ACT TWO. ENOUEMENT.

Enouement. /'eh-now-ment'/. The bittersweetness of arriving at the future, seeing how things turn out, but not being able to tell your past self.

Lee Saeran is twenty minutes late.

This should no longer be an issue, given her lamentable inclination towards habitual tardiness. Jinyoung, however, has yet to repress idle expectations of Saeran caring for his time enough to care for how long it is she’s kept him waiting.

“That’s the twenty-first minute I’ve wasted and am never getting back,” Jinyoung grumbles to himself. “Thanks, Saeran-ah. I knew I could count on you and your lack of common courtesy.”

As if on cue, Jinyoung espies Saeran’s figure in the distance, racing clumsily towards him as fast her feet can carry her.

“Soonyoung-ah!” she exclaims, her way of address disarming him temporarily. “There you are.”

I have yet to get used to that name, Jinyoung thinks. Or, to the chilling reality that I’ve hijacked someone else’s identity.

This pains Jinyoung, despite knowing he’s had little choice in the matter. Between impersonating Soonyoung and risking premature exposure, he’d opt for the former no matter the circumstance.

Blood is thicker than water, after all.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Saeran says, resting both hands on either knee, still gasping for air. “I circled the block thrice in succession, and I’ve nearly gotten myself run over by a pickup truck.”

Jinyoung is beyond delighted to have known that Saeran did not, in fact, mean to waste his time.

Having put herself at risk, however, was a thousand times more worrisome than anything.

“Look to either side of you,” he says softly. “Before crossing the road. You should know that by now.”

Saeran blinks at him for a moment, as if to ascertain the proper response.

After a moment, she smiles, and the look on her face melts Jinyoung’s insides spontaneously.

How are you this beautiful? He thinks.

And why am I this hurt to have to meet you like this?

Now that you’re someone else’s.

And now that I’m someone else.

“For how long, exactly?” Jinyoung inquires.

“How long what?”

“How long have you been looking for me.”

“Twenty minutes?” Saeran responds, sparing her timepiece a cursory glance. “Give or take.”

“Good girl,” Jinyoung says, unable to resist a half-smile. He reaches out to Saeran, who stills upon contact. Golden locks of hair tumble forwards, the alluring scent of her perfume infused with bergamot and musk, cashmere wood and morning sunshine.

Jinyoung discovers he has difficulties breathing, as if she’s stolen the air right out of him.

“Where to?” she asks, eyes gleaming in earnest.

Jinyoung smiles, fighting the unbearable urge to take her hand in his, hold her in his arms, and kiss her by way of confession.

Behave yourself, Jinyoung-ah, he chides. You can’t possibly have what is already taken.

“Your call,” he says. “I’ll go wherever it is your heart wishes to take you.”

“Somewhere close-by, then,” she smiles, scanning the vicinity. “I have another appointment to attend to this afternoon.”

 “Appointment…?” Jinyoung asks, easing hesitantly into the matter.

“Yeah,” she responds, clapping both hands together. “I’m fitting my wedding dress today.”

Without even knowing it, Saeran steps on Jinyoung’s heart and stomps it flat.

Wedding dress, he thinks.

Right. This girl I’m in love with…

She’s getting married in four months’ time.

“Is that so,” Jinyoung whispers, half-adrift in a tunnel of despair. “Congratulations.”

“Stop that,” Saeran laughs, elbowing Jinyoung lightly. “I can tell by the look on your face, you know. You tire of saying those things, even more so than I’ve tired of hearing them.”

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Force of habit.”

Saeran’s eyes flit about him, surveying the locale.

They’re standing at the heart of the Myeongdeong Shopping Street, littered with outlets and boutiques, market stalls and indoor diners. The intersection itself is swamped with visitors, whose faces are buried either in their mobile phones, or are busy browsing through the shops down the road. 

“Say, Soonyoung-ah,” she tells him. “I might know of a place we can hang out.”

She takes him by the hand, unaware of the repercussions.

The voluntary skinship has—as can be expected—an utterly profound effect on Bae Jinyoung.

He recoils, pulling his hand away.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, hurt and confusion flashing in her expression momentarily.

“Sorry, I—“ Jinyoung begins. “That… might be dangerous.”

“Ah,” Saeran exclaims, flashing him a melancholy smile. “I get it. I’ll be more careful.”

She turns around, and Jinyoung follows suit, trailing the path her footsteps have taken. Minutes later, they arrive at a small café, a hole-in-the-wall obscured partly from view by the vast plethora of larger businesses swarming with curious patrons.

 “Over here.”

Through the glass door, Jinyoung sees the whimsical décor and the fanciful set-pieces furnishing the shop’s rustic interior. Laden with flowers, oaken tables, and ornamental greenery, the shop invokes a sense of strange familiarity, wistful nostalgia Jinyoung has long since forgotten.

He realizes he’s been here before.

“Spring Blossom Cafe?” Jinyoung chuckles. “Wow, Saeran-ah. I find myself in constant awe of your astonishing originality. Or lack, thereof.”

