恋 の 予 感: Koi No Yokan; Knowing You'll Fall In Love 

 

 

 o n e 

 

The man’s eyes make contact with Hyo Jung before he’s making eye contact with Weon Joon. “He’s rather creepy.” She whispers to the dark haired boy as she clutches his hand even tighter. “Here.” She shoves her keys into hands, seeing as the man is on the driver’s side. Weon Joon takes this time to assess the guy leaning up against the white van. He’s tall at least six-two and he’s lanky, very slim figure, that he’s probably mistaken for a girl once in a while. His skin is darker than the norm; he’s more likely to be Chinese, or Pilipino, maybe even Malaysia—definitely not Korean or Japanese. His eye shape is wide, where you can see the whites of his eyes brightly and his dark irises are full and round like their supposed to be. His nose is crooked, and leans more to the left then the right; and his lips are thin set and light pink.

 

After assessing him Weon Joon comes to the conclusion that even he, himself, is a bit scared of him. “Hello.” Weon Joon waves his hand in awkwardness as he shimmies by the older looking man and presses the open button on the key in his hand. He can feel goosebumps arising on his skin as he feels the man’s breath down the back of his neck, and his eyes pinned on Hyo Jung who’s shamelessly trying to cover her face with her auburn hair.

 

Finally, he gets the car door open and slips onto the beige leather seats as fast as possible—Hyo Jung doing the same. The two look out the driver side window; only to see the man leaning down and looking inside with a glower in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. And what do the two do instead of driving off? They scream, like a pair of teenage girls, they scream. A string of ‘oh my god’ flees from Hyo Jung’s mouth as she reaches over and smacks Weon Joon’s shoulder. As if she’s saying to start the car. But the boy next to her only begins to scream more, as does she, when the creepy man outside starts to jiggle the handle.

 

“Start the car!” Hyo Jung screams at the top of her lungs as she bats Weon Joon’s shoulder. “Drive!” She screams again; but once more Weon Joon does nothing as he continues to scream and press his body further away from the door and closer to the mantle between him and Hyo Jung.

 

Hyo Jung seems to be having enough as she flings her heels off her feet and climbs over the mantle to sit awkwardly in Weon Joon’s lap. She grabs the keys out of his flailing hand and plugs them into the ignition—starting up the car in one twist. “Why did I even get your help? You’re useless!” She says over his screaming as she pushes the stick into reverse and backs up the car, before pushing the stick into drive and slamming on the gas. Obviously, the creepy man begins to run after them, like any horror movie. And then, he ends up running back to his white van, to drive after them. “Oh my god, he’s coming after us!” She screams.

 

“, let me out!” Weon Joon states as he pokes at her sides and pulls at the handle of the door. Only to have Hyo Jung bat his hands away from the handle and have him sit still with her on his lap. He glances over his shoulder to look out the back window, only to see that white van trifling toward them at top speed. “Speed up!” He yells before he’s placing his foot over hers and pressing the accelerator further to the ground.

 

She screams at the pain from the bottom of his sneaker digging into the top of her bare foot. “Oh my god, get off!” She screams as she slides her foot out and cradles it in her lap—accidentally, letting go of the steering wheel.

 

“The wheel!” He yells as he places his hands on it and grabs control of the car once more. “What kind of driver are you?” He asks as she continues to cradle her foot which now has an imprint of his sneaker on it. Hyo Jung, like Weon Joon before, glances over her shoulder to see that man still following after them.

 

But, when she looks to the front a shrill scream like none before resonates from as she slams her good foot on the break and elbows Weon Joon in the chest. (She manages to save them from almost barreling into the beige car in front of them). Nearly instantly he takes his foot off the accelerator and drops his hands from the steering wheel as he lets out a ragged breath. “What kind of girl are you?” He wheezes as he solemnly crawls into the passenger seat, accidentally hitting a button while doing so; ultimately resulting in the leather roof flying off the car and hitting the white van behind them with a bang. Hyo Jung makes an immediate unsanctioned left turn and speeds down the streets, weaving through two different lanes before flying into a wideset alley way.

 

The two sit there, their hair a disheveled mess from having it whip in the wind, and their hearts beating so hard they could pop out of their chest. And after a few seconds, they turn their heads toward each other and gape—their mouths falling open and their eyes wide as wide can be. “We can’t go back.” She whispers as she flicks her thumb over her shoulder.

 

“I have to work,” He comments as he tries to flatten out his hair in the process of fixing his white shirt. “We need to go back.” She scoffs and rolls her eyes as she presses the unlock button on the side door. She thinks that he must be a doofus for wanting to do something ridiculous. Though, she’s found him dumb since the beginning of the car ride when he wouldn’t start the freaking car up.

 

“Walk then,” She asserts only leading him to scoff. “There’s no way I’m heading back there.” He not only walked her to her car; but, also, experienced one of the worst events in his life—he for sure thought they were going to get murdered.

 

He presses the lock button before crossing his arms over his chest as he looks back at the girl with a scowl. This whole situation is ridiculous! The two can agree on that. But he finds it even more ridiculous that she’s not driving him back when he’s the one that helped her out. “I’m not walking back; drive me. It’s the least you can do.” He barks back as he loosens the collar on his shirt in a flush of anger.

 

“What part of ‘I’m not heading back’, do you not understand?” She recoils with an equally aggressive glare. Weon Joon merely groans in annoyance; questioning his life decisions that lead him now. Was it bad of him to help a girl who thought, and was right, that a creepy man might kidnap her? He’s not a bad person, but, why is he stuck in this crappy situation?

 

The two continue to bicker except, because of that, neither of them notice the somewhat tarnished white van approaching its way into the alleyway. That is, until, they both see movement out of the corner of their eyes. “Please tell me, that’s not what I think it is.” She murmurs as the two move their eyes to look directly at it. Sure enough, the creepy man in the red baseball cap, is still driving the white van, and he’s not happy—at all. “How in the hell did he find us?” She screeches as she puts the car in reverse and slams her foot on the accelerator.

 

“Where the hell are you going?” Weon Joon screams as the tires screech against the floor and the car goes flying out onto the pavement. Besides Weon Joon’s question revolving over and over again, Hyo Jung is trying to pave her way through thousands of cars on a busy Monday afternoon on a highway with a crazy man following after him like a mad psychopath.

 

The two come to an immediate stop at the red light blinking in front of them, the white van now two cars behind them. And the twos heads accidentally collide when they try to look over their shoulders. Hyo Jung pushes at his arm, forcing him to the other side of the passenger seat. “Oh my God.” She mutters, this time Weon Joon looks over the other side of his shoulder to see what she’s looking at. Sure enough, he mutters his own ‘oh my God’ at the sight in front of him.

 

That red baseball cap wearing man in the white van, is sneaking his way around different lanes, and they know that his eyes are trained on them. “We have to go.” He mutters as he smacks at her arm. She glares at them; of course she knows that, but where is she supposed to go on a red light? He glances back at her, only to see her doing nothing. “Move.” He shouts as he climbs back into the driver’s seat, Hyo Jung practically screams out in anger as the boy shoves his way on top of her. And she wouldn’t find it so damn awkward if it wasn’t for the fact that they just met each other.

 

“Are you serious?” She cries when he forces her hands off the steering wheel and kicks her feet to the side. With his eyes laser focused on the streaming lines of cars passing by them—he slams his foot on the accelerator. “Oh my God!” She screams like a manic as she covers her eyes with her hands. Weon Joon on the other hand, keep his foot on the gas as he shoves the steering wheel to the left, forcing the car to go that way as well.

 

Hyo Jung hears the blaze of multiple horns as her hands cover the bulk of her eyes. Before she splits her middle and index finger away from each other to look out. Only to spot her red Mercedes nearly hitting a gold Honda. “.” Weon Joon cusses as he slams on the break, forcing Hyo Jung to go flying directly into his back. She whimpers at the pain of having her head slam into his upper back. He shifts the gear into reverse and kicks the car backward, allowing him to maneuver around the gold Honda, and go flying down the road once shifting gears again. “Check to see if he’s following.” Weon Joon says as he continues to fly down the road, nearly hitting every car nearby.

 

She separates her hands from her face to look over her shoulder. In the distance, behind rows of pissed off drivers, is the white van sneaking its way toward them—she gapes when she sees, it ram into the side of a dark blue truck before maneuvering around a similar gray ford. Hyo Jung faces Weon Joon’s back once more, and begins punching it with her fists. “Go faster!” She screams in his ear; not only scaring him but forcing him to press his foot on the accelerator harder, to the point that it hits the carpeted floor of the car. Despite the fact that they’re driving away from a mad man, Hyo Jung can’t help but think how others are perceiving them. The fact that the roof of the car was ejected, their hair whipping through the wind, Weon Joon sitting atop Hyo Jung, and the car going seriously fast in the middle of downtown traffic.

 

“Hold on,” Weon Joon barks as he twists the wheel to the right, causing the car to soaring that way. Hyo Jung screams, her arms wrapping themselves around his waist, and the left side of her face plastering itself against his back. The tires screech, light grey smoke forming from it, and the smell of burning rubber surrounds the near area—enveloping both Weon Joon and Hyo Jung’s noses. For the split second, Weon Joon closes his eyes, as he keeps his hands tightly on the wheel. When he opens his eyes again, he takes a deep breath in, lets it out, before sliding the car into the parking lot of a large supermarket. His eyes slide over his shoulder to look at the entrance they just drove through—nothing, he’s not here yet. “Come on.” He says, sliding out of the Mercedes, with Hyo Jung following after—grabbing her keys, and purse with her.

 

He maneuvers around the different cars, Hyo Jung holding onto the back of his shirt. “Where are we going?” She asks leaning toward him. He twists his gaze toward her, and glares. She expects that; she did sort of, bring him into this mess. The two glance over their shoulders a few times, as they crawl through walls of cars before he comes to a stop—her accidentally slamming into his back—at a yellow four-wheeler jeep with a brown leathered roof. “Are we stealing a car?” She asks, a hand on her hip in displeasure.

 

Weon Joon faces her and shakes her head at him, “No, this is my best friend’s car, he gave me a second set of keys.” With the scowl still on his face, he retrieves a set of metal keys from his pocket and presses the red button on the black key. Two rings are heard as the doors unlock. “We’re changing cars.” He opens the passenger door and points toward it—with a sigh, she gets in, setting her things on the color as he makes his way to the driver’s side. Hyo Jung, keeps her eyes in the side mirror, making sure to find the white van. Yet, she can’t spot it anywhere.

