***UNEDITED***

You didn't have any pictures of your graduation to look at, just like you didn't have any with your family.

See, at times, you firmly believed what you read on those nameless, supportive websites that were all about explaining the chasms of the mind that science couldn't decipher. You would say that every one of your actions was the result of a lack of knowledge about basic behavior. You would say that you had no role model to follow.

Blame. That's the best thing to hide behind. Blaming life, the environment, and anyone you can blame, really.

But then you would look to the sky, and the drops falling from the heavens would cry in your stead, would comfort you enough to face your reality.

A mourner, if we had been in the ancient times. Someone you would watch crying because you simply had no tears to shed.

Had almost no reason for tears, for you had almost no regrets. Just blames.

But the rain didn't have the power to erase the past or cleanse the present. Rain was simply a natural phenomenon caused by the evaporation of water in the scorching season, filling the clouds until they spilled their contents. You didn't have to act so philosophical about it; you knew better. Your curiosity and hunger for wisdom gave you enough intel to figure out that science and philosophy are two different subjects.

Fuck the pictures; Jungkook didn't care about that, refused to put his up so you wouldn't feel different. Refused to attend family reunions so you wouldn't have to justify why yours was never by your side. For the first few years of your relationship, he went without the Christmas decorations he loved so much so you wouldn't get nostalgic about experiences you never had the luck to live, until one blessed year you brought the tree and decorated it to the best of your ability, taking him by surprise.

You admired his sensibility.

Despised it as well.

Pity is something no one likes. It hurt more to see people walking on eggshells to avoid hurting you. Hell, it hurt more than witnessing motherly affection or a father's sense of protection. The suffocation that materialized from his overprotective behavior made you doubt your feelings for him. But there is no need for unreasonable conclusions. You had feelings for Jungkook, loved him unconditionally even, but sometimes love and hate can coexist, and when that happens, the line becomes blurred.

But no, no way in hell. Reproach may have haunted your heart, but love was greater and more palpable. You loved Jungkook despite his flaws; in fact, you loved him with his flaws. The problem here is that you loved him a little too much.

You loved him so much that you refused to face him unmasked, to let him catch a glimpse of your scars, and oh lord, you had many. Sometimes the thought of flushing out the pus and letting the scar heal on its own appealed to you, and you blamed him for such thoughts. He kept repeating his vow of acceptance, telling you that the universe is within you and that the universe, though flawed, is fascinating and impressive.

He should have become a lawyer instead; his arguments were mostly convincing.

But long ago, it had once been said that what's rotten is rotten. Old sayings never die. Old habits never change.

There was a storm of silence in the library, loud enough to rival an explosion like the one in Hiroshima. The packet of cigarettes had only two left, and you wondered if your musky perfume could mask the stale smell. It was seven o'clock in the evening, you had to go home, wished you had a change of clothes before you contaminated your house with such a smell and faced Jungkook's questioning.

Your library had a hint of vintage vibe, dark academic style dominating over the minimalist undertone. The warmth that dissipated in winter was hidden between those walls, brown colors being the surrogate of such a feel. It wasn't big, but there were enough shelves to hold different genres, just like your life. Medium-sized windows were at a carefully calculated distance from each other, conceiving a dulcet hue when the sky was cheerful and a perfect filter for the gore-thirsty readers when the sky had mood swings.

There was a placidity to be found in the intricate details, however simple they were, turning the few customers hooked and you delusional.

Sat in the middle of the not-very spacious place, right at the top middle section of the edifice, was a chandelier that you had fallen in love with the moment you saw it in an esthetic pin on Pinterest. You had saved the image only to go back to your account and download it later on, finding purpose in sharing a visual representation of the idea you had in mind that you couldn't explain in simple words to your not-very-artistic husband. You weren't good with words generally- ironic coming from a librarian, but true - so you didn't blame Jungkook much when he could only sense your passion for the item without really being able to imagine it. There was no need for blame, really, airdrop for what's inside one's brain is still not invented.

Jungkook wasn't doted with dreamy, artistic notes, alright, but he was a hopeless romantic who would bring you the milk of a lioness if you craved it. When his best man, who loved to collect antique pieces, coincidentally - but intentionally - happened to rave about a certain auction, he had taken it upon himself to be the buyer of the piece that resembled the image you had shown him.

Its lights were dim, adding to the brownish shades that extra mellowness that served to soothe distraught souls. Courtesy of your choice for small lower voltage bulbs.

At the entrance to the library hung a rather large sign, similar to those prohibiting smoking in certain areas, with a bold diagonal red cross over the image of a portable phone, you were one to obey the law, which is why you kept your phone turned off during working hours.

Of course. It would be ridiculous if you couldn't abide by the laws you created. Especially when you strictly abided by only those.

Another reason the landline phone rang loudly and got your attention as you stood to wear your coat hastily after grabbing your umbrella. You excluded your customers from the list of potential callers because who would call their librarian when you had an official website for the store? You had narrowed the list down to two people: your husband, who rarely called knowing that you hated the hindrance, and your friend, or whatever name you wanted to bestow over what was going on between you.

"Banghuang-haneun Yagi Bookstore, good evening." Your voice was a touch quieter, as it usually is at this time of the day. Fatigue was sapping your energy, and even though you were waiting for that call, you couldn't show the merited joy simply because there wasn't any.

"It's cleared," said the shadow in a voice chirpy in contrast to his usual low pitch. He wasn't a man of many words, and when he spoke, he made sure that his interlocutor did not draw emotion from the words, which were flattened and oppressed to mimic the dynamics of an emotionless life. "He found only dust and the smell of stale piss. He examined the surroundings and went back the way he had come: empty-handed."

