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The floor is cracked. Yoongi drags the base of his shoe right down it, tracing the lines almost endless but could easily be interpreted as sophisticated. In the silence, he hears a presence by his front, he looks up from the floor to Jimin who has been silently staring at him now for a few seconds. Jimin grins, "Hyung, you look like shit today."
A faint laugh ruptures from Jimin's lips, obviously resisting himself from exploding completely because he is not allowed to. The library has been unperturbed without a moment's notice and it should be.
"It runs in the blood," Yoongi mutters but loud enough to hit Jimin in the nerves. He stays silent and gives Yoongi the look.
Jimin had always been a tease. His tongue is made of daggers, suspiciously sweet and most important of all, annoying. But Yoongi still couldn't hate him, he never would.
“It wasn't a choice that I made.” Jimin objects.
“So you agree?” Yoongi asks.
Jimin raises a brow, “Agree to what?”
“That you look like shit?”
Jimin looks more confused, stays quiet for a few seconds before his expression lightens, a light bulb turning on inside his head.
Yoongi snickers as he watches, hands on his stomach. “Go, before I change my mind.”
“Thank you for doing this. You know I really appreciate you, really.” Jimin sweetly talks his way but Yoongi knows more than those dirty tricks. He rolls his eyes as he flaps his hand to Jimin’s direction, dismissing him like the north wind.
They say their goodbyes, and Yoongi’s alone again. Watching.
People have been in and out the halls of the library. Like a world of its own, a society where people have their economy and beliefs that encompasses worlds. A world so full and undescribable.
Stacks and stacks of books filled the library with words woven into stories of various kinds. Knowledge and logic meshed into one category, while the other romanticizes war and even faith. Books are no different from humans, Yoongi deciphers. A comparison that no need explaining. As there are a collection of books sitting on those very shelves, so are beings that read and write them. Yoongi imagines the Earth as one big library, and that he's just a collection of written words, neatly stored and protected between hardbound covers. Like books, anyone has a story to tell.
Yoongi kicks his foot on the cracked floor, swivelling on his chair left to right, almost bored. People watching could get boring sometimes. But in fleeting moments, he sees instances that break through the mask of the mundane things that paint the earth.
He ceases his eyes on two people, heads resting on top of each other as they read a book. They’re leaning on the shelves, standing upright. Yoongi wonders if their feet hurt as they have been standing there for a while now, but then he sees. They have been conversing in between seconds of reading and Yoongi notices how the person on the left looks at the other, glancing at him with eyes struck by sparks made from stardust. And then it clicks, the man's in love, Yoongi concludes.
A futile smile dances along Yoongi’s lips, but heat roams the area of his cheeks. He looks outside the window instead but that doesn't help. He feels guilty for even knowing, because from the looks of it, it’s a secret. He takes a scrap of paper and doodles his way to distraction when a line of people come to get their books stamped in which he, without a doubt, obliges. Before long, a petite, old lady comes up and returns a book, a recipe book for easy baked desserts. Yoongi knows her from the bakeshop just a few blocks down the street, he compliments her cookies and she smiles, delighted. She asks him to visit her some time for some free cookies, and Yoongi takes the offer, looking forward to it.
Night time comes along while more people squabble to leave, the sound of their footsteps ricocheting the brown walls. Yoongi knows they weren't as brown as they looked when he was younger. The library has been really old and now that he is aged, he’s not different from having misplaced cobwebs and dainty windows. But nonetheless, he feels like he’s had a good life. Thankful for the comfort laid upon him. He inhales the nice cold air, as he pushes the cart of returned books and places them back to their rightful place.
He meets more people through the hallway and does occasional stops to fix books and slot them in. He arranges the uncoordinated chairs and picks up any trash that stray the halls. He curses mentally, waist aching.
Yoongi is far from being senile. It has only been five years since he was out of college but he acts like a grandfather whose knees are weaker than a twig of any maple tree. He tries his best to stay fit, he tries.
“Sorry to interrupt, but can I please borrow this book?” A little girl, maybe in her mid teens, walks up to Yoongi. Hair tied up in a pony tail and eyes sharp as a snake. Yoongi walks back to the counter and stamps it, gives it to her while waving her goodbye. She bows and runs to an older man who has been waiting for him by the door. He also has the same snake eyes as the girl. His father. Yoongi thinks to himself. He looks at them with their laughter heard but slightly muted. His heart wells with joy from the sight, as he brushes off his legs and walks back to where his cart is parked.
