and so i run to you
persephony
Summary:
choi do-il has never been in love.
Notes:
this will be a two-parter! this first chapter is focused on doil, and the next will be focused on injoo. this is the longest fic i've ever written so please bear with me in terms of pacing and style as i try to give do-il his own voice NJJJBKCKWBJEJWBKFKBAFKJE.
i felt like there wasn't enough focus on him or his background but i also wanted to rewrite the airport scene AND ALSO I FELT LIKE INJOO DESERVED BETTER THAN TO BE LEFT ALONE AFTER ALL THAT so this is the result of that. 3k word vomit soon to be longer than 3k once i finish the next part.
hope y'all enjoy 3
edit: posting the next chapter within like an hour or so but im editing cause i realized some of my formatting here is WAY off.
(See the end of the work for more notes.)
Chapter 1: i could be all of those things
Chapter Text
the most monumental moments of do-il's life have been accompanied by storms. the morning his father walked out of his life, the sound of thunder splitting the skies open yanked him out of sleep.
he'd been terrified of storms, then—unpredictable catalysts of change, eroding whatever dared to be in its path until it became nothing. his first instinct had been to fling himself from his bed and down the hall, bare feet slapping against wood, stumbling over himself on his way to his parent's room, where his father would surely still be sleeping.
on occasions such as this, the man would sweep do-il up into his arms and carry him out onto the porch, where he'd take do-il's tiny hand and guide it toward the edge, where water dripped down from their roof and met concrete. lightning would strike, or thunder would rumble, but do-il's father would remain steady.
"as long as we are together," his father would say, a faint smile smoothing the burgeoning wrinkles lining his expression. "we can withstand any storm."
except that morning, the bed had been empty. neither his father nor mother lay in bed.
he'd found his mother in the kitchen, sitting at the table, fingers knotted in her own hair. she'd been squeezing her eyes shut, muttering, as if she were shaking something terrible from the hinges of her thoughts.
across from her, in his father's chair, sat a man do-il had only met once or twice before. park jae-sang.
somehow, without needing either of the adults to glance over and give him a long, pitying look, do-il knew.
a storm had taken his father.
three years later, another storm struck.
this time, his mother was the one it swept away.
"why can't you tell me this one thing?" he'd whispered the words furiously at his mother, almost hissing across the table. it was the last time he'd see her for a long time, she'd told him, her face constructed into a perfectly impassive mask. how she could be so emotionless in the face of her son, he didn't know. how she could be so calm with handcuffs lining her wrists, he didn't know.
he didn't ask why she did it. he knew why. he was old enough and smart enough to put together the visits to their home from shady men dressed in black, the mannequin in their run down apartment, the shiny new hammer his mother would swing at it during the night.
his father had been in debt to park jae-sang. with his disappearance, the debt now fell to his mother.
his father, the killer. his mother, now a killer.
you don't have to be next. mr. park had told him, lips pressed into a thin smile. soon enough, do-il would learn the cunning behind that smile.
put your orchid on the father tree, and you will never become like them.
"just say yes or no, mom." the fire in his voice had cooled as he resorted to pleading. his time was almost up. "yes, or no."
she never answered. only stared at him, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, as if she were memorizing every soft feature.
as he was ushered out of the interrogation room, he caught the slightest quiver of her lip. a dam, on the cusp of breaking.
it hadn't stormed, the morning do-il met in-joo.
it hadn't stormed, but it didn't need to—he could feel the shift in the air as he strode past the table she'd been balancing on, pretending as though he hadn't noticed her antics.
her awkward fumbling, how gingerly she'd gripped his hand when he held it out to shake; it wasn't hard to see what hwa-young saw in her.
in-joo was a small storm. a hurricane, twisting around through life with widened doe-eyes, unaware of the impact she had on anything. on anyone.
by then, he was no longer afraid of storms. sometimes he was wary. sometimes he was intrigued.
that morning, do-il was intrigued.
do-il did not think he would ever experience love. not in the way the movies showed it, not in the way he'd read in books.
heart stopping, soul shattering, breath taking love? the kind of love that is more force than emotion, tugging one into action and rendering them a puppet on a string?
he would smirk at the notion, turn his head away from the idea. do-il had given up on the possibility of love long ago. somewhere in between the moment he started boarding school and the moment he'd laundered his first sum of money, thoughts of falling in love were shoved to the side.
thoughts of money took its place—nothing was more thrilling than a deal gone smoothly. nothing pleased him more than watching the zeroes in his bank account rise.
nothing kept him going more than the idea that, one day, he would make enough money to leave everything he once knew behind.
what was love to money? what was love to freedom—real freedom, not the false one he'd been dealt, dressed up in a crown of cerulean orchids?
love would not serve him like money did. love was a crutch, waiting to snap; a weakness, waiting to be exploited; a dagger, waiting to be plunged into his back.
do-il did not think he would ever experience love. do-il did not want to experience love.
