[title track: pal - javed mohsin, arijit singh, shreya ghoshal]
[5k]

 PROLOGUE

“We’re out again?”

Kwon Jiwoo looks up from her laptop, where she’s seated on a kitchen stool, right across from where Do Kyungsoo is currently leaning over a bowl of cookie batter, an empty bag of chocolate chips in his hand. She blinks at the bag, glancing up at Kyungsoo, who only raises a brow at her, heart-shaped lips turned down into frown that is just bordering on an amused laugh.

“These are for baking, Jiwoo.” Kyungsoo continues, shaking the empty bag in the air as he leans forward, his face now in her line of vision.

“Who cares? It all ends up in the same place anyway.” Jiwoo pouts, leaning back as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Your stomach?” Kyungsoo snorts.

“Exactly.” Jiwoo chooses to ignore the pointed tone he uses, instead taking his words for face value. She pats her stomach for good measure, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

This time, Kyungsoo pouts, his bottom lip jutting out, and Jiwoo is still amazed at how handsome he is—she is always so amazed, even though they’ve been together for so, so long. Every morning, she is in awe with the mere fact that gets to wake up next to him for the rest of her days.

Kyungsoo’s low chuckle breaks her out of her thoughts, making her redden because his eyes are soft and fond and amused, as if he knows exactly what she was thinking about. He probably does. He murmurs, “Love you, too.”

(He definitely does. He can read her like a book.)

She makes a face, turning her attention back to her laptop.

“You still need to buy more chocolate chips.”

She groans, sinking further into her stool.

He just tosses the empty chocolate chip bag at her face.

~.~.~.~.~

They had met, perhaps, in the worst of ways. She hated him.

Her mother had warned her off men at a young age, had whispered to her as she sat in the living room, awash in candlelight, that, “All men do is lie. They all just want one thing from you. That’s it.”

Her mother’s eyes would always grow so wistful as she said those words, her fingers wrapped around the locket hanging from .

There was a reason, Jiwoo would later learn, why there was not a single photo of her father in their house.

So, Jiwoo held her mother’s words close and the day she met Do Kyungsoo—with his stoic expressions and his haughty demeanor—in the lunchroom, when she had stood up to throw her trash away and suddenly, she was covered in strawberry milk. When she had looked up, in horror, and Do Kyungsoo was standing in front of her, eyes wide, tray empty of strawberry milk and the friend accompanying him laughing maniacally.

She had hated him from that very moment. It had started a rivalry like no other.

One of them would always have to one-up the other, to the point where all their friends went from laughing with them to uniting and befriending each other just to laugh at them.

Oh Sehun would always roll his eyes and mutter, “Make out already.”

That had infuriated her—because she remembered her mother’s warnings and she knew Do Kyungsoo was exactly that way. He was mean and terrible, and he had the sweetest smile—no, he had the worst smile—and he was just awful. It didn’t matter to her that she knew plenty of people who believed quite the opposite. It didn’t matter to her that she’d see him being confessed to in the halls and it’d do something strange to her chest. It didn’t matter because she was not allowed to date. Her mother would kill her.

But one group project in particular led them to set aside their differences, if only to receive a good grade for their last year of high school. They didn’t become friends that way. Maybe, they learned to get along, but they did not become friends until long after high school, long after they lost contact, when they met again at university, years later.

Jiwoo still listened to her mother—it was hard not to when the woman maintained an almost militant attitude in that department. It didn’t help that Jiwoo’s grandmother seemed to be the same way, if not worse. Her grandmother would fiddle with incense, the golden ring with an obsidian black stone perched upon her finger glinting in the dim lighting of her home, while she would remind Jiwoo that she was to be careful around men. They will ruin her, she liked to say.

Somehow, though, meeting Kyungsoo again in university was entirely different from her earlier encounters.

Somehow, he had gotten more handsome. Somehow, she found herself daydreaming about his heart-shaped lips and she would be filled with wonder at how he was no longer shorter than her (though he still hadn’t grown that much). His wide shoulders, his jawline, the way he would squint at signs because he was blind as a bat and always forgot his glasses, the way his wide eyes would twinkle, the way he would let her drag him around whenever she wanted to try new restaurants, his way of memorizing obscure facts to spout at her in that serious way of his. All these characteristics, big and small, found their way into her heart and made a home there.

