#iwck

It was comforting in a way of unspoken affirmation that although he would never speak on it, he genuinely cared. To whatever extent that word encompassed, you neither sat too long with your thoughts on it nor lay too deeply engrossed in indulgent what if’s.

Perhaps it was this year, the past year, or perhaps it was all of the years leading up to now, but you didn’t quite know when you started to see Hajoon differently. 

Not in a bad way, of course. 

It was in a way that you’d never thought about before; in a way that was like gently drifting off to sleep on a hot midsummer’s night. 

It was gradual, placid, and encroached on you in the manner of a slight, evening twilight breeze coming in through the window, yet which still warmed you. 

You weren’t aware when the change happened, really. For as long as you have known, Hajoon was your best friend, the one person who was always there by your side. 

Though, maybe that was precisely how it came to be.

Hajoon was always there: by you, with you, for you.

You hoped that down the line, even in the far future, his constant presence would remain unaltered, but every now and then it scared you to think about the day where he wouldn’t be, and you don’t dare to hope for anything else other than friendship. 

Friendship was neutral. 

Friendship was safe. 

Friendship was…possibly the only thing that could be between you and him. 

You kept your mystic abilities hidden this entire time, so what is one more thing to withhold to yourself? If you can barely bear the thought of revealing your innate gift, how could you tell him about your innermost feelings? 

There was too much ambivalence regarding both, so you’d rather tiptoe around the certainty of camaraderie than the uncertainty of the unrequited. 

Nescience was far better than nothingness.

You didn’t want him to equate you as the personification of the one thing he detested.  

You’d rather him be indifferent than invidious. 

You could live with Hajoon seeing you as only a friend, never returning your feelings even within an inch of your own.

But, you wouldn’t be able live with Hajoon hating you. 

“You’ve been incredibly untalkative this morning.” 

Lost in thought, you don’t even notice your steps have slowed, fingers slackened around your backpack straps you tended to clutch close to your shoulders. But, Hajoon had noticed. 

Of course he did. He always did. 

He slows down his steps so that they match your own without needing to look back. 

Right foot…

Left foot…

Right foot…

Left foot…

Where you were walking side by side earlier, you had since fallen behind, a few paces rearward of him. 

“I’m tired is all,” you say almost too easily, your default response as of late when you couldn’t come up with any better excuse. 

There’s a beat of silence where even without looking up, you could tell Hajoon wanted to pry but ultimately thought better of it in the end. 

It was a bright, sunny day that casted shadows on the pavement of his footprints. 

You step onto each reflection as he walks forward, trying to match yours inside his on the ground. 

Left foot…

Right foot…

Left foot…

Right—

Right into someone. 

“Oof,” an embarrassing sound of startlement escapes you as you bump headfirst into Hajoon’s chest, the force of it sending you backward a few inches. Your hand reflexively flies to press against your forehead. “Don’t you think you should watch where you’re going?”

“You were the one who bumped into me,” Hajoon counters teasingly.

Regardless of being toe to toe, you still land a punch to his shoulder. “Why did you even walk hindwards? And how come I wasn’t paying attention?” You were so engrossed in the imprints you didn’t even realize he had turned around after not seeing you in stride with him.

“You were busy chasing shadows.” 

He didn’t know how close to the truth that was and you avert your eyes briefly before scoffing to hide your pause. 

“And what were you doing, then?” You gesture walking in reverse with your fingers, even miming the bump as if to say it was his fault.

“I was busy chasing you.” 

You inhale on a soundless stuttered breath, your heart lurching momentarily. The statement comes out too direct, too honest, and too open, for it to be anything but the truth. Yet somehow, the fear of wishful thinking makes you dismiss his earnest declaration. 

“Don’t say that.”

Like you mean it. 

“How come?”

When you don’t. 

He stares at you, no change in his expression as he holds the eye contact like he could draw out the answer from within your mind by his one look alone. 

You lower your head, knowing that the longer you were held captive within the intensity of his gaze, his searching eyes would unravel everything you’ve managed to wrap and conceal for years. 

So, you settle for a coverup that was half-lie and half-truth. “You’re just messing with me.” With that, you speed walk past him, the school entrance already appearing in a hazed view a little ways away.

You hear his footsteps against the gravel as he catches up once again, trying to match your exact momentum and the order of your gait as you had done to him a few paces ago. 

“Who said I was making fun of you?” you hear from your right. “When have I ever lied to you?”

He was right, but in admitting that, you’d have to come to terms with what else the weight of his words could mean and you neither had the mind nor the heart to. 

“You haven’t,” you concede. “But what if you decided to start?”

Hajoon lets out a noncommittal sound, marginally aggrieved. “If I ever tell you a lie, I’ll let you fool me for the rest of my life.” He raises his hand up, as if to swear on it. 

You kick at a pebble in your way and it bounces a few meters off the sidewalk, rolling and clacking against the metal sewer drain, the rhythmic clanging mimicking your steps against the ground.

“Are you sure?”

“I only dare to say so because I know you’d never lie to me.”

I haven’t lied to you, Hajoon…I just haven’t told you the full truth. 

“You sure like to live life on the edge, don’t you?” you joke, but on the contrary, Hajoon downright favored routine, preferring to never stray from the standard of familiarity if he could help it. 

You skipped over a crack in the sidewalk, the ends of your hair fluttering behind you as you tried to avoid the split that would cause you to overstep into the superstitious realm of bad luck. 

In front of you, the sloped brick wall that bordered the pathway to the school’s entrance stretched far and wide, wide enough to balance on.

Naturally, you climbed onto it, scaling the lowermost point where the curve connected to the ground.

“Says the one on the actual edge.” Hajoon moves closer the moment you jumped up, having to glance up at you now from your vantage point. “Yeonha.”

“What is it?” you chirp, arms spread slightly for balance. 

“Please, get down. You’ll fall.”