The books have been slowly dissolving as Yoongi swiftly gets them to and fro. Almost like a journey, an adventure that always leads them back to home. He rounds the corner when he hears a trite, velvety voice. The wheels have stopped moving, ears alert and oriented.
It’s familiar, but Yoongi can’t quite put it. His thinking process remains stagnant but his feet move, pushing the cart again, being pulled in by the tune. In between the spaces of books and shelves, Yoongi spots a figure, the source of the sweet voice sounding clearly inside Yoongi’s ear. He peeks and discerns a pair of shoulders, wide enough to measure a quarter of a table. The man with the captivating voice, stands right in front of the poetry section, book in his hand, facing in Yoongi’s direction. He listens closely, shifting on his feet when they make eye contact. A magnetic one.
A dolphin-like wail echoes through the empty, quiet library, the book hitting the ground as it falls through the man’s hand. Yoongi, startled and now in disarray, steps back, heart shifting.
“Oh, fuck. I’m so sorry for screaming, I didn't notice you were there.” The man swallows, and falls out of frame.
Yoongi laughs, “It’s fine. I owe you an apology more for silently creeping up on you like that. I’m sorry.”
The man laughs, eyes now back on the frame he once fell out from. Yoongi stutters and notices the pair of lines ebbing in and out the man's eye crease with the help of the waves of his laughter. His eyes are engaging, gravity, pulling Yoongi’s attention quite rapidly.
“Yeah, I was just looking for a book to read when suddenly, I saw a pair of eyes out of the blue. It looked like it came out of a horror movie.” The man explains in a hearty gesture.
Yoongi takes a step forward, pushing the cart while the other simply follows from the other side. No questions, two of them on the same page, both tied up in a string, still unaware of such a thing.
“That must’ve been a fright.” Yoongi adds.
The man nods, “I felt my heart leap off my chest right there.”
Yoongi listens, chest warming up helplessly. “I could help you with that, I’ll catch your heart if it runs away.”
The man just lets out a sound of acknowledgement, breaking eye contact. Yoongi notices the reds that dust the other's ears and he smiles sheepishly, his cheeks heating. They stay quiet as they reach the wall. Revealing each other's smiles and held back beginnings.
“Now, wasn’t that a journey? The name's Kim Seokjin, an honor to meet you in your full glory.” Seokjin humours, drawing out his hand for what looks like a handshake.
Yoongi easily takes it, sparks flying almost immediately. “Min Yoongi. A pleasure to meet you, dolphin wailing friend.”
They both laugh together, shaking hands in the middle of an empty library.
Yoongi retrieves his hand, eyes not straying, still. “The library’s about to close.”
Seokjin widens his eyes and lifts his arm where a silver watch coats his wrist. He examines the time and he nods, “It’s pretty late, I should take my leave then.”
“Sure, but first let me stamp that for you.” Yoongi reaches out his arm, ready to receive the book in Seokjin’s hand.
Seokjin smiles, pushes the book to Yoongi but pulls it back as quickly. Yoongi furrows his brows.
“Do you need help with that, first?” Seokjin gestures to Yoongi’s side. Yoongi gives Seokjin a puzzled look and he pieces it together. He agrees, and off their legs went.
Conversations come naturally between the two despite being together for only a few minutes. They continue talking through the night with Seokjin tailing behind Yoongi. The walk space in between the library was not too narrow, nor too wide. They gently fit right in, perfectly, with their shoulders bumping slightly. Every touch, Yoongi feels the sparks again. He pays it less mind, and asks Seokjin about his job.
They stop by the literature section. Seokjin grabs the book in Yoongi's hands, reaching the top shelf a lot easier than what Yoongi is able to. “I work for the school right across the street. Teaching kids from ten to twelve.” Yoongi looks up to Seokjin's side profile, indulges.
“Isn’t that stressful?” Yoongi asks, pushing the cart as he reads the next book for the stop.
Seokjin shrugs. “It’s only stressful when you think it is. The kids aren’t as bad as we make them out to be. We’ve all been kids before and we had our fair share of tantrums.”
“Kids are known to be little demons.”
“So are you a full-sized demon?”