 

“We should head to my dad’s house.” She states the minute he closes the door to the jeep. If there’s anyone in the world that could keep her (and this guy) safe, it’s her dad. Her dad is a retired police officer, and the only person in the world that would know what to do in this situation. Whatever this situation is; to be honest, she’s not even sure, shouldn’t that man have given up already?

 

Weon Joon starts up the car and whirls his view towards Hyo Jung, “I’m going to drop you off at the bus station; and then I’m heading home. You can do whatever you want afterwards.” Hyo Jung scoffs, the bus station? After everything that just happened he wants to drop her off at the bus station? Is he insane? They’re literally being chased by a weirdo, and not just her, but him too. “I want nothing to do with you, and your life after that—got it?” Hyo Jung nods her head; she wants nothing to do with him either.

 

With her still peeking over her shoulder, Weon Joon drives through the parking lot, before exiting onto the road. Hyo Jung was beginning to think, they’re so close to the Seohaean expressway, and from there to the three-thirty it’s a straight drive to her father’s house in Yeonsu-Dong. And, now that they’ve changed the car they’re in, it shouldn’t be too hard to avoid the crazy man following them. If only she could get Weon Joon to follow her—or something along those lines. Her father did always say, your first instinct is the best. So, driving to her father’s house, would be a lot better than going to the bus station. But, how? How does she convince Weon Joon?

 

Her eyes connect with the red light posted a few cars in front of them, not to mention the traffic is in deep, they’ll be sat here for—at the most—ten minutes. Mustering the courage, she has, she grabs the pepper spray bottle from her bag, pops open the lid and holds it outward. “Weon Joon-sshi?” Weon Joon lets out a sigh as he drags his gaze toward her, not realizing what he’s about to get into.

 

“What?” His eyes pop open, and in the split second of seeing the situation in front of him—Hyo Jung with her pepper spray—he gapes, and then she presses the button, and he feels immense pain. His hands each reach his eyes, his foot nearly leaving the brake before clamping down on it. “What the hell!” He screams as he scratches at his eyes. Hyo Jung, in panic, grabs her purse and knocks his head with it. Almost, instantly Weon Joon passes out from the weight of the hit.

 

Thankfully, the weight of Weon Joon’s foot stays on the brake—keeping the car in place. “Oh God.” She cries, as she unbuckles herself, and Weon Joon before sliding the driver’s seat backward making Weon Joon fall. She manages to sit on the console and press her foot on the brake after kicking his foot off. Soon after, she grabs a hold of Weon Joon’s shirt and pushes him into the back seat and re-shifts the back of the chair upward. “Sorry,” She murmurs as she glances at him before taking a seat in the driver’s seat. “Hopefully, you won’t be mad at me when you wake up.”

 

Now, she’s beginning to think that maybe she’s insane. In reality, isn’t she kidnapping him? After pepper spraying and knocking him out; assault and battery? Oh God, that’s three crimes in a row. She’s menace, and insane. Seriously, insane. But, her father will help her as much as he can, and hopefully Weon Joon will learn to forgive her once she gets them to complete safety. “Okay, Hyo Jung, keep yourself calm and organized. Everything will be fine.”

 

 t w o 

 

When Weon Joon finally wakes up, Hyo Jung had driven for maybe thirty minutes and was on the three-thirty freeway, stuck behind a large red truck with the driver smoking out the side window. He drudgingly pulls himself into a sitting position, his hands coming up to rub at his eyes—bad decision, the pain causes him to hiss and to announce he’s awake to Hyo Jung. “Oh, you’re up!” She states her right hand maneuvering around to wave at him. He lets out another groan in pain when he feels like his head has been smashed into something pretty heave.

 

“What happened?” He murmurs as he pulls himself into the passenger seat to stare at her. That’s when it seems to come back to him. Her using pepper spray on him, then using the bottom of her purse to smack him over the head. “Are you crazy?” He screams as he reaches up and rubs the side of his head. “You must be; and what the hell is in your purse that could hurt so damn bad?” He reaches down, pissed off as ever, and picks her bag up—reaching inside and searching through it. Before stopping upon something with wide eyes. “A ing brick?” He screams as he pulls the large pink and blue brick with pasted on pieces of sparkles on it, out of the purse and shoves it onto the dash. “What person, in their right mind, would carry a brick in their bag?”

 

“I do.” She replies in a nonchalant voice. It’s so damn nonchalant that Weon Joon feels like ripping his hair out. No one can be that damn normal over something as serious as knocking someone out with a ing brick in their bag.

 

“You’re insane.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“You’re ing insane.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“You should be locked up.”

 

“That’s so sweet of you to say.”

 

“You’re a danger to society, you should be on meds.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Are you sure you didn’t escape from a ing mental asylum?”

 

“I did not.”

 

“Are you sure? Because you’re ing insane!”

 

“I know; you’ve said that before.” She replies as her eyes side glance toward the bag in his hands. Hyo Jung huffs, grabbing her bag from his hands and throwing it into the backseat. “Can you not go through my things? They’re personal and none of your business.” She states, sending a glare his way. He scoffs; he finds her unbelievable—if it wasn’t for the fact that they’re on the freeway, he would’ve ran out of the car and as far away from her and as fast as possible.  After grabbing the brick and throwing it half way across the country because no normal woman would carry a damn brick in their bag. “I saw the van—he’s a few miles back from us.”

 

“How do you know?” He asks; referring to the whole ‘miles’ thing.

 

She shrugs, “Look behind you.” Weon Joon does as she says, and looks behind them—except, unlike what Hyo Jung said, the white van is nowhere to be found. Not a few miles back, nor a few feet. The man in the red baseball cap, driving the white van, is nowhere in sight. “You see him?” She asks, throwing him a quick look, before once more keeping her gaze on the traffic in front of her.

 

“I think you’re insane and blind; he’s not there.” Weon Joon states as he twists his gaze back toward Hyo Jung. Many things are beginning to run through his mind: how the hell did he get himself in this situation? Maybe he should stop being so damn nice to girls, it’s never helped him in the long run. Is this girl insane? Probably, she’s committed more crimes in the past hour than he can count on two hands. Although, he has no room to talk, with the driving he did earlier—he’s sure he’ll get arrested as well if they’re ever caught. Lord knows he’s never going through this mess again. If someone ever needs help getting away from a crazed man, he’s not the one to do so. “You need to get off this freeway, fast, and let me drive.” Drive you to a ing insane asylum, he thinks to himself.

 

Hyo Jung twists her gaze back toward him, and sighs. Now he’s doing that thing again, that I-need-to-take-over, thing. It must be something that all guys do. Her father does it, her ex-boyfriend, all of her bosses, and now him. Why are guys so damn controlling half of the time? Is it because they find themselves stronger than females? She wishes she could shove some of them off the face of the planet forever thinking they’re better than females just because they have different ia. They need a better reason then something stupid like that.

 

“Look around, maybe he moved up a bit.” Weon Joon runs a hand through his shaggy hair before he’s twisting his view to the backside of the car once more. His eyes scrutinize through all the cars behind them, staying purposely on the cars of the color white—nevertheless his first assumption was correct, the white van isn’t there. But, when he’s dragging his gaze back to the front, he stops on the side, his eyes growing wide at the sight. And damn, he wishes to be anywhere but where he’s sat.

 

There, directly to the right and two rows over, is the man with the red baseball cap in the white van. Though, when he looks back at the van (after ducking), he figures that the guy hasn’t spotted them—and doesn’t know that they’re in the yellow jeep rather than the red Mercedes. “He’s beside us.” Weon Joon whispers; obviously not getting the concept that he doesn’t have to whisper since the stalker isn’t in the car with them. “We have to get off this freeway.”

 

Her eyes widen a fraction, as she twists her gaze toward the side, and my God does she feel like she could die right there and then. Her hands begin to clam up, she’s sweating bullets when she twists her gaze back toward the front, she can feel drying as she swallows the saliva in . “I don’t do well under pressure when inside a car that I don’t own.” She murmurs, as she slides her hands along the steering wheel—trying to make them dry.

 

Weon Joon groans as he runs a hand down his face, “Are you mentally deficient? Just slow down and turn the signal on. Or do we have to change places for the millionth time?” Hyo Jung scoffs, mentally deficient? Insane and blind are one thing, but mentally deficient? She’s beginning to think that this guy needs to be on meds himself.

 

“That’s rich, coming from a guy who stole a car from his own best friend.” She spits back her fingers curling harshly into the leather of the steering wheel.

 

Weon Joon is livid by now, he feels like picking out every damn piece of hair on his body instead of being near this insane female thing. “Say’s the girl who kidnapped me, sprayed me with pepper spray, and knocked me over the head with a ing brick!” Hyo Jung rolls her eyes, now he’s just being whiny and over the top. “If only I got kidnapped by a pretty girl, instead of a pig like you.” He mutters under his breath, but enough for the girl next to him to hear. And now, she is livid.

 

“Pig? Are you kidding me?” She screeches, her eyes now solely focused on him. “I’m a freaking goddess!” Her right hand lets go of the wheel, and reaches over to grip some strands of his dark auburn hair.

 

“Ow—the , what is wrong with you? Pulling my hair, are you two?” He screams as she loosens her grip when horns from the cars around them are heard. But, letting go of his hair wasn’t the greatest thing, as she accidentally smacks him harshly in the face from slamming her foot on the accelerator. “!” He screams, his fingers coming up to brush at the bottom of his nose. When he brings them upward to stare at, he pales. “You made me bleed!”

 

Hyo Jung glances at him; and for a split second she feels guilty, but it’s gone in a flash when she remembers why she did what she did. “Please, I did you a favor. Your face looks better now.” She spits, as she manages to get the car into one lane over.

 

“At least you have the common sense to know I’m good looking.” Hyo Jung wants to scoff again. When she first met Weon Joon, he seemed nice and caring—now he just seems mean, and narcissistic. And she sort of gets why, she did kind of kidnap him, but it was for their own safety. The two stop their bickering the minute their car nears the strange mans. “Alright, ease up.” Weon Joon whispers (again not realizing that the stalker can’t hear them) his hand reaches over, hovering over her own.

