Grief wasn’t easy, and neither was rehabilitation – not that anyone thought it was, but it was the mantra that Sana had become so used to hearing from the doctors during her routine visits, and she could only assume that one of these days it would actually start to mean something; to take form and encase her in a shield from all that had transpired, all that had been stripped away until she was left barren.

She often thought how ironic it was that with every time the automatic doors of the center welcomed her openly, so too would the pain of losing Momo burst open in her chest, pulling ribs apart like snapped branches until her heart was vulnerable to the cold air from within its cage. Like some harsh, unforgiving road bump on the shoddily-paved path of progress that she’s fooled herself into traveling. Wasn’t the point of the place to help her regenerate new, hardened skin rather than pick at scabs that never seemed to stop bleeding?

“You’re not my doctor,” she said plainly as she walked into a dully colored room, a table waiting for her in the center with an unfamiliar woman on the other end, clad in a similarly unfamiliar lab coat, and strange equipment on the side. Despite that, she closed the door behind her and proceeded to take a seat. What was one more name on a list of professionals who couldn’t do the job, she figured.

“Hello, Ms. Minatozaki.” The woman smiled, a type of solemn confidence that Sana had grown accustomed to with the doctors here, proud in their past success stories. “I’m Dr. Yoo, and I’ll be taking over your case from now on, as well as a few other Hollowed individuals.”

Although she had never had any concern for the unknown in regards to any of the methodologies of the doctors assigned to her, Sana’s curiosity remained. “Why? Did the last one finally gives up?”

Dr. Yoo smiled. “Nope. No one’s given up on you,” Sana shifted in her seat, rubbing the green armband on her wrist with the pad of her thumb, “or any of you. The reason why I’m here is proof of that – I’m a specialist in memory conversion, for particular types of Hollowed cases.”

Sana wasn’t sure how that was meant to convince her of anything, nor did she have any idea of what could’ve made her case more categorical than anyone else. It was 2027 and the newly formed science behind Grief Hybrid Therapy had only been cropping up in the last three years – to say that there were already niche specialists within that new subgenre of therapy seemed ridiculous.

To experience grief was a normal part of human life, acting as a shroud over those who had lost loved ones or those who empathized in the loss of strangers, cultures, nations, and so on, cloaking them in sadness and regret. But there were particular cases, cases like Sana’s, where grief acted more as a siren’s call, a dizzying singsong of denial that rendered individuals numb and uncontrollable, pulling them into depths of despair so great that they lost themselves in the trenches. It had been a psychological phenomenon discovered a few years prior, with only some instances popping up. People were changing, changing into faces that didn’t match the mirrors – popularly referred to as the Hollowed.

It’s how Sana ended up here, in this small GHT building all the way out in Seoul, after Mina forced her to learn the language just to have a chance at getting better. Mina, who had also sacrificed the comfort and security of their country, just to stay with Sana and make sure she did nothing drastic during this rehabilitation stint. If Sana hadn’t lost the ability to feel, perhaps she would feel grateful, like the old her would’ve. Then again, maybe the therapy was working, as she somehow managed to feel a stab in the chest every time she caught so much as a whiff of the sterilized scent that lingered in every room. Tapping into something she had snuffed out a long time ago.

Feeling pain was still feeling, wasn’t it?

Dr. Yoo didn’t seem bothered by Sana’s lack of a reaction. “Aren’t you curious as to what that entails?” She reached over with her hands, grabbing some of the wires on the side and gently hooking them up in whatever areas she deemed necessary on the arms. Sana never quite understood how electrodes worked – only that they were meant to monitor her or, in some experimental attempts the previous month, send her a shock in order to condition or stimulate her.

“It’s in the name, isn’t it?” Sana shrugged, unbothered as Dr.Yoo stood up, walked over, and pulled hair away to place more of the sticky padding onto Sana’s head. “Memory conversion. I assume you’ll be trying to take away my memories.” It sounded far too technologically advanced for where society currently was. She felt as though, for something as massive as that to have caught wind in scientific circles, she would have heard of it in some article or, at the very least, a tweet. It had to be bull.

“Not quite.” Dr. Yoo chuckled, reclaiming her seat after she finished.

Sana sighed, leaning forward onto the table. “Then what does it entail, doctor?”

“That depends.” Dr. Yoo leaned forward as well, hands folded in the center. “What would you want to remember?”

“What?”

“What would you want to remember?”

“I know what you said.” Sana’s brow furrowed. “Want to remember about what?”

The way that Dr. Yoo looked at her in response, like she somehow knew Sana more than Sana knew herself, was a peacock display that Sana wasn’t quite used to from other doctors. This doctor couldn’t have known anything about her beyond her file, and yet Sana felt as though, for once, she was being seen rather than observed beneath a microscope.

“Her.”

Saturday night, cold and rainy and dark. Hands on the wheel. A vibrant playlist that quickly faded in the wake of screeching tires and crashing metal. Fire that burned the skin less than the screams and cries burned the lungs. A squealing laugh, tainted and muffled by ash that filled the mouth. Warm eyes, eclipsed and grim. Pale features that contrasted all too starkly against the charcoal of hair. Hair that swooped to the side against the cushion of the casket because her mother never liked the bangs. The ring that had never left her right hand, missing from its rightful place even as the dirt settled by the end of the week. Friday morning, clear skies yet cold and rainy and dark and burning all the same.