“Do I look like one?” Yoongi asks, eyes blinking.
Seokjin raises his brows, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "My gut is telling me you could be."
Yoongi lightly hits Seokjin's arms as he rolls his eyes, remnants of a smile across his cheeks. They bicker some more as they loop right around the corner, the wheels rattling in rigour.
“How about you? What do you do for a living?” Their eyes meet as Seokjin scoops two books from the cart, pushing them right back in their designated places.
Yoongi sighs, “Something that has to do with music.”
Seokjin side glances at Yoongi, eyes telling but not quite. “You don’t look too happy about that.”
Yoongi shrugs, “What is happiness? Where can I find it? Please enlighten me.”
The library is as quiet as the wind, and some of the noise only comes from passing.
Seokjin stands up, brushing the crumples off his pants and leans on the cart Yoongi’s been pushing. He looks down on Yoongi, meets his eyes and smiles, bright enough to warm Yoongi’s heart. “Happiness always comes from within. You don’t need to look for it.”
Before they know it, they reach the end of the road and Yoongi can’t help but notice the sour taste on his tongue. If only he had the power to bend reality, he would stretch the building long enough to reach the next city. Catch is, he is very human and has no power within him. But that’s how it is, sometimes the end is the end, and Yoongi walks right back to the counter, a stamp on his hand and a yearning heart.
“I don’t see you that often here.” Seokjin states at the other side of the counter. “Are you the new librarian?”
“No, I’m just watching it for today,” Yoongi groans, “And tomorrow.” He stamps the last page of the book and places it on the counter where Seokjin claims it.
“The librarian looks a bit like you.”
“We are cousins.”
Seokjin makes a face of realization. And Yoongi laughs as the silence coats the atmosphere. They stare at each other for a while, communicating with silent smiles and distinguished eyes. The orange lights are illuminating the rested books and so is the indent of Seokjin’s cheeks, the deep of his neck, and the plump of his lips.
Yoongi doesn’t want to say anything. Not a word as to not break the shared interest both mutually feel. Well, Yoongi thinks it is mutual, but that is also what he sees.
He doesn't let the signs go although he has no idea what it portrays. The slight movement of Seokjin's lips, his fingers tapping sporadically against his side, the way his eyes slyly sparkle with so much yet so little. It's curious. Yoongi submerges, and he has no plans of ever going back ashore without answers.
His anticipation drops when Seokjin gives a content smile, only exchanging numbers and making a beeline to the door. Yoongi feels blanked.
Seokjin, albeit his hesitance, utters a fluent goodbye, leaving Yoongi more questions than answers.
***
Gaping at the students flooding inside the classroom, Seokjin's mind wanders somewhere else.
It’s been two weeks since the two kept in contact. Sharing little things about each other’s days, but mostly on Seokjin’s part. Sending pictures of his students, a selfie of him with his plant, and a successful, single spontaneous endeavour where he pulls Yoongi in one Friday afternoon for bowling.
Yoongi likes to talk, but his words rarely reflect the contents of his life. Even then, the filtered facade is littered with cracks, Seokjin peeks through and tattoos the slippage to memory. Yoongi is bubbly, he talks back, jokes a lot, and teases Seokjin more than he teases him. With others, Seokjin won’t let such a thing be but with Yoongi, his mind has already decided before he even has a moment to think about it.
He appreciates the company, it isn’t forced and it’s free like the blowing wind, cold, freezing, carrying dead leaves of the inevitable autumn noon, but there’s some warmth to it once the breeze diverges with the chasm on Seokjin’s ribs, he doesn't want the feeling to go away. A burning desire growing like wildfire, untamed yet still controlled.
The school bells finally ring, Seokjin does his best to stay present inside the four walls but his mind wanders off to Yoongi.
Seokjin asks himself, is it really possible to feel this much too soon?
He shrugs, shaking his head while tidying up the place. After shoving the last piece of paper inside his bag, he sets off across the street where the library resides.
Seokjin is a frequent visitor. He likes the peace that comes within, the sound of quietness in between the comfort of shelves and resting books. He takes a look at the counter in the middle of the hall and sees no Yoongi. He wasn’t coming here to see Yoongi, but his instincts had been looking for his presence, seeking the comfort he still tries to get to know.
