Chapter Text
Will you come back tomorrow?
Maybe, I’ll have to ask my parents.
It’s okay if you can’t! I’ll be here every day, waiting for you!
⋅ ─── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─── ⋅
If there’s only one thing Jiseok is certain of, it’s that he’s been cursed. It’s his fate to be tethered to the video rental store in his hometown until the day he dies.
He remembers the day his apparent curse came into effect like it was only yesterday: he’s eight years old, it’s the beginning of spring, and he hadn’t been feeling well the entire day while he was at school. It was a time in his life where he and his brother were being raised by just their single mother, while also being too young to be left at home alone. With her wages not being enough to cover after-school care, the two of them would be collected by their grandmother and she would watch over them in the time until their mother came home.
The three of them had a tradition; every Friday, to celebrate the end of the week, their grandmother would take them to the local video store. Jiseok and his brother would each get to pick out a VHS tape to rent and a snack to enjoy as a way of celebrating making it through to the weekend. Honestly speaking, it was the highlight of Jiseok’s week, every single time.
It’s somewhere between the action and sci-fi sections of the store – Jiseok was too old to be watching kid movies like The Land Before Time, thank you very much – that it happened. One moment he’s reaching out to pick up a copy of Back to the Future, and the next thing Jiseok knows, he’s looking at his lunch all over the gaudy, brightly patterned carpet.
Jiseok remembers being frozen in place, unable to do anything but cry over the situation, until his grandmother found him and ushered him outside. Not without apologizing profusely to the staff over the whole ordeal, of course. It embarrassed Jiseok so much that he refused to step foot inside the video store for the next two months, pitching a tantrum every Friday afternoon until his grandmother would resign to just letting him wait in the car.
Fifteen years later, the evidence of that day is still there, immortalized in the form of a stain in the carpet, somewhere between the action and sci-fi sections.
Jiseok knows it's still there. He tries his hardest to ignore said stain every time he’s restocking the film cases on a day-to-day basis.
It’s not like he’d ever planned to work at the video store or anything. It just so happened that when it came time to start thinking about his future, Jiseok very quickly realized that he’d need to get a part-time job to afford whatever it is he'd end up doing. He'd applied for pretty much every part-time job he could get his hands on within biking distance, but nobody wanted to hire a teenager without some level of nepotism at play.
Ultimately, the only place that didn’t outright turn a high school-aged Jiseok away was the very same video store he’d thrown up in as a kid. Beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s not like he’d be working there for more than a couple of years at most anyway, so Jiseok figured he may as well take the job.
That is, until he'd graduated high school and still hadn’t completely decided on what exactly he wanted to pursue. The options came down to just two: natural sciences, and computer science. Jiseok had been gifted across science subjects ever since he’d started school, it’d always been the obvious choice growing up.
Computer science, on the other hand, didn’t even enter his world view until he was in high school. Initially he didn’t know it was something that even existed, but with the way technology had been progressing over the past few years… It was certainly appealing. However, at the same time, it’s extremely uncertain – there was no knowing if this industry would continue to boom, or if it would completely collapse in on itself within a matter of years.
No worries then, Jiseok figured he could just take a sabbatical while he was still deciding. Regardless of whichever field he decided to enroll in, he’d have to move out of his small town to attend a college that offered the course, meaning it’d be for the best to continue working and growing his savings in the meantime.
Jiseok’s sabbatical year quickly turned into two, which turned into three… and has now gone on for such a long time that Jiseok is suddenly twenty-three years old and still stuck working at the video rental store. His presence had gotten to a point where the owner, a very kind elderly woman, had started to drop hints every now and again about transferring ownership completely over to him since neither of her own adult children wanted to manage it.
Honestly speaking, it’s not like Jiseok hates his job or anything. He could easily be in a much worse position; spending a solid eighty-five percent of every shift sitting behind the counter playing Pokémon Sapphire on his shiny new Game Boy Advance is a hell of a lot better than being stuck hovering over the deep fryers at some fast food restaurant or biking all around town as a delivery boy.
Somewhere in the haze of daily life at the video store, the entire universe shifts.
Jiseok doesn’t look up from his Game Boy when the bell above the door chimes – what point is there when it’s somebody he’s already seen a billion and one times? He’s knee deep in the midst of a very intense Elite Four battle as it is, and none of the regulars would care if he’s not the shining example of customer service at all times.
