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Ryeon’s punishment is walking. Walking, walking and walking, for the rest of the foreseeable future, down an endless cave, hearing the cries of her loved ones, begging her to not be gone. Cries of loved ones she’ll never meet again, not with her severed strings of fate. Cries of her father, her friends, him.
It isn’t too bad at first. Yes, hearing him hurts like Hell – literally – but she knows that in the end, it is for the better. She’s freed him, and once he gets over her, forgets about her, he’ll be just fine. She won’t be slowing him down, won’t be causing his downfall, won’t be bringing him any more pain, ever again. He’ll find someone else, someone better, who’ll give him all he deserves. And if the price for his happiness, his honor, is her own eternal suffering? It’s worth it. He’s worth it.
Slowly, it starts getting worse. Her feet start truly hurting; not just aching, but truly, deeply hurting, the pain traveling up her legs all the way to her back. She starts getting tired, and thirsty. There’s no water where she is. The dryness claws at her throat, makes it impossible to speak, impossible to scream her pain away. Her head feels like it’s being split right down the middle, and she can’t see properly for all the sand in her eyes. Sitting down is not an option, not for long anyway. The fire rising from the ground and burning her whenever she tries makes sure that she doesn’t stop for more than a minute.
Then, she starts to hear him again. Not just his begging and screaming when she died, but his guilt, drowning her like a tsunami. She starts to feel his numbness, starts to see her own ghost haunting him, decades after she’s already died. It makes her want to dig her eyes out, to deafen her ears and burn her skin off. She tries. It doesn’t work.
If he’s still haunted by her, what was it all for?
Her feet are covered in blisters, and always bleeding, leaving a red trail at her wake. She barely registers it, too hung up on the mantra of I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Even when her voice gives out, she mouths it over and over, sometimes seeing his image in front of her. It’s never him like she remembers him to be. Instead, it’s a cold and hollow version of him, the shell of a man she has made him to be.
She begs for a chance to apologize to him, once and for all. The only answer is the echo of her screams, bouncing off the stone.
With her regret and guilt weighing down her ever-bleeding feet, Ryeon walks on.
-
The first time she sees him in Jumadeung, Ryeon bites down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood in order to keep from begging for his forgiveness right there and then. This isn’t her Joong-gil, she reminds herself – her wish hasn’t been granted. No, her Joong-gil was warm and loving. This Joong-gil is cold and distant and angry . Always angry. This Joong-gil doesn’t remember her.
No matter how much it stings, differentiating between Her Joong-gil and Grim Reaper Joong-gil helps, too. Her Joong-gil is a memory, a painful one, but a dear one at the same time. Something she keeps close to her heart, but doesn’t utter half a word about to anyone, much less to Grim Reaper Joong-gil.
Grim Reaper Joong-gil is her boss, and nothing more. He strict and distant, and sometimes his words cut her like knives, yes, but she supposes it’s deserved. Besides, the longer they work together, the more decent working under him gets. Despite the anger – which seems to dull with time, too – he is always fair, even when she wishes he wasn’t. The silence between them morphs into some distant cousin of comfort. On few occasions, she even spots the corners of his lips curling up.
And if she, sometimes, looks at him and finds pieces of Her Joong-gil in him, whose business is it but hers? It’s not like she can say anything to him. He seems to be doing alright, what right does she have to burn it all down? He isn’t hers anymore, hasn’t been for centuries. And even if he wasn’t doing all that good, why add to his pain?
Her own pain is its own, separate matter. Joong-gil is a dagger, lodged deeper into her heart and twisted each time she sees him, which is often, these days. Ryeon doesn’t know what to think of it. On one hand, she has been granted a little more time with the love of her life, someone she was never supposed to cross paths with ever again. On the other, seeing him like this, unable to apologize, might be worse than Hell. Often she wonders if any of it is worth anything at all.
She brings this contemplation to the Emperor, some years after beginning work as a grim reaper.
“You could always choose to reincarnate. But, if you do, you’ll never see him again. You won’t get your wish,” she tells her, as nonchalant as if they were simply discussing the weather.
Ryeon’s heart feels heavier than the day her mother-in-law had presented her with the dagger she’d ended it all with. Reincarnating now? She’d forget all about him, would get a clean table to start from, the Emperor tells her. But leaving him, again, feels like a betrayal. She owes him an apology, owes him much, much more of course, but an apology is all she can offer now. And how could she ever truly forget the love they once shared? It is an impossibility – even Grim Reaper Joong-gil hadn’t been able to forget. He came here with a scar buried deep in his heart. She wonders if she’d been a knife in his heart, before, like he was now in hers.
