*

*

*

*

*

Bang Yongguk's POV: 

   I wake up feeling relaxed, despite my newly stuffed nose. 

  My fever has gone down drastically; there is a sheen of sweat on my forehead, and the heavy covers on top of me feel extremely hot. I'm about to push them off of me when I realize that there's someone lying next to me. I turn my head to the right, where the undetermined person lies. 

  As I expected, it's Sarang. She wears the same calm, gentle expression whether she is asleep or awake. Her small face is turned slightly to my direction, and her tiny, slim hands are bundled up next to her head, cradling a light blue cloth in between her fingers. She looks like a tired little angel. 

   Warmth envelopes me as I watch her sleep. Slowly, I pull out my left arm from under the heavy blankets she'd lain on top of me and gently brush away strands of her fair hair from her face, tucking them in behind her ear. 

  If only she knew just how much I care about her. How entranced I'd been by her the first time I'd seen her, when we were both so young, at that grocery store. 

  She'd had a sort of calm and rationality that normal nine-year-olds didn't possess, that much I could tell just from one look at her. Like she'd seen it all already, so nothing could faze her anymore. I kept wondering why she was the one to take care of the shopping considering how young she looked; I would see her every time I did the groceries for my dongsaengs since our parents had passed away and our uncle didn't care about us.

  Then one day, when I was trying to find her, I'd turned around and bumped into her, sending the food she'd gathered in her arms flying towards the ground. 

  I'd helped her pick them up, and we'd paid for our things at the same register. It was only when I caught up to her afterwards to apologize that we started to become more than just acquaintances. When I found out that we went to the same school, I told my dongsaengs to befriend her, and she started showing up at our house for visits, or to tutor Junhong or Jongup, since Youngjae was an impatient teacher and had given up on them long ago. 

  It wasn't long before she practically became one of the family. We all knew everything about each other, and we weren't ashamed to tell anyone about anything that was bothering any of us. We understood each other too, like she knew that we were all fearful of hospitals, because that was where we went to see our parents after the crash and watched them die on their hospital beds. 

  Years passed, and it was still the same. We often went over to her and her aunt's home, and helped around the house and garden, which was where she taught me all I know about plants. 

  I don't know when I started to have a new kind of feeling other than familial affection, but if I have to sum it up, I'd have to say that it was around the time when other girls just didn't seem the least bit attractive to me, and I'd decline all of their offers to date. I'd even decline chocolate or other gifts and only accept the precious hand-made pastries that Sarang bakes for all of us on such events. I waited for her after school so I could walk her home, and accompanied her everywhere she went, with her consent, of course. She was the only girl who seemed to glow when I set my eyes on her, and she was the kindest, gentlest, sweetest person that I had ever had the honour of meeting. 

   And I loved her. Probably even longer than when I'd first realized it. 

  I smile at her sleeping face. 

  "Thank you, Sarang," I whisper. "And I love you." 

  I reach out a hand to her again, just so that I can touch her face, when I realize that I'm wearing a maroon sweater, different than the black shirt I'd fallen asleep with. 

  I look back at Sarang, face switching from affectionate to incredulous. 

  She'd...changed me?!

  Hurriedly, I look underneath the blankets to see that I'm also wearing a new pair of pajama pants and dry, white socks. Heart beating a million times per second, I reach down and look underneath the hem of my pants, holding my breath. 

  I'm wearing a different pair of underwear. 

  I'm wearing a different pair of underwear. 

  I'm wearing a different pair of underwear. 

  I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear I'm wearing a different pair of underwear

  I let go of the hem of my pants and it falls back down to my waistband with a thwack. Sarang is jolted awake, eyes instantly alert as she takes in her surroundings. When her eyes land on mine, she smiles. 

  "You're awake," she says, relieved. Then she frowns. "What's wrong?" 

  For the first time, I notice that my hands are clapped over my mouth and my jaw has dropped all the way to my chest. Also, I've stopped breathing. 

