Mark’s leg bounces like he’s ready to just propel off the planet. He’s sitting on the dining table with a spoonful of rice suspended mid air, opting it out for chewing on his lip instead. He’s in a pair of jogging bottoms and a stretched out v-neck tshirt. He felt and looked like death. He hadn’t slept all night, he probably isn’t going to sleep all week if his brain keeps short circuiting the way it is right now.

To begin with, several things went through his mind after Mark opened that email - of course the first question was who the ? It took him about half an hour of closing, re-opening his laptop, rubbing his eyes, restarting the internet, closing, re-opening for him to realise that the email was an actual thing. Someone sent that, someone very real, and someone very now.

Which made no sense, because no one knows about Mark. Not even his sister knows the details, he never told her specifics like the year or the place, or what his name was. Sure, there was that small article about his ‘symptoms of xenoglossy’ reported when he was small, but the internet wasn’t like how it is now, the article got lost, the rumours quickly dissipated, and since Mark refused to cooperate, the whole thing blew over without another word said.

So his mind quickly ran to Jinyoung, and his feet, his feet literally flew on their own and the next thing Mark remembers is finding himself in the opening of the bedroom door where Jinyoung slept soundlessly underneath a heap of covers. He had stared at him for a good couple of minutes, as if he’d just metamorph into some creature all of a sudden. Evidently, he did not.

Eventually Mark made his way back to his room and settled into his desk chair again. His heart had quieted down and he was slowly overcome with numbness, a feeling he was very used to, but it came with a hint of hysteria this time because who the ? He checked the time it was sent, just past 3:30am, around the moment Jinyoung found the inspiration to fly and almost dropped off the edge of the bridge.

There wasn’t anyone, not a single person Mark could think of. And somewhere at the back of his head he’s aware he also needs to worry about the contents of the email. But there was only so much the tapes keeping his tattered brain together could handle.

“Professor, are you alright?” Mihyun’s worried voice rings bells in Mark’s head but his hand is stiff where it is and he feels like blinking now would just hurt.

“Professor?” Jinyoung calls out, and his voice is so clear it was hard not to respond.

“Yes, hello,” Mark mumbles, looking around the kitchen in a daze.

“Wow…” Mihyun gapes, giving Jinyoung a wide eyed look as she shovels a spoonful of food into .

“How’s your chest?” Jinyoung asks with a wave of his chopsticks, chopsticks he’s only used so far to pick at the bits of rice in his bowl. Jinyoung’s lips seem to be in a permanent frown this morning, Mark wants to say something about it but he can hardly get his hand to move to just put his spoon down.

“Alright, I think- maybe, I haven’t really checked it.” Mark says, finally deciding that he’s too hungry right now to let the little mice in his head stop him from eating and brings the spoon to his mouth. “My arms alright though, the aches subsided a lot.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Mihyun asks from beside him, eyeing him up and down.

“I didn’t. Couldn’t really sleep.”

“You look it…” Mihyun mumbles under her breath and turns away quickly.

He did look it. He could feel it. His hair is a static, hectic mess, somehow the long strands of his bangs were defying gravity this morning. He’d imagine his skin wasn’t looking so good and he could feel the bags below his eyes. He didn’t even bother showering or brushing his teeth before Insook squawked for them all to come downstairs for breakfast.

“You look younger…” Jinyoung says off-handedly, picking at the spinach in front of him.

“Are you saying I usually look old?” Mark deadpans.

“No one forces you to wear suspenders and ugly sweater vests Professor,” Mihyun snorts. “You’re lucky you’re good looking otherwise nothing could save you.”

“I wear them to look older,” Mark snaps. “First few months I was here, people mistook me for a student playing a joke.”

“I remember that,” Jinyoung says, his lip twitching slightly into a smile. Mark eyes him from across the table for a moment before slamming his chopsticks down. They both jump up and stare at him.

“Are you going to continue to act like that?” Mark asks as he perches his leg up on his chair and places his arm over his knee. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I am-”

“No, you aren’t. Ahjumma was up early because of us and even went out of her way to make food, and you’re not going to eat it?” Mark chastises.