She tried to ignore it.

But the emotions built up, piled on top of each other, bit by bit, until it had burst out of her in the middle of the street, late at night, when he had been walking her home. She had been mulling over her stupid feelings for days, all because her roommate had told her that Kyungsoo’s roommate had told her that Kyungsoo had a crush on someone and she was positive it wasn’t her—because they were supposed to hate each other and she wasn’t supposed to trust men at all.

She had burst out, “Do you hate me?”

And it wasn’t supposed to sound so insecure, yet there she was, in the middle of a narrow street in Seoul, baring her heart and soul to her self-proclaimed frenemy.

He had stood there, squinting at her because he had forgotten his glasses again, and he had stuffed his hands into his pockets while he responded with an eloquent, “What?”

It triggered something in her. She was a mess, words spilling from her lips at high speed, a stream of word vomit she knew she would regret in just a few seconds. She had said, “Because I know I say I hate you, but I really don’t. I think I like you. Like, like you like you, but I heard you’re interested in someone else and I get that. But, I just—I need to know that you don’t hate me? I don’t know why? Maybe, because you’re Do Kyungsoo and you’re so you and ev—”

“Breathe, Jiwoo.” He had interrupted her stream of words, stepping forward, a smile tugging at his full lips.

She took deep breaths, trying in vain to calm her heart, “I am breathing.”

He had taken a step forward. She took another deep breath. He took another step forward. Another and another and another and—oh, she’s definitely not breathing, now. She had let out a small squeak.

He whispered, voice soft as a feather, “Just breathe, okay?”

“How am I supposed to do that when you’re—” She gestured at him wildly, unable to procure the right word to describe his actions. She settled on, “Doing that.”

He tilted his head, murmured, “Doing what?”

He had been inches from her when she managed to respond, “Everything.”

“I don’t hate you.” Kyungsoo said.

Her heart had slammed against her ribs, relief coursing through her. “Really?” She had whispered back, blinking.

He had smiled, nodding, and everything about his expression had been so sweet, so fond.

“Really.” Kyungsoo had reached out and cupped her cheek, making her freeze. Then he carefully tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, fingers lingering against her skin, “And, for the record, I never hated you. Never.”

All she managed to say was, “Oh.”

He had laughed, the sound lodging itself in her heart.

Then, many, many years later, it had all come full circle.

Over the years, they had their downs, fights so catastrophic, she thought her whole world would end whenever he would walk out of their home, moments where she would sit at the top of the bed and he would sit at the foot, posture rigid, the space between them feeling like entire oceans, and they would speak in low tones, rationalize their fights, learn to communicate properly. Moments where she would be so riddled with anxiety, she would go on cleaning sprees and he would join in, just to keep her company. Times when he would be so, so sad, so muddled in everything, that he wouldn’t be able to get out of bed and she would curl around him, wordless as he would press his face to her chest, clutching onto her for dear life, and sometimes, he would cry. Moments where they wouldn’t talk to each other for days. That time where she had received news of her grandmother’s passing and he had whispered words of encouragement, of care, while she tried not to break. Where they would sit down and calculate finances and they’d both be tightlipped as they tried to fit their lives into their too-tight, barely-there budget. Where there would be lapses in judgement, moments of jealousy, and they’d fix it with rough kisses and fingernails dragging down each other’s backs, yanking at each other’s hair.

But they also had their ups, joy so overwhelming that it would fill her to the brim, bring happy tears to her eyes. Where she would open her mail and wouldn’t be able to suppress her shriek at the letter of acceptance into her first choice for Grad School and he would shower her with kisses and murmur how proud he was of her. When he finally received a job offer after months of failure. When they’d get a weekend off and drive up to Seoraksan National Park and she would look at his face and his smile, and she would remember just how utterly in love with him she was. Times when he would come home and curl around her, pressing chaste kisses wherever he could reach, and she would ask why only to receive kisses in response. When they would bake together, and he’d make her laugh so hard her tummy would hurt. The night his best friend got married and Kyungsoo’s eyes were filled with fondness, with so much love, as he looked on, and she couldn’t shake the overwhelming awe she would sometimes get whenever she looked at him. The spontaneous date nights. The cuddles. The pecks before heading out to work and the cheek kisses when they’d return. They had so many more ups than downs, but now here they were, full circle, home.