“I can’t,” Ryeon whispers, damning her blurring vision. The Emperor nods in understanding.
“Then you should find some way to let the grief out. Gardening, perhaps?”
-
Gardening, yeah right. Ryeon tries it once. All it does is get dirt under her nails and a three plants dead within a week.
There was a peace to Hell, to suffering. At least there it was predictable, real. Her bleeding feet were testimony enough. She misses it, doesn’t really know how to be without it. In Jumadeung her pain is lurking in the shadows, waiting for a chance to tear her down. It’s a slow, harrowing death, always waiting for the final blow to come.
But in the end, some habits die harder than others. On a particularly bad night, brought on by a small smile on Grim Reaper Joong-gil’s lips – one that had once belonged to Her Joong-gil -, she starts walking, not entirely aware of doing so. First it is just aimless wandering around her room, then the gardens between buildings. At some point she ends up in the Land of the Living, invisible to the human eye, passing through like the ghost she is.
Her whole being lets out a sigh of relief. This is what she knows. The dull ache in her legs soothes the pain in her heart, brings her racing mind some solace. It transforms her grief into something she can handle, something she’s familiar with. Gives her a chance to craft her apology, to steel herself for the anger she knows will come.
And so, walking around without direction becomes an integral part of her routine. Wake up, go to work, see the-love-of-your-life-turned-dagger-in-your-heart, pretend everything is just fine, escort souls, write reports when needed, clock out, walk for hours on end, fall into a dead sleep from sheer exhaustion, and repeat. Endlessly.
Every now and then something catches her eye, and she brings it, well, not home , but to her rooms with her. Where home is now is a question she doesn’t dare to ponder on for too long. But if home is where the heart is, yours has long since returned to the Earth , a voice nags in the back of her head.
She goes out for a walk. Maybe another one of those gorgeous paintings she’d seen at the marketplace in Hanseong will help subdue the emptiness eating her from the inside out, will dull the feeling of being all alone in the universe.
-
When Ryeon brings Lim Ruyng-gu to Jumadeung, Joong-gil defends her. I have faith in my subordinate’s capabilities, that’s all he says. It’s as much Grim Reaper Joong-gil as it gets, but it still makes her heart beat a bit faster, no matter how much she tries to reason with herself. They don’t talk much afterwards; she thanks him, he nods in acknowledgement, eyes unreadable and mouth pulled into a thin line Ryeon wants to kiss away. She brings her gaze to the ground, instead. It’s the last time they talk of Mr. Lim, until it isn’t.
-
Joong-gil tells her to meet him in his office after she tries and fails to save the man on the rooftop. He had escorted him himself, not trusting her to pull any more surprises. The secret is out, and she knows it’s a betrayal of sorts, no matter the reasons. She probably should’ve consulted him about it, but Ryeon wanted to enjoy the last few moments of quiet co-existence she could, before ruining it all once again.
His eyes are full of barely constrained rage as she steps in. No matter how expected it is, Ryeon still manages to choke on nothing.
“So it really is true,” he repeats, ice seeping into his voice. She just nods, unable to bring herself to meet his gaze again. Joong-gil’s wrath explodes, tearing her apart on the spot.
“How could you? I’ve done nothing but had your back for all these years and this is how you repay me? By leaving this team, without a single word to me, and for weak, undeserving, dishonorable rats, nonetheless? You know I let it slide with Lim Ryung-gu, but this? A new low, even for you , Ms. Koo,” he all but yells at her.
Anger burns in Ryeon’s chest, in her curled-up fists, in the corner of her eyes. There are too many things on the tip of her tongue.
All I have ever done, I have done for you.
Fuck you and your anger, you don’t know what I’ve gone through, all for just one apology.
Weak and undeserving? Now that’s one way to think of your wife, you bastard.
I’ll never be enough, will I?
Where did you learn to be this cruel?
Killing myself was the most honorable thing I ever did.
She closes her eyes and breathes it all down. She deserves this, deserves every insult and every knife in her back. Or at least that is what she’s come to tell herself when everything blows up in her face, which seems to be more often than not, these days. Ryeon bows deep in apology, knowing he won’t understand all that she’s apologizing for, but wishing he would, nonetheless. She doesn’t stay to hear Joong-gil’s rejection, but instead walks out and keeps on walking.
-
When the news of Mr. Lim joining her in the Risk Management Team reaches Joong-gil, the ice in his eyes gives way to nothing else.