  I in a mouthful of air, the sudden notion startling Sarang. 

  "Are you okay?" she asks worriedly. She lays a hand on my forehead again. "Your fever's gone, but..." 

  I shake my head, and her hand falls from it. 

  "I'm fine," I say, not looking at her. "My fever's left, and I feel great, really, Sarang, I-I'm fine." M voice sounds nervous and fluttery, and I can feel my face burning as all of the blood in my body rushes towards it. 

  She's seen it, I think, feeling panicked and defeated and anxious all at the same time. She's seen me, she's seen all of me, what do I do, what do I do, what do I do, what do I dooooooooooo

  "No, your face is awfully red, and you look like you need to rest some more," she says, completely unfazed. I wonder incredulously how she can act so normal. 

  She goes on. "How is your throat feeling? Here, I made some soup." She presents to me a tray with a blue bowl of soup balanced atop it from the floor. Then she makes an uncertain expression as she presses a hand to the bowl's side. "It's gotten cold now..." She looks at me, then reaches over and gently pushes me back down. I try not to tremble as she does it. "Stay here and get a bit more rest, okay? I'll be back; I'm just going to go warm up your soup." 

  And she stands and makes her way out of the room, holding the tray in her hands. 

  A silent moment passes. 

  And then I spin around and start punching my pillow as hard as I can. 

   "...Hyung?" 

  I stop mid-punch and turn around to face the door at the speed of light, eyes wide. 

  It's Youngjae and Jongup, identical expressions of confusion on their faces. They're both wearing a different work uniform from two of my jobs. 

  Jongup speaks first, talking hesitantly. "Uh, hyung, I...thought you were sick..." 

  "Yeah!" Youngjae says, finding his voice. "We both filled in for you at your jobs! And then we find you here, doing..." he pauses. "Um...punching pillows?" 

  I let out a long breath and slump back down on the mat. 

   "Guys, just..." I swipe a hand down my face. "Not now..."

  "What do you mean, not now?" Youngjae demands, placing his hands on his hips. "Sarang even made us change you! I mean, what are you, a baby?" 

  I look up at the two of them, eyes wide. They shift on their feet uncomfortably. 

  "What?" Jongup asks. 

  "Are you...happy about that?" Youngjae adds, perplexed. 

  I stand up and grab them both, wrapping my arms around them and squeezing them tight. They make choked noises, but all I do is squeeze them harder. 

  Finally, they get the strength to push me away. 

  "Yah!" they yell at me in unison, breaths coming in gasps. 

  "Why did you do that for?!" Youngjae asks. 

  I shake my head and pat both of their shoulders, wearing a grin that fills me with euphoria and makes me want to cry all at the same time. 

  "Nothing," I answer them. "Just thank you." 

  And I leave the room to go check on Sarang in the kitchen, the two staring after me. 

*~(~*~(~*~(~*

Jung Daehyun's POV: 

  "Min Jook-ah..." 

  I feel my eyes widen in shock. How does he know my father's name?  My feet stumble backwards, and Zelo moves to help me, but I wave him away, forcefully regaining my composure. I have to keep him from ever knowing the name Jung Min Jook. 

   "I think you've mistaken me for someone else, sir," I say to the man, eyes glued to his. I keep my voice controlled and neutral. "My name is Daehyun, and we're closed at the moment due to the storm last night."

  The man remains in his stance in front of me, gaze burning holes in my eyes. For some reason, I have a feeling of nostalgia that I've met this man before, long ago, before I ever had any thoughts connected to crime or revenge at all. A moment passes as I wait for the man to do something, anything. 

   "Uh, yeah!" Zelo chimes in awkwardly. He looks to the man.  "Sorry, Ahjusshi, but you have to leave. No exceptions, even to people like you." 

  The man finally shifts his gaze towards Zelo. "And just what," he asks, "Are people like me?" He raises an eyebrow at him.

