a/n: our first confrontation with minseok post-breakup...and with jihoon present. let's see where this goes...

hope you guys enjoy this chapter!

all my love,

krissy

+++

PRESENT DAY

OCTOBER 2018

IN ALL THE years I have known him, Jihoon has shown me his anger only twice.

I'm not even sure the first time counts. We were five, only two years after the night his dad left and never returned.

Back then, our neighborhood in Busan was so safe that the ahjummas living on our block left the doors unlocked, especially because all of them--my mother included--shared and exchanged groceries often. I remember watching them come and go while I sprawled across the scratchy couch in our living room. Eomma would disappear into the Ryu house with a determined shuffle of her slippers and return with a giant plastic bowl of soybean sprouts. The next day, Jihoon's mom would come in, wave to me with shining eyes--annyeong!--and hurry outside with our bag of pat, or red soybeans.

So then, I thought, Can I do that, too? When Jihoon's mom was out shopping at Jagalchi market, I snuck into their pantry and stole Jihoon's entire stash of Yakult. When he found out, he gave me silent treatment for an entire week. Not that I ever took him seriously. He was shorter than me back then, his small body dwarfed by oversized shirts as soft as cotton candy, and the defiant lift of his chin only made me smile. I must have made his anger worse, slurping on the milk noisily when I saw him, giggling when he glared at me.

The second time happened when were twelve. When his dad returned, shortly before Jihoon left for Seoul.

To this day, I still can't shake the cruelty I saw in the alley that night. I shame myself for remembering the face of Jihoon's dad better than mine. Even now, when I close my eyes, I can see Ryu Jihwan-ssi's dark features and his charcoal-black stare, so unlike his son's soft honey eyes.

So I was surprised when Jihoon and I slowed before his house one afternoon to see a small man with aging skin and wilting posture, waiting for someone to let him in.

He was wearing this really pitiful shade of dark gray. I wondered, dazed, if he was wearing the same black coat. If he was, it had faded terribly into the color of bleary clouds. There were no shadows that day to turn his tired face cold. Instead, he looked as weak and as frail as a piece of crumpled paper dampened by rain.

We had gone still, both of us. When he saw us, the man's watery eyes widened. They were reddish, as if the blood vessels in them had burst from lack of sleep.

"Jihoon-ah," he said, dumbfounded.

My body stiffened with unease at the guilt in his eyes, as if I was intruding on something painfully private.

Beside me, Jihoon fell still. Eyes darkening. It was as if his whole body shut down, leaving only anger.

"You have no right," he said quietly.

A frown twitched on his father's brows, as if this confused him. There were papers fluttering in his hands, I realized, and he rose them a fraction as if they could defend him. "I'm just—I had to settle some financial statements with your mom, but—"

"Leave." Jihoon's white-knuckled fists trembled at his sides. His dad flinched, but Jihoon's face didn't change. Even then, I knew Jihoon had expert control of his expressions. "You don't belong here."

"I know I don't, I just wanted to--"

"Go away."

"Jihoon--"

His temper flared. "I said go away!"

I tried to ease out of the situation, but Jihoon took my hand first, tugging me along with him as he stormed back the way we came. He must have been too angry to realize his fingers were intertwined with mine. I remembering seeing the dark, brooding rage on his face and feeling helpless to console him. He stormed to another alley, fuming.

At last, we stopped in silence. His fury unsettled me. But when his eyes met mine, I was stunned to see tears of hurt.

That's the thing about Jihoon. He feels deeply but quietly. And that doesn't seem to have changed, because now, thirteen years later, when I rush off the elevator to where a drunken Minseok has his forehead plastered against my door, I sense Jihoon's anger. It's a soft, rumbling undercurrent that rests calmly in his watchful silence.

He leans against the wall beside Minseok, waiting. There's a bulging trash bag in one hand—he must have bumped into Minseok while on the way to take it out. When I stop, chests heaving, Jihoon's eyes meet mine, and everything in them makes me want to disappear into the floor. He's bothered, sure, like any regular neighbor would be...but this is so much worse. So, so much worse. I can't even pinpoint why.

Of all people, why did he have to see this?

My gaze slides to Minseok with a withering glare. "Why are you here?"

He spins around. The feeling of his dark eyes on mine startle me. It jolts me back in time, to every moment I couldn't help but take comfort in the fact that, at least in drunkenness, he was present.

