Chapter 1: Sterile
Chapter Text
I've read many more books than you. It doesn’t matter how many you’ve read. I’ve read more. Believe me. I’ve had the time.
In my sterile room, against my sterile walls, on my glistening sterile bookshelves, faded book spines providing the only semblance that the room is used at all. The books are all brand-new hardcovers—no germ-infested, second-hand softcovers for me. They come to me from the outside world, decontaminated and vacuum-sealed in plastic wrap. I would like to see the machine that does this. I imagine each book, traveling along on a conveyor belt toward rectangular sterilising stations where robotic arms dust, scrape, spray, and otherwise sterilise the book until it’s finally deemed clean enough to come to me.
When a new book arrives, my first task is to remove the wrapping, a process that involves scissors and more than one broken nail. My second task is to write my name on the inside front cover. I don't know why I do this; There’s no one else here except my mother, who never reads, and my nurse, who has no time to read because she spends all her time watching me breathe. I rarely have visitors, and so there’s no one to lend my books to. There’s no one who needs reminding that the forgotten book on his or her shelf belongs to me.
Along with inking my name in each books inside front cover, I add a 'Reward if Found' checklist. This is the section that takes me the longest time, and I vary it with each book. Sometimes the rewards are fanciful:
- Picnic with me in a pollen-filled field of poppies, lilies, and endless man-in-the-moon marigolds under a clear blue summer sky.
- Tea with me in a lighthouse off the coast of Busan in the middle of Korean Winter.
- Snorkel with me in the waters off Jeju Island.
Sometimes the rewards are not so fanciful:
- A visit with me to a used bookstore.
- A walk outside with me, just down the block and back.
- A short conversation with me discussing anything you want, on my sterile couch, in my sterile bedroom.
Sometimes the reward is just:
- Me
Chapter 2: Birthday Tradition
Chapter Text
“Movie Night or or Game Night?” my mum asks while inflating a blood pressure cuff around my scrawny upper-arm. She doesn’t mention her favourite of all our post-dinner time activities—Phonetic Scrabble. I look up to see that her eyes are already laughing at me.
“Phonetic,” I say.
She stops inflating the cuff. Ordinarily my full-time nurse would be taking my blood pressure and filling out my daily health log, but my mum’s given her the day off. It’s my birthday and we always spend the day together, just the two of us.
She puts on her stethoscope so that she can listen to my heartbeat. Her smile fades and is replaced by her more serious doctor’s face. This is the face her patients most often see— slightly distant, professional, and concerned. I wonder if they find it comforting.
Impulsively I give her a quick kiss on the forehead to remind her that it’s just me, her favourite patient, her daughter.
She opens her eyes, smiles, and caresses my cheek. I guess if you’re going to be born with an illness that requires constant care, then it’s good to have your mum as your doctor.
A few seconds later she gives me her best 'I’m the doctor and I’m afraid I have some-bad news for you' face. “It’s your big day. Why don’t we play something you have an actual chance of winning? Why not a game of Honour Pictionary?”
Since regular Pictionary can’t really be played with two people, we invented Honour Pictionary. One person draws and the other person is on her honour to make her best guess. If you guess correctly, the other person scores.
I narrow my eyes at her. “We’re playing Phonetic, and I’m winning this time,” I say confidently, though I have no chance of winning. In all our years of playing Phonetic Scrabble, or Fonetik Skrabbl, I’ve never once won. The last time we played I did come close, but then she devastated me on the final word, playing JEENZ on a triple word score.
“OK.” She shakes her head with mock pity. “Anything you want.” She closes her laughing eyes to listen to the stethoscope.
We spend the rest of the morning baking my traditional birthday cake of vanilla sponge with vanilla cream frosting. After it’s cooled, I apply an unreasonably thin layer of frosting, just enough to cover the cake. We are, both of us, cake people, not frosting people. For decoration, I draw eighteen frosted daisies with pink petals and a yellow centre across the top.
“Perfect.” My mum peers over my shoulders as I finish up. “Just like you.”
I turn to face her. She’s smiling a wide, proud smile at me, but her eyes are bright with tears. “You. Are. Tragic,” I say, and squirt a dollop of frosting on her nose, which only makes her laugh and cry some more. Really, she’s not usually this emotional, but something about my birthday always makes her both weepy and joyful at the same time.
And if she’s weepy and joyful, then I’m weepy and joyful, too.
“I know,” she says, throwing her hands helplessly up in the air, “I’m totally pathetic.” She pulls me into a hug and squeezes, frosting getting in my hair.
Chapter 3: Birthday Tradition II
Chapter Text
My birthday is the one day of the year that my mum and I are both most acutely aware of my illness. It’s the acknowledging of the passage of time that does it. Another whole year of being sick, no hope for a cure on the horizon. Another year of missing all the normal teenager milestones; getting my drivers license, having my first kiss, senior year, my first heartbreak and my first small bingle.
Another year of my mum doing nothing but working and taking care of me. Every other day these omissions are easy, easier at least, to ignore.
This year is a little harder than the previous. Maybe it’s because I’m eighteen now. Technically, I’m an adult. I should be leaving home, going off to college, living my own life. My mum should be dreading the inevitable ‘empty-nest’ syndrome. But because of my SCID, I’m stuck living the same routine, day-in, day-out.
Later, after dinner, my mum gives me a beautiful set of watercolour pencils that had been on my wish list for months. We go into the living room and sit cross-legged on the couch in front of the coffee table. This is also part of our birthday ritual: She lights a single candle in the center of the cake. I close my eyes and make a wish. I blow the candle out.
“What did you wish for?” she asks as soon as I open my eyes.
Really there’s only one thing to wish for; a magical cure that will allow me to run free outside like a wild animal, but I never make that wish because it’s impossible. It’s like wishing that mermaids and dragons and unicorns were real so instead I wish for something more likely than a cure, something less likely to make us both sad.
“World peace,” I say.
Three slices of cake later, we begin a game of Phonetic Scrabble. I do not win. I don’t even come close. She uses all seven letters and puts down POKALIPS next to the letter ‘A’.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“Apocalypse,” she says, eyes dancing.
“No, Mum. No way. I can’t give that to you," I whine.
“Yes,” is all she says.
“Mum, you need an extra A. No way," I say vehemently.
“A-Pokalips,” she says for effect, gesturing at the letters. “It totally works.”
I shake my head in disbelief.
“P O K A L I P S,” she insists, slowly dragging out the word.
“Oh my God, you’re relentless,” I say, throwing my hands up. “OK, OK, I’ll allow it.”
“Yesssss.” She pumps her fist in the air and laughs at me, marking down her now insurmountable score. “You’ve never really understood this game,” she says. “It’s a game of persuasion.”
I slice myself another piece of cake. “That was not persuasion,” I say skeptically. “That was cheating.”
"Same same,” she says, and we both laugh.
“You can beat me at Honour Pictionary tomorrow,” she says.
After my loss, we cuddle up on the couch and watch our favourite movie, ‘The Girl Who Leapt Through Time’. Watching it is also part of our birthday ritual. I put my head in her lap, and she strokes my hair, and I lose myself in the story told through the moving images on the screen. All in all, not a bad way to spend your eighteenth birthday.
Chapter 4: Invariable
Chapter Text
I’m reading on my bedroom couch when, In-Young, my life-long nurse, comes in the next morning.“ 생일 축하해,” she sings out.
“고마워,” I say as I lower my book.
“How was you birthday?” She asks as she begins unpacking her medical bag.
“We had fun,” I inform her.
“Vanilla cake and vanilla frosting?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Young Frankenstein?”
“Yes.”
“And you lost at that game?” she asks, almost rhetorically.
"Again, yes," You chortle at the ridiculousness of it all. “We’re pretty predictable, huh?” I huff.
“Don’t mind me,” she says, laughing.
“I’m just jealous of how sweet you and your mother are.” She picks up my health log from yesterday, quickly reviews my mum’s measurements and adds a new sheet to the clipboard.
“These days Naeun can’t even be bothered to give me the time of day,” she says, looking crest-fallen.
Naeun is In-Young’s seventeen-year-old daughter. According to In-Young they were really close until hormones kicked in and boys took over. I can’t imagine that happening to my mum and I.
In-Young sits next to me on the couch, and I hold out my hand my for the blood pressure cuff. Her eyes drop to my book.
“How to Kill a Mockingbird again?” she asks. “Doesn’t that book always make you cry?”
“One day it won’t,” I state. “I want to be sure to be reading it on that day.”
She rolls her eyes at me and takes my hand. It is kind of a flippant answer, but then I wonder if it’s true.Maybe I’m holding out hope that one day, someday, things will change.
The days following my birthday pass as any other day would; same routine with nothing new to report on or look forward to. It isn't until a few weeks later that I notice the 'For Lease' sign on the house next door has been taken down. The house, which had seen many a family in my eighteen years on this planet, took a long while to be let since the last family had left. I got to wondering about who would next grace the steps of the grand house situated next door. I didn't have to wonder for long.
“In-Young,” I say, “it won’t be like last time. I’m not eight years old anymore."
“I want you to promise—” she begins, but I’m already at the window, sweeping the curtains aside. I am not prepared for the bright California sun. I’m not prepared for the sight of it, high and blazing hot and white against the washed out white sky. I am blind. But then the white haze over my vision begins to clear. Everything is haloed.
I see the truck and the silhouette of an older woman twirling—the mother. I see an older man at the back of the truck—the father. I see a girl maybe a little younger than me—the daughter. Then I see him. He’s tall, lean, and wearing all black: black T-shirt, black jeans, black sneakers, and a black beanie that covers his hair completely. He’s Asian; Korean maybe, with pale ivory skin and a face that's starkly angular. He jumps down from his perch at the back of the truck and glides across the driveway, moving as if gravity affects him differently than it does the rest of us. He stops cocks his head to one side, and stares up at his new house as if it were a puzzle.
After a few seconds he begins bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Suddenly he takes off at a sprint and runs literally six feet up the front wall. He grabs a windowsill and dangles from it for a second or two and then drops back down into a crouch.
“Nice, J,” says his mother.
“Didn’t I tell you to quit doing that stuff?” his father growls.
He ignores them both and remains in his crouch.
I press my open palm against the glass, breathless as if I’d done that crazy stunt myself. I look from him to the wall to the windowsill and back to him again. He’s no longer crouched. He’s staring up at me. Our eyes meet. Vaguely I wonder what he sees in my window—strange girl with wide staring eyes. He grins at me and his face is no longer stark, no longer severe. I try to smile back, but I’m so flustered that I frown at him instead.
Chapter 5: Glimpse
Chapter Text
His family calls him J. Well, his sister and his mum anyway. His dad calls him Jungkook. Jungkook’s the one I watch the most. His bedroom is on the second floor and almost directly across from mine; his blinds are almost always open.
Some mornings he sleeps in until noon. Others, he’s gone from his room before I wake to begin my surveillance. Most mornings, though, he wakes at 9AM, climbs out of his bedroom window and makes his way, Spider-Man-style, to the roof using the gutters. He stays up there for about an hour before swinging, legs first, back into his room, through the already open window. No matter how much I try, I haven’t been able to see what he does when he’s up on the roof.
