RUN

Ephemeral (찰나의 순간)

Being nice takes a lot of effort. Especially when it’s being nice to Park Jimin the ghost.

 

“Shouldn’t you be studying, miss third-year-in-highschool?” He leans on the armrest of the cream coloured sofa in front of the TV. Sitting on the other side of the sofa, I turn to glare at him. He grins at me widely in return, reminding me of the cheshire cat. He looks like such a kid when he does that. Innocent, mindless, free of any worries in this world.

 

But now, whenever I look at him, I can’t help but see the faint image of him crying into his hands overlap with his smiling expression. Two opposites coexist in the man’s face. I blink. Man, I say. Young man. Twenty-something. Yet he cries like a twelve-year-old child, tears slipping through the gaps of his fingers.

 

I can’t figure out what he is.

 

I’m not sure if I want to.

 

“Your parents are probably thinking ah, our studious daughter must be working hard right now at home…” Then Jimin points at the TV. The female lead in the drama’s having a serious talk with her rich boyfriend’s mother. “And look at you now, Han Gyeowool. What are you doing?”

 

“Shut up,” I say almost automatically, too quickly to consider regretting. I look over to Park Jimin, just checking if he’s assumed that sad face of his again, checking if he’s looking at me with eyes full of pain and tears. Ever since I saw him break down, he’s felt like the expensive china plates my mom keeps in the cupboard only for special occasions. Shouldn’t go near in the first place; I don’t want to risk breaking it. Too fragile for my fumbling hands.

 

But he’s still grinning like a mischievous child.

 

“Do you even know the plot of this?” Jimin points at the TV once again as the female lead rejects the thick envelope of money from her boyfriend’s mom. Classic.

 

“No, but I’m pretty sure the peasant girl’s going to get that cup of water thrown on her—holy.” I stop mid-sentence as the rich lady opens her takeout coffee cup and pours the contents on the other girl’s head. The milky brown liquid drips down the girl’s face. Cue dramatic music.

 

“Eww…” I wrinkle my nose. “Eww, why’d they do that?”

 

Jimin shrugs as if it’s not surprising at all. “It’s a drama, Han Gyeowool. They recycle the same plot over and over to gain views.”

 

“I know that, I meant the coffee.” I shudder even just thinking about it. “That’s going to be such a pain to wash out. So sticky and gross,” I mumble.

 

Jimin points at the remote control. “Just change the channel. It’s Sunday morning. They should have better options available.”

 

I pick up the remote and press the up button on the controller. Home shopping broadcast, kid’s channel, another home shopping broadcast, another rerun of a cliche drama, the millionth rerun of Home Alone, and...

 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t change the channel!” Jimin’s voice is so urgent that I stop my browsing abruptly.

 

“Healthy Juicer only for 199,000 won!” the lady on TV says excitedly. “Wow, look at this, I’m putting the chopped up apples through here…”

 

I look at Jimin, raising my eyebrows. “Seriously?”

 

Jimin holds up his index finger to shush me. “I’m listening, kid.”

 

“You don’t need to do anything, it squeezes the juice out of the fruit. Yes, that’s right. Squeeze! Look now, the juice is coming out from here.” The lady points at the foamy yellow liquid filling up the glass in front of the juicer.

 

“Can you get a juicer?” Jimin doesn’t even take his eyes off the screen as he says this.

 

“What for?”

 

“Juicing, obviously. Apple juice, pineapple juice, orange juice…” Jimin uncurls the fingers on his left hand as he counts the juices he names.

 

“All natural! Never buy a bottle of juice again, just make it yourself!” the lady, a little too excited over an expensive juicer, exclaims in the background.

 

“You can’t even drink anything.” My eyebrows are still raised.

 

“Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do.” Jimin makes a face that’s a mixture of anger and sadness, suddenly serious. For a second it worries me, forcing me to remember how he sat like a statue as he did nothing but watch his old friend group fall apart. But then, he bursts into laughter out of nowhere. The grief evaporates as quickly as it emerged.

 

I find myself laughing along a little despite myself. I’m not entirely sure if I'm laughing at him or with him, though.

 

“Are we going to keep watching this?” I nod at the broadcast.

 

“They say if we call right now, we’ll get a frying pan for free,” Jimin answers like he’s stating the obvious answer to a simple question.

 

“No, I am not ordering a juicer over the phone.” I pick up the remote controller and turn the TV off. The TV screen is rid of its colour and sound.

 

“No!” Jimin tries to sound devastated, but now I know what real devastation from him sounds like, so I ignore his ‘painful cries’.

