#jay imagines

a/n : FANKS FOR ALL THE LOVE ON THE FIRST PART 🥹🥹🥹 theres just gonna be another part after this and u can comment to join the taglist!!

kitty!jay who absolutely loves slow mornings. he’ll always wake up before you do, but instead of getting out of bed, he’ll lie there quietly watching you sleep for a few minutes before gently brushing your hair away from your face. when you finally wake up, he’ll softly mumble, “morning, baby,” eyes sparkling with affection :3

kitty!jay who pretends he doesn’t want attention, but the second you stop petting his hair, he’s subtly leaning back into your hand. he’ll never ask you to keep going, instead he’ll just shift just enough that your fingers naturally end up running through his hair again. the tiny smirk he tries to hide gives him away every time :p

kitty!jay who loves just sitting in silence with you. you could both be doing completely different things for hours, barely speaking, and he’d still consider it quality time. every now and then he’ll glance over just to make sure you’re still there before quietly going back to whatever he was doing. he’s almost proud that you guys are able to spend time together like that, that you’re comfortable enough with him to understand without words what he wants and needs, and that you two can enjoy each other’s presence without having to fill it with meaningless small talk

kitty!jay who has a habit of silently appearing beside you. one second you’re alone making tea, the next he’s leaning against the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed, watching you with the softest most unguarded expression. when you ask how long he’s been standing there, he’ll just shrug and mutter, “not long,” every single time, even when you both know he’s quite clearly been there for several minutes, content to just stare at you :p

kitty!jay who gets quietly possessive in the smallest ways. if you’re sitting with someone else, he’ll casually take the empty seat beside you without saying a word, resting his knee against yours under the table. it’s never obvious enough for anyone to comment on, but you find it impossible not to notice the way his jaw ticks and his brows furrow as he presses his thicker thigh firmer against yours

kitty!jay who acts like your (often relentless) teasing doesn’t affect him, rolling his eyes and giving you the most unimpressed look imaginable. then, five minutes later, you’ll catch him smiling to himself because he keeps replaying whatever you said. he hates (loves) how easily you make him laugh and get him flustered

kitty!jay who looooves when you play with his hands. he’ll pretend not to notice while you absentmindedly trace little shapes over his knuckles, but inside he’s completely melting. eventually, he’ll just turn his hand over so your fingers naturally lace together, still acting like it’s not intentional

kitty!jay who always seems to know when your social battery is running low. before you even say anything, he’s quietly asking if you want to step outside for a few minutes or offering to leave early with you. he never makes you explain yourself, he just notices, and quickly pulls some bullshit excuse out of his ass to spew to the rest of his friends 

kitty!jay who isn’t overly affectionate in public, but he’ll always find tiny excuses to touch you. brushing imaginary lint off your sleeve, fixing your necklace, resting a hand against your back as you walk through a crowd. all small gestures, but they make you feel safer every single time, even more so when you start to notice how intentional he is with them, despite acting otherwise

kitty!jay who gets so comfortable around you ridiculously quickly. he’ll steal your blanket without realizing, insist on you wearing his hoodies (“they just look so much better on you, sweetheart”), shift you completely so you’re resting your legs on his lap while watching a movie, then look genuinely confused when you point out how clingy he’s being. “no, i’m not,” he’ll insist, completely serious

kitty!jay who instinctively looks for you whenever something funny happens. even if you’re across the room, his eyes immediately find yours because your reaction is always the one he wants to see most. if you’re already giggling, he’ll end up laughing even harder, his eyes bright with affection as he takes in the sound of your laughter like it’s the last time he’ll hear it, noting the way your body racks with each stifled giggle as you bury your face in your hands :p

kitty!jay who never notices how much his voice changes when it’s just the two of you. around everyone else, it’s steady and teasing, always paired with a sarcastic comment or a smug little grin. but the second you’re alone together, all of that quickly slips away. his shoulders loosen, his guard drops without him realizing, and his voice falls into this quiet, almost sleepy murmur that barely carries across the room. you’ll find yourself leaning in closer just to catch what he’s saying because somewhere along the way he stopped feeling like he had to fill the silence. he never realised he did it until jake pointed it out, face smug and eyes narrowed as he wiggled his finger at jay. jay just shrugs, denies it, and mutters something about him “hearing things,” despite the way he knows he’ll immediately slips back into that softer voice the next time you’re alone together :3

kitty!jay who gets impossibly more gentle whenever you’re upset. he doesn’t crowd you with questions or rush you into talking, instead, he’ll jus quietly make his way over until he’s sitting beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours. he’ll ask what happened once, softly, and if you aren’t ready to answer, he won’t push. he’ll simply nod, reach for your hand if you’ll let him (you always do), and stay. if you start crying, his whole expression softens. his brows knit together as he instinctively pulls you against his chest, one hand rubbing slow circles over your back while the other gently cradles the back of your head. “baby, i’ve got you,” he’ll murmur, his voice low and calm. he doesn’t care if you cry all over him or sit there in silence for half an hour. as long as you’re in his arms, he’ll stay exactly where he is until you’re ready to let go :(

kitty!jay who remembers every tiny thing you mention. you cannot get anything past him if it’s even remotely to do with you. your favourite drink, the snack you couldn’t find once, that random flower you pointed out months ago… it all sticks with him. then one day he’ll casually hand you the random chocolate bar you tried once (and loved) months ago, without saying anything, like he doesn’t go well out of his way to try and remember every detail about you on purpose :3 

let’s go to HELLLUGHHH aka nsfw under div😳

kitty!jay who is totally a butt guy… in every way. he’s grabbing handfuls if he’s got you in doggy, the crack of his hand against your soft skin reverberating around the room as his thrusts pick up. even just walking around the apartment, he’s groping you at any given moment, pawing at your sweatpants as the tent in his gets bigger. you try (and fail) to mask at least some of the fondness in your eyes at his ministrations, but you just can’t help it, especially not when he gets so desperate just from a few touches in passing :(

kitty!jay who literally can’t help himself from purring when he gets inside your wet heat, the vibrations only spurring you on as he nuzzles against your neck, harshly contrasting the way he pinches your nipples and shamelessly gropes at your chest as you ride him, temporarily stopping his ministrations to bite and suck at your neck, his throat still humming loudly :p

kitty!jay who’s so big on foreplay that it becomes like torture for you. he’s content to just have you sat on his lap for hours as he nips at your bottom lip, tongue darting out to brush over it before you can even flinch. he sucks little bruises onto the bottom of your neck, ignoring your whines that it’s “childish” and instead opting to just start biting down on another spot, kneading at your ass or gently rubbing your clit through your panties as he does so. and you’re literally never safe… even on long drives he’s got a hand on your thigh, slowly inching up as you squirm in discomfort, actutely aware of the heat now pooling between your legs. you clench them on instinct, only to be met again with his beaming smirk, finding it harder to hold himself back now that he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. i bet he’s an ear nibbler tooughghghg

kitty!jay who likes to mark his territory by cumming all over your tits, pulling himself out of your tight throat to grab at your chest instead, sticking two fingers in your mouth to keep you satiated as he manhandles you where he wants you. he’ll look you dead in the eyes when cumming, jerking himself off with one hand as fast as he can whilst still maintaining eye contact and pushing his long fingers further down your throat. he cums with a groan all over your chest, gaze fond as he looks down at you, his beautiful girl :(

kitty!jay who doesn’t realise his size until you’re silent beneath him, face buried in your pillows, back arched. he leans down to tap you gently on your waist, still bottomed out inside of you, just to hear a muffled and whiny “can’t take it, jay, s’ too big,” as you drool over the bed, eyes teary and gaze far away. he’s almost scared at how fast a grin spreads across his face “you can be good for me, baby, can’t you?” he coos in return, forcing mock sympathy, relishing your whimpers and moans when he reaches a hand around to rub at your puffy clit :(

kitty!jay who just can’t help himself, who loves you so much he just has to have every part of you, brushing his thumb over your puckered hole as a small pout forms on his face at your twitching and whining. even after so many years he can’t believe he gets to have you like this, spread and willing to take whatever he’ll give you, he’s sooo lucky n you’ll never let him forget it :3

kitty!jay who gets off on you getting off. when he’s inside your wet heat, he can only cum after knowing you have, and it’s not even just a pride thing, it’s just that you’ve ruined him as he’s ruined you. he’s so used to the way you clamp around him as you squeal, he’s so used to the creamy ring of combined fluids that forms around the base of his cock, how can anybody expect him to be able to get off without seeing that first? even if he’s not inside, when he’s buried between your legs instead, he feels immense satisfaction when you finish on his tongue, grinding down on him while simultaneously trying to arch away from him as he harshly tweaks your nipples, comparable even to his own orgasm (so much so that he has to look down and check he hasn’t cum in his pants like a teenager) he’s so down bad for you :(

kitty!jay who (shamefully) feels jealous of the toys you have to use when he’s away. realistically, he knows it’s his fault for leaving you frustrated for a week or two while he’s on a business trip, but he still can’t stop the annoyance bubbling up inside of him when you shyly recall how you got off over the phone. he ignores the tent in his pants to mumble back, “but, ‘s not better than mine, right?” rolling his eyes at how pathetic he sounded as he said it. but it’s not his fault he just misses you so much, and deep down he knows he can never be replaced, that he’s ruined you for any other other guy to come (god forbid), but he still needs to hear you say it :(

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The beach house is quiet when you wake. The first rays of sunlight beam through your bedside window. The waves look softer in morning light, somehow even more peaceful than the prior evening. 

And Jay…

Somewhere between dreams and reality, you found your resolve. You’re not sure what this new sense of closeness is, where exactly it comes from. You’re sure it’s just because the two of you are truly alone for the first time. 

Besides, it’s not like it necessarily means anything. You’re sure Jay is just one of those people who lets his affection be known through touch, through closeness. He did tell you he wants to be friends, after all. You’re sure that’s what all of this must be. 

But the longer you look at it, the more your stomach begins to sink. Because friendship doesn’t account for a lot of things. Namely, the way he held you last night. The way he looked at you. 

Shaking your head, you force yourself out of bed. It’s no use mulling over it now. You’re not operating under any illusions. 

It doesn’t matter how sharp his jawline is or how nice it feels to rest your head in that space between his shoulder and neck. 

You’re sick. Your future is, in generous terms, uncertain. It wouldn’t be fair, to either you or him, to let things shift too much. To let them progress towards what they teetered on dangerously last night. 

Padding gently down the stairs, you realize you were the first one to wake. Good. That will give you some time to set your resolve, to plan for how you’ll go about maintaining space for the rest of your time together. 

You only have one more day here, after all. You’ll sleep at the beach house again tonight and then drive back to the hospital early tomorrow afternoon. You can survive another day, another evening. 

And then, upon your return, reality will do what it always done, and maintaining a comfortable distance will feel natural again.  

Yawning through a stretch as you enter the kitchen, you suppose you can start evening the playing field by returning favors. You’ll make breakfast today. An undergraduate degree built mostly on ready meals hasn’t exactly made you the best chef, but your family owns a restaurant. You can manage eggs, at least. 

Rifling through the cupboards for a frying pan, a small, nondescript notebook tucked away in the corner of the kitchen counter catches your eye. Drawing closer, you realize it’s his. Jay’s. The planner he always carries around with him everywhere. 

You bite at the small smile that appears on your lips without your permission. It’s easy to imagine him drafting your itinerary with the same intense focus he uses to write out his study schedules. 

You shake your head gently and then turn, about to move on, when a small slip of paper poking out from underneath the planner catches your eye. 

It’s folded and mostly obscured by the notebook on top of it, but you swear you can make out a few letters.

And, stranger still, you swear they align perfectly with the last few letters in your name.

You shouldn’t look. You really shouldn’t. If nothing else, it’s an invasion of privacy. You wouldn’t want him poking around through your planner, after all. 

He already did it one by accident, you think as you remember the way his gaze narrowed in focus when you mistakenly handed him your bucket list instead of a napkin at the charity gala. And the consequences of that have been nothing if not far reaching. 

Still, curiosity eats at you. It’s your name, after all. Or at least you think it is. 

Glancing quietly over your shoulder just to make sure he hasn’t somehow silently materialized since your internal struggle began, you confirm that you’re alone in the kitchen. And then you reach for that small, folded piece of paper.

Unfolding it slowly, you scan it from top to bottom. You were right, you realize. It is your name at the top. Glazing over it, this time with a more discerning gaze, your eyes widen with every uncovered line.

It’s a list. Penned in his neat, even handwriting, it details all of the medicines you’re currently taking, as well as every pharmacy within a twenty-mile radius of the beach house and their current stock of it. 

Beneath it, he’s written out every nearby hospital, along with their capacity to handle illnesses of your nature and their directors’ personal contact information. 

Below is yet another list. This one is of symptoms that Hana and Doctor Kim must have told him to keep an eye on. Confusion, dizziness, shortness of breath, fatigue, headaches. 

Both of them also left him with their personal phone numbers. 

Silently, breath shallow, you fold the paper back and tuck it back beneath the planner where you found it, heart thumping traitorously in your chest. 

Again, you’re forced to confront it head-on — he cares. Enough to plan this trip, enough to face your resistance and your excuses a thousand times over, enough to research pharmacies and hospitals and medication side effects. 

It’s not altruistic. It’s not for his own benefit. He cares about you. In writing, out loud, and in the way he’s always gentle when he reaches for you. 

You think, then, for the first time, of just how much his life has changed since your diagnosis, too. After all, you used to just be someone that sat behind him in lecture halls. Someone that made an irritating point to argue with everything he said. 

Now, he’s at the hospital more frequently than his own classes. He’s paying for your medical care. He’s asking doctors and nurses how to best take care of you, and he’s here, at a beach house on the coast, because you dreamed of seeing it one day. 

You never wanted to add anyone, much less Jay, to the ever-growing list of people you owe an unpayable debt to. 

But every memory, every piece of evidence at just how inextricably intertwined you’ve become, feels like a rock sinking in your gut. 

When, or perhaps if the universe takes pity on you, if this all ends in flames, you’re suddenly terrified of just how deeply he’ll be affected. 

His care is genuine, of that much you’re sure. You don’t want him to suffer any more than he has to when the time comes to say goodbye.

You’re so wrapped up in your sudden spiraling that you don’t notice when the scent of cooking turns pungent, when the eggs start to turn from golden-brown to coal black. 

But Jay does. Startling you from your thoughts, he raises an eyebrow at you from the edge of the kitchen.

“Good morning,” he says, calmly. There’s a hint of sleepiness that still clings to his words. 

“Good morning,” you return once you shake your startle, hardly able to meet his eye. You’re flushed for a thousand reasons, all of which you refuse to name. 

His eyebrow arches higher. Nodding at the pan on the stove, he adds, “I think something’s burning.”

“Shit.” Rushing to turn off the burner, you pull the pan off the heat, setting it aside. “Sorry,” you mumble, sheeping. “I was trying to make breakfast.”

Jay’s lips twitch. “It’s the thought that counts,” he tells you. “Here, let me—”

You shake your head. “No, no, it’s okay. Just let me— I can handle eggs.” 

For a moment, you think he’s going to tease you about it. But then he sees the defensive glint in your gaze. The way this suddenly feels like it’s about more than just eggs. You’ve had far more of your own self-sufficiency stripped from you than you’re comfortable with. 

It wouldn’t be an act of kindness to assume you can’t handle this task—it would be belittling. A reminder of just how much your life has changed in recent weeks. 

So Jay is just quiet for a moment longer. Then, he nods. Moving to join you, he doesn’t interfere with the eggs. Instead, he says, “I’ll start the coffee.” 

Thankfully, your second attempt is much more successful. 

With your eggs cooked to perfection this time and Jay’s freshly brewed coffee, the two of you find your seats at the dining table again. After a few bites, Jay asks for your opinion on his itinerary for the day. 

He hasn’t planned much, just a dinner at a nearby restaurant this evening, which leaves your morning and afternoon free. He has suggestions of course — heading back down to the beach, going for another ride in the convertible, sitting in the garden and just enjoying the view. 

Your indecision must play out across your features, because a beat later, he suggests starting the day close to home. You’re glad for it. 

You’re starting to feel like a broken record, but the garden really is beautiful. Two adjacent lounge chairs serve as your resting place for this pocket of time. 

Minutes slip into hours easily, the occasional lulls in conversation filled by the sound of waves and nearby sea birds. 

He mentions something about Professor Jung’s class, and a crease forms between your eyebrows. Jay notices, because of course he does, and so you tell him about the letter from Doctor Kim, your mother’s insistence that you take an official academic leave of absence for the rest of the semester. 

Jay schools his features into something carefully neutral. “How do you feel about that?” 

You sigh. “I mean, of course it’s not what I want. We’re almost to midterms already, and the thought of sacrificing all that work really sucks.” You exhale, something calm in your voice now that you’ve had time to think about it. “But it’s not the end of the world. I’ve kept up my scholarship this long, and I know I’ll be able to do it again. I suppose it’s better to focus on recovery now and then return to things when I can give it my all again. Even if it feels a little bit like failure right now.”

Jay stares at you for a moment, almost as if he expects a second head to pop out from between your shoulders. “That might be the most reasonable thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“I will reach over and smack that grin off your face,” you threaten. 

“I know.” He just relaxes further into his seat, grin still spread wide across his lips. 

You roll your eyes. The conversation continues, veers towards lighter topics. It takes you all the way to early afternoon, when Jay suggests heading back to the beach. 

“C’mon,” he urges, “We can actually put our feet in the ocean this time.”

You don’t need any more convincing than that. 

It’s still slightly humiliating, the way you have to walk slowly, the way your legs don’t always seem to want to cooperate with your mind. Jay takes it all in stride. He slows even before you do, patient as he walks by your side. 

Still a few yards from the water, you lose your balance on the edge of a sand bank, teetering dangerously as you try to right yourself. Jay doesn’t let you fall. Reaching out, he steadies you with one hand on your waist and the other around your wrist. 

Even after you’ve centered yourself again, he doesn’t let go. 

“You alright?” His brow creases deep in concern. 

“I’m fine,” you nod, not quite able to look him in the eye. Not when his open palm still rests against your hip. 

Slowly, Jay releases you. But the hand around your wrist doesn't leave your skin entirely. Instead, he slides it down, all the way until his long fingers are interlaced with yours. HIs touch is warm, steadying. Has your pulse thrumming in your ears. 

“Here,” he says. “To help you balance.”

“Right.” You nod. “For balance.”

After a few more steps, the two of you are at the water’s edge. Jay helps you slide off your shoes before removing his own. Then, he takes your hand again. This time, he doesn’t bother with excuses. 

Instead, he turns to you, eyes glittering like the sunlit sea, and asks, “Are you ready?”

Are you? You’re not sure. The ocean is one of many things in your life that you never bothered to dream too hard about, mostly because it always felt out of reach. Something frivolous not worth dedicating too much attention to. 

You’re not sure how to tell him that, so instead, you nod. 

Jay smiles, gently guiding you forward until the first waves can just reach you, barely brushing your toes as water trickles up the beach. 

A gasp escapes your lips. It’s colder than you expect, almost shockingly so. 

“You okay?” Jay asks.

You nod. “Just cold.”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s warmer in the summer. We’ll have to come back.” There are a lot of assumptions wrapped up in his response, ones you don’t dare to correct now. 

Instead, you follow him a few more steps forward, all the way until water pools around your feet, now ankle-deep.

It’s still cold, but you’re getting used to it now. The sand feels different here, thicker maybe, more solid. You spread your toes and giggle as it pushes between them. 

Jay zeroes in on the noise, carefully tracking your expression as you venture deeper. Now it’s him that trails you, happy to be led by his hand still intertwined with yours. 

The first time you splash him is entirely by accident. You swear you see a fish swimming near your toes and it startles you so bad you nearly fall over. Thankfully, you manage to stay upright, but your flailing sends a smattering of droplets right towards the front of Jay’s shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, but it’s wrapped in laughter. “It was an accident. I thought I saw a—”

The words die on your lips as Jay returns the favor by splashing water back towards you, this time entirely on purpose. 

“No worries,” he grins. Nodding towards the wet hem of your shirt, he adds, “We’re even now, anyway.”

Your jaw drops at his audacity. “You little shit.” It’s the only warning he gets before your next splash comes, this one wreaking far more havoc than the first as sea water soaks through nearly the entirety of his rolled left pant leg. 

You try to run before he can have his revenge, but he catches up to you easily, fingers circling around your wrist before he slides it back towards your hand, interlacing your fingers once again. Then he bends at the waist, other hand dipping dangerously towards the water as he sends droplets flying towards your jeans. 

It’s funny — even though the water swirling around your ankles, being flung at your skin, is entirely novel, something you’ve been dreaming of experiencing for years, when you look back on your memory of this moment later, you’ll realize that nearly all of your focus was not on the beach or the your soaked clothes or the even ocean itself. 

No, it was locked on the steady, warm feeling of Jay’s hand in yours. 

…..

The sun tracks a steady path across the sky, and before you know it, it’s time to get ready for your dinner with Jay.

Despite your questioning, he hasn’t divulged many details. You’re not sure exactly where you’re going, nor what kind of attire is expected. Eyeing your small overnight bag, you’re suddenly worried that everything you’ve brought will be too casual. 

Then again, maybe he’s bringing you to something a little more quaint. He said it himself — most of the businesses around here are seasonal. You doubt that the truly fine dining establishments are even open this time of year. 

Before you can make up your mind on if you should just go across the hall and ask him again, a knock sounds on your bedroom door. 

Opening it, Jay stands on the other side, a large box in hand. 

You look at it, frowning. “What’s that?”

“For you,” Jay outstretches his arms, passing the box to you. “For tonight.”

“Jay…” you trail off. Gifts from him are nothing new at this point, but something in your pride still withers with every lavish present he lays at your feet. 

“Don’t even,” he shakes his head, silencing your protest before you can put words to it. “Besides,” he adds, nodding towards the box. “This was already yours.”

Your brow furrows in confusion. “Already m—” Realization dawns across your features. You remove the lid from the box, confirming your suspicions. 

Inside is the gown, the one you selected from Sunghoon’s shop.

“I thought we were going to dinner,” you breathe. 

It’s Jay’s turn to be puzzled. “We are,” he confirms. 

“There’s a restaurant around here where this is standard attire?” You arch an eyebrow. “Are you sure?” Quieter, you add, “I don’t feel like getting stared at all night.”

Jay’s expression softens at your confession. “You won’t be. I promise. A dress that pretty deserves to be worn, don’t you think? Besides,” he adds, a gleam entering his gaze, “I’ll be the only one staring at you.”

“Jay,” you whine. 

“Okay, okay,” he puts his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll only stare when you’re not looking.”

“I’ll still be able to tell,” you frown. 

“You haven’t so far,” he points out. 

He grins when your cheeks warm. 

And to that, you have nothing to say. Instead you ask, “What time are we leaving?”

“Whenever you’re ready,” Jay says. “There’s no rush. Take your time.”

The door closes, and you’re once again alone with your thoughts. You glance down at the box in your hands before setting it on the foot of the bed. 

You sigh. You really weren’t prepared for anything so formal. Glancing at your small makeup bag, you decide you’ll have to make do. 

Thirty minutes later, it’s apparent that you weren’t born with the talent of a makeup artist, but it’ll do. You give yourself another once-over in the mirror, assessing your handiwork. The work you’ve done on your makeup and hair might be simple, but it highlights the features you like most. Makes your reflection something that shimmers a little more than usual. Despite it all, you feel pretty. 

Which leaves only one step left before you meet Jay downstairs: the dress still sitting on your bed. Padding over towards it quietly, you take a deep breath before reaching into the box and retrieving it with gentle fingers. 

It unfurls as you pull it out, skirt falling down towards the floor in an elegant wave. Here in the evening glow of your borrowed bedroom, it’s even more spectacular than you remember. 

Quietly, you step into the skirt, pulling the top of the dress up over your body and securing the straps into place. 

Reaching behind you, you fumble blindly for the zipper. It takes a moment for you to find it, fingers closing around the cool metal. You tug, but the zipper hardly makes it an inch before your own dexterity fails you. 

Frowning, you try again. This attempt is no better. No matter how many times you try, you can’t get the zipper past the base of your spine. 

That’s right, you remember, hardly stopping yourself from cursing out loud, the store attendant helped you that day at Sunghoon’s store. 

A flicker of doubt sweeps through your mind. Is it even possible to close the zipper on your own? 