His room is empty apart from a bed and a chest of drawers. A few boxes from the move remain unpacked and stacked by the door. There are no personal effects except for a single poster of what looks to be some kind of Korean Boyband. I couldn’t make out the band name and honestly, my new neighbour doesn’t strike me as the K-Pop type, but I guess that reiterates never to judge someone based on appearances alone.
The more I watch, the more I want to know.
His Mum’s schedule:
6:35 AM - Arrives on porch with a steaming cup of something hot; coffee or tea?
6:36 AM - Stares off into space looking contemplative; day-dreaming?
7:00 AM – Re-enters the house.
7:15 AM - Back on porch. Kisses husband good-bye. Watches as his car drives away.
9:30 AM - Gardens. Looks for, finds, and discards cigarette butts.
1:00 PM - Leaves house in car; errands to attend?
5:00 PM - Pleads with Ji-Eun and J to begin chores “before your father gets home.”
Ji-Eun’s (sister) schedule:
10:00 AM - Stomps outside wearing black boots and a fuzzy brown bathrobe.
10:01 AM - Checks cell phone messages. She gets a lot of messages.
10:06 AM - Smokes three cigarettes in the garden between our two houses.
10:20 AM - Digs a hole with the toe of her boots and buries cigarette carcasses.
10:25 AM–5:00 PM - Texts or talks on the phone.
5:25 PM - Chores.
His Dad’s schedule:
7:15 AM - Leaves for work.
6:00 PM - Arrives home from work.
6:20 PM - Sits on porch with drink #1.
6:30 PM - Reenters the house for dinner.
7:00 PM - Back on porch with drink #2.
7:25 PM - Drink #3.
7:45 PM - Yelling at family begins.
10:35 PM - Yelling at family subsides.
Jungkook’s schedule:
Unpredictable.
Chapter 6: うそつき
Chapter Text
I’ve just sat down at the dining table for dinner. My mum places a set of chopsticks before me and fills my mug with tea and then does the same for In-Young. Friday night dinners are special in my house. In-Young stays late to eat with us instead of with her own family.Everything at Friday Night Dinner is Japanese. The chopsticks are from Karuizawa, my mum’s home town in Japan and the mugs are one’s my grandparents made in one of their pottery classes. We even use products solely from Japan in the meals. Of course, we have to be careful with the menu because of my allergies, but my mum always makes sure to keep things interesting. My favourite meal is definitely her version of Nabe— a robust hot pot filled with all kinds of vegetables and tons of protein in a rich chicken broth. It was my dad’s favourite dish before he died.
“Honey,” my mum says. “Mr. Waterman tells me that you’re late on your architecture assignment. Is everything all right, baby girl?”
I’m surprised by her question. I know I’m late, but since I’ve never been late before I guess didn’t realise that she was keeping track.“Is the assignment too hard?” She frowns as she ladles nabe into my bowl. “Do you want me to find you a new tutor?”
I shake my head.
“Everything’s fine. I’ll turn it in tomorrow, I promise. I just lost track of time.”
She nods and begins slicing and buttering pieces of crusty French bread for me. I know she wants to ask something else. I even know what she wants to ask, but she’s afraid of the answer. “Is it the new neighbours?”
In-Young gives me a sharp look. I’ve never lied to my mum. I’ve never had a reason to and honestly, I don’t think I know how to lie to her. But something tells me that in this case, I need to.
“I’ve just been reading too much. You know how I get with a good book.” I make my voice sound as reassuring as possible. I don’t want her to worry. She has enough to worry about with me as it is.
’うそつき’, I think to myself.
“Not hungry?” my mum asks about a half hour later, noticing I’ve eaten barely any of the nabe in my bowl. She presses the back of her hand against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.” She lets her hand linger a moment longer.
I’m about to reassure her when the doorbell rings. This happens so infrequently that I don’t know what to make of it.The bell rings again.My mum half rises from her chair.
In-Young stands all the way up.The bell sounds for a third time. I smile for no reason.
“Want me to get it, ma’am?” In-Young asks.
My mum waves her off. “Stay here,” she says to me.
In-Young moves to stand behind me, her hands pressing down lightly on my shoulder. I know I should stay here. I know I’m expected to. Certainly I expect me to, but somehow, today, I just can’t. I need to know who it is, even if it’s just a wayward traveler.
In-Young touches my upper arm. “Your mother said to stay here.”
“But why? She’s just being extra cautious. Besides, she won’t let anyone past the air lock.”
She relents, and I’m off down the hallway with her right behind me.
The air lock is a small sealed room surrounding the front door. It’s airtight so that no potential hazards can leak into the main house when the front door is open. I press my ear against it. At first I can’t hear anything over the air filters, but then I hear a voice.
“My mum has made you a serving of Bungeo-ppang.” The voice is deep and smooth and most definitely amused. My brain is processing the word Bungeo-ppang, trying to get an image of what it looks like before it dawns on me just who is at the door.
Jungkook.
“The thing about my mum’s Bungeo-ppang is that it’s not very good. Terrible. Actually inedible, very nearly indestructible. Between you and me.”
A new voice now. A girls; his sister most probably.
“Every time we move she makes us bring a plate to the new neighbours.”
“Oh. Well. This is a surprise isn’t it? That’s very nice. Please tell her thank you very much for me,” I can hear my mother say.
There’s no chance that this plate of Bungeo-ppang has passed the proper inspections, and I can tell my mum is trying to figure out how to tell them she can’t take the plate without revealing the truth about me.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t accept this.”
There’s a moment of shocked silence.
“So you want us to take it back?” Jungkook asks disbelievingly.
“Well, that’s rude,” Ji-Eun says. She sounds angry and resigned, as though she’d expected disappointment.
“I’m so sorry,” my mum says again. “It’s complicated. I’m really very sorry because this is so sweet of you and your mum. Please thank her for me.”
A pregnant pause.
“Is your daughter home?” Jungkook asks both suddenly and more loudly than necessary, before my mum can close the door. “We’re hoping she could show us around.”
My heart speeds up and I can feel the pulse of it against my ribs. Did he just ask about me? No stranger has just dropped by to visit me before. Aside from my mum, In-Young, and my tutors, the world barely knows I exist. I mean, I exist online; I have online friends and my Tumblr, but that’s not the same as being a real person who can be visited by strange boys bearing Bungeo-ppang.
“I’m so sorry, but she can’t. Welcome to the neighbourhood, and thank you again.”
The front door closes and I step back to wait for my mum to return to the living room. She has to remain in the air lock until the filters have a chance to purify the foreign air. A minute later she steps back into house. She doesn’t notice me right away. Instead she stands still, eyes closed with her head slightly bowed.
“I’m sorry,” she says, without looking up.
“I’m OK. Don’t worry.”
For the thousandth time I realise anew how hard my disease is on her. It’s the only world I’ve known, but before me she had my brother and my dad. She traveled and played soccer. She had a normal life that did not include being cloistered in a bubble for fourteen hours a day with her sick teenage daughter.
I hold her and let her hold me for a few more minutes. She’s taking this disappointment much harder than I am. “I’ll make it up to you,” she says.
“There’s nothing to make up for.”
“I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too.”
We drift back into the dining room and finish dinner quickly and, for the most part, silently.
In-Young leaves and my mum asks if I want to beat her at a game of Honour Pictionary, but I ask for a rain check. I’m not really in the mood.
Instead, I head upstairs to my room imagining what Bungeo-ppang tastes like.
Back in my room, I go immediately to my bedroom window. Jungkook’s father is home from work and something’s wrong because he’s angry and getting angrier by the second. He grabs the Bungeo-ppang from Ji-Eun and throws it hard at Jungkook, but Jungkook’s too fast, too graceful. He dodges, and the Bungeo-ppang falls to the ground.
Remarkably the Bungeo-ppang seems unharmed, but the plate shatters against the driveway. This only makes Jungkook’s father angrier.
“You clean that up. You clean that up right now.” He slams into the house.
Ji-Eun shakes her head at Jungkook and says something to him that makes his shoulders slump. Jungkook stands there looking at the shattered plate for a few minutes. He disappears into the house and returns with a broom and dustpan. He takes his time, way longer than necessary, sweeping up the broken pieces.
When he’s done, he climbs to the roof, taking the Bungeo-ppang with him, and it’s another hour before he swings back into his room.
In the hour he’s been up there I’ve been hiding in my usual spot; behind the curtain, when I suddenly no longer want to hide. I turn on the lights and go back to the window. I don’t even bother to take a deep breath. It’s not going to help. I pull the curtain aside to find that Jungkook’s already there in his window, staring right at me. He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t wave. Instead, he reaches his arm overhead and pulls the blind closed.
Chapter 7: Survival
Chapter Text
“How long are going to mope around the house?” In-Young asks. “You’ve been like this all week; Should I be worried?”
“I’m not moping,” I say, though I’ve been moping a little. Jungkook’s rejection has made me feel like a little girl again. It reminded me why I stopped paying attention to the world beyond my four walls.
But trying to get back to my normal routine is hard when all I can hear are the sounds of the outside world. I notice things that I paid very little attention to before Jungkook's appearance.
I hear the wind disturbing the trees. I hear birds gossiping in the mornings. I see the rectangles of sunlight that slip through my blinds and work their way across the room throughout the day.
As much as I’m trying to keep the world out, it seems determined to come in.
“You’ve been reading the same five pages of that book of yours for days now.” She nods at my copy of Almond by Won-Pyung Sohn.
I put the book down and close my eyes. I confess. “It was easier before.”
“What was easier?”
“I don’t know. Being me. Being sick.”
She squeezes my leg. “You listen to me now. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. You better believe that.”
“In-Young, you don’t have to—”
“Shush, listen to me. I’ve been thinking this over. I could see this new thing was weighing down on you, but I know you’re going to be all right.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“That’s OK. I can be sure for both of us. We’ve been together in this house for fifteen years, so I know what I’m talking about. When I first started with you I thought it was only a matter of time before depression would take you over. And there was that one summer when it came close, but it didn’t happen. Every day you get up and learn something new. Every day you find something to be happy about. Every single day you have a smile for me. You worry more about your mother than you do about yourself.”
I don’t think In-Young has ever said this many words all at once.
“My own Naeun,” she continues, but then stops. She leans back and closes her eyes in the grip of some emotion I don’t understand. “My Naeun could learn a thing or two from you. She has everything I could give her, but she thinks she has nothing.”
I smile. In-Young complains about her daughter, but I can tell she spoils her as much as she can. She opens her eyes and whatever was bothering her passes.
“You see, there’s that smile again.” She pats my leg. “Life is hard, honey but everyone finds a way to get through it, you'll see.”
Chapter 8: First Contact
Chapter Text
A further two days since Jungkook's less than cold rejection pass and I’ve finally stopped moping. I’m just getting used to ignoring the neighbours when I suddenly hear a ping coming from outside. I’m on my couch, trying to get through the final chapter of 'Almond' by Won-Pyung Sohn. I’m so eager for the book to end so that I can read something else, something happier, that I ignore the sound. A few minutes later and there’s another ping, louder this time. I put the book down and listen.
Pings three, four, and five come in rapid succession. Something’s hitting my window. Hail? I’m up and at my window before I can think better of it and push the curtains aside.
