Hyacinths look like cotton candy, full and fluffy, with colors such as pink and white and purple. When you take a closer look, you can see that each flower unfolds back, its petals curling behind to peer up at the sun.

Despite their relatively beautiful appearance, hyacinths are notoriously known to resemble not only regret, but a symbol of asking for forgiveness.

But if you were to give them to someone, what exactly would you be giving them?

An apology?

Or an admission of regret?

“Let’s do this again, noona.”

Yoora stood looking out the floor-to-ceiling windows of her apartment, one hand holding her mug, the other on her hip as she stared at the cityscape outside.

The sun was almost completely gone, its orange tendrils a disappearing vein in the horizon of deep indigo blues, and she shut her eyes, slowly turning on her heel to look at her brother behind her.

After shooing him out of her apartment, he had made such a show of sitting outside and pressing her doorbell a million times, and she had caved, opening the door and letting him re-enter her home.

He had been so smug, too. Cheeky boy.

Now he sat on her white leather sofa, body leaned forwards, hands clasped, eyes intently concentrated on her as he waited.

She met his gaze coolly. “I’m trying my best to figure this out too, you know.”

Chanyeol sighed, burying his face in his hands before looking up once more, frustration building up in the tense posture he was adopting. “What happened from afternoon till just now? Can’t you at least, I don’t know, start somewhere and tell me?” he asked, “I know you were looking forward to tonight’s family dinner. You even made the reservations and made such a fuss when you asked us to cancel our plans, and now you’re pretending it never happened. I want to know why. Also, I am going to need an answer before I rush off for the dinner with a backup plus one.”

He probably meant Baekhyun, Yoora thought, as she massaged her temples.

How does one even begin?

I’ve never actually had this kind of conversation, not with anyone in the family. What more with Channie, who obviously dislikes Ryeowook for reasons that I still can’t fathom, but still.

We’re not that kind of family; the kind that actually talks things out, that share secrets with each other, that supports each other through things like relationship issues.

Gosh, I can’t even remember when the last time my own brother even visited my apartment, what more try to hear me out.

He’s just going to get upset and confirm his resolute behavior of hating on Ryeowook.

He tsked. “I swear to god, if Kim said something stupid-”

She shut her eyes. “He did no such thing.”

His response was swift. “But he did something, didn’t he?” he said, almost accusatorily.

She sighed, going over to sit next to him and stared right ahead, such that she didn’t have to look at his face once she started speaking.

Together they stared at the glass windows, at the darkening sky, and she felt him waiting next to her, eager anticipation radiating off him in waves.

She shut her eyes once more, clutching the mug in between her hands. “Do you remember,” she began, feeling the sensations that had exploded within her at the moment on the campus rooftop reignite her insides, “Do you remember how our parents met?”

He scoffed, about to say something, until she turned sideways and looked at him dead in the eye.

His mouth closed.

“They met at university,” he said quietly, as if he knew this story by heart, “Same course. Same batch. Same class.”

Chanyeol drank from his mug. “And so did you and Ryeowook,” he pointed out, narrowing his eyes slightly as he tried to see where this was going.

She swallowed, giving him a nervous look. “I’m going to start from the very beginning,” she said, her words trailing off shakily, “I’ll try to keep it as short as I can, since you have somewhere to be.”

He was staring hard now, any traces of impatience forgotten as he placed his mug on the empty space next to him, before slipping one hand into hers.

Sometimes, Chanyeol can be very demanding. Just like Abeoji is whenever something isn’t going his way.

And most times, he can be perceptive enough that he knows things are never what they seem.

Sometimes, I look at him and wonder, what it must have been like to have gone through his accident alone, with no one but our parents there by his side.

Sometimes, I wonder if he would grow up differently had I been schooling in Korea and not abroad; perhaps he would have been less hard on himself to be just like Abeoji and try too hard to emulate him.

Maybe he and I would have been closer, and I wouldn’t have to start trembling when I want to share something that has been on my chest since forever.

Yoora watched as he took out his phone with his other hand, his eyebrows creased. “Secretary Choi,” he said into his phone, “Cancel the dinner. We’re not going.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said-”

“Screw that,” he said, now taking her hand in both of his, “Something tells me this is more important than some dinner. Besides, you’re the one who made the reservation, so I’m not paying a single cent.”

She broke into a little laugh, realizing that he was trying to break the awkward tension between them and try to make her smile a little.

Well, it was working.

Rascal.

The sun had set spectacularly behind the tall buildings, and from the window of the café, the last remaining bits of light seeped through the glass panels, falling onto the smooth planes of Ryeowook’s face, which was contorted in an expression that was so unlike him, which, in turn, made Sun Young extremely uneasy.

She had never seen this side of him, and it was like whiplash to see him fidgeting, pausing, hesitating, and doing things that were so unlike the calm, confident Ryeowook she had come to familiarize herself with.

Around them, the jazz music was a contrast to everything she had just hear him say, and she was not calmed by the warm atmosphere, nor the gentle music, nor the drink he had insisted he had paid for.

Instead, she leaned forwards in her chair, her knee bouncing under the table as she stared at him dead in the eyes. “I’m sorry, let me get this straight,” she repeated, as if she still couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

She grabbed his hand when he started to lean backwards.

“You kissed her?” she whisper-shouted, peering at him with wide eyes, “Like, lips on lips?”

He looked down, and she could have sworn he was hiding a – very obvious – blush. “Yes,” he said in a small voice.

She let go of his hand, leaning back in her chair and stared at him, incredulous. “What happened to the part where you didn’t pursue an engaged woman?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

He took his coffee mug in his hands, wrapping his fingers around it as though he needed something to anchor him. “I don’t know, Sun Young. I just…I don’t know. It was all a rush.”

She watched him thoughtfully. “You seem to regret it,” she told him.

He met her eyes, and she could see the torment in them. “I do,” he admitted.

She narrowed her eyes. “But at the same time, you’re relieved that you let it out.”

He released a breath. “Yes,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair, “That is the dichotomy of my emotions right now. I don’t know what to do, my dear. And I have summoned you here not to tell me what I already know.”

She chuckled. “What am I supposed to do?” she asked him, smiling at Jongin as he passed their table, “It was something the both of you would eventually acknowledge. I can only stand and wait at the side and watch as it all goes down. To be honest with you, emotional support is what you need right now, rather than a solution.”

He nodded and drank his coffee, placing the mug on the table with a little thump. “I need clarity.”

“What you need,” she stressed, “is to go talk to her.”

He gave her a look. “You’ve gone mad.”

She shook her head. “I’m being serious. You won’t know how to proceed from here if you don’t talk it out,” she told him, “That’s the most important thing right now. Both of you separated at the rooftop, right? After the…kiss or whatever.”

“Yes,” he answered, still looking morose.

She let go of his hands and smiled so hard that it hurt. Sure, it felt strange that, once, she had felt something for the young man in front of her when they had met, but now, the more she knew him, the more she wanted him to be with the woman he loved.

She could tell he loved Yoora. There was that sparkle in his eyes whenever either of them brought her up, and there was the aloof way he carried himself whenever he was around her, as if he was purposely trying to seem cool while being visible enough for the heiress to notice him. She saw it when they were i