“Birds of a feather flock together, I see,” he throws at Ryeon when they pass each other in the halls. She bites back a you’ve no idea how right you are!
Other than being the subject of the occasional insult from her once-upon-a-time-husband, things are for once going Ryeon’s way. She’s finally getting closer to the one person she needs to save, to her wish. Ryung-gu’s company is an unexpected but welcomed addition. It’s refreshing to have someone around that understands. Even if said someone latches onto her like a baby duck and later pretends like he has no recollection of anything of the sort.
-
The sight of Joong-gil, kneeling on the floor, bruised and bloodied is… a bit much to take in. Sure, she wanted him punished, wanted him to take responsibility, but Hell? A little overboard, if you asked Ryeon. Demoting him would’ve been just fine.
She watches the emotions play out on his face in the wake of her arrival. Shock. Guilt. Pain. None of the anger he’d made his trademark in the recent years, surprisingly enough. There is an openness to his features, too, one she hasn’t seen since, well, before. Her mind hesitates, not at all ready and still looking for the right words, but her feet carry on anyway.
She stops in front of him, asks him how he’s feeling, even though she knows the answer. Like shit, that’s how Hell makes you feel. Her eyes scan the walls. Seems like they’ve upgraded since her time.
“This is nothing compared to what you’ve had to endure,” is all he says in response. Ryeon tries to search his words for any hints of anger, repulsion, or just good-old hatred, but finds none. In their place is something else, something she cannot, will not , name.
It throws her for a bit of a loop. In all the scenarios she’s thought up of this moment, and she’s thought of plenty, Joong-gil is always angry, disappointed, repulsed by her. In the best-case scenarios he’s cold and dismissive. Never, ever is he like … this. Loving, her mind provides before she can put a stop to it. Ryeon decides to throw apologizing to the end of the to-do list for now – ironic, but that seems to be the one constant theme in all she does.
“Why did you do it?” she asks. Why save her? Why take the blame? Something in her screams that she knows the answer, but she pushes that part deep down. He answers with a question of his own.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her gaze snaps back into him. Really? Of all the things he could’ve said, could’ve asked, he chose this? Wasn’t it obvious? Exactly how many blows to the head did he take?
“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 comes out a bit too broken for her liking.
Joong-gil clenches his jaw at her words. Ah, there it is, the anger.
“You had every right in the world! You are my wife, my everything for goodness’ sake, you had every right – “
What?
He’d just called her his wife . She’s not, she hasn’t been for a good while, he isn’t hers . This is Grim Reaper Joong-gil, is it not? Her Joong-gil doesn’t exist, not anymore. He isn’t supposed to exist, it’s the one thing she’s been counting on. What the Hell is going on?
“What?”
Ryeon has to get away, she has to get away from this. It’s too confusing, too much to face. It does not help that they’re having this conversation in Hell. The dryness creeps up her throat, a taunting reminder of all she has tried to forget. But before she can run away, Joong-gil starts apologizing, talking about Cho-hui and should’ves.
“Stop, stop, I-,” her words are cut off by the most soul-crushing sob she’s ever heard. It’s everything he’s been keeping locked away inside. The heart she thought couldn’t break any further shatters into dust at her feet. This is all her doing, all of it. It paralyzes her onto the spot, unable to speak, unable to relieve him of his guilt.
Would you look at her, huh? The moment she has done it all for is here, and she can’t even utter a single fucking sorry, much less the speech she’s gone over in her head a million times over the past few centuries. If there ever was a moment she’s despised herself more, she can’t remember.
Standing there, looking at the man sobbing on the floor, the lines she’s so carefully drawn between Her Joong-gil and Grim Reaper Joong-gil blur, until they’re one and the same. Her Joong-gil, a grim reaper. It’s painful, seeing how easy it is for him to slip back into his old self, all the while knowing it’s all for nothing. The person he thinks he’s apologizing to, his wife , has long since died, leaving behind nothing but a broken woman with the same name and face. If she was still the same, maybe, just maybe, they’d have a shot at-. At-. She can’t even finish the thought.
Ever so slowly he starts to calm down. Ryeon shakes herself. This is her chance to set things right between them, to make him see that the blame was never his – and to free him from her, at last. She can’t have him hung up on guilt, she just can’t.
“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.”
It’s true, every word of it. Joong-gil doesn’t seem to agree though, shaking his head at her, stubbornness flaming in his eyes. Ryeon suppresses a sigh. The conversation turns to Ryu Cho-hui, and they discuss her in short questions and equally short answers.
