As you disembarked, Chanyeol waved away the porter, lifting his hand to take yours, keep it steady, as you carefully glided down the few steps from the train onto the platform. 

“Finally!” Baekhyun said, rolling his eyes.  “We’ve been waiting forever!”

Sunah languidly slapped him on the arm.  “Don’t exaggerate—you’ll make her feel bad!”  Leaning forward, she brushed both of your cheeks with hers.  “Ignore him, we just arrived.”

As she stepped back, Jiwon took her place, easily greeting you in the same manner, her eyes twinkling.  “You look especially lovely this evening! Is that Givenchy?”

Artfully, you waved a careless hand, “I don’t know, just some thing I found in the back of my closet.”

“You wear it well,” Sunah rejoined, eyes naturally appraising, before she sighed, slipped her arm around yours to lead you slowly toward the exit.  “I wish that I had your figure.”

“But you have that lovely S-line,” you answered dutifully.

“I know, but everything just always looks so elegant on you.”  Sighing again, she shrugged easily. “Yet, I love food, what can I say?”  Tall and willowy, Sunah probably only had four kilograms on you, but she knew, as all of you did, that slenderness—attractiveness—was the most powerful social currency outside of cold, hard won.

Approaching Chanyeol’s sleek silver automobile, you tried not to look obvious as you peered around.

“Jongdae will be meeting us at the restaurant,” Jiwon said, eyes playfully knowing.

“Oh, will he?” you answered with apparent disinterest.  “Very good.”

Chanyeol and Baekhyun opened the back doors, so that you, Jiwon and Sunah could slip inside, before rakishly leaping over the front doors to settle in their seats.

You wondered what it was like.  To be so privileged that you didn’t have to worry about every single word and action—how it would be interpreted—how you would be judged.  You wondered how it felt to be so effortlessly confident in your own skin and sense of place that you didn’t think before you acted, that you had the luxury to just…be yourself.

It must be nice.

Idly, you listened to all of them chat about various things—you always tried to listen more than she spoke, to constantly learn and improve—and by the time you arrived at the elegant little hansik, you felt surprisingly, more relaxed.

Your friends had that effect on you—on everyone really—the ability to calm, to soothe, to make one feel important, and comfortable, and included.  You had never seen them speak harshly to anyone, only take someone aside, utter a well-placed word, if necessary, in defense of whomever needed it at the time.  They were fire and light, and you watched, hungry from the dark, wanting nothing more than to belong to their inner circle, to bask in the borrowed light of their glow. 

As you were preparing to emerge from the car, Jiwon leaned forward, whispering to you, “I forgot my purse—could you hold my phone in yours, so I don’t forget it?”

“Of course!” you answered, taking the device, and slipping it into your clutch.

Black-liveried porters smoothly opened the doors upon your approach; their heads held high, gazes respectfully lowered as you passed.  You wanted to smile at them, show them that you appreciated their work, but were too afraid to be outed as lower caste, as other.  So you glided elegantly by, as if they were not even there, as if the doors had magically opened by themselves.  You did everything like this, as if you lived in a world where doors opened, food was laid before you, and bags were carried by unseen and unnoteworthy magics. 

To acknowledge, to notice, was to risk connections being made, similarities noticed, conclusions drawn.  So, though your heart throbbed in self-recrimination for the depersonalization that you committed…you didn’t stop.  Couldn’t risk it—risk being excommunicated from the glittering society of which you had made yourself—by tooth and claw—an indissoluble part…as long as you played your part. 

And maybe...one day...you wouldn’t have to act.  That would be the dream. To meet a nice man, to marry, to cement yourself thus into society and then, finally, be able to relax.  You could buy your mother a comfortable house, rest, maybe...maybe start a fund, or a charity to help those less fortunate. You weren’t greedy.  You just wanted to ensure that your life, and the life of your family was comfortable, and maybe help other people like yourself. 