 

Hyo Jung gulps, almost willing herself not to shut her eyes, as she slows the car down further and turns the blinker on. “Good, now, get over—there’s enough space.” He says, after glancing over his shoulder to double check. Hyo Jung manages to do as he says, and lines the car up perfectly behind the white van. “License plate.” Weon Joon leans forward and peaks down at the license plate of the car. He bangs his hands against the dash of the jeep, “There isn’t one.” He bangs his hands on the dash some more, as Hyo Jung moves into another lane, before getting off at the nearest exit.

 

They drove for another ten minutes, before they stop at a nearby diner. For some reason, Weon Joon began to complain that he was getting hungry and needs to wash his face from the blood. So, Hyo Jung stayed at the booth, as Weon Joon went to the men’s bathroom to ‘primp himself’. And yes, he does contemplate ditching through the bathroom window, but decides against it.

 

“Hello sweets, can I get you something to drink?” An older lady with a sloppy jaw line, dyed brown hair, and piercing hazel eyes; asks as she dips her head toward Hyo Jung who seems to, somewhat, know what she wants.

 

“Two coffee’s please.” She murmurs as she keeps her head down. The elderly lady nods her head, throws her smile, and leaves soon after. Hyo Jung takes this time to think. Pretty much about how stupid she is. Like damn, she’s manages to get herself in one huge mess, and she’s still yet to figure out how to get out of it. She just has to get to her dad, her dad will protect her, her dad will help her…and Weon Joon.

 

Her head swivels around the room, glancing around everywhere and taking in her surroundings. She spots a couple, maybe both thirteen or so, and they seem to already be “close” as they’re making out. Hyo Jung rolls her eyes, how unsanitary. Her eyes travel to another booth where an older woman sits with her maybe, three-year-old son, and she’s bickering at him to do better or something like that. And then she slide glances the front door when the small bell rings, insinuating that someone has walked in. She smacks a hand over when she sees who it, and her immediate action is running toward the male’s bathroom and throwing herself inside. Only to knock straight into Weon Joon’s chest.

 

“Yah, piggy, what are you doing?” He gapes as she drags him into a stall—her hand clenched onto his wrist. She knows, for a fact, that that man saw her and is on his way into the bathroom—now. Weon Jon tries to break free from her, but she lands a slight punch into his gut as she shuts the door and locks it. “What the entire ?” He cackles as he leans over and holds his stomach. She grabs him by the upper parts of his white button up and pulls the both of them onto the toilet.

 

Finally, she answers him. “He’s here, in the diner, he’s coming.”

 

Weon Joon’s eyes widen as he places his hands firmly against the side of the bathroom stall—making sure to keep himself in place. Before he can say anything, the door to the bathroom flies open—causing a slight yelp to leave Hyo Jung’s lips. Weon Joon move one of his hands and slides it over his mouth as the other moves to the back wall—trapping her between him and it, but keeping them completely still and stiff. The two’s breaths mingle as they hear the man take heavy foot steps into the tiled bathroom.

 

“I know you’re in here—both of you.” The raspy voice of the man sends chills down both of their spines as Hyo Jung grips the sides of Weon Joon’s shirt tighter. They hear a bang, and know immediately that one of the doors to a stall was forced open. Then another, and another. Each time Weon Joon can feel himself stiffening and dragging Hyo Jung closer to him. Knowing that three stalls were already pushed open, there’s only one more before theirs, so he shuts his eyes closed and leans his forehead on her shoulder. This is not how he expected to die. Not shoved in a tacky green bathroom stall, with a girl who carried a brick in her bag, his nose practically shoved to the left, and pieces of his hair falling out from when she grabbed and pulled at it.

 

And just when he thinks they’re finished, Hyo Jung begins to scream like a mad woman—shoving him to the side, unlocking the door, and running to the middle of the room. “I’m not some little girl that gets to be taunted you wacko!” She screams as she takes her heels off and goes flying at the man, heels in hand. “You giant piece of jerk! Who are you to chase after me like a stalker? You giant, man, thing, creepy!” She continues to yell, and as Weon Joon tries to steady himself he can hear a few grunts—most likely Hyo Jung hitting the guy with her heels like the crazy lady she is. And when he finally exits the stall he finds the man lying on the floor, knocked out and Hyo Jung huffing and puffing above him.

 

“I always knew there was another purpose for heels.” He mutters as she slips back into them. She begins to make her way toward him, but the man clamps a hand around her ankle—causing a scream to etch from , and his eyes to widen. Weon Joon grabs her flailing arms and begins to pull at her, but that man just keeps his hand tightly wrapped around her ankle.

 

“I’m gonna die!”
 

The man’s grip falters for a second, allowing for Hyo Jung to go free and land straight into Weon Joon’s chest.  “Run.” She pants and the two go flying out the men’s bathroom, hand in hand, accidentally knocking into the couple about to walk in and do the ‘deed’. They pass by the old lady about to give them their coffees, and the three-year-old with his bicker mother—the two don’t stop until they reach the yellow jeep, getting in, and driving far away.

 

“Man, jeez,” Weon Joon breathes as he shoves a hand out the window to play with the wind whipping the car. “You seriously need medication, like now.” He shakes his head, parts of his auburn hair falling in places he doesn’t like. And then, the idiot, starts laughing—cackling even. He thought they were going to die, and then Hyo Jung goes out and starts beating the guy over the head with her heels like a mad woman—all the while wearing a dress.

 

“If only my darn brick was in my bag.” She mutters as she side glances at her pink and blue sparkly brick. And then the wheels in her brain began to work, and—, “My purse, where in the heck is my purse?” She screams her hand banging against the wheel. Everything she owns is in that purse: her wallet, her ID, her phone, her pepper spray, all of her makeup, and the money she could use to buy food.

 

Weon Joon sighs as his eyes shift to the gas meter, “I think we have a bigger problem.”

 

 t h r e e 

 

Weon Joon, and Hyo Jung stand on the side of the street starring at the gasless yellow jeep. Both of them feel like punching something, if only they stayed on the freeway. “You got another friend we can steal a car from?” She asks as her grip tightens on the brick in her hand. Weon Joon side glances her, lets out a sigh, and shakes his head. Now, he’s contemplating whether or not he should just walk into oncoming traffic. It would be better than being stuck with crazy, brick wielding, pig lady—that’s for sure. “What are we going to do now?” She asks, as she follows after him down the street.

 

“I don’t know; but, I’m hungry.” And he seriously wishes that the two grabbed her purse before leaving. Because he didn’t grab his own money or phone from his work before he left. If he was smart enough, he would’ve grabbed it, but he didn’t think he’d be pulled into this whirlwind of a day. He wants to cry, for the first time in his life, he willingly wants to cry. This just ing , he thinks to himself. And when he shifts his gaze to the side, to the auburn haired girl dressed in a white dress and somewhat smudged pink heels while carrying a painted brick—he seriously agrees with that statement.

 

He reaches into his pocket, fishing out a few dollars enough to buy two cups of ramen and a bottle of water. Or, enough for a bus token to Yeonsu-Dong—starvation for about an hour or so, or having to walk miles to reach her father’s house. “Here,” He shoves the money toward her, and she takes it; starring up at him with a confused look. “Let’s find a bus station.” She nods her head, shoving the few dollars into her pocket, before following him down the sidewalk.

 

Slight groans of annoyance leave his throat every time they pass a seven-eleven or a supermarket—and he fights the urge to dig out the money from her pocket and run as fast as possible to buy himself food. His stomach is growling, he’s beginning to feel like he could gnaw on his own arm for food—and Hyo Jung, is feeling about the same. “Ah, finally.” She groans when she spots a bench sat directly in front of the bus that they have to take. The two fall on the bench with a huff, their legs stretched out in front of them and their heads stretched further backwards. Both are equally exhausted from the day and it’s only three in the afternoon, not even close to night time.

 

The bus reaches them in ten or so minutes, and the grudgingly make their way onto it; finding their way to a small spot and slumping against it. Hyo Jung by the window and Weon Joon on the isle, both falling asleep the minute the bus began moving. Neither of them carrying that they’re leaning on each other to get a good nap in—her head on his shoulder, his chin a top her head, and one arm wrapped around her waist. Her brick sits beside her, and the window, neatly there for any situation that could possibly happen on the ride to her fathers.

 

Between the two of them, Weon Joon wakes up first, pushing Hyo Jung off and away from him. He feels disgusted at the wet stain on his shoulder from her drooling, and the fact that he allowed the crazy girl to sleep near him. “Piglet,” He murmurs as he pushes at Hyo Jung’s head. The girl stirs just a little, as she bangs her head against the window, but it’s no enough to wake her up. “Seriously?” He murmurs as he pushes at her once more. Though, it only results in her almost falling off the seat.

 

“You’re ridiculous.” He states as she jolts away, blinking multiple times in an attempt to wake up. She runs her hand along the brick next to her, making sure it’s still there and wasn’t taken away from her. Her eyes slide to the right, taking in Weon Joon’s disheveled hair and gloomy hazel eyes.

 

“I feel like throwing up all my feelings on your face.” She murmurs as a yawn lets its way out of , forcing her to cover it with her hand.

 

Weon Joon cringes, can she be anymore disgusting? “You’re insane.” She nods her head in response, knowing full well that the guy has said it to her a thousand times over. He glances toward the bus driver to see it coming to a stop, and the man walk out—most likely for a bathroom break.

 

“We should go stretch our legs.” She murmurs as she stands him, and following because why the hell not? The two exit the bus, walking near the bench, when they spot a bathroom. They glance at each other, nod, before bursting towards them and going into their separate rooms. They’re each in there for maybe five minutes. And in that five minutes, seriously happens. For instances, the bus driver gets back on the bus and drives off—stranding them in the middle of a grassy area with only a bench, a road, and a stupid bathroom—and the bus takes her favorite brick with it.

 

A sign off to the left says it’s fourteen point nine miles till Gyeonggi-do—the nearest town. She analyzes the situation quickly, if they take the bike road, they’d be able to keep an eye on the horizon—possibly see people to ask for direction, or a phone to use. The bike road is most likely the best place to go.

 

When Weon Joon exits the bathroom, now finally a bit relaxed, he finds Hyo Jung squatting beside the road with her head in her hands. “Porky?” He calls, now just using varying words for pig because he has no reason to use her actual name. She wipes at her tears and stands up, twisting toward him. He narrows his eyes at her, starring her red eyes down. “What’s wrong?” She points to the empty spot of where the bus is supposed to be—that’s when he realized, this girl has further messed them up. Not only are they out of money, and don’t have a phone—but that was their only ride to her father’s—not to mention that there’s a wacko after them.

