Namjoon. 

I feel inactive. 

Cream sheets envelope me in softness and warmth as I lay unmoving. My surroundings are equally still, the lazy trickles of rain down the window being the only movement. Water droplets chase each other down the window, sparkling city colours as Seoul's evening lights begin to switch on. The silence, however, is not as predictable - occasional noises sound. The sudden beeping of a horn standing out from the drone of traffic. Or a loud crash as my fiancee gets about her daily housework routine. 

So everything is in motion and I'm still as a stone. Yoongi hyung would give anything to be in my position. 

 I'm bored. 

But Chan-ri insists I stay in bed and rest my injured leg. 

Last night, when I came back limping like hell and covered in sweat, she was worried sick. Bless her. I had to tell her I'd tripped whilst walking; I couldn't exactly say I had been jumping from buildings trying to escape the police. Anyway, she believed me instantly; she was used to my clumsiness by now. 

My thoughts are interrupted as the door flies open. My fiancee walks in with a tray of food. 

And I'm afraid to say that the food catches my attention more that her. Don't get me wrong, Chan-ri would be perfect if you were that kind of person. The kind that appreciates pretty, fragile, popular but awfully simple minded.  And of course, being the gentleman I am, I don't have it in me to tell her that. Or maybe I'm just a coward - regardless, I could never tell her and cancel the wedding. This was because being an entrepreneur required good publicity and respect in societyㅡwhich she would easily get me. But I hated it. Hated the way Chan-ri fell victim to the mould of society, following the steps that were expected of us. It was as if we - as in everyone - were made to walk down a prepared path, leading to one thing. They called it destiny. I suppose what I did behind the scenes made up for the way I acted for the public - like I was ever going to conform to those before me, I intended to lead my own life. 

"Mwo-ya?! You do too  much for me," I say in mock horror, gesturing to the food. 

She simply smiles as she sets the tray on the bedside table, then delicately perches on the bed. 

"Yachae kalguksu, your favourite" 

I place the tray on my duvet-covered lap. It's spicy aroma wafts up to delight my sense of smell. Not waiting a second longer, I dig in and stuff my face. 

"Did you hear the news? They found the graffiti artist." she's petting my hair as I eat. 

"Jinjja?!" I pause mid-chew to exclaim, genuinely intrigued by the newly broached topic. 

"Ne. Yeoja ya. Geunyeoneun Song Jae-Ni irago. (yes. A woman. She is called  Jae-Ni Song)" 

"Aniyo!" I almost whisper, shocked as to how the police landed their criminal as a girl. 

They're way off.  The one girl is not guilty. 

Eight men are. 

***

  Jae-Ni.  

She stood unmoving, facing the front door of the house. 

She'd never known another place she could really call home.  She had grown in the run down house of the lower parts of Seoul.  Memories lay behind that door, buried beneath the layers of dust. Meals and bedtime stories once took place here. Light spilt out over the windows - this was once her radiant home. 

What had happened? 

The bleak lamplight cast over her face, throwing the shadows into sharp relief so her face appeared to sag. The lines of worry seemed to cut deeper as they were illuminated. Her heart pounded and for a second the policemen winging her sides faded to nothing.

It was just her and her past. 

A black-gloved hand reached past her to knock on the door. Her heart began to compete with the loud knocking as she cogitated the possibilities. Would her family accept her now? Would they deem her selfish after what she'd done? 

Would they....still be here? 

The door pulled back into misty darkness and a shadow shifted in the dark. 

"He-hello?" A rusty voice croaked. 

"Seoul-si gyeongjaleun yeogi ( Seoul Metropolitan Police here), we are looking for Song Jaehyun ssi and Song Jae-hwa  - this girl's parents" 

Jae-Ni couldn't help but notice the disgust in his voice as he addressed her. 

" We are here concerning the imprisonment of Song Jae-Ni," 

The shadowy figure seemed to recoil at his words. 

"She has committed great crime..." 

Jae-Ni hung her head, aware of the three pairs of eyes trained on her. She could've  – no –should've spoken up by now and defended herself, but his threat , 

Tell anyone, and you'll be sorry 

plagued her. 

And technically, she had offended the law. She had sprayed on that wall.

" Naneun geunyeoui eomma  (I am her mother)," the bleak voice said, dropping all formalities.

Was that really her mum? Jae-Ni's eyes shot up, to stare at her mother who now stood close, the light on her features. She looked....old. Skinny, and tired and beaten down by life. Her face was pale and she'd protruding cheekbones, piercing savagely at the thin skin. Jae-Ni gasped as the roaming eyes rose to meet hers; they were haunted. 

"But unfortunately her father is not with us anymore. "