“Who do you take me for? I won’t fall.”

There were signs of Hajoon losing his mind already, if the furrows on his forehead were any indication, but still, he slowed his pace to stay beside you as you ambled over the bricks. 

That was the thing about Hajoon. Everyone at school thought he was cold because he looked permanently put off at the concept of human interaction but even now in his acting like keeping up with you was his life’s biggest burden, he clearly worried. 

He wasn’t cold. He just kept his warmth hidden, and hidden very well.

The wall wasn’t very high, at least to you who wasn’t plagued with acrophobia, but Hajoon kept glancing up every few seconds anyway, like he expected gravity to specifically target you out of spite. It was sweet—not that you’d ever tell him that even if your life depended on it. He’d probably short-circuit and walk into oncoming traffic.

You bit back a smile before tilting slightly, mock swaying as you lean off to one side on purpose, pretending to lose your balance. 

“Woah—!”

Hajoon’s head snapped up instantly. Before you could even finish the fake stumble, his hand darts out to encircle around your wrist, fingers holding on firmly as he steadied you from below. His brows were scrunched in concern, hard, dark eyes fixed on you with unmistakable alarm, only thereafter morphing to raised in annoyance as the laugh you were trying to hold in bursts out through your sealed lips in a puff of suppressed giggles.

“Are you insane?”

You blinked at the low tenor of his voice, solemn. That expression and tone was unfair, for you had only meant to tease him a little. Instead, now your heart was trying to claw its way out of your chest. “I was kidding…” you mumble out meekly, suddenly quieter.

“Are you trying to test my reflexes or give me a heart attack?” he scolds like usual, but his voice lacked any real bite.

“I’m trying to test your heart attack reflex,” you wittily reply. You laughed, and despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched.

It was tiny—barely there—but you saw it anyway. Hajoon masked it by narrowing his eyes at you pointedly yet doesn’t let go of your wrist as you continue walking onward, him shuffling his feet to follow along, now ambulating even closer to the wall. 

You raise your forearm above you as you place one foot in front of the other, trying to connect your steps heel to toe. Shaking your forearm emits the soft tinkling sounds of the bell and your bracelet sparkles in the morning sun. 

You can’t help but smile at it. 

“Do you like it that much?” Hajoon’s voice travels up given the current height difference between the two of you, sounding every bit amused in his question. 

“Of course I do. More than you know.” you say without looking at him, still staring at the piece of jewelry adorning your wrist. “It’s a reminder for me of how many people I have in my circle who sincerely care.”

The next second sees the sun glinting off its surface and the brightness blinds you, the onslaught of light causing you to close your eyes involuntarily, momentarily, but it is in this instant of you unable to see where your steps land that you trip over your own feet. Despite your best efforts in flailing your arm to try and regain your bearings, it’s no use. 

The world tilted sharply beneath you, your stomach dropping as your balance disappeared completely, without pretense this time.

“Yeonha!” Even the panic in Hajoon’s voice was real, and you brace for the impact of your fall sideways onto the hard pavement, but it never comes. Instead of scraping yourself against asphalt, his warm hand yanks you downward to safety. You stumble off the ledge with a startled yelp and come to an abrupt stop. 

You had careened straight into him, shoulders colliding from the abrupt descent where his body took most of the impact as he steadied you both. Your hands instinctively clutched at the front pocket of his uniform shirt, leaning inward from the motion of the sudden height drop.

For one dizzying second, you both were far too close. Your face was inches from his chest. His hand was still locked around your arm, and when you looked up, Hajoon was already staring at you—really staring. His breathing sounded uneven.

“Are you hurt?” The sharpness in his voice caught you off guard. He wasn’t angry no, but worried, yes; actually worried.

Your chest tightened. “I’m okay,” you assured softly, righting yourself again so you weren’t transferring your body weight.

“I’m going to die young one day because of you,” Hajoon mutters in disbelief, shock still evident on his face. “Wanting to keep you safe is more difficult than anything.” 

“You’re doing a fine job, though.”

Hajoon didn’t answer immediately. Without a word, he slides his hand from your wrist down to your own, holding it tightly in his and interlacing your fingers. “Now you have the entirety of the Kang family looking after and protecting you,” he surmises as he glimpses down at your bracelet. “If you manage to cause another mishap, I don’t know how I’ll answer to everyone.”

“They didn’t make it your responsibility to look after me, you know.” You swing your clasped hands but Hajoon doesn’t pull away in the slightest or let go even as you two advance closer toward school. 

“It’s more of an unspoken rule, wouldn’t you say so?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Then just think of it as a responsibility I chose to take on my own.”

You whip your head toward him, not quite believing your own hearing even as the words register in your mind. 

The tips of his ears are faintly red, the hue there to stay. 

You open your mouth to reply, but before you can say anything more, there’s an interjection a few feet away. 

“Hey, Kang Hajoon!” 

Both of you turn toward the sound, seeing a group of boys, most of whom were wearing glasses, waving in unison. Some were trying to glance around Hajoon to see you, curious about who he was talking to.

“My coding club buddies,” Hajoon supplies as he turns back to you, giving a long stare downward before releasing your wrist lightly, reluctantly.

“Go,” you tell him. “I’ll see you in class later.”

He nods and pivots to walk toward his friends, but you see him clench and unclench his left hand—the one that was just wrapped around yours—the short distance away from you, the last repetition being him curling his fingers inward toward his palm, this time not uncurling them again even as he reaches his clubmates.

You take your own wrist in your other hand, rubbing at the spot where he’d touched you, pretending not to notice how warm your skin still felt.

In parallel, you turn in the opposite direction to head toward school, spotting the rest of your friends in the far distance wherein Geonwoo and Seah were walking together side by side, suspiciously closer than usual. 