It has to be. Because if you can’t get it zipped on your own, the only other viable option is—

No. 

That’s not happening. 

Grimacing, you pull again, this time with far more force, fueled by your sudden desperation. But it’s to no avail. The angle simply won’t work. 

Head lolling forward, you groan aloud to the empty room. 

And then, gathering whatever fragmented remnants of dignity you have left, you call out quietly, “Jay?”

You wait for a heartbeat. Another. No response comes. 

Walking towards your door, you crack it open slightly.

Louder this time, you call again, “Jay?”

“Yeah?” You hear him respond, from downstairs you think. “Are you okay?” There’s an undertone of urgency in his voice that you would have more time to ponder if you weren’t panicking yourself. 

“I’m fine,” you assure. “But can you…” You trail off for a moment, losing your confidence. “Can you come here?”

He doesn’t say anything, but you hear the sound of his feet padding against the stairs. It takes him less than thirty seconds to reach the top, eyes locking on yours where you still brace yourself behind the door like it’s a shield. 

His brow furrows. “What’s wrong?”

You can barely hold his eye. “Nothing, I just…” Biting the inside of your lip, you manage to get out, “I need help with the zipper.”

“Oh.” It’s quiet for a moment. You watch as realization sets in, his eyes widening before he remembers to regain control of his expression. “Oh,” he repeats, softer this time. 

Then, he swallows. Once, roughly. You watch the way his throat works, jaw tightening, eyes sharpening before they soften again. He sets his resolve, pace steady as he walks towards you. 

You take a step back when he reaches you, silently pulling the door open wider, allowing him into your space. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, eyes on his feet. “I forgot that I needed help. I didn’t think I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Jay interrupts, voice rawer than it was before. “It’s okay,” he assures. “I don’t mind. Just…” He flails for a moment, words stuck in his throat. Then he whispers, “Turn around for me.”

You do. Quietly, steadily, all the way until you’re facing the bed. Jay’s presence behind you is an impossible thing to miss, especially when you hear the deep, shuddering inhale he takes. 

And then you feel it, the warmth of his hands as he wraps his fingers around the zipper. Your breath is shallow in your chest, heart pounding in your throat. 

You can feel his knuckles skimming the notches of your spine. A slow, deliberate pace as he drags them upwards. 

It’s agonizingly slow. It's over entirely too soon.

You feel his fingers reach the top, hesitating for only a moment before he retracts them. You release the exhale you hadn’t quite realized you were holding. 

Turning back halfway, you meet his eye.

“Thanks,” you manage, more breath than sound. 

“Of course,” he returns, and you don’t think you’re imagining the strain. He recovers quickly, though. Extending his arm, he offers, “Shall we?”

Only then do your eyes rake over him. Jay, it seems, has not made you dress up on your own this evening. 

Dressed in a suit so impossibly well-tailored you’re sure it must have been made with only him in mind, Jay is a vision. Dark hair falls into his eyes, loose across his forehead, flattering the angular set of his cheekbones, the sharp line of his jaw. 

Under any other circumstances, the sight would serve as a reminder of the distance between the two of you, all the ways in which Jay will always exist just outside your reach. 

But his outstretched arm is an offering, an invitation. He’s not pulling away, not stepping back. He’s meeting you halfway, like he’s already decided that wherever you are is a place worth being. 

So you wrap your fingers around his forearm and let him lead the way down the stairs. You let him carry your purse and open your car door and smile at you from the driver’s seat. 

For a moment, it’s all too easy to pretend. That this, whatever is blossoming between the two of you, was never because of a deal. 

That you’re not dying and he’s not doing everything in his power to stop it. 

For a moment, just in the most secret parts of your mind, you’re just you and he’s just him. Two people that realized, somewhere between butting heads in lecture halls and always vying for first place, that you had more in common than you realized. That your differences were actually quite complimentary when you stacked them side by side. 

You pretend that it’s all natural to you, that you belong in the passenger seat of convertibles, wearing an average person’s monthly salary on your body and being treated like a princess. 

In your fantasy, no one feels sorry for you. No one pities you. If anything, they’re all jealous. That you’re the one on the receiving end of the ever-formidable Park Jongseong’s equally fierce affections. 

Sunoo has what he needs to follow his dreams all on his own, and your family was never wrecked by circumstances out of their control. 

You have room in your mind for yourself, for your own desires and hopes and goals. You have time for things outside of studying. There’s space in your life for friends and flings and maybe, you think, glancing over at Jay where he keeps his eyes trained on the road, maybe even enough room for love. 

It might just be a fantasy, but you decide that you don’t want to ruminate tonight. You’re tired of wallowing in your own misery and always worrying about what comes next. 

Is it so wrong? you wonder, to pretend, just for tonight, that this is nothing more than dinner with a boy?

Jay’s pulling into the parking lot before you can fully make up your mind. Taking a tentative glance at the dark building, you frown slightly. 

“Are you sure it’s open?” you ask. “It looks dark.”

“It’s open,” Jay nods. Glancing at you, he amends, “Well, it is for us.”

You balk. “What do you mean, for us?”

He shrugs. “I pulled a few strings. C’mon,” he smiles at you, “you’ll like it. I promise.”

The truth you already suspected becomes more apparent as he leads you inside. The restaurant has an understated kind of beauty. The rich colors and shimmering decor of quiet luxury. It reminds you faintly of spaces like the luxury department store, Sunghoon’s shop. Made to suit the tastes of the elite. 

Like the beach house, the far wall is almost entirely windows. With an hour until sunset, the view is breathtaking. The stretch of beach it faces must not be private, because you see figures in the distance. Couples walking along the shoreline, families splashing at the edge of the water. 

The cool weather keeps the beach from being crowded, but the sight makes you think that it’s probably never truly empty, even when winter sinks its ice-cold claws into the world. 

The restaurant, however, is strikingly empty. 

A waiter, dressed head-to-toe in a sleek black uniform greets you upon your arrival. He leads you past an array of empty tables, bare even from silverware, until he comes to stop at a small, round table pressed close to the window. 

Nodding gently, he smiles as Jay pulls out your chair for you. Once you’re both seated, he lays two menus down with a smile and instructs you to let him know if you have any questions. 

Jay thanks him, and you take a small sip from your water glass, throat suddenly feeling rather dry. 

“Jay,” you start, once the waiter is out of earshot, “why is no one else here?”

Jay shrugs, not bothering to glance up from the menu. “Must be a slow evening.”

“Jay.”

He sighs, setting it down. “Fine. You caught me. Everyone insisted this was the best dining anywhere on the coast, but when I called, they said they’d already shut down for the season. So I…” he trails off, trying to find the best words, “made a few requests.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell him, no real edge to your words. “I would have been happy cooking at home again, or even at that fast food restaurant we saw down the street.”

Jay’s brow furrows, something in his expression falling slightly. “You don’t like it?”

You shake your head immediately. That wasn’t the conclusion you intended him to land on. “Of course I like it,” you tell him truthfully. Something relaxes in his shoulders. “It’s incredible. How could I not? I just meant that… I don't want you to feel like you have to do all these things for me just because I’m—”

“I don’t.” He shakes his head, cutting you off. “I don’t feel like I have to. I like doing things for you. I want you to feel important and special and valued. Not because….” he trails off for a moment. “Not because of circumstances.” Meeting your eye, his gaze is imploring. “Just because you are.”

To that, you suddenly have nothing to say. 

“Jay…” You’re not sure if you’re warning him or something else entirely. 

He shakes his head, as if he can sense your internal struggle. “Let’s decide on food.”

There, you let him take the lead. Mostly because you haven’t heard of half of the menu items before. Jay is patient as he explains them to you. When your mind is made up, he waves the waiter over with a raised hand.

The sun falls a little further towards the horizon, the end of another day. Beneath you, families begin to pack up for the evening. Couples return to their cards, hand-in-hand as they make their way back up the beach. 

Distantly, you wonder what you and Jay look like from the outside. You must seem like a couple, especially now. Dressed to the nines and sat opposite from each other at the nicest restaurant in town. It wouldn’t be a stretch to assume; it would only be natural. 

You can’t quite decide how that makes you feel. Suddenly, you’re rather glad there are no other patrons tonight. The only witness is your waiter. 

Dinner is a rather quiet affair. Conversation lulls before it starts again, both of you skirting around delicate topics. It’s there, though—something that simmers just beneath the surface. A truth that the two of you are too afraid to touch. 

The food is delicious, and dessert even more so. 

When the bill has been settled, Jay guides you back to his car with a hand on the small of your back. His touch is gentle, present without demand. 

Once you arrive back at the beach house, he opens your door for you, falls into place beside you as the two of you make a path towards the entrance. 

Halfway to the front door, your footsteps falter. Jay turns to you with a question in his gaze. 

The sun has already settled beneath the skyline. It’s dusk now. Everything is covered in the hazy dark glow of evening. 

“It’s our last night,” you tell him, words barely a whisper. “Can we go down to the beach?”

He passes a questioning look over the dress you still wear, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, he nods. 

This time, it’s you that initiates contact. Quietly, traces of your hesitation plain as day in the way you bite at your bottom lip, you reach your hand towards his. 

For a moment, you just wrap your hand around his three longest fingers, holding them loosely as your thumb strokes over his pointer finger. 

Your eyes follow the motion. His are locked on you. Above you, the moon begins to glow. 

Jay sighs but makes no effort to move. He remains motionless, pliant under your gentle touch. After another moment, you slide your hand further into his, lacing your fingers together. 

Glancing up, you find him already looking at you, lips parted, eyes lidded, a distinct sense of longing in his gaze, raw and steady. 

“Let’s go,” you whisper. 

Jay makes no attempt to move. He only nods. 

This time, it’s him that trails behind you, led by the firm grip you have on his hand and you follow the path back down to the water. Your pace is slow, but now it doesn’t feel like it’s due to the limits of your abilities. 

It just feels like a moment that the two of you want to savor a little longer. 

When you do finally reach the shoreline, you release your grip reluctantly. Only because it allows you to lift the skirt of your dress up past your ankles, watching quietly as the water swirls around your feet. 

Next to you, Jay does the same. He rolls his pant legs, slightly unevenly, and you’d tease him about it under any other circumstances. 

Now, though, there’s no laughter in your throat. Only a deep sense of calm as you look up at the sky, eyes tracing the stars that have started to shine against the inky black expanse. 

The moon casts a silver reflection on the water, rippling slightly with every ebb and flow of the current. 

After another long beat of stillness, Jay turns to you, eyes tracing your profile. He asks, “Should we sit?”

You look at him, considering. “We don’t have the blanket.” The evening chill is the least of your concerns. You hardly feel it at all. But the thought of letting your dress fill with sand is enough to give you pause. 

Jay nods, then begins to shrug off his suit jacket. Even in the low light, you can see the way his dress shirt follows the motion of his body, the way it sits against his skin. “We can use this,” he suggests. 

It’s impractical and might render the jacket ruined, but if he doesn't mind, you suppose you won’t either. Nodding, you follow him a bit further up the beach, until you’re out of the reach of the gentle waves. 

He spreads it against the sand, settling down on one side. Then he looks up at you, patting the space next to him. 

You hesitate, suddenly unsure. It’s far smaller than the blanket from yesterday. There’s no room for distance, no way for you to maintain space. 

If Jay notices, he doesn’t seem to mind. Instead, he reaches his hand towards you. You take it, because of course you do. Even with sudden doubt flashing through your mind, his outstretched fingers will always be something you accept. 

Gently, he guides you down next to him, helps arrange your dress so that the fabric doesn’t spill over onto the sand. 

You were right to be wary. No matter how close to the edge of his jacket you sit, your knee brushes against his. You can feel the warmth of his skin through the thin layer of his shirt. 

For a moment, the two of you watch the waves. 

Then he asks, voice low, “Your beach trip, the convertible, were they as good as you hoped for?”

At his side, you nod, a small smile tugging on your lips. “Even better.” Turning your head, your chin nearly brushes his shoulder. You look up at him, lips parting at the sudden proximity as his gaze falls down towards you. Your voice carries a bit more weight now, the lightness from earlier swallowed by your sincerity. “Thank you, Jay.” His eyes are heavy, laden with something indecipherable. “For everything.”

For a moment, he says nothing, quiet as his eyes search yours. The longer he looks, the warmer your cheeks begin to feel. But you can’t bring yourself to look away, can hardly dare to blink. 

Slowly, he brings a hand to your temple, brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen across your forehead. 

He doesn’t remove his touch. Instead, he traces a steady path, fingers light as he ghosts them across the shell of your ear, all the way until they come to curve just beneath your jaw. 

“Jay,” you whisper, voice nearly swallowed by the breeze. 

His eyes follow the motion, falling to your parted lips before he finds your gaze again. 

He leans closer, just a fraction of an inch, like the motion is involuntary. Like he can’t quite help himself. 

“This was on your bucket list, too,” he murmurs, breath washing over your heated cheekbones. 

“You’re not a stranger,” you point out, voice more breath than sound. 

“Mm,” he hums. “Do you want me to go find one for you?” But he’s even closer now, his nose brushing against yours. 

You call his bluff. “You’d do that?”

“No,” he admits, thumb stroking along your jawline, angling you slightly. “Probably not.”

“Probably?” you echo.

“Definitely,” he decides, lips brushing against your own. 

You’re touching now, lips brushing, moving against each other with every shallow breath. His fingers splay against your overly warm skin. Stroking, soothing, coaxing like he can't quite stop himself. 

But he doesn’t move further. Even here, even now, he won’t take what you haven’t asked him for. 

“Jay,” you breathe, and he nearly groans at the sound of his name, a low breathy thing. 

“Mm,” he hums again, fingers flexing, nose brushing. 

“Kiss me,” you tell him. 

He releases an exhale, long, deep, desperate, and then he’s finally pressing forward. His hand beneath your jaw serves as an anchor as he finally increases the pressure, lips parted against yours like he wants to breathe you in. 

Your eyes flutter shut, sighing as he takes your bottom lip between his. His lips part against yours, and you do your best to follow the motion, moving with him. 

The pace he sets is gentle, tentative, searching. As if he has all the time in the world and plans to spend it with his mouth on yours. 

There’s nothing demanding in his touch, even as his breath begins to quicken, as his sighs start to sound more strangled, lower in his chest. 

It’s not rushed. It’s not frantic. It’s gentle and sweet and so impossibly slow. 

His hands, however, can’t seem to decide where to land. Once they’ve had their fill of your jaw, they fall to your neck, the pulse point that jumps in your throat. The skin of your shoulders, the length of your spine. Eventually, they settle at the small of your back, pulling gently as he encourages you further into his space. 

You release a breathy exhale, head full of stars and sighs and him.

Above you, the moon glows. The ocean laps against the shore. Jay moves his affections from your swollen lips to the angle of your jaw, trailing downwards below your ear until he finds a place that makes you shudder. 

But when his hand comes to your arm, he feels the goosebumps that have started to rise. 

Lips still on yours, you feel him frown. “You’re cold.”

You shake your head, mind spinning as you try to catch your breath. “I’m fine.”

It’s no use. Jay presses one more kiss against your lips before moving to your cheekbone. He lays a gentle kiss there too. One last kiss finds the tip of your nose before he leans back.

“Come on,” he urges, “Let’s go.”

“But—” you start to protest, words dying on your lips. You’re afraid to move, afraid that leaving your place on the right side of his suit jacket will shatter the illusion, will send you plummeting back to a reality you’re not ready to face. 

“I know,” Jay whispers, like he understands, like he feels it, too. “It’s okay.”

He helps you stand, and then he brushes off the sand from his jacket before settling it over your shoulder. The kiss he presses against your lips after securing it into place surprises you. He smiles at your wide eyes, something unbearably fond in his gaze as he catches your hand in his own. 

The walk back to the house is quiet, save for the sound of your breath. Once you’re both inside, Jay turns back to you, cradling your head as you look up at him in surprise before kissing you again. Once, twice, three times before he finally pulls his lips away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Sorry,” he says. “I like doing that.”

“Don’t apologize,” you shake your head. “I…” Even with his admission laid bare, it’s hard to find the courage, the honesty to do the same. For him, you manage, “I do, too.”

Jay smiles at that, leaning back as his eyes trace over you. They catch for a moment on the unmistakable flush, on your slightly swollen lips. 

He swallows, shakes his head. 

He tells you, “It’s late. We should probably get some sleep.”

You nod at the suggestion. It is late, after all, and you’ll have to drive back tomorrow. 

Tomorrow. The thought of a new day has sudden dread curling deep in your gut. 

Jay takes your hand in his again as he leads you up the stairs. At the top, he hesitates for a moment before dropping it. Eyes on yours, he tells you quietly, “Good night.”

You return the sentiment. Your words are done, but both of you hover a moment longer. Night, this night, feels like a bubble that the sunrise will inevitably burst. Neither of you are quite ready to let it go. 

Jay nods gently towards your bedroom door behind you. “Go,” he urges, even if you can see his unwillingness written across his features. “I’ll be here in the morning.”

You know he will be, but that’s not what you’re worried about, not what has you hesitating. 

Still, you nod, hoping your thoughts don’t play out as openly across your features as you fear they might. Then, you turn, walking towards your bedroom. Hand hovering on the handle, you turn back only once. 

“Good night, Jay,” you tell him again. 

He nods, expression full of something you can only call longing. “Sleep well.”

The water from your shower falls relentlessly against your skin, sharpens the events of the day into something sobering. 

You kissed Jay. You kissed him. Your thoughts swirl just as surely as the water that circles the drain, but no matter how long you search them, you can’t find anything that stings like regret. 

Even as you step out of the shower, wrapping a towel around your body before drying your hair. Even as you pull a pair of worn pajamas over your body, you can’t bring yourself to wish it hadn’t happened. 

You don’t regret it, you realize, pulling back the covers as you sink into your bed. It may complicate things, it will surely make them more difficult, but even if given the chance to relive the evening, you wouldn’t change anything. 

In fact, the only thing you’d do is—

No. Even in the privacy of your own mind, the thought swims like a bad idea. 

Still… 

Your eyes fall on the door across from you. You debate internally for a moment, logical parts of yourself warring with the ones fueled by self-serving desire. 

“Oh, fuck it,” you whisper out loud to your empty bedroom. And then you stand up from your bed. 

The distance from your bedroom to his feels even shorter now. Fueled by a sudden stroke of bravery, you knock three times against his door before you can talk yourself out of it. 

You’re being ridiculous. You already said goodnight. He’s probably asleep, anyway—

In front of you, Jay’s door opens, just enough to reveal him. Hair messy like he’s been tossing and turning, Jay’s eyes are wide when he looks down at you. 

“Are you okay?” is the first thing he asks. You’re reminded of the list you found, of hospitals and pharmacies and emergency contact information. Of just how prepared he was to take care of you. “Is something wrong? We can go—”

“Jay,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “I’m fine.” But there, your words die. You hadn’t planned this far ahead. Haven't decided what to say now that he’s in front of you. “I just…” you try. Deciding that beating around the bush will get you nowhere, you ask, “Can I sleep with you?”

Jay’s eyes widen even further at that, lips parting as your request sinks in. 

Immediately, your cheeks flame as you realize the connotation. “I don’t—” Your words die on your lips, embarrassment making you struggle through speech as you try to remedy the institution. “I didn’t mean—I’m not ready for… that.” You wince internally, then outwardly. “I just,” you sigh, fingers finding the hem of your sleep shirt. “It would be nice, I think. To be close.”

For a moment, Jay says nothing. And then he opens his door further, stepping aside to let you in. 

His room is similar to yours in both layout and appearance. He hasn’t drawn his curtains shut, though. You can see the moon shining outside, casting a silver glow across the space. 

You aren’t particularly concerned with the window, though. Your attention falls to his bed. There’s enough space for you to both fit comfortably, but there are no illusions to be had here. No pretence of maintaining distance. 

Jay walks to the bed, pulling back the blanket as he looks back at you. “Here,” he nods. Considering for a moment, he adds, “Unless you prefer the other side.”

You shake your head. “This side is good.”

Slowly, you crawl into the space between the blanket and the sheets. Jay walks around to the other side of the bed, pulling back the blanket there as he does the same. 

It’s dark. Laying down against his pillows, you turn to face him. You can make out his features — the angles of his cheekbones, the curve of his lips — but only just. 

For a moment, the two of you just lie like that. Motionless, looking at one another. 

Then, Jay reaches for you. Hand settling around your hip, he pulls you closer, all the way until you’re nestled against his chest. 

He looks down at you, the faint trace of a smile on his lips. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” you return. 

Then, slowly, he’s leaning down. All the way until his lips meet yours. 

Like the beach, it’s slow, searching. Careful, like you’re something precious. 

Night settles around you quietly, steadily. The moon climbs higher into the sky while the two of you trade giggles and whispers. And between it all, kisses. 

Eventually, the pull of sleep becomes too strong to ignore. Your eyelids flutter shut, breath evening out while your head rests against his chest. 

You’re still not sure what tomorrow will bring, what the morning light will do to whatever fragile thing has just taken flight. But tonight, wrapped in Jay’s arms with evidence of his affection on your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and somewhere deep within your heart, happiness feels like it might not be so terribly out of reach as you once thought. 

….. 

You wake to sunlight. Beneath your cheek, Jay’s heartbeat is steady, even. 

He feels you stir, arm adjusting as you come to. 

“Good morning,” he whispers, pressing a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. 

“Mm,” you hum, still trying to shake the lingering sleepiness from your mind. The events of the previous night come back to you. The restaurant, the beach. Kissing Jay, falling asleep next to him, in his arms. 

You wait for the wave of regret to crash over you like a tidal wave. But it never comes. Instead, you squint at the sunlight streaming in through the window. 

“What time is it?” you ask. 

“Almost noon,” Jay tells you. That surprises you. You can’t remember the last time you slept past eight. It also affirms your dread. “We’ll have to leave soon.”

You nod, pulling yourself up to a sitting position. 

The coming week is not one you’re rushing to get back to. Your next round of treatment starts tomorrow, which means Sunoo and your mother will be on their way back as well. You’re excited to see them, of course, but…

Glancing down at where Jay is still splayed across the sheets, you sigh. You’re not ready to leave this behind you. 

Again, you decide gratitude is in order. “Thank you, Jay,” you tell him again. “For everything. I can’t believe I actually got to come here.” Looking around, it still feels too good to be true. “I never thought I’d actually get to see the beach, to do all those things on my bucket list.”

Jay smiles up at you, a soft warm thing. “All that’s left now is the northern lights.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “That’s not going to happen. It’s okay, though. I crossed it off the same night I wrote it. It’s not an actual part of the list.”

“Mm,” Jay hums, but something in his expression tells you he’s not going to let it go so easily. 

“Besides,” you argue, changing the subject. “I also haven’t technically kissed a stranger.”

At that, Jay’s lips pull into a flat line. “I’m a stranger enough,” he grumbles. 

“Are you sure?” you ask, something sly in your gaze. It’s fun to tease him like this, you think. There’s something horribly endearing about watching him get sulky. “I don’t think it would be very safe or responsible of me to agree to spend the night in a new city with a stranger—”

Jay’s movement is so sudden it nearly has your heart jumping out of your throat. In one sweeping motion, he rises from his position against the pillows, hands on your shoulders until you’re the one beneath him.

Flat on your back, head on the pillows, he hovers above you. 

“Hi,” he breathes, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips. “My name is Jay. Nice to meet you.”

“Jay, what are you—”

“Shh,” he shushes above you. “I’m a stranger.” 

There’s a gleam in his eyes, a giggle on your lips from the absurdity of it all that dies as he lowers himself. Slowly, but with intention.

All the way until his lips find yours. Like the night before, it’s slow at first. Gentle, searching, like he’s afraid you'll evaporate beneath him.

Under him, you sigh. He swallows the sound. For a moment, his lips are slack against yours. Just there, breathing. 

Then, he renews his efforts. Jay is more insistent this time as his lips find yours with a renowned fervence. 

You do your best to keep up, breath becoming more shallow with every passing second. You're having a hard time catching it until Jay decides he finds the space just beneath your ear fascinating and redirects his attention there.

Your heart beats traitorously in your chest. Sighing, singing, yearning even though you promised yourself yesterday that you would maintain distance. 

You sigh, out loud this time, hands splaying against his chest as his mouth works against your throat, fingers coming to your jaw as he angles you to his liking. 

