The class has gone over by a good twenty minutes, and for once it was of no fault of Mark’s, kind of. Evidently when you’re in a philosophy class discussing idea’s purely based on theorization and little scientifical facts, arguments can happen, a lot of arguments can happen. Today the class was in a uproar about the point of dreams which ultimately was ironically a rather pointless discussion, because as a matter of fact, there really isn’t a point to anything. Existence, for example.

However, as it is for some people, accepting that some things just are was a harder fact to accept. So here they are, arguing about whether dreams could be another realm or reality as it were, or if they were simply just the brain reordering memories during sleep, among other theories. No one has particularly gone any further in building already existing theories, and Mark can’t say he’s much in the mood to partake today.

“How can you even think it’s possible for you to teleport into another world while you sleep? Your body is here,” Some nasally kid from the front shouts back up at Kunpimook who looks like he’s ready to pounce and attack.

“Hey, since when was reality based on the physicality of things? You think this place is real? Don’t you also think your dream is real when you’re in it?” He retorts with a jab of his finger.

“But we wake up-”

“Like I said! You don’t know you’re dreaming now, you can’t prove this world is real just by saying ’oh, I can touch this,” Kunpimook makes a face and everyone sniggers, the nasally kid makes an offended face and puffs up his cheeks.

“Now, you’re just sounding like the professor,” He spits and swivels round in his seat to stare hard at the blank white board.

“Hey, hey, I do not sound that annoying,” Mark mutters but his words are lost now that someone else has taken the torch from the nasally kid, sputtering something about how science works differently in both realms, and how your memories are more intact in “this world”.

Mark is a couple seconds away from blanking out, but in all honesty he could understand the fiery passion they fought with for answers, or for some sort of sense that they were as close to the truth as they could be. If there was a truth.

Unfortunately, humans are plagued with a conscience that constantly asks for something; for reasons, for needs, for meaning. Telling them there is no point, telling them that things just happen by chance is like telling a religious believer that God isn’t real. Mark doesn’t believe in fate, but he doesn’t believe in coincidences either, instead he settles within himself that some answers are better left unfound. Sometimes ignorance can very much be a bliss.

Kunpimook let’s out a frustrating sound and Mihyun takes it as a que to slip in. “You can’t really say science is the anchor for discerning which is reality and which isn’t? I mean if there are different worlds, then we can’t use our belief or findings of science in this world and project it onto another. That world probably works differently.”

Mark stares up at Mihyun from the squeaky plastic chair he’s propped himself on, his feet up on the podium. Mihyun was always a bright student, she stood out in his class, but she was also frighteningly open minded. She never let things like science and facts hold her back, she was always ready for an infinite amount of possibilities, even if they were closer to what most people believe to be fiction. Maybe that’s why it was her of all people to decipher what was going on with Jinyoung faster than anyone else.

Where other people would try to give “logical” reasons for things they did not understand, Mihyun instead gave into the illogical. She trusted in herself, and the idea that there is way more to the world than the eye can see. No one could her hold back, and it was proving to be a problem.

Although Mark had managed to avoid bringing up the topic they had discussed prior, there was only a limited amount of time before she lost her patience.

Someone just spewed a series of curses and Mark’s about to intervene but the sound of a door slamming silences the entire lecture hall instantly. All fifty pair of eyes shift towards the far corner of the hall where the double doors swing violently, through them emerges a bent, hooded figure. Mark instantly recognises the grey of his clothes, the tattered sleeves and the dark aura that seems to protrude from him.

Jinyoung looks up and around, like he’s forgotten where he is, why he’s here. Then he drags his eyes, deep black eyes that dig into Mark like they were trying to swallow him whole. He moves slowly or quickly, Mark can’t tell, it’s almost like he’s ghosting down the steps and suddenly he’s right in front of Mark.