Desolate steps, he treads off to the corner of the building. His favourite spot, a place where most people don’t even bother visiting, the poetry section. Seokjin likes science more than literature, but he has a heart for poetry. He takes and checks records in this space, but that’s not the only reason Seokjin comes here.
Before long, he arrives. The place, barren but a familiarity hidden beneath. He drags a chair, quietly, carefully, and sits down, breathing in the lullaby of a close, silent world.
In here, it almost feels like he’s separated from the library. He listens, no particular sound. Just his thoughts racing, red pen scraping the answered papers of his students. Time stilling, attune to Seokjin’s breathing.
And there it is, a melodic song transcends the atmosphere. Seokjin hums with it, he already knows the song by heart.
It’s the same music, the same rhythm, the same piano that visits him whenever he comes here. He sets down his pen for a moment, shuts his eyes, and opens his heart for his soul to roam free.
The sound is faint, dampened by the thick walls and book-filled shelves, but Seokjin hears it, he listens to it.
Unconsciously, he formulates thoughts, emotions that tornado him from within. He opens his eyes and writes. He is not much of a creative thinker, but the piano has it’s way of making Seokjin feel the words. He recuperates.
Then perfectly, as his pen leaves the notepad, so does the music evaporate to thin air. He wonders if he’s only imagined it but the lyrics that carry the melody once played is the evidence that it is indeed real. That it is real.
Seokjin breathes, exasperated, almost drained but overflowed at the same time. He’s back again, the orange rays casting it’s light down the window, illuminating the written words on Seokjin’s notepad. He rereads it, and closes it, putting it back in his bag for safekeeping.
He smiles to himself and continues on with his job. He checks the time, only an hour left before closing. He reaches for the stack of papers inside his bag and goes back to checking it again, mind full of Yoongi still.
“Now, this place seems convenient.”
Seokjin almost screams, but his knees hit the table. He caresses it, looks up and sees the man his mind wasn’t letting go off the whole day. He prods his lips into a pout, Yoongi stands there amused.
“Why do you always have to creep in like that?” Seokjin asks, with his heart in his hands. Beating sporadically, uncertain if it’s because of the fright or Yoongi magically appearing.
Yoongi snorts, "You're the one who's easily freaked out. Don't blame me."
"I don't get easily freaked out."
"Yet, you just did."
Seokjin makes a sound of protest. Yoongi smirks, eyes forming moons. He sits down right next to Seokjin. “Hyung,” he calls, close to Seokjin’s ear.
Goosebumps grow on Seokjin’s spine. He turns, his face a few centimeters off Yoongi’s. “That’s a first.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes. Seokjin snickers. And they stay silent for a while.
Yoongi stays there, accompanying Seokjin while he’s doing work. His pen moves in great practice, yet mind erratic, his pulse tethered.
Seokjin’s left arm is resting by the table when he feels a pressure imposed on it. He peels his gaze away on the papers, and sees their entangled hands. His breath hitches, dropping his pen on the table when another weight drops to his shoulders.
Tangerines. A sweet aroma invading Seokjin’s nose. It takes a while for him to notice Yoongi resting on his shoulders, he fails to register it the first few seconds, charmed by the sudden gush of a candy-like scent. Addicting.
"Yoongi,” Seokjin whispers, his lips touching against Yoongi’s jet black hair.
Yoongi just hums, drawing circles on the back of Seokjin’s hand. And they stay quiet again, only with their hearts beating as one.
Seokjin went home that day feeling magnetic. He feels the tingles on the tips of his fingers, his breathing pacing a soothing song.
Moments after night has fallen, he lies down in deep thought, eyes glued to the ceiling with a heart beating a tune of curiosity.
Do these feelings prove more than what he thinks it could be?
He tries to push that question to the back of his head, shuts his eyes, and wishes to see Yoongi in his dreams too.
***
It's the weekend and closing time is earlier solely for management purposes. Jimin sets off once again, leaving Yoongi alone. Yoongi decides to call Seokjin, heart on his throat and a plea in his hands. The moment the call drops, so does Yoongi's heart float.
He sits at the base of the staircase overseeing the school across the street. Eyes on the road, watching the cars as they zoom past. He sees Seokjin approaching, his form enclosed with a grey hoodie, hair disheveled but not messy looking. Yoongi stands, waving and he sees Seokjin's melting smile. He probes, walking forward to meet the other halfway.
