Work Text:
i’m going away for a while
i’ll be back, don’t try to follow me
‘cause i’ll return as soon as possible
(misguided ghosts - paramore)
Lee Sookyung finds it hard to believe there is anyone on this earth who loves her son more than her.
But Tuesday comes and her son steps off the train, hand in hand with a man almost twice her height. She looks away to save face. As soon as he finds her, Dokja lets go.
She is not permitted to look into her son’s life without his permission. She has to let him approach first, but he’s the one who believes her to be the wild animal. These are some of many unspoken things that lie between them. The optimist in her thinks of it as an invisible bridge and the pessimist dares her to try walking on it.
Tuesday is here and her son asks, “Were you waiting long?”
“You know how it is, the trains down here always seem to have a mind of their own.” They’re back in the sleepy seaside town Dokja was born, together.
“Ah. Right,” Kim Dokja says, a little unsure. The man next to him stops the bag on Dokja’s shoulder from falling down; she gives him a cursory nod. She thinks Dokja’s coat is too thin, then blinks away the realisation that they’re matching.
“Well. You’re here now,” she says, but she means something else entirely. “Hello,” she says to the other man and he nods back, both sincere and lost all at once. He’s very handsome, though—she’ll give him that.
It generally takes seven minutes to walk to Lee Sookyung’s house, but twice as long if you take the scenic route. The long way around. Dokja says he doesn’t mind either way and makes a passing comment on how beautiful the beach was, from his memories.
The man, who her son introduces as Yoo Joonghyuk, nods in acknowledgement. He murmurs, looking at Dokja, “It’ll be nice to get some fresh air.” He has a deep voice.
There’s a deliberate thoughtfulness, like he rehearses the things he wants to say in his mind before he says them. But what does Lee Sookyung know?
“Oh, right. You were so incredibly brave for putting up with my love for egg mayo for the past few hours,” Dokja chuckles and playfully elbows him. His cheeks have already gone cherub pink from the coastal winds. There is something so terribly young about that boyish grin of his.
Yoo Joonghyuk rolls his eyes like he’s fighting the inevitability of being undeniably charmed by her son, and slides Kim Dokja’s bag back onto his shoulder again. Lee Sookyung walks on ahead and allows herself to smile at the promenade flowers. A sigh of relief. The seagulls obnoxiously hark. It’s the same as it’s always been, except for the freshly painted buoys.
“Oh, the ice-cream van’s still there,” Dokja says, lightly tugging on Yoo Joonghyuk’s sleeve as if he hasn’t been paying attention to him the entire time. “Maybe we could go get some?”
Yoo Joonghyuk hums thoughtfully, soaking in the sounds of the seaside. The breeze sweeps through his curls like he just walked out of one of Persephone’s third-rate romance novels, a guilty pleasure hidden next to all the magazines in a supermarket.
Lee Sookyung says, “If you want some, you should know that they’re almost twice as expensive as they were 20 years ago.”
“Really? What a shame,” Kim Dokja says, distantly. “They must miss their best customer—I was a stabilising influence on their economy, after all,” he says, more to Yoo Joonghyuk.
“You say that like you were the one paying for all those cones back then,” Lee Sookyung lightly says. “My old purse was covered with strawberry syrup more often than not.”
Yoo Joonghyuk chuckles. Kim Dokja does not. His bag falls off his shoulder again and Yoo Joonghyuk makes the big decision to carry it instead.
“I can carry it,” Kim Dokja says uselessly, making no move to honour his words. His fringe flutters madly, just like it’s always done in any sort of wind, and Yoo Joonghyuk bites back a smile.
“You could do a lot of things, Dokja,” Yoo Joonghyuk deadpans. Lee Sookyung sneaks a look back at him. He could probably carry her, Dokja and the bags, if he really wanted to.
Dokja continues, after lightly flicking Joonghyuk’s head, “The library’s just around the corner—you know, I’d always trip over this one pothole, I wonder if they’ve fixed that.”
Yoo Joonghyuk hums in agreement, “We can check after we unpack—then get ice-cream after?” He briefly looks at Lee Sookyung.
“Just like that, I’m ten years old again,” Dokja says, satisfied as his mother opens the gate to the front garden.
“You can change your mind, I won’t mind. It’s only for a few days,” Kim Dokja says, loosely hanging Yoo Joonghyuk’s scarf on his neck. Their train leaves in half an hour.
Yoo Joonghyuk asks, fishing the keys from Kim Dokja’s pocket, “Do you want me to change my mind?”
“No, I just—I don’t know,” Kim Dokja sighs. “She’s just a bit difficult.”
“Then she’s just like you,” Yoo Joonghyuk says amusedly.
“You think you’re so funny—you know what? Now I actually want you to change your mind,” Kim Dokja grumbles, walking out the front door.
“I heard that you cook,” Lee Sookyung says idly while grabbing some vegetables from the fridge. Not a tomato in sight.
“I do,” Yoo Joonghyuk says as he takes his shoes off. He gently places them next to Dokja’s.
“Right. Are you any good with knives?”
“Yes,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, rolling up his sleeves to wash his hands. He adds, slowly, “Are you?”
“Yes, I’d say so,” Lee Sookyung replies politely. If Yoo Joonghyuk wasn’t so earnest and awkward, she would’ve laughed. “Hm.” She stands in front of the pantry, hands on her waist. “Can you make pie crust?”
“I can,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, standing behind her. “What type?”