Closer now, Mark can see the red rings under his eyes, like he’s spent hours rubbing at them, clawing at them. Something in Mark’s chest shivers and cracks a fraction, and he opens his mouth to speak? To breathe? Either way nothing comes out. Instead Jinyoung shifts out of his hood to look up at him, to really look at him, and Mark realises Jinyoung has never been more here than now.

“You lied,” The words come out of him like they burn, his voice thick and hoarse. “You said you’d help me.”

Mark takes a step forward and whispers, “Jinyoung-”

“I...trusted you,” Jinyoung seethes, Mark can almost taste the anger in the air. “You let me trust you.”

Mark frowns at that, “I told you not to.”

Something in Jinyoung’s eyes flicker then, Mark can’t tell if it were pain or fury but he’d imagine it was somewhere between the two. “I told you everything- and what? You’re quitting? No, you’re leaving Korea?”

The murmurs in the classroom amplifies then like a conductor had risen his hands and demanded for the sound to be heard. Mark blinks away from Jinyoung’s burning eyes, his lips twisted with scorn. “We’ll talk about this somewhere else, Jinyoung.”

“No, I have nothing to say to you, Professor. It seems you already made your decision,” Jinyoung spits and the look on his face makes Mark wince like he just had venom threw at him. He latches onto Jinyoung’s arm as he turns and then looks up at the lecture hall.

“Everyone, leave, now.” His voice booms, echoing against the high ceiling. There’s a brief moment of silence until one person begins clattering, stuffing their pencils and books into their bag, and then the rest of them do, moving like a disconnected wave, they rise up and leave slowly.

“Let go of me,” Jinyoung hisses but Mark’s grip just tightens.

“No, you came here, you stay.” Mark states flatly, leaning over Jinyoung with whatever few inches of measly height he has over him. Jinyoung’s arm was thin under Mark’s grip, he had managed to wrap his entire hand around his upper arm and dig his nails until he felt the bone.

A dull ache resounds in Mark’s chest. He hadn’t seen Jinyoung in nearly a week, and the last time he had he was smiling. Now it was evident from his sunken cheekbones, and protruding jaw that the past week was nothing close to relaxation.

Jinyoung looks him up and down, then back up at the class that has dwindled to the last ten. In another three minutes, there’s the echo of the door shutting and a deafening silence takes over.

“You can let go of me, I’m not going anywhere,” Jinyoung mutters, he’s looking down at the ground now, the flare of anger having puffed out. Mark stiffly unlocks his grip and Jinyoung’s arm dangles to his side like a dead fish.

“Are you really leaving?”

Mark takes a deep breath, having nowhere to start. “Yes…” He’d imagined this conversation to happen eventually, but not like this. “Jinyoung, I know this seems bad but-”

“Seems bad?” Jinyoung scoffs, his face almost hysterical as he brushes a hand through his hair. “Bad is going on a week without sleep, horrible is remembering what it’s like being in France in 1919, and the worst part is the stench of piss, and blood, and death while I sat in trenches having no idea when I’m going to be shot in the head or blown up into a million ing tiny pieces.” He takes a deep breath, his eyes shimmering with tears. “I was scared, Professor, I was so scared. I could feel the damp ground beneath me, and I could hear the sound of the sirens but I still knew, I knew that I was going to come out of it eventually, I would...and I thought of you and I thought that when I come out of this I don’t have to cry alone and pretend what I just felt, and what I saw was just a figment of my imagination because someone is going to be there when I come back to talk to. Someone who would take me seriously and who would listen, and make me feel like I wasn’t losing my ing mind. But what? Now I'm told you're leaving? Really?”

Mark closes his eyes, his heart thundering against his chest. “I’m so sorry…” He says quietly. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Are you afraid, Professor?” Jinyoung asks, his voice laced with ache.

“Yes,” Mark replies honestly. “But not of you.”

Jinyoung’s eyebrows twitch once but then he quickly smooths out the crease, “You don’t have to lie Professor. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, to be honest, I thought you were taking it too well anyway.”

