Like thousands of marbles tumbling down a cement staircase, the pounding of the rain crescendos as they step out of Sehun’s house. Joonmyun glances up at the umbrella over his head, thankful he thought to bring it to school with him that morning. He can barely see a foot in front of him, it’s pouring so hard, and he clutches his girlfriend to him a little more tightly, frowning when a raindrop rolls off the umbrella and lands on her shoulder.

“Thank you for walking me home in this weather,” she says, staring straight ahead. “It’s very nice of you.”

“Of course.”

They walk on quietly, neither one mentioning that of course he’s walking her home when she lives right next door to him and he couldn’t avoid her if he tried. They both know that’s not why he offered to take her home.

“Joonmyun,” she finally says, breaking the silence, “I’m sorry about what I said earlier, about saying you were just jealous. I didn’t mean it. I know you were worried about my safety.”

He hums, a deep sound from his chest that’s almost lost in the noisy drum of rain hitting cement. “I know. I’m sorry, too.”

He doesn’t have to say what he’s sorry for. She already knows. Like an afterthought, her hand makes its way into his.

“Joonmyun?”

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you want to see a therapist?”

He freezes for a second, dragging her to a halt, before he takes a breath and keeps walking. “I… I don’t really know,” he admits. “I know you’re trying to help me, but I just can’t.”

“Going to therapy doesn’t make you weak, Joonmyun.” She stops and faces him, wrapping her small hand around his hand that holds the umbrella. “Not in my eyes. And not in the eyes of anyone who matters.”

He smiles, just a little. Perhaps she gets frustrated and fights with him over it a little too often, but it's in moments like this he's grateful she is so aware of his lack of self-confidence. “I know that logically,” he tells her. “I do, really, but there’s this mental disconnect. It’s like I know I need to talk to someone about Mr. Huang’s death, but the idea of actually doing it…” He trails off.

“It’s scary, right?” Her voice is gentle, soft around the edges but oak-strong at the core. He’s too ashamed to look up and meet her gaze.

“Yeah,” he murmurs quietly, “kind of.”

A hand tips his chin up, and Joonmyun almost stops breathing when he meets her eyes, because she’s beaming, positively glowing with pride, and she’s looking right at him. He hasn’t seen her smile this wide or carefree in a while, and only now is he realizing how much he’s missed it.

“Thank you,” she says, eyes shining. “Thank you, Joonmyun.”

This time it’s him who already knows what she means. Wordlessly, he leans down and captures her lips with his own, pressing himself into her kiss like a drowning man seeking oxygen. Both of his hands migrate to her waist, leaving the umbrella in her grasp, and he pulls her even closer. Against his mouth, her lips curve up, and her free hand presses into his chest. She's warm and soft, and Joonmyun kisses her again and again, unable to get enough. He’s missed this; not the physical pleasure of her touch, although that is certainly pleasant, but the emotional intimacy. She’s kept him grounded for the past few weeks, even in his worst moments.

Under the umbrella as the storm rages all around them, the two of them alone remain warm and dry.

* * *

After their walk in the rain, they return to Joonmyun’s house and warm themselves under a heap of blankets on the sofa. She studies for the history exam on Monday while he scrolls through the photos he downloaded from his school camera to his laptop, searching for Meiling and Sicheng. He only finds Meiling in the photos before the emotional strain of reliving that night gets to him. It’s been a taxing day for both of them, and before they know it, they’re both asleep, wrapped securely in the other’s embrace.

In the morning, Joonmyun’s father wakes them up with a shout. “Breakfast is ready, kids!” He rummages around in the fridge for a fresh bottle of barley tea. “Rise and shine, half the day will be gone already if you don’t get up soon.”

Joonmyun groans, rubbing his eyes, and pushes himself to a sitting position. Looking over, he can’t help but let out a chuckle at his girlfriend, who is lying face down on the sofa with a pillow clamped firmly over her head. She’s over so often that she knows exactly which pillow has the best noise-canceling properties as to muffle his father’s morning wake-up calls, and she always makes sure to fall asleep near it just in case.

“Hmph,” she protests through the pillow. “Mmmph hmph humph.”

“Me too,” he agrees sleepily.

“Hmph umph. Gmph mpph.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” He runs a hand through his hair and yawns. “Come on, get up, breakfast.”

Eyes bleary and hair rumpled, she tosses the pillow at him. “Don’t wanna. Go away.”

Joonmyun snorts a little. Even though they've only just made up, their relationship feels like they're back to normal already. They're always like this, fighting for short periods of time and then making up quickly; he figures it's a result of their history with squabbles and disagreements as children growing up next door to each other.  

“Any plans for today?” Joonmyun’s father asks from the kitchen. “It’s Saturday, are you going out?”

Joonmyun almost says that no, they don’t have any plans and maybe they’ll go for a walk in the park because the weather looks so nice, but then he remembers they need to talk to Meiling and Sicheng, and his mood plummets.

“Yeah, we’re going to talk to some people,” he says vaguely.

“Oh, for Yearbook again?”

Joonmyun makes a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat, hoping his father will accept it without question. He doesn’t want to lie, but he can’t get his dad involved either.

“Can we go to the park afterwards, though?” His girlfriend sits up, making grabby hands for the pillow even though she’s fully awake now. “It’s so nice out!”

“That’s what I was thinking,” he agrees, but he tosses the pillow to the other side of the room with a cheeky grin. “You have to get up first, though.”

