The day in which the sun was warm and the air smelt like ice cream, Junhong met his neighbour for the first time. Junhong, who was seven or eight then, remembered having hid himself behind his mother’s knees as she rang the doorbell with the hand that wasn’t holding the peace offering.

Timidly, the front door swung open and a wistful lady in a light blue apron stepped out. Junhong clung more desperately to his mother’s legs. Through the cracks between Junhong’s stubby fingers, the aproned lady chanced them a friendly smile. From behind the lady’s legs, a puzzled looking girl peeked out to meet them. She turned to watch his mother’s fruit basket swing hypnotically.

Looking back, Junhong still remembered the monstrous shadow of the coat hanger and the way it casted onto the marble floor inside the house.

It’d frightened him.

Even when he’d heard his mother call his name, Junhong did not dare make himself move past it.

“Junhong-ah? Say hi to Junhee. She’ll take you out to get some ice-cream, okay?” His mother stage-whispered excitedly, “Junhee will take good care of you.”

His mother abandoned him on the doorstep. She stepped passed the monster shadow without even a goodbye. Right then, the girl named Junhee, who was half a head taller than Junhong, hopped to his side.

Ten minutes later Junhong had another soft hand clasped within his. It felt strange and even better than his mother’s hand, somehow. His mother’s hands were gentle and safe but they were made for his father. Junhee’s hands were smaller and softer—it made Junhong happy in a very different way just by seeing how perfect they fit together.

The boy kept staring at their hands interlinked in wonderment. Seeing this, Junhee swung them back and forth playfully, singing a soothing hymn he had never heard before. When she turned and grinned down at him, he noticed she was missing her left fang.

Junhong remembered his own two front teeth—two missing pieces of himself—that were given to the tooth fairy last week. His tongue prodded the empty space. Parts of him were missing the same way a part of Junhee was.

“Don’t let go. Okay?” Junhee smiled before pulling a surprised Junhong safely across the street.

That very day, he found out an important secret: even if a part of him was missing he would always be safe, as long as he held onto Junhee.

And by the end of the day, Junhong also found out his ice creams always tasted better when he shared them with her.

Two months later—the day in which his cries tasted like the sea and his legs felt like jelly, Junhong discovered another secret. It was right between Junhee’s lips. He watched a blood red trail trickle from his leg and panicked. They had been playing tag until he tripped over one stubby limb of an elder tree.

Even when he felt a soothing warmth envelope him, he still managed to cry. Junhong remembered wailing, baring his half grown front teeth until he heard Junhee whisper right into his ear.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Her voice felt small and her wiry arms around him seemed afraid—they were trembling.

Junhong’s cries died down and his closed mouth tasted kind of salty, like he’d just swallowed the whole ocean. Junhee’s eyes were glimmering and damp.

“Not a lot,” he croaked between a shake of his head and Junhee only hugged him tighter.

“I’m sorry,” Junhee murmured. “If it hurts, you can cry. Because in the future, when you grow up you won’t be able to.”

If he had held onto Junhee like this he would’ve been safe.