“Jinyoung, I’m serious,” Mark says. “I was meant to stay for another five months but I have things to do back in L.A.”

Jinyoung looks at him, like he was calculating whether or not to play along with the lie. “Did I do something? Did I say something that scared you? I talked a lot last time we met, did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“No, no, jesus, Jinyoung, I’m telling you it’s not your fault,” Mark takes a large step towards him, leaving just barely an inch between them. “It’s not your fault, you hear me?”

Jinyoung’s eyes go up the length of Mark’s jaw and then lands upon his eyes and something glitters for a fraction of a second before Jinyoung stomps it out. “It’s not you, it’s me. Really, Professor? You’ve never broken up with someone before, have you?” 

Mark clenches and unclenches his fist by his side. He didn’t like this, he didn’t like this at all. The look on Jinyoung’s face was tugging at his insides and shredding them apart, leaving him breathless and clueless, and muddled. He didn’t know what to say except I’ll stay, but he couldn’t stay. He shouldn’t stay.

There was something very wrong going on, something that should have stayed buried in Finland two hundred years ago, but it was unearthing itself by force and Mark didn’t want to be near Jinyoung when the skeletons walked. It isn’t a coincidence that Mark met Jinyoung, it shouldn’t even be possible to remember your past life, and yet Mark had met someone that remembered a life from the same time he did.

Mark chews at his lip until he tastes metal on his tongue. He wants to ask so many things; who are you, where have you seen those drawings before, what’s your name, did we know each other? They rumble and claw at the insides of his chest and crawl up his throat, but Mark swallows them down.

There was a line, a very fine line between the present and the past, and Mark knew if he were to cross it, there was no going back for him. Everything he worked for, all the effort it took in putting the past behind him, into keeping his mind together like it wasn’t always constantly on the verge of collapsing.

“Tell me, did you really ever believe me, Professor?” Jinyoung murmurs, he has his hood back on and his hands in his sleeves. His whole body sags and he looks like he’s seconds away from just crumbling to the ground.

“I told you I believe you.”

Jinyoung looks up at him, a blank expression on his face. Mark can’t read what he’s thinking at all.

Jinyong sighs then and flutters his eyelashes like he just gave in to something. “Is there nothing I can say to make you stay?”

Mark rubs his palm down his face and tries so hard to lock back the raw emotions that were running through his veins, he wasn’t going to be able to hold himself up for much longer. “I’m sorry.” He chokes out eventually.

Jinyoung nods, and without another word, he turns and makes his way up the lecture hall. “Don’t-” Mark claps a hand against his mouth and bites onto his lip hard. Jinyoung swivels round.

“Did you say something?” Jinyoung’s voice is thin but so clear from the distance. It rings lightly in Mark’s ear as he shakes his head reluctantly. He doesn’t watch Jinyoung as he turns back, and only waits for the dreadful click of the door shutting.

Mark gasps, he let’s out the breath he was holding in and quickly crumbles to his knees. He tries so hard to keep himself together, but he can’t help but feel like he was the one that was being abandoned.

Night comes slowly, like it has a grudge. All Mark wants to do is to drown in the darkness and throw profanities at the moon, but it would seem not even the sky was his friend today.

He’s sprawled out onto the bluebird bench, very aware of the insects crawling on his skin and digging their way under his shirt. He doesn’t care, in fact, he wonders with hope if the vines would grow around him too, tightening him down and turning him to stone so he’d never have to feel another damned thing again.

He’s not sure what makes him hope though, if the sky wasn’t his friend, then the ground would most certainly not be either.

“What are you doing, Mark?” Insook squawks from the front door.

“Brooding.”

“Your brooding is crushing my bluebird vines.”

“The bluebird vines are crushing your bench.” Mark retorts.

“The bench is holding them up.”

“And it’s holding me up too.”

Insook takes in a sharp breath to finalise the conversation. Mark smiles to himself, at least he won something today.