 

“I’m sorry, this is my fault.” She murmurs as she bows her head embarrassed.

 

Weon Joon pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to calm his anger. Sadly, it doesn’t work. Now, now he’s just ing pissed. Like damn, how much more can this girl get them in? “God dam it, what the hell Hyo Jung?” He screams, for the first time using her name, and making her gulp. “Why the did I go along with this ? You’re a lunatic that needs to be on meds in order to not -up; apparently, all you can do is -up. That’s apparent in the few hours I’ve known you—I bet your mom is exactly the same damn way, how the hell has your dad dealt with the both of you crazies?” Hyo Jung, she usually doesn’t get angry. The comments of her being a , doesn’t anger her, not even when he says she’s a -up that needs pain meds—sure it may sting her ego a bit, but it doesn’t create anger in her.

 

What does piss her off, is his nonchalant use of her mother and father. He doesn’t know about them. He’s not allowed to talk about them. “Keep my parents out of this.” She mutters darkly as she crosses her arms over her chest. That only seems to spark a smirk in Weon Joon as he takes a step forward and glares down at her.

 

“Why?” He barks a snarl forming on his lips. “I’m right aren’t I? It’s just like that saying: if there’s something wrong with the , there’s something wrong with the pup. Your mom is just as a crazy b—” A loud slap erupts around the surrounding area as Hyo Jung’s hand slides against Weon Joon’s skin in complete and utter anger. How dare he! How dare he utter anything about her mother. She would never bring up another person’s family into an issue that doesn’t involve them.

 

Weon Joon gapes, not at her, more at himself. He had never said something so disgusting before—and when he glances back down at her to see tears b the curves of her eyes, he feels like a complete and utter . “If I’m such a lunatic , then go your own way, jerk.” She slams her shoulder against his, before she begins her walk down the dirt path—leaving him to stand there in complete and utter awe. It’s one thing for her to do something to him, in an attempt to protect herself, but it’s one thing to throw all his anger in a vicious attempt to make himself feel better.

 

He glances over his shoulder to see her walking further and further away from him, after slipping out of her pink heels and rubbing the back of her palm against the bottom of her eyes. He wonders whether or not he should follow after her, but decides against it. Maybe it would be better if they went their separate ways. He’ll find someone to borrow a phone from, call a friend or some —get himself out of the mess he some-what created. Yet, at the same time, he’s beginning to feel responsible for the insane girl who’s walking away from him in tears. He was always one to be told that he cares way too much, and yeah—maybe he does, but he didn’t show that very well to her. He’s treated her a level below trash after what happened in the car.

 

And it’s not like he doesn’t know why she ‘assaulted’ him. After thinking about it, dropping her off at the bus station wouldn’t have been the smartest thing. Not when that guy has been on their tale for hours. Maybe smacking him over the head with a brick, and using pepper spray wasn’t the smartest thing—but it was her protecting herself, and he can understand that. Thing have just been hectic since then, and he didn’t get chance to understand the situation as a whole—and now he does, and he feels bad for a majority of the things he’s done and said.

 

With the little courage he musters, he twists back toward Hyo Jung, and slowly begins to follow after her. He watches as she trips over her own feet a few times, he hears a few sniffles from her and know that it’s his fault, and most of all she’s making him feel bad. There’s times in which he feels like taking a breath from following after her, and yet he continues on because the girl literally doesn’t stop. The two pass by a few random buildings, mass of trees, poppy bushes, and people on bikes; mostly they have no clue where they are.

 

Thankfully, for Weon Joon that is, they come to a stop at an empty basketball court—nearing the bike road. She falls to her knees, before maneuvering over to lay on her back, her dress shoved between her legs.  She flings her heels to the side, and props an arm over her eyes—covering up blanched red eyes and streamed face of tears. Weon Joon a few feet behind her, stands awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pocket. He can hear her stomach gurgle, in response, his does as well. If only we had food, he thinks to himself as he brings a hand up to run down his face. He hears her stomach growl again, her hand running over her stomach in an attempt to make it stop. I should say something to her, he thinks once more.

 

Hyo Jung can feel Weon Joon’s presence, and hear his stomach growling as well. I should say something to him, she considers to herself. But, she still can’t get passed what he said to her. Calling her mom insane, that hurt—her mom’s amazing…was amazing. A nurse, that’s what she was. She always tried to help people, anyway she could, and when she couldn’t—she’d tear up and tell herself that she could’ve done better. She loved her husband more than anything, except for maybe Hyo Jung. She used to drop by the station just to give him a packed lunch she made him, she’d stay for too long, and talk for too long. And even though she was always busy with work, she made sure to pick Hyo Jung up from school, to make every recital, and lacrosse game. She was the best mom. That’s why Hyo Jung didn’t understand—of course Hyo Jung was merely the age of thirteen when her mother developed it. Early on stage dementia they called it. A disease that effects not only the person who has it, but everyone around them. By the time Hyo Jung was sixteen, her mother had begun to forget a majority of her memories and was sent to live in protected care—she was merely the age of thirty-seven.

 

When Hyo Jung was eighteen, her mother couldn’t remember Hyo Jung’s name, let alone her own. At twenty Hyo Jung’s mother had forgot all of who Hyo Jung is. And now, now her mother doesn’t even remember her husband—she only remembers her childhood. Things have gotten worse over time, and she hates it. She wishes, that one day when she walks into the tattered white room with orange and pink post it notes everywhere, for her mother to look at her and say, “Bunny, look at you, you’ve grown so much.” To wrap her in a hug and profess how she’s forgotten the past years but has regained her old memories. They’d sit down, and Hyo Jung would tell her everything. How her dad stopped working on the force so he could take care of her mom and her. How she had a boyfriend at age eighteen but he turned out to be a jerk that she can’t stand and broke up with him. How she’d go every day wishing for her mother’s advice. How she’s missed her mom’s hugs, and overbearing personality. How she misses how her mother use to berate her father for cussing too much. She misses her mother’s cooking and packed lunches. She even misses how her mother use to look so tired after work but would replace it with a bright smile when she’d see her husband and daughter. She misses her mom so much. So much that every time she leaves that tattered white room, to leave the mother who’s forgotten all about her, she breaks into tears. And she loves her mother so much that she’d rather die if it means it would bring her mother back.

 

The thoughts of her mom brings Hyo Jung to tears, almost to sobs. Weon Joon stands there in awe, not understanding what’s happening in front of him. He’s not really good with women, let alone a cry one. Is she crying because she’s hungry? The boy begins to stumble around, looking for anything, and on the bench a few feet away he finds something. A green packaged granola bar. He stumbles toward it, grabs it, rips it open, and fishes out one of them. He walks back over to Hyo Jung and holds it over her head. “Don’t cry, I’ve got food.” He kneels down, grabs her hand, and shoves the bar on her palm before closing her fingers over them.

 

But the sight of Weon Joon only causes her to cry more, because he’s the reason she’s thinking about her mom in the first place. She throws the granola bar to the side, and stands up, placing her hands against his chest—forcefully pushing him away from her. Needless to say, Weon Joon seems pretty shocked to see the girl crying and angry at him. He gets it, he yelled at her and said some unforgivable things—but she’s done some unforgivable things as well. “Look, I’m sorry, can we get passed this now?” He asks a hopeful look in his eyes as he presses his hands together in a prayer.

 

She uses the backs of her hands to wipe the tears away; it doesn’t help seeing as more tears form. “You, you !” She points a finger at him, as if accusing him of some disastrous crime he committed. “My mom, w-was, she was,” Hyo Jung gulps down a breath of air as she hides her face in her hands. Weon Joon, on the other hand cringes, he heard the word, was.  

 

“She was, my mom.”

 

 f o u r 

 

Hyo Jung and Weon Joon sit exhausted on a bench sat in front of the basketball court, and observing the bike trail. The sun is beginning to set behind them, and the two are beginning to think that maybe they should just find someone to call them a cab, when they reach her dad’s house they’ll be able to pay. But at the same time, they’re too tired to do anything. And Weon Joon is a bit too scared to ask if maybe they should do something, meanwhile Hyo Jung is still trying to wipe away her tears. “How did your mom die?” He asks, hesitantly, his gaze twisting toward her.

 

“She hasn’t, not yet,” Hyo Jung murmurs as she wipes away more of her tears. He gazes at her, now confused. Earlier, she was implying that her mother was dead. Now, she’s saying she isn’t dead—what is he supposed to believe. Hyo Jung doesn’t have to look at Weon Joon to know he’s confused, of course he’s confused. Everyone is when they ask about her mom. “She has dementia, it began when I was thirteen, they caught it in the early stages. It’s in the late stages now, they believe it’s Alzheimer’s; when they look at her brain, there’s pieces missing, it’s deteriorate over time.” She takes a deep breath, and runs her hands along her legs, her fingers catching the edge of her dress. “She stays in protective care, and they say it’s weird because she was so young when she contracted it. She’s not even the same mom, you know?”

 

Weon Joon shakes his head, he really doesn’t know. How could he? No one in his life has ever had dementia. “She’s has anxiety, depression, and she’s always agitated. When she eats or sleeps, she gets this delusion that people are going to steal her food or kidnap her in her sleep. She used to hate fish, and now all she does is eat it. They say it’s the ‘psychological symptoms’ of dementia. Like that supposed to make me feel better—to know that there’s a specific reason that my mom changed.”

 

“Does she remember you?” He asks; knowing full well that people with dementia have memory problems, or memory loss.

 

She shakes her head, and his heart drops—he really did say something unforgivable. “She doesn’t remember me, or my dad. To be honest, I don’t think she remembers anything. She wakes up as a new person, each day.” The two keep quiet afterwards, and all Weon Joon can feel is immense guilt for what he said. Even though, he didn’t know in the first place.

 

“My mom’s a pastry chef,” He mutters his hands brushing against his burgundy jeans that are now seriously dirty. “She, uh, she and my dad are still married and live out in Busan. She calls me every two hours, and is probably going crazy because I’m not answer.” He chuckles, and she even goes as far as smiling. “Even though I’m old enough to take care of myself, she still thinks I’m two and needs a babysitter. She’s no better with my brothers—probably worse. My dad’s more laid back, likes to hangout in the garage, listen to old rock songs and fix the engine on his old ford truck.”