Jungkook’s window is wide open, the blinds are up, and the lights are off in his room. The indestructible Bungeo-ppang is sitting on his windowsill wearing googly eyes that are staring right at me. The fish shaped cake trembles and then tilts forward, as if contemplating the distance to the ground. It retreats and trembles some more. I’m trying to see Jungkook in his darkened room when the Bungeo-ppang leaps from the sill and plunges to the ground.
I gasp. Did the Bungeo-ppang just commit suicide? I crane my neck to see what’s become of it, but it’s too dark to see.
Just then a spotlight illuminates the cake. Unbelievably, it’s still intact. What is that thing made of? It’s probably best that we didn’t try to eat it.
The light goes out and I look up just in time to catch Jungkook’s black-clad hand and flashlight retreat into the window. I stay for a few minutes, watching and waiting for him to come back, but he doesn’t, much to my disappointment.
Chapter 9: Connection
Chapter Text
Night Two
I’m just settling in to bed when the pings begin again. I am determined to ignore him, and I do. Whatever he wants, I can’t do. It’s easier not to know. I don’t go to the window that night, or the next.
Night Four
I can’t stand it. I peek out from the corner of my curtains.The Bungeo-ppang is sitting on the windowsill, Band-Aids and bandages covering half it’s body. Jungkook is nowhere to be found.
Night Five
The plate of Bungeo-ppang is now sitting on a table next to the window. There’s a martini glass filled with green liquid, a pack of cigarettes, and a pill bottle with a skull and crossbones label. Another suicide attempt? Still no Jungkook.
Night Six
The Bungeo-ppang is lying on a white sheet. An upside-down plastic water bottle is attached to what looks like a coat hanger and is hanging above the plate of Bungeo-ppang. A string hangs from the bottle to the Bungeo-ppang like an IV. Jungkook appears wearing a white jacket and stethoscope. He’s frowning down at the Bungeo-ppang and listening for a heartbeat. I want to laugh but I don’t let myself. Jungkook looks up and shakes his head solemnly. I close my curtains, suppressing a smile, and head to bed.
Night Seven
I tell myself that I won’t look, but as soon as the first ping sounds I’m at the window. Jungkook is wearing a black bathrobe with an over-sized silver cross around his neck. He’s performing last rites on the Bungeo-ppang.Finally I cannot help it. I laugh and laugh and laugh. He looks up and grins back. He takes a black marker from his pocket and writes on the window:
‘Sorry about the other night. [email protected]’
Chapter 10: Subject: Hello
Chapter Text
From: Ha-Yun. A. Choi
Hello. I guess we should start with introductions? My name is Ha-Yun Choi, but you can tell that from my e-mail address. What’s yours?
- Ha-Yun
P.S. You don’t have anything to apologise for.
P.P.S. What is that Bungeo-ppang made of?
From: goldenmaknae97
To: Ha-Yun. A. Choi <[email protected]>
Subject: RE: Hello
Sent: June 4, 8:07 PM
you are a terrible spy ha-yun choi if you haven’t already figured out my name. my sister and i tried to meet you last week, but your mum wasn’t having it. i really don’t know what the bungeo-ppang is made of. rocks maybe?
From: Ha-Yun. A. Choi
Subject: RE: RE: Hello
Sent: June 4, 8:11 PM
Hi,
Bungeo-ppang Recipe
3 cups all-purpose cement mix
1 1/4 cup fine grain sawdust
1 cup gravel (various sizes for added interest)
1/2 tsp salt
1 cup Elmer’s Glue
2 sticks unsalted butter
3 tsp paint thinner
4 large eggs (room temperature)
DIRECTIONS
Preheat oven to 180 degrees celcius.
Grease Bunngeo-ppang pan
For the cake
1. In medium bowl, whisk together cement mix, salt, and gravel.
2. In large bowl whisk together butter, Elmer’s Glue, paint thinner, and eggs. Do not over mix. 3. Gradually whisk in dry ingredients in small batches.
4. Spoon batter into Bungeo-ppang mold.
5. Bake until a tester inserted in cake refuses to come out. Cool in pan on rack.
For the filling:
1. Whisk together sawdust and enough water to form a thick yet pourable glaze.
2. Set rack with cake over a piece of wax paper (for easy cleanup).
3. Pump cake full with filling and let solidify before serving.
(Serves 0)
- Ha-Yun Choi
P.S. I’m not a spy!
Chapter 11: Status: Online
Chapter Text
Wednesday, 8:15 P.M.
Jungkook: i was going to email you back, but saw you were online. your recipe cracked me up. has there ever been a spy in the whole history of spying that’s admitted to being a spy? i think not. i’m jungkook and it’s nice to meet you.
Jungkook: what’s the “a” stand for?
Ha-Yun: Arakawa. My mum is 3rd generation Japanese Korean. I’m half Japanese.
Jungkook: what’s the other half?
Ha-Yun: Korean; Can't you tell that much from my name?
Jungkook: do you have a nickname ha-yun arakawa choi or am i expected to call you ha-yun arakawa choi?
Ha-Yun: I don’t have a nickname. Everyone calls me Ha-Yun. Sometimes my mum calls me honey or sweetie. Does that count?
Jungkook: no of course it doesn’t count. no one calls you h or ha-yunnie or yun? i’ll pick one for you.
Jungkook: we’re gonna be friends
Thursday, 8:19 P.M.
Ha-Yun: Since we’re going to be friends, I have questions: Where are you from? Why do you wear a cap all the time? Is your head oddly shaped? Why do you only ever wear black? Related question: Are you aware that clothing comes in other colours? I have suggestions if you need them. What do you do on the roof? What’s the tattoo on your right arm?
Olly: i have answers: we’re from all over, but mostly busan. i need a haircut so i wear it to keep the hair out of my eyes (any barber recommendations?). yes. i’m dead sexy in black. yes. none needed, thanks. nothing. a tiger lily
Ha-Yun: What have you got against capital letters and proper punctuation?
Jungkook: who says that i have anything against proper grammar?
Ha-Yun: I have to go. Sorry!
Friday, 8:34 P.M.
Jungkook: so how grounded are you?
Ha-Yun: I’m not grounded. Why do you think I’m grounded?
Jungkook: well something made you log off in a hurry last night. i’m guessing it was your mum. trust me i know all about being grounded. and you never leave the house. i haven’t seen you outside once since we got here
Ha-Yun: I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. I’m not grounded, but I can’t leave the house.
Jungkook: very mysterious. are you a ghost? that’s what i thought the day we moved in and i saw you at the window. and it would be my luck that the pretty girl next door is not actually alive
Ha-Yun: First I was a spy and now I’m a ghost!
Jungkook: not a ghost? a fairytale princess then. which one are you? cinderella? will you turn into a pumpkin if you leave the house?
Jungkook: or rapunzel? your hair’s pretty long. just let it down and i’ll climb up and rescue you
Ha-Yun: That has always sounded impractical and painful don’t you think?
Jungkook: yes. so not cinderella and not rapunzel. snow white then. your evil stepmum put you under a spell so that you can’t leave the house and the world will never know how fair you are
Ha-Yun: That’s not how the story goes. Did you know that in the original version it wasn’t an evil stepmother, it was an evil mother? Can you believe that? Also, there were no dwarves.
Interesting, no?
Jungkook: definitely no
Ha-Yun: I’m not a princess.
Ha-Yun: And I don’t need rescuing.
Jungkook: that’s ok. i’m no prince
Ha-Yun: You think I’m pretty?
Jungkook: for a fairytale ghost spy princess? definitely
Saturday, 8:01 P.M.
Jungkook: how come you don’t log on until after 8?
Ha-Yun: I’m usually not alone until then.
Jungkook: someone’s with you all day?
Ha-Yun: Can we please not talk about this?
Jungkook: curiouser and curiouser ha-yun choi
Sunday, 8:22 P.M.
Jungkook: here’s a game. fast five favourites. book word colour vice person
Jungkook: come on come on. type faster woman. don’t think just type
Ha-Yun: Sheesh. After Dark. Uxorious. Lilac. I don’t have any vices. My mum.
Jungkook: everyone’s got vices
Ha-Yun: Not me. Why? How many do you have?
Jungkook: enough to choose a favourite one
Ha-Yun: Ok, your turn.
Jungkook: same list?
Ha-Yun: Yes
Jungkook: almond by won-pyung sohn, macabre, black, stealing silverware, my sister
Ha-Yun: Ugh. Almond? I don’t think we can be friends anymore. That book is awful.
Jungkook: what’s so awful about it?
Ha-Yun: Everything!
Jungkook: you just don’t like it because it’s true
Ha-Yun: What’s true? That humans are still capable of being selfless and showing empathy?
Jungkook: yes
Ha-Yun: Do you really believe that?
Jungkook: yes
Ha-Yun: Well, I don’t. I definitely don’t.
Ha-Yun: Do you really steal silverware?
Jungkook: you should see my spoon collection
Monday, 8:07 P.M.
Jungkook: what’d you do to get so grounded?
Ha-Yun: I told you, I’m not grounded and I don’t want to talk about this.
Jungkook: does it involve a guy?
Jungkook: are you knocked up? do you have a boyfriend?
Ha-Yun: Oh my god, you’re insane! I’m not pregnant and I don’t have a boyfriend! What kind of girl do you think I am?
Jungkook: a mysterious one
Ha-Yun: Have you spent all day thinking that I was pregnant?
Ha-Yun: Jungkook?
Jungkook: it crossed my mind once or twice or fifteen times
Ha-Yun: Unbelievable.
Jungkook: don’t you want to know if i have a girlfriend?
Ha-Yun: No.
Tuesday, 8:18 P.M.
Ha-Yun: Hi.
Jungkook: hey
Ha-Yun: I didn’t know if you’d log on tonight. Are you OK?
Jungkook: fine
Ha-Yun: What happened? Why was he so angry?
Jungkook: i don’t know what you’re talking about
Ha-Yun: Your dad, Jungkook. Why was he so angry?
Jungkook: you’ve got your secrets. i’ve got mine
Ha-Yun: OK.
Jungkook: ok
Wednesday, 3:31 A.M.
Jungkook: couldn’t sleep?
Ha-Yun: No.
Jungkook: me either. fast five favourites movie food body-part class
Ha-Yun: That’s only four. Besides, it’s too late for this. I can’t think.
Jungkook: i'm waiting
Ha-Yun: Nevertheless—the Netflix version, jjiggae, hands, architecture.
Jungkook: jesus. is there a girl on this planet who doesn’t love park jae-eon and his butterfly tattoo?
Ha-Yun: All girls love Park Jae-Eon?
Jungkook: are you kidding? even my sister loves him and she doesn’t love anybody.
Ha-Yun: She must love somebody. I’m sure she loves you.
Jungkook: what’s so great about jae-eon?
Ha-Yun: That is not a serious question.
Jungkook: he’s a heartbreaker
Ha-Yun: But he eventually sees the impact of his wrong doings towards not just Na-Bi but all the women he's strung along and realises that there's nothing wrong with having and pursuing his genuine feelings for someone. He’s a man open to learning life’s lessons! Also, he’s completely gorgeous and noble and dark and brooding and poetic. Did I mention gorgeous?
