Work Text:
“It looks like snow,” Gu San-yeong says, a gentle smile on her face as she stares up at the thousand cherry blossom petals dotting the air.
“You’re right,” Lee Hong-sae replies, admiring the youthful wonder on San-yeong’s pretty features. “It’s like that day.”
Hong-sae snaps his gaze away from her, eyes tracing the soft petals cascading from tawny bark. He feels his lips twitch upward as he reminisces over that day, years ago when they were both naive teenagers still navigating the world. He sighs, long fingers curling around the hot mug in his warm palms. He raises the mug to his lips, throat working on a swallow as the bitter espresso of his Americano hits his taste buds. Setting down his mug, his gaze wanders back to the woman beside him—San-yeong’s stare is still cast upwards, beetle-black pursuing pink.
Gu San-yeong… over the years, he had only heard the name in passing, from old high school acquaintances like that blasted fiancé of his best friend, and it’s no wonder she slowly descended into darkness. A poor child of a single mother, working endless jobs to support herself and studying hard for the civil service exam. From snide comments from old friends, biting remarks from employers, and possession from an evil spirit, she had undoubtedly suffered. But despite all the odds being pitted against her, there was still a glimmer of hope. A flicker of determination deep within, that refused to succumb to the shadows that surrounded her. Like a phoenix rising from the ashes, that hope was a testament to her indomitable strength. Although she was aided in her journey by Professor Yeom and himself, it was ultimately her that pulled her out of her endless void.
Hong-sae feels a warmth bubble up in his chest. After everything they had been through—after all she had been through, he feels proud of her. His calculating eyes trace the curve of her smile, adoration and admiration rising through him. Her strength, after all, was what drew him to her in the first place. Despite her having grown from rummaging basketball courts for loose change, to becoming the suspect in that voice phishing criminal’s murder—ah, suicide, he supposes, as Hyang-gi is now gone—she hasn’t changed a bit, not at all.
“San-yeong,” Hong-sae begins, mulling over his next words, “Professor Yeom is having an open lecture Friday afternoon in conjunction with the art department… something about minhwa art. Care to join me?”
He’ll have to fight his superiors for some time off—after all, spending the last two months ruminating over decades-old cold cases and making “zero” progress does not happen to look too great on performance evaluations. But in the end, it’s worth it. Anything is worth it for San-yeong.
Said woman snaps out of her daze, eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’d love to.”
Hong-sae beams back. He isn’t even sure why Hae-sang would want to hold a public lecture (even a joint one)—having been deemed crazy by half the faculty and students—but to each their own, he supposes. After all, he thought the same when he first met the man… all this talk of evil spirits and whatnot. He lets out a laugh at the thought, his ignorance from beforehand, the simplicity of his nature. All he let cloud his thoughts was the hope of a promotion. Always calculating, evaluating the risks and benefits, cherry-picking cases to aid in his promotion, and powering ahead to reach his goals. Now, Seo Mun-chun, his beloved sunbaenim and partner is gone, and there are more important things in life.
Hong-sae feels a light gust of wind tickle his shoulders, gently embracing him in warmth. The caress of the silken breeze whispers promises of new beginnings, a comforting hold, unlike the biting chill of winter’s howling gales that covered the land just months prior—a tale of red bruises on the wrists and a head of wild hair. March came, and it was like a delicate brushstroke of hope and renewal. It took sacrifice and time, but the once evil spirit that plagued San-yeong disappeared, burned from the land.
His eyes trace the blossoms of the tree to his left, unfurling their fragrant secrets to the gentle embrace of the sun. A testament to resilience, the blushing buds emerging from the barren tawny oak. He shifts his gaze to the right, fondly admiring the newly-opened cafe San-yeong’s mother had recently opened. Bom, she had called it. Spring.
San-yeong pulls him out of his reverie, her warm palm encasing his, the lingering heat of the hot Americano on her fingertips. Her eyes are closed—in preparation for her impending illness, a dark part of him thinks—gaze still turned left to the cherry blossom trees. Hong-sae brushes his thumb across her knuckles, interlocking her slender fingers with his. She responds by squeezing his hand, the ring on her index finger digging into his palm. He notes the absence of a ring on her other fingers.
Hong-sae thinks, for once, that he might take things slowly too.