 

Hyo Jung smiles an inch more as she thinks back to her own father, “My dad likes to sit in the family room critiquing cop shows—he used to be a cop—and when people do things wrong he has a tendency to send an email to the producers of the show and tell them how it really would’ve gone down.” She pauses to let out a laugh at how stupidly grudging her father can be. “He got recruited to be a type of ‘liaison’ for that drama ‘I Remember You’ or something like that…He pretty much told them how things go down in the world of crime.”

 

Weon Joon laughs at it as well, “My dad’s an accountant—he makes jokes about it all the time. What’s two plus two?” He asks, and when she doesn’t answer he continues. “My dad would respond with, what would you like it to be? You know, cause he’s an accountant and all.” Hyo Jung merely shakes her head—how lame. “They just had my fifth brother, so, he makes a lot of dad jokes—a lot. My mom hates them, practically loathes them, my brother’s hate them too—he’s the only one that finds them funny.”

 

“You have five brothers?” She asks in awe as she places her hand out in front of them, her other hand reaching over to tap the tips of her fingers—five in a row.

 

He nods, chuckling. “Yeah, two older brothers and three younger ones. Mom always wanted a daughter, she got six sons instead. Dad’s happy, doesn’t have to deal with the whole ‘protecting-your-daughter’ thing. Mom did try to dress my older brothers up when they were really young, and then they grew up and she couldn’t do it anymore.”

 

“My mom always promised I’d have a younger sibling. Dad wanted a boy, mom wanted a girl—I didn’t want either. I guess, I got my wish.” Hyo Jung lets out a sigh, remembering clearly how excited her parents would get every time her mother took a pregnancy test. And then the news came from her doctor, and it was like the light went out of them. It was there for a while, but then it just, dissipated. Into thin air; there was no more reason for trying when she was going to forget the child anyways. Like how she forgot Hyo Jung. “It’s a good thing they didn’t have another kid. This way, only dad and I feel the pain, not my would-be younger sibling.”

 

He goes to comfort her, maybe bring her into a hug, but he’s only known her for a few hours—so he results to placing a hand a top her head and dropping it up and down a few times. After a few pats, he drops his hand to his side and lets out a small cough from the midst of his throat—it comes out awkward, and rings around them. “I’m sorry,” He murmurs, his eyes flickering away from her wondering ones. “For what I said, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything if I didn’t truly know; for that, I apologize.”

 

She nods her head before it hits the edge of her chest, “Sorry for kidnapping you, and pepper spraying you, and hitting you with a brick, and for pulling at your hair, and for accidentally punching you in the face, and for losing my purse, and my brick, and for getting off the bus, and for getting you into this mess.” She lets out a groan in sadness, as she moves her hands up to run down her face.

 

“Yah, it’s not that—” As Weon Joon goes to finish his sentence, his eyes collide with a vehicle parked near the road—a white van—and the person leaving it—a red baseball cap wearing tan man with. “,” He cusses as he jumps to his feet and pulls Hyo Jung with him. Her eyes flicker up toward him in confusion as she stumbles on the floor toward him. “Run.” She doesn’t have to hear anymore as his hand clamps tightly onto hers. She doesn’t worry about her pink heels thrown loosely onto the basketball court; the only thing that’s on their mind as the two trample down the plants to land on the bike road, is how that man is now running toward them.

 

The minute their feet hit the floor of the bike path, the two take off running. They pass bikers, other people, signs, and bushes but nothing seems to matter as she peaks over her shoulder to see him running just as quickly. Her feet scrap against something harsh and sharp on the floor—it digging into her feet. Just as Weon Joon’s face scraps against a sticky plant which hangs off the slight hill to the side. Four scratches lining against the side of his cheek are now prominent as some blood leaks out. Hyo Jung’s eyes collide with a sign to the left, a thrill of pain resting in her chest at the sight of it. They’re in Anyang—it’s another hour and some minutes before they reach her father.

 

She manages to drag him to the right, turning them onto a cross street, and even though it says not to walk—the two go barreling out into traffic. The man doesn’t follow. They dodge a few different cars, almost being hit by a few, before running down the sidewalk and piling into a train station. They both lean on their knees, ragged breathes leaving their mouth, as they try to control their raging hearts. “How does he keep finding us?” He asks between breaths—she shrugs her shoulders; the only action she can do between long lasting breaths. “Come on.” He connects his hand with hers once more, interlocking their fingers, and dragging her with him down toward the actual station. They end a few feet before the ticket feeders—the only thing they have to pass in order to reach the trains; only thing is, it’s guarded.

 

“Alright,” He mutters, twisting toward her and placing his hands on her shoulders. Their eyes connect, and she notices how serious he looks. “Just get really close to the person before you, and pretend to slip a ticket in—watch me, okay?” Hyo Jung nods her head as he slips his hands off of her shoulders; proceeding to follow after a man who wears a suit and carries a briefcase whom, probably, just got off work. The guard watches him intently, as Weon Joon places a hand over the ticket, before stepping closely behind the man with the briefcase, and quickly slips through—the guard not noticing.

 

Weon Joon glances over his shoulder to stare at her, he points at two fingers and slides it to the left, Hyo Jung nods her head in response. She follows behind a similar looking man, but he happens to be a blonde instead of brunette, and places her hand over where you feed the ticket. She then stands super close to the man, and enters through the bars before scurrying off toward Weon Joon. “Come on.” He murmurs, sticking out his hand as his eyes glide over at the guard whom squints his eyes at them. When Hyo Jung reaches Weon Joon, she clamps her own hand down on his, and is instantly pulled off into the direction of his choosing. “Towards Incheon is this way. We’ll catch a train and high tale it to your father’s, yeah?”

 

“Sounds good.” She mutters as the two continue trailing down the station until stopping at a sign that says ‘To Incheon @20 minutes’. He finds a bench, and sits the two down, allowing for them to rest once more.  The two breathes mingle as they slide their feet down onto the floor. “I’m so tired.” She mutters as she runs a hand down her face.

 

Weon Joon nods as he reaches up again and pats the top of her head, “You should take a nap.” He says as his eyes flicker up to look at the clock on the board—nearly six at night. She nods her head in response, a small yawn leaving as she slides her head onto his shoulder and shuts her eyes. Neither of them seem to be hesitant with their close proximity—they’ve been stuck with each other for too long to feel like they’re not confident enough to touch each other.

 

“Tell me about your mom.” She mumbles suddenly.

 

Weon Joon lets out a small chuckle as his hand reaches across her back to pat the top of her head, again. “She’s amazing, and makes the best cinnamon rolls; makes since, she’s a pastry chef. She’s always making food if she’s not at her bakery, and because of that, the house smells like cake and cookies—chocolate mostly.” Hyo Jung listens intently, to the point that she can even smell cookies—it may just be because she’s hungry. “She’s a mushy woman, one little look of sadness or someone crying—she’ll back down and cry herself. I bet you’d like her, well, I think you would—I’m not so sure. A lot of people like her, she’s just—she’s great.”

 

“I have five brothers,” He says again, eliciting a giggle from her, and making him smile. “My two older brothers work for a big tech company in Seoul, we all stay in this real ty apartment just a little bit south of Gangnam-gu. Then there’s my younger brothers, one’s a junior in high school another is a freshman. And, my youngest was just born. The junior has just started dating his first girlfriend—she’s nice, I guess. Met her once, seems a bit snotty; you seem like the type that wouldn’t like her. But he sure does, he’s practically in love with the girl. Idiot.” His voice comes out snarky almost like he’s showing off the smirk on his lips from the comment about his brother. “My oldest brother has had five different girlfriends in the past month, maybe there’s something wrong—he’s like completely oblivious to the fact too. The other one has been dating the same girl since freshman year of high school and has still not popped the question even though he probably should, she’ll leave him soon—and he doesn’t even realize it.”

 

Hyo Jung mutters another laugh, “What about you?”

 

“What about me?” He asks back as he glances down toward her.

 

She rolls her eyes, as if it should be the easiest thing to answer, “Who are you dating?”

 

“My jobs,” He replies with a sigh as he reaches up to run a hand through her hair. “I work four jobs: the doughnut shop, a cafeteria at a hospital, as a gas station attendant, and as a babysitter to the neighbors beside me. I’m dating my jobs; I have to date my jobs. It’s the only way I can possibly live in this world—no time for actual dating when you have to pay bills, pay off your debut, and try to live a normal life without scrumming to that of the ever going business goers who have no point in life. I have a point.”

 

Even though Hyo Jung is way too tired to still be a wake, she manages to mutter out ‘what’s your point?’ And so he continues, talking widely about how he’ll find a job that fits him. He’ll travel, fall in love with different cultures, food, and people. He hadn’t realized she had fallen asleep to the sound of his voice and the feeling of his hand messing with some strands of her hair. He talked about how he wants to work for the government, or as a journalist, a traveling something—he just wants to travel. Like every shellfish kid in the world. He began to realize she had fallen asleep, when he felt the similar feeling of droll on the side of his white button up.

 

He didn’t try and move from his position, only shifted the angle of his body in order for her to lay better on his chest, her head shifting to lie more in the middle rather than on his shoulder, and his arm shifted down to wrap around her waist. Pulling her a few inches closer before his fingers settled on the side and indented into her dress. He also rested his own chin over her head, his hand reaching up to swipe some pieces of her hair out of her face and shift it behind her ear. He let her rest, for a few minutes, before he was waking her up and dragging her onto the train—to have her fall asleep on him once more, like he’s her personal pillow.

 

 f i v e 

 

Hyo Jung wakes up again to find herself on a grey cushioned love seat, her head on one side and her feet thrown onto Weon Joon’s lap. His fingers inspecting the deep cuts on her feet, is the reason she woke up, specifically because it tickles. Weon Joon’s eyes glance at her; the first time he doesn’t realize she’s awake, the second time he does, and the third time he merely smiles at her before laughing. “Well, this is awkward.” She laughs and nods as she pulls herself into a sitting position, still keeping her feet in his lap as his fingers graze at the deepest cut.

 

“Is it bad?” She asks; her head dipping toward her feet.

 

He shrugs his shoulders, “Some peroxide, and band-aides should help. If you stop walking barefoot, that should help the most.” She nods her head, sliding her feet out of his lap to cross them and sit Indian style on the cushion. “We still have to walk a lot before we get to my dad’s house.” She whines as her fingers grace against her cuts. “Hopefully we don’t see that guy again, and we won’t have to run.” He merely rolls his eyes as he pulls his brown sneakers off of his feet.

