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Joong-gil is spiraling, he knows it. He’s spiraling down, and he’s spiraling fast. He knows it, but he cannot find it in himself to care; all he can think of is Ryeon, Ryeon, Ryeon. Old memories mixing with new – older? – ones, making a mess of him. Memories of before. The first time they met. Their wedding night. Every time he’d tried to sneak a peek at her and had found her already looking. How that look had been the sole reason for his existence. 12 years of heaven.
Memories of after. The disbelief. The anger. The pain. The ever-present guilt. The numbness and the nothingness of life he’d finally resigned himself to. Empty days, months and years passing by an empty man, pitifully slow at times and then way too fast, gnawing on the last remains of his humanity.
Dying. Expecting her. Shattering all over again.
Two lives afterwards, a century and a half filled with nothing but work and a nameless pain.
Becoming a Reaper. Erasing all traces of her, like a coward. Years and years of escorting souls, whilst his own was yearning for someone he could not even remember anymore. Suicide-cases stirring up an irrational pain he’d later on replaced with anger and hatred.
Koo Ryeon, the Reaper from Hell. How she, even when he’d fought against with his very being, had brought him back to life, simply by existing by his side. How he’d found love in that quiet, familiar , existence. How, sometimes, he’d tried to sneak a peek at her and had found her already looking, and how he’d thought he saw something else in her gaze, too, but had dismissed it as nothing else than his own foolishness.
Losing her, again, though not to death but to the very opposite of it. An old friend by the name of Anger returning.
Running in circles, that’s what he’s been doing. Try as he might, he cannot run from her without running to her. All roads lead to Ryeon.
How could he not have known his own wife? She had been there, right in front of him for two hundred years, her love for him written all over her being, and God, all the things he’d said and done to her during that time. It would be a miracle if she ever forgave him, not that he deserves that. He couldn’t protect her then, not from being taken nor from being shunned nor death. And now, instead of protecting her, he was the very reason she almost ended up back in Hell. All he deserves from her now is exactly what he’s getting: nothing.
-
The sound of Ryeon’s heels click-clacking against the concrete has Joong-gil’s head snapping up so fast he’s sure he’s strained a muscle or two.
As much as he despises himself for it, the sight of her is a breath of air to the drowning man he is. He has no place in her life, not after what he has and hasn’t done, he knows. But still. Beyond all the guilt and sorrow, her presence brings about a feeling of belonging. This is where you are supposed to be , his heart, long dead and burning with new life, whispers. With Ryeon, this is where you are supposed to be. Always.
He watches as she approaches, a slightly hesitant look on her face but determined nonetheless. He prepares to face her anger, disappointment, and perhaps even hatred. Steels himself in the face of it, readies the apologies formed in his mind during the past days, weeks. It won’t make a difference, but he has to try.
He expects coldness, maybe some harsh, or just truthful, words. He doesn’t expect the softness in her voice when she asks him how he’s feeling. It catches him off guard, ripping a startled laugh from his throat. Of course, of course her first concern is how he’s feeling. This woman, who had stood quietly beside him for years and years, honoring their love even when all she’d gotten from him was ignorance. Of course she'd be worried about him first and herself second.
“This is nothing compared to what you’ve had to endure,” he responds, carefully watching her. Ryeon’s eyes are looking everywhere but him, and he silently begs her to glance at him just once, even if it is for the last time.
“Why did you do it?”
He cannot answer, not if it means she’ll walk away. There are things he needs to know, as well. Questions swirl in his head, but in the end it all comes down to that one, eternal question. Why?
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She looks at him now, disbelief coloring her features. Joong-gil swallows. Here it comes.
“What could I have said? What could I have said to you, when centuries had passed? You- you were okay. You didn’t remember, you weren’t living with that pain – I had no right to remind you of it.”
It’s Joong-gil’s turn to be angry. No right? Were he still alive, this woman would surely be the death of him!
“You had every right in the world! You are my wife, my everything for goodness’ sake, you had every right –“, he stops abruptly on her sharp inhale. No, no, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, he’s said too much, too early –
“What?”
Now, he needs to apologize now, because Ryeon looks to be about two seconds away from bolting. He barely takes a breath, the weight of his guilt pulling him back into the deep, deep waters.
“Ryeon-ah, I am so, so sorry,” he stumbles, bowing as deep as the damn handcuffs let him, “for Ryu Cho-hui, for all that I’ve said, for what I’ve done, for not protecting you, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve fought harder, I should’ve – “
Ryeon stops him before he has the chance to continue. Her voice is somewhere far, far away. Joong-gil’s breaths are shorter and shorter, until it is simply too much. There, on the cold floor of the empty room of Hell, it all finally overflows. His sobs, breaking their way through centuries, echo off the walls. He doesn’t dare to look at her. She doesn’t touch him, doesn’t speak; just lets him cry his wretched heart out.