There’s the sound of water rushing then and from above Mark see’s droplets of water glisten and crystallise in the air as the sun hits them. He think’s it’s quite beautiful until it hits him in the face. He screeches and flops flat down onto the pebble path, “Oh my god, my rib.” He groans and then flicks his head up to glare up at the old woman at the front door, Insook has a water hose in her hand and unamused expression on her face.

“Go inside, or stay, either way I need to water these plants,” She tuts, whipping at the hose once with a threat. Mark jolts upright and stalks his way into the house, then he pauses just a step into the hallway.

“Ahjumma, I’m moving out.”

She pops her head in at that, “What? Just because I sprayed you with some water?”

Mark rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder, “No, of course not, I’ve got family stuff in America and I need to leave as soon as I can.”

“Your contract says a year…” Insook mumbles.

Mark closes his eyes, not today. “Contracts can be be broken. We’ll talk about it later.”

Nothing more is said between them, and Mark makes his way upstairs, taking two steps at a time. The hallway goes on forever, no matter how long Mark has lived here he still cannot fathom just how large this house is. There were a good three extra spare rooms, and two bathrooms upstairs, not including the one downstairs. The idea of leaving Insook in this house alone again makes him weak, but it wasn’t like she couldn’t get other’s to rent out the rooms? It was close to the university, and she let out the rooms rather cheaply. He knew she didn’t need the money, she just wanted the company.

Mark rubs at his chest, just above where he injured his rib several weeks ago, and wonders if the ache was physical or mental. He gathers it’s probably both as he makes his way to the end of the hall.

His room is the smallest of all of them, he hand-picked it himself. Insook almost killed him, of all the rooms that had wonderfully bedded double beds and large closets that pillared the ceilings, she could not fathom why Mark had decided to move into an old storage room. Mark almost laughed straight in her face, because his small room could fit a single bed, a chest of drawers and a desk with enough walking space, it even had two windows. At least now Mark knows that to judge someone on their wealth, you must first look at the size of their storage room.

She fought him about it for weeks, even when he finally unearthed everything from the depths of his boxes and basically made his territory by snapping one of the desk’s legs, she insisted on him moving rooms. He understood, the room’s wallpaper was withering at their corners and the flooring was printed with cracks, the insulation in the room was ridiculous, he was pretty sure the windows weren’t even double-glazed. Even as a storage room, this space wasn’t adequate for keeping items pristine.

But Mark liked it, he felt safe in it, it felt like a home he’d only ever dreamed about. It also kept the demons at bay, most of the time. There was just something about large rooms that made Mark uncomfortable, maybe even a little frightened, like there was too many shadows and space for things to hide in, for his thoughts to run around in and morph into ugly, twisted things.

So he settles on his squeaky mattress, having traded the four blankets he’d hoarded during early spring for a thin cover now, and smiles to himself, feeling a little tinge of loneliness. He’d miss this space, especially when he were to move back in with his parents, and greet his old room filled with ghosts again.

He wonders if he should get Erica to look for an apartment, after all, it was going to take him a week or two to wrap everything up here in Seoul before he could make the shift back.

Mark looks up to his side and squints a little at the sunlight poking through the glass of his window. The sun was still bright up in the sky but settling into the horizon now, twilight quickly trickling in from the corners of the universe. An image flickers before him, a watercolour painting of a river dyed in soft colours of pink and purple, the sun just a budding flower in the distance. Mark takes a deep breath and a places a palm over his heart as he tries to hold onto the image, but it fizzes and scratches like an old satellite television with no connection and suddenly it’s gone.

There’s a soft hum coming from a distance, Insook’s melody drifts through the quiet house. Mark eventually leans down into his pillows and flutters his eyes shut, he matches his breathing with the slow tune filling the empty spaces of the house.

Eventually sleep takes him, and Mark dreams of the moon falling from the sky.