(Kyungsoo stands at the stove, stirring vegetables in oil, the sound of oil sizzling filling the room—a comfort that always made her smile, because it was one of the many sounds of home, alongside the music playing from the television and Kyungsoo’s soft humming and the occasional thumping on the ceiling from the kids running around in the upstairs apartment.

She steals a bit of the chicken, as she always does when he cooks, and instead of scolding her or poking her with the wooden spoon, Kyungsoo doesn’t say a word. She can feel his eyes on her, and she looks up, still chewing, raising a brow.

And, it’s there, in the most nonchalant of ways, while he looks at her as if she is the universe—she wonders if he knows, even after all these years, that he is her sun and if she is the universe then he is her center, she starts and ends with him—like she was the one to hang the stars, like he sees God in her. Her chest fills with an overwhelming tightness, even as he speaks, his tone smooth as velvet, vulnerable almost.

He is so casual as he says, “Let’s get married.”

She blinks. The emotions that course through her are devastating in their intensity, so much so that tears spring to her eyes. She tries to blink them away. He sets down the wooden spoon and he turns to full face her. His eyes flicker between hers, even as he reaches out and brushes at her cheeks—they’re wet now and she hates that she’s crying, but she knows she’s not sad or upset, she’s happy.

The smile that stretches out her cheeks hurt, but she’s nodding and nodding and nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, still nodding, voice cracking a little, “God, yes.”

“Don’t cry. I don’t like seeing you cry.” He’s quiet, soft, almost worried

She sniffles, nod tiny this time, even as he pulls her close and tucks her head in the crook of his neck. Her voice is muffled, even as she melts against him, “I know. I’m just—just so happy.”

She feels his chuckle, deep in his chest, even as he kisses the top of her head turning slightly, to no doubt stir the vegetables, all while he rubs letters and words along her back that she will never be privy to. He mumbles, “I’m quite the catch. I’d cry, too.”

She smacks him, burying her face further into him, and he kisses her hair once more.)

~.~.~.~.~

She shivers at the breeze. It’s much colder than a typical autumn night, the breeze biting. “It’s cold.” She whines, rubbing her arms.

Kyungsoo looks over at her and she pouts, eyeing his jacket. He is quick to reply, “You should have brought your jacket.”

She glares. He laughs, but he’s quick to console her, pulling her closer into her side as he rubs a warm hand up and down.

“Why do you need those chocolate chips so badly, anyway?” She mumbles, cheek pressed to his jacket pocket as she walks.

“I promised my coworkers I’d bake them cookies.”

“Since when did you start promising your coworkers things?”

“I’m trying this new thing called being nice.”

“Huh, must be tough.”

“It’s exhausting. Like, last week Chanyeol asked me if I thought his new shoes looked nice and I had to say yes.”

“Poor baby.”

Jiwoo giggles and Kyungsoo pouts down at her, “I don’t appreciate sarcasm, I’m having a rough time.”

“Will ki—”

Jiwoo jumps, cutting herself off at the sudden sound of a car alarm blaring, the sound shattering the peaceful aura that had settled around them, despite the late hour and the empty streets. The car sits across the street, it’s lights blinking on and off, on and off, like a faulty lightbulb. Jiwoo squints at the car and frowns. She can’t see anything that could have set off that alarm.

The alarm keeps blaring and the lights keep going haywire, almost blinding in its brightness.

“Where’s the person who owns the car?” Kyungsoo mumbles after a moment, heart shaped lips turned down into a frown. Jiwoo shrugs, but she finds she is quickening her pace, fingers wrapped around Kyungsoo’s as they walk down the street.

“Where’s the convenience store again?” Jiwoo glances over her shoulder at him.

Kyungsoo tugs at her arm, pulling her back so she’s no longer walking in front of him. “You’ve lived here how many years, but you still don’t know where it is?”

She pouts, shivering at the way a particularly cold breeze hits her, “You’re mean.”