She should apologize, she knows. Should do it now and be done with it, go to the Emperor and reincarnate before he gets out. Should get out of his way, once and for all.
But, this is not how she wants to do it. She wants it to be proper, needs it to be proper, like she needs air in her lungs. (And perhaps she doesn’t want to let go, just yet.) So instead, she bows deep and thanks him for his apology, for shouldering the blame. Then she turns on her heel, eager to get out of Hell and never to return.
“Will I see you again?”
His question stops her in her tracks. He almost sounds desperate, like he truly wants to see her again and isn’t asking just to make sure they won’t cross paths. She weighs her options; she could still say no, could change her plans, could run and leave him, again. Or she could stay and see where this goes.
“Yes,” she answers. Something dangerously close to hope flutters in her chest.
-
The streets of the residential area somewhere in Seoul are quiet and calm, a stark contrast to the whirlwind inside Ryeon’s head.
Joong-gil had apologized, for things that would never be his fault, but also for some that were. For things he’d said and done. She’s long since forgiven him for most of them, but it was still a relief to hear those words from him – especially the ones concerning Ryu Cho-hui.
Doesn’t change the fact that she should’ve been the one on their knees, begging for forgiveness. It felt like a sadistic trick of Fate, turning their roles on their heads like that, highlighting all that Ryeon has been, and still is doing wrong. Not that Joong-gil could see it, purposefully turning his eye from the most obvious.
He had called her his wife.
His wife.
His everything.
She knows that he didn’t mean it like that , knows that he’s feeling confused and guilty and will come to his senses once he thinks it over. Knows Hell has a particular talent in pushing the most painful buttons, in messing with one’s head. Knows she shouldn’t even go there, not when it’ll just bring her more pain when it’s all over.
But dammit, it had felt good. Good, like the first breath of air after a deep dive feels good. Like morphine in your veins feels good. Like coming home after four centuries feels good.
Ryeon has a mountain of things to say, to do, and she doesn’t know where, or how, to start. But for this one, single moment, she pushes all of it aside, savoring the warmth his words had ignited. Even if it will one day be the stake she burns on, for now it protects her from the autumn chill.
-
The Emperor’s garden knows nothing of autumn. They’re surrounded by flowers in their most glorious bloom, each one more beautiful than the last. Lilacs, pinks, foxgloves, the few she recognizes. Poppies, fire lilies, even a cherry tree in full blossom.
They’ve been discussing the recent events. Ryu Cho-hui, Park Joong-gil, Choi Jun-woong, her visit to Hell (sparing the details) and her realization. The person she needs to save is herself. In hindsight, it seems painfully obvious. She tries not to beat herself up too much though, as it would go against the principle of ‘you, too, deserve to be happy’ the Emperor is imposing on her.
Why can’t she ever say things as they are?
The importance of realizing things and believing in them by yourself, yes, yes, Ryeon knows. But still, it would have made a couple of things a lot easier. Speaking of easy, she has a feeling saving herself and being happy is going to be anything but. She’ll try her hardest, nonetheless.
“And your wish?” the Emperor asks, stirring Ryeon’s thoughts a bit more.
Her wish. The chance to apologize to Joong-gil, and reincarnating after. She’d be able to leave it all behind. She’d probably be happy, in her next life. Would meet and love someone else, maybe have the children she had yearned for a long time ago.
But could she be happy, here? Could she love someone, here?
She might be reading into it all wrong, might be seeing things where there are none. Joong-gil could be mistaking guilt for affection, they could both be far too broken for it to ever work. She could never find the right words, could never muster up the courage to say them to him. But she’s nothing if she isn’t stubborn. And really, if anyone expects her to give up now , they can keep wishing upon a star.
“Make the Risk Management Team an official department, instead of a temporary one,” she says, setting down her teacup. The Emperor agrees, but Ryeon isn’t done yet.
“And renovate our office into something more modern.”
“All right,” the Emperor responds, her brows furrowing slightly in contemplation.
“I also want Ryung-gu to be promoted to manager,” she continues. He deserves it, if not for all the times he’s singlehandedly saved her, then for his performance on the job.
The Emperor tries to object, talking about Jumadeung’s complicated seniority system and whatnot, but she continues listing: “And one last thing. I need more team members; it’s too much for us three to handle by ourselves.”