Dear Barrick,

How are you, my dear? I miss you terribly, and so does your sister. She plays only sad tunes on her violin during this time of the year. Your birthday’s come up, you must have forgotten, haven’t you? My beautiful son, you’re turning twenty one and all I remember is a young fimble boy who looked so brittle even the wind could break him.

I know I have asked this of you so many times, and I know how you will answer, but your poor Mother still hopes - will you not visit us? I was absolutely delighted to hear you’d be participating in the bridge works for Turku, but is there no way for you to take a short break and visit your family?

Your name has reached the depths of Finland, god bless Mr Bassi for taking care of you, but you have not forgotten who your parents are, have you? It’s a cruel question, but I cannot help but feel lonely thinking about you. My only son, and I could not watch you grow into the man you’ve become, the man I have only heard from gossip and read from your letters.

I reread your letters often, your handwriting has changed so much. I’d imagine your sketches have as well. Please, if anything, the next time you write please send us a new piece so we may frame it, and look upon it often.

I pray for your health, and hope every day to see your face soon. I love you, my boy.

Love your Mother, Aada Miika Nieminen.

When Mark wakes up, the room is shaking- no, his head is shaking. Something is vibrating viciously from beneath his pillow, and it takes him a couple of seconds to realise that it’s his phone. He groans internally, ready to curse his sister - Erica always forgot that time zones were in fact a thing.

He digs it out from beneath his head and squints as the bright light that momentarily blinds him. It’s not Erica, it’s just an unknown number and Mark heavily contemplates hanging up but something tugs at his thumb to answer it.

“Hello?” He groggily says, his teeth, the inside of his mouth dry. “Who is this?”

“-sor?” A voice cuts in and out. “Professor?”

Mark narrows his eyes up at the ceiling and tries to regain some form of consciousness. “Who is this?” He repeats, rubbing at his eyes.

“Professor? Hello?” The voice is husky, and light, and it takes Mark a while to realise it belongs to a female. “Professor Tuan? Please, answer me.” The panic sound in her voice is what jolts him up.

“Mihyun? Is that you?”

“Professor? Oh, thank god you’re awake,” Mihyun sighs. There’s the sound of fast footsteps and her heavy breath.

“Mihyun? What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Kind of, maybe, I’m not sure.” She replies. “Professor, I think you need to come. I was coming back with some friends after we went out clubbing and I saw Jinyoung, he was acting kind of weird. Like how I was saying weird-” She pauses, her breath heavy. “And I followed him for a bit and it doesn’t seem like he has a destination but...Professor- jesus why does he walk so fast?- Professor, he’s heading towards the bridge and I really don’t know if I want to wait and find out what’s going to happen.”

The moment Mihyun mentioned Jinyoung’s name Mark was already slipping on a pair of jogging bottoms and some sneakers. He doesn’t even give his crooked mirror a glance as he grabs his keys and wallet from the desk and makes his way as quickly and quietly out the door.

“Mihyun, stay on the line with me,” Mark says, shutting the front door behind him. “Where exactly are you, right now?”

“There’s a small bridge by the dorms, you’d have to cross it everyday you come to the university,” She huffs, her footsteps now picking up their pace.

“I got it. What’s Jinyoung doing right now?” Mark asks as he runs down the small road. There wasn’t any space here for him to park his car so he always had it just at the end of the street, round a corner.

“Nothing, he’s just walking, and mumbling, I think but I’m not close enough to tell.” Mihyun says. “You know what they say about not disrupting people when they sleep walk? I don’t know if I should just slam into him and wake him up, or just let him go. But does recounting your past lives count as sleep walking, I mean would I even be able to wake him up? Is he even asleep? Oh my god, what if one of the ghosts in him suddenly finds an interest in the edge of the bridge? Professor, please hurry.”