Moments bleed to minutes until enough sense comes back to you to remember that a world does exist outside the two of you. That the time is only getting later. 

“Jay,” you sigh, just as reluctant to let go as he is. When the sound of his name seems to do nothing but encourage him further, you try again. “Jay.”

This time, he pulls back from you, only slightly. Just enough to meet your reluctant gaze.

Lips swollen, hair messy where your fingers ran through it, you have half a mind to just pull him back down to you. 

“It’s almost noon,” you remind him. By now, the hour has probably arrived.

“Yeah,” he agrees, breath ragged where he looks down at you. “Yeah,” he repeats, closing his eyes. “You’re right.”

But Jay seems to feel the same reluctance plaguing you. His movement is just as slow as yours as he begins to pack up his belongings, just as hesitant as you feel when he tells you the car is ready. 

When you slide down into the passenger seat next to him this time, he waits for a moment before starting the engine. 

Glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, he hesitates for a moment. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was nervous. After everything, it seems almost laughable. 

 But his voice shakes a little when he finally says, “I have something for you.”

Another gift? You almost want to refuse, just based on the principle of it all.

“It’s nothing big,” he adds. “Just…” His words trail off as he reaches into his pocket, retrieving a small heart-shaped stone. “Here,” he holds it out to you. “For your collection,” he explains. 

A confused furrow builds between your brows. Taking it, you ask, “My collection?”

Jay nods. “Didn’t you say you used to collect rocks when you were younger?” Pausing, a flicker of doubt crosses his features. “I swear you mentioned it on the drive over.”

You did. But it was such a minute detail, such an offhanded comment that you hardly remember it. You certainly never expected him to. 

And you might not have added any rocks to your collection since you were seven years old, might not even know where any of your tiny treasures ended up, but that’s not the point. 

The point is that he cared enough to listen. To remember. To think of you while he walked down the beach and stumbled across a rock shaped like a heart. To pick it up and slide it into his pocket thinking that you might like it, that it might feed that same youthful delight that made you start your collection in the first place. 

If the last two days are nothing but an illusion, Jay has just made it a million times harder to let go of. 

You run your finger around the worn edges of the rock. It really does look like a heart. Then, you set it down on your lap, your smile holding steady as he pulls out of the driveway. 

Even later, once you’re back on the road, this still feels a little bit like a world that belongs to only the two of you. That neither of you are quite ready to say goodbye to. 

The illusion holds steady on backroads and down highways, all the way until you’re nearly back to the hospital when the buzzing of your phone breaks through the quiet. 

Pulling it out, you glance at the called ID. 

“Who is it?” Jay asks. 

“Sunoo,” you tell him before answering. “Hello?” you say into the receiver. 

“____.” Sunoo says your name on the other end. “Where are you?”

In your sudden scramble to answer, you don’t realize how strange of a question it is for him to be asking in the first place. 

Immediately, you suppose the most believable response is—

“Just at the hospital,” you tell him, trying to disguise the telltale lilt to your voice that always comes out when you lie. 

Jay turns to you, a question in his gaze. You shrug in response. 

“Really?” Even through the phone, your brother’s voice has a strange edge to it.

“Yes, really,” you tell him, trying not to let the speaker pick up on too much of your nervous laughter. “Where else would I be?” 

“I don’t know,” Sunoo says, “But I’m at the hospital right now.” The ice cold shock of dread that pools in your stomach is immediate. “I managed to get an extra day off, so I came early. I wanted to surprise you,” he adds, every new word making you feel like you’ve suddenly been submerged in ice.

“But when I got here,” he continues, “Hana said you weren’t here. She said you left for a couple of days.”

Your pulse spikes. You have no idea how you’re going to justify this, what excuse you could possibly come up with—

Sunoo deals his last card. “With your boyfriend.”

…..

The scene in front of you would be comical if Sunoo’s scrutinizing glare wasn’t also pointed in your direction. 

Thankfully, it’s now focused, and rather intensely at that, on Jay, who sits at your side. He shifts uncomfortably and the tiny motion has his arm brushing against yours. Just barely, but it’s enough.

Sunoo tracks the movement with a frown.

“So, you’re not dating?” He asks again, eyes narrowed like he still doesn’t believe you. 

“No,” you shake your head.

Unbidden, you remember the feel of his arms around you this morning when you woke to sunlight. The press of his lips against—

No. This is hardly the time and certainly not the place. 

“Then why did Hana say you are?” Sunoo asks.

Hana. Of course. That stupid assumption neither of you ever bothered to correct, all the way back before any of this really started. Before you made your deal, before you understood the consequences of it.

You shrug, doing your best to feign nonchalance. “She must have misunderstood. Jay is my…” you trail off, suddenly unsure how to finish the sentence. After another beat of silence, you settle on, “friend. We’re in the same major, and we have some classes together.”

I owe him more than I can even begin to describe. The words remain unsaid, but they hang distractingly in the air between you and the boy at your side. 

“You never mentioned him.” Sunoo frowns. 

“It’s new,” Jay says, finally breaking his silence. “We ended up sitting next to each other in class this semester.”

At that, Sunoo’s brow only arches higher. “New,” he echoes, “but you went on an overnight trip together somewhere hours away?”

“I mean, these aren’t exactly normal circumstances,” you point out. “Yes, I suppose most people would wait longer, but…” Your words trail off, the obvious implication lingering in the air.

“Right.” Sunoo nods, lips suddenly tight. He tilts his head for a moment, considering. Then, a moment later, he turns to the man at your side. “Jay, was it?”

Jay nods, eyes widening slightly from the direct address. “Yeah.”

“I suppose it’s a little late for introductions, but I’m Sunoo.”

“I know.” Jay nods. “She’s told me about you.”

“Mm,” Sunoo hums. You don’t think you’re imagining the way he sits up a bit straighter. It’d be funny if it weren’t so embarrassing—the sight of your brother, sweet, gentle Sunoo, trying to look intimidating. Turning back to you, he says, “Well, I was about to see if you wanted to get lunch. Somewhere other than the hospital cafeteria this time.” He pauses, glancing at the clock. “Although I suppose it’s closer to dinner time now.” You think you must be hearing things when he looks at Jay again and asks, “Would you like to join us?”

If he’s as surprised as you are, Jay hides it well. You only catch a flicker of it, some unnamed emotion that crosses his features, before he nods. Once, slowly.

Then, once the idea has a moment to settle, he tells Sunoo, “I’d like that.”

Dinner is a quiet affair at first. 

Sunoo’s probing questions get one word answers at best, and you and Jay make a mission of avoiding as much eye contact as possible. 

“Okay,” Sunoo finally says after another ten minutes of uncomfortable silence. “I believe you. You’re not dating. Actually I’m starting to wonder if the two of you even like each other.”

An assumption that’s probably safer, even if the sudden memory of Jay’s bed this morning begs to differ. 

You sigh. “Sorry, Sunoo,” you apologize. “It’s just…” you glance at Jay then back to your brother. “It’s awkward.” 

“Right,” Sunoo nods. “Which is why we’re at dinner. To get to know each other. To make it less awkward.”

But between the three of you, Sunoo seems to be the only one blessed with the gift of easy conversation and small talk. 

To his credit, Jay tries. He answers Sunoo’s questions about his classes and his hobbies and his interests outside of school.

But when the food comes, he winces slightly when he bites into the steak he ordered. A minuscule movement that's gone as quick as it comes, but Sunoo notices.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. “It’s not good?”

“No,” Jay shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

“Fine?” Sunoo raises a brow. 

“Good,” Jay clarifies. “It tastes good.”

“You winced.”

“I didn’t,” Jay lies. “I just…”

“Winced,” Sunoo supplies again. 

Jay hesitates for a moment. Then he admits, “It is good. Really. It’s just a little dry.”

To both of your surprise, Sunoo nods enthusiastically. “Right?” He agrees. “I thought so, too. I’ve been researching common restaurant steak preparation methods lately. I feel like this was probably pan seared, but the heat was too high. That’s why—“

“It’s so dry,” Jay finishes for him, leaning forward slightly. “Yeah, you have to be careful when you’re searing. It’s always better to go low and slow, but the dinner rush doesn’t always leave enough time for the perfect sear.”

Watching their conversation unfold, you’d roll your eyes if you didn’t feel such a strong flash of unadulterated relief surge through you.

It would seem that the two of them have found common ground. From there, the awkward silence is anything but.

And it seems Jay was afflicted with false modesty when he told you his mom only taught him a little bit in the kitchen. Sunoo spends the rest of the evening picking Jay’s brain about different recipes and cooking techniques, all of which he seems to be intimately familiar with. 

You’d be surprised if you didn’t know him better, if you weren’t already aware of how obsessive he is about things that interest him. 

So instead, you breathe a sigh of relief. Suddenly, all the effort you put into keeping them from each other feels a little silly. Of course you still have no intention of letting your brother know about the deal you made, but watching the two of them talk together, you wonder if your fear of letting your family get to know more about your life was misplaced.

Jay, despite the rather unorthodox start of your friendship, seems to fit in just fine.  

Even if cooking is the only common denominator they’ve established so far, there’s something heartwarming about it. 

Something that makes you smile as you watch them go back and forth, debating spices and wine pairing and the merits of various cooking oils. 

Not for the first time, you wish things were different. That the circumstances that brought the three of you together today weren’t shrouded in secrecy. In that terrible, looming weight of your illness. 

You wonder what it would be like, under normal circumstances, to introduce the two of them. 

Maybe, you think, in this fantasy world, Sunoo’s assumption would have been correct. Maybe there wouldn't have been anything holding you back from saying yes to good things that come your way and returning affection like it’s second nature. 

Maybe, just maybe, Jay would be fighting for a different kind of approval from your brother. 

Not as your friend, not as your classmate. 

Maybe he’d be fidgeting in his seat for a different reason entirely. Trying to earn the respect and good faith of your family as your boyfriend instead of one half of a bargain you made in secret.

At first, the thought makes you smile.

Then, it makes your heart clench, sends a deep, resonant ache scattering through your bones. Then, it makes you feel a little bit like crying.

…..

Your second round of treatment begins the same morning dew freezes on the leaves just outside the window of your hospital room. 

It’s winter now. The unmistakable chill in the air is evidence enough.

Sunoo and your mother visit again, both of your hands enclosed in theirs while Doctor Kim settles the IV into place. You know what to expect now. You understand the fatigue that will follow, the wide array of symptoms that you’ll be likely to experience for the next week.

It doesn’t make it easier, not exactly, but there is a small sense of comfort in facing the known. In familiary, even if it isn’t pleasant.

And this time, Jay didn’t make himself scarce upon the arrival of your family. Instead, he greeted Sunoo with a nod and looked into your mother’s eyes while he shook her hand and introduced himself. 

When he turns to say hello to Hana, your mother mouths at you behind her hand with wide eyes and an approving smile, “He’s handsome.”

You wave her off with a glare. Sunoo just laughs, feigning some lie about a joke he suddenly remembered when Jay asks him what’s funny. 

It feels good to have them all here with you, even if it’s only for now. Your mother and Sunoo will have to return home for a few days, but until then, you’ll cherish your time together. 

Life passes similar to the way it did with your first treatment cycle. You sleep. You eat. You talk with your family, with Jay. You try reading and abandon it when your head starts to throb. Try knitting and set the needles to the side when your beginner’s mistakes make you feel more frustrated than entertained. 

Then, one afternoon, you’re disturbed from a light, restless sleep with a knock at your door.

You know it’s not your family, who left this morning with teary eyes and promises to return this coming weekend. You know it’s not Jay, who’s currently sitting in his least favorite lecture, if the string of angry emojis he sent you fifteen minutes ago are anything to go by.

Hana told you she would check on you this evening around dinner, which a glance at the clock confirms is still hours away. 

A frown creases your brow. Besides them, you haven’t had any other visitors. 

Despite your confusion, you manage a weak, “Come in.”

Then, the door to your room opens slowly, and through it, enters a man.

Tall, polished, and clean with an undeniable aura of refinement, you’re sure you’ve never seen him before. Although, the longer you look, the more he starts to bear a certain resemblance to…

The breath that passes your lips in a shaky exhale is involuntary.

If the boy you know were older, sharper, crueler, then the man making his way towards you would be nearly identical to Jay.

“Miss ___,” he breaks the silence as he comes to stand at the foot of your bed. His voice is cold, even. “I’ve been hoping to make your acquaintance.”

Your position, lying flat against your pillows, suddenly feels like humiliation. A stark contrast of the differences between you and him. As if his gaze is an assessment you’re failing horribly. Gritting your teeth through the exertion, you push yourself up into a sitting position.

“Forgive me,” you manage, voice more strained than you hoped. “Have we met before?”

The man just shakes his head. A smile crosses his lips, but there’s no warmth in it. No reassurance. Instead, it makes the temperature of the room suddenly feel ten degrees cooler. 

You suppress a shiver.

“No, I don’t believe we have. Forgive my lack of manners. I won’t waste your time, Miss ____. I can see that you’re rather…” He trails off, eyes flickering between the IV bag attached to your arm and vitals monitor at your side, “occupied,” he finishes.

Then, meeting your eye again, he confirms your worst suspicions. “I’m Park Jongseong’s father.”

Immediately, your head swims. Why is he here? What does he want with you?

True to his word, at least, he doesn’t leave you in the dark for long. 

“Tell me,” he says, voice slippery as it weaves around your ears. “What exactly is the nature of your relationship with my son?”

Your lips press together. You haven’t learned much about Jay’s father, but nearly everything you know paints him in a rather unfavorable light. This current interaction included.

The contrast between him and his son is stark, you think. They both have a certain air to them, a brand of untouchableness that comes with money and practiced grace. But where Jay has learned to bend the unbreakable until it soothes like something soft, his father has only become more rigid.

In your hospital bed, you feel all of two feet tall. It pains something deep within you to admit it, but you’re suddenly terrified. 

Steeling your resolve, you do your best to keep your fear from becoming too apparent. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” you tell him, with far more self-assurance than you feel. 

A shadow crosses his features. “I suppose it’s not,” he drawls, “but I think you’ll agree I’m well within my right to question my own family’s financials.”

Slowly, he walks closer to you, all the way until he stands just in front of your bedside table. From his suit pocket, he pulls a small stack of papers. One by one, he lays them on the surface, tongue clicking in disapproval.

The sound of paper brushing the table top is no louder than a pin drop. In the silence of your hospital room, it’s deafening. 

“What are those?” you ask.

“Bills.” He returns his stare to you, eyes even colder than before. “Settled by the trust fund my son shouldn’t even have access to yet. Tell me, have your professors ever covered the potential consequences of forgery in your courses?”

You don’t understand what this is. You don’t understand how he even found you, how he knows that you and Jay are classmates. Why he’s asking all these questions. 

“I didn’t forge anything,” you defend.

“No,” he agrees. “You didn’t. I suppose that’s a conversation to be had with my son. Forgery, however, was done on your behalf. I’d like to know why.”

You press your lips together tighter. 

Jay’s father sighs, like he expected your refusal. “Then again, I don’t really need to know, I suppose. I could just as easily sue for misuse of funds. I’d be more than happy to pass the invoices along to you and your mother. Or your brother, if you prefer. Sunoo, was it?”

At the sound of your brother’s name, your blood runs cold. 

You can’t help yourself then. “How do you—”

“I’m well-versed in due diligence, Miss ___. I know everything I need to know about you and your family. They’ve worked themselves into quite a bit of debt, haven’t they? Medical, mostly. Tell me, how are profits at the restaurant these days?”

At that, you look down, eyes suddenly stinging. It’s one of your least favorite things, the way your frustration so easily builds to tears. You won’t let them fall now, though. Even if every word is like a knife on skin. And you certainly won’t let him see. 

“So, you see, Miss ____,” he starts again, voice deceptively soft. “I know everything I need to know about you. Except, of course, the nature of your relationship with my son.”

“We’re classmates,” you work out through gritted teeth. 

He shakes his head. “Classmates don’t cover hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of medical debt with their personal trust funds. They don’t forge their father’s signature to gain access to it prematurely. Do you have something on him? Did he do something to you—”

It nearly makes you shake with rage, the casual insinuation that Jay would in some way hurt you, that he would use money to shut you up. The cold, clinical detachment with which his father discusses the conclusion he finds most logical. The obvious way with which he so easily misjudges his own son’s character.

“No,” you shake your head. You can’t let anyone, even him, follow that train of thought for even a second longer. “Nothing like that.”

He sighs again. “Very well. If you won’t be forthcoming, then I’ll cut to the chase. How much money did he offer you?”

You shake your head, “He didn—”

“Whatever it is, I’ll triple it.” His words slice through the air like a knife, send a shock of cold careening down the length of your spine. “I can change your life, Miss ___. The restaurant debt, the medical bills, they can all disappear. Just like,” he snaps his fingers, “that.”

At that, your lips part, exhale shaky like your gasping for breath. Your heart is suddenly in your throat. 

“And in return,” he continues, “you’ll agree to never contact my son again. You won’t speak to him. You won’t see him in person. You won’t communicate with him in any way, shape, or form. You’ll also need to sign a nondisclosure agreement, in regards to this conversation, my offer, and any previous relationship you held with my son.”

Immediately, your blood runs cold. It’s as if you’ve been submerged in water, hearing everything in distorted, distant waves. 

Money. Enough money. So much fucking money that everything you’ve been desperately clinging onto by your fingertips is suddenly within reach. 

Your mother could finally rest. Sunoo could quit all of his part-time jobs and commit to becoming the restaurant owner of his dreams. Every tragedy that’s ever befallen you and your family could fade to a tiny, inconsequential blip. An unvisited memory instead of a knife over your head. 

And Jay…

It’s hard to summarize your feelings, hard to put a name to things that have just begun to bloom, difficult to label wings that have never truly taken flight. 

But what was your relationship with him if not a deal? A mutual agreement that benefits both sides. 

He’ll understand, you tell yourself. He studies the same principles that you’ve dedicated your undergraduate career to. He knows that when you’re presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, you’d be a fool not to take it. 

He’ll forgive you. He will. 

Still, something in you hesitates. The decision, even if obvious, is not one you’re ready to commit to just yet. 

Quietly, you tell him, “I need time.”

It’s stupid, you think. Even dirty money, misplaced hush money, whatever the hell you want to call this, has the power to change your life. To change Sunoo’s. Your family’s. 

For them, you can do it. You can ignore the discomfort gnawing at your gut, the guilt that’s begun to swirl with fervence. 

He sighs, the deepest breath yet, and then nods one. “You have twenty-four hours, Miss, ___. I’ll be back at the same time tomorrow. I hope you’ll consider your options carefully. Your resume is impressive, truly. You can have a bright future ahead of you, if you act accordingly. I trust you’ll make the correct decision.”

The correct decision. It’s so obvious. It has to be. 

Still, as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, the most prominent of your emotions is doubt. 

It’s like you’re spitting on it, part of you pleads. All those years of effort, everything you sacrificed. Are you really willing to bury it all ten feet under just to take the easy way out?

But another part of you can already see the future, painted with previously unreachable possibilities. Why should you have to struggle? Why shouldn’t you take the easy way out?

Is it a moral failing or simply, as Jay’s father called it, the correct decision?

The headache that begins to build at the base of your skull doesn’t ebb in slowly. The onset is sudden, but it spreads with a vengeance, all the way through to your temple. 

Wincing, you reach for the water on your bedside table, pointedly ignoring the stack of bills still laying there like an accusation. 

Maybe, you think, through the haze that’s beginning to cloud your mind, maybe Jay will be grateful not to have you as his responsibility anymore. 

The argument sounds weak even to your own ears. It’s been a long time since you felt like a burden to Jay. Mostly because he spends every second of his time with you insisting on the opposite. 

Still, he’s not immune to rose colored glasses of his own. Maybe this is for the best. A clean break. 

He can stop worrying about you and use his trust fund to add another car to his collection instead. He’ll move on quickly, you’re sure. People like him always do. With a plethora of distractions at his fingertips, it won’t take him long to find a new source of entertainment. 

But even that train of thought will have to wait for later. 

Wincing again, your eyes shutter closed as another throbbing wave of pain circulates your skull. This one feels different from before. Sharper. Glancing at the call button next to the IV stand, you consider it for a moment. 

Hana did tell you to call her if you felt any unusual discomfort after all. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you can’t quite commit to it. She’s probably busy, you reason. Besides, this will pass. Your headaches always do. 

But as another wave of intense, narrowed pain vibrates between your ears, a tiny whimper escapes your lips. 

This time, your vision starts to swim with it, black spots crowding in at the edges. You feel dizzy all of a sudden, disoriented. Forcing air in between your teeth, even that action feels labored.

Reaching towards the call button again, you decide that this is worth Hana’s attention. But before your fingers can close around in, the dark spots in your vision become wider, as if they’re searching for light to swallow.

You feel your head loll forward. Once, twice, until the darkness feels less like a threat and more like an invitation. 

With your fingers halfway between you and the call button, a stack of bills on your bedside table, and an unmade decision waging war in your mind, the world around you goes dark. 

…..

There is no sensation in unconsciousness. 

You don’t feel Hana’s fingers on your pulse nearly an hour later, don’t hear Doctor Kim’s urgent instructions as a team of nurses check your vitals. 

You don’t feel the warmth of Sunoo’s hand against yours as he keeps vigil at your bedside, praying to whoever might be listening that you’ll wake up. 

You don’t feel the damp impact of your mother’s tears as she leans over you, don’t hear the quiet, choked sobs she releases in the somber silence of your hospital room. 

And you certainly don’t hear Jay enter quietly, hands tucked behind his back like a child attempting a surprise. You don’t see the ways his eyebrows furrow when he takes you in, don’t see the way panic claws at his throat, plays across his features when he sees how pale, how fragile you look. 

You don’t hear the way he exhales roughly when Hana finds him there, motionless. When she explains that you’ve been asleep, unconscious, for the better part of a day now. 

Don’t hear his panicked questions or her carefully controlled but undoubtedly sorrowful answers. 

You don’t see the way the two pieces of paper he’d been holding behind his back slip from his fingers, don’t hear the muted impact as they brush against the linoleum floor. 

Don’t see the way he picks them up again silently, tucking them into his pocket with all the composure he has left. 

Don’t feel his hands against your forehead, smoothing hair out of your face as his expression breaks, angry, hot tears rolling down his cheeks in the silence. 

You don’t see the way Sunoo finds him like that, pausing for a moment before he lays a palm against his shoulder, a silent consolation. 

“Jay,” he finally says, breaking the silence after a long moment. “I know this isn’t the time, but…”

Jay turns to your brother, eyes shadowed, face still crumpled. Next to him, Sunoo is equally hollow. The worry plays out across his features plain as day as he glances at you.

“But what?” Jay echoes, voice as hollow as he feels. 

Sunoo sighs. “These were on her bedside, when Hana called us here. After she found her…” he trails off. The sight of you unconscious is enough to fill in the blanks. Jay doesn’t need to hear him call a spade a spade. 

Lips dry, Jay’s mouth parts with more effort that it should. He frowns at the stack of papers in Sunoo’s hands, still half hidden between his fingers. “What are those?”

“Hospital bills.” He casts a look at Jay. Weighted, meaningful. Not accusatory, but leaden with something that carries a similar connotation. “Settled ones. In your name.”

Jay’s lips part, preparing for an explanation that his mind still hasn’t managed to conjure. 

Sunoo sighs. “Look, I don’t know exactly what’s going on. Here,” he nods to the bills, “or between the two of you. But my mom was told that expenses were being covered under a special university fund. If something else is happening, then…”

“It’s hard to explain,” Jay mumbles. 

“Right.” Sunoo’s gaze is a bit more pointed now. “But you’re going to have to. You’ve given me no reason not to like you, but this amount of money doesn’t come for free. If my sister is being pressured into anything, then—”

“No,” Jay shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing like that.” He takes a breath. “We… we made a deal.”

“A deal,” Sunoo echoes flatly. 

Jay nods. “My family has money. I found out by chance that she was sick. And connected enough dots to realize she wasn’t planning to tell anyone about it, that she wasn’t planning to get treatment.”

“What?” Sunoo’s expression falls, brows slack. “Why?”

“It’s not my place to say, but I think she was scared. She didn’t want to be a burden.”

“She’s not a burden.”

“I know.” Jay nods. “Which is why I offered.”

“That’s still…” He looks uncertain. “You said you made a deal,” Sunoo reminds him. “What did she give you?”