“I guess it’ll be back to two again,” the Emperor sighs. It takes Ryeon by surprise, even though it shouldn’t. Choi Jun-woong's six months are coming to an end, of course it’ll soon be just her and Ryung-gu again. The Emperor explains her plan of sending him home early to her. Ryeon agrees, through her shock. She is going to miss him, but Jun-woong deserves his happiness.
(Although Ryeon isn’t blind; she’s seen the way her two subordinates exchange glances when they think none’s the wiser. She supposes they’ll just have to wait. All that Fate brings together must part at least once. Even so, Ryung-gu will be hell to deal with.)
-
She avoids Joong-gil once he gets back from Hell. Not that it is much of an effort – he’s practically locked up in that tiny office of his, all the way at the other end of the hallways. Still, she hides away from him like a child.
Mostly because when the Emperor isn’t there with her knowing eyes and gentle smile, it is far too easy to fall back into doubt, back into nights spent on her feet. What if she’s wrong? What if she’s wrong about him, about them?
Even if she isn’t, this between them is a fragile thing. One wrong word from her, one foot out of line, and they’ll stumble over the edge and into the wrong direction. She’s not willing to take that chance.
Also, she’s busy. There are new team members to teach, lives to save and one lovesick fool of a recently promoted manager to take care of and watch soap operas with. No Park Joong-gils into this mess, thank you.
-
She’s walking, again, looking for words with which to speak to Joong-gil. It’s been seven months, he has dutifully suffered through his punishment, and she’s running out of excuses.
Deep down she knows that the search is useless. There are no words or actions that could ever make up for what she’s done. It’s the heaviest burden she has ever had to carry. Ryeon wants to dig her broken heart right out of her chest and offer it to him, here, take it, it’s yours. Do with it what you will, break it, burn it, heal it.
She imagines him holding the wretched thing, giving it the same, gentle look he’s given her in the past months - the look that sends her heart and mind racing, despite her best efforts to convince herself that he doesn’t mean it like that.
But if she can’t even ask for his forgiveness, what point is there in hoping for more?
The night gets colder the longer she walks on, making her shiver slightly. The streetlamps come to life, painting the cloudy sky in shades of yellow. It’s the one thing she hates about the modern times. It’s never truly dark. Back then, when she and him were still young and unbroken, they could see the whole Silver River just from their bedroom window.
The thought of their bedroom – they’d never really used the other one – takes her down a path that is as much painful as it is pleasant. The way his skin had felt on hers, how he had made her his own. She sucks in cold air, willing her cheeks to stop blushing. It’s hopeless to mull over things meant to never happen again.
Seoul grows quieter by the hour. At first people pass her in a steady stream, walking home from work, school, drinks with friends. They eat with their families, have a wash, go to sleep. Some sway home a bit later, smelling of sweat and alcohol. There’s a couple kissing under a tree, until they, too, go on, until it’s only her and the sound of her feet hitting the blacktop.
It’s a solace of sorts, being alone with her thoughts, overthinking them without distraction. The only person that could distract her is Ryung-gu, and she had made it explicitly clear to not bother her unless it was a matter of life and death (which, usually, it was). He had stumbled upon her some years ago, with a case in hand and confusion in his eyes. She’d explained it to him in tight and short words. He’d understood, of course he had; he spent every hour outside of work looking for his mother. She wonders what he’s doing now, after he’s found her. It’s not all that hard to guess.
She lets out a sigh. All of them and their habits. Her with her aimless wondering, Ryung-gu with the obsessive search, Joong-gil with the working. Maybe they should all take up gardening. For a moment she entertains an image of Joong-gil out of his suits, dressed in something more fitting for the occasion, a watering can in his hands and the Sun hitting his hair. He would probably excel in that, too-
Speak of the devil.
He appears in front of her, breath uneven and ragged.
She sees it all written on his features with just one look; the worry, the relief, and the love . She can no longer turn away from it, can’t pretend it isn’t there, for it is. As plain as day, as indisputably as her own, it is there. The realization steals the last of her words from her, fear and hope both racing against each other in her veins.
She’s going to kill Ryung-gu.
She recovers first, starting to move again. What are they doing, standing and staring at each other like idiots? She knows what his face looks like, has committed it to memory like a prayer, there’s no need for this. Besides, even if the love is there, it probably isn’t directed at her, but rather at the woman she once was. Keep moving, Ryeon, she tells herself. Get to Ryung-gu and skin him alive.
Joong-gil takes his place by her side, like he belongs there. He does , a part of her – the one she’s damned to the deepest pits of Hell – whispers. Neither of them speaks, even though Ryeon can feel the questions hanging in the space between them.