 

“You know...” I point at the clock on the living room wall. The hour hand lies somewhere between 9 and 10, and the minute hand points at 2. It sort of looks like a smiling face, I dimly register in some childish part of my mind. “I’m hungry.”

 

“Your mom left you breakfast.” Jimin nods at the kitchen. As creepy as it is to consider, he must have watched my mom cook this morning while my mom doesn’t even know I’ve been bringing home some stranger every day.

 

“Yeah, but I don’t want that.” I suddenly stand up from the sofa with determination.

 

“Have some respect for your mother who cooked for you, her loving child—” Jimin starts to nag, but I cut him off.

 

“I do, but I want to eat something else.”

 

I take a few seconds to stare at nothing, then turn to Jimin. I feel a smile forming on my face along with the beginnings of an idea.

 

“My mom never lets me have junk food.” I beam at him, who is no longer the child between us. No, he’s switched into annoying adult mode now.

 

“No wonder. High fat, high sodium, questionable hygiene…” Jimin extends his fingers the same way he did when he listed off his choice of juices.

 

“Wait right here!” I exclaim, ignoring his nagging with little more than a huff of exasperation. I bolt away from the sofa, and up the stairs. When I reach the second floor, I yell downstairs, “Don’t you dare come near my room!”

 

“Not interested, Han Gyeowool. Who do you think you are?” Jimin’s voice yells back as I slam my bedroom door shut.

 

I don’t bother trying to find other clothing at this point. I pick up the same grey hoodie and black pants I wear when I go out. And the thick winter jacket, of course. It doesn’t take me long to get dressed. I pick up my phone and wallet on the desk and run downstairs.

 

“You’re really going to break those stairs one day,” Jimin tuts as I return to my original spot. “Why’re you dressed?”

 

“I’m going out!” I don’t really know why I’m suddenly happy and all energetic. I just am. I hold up my wallet to show him. “I want a hamburger.”

 

Jimin looks at me, then at the wallet, then outside. Then back at me. “Really?”

 

“Yep.” I put my wallet back. “So are you coming or what?”

 

“McDonald's delivers to your door.” Jimin pouts.

 

“I don’t want McDonalds, that’s the issue.” I take out my phone from my pocket, checking the time. “Quick, decide, are we going or am I going?”

 

Jimin slowly pushes himself upright into a sitting position. “You’re one demanding kid,” he says.

 

“Well, so are you, sir.” I don’t miss a beat when I say this. It is true.

 

Jimin seems to know this too well, as he doesn’t retort back. He puts his feet down on the ground, one by one, and stands.

 

He’s really not that tall, is he?

 

I look down to the floor, my eyes travelling up as I see his flip-flops, bare feet, shorts, short-sleeved shirt. My gaze eventually is on his face when his eyes meet mine.

 

“What?” he asks. His voice tone still holds the mischief that could only belong to a child.

 

I glance out the cold winter morning through the glass window. Now I feel bad again. “Won’t you be cold?” I ask.

 

“No, it’s fine. I got used to it.” Jimin looks at me and grins once more, this time looking cheeky. “What, are you worried?”

 

“No,” I answer too quickly.

 

“You are, aren’t you?”

 

“Stop being delusional. I’m leaving now.” I turn away from him and walk toward the house door. “You don’t have to come.”

 

I can’t hear Jimin following me, but I can sense he is. It’s something that doesn’t need any sensory signals to be proven true.

 

“Okay, Han Gyeowool!” He sounds so excited that it annoys me a bit, but I don’t shoot back any nasty comments this time.

 

Because I’m a decent person, unlike what he thinks.

 

As the front door of the house automatically locks behind our back with the di-ding!, Jimin points at the sky. My gaze follows up to where his finger points.

 

“Look!” he says in awe. I hear the distant sound of an airplane engine. At the same time, I realize the half moon is still in the sky, despite it being daytime. It’s just… there, though. Not illuminating the sky, just there, floating, waiting for its time to shine. The airplane passes above us, flying below the moon.

 

“Airplane,” I say blandly, my tone certainly holding none of the same enthusiasm he has. But then, as with everything I say to Park Jimin recently, I feel regret as soon the word leaves me. Shouldn’t I sound more interested, more engaged? I look over at Jimin. The faint black-striped T-shirt that he’s always been wearing looks especially pathetic today next to my thick and warm winter jacket.

 

I sigh. White smoke pours out of my mouth.

 

“What’s with the sigh? Sad because you’ve never been on a plane before?” His tone leans toward a joking one. He thinks I’ve been on a plane before? Well, news flash.

 

“Yeah.” I shrug.

 

“Wait, what?” Jimin’s reaction sounds like I've just told him that I’ve never drank water in my life. “You’re in your third year of high school.”