“First rank in our class,” Jay admits. He laughs, a humorless thing. “Not that it matters. I could come dead last for all I care, but it was the only way I could think of to get her to agree.” He casts a glance down at you, as if he expects to find anything other than your expressionless face. “To let me handle it.”

Sunoo is quiet for a moment. When he speaks again, he looks directly at Jay. “And the two of you are…”

Jay shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says quietly. “We never talked about it. I think she’d bite my head off if I tried to ask her.” He smiles, a distinct edge of sorrow to it. “But I care about her. More than I could ever say.”

“Then why did you bring these here?” Sunoo gestures towards the bills still tucked between his fingers. 

“I didn’t.” Jay shakes his head. “I would never—” He sighs, letting the declaration fade. His anger is misplaced. Sunoo is hurting too and doesn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of it. “Those aren’t from me.”

Sunoo’s brow furrows. “Then who did?”

Jay isn’t sure. Not entirely. But he has a suspicion that’s starting to form. That has his vision going redder with every passing second, fingers curling into fists at his sides. 

His lips pull into a thin line, jaw setting in determination. “That’s what I’m going to find out.”

Jay’s childhood home is hardly deserving of the name. 

Full of more carefully curated art pieces than family photos, it feels more like a museum than a home. 

He’s lived in his own apartment since he started undergrad for a variety of reasons. It’s closer to campus, it gives him the space he needs to study effectively, it’s taught him valuable lessons about the responsibilities of home ownership. But more than anything, it’s given him space away from this—the oppressive perfection expected in every corner and crevice of this house. 

Jay doesn’t stop to reminisce on his childhood as he storms through the foyer, footsteps even but heavy. There’s not much fondness to be had, anyway. He spent more time with his nannies and tutors than he ever did with his father. 

His mother tried, but even the most noble of efforts are often strangled under the crushing weight of reality. She had her own responsibilities and appearances to upkeep. And Jay, although loved, was often left in the dust. 

His father was a different story. He didn’t call upon his son or pay him any attention unless he thought there was a lesson to be learned. He was relieved when Jay was born. A son meant he had an heir. They weren’t royalty, but corporations like the one he heads value blood and tradition in the same way. 

He had his legacy, and that was that. It didn’t matter that his wife had always dreamed of a big family. It didn’t matter that Jay was all alone in a room full of toys with no one to share them with. 

His father made it clear from before he took his first steps. Jay was, first and foremost, the heir to the company. Business would always come first. Always. 

Jay didn’t get to choose his own clothes or friends or hobbies. Children can’t be trusted to make decisions, and his father knew best. 

He wasn’t allowed to finish second in anything or misspeak or do anything that could potentially tarnish the last name he was born with. He didn’t get to decide if he was competitive or self-motivated or ambitious. He was expected to be; he had to be, to survive. Jay’s entire life was a construction of someone else’s making. 

And even when he did well, rose to every expectation and impossible standard, even when he surpassed them, the most he ever got from his father was a mildly pleased nod.

Never a thank you. Never a congratulations. Never a well done. 

Just the same lack of admonition he watched his father use with his least hated subordinates. 

Of course Jay escaped his golden cage the second he could. Even if the responsibilities and expectations remained, at least now he had a place to curse them in peace. 

Jay hasn’t been back to his father’s house since his presence was required at the last family dinner, and that was nearly three months ago. Still, he walks the hallways with certainty. He remembers where everything is. He has a feeling he always will, no matter how much time passes. 

He turns past the second-floor kitchen and follows the curve of the hallway all the way to the end where he knows his father’s home office stands just as solitary as ever. A home office, because the actual office he already spent nearly every waking hour in apparently wasn’t enough. 

Jay wraps his hand around the handle, and without any fanfare or announcement, barges right in. 

Across from the rich, mahogany desk, his father quirks an eyebrow at him. 

“Surely you haven’t been out of good society long enough to forget all of your manners,” he drawls, voice even. “You were raised to knock.”

Jay ignores him. Instead, he steps forward, slamming the stack of bills from your hospital room on his father’s desk. The force sends them scattering across the surface, one falling to the floor in his rage. 

Neither man bothers to pick it up. 

“What the fuck is this?” Jay fumes. 

At that, his father’s expression turns sharp. “I don’t know what you came here intending to do, but you are my son, and you will remember yourself. You will not come into my home, into my office, and curse at me.”

Jay’s eyebrows pinch together. Again, without the profanity, he repeats, “What is this?”

His father casts the bills a scathing glance, as if they’re little more than a buzzing fly. An annoyance he’d rather be rid of. “I should be asking the same to you.”

Jay’s lips part, shoulders tense as he tries to piece it together. “Why did you— How did you even—”

“Again,” his father interrupts, with the same cold detachment of a dictator, “I should be asking you. Luckily, our investment firm has quite good security cameras. Tell me,” he drawls, “how long did it take you to learn to forge my signature?”

Even standing above him, Jay suddenly feels like a child again. All of four feet tall. Begging for scraps of his father’s approval, his attention. 

But even caught red handed, he won’t back down. “It’s my money,” Jay argues.

His father shakes his head. “It’s not, actually. Not in any sense of the law. Not until you’re twenty-five. And even that’s operating under the assumption that you’ve been formally initiated into the company. Something that I fear is becoming less likely with every… questionable decision you make.”

Jay does his best to keep his expression blank, even as the fury threatens to boil over in his chest. “Saving a life is questionable?”

His father all but rolls his eyes. “There are charities if you’ve suddenly developed a bleeding heart. Reputable ones. Take your pick, and I’ll have our publicist set up a photo opportunity—”

“I know her.” Jay’s breath is erratic now, even as he tries to control it. He sounds like he’s run a marathon. “She’s my… she’s my classmate. And she was going to die.”

In the stillness of his father’s office, the truth feels unbearable. Jay hates it, resents the way even something as tragic as death can’t seem to shake his father into something resembling empathy. 

“That’s precisely the problem,” he says, with all the cold calculation of a businessman looking to cut his losses. “It’s personal. And you didn’t even take proper precautions. No contract, no non-disclosure agreement… You’ve made yourself into a liability.”

Jay shakes his head. There have to be exceptions, even to the best kept rules. “She’s not going to tell anyone. She’s the one who begged me to keep it a secret—”

“For now,” his father interrupts again, voice firm, leaving no room for argument. “But what happens when she realizes just how easy it is to extort money from you? When she threatens to take her story, real or fabricated, to the press unless you cough up another thousand? Another ten thousand? Another million?  When she posts something incriminating on social media and we lose half of our shareholders for it?” His eyes hold nothing but disdain when he reminds, “All from your carelessness.”

Jay realizes then that he can argue until he’s blue in the face. He can search for shreds of his father’s humanity for as long as he wants. He won’t find them here.

He asks the question that’s been dangling at his fingertips since the beginning. “So I should have let her die?”

His father sighs. “You should have spoken with me first—”

“You would have said no.”

He doesn’t deny it. “I would have acted in the best interest of this family.”

Jay scoffs, no humor in it. “This company, you mean.”

“One day you’ll understand that the line between them is not so strong as you thought.” When he looks at Jay now, his gaze is evaluative. Disappointed, as if he’s failed some test. “For now, you don’t. Which is why you aren’t yet burdened with decisions regarding our philanthropy.”

“So I’ll ask you again.” Jay won’t let it go so easily. Won’t let him wrap cruelty in niceties. “I should have just let her die?”

But his response is even crueler. “From the looks of it, she’s going to anyway. How long has she been unresponsive now? A day?”

The quiet, mangled sound that escapes Jay’s throat is involuntary. The reminder of your current state, the thought of his father keeping tabs on you, makes him feel ill. “How do you—”

“Don’t act surprised,” he scoffs. “You decided to involve our name. I have to stay informed now to clean up any potential fallout from the mess you’ve made.”

“And this was how you did it?” Jay gestures towards the scattered pile of bills. “Threatening her with medical bills you knew she could never pay?”

“I merely made her aware of the reality of the situation. Made my offer one she couldn’t refuse. I’m sure when,” he pauses, “if she wakes up,” he amends, “she’ll confirm our deal.”

Jay feels his blood run cold. “What fucking deal.” It’s not a question.

His fathers eyes turn sharp. “Watch your mouth. I won’t tell you again.”

“What,” Jay repeats, voice low, “deal.”

“Money, of course. What else?” He waves his hand flippantly. “It’s all people like that ever want.”

Jay flounders for a moment, scrambling to make sense of it. “You just berated me for giving money. How is this any different?”

“Because mine,” his father enunciates, “comes with stipulations. Protection.”

Jay can feel his heart starting to sink in his chest. He has his suspicions, but he has to be sure. “What are you talking about?”

“She’d have to sign a non-disclosure agreement, of course. She wouldn’t be allowed to speak of our agreement or any members of our family or company in private or public.” His eyes turn to his son. Assessing. “And you.”

“What about me?” Jay holds his breath. 

“She agreed to cut all contact with you. Any form of communication would immediately negate the contract.”

Jay falters, for just a fraction of a second, but it’s enough. “She agreed to that?”

His father watches the way his expression falls, lips tightening like he’s just confirmed a terrible suspicion. “I gave her a day to think it over. She lost consciousness before she could sign anything.”

But still. You’d considered it. You were willing to cut Jay completely from your life for whatever amount of money his father had offered you. 

The sudden punch to the gut must play out across Jay’s features. Across from him, his father scoffs. 

“Let this be a lesson,” he advises. “It’s always money. Always. No one can resist the way it glitters. Whatever… affections,” his voice wraps around the word like a sneer, “you hold for her clearly aren’t returned. Cut your losses, and move on. I’ll handle it from here.”

“Like hell—”

“You’re lucky you haven’t been stripped from your titles completely,” his voice is sharper now. More reprimand than conversation. “That I’m still giving you the opportunity for shareholder initiation at all. Let me be very clear, Park Jongseong, when I tell you that you’re very lucky you haven’t been disowned. I’d have done it already if your mother wouldn’t put up such a fight.”

Jay’s shoulders slump, fight draining from his body as reality begins to sink in around him. 

“You want to save that girl?” his father goads, “Then stay as far away from that hospital as you can. Focus on your studies.” And then, more mockery than reminder, “I expect great things from you.”

It’s his way of ending the conversation. Of reasserting their relative positions, his control over everything. 

Jay’s footsteps feel like defeat on the way out. A coward’s retreat. He feels as if he’s been backed into a corner with no way out. 

With fingers wrapped so tight around the steering wheel his knuckles have turned white, he thinks that the worst of all is that you’d agreed. Or had at least been close to it. Enough to not refuse his father outright. 

You were going to do it. To take the money. To cut Jay out of your life like none of this ever happened, like he was nothing to you. 

Like the time you spent together in lecture halls and hospital rooms and the passenger seat of his car was disposable. Worthless. 

Like the moments you shared in the secrecy of a beach house were easy to let go of. To move on from without so much as a goodbye. 

Despite his father’s assumptions, Jay is intimately aware of what money does to people. The way it warps them, the way it eats at every moral and standard and principle until they’ve rotted down to the bone. 

He knows it’s hardly fair for him to pass judgement. He’s never known the struggle of missed meals or eviction notices or irregular paychecks. 

He tries to understand why. And he lands on the only conclusion he can think of. You’re doing it for them, for your family. 

You haven’t told him everything, but you’ve told him enough. He can guess what it would mean to you—to them—to have all those worries disappear overnight. 

But it still…

It still fucking hurts. 

The thought that you’d so easily agree to just cutting him out of your life completely. He knows that whatever is building between the two or you is soon, it’s sudden. He doesn’t expect to be a priority, for the connection between you to supersede your dedication to your family. 

It makes him want to shout, to scream until his ears bleed. He’d give you the world if you’d let him. But you won’t. The most you’ll do is take reluctant fragments and feel guilty all the while. 

And now, with his father’s iron claws embedded into everything, Jay can’t so much as see you without jeopardizing the future you’ve abandoned him to ensure. 

But even those fears feel small in the face of reality. You’re unconscious. For over a day now. The doctors have you under constant monitoring. They’ve done everything they can think of, but you’re not waking up. 

You didn’t even get the three months you were promised.

Jay’s never studied medicine, but he knew what the look on Doctor Kim’s face meant when he saw him speaking to your mother in the hallway, understood that deep, resigned gaze when he stood over your hospital bed, adjusting the IV dripping into your arm. 

It was the face of a man who recognized what he saw. Who was looking at nothing more than a possibility he expected. Doctor Kim wasn’t surprised when you became unresponsive. Just sighed like he was worried it might come to this. 

But Jay can’t… he can’t quite wrap his head around it. 

There are so many things he wants to say to you, do with you. He wants to make some snide comment and watch you roll your eyes. He wants to take you out for coffee and suppress a smile when you let him hold your hand. 

He wants to hold you, wants to kiss you till you’re breathless. Wants to get caught in a rainstorm without an umbrella and laugh while both of your clothes get soaked through. Wants to wrap you in a blanket afterwards and fuss over drying your hair so you don’t catch a cold.

He wants to bring you to his apartment and cook you dinner. Wants to wake up with your head on his chest and his arm around your shoulders as he scatters tiny kisses against your hairline. 

He wants to watch you graduate, to earn that degree you worked so hard for. He wants to obnoxiously scream your name as you walk across the stage to accept your diploma, laughing at the way your cheeks flush red in embarrassment. 

He wants to watch you realize every last one of your dreams, wants to remind you how much you’re cared for, how capable you truly are, even on the days they seem impossible.

He wants, more than anything, to be given the chance to fall in love with you.

Mostly because he knows he’s already started to. 

He thinks of that night, back in his car, when you agreed to get treatment. When he watched the beginnings of hope bleed back into your eyes when you thought he wasn’t looking. 

When he realized it was never never altruism that made you hesitate. When he saw for himself that with every fiber of your being, you want to live. 

You have to live, he thinks. You have to. 

All of it, his father’s threats, your agreement to cut him out of your life, he can face it. He can. He can find a way for it to all be okay. 

You just have to live. 

Minutes later, alone in his bedroom with no one to bear witness but the expanse of his own four walls, Jay lets loose the tears that have been threatening his lash line the entire drive home. 

He cries, he sobs, deep, gut-wrenching, gasping. 

And when he reaches into his pocket, he finds it— the surprise he planned to give to you at the hospital earlier today. The two pieces of paper he’d picked back up off the hospital floor. It already feels like a lifetime ago.

Tickets. Plane tickets to Iceland. First class on a flight leaving in three weeks, right when the northern lights are projected to reach peak visibility. 

Helpless, he crumples them between his fingers, squeezing as tight as he can until they form an unidentifiable mass of jumbled letters and misplaced hope. 

Still sobbing, he hurls it at the wall across from him with enough force to put a hole in it.

But empty dreams are still empty. And paper is still paper.

The mangled plane tickets bounce harmlessly off his bedroom wall and fall to the ground in a silent heap.

…..

Life moves in patterns, cycles. 

And despite the unpredictability of it all, it always moves forward.

Days pass. Then weeks. Months. 

Jay knows better than to anger his father, but he also knows that nothing has been signed yet. There’s no agreement to violate. 

Winter sharpens its icy grip on the world, and he spends most days at your bedside. He talks to you, tells you about his day, about all the little things he wishes you could have seen too. 

He holds your hand, pulls your blanket a little more snug around your body whenever your fingers feel cold. Does his best to ignore the way they always feel cold. 

He talks to Sunoo, too. To your mother. Learns about their lives, about your place in them and their place in yours. He likes seeing you from their eyes, loves learning just how fiercely adored you are.

Sunoo rolls his eyes at an old memory, complaining but only half-heartedly, “She always babied me.” 

Reminiscing makes them laugh until it makes them cry. But whatever it is, it beats the hollow, empty feeling Jay goes home with most nights. 

December breaches the horizon, and the semester ends. Jay finishes first in the class, although most of it is due to the work he completed at the beginning of the semester. He’s been on the receiving end of more than a few conversations conveying concern for his more recent academic progress.

Your official leave of absence is given to the university, and one afternoon in early December, Professor Jung makes a visit to the hospital. When she finds Jay already sitting at your bedside, fingers interlaced together, all she does is raise an eyebrow. 

“Jay,” she greets, like she’s not entirely surprised. 

“Professor,” he returns, voice hoarse from overuse. 

The flowers she leaves are beautiful, truly to your taste. Jay tells her as much, and all she does is offer a knowing smile. 

“Take care of yourself,” she tells him. 

Jay spends Christmas with your family, eating food served from the hospital cafeteria. There have been three family dinners that he’s missed since the last conversation he had with his father, but his absence for the holiday is the most egregious of all. 

His mother calls him, and after staring at her name on his screen for several long seconds, he finally picks up on the sixth ring.

“Jay,” she tells him, voice full of admonishment and worry in the way only mothers can manage. “Come home. It’s Christmas.”

But Jay refuses to step foot in that house, refuses to look his father in the eye. To sit across from him like this holiday is some sort of celebration. To pretend that the blood that connects them is anything other than a formality. 

“Merry Christmas, Mom,” he whispers into the receiver, guilt rolling when he swears he hears her stifle a sob on the other end. But his mother is used to masking her emotions, and the sound is gone as quickly as it came. 

New Year’s passes, and Jay feels nothing. It doesn’t matter if the date’s last digit has changed. His life feels frozen, stuck in this hospital room. Watching you cling to the last fragments of life left in your body. Hoping against all odds, that today will be the day everyone’s agony can finally end. 

After all, hope is the only thing that’s left. Some days it feels like a bird with wings, ready to soar and fly and sing at the first sight of morning light. Some days it feels frayed around the edges. A torn, tattered thing threatening to dissolve at a moment’s notice. 

But it’s always there. Steady, constant. Alive. 

Slowly, winter begins to loosen its grip on the world. 

Scattered snowstorms turn to rain showers. Spring starts to take root. Jay sees flowers now, on his drive to the hospital. Sees some of the green returning to the trees that line the highway. 

Sunoo and him exchange recipes. Your mother notices the way he fidgets with his hands whenever he’s been sitting at your side for two long and teaches him how to crochet one quiet afternoon. 

Classes start again, and Jay’s mind is anywhere but textbooks. This is his last semester, and it should be a celebration. The end of a chapter, the segue to new beginnings. 

He’s been promised a place in his father’s company upon graduation for as long as he can remember. After their last conversation and his blatant dismissal of his father’s wishes, he’s not sure if the offer still stands, and he doesn’t care to ask. 

When he hounds Doctor Kim for updates, he just looks at Jay with that same resigned expression he’s come to resent. Like he’s seeing probabilities instead of you. “The same,” he always says, voice carefully controlled like he’s been practicing empathy all his life. “We’ll tell you if anything develops.”

Life continues like that, an endless cycle of days that feel repeated, until one Tuesday afternoon in early April. 

Jay is sitting in the library, waiting for his next class to start, when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Retrieving it, he checks the caller ID only briefly before answering. 

“Sunoo,” he breathes into the receiver. 

“Jay,” he hears the younger boy say. “She…” his voice trails off for a moment. “Her finger twitched.”

“What?” Jay asks, even though he’s already sitting up straighter in his seat. Already shoving his laptop into his bag. 

“I was holding her hand earlier, and I squeezed her fingers, and she…” he pauses again. “I mean, it was weak, but I swear,” he emphasizes. “She squeezed back.”

Jay feels it then, for the first time in a long time, the kind of hope that feels like wings instead of a cage. 

“I’m on my way.”

You don’t wake up that afternoon, even with Jay, Sunoo, your mother, along with Doctor Kim and Hana, all practically sitting vigil around you. 

But nearly a week and a half later, you do. 

The light makes you squint. It’s too bright, and your eyes have been closed for… You’re not entirely sure.

Frowning, you reach for a memory, something to center yourself. Breakfast this morning, maybe. Dinner last night. A conversation with Sunoo or Jay or maybe Hana. 

Sunoo. Eyes squeezed shut, you search your mind for pieces of the familiar name. Your brother, you think. Sweet, gentle, younger than you. 

And Jay is a bit more disorienting. The emotions that surge at the sound of his name are more complicated, more difficult to sift through. There’s annoyance, frustration, emerald green envy, all tangled together with a strange, budding sense of affection. A deep, poignant gratitude. Bashfulness. Like a schoolgirl with a crush, you think. 

And Hana. She’s… she’s your nurse. Your nurse because you’re at the hospital. Because there’s a malignant tumor sitting just behind your heart. 

Suddenly, the gaps in memory feel terrifying. Why don’t you remember breakfast this morning? Why do you have the strangest, dizziest sense that time has passed without your permission?

Scanning your body, you try to make sense of it. There’s a distinct heaviness in your limbs. They feel exhausted, but not the kind that comes with exertion. No, it’s the kind that comes with disuse. 

Your throat feels as if someone has taken sandpaper to it. Almost painfully dry like it’s been months since you had a sip of water. 

And your head — the ache is dull, throbbing. Persistent against the front of your skull. Like someone is knocking from the inside, begging to be let out.

You don’t hear anything but the steady beep of something mechanical. The faint rush of blood from your own pulse in your ears. 

Slowly, you try to open your eyes again. It’s still bright, but if you squint, you can manage. 

To your left, the beeping becomes frantic for a moment before it evens out again. But it’s enough to draw attention. 

You hear it then, the quiet, desperate sound of your name. The scattered scuffle of footsteps against linoleum as multiple people rush to your bedside. 

A hand against both of yours, a palm against your forehead. 

“Call Hana,” you hear, intelligible even through the surge of emotion in the voice. “And Doctor Kim. Tell them she’s…” The voice trails off, a sob, a choked sound of elated disbelief breaking the sentence in two. “Tell them she’s awake.”

…..

Your memories return slowly, in disjointed fragments. 

Doctor Kim explains that it’s normal, that you’re lucky to be recovering your memories at all. 

There’s no accurate description for the kind of disorientation that comes with missing months of your own life, but you’re grateful to have people at your side who’ve made it their mission to do their best at filling in the gaps. 

For days, it’s enough to just listen. To your brother’s enthusiastic stories and your mother’s fond memories and Jay’s gentle retellings. It helps you to hear their perspective, to stack it against the reconstructions being built within your own mind. 

If your memories return slowly, then strength comes at a snail’s pace. It takes you nearly two days to sit up again, almost a week to walk. 

But you do. 

The flowers are blooming outside of your window, and even on cloudy days, sunlight slants across the linoleum floor in a way that’s almost beautiful.

One afternoon, nearly three weeks after you wake up, Doctor Kim comes with a clipboard and something that almost looks like a smile. 

“It’s working,” he tells you. “Better than before. You’ll be strong enough for surgery soon.” The final step in his treatment plan. Removing the tumor that sits just behind your heart. 

At your bedside, your mother and Sunoo all but collapse into one another, tears streaming as smiles overtake their features. 

Next to you, Jay interlaces your fingers with his, strokes gently with his thumb against the back of your hand. His eyes shine too, and when he looks down at you, you see hope in his smile. 

It’s rare these days for the two of you to find yourselves alone. But one spring morning, nearly five weeks after you regain consciousness, your mother and Sunoo have stepped out for a moment. 

And the last of your scattered memories have clicked back into place. 

“Jay,” you call gently, startling him from his handiwork. In the chair next to your bed, he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he works his crochet needles around a particularly difficult pattern. You haven’t told him yet how terribly endearing you find his new hobby. “What are you making?”

“Just a coaster.” He holds up the half-finished work so you can have a better look at it. “Your mom says I’m getting pretty good, though. She’s going to show me how to do dishcloths next.”

“Mm,” you hum, smiling. But there’s still something sitting heavy in your chest. After a moment, you ask, “Can we go for a walk?”

Jay’s eyes widen in surprise. “Are you up for that”

“I think so,” you nod. “We might have to go slow.”

It’s how you do everything these days, with a body that’s still learning to work again. 

Jay doesn’t mind. You have a feeling he’d crawl if you asked him to. “Slow is perfect,” he tells you.

The small garden just outside the hospital is bright with fresh blooms and morning sunlight. It reminds you of a beach house months ago. Of the time the two of you spent there, of everything that happened between you. 

It makes the beginnings of this conversation feel even more difficult to work out. 

“Jay,” you tell him, drawing in a long breath of fresh air. You hesitate for a moment, reluctant to break the peace between you. 

Jay just waits, patient as ever. 