  Zelo doesn't back down. He returns the man's challenging glare. "Rotten, over-indulged, spoon-fed city men who believe that they can do anything they want, just because they're richer than us, just like how you barged inside a closed store right after a storm has practically torn it apart. My family's dealt with too many of those kinds of men, so if you please..." He lifts an arm and gestures mockingly towards the door.

   But all the man does is smile. It's not a smug or rude smile, but surprisingly warm and friendly.

   "I like you, boy," he says to Zelo, who, after a confused moment, looks to me and points to his chest. "Yeah, you," the man reassures. "You have a sort of headstrong feel to you. Like me, when I was around your age." 

  Zelo makes a disgusted face. "So you're telling me that one day I'm going to look like you?" 

  The man laughs and shakes his head. "Not exactly. I think I was much better looking than you when I was your age." 

  Zelo scoffs, like that's an impossible thought, and I can't help but agree in my mind. 

  "Whatever," Zelo says, "just leave, while I'm still being nice." 

  The man stays where he stands. "I'm not sure what your definition for nice is, young man, but that's okay, because I'm not here for you." He looks at me. "Daehyun, if you don't mind, may I have a word with you?" 

  "I think he would mind, Ahjusshi," Zelo spits back at him. "Could you please just leave now?" 

  I continue to watch the man as he looks at me, not paying the slightest attention to Zelo's protests. I can't help but wonder how he knew my father, and why he even bothered to come find me in the first place. What does he want with me? 

  "Zelo, stop,"  I say, holding out a hand to restrain him from advancing towards the man. Then I face him. "Okay," I say, "I'll speak with you. But it better not take long, and you have to leave straight afterwards." 

  "Daehyun!" Zelo objects, but I cast a look at him and he quiets. 

  The man is smiling. "Of course," he says. "Now, if you would step outside with me for a moment." 

  I keep my eyes on Zelo as I walk out the door, telling him without speaking aloud that I'll be the one to take care of this, and that he shouldn't try to interfere. He pouts, but turns and picks up a cloth, shoulders slumped and defeated. 

   As the man closes the door behind him, he says, "My name is Baek Jung Oh. It's nice to meet you again after all these years, Daehyun-ah." 

  I try not to show how confused or conflicted I feel right now. My stomach is churning, and there is a tornado where my brain should be. I hide my fists inside the pockets of my gardening apron (a mandatory piece of clothing that neither Zelo or I are too fond of) and face him, hopefully giving the appearance of a young man that isn't so easily intimidated. 

  "Let's skip past the introductions," I say, narrowing my eyes at him. "Who are you and why did you come here to find me?" I don't want to admit that I know the name Min Jook just yet; first I have to know just what he's up to by being here. 

   The swipes a hand over his graying hair. It's styled in a sort of business-like way, and reminds me of salt on an icy asphalt. He looks at me for a little longer before he speaks. 

  "I'm not surprised that you've forgotten me, Daehyun-ah," he says. "You were such a little thing the first time I held you. Nothing at all like you are now." 

  "What do you mean by that?" I ask. He knew me? He held me, when I was a child? 

   "I was a friend of your father's, Daehyun," he says, his eyes turning gentle. "Ever since we were kids, I've been a very good friend of his." 

  Time seems to stop as he watches my reaction. 

   I have absolutely no recollection of any friends that my father had ever had. He was the kind of man who would unplug the phone and throw it out of the window, the kind of man who would keep his eyes on the ground with a hood over his head whenever he left the house, just so he wouldn't have to look at anyone. My father wouldn't have any friends. 

  "You're lying," I say, now feeling certain of myself. This man is nothing but a joke, a city man who has nothing else to do but play around with kids who were less fortunate than him when it came to life. 

   The man shakes his head. "I'm not lying, Daehyun-ah," he says. "We were best friends." 

  "Yeah, yeah," I say, already turning back to face the door. "Time's up. Now, if you excuse me, I have work to do, and you have to hold up your end of the bargain and leave." 