In the quiet she almost, almost, forgets he’s there. That is, until he asks her why in a small and oh so familiar voice, and a joyless chuckle rips its way from her.
“The irony is not lost on me,” she responds. There’s more to say, but she needs a moment to gather her thoughts, not trusting herself enough to speak and not throw it all at him. Joong-gil looks at her so softly she has to turn away. It’s of no help, she can still feel his eyes on her.
At the next crossroads, he stops, even though the light is green and telling them to go. She turns to look at him. Bad decision. He’s looking back at her, offering his hand for her to hold, and fuck, what has she done to deserve this? What has she done to deserve this stubborn, infuriating, loving man?
It’s an offer for the comfort she craves for. She doesn’t deserve it. She takes it anyway.
Worse decision. Her heart nearly jumps out of her chest, beating fast enough for the whole of Seoul to hear. Words start to flow out of her in an unstoppable river.
“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.”
Joong-gil lets out a broken sound at that, one he doesn’t seem too aware of. She’s said too much, Ryeon realizes through the haze, biting her tongue. She backpedals, trying to make things seem lighter than they are.
“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!”
It’s a half-hearted attempt at best. He doesn’t buy it, seeing through her like glass, as always. But he says nothing, just holds her hand a bit tighter. They walk on, together.
-
One of the things she does rather like about the 21st century is the music. It’s one of the finest additions to the world, in her humble opinion. Perfect for wallowing in self-pity and mulling over a two-week old interaction with one’s … ex-husband? Former boss? Colleague?
She opens a bottle of wine, fills her glass, turns the music louder, and leans back in her chair. Phoebe Bridgers, Taylor Swift, Adele. The soundtrack of her heartbreak. By the time When we were young starts playing, she has an almost-empty glass in her hands.
Someone knocks on her door. She keeps her eyes firmly shut, willing the intruder to get the message.
Another knock. With a groan, she opens her eyes. Can she still pretend she isn’t hearing whoever it is over the music? She’s really not feeling like seeing anyone right now, nor is she dressed like it. The lavender t-shirt she sleeps in is long, but not that long.
The knocking gets louder. Fine. She gets up and heads to the door. There are only two options: Ryung-gu and Joong-gil. Though, with the scolding she gave the former, he shouldn’t be approaching her door outside of working hours for at least three more days. After that, well. They do spend an ungodly amount of time together. Birds of a feather and all that.
So, if Joong-gil really wants to disrupt her carefully planned evening of sulking, fine . She’ll give him a run for his money.
He clearly was not expecting to see her dressed the way she is. It’s an amusing sight, the way he stumbles over his words and his eyes jump from her legs to her eyes and back to her legs, she won’t deny that. Something about documents and delivering them to her. Sure. She doesn’t stop the smile rising to her lips.
She tells him to sit, turns the music down and heads for the kitchen. Ryeon makes a quick stop by the chair she’s thrown her clean-but-not-clean-enough-for-the-closet clothes on, looking for some pants. It is flattering to know she still has that sort of an effect on him, but if they intend to talk things through, she’d rather he heard what she was saying. Even if it is half-formed apologies.
When she returns, Joong-gil is still sitting straight as an arrow, fiddling with his papers. The poor man clearly needs a drink or two. Heaven knows she does too. For a moment the only sounds are the pouring of wine and a sigh from her as she sits down.
She can’t really look him in the eye, not with what she’s about to say. Instead, she focuses on the way the light catches on the liquid as she swirls it around.
“We should talk,” she starts. He just nods, leaving her and her faltering confidence to it. Ryeon’s stomach is in a thousand knots, her mouth dry despite the wine she keeps sipping. She’s at war with herself, one side shouting at her to just let him in, to love and be loved, whilst the other yells for doubt, reminds her that she’ll never be enough. Neither is winning, and she’s left clueless.
“I feel I don’t know anything at all when it comes to you,” she says, a tiny bit surprised it’s coherent at all, “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 bites the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. “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.”
That is the truth of it. All the phrases and speeches she’s formed inside her head during the past centuries are utterly useless now. None of them ever accounted for the chance that he might somehow still care for her, that she might get something else other than anger in response. It leaves her fumbling, going back and forth between imagining the love in his eyes is for her and then feeling certain that it is directed at someone long gone, or better yet, that it isn’t there at all. Her mind seems to float somewhere she can’t reach, most of the time.
“Ryeon-ah.”
The endearment, coming from him, has her thoughts screeching to a halt and her gaze snapping back to his.