Smiling to yourself, you sneak up behind the latter without a sound before patting both of her upper arms, making her jolt, instinctively laying a hand to her chest. Geonwoo also flinches from the aftereffect of her reaction before he laughs at the expression on her face and proceeds to wave you good morning and giving a birthday greeting in the form of a very off-key rendition of the celebratory song. 

“You scared me!” 

“Not enough if Miss Track Star hasn’t bolted away yet.” 

“If I bolt, who’s going to sing Happy Birthday for you today—properly?” Seah just shakes her head good-naturedly and links her arm through yours. Despite the scare, she still has a bright smile stretched across her face. 

You elbow her in the side and she turns to you. “So…?” you hint, tilting your head in the direction of Geonwoo who is hardly that far in front, but the distance is enough to where you wouldn’t be heard.

Seah's cheeks bunch up, cheekbones dusted faintly pink, and as Geonwoo spins around to take a glance at her while beaming himself, you already had your answer.

“Me and—”

“Geonwoo-ah!” Nari, without thought or consideration, suddenly comes out of nowhere to interject, speedily sidling up to hang onto his forearm. “What are you doing after school today?”

You glance at Seah with eyebrows raised as if to inquire inaudibly if she was seeing what you were seeing, as Geonwoo puts distance between them in the foreground, mumbling something near incoherent. 

It was a longtime coming, the relationship between Geonwoo and Seah something you saw develop over the years. Both were your close friends and it was simultaneously comedic and entertaining when either would come to you to ask after the other. 

Given the familiar routine of you being in the middle as the eternal third wheel, it didn’t take much for you to figure out the hints of budding affection. Truth be told, they were a perfect match and you couldn’t be happier for them. 

“Seah-ah,” you begin, wiggling your arm where it was still locked with hers. “What are you doing after school today?” Batting your eyelashes, you lean closer and tried your best to copy Nari’s actions, widening your eyes to an outrageous degree for maximum effect.

Seah barks out a laugh at the sight of you, basically a parody of the show in front of you both. “You’re incorrigible!” 

“Jokes aside,” you continue. “Don’t you think it’s a bit odd on Nari’s part? I haven’t seen her this clingy with anyone. At best, she tolerates us.”

“Hmm…” Seah considers it for a moment before flicking you on the forehead with her thumb and pointer finger. 

“Um…ouch?!” you reprimand, hand coming up to your forehead to rub at the spot you were sure would soon turn red.

“You’re just overthinking it,” she concludes. 

“And you’re under-thinking,” you fire back, sticking your tongue out at her childishly. 

A sudden rush of wind strikes past you from behind and you hear Hyungwook before you see him as he slams into Geonwoo’s back, shouting his friend’s name. It nearly topples the former before he rights himself again. 

Nari is jostled aside, much to her displeasure, as she flicks her hair back into position, whirling to scowl at the intruder who had split them apart. “Aish! What the hell!”

“Gomen!” Hyungwook raises a hand to admit fault, apologizing first in Japanese, but the look Nari shoots him has him reverting back to Korean. “Mian.”

“Psh.” A disgruntled curse slips past Nari’s lips as she neither acknowledges nor accepts his apology, instead deeming her appearance much more important and studies her phone’s reflective screen to fix her bangs, still disheveled from the accidental shove earlier. Even from the side, you can see her face set in a permanent glower. 

It’s so different from the expression she wore mere moments ago that it throws you for a loop. Possibly, that smile was only reserved for Geonwoo. 

Over the years, you found Nari to be the hardest one to get close to, not for lack of trying, but it was simply the nuance given off after every conversation or encounter.

You had only transferred from your grandmother’s hometown to the city during middle school and so you weren’t all friends from the very beginning, but by proxy of knowing Hajoon, his friend group accepted you easily. 

In retrospect, Nari was blunt from the very beginning, even when you were kids, never one who preferred flowery words or softening the blow from her harsh doses of verbal jabs she called honesty. However, in more recent years, it seemed to you as though something shifted drastically. She skipped school more often, cursed more often, and was more prone to anger. More often than not, it was all at the expense of poor Hyungwook who couldn’t seem to read the room and became the scapegoat for her rage even though he wasn’t to blame in any case. 

If anything, Nari liked you and Seah the most, having once even stated that the two of you made use of your brains and set her off her the least. She would stand up for the both of you on more occasions than one, though her tough love remained as more tough than love. 

You didn’t know if you could call that affection, but it was a part of how she expressed herself and so that was how the friendship dynamic stayed. 

You’re pulled out of your reverie when you hear Geonwoo’s voice. “What is it?” he asks Hyungwook. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

You see Hyungwook glance from Geonwoo to Seah beside you, wavering. “I’m saying this because I’ve known you two since middle school, but why are you together so much lately?” Seah stiffens beside you as she exchanges furtive peeks with Geonwoo, Nari pausing midway through her touch-ups. “You guys dating or what?”

“Eyy,” Seah exclaims after a drawn out pause, trying to laugh through it even though you can hear how it falters, her voice quivering. “What are you saying all of a sudden?”

Nari’s eyes shift between everyone, assessing what Hyungwook’s observant nature had already caught onto. 

Geonwoo interposes nippily, clearing the misconception despite it being true. “She and I live in the same building in the same apartment complex. It’s inconvenient to go separately, idiot.”

If neither were going to say anything about it, then you knew to also keep your mouth shut. It wasn’t your secret to tell even if the two in question had confided in you about it during the will-they won’t-they stage. 

“No…no, it’s not for that reason,” Hyungwook insists. “Seah had the habit of being in the classroom first while you always ran in a minute before the bell, forever the last one in. Recently, one of you can always be found where the other is. Something’s up.” Another hushed beat passes. “You guys are starting to become like Hajoon and Yeonha.” He points in your direction. 

“Yah! What’s that supposed to mean?” You shake a finger at him. “Don’t drag me into this!” 

