#줄다리기 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hannie-dul-set · 7 months ago

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줄다리기 / JULDARIGI — one.

SYNOPSIS. the moment you step foot into the neighborhood you’d sought to forget, you find yourself caught in a seven sided tug-of-war with the longings of the past, and the restraints of the present.

FEATURING. seventeen’s yoon jeonghan, nct’s na jaemin, txt’s choi soobin and choi beomgyu, enhypen’s park sunghoon, zb1’s shen quanrui, bnd’s han dongmin. GENRES. drama, suggestive, psychological, yandere reverse harem (yeehaw!!!), college! au, richkid! au. CHAPTER WARNINGS. swearing, arson, child abandonment, obsessive and possessive behavior, ominous vibes overall, but things are still pretty mellow at this point BWAHAHAH.

WORD COUNT. 13.6k TAGLIST. open.

NOTE. my insanity begins. this reads like a very bad soap opera-ish kdrama with all the cliches you can think of, including terrible male leads HAHHAHAHAHAHA. nothing major happens in the chapter, but a lot of teensy tiny hints are being dropped. would love to hear everyone's dissections of my collection of messed up characters. enjoy!!!

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THERE IS AN AQUARIUM IN THE KIM HOUSEHOLD.

A large, rectangular box in the space where the hallway and living room meet, filled with rocks, driftwood, plants and a multitude of colorful fish, large and small, all drenched in a glaze of cerulean blue. One of the angelfish swims right in front of you, following the direction of your eyes as you scan it from left to right, almost knowing that you’re looking at it by how it slows down the moment it enters your field of vision— watching you in return with its blank stare.

Seeing this reminds you that your home used to have three. One in the foyer. One in the dining room. One on the second floor landing where you used to play house with your friends. You also remember that you had a koi pond in the garden, of which you’d visit every morning and had once nearly fallen into after leaning over the bridge railing too far after trying (and failing) to count the number of fishes swimming and swirling around.

But that was ten years ago. Maybe nine. Now, the only fish you count is the supply of dried pollock you keep in the store for the bugeoguk on the menu.

“Hey, it’s time to bring the deserts in. Quit spacing out.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you grunt, spinning your heels back into the direction of the kitchen. You pull the towel loosely hanging from your right shoulder, following the footsteps of your co-worker into the hallway. It’s funny how things can just suddenly go wrong— how you can have three aquariums and a koi pond and have it all disintegrate into thin air right before your very eyes.

You walk into the large kitchen, a cart full of sweets and cakes and pastries waiting for you to push out into the backyard dining area of the house. The warm lights lining the wraparound porch are reminding you of what you used to have. The sounds of champagne glasses and cutlery clicking and clattering feel like distant but familiar reveries that leave a bitter taste on your throat.

“Oh, I’ve been dying for something sweet.”

Wordlessly, you set the dishes from your cart onto the table, careful to not brush against the handful of people dining on the table. You’re careful. You’re so, so careful yet you can still feel the stares drilling into your skull while you keep your head down, the hushed yet audible whispers that assault your ears the moment you finish serving one person before moving onto the next. It’s more annoying than anything, really. But you can’t let that expression show through your face.

You make the mistake of locking eyes with one of the members of the dinner, however. It’s brief— no longer than three seconds. Yet three seconds was enough for him to recognize you, and for you to detect his recognition.

There’s nothing but shock and surprise in those eyes of his.

All the deserts have been served. You retreat back into the kitchen with the now empty cart and thank the heavens that you don’t have to come back out there tonight.

“Whew. Rich people chatter way too much.”

You laugh, looking over at Soonyoung who lets out a tired sigh the moment the kitchen doors close. “Work’s not over. Time to clean up.”

Soonyoung and you met just earlier, yet you’re already trying to trip each other over while carrying stacks of dishes to the washing station. He’s a pretty easy going guy. You two would be good friends, but your shift is nearly done. You don’t have anyone to serve here in the kitchen so you two can mess around as much as you want. “Good work today,” says your catering manager after handing you your salary. “I was unsure when I saw you walk into the kitchen today, but you seem pretty experienced with this line of work.”

You smile, blindly counting the number of bills in your hands. “I’ve been waitressing for a long time.” A hundred-fifty thousand. Right on the dot.

He mirrors your expression. “How about working with us permanently?”

“Ah, sorry. I don’t think my schedule can manage. Call me if ever you need another pair of hands to cover for you, though.”

That was the end of today’s job. One of your friends, Seungkwan, called you earlier saying that he had a part-time opportunity for you— working as a server for a catered private family dinner in Pyeongchang-dong, Westwind Crossings. It’s bound to pay well, and you weren’t wrong after earning much more than your daily wage at the diner.

You pack up your things, leaving your apron behind before sneaking off to one of the servant hallways that the head maid showed you earlier. The Kim’s don’t want to see their workers in the same space as they regularly cross, apparently. You grunt and pick up your pace, only to get caught in the mess of corners and turns. Wait, did you have to go left this time or right? Gosh, big houses are so confusing. This is just making you appreciate your cramped home in downtown Seoul even more.

Biting the bullet, you turn left, and what emerges from the other end of the hall isn’t the exit at the side of their house, but what appears to be a lounge area. It had been roughly thirty minutes since the dinner ended. A knot begins to form in your temples the moment three pairs of eyes land on yours.

Shit. This is gonna get annoying. You quickly snap your head back and start to book it, but your feet stutter at the first step.

Your name is called out. God damn it, you really didn’t want to deal with this.

“I knew it!” one of them exclaims. Kim Haera. The eldest daughter of the household and, well, an acquaintance of yours. Former acquaintance really, since the last time you’ve seen here was eight fucking years ago. “Holy shit, the rumors are true! I didn’t want to believe it, but here you are!”

You bite your tongue. You ignore her and start walking again, but you hear a pair of footsteps quickly catching up to your direction and you’re pulled back by the arm, eyes widening, now face-to-face with Kim Haera’s bright and curious eyes. There’s a smile on her face. A big one, like she can’t contain it. “Hey, don’t just run off. We haven’t seen each other in years. C’mon, let’s talk and catch up. I’m dying to know what happened to you.”

From what you can remember, Kim Haera has always been a bit of a bitch. Looks like the years failed to fix her nasty personality.

Haera tugs you out of the tunnel, inside the lounge with three people you’d prefer not be around. “Guys! Do you remember her? Stupid question, of fucking course you do, we used to be over at their place all the time.” Then she abruptly stops, causing you to stumble a little. She turns to you, a snide expression of her face, and the knot in your head tightens. “Well. That was until things went to shit with your family eight years ago, right?”

Your jaw clenches. You manage your breaths. You remember her being awful, but it was never directed to you because she always used to follow you around. To talk shit about everyone in your circle with you listening to make herself seem better than everyone else. Because it was your home that everyone used to frequent. Because it was your family that used to host these dinners, these gatherings, these whatevers.

No, you don’t envy the house you’re standing in right now. You’re just mad that you can’t say anything back because you still want the fucking catering company to give you a call in the future.

“Well, say something.”

“Noona,” a voice interrupts. You look and see it’s Kim Donghyun, Haera’s younger brother. The other kid, Lee Sanghyeok, looks like he isn’t even listening to what’s going on— which you’d have preferred over whatever the fuck Haera is doing. “I think that’s enough.”

Haera ignores him. “Seriously, what happened to you?” she presses on, and you stifle a sigh.

“Mrs Kim disallowed any of the catering staff to enter unauthorized areas and to talk to any of the guests and members of the household,” you finally say with a tight-lipped smile. “I apologize for the intrusion. If you’d excuse me—”

“I’m not done talking to you.”

You’re yanked back, a strain in your shoulder socket as you stifle down a swear. She looks down on the sleeve she wrinkled— the server uniform you’d been wearing all afternoon to evening, stained-white in color. She breathes out a snicker.

“You might’ve been used to looking down on me when we were kids, but it looks like things are different now.” Your head hurts. It’s like maturity never befriended her these past ten years. “Now, tell me. Did you just choose to move after your house burnt down? Or did the Choi’s really screw you guys over?”

