stares at his sister in shock. "Is that the kind of brother you think I am?"

"Can you prove otherwise?" Hayoung grits out. "You could be more supportive. That's all I ask for. You don't have to agree, and you don't have to accept, but you could be happy for me at the very least." The hush that follows is loud enough to hear a pin drop. "If you're so embarrassed to have a shaman sister then maybe...you should leave."

Bangwool and you exchange a look, one of disbelief, not knowing what to do to fix this.

Was there anything left to fix?

You turn to Hajoon but his outrage had simmered once again, incited by the ultimatum. "Maybe I will! But don't expect me to come back!" With that, he sweeps up his backpack he dropped off when he arrived for the weekend and slams the door behind him without a backwards glance.

The sound reverberates in the empty room, oscillation of the strong movement on the hinges derisive, taunting like unending slews of ridicule at the expense of someone.

"Hajoon, wait!" Hayoung exclaims belatedly, already going to run after her younger brother but Bangwool keeps her rooted to the spot.

"Look Haetsael..." he conveys calmly. "Let brother-in-law cool off. Teenagers are quick to anger with their temper and often say things they don't mean."

Hayoung numbly looks off into the distance, almost as if she could see through the closed door to bridge the rift that had formed. "It sounded like he meant it to me..."

Bangwool's lips turn downward, abnormally hushed, the first time you've seen him at a loss for words.

You give Hayoung what you hope is a comforting touch to her forearm. "Unnie, I'll try my best to talk to him...but I can't promise it'll go over well."

She only squeezes your hand in thanks, forcing the tiniest of smiles even as you notice the tears suspended on the rims of her eyes, but her expression tells you she knows it'll be difficult to overturn today.

Bangwool nods at you behind her, grateful either way, and you hurriedly dash outside after Hajoon.

He's walking a ways away already, but you run with all your might and manage to catch up to him, grabbing his arm. "Hajoon...hold on," you plead, out of breath from your sprint in order to reach him.

"Don't try to tell me to come back, Yeonha," he puts forth, reading what you intended to say without you needing to vocalize it. "Just because I never tell you 'no' doesn't mean that I can't start."

You know it's futile to change his mind once it has been made up.

"I'm not."

His eyes scan your own as if he was searching for a lie, the truth, or some minuscule trace of resoluteness like his.

"Then what is it?"

"I'm leaving with you."

Through the open windows, humid midsummer air sneaks in, as much uninvited as you felt. Over the blaring high-pitched rhythmic buzzing of cicadas, it still isn't loud enough to drown out the suffocating silence of the bus ride back to the city.

You've never sat in reticence for so long with Hajoon before where neither of you knew what to say; where neither of you had nothing to say to one another.

Aside from the two of you, it was at full capacity, the conversations of the passengers creating a much needed buffer amidst the quiescence. Still, you filter out the noise entirely, focused on stealing glances at him from time to time, a constant presence in your peripheral vision.

Hajoon sat by the window in the very back row beside you, temple pressed against the glass panel, rubber weatherstrips emanating searing heat, watching absentmindedly with gaze affixed as the city blurred past outside in streaks of late evening orange and gold, the sun soon to set but which had not, like the city was burning—like the dying embers of fury.

The sun casts shadows on the contours of his face and you notice the set of his jaw, the furrow between his brows, and the way his eyes remained unblinking, staring at nothing even though the landscape whirred by, time slipping away.

You sigh near inaudibly and finally avoid your eyes, clutching your bag closer to yourself for comfort, leaning your head against the headrest, worn leather peeling from the swelter of the heatwave.

Hajoon hadn't moved an inch ever since you both boarded. His tight fist around his backpack strap placed atop his lap falls into your line of vision and for some misplaced reason, you have the sudden urge to loosen it and slip your fingers through his.

It was nothing more than friendly worry.

It was nothing more than hoping for his anger to fade away.

It was nothing more than wanting to resolve the situation.

It was...nothing more than an unbidden thought.

The late afternoon warmth, the lull of scattered talks, and the steady swaying of the ride with every low hum of the engine gradually cause your eyes to close, your head tilting slightly to the side. You upright it every time you feel yourself begin to slip away into the welcoming arms of slumber, fighting a losing battle against sleep one blink at a time.

Your head lolls once.

Stay awake.

Then, twice.

Don't sleep.

Despite your best efforts, your head still falls forward, marginally missing bumping into the headrest in front by centimeters.

The third time, a hand delicately touches your face, grazing your cheek faintly to angle your head toward them, letting you rest comfortably on their shoulder.

Hajoon.

You're in that limbo between sleep and dreams where you can't discern which side you're closer to, whether it's real or an illusion.

You awaken instantly, blinking in bewilderment, looking up only to find Hajoon already gazing down at you, the crease between his eyebrows now gone.

You shift, about to move away, but Hajoon uncurls his fist and wraps his hand around yours, holding you still.

It stupefies you, hyperaware of where your head, that he redirected you toward, was now resting. The warmth of his shoulder beneath your cheek, the faint scent of fabric softener clinging to his shirt, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing muddles you.

"Hajoon—"

"Rest, Yeonha—and I mean properly. I know it doesn't come often for you."

"How can I sleep knowing you don't want to talk it out and are still unhappy?"

When you peer up at him again, Hajoon takes his palm and runs it over your eyes, gently guiding them to close before lowering his head, tilting it sideways to rest atop your own, the movement shifting both of you closer to one another.

"I'm not unhappy right now," he replies, voice calm and low like it was only supposed to be for you to hear, and although you can't figure out the true meaning behind it, your chest tightens anyway.

