Chapter Text
You did well, Ko Munyeong.
What did I do?
You helped her cut herself free.
He is driving up the long winding road to the cursed castle after his shift, replaying their interaction in his head. Her retelling of the story of the cheerful dog while they both stared at Sangtae's incomplete wall mural, a story that resonates so deeply to the way he is feeling these days. She is constantly offering to cut his leash, but just like the cheerful dog, he has no idea what to do once he is free.
Bound for so long by his responsibilities and the clawing guilt that eats up his insides if he ever stops to consider letting loose - his limbs are too heavy to run away, the horizon of his world too close to ever really offer him freedom.
At least she was able to help someone else today. The older lady who has been holding on to an impractical fur coat gifted to her by her dead daughter like a noose around her neck. He has constantly been baffled by the way Ko Munyeong seems to be interlacing herself with the lives of the hospital patients. At first he thought it was all fun and games for her, but from the congressman's son to him and his brother and today with the interaction with the older lady - he thinks he is finally understanding Ko Munyeong's theatrics.
She is one of them. She can see the silent pleas and the stories in all their eyes, as a reflection of her own. But unlike others, she refuses to dwell in her own tragedies and focuses on tackling those of others. As unconventional as her methods may be, her brazenness is oddly refreshing for the people who have had people walk on eggshells around them all their lives.
He doesn't know whether he should be angry or pleased with himself, for the way his hand moved, as if of its own accord, to gently stroke the top of her head. He is not a gentle person by nature. All his gentleness and patience is drained by his interactions with his brother, there has never been any left over to give out to others.
But with her, he suddenly finds in himself a reserve of emotions. Suppression is second nature to him, so he continues to set them aside, to hold back as much as he can. However, he is only a mere mortal, and the cracks that are appearing in his veneer are too many to count these days.
For a split second he is mortified, at what he is doing, even as his senses consume the minute details: the cool and silky feel of her hair, how his hand is so large and makes her head look small and delicate in comparison, the proximity of the soft skin of her face to her hairline but how that seems entirely out of bounds. So close yet so far.
He forgets all his self-flagellations, however, the moment the surprise in her eyes at him touching her willingly, transforms to pleasure at his compliment.
And then, she smiles.
It is only a soft and subtle upturn of the corners of her lips, but it is the first genuine smile he has seen from her. One free of any sort of sarcasm or malice. Her eyes are clear and open, devoid of her emotionless façade. He has no choice but to smile back, dropping his own walls for those fleeting seconds.
Their words to each other always seem to be intense clashes of wills and ego. By contrast, they communicate the best in silence. Every time their eyes meet he is hooked, and he feels a rainbow of emotions he never knew he had. Anger, surprise, lust, confusion, an interest so keen it almost feels like obsession.
But today, with the introduction of her genuine smile, she brings out a trump card that has him reeling. She is a woman of unfiltered words, abrasive actions, sharp objects. Who knew that her most lethal weapon could be a momentary exposure to her softness.
He is drawn to that vulnerability, enthralled by the myriad of possibilities there are hidden within the depths of her soul. He wants to see more of it. Greedily he wonders whether for once in his life he can have something all to himself.
"Gangtae-sshi," someone calls out, the jarring, high-pitched sound breaking the delicate spell. He blinks and turns towards the voice. It is Nam Juri, standing there with a clipboard in hand. She sends a placid smile his way before moving her eyes to the person next to him, Juri's smile turning into a frown as she clears her throat and looks back at Gangtae, effectively dismissing Ko Munyeong's presence.
He steals a glance at Munyeong, who is transparently shooting daggers back at Nam Juri with her glares.
"Gangtae-sshi, it's time to issue the afternoon medicine doses at the male ward," Nam Juri says. "Shall we go?" The way she enunciates the word 'we' is grating, is he imagining the challenge in her voice?
With no choice but to nod at the nurse's orders, he sends one last look Munyeong's way before following Nam Juri to his duties.
He has just parked in front of the castle and gets out of the car with his backpack. He came home as fast as he could, he refuses to question why he feels this anticipation to be back at the castle so quickly, even though technically this was not supposed to be his home. Setting all his own questions aside, he makes himself think instead about what he should cook for dinner. He has been cooking her rice and quail eggs, but what if she's getting sick of eating the same things? Should he cook something different tonight?
These thoughts are in his head as he enters the castle and shuts the door behind him. He suddenly hears footsteps coming from the top of the staircase, and sure enough, it is Ko Munyeong. Has she been waiting for him?
He silently watches her come down the stairs, his heart speeding up, as usual, in her presence. Wondering what her next move would be, for she is nothing but unpredictable.
Her eyes are lit with mischief and it should scare him, but her body language is not that of a bulldozer, not right now. Her feet are bare and she is in a loose black nightgown with a white bow on its collar and sleeves. Living with her is exposing him to how she looks when she's not out in the world, and the deceptive innocence of Ko Munyeong with her hair down in her nightgowns is killing him slowly.
Speaking of hair .... As she inches closer, he notices something is wrong with it. It looks messy and jagged, some parts short, some parts long.
"Hey... your hair ..." he trails off, squinting at the sight. She has chopped chunks of it off, haphazardly, here are there, so that it is no longer trailing down to her waist.
"I have cut off my leash," she says proudly. That crazed look in her eyes is not mischief. It is actually a mixture of relief and pure, unadulterated joy. And it is contagious.
He examines the cartoonish image she presents. Definitely not her usual classy self with her hair sticking out every which way. He purses his lips briefly to suppress a laugh, but then he thinks, what the heck, and lets it out. It erupts in an undignified snort, but she doesn't mind. Instead, she bursts out laughing at the exact same time.
And now they are laughing together. Giggling like two children who have been up to no good. It is a privilege neither experienced in their childhood, where they always had to grow up too fast. So to be able to do this together, to laugh so freely without a care in the world, makes the moment inexplicably special.
He is a bit shocked by the silky texture between his fingertips before he realises what he's done. He is running his fingers through the ends of her hair. That dratted, traitorous hand of his strikes yet again. Since when was he comfortable touching her so freely?
But it is not just his hand he can blame anymore, when he feels his smiling mouth utter the next words he is sure he must be completely losing his mind.
"Let's go up to the bathroom," he says. "I can fix up your hair for you."