Glacia’s Walrein had just landed a particularly nasty critical hit against Jiseok’s Charizard, the tinny little speakers of the handheld device blaring out with an alarm warning him that the ace of his team was mere moments away from being taken out of the match entirely. No worries, nothing a Hyper Potion can’t fix—
“Um,” Jiseok startles so bad his finger slips, accidentally wasting the last Full Restore he’d been hoarding for a dire situation. “Do you happen to have any Andrea Bocelli tapes?”
Looking up from his game, Jiseok isn’t met with one of his small-town regulars, but somebody he didn’t recognise whatsoever. Around his age, dressed in a fashionable light-wash denim jacket with sunglasses perched on top of his head – definitely a tourist. Lake season is starting early this year, it seems. Jiseok flicks the power switch of his Game Boy – he’d saved right before going into battle for a reason – and swings his legs down from where he’d been lounging with them on top of the counter.
“Bocelli, huh?” Jiseok stands up, his spine aching in a grim reminder that he really should think about making a habit out of sitting in chairs properly. “I didn’t realize city boys were so interested in classical music.”
The boy laughs, a bright sound that has Jiseok feeling like his entire world is tilting on its axis. Or had his head tilting up to catch the way his eyes scrunch closed with the motion, at least. “It’s for my Grandma, she’s a big fan. I’m Jungsu, by the way,”
“Jiseok,” he replies, already rounding the counter to lead Jungsu toward the ‘Performance Art and Documentaries’ section at the back. “You making an early start on lake season? Usually I know everyone around these parts.”
“Ah, no, I just moved here a week ago,” Jungsu says, following not too far behind. If he noticed Jiseok hop over the stain in the carpet with a little ‘hup’, he didn’t make any mention of it. “My grandmother needed someone to help her out, so I volunteered. The house on the corner of Elm, with the hydrangeas out front.”
“Oh shit, you’re Mrs. Park’s grandson? I used to do her lawn in middle school.”
“That’s her,” Jungsu gives a closed-mouth smile, the corners of his eyes dimpling like little cat whiskers. Jiseok practically feels his brain go offline momentarily at the sight of it.
“Right, well, here we are!” Jiseok stammers out, lamely gesturing to the shelves he’d brought them to. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m just gonna, uh—”
Jiseok doesn’t give Jungsu an opportunity to respond before he’s scurrying off, back to his post behind the counter. God, what had gotten into him?! Maybe Jiseok should take this as a sign that he’d spent far too long in the VHS trenches, if seeing a pretty city boy had him short-circuiting at a moment’s notice. Or it was a sign that he should accept his fate and stay tied to the video store for all of eternity, there’s no way in hell Jiseok would be able to survive going out into the world for college if just one person from that environment had him acting like… this.
He watches as Jungsu pores over the tapes, his fingers gently skimming over the spines of the plastic cases in his search for the perfect recording to take home to his grandmother. He really was a stunning guy – tall, broad-shouldered, with a sweet-looking face to balance things out. Jiseok wondered how much of it was supported by having a sense of style born from city living, and how much of it was just innately Jungsu.
The moment he sees Jungsu picking out a tape and turning on his heel to make his way back to the counter, Jiseok busies himself with pulling up the rental database. The shop's PC was practically antiquated, an old MS-DOS system that only barely managed to chug along through its daily use. Jiseok had been trying to convince Mrs. Baker – the video store’s owner – to invest in a newer model for months, certain the entire thing would give out any day now.
“So, Mr. Jungsu Park,” Jiseok says, scanning the barcode on the back of the tape Jungsu had presented him with. “Are we setting you up with an account today?”
Jungsu opens his mouth to respond, but closes it a moment later, as if he’d rethought. “No, it’s okay. I have Grandma's card.”
Jiseok goes through the motions of finalizing the lease on auto-pilot – scanning Mrs. Park’s card, accepting payment, stamping the checkout slip with the due date – before handing the tape back over to Jungsu.
Jungsu, who was rapidly blinking in a way that almost looked like he was in pain.
“Hey, everything alright?”
“Huh?” Jungsu shakes himself out of it, his eyes flickering between Jiseok and the VHS case being held out toward him. “Oh, sorry. Old CRT screens make my head kinda…”
“Ah, yeah, this thing gets to me after a while too.” Jiseok says, glancing toward the ancient PC. “Honestly, it’s been here since the eighties. We’re well past the need for an upgrade, it’s the twenty-first century!”