"what year were you born?" in-joo inquires, head tilted to the side.
they're standing in front of her apartment building under a darkened sky. the cold nips at do-il's nose and fingers, but he finds that he doesn't mind. in-joo certainly doesn't, her innocent questions dispersing the heaviness of the news he'd just dropped upon her.
it's peculiar, how quick she can bounce back from something, how quick she can accept something at face value and move on. in-joo parallels him in this, save for the everlasting hope she carries, a torch lighting her way in the dark.
his head tilts to mirror her. "1989." a gasp follows his answer. her hand lifts to cover her mouth with it, and do-il finds the corner of his lip lifting at her expression.
she's cute.
the thought is pushed away as quickly as it entered his mind.
"we're the same age!" she replies, her smile peeking around her fingers. if he's not mistaken, there's an edge of giddiness to her tone, awe sprinkled in her expression.
"should we speak casually, then?" he's half-joking—or so he thinks, until she throws back her shoulders and shakes her head. the smile vanishes as she attempts to appear serious. though the cold had ebbed away, it returns to his senses full force.
"no. we're…" there's an unsteady pause, as she tries to find the words. "business partners. not friends." she speaks the words as though she's reminding herself instead of him, her gaze straying from his own.
he doesn't get too long to examine the wave of disappointment that washes over him before in-kyung appears with an act clearly meant to drive him away from her sister.
do-il is not a good person. this, he knows.
good people do not hold money over morals. good people do not do the bidding of those at the top of society for a check, do not turn a blind eye at evil committed for their own safety. they do not engage in white collar crime. they do not enjoy engaging in white collar crime.
most of all, good people do not hurt others.
choi do-il does all of those things. he is cunning, manipulative, and completely self-serving. he is the kiss pressed to jesus' cheek, the blade sunk into caesar's back.
these facts did not bother him…until they did.
i thought we could be friends. the look painted upon in-joo's pretty face is one he has yet to forget—betrayal, shock, disappointment, and disgust—four emotions, all bundled up in an expression that had do-il's stomach plummeting to his feet.
he can not remember a time he was more affected by someone's opinion of him.
all the times she did not trust him—all the times she admitted to not trusting him—itched at his mind for days after. her distrust plagued him. her distrust haunted him.
why couldn't she trust him? why couldn't she believe in him?
why did it bother him so much?
it took do-il some time to answer his questions, but he came to the following conclusions:
he is not a good person. he is not a good person, but—
he wants to be. for her.
"i'm still mad at you." a glare is thrown at him from behind her glass, but it's half-hearted and they both know it.
he shakes his own glass, swirling the vodka around before setting it down on the counter. in the light of their recent victory, they've gone for drinks. the televisions in front of them show a replay of in-kyung's recent broadcast, the one where she exposes park jae-sang for the monster she truly is.
the chatter of the bar's patrons and the steady music drifting out of the speakers have all faded into white noise around him, unimportant in the face of the disgruntled woman beside him.
he can't get the way she looked when witnessing her little sister on that big screen out of his mind. the way the streetlights bestowed her with an ethereal glow, the way her eyes shone with pride, the way her smile stretched wide enough to hurt. the way she'd leaned over the balcony toward the screen in anticipation, hanging on to in-kyung's every word.
she has never looked at him like that.
maybe he wants her to.
"i'm sorry." it surprises him, how sincere he sounds. how sincere he feels, the tightness in his chest when he thinks about how much distress she'd been in hours before. he'd done it for the benefit of them all, for her benefit, but that fact does nothing to get rid of the guilt churning in his stomach.
in-joo starts at that, shock widening her eyes. he hadn't apologized in the car, only complimented her on how well she had done.
she straightens after a moment, turning her face away, tossing her hair over one shoulder. his following smile is involuntary.
"i'll forgive you," she decides after a few quiet moments, meeting his gaze with a glint in her eye. mischievous, perhaps. "if you answer some questions."
his brows shoot up to his hairline. "questions? about what?"
in-joo reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone. she doesn't answer for a moment, tapping at her screen until she finds something. she sets it in front of her, tilted away from his questioning gaze.
"about you. there are some things i want to know." she blinks at him, awaiting an answer.
how can he say no to her?
the first few questions are silly. would he like to be famous? what did he last sing to himself? though he didn't ask her to, satisfaction runs through him when she answers as well.
slowly, the questions get deeper. more personal. what is your most terrible memory? what is your most embarrassing moment? though he begins to hesitate before answering them, he never refuses to, not wanting to diminish the curious light in her eyes.
it's…nice, unwrapping his own layers for her to see. the words fall from his lips easily; maybe too easily, if he didn't trust her.
he does. it seems she finally trusts him, too.