  "There weren't just the two of us, though," the man says, continuing on as if I had never even spoken. "There were four of us. We were what you would call life-long friends. We all believed that we would stay close forever." 

   His story is sounding even more preposterous than before. 

   "That's nice, Ahjusshi," I say, grabbing hold of the doorknob. "Now, take care, and feel free to purchase some flowers from the shop during actual open hours." 

  "You know who all four of us are," he goes on. I've already opened the door to the shop, and my left foot has already stepped inside. Zelo isn't near the entrance; he must be out back somewhere.

   "I highly doubt that, Ahjusshi," I say. "Good day to you."

   "Our group consisted of me, your father, Jung Min Jook, your mother, Song Soo Yun, and the father of the young lady who owns this shop, Park Ju Rin."

  I freeze in my tracks as my thoughts take a moment to process themselves. Then my mind erupts into a whirlpool of questions as I turn back abruptly, slamming the door closed behind me. 

  The man has a saddened expression on his face as I walk up to him and look him right in the eyes. I narrow my gaze at him, seriousness emanating from my every pore. If this man is joking, I will kill him. He cannot talk so easily about the people he just mentioned, not when I've spent my entire life revolving around them, asking myself questions that no one alive could answer. 

  "When you said 'that young lady who owns this shop,'" I say slowly, "do you mean Park Sarang?"

  He nods. "Who else? I'm definitely not talking about the other tall young man who runs this shop, or the boy inside." 

  I grab the lapel of his trenchcoat and pull him towards me. His eyes widen and he slaps at my hand, clearly startled. 

  "What are you doing?" he asks. 

  "You better not be kidding around with me," I say with the most dangerous voice I can muster. Then I let him go, and while he pats the crinkles down in his suit with nervous fingers, I look inside the shop for Zelo. He's still nowhere to be seen.

  "We better move farther away from the shop," I say, feeling cautious, already walking down the pathway towards a shiny silver car which I presume is his. I hear his footsteps not far behind, and I wonder if he feels apprehensive about all of the puddles surrounding his glossy shoes. 

   I move behind the car, and he stands beside me, patiently waiting for me to turn towards him so he can speak up. 

  "Okay," I say finally, the word coming out in a long breath. Then I ask the first  and most obvious question that comes to my mind. "What are you doing here, and what do you want with me?"

   He pauses before he speaks. "I first came here because I wanted to pay respects to your father. I haven't heard from him in more than twenty years; he cut off all possible contact with me long ago. When I learned that both him and Ju Rin-ah had...passed on, after...certain circumstances, I felt like I needed to visit their shrines." He raises his eyes to assess me again. "And then I learned that they both had children."

  "That still leaves my other question unanswered," I say. He's only saying things that I already know. He could still be just a man pulling a joke who knows how to search the Internet thoroughly. "What do you want with me?"

   He sighs. "I...heard that you were living alone, Daehyun-ah," he tells me. "That you were sent to live in five different foster homes, who didn't treat you...particularly well."

   Flashes from my past as a child attack me; fleeting images of a large man with a beer in his hand lumbering at me while the woman who housed me lay on the floor, screaming, head dripping blood. Then of a woman who snuck into my room every night and tried to tie me up, whom I always managed to escape. I remember dark nights in alleys as I hid,  ducking behind garbage cans after hearing hushed voices. The smell of smoke and the heady odor of drugs in the air. Never feeling safe, never letting my guard down.

  I want to hit this man for mentioning my past, but as I've learned to do, I hold my ground and keep my hands balled into fists inside my pockets, restraining myself. 

  "So what?" I demand, eyes blazing. "You're here to tell me you're sorry? To pity me? Try to reach out to me? I don't think so." 

   The man shakes his head sadly. "No, Daehyun-ah, you've got me all wrong. I know what it's like to be young and feeling alone in the world. I know that you and your friend think that I've lived my life comfortably and without suffering, but please understand that that is not how I was raised at all."

  I'm already shaking my head, angry at myself for thinking for one second that this man could be of help to me. 