“My bad,” Hyungwook fixes at breakneck speed. “I needed an example and that seemed like the best one.” You halt in shock, slack-jawed and unable to form a coherent sentence at the accusations spouted so matter-of-factly, you had half a mind to speculate whether he was clairvoyant. He turns to Nari when more silence ensues. “Don’t you think so?”

Nari plainly takes a long stare at him before clicking her tongue. “I’m saying this because I’ve known you since elementary school,” she repeats his words back to him. “What’s wrong with you today, you fucking loser?”

Hyungwook purses his lips, brows climbing up on his forehead. “Mwoya? Such an extreme reaction! Im Nari-yang, do you have a crush on Geonwoo-kun?”

Seah snickers, incredulous, as she looks from you to Hyungwook, the two of you having brought up the same possibility within the span of less than five minutes. “Thats ridiculous—”

“Yes.”

Everyone whips their head toward Nari’s voice at the confirmation. 

“Yes?!” Hyungwook parrots, eyes bugging out, not having expected that response from her. 

“Yeah, I do have a crush on Geonwoo, so will you stop talking nonsense this early in the morning?”

“Oh?” Hyungwook blurts. “What an unexpected comeback! If that’s how you want to play it,” he takes a few steps toward her, lowering his voice. “Then, I have a crush on you, Nari-chan.” 

You didn’t know what the rest made of this conversation, but amidst the banter, you could tell only one was lying and it certainly wasn’t Nari. 

“Do you want to fucking die? Must you start my day off so shitty like this?” A slew of expletives tumble out as Nari runs a frustrated hand through her hair. 

“Is that so?” Hyungwook drawls, and you wonder if he could sense the mounting hostility or if he merely took it as nothing more than friendly banter on her part. 

Seah has completely frozen beside you, smile long since dropped from when you first showed up. 

To salvage the situation, Geonwoo throws an arm over his friend’s neck and squeezes just enough to hurt, but not enough to bruise. “Stop making things awkward around here, you otaku. You offended everyone with one sentence. No one’s dating anyone in our circle, alright?”

“Fine, fine! Hyungwook flails in the tight hold, slapping at Geonwoo’s relentless grip. “My neck!” The two wrangle back and forth. “Seriously, it hurts!”

“This will teach you a lesson for next time when you give delusional takes.” 

Nari cusses beside you and stomps away first, peeved, not looking back at anyone. Behind her, Geonwoo and Hyungwook are still play fighting, dragging one another the remaining path toward the gates. 

When all had gone, Seah intones to you, a bit dejected, eyes still looking off in the distance at everyone’s retreating backs, “Maybe you didn’t overthink after all.”

You plop down into your seat glumly, elbows propped on the table high enough to where your face could rest comfortably in between your palms, fingers plastered against your cheeks. 

Hajoon paused in his typing at the change in mood, atypical for you, but decided it’d be better not to ask, trusting you’d tell him if it a serious matter and resumed what he was initially doing. 

Eyeing your friends around the room, it was evident that no one was particularly ecstatic. Even the rest of Class 2-4 had noticed the weird tension, further proven by Nari’s plodding into the classroom earlier on and having chucked her bag down onto the ground with an expression that exuded she didn’t want to be pestered. When you set foot into class, her position remained unchanged: staying with her face toward the room’s side window without a care as to who entered or exited.

You turn to look over your shoulder, seeing Seah frown in your direction from her seat diagonally behind you. Both of you shrugged at one another, a shared understanding of not understanding what was going on. 

Pivoting your body back to your own table, you stretch an arm out across the width of it, collapsing forward to heavily drape your upper body over the edge, cheek pressed against the cool wood. Exhaling out a long, tired breath, you watched as the dust motes danced in the sunlight before closing your eyes resignedly

It wasn’t uncommon for your friend group to have squabbles here and there, as all friend groups do, but it wasn’t common for the main reason to be on a matter of feelings. You didn’t even have a part in this and you knew you’d still have to help resolve it anyway, priding yourself on your emotional intelligence and record of being the peacemaker. Even if that wasn’t the case as proclaimed mediator, you’d still prefer your friends to get along more than they fought. Something seen as trivial now could very well grow into something significant in the future, and if it had the potential to cause permanent strain, then it needed to be addressed sooner rather than later before things turned irreversible, and the friendship, broken beyond repair.

You hear three little taps on your table’s surface and open one eye, the other still closed.

In your line of sight, Hajoon placed a carton of strawberry milk, your favorite drink, in front of you casually. He removes his hand from around the item once he had gained your attention.

You reach up to take one of his in-ear devices out, but just as your hand approaches the side of his face, he beats you to it. “Drink it. Maybe you’ll feel better after.”

He’s glancing down at you still lying with your head against the table, evidently tired.  “Did you get it for me?”

“I picked it off the side of the street on my way here,” he replies nonchalantly.

You scrunch your nose in distaste and elbow his forearm further away from where it was resting in the crevice between your two desks before sitting back up properly. “Gee, what a gentleman you are,” you intone sarcastically, but as you go to open the milk carton and take a sip, you see the slight uplift of Hajoon’s lips as he tries not to smile, putting his earbud back in.

Before you can drink more than two gulps, Hyungwook barrels in like an overexcited hound, slamming himself down into his seat in front of you with such fervor that it rattles the back of his chair against the edge of your desk as he sits facing backwards. 

He starts conversing at rapid speed and seeing as he could neither hear a thing or rely on lip reading, Hajoon heaves a sigh beside you and pulls out both earbuds this time, completely having lost focus on his coding lectures.

“What are you even saying, Hyungwook?”

“I said!” Hyungwook raises his voice slightly and when clusters of classmates turn around to look at him oddly, he lowers his volume instantly after. “I said that Geonwoo almost killed me today. Yeonha can vouch for me.”

“Alright, you’re exaggerating a little there, buddy.” You cross your arms and lean your back against your chair as Hyungwook pouts at you for having taken out the flair from his dramatic retelling. 