“Noona!”

“You just disappeared into thin air after that happened,” she remarks. “The least that you could’ve done was give me a heads up that you’re coming back to work here. I could’ve handed you a pretty handsome tip while you were serving the table.”

There’s only so much shit you can take. One more jab, and your patience might just run out. But at that moment, you hear the door to the lounge slide open. Your heart races in panic, fearing it might be one of their parents, but it isn’t.

You’re not sure if the person that just walked it would make this situation better or worse.

“Haera.”

It’s the second time you’ve made eye contact with Na Jaemin tonight. The first two times after ten years and seeing him all grown up is still a huge slap in the face. His hair is bleached, almost white, which is a surprise knowing how uptight his parents are. He called out Haera’s name, but you can tell he’s looking at you. He’s looking at you with the same expression that he wore at the dining room table earlier— shock, surprise— pleasant or otherwise and you can’t really tell, but he quickly brushes it off to the side when Haera lets out a gasp and runs up to him.

“Oppa!” she exclaims. “What are you doing here? Did you come to see me?”

Na Jaemin simply smiles. “Mr and Mrs Heo are about to make their leave. Your parents want you to see them out.”

Seeing the disappointment in her face is almost funny. Haera lets out a groan. “Donghyun, let’s go.” And her brother scuttles along with her too, giving you a single hesitant glance before turning away. This is your cue to leave. You quickly turn again, facing the open mouth of the servant hallway just as you hear Na Jaemin’s voice echo in the room again.

“Sanghyeok, you too. Jiyeon refuses to leave until she gets to see you.”

Huh. You don’t remember seeing Heo Jiyeon at the dinner table. You want to push forward, yet again you feel a familiar stare drilling into the back of your skull, so you take a peek over your shoulder. You see Lee Sanghyeok let out a tired grunt and forces himself off the couch, muttering a thank you to Jaemin before leaving the room as well, but the latter stays.

He’s looking at you again. You can practically see the cloud of words floating above his head as tries to come up with an appropriate thing to say. It’s not like he can ignore you at this point. He’s been looking at you too much for it to slither under your notice.

Then, after much thought, he finally comes up with something to say.

“Do you know the way out?”

You pause. That’s interesting. No re-introductions. No musings of how he didn’t expect to ever see you again. No gripe about how low you’ve plummeted since he last saw you.

“No,” you reply. He makes his first steps towards you— past you, leading you through the intricacies of the servant tunnels, and before you know it, you’re outside just in the time for the sun to set, and Na Jaemin is looking at you again like he has so many things to say, but decides to say just one thing instead.

“I’ll walk you out the subdivision.”

Once more, you pause and think. What does he want? Is he stretching his time with you to get you to say something? To dig into why you left this neighborhood and how you ended up back here ten years later as a different person, just like Kim Haera? You can’t get a read on him. You never could, not ever since you were kids and first introduced to each other. As someone you should get close to. As someone who’d be a good match for you.

He’s still the same as ever. His face is still pretty. And he still stands an arms length away from you— never too close, and never too far.

“Na Jaemin,” you start. “I can still remember the directions and streets and twists and turns of Westwind. You don’t have to. It’s fine.” You finish it off with a smile on your face, albeit somewhat forced.

“It’s getting late,” he responds, practiced and polite, and you almost laugh. “I should at least make sure you make it your ride home.”

“Well. Alright,” you finally say, and like earlier he brushes past you, a little ahead of you, and you start walking in rhythm down the familiar streets of the neighborhood. Much to your surprise, he’s quiet. It’s been a few minutes since the Kim’s house has gone out of sight, but he hasn’t started prying yet. Then again, you don’t remember him being as much of a snob as Haera. In your memories, Na Jaemin has always been quiet and polite— smiling when he needs to, talking when he needs to. He never does anything more than necessary.

At least to you. He’s a little different when he’s around his friends. With the Lees, who live just a block away. He smiles more with them than when he does with you. Then again, you two aren’t exactly friends nor strangers, but it isn’t fair to just call him an acquaintance.

Na Jaemin notices you drilling holes into the side of his face and stops walking. It’s payback from earlier. He’s waiting for you to talk. So you do.

“Aren’t you gonna ask?”

This catches him off guard. Your mouth twitches. It’s barely a smile.

“Like, oh my god, what the hell happened to you, you used to be the most privileged rich kid in the neighborhood— why are you serving tables and letting Kim Haera spit on your face?” you rattle on, taking one step and more and this time it’s you taking the lead ahead. You spin your heels, walking backwards with your hands tucked behind your back. Na Jaemin looks like he’d been exposed. You laugh and turn back to face the right side of the road. “I know you’re curious. You’ve been looking at me like you want to pick apart my brain since I first intruded into your dinner.”

“Would you answer?” he says gruffly, trying to match your pace, but he can’t quite keep up with the bounce in your step as you near the exit of the subdivision.

“If you ask nicely,” you hum. “Considering our history, I think you deserve to know. More than Kim Haera at the very least.”

This prompts a huff from him, close to a laugh. You smile. “I remember the fire that occurred, and you and your family left the neighborhood not long after,” Na Jaemin finally starts. “I thought you’d just left while waiting for your house to get repaired, but a few weeks passed and your home was still in the same state.”

You’ve reached the outside of the neighborhood, past the toll gate, and much to your surprise, Na Jaemin is still walking with you. He’s managed to overtake your lead, headed towards the bus stop.

“When I asked my parents about what happened, the only thing they said is that you had a stroke of bad luck and I shouldn’t concern myself with you again.” Na Jaemin turns around, stopping underneath the waiting shed outside the premises of Westwind. You remember being in this same spot with him a few times before, but the shed is smaller than you remember. Or maybe you two just grew taller.

He’s still bad at asking for what he wants though. He’s looking at you patiently to answer his unasked question. You relent, looking up at the slowly darkening sky.

“A stroke of bad luck seems just about right.”

Your mother comes from old money, and your father not quite. He was upper-middle class at most, and her family didn’t approve of him. They were already pressuring her to break up while they were still dating, and eloping with him didn’t elicit a great reaction. She got cut off. At the very least she kept the house you, your parents, and grandfather had formerly lived in under her name, as well as a trust fund that still ensured her a more than comfortable rest of her life. Your father didn’t slack either. He managed to build himself up with two of his friends by investing and starting a finance firm.

It didn’t take long for your family’s wealth to grow, and by the time you were born, you were already handed a silver spoon.

But things go wrong just as quickly as they go right.

Your grandfather had a gambling addiction. The only reason why you found out about it is the yelling you’d overheard from your dad’s study every week. That enough wouldn’t be enough to squander off all your wealth, but it was the first domino that caused everything to collapse. Not long after, your father got betrayed by his business partners. You didn’t know the details since you were only fourteen when it happened, but you knew well enough to understand that your picture perfect life had started to crumple.

The dinners your family hosts every week suddenly stopped. Your household had to retrench, downsizing the number of workers, maids, gardeners, cooks, drivers and you started catching the bus to and from school.

Perhaps some of the employees that got laid off grew resentful. Their resentment came in the form of being woken up in the middle of the night by your mother. You still vividly remember every beat of the scene— the warm and arid air, the smell of something suffocating, and the unusual bursts of light pouring from the outside. From the garden. And then your mother practically dragged your small frame out of the room, down the stairs, until you finally reached outside where you saw black smoke replacing the clouds in the sky, and the sound of sirens quickly growing louder and louder by the second.

“I don’t even know why I’m telling you all this.” You and Na Jaemin are now sitting on the bench under the shed, waiting for your bus to arrive. “I guess coming back to this neighborhood again reminded me that I’m still bitter.”

You flit your eyes up, trying to gauge Jaemin’s expression, but of course he’s still impossible to read. Is it sympathy? Pity? Derision? You have no idea.

“Haera was dying to find out how my life got royally screwed over,” you let out with a stretch. The aftermath of working for five hours is starting to hit. You’re gonna have a cold shower once you get home. “Feel free to spread the news like wildfire because I’m pretty sure the other kids want to know, too. Might as well make a novel out of it.”