"Nari," he says. Oh my God, I think. Are those tears in his voice? Oh, God. I can't do this. His hair is unkept, not slicked back as it usually is, falling roguishly into a pair of pitiful eyes. At second glance, they seem unfocused, his pupils dilated. Is he high?

"Nari," murmurs Jihoon, pushing off the wall. I can't even look at him. "Do you..."

"You can go." The words come out in a rush. Please go.

He hesitates. Then his footsteps fade. Minseok's eyes follow him lazily. His lids flatten, half-open in this strangely cold way.

The look on his face stuns me. For the first time, I see him the way he is now, his pain and numbness twisted into something ugly and desperate. Has he been this way the whole time? For the first time, I feel afraid and disappointed—in myself.

"Yah." My gaze sharpens. "What are you doing here?"

Minseok furrows his brows. "Whadd'you mean, what am I doing here?" He tips forward—I wince and shove him back. "I'm here to see my girlfriend."

Disbelief and fury stabs through me. "You're wasted. Go home."

"No," says Minseok stubbornly. His handsome features contort with pain as he drags a hand across his eyes. Oh, God. He is crying. "Nari, I made a mistake."

No. "Minseok," I say sharply. "Go home. Or go back to your conference. Okay? I don't give a fuck."

He sucks in a breath and tips his head back. "Nari, I'm telling you, that makeup or whatever you saw—that girl—I mean, come on, that was nothing. Nothing." His eyes meet mine with confusion. "I don't get why this is such a big deal, Nari—she stayed over for one night, and you were so far away, and—fuck."

"She stayed over for one night?"

"It was nothing. I swear." Now he's looking at me like I'm throwing a temper tantrum. "Just—can we forget about this? I'm sorry. I'll admit, I wasn't thinking and I missed you so much—"

"You missed me." This can't be happening. "You missed me? And how did you miss me? By ignoring my calls? By not looking at me in the eye for weeks? By talking over me? Being an arrogant shit and dissing my career? Come on." With a furious tug, I yank my keys out of my bag and push him aside. "We both know this isn't just about whoever you slept with."

Minseok's brows furrow. "The hell does that mean?"

I pause. Suddenly, the lump in my throat grows so large I don't know if I can speak. "You said this wasn't your fault. You said this was me. That—what was it? I can't stop drinking soju and somaek with my buddies? I can't open up to you? I shove my job in your face?"

"Nari." It comes out breathless. He's sweating. "I didn't mean that."

"I don't care." I wave my hand to gesture between us, glad that, when I open my mouth to say what comes next, my voice sounds sharper and colder than I intend. "We're done. I mean it."

The words seem to sober him up. He straightens, his eyes refocusing as he studies me. I'm too angry to stop, my hands trembling as they sift through my key ring for the one that's for my door. Not that I can focus. I can hear him shifting uncomfortably behind me.

"You're not serious," he says.

I turn back, eyes wide on his. "Believe me, I could not be more serious."

He drags a hand over his face, his gaze wandering elsewhere. It's like the reality of where he is has hit him, slowly, and the haze of whatever alcohol or drugs he's taken has peeled away. "We're meant to be. Come on. We're like, what did Kangjoon and them call us—"

"Please don't."

"—we're like the golden couple of our class."

I wince. "Yah. This isn't SNU."

"Nari," he says again. I turn away and fit the key in my lock, hoping the sound will make him go away. Like a bad dream. When he receives no reply, he stumbles back. Finally. "I'll call you."

"Please don't," I call back. But my voice isn't working, and he's already halfway down the hall, unreachable.

I don't dare look up until the distant elevators slide shut.

My heart collapses with relief. I lean forward and press my forehead against the door, savoring its cool touch.

I made a mistake, Nari. I didn't mean that. I close my eyes. Does it even make a difference if he did? Why did we drag this on for so long when we'd stopped working to be on the same page? Do you want me to keep sleeping with you to make all your problems go away? But it wasn't about that. I wanted to be with him because I loved—love—him. Or do I love him?

I pull in a long breath and wiggle my keys from the lock. Let's get some fresh air, Nari. I consider messaging Hyerin, but something stops me. Oh, Nari. I'm sorry. I don't think I can bear to see the look on her face.

