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Ryujin’s running out of time.
The blaring horn of the car outside is only growing louder and she turns to the window just in time to spot her mom going to open the door. Fuck.
Ryujin’s seconds from giving up when a familiar green glint catches her eye. Jackpot. She smiles, releasing a breath she didn’t even know she was holding as relief washes all the way down her back. With all the grace of a teenage thief, she shoves the wads of cash in her bag and doesn’t look back.
Ryujin’s mom stares at her for a second too long when she steps into the car.
It’s that same look that makes itself known every time she thinks Ryujin isn’t paying attention and the weight of her constant gaze is starting to become a little unnerving. Her mom looks at her like she‘s trying to piece something together, eyes narrowed and brows furrowed, like she knows something.
Still reeling from almost running straight into her father with his favourite bottle of whiskey in her hand, she chooses to act like she isn’t buckling under the prickling sense of being watched and and prays her uncomfortable fidgeting isn’t too obvious. After a few terribly awkward moments of silence, the hard set in her mom’s perfectly trimmed brow finally settles. The car starts.
Leaning her head against the glass, Ryujin stares out of the window.
Their town is like every other town in suburban Busan; wide roads and low buildings that spread outwards before they go upwards like the skyscrapers that she’s seen in Seoul. The only points of interest are Yeonjun’s convenience store, the abandoned train tracks she likes to frequent and the bridge. Where Ryujin lives, life is ordinary — everyone knows everyone else, and news spreads fast because there never is any.
Their high school is much the same, Ryujin thinks as they pull up to the building. It’s nothing special. The people are relatively friendly, the campus facilities do their jobs well enough and being one of few schools in their area, it houses a relatively large student body comparative to its size so it’s never too quiet.
Still, it’s boring. Ryujin can’t stand it. She loathes the oppressive atmosphere that suffocates her whenever she steps through those doors.
She only ever goes for one reason, anyway.
Jisu’s pretty.
It was one of the first things Ryujin noticed about her when they met.
It would’ve been be difficult not to notice the sparkle in her new English tutor’s eyes, or how her skin was so clear it glistened, or the way her hair always managed to fall so prettily around her shoulders.
The second thing she noticed were the pair of inlines hanging from her shoulder. They were pretty, too — white and elegant, like figure skates. Fitting. It’s only natural that Ryujin, as a textbook skater herself, would be drawn to other appreciators of the art.
Where Ryujin’s all speed, danger and adrenaline, Jisu skates like a princess would. She’s all soft lines and elegant spins, jumps that always land on one foot with just as much focus on her arms as her legs.
A long time ago, Jisu worked the ice. It’s where all of her grace and technique comes from— almost all of her tricks have roots in her figure skating days. She’d had to adapt them, of course, once she made the switch from the ice. Rollerblades are heavier, Jisu often complains. It’s harder to achieve the same height, the same speed, the same elegance.
Jisu still misses the ice, Ryujin can tell. The glazed look that shadows her eyes whenever she talks about figure skating is telling enough.
While Jisu’s never explicitly given the reason why she stopped training, Ryujin guesses it has something to do with the finances of it all. To this day, Ryujin still can’t wrap her mind around all of the expenses that apparently come hand in hand with figure skating — from skate maintenance and coaching fees, all the way to ice time.
Jisu’s blades glisten in the morning light, hommage to her skates, and that’s how Ryujin spots her in the crowd.
“Are we still on?” Jisu asks as Ryujin nears, hair blowing in the wind like the the main character of a cheesy teen flick. Ryujin’s mesmerised.
Are they still on to skip classes today, she means. Pride doesn’t typically allow Ryujin to admit that she is a bad influence, but she isn’t stupid. This was all her idea, after all. She knows full well that Jisu would never deny her.
“Yeah.” Ryujin says, grabbing her beat-up skateboard from her best friend when she offers it. If Ryujin’s mom saw her carrying her board to school, she’d probably have her head on a stick by the evening. They’ve long since learnt that it’s just safer for Jisu to hang onto it. “I mean, if you’re up for it.”
Jisu smiles, just like Ryujin knew she would.
“Of course I am.”