Mark trips a little as he unlocks his car and basically slams into his door, wrenching it open. He doesn’t even put his seat belt on before he turns the ignition on and starts swerving down the road. He’s got the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he speaks, “Look Mihyun calm down. First of all he’s got no ghosts in him, second of all I need you to start calling out to him, just call out his name and reassure him who you are. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“Okay, I got it.”

There’s the beep of the line cutting and Mark let’s his phone tumble down his chest and onto the floor as he makes a harsh swerve to the left and speeds down the empty roads. It is incredibly dark out, the moon eclipsed by a herd of clouds, the street lights here barely speckling a path before him.

At the speed he was going at Mark gets to the bridge in less than five minutes. He spots them immediately, the bridge is deserted, not a single car or another person in sight.

His heart almost jumps into his throat as he watches Jinyoung’s hooded frame climb up the railing on the side of the bridge, swinging one leg over the edge and trying to get the other round but Mihyun stubbornly clings to him, screaming something out.

“, , ,” Mark spits under his breath, his hand shaking as he goes to the car handle and slams it open. He’s sprinting across the road, pushing his thighs as hard and as fast as they can go. He suddenly remembers Jinyoung on the road, his jacket loose on his shoulders, his shoulder bag hanging below hips. Mark was just having an innocent lunch when he had heard the car honks and the screams, Jinyoung almost blind just walking straight into the road.

He could have died, he is going to die.

“Jinyoung! Jinyoung, please, wake up.” Mihyun cries, her nails dug so deep into his clothes rips were forming, growing larger with every tug either of them made. “Jinyoung, I beg you. Wake up!”

“Mihyun, move!” Mark shouts and Mihyun swivels her head round, her eyes wide as Mark charges towards the two of them. She drops quickly, and for a brief moment Jinyoung looks like he is ready to take flight, to swing over the bridge and let the air take him but Mark already has his arms around his waist, and with one violent lunge, the two swing back from the edge and slam down into the bridge floor.

There’s a choking sound, Mark can’t tell if it’s him making it or Jinyoung. The world is spinning, the moon behind the clouds glowing brightly, the water rushing beneath them loud in Mark’s ears. The pain in his chest amplifies with every breath he takes in and Mark’s now pretty sure he’s making the choking sounds.

“P-Professor? J-Jinyoung?” Mihyun’s voice is distant, broken in Mark’s ears. “Are you guys okay?” She pops her head just above them, her long blonde hair curtaining the three of them.

Someone else groans then, and shifts and suddenly Mark can breathe again. Jinyoung get’s up from above him, his palm to his head. “Oh, thank you god, thank god, holy -” She gasps, helping Jinyoung to sit straight. Mark follows, slowly, a twinge of pain running up his chest. “Oh my god, Jinyoung, I’m going to kill you. I swear to god.”

“Please don’t- would defeat the whole purpose of saving him,” Mark moans, shuffling up. From beside him Jinyoung mumbles to himself.

“What happened?” Jinyoung murmurs, blinking furiously as if he just woke up from a deep slumber.

“You happened!” Mihyun snaps, her lips twisted into a frown. “You just started mumbling things and almost flew off the ing bridge!”

“What?” Jinyoung gasps low, and then swivels his head around, taking in the night sky and the bridge. “Oh my god, you’re kidding me.” He then turns to Mark and his face drops into a storm of worry, confusion, and something else. Something Mark hadn’t seen on Jinyoung’s face before.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Mihyun asks, and Jinyoung bites his lip.

Mark looks between the two of them and nods. “I’m fine, I’m fine. We all good?” They nod and all get up on their feet. As Mark does, he feels a pain shoot down his left shoulder. “.”

“W-what- what is it?” Jinyoung panicky asks, his hands flying up as if to do a thorough check of Mark’s body.

“It’s fine...it’s just- can any of you drive?”

“I can’t believe you own a car,” Mihyun snorts, buckling in her seat belt

“Why is that funny?” Mark narrows his eyes at her as he closes the passenger side door.