Jinyoung blinks down at the spread of food on the table and his untouched bowl of rice, a slight flush of pink blooming on his cheeks. Mark’s thinking about how that’s the most colour he’s seen on Jinyoung and stores that into his memory bank. He starts to eat, fast, almost as if a crater just suddenly opened up in his stomach.

“Aye...Professor,” Mihyun nudges him from the side. “You can’t act like that when you’re in jogging bottoms and look like you just put a fork in a socket.”

Jinyoung chokes and luckily Mark’s already swallowed his food otherwise the table would have been coated with catastrophe. He turns slowly to look at Mihyun, who continues to eat innocently.

“Don’t you have a class to be in?” Mark asks with a twirl of his hand.

“I do, I do,” Mihyun responds, popping a piece of tofu into . “Mmmm…! This is so good, it’s been so long since I’ve had a home cooked meal. But anyway...when are we going to talk about it?” She asks, looking up at the two males with big eyes.

“Talk about what?”

Mihyun nods in Jinyoung’s direction, “Talk about Jinyoung...you know, yesterday? Unless you guys forgot he got like momentarily possessed and almost projected himself off the side of the bridge?”

Mark groans inwardly. “Can we not le-”

“So like, what is it? Do you remember? Or is it like ghosts take over you? Can you talk to the dead?” With each syllable Mihyun leans closer and closer over the table, staring down at Jinyoung with unblinking eyes.

Jinyoung raises one eyebrow and then looks at Mark, “She knows?”

“Knows what? Know what?” She jumps. “Look I’ve got about ten theories I can pitch to you and you can lie, sure, but I’ll figure it out eventually you know.”

Jinyoung stares at her and blinks and suddenly he shifts; he leans back into his chair, crosses his arms over his chest, and a smirk forms cleanly on his face. Mark realises now, watching him, that this is probably the real Jinyoung; the one that isn’t plagued with death, and memories that don’t belong to him. Mark found it odd, that he could miss someone he never really met.

“What makes you think I’ll just tell you?” Jinyoung taunts, his eyes glimmering with amusement.

Mihyun drops into her chair and kicks her legs, “Because! Because...I’m curious.”

“That was pathetic.”

“Shut up.” Mihyun grumbles. “Come on, tell me...tell me, tell me.”

“You already more or less figured it out,” Mark shrugs as he gets up from his chair and heads to the sink.

“You mean…you actually remember your...past lives?” She says it in a whisper, her legs jumping up against the table.

Jinyoung huffs and then looks over his shoulder to give Mark a look as he chugs down a cup of water. “You killed my fun, Professor.”

“Oh my god!” Mihyun shrieks, jumping up from her seat. “You’re kidding, right? I was right? What the hell...you’re like a reincarnation?”

Jinyoung narrows his eyes at that, “We’re all technically reincarnated, we’re just not meant to remember.”

“Oh my god, oh my god,” Mihyun twirls once round her chair and then drops to her knees. “Oh my god, I can’t believe this. You guys are pulling my leg.”

Mark stares down at her balled up form with a flat look, “You came to me spouting all these theories and now you don’t believe it?”

“She figured it out all on her own?” Jinyoung scoffs. “Amazing. Took someone long enough.”

Mark gives Jinyoung a quick whack to the back of his head as he makes his way back to his seat, “We don’t need people figuring it out, Jinyoung. One is enough...and besides she looks like she’s about to eat her arm off.” Mark notes with worry, watching Mihyun mumble to herself on the floor.

Jinyoung’s chopsticks clatter to the table and it’s Mark’s turn to jolt upright, “We? Last time I checked professor you were leaving.” He says. “I mean, let’s just be honest...all of this would have been solved if I had just jumped off that bridge last night. You could continue your year here and by the time I was reborn all of you would be dead or about to die, give or take.” Jinyoung shrugs, getting up off his seat.

Mark follows him with his eyes, “Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

“Do I look like I find this funny?” Jinyoung retorts. Mark doesn’t say anything, and with that, Jinyoung turns on his heels, leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs.