Like clockwork, Sana’s fingers found the matching silver ring on her left hand, fidgeting and twisting it as her jaw set, feeling the way the skin underneath swelled. “I remember that she’s dead.” There it was again, the ripping of that same scab, scarred at this point beneath the circle around her digit. The only thing she could feel.

“That’s not all she is,” Dr. Yoo said, keeping a careful eye on the small piece of equipment next to her, where the wires of the electrodes connected to. Sana never knew what to make of the lines and the numbers; she had never cared to try.

It was hard enough to remember anything that happened after the crash, let alone before it. Everything felt stained by the aftermath, like a short lifetime together had been rendered meaningless by cracked asphalt and the stench of gasoline. It was fitting that parts of her had been splinted by metal plates, screws, and wires – a desperate attempt to piece together and fix shattered pieces of old, weakened bones from what felt like another life, when two childhood friends may have had sprained ankles and broken elbows from climbing too high on trees and jumping off walls that were too tall for them. Remnants, hidden away by new hardware in her system.

After the accident, everything had happened in a numb blur as well. There were rare occasions when the memories came barreling through the dam she’d built, like waves hellbent on crashing into the back of her eyelids in a desperate effort to make her cry, to pry open the gates and pop open the cap on everything that had been bottled away. But she never cried, and often those memories twisted like the lost girl she once was in hospital hallways, with -out blanks in time and fragmented pieces that came to her like a kaleidoscope. Mina, desperate for company just so that she could feel safe enough to cry. Momo’s parents, distraught and yet selfish as they took out mementos from the casket before the funeral director closed it. Hana, broken like glass against Sana’s shoulder, not unlike the accident. Although it was rare to remember those moments, the memories would change and shift, and Sana was sometimes unsure that she had ever lived through it to begin with.

Perhaps she, too, had stopped living at the same time Momo did.

“I don’t understand what you’re asking of me,” she said, finally. She wondered if this doctor would be of any use to her, and digging up buried memories didn’t sound like something worth pursuing. It was easier to believe in the prodding a poking, to believe that being a lab rat was more rewarding.

Dr. Yoo seemed very patient. “Take a polaroid photo, for example. A typical white frame, with a picture of a very specific memory. So, with that in mind, what would you want to remember in that frame?”

Sana raised an eyebrow. “You phrase it as though I should be coming up with one that never happened.”

“And what if that’s what I’m trying to say?”

“Then I don’t know how you got your license.”

“A fair concern.” Dr. Yoo shrugs, seemingly unfazed. “But what if the polaroid had a different picture? Something that looked different but that was captured, equally real?”

Sana shook her head. “I’d say that’s just a dream.”

“It doesn’t have to be, not to you.”

“What’s the point if it isn’t real?”

“But it would be, to you. What matters is the feeling that it’d give you.”

Feeling. That was the buzzword. She hadn’t felt anything in over a year and a half – anything beyond fatigue and the incessant stinging beneath her skin that the GHT doctors often caused with as little as two syllables – and she doubted that creating some fake memory was going to awaken that in her after so long.

“And you say that you’re my doctor from now on?” Sana wasn’t concerned with whether it came off rude or not. “Indefinitely?”

Dr. Yoo smiled at her gently. “Until you’re out of this.”
 

“Sana?”

“It’s me.” She had just walked through the door after her shift at work, and she was almost done hanging up her coat and helmet when Mina appeared from the hallway, looking as though she wanted to say something. “What is it?”

“The clinic sent a strange form to my email last night, one by a Dr. Yoo. Did you change doctors?”

“I didn’t change them, the center did,” she slipped off her shoes, “or maybe it was just Dr. Yoo asserting herself. I don’t really know, I didn’t care to ask.”

“I see.” Mina glanced at the small takeout bag that Sana placed on the counter. Her voice held no ounce of hope when she asked, but she still did, “Did you get me anything?”

Sana paused, blinking between the bag and Mina as she leaned against the counter with her palms on the edge. She sighed, realizing the error. “I didn’t think of it. Do you want me to go back and get you something?”

Despite Sana’s metamorphosis, one where she’d been stripped of her old ways of thoughtfulness, she hadn’t completely forgotten her sense of etiquette. It was true that she hadn’t even thought of Mina when she had gone to pick up dinner. There had been no malicious intent, but being trapped in her own numb bubble kept her in the habit of being unintentionally inconsiderate – she didn’t feel compelled to empathize or consider others. She rarely even thought beyond the present moment, of putting one foot in front of the other on the pedals, wind in her hair that threatened to carry her very existence away. She could barely remember what it was like to think of someone else.

She would apologize, because she knew that it would be the right thing to do under normal circumstances, but Mina had nipped that in the bud a long time ago.

(“You don’t mean it, so please don’t say it.”

Sana tilted her head. “What?”