Jungsu lets out another one of those bright little laughs at Jiseok’s dramatics, slipping the tape into the messenger bag he had slung across his body. “See you around?”
“You’d better,” Jiseok calls, leaning over the counter as he watches Jungsu go. “That’s due back Thursday!”
⋅ ─── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─── ⋅
A week after meeting Jungsu Park, it began. Not the 1990 sci-fi horror based off Stephen King's cult classic of the same name – but single-handedly the most annoying series of incidents in Jiseok's entire career. So annoying, in fact, that Jiseok was beginning to wonder if going toe-to-toe against a cosmic shape-shifting demon clown would be a better use of his time.
The first time it happens is on a Tuesday. Easily the most average, boring, unassuming day of the week. Nothing exciting ever happens on a Tuesday.
Jiseok‘s first duty after opening the store for the day is to go through any returns that came in via the overnight drop box. Check that the tapes are in their cases, make sure there’s no damages, and – assuming the borrower followed the bright yellow ‘Be Kind, Please Rewind’ sticker plastered on the front of the sleeve – log the VHS back into the system. It’s not like they charged a rewind fee the way some of the big box rental stores in the city apparently do, Jiseok’s days were so quiet that at least rewinding tapes gave him something to keep himself busy.
Even then, having tapes returned unwound was a rarity. Small town people were sticklers for maintaining a facade of being polite and following the rules, if only to save their own asses from having material to be gossiped about. As if they don’t gossip about other people behind their backs, anyway.
The first offender is a copy of 10 Things I Hate About You.
Popping the tape out of its case to peer through the clear window, Jiseok finds that not only has it not been rewound to the start, but the magnetic reel is split; leaving the movie about two-thirds of the way through its runtime.
“Lazy,” Jiseok mutters, huffing out a single laugh. But he doesn’t put it in the automatic rewinder to take it back to the start just yet – there’s… something in his gut, telling him to see where the customer decided to call the movie quits. Ejecting the ad-reel from the VCR that lives on the counter, Jiseok replaces it with the copy of 10 Things, and stands back to wait for the fuzz to clear.
The scene is the one where Patrick decides to prove himself to Kat by making an embarrassment out of himself, ambushing her at soccer practice to perform Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’. Whoever rented the tape must have a severe sense of second-hand embarrassment, if they weren’t able to sit through such an iconic humiliation ritual to see the rest of the movie.
Still, it’s a little odd that the moment where the film has been stopped wasn’t at a point in the middle of the scene, indicating that the viewer could only take so much before giving up like Jiseok assumed. Patrick wasn’t being chased down by security, he wasn’t dancing his way across the bleachers. The school’s marching band hadn’t even kicked in to provide a backing track yet. It was the very start of the scene, right before Patrick starts serenading the soccer field.
Whatever. Maybe the culprit saw what was coming and decided to save themselves before it could happen. The entire incident was such an insignificant thing that Jiseok let it slip from his mind near-instantly. A funny story to tell if somebody asked what had been happening at work recently, sure, but nothing more than that.
Until it happens again.
A week and a half later, it’s Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The movie had been abandoned about a third of the way in this time; stopped at the moment where the Count first interacts with Mina on the streets of London. Sure, the renter had probably just gotten bored and decided to drop out of the movie at that point, but the specific line they’d called it quits on…
"Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose?"
Jiseok frowns, hitting the eject button so he could feed the cassette into the rewinder. The fact that it’d been left on such an intense line couldn’t be anything other than a coincidence. The fact that this had happened twice in such quick succession, too, couldn’t be anything other than a coincidence.
Once is happenstance, twice is a coincidence. Jiseok could only hope it wouldn’t happen again – it’d been a while since he last read Goldfinger, but he’s pretty certain the line ends with the third instance being ‘enemy action’.
A few days after the Dracula incident, Jungsu visits the video store to find Jiseok staring down a copy of Jerry Maguire like it’d personally slaughtered his entire family.
“I wasn’t aware you had such a vendetta against Tom Cruise.”
“Jesus, fuck—” Jiseok flinches, his elbow clipping the VHS case and sending it skittering across the countertop. He hadn’t even heard the chime of the door to signal Jungsu’s arrival. “Dude, you move like you’re a ghost or something.”
“Maybe I am,” Jungsu grins, the corners of his eyes curving up into catlike points. “Boo.”