 

“Wear these.” He places them in his lap and pulls his socks further up his ankles. “I’ve got socks; I should be good.” She nods her head, not sparring a glance at his yellow which clash with his burgundy pants—he seriously needs someone to give him advice on clothing—but instead slips on the shows that are two sizes too big. “We should be in Incheon in a few, you ready?” He asks to which she responds with a nod. Even if she’s not seriously ready to get back on the run, she’s good enough. Sure enough, the train reached the station pretty quickly, and the two were on their way to her father’s house. Hand in hand, completely homely looking, gaining stares left and right—they’re unappealing to those around them.

 

They reach her father’s house, after thirty minutes of walking through miles of traffic, and city life before hitting the suburban area and walking up the steps of an old ranch style house. Hyo Jung glances over at Weon Joon, reaching up the fix his hair, smoothen his shirt, and pull his hands out of his pant pockets. “What are you doing?” He asks rather amused as she tries to fix herself as well. “It’s not like we’re dating, and this is the first time I’m meeting the ‘parents’.” He mutters but she only sends him a glare.

 

“Except we are meeting my parent.” She adds in.

 

He only rolls his eyes, “Except we’re not dating.” She only replies with a knock on her front door, and straightening her back—keeping herself presentable for her father. With a sigh, he does the same thing; he feels like they’re army cadets. The two can hear stumbling in the house, before the front door is ripped open and there—standing in the doorway dressed in a yellow polo shirt, and some black sweats—is Hyo Jung’s dad.

 

“What?” He mutters, a hand running through his hair in awe. And he stands there shell shocked when he sees his daughter dressed in a dirty white dress, wearing brown sneakers that are too big, and standing next to a boy he doesn’t recognized—wearing equally dirty clothes. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks as he ushers the pair inside the house. Hyo Jung tears up a bit before she’s swiping them away from her eyes in an attempt to not worry her father. Once being dragged to the couch, Weon Joon following in tow and sat beside her on the dark beige couch, her father sat across from them.

 

In between tears, sniffles, laughs, anger, and sadness, she manages to tell their tale. Starting from when she left her stupid best friend, to now and everything in between. (Except for the fighting between her and Weon Joon.) All of it just created a somewhat strike in her father’s heart. To know his daughter went through so much. He first turns his attention toward Weon Joon and bows his head respectfully, “Thank you for sticking with my daughter, and bearing with her.” Hyo Jung cringes, she’s not that bad—at least, not that much, in her opinion. Her father then turns his attention back toward his daughter, “You two should both take shower and get dressed in some new clothes, I’ll deal with everything else. Give him some of my old clothes, okay?” Hyo Jung nods her head as he gets up, places a kiss on her daughter’s head, before leaving for his office.

 

She glances at Weon Joon, “Come on.” She stands up and begins her walk down the halls to the bathroom, he follows after her—not sure on what to do.

 

“What does he mean he’ll deal with everything?” Weon Joon asks as he peaks over her shoulder. Hyo Jung lets out a sigh as she digs through her father’s closet, pulling out a grey shirt, and a pair of black slack before passing them over to the boy beside her.

 

“He’s an ex-cop, he still has things that’ll deal with what we went through, trust me.” She mumbles as they head out of her father’s room and stand in front of one of five bathrooms in the house. She sticks her finger toward it, and glances up at Weon Joon who stares off into the white tiled room. “Go ahead in shower in here, I’ll be in there.” She flicks her finger to the room across from where he’ll be. “If you need anything, just knock on the door.” He nods his head before making his way into the bathroom and shutting the door before locking it.

 

He leaves Hyo Jung to walk into her old bedroom with a curt sigh. Her eyes travel around the purpled pained room: from her old blue comforter bed, the stickers hanging on the head board, to her white desk that shoved in the corner and has too many books stacked on it, her dresser which is way too small for the wardrobe she had as a kid, and all the pictures hanging everywhere—pictures of her and her mom, her dad, her best friend, her ex-boyfriend. Everything. It’s so picturesque of when she was a mere teenager; before she decided to up and leave everything at the age of eighteen because she was pissed off and a complete idiot. She hated her mother for forgetting her, for acting like she was seven-year-old because that’s all she can remember. She hates her father for making her act like her mother’s ‘older sister’ because she can’t handle the news that she’s over the age of thirty and has a grown daughter—not to mention that she’s been married for twenty some years. She hated all of it.

 

From her small white dresser, she grabs one of her old pair of denim shorts and a knit blue sweater—she places them on the side of her bed before she’s walking into her connected bathroom and taking a well-needed shower. Once done with her shower, and getting dressed, a loud knock is heard from her door—she lets whomever it is, inside. It’s no question that it’s the dopey looking Weon Joon, wearing her father’s stupid clothes which are way too big for them. His eyes glance around her room rather quickly before looking back at her, “Your room?” She nods her head as he takes a seat on the side of her bed, “Who do you think it is? The man that’s chasing you, who do you think he is?”

 

Hyo Jung shrugs her shoulders, “I’m not quite sure. I’ve never dealt with a situation like this before. But my dad will know what to do—he always does.” Weon Joon nods his head as his eyes continue glancing around the room, smiling on every different picture before landing on one where a young boy is kissing an equally young looking Hyo Jung.

 

“Boyfriend?” He asks as his finger points toward the picture which is sat firmly in a pink frame. Hyo Jung glances at it and shakes her head.

 

“Ex-boyfriend.” She responds, a filter of distaste in . He presumes that it was probably a bad break up. Or he did something more unforgiveable then what he did in the last few hours. The two make small talk as she lies on her bed, and he sits there on the edge still looking around the room in complete and utter awe.

 

That is, until, her father comes barreling in and stares between them. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything, but I need you take a look at this and confirm if this is the man that’s been after you.” The older male walks over to the bed, and sits between his daughter and the boy he still doesn’t know. Hyo Jung straightens up and takes a seat next to her father, glancing down at the laptop in his hand. On the screen is the red baseball cap wearing man; Weon Joon and her connect eyes before they’re nodding.

 

“Yeah, that’s him.” She replies with a nod.

 

Her father, himself, nods. “Alright, I’ll run it through the processor. Why don’t you two head out, or, keep the door open…please?” The awkward older man heads out of the room—and grudgingly the two follow after, rather amused at the man trying to act like his daughter is still thirteen and is about to do the ‘naughty’ in her teenage room. As if. Her dad begins messing around with a program on his phone, while Weon Joon takes as seat on the couch near him—soon after her father is telling him about the drama he worked on, and inserts the DVD so they can watch it together and he can tell Weon Joon everything. Meanwhile, Hyo Jung sticks it out in the kitchen; debating on whether or not she should make them all something to eat.

 

She ends up making the three of them bowls of rice and some egg to go with it—seeing as there’s not a lot of food in her father’s fridge. She reaches the living room, passes each of them a bowl, before taking a seat in between them. Like second nature, Weon Joon pats her head as her father puts an arm on the back side of the couch. “Thanks, bunny.” Her father says, using the old nickname her mother and he had given her. Weon Joon even mutters a thank you before resting one of his hands near hers. The three eat in silence, as they watch the stupid drama Hyo Jung has seen a thousand times in the last year because her father loves showing off the work he did for it.

 

The only time they stop, is when a sort of ‘ding’ rings through the room, signaling that whatever ‘program’ her father was running, is over. He brings his laptop into his lap, and angles it toward the two youngers who lean near it. Hyo Jung leaning over her father, while Weon Joon rests his chin on Hyo Jung’s shoulder. Her father’s eyes narrow as he reads through the information, “He’s a bounty hunter, named Ha Neul, and he’s trying to locate a woman known as Kim Da Som—she, sort of, looks like you.” Her father shows of the picture of the brunette haired lady, and sure enough her and Hyo Jung look pretty similar. Thankfully, this sets well with Hyo Jung who breathes a sigh of relief—Weon Joon on the other hand, isn’t as happy. He slams the bowl down on the counter before leaving for the backyard to get some air. “You should go see what that’s about.” Her father states, flicking his finger toward the angered boy.

 

Hyo Jung nods, taking her father’s advice, and leaving to the deck lining the backyard. She finds Weon Joon pacing back and forth, a hand running through his darken hair as he tries to control his anger. “Are you okay?” She asks, tentatively bring a hand out to place on his shoulder and hopefully calm him. He merely brushes her off of him before turning to look at her, his eyes blazing.

 

“You could’ve just talked to the guy; showed him your ID, but instead you drag me into his damn miserable trip.” He calmly says, never raising his voice above a smooth talk; practically scarring her as she takes a tiny step back. He only continues, “All the we went through, could’ve been avoided if you just talked to the guy!” The boy’s anger gets the best of him, and his voice finally raises up an octave as he slides a hand down his face. “I wish I could get dementia, to wipe your existence out of my life. Your mother should be thankful, she has dementia, to never remember a horrible daughter like you.” As Hyo Jung begins to tear up, Weon Joon brushes past her, purposely hitting his shoulder with hers before entering the house.

 

Hyo Jung feels like the life has been taken from her, as she crumples to the floor below her. She’s not a horrible daughter, she’s not. Her mother loves her, she’d never purposely forget her. How could Weon Joon say that? No matter how angry the guy is, how could he say something so awful? So, vicious and vile. It’s worse than anything he said before. Way worse.

 

The two don’t speak after that, she doesn’t even see him; her father says that he went to the guest bedroom, and never left. And that morning, when she wakes up, he’s gone. Her father gave him a train ticket, and enough money to suffice—she didn’t care. To her, he’s nothing but a huge mistake garnered along a miserable trip that shouldn’t have happened. She wishes it never happened; that she never met that awful man who thinks to highly of himself. And she’s pretty damn sure, that he feels the same way—or else he would’ve have said what he said.

 

 s i x 

 

Weon Joon went back to his normal routine, after leaving Hyo Jung’s father’s house. He cleared things up with his best friend, and all of his bosses—he told his brothers about the insane girl, even his manager at the doughnut shop. Because, why the hell not? The woman’s complete insane and it’s a gold worthy story to hell. Though, all the while, he can only remember the look of pure brokenness and despondency on her face from the last words he said to her that night. He wishes he could take them back, he was just mad—it’s not an excuse, but it’s all he can muster. He has no other reason to say it. Sometimes he thinks he spots Hyo Jung walking by the shop, he’s usually wrong when they walk back by and he can see that they’re not her. He also has a tendency to think back to the day he spent with her; he’ll laugh, and get mad—find it stupid…find him stupid, and her too. Mostly him.

