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The average life cycle of a firefly is approximately two months.
Go Chung Myung has lived over seven thousand eight hundred of them, spent flitting along the non existent flowers of a dying tree. Straying occasionally only to cross Man-Wol’s vision in an attempt to catch her eye. To brighten her mood. (As if it is not his fault in the first place).
There are some nights, when he watches Man-Wol stare wistfully into the moon that he dreams of dissipating into the stars, becoming nothingness right then and there. She had changed, somewhere through the centuries and centuries. Years spent steeping in the shock of his betrayal, the sheer hatred in her heart for him, and the anger he knows she feels at herself for hesitating to kill him had made her cynical and spiteful. Dressing up her rage in silks, attempting to quench it in champagnes, in a way that made her almost unrecognizable to his earlier memories of her.
Humans and ghosts come and go alike, she pays them no mind. Go Chung Myung remains, a tiny bright speck on a barren branch. These are the constants of the hotel, even as it changes names and appearance: Man-Wol is drowning in her past, Chung Myung will never be able to lower the water level.
Yet somewhere past the seven thousand eight hundredth life cycle, things begin to shift – Man-Wol begins to shift, and Gu Chan Seong is the one behind her.
There had been many human managers before Chan Seong, and Chung Myung had assumed there would be many after him. But slowly Chan Seong proves different, and brings changes with him. He talks of his dreams of Man-Wol’s past life, talks of seeing Chung Myung and her in a way that is almost nostalgic. (As if their love story was anything but tragic, and wretched in the end).
When Chan Seong brings with him Song-hwa, and later she brings with her Yeon-woo, two people for whom Chung Myung could never fathom their paths crossing, he wonders what would have happened if he had reincarnated. If he hadn’t pushed Man-Wol to be so full of vengeance that she would’ve moved on, and he hadn’t tied himself to her inn. He likes to imagine they’d find their way to each other. That they’d be hopelessly in love and ignorant of their previous lives, believing it was fate, or destiny that brought them together instead of blood.
Instead, he becomes the fate. The thing that sets the stage for Chan Seong and Man-Wol to be together in a kinder world, helpless to only drift in from the sidelines, light flashing as if to say I am still here. He brings Chan Seong to Man-Wol, will save Chan Seong as many times as it is called for because Chan Seong is good for her. Perhaps he is advantageous to live in a better world where there aren’t worries of kings and cruel executions, but he is good for her nonetheless.
That is enough.
(It is not, but it really should be. Who is he, to want more after taking too much? Man-Wol is happy, she smiles now, the tree blooms. Chung Myung is trapped in the body of something that should die after two months, should’ve died long ago, with his actual body and her sword).
Chan Seong softens the edges of the blade she has constantly sharpened. He sees the kindness in her, the Man-Wol Chung Myung had loved. The one who treated her men like family, and smiled at the way the wind moved the trees. Whose hand had been warm in his own.
With the return of her smile and the light in her eyes comes flowers on the tree. Chung Myung realizes, after watching Man-Wol and the human manager, that this means she is falling in love. She is moving beyond him, and all he can do is witness it, trying to bury himself in the newly grown petals in an attempt to block his vision.
He understands then, that it is his retribution.
Watching her finally find solace in someone else, after spending so long watching Man-Wol curse the skies because of him is like dying all over again; painful yet full of mercy. Like choosing to drive Man-Wol’s sword through his chest, finishing what she cannot. Allowing him, in what should have been his last moments, a chance to embrace her one last time.
He’s not sure he has it in him to see things through to the inevitable end of Man-Wol. He had died first before, perhaps it is fine then, if he goes first again.
It is not until Man-Wol utters his name after over a millennium, eyes full of that same emotion when he ran himself through with her blade, that he wishes he had more time. Just one firefly lifespan more, perhaps even half, or a quarter. Anything that would mean he would get longer to face her again. It turns out that seven thousand eight hundred life cycles hasn’t been enough.
For the first time, in a very long time, Chung Myung feels his heart beat in his chest, more rapid than the pulsing light of a firefly. It is not being able to stand on his own two legs, or to unfurl the fingers on his hands, but the way he feels the weight of her gaze, the tears in her eyes, that makes him remember that he was, indeed, human once.
Human enough to love, and to be foolish enough to lose it, to lose her to the greed of others. Human enough to, all these years later, still love her, still yearn for her when she is no longer his. (As if she ever really was).
They stand under that tree with flowers whose very existence is a reminder that Man-Wol is moving on. He’d be lying if said that didn’t sting a little bit.
“I…have emptied everything now.” She tells him. (He knows. God does he know. He has seen every second of it, has watched her gaze at Chan Seong the way she used to gaze at him). “So you should stop now.”
How? He doesn’t know how to stop. Loving her is as natural as a firefly blinking. He wants to reach out, to hug her one last time. He’s sure that her hand, even if it is now manicured and no longer rough, would still feel the same in his.
“This is really the end for us.” He says instead of letting everything out. Because it would not be right. Because it would be selfish, and the two of them both know where that left them last time, his blood on her face and a hole in his torso.
“Yes. It’s the end.” She replies.
He tries his best to muster a smile, quell the newly resumed beating of his chest. For the first time in over a millennium he remembers what it feels like to try and hold back tears. (Seconds later he remembers what it feels like to fail).
The bridge to the afterlife is beautiful in its own way. Spatters and spatters of stars, without a moon to be seen.
They walk in silence, what else is there left to say? Rather, there is too much left to say. Has he ever even told her he loves her? How can he now, only feet away from crossing over. Yet he cannot just leave. His legs won’t let him, turning around to face her. They beg him to say goodbye.
Chung Myung extends his hand out to Man-Wol.
(he knows she will not take it)