Hajoon studies him for a moment. “With a headlock, I’m guessing?” 

Hyungwook claps his hands together, mouth forming a circle in surprise. “Oh?!” As expected of a brainiac.” 

Hajoon merely shakes his head, all of you tiring him out on the daily with your antics, as you repeatedly point to Hyungwook’s slightly pink neck, a pressure line still imprinted in the middle of his throat column. The latter looks down, only then realizing the dead giveaway. 

“Anyway, thats not the important thing,” he begins, rifling through his messy backpack before pulling out his laptop. “This thing won’t turn on again.” He places it on top of Hajoon’s stack of textbooks. “Can you please help?”

“I’m busy these days.” 

It was funny to see the dynamic between the two: one tiredly resistant and the other tirelessly persistent. 

“Then, how about fixing this as my birthday present?” Hyungwook nudges.

“No.”

Hyungwook tilts his head toward you comically without uttering a word, fearing he had reached a dead end. He discreetly points to you, then to him, then back to you, and lastly in Hajoon’s direction. You’re confused out of your mind before he repeats the motions once more and it finally clicks to you. 

“Uh…” you start, Hajoon turning to you with an already exasperated expression as Hyungwook nods encouragingly. “Can you fix it for—” you stammer, and Hyungwook’s eyes go wide, bobbing his head vigorously, “—him?” In your peripheral vision, he switches to shaking his head, that clearly having been the wrong sentence. “I mean—” you go to change your words, “—for me?” it comes out choppy and unsure as you side-eye Hyungwook for approval. 

“Seriously?” Hajoon replies, the boy in question looking on with what can only be described as genuine concern for both of your mental states. 

“Seriously.” You throw in a smile for good measure. “As a birthday present.” 

“The cake wasn’t enough?”

“What?!” Hyungwook chimes in, offended. “You gave her cake but not me?!” He lowers his head slightly, disappointed. 

Hajoon pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache coming on. “I—”

“It’s okay,” you reassure. “I’ll stay up all night to learn basic coding if I have to and try to fix it by myself since he’s not willing.”

You reach over to grab Hyungwook’s laptop but Hajoon intercepts the device, arms sliding in beneath your own and slipping it off the table straight into his backpack. “You know what, I’ll figure out how to fit it into my schedule. If he continues to complain, I’ll lose my patience, and if you continue to lose sleep, I’ll lose my sanity.”

Hyungwook immediately brightens again much to Hajoon’s incredulity. “The pin is the same,” he offers shamelessly, throwing a thumbs up in your direction. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajoon mumbles, beaten.  

“For you, Yeonha-chan.” Hyungwook unhooks the ghost figurine on his backpack that he got in Japan from a souvenir shop and hands it to you. “A small birthday present but a big thank you for helping me out today and many other times over the years.” 

You knew how precious the item was to him since he had carried it all the way from elementary days until now. “This is your sentimental treasure. I can’t accept it.” You try to push it back toward him, but he adamantly refuses, placing it back into your hand. 

“You carried big time today for me so I hope this charm will bring you even more luck in the future.” Hyungwook replies, jutting his chin toward Hajoon. “It’s always so difficult to get this guy to agree to anything I ask but he never says no to you. What a softie.”

“Call me that again and I’ll change my mind right now,” Hajoon threatens. 

“Oo,” Hyungwook teases. “Softie has not so soft edges.” 

You nearly choke on your drink as your laughter bubbles up, wanting to escape. TO keep from spitting everywhere accidentally, you clamp your free hand over your mouth to suppress the fit. Hyungwook slaps your back to help and you hurriedly put your pointer finger to your lips, indicating for him to shush before your hard work went down the drain. 

“You both give me migraines,” Hajoon declares, rubbing at his temples. 

“You’re welcome, but let’s talk about something more serious,” Hyungwook dismisses naturally. “Yeonha already heard this from me earlier, but—”

“Heard what?” Hajoon leans in. 

“Good morning, class!”

The teacher appearing sends the class to organize themselves swiftly at the authoritative tone and Hyungwook waves a hand in cessation, turning to the front as he whispers, “I’ll tell you later.”

Your homeroom instructor was well-loved by all of you since for his laidback attitude and understanding nature, but one thing he would never tolerate is disrespect.

“My dear students!” We placed first in the math section in Seorin City on the latest mock exam. The whole town had only four perfect scores and three of those were from us,” your homerun teacher joyously announces. Murmurs circled like the summer heat that sweltered in the room, the only source of open air being from the curtainless glass windows that provided no shade. 

You fan yourself and gather your hair in one hand before looking down at your right wrist and realizing that you had, once again, misplaced your hair tie. Switching your locks to to your other hand, you struggle to search with your free one through your pencil pouch for something that could be used as a makeshift hairpin.

As you’re rummaging, Hajoon nudges you and you turn to look at him, seeing his gaze flit down. You follow his line of sight, seeing a hair tie held out toward you between his pointer finger and thumb. 

“I knew you would forget again.” You pause, the earlier milk carton and now this—the little things—that Hajoon had remembered about you, always looking out for you and knowing exactly what you needed wordlessly. You wondered if it was some kind of superpower of his or if it became a skill he had honed over the years of being friends with someone as forgetful as you. 

“Did you pick this up off the side of the street too?” you opt to tease, willing your heart to slow from the crippling palpitations it seemed to do more often recently in his presence than it ever did before. 

Hajoon, sheepish, averted his eyes before elbowing you, clearly embarrassed. You gently laugh to yourself and let it slide, not before noticing the dent left from the elastic around his wrist. The very idea of him having carried it around long enough for it to leave a mark gets to you and when your fingertips brush as you take the hair tie from his outstretched digits, you both pull back as if burned, the fire now making its way to your faces. 