“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.”
While it’s all she’s been yearning to hear, it’s also gasoline to the flames of guilt burning within her. She doesn’t deserve him, doesn’t deserve this. And she has to let him know, has to try and make him see, one last time. What happens afterwards is Joong-gil's decision. She doesn’t have it in herself to fight anymore.
Ryeon’s vision is blurry, the corners of her eyes stinging in a tell-tale way. She can’t start crying, not now. The wine she gulps down burns on its way down, grounds her a little. She pours another but decides against it. Drunk and crying is not the state she wants to have this conversation in.
She’s feeling all kinds of fidgety. It’s hard to find a comfortable distance from Joong-gil. She doesn’t want to be far from him, it’s the last thing she wants, but being in such close proximity feels like a bomb waiting to explode. She leans forward and leans back. He follows. No can do, she supposes – even without the red string between them, what one does, the other mirrors. She feels the string around her wrist, wishing it was still stretched from her to him, and then chastises herself for hoping for such things.
“Remember in Hell, when you apologized, and I just stood there? I wanted to do something, offer some comfort, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t . So instead I just…,” she sighs, again, vaguely waving her hands around, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the space between them. He knows what she’s trying to say.
“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 -. 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?”
There it is, her bleeding heart on a silver platter. It’s out of her hands, now, and in his. Half of her waits for the blow to come, waits for him to finally see and start yelling or just walk out. The other half knows it’s not coming. She’s not sure which is worse.
“It’s not your fault. There’s no need to apologize,” Joong-gil says, voice so incredibly soft and loving it makes Ryeon want to crawl out of her skin and into his. Maybe there she could pretend his words are true.
“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.”
His voice is gentle yet stern, leaving no room for arguments. His eyes are the same way, when she steals a glance at him. It might make sense, what he’s saying. It might.
“Besides, I don’t need an apology. Just stay with me, that’s more than enough,” he pleads. Ryeon doesn’t think she could ever leave, even if she wanted to. Even if the doubt in her whispers that the reason behind his plea is guilt and not what she’d want it to be.
Ryeon takes one, shaky breath and asks Joong-gil the question that she cannot, for all her might, find the answer to. It tastes like poison on her tongue.
“Is it your guilt or you love saying that?”
She dreads the answer, but she has to know. She has to know that she isn’t imagining the love in his eyes, in his words, that it is real and that it is for her.
“It is me saying that to my wife , whom I love ,” he answers, and all the glass balloons of hope she’s built up come crashing down at her feet. Of course it isn’t her he loves. It’s his wife. And his wife doesn’t exist. She scoffs at herself. Foolish girl, thinking his love was ever directed at her.
“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.”
Realization flashes over his features, and gods, it hurts, more than she thought would be possible. More than all the years she spent in Hell, more than all the years she spent by his side afterwards. Letting him go hurts.
He just smiles, and another knife finds its way to her heart. Is granting her the grace of looking at least a little less relieved really that difficult? Ryeon wants to either cut him down where he stands or beg him to stay, despite the fact that she’s broken and bad and rotten to the very core.
“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.”
It doesn’t register.
And then it does.
Time stills, leaving only them and her heart, resurrected from the ashes. Her whole being is screaming at her, telling her that she doesn’t deserve this, that she doesn’t deserve him, that she isn’t worthy.
For once she decides not to listen. He’s asking her to let him love her. Not his wife, not his subordinate. Her, now. And Ryeon, now, yesterday, or tomorrow, would never deny him anything.
The moment she feels his lips on hers, it all falls quiet. There’s no pain, no guilt, no unworthiness. Only the feeling of belonging, of coming home. They crash into each other with the force of a thousand suns.
-
Ryeon wakes up early, with Joong-gil’s arms around her and his breath tickling her neck. Some things never change, she muses. Slowly, she unties herself from him and sits up, looking at the peaceful features of her … husband. It’s silly, how happy one word can make her.
She leaves him to sleep, knowing he needs it, heading for the kitchen to fix up some tea. They’ve certainly made a mess of her apartment. There’s a trail of clothes leading to the living room, haphazardly thrown on the floor. She picks up his black button-up and puts it on. It’s too big on her, exposing her shoulder, but it also encases her in him.
Whilst the kettle boils, she goes over his words. Let me love you, Ryeon-ah. Let yourself be happy. It’s a big ask, one that Ryeon isn’t all that sure she can grant herself. The unworthiness and the pain aren’t gone, just hiding in the shadows at the furthest corners of her mind. She knows that the moment he’s back in his apartment and she’s alone, they’ll jump at her.