"are you really not coming? you said you wanted to live somewhere like that." the airport's bustle stirs around them, but once again, in-joo manages to capture his attention so tightly it all fades into white noise.
to his gratitude—and regret—in-joo is unable to read the lines between his words.
are you really not coming? come with me. you said you wanted to live somewhere like that. come with me, please.
it is difficult to imagine myself away from you.
her laugh is breathy; a little sad, if he isn't mistaken. "what am i going to do in greece anyway? i don't even have 70 billion won anymore."
you will, he wants to say. the words pound against his throat, desperate to get out. you will, so come with me.
he doesn't let the words leave him. it won't make him a good person, to dangle money in front of her in hopes she doesn't leave his side.
he wants to be good.
he jerks his head with a nod instead, giving her a fake smile. he can't recall the last time the smiles he extended toward her were fake. he can't recall when the smiles he extended toward her became real, only that he couldn't stop once he started.
she's torn the walls around his heart to shreds and she doesn't know it. her wind, her torrential rain, her storm, eroding his walls until they became nothing.
perhaps it would have made him wise, to carry his fear of storms into adulthood.
though…there's a reason why he never stands closer than two feet from her.
"will you really live without a phone or an email?" there's not much more than slight interest in her expression, he thinks, but the question is enough for his smile to inch closer to a real one.
she wants to keep contact with him.
"for a while. if someone calls and offers me an easy job, i'd be tempted to return to my old ways." thrill no longer shoots through his body when a deal goes smoothly. he still pursues it, yes, but he finds no particular pleasure at the idea of a lump sum of money.
he only wants to return to in-joo what she is owed. what he promised her, some time ago.
she nods, and they fall into silence.
there are a number of things he wants to tell her. they all sit on the tip of his tongue, having fought their way up his throat.
you have changed me, in-joo. i think i love you. i know i love you.
he isn't brave enough to set these things free.
he turns his attention, briefly, to his watch. it's time to leave.
he denies himself, bids her goodbye instead. "i'll be going now." it has never been this hard to keep his face smoothed over.
her mouth parts, as though she's picking over things to say. "stay healthy."
is that all she has to say?
he spares her a nod before turning, head hanging over his chest. every step he takes away from her is a punch to his body, but he can not stay a moment longer. his desires swirl within him, violent and pleading, threatening to tug him in her direction.
he can not stay a moment longer. he should not stay a moment longer.
he pauses for a second. one second is all it takes to shatter his resolve.
do-il spins on his heel. two long strides takes him to the edge of the distance he forces himself to keep from her. another, and he'll be mere inches from her, right in the eye of the storm.
there's a reason why he never stands closer than two feet from her.
he takes it, pulled by the gravity she embodies. she's forced to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, her own widened, her breath halted in her chest.
he has never been brave enough to stand this close. when he is this close, he is at her mercy. when he is this close, she has the ability to hurt him. she could flinch. she could push him away.
she does neither. she does neither, but she isn't breathing, doe-eyes blinking slow.
he tilts his head down, presses his lips to the top of her head. her hair smells of rosemary and lemongrass. he lingers, letting his eyes slip shut. he gives himself a few precious beats before pulling back.
she says nothing. he does not dare meet her gaze, for fear of what he will see.
"i'll see you again, in-joo." the words are rushed, muttered, as he's dropped the honorific. it would be a miracle if she heard it.
he turns from her for a final time. he takes three long strides, tearing out of the eye.
it takes all his remaining strength to not glance at her over his shoulder.
"you're doing this because you love her, right?" the words put a pause to his brisk pace toward the car, pull him from his thoughts.
his freeze-in-place has bought in-hye and hyo-rin enough time to cross the distance he's put between himself and the two girls. they've made the switch from linked arms to tightly held hands since the last time he saw them, an interesting development he's said nothing about.
in-hye's brows are raised, the girl appraising him with a look akin to disapproval. hyo-rin, on the other hand, is clearly holding back a squeal.
and he, well—he knows his expression can be compared to one of a deer in headlights.
in-hye, ever the calculating wolf, takes another step toward her prey.
"i've been thinking. the reason you gave us back in korea was bullshit. everything you've done for my sister—even helping hyo-rin and i—it goes beyond the bounds of normality, and this is merely based off what i've seen. you fight for in-joo like i…" in-hye trails off, glancing at her and hyo-rin's intertwined hands.
a faint blush appears over hyo-rin's cheeks, her eyes shifting past do-il's face.
"like i do for hyo-rin." in-hye throws her shoulders back, meets do-il's eyes, daring him to do something about what she's said.
he doesn't.
"plus, you don't smile unless we mention her. the fake one you throw around doesn't count." at that, do-il forces his face back into a neutral expression, fights the heat rising to his own cheeks.
or, he tries.