“I don’t know,” Mihyun shrugs, checking all the lights on the car. The engine had been running the whole time. “You just seem like a bike type of person.”

It’s Mark’s turn to snort, “A bike? In this weather?”

Mihyun gives him a side look and shakes her head, her usual small smile back on her lips. As she adjusts her seat, Mark turns to look over his shoulder to peer at Jinyoung who is sitting in the back, huddled into a ball. Mark wants to ask if he’s okay for the hundredth time but he gets the feeling that Jinyoung is no longer in an open, talking mood. Not that he was before.

They make their way back to Insook’s house quietly, nothing but brief directions from Mark. Mihyun parks horribly, having almost hit the car behind them twice despite the fact the side of the road had more than enough space for three cars. They eventually unbuckle and get out, Mark struggles a little as he tries to use his right hand to open the door from his left and he’s almost got it but then the door swings open and Jinyoung is standing in the opening, staring down at Mark with a small frown.

“Oh thank you,” Mark mumbles and hops out the car.

The two of them follow behind Mark as they make their way down the road. In the very distance, Mark see’s the very faint beginnings of light coming off the brick houses all huddled together. He wasn’t really aware of what the time it was this whole time, but he guesses now it’s close to four in the morning.

He looks over his shoulder to find Jinyoung trudging, dragging his feet behind him, his hands stuffed into his bottoms, while Mihyun shoots him worried looks now and again. “You guys have to be quiet, okay?” Mark says as they come up to the house. “I live with my landlord, she’s an old lady, scary-looking but don’t worry, she won-”

“Who are you calling scary-looking?” Insook’s voice rumbles from the front garden and Mark almost jumps out of his skin.

“Mother-” He squeaks. “Ahjumma? What are you doing up so early?”

“What? Don’t tell me you thought you were being quiet when you left the house just now?” Insook deadpans, her face unpleasant, her wrinkles looking as if they’d form into monsters any second now and bite their way into Mark.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Mark mumbles, turning the wooden gate in.

She ignores him and looks over his shoulder, her eyes softening. “Did something happen?”

Mark follows her eyes, “Something, I guess. They’re my students, can they stay just until tomorrow?”

“Of course, it’s not like I don’t have rooms collecting dust upstairs,” She replies and turns into the house, tightening the robe she has wrapped around herself. The three of them follow her inside and head into the kitchen.

“Guys, introduce yourselves.”

Mihyun quickly pops up from behind Mark and offers Insook a large smile, “Good evening...or good morning? Uhm, I’m Mihyun, it’s nice to meet you.” She bows slightly.

Jinyoung does the same, simply giving his name. Mark notices he’s dug himself deeper into his hood. Insook nods back, not very affected by Jinyoung’s aloof manner.

“Would you like some tea?” Insook offers politely.

“I think they should just go get some rest, they’ll both go back to their dorm rooms when they wake up tomorrow. Thanks for getting me here Mihyun.” Mark smiles, ruffling at the young girl’s hair.

“Anything for you professor,” She says with a wink.

“You need to get a check up,” Jinyoung says, the most words he’s said since he got into the car. “You hurt your arm, and I think you’ve hurt your chest too.”

“I’m fine, really, all good-” Mark trying to reassure him but without realising Insook has already strided her way towards Mark and lifted his shirt up. The look on Jinyoung’s face twists from feint concern to an outright look of guilt and worry. Mark looks down at his chest, and grimaces, even in the dull light of the kitchen you could see the first bloom of a large bruise erupting on his skin. “Well, maybe not all good.”

“We need to get you to a hospital, oh my god, didn’t you fracture your rib a couple of weeks ago too?” Mihyun squeaks and Mark groans internally.

If Jinyoung was blaming himself before, now he’s ready to jump into a pit of fire.

“No, no hospitals, it’s not that bad, believe me I wouldn’t even be walking if it was fractured again,” Mark attempts in reassuring them but the devastated look on Jinyoung’s face doesn’t ease up. "Okay, let’s just all go to bed and I’ll call the nurse in the morning, okay? Deal?”