The headlights of a bus come into sight. It stops briefly on the side of the road before you. Then it passes by with the hum of the engine.

“What makes you think I’m the type to gossip?” he asks. You don’t even catch a single ounce of offense from his tone.

“I don’t know,” you reply. “We never really talked much.”

Jaemin releases something short of a laugh. “That’s true.” Then a pause. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Why would you be? It’s not like it’s your or your family’s fault,” you say. “I’m pretty happy with my life right now. Got into uni with a full-ride scholarship and I just made a hundred thousand in one day. I’m pretty sure a nice and warm meal is waiting for me when I get home too.”

He hums. “Where do you study?”

“KSU,” you reply. “You? I remember you’ve been preparing for med school since elementary, so I’m guessing NCIT?”

“You seem to know your universities well,” he quips. “And I’m surprised you even know of that.”

“Of course. You were practically my de facto fiancee from when I was nine to twelve. My parents make it a habit to advertise you over dinner without fail. Everything I know about you is against my will, Jaemin.” You joke, laughing. The corners of Na Jaemin’s mouth twitches upwards too, a little flustered when his head turns down a little, and you can see the length of his eyelashes hovering above his cheeks. “To be honest, I really thought we’d end up getting married with how much our families kept pushing us together. But I guess it’s another funny swing of fate that my circumstances made sure that neither of us would fall into an arranged marriage.”

It’s official. You simply aren’t equipped to understand the makings of Na Jaemin’s head based solely on his expressions. He’s stopped looking down, eyes directed at you with a gravity that nearly overwhelms and you want to ask what? Why are you looking at me like that? What exactly do you want to know and why can’t you just say it?

Still, you keep those questions locked in your throat because another bus approaches, and the sky is now more black than orange. Maybe you shouldn’t let this one pass by.

“Anyway, thanks for walking me out and waiting with me, Jaemin,” you say as you ready to stand up, dusting your trousers and your already stained white shirt. “And thanks for, you know, being a decent fucking person.”

The bus comes closer. You take this as a signal to leave and bid this neighborhood goodbye— maybe for good this time— but right before the bus makes a screeching halt before the waiting shed, your steps stagger from the sound of Na Jaemin’s voice behind you.

“Do you miss it?”

You pause. You look over your shoulder and see Jaemin standing underneath the shade. The streetlight nearby flickers on. It illuminates the right side of his face.

“The life you had before,” he says. “Do you want to get it back?”

Regardless, it’s still impossible to decipher his expression, to figure out what he wants and what he means.

You hear the bus pull over, the sound of the door exhausting open. You give Na Jaemin one last smile before turning around, getting on the vehicle without a reply, and he doesn’t stop you to hear one.

“Shhh! Your footsteps are too loud, you’re gonna wake her up!”

“Isn’t that what we’re here for? To wake her up?”

“Yeah, but that’s no fun. Let’s scare her awake.”

“Uh, no thanks? I don’t want to get punched in the face.”

“Just let her sleep, she must be tired.”

“Booo, you’re two are so lame.”

For a second, you thought your friends had managed to pry themselves into your dreams, disturbing your sleep in the most inelegant way possible. Then you realize that their voices sound a lot more vivid, a lot closer than you thought. Like they’re in the room with you right now. So when you groan and peel your eyes open— indeed, lo and behold, here they are: Jay Park, Jake Shim, and Park Sunghoon in the flesh.

Jake is frozen and hovering above you like he’d just been caught committing theft. Sunghoon is trying to pull him away from your mattress. Jay is by the doorstep, pretending like he has nothing to do with this and immediately spinning his body one-eighty the moment you meet eyes.

You squint at Jake. He flinches back. “O—oh, you’re awake, haha.”

Sunghoon successfully shovels Jake away. “Did we wake you?” he asks, replacing the latter’s spot on the left side of your mattress.

There’s a guilty look on his face. You make it worse when you respond with, “What do you think?” propping yourself up with your elbows because you don’t particularly enjoy being looked down on.

“Hey, your mom gave us permission to drag you out of bed,” interjects Jake. “Get up and get ready. Today’s the opening festival. You promised you’d attend this year!”

“I promised to watch Hee perform,” you correct. “He’s not gonna be on stage until the afternoon. Let me enjoy my morning off, you home invaders.” That was your ending statement before burying yourself into your pillow again, turning your back to the boys and then you hear Jay’s footsteps finally joining in the party.

“It is the afternoon,” he informs.

You jolt. Jay is now squatting at the foot of your mattress. “Shit, really?”

He snorts. “Go check.”

Your hands scramble for your phone that you remember you left charging on the floor nearby somewhere. Sunghoon finds it before you. He pulls it out of the socket and hands it to you, and you confirm that it is in fact the afternoon. One-thirty, to be exact. You mutter a swear. “Fuck.” You nearly trip over your blanket when you stumble out of bed, promptly banishing the three of them to the downstairs diner while you get ready.

“Mom, you should make these idiots pay for their meals.”

That’s the first thing you announce while running down the stairs, knowing full well that those three are already helping themselves to some gukbap and kimchi, and they don’t disappoint. Jake pops his head up from the table, cheeks puffed up and beckoning you over like this isn’t your family’s own restaurant. “Come get yours, dear,” your mother calls out from the kitchen, emerging with your own bowl of rice soup, and you quickly pad over to take it from her.

“Seriously,” you start, moving over to the table, slotting yourself into the empty seat next to Sunghoon and in front of Jay. “We can open up a new branch if you total the amount they’ve been leeching for the past two years.”

You set your meal down with a clatter. Park Sunghoon stops eating at your declaration. His spoon hovers five centimeters away from his open mouth.

“Hoon, I’m joking.” Your hand lands on his wrist. You lead the spoon into his mouth and shut his jaw. “Eat up. You look like you’ve lost weight recently.”

“I only eat well when I’m eating auntie’s food,” he retorts, muffled, and takes another spoonful for himself. Sneaky guy probably noticed that your mom was coming over to earn a few points from her. Which works, because your mom looks extra happy when she presses her hands on the edge of the table, watching the four of you eat with eyes glazed in satisfaction. Your eyes flit down to her hands— rough and calloused with a band aid and a wedding ring wrapped on the fourth finger.

“You know, you kids are welcome here any time, right?”

It’s been three weeks since your last visit to Westwind. At the Kim’s. But Na Jaemin’s parting question seems to find its way into your mind whenever you let your thoughts drift for too long.

Do you miss it?

This bite is suddenly hard to swallow. You set your chopsticks down with a clang.

“Where’s dad?”

Your mom looks over to you, cutting her conversation short with Jay. “Making a delivery,” she replies. A huff escapes your throat.

“Don’t you think it’s about time we hire part-timers?”

Jake sees this as an opportunity. You can literally see his eyes sparkle. “Auntie, hire me!” The table shakes. “Ow!” You snap your head to Sunghoon, who’s feigning innocence with his meal while Jake gives him the what gives? face.

“We can still manage the store by ourselves,” your mother argues. “And Jungwoo and Jeonghan come by sometimes to help when you’re not around.”

“You should call us if you need any extra hand, auntie,” Sunghoon says. “Our schedule is pretty lenient this semester.”

“What do you mean lenient, we have four major—”

Sunghoon also cuts Jay off with an under the table kick and a smile. You mom laughs. “I appreciate the sentiments, but you kids should focus on your studies.”

You open your mouth to retort, but she ultimately shushes you and says she needs to organize some things in the kitchen. “Hey, finish your food,” Jay scolds, pushing your bowl closer to you. You stick your tongue out and pick up your spoon again. “I think we need to head out in fifteen minutes. Jungwon texted that the field is already getting crowded.”

The four of you finish your meals. Gukbap has been your diner’s specialty ever since your mom mastered how to cook it after countless trial and errors. It wasn’t easy adjusting from having ready to eat meals the moment you sit on the dinner table to having to curate your own menu just to make a living. After the losses your family incurred, you had to scrape up whatever you had left and moved to an affordable place in downtown Seoul. Both your parents had to start working, and it was your grandfather that always greeted you the moment you returned home from school.