"do you see that?" hyo-rin giggles, gleeful. do-il sidesteps the two, continuing his brisk walk toward the car before in-hye can see. "he's blushing!"
later, once do-il has dropped the girls off at the house they've been staying in, in-hye hesitates before leaving the backseat.
"my sister has been taking care of other people her entire life. it's about time someone takes care of her." he nods, though in-hye seems satisfied enough with the small action, as she exits without another word.
she sounded so sincere, he didn't have the heart to tell her that he's not sure he's the one for the job.
he lasts six months without a phone or an email.
mykonos seems to teem with people at all times—tourists traipsing the island's golden beaches, long-time residents idling in their crystalline, pumice houses. the days are long, and the nights stretch on for what feels like eternity, music filtering into his beachside home from the streets behind.
he doesn't check his bank account before he makes a purchase with his debit card; he doesn't count the cash sitting in his safe daily. he doesn't look over his shoulder for a tail; he doesn't count the amount of exits in a room. not anymore.
by all accounts, he should be happy. he's rich, he's free. he's becoming better, he thinks. his mother sends him a letter from athens once a week, detailing her recovery with his father by her side. they've decided to try things again, she says. she wants him to visit. they want him to visit. for once, do-il does not feel a sickening bitterness when he thinks about his father.
his father, no longer a killer. his mother, innocent.
he should be happy, sleeping when he wants, doing what he wants. he should be happy, but there's something missing.
someone missing.
after six months, do-il buys a phone.
Chapter 2: if you love me just enough
Summary:
in-joo has learned that a lot can change within six months.
Notes:
here i am...once again. i woke up out of my sleep at 4:30 am to finish this.
this chapter is nearly 4.8k words which is...so much more than last time. i'm sorry it took so long! i have adhd and it takes a lot for me to sit and write things of this length.
this part is structured differently than the last, but i hope you all like it regardless! i think i did a better job with characterization here but y'all will be the judge of that lmao.
ANYWAY! if you're here, thank you 3
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"but just so you know, i didn't hate all children. it was you i hated."
"why?"
"as a kid, you smiled a lot. you smiled at everyone you made eye contact with. i hated that. when you're young and adorable, people smile back at you. but once you grow up, the world slaps you in the face in return…but i can see that you've learned that much over the years."
"...i've been through a lot."
there was a time where in-joo could have fallen in love with hwa-young. if she were to be honest with herself, completely honest—by the time hwa-young faked her death, in-joo had been teetering at the edge, deciding if she wanted to regain her balance or descend into that vast, hopeless feeling.
she supposes that's why it hurt the way it did, finding the body of who she'd believed to be hwa-young hanging lifelessly in that closet. the body of someone she became accustomed to searching for whenever she walked into work, of someone she'd intentionally made room for in her heart.
she knows she can not handle experiencing that type of pain again; the chilling shock had only lasted a mere moment before the ground seemed to crumple from beneath her, dropping her into a hole of pitch black she couldn't climb out of on her own. a hole that did nothing but grow deeper, darker , as time passed and more obstacles were pushed— no, shoved —into her path out of it.
a hole that she would not have made it out of, not without her unwavering, sacrificial love for her sisters. not without her burning desire to find the truth behind hwa-young's murder. not without a certain hand—a strong, warm hand—guiding her every step of the way.
…but she's getting ahead of herself.
hwa-young had taught her many things: how to dress, how to be a proper bookkeeper; how to take care of orchids, how to live in who she is without shame, instead of cowering behind the attributes others assigned to her.
admittedly, in-joo has more to learn about that last bit; though, for all hwa-young had taught her, in-joo had not yet been taught to forgive in the face of being greatly wronged.
that face stares back at her, now, through the prison-grade plexiglass. it's been six months since hwa-young was put behind bars, but the woman appears to have aged at least a few years. she's not much older than in-joo; one would guess that, though, with the bags under her eyes and the streaks of grey peeking between swaths of charcoal colored hair.
"how have you been?" hwa-young asks, a closed lipped smile lifting her cheeks. her injuries from the hydrochloric acid have faded into scaly looking scars, marking her similarly to the creature sang-a attempted to make her out to be. her cheeks have filled out some since in-joo last saw her; she's eating more, approaching the healthy weight she carried before.
in-joo is familiar with the show hwa-young begins to perform, is well acquainted with the moves she should perform to finish it. usually, hwa-young inquires to her well-being, and in-joo does the same—they both pretend that they are fine, that things are fine, that there is not an ocean between them, an ocean in-joo is unable to visualize the end of. they both pretend that the identical scars on their hands are not the only things that keep in-joo coming back.
to be frank, in-joo is tired of the act. six months ago, her anger at hwa-young had been trampled over by the knee-weakening relief that the older woman was alive, after all this time. that relief, thrown into a bag with in-joo's dizzying confusion and chest tightening betrayal and nauseating guilt, mixed together so intensely that in-joo, at the time, could not grasp her anger for more than a few fleeting moments.
but as time passed, the white-hot emotion returned to her; with it, she withdrew from hwa-young. her weekly visits became bi-weekly. those same visits became monthly.
she hadn't come to see hwa-young last month.