Jungkook: huh. you're deluded.
Ha-Yun: Rude.
Jungkook: my turn?
Ha-Yun: Proceed.
Jungkook: Godzilla, ramyun, eyes, performing arts. wait, is the body part your favorite on yourself or on someone else?
Ha-Yun: I don’t know! It’s your list.
Jungkook: oh yeah. all right, i’m sticking with eyes
Ha-Yun: What colour are your eyes?
Jungkook: brown
Ha-Yun: Be more specific, please.
Jungkook: jesus. girls. dark brown
Madeline: Are we talking 75% cacao butter dark chocolate brown here?
Jungkook: no, definitely 95%. What colour are yours?
Ha-Yun: Hazel.
Jungkook: more specific please
Ha-Yun: Hazel, bark coloured brown with flecks of green, like the colour of the pine trees found in the 'Grove of Dancing Pines' in Yangsan.
Jungkook: hehe. nice.
Ha-Yun: That was still only four favourites. We need one more.
Jungkook: i leave it to you
Ha-Yun: Form of poetry.
Jungkook: that assumes that I have one
Ha-Yun: You’re not a heathen.
Jungkook: limericks
Ha-Yun: You are a heathen. I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.
Jungkook: what’s wrong with a good limerick?
Ha-Yun: “Good limerick” is a contradiction in terms.
Jungkook: what’s your favourite?
Ha-Yun: Haiku.
Jungkook: haikus are awful. they’re just less fun limericks
Ha-Yun: You’ve been downgraded from heathen to heretic.
Jungkook: noted
Ha-Yun: OK. I should be asleep.
Jungkook: ok me too.
Thursday, 8:00 P.M.
Ha-Yun: I wouldn’t have guessed that performing arts was your favourite class.
Jungkook: why not?
Ha-Yun: I don’t know. You climb buildings and leap over things. Most people are good with their bodies or their minds but not both.
Jungkook: is that a nice way of saying you think i’m dumb?
Ha-Yun: No! I mean that ... I don’t know what I mean.
Jungkook: you mean i’m too sexy to be good at it. that’s ok. i get that a lot
Ha-Yun: . . .
Jungkook: it just takes practice like anything else. i was the lead male in my high school play two high schools ago i’ll have you know. i'm going places. got a question on what makeup boys prefer to wear? i’m your guy
Ha-Yun: No!
Jungkook: yes!
Ha-Yun: So sexy.
Jungkook: i sense insincerity
Ha-Yun: No!
Jungkook: yes!
Ha-Yun: :) So are you going to do the entrance exam for Seoul Performing Arts High School or Hanlim?
Jungkook: probably not
Ha-Yun: Why's that?
Jungkook: my dad made me quit. he pulled me out of my co-curricular classes. he wanted me to do something more manly like martial arts
Ha-Yun: You do martial arts?
Jungkook: no. he made me quit performing arts, but he couldn’t bully the instructor into taking me into his classes mid-term. he let it go eventually
Ha-Yun: What if he brings it up again now?
Jungkook: i’m a little harder to bully now than i was 2 years ago
Jungkook: i’m meaner now. bigger too
Ha-Yun: You don’t seem mean.
Jungkook: you don’t know me that well yet
Friday, 3:03 A.M.
Ha-Yun: You’re awake again.
Jungkook: yeah
Ha-Yun: I know you don’t want to talk about this.
Jungkook: and yet here we are talking about it
Ha-Yun: I saw what happened today. Is your mom ok?
Jungkook: she’s ok. it’s not the first time. it’s not the last time
Ha-Yun: Jungkook...
Jungkook: please don’t 'jungkook...' me
Jungkook: tell me something, anything. tell me something funny
Ha-Yun: OK. Why was the boy surprised to find celery growing out of his ears?
Jungkook: why?
Ha-Yun: Because he’d planted corn!
Ha-Yun: Hello?
Jungkook: oh jesus. that is not a good joke
Ha-Yun: Made you smile though.
Jungkook: yeah it did
Jungkook: thanks
Ha-Yun: Anytime.
Saturday, 8:01 P.M.
Jungkook: i guess i won’t get to meet you in person until school starts
Ha-Yun: I don’t go to school.
Jungkook: you mean you don’t go to any of the schools locally? where do you go?
Ha-Yun: I mean I don’t go to regular school. I go online.
Jungkook: why?
Ha-Yun: I really can’t talk about this.
Jungkook: come on. you gotta give me something here
Ha-Yun: I want us to be friends. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.
Jungkook: just tell me. we’re still gonna be friends
Ha-Yun: I’m sick.
Jungkook: how sick?
Ha-Yun: Really sick. Can’t leave the house sick.
Jungkook: jesus
Jungkook: are you dying?
Ha-Yun: Not right now, no.
Jungkook: soon?
Ha-Yun: If I left the house, yes.
Jungkook: ok
Jungkook: we’re still friends. i don’t feel sorry for you
Ha-Yun: Thank you.
Jungkook: how does the school thing work?
Ha-Yun: All my classes are over Zoom. I have homework and quizzes and grades. Lots of people are homeschooled.
Jungkook: huh. cool
Jungkook: ever notice how a lot of the national spelling bee finalists are all homeschooled? Madeline: I’ve never noticed that.
Jungkook: it’s a thing
Jungkook: i wish we could meet
Ha-Yun: Me too.
Ha-Yun: OK, I need to go now.
Jungkook: go then
Jungkook: you still there?
Ha-Yun: Yes.
Jungkook: come to the window
Ha-Yun: Now? I’m wearing my pyjamas.
Jungkook: put on a robe. come to the window so that I can see you
Ha-Yun: OK, I’ll be right there. Goodnight, J.
Jungkook: goodnight ha-yun
Chapter 12: Spacejam
Chapter Text
“Your tutor, Namjoon, is on his way up,” In-Young says from the doorway.
I’m finally putting the finishing touches on my model for my architecture class. I’ve had to cut short two nights of messaging with Jungkook to get it done. I don’t want my mum to get worried again. The assignment was to design an outdoor shopping/dining centre in my favourite style; mid-century modern. I chose mid-century modern because the buildings look like they’re flying even though they’re standing still.
The centrepiece of the complex is a grassy outdoor seating area populated with oversized, oddly shaped chairs painted in bright zigzag patterns. I’ve already “planted” miniature plastic palm trees in the grass, and now I’m strategically placing miniature plastic people holding miniature plastic shopping bags to give it the “vigor of life,” as Namjoon, my tutor, would say.
In two years of tutoring I’ve only met Kim Namjoon in person twice. Usually all of my tutoring, including architecture, takes place via Zoom. My mum’s made a special exception this week. I think she’s still feeling badly about Ji-Eun and Jungkook’s visit from a couple of weeks ago. I told her she had nothing to feel bad about, but she insisted. Having a visitor is a big deal because they have to agree to a medical background check and a thorough physical. Also they have to be decontaminated, which is basically like getting a high-speed air bath for about an hour. It’s a pain to come see me.
Namjoon walks in looking merry but harried. The decontamination process makes him cold, so he’s rubbing his hands together and blowing on them for warmth.
“Ha-Yun,” he says happily, clapping his hands together. He’s my favourite of all my tutors. He never looks at me pityingly and he loves architecture like I love architecture. If I were going to be something when I grew up, an architect is what I would be.
“Hi, Namjoon.” I smile awkwardly, not really knowing how to be around someone who’s not In-Young or my mother, let alone a mid-twenties male.
“So what have we got here?” he asks, soft brown eyes twinkling. I place my last two tiny shoppers next to a toy store and stand back.
He circles the model sometimes beaming, sometimes frowning, all the while making weird clucking sounds.
“Gee, you’ve outdone yourself. This is great!” He straightens from the model and is about to pat me on the shoulder before he catches himself. No touching allowed. He shakes his head slightly and then bends over to examine some more.
“I'd hate to have to go up against you in any competition. You'd blow me, and I'm pretty sure everyone else, out of the water. There are only a few things we should talk about. But, first! Where is our astronaut hiding?”
Whenever I make a new model I make a clay astronaut figure and hide him in it. Each figure is different. This time he’s in full astronaut gear complete with airtight helmet and bulky oxygen tank, sitting in the diner at a table piled high with food. I’ve made miniature banana split sundaes, blueberry pancake stacks, scrambled eggs, toast with butter and marmalade, bacon, milk shakes (strawberry, chocolate, and vanilla), cheeseburgers and fries. I’d wanted to make curly fries but I ran out of time and had to settle for just regular fries.
“There he is!” Namjoon exclaims. He smirks at the scene for a few moments and then turns to me. His soft brown eyes are a little less merry than usual. “It’s great, really. I have no complaints other than how will your astronaut eat all that scrumptious food with his helmet on?”
I look back at my astronaut. It’d never occurred to me that he’d want to eat the food.
Chapter 13: Risk
Chapter Text
In-Young’s smiling at me like she knows something I don’t know. She’s been doing it all day whenever she thinks I’m not looking. Also she’s been singing “Take a Chance on Me” by ABBA, her absolute favourite band of all time. She’s breathtakingly out of tune. I’ll have to ask Jungkook the probability that she could miss every single note. Shouldn’t she hit one just by random chance? It’s 12:30 p.m. and I have a half hour for lunch before my history tutor comes online. I’m not hungry. I’m basically never hungry anymore. Apparently a body can exist on instant messaging with one's cute neighbour alone.
In-Young’s not looking, so I tab over to my G-mail. Thirteen messages from Jungkook since last night. They’re all sent around 3 a.m. and, naturally, he doesn’t write a subject. I laugh a little and shake my head.
I want to read them, am dying to read them, but I have to be careful with In-Young in the room. I glance over and find her staring back at me eyebrows raised. Does she know something?
“What’s so interesting on that laptop?” she asks. God. She definitely knows.
I draw my chair closer to the desk and place my sandwich on the laptop.
“Nothing.” I take a bite of the sandwich. It’s Turkey Tuesday.
“It’s not nothing. Something is making you laugh over there.” She inches closer, smiling at me. Her brown eyes crinkle at the corners and her smile reaches the edge of her face.
“Cat video,” I say through a mouthful of turkey. Ugh, wrong thing to say. In-Young lives for cat videos. She thinks they’re the only thing the Internet is good for.
She comes around, stands behind me, and reaches for the laptop.
I drop my sandwich and hug the laptop close to my chest. I’m not a good liar, and I say the first thing that pops into my head. “You don’t want to see this one, In-Young. It’s bad. The cat dies.”
We stare at each other in a kind of shocked standoff for a few seconds. I’m shocked because I’m an idiot and I can’t believe that I said that.
In-Youg’s shocked because I’m an idiot and she can’t believe that I said that. Her mouth drops open comically, like a cartoon, and her big round eyes get even bigger and rounder. She bends over at the waist, slaps her knee, and laughs like I’ve never heard her laugh. Who actually slaps their knee while laughing?
“You mean to tell me the only thing you could think to say was that it was a dead cat?” She’s laughing again.
“So you know.”
“Well, if I didn’t know before I would surely know now.”
She laughs a little more, slaps her knee again. “Oh, you should’ve seen your face.”
“It’s not that funny,” I grumble, annoyed that I gave myself away.