However long they stay there, he doesn’t know. At some point his cries die down, tiredness settling in, making a home in his bones.
With a strained voice, Ryeon, stubborn as ever, denies his guilt. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have done anything to stop it; and after , well. You didn’t know. You were cruel, with Ryu Cho-hui, I admit, but,” she takes a deep breath, “I do understand. It’s my own fault, in the end.”
Joong-gil shakes his head. They’re both too headstrong to let this go, but right now he is too tired for words. Ryeon sees his defiance, anyway.
“How is she?” he asks, holding his breath.
“She’ll be alright”, she answers him. Joon-gil nods slightly.
“She won’t attempt again?”
“No. I’ll stop her every time.”
He feels a smile tugging at his lips. Some things never change, it seems.
“Thank you. For apologizing – and for this.”
Ryeon bows a little, and then turns to walk away. It feels like a goodbye. Panic rises with the lump in his throat. He doesn’t want her to leave, doesn’t want to part from her ever again.
“Will I see you again?” he rushes to ask her back. Please, please say yes. Say anything but no. Her steps halt to a stop. The space between them sizzles with tension. As the quiet wears on, Joong-gil gathers the last bits of his pride to keep from begging. He would though, if it’d make her stay.
“Yes,” she finally says, a ghost of a smile in her voice.
-
He doesn’t see her much after being released from Hell. Most of his days are spent in a tiny, cramped room, designed specifically for this in mind, writing away paperwork until his wrists all but bleed. Even if he has a few hours of free time and he doesn’t necessarily need to sleep, he knows he needs to give Ryeon her space. She was still so careful around him, so very aware that the slightest touch or the wrong choice of words could send them both falling over the edge they’re just barely balancing on. It’s not easy on either one of them, tearing down walls they’ve spent decades building.
He knows all of this, too, and so he keeps at a distance. But keeping a distance doesn’t mean that he doesn’t entertain certain thoughts. Like thoughts of kissing her right there, in the middle of the halls of Jumadeung, whenever he spots a glimpse of pink hair. Or of sneaking into her rooms in the dead of night, like he used to, and laying together as man and wife. Keeping a distance doesn’t mean that his nightmares aren’t, on occasion, replaced with other sorts of dreams about his wife (because that’s who she was, is, and will be to him, strings of fate be damned).
It should be concerning, really, how fast he’s turned his tide. How fast he’s willing to abandon his principle of suicide being murder, and those who commit being weak, undeserving criminals. How much he wants to have everything with her. How quickly he’s let go of all his resentment towards her and what she’s done. It would be concerning, if it was anyone other than Ryeon.
-
It is three days after his reinstatement, and he cannot seem to find Ryeon anywhere. He tries to reason with himself. It probably isn’t anything too serious; she wouldn’t just disappear, especially since she’s still under the Emperor’s added surveillance. No, she wouldn’t just go off the radar, not now.
Except that going off the radar seems to be exactly what she’s doing. There’s not a trace of her anywhere, not a single flash of signature pink to be seen. But he’s not worried. He’s not; surely there is a perfectly reasonable explanation, that doesn’t involve reincarnation or Hell or her going absolutely rogue. She’s probably just working on an extremely tough case. He’s not worried.
Yeah, right. He’s not just worried, he’s full-on panicking. He keeps seeing that damned image of her, dead and cold on the ground, blood staining her clothes. And even if he knows that it isn’t possible, not anymore, he can still think of a hundred different ways he could be too late this time around. She could’ve decided to reincarnate, or she could’ve been dragged back into Hell, or she could be lying in a ditch somewhere, after being attacked by Ha Dae-soo and his men. She could’ve simply left. The panic building in his chest keeps telling him that it’s already too late, he’s already too late, she’s already gone, God, what ishegoingtodohecan’tgothroughthisagain.
If anyone notes that his gait is much faster than usual, they accredit it to the mountain of team-leader associated business left unattended during his absence. What that business has to do with the front door of Lim Ryung-gu’s he’s currently banging on, is no business of theirs.
Mr. Lim appears, dressed from head to toe in duck-themed pajamas. He even has these ridiculous, fluffy slippers with eyes and beaks on his feet. Were it any other moment, Joong-gil would definitely be taking delight in knowing this, maybe even seizing an opportunity for some blackmail. But, with his wife missing and his heart threating to beat right out of his chest, he finds he really doesn’t give a fuck about Mr. Lim’s choice of dress.