“Ha ha, very funny,” Jiseok rolls his eyes, taking the opera tape Jungsu was returning on Mrs. Park’s behalf to log it back into the system. “To answer your question; no, I don’t have any particular feelings towards Tom Cruise. I was trying to figure out if the sticker isn’t straightforward enough.”
From the corner of his eye, Jiseok sees Jungsu glance at the offending film. “Be kind, please rewind?”
“Somebody’s been returning movies stopped in the middle of random scenes,” Jiseok clarifies, popping the Jerry Maguire cassette out of the case to look at it. He’d almost missed it this time, given that the reel was almost all the way to the end, but there was just barely a few minutes of runtime left. “This is the third tape in the past two weeks where it’s happened.”
“Let me guess,” Jungsu says, turning the plastic case over in his hands. “Show me the money?”
“I can only hope.” Jiseok mutters, feeding the cassette into the countertop VCR player. He’s more than aware of the fact that it wouldn’t be the iconic line, given that it occurs toward the start of the movie, not mere minutes from the end.
The screen took a moment to bring the image into view, the tracking lines smoothing out to reveal Dorothy standing in a living room, looking at the titular character with tears in her eyes. The audio hums with static for a moment before her voice comes through, soft and trembling.
“You had me at hello.”
“What the hell,” Jiseok hisses, ejecting the tape to feed it into the rewinder. “If you’re going to make it that far, finish the damn movie.”
“You said this has happened a couple of times already, right?” Jungsu hums, leaning against the counter with his chin resting on his palm. Jiseok tries to ignore the way Jungsu’s sunglasses, hooked into his collar, tug the neckline low enough to expose his collarbones. “Maybe they’re trying to send you a message?”
Jiseok thinks back to the other incidents. Patrick serenading Kat with ‘Cant Take My Eyes Off You’. Dracula cornering Mina in London to ask her if she believes in destiny. And now this…
“Absolutely not.” Jiseok says, shoving at Jungsu’s shoulder. “Go be a good grandson and find something for Mrs. Park to watch.”
⋅ ─── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─── ⋅
The fourth time it happens, Jiseok finally cracks. Just a little.
Clearly it wouldn’t be stopping any time soon, so he may as well figure out what the underlying pattern was. Everything has a pattern, even if it isn’t noticeable at first. You just need the data in one place to analyze it properly.
Pulling a yellow legal pad out from under the counter, Jiseok draws up a series of neat columns across the page for each variable. Title, year, timestamp, genre, and moment. The shop is quiet enough to give Jiseok the grace of retrieving the other tapes to fill out the rudimentary data table, his run through of Pokémon Sapphire’s Victory Road long forgotten.
10 Things I Hate About You. 1999. 1 hour, 2 minutes. Rom-com. ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’.
Bram Stoker’s Dracula. 1992. 0 hours, 46 minutes. Gothic Horror. ‘Do you believe in destiny?’
Jerry Maguire. 1996. 2 hours, 11 minutes. Rom-com. ‘You had me at hello.’
Jiseok glances to the white VHS case beside him – the latest arrival in this odd series of events. Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Grey are locked together in a close, intimate dance pose, with the title plastered in slanted font above them. Sliding the cassette into the VCR player, Jiseok doesn’t hit play just yet, instead taking a moment to note down the timestamp indicated by the red digital numbers while waiting for the static to clear.
Dirty Dancing. 1987. 1 hour, 3 minutes. Romantic Drama.
Looking back to the CRT screen, Jiseok is met with the grainy visage of a shirtless Johnny. He knows the scene well – he can practically hear Baby listing off everything she’s ‘scared of’ in retaliation to being told she’s ‘not scared of anything’. Still, Jiseok hits play, just to be certain. Accurate data is important, after all.
“Most of all I’m scared of walking out of this room and never feeling the rest of my whole life, the way I feel when I’m with you.”
Jiseok threads his fingers through his hair, pulling harshly at the roots as if it’ll kick his brain into action. Seriously, what was the pattern here? The only thing really linking everything together was the weight of the moments the tapes had been stopped at. Confessions. Grand gestures of love. But those things were entirely subjective – Jiseok needed objective evidence to make any sense of whatever was going on through this entire ordeal.
As if the universe could sense that Jiseok was on the brink of spiralling, the bell above the door chimes, marking the end of his precious alone time. Great, Jiseok was going to have to put on his customer service mask while his mind was busy reeling at a hundred miles a minute.