Before you can say anything more, Mr. Kim proceeds with his morning message. “I’m sure you all know who two of those scores belong to,” he pauses for intended suspense before divulging, “Our star students Kang Hajoon and Baek Yeonha.” You both stand up, the acclaim not something neither of you could get used to for all the high marks you both often received and late nights studying together. “Give them a hand!” The class claps in unison, congratulations thrown around loudly and proudly, Seah and Geonwoo’s specific joint hooting and hollering making you giggle. Even Nari applauds despite her less than stellar morning, throwing you a subtle nod. As Hajoon comes across more bashful than you at the crowd’s regard, you turn and clap for him too before raising your hand for a high five, hoping it would help deflect the attention this time. He returns the gesture, interlocking your fingers together and shaking it back and forth, a habit you two always had from childhood. Seeing as you were grinning ear to ear, he automatically smiled too. “Hold your horses and your cheers because we can’t forget about the last perfect scorer…” he carries on as you two settle back into your seats. “Choi. Hyung. Wook.” The teacher pronounces his name slow and with emphasis, almost as if to let your peers process it.

Whereas ovation had erupted before, this time, the space is so muted, one could probably hear the leaves rustling outside if they tuned in. Even you and Hajoon are dumbstruck at the illogicality of it.

“What the f—” a fellow classmate blurts before one sharp look from your instructor has them cutting their own sentence short.

Collective interjections of questionable doubt rings out in the classroom, Hyungwook’s infamous bottom of the barrel grades having earned him the moniker, Choi Yeongjeom, a play on words of his name with the (dis)honor of being “Zero Points Choi.”

Hyungwook himself displayed his lack of conviction at the results, twisting around to look at you and Hajoon in case he misheard. You snap out of your confoundment and gestured with your hands in a motion that signaled him to get up and rise for the honor.

“Baksoo!” Mr. Kim teacher directs and the class follows suit in clapping, gaping at one another in absolute confusion, the sound of palm against palm scattering rather than in sync from belatedly coming to terms with it. Gazing out into the sea of still wandering eyes, the teacher reveals, “Much like you kids, I found it a bit—how do I put this—extraordinary…to accept, but it is indeed true. Well, the masses do say success always comes after setbacks, so remember to never underestimate someone’s ability to change.” Given that Hyungwook can’t help surveying the entirety of everyone’s reactions, legs shaking imperceptibly as he stands still yet to sit, the teacher playfully adds as an afterthought, “Should this be investigated?”

A chorus of, “Yes it does, Ssaem!” circles back to him in an endless loop of affirmatives.

“Well, we’ll get to it when it comes to it. Play as law enforcements in your heads and act as students in reality. Leave some room for curiosity because today’s lecture begins now.” 

After a lesson that dragged on, seemingly even more so from the humidity like air you could wear, and heat that felt as though the Devil was breathing down your neck, you and your friends squeeze your way out the door. As you file out, navigating through the throng of other restless students, you press Hyungwook for answers.

You wind up at the school ground’s vacant west wing where students usually hung out during lunch to avoid the crowded cafeteria, or on the flip side, to partake in impromptu friendly sports matches that had the pitches packed with participants and spectators alike.

In true Nari fashion, she opted for the furthest seat she could, inclined toward personal space, folding arms and crossing legs in meditative preparation for the nonsense she always expected to hear from him at default.

The rest of you spread out on a a chair each, forming a semi circle in front of Hyungwook who had chosen to rest atop a tabletop that forced everyone to have to gaze up, almost as if it were a dais. 

Unlike the usual imagery tied to the raised platform meant for reverence, it was anything but.

There was no honor, no awe, and no fear; it instilled nothing but mere common curiosity rather than unparalleled veneration.

To you, it much more resembled a clock, each of your respective positions, in order going clockwise from Nari, to Geonwoo, to Seah, to you, and finally to Hajoon, it all lined up with a successive number, the center represented by Hyungwook. 

He was the central post, though the collet seemed unsecured to you, just as no one had any idea how he had managed to affix success, usually an otherwise arduous endeavor for him. 

As Hyungwook raises both arms to slowly point at you all in succession, you imagined it as a chronoscope’s hour and minute hands, briefly wondering where the hidden second hand was and what—or who—it could belong to that had equal control without equal appearance. 

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Tick-tock.

Seconds, turned into minutes, passed by as your group settled into comfortable positions, confused yet curious, compelled and captivated. 

The still unfinished milk carton brought from class you balanced on your knee, a hand around its circumference to steady it in place. Thrumming your fingers against the papered edged, it makes a dull thudding sound as you speak up.

“Hyungwook, as much as I’m surprised at how the process came to be and even more surprised at the outcome, you still did a good job. Sugoi desu ne!” It didn’t hurt to praise him for the achievement despite the odd circumstance and seeing Hyungwook’s wide smile made it easy to share in the excitement, knowing how inflexible his family was about academic accolades.

“Oh, come on, Yeonha,” Nari pleads, stamping her foot. “Don’t go entertaining him now with that stupid lingo. I always idolized you for being the most sensible of the group. Please don’t ruin that.”

“I agree with Yeonha that this is peculiar,” Seah inserts. “If you have something to tell us, just come clean right here and we can sort through it together, okay?”

Whereas Seah is nothing but nice about it, Nari is all accusatory, turning her attention in your direction. “Yah, smarty pants duo, you both fed him answers in turn, right?” 

You hear Hajoon exhale loudly through his nose. “What are you talking about?” 

“How do you even come to that conclusion?” you add. “We all swapped seats for the exam, remember? None of us were even within reach of one another.”

“That aside,” Geonwoo presses, looking at Hyungwook. “What will you do if the cops decide to pursue this matter further?”

The one in question rolls his ankles and leans back on his arms, titling his head from side to side contentedly. “They’ve got zilch to pin on me.”