“This is so weird,” Kim Dokja mutters, walking off into the living room with socked feet. “You are both so incredibly weird.”
“Put your slippers on,” Lee Sookyung and Yoo Joonghyuk both say. They look at each other. They look back at Dokja.
Kim Dokja makes a face. He wants to throw up and run away. Maybe.
“You know,” Lee Hyunsung laments, “I was thinking about going hiking this weekend but Heewon doesn’t really enjoy that sort of stuff.”
Yoo Sangah gasps, genuine, “Really? She always struck me as the adventurous type—”
Yoo Joonghyuk unceremoniously places an entire cake onto the table. Light and fluffy. Strawberries. Kiwis. Mangoes. Buttercream frosting. Blueberries. Heart shaped wafers—is that modelling chocolate?
“Wow,” Yoo Sangah murmurs in awe.
“I made this for you,” Yoo Joonghyuk grumbles.
Lee Hyunsung squeaks, “Just for the both of us?”
“Yes.”
“We can’t…finish that.”
Yoo Joonghyuk rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can.”
“At least let him pretend to refuse for a moment,” Yoo Sangah scolds lightly, grabbing two forks from the drawers. “It makes him feel better about eating the whole thing.”
Lee Hyunsung sighs miserably, taking a fork, “Thank you.”
“Now,” Yoo Sangah patiently says, picking up a strawberry slice with her fork and pops it in her mouth, “you didn’t just whip this up on a whim, did you? Half of these fruits aren’t even in season, but they taste like they are.”
“I want you to… help me be good at talking to people,” Yoo Joonghyuk admits.
“Don’t lie, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Han Sooyoung lilts, walking into the kitchen with a spoon. She tries to steal some of Hyunsung’s cake; he swoops his plate away from her reach, hunching forebodingly over her short stature.
Yoo Sangah wordlessly pushes her plate towards Han Sooyoung and pulls a chair out for her. Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, glowering at the floor. He mumbles something incomprehensible under his breath.
Han Sooyoung laughs while eating Sangah’s cake slice. “Could you repeat that, please? Sorry, I couldn’t hear—I was chewing too loud.”
Yoo Joonghyuk crosses his arms and huffs.
“I’m meeting Dokja’s mother next week. I want to know how to have at least one conversation with her.”
Lee Hyunsung chokes on some cake. Yoo Sangah grimaces and hands him a tissue.
“If you wanted a miracle, you should’ve baked a cake for Jesus,” Han Sooyoung cackles.
Yoo Joonghyuk opens the window, scoops Han Sooyoung up and drops her outside. Yoo Sangah shuts the window and draws the curtains shut. The shadow of Han Sooyoung’s middle finger curses them.
Dokja: i heard you moved house
Dokja: persephone told me a couple of days ago
Dokja: you moved back?
Me: Yes, I moved last month. I thought it’d be nice to live by the beach again. Would you like to visit? Everything is unpacked and the guest bedroom is made up. I’m sorry I missed your birthday celebrations.
Dokja: maybe
Dokja: it’s fine
A week later, Lee Sookyung is eating some soup when her phone buzzes alight. Broccoli and Stilton. She wipes the crumbs off her fingers. The owner of the local bakery still remembers her, even after all these years.
“I almost didn’t recognise you,” the baker said earlier that day, ringing up her loaves. One to eat, one to freeze for a rainy day.
“Oh my,” Lee Sookyung self-consciously combed through her hair with her fingers. She smiled, coy. “Is my age finally showing?”
“No, it’s not that—the opposite, rather,” the baker laughed as her crows feet settled in their familiar roots, branching further the wider she smiled. The years have been kind to her. “You look as though you’ve been stuck in time.”
Anyway, her phone.
Dokja: is next week ok
Me: Of course. Anytime is fine.
An hour later, Lee Sookyung is washing the dishes when her phone vibrates again. Her sudsy fingers almost drop it in the sink.
Dokja: can i bring someone?
Me: That’s fine. I have a sofa big enough to sleep on. Or do you need another bed? I have a couple of blow-up mattresses if needs be.
The morning after, Lee Sookyung sits in the front garden watching parents take their children to school. She smells coffee. A dog barks in the distance. Judging from the yells of a harried woman, her name is Petunia. Though she equally responds to a gaggle of children yelling out “Tuna,” which is to say—she does not respond at all.
Instead, long legged and droopy eyed Petunia is deeply fascinated by the squawks of a seagull ahead. Lee Sookyung cranes her head around the hedges to watch. She hasn’t been able to run as well as she used to, but her eyesight is just fine.
Her phone lights up.
Dokja: that won’t be necessary
Dokja: but thank you for the offer
Me: Persephone mentioned you were seeing someone a while back. Is this the same person?
Dokja: wow
Me: We like to talk about how you’re doing. So?
Dokja: yes
Dokja: it’s the same guy
When the children skip past the garden gate, clamouring over each other to get to Petunia, Dokja messages her back:
Dokja: do you need anything?
Dokja: he’s heavily insisting on bringing a housewarming gift
Me: Having you visit is already enough.
A few minutes pass. Petunia reappears in the arms of two children, drenched from fishing her out the rock pools. Their uniforms have seen better days, but as it usually goes with children, they don’t seem bothered by this. The rock pools often find themselves smattered with beached fish and fragments of crabs who have either long given up going with the tide or never had a chance to. The ocean is cruel like that.