“I hope you loaded in some fresh batteries because today, my dearest Jiseok, is the day I'm beating your sorry ass—” Or not. Jiseok has never been more grateful for his best friend’s penchant for loitering around the video store whenever he had the day off. “Wow, you look like you're in a bad mood.”
“That’s one way of putting it,” Jiseok grumbles, releasing the grip he had on his hair to quickly scrawl ‘I’m scared of never feeling the way I feel when I’m with you’ into his makeshift data sheet. An action that, of course, does not go unnoticed by Jooyeon’s snooping tendencies.
“What’s with the homework? I thought the whole point of a sabbatical was to avoid studying.” Jooyeon hops to sit up on the counter, his bony ass only barely missing a display of Milk Duds. “Wait, you’re not planning on ditching me, are you?!”
“You should consider becoming an athlete, with how good you are at jumping to conclusions.”
“You’re not allowed to go off and become some fancy science geek, I’ll get lonely without you.” Jooyeon pouts, leaning over to read Jiseok’s messy handwriting. “10 Things, Dracula… dude, is this some sort of manifesto?”
“It’s not a manifesto, it’s data,” Jiseok says, jabbing the end of his pen into the centre of the list. “Somebody’s been returning movies stopped in random places, I’m trying to figure out what the common denominator is.”
Jooyeon snatches the legal pad for the counter, his eyebrows drawing together as he looks at the information Jiseok had noted down. “Romance, romance, scary romance, and… dancing romance? Or would it be horny romance…” Jooyeon drops the notes, leaning back on his hands. “There, that's your link. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one between us.”
“If only it was that simple,” Jiseok sighs, rolling his eyes. “I feel like it has to do with the specific points that they’ve been stopped at, they’re all kinda…”
“Nah, man. You’re overthinking.” Jooyeon says. He’s swinging his legs back and forth, the rubber of his old Converse meeting the wooden facade of the counter with a dull thud-thud-thud. “You’re being haunted, simple as that.”
“Haunted. Really.” Jiseok deadpans. “You have such an interesting mind, you know?”
“Yeah, dude, you’ve got a ghost in the machine.” Jooyeon shrugs, digging around in his pockets to find his beloved translucent pink Game Boy. “Somebody died of heartbreak and now they’re sending you messages through the screen.”
The bright chime of the Nintendo startup screen rings out across the store, but Jiseok pays it no mind. Using the tapes to send messages… It’s not the first time Jiseok had heard something like that. Only a few days prior Jungsu had said pretty much the exact same thing, when they checked the Jerry Maguire tape together.
“You’re not the first person to suggest that, actually,” Jiseok says, blindly reaching below the counter for his own Game Boy and a link cable. “Jungsu said something similar. Minus the ghost stuff.”
The rhythmic thudding of Jooyeon’s kicks comes to an abrupt stop, the air in the store suddenly feeling a little stiller. “Jungsu? Who the hell is Jungsu?” Jooyeon’s head snaps toward Jiseok, his expression shifting from its default state of vague mischief to suspiciously hurt. “Since when do you take theories from guys named Jungsu? I thought I was your conspiracy guy!”
“He’s Mrs. Park’s grandson, the one with the hydrangeas? Moved in a few weeks ago to help her out.” Jiseok rolls his eyes, jabbing a finger into a space between Jooyeon's ribs. “He comes in to rent tapes for her.”
“Fine, I see how it is.” Jooyeon pouts, pointedly ignoring the end of the link cable being offered to him. “Some shiny new city boy shows up, and suddenly I’m just the kid who works at the record store. Twenty years of friendship, down the drain.”
“Oh, shut up.” Jiseok snorts, taking matters into his own hands and shoving the cable into Jooyeon’s Game Boy himself. “If I could get rid of you that easily, I would’ve done it years ago.”
They’re on their fourth match of the afternoon – with a win ratio of three to zero, in Jiseok’s favor – when Jooyeon inevitably wanders back to the earlier conversation. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to either of them in… years, really.
“Why don’t you just pay attention to what people are renting? You’re always going on about how good your memory is, mister ‘I know everyone in a twenty-mile radius’,” Jooyeon suggests, wincing when Jiseok’s Starmie takes out his prized Blaziken again. “When the tapes come back, you’ll know exactly who the culprit is – assuming they really are human like you insist.”
“Wow, Joo, you’re a genius.” Jiseok says, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I can’t believe I never considered using my eyes and my brain myself.”