Mihyun gives a reluctant nod and Insook does nothing but eye him suspiciously. Jinyoung simply just bows his head deeper into his chest.

He leads the two of them upstairs, whilst Insook started boiling some water, it didn’t look like she was going back to bed.

“This is Ahjumma’s room,” Mark says pointing to the first door on the right from the stairs. “The three up are basically furnished and free, and the last one at the end to the left is mine, okay? Come to me if you need anything because I can’t promise Ahjumma will be nice.”

“Any is okay?” Mihyun bounces on the balls of her feet. Mark nods. “I’ll just take this one then. Good night.” She says, laying a hand on the handle just opposite Insook’s room. She gives the two of them one last smile, and Jinyoung a brief look of worry before heading into the room and shutting the door behind her.

“There’s not much of a difference between them, they both got double beds so you can just head into any of them, okay?” Mark says and he thinks Jinyoung really isn’t going to answer but then he looks up at Mark, a crease between his eyebrows.

“Professor, are you sure you alright?” He asks, his voice deep. The hallway light isn’t on, barely enough light comes from the kitchen downstairs and Mark really can’t read his expression. So instead he places a reassuring palm to the top of Jinyoung’s hooded head and smiles.

“I’m fine, Jinyoung, really,” Mark says. “If it doesn’t ease up in the morning then I’ll head straight to the nurse, okay?”

Jinyoung chews his lip and eventually gives the professor a reluctant nod, “Goodnight.” He says finally before heading into the next room.

Mark stares down the dark hallway for a long moment, there’s nothing but the boiling kettle whistling through the house. He starts to head to the end of the hall, where his room is colder than he would have liked. It wasn’t like he was going to sleep now, all his nerves were still buzzing, his heart still drumming in chest. The image of Jinyoung dropping off the edge of the bridge kept replaying in his mind, even if he got there in time, the thought still rolled around in his head. He’d saved him twice now, but who was going to save him the third time?

With the curtains having been left open, the sky was a perfect portrait on the wall; the clouds had cleared up and the moon hung up in sky brightly, making a pool of light in the middle of his room. Mark stood on the edge of it, eyeing the white light with a tired expression.

His phone blinks on his desk, a red light for an email. Mark looks at it curiously wondering who could be emailing him at this time, he usually never got notification for spam or newsletters. He hasn’t got anything better to do now anyway, so he takes a seat on his desk chair and opens up his laptop. The fan makes a tortured kind of sound, and puffs out dust as it begins to start up, which easily takes twenty minutes on it’s own.

After he finally manages to get it on, he opens his web browser, and logs into his email. Most of the unread pieces were just notifications from sites and newsletters, a couple of updates from the university and an unread email from his mother. The newest email he has however is from a familiar ID; 040927. Mark squints at the screen, he scrolls a little way down to find the previous email he had received from the sender.

He clicks on the first email he got, silently hoping it wasn’t a virus. There wasn’t even a sender name nor was there any subject line, just a single sentence:

Have you forgotten…?

Mark’s face contorts into confusion. “What?” He whispers to himself, and then scrolls down the email where the attachment, an image, takes it’s sweet time in loading. For some reason, Mark’s palms begin to feel warm with sweat and the quick pace of his heart was going at speeds. He almost stops breathing when he see’s the image that loads; it’s a painting of a river, it’s deep dark waves flowing in the distance. Around it is the charred, destroyed buildings of homes, a cathedral, large buildings, their ashes sinking into the water. There’s smoke clogging the bright blue sky, the dwindling remains of what was once a great fire.

Mark’s heart rampages now, his breathing hitches, his hand shaking violently as he quickly goes back and opens up the next message. It was the same, same ID, no subject, no name, except this time, there was no picture, just a sentence:

Have you forgotten, Barrick?