 

“Yes...?” I say. “What about it?”

 

“You went to the middle school here.” He says this more as a confirming statement. Anyone who lived in this area went there, so I nod.

 

“In the third year of middle school, we go to Jeju Island for our school trip. You need to take a plane to get there,” he says, making me realize that Park Jimin lived a life that resembled mine quite a bit before he died. Same elementary school, same middle school, same high school. Same school trip destinations. Entrance ceremonies, graduation ceremonies. He’d had everything I’ve had, just three years earlier than me.

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t go on that trip,” I disclose. “Didn’t feel like it.”

 

“Wow, what kind of life did you have?” Jimin says this mindlessly but it prickles old scars I’d rather forget.

 

“A better one than yours, obviously,” I find myself snapping back. Although I shouldn’t.

 

For some reason, Jimin doesn’t seem annoyed at me. He’s still jolly and happy. “You know,” he starts suddenly, making me slightly be wary of where he’s going with this conversation.

 

“What?” I say.

 

“When you board a plane, you need to take off your shoes.”

 

I look at him with the best seriously? face I can muster, which has been significantly improving lately thanks to him. “Mister Park Jimin, sir, I’m not an idiot.”

 

“Really! And you give your shoes to the stewardess, and they stack them in a special shoebox during your flight.” He tries to sound convincing, but the laughter in his tone he can barely suppress gives him away so easily.

 

“Yeah, yeah, of course. So the airplane must stink with all the smelly feet,” I reply, humouring him dryly. Realizing I’ve been making verbal conversation with a ghost. Who’s not real.

 

I look around. No one’s within earshot.

 

Well, being seen talking to an ‘imaginary friend’ by strangers is not my biggest concern right now. Sure, whoever’s passing by may look at me and question my sanity, go ahead. As long as they don’t personally phone my parents, advising them to send me back to my therapist, I’ll be fine.

 

I push open the glass door leading inside Burger King. The sudden warmth hugs me, melting my frozen cheeks and the tips of my nose and ears. I don’t hold the door open for Jimin. That’d be weird.

 

“You don’t believe me?” Jimin asks as he follows me inside, walking through the door. “Trust me, next time you board a plane and you don’t take your shoes off, everyone’s going to stare at you, thinking ‘you uncultured swine’.

 

I scoff, but don’t say anything. The clerk behind the counter is too close to me. I don’t go up to him to order immediately and instead take a seat in the table near the counter. I take out my phone and check the time, also checking for texts. Unsurprisingly, no new messages. My thumbs hover over Namjoon’s name for a second or two, remembering his teary eyes and pained voice. I almost tap his name when suddenly someone talks from right behind me.

 

“Oh, hi!” the voice says, and I turn around despite knowing that it can’t possibly be me that the voice is addressing. I don’t have any friends to stumble upon me in public.

 

I almost jump out of my seat, however, when I see the statement was in fact directed at me. The man behind is waving, smiling brightly.

 

I know this man. Hoseok. Jimin’s old friend.

 

My first instinct is to turn to Jimin to check how he’s doing. His expression is bland. He stares at his friend, but says nothing, does nothing, shows no emotion.

 

I bite my lip as I turn back to Hoseok. “Hi,” I say. Great socializing skills I have.

 

Hoseok takes a seat right in front of me as if the hi is an invitation for him to join me at my table. I mean, I must look like I’m lonely, being here myself.

 

Hoseok can’t see Jimin with me. Obviously.

 

“I didn’t expect to see you here. It’s pretty early for hamburger, isn’t it?” Hoseok says, and I don’t know how to respond to this naturally.

 

My response ends up being a jumble of weird noises and nodding.

 

“Well, I guess it’s never early for hamburger, huh?” Hoseok grins. I guess my response was sufficient. Socializing with kids my age is hard. Socializing with adults… that’s too much.

 

Then I remember that Jimin’s in the same age range as Hoseok. That’s weird to think about now. Jimin’s just a kid...but Hoseok’s, like, old. The way Jimin acts makes me forget that he’s three years older than me. Or two, I guess, if his age is still stuck in the time that he died. Even though Jimin’s supposedly around the same age as Hoseok, I don’t feel that throat-clogging apprehension whenever I talk with him. Probably because of how immature he can be at times, like when he asks me to buy a juicer from an infomercial, but still.

 

“What are you getting?” Hoseok asks as he turns to the counter. The menu is displayed on the screens behind the clerk. I don’t need to look at the menu to decide.

 

“Just, um, a chicken burger,” I mumble.

 

“Oh, okay,” Hoseok says. “What drink?”