Jooyeon, of course, grins at the backhanded compliment. “What would you ever do without me?”
“It’d be a foolproof plan, if it weren’t for two teeny tiny inconsequential little facts.”
“Which are?”
“First,” Jiseok says, ticking a finger into the air. “Whoever is renting these tapes is specifically doing it on days I’m not working. I’d at least have a vague memory of them going out if I was the one to process them.”
Jooyeon hums. “Tricky.”
“And the second,” Jiseok throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointed toward the little slot built into the wall. “They always get returned through the overnight drop box like clockwork. I don’t see them leave, and I don’t see them come back.”
“Right, so it’s definitely a ghost.” Jooyeon says, the pink tip of his tongue poking out in concentration. “You should charge a haunting fee.”
Jiseok sighs, exasperated. There’s truly no getting through to this kid sometimes. “Whatever you say, man.”
It’s not until Jooyeon is heading out – with a nine to two win ratio, again in Jiseok’s favor – that the town's reigning Pokémon champion realizes he never actually finalized the return of Dirty Dancing. Jiseok goes through the motions on autopilot; feeding the tape into the rewinder, scanning the barcode on the case, and he’s about to speed through his usual habit of mindlessly hitting enter-enter-enter on the keyboard when it hits him.
The database lists the information of whoever rented the tapes.
With his fingers hovering mere centimeters above the keyboard, Jiseok’s eyes flicker across the CRT screen, seeking out the information. He’s fully expecting the membership ID to read back with #00000 – the default catch-all GUEST placeholder, mostly used by tourists – only to be met with an error on the culprit’s behalf. #00187. Whoever had been renting the tapes was a registered member.
Jiseok scribbles the ID code in the top corner of his legal pad, all but throwing the copy of Dirty Dancing onto the restock cart after finalizing the transaction. He’s glad there’s nobody else in the store to see him, Jiseok’s certain he’s grinning like an absolute madman after his find. What a stupid oversight; having the tapes tied directly to their account meant they were handing over all the information Jiseok needed to find them. Their name. Their landline number. The address where they live.
"Let's see who you are, you romantic freak," Jiseok mutters, quickly tapping the keys as he navigates through the member database. The hard disk drive is emitting an audible thunk-thunk-whirr from inside the old PC as it strains to bring up the relevant information but, miraculously, it pulls through.
The account is registered under Dongmin Kim. A name Jiseok doesn’t recognize whatsoever. And to make matters worse, of all the possible family names out there, it just had to be ‘Kim’. For being a town so small, it has a surprisingly large Korean population – understandable in a sense, when families emigrate it’s only natural they’d want to live in an area with a cultural population largely similar to their home.
But a Kim? There’s about as many Kim families as there are Lees – the Kims who run the dry cleaners, the Kims who live two doors down from Jiseok, hell, at least three different Kim families attend the same church as Jiseok’s grandmother.
Useless. Whatever. At least the name isn’t the only information required to register an account; surely the address would pinpoint the exact Kim who was driving Jiseok mad. And having their contact information on file meant he could give the culprit a call and – very politely – ask what the hell their issue is.
This is precisely where Jiseok hits his second snag. The blocky white text reads back 42 OAK STREET – information that would be useful, if it weren’t for the fact that Jiseok already knew who lives there. It’s a white family named the Millers, they’d moved into the house back in the mid-90s. Their labrador would bark at Jiseok every time he used to bike past on the way to school. Definitely not them.
The incorrect match-up of information becomes glaringly obvious when Jiseok’s eyes track down to the date listed for the account’s registration. February 1986 – it should’ve triggered an alarm bell in Jiseok’s mind with how low the membership number was, but this account was old. Like, old old; maybe even one of the ones that existed purely on paper before Mrs. Baker bought the PC. Clearly, the Kims hadn’t thought to update their details after moving out of the house on Oak Street.
Below the registered information rests the rental history, in reverse chronological order. Dirty Dancing, Jerry Maguire, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, 10 Things I Hate About You – as expected, they’re all right there at the top of the list, and all leased on days where Jiseok hadn’t been at work. What’s really interesting, is the stuff that had been taken out before.
At a first glance it’s nothing special, just a bunch of soothing nature documentaries. A few other things were sprinkled in, movies for kids or the occasional action or romance flick a parent might pick up for themselves, but the vast majority of films checked out under the account were characterized by hushed tones and slow-moving imagery. The kind of stuff that could put a person to sleep.