 

When he thinks about it, she hurt him physically and the pain only lasted a little while. But he hurt her mentally, and that type of pain lasts for a lifetime. And he berates himself for that, knowing full well that she may think back to that comment and actual believe what he said. He doesn’t wish to forget her, he wants to remember her, and he’s sure that her mother wishes to too. But of course, he’s cursed with mouth vomit and ed everything up like he always does. He’s such an idiot sometimes…more like all the time, and never once does he think it over when he’s saying what he’s saying. Because he’s a complete idiot. Always.

 

“Hey, that idiot gave us their mail again,” Sun Woo, his manager, drones as he flicks the three manila colored envelopes onto the marble counter; a tiny pout on his lips. The youngers eyes flicker up to Weon Joon, whom leans on the counter adjacent to him—thinking over his past life decisions like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. “Yah, are you listening?” His manager snaps his fingers in his face; once, twice, three times before Weon Joon coughs awkwardly and nods his head in acknowledgement. “Then take that over to them, will you?”

 

All Weon Joon does is nod, his hands gripping the manila envelopes as he slides away from the counter and towards the opening to the shop. It’s a stupid video store, you can rent VCR tapes, and old records—and for some damn reason, the mail man always happens to leave their mail at the doughnut shop rather than their shop. It always leaves Sun Woo angered and upset, for no reason. It’s not like Weon Joon minds taking the mail over to the shop, Sung Joon—the owner—is nice and likes to talk about old rock bands, something Weon Joon’s father does quiet often.

 

“Joonie, I’ve got mail.” He says as he enters the small carpeted shop. Sung Joon pops his head up from behind the counter in recognition of the voice, and when he spots the tall brunette—he grins, waving his hands as Weon Joon slides the mail on the counter. Sung Joon takes it into his hands, before throwing it into a dark bin haphazardly.

 

“Thanks man!” He cheers as he throws out his fist, to which Weon Joon fist bumps. The two make quick conversation, before Weon Joon heads to the adjacent bathroom at the back part of the video shop, seeing as the doughnut shop doesn’t have one; and he’s been needing to go for the past hour. When he finally walks out, Sung Joon stands there with a worried grimace. “Hyung, can you watch the store? There’s a lady who needs to be walked to her car—apparently, a strange guy is standing by and creeping her out…and none of my employees are here yet, and I trust you enough to watch it for maybe five minutes’ tops, I doubt it’ll take long—”

 

Weon Joon swishes past the younger boy who continues talking while looking down at his hands. When the older male finds his way to the front of the shop, he’s not that surprised to see a girl dressed in a knit yellow sweater and a pair of black skinny jeans, holding a brown purse which is too heavy, and she’s wearing stupid heels that she can hit people over the head with. Her auburn hair is pinned into a ponytail a top her head, and her hazel eyes are pointed toward the ground, starring at her feet. Even though he’s not surprised, he’s amazed—because, she’s in the same situation she was in only a month ago. This time she didn’t go to his store, he went to the video shop adjacent from it. It makes him wonder if that day, a month ago, would be different if she went here instead of there.

 

“Piglet,” The girl freezes, mid a hand through her hair, and her brain processes what the voice behind her just said. She vaguely remembers a boy she hates calling her that. “Piggy,” And now she knows for sure that the voice belongs to that hated boy. And she’d rather be near the man lingering around her car, then being near the boy who hurt her more than anyone else. “Pig,” His voice seems to grow closer and closer, before a hand slides onto her shoulder, the person’s fingers digging into her shoulder blade. “How do you get yourself into these situations?” He murmurs, sending a few chills down her spine.

 

She shakes his hand off of her shoulder and begins her way toward the opening, but his hand collides with her elbow; grabbing it, and holding her still. “You’re not going to let me say anything?” She concurs, and shakes his grip off of her, leaving him to follow after her in wariness. “Hyo Jung-ah, just let me say what I need to say.” Once more he grabs her arm, and again she maneuvers out of her hold; but, instead of leaving again, she twists herself toward—this time starring him down. And for the day the two were stuck together like glue, he had never seen this harsh gaze in her eyes.

 

“I don’t have the patience to listen to you, nor do I have the energy, and I’m not in the right state of mind to listen to you barking at me about how much you hate me. Leave me alone—we have no reason to talk to each other. And stop dropping the formalities, we’re not friends.” She turns on her heel, her hair flipping through the wind, before she’s stalking off—not caring if there’s a creeping man near her car. She’d rather be with that man, then with Weon Joon.

 

Nevertheless, the boy’s consistent, and follows after her. Not even minding what she just said to him, “At least let me walk you to your car.” Besides, he’s the one that knows what it might lead to. “Give me your keys.” He puts out his palm directly in front of her, a smile still gracing his lips; she grabs them, and places it in the center of his palm. He transfers the key to his other hand, before slipping his hand down her arm to catch her hand in his—normalcy in his eyes. Unfortunately, holding her hand only lasted a few seconds before she’s separating herself from him and walking a few inches away from him—notifying him with a glare to not come closer.

 

They arrive to the parking structure, and the scene is strikingly familiar. “He’s not a bounty hunter right?” He jokes as his eyes slide to the man leaning against her now tainted red Mercedes. She merely scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest, as she shakes her head. “Just making sure.” He murmurs, as he pockets a hand into his pants. The two, completely strained, walk quietly to her car. She enters the passenger side, buckling herself in, meanwhile; Weon Joon glares at the man who smirks back at him. Instead of getting inside the Mercedes, he puffs his chest out and glares down the man. “Get away from the car.”

 

“Why?” The guy mutters back; his voice gravely.

 

Weon Joon frowns his fingers tapping at the keys in his hand, “I have to back out, and you’re blocking my way. Now, get away from the car.” The man’s eyes collide with his, and Weon Joon begins to feel a sensation of cageyness. Somehow, he’s beginning to think that maybe he should’ve just gotten into the car and honked the horn. The man twists, jutting his finger to point directly at the back of Hyo Jung’s head.

 

“She yours?” He questions; an eyebrow propping up.

 

Weon Joon clusters his hand into his pocket as he tries to control the sudden rage of anger. Is that what this is about? He wants her and acts like she’s a trophy of sorts. She’s not, she’s a person. A regular person, not someone that you own. Just because she’s a female doesn’t mean you act like she’s anything but that. “Yeah, she’s mine. Now can you move?” The man clicks his tongue; once, twice, three times.

 

“She doesn’t look like a girl that goes for a guy like you; but, by all means, get in the car with ‘your’ girl. And drive off into the sunset,” The man pauses to lean hesitantly closer, a sadistic flash in his eyes. “If I see her again, and you ain’t there, she won’t be yours anymore. I wonder how many things I could do to please her; things you could never do, dirty—” The man has no more time to talk, as Weon Joon smashes his knuckles against the bridge of the man’s nose.

 

And before he could block, Weon Joon lands another punch into his face; his fist cracking his jaw and leaving him on the floor. Weon Joon leans over him, his fingers gripping the boy’s collar. “Say one more thing, I ing dare you.” The scowl on the man’s face, turns to agonizing pain as red blood spurs from his nose, down his face, to the crook of his neck. And just when Weon Joon thinks the man will give up, he reaches up, and wraps his arm around the boy’s neck, pulling him to the cement floor and smacking the back of his head against it. A slight sound of a whimper-ish groan leaves Weon Joon’s throat as a tinge of blood seeps from a small wound on the back of his head.

 

“I guess your girl’s mine once you’re dead and gone.” The man smashes his fist against Weon Joon’s face—three times, maybe four before he hears a clash and the man falls to the floor with a bang, directly beside him. Soon enough, Hyo Jung is leaning over him with wide eyes and her brick.

 

“Weon Joon, can you hear me?” She mutters her fingers waving in front of his face. He merely grabs a hold of her hand and brings it to his lips—leaving a kiss on the tips. That’s all he remembers, before he blacks out, leaving Hyo Jung to drag him to her car and take him to the nearest hospital to be treated for a concussion of sorts. Once the doctors are finished with tending with him, she ends up staying with him—siting in the cold metal chair—for him to wake. Once in a while, she’d get up to grab coffee from the cafeteria, she’d get belligerent calls from her best friend slash roommate Bo Ra, not to mention the incessant calls from her father asking if everything’s okay since she updated him about the guy near her car.

 

She also ended up calling the shop Weon Joon works at to tell him that’s he in the emergency room, knocked out and cold. The manager, Sun Woo, replied with a stream of cuss words before saying he understands and that he hopes Weon Joon will get well soon. At some point, she winded up passing out, her head crooked on the metal chair, her feet slanted out in front of her, and her arms settled on her lap. When she woke up, she found herself sitting in a better position, one of the two hospital blankets resting a top her. Weon Joon know sits up with his eyes trained on her; noticing that she’s awake, he smiles and waves his hand.

 

“You okay?” She asks, shifting herself into a better sitting position.

 

He nods his head, watching her with careful eyes. “Now that I’m not the person behind you smacking me over the head with a brick—I’m much better.” She lifts her brown purse off the ground and stands up, shifting it across her body, before lying the blanket back on the bed.

 

“The doctor should be in soon; you’ll probably be able to leave after. And, now that you’re awake, I’ll take my leave.” She bows her head at him, before taking her leave toward the door. But, before she can actually leave, she hears a clash of sounds causing her to look over her shoulder. Sat on a pile of blankets, and medical wires is Weon Joon who hesitantly reaches out a hand toward her. As if begging her to stay. “You’re kidding, right?”

 

He shakes his head as she stumbles her way back toward him and helps him to his feet—forgetting how tall he is compared to her. “Can’t you stay? Don’t you owe me for saving your life?” He asks to which she merely shakes her head; she doesn’t owe him anything. He volunteered to help her, not to mention that he’s the one that bad mouthed her mother—something she won’t forget. He whines in annoyance as he takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed, her placing the blankets a top his lap. “I’m sorry; back then, what I said was not something I meant to say. I was just angry for getting wrapped in that mess—I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior, but, I hope you at least know that what I said isn’t true. I’m sorry, Hyo Jung-ah, truly sorry.”