“You forget I have one of you at home. I always know when Naeun is up to no good. Besides, you, Miss Thing, are not any good at hiding things. I see you checking your e-mail and looking for him out the window.”
I put my laptop back down on the desk. “So, you’re not mad at me?” I ask, relieved.
She hands me my sandwich. “It depends. Why were you hiding it from me?”
“I didn’t want you to worry about me getting sad again.”
She eyes me for a long second. “Do I need to worry?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not worrying.” She brushes my hair back from my shoulders. “Eat,” she says.
Fifteen Minutes Later
“Maybe he could come over for a visit?”
I’ve surprised myself by asking, but In-Young’s not surprised at all. She doesn’t even pause from wiping away nonexistent dust from my bookshelf.
“Teenagers are the same all over. Give them an inch and they’ll take a mile.”
“Is that a no?” I ask.
She laughs at me.
Two Hours Later
I try again. “It would only be for half an hour. He could get decontaminated like my tutor, Namjoon, and then—”
“Are you crazy?”
Ten Minutes After That
“Fifteen minutes?”
“No.”
Later Still
“Please, In-Young—”
She cuts me off. “And here I thought you were doing fine.”
“I am. I am doing fine. I just want to meet him—”
“We can’t always get what we want,” she says.
From the flatness of her tone alone, I know it’s a phrase she uses on Naeun all the time. I can tell she regrets saying it to me, but still she doesn’t say anything else.
She’s leaving for the day, halfway out my bedroom door when she stops. “You know I don’t like saying no to you. You’re a good girl.”
I rush right through this opening. “He’d get decontaminated and sit across the room, far, far away from me and only for fifteen minutes. Thirty minutes at the most.”
She shakes her head, but it’s not a firm shake. “It’s too risky. And your mother would never allow it.”
“We won’t tell her,” I say instantly.
She gives me a sharp, disappointed look. “Do you girls really find it so easy to lie to your mothers?”
Chapter 14: To Those Who Wait
Chapter Text
In-Young doesn’t say anything about it again until just after lunch two days later.
“Now. You listen to me,” she says. “No touching. You stay on your side of the room, he stays on his. I already told him the same thing.”
I understand the words she’s saying, but I don’t understand what she’s saying.
“What do you mean? You mean he’s here? He’s really here?”
“You stay on your side and he stays on his. No touching. You understand?”
I don’t, but I nod yes anyway.
“He’s waiting for you in the sunroom.”
“Decontaminated?”
The look on her face says what do you take me for?
I stand up, sit down, and stand up again.
“Oh, Lordy,” she says. “Go fix yourself up and fast. I’m only giving you twenty minutes.”
My stomach doesn’t just flip, it does high-wire somersaults without a net. “What made you change your mind?”
She comes over, takes my chin in her hand, and stares into my eyes for such a long time that I start to fidget. I can see her sorting through all she wants to say.
In the end all she says is: “You deserve a little something.”
This is how Naeun gets everything she wants. She simply asks for it from her mother with the too-big heart.
I head to the mirror to “fix myself.” I’ve almost forgotten what I look like. I don’t spend a lot of time looking. There’s no need when there’s no one to see you. I like to think that I’m an exact fifty-fifty mixture of my mum and dad. My translucent buttercup yellow skin is what you get by mixing her pale skin with his melanin rich olive skin. My hair is long and somewhat wavy, not as curly as such, but not straight either. Even my eyes are a perfect blend—neither Korean nor Japanese but somewhere in between.
I look away and then look back quickly, trying to catch myself unawares to get a more accurate picture, trying to see what Jungkook will see. I try out a laugh and then smile, with teeth and without. I even try out a frown, though I’m hoping I won’t have cause to use it.
In-Young watches my antics in the mirror amused and bemused at the same time.
“I almost remember when I was your age,” she says.
I don’t turn around, talking instead to In-Young's reflection in the mirror.
“Are you sure about this? You don’t think it’s too risky anymore?”
“You trying to talk me out of it?” She comes over and puts a hand on my shoulder. “Everything’s a risk. Not doing anything is a risk. It’s up to you.”
I look around my white room at my white couch and shelves, my white walls, all of it safe and familiar and unchanging.
I think of Olly, decontamination-cold and waiting for me. He’s the opposite of all these things. He’s not safe. He’s not familiar. He’s in constant motion.
He’s the biggest risk I’ve ever taken.
Chapter 15: Future Perfect
Chapter Text
From: Ha-Yun. A. Choi
Subject: Future Perfect
Sent: July 10, 12:30 PM
By the time you read this we will have met. It will have been perfect.
The sunroom is my favourite room in the house. It’s almost all glass—glass roof and floor-to- ceiling glass windows that look out onto our perfectly manicured back lawn.
The room’s decor is like a movie set of a tropical rain forest. It’s filled with realistic and lush- looking fake tropical plants. Banana and coconut trees laden with fake fruit and hibiscus plants with fake flowers are everywhere. There’s even a babbling stream that snakes its way through the room, but there are no fish—at least no real ones. The furniture is aged white wicker that looks like it’s been sitting in the sun. Because it’s meant to be tropical, my mum keeps a heated fan running and a slightly too-warm breeze fills the room.
Most days I love it because I can imagine that the glass has fallen away and I’m Outside. Other days I feel like a fish in an aquarium.
By the time I get there, Jungkook has managed to climb halfway up the rocky back wall, hands and feet wedged into crevices. He’s pinching one of the large banana leaves between his fingers when I walk in.
“It’s not real,” he says to me.
“It’s not real,” I say at the same time.
He lets go of the branch but remains where he is on the wall. Climbing for him is like walking for the rest of us.
“Are you going to stay up there?” I ask, because I don’t know what else to say.
“I’m thinking about it. Your nurse, In-Young was it? She said I had to stay as far away from you as possible and she doesn’t seem like the kind of lady that you piss off.”
“You can come down,” I say. “She's not as scary as she seems.”
“OK.” He slips effortlessly to the floor. He puts his hands into his pockets, crosses his feet at the ankles, and leans back against the wall. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so still. I think he’s trying not to spook me.
“Maybe you should come in,” he says, and then I realise that I’m still in the doorway holding on to the knob. I close the door but don’t take my eyes off him. His eyes track my movements as well.
After all the messages I felt like I knew him, but now with him standing in front of me, it doesn’t feel that way at all. He’s taller than I thought and way more muscled, but not bulky. His arms are lean and sculpted and his biceps fill the sleeves of his black T-shirt. His boyish skin is sun-kissed and glowing. It would be warm to touch.
“You’re different than I thought you’d be,” I blurt out.
He grins and a dimple forms just under his right eye.
“I know. Sexier, right? It’s OK, you can say it.”
I guffaw. “How do you manage to carry around an ego that size and weight?”
“It’s the muscles,” he shoots back, flexing his biceps and raising a single comical eyebrow. Some of my nervousness falls way but then comes right back when he watches me laugh without saying anything for a few seconds too long.
“Your hair really is long,” he says. “And you never said you had freckles.”
“Was I supposed to?” I ask.
“Freckles might be a deal breaker.” He smiles and the dimple comes back. Cute.
I move to the couch and sit. He leans against the rock wall across the room.
“They’re the bane of my existence,” I say, referring to the freckles. This is a ridiculous thing to say because, of course, the bane of my existence is that I’m sick and unable to leave my house. We both realise this at the same time and then we’re both laughing again.
“You’re funny,” he says after our laughter subsides.
I smile. I’ve never thought of myself as a funny girl, but I’m happy that he thinks so.
We are awkward together for a few moments unsure of what to say. The silence would be much less noticeable over messages. We could chalk it up to any number of distractions. But right now in real life it feels like we both have blank thought balloons over our heads. Actually, mine’s not blank at all, but I really can’t tell him how beautiful his eyes are. They’re dark cocoa brown, just like he’d said. It’s strange because of course I’d known that. But the difference between knowing it and seeing them in person is the difference between dreaming of flying and flight.
“This is some crazy room,” he says, looking around.
“Yeah. My mum built it so I could feel like I was outside.”
“Does it work?”
“Most days. I have a really excellent imagination.”
“You really are a fairy tale. Princess Ha-Yun and the Glass Castle.” He’s quiet again, like he’s trying to build up to something.
“It’s OK to ask me,” I say.
He’s wearing a single black rubber band around his wrist and he pulls at it a few times before continuing. “How long have you been sick?”
“My whole life.”
“What would happen if you went outside?”
“My head would explode. Or my lungs. Or my heart.”
“How can you joke ... ?” He shakes his head incredulously.
I shrug.
“How can I not? Besides, I try not to want things I can’t have.”
“You’re like a Zen master. You should teach a class.”
“It takes a long time to learn.” I smile back at him.
He crouches and then sits, back against the wall, forearms on his knees. Even though he’s still, I can feel the need to move coming off of him. The boy is kinetic energy.
“Where do you want to go the most?” he asks.
“Besides outer space?”
“Yes, Yuna, besides outer space.” I like the way he says Yuna, as if he’s been calling me that my whole life.
“The beach. The ocean.”
“Want me to describe it for you?”
I nod more vigorously than I expected to. My heart speeds up like I’m doing something illicit.
“I’ve seen pictures and videos, but what’s it like to actually be in the water? Is it like taking a bath in a giant tub?”
“Sort of,” he says slowly, considering. “No, I take it back. Taking a bath is relaxing. Being in the ocean is scary. It’s wet and cold and salty and deadly.”
That’s not what I was expecting. “You hate the ocean?”
He’s grinning now, warming to his topic. “I don’t hate it. I respect it.” He holds up a single finger. “Respect. It’s Mother Nature at her finest—awesome, beautiful, impersonal, murderous. Think about it: All that water and you could still die of thirst. And the whole point of waves is to suck your feet from under you so that you drown faster. The ocean will swallow you whole and burp you out and not notice you were even there.”
“Oh my God, you’re scared of it!” I exclaim.
“We haven’t even gotten to great white sharks or saltwater crocodiles or Indonesian needlefish or—”
“OK, OK,” I say, laughing and holding up my hands for him to stop.
“It’s no joke,” he says with mock seriousness. “The ocean will kill you.” He winks at me. “It turns out that Mother Nature is a lousy mum.”
I’m too busy laughing to say anything.
“So, what else do you want to know?”
“After that? Nothing!”
“Come on. I’m a fount of knowledge.”
“OK, do one of your crazy tricks for me.”
He’s on his feet in a blink and begins assessing the room critically. “There’s not enough room. Let’s go out—” He stops himself mid-sentence. “Crap, Yuna, I’m sorry.”
“Stop,” I say. I stand up and hold a hand out. “Do not feel sorry for me.” I say this harshly, but it’s too important a point. I couldn’t stand pity coming from him.
He flicks his rubber band, nods once, and lets it go. “I can do a one-armed handstand.”
He steps away from the wall and simply falls forward until he’s upside down on his hands. It’s such a graceful and effortless movement that I’m momentarily filled with envy. What’s it like to have such complete confidence in your body and what it will do?
“That’s amazing,” I whisper.