"What about the logistics? The losses?" You inquired.

"We moved to Mapo-Gu, a small sacrifice that cost a few briefcases and a lot of beer. Had those men take turns in watering every corner, they'd rival Fontana Trevi." He chuckled, which was also rare, "but the men did a good job, you have to show credits where they belong. For a moment there, I thought we had some professional props masters. The place looked so deserted I didn't recognize it myself."

Silence lingered, leaving place for your breaths to be heard over the line before your next question appeared, "And where is he right now?"

"He went home at 5:30, took a shower, and got comfortable in his study with a glass of wine. I'm guessing a 2012 Merlot," another audible scoff dressed in a chuckle, and you could swear the man you know isn't the one on the other end of the line if it weren't for his distinctive voice. "And when he settled his body and mind, he started calling a number that didn't dignify his calls with an answer; again, just my humble guess, but I think he's hot on your number."

Now, truth to be told, you never wanted to spy on your husband in this way. Always were one to believe in the respect of one's personal space, but he forced you.

It had been months since you had first sensed a marked change in his behavior, and when you were sure it had nothing to do with his love for you, the relief you felt was as great as the exhilaration a sinner feels when he is accidentally thrown into paradise.

You followed him when you doubted his faithfulness; let a certain seventeen-year-old girl who desperately needed money occupy your empty seat in the library while you drove around the city to follow his tracks and catch him entering a motel or some other private place with a woman who would threaten your position in his life, and when, after a month of playing Detective Colombo, you confirmed that he was indeed yours for the keeping, you regained finally a normal sleep schedule along with a normal life.

But even though the normality of your life returned after the unexpected wave, his life was still in turmoil. His facial expression didn't change, barely holding back to keep you out of his problems, but still visibly concerned.

Only when he refused to talk about his problem after incessant questioning did you give yourself permission to enter his study and search his belongings in his absence. This was not to your liking either, but he left you no choice.

The shore, which had regained its calm after the confirmation of his loyalty, was suddenly overrun by a tsunami that was not announced on the news. Bathed in sweat, you drowned in the depths of the waves that you never thought would crush your boat, despite the nightmares about such an end. The source of his constant worry was the same as the one that lived in your subconscious, albeit hidden and silenced, only that to him, it was too overwhelming to act unaffected.

Your husband was neither a private detective nor a prosecutor to hold a hand over an ongoing investigation, and as you examined the file and went through every collected information, you found yourself rebuking his sense of curiosity and his dedication to his work. You found it annoying that he got involved in pointless things when all he had to do was hammer the gavel three times and cast his decision. For a moment there, you hated him for disrupting your lives and the peaceful routine.

Of course, it is always easier to blame others than oneself.

Blames, blames, blames. That's what you do best.

Since then, Shadow has been busy carrying out your mission, following your husband, infiltrating his business to keep him away from your secrets, and monitoring the production facility in Yeongdeungpo, which today he reports has been moved to Mapo-Gu because of your husband's lame investigation.

He'd had enough of this shit, and so had you, so you sighed with relief when you reached the front door of your apartment, even though you knew you'd have to strain to show a fake smile in front of the man you loved. Jungkook had amazing skills when it came to cooking, the reason for which, often times you've been welcomed to the premises of the cocoon of your love with drool-worthy scents. Today was no different. The scent of spices and herbs filled your nostrils, warmed your heart, and awakened your stomach, causing your brain to temporarily fade into oblivion.

"You're late," he said without taking his eyes off the wok, carefully stirring the vegetables so they turned a golden color and blended with the sauce.

"I've had a particularly busy day," you justified, giving him a kiss along the lies to ease the guilt. Jungkook's skin was warm as you pressed your lips to it and let them linger for a moment, in contrast to your cold skin, chilled from the dropping temperature outside and the slight nervousness. He sensed that - your coldness - and turned to you to enclose you in his big hug and give you more of his warmth, sacrificing himself in the process, "I missed you."

"Go take a shower, and let's eat, I'm hungry," he said, pressing a soft kiss to your nose after caressing your hip.

The water was especially relaxing as you left the stream to drench your hair and cleanse yourself from head to toe. There was peace to be felt in the way water flagged your skin, giving you a well-deserved chastisement. You had chosen the settings of the water stream, rendering it like angry drops that would shift your attention away from the eventful day you had experienced.

The look you gave the mirror was reproving, full of emotions that raged between hatred and anger. Angry toward life, you were; why would it bring you the right person at the wrong time? Where was Jungkook when you turned to dark options to win against your fate? Why did he show up in your life after you had taken care of the famine and innocence too? Where was he when you were freezing, almost dying from sleeping on the street and fleeing with gossamer steps from the hands of monstrous creatures? Why would life be so cruel as to accustom you to the normalcy of happiness only to threaten to take it away again?

Life is unjust. Unfairful bitch.

And so were your choices, your greed. Unfair.

"We need to visit my family," Jungkook announced calmly, munching on his steak and giving it his full attention.

It would be a perfectly normal sentence if you were used to this kind of prompting. But you weren't, and neither was his tone when he demanded what he had. It settled into your guts like the roasted potato that refused to be swallowed, and you watched him with wide eyes, urging him to justify the reason.

"It's been years, Cassie. I don't think it's fair to continue attending my sister's memorial alone."

His sister? A memorial service?

"You have a sister?" You asked as the loud thud of the falling fork brought your voice back. You didn't know; why didn't you know?

"I had. Now no longer have."

Thank you for reading.

방황하는 이야기-Banghuang-haneun Yagi: Wandering Tales.