Jumin felt tired. He felt an exhaustion that crept inside of him so perniciously that seemed to weaken the bonds between body and soul. It is a tiredness that would never come from work alone, even if he was not a white-collar professional, but rather a salaryman, like those that served under him.

He does not want to leave his house ever again. While he never particularly regarded himself as an exceedingly outgoing person, he did have a disposition to relish social functions purely for no other justification than to sustain his family's reputation and render his father happy.

Even so, the phrase 'used to' is prevalent. While he possesses a deep sense of love and dedication for the business group his grandfather built up from the colonial ashes in the 1950's, he just cannot bring himself to care much, in order to retain his courteous demeanour. That is not to mention that chaebols have a tendency to run themselves, and the board does not require much input from its new chairman, rather they prefer if it is kept to a minimum.

He became largely undefined since his father's passing, though he never turned to alcoholism to cope with his loss, his collection of wines excused. Still, he even became secluded from his best friend, opting to avoid and widen the growing chasm between them. He quit his charity ventures, paid off his mother to leave the country, promoted Ms. Kang as his executor at the office, and let himself go in his desolate sadness, insulated away on top of a skyscraper.

Jumin thought he had managed to lose it all: his beloved father and his friends, his aspirations of taking over C&R group and make it at his own image, and, once, he even considered giving up his cat.

Until he saw you.

Some may even argue that your beauty was inferior to that of other ladies in the city, filled to the brim with models, actresses and idols. Some might even assert that you were simply an average joe, with really no striking aspects, trying to lecture him just on the humiliation you would bring to the great families of South Korea.

He would beg to differ, however, even if it is just for a moment. Something about you just glowed. For a brief second, he nearly deceived himself into thinking that an angel had been thrown from the Celestial Gates and was being forced to live among the citizenry of Seoul.

Your hair glistened in the sun, reflecting a brilliant shade of light and instantly blinding him. He noticed how your plump lips fluttered into a grin, accompanied by your eyes, which crinkled into a half crescent moon. He was almost envious of whoever you spoke with, feeling resentful of the fact that they were the most possible culprit of your smile.

You quickly vanished, the crowds of people flooded the streets, and you gradually drowned within the faces of people, your radiating form casted from his eyes.

Throughout the day and into the night, he could not stop thinking of you. He even imagined of creating a tangible manifestation of you in his mind, but it was just a desire he could entertain. His suffering persisted; in fact, it seemed to worsen over time, slowly eroding his mind and sapping his flaming energy.

Days, weeks, months passed by, and he was not able to catch even another glimpse of yours. It was to be expected, as he never mustered the courage to go searching for you, shutting himself off from the outside world once again and hounding only at irregular hours, dropping by the office to sign away some major work or to surprise his employees, reminding them who owns what in that rigid hierarchy.

He prayed that he would see you in the late hours of the night, having a good laugh to himself at the perplexing wanting. It was too much luck meeting you the first time, and he makes it more unlikely, and yet he still dares to hope. Perchance he must have contracted some sort of idiocy from his monastic isolation, he must have lost some sense of reality along the way.

The truth is, Jumin was afraid. While he was aware of his aimless attraction, consider that utter infatuation with you, he was still anxious that it was merely fleeting and would soon fade. For this reason, it is just better to nurture this obsession alone, on the safety of his own thoughts, not letting him have the slightest chance of absolution. He feared that the essence of your soul would over consume him, falter for a split second, then resume taking him towards the depths of the earth. Harbouring the mindset that he would only lose you, just as he had lost everyone else.

Yes, you were like a bubble, a tiny globule that was typically puerile and tenuous to the elements. Despite this, they would have a great quality of beauty, always attracting children and wandering beings, displaying vividly in the sunlight. They captivate with their competency to suspend so freely for even a fraction of a second, and he, too, was enthralled by your heart.

A bubble is ephemeral as it drifts quickly out of sight. Himself, on the other hand, could spare the resources and mental energy to be adamant about chasing that bubble, perhaps especially if it meant bursting and reassembling it. If given the chance, if he is ever tested, he can follow through with horrible acts, even if it meant pursuing you in an immoral direction, even if it meant staining his hands with more blood. He was more than ready to do so.

After all, a bubble can only last for so long before they are burst. Therefore, he must be sure to keep you from bursting, and if he cannot, then he must look away.

Jumin wonders what the gods will decide for them.

His phone vibrates. It is the RFA messenger.