The hall is empty. A cool wind freezes my fingertips to ice. I burrow them in my pockets and head for the elevator—

Only to slam into a body around the corner.

"Oof—"

I blink.

It's Jihoon—I'm staring at him regathering his balance. The loose hood of his jacket slips from his hair, unleashing a tangle of brown waves. Unlike the well-dressed Jihoon I saw at Hanokjib, this reminds me of the boy who munched on Melona pops on his way up to our rooftop, dance duffel bumping against a leg.

"Fuck," is what leaves my mouth first. Heat rises to my cheeks. "I mean, sorry." Smooth. "I didn't see you coming around."

If he sees the unfocused look in my eyes, he doesn't comment on it. Instead, his lips curve. "Real smooth, Nari."

I want to laugh. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm aware of my brain telling me to laugh, but for some reason, I can't. Something's off. Though it's been years since we've seen each other, there's no way Jihoon can't tell. I can't figure out if I want him to tell or if I want to pretend nothing has changed.

He tilts his head. "Heading out again, huh?"

"Mhm. Uh," I wince. "I'm sorry you had to see that. And watch over my drunk boyfriend. Ex boyfriend." Fuck. I'm really not here today. "Sorry. Today's just an off day all around."

"Yeah," he agrees with a laugh, which surprises me. "It really is."

I frown. "What's up?"

He squints his eyes as if there's an array of things to pick from. I realize, suddenly, how much there is to catch up on. So many things happen in one day of someone's life. "I found out where I left my keys the other day," he begins. "It was with my ID. I called the location, and they told me a custodian had noticed it and was about to bring it into the lost and found, but then someone picked it up."

"Someone as in..."

He opens his mouth, then hesitates. "I don't know."

"Well, maybe someone just took it by mistake."

"So another Ryu Jihoon lost their keys in the same building on the same day?"

Oh. Never mind. "Which building was it?"

"Mm..." He's hesitating, and I realize that maybe we both have things we're not really keen on telling yet. I don't know why the knowledge stings, because it shouldn't. "It's in Gangnam. Near Red Sky, actually. There's a dance studio in there that I like going to...for leisure, you know. I kind of miss it."

"Yeah," I say, and then, unable to help myself, "though I would've missed it more if I got—"

He smiles and tips his head back. "Oh my God, Nari..."

"—VIP tickets to your shows. Like at least one."

"I told you, they only let me have two. Whenever I gave them to my mom, she always wanted a friend to go with."

Our laughter dissolves into quiet. I study him for a minute, and then, just like that, my mouth moves. "Are you busy right now?"

Jihoon pretends to ponder on this. "No," he answers slowly. Then he smiles, the way he does when he can read what I'm really asking. "Why, do you want to go somewhere?"

+++

WITH CROWDED STREET stalls clad in yellow canopies and late night visitors flooding red tables, Dongdaemun Market stirs with voices, clothing sliding along racks, sizzles of sesame-oiled grills, and laughter. The night life glows in Jihoon's eyes as he guides me into the throng, buying skewers of soft odeng to share.

"Mm." My eyes bug out with surprising approval. "These are good."

"Yeah?" He nudges my arm. "Try street food instead of alcohol next time you're feeling down."

"Eoh, I should, huh?"

He glances at me, then rolls his eyes. "You don't have to pretend you're going to."

A cheeky smile lifts my face.

Hours pass. The few shots I had in Itaewon have settled disgracefully, and now my appetite is yawning open, eager for food. A touch of smoky oil touches my skin as we stop for bacon-wrapped sausages and tteokbokki dripping with sauce. Jihoon jabs me with his foot as I pass him the saucy cups so I can sift through stalls of clothing racks.

The moon rises higher. The stands blur together. I remember freaking out a little too much about the sauce dripping down his sweatshirt and laughing over these vests they were selling that reminded us of a teacher from primary school. And then to how poor we were at our studies and how similar our disagreements at home were...I'm surprised at how contagious his laughter is, had forgotten how comforting the sound was until now.

Some time later, the flow of the crowd leads us away from the golden tents toward the street. Here, the air grows quiet, and the traffic slows to a calm rhythm, matching the edge of sleepiness that seeps into my body.