~.~.~.~.~

“I don’t approve.” Her mother shakes her head, a rapid, almost frantic movement. “No.”

“I’m not asking you for permission.” Jiwoo stares at her mother, anger settling at the pit of her stomach. She hadn’t expected a good reaction from her mother—when she had revealed she was dating Kyungsoo her mother had been absolutely livid and refused to talk to Jiwoo for months—but they’ve been dating for years now and her mother seemed like she had warmed up to Kyungsoo since then. Her mother wasn’t nearly as angry as Jiwoo thought she’d be when Jiwoo announced she was planning on moving in with Kyungsoo her last year of university.

“You should be.” Her mother is all anger now, fury rising in her eyes. “If you were a good daughter who cared—”

“I’ve been living with him for years. What does it matter, now?”

She doesn’t expect her mother to shout. Throughout her childhood, her mother seemed to want their home to be a place of gentleness. No one ever yelled or hit anyone. Her mother had never once shouted at Jiwoo. Jiwoo flinches at the sudden rise in volume, her eyes widening.

Her mother shouts, “Marrying him makes it official!”

“That’s the point!” Jiwoo shouts back, she can’t help it, the hairs at the back of her neck standing on end. The candles her mother always leaves lit in the living room are dark and the room does not smell like Warm Vanilla nor Ocean Breeze. It almost feels cold in the room, suddenly. Jiwoo pushes on, “I thought you said you liked him.”

“I do—I—” Her mother stares at her before her gaze flickers past Jiwoo, settling again on Jiwoo. But something in her eyes have changed. She looks almost…terrified? Tired? Jiwoo isn’t sure what it is, but it bothers her. It makes her a little angry. All she wants is for her mother to approve of Kyungsoo, to be happy for them both. Jiwoo’s mother says, lips pulled into a tight line, tone sharp, pointed, “You know your grandmother wouldn’t have approved either.”

She knows this. But the mention of her grandmother isn’t fair because her grandmother is dead and Jiwoo misses her, had always tried to do right by her, and her mother knows this. She’s using it as leverage.

“I don’t care.” Jiwoo snaps, furious.

Her mother blinks, once, twice, three times. “Jiwoo—”

“You have no real reason for your disapproval. Whatever Dad did to you—Kyungsoo’s not like that. If that’s what you’re afraid of. Kyungsoo won’t leave me.”

Her mother blinks, but she doesn’t say anything, and somehow that bothers Jiwoo more.

Jiwoo sighs, “I’ll text you the date. I just—I want you there. But I’m going through with this, mom.”

“Jiwoo—”

Jiwoo swivels on her heels and walks out of the house, ignoring the way tears of hurt stinging the backs of her eyes. The night is cold, too cold for a summer night.

~.~.~.~.~

“These, too!” Jiwoo waves a bag of chips over her head, peering at the top of Kyungsoo’s head from where he’s looking at the various chocolate chip brands the aisle over.

Kyungsoo lifts the grocery basket over his head and Jiwoo tosses it over the aisle. It lands in the basket and Jiwoo lets out a small cheer. Kyungsoo’s giggle is ridiculously cute, even when he’s trying to suppress it.

Jiwoo laughs, making her way down the aisle so she can join Kyungsoo. The convenience store lights are bright, blinding, but  the store itself is quiet and empty. She glances over at the cashier, expecting him to be on his phone or reading a book, but she startles when she realizes he is staring directly at her, unblinking. She smiles, wondering if maybe he’s just zoned out because of how late it is.

He doesn’t smile back nor does he look away.

She hurriedly turns the aisle, scurrying over to Kyungsoo’s side. Kyungsoo glances sideways at her, raising a brow in a silent question. She nods her head towards the cashier and makes a face that conveys how creeped out by the interaction she was.

Kyungsoo’s brows knit as he glances at the cashier. His eyes widen slightly, and she doesn’t even have to look at the cashier to know that the man is probably staring at Kyungsoo, too.

“Can we…”

“Yeah.” Kyungsoo nods, grabbing the basket and heading to the counter. His arm is wrapped protectively around her and, at any other time, Jiwoo would scoff because she can certainly handle herself and she’s never liked territorial displays from men, anyway. But, Jiwoo feels a little less on edge with Kyungsoo’s arm around her, so she lets it slide, this time.