Mark bites on the inside of his cheek, an unfamiliar spark of anger flickering in his chest.

“What just happened?” Mihyun whispers, blinking up at Mark from where she is crouched beside her chair. “Are you really leaving, Professor?”

Mark groans into his hand, “Mihyun…”

“Yeah?”

“You need to look after him,” Mark says and looks down at her. “Seriously, when I go, he’ll have no one, he needs you.”

“Why me?”

“You’re special - in the you believe anything kind of way,” Mark says.

She rolls her eyes at that and goes to sit back on her seat, “I don’t believe anything Professor. I believe things with reason - other people probably have ideas running around about him too, you know? But they won’t say it out loud, I mean with such a big philosophy course you don’t think anyone else knows what xenoglossy is? It won’t be long till word gets out of the university too, and yeah sure I can be with him and help him, I don’t mind. But I don’t have the power you have.”

“I don’t have power, Mihyun.”

“Yes, you do. Your position in itself is already a step up from us,” Mihyun says thoughtfully. “You can protect him better than I could.”

Mark let’s her words sink in for a moment. She was right, if he were to leave, someone else was going to get assigned to Jinyoung and that someone else might not be nearly as open-minded or willing to help Jinyoung as much as he hopes they would. He puts his head in his hand and rubs at his temple, feeling a headache beginning to sprout.

“Are you sure you can’t stay professor?” Mihyun asks. “I mean would it hurt just to finish the year here? Wait...what’s going to happen to our grades!?”

Mark snorts and goes to give her forehead a flick, “You’d get another teacher, idiot. What you’ve done with me already counts towards your final grade so don’t worry.”

“But I like you teaching us,” Mihyun grumbles. “Every other lecturer has their head up their , they treat us like children. Even when we answer their questions they seem unhappy, like we’re not meant to actually know anything until they teach it to us.”

Mark sighs and lets his head hang back, “I can’t stay.”

“You can’t stay, or you won’t?” She asks.

Mark doesn’t respond.

Mark finally brushes his hair, and washes his face, but it doesn’t seem to make him feel any less dreadful. Droplets of water glide down his face and drip off his jaw as he looks up at himself in the mirror. He takes his hand and pinches at his cheeks, stretching the skin. It was a daily routine, some sort of act to ease his consciousness; I’m here, this is real. It wasn’t very foolproof but it was something.

He let’s his hair down today, his fringe long as it tickles his eyebrows. His dark brown hair looking auburn in the yellow light of the bathroom. The image in front of him shifts a fraction, the clear glass mirror exchanges itself for another, it’s frame chipped and it’s reflection a blur. Mark see’s blue eyes, they’re misted almost, grey circling them like a rain clouds over the sea. They look at him with thunder, and with a question; what are you doing? Mark blinks furiously and doubles over the sink, he gasps heavily and looks quickly back into the mirror but he’s only greeted with his own brown eyes.

“Why won’t you leave me alone?” Mark whispers under his breath and slowly crouches down to his knees.

Sometimes Mark wishes that ghosts were real; ghosts could speak, ghosts were souls, ghosts were here. But memories, memories are nothing, nothing but puffs of smoke that drift in the air weightlessly, and if you were to try and grab them they’d just run through your fingers and disappear into oblivion.

Mark thinks he can hear them talk sometimes, talk to him, they’re asking for something, for someone, for help. Maybe they’re asking for a second chance, maybe Mark is that second chance. He pushes that thought aside, he didn’t like the idea of being someone else’s redo.

Mark was Mark, and no one else. This was his life.

What kind of life is it if you’re constantly running away? A voice whispers from the back of his mind. Mark shuts it out immediately and makes his way out of the bathroom without another thought.

Just opposite the hallway is the room Jinyoung currently has himself hauled up in. Mark stands in front it for a while, staring at the handle as if he has a grudge against it. He doesn’t really think as he reaches out for the door and turns the knob, letting himself inside.