"i don't care for the small talk. not anymore." exhaustion lines in-joo's words. neither of them have been doing well. neither of them know when they will be able to answer the question of 'how have you been?' sincerely.
"what is it, then?" hwa-young replies with a question of her own, the only change in her neutral expression a slight lift of the eyebrow. the flippant air in her tone should surprise in-joo. offend her, even.
it does not. after all, hwa-young withdrew from her first.
in-joo doesn't answer the woman for a couple of moments; instead, she takes the time to study her face. deep-set eyes, perfectly bridged nose, pretty bow lips.
in-joo used to look upon hwa-young with both envy and longing.
she lets out a sigh, before leaning forward on the pristine white table in front of her. her gaze falls to her hands, her fingers tugging up at the sleeves of the navy hoodie she's wearing until her arms are fully covered.
"i want to know something." a half-lie. in-joo does not know if she wants to know the answer to the questions she's about to ask.
desire and necessity are two different entities.
hwa-young gives a small nod, almost imperceptible if in-joo hadn't already been paying attention. she takes the action as leave—
"you never told me why you drove between me and that truck." in-joo picks at the hems of her sleeves, not daring to meet hwa-young's eyes.
silence. then, so quietly in-joo almost misses it.
"and i won't." in-joo's head shoots up to catch hwa-young's sad, sad smile, wider than her last.
something scratches beneath in-joo's skin, searching for a way out. before in-joo lets it, hwa-young adds—
"ask me. ask me what you truly wish to know." ask me what you lacked the courage to ask me before, is what hwa-young does not say.
in-joo doesn't let herself look away this time. "if you had the chance to do things differently, would you?"
this question matters more than the last. hwa-young holds in-joo's gaze for what seems like hours, but only lasts seconds.
she thinks: do i know the answer?
she thinks: i do not want to know the answer.
hwa-young does not care what in-joo wants; has not cared for a while, now.
"no." it is not a whisper.
in-joo pushes herself to a stand. the movement is quick enough to send her chair flying back, to send black spots dancing across her vision.
the scratching beneath her skin burns.
the lump in her throat threatens to choke her as she turns away from hwa-young, takes the first few steps toward the door.
she does not say goodbye, and hwa-young does not speak another word.
there was a time where in-joo could have fallen in love with hwa-young.
that time has since passed.
"but in-joo, i want you to have much more. you gave me your everything, and this was your money to begin with. make sure you buy an apartment. not one for our family, but a place to call your own. i hope that one day you'd be able to eat, sleep, and work, all for no one but yourself. that's something that i had always wished for."
in-joo moved to seoul a week after in-kyung left for america.
every nook and cranny of the rooftop apartment seemed to haunt her—old specks of paint lining the tile from in-hye's brushes, those same worn brushes lying scattered beneath the youngest oh sister's creaky bed; thin layers of dust covering in-kyung's favorite plastic pens, the ones she left behind for a shiny box of their more expensive counterparts. ones that wouldn't run out of ink after a week.
her sisters were alive, yes, but the spirits of their presences exacerbated the bone-deep loneliness in-joo had begun to feel.
in reality, in-joo has felt this ache her entire life. her sisters had been around to unknowingly massage the pain out of her system…until they weren't.
some realities take a lifetime to accept. some realities will never have the pleasure of being taken in, but—
recently, in-joo has found that she's welcomed her loneliness into her heart. she's taken its face in her hands, the striking image of her younger self, and kisses the tears off of her cheeks. puts her to bed with soothing lullabies and gentle fingers carded through soft strands. grabs her hands and holds them as tightly as she can manage, reminding her that she will always have herself.
therapy can work small miracles, even over video call.
even so, the loneliness…it eats at her. the chunks are not as big as they used to be—but sharp teeth will always sting, and a piece missing is a piece in-joo does not know how to find. her wistful glances at blushing couples and laughing families when she walks down the streets of seoul are proof of that.
and in-joo knows, she knows , that the only person who can heal her is herself. the billions of won in her bank account help her to live comfortably, but is more often than not a stark reminder of her trauma.
having her little sisters around to scold and fuss over would not remove the ache. having him by her side would not help her sleep any better at night.
having someone would make it all easier, though, would make it all a little more bearable. someone to encourage her when she's unsure, to laugh when she's being silly and isn't aware; someone to fill her otherwise empty apartment, someone to hold her when she wakes screaming from nightmares of an unforgiving hand beating down on her trembling body and her sisters dead at her feet due to her own stupidity and a pale corpse with a broken neck swinging in the air and sang-a rising from the orchid tree's pool, bubbled up singed skin peeling off her body.
it would be nice, is all.