Instead of skidding to a halt when Ryujin calls her, Jisu waltz jumps in the middle of the street to face her. It’s a small jump, but it’s so pretty still, her short white skirt twirling with her. Jisu just has that effect.
By the time she’s finally stopped rolling, she’s only looking at Ryujin, even though she’s managed to turn many heads with her little stunt. It’s like she doesn’t even see them, like nothing matters past the two of them, like she doesn’t even realise how breath-taking she is. Ryujin thinks she might melt.
Ignoring the pounding of her heart, Ryujin steps off of her skateboard and points towards the familiar convenience store’s door.
“We should get some stuff- like snacks and things.” Ryujin manages to get out, despite her traitorous heart’s best efforts. She didn’t steal her parent’s money for nothing, after all.
Jisu doesn’t say anything before she’s pushing the door open and skating inside, leaving Ryujin barely able to catch the door and let herself in before it swings shut. Yeonjun’s store isn’t far from their school, and it’s a fact heavily reflected by the clientele. It’s a small spot without much selection, but Yeonjun (who isn’t even the owner, just an overworked employee) always gives them free alcohol and an extra bag of chocolate if no one’s there to check.
“Ah, my favourite customers, who definitely look like they should be in school right now.” Yeonjun grins, and Ryujin knows he isn’t serious.
Jisu shoots him a mischievous grin of her own, leaning on the counter while Ryujin peruses the store. “You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you, Yeonjun-oopa?”
Yeonjun runs a hand through his bubblegum pink hair and shrugs. He wouldn’t look out of place on a runway in Paris, Ryujin thinks. “Depends on who’s asking me to.”
“What kinds of people are you keeping secrets for?” Ryujin scoffs from where she’s busy debating over which Jisu will like more; strawberry or banana milk.
A hum sounds throughout the store and Ryujin just knows Yeonjun is shaking his head. “Ignorance is bliss, Ryujinnie.”
And that it is. Ryujin can’t argue with hard facts.
By the time she returns to the counter, her hands are full with various things she thinks (hopes) Jisu will enjoy and she dumps all of it on the surface for Yeonjun to total. If she subtly motions for Yeonjun to slip in a couple cans of cheap cider, and if Yeonjun does, nobody has to know.
Ryujin is no stranger to jumping fences.
She strives to get what she wants and sometimes, there are fences between her and the things that she wants. Naturally, she must jump those fences when the time calls for it.
Through experience, she’s learnt a few very important lessons. The first being; chain link fences are the devil’s creation. They leave ridges in your skin, the holes are too small to act as functioning hand and footholds, and they tend to be much higher than wooden fences. It just so happens that the fence they’re tackling is chain-linked. Luckily, they’re pretty easy to scale with assistance.
(The other lessons go something like, don’t jump alone - you might not be able to get back to the other side without help, and don’t climb barbed fences, for obvious reasons.)
Jisu grabs the hand that Ryujin offers once she’s standing on the wall by the perimeter of the fence and with a little exertion, they both make it to the other side. Their efficiency is only granted by the fact that it’s not exactly their first time doing this.
A pretty twinkle of a laugh grabs Ryujin’s attention. “It’s been ages since we came out here.”
It has been a while, Ryujin thinks. Last time she bunked, the school had called home and Ryujin had been so damn lucky that only her dad had been home. If her mom had been the one to pick up that call, it would’ve been a totally different story. She’s firm, definitely toeing the line that is overly strict, but Ryujin knows that it comes from a place of love. Suffocating love, but love all the same. Sometimes, Ryujin thinks that love turns into paranoia. Fear.
A hand slides into her grasp. Ryujin looks down. Jisu’s grip is warm and secure.
“Yeah.”
They’re trespassing, but neither of them really see it that way. How illegal can this really be, anyway? It’s not like they’ve made a hideout of a government facility; just a collection of rich people houses that are in the later stages of construction, which they’d claimed as ‘their spot’ shortly after discovering that empty pools make great private skate ramps.
Whether it be on the ice or on this shitty pool ceramic, Ryujin thinks Jisu was made to skate. Sure, she specialises in all of the fancy tricks like the triple axels and the salchows, but this Jisu unmatched.