“Where is she?” He questions the clearly irritated and embarrassed man.
“Who?” Lim Ryung-gu questions back, even though he clearly understands who Joong-gil is after. Panic gives way to irritation. Why did Ryeon have to choose this idiot of a man to be her second-in-command and closest friend?
“Ryeon”, he grits through his teeth. Mr. Lim sucks air in and avoids his gaze.
“I’m really not supposed to tell you”, he tries to mumble but never finishes; Joong-gil has him backed against the wall by the collar of his idiotic, yellow shirt in the fraction of a second.
“I promise you that what I will to you if you don’t tell me, will be twice as worse as whatever she’s threatened you with,” he says and means it. Ryung-gu folds faster than a deck of cards.
“Alright, alright! She’s walking, okay? Just please don’t hurt me, I just got thrown off a roof,” he rushes out.
The grip he has on his shirt tightens. What?
“What do you mean she’s walking?”
“She’s walking! On a really long walk! Strolling on the streets of Seoul! She had to do that a lot in Hell and just never gave it up or something, I don’t know!”
Before he has the chance to properly process what Mr. Lim just said, Joong-gil is out the door.
“Fucking maniacs,” he faintly hears Ryung-gu murmur after him.
-
Even though it’s spring in the Land of the Living, it is still cold enough for Joong-gil’s nose to start running. He briefly wonders where to go, before deciding to start from a park in northern Seoul he knows Ryeon’s fond of – it reminds her of home, she’d once told him, on one of those endless nights of staking out run-away souls.
As he aimlessly runs around the dark park, Lim Ryung-gu’s words ring in his ears. She had to do that a lot in Hell and just never gave it up. He’s aware of what the punishment for suicide is, of course. Not too far ago he had even thought it was too lenient. Just one more opinion he’d discarded without second thought. But why on Earth would Ryeon be walking now? Was she really that determined to keep punishing herself for something that wasn’t even her fault? There were too many whys with Ryeon and too little answers.
She’s not in the park. He knew it was a long shot anyway, but dread settles in his stomach nonetheless. Too late, too late, too late. He has no idea where to go next, so he’s running red lights, choosing streets, and changing directions like a headless chicken. Someone yells after him, but he could not care less.
Too late, he’s too late. He cannot see anything but the endless maze of streets and alleys, spreading too far and vast for him to cover by himself. Joong-gil must try, nevertheless. He’ll scavenge through each street thrice if that’s what it takes. He turns the corner on some alley that looks just like all the other ones, and there, finally, she is.
They both stop in their tracks. He could either kiss her right there or yell his head off, but he does neither, being too busy catching his ragged breath. Those 6 months in a dusty office have really taken their toll on his shape, it seems. He’s slightly pissed off and confused, but she’s there and she’s okay and he made it to her on time.
Ryeon looks like she’s been walking all night, and for all he knows, she has. There’s a tiredness in her gaze, her gait slow and without its usual rhythm. He knows the supposedly stoic look on her face like he knows the back of his hand; she’s lost inside her own head. He takes his place by her side, and they walk on.
Joong-gil wants to ask, but doesn’t know how to approach it. Does he throw a nonchalant comment her way, or ask a heartfelt question revealing the exact extent of his fear of losing her? Is asking a bad decision? Will it just remind her of something she’d rather forget? How does one even go asking someone something like this?
In the end, he settles on a simple why. Ryeon chuckles joylessly.
“The irony is not lost on me,” she says, looking up at the light-polluted sky, so different from the one they’d looked up at on the nights their pillow talk had stretched on until early morning, yet the very same. She’s quiet for a long while. He doesn’t push, just offers his hand. Ryeon hesitates, eyes jumping between the hand and his eyes. Like she doesn’t know whether to slap it away or grab it and never let go. She ends up taking it, looking away once more. He wills his stupid, stupid heart to stop jumping around, but to no end.
“I suppose I just got used to it, in Hell, when all I had to do was walk and think about what I’d done. There is a certain peace to it, believe it or not. Doing the same thing over and over, perfecting the art of suffering… When I came here, I found that it was a hard habit to break. Although, with time, it became more a way of settling my thoughts rather than torturing myself – seeing you on the daily did that for me.
It’s fine, really. I can stop whenever I want to, you know. And my feet aren’t bleeding, so that’s a big positive, too. Although I do occasionally hear voices, but hey, you can’t fix everything!”