The thing that Jiseok gets caught up on, though, isn’t the content of the past rentals. It’s the dates. The most recent rental prior to 10 Things was a documentary about blue whales… in 1991. Twelve years in the past. The ‘Kim’ account had literally been dead – until now.
Jiseok is struck with the sudden irony of his earlier conversation with Jooyeon, his suggestion that the video store was being haunted by a ghost in the machine. Maybe he wasn’t so far off, after all.
⋅ ─── ⋅ ✧ ⋅ ─── ⋅
The fifth tape ends up being The Princess Bride.
0 hours, 49 minutes, 15 seconds. Right after Buttercup shoves the Dread Pirate Roberts down a steep hill, only to follow as soon as she realizes the truth of his identity – that he is Westley, the farm boy she was in love with years prior, and, assumed dead. They’re laying in the grass, clinging to one another in an embrace fuelled by the emotion of being reunited after such a long time apart.
"Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while."
Really, Jiseok would’ve preferred the line about there being a ‘shortage of perfect breasts in this world’, at least he could’ve gotten a laugh out of that one. The line he expected to be met with was, naturally, ‘as you wish’. Especially since it was uttered in the very same scene, acting as the bridge that clues Buttercup in to the fact that it was Westley all along. But this…
Jiseok stares at the screen, the static snow beginning to creep in at the edges of the frame as the VCR struggles to hold the still image. It certainly fits with the theme of the other lines, yet another high-stakes romantic declaration. And yet, this one feels like it has some sort of additional weight, coming after Jiseok’s discoveries about the ‘Kim’ account and Jooyeon’s suggestion that this entire ordeal was a haunting.
“Hard at work, I see,” a familiar voice teased, startling Jiseok to high heavens. Apparently he’d been so deep in his own head that he – once again – didn’t hear the bright chime of the bell attached to the door.
“Damn it, Jungsu!” Jiseok gasps, clutching his chest. “I’m putting a bell on you. The one over there clearly isn’t doing its job.”
“Wow, kinky.” Jungsu grins, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter. “I didn’t take you for the type.”
The unsolicited mental image hits Jiseok like a freight train. Jungsu, with a solid black band wrapped around his neck, fluffy kitty ears perched on top of his head— “I said a bell. Not a full-blown collar.”
“You’re totally thinking about it.”
“Am not.” Jiseok lies, certain the tips of his ears are burning red.
Jungsu just narrows his eyes knowingly, his face morphing into that smug little catlike grin of his. One of his hands disappears to his side for a moment – no doubt to dig through his cross-body messenger bag – only to return with the last tape he’d borrowed on Mrs. Park’s behalf. And something else, in a brown paper bag.
“What’s this?”
“A jelly donut, as thanks for always helping me with finding tapes for Grandma,” Jungsu says, averting his eyes. “I hope you haven’t eaten yet. I mean, it’s fine if you have! You can always have it later, but it was made fresh, so…”
“Oh,” Jiseok blinks, feeling his cheeks take on a pink hue in response to Jungsu’s generosity. It’s a little strange, seeing somebody who is usually so charming and playful acting so demure. Cute, even. “No— I mean, thanks, I haven’t. You didn’t have to, though.”
“I wanted to,” Jungsu smiles, clearing his throat before stepping away from the counter to browse the aisles. Jiseok watches him go, mindlessly going through the motions of processing Mrs. Park’s return. He unconsciously holds his breath as Jungsu approaches the meeting point of action and sci-fi, sighing in relief when he clears the cursed patch of carpet without so much as grazing it with his boot.
As soon as Jiseok places Mrs. Park’s tape on the restock cart, Jungsu’s voice rings out across the store. “Any updates on those weird returns?”
“Only getting weirder,” Jiseok says. “Today was The Princess Bride, something about death not being able to stop true love.” Jungsu only hums, allowing Jiseok the space to talk. “That’s not the weird part, though. I looked into the account behind this entire thing.”
“Oh?” That catches Jungsu’s attention. His head pops up above the shelves, only the top half of his face visible where he’s buried deep within the aisles. “So you’ve figured out who it is?”
“I’ve figured out who the account belongs to,” Jiseok corrects. “Some guy named Dongmin Kim. The thing is, it’s a total wasteland. Didn’t record a single rental for twelve years, until—”
“10 Things I Hate About You.” Jungsu finishes, coming to stand at the counter once more. He’d picked out the recording of a ballet this time, the New York City Ballet’s 1954 production of The Nutcracker.