“Last winter,” you continue, “right before I lost consciousness.” You pause. Inhale. “Your father came here, to the hospital. To see me.”

At your side, Jay’s exhale is audible. Then, he tells you, “I know.”

You turn to him, eyes wide. “You do? You never said…”

“Is it terrible if I say I was hoping you’d forget?” He smiles, but there’s no joy in it. “I was afraid if you remembered, then…”

Even as his words trail off, you an fill in the blanks well enough. “You know what he told me, then,” you say. “What he offered me.”

“Not specifically,” Jay shakes his head. “But enough.”

There’s no use hiding it then. No use prolonging it any further. Breathing deep, you gather the last of your courage, your honesty.

“I was going to tell him yes,” you say. At your side, Jay’s footsteps falter. Stopping, you turn back to face him. Eye contact is suddenly difficult to maintain, but you owe him that, at least. “For a moment, I was going to accept his offer. I told myself it was for the best. That you’d forgive me.”

Jay takes half a step closer to you. He shakes his head, hair loose across his forehead, scattering with the motion. “I wouldn’t,” he vows lowly. “I wouldn’t forgive you.”

“I know.” You nod. You do look down then, if only to admit, “I don’t think I could have forgiven myself either.” You meet his eye again, gaze glassy. “Not just because of you, although I’d be lying if I said that didn’t play a part.” 

You sigh, glancing at the flowers before you begin again. 

“My whole life, money has felt like a knife over my head,” you explain. “LIke sand between my fingers. There was never enough of it. I learned how to stop wanting things, to stop asking for things, to stop thinking I deserved things, because it made the truth a little easier to bear.”

You look at him again, trying to regain control over the emotions that threaten to rise. “But I’ve always wanted things. I wanted a better life for my family, of course, but there were so many other things, too. Stupid things, frivolous things. I wanted nicer bedsheets that didn’t feel so scratchy when I slept. I wanted a new computer that didn’t crash every time I had too many open tabs. I wanted nice clothes and pretty jewelry and to finally feel like I belonged in the world I worked so hard to fit into. When I looked at you, all I saw was everything I never had. I resented you for it. I was so horribly jealous of you for it.”

Jay’s eyes are shining now, too. But he doesn’t say anything. He just listens.

“And then,” you continue, “you swooped in with this deal like some knight in shining armor, and I think I hated that most of all. That I couldn’t just save myself. That I needed you, at least in some capacity, if I wanted to live. I never wanted someone to save me, and I certainly never wanted to depend on anyone else. It felt like debt. Like owing you something I could never repay. I was scared, too. Accepting help meant accepting the possibility that it could be taken away, and then I’d be right back where I started. Maybe even worse off. Losing hope is worse than never having it at all, I think.”

You pause for a moment to breathe, to gather your thoughts.

“And then your father visited me, and he promised me all this money. It felt… I don’t know. Safer, somehow. Because it felt like I was losing something, too. But then I thought about it and if I took that money from him… what would that make me? I’ve made it this far without it, haven’t I? I can do it.”

You nod, resolve steeling as you voice your thoughts out loud. “I almost died. But I’m not a victim. My life isn't some tragedy. It’s just my life. There are hard things and good things and everything in between. But if I took that money from him, I’d become a victim. One of my own making. Someone that abandons people they care about and has to resort to underhanded deals just for the easy way out. That’s not me. It never has been.”

You look down at your sleeve, tugging at the hemline as doubts start to take shape in your mind. “I don’t know if it’s stupid. I don’t know if I’ll regret it. But I know that if I took that money, I wouldn’t be able to look Sunoo in the eye even if I gave him the restaurant of his dreams. I wouldn’t be able to tell my mother to rest without the words tasting bitter in my mouth. And,” you look back up at him. “I would miss you. So much. More than I even think I understand.”

You bite at your bottom lip, as if the slight, sharp pain will distract from the tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“I can struggle. I can. I have and I will again. But I can’t lose myself. I refuse to change everything about me. Although,” you consider voice losing its edge as something lighter seeps into it, “there are a few changes I have been thinking of making.”

“Really?” Jay asks. His voice is rough as he breaks his silence, scraped raw. “Like what?”

“Well,” you tilt your head, a quivering smile crossing your lips. “For starters, I think it might be nice to have a friend.”

“A friend?” He echoes.

“Yeah,” you nod. “Who knows?” you shrug. “Maybe I’ll even get really crazy and get two friends.”

Jay wants to press the conversation further, wants to go back to the all of the admissions you’ve just laid at his feet and dissect them one by one. But he knows you. He can tell that your sudden shift in topic, in tone, is intentional. 

Admitting it once was enough. For right now, at least, you want to move on. And Jay can do that for you.

So instead of demanding answers, he just gasps playfully. “I never thought I’d see the day.” A moment passes. Still, he can’t help but press his luck a little. Something in his gaze shifts, becomes heavier. “Is a friend the only thing you’re looking for?”

At that, your teeth find your bottom lip again, eyes falling down to the flowers at your feet. It’s spring. If there was ever a time to breathe life into something fragile that’s just begun to blossom, it’s now. 

“I’m still deciding,” is what you tell him. But even as you look at him now, you can feel the ghost of his lips against yours, months ago in the sanctuary of a beach house he chose just for you. 

It burns like a reminder, sings like a promise. 

Between the two of you, at least, you’re certain of this. Things have just begun. 

…..

epilogue

When your phone starts working again, the first notification that comes through is from your brother. 

It’s a selfie of him and the new set of cookware he special ordered last week. As it turns out, years of saving every last penny from every part-time job added up all on their own. Without any of your help, Sunoo has nearly saved enough to turn his dream into a reality. 

All on his own. 

The idea still resonates somewhere deep in you, still tastes a bit bittersweet. For as long as you can remember, a huge part of your identity has come from supporting your family. You’ve prided yourself on helping Sunoo, on easing his struggles. On making his dreams come true.

But your brother has been growing up, too. He’s not a fragile little kid anymore that needs you to shield him from the world. He understands responsibility and disappointment and hard work just as well as you. He’s survived difficult things and come out the other side stronger. He’s not crumbling under the weight of life’s challenges. 

 Like you, like everyone, he’s learning how to live with them and get through them and thrive all the while. 

The restaurant is still a long way from being profitable, and there is still work to be done. Work that you’re happy to do your share of. But the burden doesn’t feel like it falls solely on your shoulders anymore. The responsibility that you decided was your alone has been divided, shared. 

It feels like a collective effort now, and somehow, that’s even more gratifying.

Trying new recipes! he writes beneath the picture, along with a ridiculously long string of smiley faces. 

Beneath it, he tells you, 

Have the best time ever! I want to hear about all of it when you get back. And send pictures!!

You smile at the message. From the seat next to you, Jay leans over into your space, shoulder brushing yours. “What is it?” he asks. 

“Just a message from Sunoo,” you tell him. “He wants me to send pictures.”

“Mm,” he agrees. “Good.” With gentle fingers, he reaches for the phone tucked between your hands. 

Confusion creases your brow as he takes it from you. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture,” he says like it’s obvious. Turning the camera towards you, he instructs, “Smile.”

“Jay,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “I haven’t slept since the layover, and I didn’t put on any makeup this morning. I look gross,” you protest.

But he’s not having any of it. “You look beautiful,” he tells you. “Now and always.” Gently, he wraps his fingers around one of your wrists. Not forcing, just urging. “Move your hands, pretty girl.”

Peeking from between your fingers, you don’t dare to lower them completely. “You can take my picture after I’ve showered,” you bargain. 

He won’t give in so easily. You should have known better than to think he ever would, even now. “C’mon,” he urges. “It’s a memory. Your first international flight.” Pausing for a moment, he adds, “You don’t have to send it to Sunoo if you don’t want to. It can just be for you. For us,” he amends. 

You sigh. “Fine,” you agree, dropping your hands. “But you have to be in it, too.” 

“Deal,” Jay grins. Next to you, he switches your phone to the front-facing camera. Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close as he smiles for the picture. Leaning into him, you do the same. 

You suppose it really doesn’t matter. Whether you’ve showered, whether your makeup is done, whether it’s been thirty minutes or twenty-four hours since your last full night of rest. Whether the plane lighting washes you out or makes your dark circles look a million times worse.

You’ve just touched down in Reykjavik, after all. Over a year since you first wrote it, the last piece of your bucket list is becoming a reality. 

Looking back at it now, it’s almost hard to believe how much time has passed. 

So many things have changed — your energy is still low, even on good days. Sometimes, your memories feel harder to access than they should. You’ll be returning to school for your final semester after winter vacation, and you’re already preparing for extra difficulties due to the brain fog you can never seem to fully shake. 

Doctor Kim assures you that it’s normal at every check-up you have. Promises that it will get better with time, that your body is still recovering from losing so many healthy blood cells, from the surgery you underwent. That it’s natural to feel more tired than you did before, both physically and mentally. 

That there is plenty to celebrate, too. Namely, the fact that months after your first clean bill of health was given, there are no signs of any new malignant cells forming. That the tumor behind your heart was removed successfully. Completely. 

That the three months he estimated have come and gone. That your life is, once again, yours to live. 

And other things, stranger yet, have remained exactly the same. 

For starters, you still feel uncomfortable whenever Jay gets a little too outlandish with his gift ideas. You made him promise you that he wouldn’t get you anything for your birthday or the next three Christmases before you begrudgingly accepted the first class plane ticket to Iceland that brought you here now. 

He broke it, of course, but he at least had the decency to look sheepish.

You have gotten a bit better at it, though. At letting him love you the way he wants to, at letting things go. 

Like when the gate agent apologized for difficulty sorting out the rebooking fee, and you looked at him with a question in your gaze. Jay waved it off, rattling off some excuse about inclement weather that hardly made any sense. More suspicious yet, you swore his cheekbones were dusted with a sudden rosy pink that hadn’t been there before. 

Still, you let it go. The sudden avoidance of his gaze, along with the tension in his shoulders, made you think it perhaps wasn’t a memory he was quite ready to revisit. 

Besides, you know that he’ll tell you in his own time, when he’s ready. That’s the way things are between the two of you now. Affection, fondness, and even something that shimmers a whole lot like love, it’s all built on a solid foundation of trust. 

It’s why you didn’t press the issue in the airport. Why you didn’t hound him for updates on his status in his father’s company post-graduation, even though you saw his updated resume when he accidentally left it open on his laptop one evening. 

Why you waited, until he was ready to tell you himself, that he accepted a different position, one in a much smaller company, one that he got on merit alone instead of the weight of his family name. 

It’s changed things for him, you know. His mother’s smile still sometimes doesn’t quite reach her eyes when she looks at him. He still hasn’t spoken to his father since the day he threatened you in the hospital. 

It took time, it’s taking time, but Jay is happier, too, you think. He’s more sure of himself these days. Trusts his decisions, his instincts, more than he did before. 

It’s not perfect, not by a long shot, but the beginning of his career is something that belongs to him and no one else. He smiles when he talks about it, even the difficult parts, like he’s proud of it, like it means the world to him that he gets to call it his. 

And you, even now, as the dust settles and leaves a million possibilities in its wake, you can’t find yourself to regret any of it. Not the decisions you made, nor the reasons you made them. 

If you could go back in time and choose a different career path, a different field of study, you’re not sure what choice you would make. Without the tragedy of Sunoo’s childhood, if business would still be the path you followed. 

But you can’t go back in time. You can’t erase the past, and you can’t change what happened. You can’t conjure wealth from thin air, and you can’t erase all of your family’s struggles or pain with a snap of your fingers. 

All you can do is move forward, give every past version of yourself grace for making the decisions she thought were best at the time. Trust the version of you that exists now to make decisions going forward. 

At the very least, the future isn’t something you look at with trepidation anymore. After everything, failure doesn’t feel quite so terrifying, after all. 

You’re a miracle now, too. Someone that’s been through hell and back and has come out with the scars to prove it. 

You don’t need perfection. Your life doesn’t have to be something that you wrap into a bow and hand deliver to someone else on a silver platter. 

You’re allowed to take care of your family, and you’re allowed to want things for yourself, too. It doesn’t make you greedy or selfish or ungrateful. You’re learning, too. There are times when it’s hard, but you’re doing your best. Especially when it comes to accepting things from others.

When Jay told you he wanted to bring you to Iceland to see the northern lights, it wasn’t because he wanted to watch you squirm uncomfortably at the differences in your finances. It wasn’t because he wanted you to feel like you owe him or because he felt pity for everything you’ve been through. 

No, it was because he could see it all in his head — you, eyes turned towards the stars in the night sky, a wide, barely controlled smile breaking across your lips as the first rays of light began to dance across the universe above you. 

He told you already once before. Love isn’t some transaction you pass back and forth. 

When you brought him a coffee and a photo of the two of you to christen his new office, he wasn’t totalling up the amount you spent on the frame. He was thinking about how lucky he is to have someone that cares enough to think of him at all, how much it means to him to have a picture of you to glance at and smile whenever his meetings start to run too long. 

Even now, as the plane draws to a stop on the tarmac, he takes both your bag and his, sliding it over his shoulder like the effort means nothing to him. Like it’s as natural as breathing. Not because you’re weak. Not because you’re fragile. Just because he likes doing things for you. 

And as you stand to disembark, your gaze lands, not for the first time, right on the back of his head. Hair slightly mussed from the hours you just spent in the air, the sight makes you smile. 

Biting at your bottom lip, you have a sudden memory of hours spent in lecture halls, staring at the back of his head, cursing the way it always seemed so out of reach, so effortlessly perfect. How desperately you wished you could have been like that too. 

Reality, you think, no matter how messy, strained, and imperfect it may be, will always be so much better. You’re grateful for every day you’ve been given, for all the ways in which you’ve been able to see through the facade and your own misconceptions. For all the ways that you’ve gotten to know him, for all the ways you’ve let him get to know you, the real you.

Reaching up, you brush a few misplaced strands back into place with your fingers.

Jay turns back to face you, a soft smile on his lips, a question in his eyes. “What was that for?” he asks.

Light filters through your half-drawn curtains. It’s brighter now. You’re not sure exactly what time it is, but you’re guessing somewhere just before noon, if the long shadows across the linoleum are anything to go by. 

It would be quiet, peaceful even, if it weren’t for the pair of eyes staring at you from the foot of your bed. 

“How are you feeling?” Sunoo asks again. It must be nearing the hundredth time this morning alone. 

His voice is gentle, but it hits your ears like an accusation. 

 Put your guilt aside for a second, Jay told you that night in his car, and let people that love you take care of you when you need it.

Avoiding eye contact with your little brother now, it’s still easier said than done. All you can think about is how difficult this must be for him.

If your aversion to hospitals was enough to make your pulse spike at the thought of seeing a doctor, you can’t imagine what he must be feeling now. 

But Sunoo isn’t a child anymore. Even since you began university, he’s changed. The years have hollowed out his cheeks, sharpened his gaze. When he looks at you now, it’s with the discernment of an adult. 

And with age comes perception. It’s like he can see the gears turning in your mind. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, you know.”

“What?” You’re quick to mask the flicker of shock that crosses your features. 

It would seem that Sunoo has also become more direct as he’s gotten older. “I can tell that you’re thinking about me. Worrying about me. I don’t think I really need to point out how ridiculous that is.” 

He does his best not to let his gaze flicker to the array of IV bags currently attached to the vein in the crook of your elbow, but the implication is obvious enough. 

“I’m not worried about you,” you sigh. You are, of course, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I just—”

“Care,” he finishes for you. “Yeah, I know.” 

At the end of your bed, Sunoo sighs. He arrived earlier this morning, along with your mother who’s currently speaking to Hana in the hallway outside your room. You’re not sure exactly what kind of conversation they’re having, but the tight, teary smile she offered on her way out five minutes ago wasn’t exactly reassuring. 

Since their arrival, it’s been a kaleidoscope of emotions. You kept your promise to Jay. Only two nights passed before yesterday evening, when you finally found the courage to press on your mother’s contact information in your phone’s list of favorites. Your fingers were shaking, but you didn’t back out. 

Partly because you knew it would only be worse the longer you put it off. And partly because Jay had been watching you the entire time, brow raised in a silent reminder of the deal you metaphorically signed your name to. At least he’d had the decency to leave the room once your mother picked up. 

With a voice that only trembled slightly, you told her everything. Well, most of it. 

Your diagnosis, your hospital information, every bit of news the doctor gave you, you divulged to her. 

A certain deal struck in a passenger seat, however, remains a secret between you and Jay.

It had taken a fair bit of convincing for your mother not to hop in her car immediately, but once Sunoo and your father had also been filled in, you persuaded them to wait until the morning. 

And now, here they are. A mirror image, a sickening sense of warped déjà vu from a scene ten years ago.

Only this time, you’re the one with ruin taking hold in your body and Sunoo’s the one putting on a brave face at the foot of your hospital bed. 

Again, your little brother traces the path between IV fluids and your veins with his eyes. You’re not sure if the pain you see reflected is born of memory or the reality in front of him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but there’s no real command behind it. Partly because you know it’s an impossible request and partly because your energy levels are nearing non-existent. “I’m okay, really.”

For a moment, Sunoo just looks at you. His eyes are glassy. You avoid them, mostly because you’re afraid of finding your own reflection.

“What are you talking about?” he finally asks. “No one… we don’t expect you to be okay. I know you have this idea in your head that admitting you’re in pain or things are difficult will be a burden to us, but you’re my family. My sister. Watching you lie through your teeth because you think you’re sparing my feelings is worse than the truth could ever be.”

The weight of his words settles around you, heavy in the air. For a moment, you almost don’t recognize your little brother.

For the last ten years, it’s as if he’s been frozen in your mind. Warped by trauma and the pain of nearly losing someone so important to you, it’s like you’ve still seen that version of him, young and frail and sick, every time you look at him. 

But Sunoo is in front of you now. He sits tall. His skin is so radiant it’s nearly glowing. There are dark shadows under his eyes yes, but the hollowness, the emptiness, is gone. 

All at once, you wonder just how heavy a burden the weight of your lingering concern has been all these years. It always came from love, of course, but that never made it any less suffocating. 

Even if only subconsciously, you’ve treated Sunoo like glass all these years. As if the wind could blow right through him. As if your protection was the only thing keeping his feet tethered to the earth. 

But the Sunoo that looks back at you now isn’t in need of saving. His resilience has outlasted things far more severe than just heavy wind. Along with his baby features, he’s lost his fragility. 

He’ll always be your baby brother. That will never change. But when you look at him now, really look, you see the beginnings of a man.  

Someone with autonomy and agency and the ability to apply them as he sees fit. 

So, after a small, shaky breath, you admit to him quietly, “It hurts.”

Something in his gaze fractures, but it doesn’t break.

You continue, “It’s not a sharp pain, really, but it’s there. My body feels different. Wrong. Weaker. It’s like, I can still do things, I think, but they need more effort.”

You haven’t tested that theory. Haven’t really done anything but lay here for the last two days. Time is broken up by the nurses and doctors that visit. And on more than one occasion, Jay.

He’s not here now. He’s kept himself scarce since the arrival of your family, but until now, he’s been a near constant fixture in your hospital room. 

Surprisingly, he doesn’t always have much to say. The man you used to spend entire lectures arguing back and forth with is often uncharacteristically mute when he sits in the chair opposite your bed. 

Usually, he just asks how you’re doing, if there’s anything he can do for you, if you need him to tell Hana anything for you. 

You never do. You probably wouldn't tell him even if you did. But he comes anyway. 

After your standard exchange, Jay’s mouth will always part like he has something else to say. He doesn’t commit to it, though. Just sits quietly, a steady presence. 

Now, Sunoo is the one to receive your words, to take them in stride. 

“Yeah,” he nods. There’s sorrow in his eyes, but there’s strength there too. He can handle this. The truth isn’t too heavy for him. He won’t crumble under the weight of shared pain. “It’s like simple tasks are suddenly difficult. I know what you mean.”

He does. Of all the people in the world, Sunoo probably understands how you feel the most intimately. 

Deciding you’ve had enough doom and gloom, you shift the topic to the one shred of good news you’ve recently gotten. “They have to monitor me a bit longer before they decide for sure,” you tell him, “but I’ll probably still be able to attend some classes. A few times a week, maybe.” 

“You want to do that?” Sunoo asks. He’s not judging, not demanding. Just asking. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I think… I think some normalcy will be good.” Will make it all a bit more bearable. 

Sunoo’s quiet for a moment. And then he says, “If there’s ever a time when it’s not… If you ever want to come home, you have to know there’s a place for you there. Always.”

The sudden sincerity, his earnestness, make the tears that threaten your lashline feel all the more imminent. 

“Yeah,” you nod. Even if it’s an offer you both know you’ll never take him up on. “I know.”

Your eyes flicker to the bouquet sitting on your bedside table, the flowers Sunoo brought you. They’re bright, colorful. 

Just like him, you think. 

Sunoo takes the lapse in conversation as an opportunity to ask you more questions you give him half-true answers to. He asks about your classes, your hobbies, your nonexistent friends. 

When he breaches the topic of romance, you roll your eyes. At least this time, you can be honest in your answer. 

“I don’t have time for a boyfriend,” you explain. It’s true. You don’t. 

Until now, you haven’t had time for anything that wasn’t studying or working or dedicating yourself to seeing his dreams comes true, but you can’t exactly tell him that now. 

Luckily, he seems satisfied enough with your answer, even if it does make him frown a bit. 

You’re saved from his line of questioning by your mother who reenters the room moments later. Her eyes are swollen and bloodshot, but all three of you do an excellent job of pretending they’re not. 

Here in your hospital room, it’s not exactly the family reunion you’d envision for yourself, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t something deeply comforting about having Sunoo and your mother close again. 

Something settles uncomfortably in your gut when you remember that the reason they’re here, the only reason any of this was possible, was because of Jay. 

Even now, smiling at your family feels a little bit too much like incurring an unpayable debt. 

Still, you do your best to shake the discomfort and to just appreciate the fact that they could be here at all. Your body might be broken, immune system attacking you from the inside out, but when your mother stands to hug you, when Sunoo takes your hand in his, something in you steels its resolve. 

You’re not sure where it comes from exactly — this sudden desire to fight, but it gets stronger with every passing second you spend with your family. 

Debts aside, you have something to focus on now. Here, with them at your side, it’s more undeniable than ever. 

You want to live. 

Whether it’s for you or for them or something else entirely, you can’t quite be sure. But your life suddenly feels like something worth fighting for. 

So you don’t complain when Hana brings you a meal that tastes more like mush than food. The flavor hardly matters. If you want to live, you need your strength. 

You don’t argue when Doctor Kim explains the next treatment phase, along with its extensive list of side effects. 

You just nod. You agree. You try. 

For you, for them, for whatever forces are on your side, you’ve made up your mind. You’ll do what it takes, one day at a time. You’ll do what it takes to live. 

…..

Between treatment cycles and the near constant vigil your family keeps at your beside, nearly a week passes before you see Jay again. 

He’s back to his usual ensemble when he steps through the door of your hospital room after three sharp, distinct knocks one Tuesday morning. 

Stepping into the light, you can’t help but give him a once-over. The jeans and sweater he wears aren’t anything flashy, but he manages to make them look good. Expensive. 

You sigh. It’s him, after all. Not for the first time, the unfailing unfairness of life seems to manifest in front of you and slap you straight across the face. Here you are, fighting for something as innate as your own life, and he has the gall to step through the door looking like he just wrapped a magazine photoshoot. 

Unaware of your inner turmoil, Jay lingers near the entrance. 

For a moment, he just looks at you. A barrage of emotions flickers over his features, but he shutters them all before you can put a name to any of them. 

“Hi,” he finally says, eyes still scrutinizing. 

“Hi,” you return, a bit guarded.

He opens his mouth. Closes it again. A furrow passes through his brow, like he can’t quite decide how to start. 

You prepare yourself for the inevitable questions you’ve already grown weary of answering from just your family. How are you? How do you feel? How’s your energy? Does it hurt?

You know they’re all well-meaning, but something in you withers a little further every time you have to answer one of them. Mostly because guilt makes you feel like you’re expected to lie through your teeth. 

How are you? Terrible. You’re dying. Your own cells are ripping each other to shreds, tearing apart the remnant of your immune system from the inside out. 

How do you feel? Like shit. 

How’s your energy? So low it’s laughable. Whatever this disease hasn’t taken from you yet, the IV fluids being pumped into your arm day and night are more than happy to steal.