Kyungsoo nods at the man, giving him a tightlipped smile. The cashier blinks before he looks down at the food and starts to scan.

Just as the cashier picks up the bag of chocolate chips, a shrill honking sound cuts through the quiet of the store.

This time, Jiwoo shrieks.

This time, Jiwoo is thoroughly creeped out.

The cashier speaks, for the first time, voice completely normal, “Oh, I wonder what’s wrong with all these car alarms.”

Jiwoo peers out the store windows, at the car parked across the street, against the corner. It's alarm is blaring, just like the other car, the lights blinking wildly, on and off, on and off, on and off, on and off—

“Would you like your receipt in the bag?”

“No.” Kyungsoo’s tone is rigid as he takes their groceries off the counter. The cashier bows. He smiles. It’s normal. Jiwoo wonders if the strange moments earlier even happened.

“Have a nice night.” The cashier says.

They stumble out the convenience store, the bell jingling lightly in their wake, and the night is cold, the streets dark and deserted, the car alarm still blaring, lights still flashing bright.

Jiwoo whispers, “What the .”

(There is no one near the car. No one to set it off and no one to stop the alarm.)

“Time to go the home.” Kyungsoo mutters, walking fast, arm still around Jiwoo.

Jiwoo hurries alongside him, fingers wrapped around the sleeve of his jacket, and says, “Let’s call a taxi. It’s faster.”

Kyungsoo seems to agree because he’s pulling out his phone and dialing a taxi before she even finishes her second sentence. The taxi company answers on the second ring. Jiwoo listens to Kyungsoo’s low voice because it’s comforting, as he asks for a taxi to pick them up. She hears five minutes and her shoulders sag in relief and—

The car alarm cuts off abruptly and the silence that follows is almost deafening. It is too silent. She doesn’t even hear a bug chirp.

A shiver runs down her spine. Her fingers tighten around the sleeve of Kyungsoo’s jacket.

Kyungsoo’s voice, however, sends her heart into overdrive. She has never, not once, heard him sound so scared. He’s always calm and collected, brave.

Her heart pounds, feels as if it’ll shoot right out of her chest, when Kyungsoo says, “Who is that?”

She glances up at his face, following his narrowed gaze, to right across the street, under a dim streetlamp.

There is someone there, hidden in the shadows, a shape of a person, of something, leaning against the streetlamp, presumably watching them. The fear that grips her is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. She doesn’t like this. She doesn’t like this at all.

She tugs at Kyungsoo’s sleeve. “Soo.” She whispers and her voice sounds so tiny, even to her own ears.

Kyungsoo doesn’t argue. He immediately steps back with her, just as the figure steps forward.

She can’t make out a face or a gender or anything really, just that it is some shadowed entity and she is absolutely terrified.

“Run.” Her voice is barely above a whisper, but Kyungsoo hears it. Kyungsoo does not hesitate, grabbing her hand.

They run. They run and run, and she wills herself not to look back, but she does, God, she does, and she swears she sees something running after them. Her heart is pounding, and her breathing is ragged and the sound of their feet thumping against the pavement as they sprint away echoes all around them.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump—

She shrieks, skidding to a stop, nearly tripping over her own two feet because she swears she saw something in front of her and—

“Kwon Jiwoo.” It’s a voice she has never heard before. It makes goosebumps spring along her skin, makes her heart sink into her stomach. It scares her and she does not know why.

She takes a large step back, her hands trembling at her side. Everything is moving too fast, but so slow, all at once. She sees everything and nothing, all at once.

(Later, she will barely be able to recount exactly what happened.)

She wants to say she saw a shadow, maybe a hooded figure, a person. She wants to say she saw a glint of silver. Maybe, it was a knife.

(Later, she’d rationalize that it had to be a knife.)

Pain blooms in her stomach and she is on the floor, clutching it and she hears Kyungsoo shout her name. Maybe, Kyungsoo throws a punch at the figure.

The silver glint is back and there is a weight on top of her, but somehow, all she sees really is darkness. Shadows.

Then it’s gone, as if she’s managed to blink it all away.