“My friend thinks the store is haunted,” Jiseok murmurs, sliding the yellow legal pad towards the other. “I’m seriously starting to believe him.”
Jungsu’s gaze skims across the list, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. "Maybe it's not a ghost, Jiseok. Maybe it’s someone who knows you better than you think."
"Nobody knows me that well," Jiseok counters. "Except Jooyeon, and he’s too lazy to coordinate a prank this complex. He totally would’ve cracked by now."
Jungsu’s gaze lingers on the legal pad for a moment longer before he’s sliding it back across the laminate counter, towards Jiseok. He lets out a soft, thoughtful hum, drumming the tips of his fingers against the plastic case of The Nutcracker.
“Wanna know what I think?”
“Honestly, I’ll take anything at this point.”
“I think,” Jungsu starts, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial register that makes Jiseok lean in despite himself. “You have a secret admirer.”
Jiseok feels the heat of embarrassment climb up the back of his neck. He scoffs, waving a hand dismissively as if he could swat the suggestion out of the air. “A secret admirer? Me?” He says, slumping back in his chair. “Yeah, right. I'm just some guy who works at the video store. Literally the walking definition of an NPC.”
“That’s exactly the kind of thing the lead in a rom-com would say, you know.” Jungsu counters, leaning further across the counter. “Maybe they’re shy, and the only way they can think to get their words across is by tailoring it to the very thing you’re known for. Or maybe they think it’s romantic—”
“Besides,” Jiseok interrupts, blatantly ignoring Jungsu’s attempt at selling the idea. “The account is ancient, this Dongmin guy is probably old enough to be my father.”
“What if it's not him? It could be a relative.”
That… isn’t something Jiseok had considered. The owner of the account may have been old enough to be his father – but that means he’s old enough to be a father to anybody around Jiseok’s own age. The presence of movies suitable for kids in the rental history certainly pointed that way, and the dates those were borrowed matched up pretty well against the age Jiseok would’ve been at the time.
Jiseok’s gaze unconsciously trails across to where the action section meets sci-fi, landing exactly on the evidence of his eight-year-old self’s shame. The Kim family likely had at least one kid, who would’ve been sharing the exact same classes and grew up playing in the exact same streets as Jiseok – until they evidently moved away, at least. Is it even possible to hold feelings for somebody for that long? And on top of that, said feelings surviving after such a long time apart?
Not to mention – why Jiseok, of all people? What was so appealing about an indecisive loser who was cursed to haunt an old video store, instead of moving on with his life? Surely seeing the person he’d become would be enough to turn anybody off, no matter how rose-tinted more than a decade of separation made their view of him.
Noticing that Jiseok had disappeared into his head, Jungsu turns, curious to see what had caught his attention. Before his eyes could land on the stain, though, Jiseok snatches up the copy of The Nutcracker, effectively diverting his attention. Jiseok speeds through the transaction, not even waiting for Jungsu to hand over Mrs. Park’s membership card – manually punching in #01492 before the other could even blink. Jungsu came in so often that the ID code was already well etched into Jiseok’s memory.
Stamping the checkout slip with the due date, Jiseok snaps the VHS case closed and shoves it into Jungsu’s chest.
“Whoa, are you training for the customer service Olympics or something?” Jungsu laughs, though the sound of it is a little awkward, with his joke falling flat. He lingers for a moment, the plastic Nutcracker case pressed against his sternum. His eyes search Jiseok’s face for a split second, but the man in question has no idea what it is that Jungsu could be looking for. Eventually he sighs, tucking the rented tape into his satchel bag.
“Right,” Jungsu says softly, the teasing lilt finally gone from his voice. “I'll let you get back to your... investigation. Enjoy the donut, Jiseok.”
He turns and heads for the door. This time, Jiseok doesn't lean over the counter to watch Jungsu go. He waits for the chime of the bell, and only then does he let out the breath he’d been holding. Jiseok pulls the brown paper bag towards himself, the scent of sugar and fried dough momentarily grounding him. Taking a bite from the cinnamon-dusted treat, Jiseok is happy to find that it’s still warm.
As he chews, his eyes drift back to the yellow legal pad, landing on the words he’d hastily scribbled down while Jungsu wandered the aisles.
‘Death cannot stop true love.’