  "Thanks," I say bitterly, "but no thanks. I'm going to go back to work now." 

   The man grabs hold of my arm, and the voice he uses sounds desperate. 

  "Please, Daehyun-ah," he says, tugging at my sleeve. "Could we speak some more? There is so much I need to tell you. You must have been so confused as to why your father would want to do such a thing as that, right? You must have had so many questions that you could never find an answer to, right? I know how that feels. That's why I came to find you."

  His words strike at me like a lash from a whip, paining me and waking me up at the same time. That is exactly how I feel, exactly how I'd felt since the day the police had shown up on my doorstep, hats off and faces sorrowful. 

  I turn around once more, and hope fills the man's eyes. He opens his mouth to continue when the sound of a phone ringing pierces through the air. 

   I watch as he fumbles with pulling his cellphone from his pocket. He slaps it onto his ear, impatient. 

  "Hye Rim-ah, not now," he starts, but then his eyes widen as he listens further. "What? When? How?" 

  Before I can begin to wonder what he's going on about, he says, "Okay, I'll be right there," and ends the call. 

  "But - " I say, but he cuts me off. 

  "I'm so sorry, Daehyun-ah," he says, stuffing his phone back into his pocket. "I have to go right now." 

  "You told me that you would explain!" I accuse reproachfully. 

  "I'm sorry," he says again, then whips out his wallet and pulls a small card from it. He pushes it into my hands. "This is my business card," he explains. "Call me when you want to meet up again and I'll come and see you anytime, Daehyun-ah." 

  He starts to rush away when he stops and comes back to me.

  "I almost forgot," he says, taking his wallet out once more. He pulls out a folded paper and holds it out to me. Reluctantly, I take it from his outstretched hand. 

  "What's this?" I ask him. 

  He smiles, but it still looks a bit sad. "It's in case you still don't believe me." 

  And then he charges to the front of his car, jumping in the driver's seat. 

  "See you again, Daehyun!" he calls over his shoulder as the car speeds away. 

  After the silver vehicle disappears down the street, I return my gaze to the things he'd given me. The card is indeed of the business sort; he seems to be a sort of music composer or whatnot. Treble Studios is written in a black and white cursive at the top, and beneath it is a phone number and a name, reading Baek Jung Oh, music producer.

   I fold it and place it carefully inside my pocket, then I turn to the other paper. It has a smooth surface, despite the crinkles and brown aged spots, suggesting to me that it is a photograph. 

  Eyebrows crinkling together in curiosity, I slowly unfold it, bracing myself for what lies beneath.

   At first glance, I feel my fingers give way and the photo falls from my hands, landing lightly on a puddle. I feel my heart racing, and confusion fills me.

   Aboji...

   I pause for a moment, just looking down at the crinkled paper as water from the puddles pool over it. Then I grab the photo from the ground and shake droplets of rainwater from it before folding it again and placing it in my pocket next to the business card. 

  I'll deal with this later. 

  And I turn back to the shop.

*~(~*~(~*~(~*

Park Sa Rang's POV: 

  "You got better, fast, Yongguk-ah!" I comment, smiling as I let my hand fall from his forehead. 

   He shrugs. "It's all because of you, Sarang," he tells me, grinning. "Thank you." 

  "You've already told me that," I say, rolling my eyes as I slip back on my rubber glove and turn back to the dishes. I refuse an offer of help from him, so he sits down on one of the stools next to the kitchen table and watches me, chewing on a stick of celery.

  My mind travels to thoughts of Daehyun-ah. How is he holding up? Junhong must be pretty hard to handle, but he's polite when he feels like he needs to be, so he should be fine. He's a good worker too, thought not as good as Yongguk or Daehyun. Even though, I feel like I need to go and see how they're doing. 

  "Do you think you could stay here without me while I go check up on the shop?" I ask Yongguk as he slides the last of the celery into his mouth. 

