"It's been a pleasure to teach you all," Mr. Yang declared. He's sitting perched on the edge of his desk, arms spread open, indicating us all. "These last two years have really flown by; I can't believe it's been that long. Your new professor, I hope, will be just as good, if not better, than me."

 

There's a swift round of applause and an outcry from one of our more vocal peers, "No one'll beat you, Sir."

 

Mr. Yang's lips twitched upwards in amusement. "Thank you, Taec." And then, with a final wave to the door, he said, "Good luck in the future."

 

As the students stood up, filing towards the door, the enormity of the situation suddenly sets in. I'll never be in this room again; I'll never be lectured by Mr. Yang again. And then after, with only one final year remaining of college, I'll graduate and be unleashed on the world of work. Things change, I know, and you just have to accept and adapt. I just wish these transitions weren't so soon and so frequent.

 

"Ready to go," a low voice whispered, close to my ear.

 

Then again, I don't mind some changes.

 

A hand moved to my back, resting there lightly, while another hand heaved my bag from off the floor.

 

"Whoa," the voice said, "what have you got in here? A dead body?"

 

"Don't be silly," I scolded. "I'd need a bigger bag."

 

Jiyong's lips tugged into a grin, and a lock of hair slipped into his eyes. I casually brushed it away, but my hand never made it back to my side as Jiyong captured it with his, linking our hands together, swinging them between us. The sudden thrill and thread of warmth that accompanied his touch never gets old; each gesture, although habitual now, never failed to send my heartbeat stuttering. It's really sad, isn't it?

 

He gently tugged us out of the empty classroom, leading us into a car park jam-packed with reversing students and poorly parking newbies.

 

"So," I began, "what are our plans now?"

 

Jiyong unlocked his car door and we slipped inside, my hefty bag slung underneath my feet.

 

"Depends on what you're referring to," Jiyong said. "If you're referring to what we'll be doing in the next couple of years, after college, then I'll hopefully be pursuing a career in journalism." He casted a sideways glance at me, noting the frown aligning my forehead. He continued nonetheless, the smirk carrying into his tone. "You, on the other hand, will become a famous writer, fabricating stories that feature your flying bird kids who try and save the world from the perils of evil scientists and global warming."

 

I rolled my eyes at this, grumbling, "Shouldn't have told you my idea."

 

His expression softened at this and he leaned forward, his seatbelt straining against his looming form. "You know I think it's a great idea," he said. "You know I think you're talented."

 

His words and his close proximity spurred a blush to color my cheeks. His right hand caressed the side of my face.

 

I'm struggling to keep coherent thought – blame Jiyong and those dark, depthless eyes – so I place my hands on his shoulders and 'gently' pushed him back.

 

He playfully narrowed his eyes at me, turned the key in the ignition, and checked to see if there are any stray cars passing behind us in the side mirrors, which there wasn't, and reversed out of the parking lot.

 

"You still haven't answered my previous question," I reminded him. "You haven't told me where we're going."

 

His eyes briefly flitted over to mine. "It's a surprise."

 

I folded my arms and slouched in my seat. "I don't-"

 

"-like surprises," Jiyong finished. "Yeah, I know. But you'll like this one, I hope."

 

The vulnerability in his tone sealed all protests on my lips. That's the one change, Jiyong's more open display of emotions, that always seem to take me by surprise. And even after this last year and a half of us being 'together', I still find myself marveling at the change between us. Yes, the banter is still there, the quips just as cutting. But there's no confusion, no sleepless nights of trying to unravel his words, and there's no denial of the feelings that have always lingered between us.

 

"What are you thinking about?" Jiyong's soft voice interrupted my thoughts.He casted me just a fleeting glance before resuming his attention on the tricky junction ahead.

 

My eyes roamed across our surroundings, taking note of the fact that we're not far from his house. "Just thinking about us," I answered. "And how much things have changed."

 

The car began to slow as we entered his street. White fences divided each home, mail boxes stood erect out front like sentries, while trees and shrubbery act as the only distinguishers between the uniform setting of each of the houses. Jiyong pulled into his drive and cut the engine.

 

He turned to me then with a small smile. "Ready for your surprise?"

 

I rolled my eyes. "Come on then."

 

As we exited the car and stroll up the drive, our hands having met again, I asked, "Are your mom and the kids home?"

 

He shook his head. "Nope. Mom's at work, Dami and Deukkie are at their friends' houses, while Seungri is with Durami."

 

My eyebrows shoot up. "Is he now?"

 

"Yep." Grinning, Jiyong inserted his key, unlocking the door. "Saw them holding hands in the park the other day. They said anything to you about it?"

 

"Nope. She's dreading my teasing, I think."

 

We stepped inside, discarding our shoes in the hallway. "You'd tease your little sister about her love life?" He shook his head in mock disapproval.

 

I scoffed. "She's been teasing me for years about me being infatuated with you."

 

"Which you were."

 

I'm about to protest, my mouth already forming the words, when he spun me round, gently, his hands coming up to cover my eyes. His lips briefly brushed my ear when he whispered, "You ready for your surprise now?"

 

I shuddered at his touch and the softness of his words. I nodded.

 

Carefully he maneuvered me into his lounge, fortunately avoiding all possible collisions with furniture. We take a few more steps – into the kitchen? – before he clamped his hands firmly on my shoulders, stilling me. My eyes are still closed, having decided to play by his rules.