Dokja: we’ll be taking the train down
Dokja: should be there around 10:35am
Dokja: is that ok
Dokja: or i can change the time if you want
Dokja: i could change the day too
Me: I’ve already said anytime is fine. You don’t have to worry so much, Dokja.
When they reach her gate, the children wave at her. She waves back once with a smile. Someone has to. Their parents cry out in despair about the state of them, mourning their previously freshly-ironed uniforms and parted hair. All of these things she did once.
“Never mind,” she says to the parents, and passes the children—and Petunia—her biggest towels to dry off.
Dokja decides to go to the library himself since—you’re both so busy cooking, I won’t be long. You can practise your conversational skills, Joonghyuk-ah.
“You better not use this as a way to eat ice-cream without us,” Yoo Joonghyuk warns.
Kim Dokja rolls his eyes and says, “Fine, fine,” and hops out the door with heavy steps to force his heels into his shoes.
Yoo Joonghyuk watches Kim Dokja go, craning his head out the window as Dokja walks off with a bounce in his step. Lee Sookyung’s chest hurts just from watching the frown on his face grow the further away her son goes.
“Wait here,” Yoo Joonghyuk eventually says, ducking out of the kitchen. “I have something.”
Lee Sookyung waits, stirring the pie filling: salt, pepper, onions, leeks, a wealthy dollop of fresh cream and a copious amount of cheese. She adds some lightly whisked eggs and empties the mixture into the crust. She’s made this hundreds of times.
“Here. This will help,” Yoo Joonghyuk declares, presenting her with a new set of cooking utensils. The silicone heads are a marbled shell pink and eggshell. There are starfish carved into the wood of the handles and the whisk is rose-gold and sturdy in its grip. “You’ll find it easier to scrape the remaining ingredients from the bowl now.”
“Ah. Thank you,” Lee Sookyung says, at a loss. She had already piled the dirty dishes into the sink while Joonghyuk was digging around the luggage. She offhandedly asks, “I take it he didn’t want to be around when I opened these?”
Yoo Joonghyuk says with a shrug, “He chose them. He spent over an hour in the shop.” He offers to finish the rest of the cooking and leaves her to sit, waiting for the pie in the oven and her only son to come back.
“I dislike very few people,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, washing the dishes. “I’m indifferent to most, actually.”
“That’s understandable,” Lee Sookyung chuckles. But from what she’s gleaned from Yoo Joonghyuk so far, there must be a reason behind this.
He continues, “When he first talked about you, I disliked you immensely.”
She laughs even more. “Again, that’s understandable.”
“I told him to message you about coming here.” He puts a bowl on the dish rack. A plate. Some mugs. Teaspoons.
Lee Sookyung pauses. “So, you want to help repair our relationship?”
Yoo Joonghyuk scoffs. “I don’t have a relationship with my parents. I don’t remember the last time I saw them and I don’t care enough to try either.”
“That sounds… liberating,” Lee Sookyung comments.
“I suppose.” He turns to face Lee Sookyung. “He remembers the last time he saw you, though. He remembers you everyday.”
“He must talk about me a lot.”
“He doesn’t have to. I just know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk’s phone lights up on the table.
Do not reply: tell ur boyfriend to stop blowing up my phone. if u r truly as good of a person as u claim to be, i beg of you to pls throw his phone into the ocean
Yoo Sangah: Please ignore Sooyoung!!! We are more than willing to listen to both of you anytime. ❤️ Have fun on your trip!!
Me: 👍🏼
Yoo Joonghyuk sighs so deeply that his shoulders sag—it must be Dokja. He sends one more quick text and continues washing the dishes.
He asks, marginally louder than the gushing of the sink tap, the clinking of ceramics, “What about you?” He briefly turns his head. “Is your memory any good?”
It’s all making sense now. He also likes to see the ending of a story.
Dokja awkwardly follows her around, peeking into the linen cabinets. He finally musters up the courage to speak. “How do you use the shower? Joonghyuk—he doesn’t like the griminess that comes with travelling long-distances.”
“Pull out the left knob slightly. The right one’s for the bathtub. Up for hot, down for cold.” Lee Sookyung hands her son a fresh set of towels. “Tell him not to turn it too much, unless he enjoys a scalding-hot shower. Do you want some tea?”
“That’d be perfect for him, actually. Uh, and sure, thanks,” He ducks into the guest bedroom. “Joonghyuk-ah, catch!” He flings a towel into his partner’s face and laughs.
“Hm,” Yoo Joonghyuk grumbles.
“You’re welcome,” she quietly says, smiling as the door shuts. She goes to boil the kettle as Dokja rattles off the instructions for the shower, his muffled voice floating down the hall.
She’s imagined this all wrong.
It would be a lot easier if people acted the way they did in books. Human-shaped vessels for lessons and single-minded in their approaches to happiness. But the reality is, people don’t have pre-packaged speeches in their back pockets and their animosity is not an invitation to break open their carapace—you will always end up biting more than you can chew. The moral of the story is that there isn’t always one. No one is special enough in that way. Not even her.
But she’s a writer, a mother, a creator in all she does. Even in her sleep, she dreams of new worlds—universes where she is good as gold.
In this one, however, she has got it all wrong.
The faint pitter-pattering of the shower can be heard from inside the house. It sounds like Yoo Joonghyuk has dropped the shower gel bottle. He loudly swears.