“Why complain?” she teases, shoving him gently forwards. “You used to love it here.”

“When we were seven,” he clarifies. “At that age, we still made bubbles with our mouths for the heck of it.”

 “Back then, they served us custard sugar rolls with piping hot chocolate,” Saeran recalls. “It was funny, now that I remember it. The granules of sugar would stick to your chin because of how messily you scarfed down the food.”

“My mouth is small,” Jinyoung argues. “It happens.”

“And then, you and I drifted apart for about a decade,” Saeran adds. “How is it that you’ve come to track me down, anyway? You can’t have imagined my surprise at the office upon receiving a message from an unknown sender claiming to have known me since we were children.”

Jinyoung fidgets nervously, unsure of what to say next.

I found your brother’s journal, pages strewn across my desk. 

He left it there by accident—unnamed, unmarked—for what reason, exactly?

Only goodness knows what.

In singling out the owner, I had to utilize my capacities. 

Psychometry: extrasensory perception, the ability to infiltrate someone else’s past, by making physical contact with an associated object.

And then, I simply… got more than I’d bargained for.

You. Your job at Sports One, your contact details printed onto your business card. As if Daehwi’s journal was yours instead of his.

 “Daehwi,” Jinyoung begins, fiddling with his thumbs uncomfortably. “Has a copy of the latest Yearbook. Your digits were written into the Student Directory.”

Saeran makes an awed expression with , enlightened by the revelation, untrue as it may be.

 “You and I were destined to reconnect, then,” she laughs. “See? Reminiscence is sweet, every so often.”

She steps into the café, a cheerful attendant greeting her with a smile at the door.

“Good afternoon, madam,” she says. “Welcome to the Spring Blossom Café.”

Both Jinyoung and Saeran bow at her politely.

 “The usual spot?” Jinyoung muses, willing away the disgrace eating slowly into his broken conscience. He gestures to the table farthest from the entrance, nearest to the rear-most window.

“The usual spot,” Saeran agrees, sauntering over to the table, as if to reunite with a long-lost friend. “The scenery’s changed a bit, hasn’t it?”

“Instead of the pawnshop,” Jinyoung muses. “It was a dessert parlour.”

“Remember the bearded, pot-bellied uncle manning the register?” Saeran asks, arranging her skirt before she settles onto the hardwood chair. “He kept on topping our sundae with rainbow sprinkles, even though both of us heavily disliked the taste of them.”

“Still do,” Jinyoung shrugs. “I avoid the shavings from hell like the plague.”

“You know what hasn’t changed?” Saeran smiles, eyes glinting in euphoria. “The view from across the table.”

Jinyoung’s heart flutters into violent motion, skipping in beat two at a time.

Before he can formulate a suitable response, he overhears faint, eager whispering a couple tables down, just as the door to the café creaks audibly open.

“Speak of the devil,” Jinyoung mutters under his breath. “The actual devil.”

“A dashing devil,” Saeran corrects. “I do like that hairstyle on him.”

Saeran waves a hand at their surprise visitor, grinning delightedly from ear to ear.

 “Seongwoo-oppa!” she calls out. “Over here.”

Seongwoo establishes eye-contact with the both of them, eyes darting briefly from one to the other.

“Ahh,” he exclaims. “So this is the person you’ve been meeting behind my back.”

He strolls over to their table, gait exuding confidence, his herringbone trench coat swishing to and fro behind him.

 “Hi there,” he greets. “Bae Soonyoung, am I right?”

Wrong, Jinyoung thinks.

“Right,” he says aloud. “I’m, uhh… a friend of Saeran’s. From childhood.”

“I know,” he says. “She’s mentioned you, once or twice. More than that, actually. More than I care to admit.”

Jinyoung nods curtly, suppressing a frown. His expression turns sour imperceptibly, as though he’s toeing the line between disgust and constipation.

“I could have sworn your name was different though,” Saeran muses. “Was it… Jinseok? Jooyoung?”

Panic rises like bile to Jinyoung’s throat, choking out the words he’s never meant to say.

“You’ve forgotten,” he lies, almost as if duplicity has become second nature. “Twelve years have passed since then, after all.”

“You’re right,” she agrees, rubbing her temple. “Ahh, my head hurts.”

“You alright?” Seongwoo asks, gently her hair. Saeran leans in towards him, resting her fair head of hair against his abdomen.

 “This is why I keep on telling you not to go out and about unnecessarily,” Seongwoo scolds. “Your health is of primary concern these days.”

“Don’t say it like that,” Saeran giggles, burying her face in the folds of Seongwoo’s overcoat. “Soonyoung might think you’ve gotten me pregnant.”

“We get hitched first,” Seongwoo chuckles. “And then we’ll talk.”

He crouches forwards, planting a kiss upon the tip of Saeran’s nose.

Jinyoung’s insides churn like butter, and he is forced to look away from the sight of them.

“I’ll leave you two for the moment,” Seongwoo says then. “I’ve dropped by simply to make sure my fiancée hasn’t been spirited away before our wedding.”

Jinyoung’s left eye twitches in