 

His mouth by my ear once again, he whispered, "Open them." And I did.

 

The dining table was covered in a white cloth, set for two. Napkins and cutlery have been placed neatly at the two places, a wine glass placed beside both. A bottle of fruit juice has been placed precisely in the middle – no alcohol ever breaches the house now. His mom has remained sober for almost two years, and Jiyong has always remained apprehensive about jeopardizing that. I'm not a particular fan of wine, anyway, and Jiyong refused to touch a drop after that one night binge he had.

 

Candles, red and already lit, are also set in the middle. It's the only light in the room, save that of the bright sun broadcasting through the window overlooking the kitchen counter, the dining table a few feet from that.

 

His eyes watched me reproachfully. He bit his lip.

 

"Thank you," I murmured.

 

He nodded mutely, his lips forming a slow smile. My arms winded around his waist, bringing him closer. I rested my head in the crook of his neck, his head coming to lightly rest on top of mine after he places a fleeting kiss on my forehead.

 

"You can tell me how amazing I am for the rest of the evening, if you like," he suddenly said.

 

I rolled my eyes, pulling out of from the embrace. "We'll see how well you cook me dinner."

 

His arms lingered around me before he slipped behind the counter, turning to light the oven and grabbing some pots from under the sink.

 

"Want any help?" I asked.

 

"Nope," he answered, digging out some potatoes from the cupboard. "Not after Durami told me you were such a lousy cook."

 

I gaped, about to retort, when my phone began to buzz loudly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I noted the caller ID: Jungmin. I picked it up on the third ring, lifting it to my ear. "Hey," I greeted. We exchange pleasantries before he gained confirmation that I'll be available to join him and Ari for a bite to eat next weekend. We'd kept in touch despite my initial belief that we'd part. Our meetings weren't frequent, just a phone call or a dinner or coffee every month or so.

 

Even though I'd forgiven him for that long abandonment, it had still left scars, and they were permanent; able to fade, but always there. And because of that, we'll never have the close father and daughter bond I'd longed for when I was younger. But what happened happened, and you have to adapt to the circumstances dealt. We'll never be as close as he and his son, Ari, are, but we could still play a part in the other's life, even if it did happen to be small.

 

"Jungmin stealing you away from me?" Jiyong asked when I end the call. He was rinsing his hands under the tap, his back to me.

 

"Just for a couple of hours," I answered. "Gonna grab a bite with him and Ari."

 

At the mention of my half-brother's name Jiyong turned round, his expression one of disgruntlement. "Your brother's evil," he stated.

 

Rolling my eyes, I took a few steps towards him, cornering him. He folded his arms, challenging me to disagree.

 

"He's not that bad," I denounced. "You just don't like him because he accidently kicked you in the shin."

 

"Wasn't an accident."

 

"Was."

 

"It was as much of an accident as this," he declared, swiftly dipping his hand into the sink, collecting droplets of water, which he flicked at me.

 

I gaped, startled, and then glared.

 

He's grinning, believing he's won, which he so wasn't, until I began to tickle him. He jerked back instantly, elbows colliding with the counter.

 

My smile slipped when I notice that mischievous spark alighting in his eyes.

 

I held my hands up in surrender, steadfastly backing away from him as he comes closer. Damn. I think I know what he's –

 

"Jiyong. Put me down," I ordered.

 

He's slung me over his shoulder, my legs sticking out uselessly in front of him, my arms flailing behind him.

 

"Can't," he said, continuing his journey into the lounge.

 

Grunting in frustration, I told him, "I hate you."

 

"You love me."

 

"You're an ."

 

"You want to touch my ."

 

No matter how hard I try, I can't suppress the smile fighting its way onto my lips. The exchange was the revival of some banter we'd once participated in, long before I'd realized his words held some semblance of the truth.

 

We suddenly stopped, and he threw me onto the settee. He soon joined me, stretching into a supine position.

 

And when I'm just about to slip into his open arms, I noticed something on the coffee table in front of us; something I haven't seen in about a year and a half.

 

"What's Ambiguity doing out?" I asked, picking up the book.

 

He shrugged, taking the book from my hands.

 

"Just flicking through it the other day," he answered. He skimmed through the pages, stopping at a few before the end. "Did you ever read the end?" he asked.

 

At the shake of my head he turned a couple more pages. "It's a little…trite, perhaps, but it rings true," he said, handing me the book, his finger indicating where I should peruse over. It read:

 

Life is hard. It's filled with adversity; hardships, and it's damn right unpredictable. Yet it's the other qualities: the welcomed surprises and the wondrous experiences, that outshine its darker factions.

 

When I've finished reading, his arms wound around me, looping around my waist. I leaned back against his chest, reveling in his warmth and the feeling of security I've become so accustomed to feeling from them.

 

"It was something Naomi realized," Jiyong explained. "When I first read it, I thought it was the biggest load of bull ever. But then, after the doctor's declared mom would be ok, and you told me you loved me, I changed my mind."

 

I shifted my body towards him, facing him, and leaned close. He's smiling broadly, eyes shining, before he kissed me. Our lips follow a familiar pattern, his hands tangling in my hair. I blindly placed the book back on the coffee table, open, my hands then drawing around his neck, bringing us closer.