Does it hurt? That one’s probably the most ridiculous of all. Of course it fucking hurts. 

So you sigh, already avoiding eye contact as you prepare to answer whichever line of questioning Jay decides to start with. 

But he surprises you.

“I brought you something,” he finally says. It’s not a question. 

Slowly, like you’re a skittish kitten, he approaches your bed. Careful not to disturb the flowers, he pulls a sizable stack of papers out from his bag before setting them gently on the table next to you. 

“What’s that?” You frown. 

“Class notes,” he explains. “The ones from Professor Jung’s and all the other classes we share are from me.” He nods to the pile. “I didn’t know you were also taking statistics and marketing comm this semester. I got those from a couple of your classmates.”

“I…” you trail off, momentarily stunned. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He shrugs, as if the gesture is nothing. As if his effort is meaningless. “I knew you wouldn’t want to be behind when you do come back to class. Speaking of which, Hana told me that you’re doing well. She mentioned that you might be able to try coming to a couple of lectures next week.”

“Yeah,” you nod. The news had come much to your relief. The nurses, of course, haven’t been exactly pleased with your incessant pestering. You’ve made such a habit of asking when you can return to school that they hardly even admonish you anymore. Just answer with resigned sighs that they’re still monitoring your condition and they’ll know more soon.

Doctor Kim had been the one to finally break the news, actually. He was sure to emphasize that he strongly advised against it and would continue to encourage you to rest as much as possible, but if you really wanted to attend a few of your weekly lectures, he wouldn’t be the one to stop you.

You’ll have to adjust, of course. You’ve already reached out to several of your professors. Keeping the details as vague as possible, you’ve made arrangements to complete the majority of your assignments online. 

They all said nearly the same thing: because your grades and performance have been so impressive this semester, they’ll allow you to finish your work remotely, as long as you’re still willing to sit your final exams in person. 

The only professor who seemed a bit hesitant was Professor Jung. Of course, you know she’d make far more lenient concessions if you told her your true reasons for not coming to class so often anymore, but then she’d probably also give you the same treatment as Doctor Kim. As everyone else who knows your secret. 

She’d insist that you forget about your schoolwork and focus only on your recovery. Give up all the effort you’ve already put in and just concentrate on getting better. 

You can’t do that. You won’t. 

You’re staying true to your word, your promise sworn in the passenger seat of Jay’s car, but you refuse to sacrifice more than you have to. 

If there is some form of happy ending on the other side of all this, you still need your degree. You still have your goals, your one-sided promise to Sunoo. 

As long as you physically can, you’ll keep up with your studies to the best of your ability. 

Jay, to his credit, seems to understand all of this without you having to say a single word. It’s why you suspect he’s shown up in your hospital room with a stack of notes instead of a barrage of questions. 

Looking at him now, you consider your other promises forged with his hands on the steering wheel. 

If he’s bringing you his personal notes, he must really be convinced of your virtue. Your agreement to let him finish first in your class. Then again, you suppose he could have forged a couple of answers, skipped a couple of key points. 

You doubt it, though. Sabotage doesn’t seem to be his style.

Then, you think of the rest of your bargain. The list you made. The things you want to do before you die. 

With the charity gala behind you, only three things remain. 

Go on a beach vacation

Ride in a convertible 

Kiss a stranger

There are the northern lights, too, of course, but you gave up on that dream nearly within the same breath you wrote it with. It’s just too impossible. 

So you’re left with three things. Three tasks you promised him you’d see through. 

Now, though, you really have no idea how you’ll make it happen. 

A beach vacation? You’re already worried about mustering the strength to attend occasional lectures. Much less afford the necessary transportation costs. 

Sighing, you suppose it would be better to bring up your hesitation sooner rather than later. Explain to Jay that it just isn’t feasible for you to actively try checking off your bucket list with everything else going on. 

Besides, what’s he going to do? Retract his end of your deal? You don’t think he has it in him.

“Speaking of returning to classes,” you venture, “I wanted to talk to you about the whole bucket list thing. Look, Jay,” you sigh, “I know I agreed to complete it, but it really was just a random list of things I wrote right after I got the diagnosis. They’re not—it’s not a real bucket list. Besides, I’ve already done most of the things on it, so—”

“No.” In your hospital room, the word rings loud and clear. 

“What?”

“Nice try.” He shakes his head. Smiles privately to himself, like he expected this. “You’re not getting out of it. You think deals are broken that easily? I’d be more than happy to go find your brother and tell him what’s really going on. He was here earlier, wasn’t he? I bet if I just stick around long enough, then—”

Your eyes flash dangerously, narrowed into slits. “You wouldn't dare.”

“You want to test that?”

Your silence is answer enough. 

“That’s what I thought,” Jay nods. “And I’m glad you brought it up. We’re going somewhere this afternoon.”

“Excuse me,” you argue. “What happened to asking? Besides, I’m not allowed to leave right now.”

“You are, actually,” Jay counters. “I already cleared everything with Hana. As long as I keep a, and I quote, careful eye on you, we’re good to go. For a maximum of two hours, but I think you’ll find that’s plenty of time.”

“I don’t want to go.” You sound like a petulant child throwing a tantrum. You hardly care. 

“You don’t even know where we’re going.”

“I know it can’t be anywhere good.”

“It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” Jay points out. “I’d bet on those odds.”

“My family—” You try to protest. 

“Drove back home this morning,” he cuts you off. “They won’t be back until the weekend.”

You flounder for a moment, mouth opening. “If you knew that, then why did you threaten to tell Sunoo earlier?”

Jay shrugs. “I’m patient. I didn't mean I would tell him today. Although,” he considers, “I probably could. I bet I could get one of these nurses to pass along his phone number.”

“That’s confidential, you idiot.” 

“I don’t know,” he muses. “They’ve been pretty accommodating to my requests so far.”

You scowl. You bet they have. You’re sure he waltzes in here looking like that, and they’re falling over themselves to fulfill his requests. 

“Whatever,” you scoff. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“You don’t have a choice.” His smile is entirely too smug for your liking. “This is part of our deal.”

“I don’t remember ‘bending to your every beck and whim’ being part of our deal,” you point out. 

“It’s not,” he shakes his head, “but this is.”

“How could it be?” you ask. “It’s not like we could possibly go to the beach right now.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and your eyes widen in shock. 

“Jay,” you panic, “There’s no way we could—”

“Relax,” he interrupts. “We’re not going to the beach.” He pauses for a moment, then, as an afterthought, adds, “Yet.”

“Then what—”

“Just come,” he pleads, a bit of begging coloring his tone. “Please,” he adds for good measure. 

So you do, grumbling under your breath the entire way to his ridiculously sleek car that he insists on pulling around front so you don’t have to walk any further than necessary. 

Sliding into his passenger seat, you scramble to guess where he could possibly be taking you, options becoming more limited the longer he drives. 

By the time he pulls off the freeway, you half suspect that he was just trying to get you out of the hospital for a bit. 

What you don’t expect, however, is for him to expertly navigate his car into a parking spot in front of the local mall. 

“What the hell?” you ask when he slides the gear into park. “What, are you taking me for a pretzel dog at Auntie Anne’s or something? I think I’d prefer the hospital food, to be honest.”

Jay just rolls his eyes. 

You continue, “And why did you park so far away? You’re really gonna make a sick girl walk all the way to the entrance from here? The least you could do is drop me off at the front—”

Deciding he’s had enough of your assumptions, Jay cuts you off. “We’re not going to the mall.”

“We’re not?” Surprise crosses your features. “Then why are we here?”

“Because,” he intones, tilting his chin to cast a significant look somewhere behind your shoulders, “we’re going there.”

Turning back, you squint. It’s a bit difficult to see with how dark his tinted windows are, but you make out the outline of the luxury department store. Adjacent to the mall, every shop inside is far out of your price range. You’ve never stepped foot inside. Hell, you forgot it was even there.

“Don’t tell me you dragged me out of the hospital because you’re low on Chanel,” you groan. “Seriously, what am I supposed to do in there?”

For a moment, Jay just looks at you, an open mix of disbelief and mild exasperation spread across his features. 

“Oh, ___,” he sighs, entirely too patronizing for your liking. “Always so close to the point, and then it just…” he trails off, raising his hand up and drawing an arc over your head, “misses you entirely.”

“Yeah,” you goad, “I’m so dumb and oblivious you had to beg me to let you outrank me in our class.”

“I didn’t beg,” he argues, a sudden defensive edge in his tone. “Although, now that you point it out, it is kind of ridiculous. How are you so damn smart yet so incredibly—”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“Okay,” Jay surrenders, putting his hands up, palms splayed. “Okay,” he concedes, exhaling. “Let’s just go.”

You don’t budge. “Didn’t you hear me? I don’t want to help you pick out another Prada tie.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” he argues back, voice an octave too high like he’s imitating you. “That’s not what we’re doing.”

You open your mouth to hurl another round of questions his way, but Jay won’t let you get one out sideways. 

“Just come,” he says, a bit of pleading coloring his voice as it falls back to its usual pitch. “I’ll beg if I have to.”

You’re silent for a moment longer. 

“Please,” he adds, and it has the last of your resolve withering in on itself. 

Pushing yourself up from your seat takes a fair deal of exertion. More than you care to admit. Wincing, you mask the expression as soon as it comes. The last thing you need is Jay picking up on your discomfort. Your weakness.

But he’s always been too perceptive for his own good. Especially where you’re concerned.

Rushing around from the driver’s side, he stops right in front of you, just slightly too close. 

“You alright?” His hands are half outstretched, like he can’t decide if he should reach for you or not. 

“I’m fine.” Your words are a thin, frayed thing. Stretched almost as thin as your patience. “Let’s just go.”

Jay still looks like he wants to protest. He checks your expression and thinks better of it. 

Still, once you fall into step next to him, he leaves his hands like that. Flexed, ready. Half outstretched like he’s prepared to catch you if you stumble. 

You can’t quite decide if his concern makes you want to roll your eyes or let the walls you’ve built with him fall just a fraction of an inch further. 

Jay leads you. Steadily, quietly into the entrance of the luxury department store. Immediately, you feel out of depth. 

For starters, even the air here seems to be different from your local mall. There are no screaming kids, middle-aged women deep into a gossip session, or twenty-something-year-old part timers trying to shove perfume samples under your nose in front of a Macy’s. 

The people here are too… refined for that. They carry themselves differently, like the price tag on their clothes is something worth respecting with good posture and perfect hair.

Even the employees seem in on it. There are no gaudy, ill fitted vests or neon polo shirts with questionable stains. No, the people behind the registers here are wearing suits.

And it’s not just the clothes. It’s their aura. They look expensive, important, worth knowing. 

They look like Jay. 

And you… well, you’ve seen better days. Your treatment regimen has at least allowed you to keep up with regular showers these past few days, but a hairbrush hasn’t exactly been at the top of your to-do list. 

Your jeans are fine, if not a bit faded. It’s not like your simple long-sleeved t-shirt has any stains, but the collar doesn’t lay quite as nicely as it did before the million rounds of laundry you’ve put it through since buying it. 

You feel out of place. Like an unwelcome guest. 

You think back to Jay’s earlier rebuttal — “It will probably beat a hospital room, though,” — and suddenly, you’re not sure if he was right. 

From your periphery, you see a woman take a second glance at you over the top of her wide framed sunglasses – indoors, really? –and begin to wish the spotlessly clean floor would just open you up and swallow you whole. 

Jay, at least, seems unbothered by all the sidelong looks. True to his word, he leads you straight past the doors to Prada and Chanel without even sparing them a second glance. 

Instead, he walks ahead, you in his wake, down a hallway leading out from the center of the building. It’s quieter, down here at least. Less stares.

Jay doesn’t stop until you’re stood in front of the store at the very end, although you don’t think you imagined the sidelong glances he was passing you the entire way here. 

Looking up at the sign, you frown. “How do you even pronounce that?” The brand name looks French, or maybe Italian. Languages were never your strong suit.

For Jay however, it rolls off the tongue easily.

“I’ve never heard of it.” You shake your head.

“It’s a small brand,” he explains. “It’s my friend’s, actually.”

You give him a flat look. “Your friend has a fashion brand.”

Jay shrugs. “He’s building it.”

Glancing in at the stock you can see, your confusion starts to shift. Begins to build deep in your gut with large, uneasy waves that make your footing feel unsteady. Until it looks a lot more like dread.

Because Jay’s friend apparently has quite the eye for evening gowns. 

You let the realization settle, understanding beginning to dawn. 

“Jay, what—”

“It’s our first step to checking off your bucket list,” he interrupts. “You said you wanted to buy a really expensive dress.”

“Yeah,” you nod, mouth still ajar, “and I did. That dress I wore to the charity gala—”

“Was lovely, so please don’t misunderstand,” Jay placates you with the calm, even tone of someone used to convincing difficult clients. “But I’m not sure it fits the criteria of really expensive.”

“Cost is relative,” you point out, even as some of your pride dies with the admission. 

“Naturally,” he agrees. “But this is a bucket list. Once-in-a-lifetime kind of things. Besides,” he nods to the store, “my friend is pretty good. Annoying as hell,” he adds after a moment of consideration, “but he has an eye for evening wear.”

“Jay,” your brows pinch together. “Look, I… appreciate the gesture, but even once-in-a-lifetime things have to be somewhat realistic. And it’s not like getting my card declined during check-out is exactly one of my biggest dreams.”

“Good thing your card won’t be involved during check-out, then.”

“Jay—”

“You promised me,” he cuts you off, gaze suddenly serious. You looked me in the eye that night in my car and you promised me you would try.”

“I am trying—”

“You’re making excuses. You’re coming up with all of these reasons to avoid letting people do things for you. You think I dragged you out of the hospital just for the hell of it? That I haven’t seen the way just walking from here to the car had you breathing heavier than usual? I had to stop myself from offering you a hand over a dozen times today alone, because I know how you’d react.”

“Then just take me back to the hospital, since I’m clearly such a burden to you.”

“You’re not. That’s exactly what I’m saying. You think that every gesture is some kind of transaction. Some kind of score you’ll be expected to settle.”

“Because it is. Shouldn’t you know that better than anyone? Look at what we study day in, day out. Supply and demand. Profit margins. Liabilities. Even this,” you gesture between the two of you, “whatever the hell it is, was a deal. I don’t want to owe you more than I have to.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” His frustration is apparent now, too. In the line of his shoulders, the flex in his jaw. It’s visible, even as he tries to keep his patience steady. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you for the last three days.”

“Yeah, well, this isn’t fucking Make-A-Wish either.” Your words are angrier now, chest heaving a bit with the effort. “I’m not some sick doll you can dress up because it eases your conscience and makes you feel good about helping the less fortunate. Go donate to an actual charity if you’re feeling so terribly generous.”

For a moment, Jay goes still. Lips pressed together, eyes trained directly on your face. A furrow appears between his brow. 

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low. “Is that how you think I see you?”

You sigh, fighting the urge to let an open palm splay across your forehead. Here, in the quiet corner of an ending hallway, your frustration feels a bit misplaced. “Jay, you dragged me out here to play dress up. How else am I supposed to—”

“For the last three years since I met you, I’ve watched you work yourself to death. Every class. Every assignment. Every test. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a scowl on your face and tension in your shoulders. Hell, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you take a break for so much as a fucking minute.”

“Don’t exaggerate.” You scowl. “It’s not like you actually remember me as anything besides an annoying voice that argues against your points.”

Jay doesn’t budge. “Intro to communication.”

“What?”

“Freshman year. Room 112. The lecture hall with the creaky seats and the lightbulb in the back corner that was always out.”

“Jay, what—”

“It was the first class we had together. And we’ve had at least two every semester since. I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you. People know who you are, ____. They recognize you. They respect you. I’m not deluded enough to think that we were ever friends. Mostly because you’ve always bitten my head off every time I’ve tried to talk to you. But you don’t get to stand there and resent me for things I never did. You don’t get to hate me for whatever kind of person you’ve decided I am all on your own.”

“Jay—”

“I know you’ve made up your mind that life is easier when you do everything all by yourself. I get that this is uncomfortable for you. That letting people help you and do things for you and take care of you fuels that sense of shame you’re always trying to bury beneath bravado. But we’re not here because I think you’re a charity case. And you don’t get to decide what I think about you.”

“And you think you know me? It’s a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? Standing there and telling me who I am and what I think. You don’t know the first thing about me, either.”

“Fine.” His eyes are alive now, sparking with something you don’t know what to do with. “You’re right. Then tell me.”

“What?” You shake your head. “That’s not—”

But he’s not done begging. “Let me get to know you.”

“What’s the point?” It’s so easy to think of rebuttals, to argue against his failed logic. “Even if this does pan out, we’ll be graduating soon.”

“Haven’t you heard? There’s nothing as valuable in the business world as connections. Besides, everyone needs a friend.”

For a moment, you just look at him. Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Then, “You want to be my friend?”

Jay’s sigh comes from somewhere deep. “What do you think I’ve been trying to do this entire time?”

“Why?” You still don’t understand. “I’m not even nice to you.”

“Nice people are overrated,” he shrugs. “They usually just want something from you.”

“Jay,” you fight the urge to rub your temple. It’s terrible logic, given that your entire relationship is quite literally hinging on a deal. On wanting something from each other.  

“C’mon,” Jay urges, unwilling to back down because of your inner turmoil. “My friend is expecting us. And I told the nurse I’d have you back in a couple of hours.” He checks his watch. A Rolex because of course it is. “That leaves us just enough time,” he concludes.

Staring at the shop entrance, you remain motionless for a moment longer. It would be easy to keep arguing. Easier than anything else, probably. Besides, if you really refused, what could he do? It’s not like Jay would actually drag you in kicking and screaming. Well, not in front of witnesses.

But then you hear it again. That voice in your head. That version of you, younger, more naive, less hardened to the realities of the world.

She, of course, thinks it would be a fantastic idea to go try on dresses for the next hour. To twirl in front of the mirror like a teenager at prom. 

You fight the urge to roll your eyes. Of course she does. 

Then, there’s another voice. It’s not hers. It’s not Jay’s. It’s just… yours. You, as you are now. And she, you begin to realize, even if only reluctantly, wants this too. 

You could still refuse, of course. You’ve had plenty of practice burying your desires. Shoving them beneath contempt and shame and the sham you call selflessness. Jay was right about several of the accusations he just hurled your way, but one sticks out to you now. 

It is uncomfortable to let people do things for you. Jay is much easier to handle when he’s at arm’s length. When he’s nothing but an amalgamation of how unfair the universe is when it doles out fortune and wealth and luck. 

But your family’s financial situation isn’t his fault. Your diagnosis and dedication to your degree have nothing to do with him. 

When he looks at you now, it’s not with expectation. No matter how long you search his open gaze, all you find is hope. Not that you’ll give him something he wants. Not that you’ll prove useful to him in some way. 

Just that, for once in your life, you’ll look at the offer he extends without refusing. Without bargaining. Without trying to flip it on its head so that you have the upper hand. 

And it’s hard. It tastes like lost pride and stings like guilt. But it also looks a lot like something you’ve been missing in your life for as long as you can remember. 

Friendship. 

Is this what it’s like? You wonder. Constantly toeing the boundary of what’s acceptable and what’s off limits? Trying, over and over, no matter how many walls you try to plant between you?

It sounds exhausting, you realize. No wonder you haven’t had time for any of it before.

But it also sounds… not comfortable, exactly. But reassuring, maybe. Steady in the way that summer nights are. Movies that you watch again even though you know how they end, because maybe this time, you’ll notice something you didn’t before. 

It was never just a dress, you realize. And Jay was never offering you just money. You can’t decide if that makes things easier or a million times harder. 

You’re still afraid to owe him things. And something as novel as friendship suddenly feels like a big debt to pay. 

Your internal struggle must play out plain as day across your features. Jay speaks before you have your mind made up. 

“We don’t have to,” he says quietly. “You can say no. You can always say no.” He pauses for a moment, sighing heavy on his exhale. “But I really hope you don’t.”

Hope. A flighty, fragile thing. It’s made so many of your losses more bitter than they had to be, so much of your effort feel more wasted than it had any right to. But hope has also gotten you here. Has led you through hell and back with a raised chin and shoulders squared.

So, you finally tell him, “Okay,” even if your voice is so low he nearly misses it.

“Okay?” Jay echoes, eyebrows raised.

You look up at him, something vulnerable in your gaze. “Please don’t make me say it again.”

It’s the only request all afternoon that hasn’t been shrouded in sarcasm and your biting attempts at a defense mechanism. 

Jay’s eyes widen for a moment. And then he nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Let’s go.”

…..

The inside of the store is even more impressive than the front display, and that was nothing to scoff at. 

You hate to admit it, but Jay was right. This blows the Macy’s sale rack you’d picked up your gala dress at right out of the water. 

Jay’s friend appears to have a flair for the subtly dramatic. Each gown has a quiet sense of luxury. The designs are beautiful. Feminine in a way that feels like they were made to flatter. But they’re not simple. Each one has something unique to it, an embellishment of beadwork, an unexpected silhouette, a subtle sheen that nearly glows when the light reflects just right. 

They feel like artwork, the kind that hangs in museums. Your instincts are practically begging you to look but not touch. You hardly know where to start. 

Beside you, Jay is quiet. He trails at a respectable distance, eyes flickering over your profile intermittently. 

“Let me know if you see something you like,” he instructs. “You can try on anything you want.” He must mistake your silence for disinterest, because he’s quick to add, “Or if there’s nothing you like here, we could try somewhere else. I think—”

“Jay,” you interrupt this time. “They’re beautiful. Stunning, actually. I don’t…” You glance around the store again, your overwhelm only growing. “I don’t know where to start.”

He hesitates for a moment, weighing his words on his tongue. Then, finally, “I could help, if you want. I saw a couple that I think would suit you well.”

It’s strangely intimate – the thought of Jay looking at dresses with you in mind. The idea of him imagining the way they’d sit against your skin tone, the way they’d curve around your body. 

“I – sure.” You look away, then, if only to hide the way heat starts to spread on your cheekbones. 

Jay takes his time. With the same careful attention you’ve assumed was reserved for lectures and particularly difficult economics problem sets, he takes a slow lap around the perimeter of the store. Breezes right past some gowns. Stops for long moments in front of others. 

Occasionally, he calls over a store attendant, exchanging opinions in hushed tones. 

You watch for a minute longer, content to play the role of the observer, before a voice startles you out of your reverie. 

“He might take a little while,” the stranger advises, a small smile in his voice and on his lips. “You’re welcome to sit.” He gestures towards the middle of the store, where a large, open area is bordered by several luxurious looking loveseats. 

“Thanks,” you nod. Heeding his advice, you take the few steps necessary to reach the closest one. Sliding down into it, you’re almost surprised to see him follow. Quietly, he sits down into the seat opposite yours. 

For a moment, the two of you just face each other silently. He’s handsome, in a classic sort of way. Has the same refined, elegant look that you’ve come to recognize so easily on Jay. Mixed with a distinct, boyish charm, you guess his age is similar to yours. Which begs the question—

“Are you Jay’s friend?”

He nods. “Sunghoon.” Extending a hand, he shakes yours with a firm grip. “It’s nice to meet you.”

You give him your name in return. 

Sunghoon just grins, eyebrow arching slightly. “Oh, I know.”

That gives you pause. You can’t imagine why Jay would be mentioning you to his friends. Mentally, you dismiss it. Maybe it was an offhand comment on a day your classroom rebuttals were particularly annoying to him. 

Pressing into other topics, you look around the store once again. 

And its owner. Sunghoon, much like Jay, looks like he’s been around money long enough to be comfortable with it, to get used to the way expensive things feel against his skin. If you had to guess, he’s around your age. 

The thought almost makes you want to scoff. A university-aged boy with a fashion brand. Jesus christ, the world really is unfair. 

 But his age makes the space around you more impressive, too. Even if you’d been born to wealth, you doubt you’d be able to replicate any of it.

Deciding you have nothing to lose, you venture into a conversation. 

“You…” you trail off, not sure what the most tactful way of asking would be. Deciding you don’t have enough time to be so concerned with mincing words, you ask, rather straightforwardly, “This is your store?”