He knows she’s trying to make light of the situation, but the reminder of what she’s had to go through, all alone, still drives a dagger to his heart. Comforting words seem too far away for the moment; even if they were closer, he doesn’t think she’d want to hear them, not right now at least. So, Joong-gil takes it all in, silently vowing to never let her walk by herself ever again.
-
He has documents to deliver to Ryeon, and yes, he could deliver them to her new, shiny office tomorrow, but he just really wants to see her. As he steps out of the elevator on the highest floor of her building, he hears the music Ryeon’s undoubtedly playing way too loud echo in the hallway. It’s in a language he doesn’t understand, but the sound is very Ryeon; the female singer’s voice is deep and powerful, going together perfectly with the slightly sad piano in the background.
He knocks. Then he knocks harder. And then even harder. At last, the door opens, in a way that suggests she’s not too happy with the disruption. The sight that welcomes him, however, makes any words of greetings and documents die right at his lips. Ryeon’s dressed in only a long, lavender t-shirt, accompanied by a look of sheer determination in her eyes. He doesn’t know where to look – the sight of her bare legs awakens memories of them being wrapped around his middle, but her eyes remind him of the way she’d stalk towards him with only one thing in mind.
Ryeon gestures at him to step inside. Joong-gil does, stuttering and fidgeting with the documents in his hands. She smiles at him a little, an action that effectively shuts him up, and walks towards the deep turquoise armchairs in the middle of the living room. There is a bottle of red wine on the table, with an almost-empty glass next to it. The music is being turned down.
“Sit,” she gestures at the chair opposite her own, and he obeys with no objections. She disappears for a while, and returns with a glass for him. He swallows. Alcohol probably isn’t the best idea, but he really, really, really needs a drink. Ryeon pours their glasses full and sits down, swirling the wine in her glass around like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. She’s put on a pair of pajama bottoms. Joong-gil tries to suppress the wave of disappointment he feels.
“We should talk,” she states, still staring down at her glass like it has all the answers they so desperately need. Joong-gil nods, sipping his own wine. It tastes surprisingly good; he isn’t a fan of red wines, but Ryeon’s has a perfect balance of sour, bitter and sweet. His eye catches on the red string wrapped around Ryeon’s wrist, and the scar laying beneath it. In all truthfulness the sight of it makes him angry; not because he blames her for doing what she did, but because she’s already suffered enough. There’s no need for Fate to torture her any further. She deserves to be happy. He’s just about to say that, but Ryeon beats him to it.
“I feel I don’t know anything at all when it comes to you,” she breathes out like it’s a confession of a heinous crime, “I don’t know what to do, or to say, or to think. There are things that I need to say to you, but I don’t know how. ” She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. “I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong things, or at least say them in the wrong way. I want to do this right, in the way that you deserve, but I've no idea how.”
She’s so careful, still holding back around him. Joong-gil's heart shatters a bit more.
“Ryeon-ah,” he says, waiting until her eyes are on his. He chooses his next words carefully; this is important. This is the turning point that will define them for centuries to come. “There is nothing you could say, or do, that would send me running from you now. Nothing. Even if you decided to reincarnate or if you’d have to spend another 200 years in Hell, I’d find you. I’d wait for you. So please, just say it as it is. You don’t need to hide anything from me, not anymore.”
It seems to hit the nail in the head. Ryeon looks away, furiously blinking away tears. She gulps her wine down in one go, and pours a second glass for herself. Leaving the glass on the table, she leans forward a bit, running her fingers through her hair. Joong-gil briefly wonders if it is as sleek as he remembers, before forcing his mind to stay on present day. Ryeon moves again, restless. She leans all the way back in her chair, as far away from him as she can get. In response, he leans forward without thinking, being pulled into her orbit like the planets to the Sun. With a sigh, Ryeon starts.
“Remember in Hell, when you apologized, and I just stood there?”
Joong-gil does remember quite well, although his pride wants to erase the whole thing from history. She fidgets with her strings.
“I wanted to do something, offer some comfort, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t . So instead I just…,” she sighs, vaguely waving her hands around, clearly frustrated with herself.
“Anyway, my inability to offer the most basic of comforts is not that important. The point is, I want to, I need to, apologize to you, I’ve needed to apologize for a long time, but -,” she makes a sound of disappointment. “There are no words, no actions that could ever convey how desperately, profusely sorry I am. There’s nothing I could say to you to make any of it any better, is there?”
And there it is, the guilt, the pain, and the love in her gaze, all mirroring his own. The sigh that escapes his lips is a deep one.