Jinyoung is sitting on the bed crossed legged, his back to the door. His bed is made, white sheets with flower embroideries circle around where Jinyoung is settled above them. His hoody is discarded on the vacant desk in the corner of the room and the curtains have been spread wide open, sunlight spilling into the room, dust dancing in the air and shimmering like glitter.

Mark moves slowly into the room and shuts the door behind him. Jinyoung doesn't make any indication that he knows Mark is here. He sits very still, looking up at through the windows with distant eyes.

“Are you here, Jinyoung?” Mark whispers, his voice so delicate as if the wrong sound or move could break the tranquility that had enveloped the room.

“I’m here,” Jinyoung surprisingly replies. “I’m here.”

“Were you remembering?” Mark asks as he goes to take a seat on the desk chair.

“No, I was just thinking,” Jinyoung says, and then turns to look at Mark with a sort of sombre expression. He glows where he is, bathed in sunlight, his cheeks a bright peach colour and his eyes, although still, were filled with life. Something in Mark’s stomach knots up.

“What were you thinking about?” Mark asks in a small voice.

“You.”

“Me?”

Jinyoung nods, “I realised I was being childish.”

“About what?”

“About you leaving. Honestly, it’s not fair - you have no obligation to me. You were forced to help me out. I know you didn’t want to be around since the beginning, but still I guess I hoped you’d warm up to me. I know I warmed up to you...it’s been a long time since I talked to someone who wasn’t wary of me. And you believed me, I thought it was a blessing.” Jinyoung explains, his fingers tracing the embroidered stitches on the covers below him. “But it’s fine, it’ll work out. I’d rather have someone that wants to be around me, rather than force themselves.”

“I haven’t been forcing myself,” Mark says.

“Yes, you have.”

“You may not believe me Jinyoung but I really do care about you.” Jinyoung’s eyes flicker to him then. “As a student.” Mark adds quickly, illogically.What other way was there? “I worry about you, last night...I was going to jump in after you if you actually flew off that bridge. You can’t die, Jinyoung.”

Jinyoung bites his lip and looks down, “Why not?”

“You just can’t,” Mark retorts. “This is your life. Don’t let people who have already died keep you away from living.”

“Easier said than done,” Jinyoung huffs and flops back onto the bed. “Do you know what I was thinking about yesterday? When we were on the bridge?”

“No, neither Mihyun or I could make out what you were saying…”

Jinyoung closes his eyes and hums deep in his chest, “A desert, a wide endless desert, sand hills rising and dipping in the distance. It goes on forever, sort of like looking out onto the sea and never seeing where it ends. It was a sea of gold. The sun so hot, so high in the sky, there are no clouds there, there’s nothing there, nothing but me, the sky and the sand.” He opens his eyes then, a soft expression ecompasses his face and he looks almost blissful. “I’ve only seen this place twice now, and of all the memories, of all the people I’ve met, and the places I’ve been, I know I love this place the most. I miss it, like an ache that runs through my bones, it’s like it’s calling out to me. Like if I die, I’d be able to see it again.”

“Where is it?” Mark finds himself whispering.

“I don’t know, it could be Africa, the Middle east, anywhere.” Jinyoung says thoughtfully. “It doesn’t matter though because I know it’s gone. The desert I see with the eyes I saw them with are gone.”

“Do you not feel lost there?” Mark says, looking down at his clasped hands.

“No...not really, besides…” Jinyoung turns his head to the side and gives Mark a very faint, but very warm smile. “You pull me out of it,” He whispers and the knot in Mark’s stomach tightens. “Back then when I walked into the road and yesterday, you pulled me out and saved me.”

Mark stares at his face; an expression filled with hope and peace, something he’d never seen on Jinyoung before. He feels his insides muddle and his brain rattle in his skull, confusion and fear bursting through his veins. He takes a deep breath, his throat closing up.

“Still...I won’t be there every time to save you,” Mark solemnly adds.

Jinyoung closes his eyes again and murmurs, “I know.”

Turku, 1827

Barrick’s mornings usually started with the smell of fresh bread and the cries of seagulls. For the few rare nights he did sleep, he did not sleep for long. With a sun that did not set, it was hard to sleep in the summer with all the light spilling through his bare windows. Of course, he could opt for curtains but there was something incredibly aesthetically unpleasant about rags hanging off the wall to him.