“Is that supposed to imply you actually did illegal shit?!” Nari yells, a mixture of bafflement and exasperation that seeps through in her tone. “What the hell is this fucking loser saying now?” she mumbles to herself though it’s meant for everyone to hear before pinning Hyungwook with a menacing glare. “Spit it out already, you bastard.”

“Nari,” you intone lowly, her barrage of insults and condescending attitude toward him having amplified as of late riling you for some reason. “I don’t think this is something so serious for you to be this worked up over. He promised to tell us, and he will if you just wait.”

Nari huffs out a sigh and rolls her eyes at you but otherwise says nothing in retaliation, simply shifting so her back leaned against the metal table behind her. 

Over the long years standing between the two of you, you had learned how to talk to her—to correct her—without stepping on her easy-to-fray nerves or flaring her short temper, which you partly chalked up to the calm but resolute manner in your way of speech, but also the greater part of which being she respected you in some capacity, an amount that outweighed her limited esteem for the rest.

“Anyways,” Hyungwook drags the word out, “If my tomodachis are very, truly, and utterly invested in my secret—” he looks around once before lowering his voice like he was telling inside information no one else should know about. “—I only have one word for you all: Girigo.” 

“Mwo?” Seah sputters in stupefaction. “Gi. Ri. Go?” she asks in a chain, sounding out the three syllables tentatively, almost as if testing out the strange words on her tongue for the first time. 

“Yup!” Hyungwook nods, exhilarated at the mention of it alone. “It’s an app that grants wishes.”

“You know what, maybe it’s not you that’s the dumbass, but it’s me for listening to this bullshit,” Nari spits out, lips pressed together into a thin line. 

Seah jumps in to fan the growing flames. “Look, perhaps Nari could’ve phrased that better, but Hyungwook-ah, let’s please live in reality a little, yeah?” she reminds softly, like a mother teaching a life lesson to her son. “No matter what you’ve told me, I never failed to try and understand you like we’re family, but this…this is too much.” The expression on her face is one of disappointment. “Don’t you think you’re taking this act too far now?” 

Hyungwook shakes his head so hard in response that his hair flops back and forth, the waved strands bouncing up and down. “This isn’t an act!” He doubles down when the rest stare back in dubiety, you included. “Really, it isn’t! There exists something of that kind.”

“No such thing, buddy,” Geonwoo inputs instantaneously, face tilted down toward his screen as he scrolls swiftly. 

“Why would you even bother to look that up?” Nari’s mouth hangs half-open, astounded at Geonwoo’s idiocy before flipping it back onto the former, chock-full of disdain. “How amazing, Choi Hyungwook. You’ve managed to create another fool in your exact image.”

“There’s no fool here,” he retorts. “None of you will find it simply by searching.” He pulls his own phone out of his pocket and unlocks it. “Hold on. I’ll send it. This is just for your guys’ eyes, you understand? A perk of sorts as my friends.”

Ding!

You follow suit as everyone goes to open the group chat where the link pops up, appearing in stark contrast to the familiar bubbles typically reserved for the day-to-day short messages interchanged. 

“I clicked on it.” 

“Geonwoo, I’m telling you, you’re going to get hacked.”

“Nothing to hack here,” he replies to Seah with a broad, mindless grin. She only clucks her tongue at him as she looked him up and down, criticizing the careless choice. “I think this is worth testing—I really do. Isn’t it crazy how he got a perfect score?” 

“What’s truly crazy is how gullible you are.”

“This doesn’t look right…” you mutter under your breath as the letters begin to scramble in your vision, the black bleeding into the whites of your sclera, like spilled ink on pristine paper the longer you gawk at it without blinking. 

“What do you mean?” Hajoon leans in closer to look at your screen, attempting to see what you were seeing. 

“It feels…off.” You can’t quite put your inkling of doubt into words, resorting to simply staring transfixed at it. 

“Off how?” 

“I just don’t get a good sense from it,” you settle, peering at Hajoon on your left. 

He raps a light knuckle against your temple. “One thing you’ve learned most from my sister is her old wives’ tale tendencies it seems.”

“No…it’s not that,” you refute. “There’s too much mystery around it for it to be anything good.”

“All mysteries need solving, no?”

You don’t get a chance to answer as Geonwoo rises suddenly, flipping his phone screen around. 

It reflects Hyungwook’s image and his alone. 

“Dude, the selfie camera just turned on. Is this normal?”

“Of course it is,” Hyungwook reassures, propping his own phone up and configuring it so that the buttons he pressed would take him to the exact same screen Geonwoo’s was on. “This is the record button.”

Geonwoo steps forward and as he blocks the screen, Seah has to lean her body to the side to catch a glimpse. Hyungwook angles it in every direction for a better view all around and even Nari is uncharacteristically engrossed this time. “What is it taping though?”

“Well, your wish of course!” Hyungwook remarks matter-of-factly. “Oh wait.” He points a finger up in the air as if having a lightbulb moment of remembrance. “You have to write your name and your saju on paper first.”

“Saju?” Geonwoo repeats. “Like the stuff they use in divination?”

Saju. 

Saju.

Saju. 

Hajoon taps your forearm. “Earth to Yeonha.” 

“Huh?” you get out absentmindedly before shaking your head to clear it and turning to him.

“You’re still suspicious of it, aren’t you?”

“How can I not be?” You gaze at him in seriousness. “Even if it’s not a joke, it’s a scam, and if it’s not a scam, then it’s real—and that’s even worse,” you reason. “Saju deals with destiny and fate: the year, month, day, and hour. The time blocks are all tied to your life.”

Hajoon, ever the rationalist, doesn’t buy into it, but entertains your worries nonetheless. “Isn’t it just fortune-telling?” 

“It’s not just fortune-telling,” you emphasize. “It’s our entire existence.” You stare at him, hoping the gravity of it gets across to him, your fingers tightening around the cold metal of your phone. “When we’re born, other than the associated numbers, the first thing we receive is our name. It is something that belongs to us and is what makes us, us.” 