“Just so you know, this isn’t going to be a thing,” Kim Dokja says flippantly, sipping his tea. He looks up at the stars and wraps himself tightly in his coat, meagre in its weight against the early spring.
Lee Sookyung’s son could say many things, he could yell and snarl and bite. He is at liberty to give her a sample of the rage he tried to pass off as perseverance. But Dokja is no storybook protagonist and she is no villain getting her comeuppance. He sits there, glaring, unshed tears threatening to spill. He has nothing left to give her and yet, he does.
Mistakes aren’t always lessons, but they always prove something. No matter how much she has hurt him, he has proven that he cannot not love her. That, in itself, is his final act of mercy.
“Yes, Dokja, I know you’re angry with me right now,” Lee Sookyung defeatedly sighs. “I can live with that.”
He laughs in disbelief, “It’s always been like this.”
“Really, now?” Lee Sookyung hums, sinking. The wind pinches at her cheeks, pokes at her bones.
Dokja’s childhood years are book-ended by this single piece of advice: sometimes you need to read a book twice—or more—to fully understand it.
When he was held flush into the endless world for the first time, were the tears he shed from betrayal? Were the wails he brandished into the starry night the flags of defiance? Was the way he grew to be taller than Lee Sookyung done out of spite? When he woke up alone in that hospital bed and thought of her, did he want to wrap himself around her? Arms around her waist or hands on her neck? Did he truly believe he could escape from her that way?
“I don’t know what you want from me,” Lee Sookyung says, at her wits end. “I can’t read your mind, Dokja-yah.”
Dokja says, “If you asked me that a decade earlier, I would’ve had an answer. A whole list, even.”
“Tell me anyway,” she asks, shameless in her greediness. The apple of knowledge was enticing, too, after all.
The heinous crimes she’d commit for the scraps of his love—and the ones she pretended to have done, covering herself with the blood on his hands. He won’t ever let her touch them again. She’d do it all over again, she would. It’s the same two sides of the same old coin; it’s the same story. They know how it works. The book never closes.
“If things were different—if you were a little braver,” he muses, “for starters, I’d probably be here, living with you.”
Oh, the things Lee Sookyung would do to have a brain capable of inventing the time machine.
The next day comes and Yoo Joonghyuk has already gotten up. The smell of eggs and fried fish wafts from the kitchen.
Lee Sookyung belatedly remembers, sifting through the memories of Persephone’s mindless nattering, that Yoo Joonghyuk is very particular about the things he eats. She pays heed to the fact that his relationship with his parents is non-existent and he has one sister. Things start to add up.
It’s Wednesday and she asks, “Need a hand?”
“I guess,” Yoo Joonghyuk shrugs, like he’s allowing her to cook in her own kitchen. “Where do you keep the rice?”
She refrains from rolling her eyes. Though she appreciates that she doesn’t have to wake up alone and cook for herself for the next day or so. She appreciates that Joonghyuk is letting her know her son is always full.
Yoo Joonghyuk booms into the guest room, “Wake up. Eat.”
“My god,” Kim Dokja winces through a stretch. “You’ll cause a landslide with that voice of yours.”
“Get up.” The curtains open noisily.
“Yes, yes, you’re an incredibly handsome landslide,” Dokja mumbles, adjusting to the sudden brightness.
“That doesn’t even make sense,” he grumbles, but lets Kim Dokja press his lips on his cheek before heading to the kitchen.
Just because the sun is out doesn’t mean it’s warm. The men wear two pairs of wellies—borrowed from the baker. She has three sons around their age that grew up and left town a couple of years ago. Her last child, a daughter, aims to take over the bakery.
“Wow,” Dokja says, watching a dog spring in and out of the waves. He shivers, “It’s kinda cold.”
“I told you to bring a thicker coat.”
“Well I didn’t,” Dokja shrugs.
“Then don’t complain.”
“I’m allowed to complain. Let me complain—actually, Yoo Joonghyuk, I don’t even need your approval.”
Yoo Joonghyuk sighs and rolls his eyes. He turns to Lee Sookyung and asks, “Whose dog is that?”
“I’m not sure,” Lee Sookyung says. “But I see her everyday—her owners walk her to school while dropping off their children and then bring her again to pick them up after to play on the beach for a while. Her name is Petunia.”
“Petunia,” Yoo Joonghyuk echoes faintly, entranced.
“She’s very sweet. I had a dog just like her growing up,” she adds, casually. “My parents got her for my 11th birthday.”
“I didn’t know that,” Kim Dokja says, carefully neutral.
“She died long before you were born,” Lee Sookyung says. “I think I mentioned her once or twice, though you must’ve been very young when I did.”
“I guess,” Kim Dokja says, breezily.
“Hm.” Yoo Joonghyuk says observingly, looking into the distance as Petunia runs off. “The ice-cream van is shut for the day. Maintenance repairs.” He loops his scarf around Kim Dokja’s neck, almost apologetic.
“Oh, of course it is.” Kim Dokja huffs, burying his head into the scarf.
“We met through a mutual friend,” Kim Dokja says, as Petunia follows Yoo Joonghyuk around. He throws the ball for her and she brings it back.
“Good girl,” Yoo Joonghyuk lowly murmurs, patting her sandy head before she scuttles off to chase the ball. He runs after her, smiling widely. She’s not very consistent at finding the ball and gets distracted easily by the rock pools.
Lee Sookyung hums thoughtfully and asks, “How long ago?”