Sunghoon nods. Honest from the get-go, he tells you, “You could say that. It’s not exactly a store, though. My mother is the chief merchandiser for a rather reputable fashion house. I grew up in the industry. Discovered I had a passion for the design side of things when I was in middle school. Everything here is just display, mostly. Some of it was made for runway and some are editorial pieces. I haven’t actually produced anything for mass distribution yet, but I’m hoping to start soon. Once I finish school. For now, this is mostly used as a show room. Somewhere to bring people who might be interested in capsule collections or model fittings.” He glances at you, considering, “But it’s always nice to see new faces, too.” He pauses, glances at you again. “And any friend of Jay is welcome here.”

You’re still not sure if the title fits or not, but you aren’t here to discuss the nature of your relationship. Instead, you ask about theirs. 

“And you two are friends?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon nods. “Have been since we were kids. Families run in the same circles and all that.”

You already suspected as much. Biting back any hint of sarcasm, you settle on the most neutral response you can muster. “That’s nice.”

“Most of the time,” Sunghoon agrees. “Although the kid drives me crazy sometimes. I suppose it’s only natural, though.” He smiles, as if reminiscing. “My sister and I never argue, so the universe had to give me someone else to fight with.”

That makes you grin, too. Leaning in like you’re sharing a secret, you whisper, “He can be a little ridiculous, can’t he?”

“Oh,” Sunghoon mimics your posture, “the absolute worst. And so goddamn stubborn.” 

“Right?” You incline your head, hands on your knees to support your weight. “You should see him in class. He’s always—”

“I can hear you two, you know.” 

Startled at the sudden voice, you turn to look over your shoulder. Jay stands directly behind you, eyes already trained on you, lips pulled into a thin line. 

He takes in your wide-eyed gaze for a moment. Some of the annoyance softens from his expression. In a tone decidedly less flat, he tells you, “They’re ready for you.”

A fresh bout of nerves flitters through your stomach. Still, when you remember your conversation outside, you’re sure the worst part of the day is behind you. You can do this. 

You’re up against death, after all. What are a few dresses in the grand scheme of things?

Leaving Jay and Sunghoon behind, you find the small fitting room tucked away in the opposite corner. The attendant from earlier smiles at you, tells you to let her know if you need anything. 

And then it’s just you, the four walls of the fitting room, and the three dresses Jay deemed most worthy of your attention. 

Despite yourself, the sudden lump in your throat is difficult to swallow. You’re not sure how he manages to do it every time, see you right down to your bones. 

The three dresses he chose, even amongst the endless options of silk and color and fabric, are really, truly perfect. 

They’re understated. Simple in a way that makes them feel tangible instead of out of reach. Even though you’ve never worn anything like them in your life, there are elements of your own style you see reflected. Colors you wear to class because you’ve been told they suit you. Silhouettes that you’ve always gravitated towards. 

The first one slips over your head easily, although the back proves more difficult to zip and fasten on your own. Even securing it with your hands pressed to your chest, you can tell it suits you even more than you hoped on the hanger. 

It’s beautiful. Truly. Makes even the sallow tinge to your skin and hair mussed from days in a hospital look intentional. Like things worth noticing instead of trying to hide behind.

Pushing the door open slowly, you catch the attendant’s eye. She’s quick to come, helps you fasten the back and dishes out compliments all the while. 

Even her attention makes you feel shy. But not in a way that makes you want to run and hide. It’s almost like that night at the charity gala. You feel noticed. Seen, but not in an uncomfortable way. Just… more visible than usual.

Once the last of the buttons are finished, she catches your eye in the mirror. “Shall we?”

You frown. “Shall we what?”

“Show them,” she adds, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

A sudden flare of heat builds deep in your chest, flies all the way to your cheeks. You imagine stepping out into that open space where Jay and Sunghoon are sitting, their attention, his attention on you. 

Even the thought is enough to have your knees feeling dangerously wobbly. 

“Oh,” you try to dismiss the idea, voice hushed as you work to evade detection. “That's okay. I don’t think—”

It’s as if he can read your thoughts. Your sudden hesitation. 

“____,” you hear him call your name. “Are you coming?”

It’s more than a little uncomfortable as you force your feet to move you from the safety of the dressing room to the central, open part of the store. The space that Jay and Sunghoon are waiting for you in. 

There’s no actual spotlight, but the overhead lights suddenly feel blinding, have you feeling a bit like a sample under a microscope. Something to poke and prod at. Something to scrutinize for any visible flaws. 

The dress is gorgeous. Sunghoon’s talent is undeniable. It wasn’t made for you, but the way fabric seems to flow with your body instead of just over it makes it feel like it was. 

The color is perfect, too. Does something for your complexion, even though it’s been made sallow from illness. Brings color back to your features in a way that makes you want to stare at your reflection a little longer instead of hiding from it. 

It’s a bit ridiculous. You feel silly for even thinking it, but you feel… pretty. 

This was the entire reason you included an expensive dress on your bucket list. For the simple pleasure you’ve been denying yourself ever since you decided that your money and your time and your decisions never fully belonged to you. 

You can count on one hand the amount of times you remember doing something for you. Putting something on your body just because you liked the way it made your reflection look. 

It feels personal, like a moment just for you. The thought of parading such an intimate part of your psyche in front of others, in front of Jay, is enough to have your mind spinning. 

But your feet are already moving and before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re there. Facing a fear in the middle of the room.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Sunghoon is the one to speak first. He nods, smile small and genuine. “It suits you. I like it.”

Next to him, Jay remains mute. You watch as his throat works around a swallow, his eyes slightly wide as if he’s suddenly the one on display. 

“It’s…” he finally starts. “Yeah. It’s beautiful.” Meeting your eye then, his words are only somewhat strained when he adds, “You look beautiful.”

Cheeks warm, you look down, brushing away at invisible dust along the top of the skirt.

“Do you like it?” Jay thinks to ask after another beat. “Did you want to try on the others?”

You shake your head. He has good taste, and all three of the gowns he had sent to your dressing room are stunning, but something about this one is uniquely you. 

You feel like you already know, can already stand by your decision, without trying on the others. 

Jay nods like he understands too. He waits until you’re back in the dressing room to settle things with Sunghoon, as if you'll forget the depth of his generosity as long as you don’t have to watch it up close. 

Leaving the store with a matte black shopping bag with gold embossed branding hanging from Jay’s arm feels a bit like resignation. Like giving into everything you’ve been fighting against 

A million arguments still sit persistent in your throat. It was too much, too expensive. Money that could have been better spent elsewhere. You don’t even have a place to wear it to. 

But for the first time in a long time, you don’t really feel like arguing. 

Instead, you give Sunghoon one final reminder of your gratitude with a quiet, “Thank you.”

He brushes you off, insists that any time you need a break from the man at your side, you’re more than welcome back. 

Jay rolls his eyes at that, but there’s no real malice. And when he hears the way it makes you giggle, he can’t help but smile himself. 

It’s a small moment of happiness, a bubble inside the catastrophe your life has become. 

But, you think, looking out the window as you drive back to the hospital, soft rock filtering through Jay’s speaker as he hums along quietly, whether you have three weeks or three months or all the time in the world, an afternoon spent dress shopping with a friend will be one you remember with fondness. 

…..

Staring at your phone screen, the message thread materializing in front of you is almost too ridiculous for you to believe it’s anything more than a figment of your imagination. A side effect of all the medication you’re on, maybe.

But everything else about the hospital cafeteria, right down to the barely edible food, seems real enough. 

Jongseong: When does your family leave?

That was the message that interrupted your meal nearly five minutes ago. 

You: In three days

You: Why?

Between bites of barely identifiable mush, he responded. 

Jongseong: I’m booking a guesthouse.

You: ??

Jongseong: At the beach

At that, you nearly choke on what the menu claimed was supposed to be mashed potatoes. 

Luckily, you manage to keep them down, but it is enough to catch the attention of your younger brother. 

“Who are you texting?” Sunoo asks, a glimmer in his eyes that you know wasn’t there before. 

“No one.” Your response is too immediate. Too defensive. Shit. It only makes his eyebrows raise further. 

“You sure?” he presses. “You seem pretty… engrossed.”

“It’s just school,” you lie, forcing yourself to turn off the screen. 

But not before one more message comes through.

Jongseong: Booking confirmed. I’ll pick you up the afternoon after they leave. 

It’s like he somehow knows Sunoo has a watchful eye on you right now. Like he can sense that you’re unable to protest the way you usually would. 

But whatever. You’ll deal with Jay later. Right now, Sunoo’s curious expression spells a more immediate issue.

“Right,” Sunoo nods, but you can tell he doesn’t quite believe you. Deciding to let it rest for now, he asks instead, “How is school?” 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing in particular,” he shrugs. “I just feel like every time I ask you about it, you brush it off or change the subject.”

He’s right. You do tend to get cagey whenever the topic of university is approached. Mostly because school is almost always a struggle. And your struggles are something you decided a long time ago not to share with your little brother. 

Suddenly, the topic feels a little heavy for the hospital cafeteria. Surrounded mostly by elderly patients, you can at least rest easy knowing that most of them don’t have hearing good enough to eavesdrop. It at least gives you the illusion of a bit of privacy. 

“It’s fine,” you shrug noncommittally. “Busy sometimes, but manageable.”

“Fine?” he echoes. “C’mon, there has to be something. No crazy professors or annoying classmates or embarrassing drunken mishaps?”

You shake your head. “It’s not like the movies. My professors are only crazy about citations and formatting, and I don’t really drink much.”

You don’t even bother to acknowledge the annoying classmates comment. Mostly because there’s no way you could breach it without mentioning someone you’re deliberately steering far clear of mentioning.

Hoping to pivot the conversation away from you, you ask, “What about the restaurant? How are things coming?”

“See,” he points out, eyebrows raised in accusation. “That’s what I mean. You’re always changing the subject.”

“I’m not trying to,” you lie. “I’m just curious.”

“Yeah,” Sunoo nods. “Just like I’m curious about you. We barely get any updates. You know, Mom had to find out that you made Dean’s list by checking the university website. She was so proud she printed it out and hung it next to the register in the restaurant. She still talks anyone’s ear off that will listen to hear about it.”

Your heart gives a sudden lurch. It’s true that you haven’t kept up as much as you should. That when you do, you always ask for updates more than you give them. 

It’s not like you meant to hide things like your honor roll achievement. It’s just that you always assumed your family was busy enough with their own lives. You didn’t want them to feel burdened by constant updates from you. 

But across from you now, Sunoo doesn’t look burdened. He just looks… hurt. Upset at the idea of not being kept in the loop of your life. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly. “I just knew that you were all so busy and I–”

Sunoo shakes his head, cutting you off. “We’re never too busy for you.” He looks at you a moment longer. “We miss you, you know. And it’s not just us. Everybody asks about how you’re doing, here in the big city. Our old teachers, people you graduated with, even Mr. Tim from that ice shop we used to go to as kids.”

“The one with the waffle cones?”

“Yeah,” his eyes soften. “His hip gave out last year, so he hasn’t been at the shop as much. But he comes to the restaurant sometimes, and he always asks about you. Remembers how you always used to order extra sprinkles.”

Something about it makes you emotional. The idea of taking up space in other people’s lives. Of being remembered, of being known. Of being seen and thought of and cherished. 

You think of Jay’s words from your last argument.  

“I don’t know where you got this idea that no one ever paid any attention to you. That you got to look and scrutinize and judge and no one would ever glance back at you.”

All at once, you wonder if his assessment might apply a bit more broadly than you thought. 

“I didn’t know he still remembered me,” is all you say.

“Of course he does.” Your brother’s words are eager, infused with a sincerity you want to shy away from. “Everyone does. We all do. You know,” he adds, more serious now, “That night you called us, I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified in my life.”

The admission sends a fresh stab of pain, a searing, agonizing, wave of guilt, careening right through you.

It’s everything you wanted to avoid, after all. Making your family worry. Causing them pain. Adding to their burden, to their grief. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice nearly breaking on the last syllable. 

“You’re sorry?” Sunoo balks. “Why would you ever be sorry? I’m sorry. All I could think about was that you were alone. How scared you must have been.”

“I…” You trail off, suddenly lost for words. It’s all too much, especially for your current setting. Your throat is beginning to feel dangerously clogged. “I’m fine–”

“You’re always fine.” Sunoo frowns. “You always say you’re fine, and then…” he stops himself, trying not to let his frustration, his sorrow, turn to anger.  Softer now, he continues, “And then you’re here. Very much not fine.”

For a moment, you’re quiet. Suddenly forced to see things from his perspective, any argument you could make dies on your lips. 

He’s right. If the roles were reversed, you’d feel that complicated mix of frustration and worry, too. If you had to beg and plead for fragments of the truth from someone you cared about, it wouldn’t feel like relief. It would make you worried sick. 

“Sometimes,” you admit, voice quiet, “it’s easier to just say I’m fine. To not admit that it’s hard or that I’m struggling. I wanted to make it easier for you. I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“I know,” Sunoo says. When you look at him, you think he must be telling the truth. There’s no hint of surprise on his features. Just a sad sort of acceptance. “I’m glad you told us. That we could be here. I’m sorry we can’t be here more.”

You shake your head. “It’s already more than enough. I know how hard it is to be away from home and the restaurant.”

Sunoo opens his mouth like he wants to say more, but your mother interrupts, sliding down into the chair next to you. Wrapping an arm around you, she pulls you close into a hug, squeezing gently at your shoulder.  

The thought of her combing through your school’s Dean’s list, wondering why you hadn’t bothered to share the achievement with her yourself, sends a fresh wave of guilt tumbling through you.

“How are my babies doing?” she asks. Turning to you she adds, “Is your appetite okay? Do you want me to see if they can bring something else–”

“I’m okay, Mom,” you assure her. “Thanks.”

“Okay,” she concedes, even if she still looks a bit unsure. “If you’re sure. Doctor Kim wants to see in a few minutes. But if you’re not done, I can ask him–”

“I’m done,” you cut her off again, trying to settle her worries with a small smile. Even though the thought of sitting in his office makes you want to crawl out of your skin, you say, “Let’s go.”

The sooner you see him, the sooner it will be over with, after all. 

So you go, you and your small band of support, following your mother and Sunoo to the elevator and pressing the button for the sixth floor. 

Doctor Kim’s office is still sterile, still lifeless. His awards and accolades hang on the wall like trophies, like terrible, bruising reminders of everything that’s wrong with you. But this time, with the chairs on either side of you occupied by your family, it feels a bit more bearable. 

Especially when your mother reaches over to envelop one of your hands in hers. When Sunoo notices the action and mirrors it.

Doctor Kim doesn’t waste your time. 

After glancing down at his notes for a moment, he turns to you and says, “You’re responding well.”

A knot unfurls in your chest. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Next to you, your mother’s grip slackens slightly on your fingers as some of her tension melts away too. 

Doctor Kim continues, “Of course, as we’ve discussed previously, treatment is comprehensive. We still have a journey ahead of us. I don’t want to give false hope or misconstrue the severity of your illness, but the preliminary signs are good. Your vitals are strong, and the cells are responding. Today will be your last day in this treatment round. You’ll recover for approximately one week before beginning the next.”

“And in that time?” you ask. 

“I advise rest,” he nods, like he expected the question. “As much as possible. I know we spoke previously about potentially resuming classes. It is my duty as your treatment provider to tell you that I must advise against this.”

“But why?” you ask, panic suddenly clawing at your throat. You feel like you’ve been duped, had false hope dangled right in front of your nose only to be snatched away at the last minute. “You said I’m responding well.”

“You are,” he agrees. “Remarkably well. But that doesn’t mean you should be placing your body or mind under any more stress than strictly necessary. After the first round is completed today, it’s likely that you’ll experience severe fatigue during your rest period. This is a natural and expected response, but it will make attending classes far too strenuous for an ideal recovery.” He looks at you, sympathy in his eyes. “I’m more than happy to provide a statement of medical leave for your university. I know it’s not easy, but these are, of course, extenuating circumstances.”

You shake your head, a bit more vigorously than necessary. “I don’t want—”

“We’ll take that statement, doctor,” your mother cuts you off. “Thank you.”

“Mom,” you turn to her, eyes wide. “I can’t just—”

“Of course you can.” She shakes her head. “School will still be there when you’re ready.”

You know it will be. But will your scholarship still stand? Will you still be able to find a tolerable roommate with rent you can afford? Can you live with the guilt of Sunoo needing to wait that much longer to finally see his dream come true?

It’s not just school you’re worried about. It’s everything else, the weight of everything you’ve been pouring your effort into for the last ten years. The culmination of the promise you made to yourself when yours and Sunoo’s roles were reversed. 

Letting those things go, even if only temporarily, is more difficult that you can put words to. 

Your mom, however, seems to possess the same talent that all mothers do. She silences you with a look. 

Fine, you think inwardly, already starting to think of ways you’ll be able to evade her wishes later. For now, at least, you’ll let it rest. 

Doctor Kim nods. “I’ll write it immediately.” Looking at your mother, he adds, “If you pass along the Dean of Students contact information, I’ll send it before the end of the day.”

You bristle in your seat but remain silent. As if he can sense your inner turmoil, Sunoo gives your hand a gentle squeeze. When you turn to him, he offers you a reassuring smile. There’s sympathy in his eyes, like he understands how much this means to you, how hard it is for you to let go. 

“I know Hana and I have been checking in regularly,” Doctor Kim turns to you now. “But is there anything that’s developed since the first treatment round? Any new pain? Symptoms? Discomfort?”

With Sunoo’s hand still on yours, you shake your head. You tell him you have nothing new to report. 

You don’t mention the migraine that’s been beating at your brain since last night, the way it seems to come and go with every new IV bag that’s attached to your vein. 

You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want to worry your mother. You don’t want to watch Sunoo’s expression fall in concern.

You don’t want to lose what little ground you’ve gained. 

If it gets worse, you promise yourself, even if you know you’re lying, if it doesn’t go away soon, then you’ll tell him. 

For now, you figure no one needs to know. 

…..

Jay’s car looks even sleeker today. You have half a mind to ask him if he just had it run through the car wash before coming. But then again, the shininess of the paint job isn’t really the most pressing of your concerns. 

As you draw closer, your brow furrows. It’s not just the shine that looks different. 

“Did you get your car painted or something?” you ask.

“What?” is all Jay says.  

“Your car,” you jerk your chin towards it. “It looks different.”

Jay’s feet falter. He turns to stare at you like you’ve just said something asinine. And it turns out you have. Because the next thing he says is, “It’s a different car.”

“It is?” You frown in consideration. 

Jay’s mouth goes a little slack. “How did you not— It’s an entirely different brand.”

“Sorry,” you shrug. “I don’t know a lot about cars.”

“Clearly.” He still looks affronted. “I mean, seriously.” More to himself than you, he mutters, “This is a 1962 Ferrari 250 GT California Spyder and you can’t even tell the difference.”

Your stare is blank. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Jay sighs. “No,” he resigns. “You can just worry about looking pretty in the passenger seat.”

At that, you feel the beginning of a flush rising on your cheeks. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think Park Jongseong was flirting. 

Suddenly desperate to steer the conversation back to neutral territory, you ask, “Why are we taking a different car? Did you just want to rent one for the drive?”

You really don’t know anything about cars. Maybe he has some aversion to putting more mileage on his own car. 

Jay shakes his head again. “This one’s mine, too.”

You shouldn’t be surprised at this point, but your brows raise slightly anyway. “It is?”

“Mhm,” he hums. “I just save it, usually.” A bit quieter, he adds, “For special occasions.”

“This is a special occasion?”

He nods. “Of course it is. Besides, I chose this car in particular for a specific reason.” He’s grinning at you now. “You’ll see.”

“This particular car?” you echo. “What? You have an entire fleet at home or something?”

Jay shrugs, but the smirk that tugs at his lips is unmistakable. “I have my hobbies.”

“And they include car collecting? You know what I used to collect when I was a kid? Rocks.”

“And I’m sure you found some very pretty ones.” Jay opens the passenger door for you before sliding your overnight bag — the one he didn’t let you carry for more than five feet before sliding it wordlessly off your shoulder onto his — into the back seat. 

He joins you in the car a moment later, sliding into the driver’s seat. Immediately, he leans over, reaching right into your space as his face comes dangerous close to yours. 

The heat on your cheeks is unmistakable this time. Shocked, you nearly trip over your words. “What are you—”

“Glove box,” he explains as his fingers undo the latch. Hands hovering just above your lap, he reaches into it for a dark, sleek case. Opening it, he pulls out a pair of sunglasses. He slides them onto his face, concealing his eyes before putting the case back where it belongs. 

He doesn’t close the compartment, though. Instead, he turns his concealed gaze to you. It feels awfully unfair to have his face so close to yours, able to read every single expression that flickers across your features when his own are hidden from sight. 

Ignoring the way you fidget under his stare, he tells you, “There’s another pair, if you want them.” He nods towards the glove box. “The sun visors in here aren’t great.”

“Okay.” It’s more of a mumble than an affirmation. Needing to break the intensity of his attention, you turn towards the glove box and pull out the second pair of sunglasses. Only pausing briefly at the embossed Prada logo, you slide them over your eyes. 

You try to ignore the fact that these are probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever put on your body. Remembering your recent dress shopping, you amend, well, second most expensive. 

Immediately, you’re grateful for them. For starters, you’re on more even footing now. He can’t read you so easily either. 

And they do serve their intended purpose well. Despite the chill in the air, it’s one of those rare late fall days where the sun seems to shine with extra ferocity. 

As he pulls out of the parking lot, reversing with one hand against the back of your seat, you ask, “How long is the drive?”

“About five hours. A little more if we hit traffic.”

“Mm,” you consider. “That’s long.”

“Don’t worry,” Jay says in a tone that immediately makes you do the opposite. “I have things for us to do.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” you try to dissuade him. “You can just put on some music or something and—”

“Nice try,” he interrupts. “No music this time. I’m asking you questions.”

It’s a nightmare come to life. A confined space you can’t escape as you're subjected to something as horribly incessant as his curiosity.

Your lips pull flat, heartbeat picking up in panic. “You’re not spending five hours asking me questions.” 

“It’s fair,” he insists. “Every time I ask you a question, you get to ask me one, too.”

“What is this, a drinking game?” You roll your eyes. “Are we at a dorm party?”

Jay just sighs. “I wish I could give you a glass of wine.”

You balk. “You want me drunk?”

“I want you honest,” he corrects. Glancing at you, he adds, “Something you’ve proven very reluctant to be.”

“Forgive me for not wanting to spill my guts to you.”

“I told you,” he says, suddenly serious. “I want to get to know you.”

“So you waited until you had me in a place I can’t escape.”

He smiles at that. “You’re catching on.”

“Fine,” you sigh. He can’t give you wine, after all. If you don’t like a question, you can always lie. Or just refuse to answer. Besides, there are things he’s said over the course of your strange agreement that pull at your curiosity, too. Things about him that you wonder. Maybe this will be a chance to finally have some answers of your own. “Do your worst.”

Entering the highway, the road stretches out long ahead of you. 

Jay starts off easy. Or at least, he tries to. “Why did you choose business as your major?”

For most people, it would be an easy question with a simple answer. For you, it lands right on a subject you’ve been avoiding at all costs. 

“It seemed interesting.” You shrug. 

“That’s bullshit,” he immediately returns. 

“What?”

“You’re the most organized, meticulous, goal-oriented person I’ve ever met. I don’t believe for even a second that you chose your major because it seemed interesting.” His eyes are still on the road. He picks apart your lies with as much effort as it takes to swat at a fly. He tells you, “Give me a real answer.”

Wheels spinning in your mind, you scramble to decide which parts of the truth to give him. Finally, you say, “My family has a restaurant. It hasn’t…. It hasn’t always done so well. I thought that if I learned more about the management and logistical side of things, I could help it get back on its feet.”

“That’s what you want to do?” There’s no judgement in his voice, but his tone is colored heavy by surprise. “Help run your family’s restaurant?”

You shake your head. “Isn’t it my turn?”

He nods, but you can tell he hasn’t let it go. “Alright. Go ahead.”

Suddenly, you’re not sure where to start. There are things you want to ask about his family, about his motives, but they feel too heavy. Too direct. 

Instead, you turn his question back to him. “Why did you choose business?"

Jay sighs, and you wonder if the question eats at him somewhere deeper, too. “Family expectation,” he tells you, voice tighter than it was before. “It wasn’t really a choice I made as much as a path I was expected to take. I have grown a genuine appreciation for the field, or at least a deep respect for it. But I wouldn’t say it was my choices that brought me here.”