 

“Uh… cola?” Are these questions part of this normal socializing thing?

 

Hoseok stands up and goes up to the clerk, still with a slight limp. He makes a few remarks to the clerk, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. The clerk laughs. While they exchange some banter good-naturedly, Hoseok hands the clerk his credit card. The clerk hands him back the receipt and the card, and the bell that will vibrate when the order is ready.

 

Hoseok returns to me and puts the bell on the table. 3, the number on the bell reads.

 

“Uh…” Why do I feel like he just ordered something… for me? Or am I misinterpreting the situation? I don’t know, but I don’t want to appear like I don’t know.

 

“Oh, no worries, it’s no big deal. I’m Namjoon’s friend, remember?” This seems to confirm that he did order food for me. But why does him being Namjoon’s friend matter here—oh.

 

I’m supposed to be Namjoon’s second cousin. Right.

 

I feel like I’m taking advantage of this friendly man by lying to him. And that’s not a good feeling.

 

“Thank you.” My voice is probably too quiet for him to hear.

 

“So, is Kim Namjoon okay?” Hoseok asks. I get the feeling the real reason he bought me food was to have a reason to talk to me about this. I feel a bit guilty—I don’t really know Kim Namjoon. We’re not related at all.

 

“I...don’t know,” I say. That part is honest. “I haven’t seen him since then.”

 

“Oh, yeah?” Silence. Makes me feel like I should fill the vacancy of sound with something. But no matter what I do, I’ll probably be judged. Or make a mistake. Or...I don’t know. Do something wrong. Like I always seem to.

 

“You know, when you do go see him again…” Hoseok starts, but the bell on the table starts buzzing.

 

“I-I’ll go get it,” I offer. Hoseok waves his hand in dismissal.

 

“No, no, I will.” Hoseok stands up. “Just wait here.”

 

He’s limping. I shouldn’t have let him go get the food. My food. That he’s bought for me.

 

“Gyeowool,” Jimin calls in a low voice, breaking my trance. I’d almost forgotten he was there. I look up to see Jimin, unreadable eyes fixed on his friend, who’s begun limping back with the tray in his hands. He also bought french fries. I don’t remember saying I like them...not that I don’t or anything.

 

“Don’t ever tell him you can see me, okay?” Jimin finally says as Hoseok sits down, pushing the tray toward me.

 

I look at Hoseok, sitting so close to his dead friend yet so unaware. I can see them both, but they belong in two different worlds that never cross.

 

I suppose this isn’t my choice to make.

 


some!! more!! fluff!!?? i tried...

writing chill chapters make me feel like im not doing it right idk maybe it's my angst cursed hands

some unintended product placement in this chapter im not sponsored by mcdonalds nor burger king

i considered making it lotteria and mom's touch (other burger brands in korea) for the sake of... korEAn feEls and stuff but lotteria is notorious for being bad and ive never personally been to mom's touch so oh welp gyeowool likes burger king i guess

fun fact of the day: its university entrance exam today in korea they'd be taking their tests right now wowow 

thank you always for reading subbing and commenting u guys are cooooOOol i love u all!

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citrusmilk
we love u all thanks for supporting ephemeral <33

Comments

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kpopluver3
#1
Chapter 14: just rereading this story for like i dont even how many times i read this. anyway just felt like rereading it again and just again realize how beautiful the writing is and just wanted you to know i appreciate this work of art. anyway cant wait to hear from you soon with good news like an update. cant wait to see how the other member of the gang will react upon futher contact with gyeowool and hopefully we can know more about her history and background. it seemed like that memory of her being stuck in the mental hospital from her middle school year to her high school year was very traumatic. that a very close friend of her, zelo, had passed away and it seems she had left him like how she had left jimin or he just left? anyway im really curious about that background and hopefully with more updates those things will be made clearer. anyway can't wait for your update and good luck with you real life endeavors because i know how busy real life commitment can make us. can't wait to hear from you soon<3
whimsyvkook #2
will read! ^^
makeupyourmind #3
Chapter 14: loving the banter between gyeowool and jimin! but imagining hoseok limping... its so sad and must be hard for jimin to see. you've very good and pulling in the fluff and then pulling out the angst.
makeupyourmind #4
Chapter 13: i can feel gyeowool's frustration. she's wants to comfort jimin but she doesn't know how to. the helplessness in that is something i can relate to. when you know someone is in pain but you feel like there is nothing you can say to help them.
great chapter :) i liked the analogy about the moon, its cycles and how that relates to the circle of life.
RivenLito #5
YOO WAH
Jaslynn #6
Chapter 13: I guess it is a happier chapter :/