 

“Have you ever heard of foot in mouth disease?” She asks, moving his monitor back into the position it’s supposed to be rather than on the floor where he knocked it down. Weon Joon stares at her confused as she glancing back at him with a frown. “It means; you literally say anything without thinking about the consequences; something you seem to do. You say anything you like in the heat of the moment without realizing that you can seriously hurt a person. A-and I seriously hate you for that. Because, even after you said what you said, there was no realization of guilt on your face. It was almost like you felt accomplished for what you said to me.” Tears prick the ends of her eyes, barely noticeable to Weon Joon who merely sits there in awe. She scoffs, for maybe a second, before running a hand down her face. “For a few minutes, I actually believed you—I believed what you said. That my mom was lucky, not to know me. And I was so sacred to see her, to be near her, that I rejected every offer to meet her in the first two weeks after we last saw each other. And then, do you know what happened because of what you said to me? Because of what you made me believe?” The tears truly begin to pour down her face, now clear to him that he seriously messed up. “I refused to see my mother, and s-she, she ended up really hurting herself.”

 

“S-she, she was delusional, thought someone was trying to take her. Without anyone watching she fell down two flights of stairs. And, now, now she’s stuck in an induced coma her own life being preserved by a ventilator because her organs are dying. And now they say that a mix between the fall and her dementia—she has no chance. She has no chance to live. My mom. Thanks to you, I didn’t even get to say goodbye. So, that stupid apology right there and then, means nothing to me. You, you are merely a mistake in my life, and no—I won’t stay.”

 

There, in the white tattered hospital room, Weon Joon is left to live in his own pity as Hyo Jung walks off to live a life where she deals with her troubles—troubles she wrongly blamed on someone. Because it’s too difficult to blame one’s self for the inability to do things that should be done.

 

 s e v e n 

 

Two months after they last talked, Hyo Jung’s mother was taken off life support and a few hours after, she passed away. The funeral was held a few weeks after, only close friends and family showed up. The weeks after, Hyo Jung was a mess, on a path of life she never saw herself on—her father kept it together quite well, doing his job of being a father quite well. Hyo Jung was left to wither in her own pity; because, she didn’t get to say goodbye to her mother. The mother whom she loved.

 

“Another one.” She slurs toward the female bartender who nods and shifts her gaze toward the wall of booze behind her. As of now, Hyo Jung finds herself in a dingy club near her house; people are dancing, and drinking, making out, and humping each other like their lives depended on it. Hyo Jung? Well, she’s too busy drinking away her pity to care about doing anything else. If someone approaches her, she merely hisses at them, like a deranged cat; and if the bartender is to stop her from drinking, she whines and begs—pleads for more. Never actually getting more. And then she’s stuck sitting on the side of the road, waiting for her best friend to pick her up and bring her to their apartment where she stays asleep until noon.

 

Weon Joon enters the club with a friend, Min Su, and focuses on the bar—wanting to drink his own sorrows away. He’s beat himself up pretty bad after the interaction with Hyo Jung—he’s told himself to stop being such a loud mouth jerk. And it’s lead him to being more closed off than ever before, his friends don’t even know what’s going on and why he’s so damn insane after that stupid conversation; and he won’t forgive himself unless she forgives him. “I want something strong.” He tells the bartender, who merely nods and drags his view to the back wall. Weon Joon’s eyes shift around the room, grazing over the people around him, before landing on a sluggish auburn haired girl who’s drooling on the table—a heavy bag set a top the counter next to him.

 

He slides closer to her, surprised to find that it’s actually Hyo Jung, the girl whom he’s been trying to find for ages now. Her eyes travel toward him, and a soft whine leaves as she picks up a finger and presses it against his forehead; surprising him. “Y-you,” Hiccup. “look familiar.” She hiccups again, running her finger down his nose, along his lips, before reaching back up and flicking his forehead. “I don’t like who you look like. He’s mean to me.”

 

Weon Joon cringes, as he now realizes that she doesn’t know it’s him—the mean guy. “Do you hate him?” He questions, nervousness itching into his tone.

 

“No,” She mutters, a slight pout lining her pink tinted lips. “He’s just stupid, and doesn’t realize that he’s stupid. But he is stupid, and mean—I’ve never met someone so…stupid and mean.” She slurs, her brain going into overdrive as she sort of stumbles off the stool, leaving Weon Joon to catch her. Her eyes graze up toward his face once more and she begins to hum. “You do; you do look like him. Tell me, do you also wish to forget me?” She manages to mumble before her head falls against his chest, and she goes limp in his arms—falling asleep just like that.

 

Weon Joon shakes his head, “No, I don’t wish to forget you.” With a slight tug, and a pull, he manages to haul her into his arms—one arm looped underneath her knees, another underneath her neck. Her face cradles into his chest, drool pouring onto his shirt. He signals the bartender over, and places a few bills on the table—paying for her drinks—before taking his leave. Not bothering to tell his friend, since he’s way to focused and worried about the girl in his arms.

 

He ends up taking her back to his shared apartment, his older brothers out for work and won’t be home till noon the next day. He sets her on his bed, pulling off her shoes and setting her purse on the ground next to her, before slipping the covers over her body and leaving. He could’ve just left her, he probably should’ve. She’ll just be mean when she wakes up; he deserves it though. He also feels a bubble of awkwardness boiling in his chest at the fact that he brought a girl, whom he doesn’t seriously know, back to his apartment—and it’s definitely not a one-night stand.

 

Needless to say, the morning is a bundle of discomfiture. Especially so, when she exits his bedroom to find him cooking away in the kitchen. And by him, it’s the boy that she can’t stand—at all, or, at least she believes she can’t stand. Her headache is pounding, and she feels like throwing up every inch of vile product in her stomach. She vaguely remembers talking to a guy who resembled Weon Joon, but in her drunken state she couldn’t put two and two together. “Where am I?” She murmurs as she slides up to the kitchen, near him, a placid scowl on her face.

 

He checks over his shoulder at her, “My apartment,” He pauses to flip over the pancake in the pan before glancing back at her with a smile. “You like pancakes or eggs? Both?” She stands in awe, as the boy who’s dressed in grey sweats and a white wife beater, continues to flip his pancakes without a care of what has happened between them. She wants to ask him if he’s insane; she doesn’t.

 

“I’m not hungry.” She mumbles as she walks away from him and heads back toward the bedroom to grab her purse from the floor. When she walks back, Weon Joon stands in front of her—spatula in hand—with a pointed look on his face. “What?” She sneers, wondering if he wants to have another heart to heart.

 

And by the look on his face, he does. “Can you please talk to me?” She shakes her head; feeling as if they have nothing to talk about. Only, they do, a lot in fact. But the girl is way too strong headed to think they do. “Fine, then at least let me talk.” She rolls her eyes, biting back a yell, and ultimately nods her head. He lets out a sigh of relief as he brings her toward the couch to sit down. When they sit down, he sits on the edge, and stares up at her with practically pleading eyes. Pleading for forgiveness. “There’s nothing I can say, to make what happened, go away. No matter how many times I say I’m sorry, you’ll still hate me. But, what happened to your mother, it’s not my fault—and you know that.” Hyo Jung purses her lips and crosses her arms over her chest; beginning to feel self-conscious. “No matter what I said, it wouldn’t have kept you away from someone you truly wanted to see. You’re merely blaming me for something you couldn’t get the courage to do. You’re also blaming me for other things that don’t involve me—I didn’t force your mother to fall down a flight of stairs.”

 

“I know.” She murmurs in sudden timidity.

 

He nods his head, his hand reaching out to hover above hers which now lie in her lap. “For what I said, and the pain I cause you—I’m sorry, and I know that’ll never be enough. But, at least I hope, it’s good enough to say that you forgive me, to move on.” The two in fact end up moving on, and even though their past together is sketchy, they became good friends. She stopped drinking, and pitying herself—he did as well. She frequently hangs out at his apartment, preferably when his sleazy older brother isn’t home, and or his other committed one isn’t home. At the same time, the two end up visiting her father every weekend—Weon Joon has to watch ‘I Remember You’ every single time he goes and all they eat is rice and egg but it’s fun. Hyo Jung met his parents and younger siblings a few months later, getting a long great with his mother—just like he said she would. His father is just like he described him, a rockaholic. Not to mention that his baby brothers are adorable.

 

He also ends up begin the person she calls when something goes wrong, or if there’s a sketchy person nearing her car. And he usually ends up calling her when he’s bored or needs her to bash someone over the head with the brick in her bag—or to pepper spray someone. She got a Taser recently, so, she could do that as well. Four months after that fateful day in her apartment, Hyo Jung walks out of his bedroom—having fallen asleep there the day before—and walks to the kitchen to find him cooking, like usual. She sneaks up behind him, and stands on the tips of her toes to glance over his shoulder toward the food in the pan. “What are you cooking.”

 

He smiles and shifts his gaze toward her, “Breakfast.”

 

“Need help?” She questions to which he nods, slipping the spatula into the pan as he reaches backward and tugs at her hands before placing them around her waist. She laughs, as he lets go over her and picks up the spatula once more. “This isn’t what I mean.” He merely chuckles and continues cooking; at some point she places her head on his back, and tightens her arms around his waist, interlocking her fingers together.

 

“You know what I’ve been thinking?” The boy asks as he shifts his vision to try and look at her—but it doesn’t work out. And when she replies with a curt hum, he continues. “You and I; we, should date.”

 

Hyo Jung scoffs, “Why should I date you?”

 

“Because, we already act like we’re dating, why shouldn’t we?” He asks back, a small chuckle leaving his mouth. “Besides, don’t people who go through weird experiences together end up dating? Why be one of the one percent that doesn’t?”

 

“You’re insane.” She mumbles.

 

He laughs, “Isn’t that what I say to you?” She hums back in agreement as twists in her grip to face her, starring down at her as she keeps her arms around his back. “So, how about it? You, me…dating?” She merely rolls her head, unexpectedly nodding her head in agreement as she slides her head to lean on his chest—still too tired to disagree. He’s right anyways, they usually act like a couple. “So then, we’re dating?” She nods her head, her head still pressed against his chest. “I’m your boyfriend?” Once more she nods as he reaches up and pats the top of her head—something he always seems to do.

 

“I’m your girlfriend.” She mumbles; her arms tightening against his waist.

 

He nods his head, a small smile filtering its way onto his lips—as she does as well. “You’re still insane, though.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“And you still need to be on meds.”

 

“I know.”

 

“But, you’re my insane girlfriend that needs to be on meds.”

 

“I know.”

 

“Good.”

 

 

[AN]: I’ve finally finished this story, and I think it turned out quite well. I’m sorry for taking so long, but hopefully, you all enjoy what I managed to create. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!