(desire and necessity are two different entities.)
try as she might, in-joo can not make her apartment feel like a home. she recalls thinking, once, that if souls lived anywhere, hers could live in the apartment her great-aunt gifted her.
she can admit now that the line of thinking was naïve. her soul has been split into four and the portion she keeps within her is much too small to fill out the space in which she lives. her home , but in-joo never calls it that.
(she read somewhere, once, that home can just as easily be a person as it is a place. she thinks if her home were a person, then maybe it'd be—)
instead of bookkeeping, in-joo applied for a florist position at a cute shop a few blocks' walk from her apartment. the owner, an older woman in her sixties, was more than happy to have a younger set of helping hands, and in-joo wasn't surprised to find that she liked the work. she'd done it for hwa-young long enough that her boss called her a natural.
(she refuses to touch the orchids, though.)
thus, in-joo thought it reasonable to fill the empty gaps in her apartment with plants of all colors and sizes. it doesn't make the space feel any less lonely, but she manages to appear content when she speaks to her sisters. in-joo has them on a schedule—wednesday nights, an hour apart.
she calls in-hye first. in-joo doesn't get to talk to her for long, but they've come a long way from the three minute pleasantries exchanged once a month.
"we're leaving for italy in the morning." in-hye tells her, toward the end of the call. hyo-rin sits behind in-hye, her arms thrown around the latter's shoulders, their cheeks pressed together. "venice, to be specific."
with each call, the distance between hyo-rin and in-hye decreases, their actions becoming more and more familiar. idly, in-joo wonders how long it will take for them to tell her.
knowing in-hye, though, they never will. not because they don't want to, but because in-hye expects in-joo to figure it out on her own terms.
"italy?" in-joo echos, head tilting to the side. "that's near greece, right?"
hyo-rin giggles, a tiny sound that has in-joo's brows furrowing.
"it is! if you were there instead of in seoul, in-hye would be able to see you."
if possible, in-joo's eyebrows push further together. "why would i be in greece, hyo-rin?"
the question has the girl's eyes lighting up with something akin to mischievousness. in-hye, on the other hand, shoots hyo-rin a warning look.
" because , mr. do—"
in-hye cuts hyo-rin off, turning to her older sister with an expression in-joo is unable to decipher. "she's talking nonsense, but we have to go. we're not done packing yet, and there's a bunch left to do. talk to you later."
the last thing in-joo hears before in-hye ends the call are hyo-rin's cluster of giggles shifting gears into full-on laughter.
-mr. who ?
of course, her call with in-kyung never fails to include a multitude of questions.
"have you been eating? sleeping? did you water your plants today? how was work?" in-kyung's eyes narrow with each one, and if in-joo didn't have memories of playing with in-kyung when the latter was too young to walk, she'd swear that in-kyung was the older sister.
somewhere off to the side, jong-ho chuckles. "give her a break, in-kyung. she can't answer all of your questions at the same time." in-joo can't see his expression, but she can picture his endeared smile under the weight of in-kyung's half-hearted glare. he's gotten more daring since the two began dating.
in-joo answers each of in-kyung's questions without complaint, as she'd die before letting her condition worry her younger sister to the point where it affects her schooling. she knows in-kyung would let it reach that point, so stubborn that even jong-ho wouldn't be able to stop her.
she'd offer to come home, would ditch her dreams if it meant she could help in-joo in some way.
and despite in-joo's all-encompassing sense of loneliness, that is the last thing she wants to happen.
she eats three meals a day. she sleeps alright at night, though sometimes she's up at three in the morning scrolling through instagram. she did water her plants today; they're growing beautifully. work is fine. good.
only two of those are lies.
in-kyung can't tell she's lying over video call, and in-joo lets her go after twenty-minutes of listening to a recount of what the former has learned in the past week.
in-joo follows the calls with another weekly ritual: swiping over to his contact and letting her finger hover over the call button.
she knows he does not have a phone. he told her as such, right before he left. right before he cut out a piece of her soul and slipped it into his suitcase.
she knows he does not have a phone. she knows that even if he did have a phone, he'd have a different number; even if he had the same number, he would not answer.
she works through these thoughts once a week. she scrubs at her forehead, trying to get rid of the ghost of his mouth caressing the skin there, trying to push the way he'd whispered her name afterward out of her memory.
she knows he does not have a phone, but the hope that sang-a berated her for moments before her death sends in-joo's thumb pressing down on the button.
it rings. once. in-joo sucks in a sharp, halting breath.