He’s slipping on a pair of boots and buttoning up his tunic when a knock comes from the side of the house, the sound vibrating through the wooden panels. Barrick hopped to his window, his shoe laces still loose as he pulled up the handle with a deathly creak and shoved the window open enough to stick his head out of the crack.

“Good morning Ms Nurmi,” Barrick greeted warmly, his arms leaning against the frame. Ms Nurmi, an older woman, wearing a long beige dress and an apron wrapped around her slim waist leant over her porch and smiled back.

“Good morning Barrick, had a good sleep? Or were you busy painting the river again?” She asked, a motherly tone woven into her voice. Hanna Nurmi was twenty two when Barrick first moved here, alone and a little lost, she’d taken him immediately under her wing and although she insisted on being considered as a big sister, she reminded Barrick more of his mother.

“I had actually slept last night,” Barrick replies, and she shoots back an unconvinced look. “Don’t give me that expression, please. It makes me feel like I’ve done something wrong.” He joked.

“Okay, okay, why don’t you just come over and have breakfast now?”

“On my way,” He replied, watching Hanna as she her heels and walked back into her house.

It was a warm morning, enough for just a simple tunic and a pair of bottoms. He had eye’d his blazer for a moment but decided against it, he wasn’t meant to be anywhere today. His work on the Turku bridges was to begin tomorrow, dreadfully he’d be working alongside Carl Engel, but his excitement for his first project had bubbled over and washed away the bitterness temporarily.

Barrick grabbed his keys and a few change, stuffing them into his pocket as he left through the front door. He gave the view from his porch a quick, appreciative glance; the sun was blinding today, setting fire to the Aura river, the slow tides lapping up like sparkling flames. With a quick deep breath of the fresh crisp air, Barrick hopped his way down onto the pebble path and gave a right turn to Hanna’s house.

The scent of fresh bread grew stronger as he made his way closer, quickly dancing up the steps. His stomach made an anticipating noise, his dormant hunger suddenly sparking with life as he brushed his fingers through his hair and gave the door before him a quick rap. Barrick doesn’t wait for a response and instead makes his way into the house, only to be greeted with the shrill shrieks of infants.

“Barrick!” A pair of voices burst. Two children, around the age of four, stumble their way into the kitchen with outstretched arms and giddy smiles. Barrick beamed down at them as they jumped into his arms.

“Oof! You guys are getting a little too big now.” Barrick feigned struggle as he picked up either of the twins, each of them perched upon one arm and leant into his shoulder. Fredrik and Fanni both giggled mischievously at the other and turned quickly to press a kiss to Barrick cheeks. “Oh, who taught you that one.”

“I did,” Hanna said with an apologetic smile, poking a flat shovel into her brick stove and slid out a warm loaf of bread. “They were asking why I kissed them to sleep every night and I told them you do it for people you care about, but you can’t just do it to everyone. They only heard the first part.”

Barrick laughed and settled the twins into the high chairs he had built just for them. It was one of his first successful piece of carpentry since becoming an apprentice under Charles Bassi. Even though Barrick was stubborn about building homes, bridges, buildings, and cathedrals, Mr Bassi had always one rule; start small, and grow to be big. So Barrick started small, and it wasn’t till he saw the look of happiness on Hanna’s face when he presented her the smooth, polished wooden chairs for her newly born twins, that he realised what it meant to really create something. Things were only things until someone claimed them, until someone loved them, otherwise they were inanimate, lifeless objects - even wood can be given a heart.

There’s a bittersweet feeling tickling at Barrick’s throat as he sat on one end of the table, staring at the children in their high chairs. At first they were too small for the seats, sliding down into the openings for their legs, now they were filling up the space with their chubby legs and plump bodies.