On the other side of the six-lane street sprawls the metallic curves of Dongdaemun Design Plaza. The building spills across the entire block like a drop of liquid silver, its polished walkways glowing with shades of midnight blue. A cool wind ruffles the narrow trees guarding its glittering walls, like the sigh of a living thing.

We walk side by side down its smooth stone floors, savoring the last of our food. As the building curls around us, soft greenery rolls over slopes illuminated by the building's ethereal glow. A walkway leading to the glass-walled entrance floats atop a pool of glittering water.

Another breath of wind weaves through my short hair, sending shivers up my spine. He glances at me.

"Are you cold?"

"Huh? No." I pause. "Why? Are you going to give me your coat?"

His mouth pulls. "Actually, Nari, I was going to ask if you could give me your coat."

I narrow my eyes at him, then pause as a draft of cool wind ruffles his hair. "Do you want it?"

"Huh?"

I move to shrug it off. "What? You can take it."

"What? No. Wait. I was joking. Nari, no—"

I can't help but laugh at the alarm on his face as he nudges my coat back on. He shoots me a knowing look, tosses an arm around me, and pulls me close. I lean into him, savoring the warmth between us.

We reach the end of the platform and follow a walkway toward a few dim-lit steps where the fluid building arches overhead. Something quiet falls over us.

I don't know who stops first. But we pause. And then, suddenly, this sadness slams me in the gut. There's something so intimate about the silence resting between us, as calm and as warm as that ripple-in-water-effect appa had on our household. It reminds me of everything I wanted and everything I failed to share with Minseok. I think back to that moment in his apartment, burrowed beneath his sheets as he slept. The aroma of ginger peach tea touching my nose. The quietness as I studied his handsome features, tracing the curve of his brow with my curious gaze. Is this it? If I come home to this every night...is that what I want?

Jihoon's gaze studies my face. Somehow, he already knows that there's something I want to say. I don't think I can look at him, though, afraid that the gentleness in his eyes will make me lose it.

"November would've been our fifth year anniversary."

He stays quiet. The words hang in the air, unbearable. I go on, suddenly unable to stop.

"We met in college," I begin. "He's studying in medical school to be a neurologist. He has a...I mean it when I say he has a fucking insane IQ. Like, whenever he took any kind of standardized testing, he'd score really damn well. Perfect-scores-on-a-bad-day kind of well. That's how he got into the kind of elite programs that sends students overseas for week-long conferences. Research programs. That kind of thing. I just...I mean..." My breathing flutters weakly in my lungs, like a pair of injured, trembling wings. "It was only a matter of time before he found someone there that matched him. That fit into his world. That's just how it is, you know?" A bitter smile touches my face, and I glance at Jihoon, which is a mistake, because the steadiness of his gaze makes me want to cry. "It's okay. I don't think I really loved him, anyway. I was just used to him. That's all."

Saying it all out loud leaves me robbed of air. As if this knife stuck in my chest has materialized, twisting, proving its terrible existence.

The lights at the step blur into pulsing hues, flaring and dimming. It occurs to me, suddenly, how terribly complacent the world is, how it continues to breathe even when it has stolen so many hearts, so many hopes, so many lives. Silver dissolves into shadow, and I realize, with a start, that I can't see anything because I'm crying.

"Nari," says Jihoon quietly.

I reach for air with a shuddering inhale. But it doesn't help. Nothing helps. That's the thing about losing someone. The world spins on too fast for you to hold onto what has been left behind. And it's stupid, really. Because Minseok is still alive. I just lost the man I thought he was, a figment of my imagination that satisfied me for so long, this delusion that had played its part so well. All of it, years of it, gone.

I tuck my chin into my upturned coat collar, seeking refuge in the shadows. Jihoon moves toward me, but I shake my head, searching deep inside myself for that space of calm.

"Don't," I murmur. "I'm fine."

The night unfurls around us, indifferent to my cries. Still, Jihoon lingers. Listening.

He moves closer.

"It doesn't always have to be okay," he tells me, gently. "You know that, right?"

I nod, unable to meet his eyes.

The words are true. I'm just not sure how to believe them.

+++

IT'S THREE IN the morning when Jihoon drops me home.

He waits patiently beside me, watching as I fish out my keys. "Are you going to be okay going to work tomorrow so early?"

I toss him a half-amused look. "What are you saying? You go in early, too."

"You have more on your plate," he defends quietly. "Take a day off."