"in-joo?" the same voice she's been replaying over and over in her memory, once a week, for the past six months, answers.
in-joo screams loud enough for a sharp pain to pierce her throat. out of fright or shock or excitement, she doesn't know.
"in-joo?" his worried tone bleeds through the receiver, replacing the curiosity of before. she can hear rustling in the background, as if he's making haste.
that's not possible, though.
"i'm fine," she blurts. it's hard to hold the phone with how badly her hands are shaking.
before he can reply, she ends the call.
"have i ever told you what i think of you?"
"...no."
"you're a small storm. no matter where you go, you change the flow of the air, although you don't seem to notice it."
in-joo had been married for a week before her then husband walked out on her.
she lost more than the little money in her bank account that day—her pride, her dignity, a huge chunk of trust—her ex had stolen those things, too. for a time, she'd lost her belief that she would find someone to truly care for her, to truly cherish her in the way she wanted.
(that belief never returned. not really, but six months ago, in-joo was willing to act as though she was the kind of woman people fawn over.
you fake something until you believe it, right? until your façade becomes truth.
she's no longer willing.)
when she reflects, she can pick out the moments where her ex-husband's actions toward her, his love toward her, had been faked. he'd never been unkind—how else was he supposed to gain her trust—but the specific instances of affection she can recall?
none of it had been real.
his hands, carefully brushing her hair, refusing to leave a single strand tangled; the meals he'd make her after a long day spent on her feet; his fingers trailing down her face, brushing an eyelash off her cheek with such a light touch she'd wanted to cry.
no one had touched her like that before. no one had reached out to her with such gentleness, such affection.
and since none of it had been real, that meant her thoughts before meeting her ex-husband had been true, after all.
no one had the desire to care for her. no one felt the need to care for her…
(sometimes desire and necessity are one in the same. sometimes, desire is felt with such a burning intensity that it becomes a need, one that must be quelled, lest you simmer from the inside out.)
…that is, until do-il.
among all the people i've met in my life, you've been the kindest to me. her words had been an unfortunate truth. one she kept with her, long after he left her side.
do-il, slipping his hand into her own and guiding her in the right direction when she went astray. do-il, believing she could shift the very air around them by simply existing as she is. do-il, smiling at her in a way that tugged harshly on the strings binding her heart. do-il, breaking his rules for her, breaking routine for her, coming to save her life without a certified plan. do-il, choosing her over the money he held so sacredly, over and over and over again. do-il, bestowing her with a final touch, soft enough to bring tears to her eyes.
do-il, leaving her with a promise.
for the longest time, in-joo had been resistant toward her feelings. there was no time for a crush when hwa-young's murder was yet to be solved. there was no time for the flutter in her stomach when her enemies were pressing ever closer to her little sisters. there was no time for romance, not when the object of the desires she kept so deeply hidden away would never look at her the way she seldom allowed herself to look at him.
she could not say when her crush grew into like, nor could she say when that like turned into love.
(what she can say about the love, is when it became known to her—
"i'll see you again." he'd muttered into her skin, lips lingering where he'd placed his kiss.
she hadn't been able to breathe, not until he walked away.)
the love she can not stop herself from feeling, but only lets hurt her on wednesdays. the love that rocks her body with such force she stumbles, whenever she sees something that reminds her of do-il. the love she turns over in her hands at night, careful and hesitant, clutching it to her chest until she's able to sleep.
in-joo isn't able to control what she feels for do-il.
that is the main difference between him and hwa-young: when it came to do-il, falling was not a choice. regaining her balance had never been an option; she did not teeter, did not wobble. her heart had crawled out of her mouth and dangled from her throat, dragging her over the edge, sending her hurtling toward that vast, hopeless feeling.
do-il attempts to call her twice more.
both times, in-joo hits the decline button with such force an ache pops up in her index finger.
he doesn't attempt to contact her again. she checks her phone for a text the entire night, but her inbox remains empty.
she lets herself feel the cold disappointment that descends upon her, a wave carrying her straight to bed. she can not fathom how it was possible that such hope still existed in her heart—a hope that, if do-il ever tried to call her in the future, it would be more than a standard check-up.
that, combined with the embarrassment that heats her cheeks at the memory of screaming in response to his voice, is why she'd declined his calls.
it'd been a test, of sorts. to see how far he would go to speak to her.
she'd been priding herself on letting go of some of her naïvety. she supposes she spoke too soon.
the next evening, do-il breaks into her apartment.
the lights are on when she enters—unusual, as she hasn't yet shaken the habit of making sure every single light is turned off in order to keep the light bill low.
it isn't as though she hasn't forgotten before, on the rare days she's in a rush to not be late. she brushes it off, humming to herself as she slips off her outside shoes and steps into her house ones.
she's carrying a couple of groceries; not too many, but enough to make dinner for the next two days. she'd walked to the store since her boss let her off early, the older woman claiming she had urgent business to attend to at home.