Chuckling, he ignores the whine and longing glance she sends the pillow.

“I just want to sleep for another year or two, won’t you at least let me do that?” She flops back down.

Joonmyun takes another look at her and frowns. She does look a little more tired than usual today - her skin is pale, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes, and she sounds a little stuffy.

“Are you getting sick?” Concerned, he places his hand on her forehead but doesn’t feel anything abnormal. “Do you want to sleep for another few hours? I can go on my own.”

“No!” She’s on her feet in a second, eyes wide. “You’re not allowed to go talk to them without me. It’s not -” Making sure his father is out of hearing range, she lowers her voice. “It’s not safe.”

“Sehun’s hanging out at the motel today, but I can call Chanyeol to come with me. I won’t be alone.”

“No! We both know Chanyeol’s a trouble magnet.”

“Alright, alright, fine.” Joonmyun ruffles her hair. “We’ll go together, okay? But if you show a single sign of being sick, we’re coming home and talking to them another day.”

She sighs but doesn’t protest. “Fine.”

* * *

“Which unit is it again?”

Joonmyun’s girlfriend squints at the sticky note Sehun wrote the addresses on. “I think it’s 604. Either 604 or 609, I’m not sure. Sehun’s handwriting is really messy.”

“Okay.” Joonmyun takes in a deep breath and pulls his notebook out of his bag. “So we’re just going to pretend we’re doing this for Yearbook. We’re interviewing people who were close to Mr. Huang to compile a memorial page of quotes for him in the yearbook, and some of his relatives told us about Meiling. Simple.”

At his side, she nods and squeezes his hand, making him look at her. “This is just like one of your detective books, isn’t it? You’ve been wanting to do an interview like this for ages.”

Not under these circumstances, he thinks. But he knows she’s trying to make him feel better and is probably just as nervous as him, so he squeezes her hand back.

“Just like a detective book,” he says, stopping in front of apartment unit 604. They’re in one of the most luxurious apartment complexes in Seoul, and Joonmyun wonders what exactly this Meiling does for a job that she is so wealthy. He ran a quick Naver search on her last night, but her name is so common, it was difficult to find anything reliable.

After a moment of hesitation on both their parts, his girlfriend pushes the doorbell. Joonmyun holds his breath. Is Meiling even home? If she isn’t, what are they supposed to do? And if she is, what if she invites them in to talk? What if they end up trapped inside a murderess’ lair, unable to call for help? 

I’m the stereotypical overly nosy busybody in mystery films who ends up dismembered in the garden, and I’ve dragged my poor girlfriend into this, too! He’s so busy panicking in his mind that he doesn’t hear the sound of heels on the floor drawing closer.

“Are you kids lost?” A voice from behind them nearly gives Joonmyun a heart attack, and he spins around.

The woman facing them is beautiful, stunning really with her pin-straight hair and sharp features. Joonmyun doesn’t know much about clothes or fashion, but even he can tell that the meticulously tailored pantsuit she wears is expensive. Honestly, it’s too bad he doesn’t have his camera with him; he really wants to take a photo of her for his portfolio right now, because the aura she exudes is one of effortless power and authority in a way he’s never encountered before. There’s a feline grace in her limbs even when she isn’t moving, and he gets the feeling that this woman has always gotten what she’s wanted all her life. Can such an aura be captured by a simple camera? he wonders.

“We’re looking for Zhang Meiling,” his girlfriend says, interrupting his awed evaluation of the woman.

The woman arches an eyebrow. “You are lost, then. Meiling lives in 609. Actually, there she is right now.” She nods at another woman who is rounding the corner, arms full of groceries. “Morning, neighbor!”

Meiling freezes, eyes widening when she sees her neighbor. She looks like a mouse cornered by a hungry cat, Joonmyun thinks with a frown. Something’s not right here.

“These kids were looking for you,” the other woman says with a smile. “You have good timing, Meiling, coming up just now.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Jooyi.” Meiling tries to smile back, but her lips are thin and wobbling. “I’m sorry, kids, but do I know you?”

Joonmyun bows politely, and his girlfriend does the same. “We’re students from the Yearbook Club at the local high school,” he says. “We’re writing a piece for the yearbook dedicated to Mr. Huang and his impact on the people around him, and some of his relatives referred us to you.”

“Hang on, Huang Zitao’s relatives referred you to her?” Jooyi laughs, a sharp, mocking sound that makes Joonmyun’s skin crawl. “They think you should talk to Zhang Meiling for this article of yours?”  

At his nod, she snorts and turns to unlock her apartment door. “Whatever, kid. Suit yourself.”

As soon as Jooyi is out of earshot, Meiling turns to them with an apologetic grimace. “I’m sorry about that. I’d be glad to help you kids with your article in whatever way I can. Come on in.”

She fumbles with her keys, and Joonmyun lets go of his girlfriend’s hand to grab the groceries overflowing from her arms.

“Thank you,” Meiling says, smiling shakily, and unlocks the door. Joonmyun holds the door open for her and his girlfriend, then follows them in.

“Please excuse the mess; I know it’s awful. And you can put the groceries down there.” She waves a hand at the kitchen counter. Doing as he is directed, Joonmyun sets down the bags and lets his eyes sweep over the apartment.

For a luxury apartment, it really is quite messy. Clothes is strewn all over the floor, unwashed cups pile up on the expensive coffee table, and Joonmyun thinks he even sees an empty pint or two of ice cream hiding under the sofa.