However, when he passed away, the three of you moved to a new place that’s smaller and bigger at the same time— a two-storey building that you rented out to serve as a diner downstairs and a home at the top. You exit through the fogged doors with the sound of a jingle, stopping to turn around and follow the building’s height. It’s not too tall, wedged between two other rental spaces. A hair salon on the right. A computer shop on the left.

The life you had before.

Once again, Na Jaemin’s voice echoes in your ears.

Do you want to get it back?

You see the blur of Sunghoon’s mouth move, but you don’t hear anything. You blink. A car zooms by. A flock of birds flutter away. You clear your throat, refocusing your gaze on your friend. “Sorry, what was that?”

His eyes are fixed on you, brows slightly knitted. “Nothing.” he mumbles. “You have something on your face.”

You flinch a little when Sunghoon suddenly brings a hand to your cheekbone, eyelids blinking rapidly in surprise as his thumb and index finger brush lightly against your skin, revealing a barely visible eyelash strand when he pulls his hand away. There’s a subtle smile on his face when his gaze lingers on the stray lash before glancing at you.

“Make a wish,” he jokes. You scoff, rolling your eyes with a grin.

“Hey, put the PDA on hold. We have a bus to catch,” Jay interrupts. Sunghoon clicks his tongue in response. He flicks the lash away and stuffs his free hand into a jacket pocket, extending his other arm behind you to hook around your shoulders, and your feet skid against the ground as you bump into him.

It’s nothing that catches you off guard nor surprised. The four of you are walking to the bus stop, yet it isn’t just the four of you occupying the neighborhood. It’s early afternoon. The sidewalks and streets are busy. Park Sunghoon has the habit of pulling you as close to him as physically possible. A middle-aged man in a suit approaches from the opposite direction, you in his line of collision, and Sunghoon quickly steps to the side and pulls you closer to evade the fast approaching businessman, who was way too caught up in his call over the phone to pay you any mind.

The gesture is impossible not to notice— Jake and Jay included, but they never say anything about it. Neither do you. Neither does Sunghoon.

Your bus arrives. All seats are taken. Any space you once had to breathe diminishes to nonexistence as you try and balance yourself amidst the standing crowd. “You okay?” Sunghoon’s voice is a mere whisper reserved for you to hear. You’re standing in front of him, arms glued to your body because you lost the opportunity to grab the handgrip before you got squeezed stuck by the rush of passengers flooding in.

“Never better,” you let out a strained laugh. Sunghoon frowns a little. The bus rattles. He presses a firm hold against your back before you could even stumble. You notice his gaze flicker into a glare, jaw clenched and pointed at the stranger near you who’s unintentionally digging his elbow into your shoulder blade. You clear your throat, catching his and the other two’s attention. “Park Jongseong, what’s the purpose of your car if you don’t even use it? We would’ve been sitting comfortably and moving faster by now. What a waste of an investment.”

That was half a joke, half not really. Your commutes to campus are always a grueling one-hour experience. Jay narrows his eyes at you, unamused. “You guys keep abusing my vehicle rights. Don’t you know how exhausting it is to drive all of you home all the time?”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Jake jives in. You nod solemnly. Jay’s mouth hangs open. He looks at Sunghoon for backup but the poor guy is simply ignored.

“Imagine all the time and money we’d save if you were more charitable,” you continue. “Hoon, don’t you agree?”

Park Sunghoon doesn’t give you the answer you’re looking for. “Should I get a license?” he instead asks. You blink at him. He blinks back.

“Will you drive me to campus every day?” you hum, smiling in jest.

“I’ll take you anywhere you want,” is his answer. His gaze has softened. You hear Jake cough from next to you. Jay gives up his retaliation. The bus halts. Everyone leans to the back and you’re reminded by Sunghoon’s firm hold. He presses you into him closer if it’s even possible, if there’s even any space left between you to swallow— and if there is, you don’t see nor feel it. The only thing you feel is the heat emanating from his skin that’s seeping into yours.

A few bodies finally get down from the vehicle. You breathe. You take a step away and grab onto the now vacant handgrip closest to you. Sunghoon’s hold loosens, but his fingers still linger on the curve of your spine. It stays there until you arrive at your stop right across the street from the campus gates. From the bus windows alone, you can already see the staggering amount of people flooding inside.

It gets worse the moment you actually step foot on campus. The first person you lock eyes with— Kim Taerae, welcoming committee since last year— hits you in the face with his business-smile, wide and tight and brimming with sweetness. “Hey, traitor. How dare you show your face here?”

The student council also asked you to be part of the committee. Of course you fucking said no. “Aren’t you gonna welcome me in?” you jab. Taerae’s smile twitches, but a group of actual freshmen walk in and he’s forced to start his welcoming protocol.

Even after getting off the bus, Park Sunghoon is no less closer. You say goodbye to Taerae and greet Seok Matthew, who’s wearing the university fox mascot (which arguably looks like a fursuit, but you digress), with a wave and a camera pointed at him, and Sunghoon maintains a steady hold on your arm as you navigate further into campus grounds.

“Later, Matthew!”

“See you around!”

Yet your path towards the field next to the courtyard keeps getting interrupted.

Every now and again, you’re stopped by a familiar face to exchange greetings. This is why you don’t usually attend university events and festivals. On normal days, people usually stick to their class and extracurricular schedules. But on days like these, everyone is out and about. Meaning, your chances of bumping into someone you know is one in twenty. Renjun from the astronomy club passes by with a hello. Chaewon from one of your electives stops you and tells you to visit their department booth later in the evening.

“Let’s catch a meal sometime!”

Honestly, you’re used to it. Ever since you were a kid, you’ve been conditioned to deal with people and manage your web of relationships in order to seamlessly fit into the ‘elite’ social scene. Every party, every dinner, every event, you’re introduced to a new acquaintance, new same-faced adult, new person to the point where you had to dedicate an entire space inside your brain just dedicated to the faces and names you needed to keep track of.

The space was made up of rows and rows of filing cabinets, sorted according to the people most important to you, the people you may or may not meet again in the future, the people you resent. The son of the neighbors across the block. The daughter of the lawyer that you used to sit in silence with. The kid you met over vacation who always seemed to be crying. The countless adults who’d compliment you for being so well-mannered, so pleasant, so sociable even as a child.

But at some point it gets overwhelming. And when your life turned upside down, you stopped seeing a point in maintaining all these relationships. The cabinets were left unopened, catching dust and cobwebs in that one corner in your brain. That was until a senior of yours back in high school gave you some advice. Something you’d held onto until today.

This is why you shouldn't push people away, he had once told you. Don’t you think it'd be better if you let your thoughts out instead of getting drowned by them?

And that was when the filing cabinets started to get filled again. The classmate you surprisingly shared a lot of interests with. The teacher who helped you with your college applications back in high school. The junior from high school who always kept picking fights with everyone. And the four current friends you have from your year and major, who had somehow wiggled themselves into the near barren drawer saved for the people that mean the most to you, in spite of all the space available underneath.

“Hee texted,” you announce, holding up your phone. Sunghoon nudges his face closer over your shoulder to take a peek. “There’s a delay in the program. They won’t be up for another thirty, forty minutes.” The three expectedly groan in annoyance. You are also annoyed. You could’ve slept in a bit more had you known about the delay, but you quickly swallow down any displeasure from your expression because you spot yet another familiar face amidst the crowd. One of your classmates from a general education. It’d be rude not to say hi. “Hyeju!” you call out.

She spins around, annoyed surprise brightening into a more pleasant expression upon recognizing you. “Oh, hey! How was your break?”

“Nonexistent,” is your very eloquent reply, smiling. Hyeju laughs in sympathy. “Did you see who our prof for the semester will be? Jesus, I’m already predicting dread for the next five months of— whoa!” Suddenly, you’re nabbed and spun around and all you can see is a whir. Click, you hear while your vision is still wobbly, and when your gaze refocuses, you recognize the culprit with the camera in hand, and your forehead wrinkles. “Seonbae, what the fuck?”

Kim Mingyu lowers down his camera to reveal a widely grinning face. “Smile. I need a pretty face for the news update.”