(in-joo's boss is a liar. the woman ran home to catch an early showing of the season finale of a drama she's recently become obsessed with.)
the sun has started to sink below the horizon. in-joo hadn't drawn her curtains before leaving for the day; as a result, her living room and kitchen are cast with a soft glow of rose and orange and gold.
in-joo sets her bags of groceries on the counter, still humming. she hasn't noticed the man standing at her balcony window, not until—
"in-joo."
she screams. again.
her body jolts, the bag of rice in her hands plopping to the hardwood floor. she whips around toward the voice.
do-il's lips stretch into a smile. that smile, the one that kicks her heart into overdrive, the one that sends it banging at the confines of her chest. it doesn't help that he's wearing one of the outfits he'd worn in singapore: a navy button down and matching slacks that accentuated the lines of his body, a portion of the belt stuck between the loops of his slacks left to hang.
compared with what she wears—a pink tee under overalls, both covered with pollen and streaks of green from the plants she's been around all day—he's practically coming out of a magazine.
she can not stop herself from returning the expression, cheeks lifting. taking it as welcome, he starts to close the distance between them with a handful of steps.
then, she realizes:
he broke into her apartment. in seoul .
her smile drops. he freezes, one foot in the air, head drawing back in caution.
"did you break into my apartment?" her voice is low, almost dangerous.
do-il lowers his foot to the floor. glances around the apartment, then to her, as if the answer is obvious.
his smile has turned sheepish , if she can believe it, though his tone remains even.
"doesn't it look like i—?"
"you broke into my apartment ." since he's paused in the middle of her living room, she takes the liberty to meet him halfway, storming up to him with her hand raised.
he earns a swat on the shoulder, which he receives without flinching. "how did you find me?"
then another. "you didn't call, you didn't—"
she lifts her hand to swat him once more, but his own shoots up, catching her around the wrist. the gentle but firm grip halts the words on her tongue.
they're as close as they were in the airport; she has to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. her body thrums with how close it is to his own, skin tingling with anticipation.
she can feel his mouth on her forehead now more than ever, as if he'd branded her there with a searing iron.
"i called you three times." the words come out low, the timbre of his voice sending a chill down her spine. he returns her wrist to her side but doesn't shift himself out of her immediate vicinity, staring down at her with…
with what, she can not tell. only that it brightens his gaze, though his expression is more solemn than it was before.
"you screeched the first time, before saying you were fine and hanging up. you didn't answer the second time, nor the third—so i just came." he tells her this matter-of-factly, as if it was the clearest next step to take.
(in the back of her mind, a memory rings out:
"i tried my best to come up with a plan. but i couldn't, so i just came.")
in-joo's eyebrows knit together. "i don't—that doesn't make sense. you could have tried calling more. why are you here?"
it's barely been six months. something must have gone wrong. something the two of them need to fix, together, because in-joo can not think of a single other reason why do-il would fly back to korea to see her.
he's giving her that look, now, the one where she'd swear he's endeared if she wasn't who she was. the one she hates, because he appears to be in love.
"because—" the word brings yet another expression she hasn't seen on him before; he's at a loss for words, his gaze straying from her own as he tries to find them.
"because…" he's staring off at nothing somewhere behind her, but one of his hands lift. he reaches the alarmingly short distance between them to brush a few strands of her hair out of her face, before tucking them behind her ear.
something must click into place in his mind, as his gaze clears. his attention snaps back to her.
she has to force herself to take a breath. his mere presence, this close to her, has locked her into place. she's unable to step away, look away, even if she wanted to.
"because." there's a burst of confidence in his tone, of decision and finality. he adds nothing to the word. her mouth opens, a question readying itself to leave her—
do-il surges forward, covering her lips with his own. as her mouth had already been parted, his tongue sweeps into it, and all of her thoughts explode into nothing.
it's all replaced with him ; she can taste that coffee candy he likes as he licks into the cavern of her mouth, wet and warm. his other hand has found her cheek, thumb padding at the skin, while his fingers sink into the edges of her hair. though stunned for a moment, in-joo lets herself fall into the kiss, leaning into do-il's larger frame, her hands grasping for purchase at his waist.
she finds that his kisses don't burn—his lips are soft, he's soft, smiling against her lips when she returns his affection with enthusiasm, laughing into her mouth when their noses bump by accident. it fills her chest with a warm that spreads throughout her entire being, stretching to the tips of her fingers and toes.
he's pulling back far too soon; she's ready to whine, ready to complain, when he mutters a request between them.
"come with me." it's a whisper. a plea, she realizes, as he slots their lips together once more for a mere moment. "i want you to come with me."
this time, in-joo does not deny herself.