“We’re not in church,” he whisper-shouts back, voice slightly strained from being upside down. “I don’t know,” I say. “It feels like I should be quiet.”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he closes his eyes, slowly removes his left hand from the floor, and holds it out to the side. He’s almost perfectly still. The quiet bubbling of the pond and his slightly heavier breathing are the only sounds in the room. His T-shirt falls up and I can see the hard muscles of his stomach. The skin is the same warm, golden tan. I pull my eyes away.
“OK,” I say, “you can stop now.”
He’s upright again before I can blink.
“What else can you do?”
He rubs his hands together and grins back at me.
One backflip later he sits back down against the wall and closes his eyes.
“So, why outer space first?” he asks.
I shrug. “I want to see the world, I guess.”
“Not what most people mean by that,” he says, smiling.
I nod and close my eyes as well. “Do you ever feel—” I begin, but then the door opens and In-Young bustles in to rush him out.
“You didn’t touch, right?” she asks, arms akimbo.
We both open our eyes and stare at each other. All at once I’m hyperaware of his body and mine.
“There was no touching,” Jungkook confirms, his eyes never leaving my face. Something in his tone makes me blush hard, and heat travels a slow wave across my face and chest.
Spontaneous combustion is a real thing. I’m certain of it.
Chapter 16: Diagnosis: Love Sick
Chapter Text
Before In-Young arrives the following morning, I spend exactly thirteen minutes in bed convinced that I am getting sick. It takes her exactly six minutes to un-convince me. She takes my temperature, blood pressure, heart and pulse rates before declaring that I am simply lovesick.
“Classic symptoms,” she says.
“I’m not in love. I can’t be in love.”
“And why not?”
“What would be the point?” I say, throwing my hands up. “Me in love would be like being a food critic with no taste buds. It would be like being a colour-blind painter. It would be like—”
“Like skinny-dipping by yourself.”
I have to laugh at that one. “Exactly,” I say. “Pointless.”
“Not pointless,” she says, and looks at me seriously. “Just because you can’t experience everything doesn’t mean you shouldn’t experience anything. Besides, doomed love is a part of life.”
“I’m not in love,” I say again.
“And you’re not sick either,” she retorts. “So there’s nothing to worry about.”
For the rest of the morning I’m too distracted to read or do homework. Despite In-Young’s reassurances that I’m not getting sick, I find myself paying too close attention to my body and how it feels. Are my fingertips tingling? Do they usually do that? Why can’t I seem to catch my breath? How many somersaults can a stomach do before becoming irreparably knotted? I ask In-Young to do an extra check of my vitals, and the results are all normal.
By the afternoon I acknowledge in my head that In-Young might be onto something. I might not be in love, but I’m in like. I’m in serious like. I wander the house aimlessly, seeing Jungkook everywhere. I see him in my kitchen making stacks of toast for dinner. I see him in my living room suffering though Nevertheless with me. I see him in my bedroom, his black-clad body asleep on my white couch.
And it’s not just Jungkook that I see. I keep picturing myself floating high above earth. From the edge of space I can see the whole world all at once. My eyes don’t have to stop at a wall or at a door. I can see the beginning and the end of time. I can see infinity from there.
For the first time in a long time, I want more than I have.
And it’s the wanting that pulls me back down to earth hard. The wanting scares me. It’s like a weed that spreads slowly, just beneath your notice. Before you know it, it’s pitted your surfaces and darkened your windows.
I send Jungkook a single e-mail. I’m really busy this weekend, I say. I need to get some sleep, I say. I need to concentrate, I say. I shut down my computer, unplug it, and bury it under a stack of books. In-Young raises a single questioning eyebrow at me. I lower two non-answering eyebrows back at her.
“Did you have an argument?” she asks, nodding at my laptop.
I shake my head no but don’t say anything more.
By Sunday the urge to check my e-mail is acute. I imagine my in-box overflowing with subject- less e-mails from Jungkook. Is he asking more Fast Five questions? Does he want some company, refuge from his family?
“You’re OK,” In-Young says on her way out the door that evening. She kisses my forehead, and I’m a little girl again.
I take my copy of Alice in Wonderland to my white couch and settle in. In-Young’s right of course. I am OK, but, like Alice, I’m just trying not to get lost. I keeping thinking about the summer I turned eight. I spent so many days with my forehead pressed against my glass window, bruising myself with my futile wanting. At first I just wanted to look out the window. But then I wanted to go outside. And then I wanted to play with the neighbourhood kids, to play with all kids everywhere, to be normal for just an afternoon, a day, a lifetime.
So. I don’t check my e-mail. One thing I’m certain of: Wanting just leads to more wanting.
There’s no end to desire.
Chapter 17: Refresh
Chapter Text
There’s no e-mail from Jungkook. Not one. I even check my spam folder. This shouldn’t bother me and it doesn’t. It doesn’t bother me a lot. In the interest of thoroughness, I refresh my e-mail three more times in about two seconds. Maybe it’s just hiding somewhere, stuck behind another one.
In-Young walks in as I’m about to refresh again.
“I didn’t think you’d be able to unearth that thing,” she says.
“Good morning to you, too,” I say, squinting down at the screen.
She smiles and begins her daily unpacking-of-the-medical-bag ritual. Why she doesn’t leave it here overnight is a mystery.
“Why are you frowning? Another dead cat video?” Her smile is toothy and wide, very Cheshire- catlike. Any minute now her body will disappear, leaving just a grinning floating head in its wake.
“Jungkook didn’t send me any e-mails.”
I believe nonplussed is the word for her expression.
“All weekend,” I say, by way of illumination.
“I see.” She puts the stethoscope in her ears and the thermometer under my tongue.
“Did you e-mail him?”
“Yesh.” I talk around the thermometer.
“Don’t talk, just nod.”
“Sawwy.”
She rolls her eyes and we wait for the beep.
“Thirty-seven point six,” I say, handing the thermometer back to her. “I basically told him not to write. Am I being ridiculous?”
She motions for me to turn around so she can listen to my lungs but doesn’t respond.
“How ridiculous?” I prompt. “On a scale of one to ten, one being perfectly rational and reasonable and ten being absurd and certifiable.”
“About an eight,” she says without hesitation.
I’d been expecting her to say twelve, so eight seems like a victory. I tell her so and she laughs at me.
“So you told him not to write to you and then he didn’t write to you. This is what you’re telling me?”
“Well, I didn’t say DON’T WRITE in big, bold letters or anything. I just said I was busy.” I think she’s going to make fun of me, but she doesn’t.
“Why didn’t you write to him?”
“Because of what we talked about. I like him, In-Young. A lot. Too much.”
The look on her face says 'is that all?'
“Do you really want to lose the only friend you’ve ever had over a little bit of heartache?”
I’ve read many, many books involving heartache. Not one has ever described it as little. Soul- shattering and world-destroying, yes. Little, no.
She leans back against the couch. “You don’t know this yet, but this will pass. It’s just the newness and hormones.”
Maybe she’s right. I want her to be right so I can talk to him again.
She leans forward again now and winks at me. “That, and he’s cute.”
“He is pretty cute, right?” I giggle.
“Honey, I didn’t think they made them like that anymore!”
I’m laughing, too, and imagining a factory with little Jungkooks' coming off an assembly line. How would they ever keep them still enough to package and mail?
“Go!” She slaps my knee. “You have enough things to be afraid of. Love can’t kill you.”
Monday, 8:09 P.M.
Ha-Yun: Hi.
Jungkook: hey
Ha-Yun: How are you? How was your weekend?
Jungkook: fine. good
Jungkook: yours?
Ha-Yun: Good, but busy. I mostly did calculus homework.
Jungkook: ahh, calculus. the mathematics of change
Ha-Yun: I’m sorry about my e-mail.
Jungkook: which part?
Ha-Yun: All of it. Are you upset with me? No, yes, maybe?
Jungkook: no yes maybe
Ha-Yun: I don’t think you’re supposed to use all the answers.
Jungkook: why’d you send it?
Ha-Yun: I got scared.
Jungkook: of what?
Ha-Yun: You.
Ha-Yun: You didn’t write to me either.
Jungkook: you didn’t want me to
Ha-Yun: ...
Jungkook: does the ellipsis mean we’re having an awkward silence or that you’re thinking?
Ha-Yun: Both.
Ha-Yun: Why do you like performing on stage so much?
Jungkook: why do you like books so much?
Ha-Yun: Those are not the same thing!
Jungkook: why not?
Ha-Yun: You can find the meaning of life in a book.
Jungkook: life has meaning?
Ha-Yun: You can't be serious.
Jungkook: it’s possible
Jungkook: what book can you find the meaning of life in?
Ha-Yun: Ok, maybe not just a single book, but if you read enough you’ll get there.
Jungkook: is that your plan?
Ha-Yun: Well, I’ve got the time.
Ha-Yun: ...
Jungkook: thinking?
Ha-Yun: Yes. I have a solution to our problem.
Jungkook: listening
Ha-Yun: Let’s agree to just be friends, ok?
Jungkook: ok
Jungkook: but no more checking out my muscles
Ha-Yun: Friends, J!
Jungkook: or my eyes
Ha-Yun: No more talking about my freckles.
Ha-Yun: Or my hair.
Jungkook: or your lips
Ha-Yun: Or your dimple.
Jungkook: you like my dimple?
Ha-Yun: Friends!
Jungkook: ok
Chapter 18: Inevitable
Chapter Text
In-Young makes us wait a week before we can see each other again. She wants to be absolutely sure that being in the same room with Jungkook didn’t activate any of my triggers. Even though I agree with her that we should wait just to be safe, the week seems interminable. I’m sort of convinced that time has literally, and not just metaphorically, slowed down, but that’s the kind of thing that would make headlines.
After an aeon, the week finally ends. I’m giddy and trying not to be. This is more difficult than you’d imagine. Trying not to smile only makes you smile more.
In-Young watches me struggle to choose what to wear. It’s not something I’ve ever given much thought to. Really, I’ve never given any thought to it. My closet consists entirely of white T-shirts and blue jeans. The jeans are arranged by type—straight, skinny, boot cut, wide leg and the ridiculously named “boyfriend.” My shoes—all Keds, all white—are piled in a heap in the back corner. I almost never wear shoes around the house and now I’m not sure that I can find a pair that will fit. Rummaging through the pile, I find a left and right one of the same size. They fit, but just barely. I stand in front of the mirror. Is your shirt supposed to match your shoes or is that your purse? Is white the best colour for my somewhat sallowed complexion? I make a mental note to do some shopping later. I’ll buy a T-shirt in every colour until I find the one that suits me best.
For the fifth time I ask In-Young if my mum has already left for the day.
“You know your mother,” she says. “Has she ever been late a day in her life?”
My mother believes in punctuality the way other people believe in God. Time is precious, she says, and it’s rude to waste someone else’s.
I’m not even allowed to be late for Friday Night Dinners.
I look at myself in the mirror, change the V-necked white T-shirt for a scoop-neck white T-shirt for no reason at all. Or not for no reason.
But to have something to do while waiting for Jungkook.
I wish again that I could talk to my mum about this. I want to ask her why I get breathless when I think of him. I want to share my giddiness with her. I want to tell her all the funny things Jungkook says. I want to tell her how I can’t make myself stop thinking about him even though I try. I want to ask her if this is the way she felt about my father at the beginning.