Hyeju taps your arm to inform you she’s leaving. You look at Mingyu, arms crossed and unamused. “Where’s my appearance fee?”

“I’ll buy you coffee,” he responds, signaling to your other three friends (that you momentarily forgot about) to join in the picture as well. You relent with a sigh, beckoning them to come over. Jake hops over and asks if he’s getting coffee as well. Jay wordlessly strides over and puts up a peace sign behind your head. Sunghoon wedges himself between you and Jake and throws an arm over your shoulder. These guys are so overbearing. Mingyu counts from three with his fingers. The camera clicks. He shoots you a grin with a thumbs up. “Thanks. Love you!”

That guy is also a handful. Your sigh is heard by the three of them. “Is this why you hate attending festivals?” muses Jay.

“The woes of being a wanted woman,” you lament. Jake snorts at your woes. You elbow him in the rib.

“You’re so full of yourself.” Jay rolls his eyes, and that’s when he sees something from his peripheral. “Looks like you’ve got another friend, Miss Wanted.”

You follow his eyes and your gaze stops at an approaching Park Gunwook. His jog slows to a walk once he’s within your earshot. “Oh my god, just the person I wanted to see,” your junior starts. Well, that’s never a good conversation starter. “Seonbae, are you busy? Do you mind lending us a hand?”

Exactly as you feared. “What for?” you ask with preemptive exhaustion.

“Our booth sign,” he explains. “Kwan-hyung disappeared. He was supposed to be the one to— ack. Nevermind. Can you help? You’ve done calligraphy before, right?”

The time you take to think about Gunwook’s request coincides with the amount of time Gunwook is sweating in nervous, hopeful anticipation. He’s giving you puppy eyes, respectfulll offering up the marker with both palms open like he’s offering it up for the heavens. You sigh again and take the marker from him. “You three go look for a spot. Call me when Hee’s about to perform.”

Jake simply laughs at your misery. Jay is the only decent one enough to give you a response. “Sure, no problem.” The two already start walking, but Sunghoon is lagging behind. You give him a smile and wave off. “Sunghoon, let’s go,” Jay nudges him. He relents with a grunt and tells you not to go off on your own for too long.

Now, with three men gone, you thought you’d finally get some breathing room.

Unfortunately for you, doing a favor for one cute junior also means doing favors for all of your cute juniors. And you’ve collected many cute juniors in the three years you’ve wasted away in this university. You thought Gunwook’s sign was the end of it. “Noona!” you hear from your left, and it’s Jungwon and Sunoo trailing behind him. “Can you write ours too? Sunoo-hyung’s handwriting is so bad.”

“It’s not! What I made wasn’t even half bad!”

Why exactly are you peers making the second years and freshmen take care of the booth shit? These kids are supposed to be the ones enjoying the festival right now, for fuck’s sake. You’re in the middle of angrily scribbling onto a piece of chipboard when a classmate of yours enters your line of sight. These useless seniors. If they don’t want to work, might as well not show up, like what you’ve been doing for the past semesters.

“Noona!”

“Hold on.”

“Seonbae—”

“Your sign is on the chair over there, Gunwook.”

“Thank you, I love you, you’re the best.”

“Noona, ours too!”

“Sure, give me a second—”

“Noona.”

“Yes?” Admittedly, you’re getting quite annoyed, but you don’t want to misdirect your attitude towards these poor kids who just got work tossed to them. “What is it?” you ask without looking up from the current sign post you’re working on— a free hugs sign for the physical education majors— hunched over on a low stool. You assume it’s just another one of the dozens of kids asking you to write a sign, but you’re surprised to feel a tug on your shirt.

You sit straight and turn around. You’re met by a face that you don’t remember seeing before. Sharp features. Dark hair. A little lengthy to the point that the framing strands touch his lashes. A mole under his eye— and the irises seem glassy. Your brows furrow. Who’s this? Is he a freshman? He doesn’t seem familiar at all.

“Noona,” he repeats. But the way he pronounces the honorific is. The soft cadence, the gentle pitch. The way the syllables roll off his tongue triggers a fuzzy sense of familiarity in you. Yet your attempt at reminiscence is ruined when you feel him grab your shoulders and jerk you forward, dropping the sign you’d been working on in the process and nearly stumbling off your seat. But you don’t. Because you’re suddenly caught in a suffocating embrace by someone you can’t quite tell if he’s a stranger or not. Your eyes widen. His frame is swallowing you whole. “It’s really you. I thought I was seeing things. It’s you. I missed you.”

“Excuse me? What are you—”

A familiar scent hits you. The ocean. The sea. A breeze on the shoreline brushing your hair off of your cheeks, and the wind of nostalgia disappears the moment the strange guy’s trembling grip starts to loosen as he pulls away, taking the scent of the sea away with him. His eyes are frantic— almost like he’s looking for something in the confused wrinkle of your expression. “Don’t you remember me?” he says. He looks like he’s about to cry. And that’s when it hits you.

“Oh— oh!”

A distant summer when you were twelve. Before everything in your life got washed up by the waves.

On vacation you found a boy underneath a coconut tree on the far side of the rocky shore— a far too dangerous place for two children, yet you were interrupted from your seashell hunting by the sound of someone crying amidst the crashing waves.

“Ricky! Ricky Shen! Oh my god, is it you?”

He was the boy you found that day, sobbing because he got separated from his parents during a vacation abroad. When he looked up at you with big eyes stained red by countless tears, you immediately took his hand and traversed the rocky path to take him back to your father for some help.

It took you a while to understand his situation. You didn’t speak the same language. However, throughout his stay with you while waiting for his parents to return, you were able to teach him a few words and phrases.

“Noona.” That was one of them— spoken in the same tone he’d always used even when he was a kid. “I thought I’d never see you again.” That phrase wasn’t any of what you taught him. He’s gotten better, but isn’t…this sentiment a bit much? You’re happy to see him well and alive, but if you remember correctly, he only stayed with your family for around a week, and that doesn’t warrant such an intense reunion, so you’re a bit taken aback.

Yet you also consider that he was a kid back then— a kid who got lost in a foreign country who thought he’d never come home again. To you, it was just another week. To him, that another week stuck with him more than you could even begin to understand.

You want to ask him a bit more, like how did he end up here again, why is at your uni, how long until he has to go back—

“Seonbae!”

—but you lose the chance when you’re interrupted by another one of your juniors. Kim Gyuvin runs up to you in a hurry. You duck down and pick up the chip board you dropped earlier. “Here’s your sign, you knucklehead,” you say, handing it over to him. Gyuvin happily takes it from you and stretches out his arms to read it.

“Oh, thank you!” he says. “But, ah, wait. Right. Someone’s looking for you. I told him to wait by our booth over there.”

“My god, who is it this time?” you grunt. No matter how life fucks you over and turns itself upside down, the amount of people that require your attention just can’t seem to decrease. The filing cabinets in your head can only take so many names. You hop off the stool, ready to leave, before remembering. “Ricky, can you wait for me here? I’ll be back in a sec.”

You start moving but your arm lags behind. You turn to see Ricky still holding onto the sleeve of your shirt, and really— he’s never changed. He might’ve gotten taller, might’ve gotten prettier, but he’s still as cute and clingy as you remember. The one week he spent at yours, the kid would tail you around like a lost kitten all the time.

“Let’s talk more later.” Smiling, you place a hand over his knuckles, and let his loose grip fall completely. He looks like he wants to say something, but he resigns by just nodding instead. “Gyub, where did you say they were?”

“At our booth! Come buy something from us while you’re at it.”

This kid thinks he can extort you. You head off to their booth and check your phone along the way, and you find a missed call and a text from Sunghoon asking where you are. HRM majors booth. Is Heeseung about to go up yet? you reply. Pocketing your phone, you hurry to your destination, squeezing through the barrage of bodies because if Hee is indeed about to perform soon, then you better hurry your ass up, else he’d get mad at you for being ‘such an unsupportive friend.’ His words. You’d rather not have anything that could be used against you.