“It’s not your fault. There’s no need to apologize,” he says, looking into her eyes, willing her to believe it. She, of course, doesn’t. Joong-gil stops her objections before she has the chance to properly start.
“Look, Ryeon-ah. I’m never going to believe that this was somehow your fault, just like you’re never going to believe it was mine. So, what do you say we just put this in the ground and bury it? It won’t do either one of us any good to keep having the same argument, when neither you nor I are going to change our stands.”
Ryeon glances at him before turning away once more. She not all that convinced, he can tell. He decides to lay the last of his cards down.
“Besides, I don’t need an apology. Just stay with me, that’s more than enough,” he pleads with her. Ryeon’s gaze snaps back into his, her brows furrowing.
“Is it your guilt or you love saying that?”
Joong-gil suppresses the urge to roll his eyes.
“It is me saying that to my wife , whom I love. ”
Ryeon scoffs, growing even more agitated: “You keep calling me your wife, but I’m not. There is no string connecting us to each other, and even if there was, I am not the same woman I once was. I love you, I do, more than anything in this world, and there’s nothing that I’d want more than to be your wife again, but I am simply not the same anymore.”
He can only smile at her. It seems their problems are solvable, after all.
“No, you’re not the same, and neither am I. But it doesn’t matter; I still love you. I loved you as my wife, I loved you when I didn’t know who you were, and I love you now. If that is what you want, then just be my wife. Let me love you, Ryeon-ah. Let yourself be happy. All the rest is just … details.”
For a moment that seems to stretch on forever, she just stares at him, considering his words. He stares back. He’s played all his cards, his heart laid out on the table between them. The ball is in her court.
Ryeon nods, once, twice. Determination wins over fear, and she lunches towards him. Joong-gil meets her halfway, kissing her with the hunger of four hundred years. Her hands find his tie, swiftly doing away with it and the buttons on his shirt. They barely make it to the bedroom, the ruffled documents lying on the floor long forgotten.
-
He wakes to Ryeon lightly running her hand on his cheek. Joong-gil leans into the touch, not wanting to open his eyes just yet.
“What time is it?” he mumbles against her palm.
“Early,” comes the answer.
He cracks his eyes open, and is so very glad he did. Ryeon’s dressed in his black button-up from the night before, and the soft smile on her features is everything. It steals the breath from him, not for the first time. It has just been so long since he’s last seen it. He doesn’t want to go a day without it.
“I figured you’d want to grab a change of clothes before work,” she says, soft, happy. Joong-gil mumbles something he hopes sounds affirmative. She honest to God giggles and if that isn’t the most wonderous thing he’s ever heard, may the gods smite him down. He smiles wide in response.
Ryeon leaves to get dressed herself, setting a cup of tea on the nightstand next to the bed. The cup has a black cat on it, whose eyes are stretching into comical measures as coffee is poured into its own, little cup. (Ryeon tells him, later, that the cat reminds her of him. He scoffs, but when she catches him using said cup religiously and laughs, he laughs back.)
Whilst waiting for his shirt back, Joong-gil wanders around her apartment. It’s filled with colors, patterns, and small trinkets she seems to have collected over the centuries. Somehow it all goes together; the pusheen-plushies on top of the antique drawer in the living room, and the ancient teapot next to the mismatched coffee cups in the kitchen.
He wonders how his own, albeit few, possessions would go with hers. He takes a moment to imagine his mostly black clothes hanging next to her colorful ones, and his white plates stacked with her dark greens. They’d fit in, he supposes.
“Would it be too early for me to move in?” he asks, thanking her for the shirt she hands back.
Ryeon smiles, raising an eyebrow at him.
“I guess four hundred years is an acceptable period of waiting. Besides, we are married,” she responds, eyes playful and sparkling with glee. He agrees.
-
They sit together on their balcony, having just finished moving Joong-gil's things into the apartment. The Sun is setting on Jumadeung, painting the sky in shades of orange and red. Ryeon’s hand feels right in his own. He closes his eyes, basking in the peace of the moment.
It’s Ryeon who breaks the silence a heartbeat later.
“Will we be alright?” she asks, thoughtful. He knows exactly what she means: are we beyond repair? Or will we heal, with time?
“ Yes,” he answers, simple and honest. There is a long road ahead of them, one that’s undoubtedly paved with difficulties. But he’s certain that the road also has moments like these: peaceful, happy ones, where, for a minute, everything falls into place. For those moments alone, for Ryeon, he would go through it all a thousand times.
Ryeon shoots a gentle look at him, and Joong-gil smiles, holding onto her hand a little tighter. It’s a start.