And, someone is pulling her up by the arms, and they are both stumbling back, and there is a heavy weight settled over her, heavy breathing on her neck. She looks up, eyes wide, and Kyungsoo is there, too close, a purplish-blue bruise forming under his eye, a cut that’s too red drags down along his jaw.

“Run.” He whispers, coughs out really.

Her hands wrap around his torso, holding him up, and there is something warm seeping through his clothes and onto her body, her hands. It's warm and sticky. The smell hits her second. It hits her hard.

Blood, her mind provides her.

Her breath catches in , even as she collapses under his weight. He is too heavy, and he is on top of her and she can feel his blood seeping through his clothes. She catches a glimpse of a shadowy figure, right past the ends of Kyungsoo’s hair, and for a moment there are eyes that bring chills down her spine. But then, she hears shouts, other people, and she refocuses on Kyungsoo strewn on top of her, bleeding out. She looks down, between them, and he coughs out blood and words she does not understand.

“No.” Her voice is hoarse. She manages to push him off her, her hands hovering over his body, over the metal knife jutting out his upper back, blood slowly trickling out from his chest, right where his heart is. “No, no, no, no.”

“Hey, Ji...Don’t…” His voice gives out and she grasps at his body, fruitlessly, because she doesn’t know what the she’s supposed to be doing. She can hear voices all around her. Sirens. Shouting.

She’s shaking her head and she’s crying and she’s terrified. “Please, God, no.”

Kyungsoo gives her a small, trembling smile, trying to reassure her, despite everything.

No.

~.~.~.~.~

It’s late at night and Jiwoo sighs as she steps into the room where her grandmother’s framed picture sits, surrounded by funeral wreathes and flowers. Her mother kneels in front of the picture, as she had been for hours already.

Jiwoo hovers at the threshold, watching as her mother’s body quivers with the force of her cries. Her grandmother was always a stoic woman and, somehow, the way her photograph looms up ahead, unsmiling as she stares down at her crying mother, fits the situation all too well. Jiwoo’s heart hurts as she watches the scene before her, watches as her mother wails before her own mother’s casket.

Jiwoo can only handle it for so long. After a moment, she steps into the room, makes her way towards her mother’s crouched form.

She freezes, however, when she can finally make out the words leaving her mother’s mouth, the desperate whimpers that sound less remorseful and more resentful with each passing sentence.

Her mother clutches at the necklace around her neck and she cries out, voice unsteady, “What have you done? What have you done? What do I do? God, what have you done?”

Jiwoo drops to her knees, pressing a palm to her mother’s back. Her mother flinches before she looks up. She meets Jiwoo’s questioning gaze, but it’s like she’s not entirely there, like she is looking right through Jiwoo. Jiwoo’s heart feels as if it’s being yanked out of her chest, even as Jiwoo wraps her arms around her mother and pulls her into a tight hug, her gaze settling on the photo of her grandmother.

~.~.~.~.~

Her mother is crying. That’s the first thing she registers fully under the heavy fluorescent hospital lighting. The second thing she registers is that she cannot breathe. Or maybe she can but it doesn’t feel right.

Why is her mother crying? She never liked Kyungsoo anyway. Jiwoo wants to ask, but she can’t get herself to say anything or to look at anything other than the doors to the emergency room. She doesn’t know how much time has passed.

But, eventually, perhaps hours later, the emergency room doors slide open and a lone doctor steps through the doors. He takes his medical mask and cap off. That’s when she knows. She knows.

This time, she really cannot breathe.

The doctor takes a deep breath before he speaks the dreaded words, I am sorry.

She doesn’t hear the rest, not the time of death nor any of his condolences. Her vision spots and the world spins, until everything is just nothing but pure, endless black. She vaguely wonders if she is following in Kyungsoo’s footsteps. She vaguely hopes she is, because she doesn’t think she knows how to live a life without him.

a/n: the narrative might be a little confusing - it's just alternating between present and past (in that order) at the moment, but if y'all want me to clarify it more please let me know! Anyways, I got super excited about this and decided to I'd post the prologue at least! I hope you like it and it's not too confusing or anything!! Please let me know your thoughts below, I love you!!!!