I tell myself it’s OK. I didn’t get sick after the last time I saw him, and he knows the rules—no touching, full decontamination treatment, no visit if he even suspects he could get sick in the next few days.
I tell myself there’s no harm in lying to my mum. I tell myself I won’t get sick. I tell myself there’s no harm in friendship.
That I-Young is right, and that love can’t kill me.
Jungkook’s on the wall again when I enter the room. This time he’s climbed all the way to the top.
“Don’t your fingertips ever get tired?” I ask.
“I’ve got them on a strict workout regimen,” he says, grinning at me.
My stomach does a little flip thing that I’m really going to have to get used to, since it seems to be a side effect of seeing him.
I was in this room to do my homework yesterday. I know it’s exactly the same as I left it, but it looks and feels different. The room is so much more alive with Jungkook in it. If all the fake plants and trees swayed to life right now, I wouldn’t be surprised.
I walk to the couch and settle into the corner farthest away from him.
Down from the wall, he sits down cross-legged and leans his back against it.
I tuck my legs beneath me, adjust my mass of hair, hug my waist. What is it about being in the same room with him that makes me so conscious of my body and all its parts? He even makes me aware of my skin.
“You’re wearing shoes today,” he says, notices. He’s definitely a observer, the kind of boy who would notice if you’d rearranged a painting or added a new vase to a room.
I look down at my shoes. “I have nine pairs of these exact same shoes.”
“And you complain about my wardrobe choices?” He says, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.
“You only wear black! It makes you look sepulchral.”
“I need a dictionary to talk to you.” He scoffs.
“Of or relating to a sepulchre.”
“Not that helpful a definition.”
“Basically you’re the angel of death.”
He grins at me. “The scythe gave me away, didn’t it? I thought I hid it so well.”
He changes positions. Now he’s lying flat on his back, knees bent, hands laced behind his head. I shift my body again for no reason, pulling my legs into my chest and wrapping my arms around them. Our bodies are having their own conversation separate and apart from us. Is this the difference between friendship and something else? This awareness that I have of him?
The air filters cycle on, making a low hum beneath the sound of the fan.
“How does that work?” His eyes are scanning the ceiling.
“It’s industrial. The windows are sealed so air only comes in through the filters on the roof. Nothing over 0.3 microns gets in. Also, the circulation system completely changes all the air in the house every four hours.”
“Wow.” He turns his head to look at me and I can see him trying to come to terms with just how sick I am.
I look away, feeling myself becoming flush at the intensity of his gaze. “The settlement paid for it.” Before he can ask I add: “The trucker who killed my dad and older brother fell asleep behind the wheel. He’d been working three shifts in a row. They settled with my mum.”
He turns his head back towards the ceiling. “I’m sorry...”
“It’s strange because I don’t really remember them. Meaning I don’t remember them at all.” I try to ignore the feelings that surface when I think about them. There’s sadness that’s not quite sadness, and then guilt. “It’s weird to miss something you’ve never had or don’t remember having, anyway.”
“Not so weird,” he says. We’re both quiet and he closes his eyes.
“Do you ever wonder what your life would be like if you could just change one thing?” he asks.
"Not usually, but I’m starting to. What if I weren’t sick? What if my dad and brother hadn’t died? Not wondering about impossible things is how I’ve managed to be relatively Zen."
“Everyone thinks they’re special,” he says. “Everyone’s a snowflake, right? We’re all unique and complicated. We can never know the human heart, and all that?”
I nod slowly, certain I agree with what he’s saying now, but equally certain that I’m going to disagree with whatever’s next.
“I think that’s nonsense. We’re not snowflakes. We’re just outputs for a set of inputs.”
I stop nodding. “Like a formula?”
“Exactly like a formula.” He props himself up to his elbows and looks at me. “I think there are one or two inputs that matter the most. Figure those out and you’ve figured out the person. You can predict anything about them.”
“Really? What am I going to say now?”
He winks at me. “You think I’m a brute, a heretic, a—”
“A crackpot,” I complete for him. “You don’t really believe we’re math equations?”
“I might.” He lies back down.
“But how do you know which input to change?” I ask.
He sighs a long, suffering sigh. “Yeah, that’s the problem. Even if you could figure out which one to change, then how much should you change it? And what if you can’t change it precisely enough? Then you couldn’t predict the new output. You could make things worse.”
He sits up again.
“Imagine, though, if you could just change the right inputs you could fix things before they went wrong.” He says this last part quietly, but with the frustration of someone who’s been trying to solve the same unsolvable problem for a long time now. Our eyes meet and he looks embarrassed, like he’s revealed more than he meant to.
He lies back down and throws a forearm across his eyes. “The problem is chaos theory. There are too many inputs to the formula and even the small ones matter more than you think. And you can never measure them precisely enough. But! If you could, you could write a formula to predict the weather, the future, people.”
“But chaos theory says you can’t?”
“Yup.”
“You needed a whole branch of mathematics to tell you that people are unpredictable?”
“Had that figured out, did you?”
“Books, J! I learned it from books.”
He laughs, rolls onto his side, and laughs some more. He’s infectious and I’m laughing, too, my whole body responding to him. I watch for the dimple that I’m no longer supposed to be paying attention to. I want to put my finger into it and keep him smiling forever.
Maybe we can’t predict everything, but we can predict some things. For example, I am certainly going to fall in love with Jungkook.
It’s almost certainly going to be a disaster.
Chapter 19: Secrets
Chapter Text
My constant messaging with Jungkook is catching up with me. I fall asleep during not one but two movie nights with my mum. She begins worrying that something’s wrong, that my immune system is compromised somehow. I tell her it’s simpler than that. I’m just not getting enough sleep. I guess I understand why, given our situation, her doctor’s brain would go immediately to the worst-case scenario. She tells me what I already know, that lack of sleep is not good for someone with my condition. I promise to be better. That night I only message with Jungkook until 2 a.m. instead of our usual 3 a.m.
It feels strange not to talk to my mum about something, someone, who’s becoming so important to me. My mum and I are drifting apart, but not because we’re spending less time together. And not because Jungkook’s replacing her. We’re drifting apart because for the first time in my life, I have a secret to keep.
Number of minutes it takes Jungkook’s dad to begin yelling after he arrived home last night: 8
Complaints about the goddamn roast beef being overcooked again: 4
Times Jungkook’s mom apologised: 6
Times Jungkook’s dad called Ji-Eun a goddamn freak for wearing black nail polish: 2
Minutes it takes Jungkook’s mom to remove Ji-Eun’s nail polish: 3
Times Jungkook’s dad mentions that he knows someone had been drinking his goddamn whisky: 5
Times that Jungkook's dad says he's the smartest guy in the house: 2
Times that Jungkook's dad says that no one should forget that he makes all the money: 2
Pun-filled jokes it takes to get Jungkook feeling marginally better when he messages at 3 AM: 5
Times Jungkook writes “it doesn’t matter” during our conversation: 7
Hours of sleep I got last night: 0
Cigarettes Ji-Eun buried in the garden this morning: 4
Visible bruises on Jungkook’s mom: 0
Invisible bruises: Uncertain
Hours until I see Jungkook again: 0.5
Jungkook's not on the wall when I see him again the next day. Instead he’s in what I’ve begun to think of as his resting position: bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet with his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Hey,” I say from the door, waiting for my stomach to complete its crazy Jungkook dance.
“Hey yourself.” His voice is low and a little rough, sleep deprived. “Thanks for chatting with me last night,” he says, eyes tracking me all the way to the couch.
“Anytime.”
My own voice is husky and low as well. He looks paler than usual today and his shoulders are slumped forward a little, but still he’s moving.
“Sometimes I wish I could just disappear and leave them,” he confesses, ashamed.
I want to say something, not just something, but the perfect thing to comfort him, to make him forget his family for a few minutes, but I can’t think of it. This is why people touch. Sometimes words are just not enough.
Our eyes meet and, since I can’t hug him, I wrap my arms around my own waist, holding on tight.
His eyes drift across my face as if he’s trying to remember something.
“Why do I feel like I’ve always known you?” he asks.
I don’t know but I feel it, too. He stops moving, having come to whatever decision he needed to. He says your world can change in a single moment.
He says no one is innocent, except maybe you, Ha-Yun Arakawa Choi.
He says that his dad wasn’t always this way.
Chapter 20: Chaos Theory
Chapter Text
Ten-year-old Jungkook and his dad are at the breakfast bar in their old penthouse apartment in Busan. It’s Christmas-time, so maybe it’s snowing outside, or maybe it just stopped snowing. This is a memory, so the details are a bit uncertain.
His dad has made fresh hot chocolate. He’s a connoisseur and prides himself on making it from scratch. He melts actual bars of baking chocolate and uses whole “one hundred percent full-cream” milk. He takes Jungkook’s favourite mug, pours in a layer of chocolate and adds hot milk heated to almost boiling on the stove—never in the microwave. Jungkook stirs the milk and chocolate together while his dad gets the whipped cream, also freshly made, from the fridge. The cream is just lightly sweetened, the kind of sweet that makes you want more. He spoons one dollop, maybe two into Jungkook’s mug.
Jungkook raises his cup and blows on the already melting whipped cream. It slides across the surface like a miniature iceberg. He eyes his dad over the top of the mug, trying to gauge what kind of mood he’s in.
Lately the moods have been bad, worse than normal.
“Newton was wrong,” his dad says now. “The universe is not deterministic.”
Jungkook kicks his legs. He loves when his dad talks to him like this, “man to man,” like he’s a grown-up, even though he doesn’t always understand what he’s saying. They’d been having more of these conversations since his dad’s suspension from work.
“What does that mean?” Jungkook asks.
His dad always waits for Jungkook to ask before explaining anything.
“It means one thing doesn’t always lead to another,” he says, and takes a slurp of hot chocolate. Somehow his dad never blows on the hot liquid first. He just dives right in. “It means you can do every goddamn thing right, and your life can still turn to shit.”
Jungkook holds his sip of hot chocolate in his mouth and stares at his mug.
A few weeks ago Jungkook’s mum had explained that his dad was going to be home for a while until things were fixed at his work. She wouldn’t say what was wrong, but Jungkook had overheard words like “fraud” and “investigation.” He wasn’t quite sure what any of it meant, only that his dad seemed to love him, Ji-Eun and his mum a little less than he did before. And the less he seemed to love them, the more they tried to become more lovable.
The phone rings and his dad strides over to it.
Jungkook swallows his mouthful of hot chocolate and listens.
At first his dad uses his work voice, the one that’s angry and relaxed at the same time. Eventually, though, his voice just turns to angry.
“You’re firing me? You just said those assholes were clearing me.”
Jungkook finds himself getting angry, too, on behalf of his dad. He puts his mug down and slips off his stool.
His dad paces the length of the room. His face is a storm.
“I don’t care about the goddamn money. Don’t do this, Pilsoo. If you fire me everyone’s going to think—”
He stops moving and holds the phone away from his ear. He doesn’t say anything for a long minute.
Jungkook stops moving, too, hoping that whatever Pilsoo says next will fix everything.
“Jesus. You guys can’t do this to me. No one’s going to touch me after this.”
Jungkook wants to go to his dad and tell him everything is going to be OK, but he can’t. He’s too afraid. He slips out of the room, taking his hot chocolate with him.