As much as Ryujin loves Lia’s elegance and her practised moves, nothing compares to watching her let go of the constraints of routine. Ryujin prefers when the dips and ridges in the ceramic dictate her next moves, where she goes, rather than the formulas drilled into her muscles. Like this, she smiles more. And that’s all Ryujin could ever really ask for.
A soft smile painting her lips, she drops in and joins Jisu.
Not in the mood for Ryujin’s dad’s whiskey, they end up blitzing through the cans of cider (so weak that they’re barely buzzed, but it’s all Yeonjun lets them get away with), when Jisu’s eyes suddenly flicker blank, then unreadable. She’s staring somewhere past Ryujin, past the houses. Unsettled, Ryujin whips around to follow her line of sight and freezes.
“Shit.”
The police.
“Come on, Ji.” Scrabbling to her feet, she haphazardly shoves everything they came with into her bag and slings it roughly over her back. They don’t have time to waste. “We gotta go.”
Jisu blinks up at her owlishly. “What the fuck, Ryujin?”
The shouts behind them are growing much louder, closer. They don’t have time for this. “We gotta go, now!”
Barely waiting for a response, Ryujin yanks Jisu onto her feet, gives her a shove in the right direction and hopes she has enough sense to haul ass. She does, thankfully, and then they’re sprinting across the construction site, through the fields and the unfinished plains, and that’s when Ryujin sees it - a hole in the fence, just big enough for them to squeeze through.
She wills her legs to take her faster, faster still, ignoring the threatening shouts behind them. The metal glistens brighter and brighter until she’s able grab it with her fingers, the steel rattling under the force of her grip.
“We can both fit, go!” Ryujin orders, already slotting her body through the hole. The jagged edges scratch through her clothes and tear her skin, but she pays it no mind as she looks back once to make sure Jisu is following suit.
The other side of the fence feels like freedom, like fresh air, but she doesn’t stop running, won’t stop until she can’t hear the shouts anymore. She throws a hand out, but no one takes it. A glance to her left, right, leaves her empty. She’s running alone.
Fuck.
Ryujin turns on her heels before she can even question herself.
When she finds Jisu caught by the fence, she shucks her bag off of her shoulders and gets to immediate work. Red welts bloom on her fingertips as panic strips them of their usual dexterity. She doesn’t dare look back. The charging footsteps sound like they’re mere seconds away and it’s Jisu’s bag that’s caught but Ryujin can’t undo this stupid fucking knot and they’re running out of time— fuck it.
“We can come ba-“ Ryujin begins to say but Jisu’s already sliding out of the straps and bolting.
They run,
And run,
And run. Until they barely recognise the buildings, until they barely recognise the people, until the shouts cease, until it’s just the two of them again.
Jisu can barely catch her breath, face flushed crimson rouge and eyes glassy from stress, exertion, the adrenaline crash, or all three. For an ex-athlete, Jisu stamina has never been on the exceptional side of things.
Once Ryujin’s pants lessen and become deep breaths instead, she takes a moment to get a good look at her best friend.
Jisu looks like she might cry. She’s keeled over, hands resting on her knees, and Ryujin supposes that this is the point where she should start feeling bad. She is the one who dragged her out here in the first place, the one who almost bagged them both a criminal record each, but the look on Jisu’s face ends up forcing a bark of laughter out of her of Ryujin before she can even consider apologising.
“Shit, oops. I’m sorry?” Ryujin tries to get out in between laughs.
Unfortunately, her attempts at reconciliation are not well received and Jisu does not look amused in the slightest. At least, for a convincing moment moment before the hard lines in her expression are softening. Ryujin has to give it to her, Jisu does try to stay mad at her, she really does, but then she’s laughing, too.
(Just like Ryujin knew she would.)
‘Funny’ is the last word Ryujin would think to use to describe what they just did, yet here they are; laughing like they have a reason to, in the middle of a street they aren’t familiar with, still recovering from their narrow escape from the law.
Yeah, there’s nowhere Ryujin would rather be.
No one should be home.
The door creaks open quietly, but no further noise comes from within the house. She looks back at Jisu standing by the front yard and shoots her a thumbs up, which the pretty girl returns enthusiastically. Releasing her vice grip on the door handle, Ryujin allows herself to sighs in relief. No one’s home.