"Hope you didn't wait too long." Seokjin says, hands clustered inside his sweats.
Yoongi shrugs, "I have enough time on my hands."
Seokjin stifles a laugh, he barely succeeds as Yoongi does the same. Sending both of them to a place where no one goes, except them.
"Let's not waste time, then." Seokjin states, remnants of magic dusted in his tone.
Yoongi wonders if he means the library or something else entirely.
He stares for a moment, or even longer.
"Hey," Seokjin calls, booping Yoongi's nose with his finger.
Yoongi playfully swats it away, but the electric feeling resides. Resumes, oscillates down beneath his skin.
He furrows his brows, eyes sending daggers to Seokjin's way. "How dare you break my state of peace?"
Seokjin raises a brow, unmoved. "You'll break mine if you're planning to burn me with your gaze."
Yoongi's cheeks heat up, pulse racing. Seokjin closes one step, reaching to Yoongi's hair and rubs at it.
It's strange, really.
Yoongi feels his center go back to equilibrium once he's in Seokjin's radius. His eyes are never easy to stray away from, pulling Yoongi in, unperturbed, sending him to orbit.
"Should we go?" Seokjin prompts, arms offered out to Yoongi.
Yoongi doesn't ask. He simply takes Seokjin's hand as he reaches out to Yoongi. Seokjin's face flashes a hint of doubt, but Yoongi's touch inhibits it. He's calm again, peaceful.
"We don't have all day." Yoongi steps forward, pulling Seokjin in.
Behind him, he feels Seokjin's grip tighten and so does his, no notion of thinking, instinctual, autonomous like breathing.
They enter the halls and start off sweeping the floor, the ambience of the library encompasses Yoongi's own thoughts. He brushes off a spec and another spec of dust, his nose tickling to sneeze.
Seokjin is in another corner, his voice filling in the silence, something Yoongi is grateful for. He talks about his day, how he won that game last night with his cousin, and how he was thinking about spending another day with Yoongi, in the bowling alley of course.
Yoongi secrets a grin, gripping tightly at the broom. He peeks over his shoulders and sees Seokjin looking the other way. Yoongi's lips are sealed tight, but his heart is saying the same thing.
He also wants to spend this time with Seokjin, now, and for days to come.
They move on from dusting the place to replacing the books back to their shelves. A ride again for home.
Yoongi has some difficulty slotting in the book in his hand. He tries his best to reach but he still couldn't. He scowls, arms aching.
"Yoongi, let me." Seokjin grabs the book, fingers sliding along Yoongi's hand.
Standing there on his toes, Yoongi feels a presence behind his back. Seokjin is there, overhead and so close. He clears his throat, "Your height is a crime."
Seokjin laughs, "It's a blessing."
Yoongi feels the shadow fleeing, his heart sinking for a moment but recuperates once he sees Seokjin's smiling gaze. He softens, melts. "I don't feel blessed." he disputes, his body betraying him.
"Oh, you will." Seokjin winks, Yoongi's heart wavering with the action.
Seokjin walks down the aisle, and before he turns to the corner, he looks back with knowing eyes, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Come now, we still have a lot to do, bookkeeper."
With weary eyes, Seokjin still manages to make Yoongi laugh.
"Wait for me." Yoongi runs off, certainty at the thump of his feet. Stemming off from that innate knowledge that Seokjin will be, and always will be there, waiting for him, as patient as any aching bud, restlessly waiting for spring.
***
Seokjin wonders again if all of this is just a dream. Yoongi is sitting right beside him, leaning on his shoulders. They settle again in that space, where no one goes, where only the both of them are capable of finding.
Sharing a fragment of time where only the two of them know the journey to. Seokjin looks at Yoongi, eyes fond of a secret kept inside his hands. Trapped, entangled between his fingers aching to be released. He mutters, "This was my secret place."
Yoongi looks up, "How so?" His ears perk up, gaze eager.
"I had a friend who would always visit me when I was feeling down, or stressed." Seokjin prompts, Yoongi just looks at him. Listens.
Seokjin looks to the wall in front of them, embarked with shelves and books embellished with picture perfect poetries waiting to be read. His voice softens, soul free. "The piano that answers my calls."