When you reach the booth, you realize that you have no idea who exactly you’re supposed to be looking for and should’ve asked Gyuvin for a name or description or something. You look around, trying to find someone you know, but in the middle of your search, you feel something…soft drop on your head, falling over your eyes and obscuring your vision.

The hell? You whip your head around blindly, annoyed. Then you hear a laugh. And you quickly remove the object obscuring your face to make sure that you’d just heard that correctly.

Your annoyance quickly disappears into pleasant surprise the moment you’re able to see the culprit’s face. He’s smiling pretty generously, you notice— not the held-back half smiles that he’d very also rarely display, but the kind you once called pretty and he told you to shut the fuck up with a prostesting grunt. It’s just one familiar face after another. These reunions never seem to end.

“Taesannie!”

“Seonbae.”

You want to tease him for the rare occasion that he’s in a good mood, that he isn’t all grumpy and moody, but you want to savor this rare sight of him smiling as much as you can. You pull him in for a hug— which causes him to stiffen a little. He’s uncomfortable and you know it, and you laugh. “I haven’t seen you in ages,” you say with a wide grin, pulling back a bit. “How have you been, idiot? Have you been causing trouble again?”

“I messaged you on IG,” he says, wiggling out of your prison just enough for him to be able to hold your arms above your elbows. “Three months ago. When I got accepted to KSU. You never responded.”

Now, it’s your turn to freeze up. “Oops.” Since graduating high school, you realized you’ve never given him your number. “That’s—that’s my bad. But you know I don’t use social media.”

“I know,” Taesan huffs with a smile. He pulls down your left arm, fingers tracing down your skin until they reach your hand— the hand that removed his cap earlier and he snatches it off from you, fixing it on the top of your head again, gentler this time when he tugs down the visor, just enough for you to keep seeing his face. “That’s why I figured to just look for you myself.”

You feel a bump in your throat.

He’s so tenacious. He’s always been.

You simply laugh and shake your head. “Thanks for being so considerate to your unreliable, unthoughtful, and forgetful senior, Dongmin-ah. I’m glad you didn’t report me to Principal Lee for ghosting you.”

“He retired last year.“ Your face stiffens again. He laughs out loud. He’s been enjoying your mistakes a lot. What a handful. “Anyway, I at the very least hope you haven’t forgotten your promise, seonbae.”

“Promise?” you raise a brow. Crap, did you forget something again? Taesan’s smile disappears the moment you express your lack of remembrance. Your brows furrow, trying your best to recall, but you really don’t remember promising him anything because that’s just not something you would do often just to forget.

“I got accepted to your university. I’m gonna start going to school with you again from now on,” he says, as if that’s enough to jog your missing memories. “Two years was a long time to wait, seonbae. I really don’t want to wait any longer.”

Your confused eyes try to trace hints from his expression. He did get accepted to KSU. He is going to uni with you now. The ID and lanyard he’s wearing is a proof of that— but so what?

So what, you try and tell yourself. But you know exactly what he’s talking about.

“Seonbae.”

Taesan looks at you expectantly. It’s difficult to meet his gaze. It’s difficult to get yourself out of this all by yourself. So when you feel the presence of someone approaching you from behind, you take the opportunity to whip your head back and see who it is. Yet rather than finding an opening, what greets you is another closed door. It’s Ricky. “Noona,” he calls out. “You said you won’t take long.”

Somehow, you’ve found yourself caught in a troublesome situation. Your balance stumbles a little. It’s Taesan tugging you back by the shoulder, fixing you closer to the ground right in front of him. “Who the hell are you?” He’s not looking at you— he’s looking right past you, straight at Ricky, who isn’t looking at him at all because the weight of the latter’s stare focused right on you is making you feel like you’re being sunk into the ground.

“Noona,” he repeats, ignoring Taesan altogether. “Let’s go look around the festival together.”

This is...very troublesome indeed. You can feel a throb on the right side of your head. The festival. Right. Has Heeseung’s performance started yet? That’s the only reason why you showed up today, anyway.

Your attempt to pull your phone out of your pocket is blown off by a blunt pressure on your shoulder blade. You look behind to see the hostility in Taesan’s expression scrunching up even further. It’s like you're a mouse caught in between two starving cats. Good god. The only thing you can hope for right now is for someone to swoop in and get you out of here.

And that’s when you hear the sound of your name being called out.

You snap your head to the left to identify your savior. It’s Park Sunghoon with a bitter look on his face. You let out a quiet sigh of relief— but not silent enough to slip past Taesan’s notice.

His gaze flickers down at you. What? What are you going to do? Leave? the glint in his eyes seem to say. He doesn’t look very happy. Neither do the other two men within your premises, and Sunghoon calls out to you again. “Heeseung hyung is about to perform.” A hand around your wrist. Sunghoon pulls you away from Taesan with a firm tug. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, Sunghoon, give me a sec—” You pry yourself out of his hold, patting around your trousers for the marker you used earlier, and calling out Gyuvin from their booth just a few steps away for a piece of scrap paper, on which you scribble down your number. When you look up, it’s fortunate that Ricky and Taesan are still there, albeit not looking too happy. You’re pretty sure the one waiting behind you isn’t amused either with your stalling. “Hey, it was nice seeing you two kids again, but I need to go. Let’s catch up some other time, okay? Here’s my—”

You’re pulled back, the sheet with your number on it slipping past your fingers and brushing through the wind before you could finish your sentence or hand it over to either of them.

Surprised, your head turns to Sunghoon, who’s dragging you off at an impatient pace. “Hoon,” you try calling out. He leads you into a tight crown. Your shoulders and elbows bump into people you don't know. “Hoonie, you’re grabbing me too tight, hey!”

You tear yourself away from him. You’re in the midst of a crowd in the middle of the courtyard— all jamming to the music from the front, stage lights flashing and flickering and flitting around as it starts to get dark. You look at him, brows knitted together, but bite your tongue from saying anything too rough upon seeing the expression he’s wearing.

The only way you can describe it is that he looks like he’s about to die.

“Park Sunghoon,” you start, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Sunghoon doesn’t answer. His eyes leave you when a group of students suddenly come rushing over in the heat of the party, and he closes the space you put in between the both of you by pulling you out of the way of the incoming mob. “Who were they?” he asks. “I know you’re friends with a lot of people, but I’ve never seen those two before. Who were those two?”

Your open palms are pressed against his chest. “One of them, I picked up from the beach when I was a kid.” You use them to push yourself back once the noise from the group has already passed. “The other was a junior in high school. I think they’re both incoming freshmen this year. More importantly, where’s Heeseung? I thought he was about to perform?”

Attempting to look through the large crowd ahead of you, you stretch yourself up with the tips of your toes. “Are you close?” Sunghoon asks again, finding a spot on the small of your back to keep you balanced while you look over his shoulder. “They acted like they were close with you.”

“I don’t know,” is your only reply. “Hey, Jake and Jay are over there! Heeseung, too! Hoon, let’s go!”

Sunghoon does not pry further. He lets himself get tugged along by you as you fight through the crowd, making it just in time to where Jay and Jake are standing before they could call either of you as Heeseung walks up the stage with a huge smile. Right. This is the only reason why you came here today. Everything else is just secondary— stored up in the back of your mind, behind all of your current priorities.

Which is why the moment Heeseung finishes, you immediately excuse yourself from the other three.

“Already?” Jake whines. “C’mon! We were planning on grabbing drinks after this.”

“You still have your shift at the laundromat, right?” Jay asks. “At least say goodbye to Hee first before leaving.”

“Tell him I’ll send him a long sappy message later!” you shout through the noise. “See you guys tomorrow!”

Before you go, you glance at Sunghoon. He wants to say something, you can tell that much. Your lungs grow heavy. All you want to do is just unload washing machines and wipe the floors and windows clean at Suds right now with your music at full volume. Sunghoon finally settles with a simple, “text us when you get to work.” This elicits a look of surprise from Jake.

“Whoa. You aren’t gonna offer to take her there?”