Your eyes glided dismissively over the luxury surrounding you—the high arched ceilings, the warm peach marble floors, the dangling crystal chandeliers, the plaster Corinthian columns—swirling capitals gilded with gold , the heavy starched white linen, the silver utensils, the delicate china.  To be honest, you found it all a bit…gaudy. For example, why all this western finery in a restaurant serving gungung eumsik, but then again…no one had asked you, and in a society where more equaled more, all you could do was keep quiet, and keep up.

In your critical perusal, your gaze skimmed over a man who rose at your approach, then stopped, slowly moved back to examine.  He was handsome.

That was unsurprising.

It’s difficult to be unattractive in a world where you’re giving the best of everything from birth, and can pay the most talented of surgeons to carve and slice you into a representation of someone worthy of being seen by the world.  He wasn’t very tall, but he was taller than you, and really all that mattered was pedigree and the height to which he rose while standing on his wallet. His hair was cut conservatively—shaved close on the sides, and longer on top--parted in a perfect 2:8 ratio, and his skin was as smooth and poreless as you had ever seen. 

You wondered which skin clinic he frequented. 

Unlike Baekhyun and Chanyeol, who were a bit foppish, always dressing in the latest fashions, this man’s suit was classic brown tweed, but with a modern Italian cut that saved it from being stodgy and, thankfully, no tie—the first three buttons of his shirt left undone to expose the strong, clean lines of his warm brown throat. Large, inviting eyes, framed by black horn rims, twinkled at you from over a prominent, straight, elegant nose, cheekbones sharper than the cut crystal, and a rosy, mobile mouth curled into a cat in cream smile. 

Despite your constant vigilance over yourself, you weren’t overmuch taken by looks, but even you had to admit that this man was special.   

Introductions were made quickly, and you blushed at the depth of his bow, at the warmth that exuded from him as he pulled out your chair, easily pushed it back in after you sat. 

“So, Jongdae,” Sunah drawled as soon as everyone had been seated, “since you two don’t know each other, why don’t you talk a bit about yourself?”

He smiled shyly, and inside, you bloomed, so used to the easy confidence of the wealthy in whose circles you had inserted yourself that this charming reticence warmed your heart.  “Well, I’m a professor of voice at Seoul University—“

Despite yourself, you interrupted him, “Oh!  That’s my alma mater!”

He blushed prettily, and you had to keep from smiling like an imbecile.  “Ah, yes. I enjoy working there very much. Where do you work?”

“At a small hagwon in Gangnam,” you said modestly. 

“Oh, really?  What do you teach?”

“I teach English, violin, and piano.”

“They told me that you were talented, but not to this extent.”

Now it was your turn to blush.  You were used to being complimented—crafted your life in such a way as to ensure that compliments were your due—but something about the artless earnestness in his eyes touched a soft, girlish place in you that you had locked away from the world. 

A smooth-faced waiter appeared at Chanyeol’s elbow, looking disinterestedly around the table as he asked which course the table would be choosing.   A short discussion followed—none of you had even thought to look at the menu, yet, but he waited silently by as you made your decision, bowing elegantly as he took your heavy menus, bound in oxblood leather, and embellished with gold accents.  Silently and neatly, a porcelain tea set, painted with dragons, appeared on the table, and Baekhyun lifted the teapot with an impish smile, to serve first Jiwon, then himself, before passing it to Chanyeol who did the same for Sunah before passing it to Jongdae. 

“Shall I?” Jongdae queried, looking at you with a polite arch of an elegantly straight black brow. 

“Please,” you answered, lifting the lid of your cup, and holding it for him to fill.  Upon tasting it, you smiled. “Yellow chrysanthemum.” 

“’Tis the season,” Jongdae murmured, before sipping his own, and smiling at you.  “Well done.”

“Tea is one of life’s rare pure pleasures,” you said before taking another sip, setting down your cup, languidly placing the cover over the steaming liquid. 

The dinner went well, with you not even trying to sparkle for once, but naturally opening up to Jongdae’s sincerity, and warm charm.  The banter was easy, comfortable between the two of you, and for the first night in a long time, you felt as if you could relax. 