“Now you’re making it sound unnerving,” Hajoon undertones, a crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“I’m not trying to…” you trail off.  “Whether you believe it or not, a name has always defined someone; it is a branding, an image, and a state of being all in one. If you know not a person’s name, you know not their identity—” you pause. “—But to know every facet of someone’s existence will give you dominion over them.”

Hajoon contemplates your words, at a loss as to what else to say, the weight and possibility of something he hadn’t considered before such as surrendering all control to another being quieting him. 

In the background, Hyungwook continues on teaching Geonwoo, the only one actively listening. “You just give up everything.”

“Everything of yourself?”

“Yes, and after you do, hold the piece of paper you wrote on up to the screen and document it while you outline your wish.”He demonstrates, even closing his eyes for maximum reenactment. Not a second later, he opens it, adding, “You have to really mean it, though. Be sincere and act like you want it…desperately.”

“I think you’re desperate enough without asking,” Nari gets out in between laughs as she slaps the table behind her, genuinely finding the situation hilarious as tears come to her eyes from the hilarity of it all. 

Hyungwook chooses to ignore her and gives following directions. “Once you finish recording your wish, be sure to hit send. That’s it.”

“Why are you guiding us so in-depth as if we’ll actually make wishes?” you ask as Hajoon peers at Hyungwook askance, the presentation having done nothing to tide him over to the side of belief. 

“Aren’t you all?”

“No,” Nari deadpans. 

“Where do you even find stuff like this?” Seah queries. 

“I have my ways…”

Geonwoo scratches his head. “This made your wish come true?”

Hyungwook chuckles. “Oh ye of little faith. You want proof?” 

“Of course I do. Otherwise this will turn out to be a prank for the books you pulled over on us.”

There’s a beat of silence as Hyungwook browses his camera roll. “Exhibit A: My wish video.” 

When he flips his phone sideways and angles it toward the group, perhaps the grandest prank was that you self-imposed apprehension for no reason. 

Nari’s boisterous chuckle rings out in the background and she nearly slips from her seat at the senseless nature of it. 

“What are you doing?” Geonwoo places a hand over his mouth, trying to keep his own humor at bay given what he was watching play out in front of him: Hyungwook with printer paper taped to his forehead, hands clasped together, and eyes closed, chanting a passionate prayer.

My wish is to get a perfect score in math. A perfect score in math, please! A perfect score! Perfect score! Score! Score! Score! 

The video resounds blaringly in the vicinity, though everyone is wonderstruck, left to wonder who exactly to blame for getting duped.

“It suddenly hits me how deep our friendship runs…and how fucking high our IQ’s much reach,” Nari wisecracks snarkily, throwing her backpack over her shoulder and sauntering away, disappearing around the corner.

Geonwoo throws an arm over Seah’s shoulder as she grimaces, the two lowering their heads in second-hand embarrassment as they walk to the other end of the courtyard.

You on the other hand, stayed back to approach Hyungwook. Hajoon, wanting to wait for you, leaned against an awning pillar with his arms folded, shaking his head. 

“Where are you guys going? I have more proof…”

“Hyungwook, I get that you’re constantly stressed about your grades and that your family hasn’t been the most supportive given what you’ve told me about them and how they pressure you over the littlest failures…but this isn’t the solution.” 

“It made me proud of myself, though,” Hyungwook mumbles with his head down. “Don’t you think my family will finally be proud of me for once too?”

You soften, bending at the waist to place a hand on his shoulder, patting upliftingly. “Those who really care about you will be proud of you regardless. You shouldn’t push yourself to meet the demands of others. It won’t help to drain yourself completely in order to fill someone’s expectations wholly.”

“I know you’ve always treated me nicely, Yeonha, but you guys only believe in me and never believe me—there’s a difference.” You right yourself, hand coming off his shoulder as he goes to show you the Girigo software once more, but before he can reload it, you give him a pat on the head and go to where Hajoon was.

“Does it still unsettle you?” Hajoon questions, walking close enough that your arms overlap as you take steps forward.

“Look at Exhibit B, the notification I got when my wish was granted….” Hyungwook calls out behind you and you turn back around, seeing his phone screen flicker on of its own accord, showcasing a large red circle, front and center. 

In that final glimpse, your vision fully clouds over almost as though your eyes were doused in the light of roaring fires, reflecting the colors of flared flames. It floods your perception so suddenly and so vividly, you stumble haphazardly, the milk carton in your hand topples to the ground and spilling its contents onto the pavement. 

With your sight still saturated in a sea of scarlet, the puddle had become liquid turned into blood.

“Yeonha!” Hajoon reaches out to hold onto your elbow as you try to regain your balance, one foot tripping over the other still. He uses his other arm to right you before he takes a look at your face, eyes widening in shock. “You’re bleeding…”

Only then does it register to you the trails running down from your nostrils, headed for a straight decent to the ground. 

Drop.

Tick.

Drop.

Tock.

Drop.

Tick…

Whether you chose to call it superstition, or intuition, or even premonition, in the end, that nameless sense of foreboding was there to stay. 

It cuts like a knife.

And stains like blood. 

𝓽𝓪𝓰𝓵𝓲𝓼𝓽 @cycynsstuff @kookoorokoo

🕯️ 𝓮𝓷𝓭 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮.

Watching this series for the second time to write made me notice so many details I missed in the first run-through! It's actually crazy how much I analyzed everything for this that it felt like I was back in AP literature class haha. Hopefully that teacher is proud (in spirit) of what I took away all those years ago. Kudos to those who can catch all the symbolism and foreshadowing I stuffed into this update alone! Also, if anyone would like to be notified for future chapters, leave me a comment and I'll add you to the existing taglist!

𝟎𝟏 : 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐫 |

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