Sunghoon only grunt. You smile and bid them farewell, and for once, you aren’t stopped or interrupted by anyone, and your walk towards the exit gate off the campus runs smoothly along with the setting of the sun. When you take your first step on the pavement right outside university premises, your phone buzzes to a text. [seonbae. it’s taesan]. Followed by another. [what time do your classes end tomorrow? wanna grab dinner together?]

At least you know they got your note. You balance yourself on the bus ride to your part-time job as you think of a response. Tomorrow. What’s on your schedule, again? You have classes from ten to four, and your lunch break is most likely gonna be spent with the four idiots. Tomorrow’s dinner is already booked, too, and your dinner date might get sulky if you cancel on him again this time.

[Will Friday work? Sorry, I’m booked today, Taesan. But we can have a mini-celebration at the end of the week for your KSU acceptance :) what do you say?].

The next morning, when you come down for breakfast, you see your dad wearing a suit.

For a second, you almost completely gloss over it, greeting them a good morning as you walk over the counter for a glass of water. Then you notice he’s not wearing his bike helmet. And when you sniff your nose, you can smell the scent of musky perfume. That’s when you notice.

“Whoa,” you remark, setting your glass down onto the counter. Your mom is helping him fix up his tie. You quickly twirl open your phone to snap this gem of a photo. “What’s the occasion? I don’t recall you having any friends’ whose weddings you can attend.”

You receive a scolding from your mom and a hearty laugh from your dad.

“How do you know I don’t have any friends?” he responds with a smile. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s grab a taxi, I’ll drop you off at your school.”

Even though that doesn’t answer your questions about his plans for today, you neither pry nor push because you know their standard protocol for these things. If they get a catering offer for a big event, you’re the first one they tell. If the electricity bills go up or if a debtor showed up while you’re outside, you wouldn’t even know unless you dig into it, unless you ask a neighbor or a friend or find some evidence they left behind somewhere in the restaurant.

The entire taxi ride is uncomfortable. Not in any way because of the conversation your father is attempting to strike. But because the car’s air conditioning is making your head spin and nauseous. “Why didn’t your friends come by today, by the way?”

“They were too late in fixing their schedules, so they have a 7 a.m. class today,” you snort, laughing. You sometimes wonder why they even bother coming around so often, considering your place is an hour-long commute to and from campus, and Jay never brings his fucking car around.

Your dad makes a comment about which one of them is more your type. You hack out a cough and cover your ears to block his amused laughter out.

“Hey, I’m just asking! My only dream is to see you happily married before I die, you know.”

“Change your dream. I don’t want to be the reason if you live an unfulfilled life,” you groan, face burning up. “Hold on. I’m getting a text from Jeonghan-seonbae.”

“He’s a pretty good candidate too.”

“Stop it! Oh my god, you’re the worst.”

You quickly unlock your phone to read the message. [hey, busy bee. just texting to make you’re not canceling our plans again later 🥰🥰]. You’re pretty sure that this is a threat. How many coffees, lunches, drinks, and dinners have you ruined with him because you had a sudden deadline that day, a work opportunity that same evening. He’d always been understanding, but you never fail to feel guilty after all he’s helped you, and you can’t even give him a few hours of your time. [I’m not!!! I’ll see you at Eojetbam, promise 😞].

“You’re seeing him later, right?” your dad asks.

“Yup. He’s treating me to dinner at this fancy restaurant downtown.”

Unlike usual, your father doesn’t make a comment at your subtle bragging. There’s a look on his face that you can’t pinpoint. “That’s nice,” is all he says after a momentary pause. “Ask him to drive you home tonight.”

“There’s no way I’m doing that,” you disagree. “I still have a bit of shame left, you know.”

You reach campus, and attempt to pay half of the taxi meter but your father simply shoo’s you away. With heavy steps and defeated shoulders, you make your way inside the gate and are greeted by Yeojin, your classmate for the first class you have on your schedule, who just happens to arrive at the same time as you after grabbing a coffee from Drip across the street.

“First day of the semester and I’m already tired,” she tells you with a dejected sigh. “On more exciting news— we got new eye candy on campus. My friends from the fashion and design department told me that two cute new freshmen caught everyone’s attention during the orientation. Their building is right next to ours. God, I hope we bump into one of them today. Just the energizer I’d need.”

All you do is laugh at her news while entertaining the faintest idea that you might know who one of those two is. Last night, you’d called Taesan upon getting home to compensate for turning him down. You caught up a bit, exchanged schedules and he told you his major— fashion merchandising, which caught you by surprise. Well, considering it still falls under business, you could believe it a little better.

Anyhow, if he finds out that he’s been crowned as his department’s cute new eye candy as a title, you’re sure he’d be pretty fucking annoyed. And you intend to capitalize on that. More teasing fuel for you.

“Good morning, everyone. Let’s not waste time on introductions and head straight to our course outline.”

What a way to start the semester. You hold back a million yawns while taking some notes of Prof Yang’s overview of the syllabus. Yeojin asks if you want to hit the cafeteria for a snack in between classes. You shoot her a thumbs up and the moment Prof Yang dimisses, you’re both out the door and into the hallway.

“Hey, hurry up!” you call out to her when she stumbles over her undone shoelaces. “The guys from the phys ed department usually flood the canteen at this time, you know. They’re gonna sweep up all our portions.”

“Not on my watch, they won’t.”

You laugh as you walk ahead, your line of sight lagging behind your body because you want to watch more of her struggling to re-tie her laces as quickly as you can. This causes you to not look at where you’re going— and where you’re going is straight into the body of another person, bumping your nose in the process. “Ow!” you exclaim. “Sorry about that!”

“Noona.”

Oh. You pause, looking up to take a good look at your victim of negligence, and it is indeed Ricky Shen. “Ricky!” you greet. “Did you get home safe after the festival last night? How did you know I was here?”

He smiles as a response. You hold back the urge to squish his face between your palms, reminding yourself that he’s not a kid anymore. “I asked around. Turns out our buildings are next to each other, noona.”

That urge isn’t easily suppressed. “Wow!” you exclaim. Your hand somehow finds itself reaching for the fluff of his hair, and Ricky tips his head down in response, allowing you to press light pats on the crown of his head. “Good job. Now you won’t have to worry about getting lost anywhere anymore.” It hits you as an afterthought though— he could’ve just texted you to ask. Why bother asking someone when he could’ve asked you directly. Taesan got your number even amidst the rush, after all. Ricky must’ve too.

“Noona,” Ricky’s voice interrupts your thoughts. “My back is starting to ache a bit.”

You flinch and snap out of it. “Oh, sorry.” You retract your hand, pulling it close to your chest. “Force of habit, I guess.” If your recollection serves you right, Ricky was very much shorter than you. He’s two years younger, and in the brief week he’d spent with you in your household, you’d been used to him looking up, trying to communicate with you the best that he can with the help of those big, sparkly eyes of his repeating, ‘Noona. Noona! Can we see the pond again? The koi pond?’

Now, you’re the one looking up at him. And a memory begins to surface.

‘Noona.’ It begins with the usual gentle timbre of his voice. ‘Can’t I just stay here with you forever?”

A laugh from Ricky stirs you back into the present. “I was just joking, I don’t really mind,” he hums, smiling. “You can touch me anywhere you want, noona.”

Whoa, whoa, whoa— hold on. You manage a stiff smile. Whoever was his vocabulary teacher needs to get a demotion. This kid can be a bit much can he? You brush his comment off. Ricky’s gaze is as patient yet expectant as ever. “Anyhow, I’m off to the canteen with a friend of mine. Yeojin.” You point your thumb back at her. Said friend has been trying to sneak in the opportunity to insert herself into the conversation, but never got the opportunity. “Do you want to join us?”

He nods firmly. You laugh. His over the top-ness aside, Ricky can be painstakingly cute, and it’s taking everything in your power to prevent yourself from treating him the same way that you’d done before.

The cafeteria run only lasted briefly, considering you two still have a class to catch in less than fifteen minutes. After getting a vegetable wrap and Yeojin’s rice bowl, you had to bid Ricky farewell and return to your department building. On the way, right at the moment that you’d left Ricky’s earshot, Yeojin starts freaking the fuck out. “Whoa, what the fuck?! Dude, that was fashion department cutie number two! The one I mentioned earlier!” she shrieks into your ear, shaking you by the arm. “I hear he’s the son of SQR Fashion’s Chairwoman. What the hell? Why is a rich heir like him bowing his head down for your headpats and paying for our snacks?”