  He shakes his head and stands up, swallowing. "I'll go with you," he says immediately, like I knew he would. 

   I smile and shake my head, placing the last plate onto the dish rack. "No way," I say, pulling off the gloves and laying them on the counter to dry. "You just got better, so there's a good chance that you could get worse again. Don't strain yourself, I won't be too long." 

  He blocks my way as I try to leave the kitchen. 

  "I'm not a baby, Sarang-ah," he says, raising his eyebrows playfully at me. "I can take care of myself. Remember that conversation? Hm?"

  I laugh and shove at him lightly. "That barely applies to you," I say, then I narrow my eyes at him. "Stay." 

  "I'm not a dog either!" he calls as I grab my jacket from the post and sling it over my shoulders. I laugh. 

  Then I remember something just before I go out. 

  "Ah, Yongguk-ah!" I call, and he appears from the kitchen, coughing into his sleeve. 

  "Yeh?" he asks with a rusty voice. 

  "Mi Yung Ahjumma was talking to me the other day," I tell him, "and she told me something that I think will help me a lot." 

  He nods. "What did she say?"

   For some reason, I don't want to look in his eyes as I tell him. "She told me that she was worried about how I live all alone, and how I'm vulnerable to any dangers that might come to me, things like that," I say nonchalantly. 

  He nods again and jabs the air with his finger, suddenly looking very proud.

  "You see, that's what I've been saying for the longest time, Sarang! That Ahjumma, I've always liked her. What did she say afterwards?" 

   I cough into the cuff of my jacket before I answer, feeling awkward and a bit tense. Knowing Yongguk, he'll be very protective, as he's always been. I brace myself for his reaction.

   "She...she said that she asked Daehyun to move in with me."

   I finally get the courage to look up at him, and I'm not surprised to see that he looks like he's just gotten the biggest shock of his life. 

  "What?!" he asks, stupefied. 

  "And I said okay," I add, flinching as his jaw drops lower. 

  "Why would you agree?!" he demands, grabbing my shoulders in his big hands. "Why would you want him there?" 

   My voice quavers as he shakes my shoulders back and forth. "Truthfully, I feel really frightened all alone at my place," I admit, touching his hands to make them stop. "I know, I haven't told you as much, but it's true. And I trust Daehyun."

   He scoffs. "You've barely known him for two weeks, Sarang!" he protests. "Like I said, you're too trusting!"

   I set my jaw and frown at him. "And you don't trust anyone!" I retort. "Did you know that yesterday, I was out in the storm by myself when Daehyun ran out and saved me?"

   He doesn't say anything back, all he does is stand with his mouth open and his shoulders slumped.

   "Well, that's what he did," I say. "And you know how much that means to me, considering how big that storm was. You know." 

  He sighs and rakes his big hands through his hair. "I know," he says, his voice sounding grudging. "But he's a man, and you're a woman. You can't just think that..." 

  "Daehyun is a perfect gentleman," I shoot back at him. "And he would do nothing wrong to me." 

  "There you go again!" he says back. "Trusting him and thinking that he's so much better than what you even know!"

  "I know what kind of person he is, Yongguk-ah," I say. 

  "How?" he snaps. "How would you know?" 

  It's the first time in years that I've been this angry at Yongguk. We've only fought once before, and it was because of the exact same thing. He ended up being right, but there's something about Daehyun that I'm sure about. He's a good person, and he would never do anything to wrong me. Defensiveness builds up inside of me, but instead of letting it all out on him, I give him a glare so angry that he steps back, then I turn to leave. 

  "Wait, Sarang," he says, grabbing ahold of my hand. I look back at him and see that his eyes are desperate. I feel myself immediately soften. 

  "Yes?" I ask, squeezing his hand. 

   He takes a deep breath and then lets it out slowly. 

  "I'll move in with you guys as well." 

Thank you so much for reading the seventh chapter of "Love in Murder"! Please leave a comment at the bottom and subscribe if you'd like! 
~TheNightCircus~