“We knew of each other’s existence for a while, though we didn’t actually meet until we helped Sooyoung—our friend—move into her then new house almost… two years ago. I’m sure Persephone’s told you this already.”
“Still, I would like to hear it from you. I’m sure there’s some details she’s missed out.”
“Maybe,” Kim Dokja flippantly says. “He’s grumpy and rude and a bit clingy.” He adds with a shrug, “He’s a good person.”
Petunia jumps over the waves and ignores Yoo Joonghyuk pointing at the ball, gently rolling away in the sand. Her owners seem to have invested in a dog-whistle. That also doesn’t work. So Yoo Joonghyuk ends up fishing Petunia from the ocean—her legs are durable, but her stamina isn’t.
“He’s a really good person,” Kim Dokja sighs, jogging off to catch up to his boyfriend and his water-logged boots.
Petunia barks happily in Joonghyuk’s arms, wagging her tail. Sand gets everywhere. It’s unavoidable.
“We should get a dog,” Yoo Joonghyuk wonders aloud, leaning on Dokja’s shoulder to tip the water out of his boots. “Han Sooyoung would hate it.”
“Oh, she would.”
The baker’s daughter, Yiseul, looks away whenever she meets Kim Dokja’s eyes. Yoo Joonghyuk is torn between jealousy and pride.
Kim Dokja, oblivious as ever, says, “I’m sorry if the boots smell like fish—this guy decided to go for a quick dip.” He points at Yoo Joonghyuk with his thumb, stage-whispering like it’s a poorly kept secret.
“It’s okay,” Yiseul insists, with a flap of a hand. She takes his money and presents a freshly baked loaf of sourdough bread. “If you’ve met my brothers, then you’ll know these boots have swam the ocean many times.”
“Petunia was struggling to swim,” Yoo Joonghyuk gruffly explains. He steps closer to Dokja and intercepts the bread. Her eyes widen and she flees into the backroom with a quick shuffle.
“Petunia? Oh wow, that’s only the second time this month,” The baker says, wrapping up some pastries for Lee Sookyung. “She’s gotten a lot better at not needing to be rescued.”
Kim Dokja laughs and slaps Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “You still want a dog?”
“Yes.”
Lee Sookyung smiles. “How much do I owe you?”
“It’s fine, Sookyung.” The baker drops into a murmur, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen your boy smile. I know how tough it was for him—for you both—to come back here.”
On the way out, Yoo Joonghyuk stealthily stuffs a few bills in the tip jar. Lee Sookyung makes a mental reminder to ask what his job is.
Kim Dokja washes the dishes and Yoo Joonghyuk, now familiar with the layout of the kitchen, puts them away. Lee Sookyung decides to sit outside with a cup of tea. The walls are thin and the windows need to be double-glazed before the next winter.
“You need to talk to her properly.”
“I know,” Kim Dokja replies tersely. “I’m trying, but it’s fucking difficult—just like all those other times I’ve tried talking to her. I thought I was fine with seeing her and being back here.” A sigh. “God, I think I just want to go back home now.”
“Do you want to leave now?”
“No, no.” A sudsy flap of a hand. “I can wait until tomorrow—I don’t want to go through the trouble of buying more train tickets.” Another sigh.
“Whatever you decide.” A quiet kiss on the forehead and the plates go back in the overhead cabinet.
The worst person ever: dokja stop messaging me istg im going to throttle u as soon as u get off that train im not kidding i am praying for ur downfall so hard like so incredibly hard u wont know what hit you
The best person ever 💖: We’re here for you! Don’t worry!!! Sooyoung’s too busy to pick you up from the train station anyway - it’ll be me and Heewon :D!
The best person ever 💖: However, you might wanna message the kids!! They are worried about you :(!
Me: thanks, will do
Me: :)
Captain Korea: Could you please bring some bread back if thats possible? I heard its good!
Me: sure, is sourdough fine?
Captain Korea: I would die for you
Me: please just thank me like a normal person hyunsung
Me: though i think i would also die for you, if it really came down to it?
Captain Korea: IN WHAT UNIVERSE WOULD THAT EVEN BE NECESSARY?
The worst person ever: u think this is SO funny im so undeniably full of rage rn i was in the middle of writing smth and u interrupted my flow im so fucking mad
Little bug: why r people yelling in the gc? are you ok? do u want us to come see u? where are u anyway? ur location is somewhere by the beach? we miss you, ok?
Me: thank you but you do not need to come
Me: also how did you get my location?
Little bug: does the power of my concern for you count as an answer? :)))
Me: you are sweet
Me: but no :)
Lion cub: We could come on the train and get you???????????!!!!! TELL US WHICH STATION!!! PLEASE!!!! WE WILL COME GET YOU!! IM AT THE STATION RIGHT NOW!!!
Me: please go back to school yoosung
Me: tell gilyoung too i know he’s with you
Me: yoosung do not get on that train i will ring sooyoung do you want me to do that
The worst person ever: god u r so insufferable u r so incredibly lucky that u have a boyfriend who is basically blind and has shit taste in men and u have kids who want u alive oh my god im going to kill u dokja i will kick u so hard ur balls will retract into ur spleen
Me: can you just check something for me really quickly? at the train station?
Captain Korea: Anything for you! I already ran out the door the moment I received your message! :D
Me: wow
Me: you’re driving, right?
Captain Korea: I could!
Captain Korea: But I decided to run there instead!