The first time Jungkook’s dad gets afternoon drunk, violent drunk, yelling-at-the-top-of-his-lungs drunk, doesn’t-remember-what-happened-the-next-day drunk doesn’t happen until a few months later. He’d been home all day, arguing with financial news shows on television. One of the anchors mentioned the name of his old company, and his dad raged. He poured whiskey into a tall glass and then added vodka and gin. He mixed them together with a long spoon until the mixture was no longer the pale amber colour of the whiskey and looked like water instead.
Jungkook watched the colour fade in the glass and remembered the day his dad got fired and how he’d been too afraid to comfort him.
What if he had, would things be different now? What if?
He remembered how his dad had said that one thing doesn’t always lead to another.
He remembered sitting at the breakfast bar and stirring the milk and chocolate together. How the chocolate turned white, and the milk turned brown, and how sometimes you can’t un-mix things no matter how much you might want to.
Chapter 21: Two-Faced
Chapter Text
“Your mother wants to know if I’ve noticed anything different about you lately,” says In-Young from across the living room.
I’m watching the first Mission: Impossible movie with Tom Cruise. He plays a super-spy, Ethan Hunt, who leads a double, sometimes triple, and sometimes quadruple life. It’s toward the end and Ethan has just unmasked himself, literally, to catch the bad guys.
In-Young repeats herself, louder this time.
“And have you?” I ask, pausing the movie just as Ethan is pulling off his incredibly realistic face mask to reveal his true face. I tilt my head to one side for a better perspective.
In-Young grabs the remote from my hand and hits pause. She tosses the remote into the corner of the couch.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, feeling guilty for ignoring her.
“It’s you. And that boy.”
“What do you mean?”
She sighs and sits. “I knew it was a mistake letting you two see each other.”
She has my full attention now. “What did my mum say?”
“Did you cancel a movie night with her?”
I knew I shouldn’t have done it. She looked so hurt and disappointed, but I didn’t want to wait until after nine to message with Jungkook. I can’t get enough of talking to him. I’m overflowing with words. I’ll never come to the end of all the things I want to say to him.
“And she says you’re distracted all the time. And you ordered a lot of clothes. And shoes. And she almost beat you at some game that you always win.”
Oh.
“Does she suspect?”
“That’s all you’re worrying about? Listen to what I’m telling you. Your mother is missing you. She’s lonely without you. You should’ve seen her face when she was asking me.”
“I just—”
“No,” she says, holding a hand up. “You can’t see him anymore.” She picks up the discarded remote and clutches it in her hands, looking anywhere but at me.
Panic sends my heart racing. “In-Young, please. Please don’t take him away from me.”
“He’s not yours!”
“I know—”
“No, you don’t know. He’s not yours. Maybe he has time for you right now, but he’s going to go back to school soon. He’s going to meet some girl, and he’s going to be her Jungkook. You understand me?”
I know she’s just trying to protect me, just as I was trying to protect myself a few short weeks ago, but her words make me aware that the heart in my chest is a muscle like any other. It can hurt.
“I understand,” I say quietly.
“Spend some time with your mother. Boys come and go, but mothers are forever.”
I’m sure she’s said these very same words to her Naeun.
“All right.” She hands me back the remote. Together we watch the unmoving screen.
She pushes down on the tops of her knees with both hands and rises.
“Did you mean it?” I ask her when she’s halfway across the room.
“Mean what?”
“You said that love couldn’t kill me.”
“Yes, but it might kill your mother.” She manages a small smile.
I hold my breath, waiting.
“OK, fine. You can still see him, but you have to get some sense into you. You understand?”
I nod my agreement and turn the television off. Ethan Hunt vanishes.
I spend the rest of the day in the sunroom away from In-Young. I’m not angry at her, but I’m not not angry either. All my doubts about keeping Jungkook a secret from my mum have vanished. I can’t believe that one cancelled date with her almost led to my not being able to see Jungkook again.
Before, I was worried about keeping secrets from her. Now, I’m worried about not being able to have any secrets at all. I know she’s not upset that I bought new clothes. She’s upset that I didn’t ask her opinion and bought them in colours that she didn’t expect. She’s upset with the change she didn’t see coming. I resent and understand it at the same time. She’s had to control so many things to keep me safe in my bubble.
And she’s not wrong. I have been distracted when I’m with her, my mind constantly tuning into Radio Jungkook. I know she’s not wrong. But still I resent it. Isn’t growing apart a part of growing up? Don’t I even get to have this bit of normalcy?
Even so, I feel guilty. She’s devoted her entire life to me. Who am I to throw that away at the first sign of love?
In-Young eventually finds me for our 4PM check-up.
“Is there such a thing as sudden onset schizophrenia?” I ask.
“Why? You have it?”
“Maybe.”
“Am I talking to good Ha-Yun or bad Ha-Yun right now?”
“Unclear.”
She pats my hand. “Be good to your mother. You’re all she has.”
Chapter 22: The Downside of Up
Chapter Text
Normal people pace when they’re nervous. Jungkook stalks.
“J! It’s just a handstand. Against a wall. I’ll be fine.”
It’s taken me an hour to convince him to show me how to do one.
“You don’t have enough wrist or upper body strength,” he grumbles.
“You used that one already. Besides, I’m strong,” I say, and flex a single bicep. “I can bench-press my weight in books.”
He smiles a little at that, then mercifully stops pacing. He flicks his rubber band as his chocolate brown eyes scan my body, mentally critiquing my lack of physical fortitude.
I roll my eyes as dramatically as possible.
“Fine,” he sighs, with equal drama. “Squat.” He demonstrates.
“I know what a—”
“Concentrate.”
I squat down.
From across the room he checks my form and instructs me to make adjustments—hands thirty centimetres apart, arms straight with elbows pressed against my knees, fingertips splayed—until I’m just right.
“Now,” he says, “shift your weight forward just slightly until your toes come off the ground.”
I shift too far and roll head over heels onto my back.
“Huh,” he says, and then presses his lips together. He’s trying not to laugh, but the telltale dimple gives it away. I get back in position.
“More shift, less tilt,” he says.
“I thought I was shifting.” I say.
“Not so much. OK, now. Watch me.” He crouches down. “Hands thirty centimetres apart, elbows against your knees, fingertips splayed. Then slowly, slowly shift your weight forward onto your shoulders—get those toes off the ground—and then just push yourself up.”
He pushes up into the handstand with his usual effortless grace.
Again I’m struck by how peaceful he is in motion. This is like meditation for him. His body is his escape from the world, whereas I’m trapped in mine.
“Do you want to see it again?” he asks, flowing back to his feet.
“Nope.” Overeager, I push forward into my shoulder as instructed, but nothing happens.
Nothing happens for about an hour.
My lower half remains firmly anchored to the ground while my upper arms burn from the effort. I manage several more unintentional somersaults. By the end all I’ve gotten good at is not yelping as I roll over.
“Take a break?” he asks, still trying not to smile.
I growl at him, lower my head, and push forward again into another somersault. Now he’s definitely laughing. I remain flat on my back, catching my breath, and then I’m laughing along with him. A few seconds later I crouch back into a squat.
He shakes his head. “Who knew you were this stubborn?”
Not me. I didn’t know I was this stubborn.
He claps his hands together. “OK, let’s try something new. Close your eyes.”
I close them.
“Good. Now, pretend you’re in outer space.”
With my eyes closed he feels closer, as if he’s right next to me instead of across the room. His voice slides up my neck, whispers into my ear.
“See the stars? And that asteroid field? And that lonely satellite going by? There’s no gravity. You’re weightless. You can do anything you want with your body. You just have to think it.”
I tilt forward and suddenly I’m upside down. At first I’m not sure I’ve done it. I open and close my eyes a few times, but the world remains inverted. Blood rushes to my head, making me feel heavy and light-headed all at once. Gravity pulls my mouth into a smile and tugs my eyes open. I am wonderfully foreign in my own body. My upper arms begin to wobble. I overtilt from the vertical position and my feet touch the wall. I push off to reverse my direction and fall back into a crouch.
“Awesome,” Jungkook says, clapping. “You even held it for a few seconds. Pretty soon you won’t need the wall at all.”
“How about now?” I say, wanting more, wanting to see the world the way he does.
He hesitates, about to argue, but then his eyes meet mine. He nods and crouches down to watch.
I squat, shift, and push up. I’m unstable almost immediately and begin to fall backward. Jungkook’s suddenly right next to me, his hands on the bare skin of my ankles, holding me steady. Every nerve in my body migrates to where he touches. The skin under his hand sparks to life, every cell alight with feeling. I feel as if I’ve never been touched before.
“Down,” I say, and he gently lowers my legs until they’re back on the ground. I wait for him to move back to his corner, but he doesn’t.
Before I can think better of it, I stand up and face him. We’re only three feet apart. I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. I move my eyes slowly up to his.
“You OK?” he asks.
I mean to say yes, but I shake my head instead. I should move. He should move. He needs to go back to his side of the world, but he doesn’t and I can see in his eyes that he won’t. My heart beats so loudly that I’m certain he can hear it.
“Ha-Yun?” My name is a question and my eyes move to his lips.
He reaches out his right hand and grabs my left index finger. His hand is rough, uneven with calluses, and so warm. He rubs his thumb once across my knuckle and then cocoons my finger in the palm of his hand.
I look back down at my hand.
Friends are allowed to touch, right?
I disentangle my finger so that I can entangle all the others until our palms are pressed against each other.
I look back up to his eyes and see my reflection there. “What do you see?” I ask.
“Well, the first thing is those freckles.”
“You’re obsessed.”
“Slightly. It looks like someone sprinkled chocolate across your nose and cheeks.” His eyes travel down to my lips and back up to my eyes.
“Your lips are pink and they get pinker when you chew on them. You chew on them more when you’re about to disagree with me. You should do that less. The disagreeing, not the chewing. The chewing is adorable.”
I should say something, stop him, but I can’t speak.
“I’ve never seen anyone with hair as long and smooth as yours it. It looks like silk.”
“If silk were black,” I say, finally finding my voice, trying to break the spell.
“Yes, rare and illustrious black silk. And then your eyes. I swear they change colour. Sometimes they’re almost black. Sometimes they’re brown. I’m trying to find a correlation between the colour and your mood, but I don’t have it yet. I’ll keep you posted.”
“Correlation is not causation,” I say, just to have something to say.
He grins and squeezes my hand. “What do you see?”
I want to answer, but I find that I can’t. I shake my head and look back down at our hands.
We remain that way, sliding between certainty and uncertainty and back again until we hear In-Young’s approach and are forced to part.
I am made. I am unmade.
daniellalundbeerg on Chapter 1 Fri 10 May 2019 04:58AM UTC
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princessbunnie on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Nov 2021 03:12AM UTC
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Bonami27 on Chapter 1 Mon 15 Nov 2021 05:27AM UTC
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Shining_moonchild on Chapter 9 Fri 17 Jan 2020 12:34AM UTC
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Bonami27 (Guest) on Chapter 9 Fri 17 Jan 2020 01:30AM UTC
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Shining_moonchild on Chapter 9 Sun 19 Jan 2020 12:18AM UTC
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