All Ryujin can think about as she launches herself into the hallway is that she’s never pulling a stunt like this again. Her phone isn’t worth it. On the off chance that one of her parents could have been home, this retrieval mission wouldn’t have ended in her favour.
She curses herself for forgetting in the first place, realising that she must have dropped it when she was searching the drawers for her mom’s stack of emergency cash.
There’s the distant sound of muffled music Ryujin recognises as the tv playing - her dad must have forgotten to switch it off before leaving. The house almost feels too empty, too wide. The tv shouldn’t be on. It was off when she left. Something’s wrong.
She ignores the prickling feeling by her neck in favour of making a beeline to the study room where she knows her phone is lying on the floor. In and out, then she can go back to Jisu (kind Jisu, sweet Jisu, pretty Jisu, everything that this house isn’t) and forget about these four walls until four o’clock, sharp. Ryujin never makes it that far.
Her trip is cut short in the middle of the hallway, just outside of her parents’ room. The door is swung open.
No one was supposed to be home. She can’t move. The drawers she’d tried going through in the morning are pulled open again. The music stops. She thinks she hears her dad say her name. The woman he’s with scrambles to cover herself.
Ryujin’s face crumbles.
She can’t think.
She runs.
Down the narrow hallway, past her broken doorway that constantly groans with the need for repair, past the family pictures they’d accumulated over the years, though Ryujin thinks it’s been a long time since they’ve identified with the word. Towards the door she’d left half open, towards Jisu, who’s still waiting for her, who always waits.
Her dad came this way. Down the same hallway, through the same memories. Ryujin doesn’t stop running even when the hurtling force of the wind tousles her hair and joins the blood roaring in her ears. Her legs won’t stop moving and she doesn’t bother trying.
She can’t think.
Suddenly, two hands are grabbing Ryujin’s shoulders, trying to steady her.
“What the hell happened?”
The voice is muffled by the ringing in Ryujin’s ears and all she can register is how the warmth of the hands sears through her clothes, burns her skin, pressurises the air in her lungs until she can’t breathe. Ryujin bristles; shakes the offending hands off of her shoulders, she doesn’t want to be touched, but she still can’t breathe, can’t think. Her skin still burns.
A distant horn blares. They’re by the tracks.
“Calm down, Ryujinnie.” The voice comes again, softer this time. Less muffled. It sounds like Jisu. The burn begins to subside. It’s only when Ryujin no longer feels the desperate need to claw at her throat for a sliver of oxygen does she realise that Jisu had been on her heels this entire time.
Her dad doesn’t come after her, but Jisu does.
“What happened?” Jisu whispers. Her eyebrows are joined in deep concern, cheeks rosy and blushed. The sun is too bright, too warm, but the hazy glint it casts in Jisu’s eyes is beautiful. In the midst of the chaos, Ryujin can’t help but think she’s so pretty, still.
Ryujin doesn’t have an answer. Maybe it’s been happening. Apparantly, life has continued exactly like this up until this point. It seems that the only thing that’s really happened is her bubble of ignorant bliss shattering. A flicker of something bubbles in Ryujin’s stomach and threatens to spill. She takes her skateboard from Jisu’s warm, warm hands and keeps walking.
She thinks Jisu knows.
Dinner is always quiet. There’s never anything to say. After a couple years, you get used to it.
Ryujin wonders what she’d be doing right now if she’d accepted Jisu’s offer to stay the night. Her eyes had twinkled with worry as she reluctantly accepted Ryujin’s board once they’d reached the school gates again, and Ryujin had thought about kissing her until the pout started becoming the smile she loves so much. She didn’t. When Jisu held out her pinky instead, she took it.
Dinner is always quiet. There’s never anything to say. This time, the room is heavy with everything left unsaid.
Ryujin looks at her mom. They hadn’t talked on the drive home.
She knows.
Ryujin looks at her dad. He doesn’t meet her eye.
He knows she stole the money.
He knows she skipped.
He knows she knows.
And he knows Ryujin won’t tell.
(As a wise man once said, ignorance is bliss.)