Hanna placed the sliced up loaf of bread last onto the dining table, the steam still rolled off it’s crispy shell. Around it was a generous spread of smoked meats, cheeses and fruit. Be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner at the Nurmi house, it was always extravagant. Hanna was very passionate about making sure every meal she made would count. She once told Barrick that she had grew up in an Inn where her parents rarely had enough time to sit down with her for even a brief of moments, and she’d spend most of her dinner’s bring up a small plate of food to her room in the attic. She’d always wanted a family, valued togetherness, maybe that’s why she took so much care of Barrick, a fourteen year old boy who lived alone but for when his teacher was around, which was rarely.

He can’t imagine, however, that she was very happy about the fact her husband, Iisakki Nurmi, wasn’t present for meals often. He worked as one of the Board of directors for the docks of Turku, part of the Seamen's Fishermen establishment which worked for improving Turku’s trading ports, and the development of Finland’s ships. When Turku had lost it’s title as Finland’s capital, there were revolts and anger, where some people would throw fits and do nothing but grumble in their bitterness, people like Iisakki instead turned their bolts of anger into passion. Groups formed, men and women came together; they’d make them regret, they’d make Turku great and make them regret. Turku would become the centre of Finland again, whether by title or not.

Barrick may not have felt the same sort of passion the rest of the population of Turku did, after all, he was always a small town boy at heart. But he shared their eagerness, their passion to build and to form something magnificent. He wanted to part of it all, and finally, he was going to get his chance. The bridges of Turku was just the beginning of what was to be many of his endeavours.

“I do not think I’ve seen you so bright before, Barrick,” Hanna chides from across the table, she has a curious glint to her eyes. “Have you finally met a girl?”

Barrick ripped a bite out from his piece of bread and shook his head, “You continue to ask me about a girl but when have I had the time to meet any, Ms Nermi?”

Hanna’s scrutinized her face as if she had tasted something foul, “I wish you would stop calling me that, it makes me feel like some old maiden. Which by the way you will become soon, and then it’ll be too late to find a partner.”

“I am still young...Hanna…” Her name felt awkward on his tongue but she looked pleased with it so he continued. “And besides, I still haven’t met anyone yet.”

“You have been here for nearly seven years now, and no one? Really, Barrick, not one girl?”

“I...am a gurl!”” Finna sings from the side, a piece of ham between her small lips. Hanna gives her daughter a look as Barrick grinned and gave the child a quick rub on the head.

“There we have it, I shall just marry Finna,” Barrick announced. “I’m sure you would not object?”

“I would most certainly object,” Hanna snapped, tapping her fork to the table. “As if I’d give my daughter to a would be old man.”

“You wound me, madam,” Barrick joked, placing a piece of rich cheese onto his tongue and relished in the tingle that went up the side of his jaw.

“You’re beginning to sound like Carl,” Hanna shivered at the thought. “Was I fool to think after all these years he wouldn’t have an affect on you?” She gasped then, placing a palm over her . “Do not tell me your lack of interest in women is because you’re interested in men?”

Barrick almost spat out his mouthful of grapes and quickly looked up to glare at Hanna, “If I were to ever love a man, do you really believe I would make such a poor decision as to fall in love with Carl of all of them?”

Hanna snorted, making a choking sound behind her hand. “Poor Carl, and here I’m sure he’s been writing out his proposal for years now.”

Barrick wanted nothing then but to swallow his whole weight worth in food and forget about the horrible conversation. But as he goes to reach for the jar of jam the sound of hooves clicking and the neigh of a horse distracts him, and the rest of them at the table.

“Horse! Horse!” Finna clapped excitedly from her seat.

“It seems the post-boy has arrived, are you expecting anything?” Hanna asked, wiping with a napkin.

“No, I’ve yet to reply to my mother’s letter.” Barrick said and then turned to look at Finna from beside him. “Would you like to see the horse?” He kindly asked, the little girls light brown hair. She nodded her head eagerly.

Hanna rose from her chair and with her napkin she went to Fredrik, who had been eating silently, and wiped down his face, to then pick him up. Barrick mirrored her, except he left the piece of ham hanging out of Finna’s mouth and lifted her up with a little chuck.

