The holidays came like a welcome breeze in the heat of summer. Although it was a cool day, it was bright and sunny along the busy, gritty street.

  He passed the fruit store, with dirty cracked tiles and stacks of newspapers by the entrance. A tattered poster for a brand of Soju finally lost its holding to the wall and fluttered to the ground.

  He turned the corner from a small eatery with mismatched tables and arrived on the straight path to Yira’s store. A hairdresser greeted him with a smile and a nod through the shop glass and he politely replied with a wave.

  It was a boisterous day, with the mood in the air bright enough to even draw Taehyung away from his concerns. The words he exchanged with Yira the other day but a drowned whisper in his ear.

  But the crowd thinned as he drew closer to her little store, growing quieter and quieter, until the combined voices of people around him became soft murmurs and he heard the clear ring of the shopkeeper’s bell.

  She stepped out of the shop in a long knit top, black pants, and a carpet like tapestry poncho that only she could look sophisticated in. A hefty looking bag swayed from her under her arm. With not a single ounce of hesitation or delay in her step, she marched away down the road.

  It wasn’t uncommon for her to leave the store, but what struck him was the feeling of preparedness in her dress, as if she were going travelling to somewhere far.

  He felt a surge of unexplainable worry and he ran to catch her.

  “Yira!” he called out.

  She stopped for a moment, swaying back a step but still she faced forward with no intention of looking back, waiting for him to arrive.

  He stepped in front of her and finally caught sight of her face, completely empty and unreadable. Her red lips were still and her almost golden eyes waited. The remnants of a metallic tattoo like a teardrop stained under her eye.

  “Uh… hey,” he began awkwardly, suddenly feeling foolish at his prior panic.

  She tilted her head down and a smile slipped across her face in an amused hushed chuckle. “Good morning,” she said, sending Taehyung a sense of relief.

  “Are you going to see another customer?” he asked. “It’s not Seok-Tae again, is it?” he finished with a slight frown.

  “No,” she said calmly, turning her head slightly to the window of the store. Her earrings tinkled with her hair. “I won’t be taking any customers for a while.” She took a step past him and patted him on the shoulder. “I’m taking a little break.”

  Time slowed for a second as he processed the words, not immediately translating into understanding. But when it sunk in like a rock in water, he whipped himself around. “Wait, what do you mean you’re taking a break? Where are you going?”

  The thick heels of her boots clacked on the concrete and she waved her hand as she walked away. “A trip. You won’t be seeing me for a while, Kim Taehyung. Go have fun with your friends; I believe one’s going to call you soon.”

  “What? Why?” he asked, completely stunned. “For how long?”

  From behind, Yira shrugged. “For a while,” she answered without turning back. “See you. You should answer that.”

  “Answer what-?” he began but his phone sounded from his pocket, and before he could blink, she was gone.

  As his phone buzzed and rang, he turned to the shop window, and through the trinkets and hangings in the store like the flora of a jungle, he saw the little green door with the sign:

  Closed

***

  The loud, thrumming drum of techno music throbbed in his ears. Every note blurring with the other until it all sounded the same. The vibrations so strong he could feel it in the floor.

  Dim lighting obscured most of the faces in the crowded living room overtaken by teenagers. Sneakers and jackets the unspoken uniform.

  The smell of underage alcohol and half-baked adolescent decisions mingled in the air. Every formal manner abandoned.

  Plastic cups held in every hand refilled over and over again until no one could remember how many drinks it had been. Cheap party food lay scattered on every table.

  Taehyung watched wearily from the wall, the cool plaster a solace to him. Before he arrived he debated even coming, his mood already grim to begin with. But deciding not to let Yira’s absence affect his life, he showed up as a personal rebellion, which he was now severely regretting.

  Holding is head in his hand while he fought with a headache; he sighed and pushed himself off the wall, wandering alone through the jungle of youth.

  Teenagers lay sprawled over the couch like cloth as people on their feet huddled in groups of thin conversation. Couples that met minutes ago made out in the corners, and from the kitchen came the obnoxious cheers of a crowd watching someone attempt a bet.

  He gave brief, acknowledging nods to his friends as he passed them on his way upstairs. He had come as part of a group but separated soon after as he found himself less and less willing to socialise.

  Lumbering up the stairs, he opened a door at random and found himself in a master bedroom, completely alone.

  He shut the door behind him and slid down to the floor, groaning as he covered his eyes. His head was swimming from the music and drinks.

  When he recovered enough, he opened his eyes to see the neat, clean room of the parents. The bed well-made and laden with decorative pillows. He felt a little intrusive being there, but it was better him than a couple looking for privacy.

  “Ugh, his parents are going to kill him,” he muttered to himself.

  A classic clock on the counter ticked on the seconds, slowly and rhythmically as if counting down. He checked his phone for the eleventh time that night and wasn’t surprised to see no new messages, although he still felt a twinge of disappointment.

  Music and noise hummed behind the door and Taehyung held his phone to his ear to hear the repetitive roll of the ring.