Right from the get go, he’s more forthcoming that you expected. He’s already divulged more than you thought he might. Either Jay is keeping good on his promise to let you ask just as much as you answer, or he doesn’t keep his secrets quite as close to the chest as you thought. 

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment. 

Besides, it’s his turn now. 

He asks exactly what you expected him to. “Why did you choose to help run your family’s restaurant?”

You bite at the inside of your lip. Something about the road ahead of you has you feeling more honest than wine ever could. 

And suddenly, something aches in your chest at the thought of sharing your true feelings. The innermost parts of you that you’ve never told anyone. 

“My family’s been through hell and back,” you tell him. “The restaurant did really well, actually, when I was young. But…” you trail off, taking a deep, steadying breath. You have the feeling that if you divulge this particular bit of information to him, there really will be no going back. 

Jay sits quietly in the driver’s seat. Waits patiently for your answer. 

“But,” you continue, “my brother Sunoo got sick when we were kids.”

“Sick,” Jay repeats, the word heavy with insinuation. “Do you mean—“

It’s not his turn, technically, but you'll excuse it. 

“Yeah,” you nod, a rueful smile on your lips. “Ironic, isn't it? Doctor Kim told me when I was diagnosed. It’s genetic, apparently.”

The truth still makes you feel a bit helpless. Jay’s jaw tightens, but he says nothing.

You continue, “My family put everything they had into making him better. Of course they did. We’d do it again, if we had to, no question about it. But it made finances tough. And the restaurant never really went back to normal, even after everything.”

Next to you, Jay is quiet. Anxiety stirs in your stomach as you imagine the gears in his brain turning. As he puts more pieces of your puzzles together, begins to understand even more of the truths you were so determined to keep hidden. 

After another long moment of silence, his throat works around a swallow. “I think it’s your turn.”

You breathe. Deciding that this is no time to pull punches, you ask, “You mentioned that your father has certain… conditions for initiating you as a shareholder in the company. Is he always like that?”

“An unsentimental hardass?” Jay clarifies with a scoff.

“That’s one way to put it.” 

“Yeah,” Jay nods. “That’s pretty much what he’s like. You know that connections are what keep the business world spinning, and it’s not like he has some moral opposition to nepotism. But it’s been made very clear since day one that I am expected to prove myself. To fulfill any expectations and rise to whatever standards he decides are… necessary.”

“You’d never know. You’re a menace in the classroom.”

The corner of his lips tugs upward. Combined with the sunglasses still sitting on his nose, the sight is devastating.

“That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you brush him off. “Don’t let it get to your head. Besides, you know you’re persuasive. I’m here, going to the beach with you right now, aren’t I?”

“I didn’t have to try that hard.”

“I will literally jump into traffic.”

“Fine. You’re so stubborn you make mules look agreeable. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Not exactly, but I’ll take it.” You‘re not sure when it happened, but suddenly you’re smiling too. 

After a moment, he asks, “What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

For the first time in a while, you imagine that younger version of yourself again. The one with big dreams and the determination to realize them all. This time, the thought makes you smile.

The nostalgia feels like fondness instead of regret.

“Too many things to count,” you tell him truthfully. 

Jay just smiles. “I have time.”

The two of you pass the time like that, his questions veering towards a different kind of invasive the more miles you cover.

When he asks if you’ve ever thought about getting married, you have half a mind to reach across the center console and smack him.

“Why?” You ask instead, infusing your voice with as much indignation as possible. “What is this, a blind date?”

Jay just shrugs. “I’m curious.” He hesitates for a moment. Then he bites. “Besides, if anything, this is our third date.”

Cheeks aflame, you don’t press the subject further. 

Thankfully, his questions leave you with less reasons to blush after that. 

He learns about your favorite color and you laugh when he tells you about how he fell into the pool fully clothed on his family’s second trip to Italy. 

He asks about your summers and you ask about his hobbies. Well, the ones other than sports car collecting. 

You’re surprised to learn that he plays the guitar, and rather well you suspect, if the way he gets slightly evasive when you ask if he’s any good is anything to go by.

Time sharpens and then blurs as the road ahead of you does the same.

There are traces of Jay that stay true to your preconceptions. Threads of him that you picked up long ago in lecture halls and still ring true in the passenger seat of his car. 

But then he tells you about volunteering at the young learner’s summer camp your university hosts every July. 

It makes you smile, thinking of him mustering all of his fraying patience as he explains supply and demand to a group of half interested seventh graders for the third time. 

And then it makes you frown, thinking of all the ways you got him wrong. 

Because he might be uncovering your secrets, but you're putting together pieces of him, too. 

And Jay… cares. 

Sometimes quietly, like when he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it for you without ever saying a word.

Sometimes loudly, like when he scolded you for not pacing yourself on the champagne at the charity gala. When he all but begged you that night in his car to treat your life like something precious instead of disposable. 

Loudly, quietly. Whatever it is, it’s always sincere. 

Even when you mention a gelato shop you visited once as a kid and he launches into a three minute explanation of all the ways in which gelato differs from regular ice cream. He rambles on about genuine ingredients and slower melting with the same tone he uses to analyze spreadsheets. As if this deserves the same amount of rapt attention.

You just smile. Few things escape his notice. And as it would seem, even fewer escape his care. 

You can’t quite decide if being on the receiving end of that makes you feel lucky or indebted beyond reprieve. 

Either way, time passes easily.

For long minutes, it’s easy to forget about the diagnosis sitting heavy in your chest. 

Until you finally work up the courage to ask the question that’s been weighing heavy on your mind for days. 

“Jay?” You try, interrupting his latest rant, this one on the topic of the perfect temperature to sear steak at. 

He picks up on your change in tone, the sudden mix of nerves and seriousness. The words die on his lips.

“Yeah?” 

You take a deep breath, gathering the last of your bravery. “Why did you make that deal with me?”

For a long moment, he’s quiet. Long enough for your rapid heartbeat to pound a steady rhythm against your eardrums, inside your rib cage. 

You almost regret asking. You’re suddenly terrified of his answer. 

You brave a glance over at him. In your periphery, you watch his throat work around a swallow, the line of his jaw tighter than it was before.

There’s something raw in his voice when he finally tells you, “I didn’t—I don’t want you to die.”

His eyes are still on the road and yours are still tracing his side profile. You each hold a bit more of the other in your minds.

And Park Jongseong doesn’t want you to die. Whatever reasons he has, whatever lengths he’s willing to go to, the truth sits between you like a fragile thing. 

If it weren’t for your borrowed sunglasses, you’d have to squint. 

You turn your eyes back to the road, watching the way license plates blur and clouds streak overhead as you continue onwards. 

The car settles into silence for the first time since you left the hospital parking lot. Despite his earlier refusal, Jay reaches for the volume knob on his stereo now, lets the quiet, soft hum of his now familiar classic rock playlist fill the silence. 

Minutes stretch, and the silence starts to lose its weight. It settles around the both of you in a comfortable way, all the way until you get your first real glimpse of the ocean.

You can’t quite help yourself then. “Oh my god.” Your nose is practically pressed against his window, but decorum is the last thing on your mind. 

“It’s pretty, right?” Jay agrees. 

The next exit is yours, and soon the highway slows to a narrow, winding street. The trees that line it are dense at first until eventually they thin. 

Your glimpse from the highway pales in comparison. 

The ocean is… breathtaking. Even from a distance, the crashing waves are fascinating. The way they build and fall, flowing into each other in a perfect, messy, hypnotizing rhythm. 

“We’re close,” Jays says, double checking the map. He glances in the rearview mirror before adding, “This street isn’t too busy. Want to know what I meant when I said this car is for special occasions?”

Reluctantly, you peel your eyes from the ocean and look towards him. “Should I be scared? It’s not going to start flying is it?”

Jay tilts his chin, a small smile spreading on his lips like your ridiculous guess isn’t actually that far off. 

“You’ll see,” is all he says.

Then suddenly, the roof above you starts to open. Wind plays with your hair, rougher than you expect despite the slow speed. It washes over your face, a fresh, cool breeze with unmistakable traces of salt. 

You look up, the late afternoon sunlight nearly blinding despite your sunglasses. The wind is cold, almost bitingly so, as the rest of the roof falls aways. You hardly care. 

You laugh, a bright, airy sound that catches Jay so off guard he nearly swerves. 

But you can’t help it, the sudden, intense sense of elation. 

Jay brought you to the beach in a fucking convertible. 

“You like it?” he asks, grin stretching wider as he shouts to be heard over the wind.

You turn to him, eyes wide as you nod furiously. You don’t use words, but you don’t need them. He can see the way excitement lights up your entire face. 

He leaves the top down, stealing sidelong glances at you every so often for the rest of the drive. 

You lift your hand to the sky, spreading your fingers just to feel the way the wind weaves between them. A peal of laughter bursts from your throat again. 

For the first time in weeks, you’re not thinking about your headaches or your diagnosis or the fact that you could very well still be a ticking time bomb. 

Right now, it’s just you, Jay, and the wind. A combination of things that make you feel alive in the most riveting, pulse-pounding way. It’s like you’re drunk on it. The wind feels like freedom, like the promise of a future you never dared to dream of. 

All at once, you feel like crying. Not because you’re sad, but because you can’t remember the last time you felt this much life flowing through your veins.

You want a million more moments like this, a thousand more memories to look back on with fondness as you age. You aren’t ready to let it go. The thought of it feels like a dagger to the heart. Piercing, gutting, devastating. 

Jay is quiet next to you. His eyes still flicker between the road and you. He watches as emotions play out across your features. Hope, joy, and grief, all mixed into one. 

His jaw flexes, this time in determination. You wanted beach vacation, and he’s made up his mind that this will be the best fucking one anyone has ever had. 

Eventually, the rushing wind slows to a gentle breeze as Jay turns onto a private road, the speed limit decreasing sharply. 

Another minute passes before the beach house comes into view, but when it does…

“Wow.” You don’t mean to say it out loud, but the word falls through your parted lips anyway. 

Nestled between trees and a perfectly landscaped garden, the house blends right into the beachfront. Two stories tall and a sandy shade of beige, it looks like it was built to belong to the place where it stands. 

Looking past it, you see the endless stretch of sand, melting into quiet waves where it meet the ocean. It’s stunning.

Jay slows the car further before shifting into park. 

Without the wind from earlier and the hum of the engine, the air around you feels quiet. Still. 

And, you realize with a sudden flush, incredibly private. It strikes you, slaps you across the face really, that you’re about to spend two nights with Jay in a secluded beach house with what appears to be no neighbors for miles. 

Just you and Jay.

Alone. 

“I thought…” you trail off, suddenly desperate for something to fill the silence. “We’re not staying in a hotel?” Even that feels scandalous, but at least there would be other people around to ease the sudden tension. 

Jay shakes his head. “It’s off season,” he explains. “Most hotels are already closed for the winter. Besides,” he adds, “this will be more spacious. And the private beachfront is a bonus, too.”

You swallow. “Private?” you echo. “As in…”

“Just us,” he nods, either oblivious to your sudden spiraling or intentionally ignoring it. “If you go half a mile in either direction, the beach is public land, but this little spot right here,” he jerks his chin towards the stretch of beach you can see from the car, “that’s just for us.”

“Oh,” is all you can really manage. 

Jay picks up the slack. “C’mon,” he urges. “Let’s go check it out.”

Wordlessly, he takes both of your bags from the back seat. 

The walk from the car to the front door is short, but it’s enough to make your breath feel shallow in your chest. 

Doctor Kim had warned you that this week would be full of fatigue, but the effort it takes just to walk a few steps is nothing short of frustrating. 

The beauty of the beach house is almost enough to make you forget it, though. Almost. 

The garden is stunning, even as fall gives way to winter. Less lush than it surely is in the summer months, but the golden brown leaves and shrubbery are still arranged in a way that makes it enchanting.

And the house itself seems to have been given the same attention to detail. Trailing behind Jay through the front door, the space that opens before you is quaint. 

Not overly large, the decorations are sparse but intentional. As if the owner knew nothing would ever be able to overshadow the view. 

The far wall is hardly a wall at all. Nearly from floor to ceiling, its windows. With a crystal clear view of the beach that belongs to you for the next two days and the ocean it bleeds into. 

From here, it’s even more stunning. You feel like you could spend hours here, motionless, just watching as the waves fall into each other, over each other. Battering against the shoreline with an even, flowing rhythm. 

It’s captivating. So much so that the sound of Jay’s voice nearly startles you out of your skin when he says near the foot of the staircase, “The bedrooms are upstairs.”

You turn to him, and he motions for you to follow.

Bedrooms, he said. You exhale a sigh of relief. At least you can retain some of your privacy while you’re here. 

The second story has the same cozy, lived-in feel as the first. An open central area splits off into two bedrooms on opposite sides of the house. In the center of it all is a balcony.

“Which side?” Jay asks, capturing your attention again. “Garden or forest?”

“I’ll take the garden,” you nod toward the bedroom on the left.

Jay nods, leading the way. 

You enter the bedroom behind him, glancing around as he flips the light switch and sets your bag on the ground.

It’s a beautiful room. Simple, full of light, airy colors and textures that remind you of the ocean below. The last of the day’s natural light bleeds through the windows, both the ones on the opposite wall that overlook the garden and the far wall that provides a perfect view of the ocean. 

To your left, a door leads to an en-suite bathroom. 

And in the middle of the room, pressed close to the seaside window, is a full sized bed with too many pillows to count. White bedsheets are tucked in neatly at the corners, far fluffier than any duvet you’ve ever had.

“I hope it’s alright,” Jay says from behind you. You swear you hear a hint of trepidation in his voice. “Options can be a bit limited in the off season, but I thought—“

“Jay,” you interrupt, eyes still caught on the rolling waves outside the window. Your window. “It’s perfect.”

“Oh,” he returns, voice colored with pleasant surprise. “Good.”

You can still feel his presence behind you, hesitating like he’s not quite ready to leave. 

After a moment, Jay continues, “I’ll let you get settled in for a minute. I’ll start dinner soon.”

“Dinner?” You turn to him now, eyebrow arched. “What’s our menu for tonight? Ramen?”

Jay just smiles, a small thing. “Something like that.”

But in true Jay fashion, something like that turns out to be nowhere close to your expectations. 

The convenience store dinner you anticipated is all but forgotten by the time you make it back downstairs a handful of minutes later, only to find Jay already hard at work. 

Half bent over the stove top, an apron covers his torso as he hums quietly to himself. The smell that fills the kitchen is already divine. So much so that you can’t help but ask—

“What are you making?”

Jay grins at you over his shoulder. The sight is far more devastating than it has any right to be. Coy as ever, all he says is, “You’ll see.”

And you do. Thirty minutes later when he sets the most perfectly cooked meal you’ve ever seen down in front of you on the dining room table. 

He pours a can of sparkling water into a wine glass and slides it to you with a wink. “Not the real thing, but I thought it might add to the ambience.”

It’s a joke, more lighthearted than anything, but the consideration hits you somewhere deep.

In an effort to distract yourself, you take a bite of the meat Jay’s just finished grilling. Granted, you have been living off hospital food for the past two weeks but—

“Jay.” Your voice rings out across the table, tone laden with something serious.

He turns to you, eyes wide. “What? Is something wrong? Did I undercook—”

You shake your head. “This is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

He flushes. A pretty shade that extends all the way from the tops of his cheekbones to the base of his neck. You have the sudden desire to see if it extends any further, beneath the collar of his well fitted shirt.

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I most certainly am not.” You take a second bite for good measure. It’s just as mouthwatering. “Seriously. How did you do that?”

He shrugs, shy under your praise. “My mom taught me.”

“Your mom,” you echo. It strikes you then that all of your conversations about his family have been quite limited. The sparse details you’ve gotten have only really been about the strained relationship he has with his father. “What’s she like?”

“She’s the best.” Jay’s smile is small but genuine. “Honestly, I think her relationship with my father was based more on family status than a real romantic connection, but she loves her family. She always wanted— wants,” he corrects, “me to be good. Not just good at school or business or running the company, but a good person in general.”

The thought makes you smile. There’s something adorable about imagining a tiny version of him, a ten-year-old Jay learning manners from his mother. It makes sense to you. The lessons seemed to stick. 

You suspect it’s why he always insists on opening doors for you and carrying your bags and letting you relax while he cooked dinner despite the fact that he just finished driving five hours. You reconsider your assumption that  his small kindnesses have been due solely to your illness. Maybe, you think, he really is just a gentleman in every sense of the word. 

Dinner is a rather quiet affair, at least outwardly. Both of you already laid out your most pressing questions on the drive over, and the meal really is delicious enough to keep you silent. 

But all the stillness gives your mind space to wander. And wander it does. 

Sat directly across from Jay, your eyes keep flickering towards him, falling quickly back to the table whenever he catches your stare. 

It’s not like you mean to gawk at him. But there are suddenly things about him that are very difficult to look away from. 

Has his jawline always been that sharp? Has his hair always fallen that perfectly over his forehead, just barely brushing the long eyelashes that frame his dark, intelligent eyes?

You’ve known what Jay looks like for years. But it’s always been the back of his head that you’ve stared at. You’ve always assumed you were one step behind him, a few rungs beneath him on the ladder of social standing. 

Here, across from the small dining room table, you feel more like equals. Everything about him that used to feel so painfully out of reach suddenly seems like it could fall right into your hands if you worked up the nerve to outstretch them. 

And that thought feels… dangerous. 

Jay is far safer as an enigma, you’re sure. Someone best kept at an arm’s distance. If you ever dared to let your fingers get too close to him, you’re terrified at just how solid he might feel beneath them. 

It’s best, you decide, to keep that space between you, even if it’s only an illusion. 

Once again, it strikes you just how alone the two of you are. You have an entire house, an entire beach to yourself. Suddenly, maintaining distance feels like a difficult task. 

The shadows outside the living room windows are beginning to extend once the two of you are done eating. Pastel tones paint the sky as the sun dips towards the horizon. 

Wordlessly, Jay takes both his plate and your to the kitchen sink. And then you hear his voice behind you. 

“Should we go for a walk? We’ll catch the sunset if we go now.”

Turning to him, your nod comes easily. You might still be warring with the proximity, but you didn’t put a beach trip on your bucket list with the intention to stay inside the whole time.

Quietly, you pull your jacket over your shoulders, brushing your hair out of the way. And then you follow him out of the front door. 

The sand is cool between your toes when he convinces you to remove your shoes. 

“It’s the best part of the beach,” he insisted, but his smile was what truly had you agreeing.

Ever attuned to your needs, Jay notices when your breath starts to become shallower, the repeated motion of stepping over sand becoming more difficult. Then, he suggests that the two of you sit. But not before laying out the blanket he carried down with him. 

Half of it rests beneath the two of you, a barrier between the sand and your bodies. The rest of it drapes over your shoulders, a makeshift shelter from the cool evening breeze. 

The sun falls closer to the sea with every passing breath. Out here, it’s even more stunning. The vibrant pink and orange hues that streak through the sky, the gentle rhythm of waves against the shore, the salt-filled breeze that plays with your hair even as you sit half-hidden beneath the blanket. 

There’s something so peaceful about it all, so beautifully serene. It’s a reminder of just how big, how vast, how endless the world is. And how, even still, it finds a way to distill itself into pockets of perfection just like this. 

There are no shooting stars to wish on, no magical genies that offer to grant your deepest desires, but it still feels a bit like a peace offering from the universe. Life was never going to be fair, and for you, maybe never even truly kind. But there is still beauty to be found, still contentment to be had. Moments like this that will eventually fade to memories that you’ll treasure forever. 

At your side, Jay looks at the horizon too. Watches as the bottom of the sun kisses the waves. You’re not touching, but you can feel the warmth from his body against your side. 

“You can lean on me,” he offers, “if you want.” His voice is quiet but sure. Not small enough to be swallowed by the sea.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. 

A moment passes. The sun dips a bit lower. Time seems to move faster now. 

“I know,” he returns. “But you can anyway.”

Your first instinct is to protest. To insist that you’re okay, that you don’t need his support. 

You sneak a glance at him out of your periphery. Watch as his jaw tightens, as his throat works through a swallow. 

He’s nervous, you realize. And he used a bit of his bravery to make his offer. 

So instead, you let your head fall gently against his shoulder. It’s a bit uncomfortable at first. The angle isn’t quite right. 

Your temple presses against bone and your head wants to loll back to a position that you’re sure will make your neck ache. 

It takes Jay only the span of a few heartbeats to adjust. He sinks a bit further into the sand, his hand coming to rest against the outside of your head as he adjusts your angle slightly.

He leaves it there, even as you settle into your new position. Tucked closer into his neck, it’s far more comfortable. You can smell faint hints of his cologne with every inhale.

After a few moments, the hand against your hair begins to move. Gently, Jay tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

Your eyes are still on the sun. It’s almost entirely vanished now, light fading as it settles into the sea. Jay’s thumb begins to rub gentle strokes against your temple. 

The air is cool, but Jay is warm. So impossibly warm and you can’t help but lean a little further into him, into his touch. 

Jay sighs, and it scatters across the top of your head. 

The sun finally kisses the day goodbye, dipping entirely below the horizon. Neither of you move, eyes still turned towards the sea even as daylight begins to fade. 

Jay wraps the blanket a bit tighter around your shoulders before resuming his light touches against your temple. .

The two of you stay like that for a long time, neither of you willing to move, to break the careful peace that’s settled so comfortably around you. 

But time presses onwards and by the time a fourth, obnoxiously large yawn escapes you, Jay makes the executive decision to call it a night. You don’t protest as he stands, extending a hand to help you up to your feet. You don’t comment on the way he keeps your hand wrapped in his just a bit longer than necessary, as if he isn’t quite ready to let you go. 

The walk back to the house is quiet, nothing but the sound of your breath and the waves behind you to fill the silence. 

Jay offers you a hand again, this time for balance as you brush sand from your feet before putting your shoes back on. 

Once you reach the house, you trail behind him up to the second floor. At the top of the staircase, he pauses, then turns towards you. You’re halfway to your bedroom when he calls your name. 

At the sound, you turn to look at him. For a moment, he just stares at you, fingers clenching at his sides. Then, he makes his decision. You see it in the set of his jaw, the sudden determination in his eyes. 

He takes three deliberate strides forward, all the way until he’s close enough to touch. You take half a step back in surprise and he follows, crowding into your space. 

“Jay, wh—”

His fingers wrap around your wrist, effectively silencing you as he pulls you into him, arms wrapping around your shoulders in a tight embrace. 

For a brief moment, you’re too stunned to do anything. And then, regaining your senses, you bring your own hands tentatively to his shoulder blades, let your face fall a little closer into his chest until your lips are brushing over the fabric of his shirt. 

Eyes wide in the moonlight, you take a deep breath in, letting his warmth envelop you. 

Jay pulls back, just slightly. He still has his arms around you, but there’s a sliver of space now, just enough room for you to look up at him. 

You regret it almost immediately. He’s already looking down at you, something indecipherable in his gaze. 

It frightens you. It sends a deep, aching thrill shivering down the length of your spine. 

Jay leans closer, and your eyelids flutter shut. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. 

You feel his lips against your forehead instead. Gentle, unmoving, just there. 

A handful of seconds pass. Or maybe a minute. Wrapped in his arms, time feels like a malleable thing. It’s impossible to be sure.  

Whatever it is, it’s long enough for something to pass between the two of you, for something to shift. 

Jay pulls back, but he doesn't let you go. Not yet. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers, breath fanning over your skin. 

Your mind is spinning, suddenly full of desires and thoughts and possibilities that you never stopped to consider before. 

“Goodnight, Jay,” you manage to return, breathless and more than a little flustered.

At that, he does pull back. Reluctantly, you disentangle yourself from him, still caught somewhere between possibilities and reality. 

Jay doesn’t move, hardly dares to breathe, until you turn, until the door to your bedroom clicks shut. 

Once it does, you lean back against it, hand flying to your chest. Your heart pounds in your throat, and your breath is suddenly a rather difficult thing to catch. 

You go through the motions of preparing for bed mechanically.

Washing your face, changing into the pajamas you packed, climbing into the ridiculously cozy bed in the middle of the room.

All the while, you imagine it, replay it. Jay looking down at you with intention in his gaze. His arms around you, his lips on your forehead. 

You’re exhausted. It’s late. But the thought of Jay, just across the hall from you, so close it’s almost painful, keeps pulling you back to consciousness. Sleep takes a long while to find you.

Once it finally does, it’s deep and dreamless. 

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