Yoongi's eyes lighten, and then it warms. He scoots closer to Seokjin, burying his head deeper into Seokjin's skin. Seokjin laughs, caressing Yoongi's hair.
"The piano is only loud enough for me to hear, at this very seat. Throughout the library no one hears it except me. It's almost like the universe wanted me to be here when it plays. It comforts me, almost like home." Seokjin gestures vaguely, but his eyes sparkle a different kind of magic, deep enough to explore the extremities of unknown worlds.
Yoongi just hums, intertwines his fingers to Seokjin's, anchoring him down as to not float away. Latching their joints together, almost like one. He draws vague shapes in Seokjin's knuckles. Seokjin releases a breath he doesn't know he's holding and stills. He presses his lips on Yoongi's hair, feeling the tension rise and dissipate all at once.
"It provided me with guidance, music that touches the soul. But one day it stopped, the piano went away." Seokjin says, a wistful look in his eyes.
Seokjin runs his fingers on Yoongi's hair, burning right at his fingertips. "But it gave me you. You came here and became my song, my music, my peace."
His voice almost comes out as a whisper, but Yoongi knows. He feels the vibrations down to his bones, etched at the bottom of his skin. He angles his neck, eyes meeting Seokjin's, no means of breaking away. He smiles intently.
Seokjin brushes his thumbs on Yoongi's cheek, gaze electric. "I just hope you feel the same."
Yoongi catches Seokjin's hand and tangles it with his, before Seokjin knows it they stand up, Yoongi still yet to utter a single word.
He doesn't question it and blindly follows, they go through the maze of books, the sea of busy people and out the library. The leaning sunset looks pretty, oranges and yellows painting the sky. Yoongi looks great in yellow light, Seokjin thinks. His heart echoes a silent song.
Their feet travel far but close. They round the alleyway, at the corner of the library. Seokjin feels a calling in his heart, his muscles roaring in excitement and curiosity. He squeezes Yoongi's hand and they're at a door.
Yoongi remains situated in his trance, then breathes, faces Seokjin with a hint of a cowardly smile growing on his face.
Seokjin's heart starts to ache at the sight, so he gives his hand a rub and Yoongi's tensed shoulders lessens. He inhales, "I might have an idea who your friend is." Yoongi starts, opens his mouth and quickly shuts it.
Seokjin just urges him to continue, patient, committed to listening.
Yoongi sighs, "You'll see." He rummages through his pockets and a set of keys come to view. He opens the door and they enter, Seokjin's intuition thumping wildly against his stomach.
The room was well-kept. No dust covers the surfaces and any chairs or shelves that line the walls. It's almost an empty space but in the center reveals a grand piano, majestic in its own feet.
Seokjin's heart starts to race, he looks at Yoongi, his heart pulsing. Yoongi, also with a nostalgic look on his face, goes forward, sits down at the bench.
Seokjin tails behind, feet slow, his skin burning, "It's you, isn't it?" Seokjin asks, voice shaking.
Yoongi looks up, looks down again to the black and white keys. He runs his fingers through, knees tingling.
"I heard you singing, that night. A song that wasn't meant to have words, impossible to write, but you did." Yoongi probes, his breath quakes.
Seokjin remains silent, deeply rooted by his emotions to the floor. His mind racing.
Yoongi laughs, a shallow one at best. "I was long tired of making music, I didn't have much to work with. I was only able to make one, and I thought it would be my last."
Seokjin feels a tug in his shirt, like a plea for help. He catches Yoongi's hands, holding tightly. Yoongi, with tears in his eyes, says, "I was scared. I didn't know what to do, but the universe had its plans."
Seokjin sniffs, palming Yoongi's cheeks right in his hold. He nods, "My fear led me to you, a symphony. Something I wasn't expecting."
Yoongi pulls Seokjin in, making him sit right beside him. Their shoulders touch, their hearts melding into one. He leans into Seokjin's broad shoulders, closes his eyes.
"I feel the same way, too." Yoongi whispers, his words heavy on Seokjin's ears.
Seokjin tugs at Yoongi's hand, pressing firmly at Yoongi's palm. He feels Yoongi smiling on his skin, his heart lightens, floating to space.
"Should we play the song?" Seokjin asks, no more doubts clouding his mind.
Yoongi peels away, shaking his head and eyes staring closely to Seokjin's soul. "It's now our song."
***