I look to him pitifully. "I wish."

Jihoon smiles, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes. He studies me. "Just take care of yourself, Nari, okay?"

"I'll try." A yawn draws tears to my eyes. "Goodnight."

Before I can turn away, though, he catches my arm and tugs me gently to him. A surprised smile spreads across my face as he pulls me into a hug. His hold is different than I expected. Stronger. Warmer.

"What's this for?" I say with a laugh.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just angles his head, holding me tighter with heartwarming boyishness. Something about the vulnerability in his hold tells me that more happened during the time we were apart than I'd thought.

"I missed you," he whispers. "A lot."

Nostalgia tugs at my chest. My mind drifts instinctively to all the nights I laid out on our rooftop hideout in Busan, listening to crickets chirp. When eomma was sleeping off a drowsy, sour mood from the side effects of her meds, I'd lie on the couch our neighbors left up there, hugging eomma's rice wine to my chest with the cap under my chin, tracing starlight in the sky. Wondering if, somewhere in Seoul, Jihoon was staring at the same sky, sharing this moment even if his agency didn't let me hear his voice over the phone. How are you? What did you do today? Did they let you eat enough?

He pulls away a moment later. Affection touches his eyes as he taps my chin. "Goodnight."

I smile and let this moment rest for a second longer. "Night." The barest murmur. He watches me go until the door falls shut behind me.

Inside, the apartment is dark, the furniture only vague shadows against pale walls. The only light is the flickering glow of our living room TV, flaring with the sound effects of gunshots and action-packed music.

Seated in front of the low coffee table is Seungho. He's playing EA's first installment, Evolution.

I let my bag slip down my arm, sighing. "Really?"

"Where were you?" he asks curiously, without looking.

"Out."

"With Minseok?"

"No."

Now he glances at me.

I collapse on the couch. On the screen, Nadir, his character, navigates a rooftop dripping with sunset. I lean an elbow against the rim of the couch, fingers in my hair.

My mouth moves of its own accord. "I'm not with Minseok anymore, so don't bring him up."

Seungho chokes on his soda. "What?" Nadir slips off the rooftop, his health bar flashing red. He glances away from the screen, alarmed. "Really? Why?"

I shrug. "He was fucking some other girl."

The screen pauses. When Seungho turns to face me, half-lit in scarlet, I see a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his eyes. "Since when?"

"Months, probably."

"Yah," he snaps. "What the fuck?"

I close my eyes, wincing, and run a hand through my hair. "Don't look at me like that."

"What the fuck."

I jab him with my foot. "Stop."

Seungho's tongue digs into his teeth. At least there's no pity in his gaze. A part of me takes comfort in the anger simmering deep in his eyes.

"What an ass," he mutters, turning back to the screen. "You have horrible taste in guys. Just so you know."

"That's not true," I protest.

"That's not true? Minseok is fucking ugly."

I laugh and mutter, "You're just jealous."

"Are you defending him?"

"No," I retort, then add with a lowered voice, "I'm being honest. There's a difference."

"Still," he says. "Your taste in guys sucks."

"No, it doesn't," I return thoughtfully.

"Yeah? Prove me wrong."

I weave my fingers through my hair absently. "Well, I liked Sechs Kies. They were a solid group—"

"Oh, no," he groans.

"—and I liked Ryu Jihoon in primary school."

"Ryu Jihoon?" His eyes widen. "The neighbor?"

"He's not ugly, if that's what you wanted to s—"

"So that's who you were with. What is he, a rebound? Wah."

I jab him again. "Ow."

"He's a friend." I snatch a chip from his bag. "Not like you have many of those..."

"Sure, Nari. Friends." Seungho tilts his head and shudders. "You're always getting into trouble. Also, Jihoon doesn't sound any different. If eomma was here, she'd say some depressing shit."

"Yeah?" I reply with a laugh. "Like what?"

"Fuck, I don't know. Like how he left you behind, too. She doesn't really see anything right after appa." Seungho's voice stays light, but I can tell it bothers him. "But it's whatever. Minseok probably made all your problems go away." He snorts. "Sure made eomma's worries go away."

I turn over his words in my head. It's been a while since I've truly thought about how it was in Busan after Jihoon left. No one understood me the same way after that.

Either that, or I stopped caring to let people in. People like Minseok.