“Listen, I’m just as taken aback as you are.” You’ve known about Ricky’s background when his parents came back for him after his one-week missing period. “I met him once when I was like, twelve, and only bumped into him again yesterday. I’m surprised he still remembers me. He’s barely even an acquaintance.”

You’re not lying. You’re happy to see him, but it still puzzles you why Ricky is acting like this.

“How in the world would you have gotten acquainted with someone like him?!”

All you could do is smile and thank the heavens for the interruption in the form of your phone buzzing to an incoming text. It’s from your dad, asking if you’ve eaten yet, and reminding you to go home straight after your dinner with Jeonghan. Yet another display of weird behavior from a man in your life. He never usually texts you, not to mention what had happened earlier this morning. You might get some information from your mother later. You should pack some leftovers to bring home.

You receive another text. It’s a photo from Jay of Sunghoon, arms crossed and falling asleep in class. There’s drool on his face. You cackle and press save. Yeojin tugs you into the classroom. “We’re not late aren’t we?”

“No, not yet.

“Oh, hey!”

“Wow, you’re taking this class, too?”

The rest if your classes end in a flash, considering it’s only syllabus week, so you manage to get off earlier than you’d initially planned. Yeojin had already split up with you since she has other friends to meet. The four idiots are stuck here at uni until six in the evening because they screwed up their schedules for the semester, and you took a day off from your shift at 7-Eleven today because of the dinner you have scheduled.

That means, for the first time in a while, you’re all alone right now. All alone with nothing to do.

Should you pick up some hobbies? you think to yourself as you aimlessly walk through the streets of downtown to kill time. You’ve never really pondered on these things— not that you’ve ever had the privilege to. Picking up something like crocheting would only be a waste of money. It’s not like you have the time to get into a sport, either.

Your feet stop moving right in front of a bookstore. Open, the sign says. You look at the books on display through the glass. The owner smiles at you from inside. You turn your head, and your feet start moving again.

These books can be downloaded online. There’s no need to spend money on physical copies.

“Ah, my life is so boring,” you lament, continuing your mindless stroll. There’s a taiyaki cart in the corner. You buy a few pieces before making a turn, and that’s when you notice something that’s been bugging you since earlier.

When you make a turn around the block, you notice the same black car you’d been seeing since earlier make a turn as well. It’s only a hunch, but you proceed to move forward further into the street, before spinning your heels and going back into the same direction you came.

The car stops in its tracks. It attempts to make a u-turn at the intersection.

Your hunch is correct. What the hell. You should have never made that remark about your boring life. Quickly, your eyes scan around for an alley you could disappear into, and there you find a narrow opening wedged in between a study cafe and a pharmacy. You push yourself forward before the car could finish its turn— yet the moment your soles stomp into the concealment of brick walls and dusty pavement, you hear the abrupt ringing of your name being called out.

The sound of the voice stirs a rush of nausea from the pits of your stomach. It’s familiar— yet unlike the fondness of seashores that Ricky brought with his, this voice carries the crowbar hitting the latch of all of your pent up emotions for the past decade.

You’re greeted by the face of the man you’d used to see at every dinner, every gala. Every Monday, Wednesday, Friday emerging from your fathers now burnt down study. Every weekend when you’d come over to visit, asking how was your week with a kind, smiling expression.

“Mr Choi.”

How much more forceful reminiscing do you have to undergo this week? Quite frankly, you’re getting so fucking sick of it.

He repeats your name. The car is left on the road beside the sidewalk. He’d up and left just to talk to you in the middle of this dingy street. “Do you…have a few minutes to spare for a chat?” You bite your tongue. You turn around and ignore him, yet he knows exactly what to do to snag your attention. “I met your father earlier.”

And it clicks. It clicks so well that you can hear the sound echoing in the chambers of your brain. Your dad wore a suit for the first time in forever. His out of character texts to check on you. And here you have the person who ruined his life suddenly showing up for god knows what reason— and you know that if you ask your father, he wouldn’t tell you a single damn thing. You don’t think you can stomach it if your life gets fucked and flipped around again, right under your nose without your knowledge.

“For what?” you ask, voice firm. Mr Choi looks around first, eyes scanning the area before drawling out a hesitant response.

“Let’s…let’s talk in private.”

The next thing you know, you’re sitting in front of this bastard in the private booth of a restaurant your eyes failed to register the name of. There’s a full course meal sitting in front of you— sushi, salad, and a clear broth soup. The ice cubes are melting inside the juice. You feel sick to your stomach and a single bite might cause you to vomit on the spot.

Mr Choi has not touched his meal either. He’s finding his footing to start the conversation. “You should…you should try the soup. I’ve eaten here with my sons before. Do you remember them?” You don’t intend on making it easy for him. He clears his throat when you don’t grace him with a response. “I came looking for you and your father today because I’d like to sincerely apologize for what I’d done to you and your family, sweetheart.”

You hold back a scoff. This is ten years overdue, isn’t it?

“I was—I was blinded by my greed back then. I’m so sorry. Sihyuk had been giving me ideas that your father would eventually buy all of the company’s shares for himself and kick me out of the business, and that we needed to beat him to it before he could.” Mr Choi starts explaining, but to your ears, it’s nothing but listless prattles. “I know your father would never do that, but I was paranoid. And I assumed he’d have the capability to bring himself back on his feet anyway, but I didn’t expect things to turn for the worst when your house employees also turned their backs on you and started a fire on your property.”

“It’s all in the past, sir,” you hum, peeling off a piece of salmon from the platter, lifting it into the air before sending it straight to your tongue. It’s a hard swallow. “Besides, you wouldn’t have been able to treat me with this expensive meal if you didn’t do what you had to, right?”

You stare at him dead in the eye as he shifts uncomfortably. It’s unfortunate that you can’t snap a photo of his discomfort. Mr Choi clears his throat once more, his food still untouched, and tries to grab rein on the conversation yet again.

“I’m—I’m really sorry, sweetheart. I know nothing I could say here right now could grant my forgiveness. But I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make amends,” he starts. “I talked to your father earlier. I offered him a position at S&B, but he declined. Understandably so after what I’d done to him. Which is why I turned to you, instead. I thought I could maybe right my wrongs in a different way.”

“What? Are you dying soon, or something?” you scoff. “Are you trying to clean your resume for heaven before your time is up?” You catch Mr Choi’s jaw clench at your remark. What can you say? Your father is barely home from making deliveries around the clock at every house. You see your mother’s callouses every single day when she sets down the tray for your breakfast, even though you insist you can just buy something from the cafeteria on campus. And there’s this piece of shit thinking he can fix or undo everything with a sorry, with the throwing of his scraps— for the sake of his own guilty conscience.

It’s revolting. It’s pissing you the fuck off.

And yet here you are, in spite of your disgust and anger, you’re swayed by the temptation of a piece of juicy meat being dangled right in front of you.

“Can you get to the point, Mr Choi?” you say. “Do you want me to convince my father to take the offer?”

He releases a smile and a laugh. “I don’t think even you could get through to him, sweetheart.” As much as you hate to admit it, he’s right. You inherited your stubbornness from somewhere, after all. “But I don’t want to give up yet. I’m truly sorry for the consequences my actions had made. I have been made aware of your current living situation, and how you’ve been juggling multiple jobs just to ease the burden from your parents in paying the bills and your tuition.”

Your bones stiffen. You lock your attention on Mr Choi.

“You were correct when you said I just want to clear my conscience, even just a little,” he continues. “Let me pay for your tuition and offer you a place near your school to stay until you graduate.”

There’s a pulse in the air. You can hear it. You hear it clearly.

Mr Choi pulls something out of the inner pocket of his coat. He slides it down the table for you to see and receive.

“You don’t have to give an answer now.” It’s a business card. His number is on it. “But my line is always open once you’ve made up your mind, sweetheart. Please take the time to consider.”

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