Me: it’s yoosung and gilyoung, they’re trying to skip school
Captain Korea: Oh…
Captain Korea: Don’t worry! I can carry them back to class!
Me: oh yeah that’s fine
Me: at their age, the only thing worse than death is embarrassment
There are a few pictures of Lee Sookyung’s son hung up in various places around her house. They were the very first things she unpacked, all wrapped in bubble wrap and duvet sheets. Then she unpacked the bedding and pillows for the guest bedroom. She lays on the side of the bed closest to the door—Dokja’s always done that.
The next week, the walls are painted a warm blue, a colour she had picked out almost 30 years ago for a nursery she never got to decorate. She leaves out the glow-in-the-dark stars, tucks them away in a box. An old high school diploma, a graduation photo, another one and another one. An old diary she will never open. The attic is big enough for all these things and more. She decides to put away a couple of the picture frames.
The week ends and another begins. The snowdrops bob in the wind and the daffodils have finally sprouted from the ground. Spring is steadily approaching and Persephone drops by with some fancy candles and an ornate box of loose tea.
She regally descends upon the chair with a sigh, her dress sleeves draping all over the table. “I cannot believe our son refused to accept my present.”
“You tried giving him a mansion,” Lee Sookyung sighs. “I told you to get him something smaller. Like a book.” She looks at a wrapped parcel perched next to the fruit bowl. She gingerly adds, “Or a scarf.”
“But I want to show him my love,” Persephone laments, almost petulant. She miserably eats a slice of toast. “His apartment is terribly small for him—and that boy of his. Utterly claustrophobic.”
Lee Sookyung says, gently, “I’m sure he appreciates the gesture despite his embarrassment.”
“I want to get this right. I don’t want to mess up with him, Sookyung,” Persephone quietly admits.
“Like I did?”
“No—I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. You did the hardest parts, I just… swooped in.”
A note of laughter. “You overestimate me and you underestimate yourself.”
Both women look out the window. The constellations do not shine in the day.
Lee Sookyung eventually breaks the silence. “Our judgement day happens while we are still alive, not on our deathbed. It will come to pull the rug from under our feet on a random morning: when our children wake up, brush their teeth and look in the mirror only to see us looking back with their toothbrush in their—our—mouth. That is when they grow up for the final time.”
Persephone withers. “But the love—there’s just so much of it. What will happen to that?”
“We keep going, but now we do it from afar. These days, I wait and leave the door open. My phone is always nearby. I hear how well he’s doing from you. Little things like that, breadcrumbs in a forest to let him know he can still come back if he changes his mind.” She shrugs. “I live my life, he lives his.”
“You can’t just sit there and do nothing, what if he needs you—”
“None of it matters anymore. You give your child the whole world and they will not like the way you did it. No one ever wants to apologise for their love, Persephone, but you do it anyway.”
Yoo Joonghyuk stares Lee Sookyung and Kim Dokja down, and declares with no room for argument, “I am making dinner.”
Kim Dokja throws his arms up and sputters, “You can’t just kick my mother out of her own kitchen.”
“Yes I can. Lee Sookyung?”
“Don’t bring her into this!”
She chuckles, caught in the high of Dokja calling her his mother. She bats a hand and says, “Oh my, a handsome-looking man is offering to cook for us and you’re expecting me to refuse?”
“Awful, you are both awful, awful people,” Kim Dokja mutters, putting his shoes on to walk out to the garden.
Yoo Joonghyuk nods at Lee Sookyung then asks, “Can I use this?” He pulls out the fancy pasta maker Persephone imported from Italy after her last visit because she couldn’t quite work out how to use it.
“Knock yourself out, Yoo Joonghyuk,” Lee Sookyung says, amused, and follows her son out.
“Dokja, wait—Dokja-yah,” Lee Sookyung calls out, struggling to run after him. Her knees hurt a little.
Kim Dokja doesn’t turn around, but he slows down enough to let her catch up to him. When they’re finally walking at each other’s sides, they reach the place where the waves start to roll and smother the sand, slow and deep.
“I never asked for this—any of this!” He hysterically laughs and frustratedly runs a hand through his hair. Inhale, exhale, it’s all so shaky. He can’t run away from it anymore, look at it from a distance like some faraway land in a paragraph.
He sits on the sand and crosses his legs. Lee Sookyung wants to correct his posture.
“I’m well aware, Dokja-yah,” Lee Sookyung says, perching next to him.
“Why did you even move back to this place? To torture yourself because you feel guilty? To prove something? To reclaim whatever you lost before you had me?”
Her lip curls, an ugly hurt pooling in her chest. “I loved this place because you did. It was here that you were happiest.”
“That’s bullshit,” he scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “You are your own person. Everything you do doesn’t have to lead back to me.”
“It can. It does.”
“Right, right—that’s why you left so easily.”
“I wanted you to live the life I couldn’t.”
“No, you could’ve taken me and ran away, you could’ve done so many things. Yet, the best solution was to leave me to fend for myself? Write a book that was never true and have it ruin my life all the same?”
“That book is so much closer to the truth than you think, Dokja,” Lee Sookyung snaps warningly, reminding her son who he got his defensiveness from. “Go ahead, go blame me for every single thing wrong with your life—I know I did that to you and I will gladly live with that for the rest of my life.”
He throws a rock into the waves.
“But do not ever tell me that I never tried. My love for you is the strongest thing I have, Dokja-yah—you’d do well to remember the heart is a muscle too.”