"Are you still angry then?" you whisper, daring to probe.

"At you? Never."

"But I still can't convince you to go back, right?"

You can feel Hajoon's head nodding affirmatively. "You said you were going to leave with me, though." In a much silenter comment as if he was afraid to confirm it, he queries, "Have you changed your mind?"

"Never."

Carefully, cautiously, you let herself relax against him.

The last thing you remember is Hajoon squeezing your hand, still enveloped in his warmly.

And when you finally drifted into real sleep a few minutes later, Hajoon looked down at you discreetly, something unbearably tender settling onto his visage and into his heart.

Hajoon lights the candles on the cake he brought and proceeds to turn off the lights to set the ambiance.

"Speaking of my sister," he states, pulling his backpack onto his lap and unzipping it to pull out a package, "this is for you, personally mailed by her."

It was wrapped nicely, the bow tied in your favorite color.

"What is it?" You handle the gift with care as Hajoon places it into your hands.

The candlelight softened the sharp edges of his face as he rested his chin against the knuckle of his raised arm, dark hair falling messily over his forehead from not bothering to style it yet. He grins faintly, knowingly. "Open it."

You try to preserve the wrapping paper as you unwrap it but the more pieces you removed, the less you couldn't, for the life of you, even guess as to what it could be.

Hajoon watches on as you thoughtfully removed the present from the box, trying very hard not to notice how steady your hands looked compared to the sudden chaos inside his own chest.

It was a silver bangle engraved with intricate patterns on the surface, almost like runes. The vines wrap around the circumference and you run the pads of your fingers lightly over the grooves, feeling the small divots beneath your digits.

"It's beautiful..." you gasp in awe.

"It suits you," he intones softly, wholly sincere, and judging by the way Hajoon immediately pauses afterward, he hadn't meant to say it out loud, aware too late the words that tumbled from his mouth. His gaze lingers on your face a little too long before slowly sliding his eyes back down to the accessory in your hand. "I'll help put it on."

"You don't have to..." you remark, but find yourself moving your chair closer; close enough that your knees almost touch his beneath the table.

"Your wrist, please," Hajoon directs, and as you extend your arm, he pulls your hand in one of his toward him and holds the bracelet in his other to slip it onto your wrist. Perhaps he forgot, but his fingers remain around yours, grasping it still.

The warmth spreads from your wrist all the way to your face.

This unwarranted reaction was entirely absurd to you for you'd both held hands before, hundreds, thousands of times. From waddling in playgrounds as toddlers, to crossing streets together as kids, to running through crowds as teens, and all the way down to mindlessly pulling each other around for the past eighteen years like it was nothing, but somehow, someway, this felt different.

Maybe it was because he was moving so carefully.

Maybe it was because his thumb brushed lightly against the inside of your wrist, neither of you wanting to be the first to pull away.

Or maybe it was because the glow from the light of the candles in the dark made his eyes shimmer fondly, like amber dipped in liquid gold.

If you blink, you'd have missed it, that unbearably tender look he got sometimes when he thought you weren't paying attention.

The bracelet settles against your skin with a soft metallic sound, echoing the beating of your heart you were trying your best to subdue. In an attempt to dismiss its atypical fluttering, you raise your forearm in the air and give it a shake, the bell on it tinkling like laughter in the dark when it rattles against the lotus and butterfly charms. The yellow sun crystal glows from the reflection of the flames and you beam at it, smiling from ear to ear.

Hajoon does too, unaware to you, seeing you so happy. He had helped his sister when she asked for suggestions and that's the longest conversation they have had in the past year but you didn't need to know that.

You didn't need to know he picked the design himself, hand-selecting everything down to each individual charm so that it all held a deep meaning that you weren't privy to.

You also didn't need to know the cake wasn't the only present from him. He was adamant in sharing the expenses for the gift with his sister and brother-in-law, refusing to take no for an answer.

Neither did you need to know that to him, your smile was brighter than the glow of the candles and he couldn't seem to look away.

"Hajoon?" you call, snapping your fingers in his face, half confused and half concerned."Are you okay? You've just been looking at me without saying anything for a while."

"Yeah...it's...nothing. I...lost focus is all." Hajoon has to pull himself out of his daze, clearing his throat and gesturing to the cake where the candles were already starting to melt. When he sees you about to pry further, he urges you with, "Time for you to make a wish."

Casting everything else aside, you ponder deeply, always having been one to take your wishes seriously and consider them with your utmost intentions.

You clasp your hands together and close your eyes.

I wish...

🕯️ 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮.

The reader is named in this case for ease of reading since not everyone is a fan of seeing 'y/n' in the dialogues and/or having to insert their own names. Still, feel free to imagine yourself in the place of the main character, or if you prefer otherwise, the official face claim for this story is Shen Yujie as Baek Yeonha, meaning "summer river lotus," symbolizing light and peace, that will have great significance later on. For a little canon easter egg, it utilizes the same hanja as the 'ha' (하/夏) in 'Hajoon' which is intentional also. In case it wasn't clear as I hoped for it to be, the bracelet (picture in the synopsis) is extremely meaningful: Bangwool (방울) means "bell," Hayoung's nickname Haetsal (햇살) means "sunshine/sunbeam," hence the yellow crystal that shines like the sun, and the lotus charm is because of Yeonha's namesake. The reason for the butterfly pendant and grooves will be revealed later on hehe. Let me know what you think of it! Until next time! ♡

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝟎𝟐 : 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