The four of them exit the house and peer just down below the hill where a horse stood tall at the end of the road which forked off to several neighbourhoods. A post-boy stood beside his companion digging into satchels of letters, catching names being thrown from the crowd that circled him. Hanna and Barrick took the children the horses heard where their small hands went to pat at the nose and where they shrieked in delight as it huffed back in response. They waited around patiently until the crowd lessened.

“Good morning Miss,” The post-boy tipped his hat to Hanna and then shot a wide grin to Barrick. “And Barrick, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Are you well, Markus?” Barrick shook the younger man’s hand and tapped at his shoulder. Markus was just a year or two younger than Barrick, his hair made of copper curls and his eyes blue, as bright as the sky.

“As well as I could be, can’t say much for this young girl.” Markus said with a tap to the horse’s back. “You here for the mail, I take it?”

“And to see your lovely face, Markus.” Hanna grinned playfully as Fredrik played with the curls of her hair.

“You make me swoon, you know that Ms Nermi?” Markus joked as he turned into his satchel. “Let’s see here...we have two letters for Mr Nermi….and one for Ms Nermi, what a popular couple.”

“Thank you very much, Markus,” Hanna said with a tilt of her head.

“Oh, and we have one for Mr Nieminen, here,” Markus declared with a flick of his hand. Barrick double takes, he was already ready to turn and head back. He wasn’t expecting any letters. “And not the usual...seems you got an invitation, Mr Nieminen.” Markus eyed the envelop with curiosity as he handed it to Barrick.

Barrick cradled Finna with one hand and outstretched the other to take the invitation. The moment Barrick touched the fine paper he was filled with questions; it felt expensive, the envelope thick between his fingers. The front of it was bordered with a cursive gold pattern, his name etched into the middle with fine calligraphy. He turned it around in his hand, where a stamped candle wax kept it sealed. With the short fingernail of his thumb he flicked open the letter and spread it open to read.

Dear Mr Barrick Nieminen,

This is a formal invitation asking for your presence tomorrow night at the lady’s house, Henrikka Arseniy Zakrevskiy has specifically asked for your attendance. A dinner will be served, and it will be just you and the lady so do please dress appropriately. This invitation is not optional. A carriage will come to your home tomorrow to pick you up.

The lady looks forward to seeing you.

Barrick blinks down at the invitation, astonished. Although the initial envelop held detail and delicacy, the message itself was brisk and authoritative, and rather berating to Barrick. He scoffed under his breath, flipping the piece of paper back and forth between his fingers as if it’d suddenly become a piece of trash.

“What is it? Is everything ok?” Hanna asked from beside him.

Barrick looked up at her and gave her a smile, “It would seem you do not have to worry about my lack of a lady presence no more.”

“What? Have you been invited by someone?” Confusion plagues her face.

Barrick wrinkled his nose and look down at the envelope once more, “Ordered, more like.”

Seoul, 2016

Professor Jung’s office had this constant atmosphere of impending doom to it. There was something incredibly daunting about the piece’s of statues of Roman men in glass boxes lined down the length of the office. They were mostly sculptures of heads, and some small replicas of famous pieces, men and women twisted in odd positions. Mark could be overthinking it, but he’s pretty sure all of the vacant eyes are somehow boring holes into him.

That, or it could just be Professor Jung who sat behind her desk with a fiery look, an intent to kill in the flames of what made her pupils. She was not happy.

“I am not happy, Mr Tuan,” She says in an echo only Mark could hear. “Not happy at all.”

Not that Mark had ever seen her happy, but even he had to admit that this was an exceptionally new level of not happy for Professor Jung. He can’t say he wasn’t expecting this conversation soon, he’d hoped however he could leave it till the day, the hour, the second before he had to run to the airport.

“It was a last minute decision, Professor,” Mark says meekly, his hands clasped in front of him as he stood stiff in front of her ridiculously large desk. He was too scared to take a seat, and she hadn’t offered him one, so he stood there like a preschool boy looking ready to just piss his pants.

“I’m still trying to figure out why it was even a decision at all?” Professor Jung huffs and leans back coolly into her large leather chair. “Is there something you're unsatisfied with Professor?”