The waves crash dangerously close to their feet. The seagulls circle above their heads, crying as the sun sets. An older couple with two dogs bumble along the promenade, laughing at some joke Sookyung and her son barely caught the tail end of.
“I would’ve tried to understand,” Dokja says, throat tight, failing to catch the words before they escaped. “If you told me sooner, if you spoke to me a little more when I came to see you back then. If you held me instead of telling me to look away. You had so many opportunities.”
“We can’t dwell on the things we can’t change, Dokja. It’ll only give you a headache,” she exhales. “I don’t regret that I protected you in the only way I could back then.”
“You’re still leaving me, even now. I need to know—why did you move back here?”
“I’ve already told you,” Lee Sookyung says, fishing for a tissue to wipe her eyes with. The waves lap at her knees and Dokja jumps up in surprise.
He holds a hand out. “Did you think if you tucked yourself away, all neat and tidy with the things we left behind, that I’d be fine?”
“But look at you now,” Lee Sookyung belatedly says, as Dokja pulls her up. This is the first time she has held his hand in decades. “You’re living proof that my efforts weren’t wasted. You’re so tall now.”
“I am?”
“Yes,” she says, smiling. “You’ve found happiness without me.”
“I just got used to you not being there. There’s a difference.” He lets go.
They start wandering back up the path. The seagulls flock towards the mainland as the waves crawl closer.
She asks, hesitantly, “Do you want me around again?”
“I don’t know,” he kicks at a rock. “Like I said, I got used to not having you around.”
They wander around in silence, Dokja leading and his mother following behind. They take the long way back to the house, where Yoo Joonghyuk waits.
He stares at his hands. “Where do you end and where do I begin?”
“I don’t know.”
Yoo Joonghyuk does not comment on the redness of Kim Dokja’s eyes or Lee Sookyung’s sniffling. Neither does he mind when Kim Dokja wanders in his socks in the kitchen, leaving the slippers abandoned in the doorway next to his sea-splashed trainers. This must be a common occurence.
“I made garlic bread,” he says, fixing Kim Dokja’s windswept hair. There’s flour on his face and apron. The entire kitchen smells like garlic.
Kim Dokja laughs, grinning in the crooked way his mother knows, “I love garlic bread.”
“I know,” Yoo Joonghyuk says, satisfied. He looks at Lee Sookyung and adds, “By the way, I used up the bread in the freezer. Frozen bread makes it easier to spread the butter.”
Lee Sookyung reveals the baby photos after a few too many glasses of the wine Persephone brought. It paired well with the pasta, apparently. Yoo Joonghyuk thought it imperative to closely analyse each picture and interrogate Lee Sookyung thoroughly as though he were studying for an exam on her son’s earliest years. They are on their second shared bottle of red.
He asks for the 12th time this evening, grave as ever, “Can I take a picture of this? It’s for my phone background.”
“You are absolutely terrible and awful,” Kim Dokja bemoans. He scolds, “Joonghyuk-ah! You only get one phone background! One!”
“Then, I shall buy more phones,” Yoo Joonghyuk says with finality. Lee Sookyung understands why Persephone likes him. He is so unintentionally charming that it’s infuriating.
“You are abhorrent,” Kim Dokja says, hiding his face behind his hands. “Revolting, even.”
All that reading has served him well, he’s managed to come up with new synonyms for the same thing despite his inebriation.
“Those are some good words—you should play scrabble with me and Persephone one day, Dokja-yah,” Lee Sookyung says.
Yoo Joonghyuk nods sagely.
Kim Dokja grabs the wine bottle and, with a wag of his finger, announces, “No more wine for you.”
“Give me one good reason,” Yoo Joonghyuk challenges, cheeks flushed.
Dokja tips his head back and drinks the rest of the wine—about one fifth of the bottle—all in one go. He coughs a little. “There’s your reason,” he sputters.
Lee Sookyung pats Yoo Joonghyuk’s forearm and whispers, “There’s a whole crate you can take back with you in the attic—bring the pasta maker with you, too.”
Lee Sookyung takes her time cleaning up, listening to the sounds of her son bumbling around the bathroom as he brushes his teeth. He has given up trying to button up his pyjama shirt properly. Yoo Joonghyuk seems to be wearing the trousers that go with them and accidentally gets toothpaste on his shirt whilst spitting it out in the sink.
“Ha,” Kim Dokja says. “Messy.”
Yoo Joonghyuk hovers close to his face.
“Uh,” Kim Dokja says eloquently, still heady with wine. He slowly stops brushing his teeth.
Yoo Joonghyuk keeps staring down at him, leaning closer. Kim Dokja laughs nervously.
A few seconds later, he yelps, “Ow?”
“Hm?”
“You bit my cheek?”
“Oh,” Yoo Joonghyuk drawls, “did I now?”
Lee Sookyung wonders how she was ever content to keep away from Dokja for the rest of her life, if it meant she would miss things like this. Love is not synonymous with sacrifice—check any thesaurus you’d like, you won’t find a thing like that in there.
Oh, but what a discovery to make on a Wednesday evening. Finally, Lee Sookyung has found someone else who knows how easy it is to love her son.
This time, Lee Sookyung and Kim Dokja wake up before Yoo Joonghyuk and they all eat cereal and toast outside in the front garden together. The bite mark on Dokja’s cheek had gone with the night, unfortunately.
Yoo Joonghyuk slides some of his crusts through the gate as Petunia gallops by, tongue lolling out.