But, right now, with the Sun slowly rising and her husband lying in her bed, Ryeon feels just that - happy. So, even if difficult, letting herself be happy isn’t impossible. And she’ll try her damn hardest to grant herself the feeling a bit more often. She has spent a long time making herself an impenetrable fortress, shutting herself off from everyone in the process. Letting someone in is long overdue.
The kettle whistles, startling her train of thought. Ryeon picks a mug with a cat for Joong-gil, and one with a ladybug for herself. When she carries them to the bedroom, she finds him sprawled out on the bed, still asleep. She sets her own mug on the nightstand, and runs her free hand over his nose, his lips, his cheeks, reacquainting herself with the feel of them under her fingers. He leans into her hand like a cat – her choice of mug was dead on.
“What time is it?” he asks into her palm, eyes still closed, voice deep. It sends a shiver or two down her spine.
“Early,” she says. “I figured you’d want to grab a change of clothes before work,” she continues as he opens his eyes, explaining the timing. He mumbles something incoherent, and she finds herself giggling. His answering smile rivals the Sun, stealing her breath from her – not for the first or last time.
Ryeon loves him so much it hurts, but in the good way. In the way that means she’s alive. With that thought, she sets his mug down and leaves to get dressed, but not before planting the lightest of kisses on his lips.
After reluctantly taking his shirt off and replacing it with one of her own, Ryeon stares at the woman in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes shimmering, and she has a small, soft smile on her lips. Yes, letting herself be happy is possible, it seems.
When she walks back out, Joong-gil's in the middle of the living room, shirtless but otherwise dressed. She has half a mind to not give his shirt back, but then thinks of all the eyes a shirtless Team Leader Park Joong-gil would pull his way, and all but shoves it at him.
“Would it be too early for me to move in?” he asks her, like he was asking for a glass of water or a pen to borrow. She nearly drops the shirt.
After about 3 seconds of shock, Ryeon decides the nonchalant approach makes sense. If this between them was going to break, it would’ve done so yesterday – there’s no reason to panic over things like living together, not when they’ve waited for each other for hundreds of years. Not when he’s the only thing in the entire universe that makes her feel at home. Not when she can almost see the love he has for her, now, in the air between the two of them, can hear it in his every word, can feel it on the tips of his fingers, enlaced with hers. And, on top of it all: they’ve come this far, why stop here? She’d very much like to wake up in his arms for the rest of forever, or however long they have.
“I guess four hundred years is an acceptable period of waiting. Besides, we are married,” she responds, teasing him just a little. He beams at her, and oh, air was never a necessity for survival.
-
Ryeon stares at the clothes hanging next to each other in the closet. The reason: Joong-gil seems to have gotten caught up with a case, again, and she misses him. Thus, she’s going to steal yet another shirt of his. Most of his clothes are still either black or white, despite her best efforts to get him to look a little bit less allergic to color. But every now and then, between the boringness, there are some newer ones she’s convinced him to buy: dark blues, greys and even a beige jacket (that he only wears off-duty, but a win is a win!).
Well, maybe “convinced” is the wrong word. All she’d really done was bat her eyes and smile at him, and he’d bought nearly every piece of cloth she’d suggested. Though not even the Jade Emperor could get him to wear patterns.
Ryeon picks a dark blue t-shirt, swiftly pulling it over her head, and making her way towards the living room and the sofa they’d gotten soon after Joong-gil moved in, having decided that the armchairs were simply too small for proper cuddles.
She doesn’t get to enjoy her solitude for too long though, when a tired Joong-gil walks over to her and without saying a word, flops into her arms. Out of habit, her hands start running in circles over his back.
“Rough day?” she asks, trying to keep the worry in her voice on a reasonable level.
He nods. Ryeon hums, letting silence stretch its arms between them. Joong-gil needs his time, especially with things like these.
“Young couple. Had to escort the wife. Her husband was begging her not to be gone,” he mumbles against her after a while. Guilt soars in Ryeon’s chest, but she pushes it back down, knowing there’s no need for it. After the third time the aftermath of a tough case had ended in tears and apologies, they’d made a deal to stop apologizing for things already forgiven.
“I’m just glad you’re here,” he whispers, closing his eyes and settling his head beneath her chin. She holds onto him a little tighter, sending silent thanks to Fate for giving her, for giving them, another chance.
“I’m here,” she responds, and feels Joong-gil smile against her neck.