“No, of course not, as you may have already heard,” From the gossiping bastards of this school. “I have family issues in America that need to be taken care of.”

“Can you not, then, simply take a short break? You are entitled to two weeks off Mr Tuan.” Professor Jung says, more like informs him with a tone as if he was some sort of imbecile that needed the letters spelt out for him.

He forces a smile on his face, “I know, but it’s not something that can be easily taken care of in such a short time. I’d imagine it’d take a couple of months.”

Mark, ignorantly, thought there was no way the frown on Ms Jung’s face could get any deeper, but of course, she was always exceptional at beating people’s expectations. Wrinkles that most certainly did not exist a few moments ago now formed between her brows and around the ends of her twisted lips.

“This is rather unpleasant,” She murmurs and turns to the side. “Students and parents will most certainly not let this go, Professor. Many people gave up something to be under your guidance for a year, and I cannot say they’ll be...satisfied with a substitute. You have become an image for us these past few months, and we are expecting a rise in applications from international students. Do you know what international students mean? More money, more sponsors from outside of the country. What will people think if they hear a contract lecturer of your...media converge suddenly decided to quit early? They won’t question you and your...rather vague reasons- no, they will question the university. Are they not treating him well? Is it a good environment? Is it somewhere where foreigners are actually welcome? You understand where I am coming from, don’t you professor?”

Mark wants to say no, I don’t understand just out of spite but he bites his tongue and instead feels his lip twitching viciously in a pathetic attempt to keep up the polite pretenses. “I understand that and I apologize. I will not argue if you decide to not give me my pay for this month. As for me, I will be sure to release an official statement on my departure as to not affect the university's image.” He bows his head slightly and is ready to bolt out of the room but Professor Jung turns back in her seat to stare at Mark with a new gleam in her eye.

“And what about Jinyoung, Professor?” She asks this with a slight smile on her face and Mark has never so as came close to imagining rearranging someone’s face like he is right now.

He tries to keep his cool, his voice flat, “What about him? I’d assume you’d assign someone else to him?”

“Yes...we might…” She begins with a twirl of her chair, and then gets up to walk around her desk. “But you might have forgotten how close we were to expelling him last month after he...caused that fiasco outside the university. The only reason why I decided against the idea was because Professor Choi insisted that Jinyoung would somehow...function better if you were by his side. What he meant by that, god knows, but I have seen improvements, and by that I mean I haven’t seen much. He’s been quiet for a while now.”

Mark can’t imagine what she’d do if she know about the bridge ‘fiasco’. He tries hard to keep the grimace off his face.

“But I cannot guarantee that will continue if you were to leave,” She continues as she makes her way round the sculptures, her long fingernails gliding against the glass.

“Are you saying you’ll kick him out if I were to leave?” Mark shoots back, anger bubbling deep in his stomach.

“I am not threatening you, Professor,” Professor Jung says, crossing her hands across her chest. “I am simply stating a possible outcome of your departure. I would just like you to be aware of all the consequences that will come with your resignation is all.” She says it sweetly, but Mark could only taste the toxic hidden underneath the sugar coated words.

She walks back to her chair briskly and settles herself in just as before, looking back at Mark with a half-smile. She knew he was rattling him, even if he tried hard in playing it off.

“I hope you will think about it more carefully,” She says with finality and then offers her palm out to the door. Mark could not have followed an instruction she gave more quickly than that. He felt if he stayed in the room any longer steam was going to burst out from his ears and his head was just going to rocket off his neck.

The second he’s out in the hallway, Mark takes a long and haggard breath. The anger bubbled and soared through his veins, his pulse raging in his neck. He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose several times until he feels like he can move without wanting to throw a punch at a wall.

Mark was at a crossroad now, people’s words weighing him down. Everything was suffocating; the memories, Jinyoung, the university, the emails, himself. Thoughts whirl around his head and make him dizzy enough to feel the need to lean into the wall beside him. It would seem Mark leaving was going to ruin Jinyoung, and staying was going to ruin him.