He makes a quiet fuss of her and mutters, as softly as he can, “Oh. Hello, Petunia—you’re very shiny today. Did you have a bath yesterday? I heard raw eggs are good for maintaining a shiny coat. Do you like eggs?”
Her tail wags even more. She whines expectantly.
“I see, you know that word. I’m sorry, but I used them up yesterday. I fried some for breakfast, then made carbonara for dinner.” He adds, thoughtfully, “Maybe next time.”
Kim Dokja covers his laughter by drinking some orange juice. But his eyes give it all away, squinting as his nose scrunches up.
Lee Sookyung asks, “What time’s your train leaving today?”
“Not until the late afternoon—about quarter past four,” Kim Dokja says, rubbing his temples—last night’s happiness takes away from the following morning’s and all that. But he doesn’t seem too displeased. “We’ve got time.”
“Shall we make our way to the beach, grab some chips and ice-cream before you go? Let’s say…around half eleven?”
“Hm, sounds good.”
Yoo Joonghyuk reluctantly pats Petunia goodbye as her owners, whose names Lee Sookyung finally learns, gently tug her away. He sighs—Lee Sookyung is beginning to discern the difference between all the sighs and frowns this man makes. He’s very sweet, if you look close enough.
Well, her son should already know all about this. Since he’s observant and all.
Yoo Joonghyuk takes a big bite of his ice-cream. There’s chocolate syrup on it.
“There are so many things wrong with you,” Kim Dokja says. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s scarf again. “So many things,” he shudders.
“There’s syrup around your mouth,” Yoo Joonghyuk fires back with a deadpan. Kim Dokja kicks the back of his leg in retaliation.
“Here’s something for the journey,” Lee Sookyung says, placing a wrapped parcel in Kim Dokja’s hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t celebrate your birthday with you, but I thought I’d still give you this even if it’s late.”
“It’s fine—thank you,” he says, quietly.
He unwraps it delicately, folds the wrapping paper and puts it in his pocket. He unfurls the gift: a woollen scarf with chunky stripes and twisted tassels in varying shades of sea-blue, contrasted by sandy-white speckles. He drapes it around his neck and loops it once. It’s incredibly dense, so much so that it ends up covering half his face. With his fringe and the scarf, Lee Sookyung can only see her son’s bright, brown irises. She’d know these eyes anywhere—she has the same ones.
Yoo Joonghyuk adjusts the bag falling off of Kim Dokja’s shoulder, again.
Her voice wavers as she says, “Get home safe, alright? Both of you.”
“You too,” Kim Dokja says, muffled against his scarf and his mother’s shoulder as he goes to hug her. It’s a Thursday afternoon and Lee Sookyung remembers how it feels to hug her son after over a decade. A feast after the famine, almost too rich to handle in one go.
Yoo Joonghyuk says, “It was nice to meet you.” The crate of wine and pasta maker are secured under each of his arms. Lee Sookyung thinks he could still probably carry Dokja, too, if he wanted to try. Next time, perhaps.
She laughs, “You too, Joonghyuk.” She releases her son from her embrace and holds his cheek for a moment, still soft but not as plump as she remembers. “Now go, you two, before you miss the train—who knows when the next one will be.”
The two men—boys—step onto the train and practically collapse onto their seats. The wine and pasta maker take up the entire table, much to Dokja’s chagrin. Lee Sookyung watches them through the window as the train slowly pulls away.
She starts to walk, securing her bag around her arm. Her pace turns into something more brisk, then something more, then—
God, she can’t run as fast as she used to, but if only she could manage to steal a few more seconds with her son, wring them dry and eke them out when the days are especially long and lonely. So she sprints, along the expanse of the platform, heart pounding and scarf flying behind her. Her cheeks ache in a way they haven’t in a very long time. She’s grinning, girlish and daring.
She was the fastest girl in her high school, then her university track team—they told her she could run anywhere she wanted. But then, she was the winner of the mothers’ race in every single of Dokja’s sports days, in this hometown of theirs. She danced with her heels off with him in the school discos when he was too shy, too small, too unsure on how to be loud. There are plastic medals, crayoned drawings and cheap trophies in the attic; she knew how to love him without running away, she wants to prove that she can do it again—it’s all just muscle memory. So many things left to unpack, so many things left unsaid. Oh, how she wants to say them all, scream them until her words turn into wisps and ash, and even then, she will continue to wail, grieving the years she threw away. An infant in her own arms.
She grew up with him, her son, her child—her baby. They grew up together, bruised on the cobblestones and flowerbeds, rolling down the hills.
Dokja watches her, dumbfounded, next to the only other person in the world who loves him as fiercely as his mother does.
Then he’s gone. Just like that. Poof.
Lee Sookyung is not as fast as she used to be, but she sticks around a little longer, and that has to count for something, right?
They reach the house, leaving the fire of the fight behind to burn somewhere on the beach. She wipes her eyes and dusts the sand from her knees.
She says, “I’m sorry. I’m here now—I’m here as long as you want me. I don’t care if you’re angry at me for the rest of your life, I love you.”
“I know.” A shaky sigh. “I’m sorry too.”
“I love you.” It sounds like a question. “Dokja-yah, I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he replies, soft. He always has been. He’s her son and he opens the gate for her.
take it back
or let it go
it’s better if i tell you so
i hurt you once before
and i’ll do it again
(mexico - the staves)