  “The person you are trying to call is currently unavailable. Please leave a message, or call again later.”

  Taehyung sighed and dropped his hand. She had been unreachable since the day she left, one week ago.

  He shoved the phone back into his pocket roughly, a look of irritation marring his face. He wasn’t sure why, but her absence bothered him despite his best efforts to be unaffected. The fact that he had no idea where she was or what she was doing was frustrating, as was her evasiveness. But those were side thoughts to him, not what troubled him most.

  Laughter and cheers erupted below him. He sighed. In a house full of people, he felt alone.

  He tried to imagine what she was doing, where she was, whether she was happy, but his mind conjured up nothing, even in his thoughts she was a mystery in smoke.

  All he could see was her walking on, her hair swaying behind her. Not looking back.

***

  Dinner was always a modest affair at his house, but a staple as true as the law. No matter how late it became, even if it scratched upon the next day, his mother firmly insisted that every family member sits at their rectangular white oak dining table and enjoy a hot meal.

  His mother was a lithe woman but in now ways dainty. She was strong, tall, and unmovable with silent resilience in her eyes. Her hair was fair and long and she had the rounded, small featured face of an aged actress. His looks took after his mother.

  The clock ticked towards the eleventh hour and platefuls of food all neatly lined along the table cooled. His mother stood behind a chair, her hand on her hip as she watched the dark road outside like a hawk.

  His father was supposed to have arrived, but was late by what was approaching half an hour. He stared at the food hungrily, but he knew his mother would not permit him to touch a single thing until his father stepped through the door. It was tradition.

  Finally, his car rolled into the driveway, and his mother’s stern expression lit up. The door clacked open, and in stepped his father’s heavy figure, lumbering into the house.

  “Honey,” his mother greeted.

  His father peeled off his coat and dropped his keys on the counter, rubbing his weary eyes. “Ugh, sorry I’m late. Last minute hold up at work. Some kid was causing trouble.”

  Most of Taehyung’s memories of his father were of him tired late at night. His father was a true policeman, always pitching more hours than required of him.

  The man entered the dining room and clapped his hands, lifting his grim mood as if it were a spell. “Alright, let’s get eating! Don’t want it to get colder than it is now!”

  He pulled out his chair at the end of the table, his designated spot, and dropped down, his mother joining them. As soon as the last chair was pulled in, dinner finally started, signalled with the clanging of cutlery.

  “Hey boy,” his father said. “I know it’s late, but why so glum? Girl got you down?”

  Taehyung’s reaction was delayed, but it told his father everything he wanted to know.

  “Oho,” he grinned. “Who is she?”

  “I don’t have one dad,” he denied, scowling.

  “What happened to the other one? The short one, I can’t remember her name… I think it's Minyoung? … Ah it’ll come to me. What happened to her? She was gorgeous.”

  “We broke up ages ago,” he answered grimly and quickly, preferring not to remember.

  “No, no, he’s been dating that nice girl Chaerin. She’s a model isn’t she?” His mother blurted out.

  “A model!” said his dad, looking more than a little impressed.

  “We broke up too…” he mumbled, embarrassed that his dating life was the topic of his parent’s conversation.

  “What can I say? My boy’s a heartbreaker, just like me.”

  “Oh, don’t you start.” His mother laughed.

  “He’s a charmer!” his dad declared. “Your grandad was too, it runs in the family. How’d you think I got your mother?”

  “Oh God dad, stop,” he begged.

  It was true though, even Taehyung could tell. There was a disparity between his parent’s looks. Although it was true his dad had an honest and reliable face, he wasn’t much of a looker. Heavy set and a little rough looking, he relied on his charms.

  “So,” his mother began as she picked at her vegetables. “What happened at work?”

  His father heaved a groan that grew into a sigh. “Ah, nothing much, just someone in interrogation that wouldn’t give us anything but cryptic nonsense. The thing is, he kept hinting at something, but he kept his mouth shut apart from that. Kihoon was pretty aggravated. He insisted that he was just another low life trying to draw out his interrogation for a deal based on underground gossip. But…”

  Taehyung raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think so?”

  “The guy was edgy,” his father explained. “Some can fake that but this one’s not smart enough. Something’s up.”

  “Do you have a theory?” he pried, the look in his father’s eye raising his intrigue.

  “Nothing much,” he said. “Nothing big right now anyway. Things have just been quiet. A little too quiet to tell the truth. There’s a murmur in the underworld. Secret gossiping we can’t get a hold of. Something’s happening. Not right now, but I wouldn’t place my bet on it being something good.”

  “Things will work out,” assured his mother. “They always do.”

  Taehyung wasn’t so sure though. A feeling of unease settled on his shoulders as his parents ate and talked on. The road outside darkened even more as the clouds obscured the moon.

  He had no information to go on but his father’s words, but why for some reason, in his gut, did he get the feeling that Yira may be involved in this?

  Her copper visage walked further away in his mind.