Baekhyun and Chanyeol were their usual playful selves, but you hardly noticed them, so taken were you by the melodic cadence of Jongdae’s voice, the twinkling eyes, the heartfelt smiles.  Despite yourself, you kept talking, unrestrained by the normal desire to dutifully listen. You told him the silliest things, about your cat, about your favourite students, about your most difficult classes in university.  You spoke, and he listened, interjecting teasing commentary when pertinent, and leading you in a dance from one subject to the next. 

Unlike most men, he didn’t try to dominate the conversation, didn’t witter on about himself without heed for the thoughts and opinions of his conversational partner and, despite your normally cool outward demeanor, intrigued, you began to warm.  Maybe, as a university professor, he wasn’t as rich as chaebols like your friends, but he was intelligent, thoughtful, charismatic, and kind, and as the evening continued, you found yourself increasingly grateful that your friends had set up this meeting.

“Have you ever been outside of the country?” Jongdae asked.

Blushing, you looked down, shook your head.  “Unfortunately, no, I…haven’t had the pleasure.”

“You should see northern Europe.  Denmark, Finland, Norway, Sweden…”

“Oh?  Not Spain, France, or Italy?”

His eyes grew teasing.  “Everyone does that. Be different.”

“Maybe one day I’ll have the opportunity.  For now, I’m working hard for the betterment of the children of our Korea.”

Jongdae laughed softly, then looked down for a moment, before lifting his eyes back to yours, his gaze intense.  “You know…I’m having a wonderful night. I’d like to take you out, sometime.”

 Before you could answer, the murmuring of a nearby group of patrons caught the attention of your table, and your conversation paused following the lead of Baekhyun, who lifted a long, elegant finger to his mouth for silence while you all—unabashedly—eavesdropped.

“—most gruesome thing I’ve ever heard,” one ajusshi said, disgruntledly adjusting his lapels.

“When do you think that the police will catch him?” a slender ajumma—neck dripping in diamonds—whispered in delighted shock. 

“Sooner, rather than later, if they know what’s good for them,” another man answered.  “I pay my taxes, I shouldn’t have to worry about some insane mongrel attacking me as I walk the streets!  The chief of police will hear my thoughts on this! I voted him in, and if nothing is done about this monster, then I can vote him out!”

“I heard that the only way that they could recognize the last one was by her dental records—after they reassembled all of her teeth!”

“I heard that the first crime scene was so bloody that it went up to the officer’s ankles when they had to investigate!”

“I heard that they’re still looking for all of the parts of one of the victims,” a disagreeably sour-looking haraboji pronounced, tapping his cane against the floor, his mouth as tight as if he had been on lemons.  “The family doesn’t want to cremate until the rest of his limbs are found.”

Murmurs of delighted horror floated around your heads, as you turned your attention back to your own table.  Leaning forward, you looked at your friends, “What was all of that?”

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Chanyeol whispered, leaning forward.  “Our sleepy little town has given birth to something dastardly!”

“Be serious!” Sunah chided.  “Real people are dying.”

“You have to laugh to keep from crying,” Baekhyun reasoned, briefly wrapping a comforting arm around a shivering Jiwon.

“It’s so scary,” she murmured.  “To think that it could happen to any of us…” 

“I’ll keep you safe,” Baekhyun promised easily.  “So don’t worry. In fact, you can come stay over at my home until this all blows over.”

Jiwon just rolled her eyes before leaning away from Baekhyun.  “Nice try.” 

He easily shrugged.  “I had to give it a go.”

Chanyeol tapped his finger on the table, glowering darkly.  “You know, if I ever have the pleasure of meeting this guy, I’ll—“

“You’ll what?” Sunah interrupted.  “Be quiet! Don’t court trouble. If you ever find yourself in that situation and you don’t run, and something happens to you, then I’ll…I’ll…I’ll kill you, myself!”

“Sunahya,” Chanyeol crooned, patting her hand warmly.  “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

“But I do worry,” she rejoined.  “I don’t know what I would do without you!”

Jiwon harr