Mina sighed, her whitened knuckles relaxing on the doorknob to her room. “Please don’t apologize if you don’t mean it, Sana.”

Her eyebrows knitted together. “I don’t understand. I forgot it was your birthday yesterday, so I’m saying sorry.”

“You said sorry but still never said happy birthday.” When Sana had nothing to say to that, Mina continued, “Sana, I still love you, even if you’ve become one of the… ‘Hollowed.’” Mina had always hated that name, said it felt wrong. “And I’m doing everything I can to get you out of that. But deep down… you’re someone who’s genuine and loving. It hurts more to hear you pretend to care, especially about me, when I know you can’t.”)

“It’s okay, I’ll make myself something.” Mina said, glancing at the armband on Sana’s wrist. Mina had always said that it was a glaring, neon green but Sana could only see it as a muted, ugly shade.

Even though Sana wasn’t the same friend that she used to be, she still listened. Remembered how Mina had wept for her when the armband came in the mail, even as she had helped her put it on for the first time. How Mina told Sana that she didn’t deserve what was happening to her, and how she wished there was more she could be doing for her to expedite the process of recovery.

It was the official mark of someone who was considered Hollowed, the green armband. When more cases had started popping up, there was public controversy about creating awareness for those who had succumbed to it, in an effort by work unions and human rights activists to maintain the stability of Hollowed individuals in the working and social world. Many had been become victims of workplace disputes and public scenes of violence, due to the misconception that they were sociopaths. But it was more complicated than that.

While opening her bag of food, Sana asked, “What was strange about the form?”

“The doctor asked me to give specific kinds of memories of you and Momo that I could think of,” Mina said as she started to oil a pan, looking over her shoulder at Sana when she uttered Momo’s name, likely looking for her tell. Sana often had a subtle eye twitch or an equally subtle spasm in her forearm whenever the name came up. A sign of life, Mina called it, a sign of something wanting to break free from the plating. “Is it okay if I send it? I wanted to wait for you to get home before I did anything.”

“Doctor’s orders, I guess.” Sana watched Mina, slurping her noodles as her friend took out some eggs. “How do you think that she knew to message you?”

“I’m listed as your caretaker on file, and I’m sure one of your other doctors have me listed as a mutual victim in the loss.”

Sana paused as she tried to recall anything from the past that Mina could have possibly shared. It reminded her of hitting rewind on a VHS player, the magnetic tape creased and wrinkled so that all that showed on the screen was static and flickering parts of distorted pictures. Even in the brief moments when she remembered Momo’s youthful face, warm and pouting, the memory would become soured by the last version of her that she ever saw, storming into her brain in the shape of an intrusive thought.

“What did you write?” she asked.

Mina shook her head. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

It was an acceptable answer, and Sana remained in her seat on the island stool as she continued to eat. Mina joined her, as usual, trying to talk about her day over her eggs once it was clear that Sana had nothing to say about her own. It was why, aside from showering and bedtime, Sana always stayed by Mina’s side throughout the evening, even if it meant sitting through whatever show or movie she put on, even if it meant sitting idly nearby while she worked.

Because Mina’s voice was the one thing about home that Sana never lost, a flame to a moth.
 

There were way more electrodes than she’d expected.

“This is quite the setup, Dr. Yoo,” Sana commented, scrunching her nose when the last one was placed on her forehead.

“You,” Dr. Yoo sat back in her chair, taking out a notepad, a separate sheet of paper, and a pen, “may call me Jeongyeon, if you wish.”

“Is that professional?”

“This is still considered therapy, you know,” Jeongyeon chuckled. “Why, were your other doctors not on a first name basis?”

“No.”

“It’s completely up to you and what you’re okay with. But it’s good to establish a comfortable and safe space in therapy, even if it’s a specialized field.”

Sana didn’t really care either way. “If you say so, Jeongyeon.” She wasn’t sure if electrodes on her body emphasized any of the supposed comfort she should be feeling, but it made no difference to her.

“Good.” The paper on the table was lifted. “Now, I have a list of specific types of memories here, provided by your friend. She says that these are purely by word of mouth from either you or the victim if she hadn’t been there, so for some there may be things where you have to fill in the blanks. Do you have any issues with your imagination?”

The question seemed out of place. “What?”

“If I told you to imagine a pink elephant with diamond tusks and a tassel on the end of the tail, could you do it right now?”

“Uh…” Sana blinked once before closing her eyes and picturing the creature as instructed. “I believe I’m doing it, yes.”

“And do you remember what Hirai Momo looks like?”

The ring on her finger felt serrated, and the lid of her eye twitched as a pale face flashed behind the curtains. “I do.”

“Great. So, throughout these exercises, I’m going to read the memory aloud and you’re going to fill in the blanks as needed – please make sure to remember any and all additional details that weren’t relayed to me, if they come to mind. I’m going to monitor you on my machine here, and possibly cut in and ask you what you would change. You’re going to keep your eyes closed, regardless of whether or not I interrupt the memory. It is crucial that your eyes remain closed.”

Sana opened her eyes again. “What I would change?”

Jeongyeon’s smile was soft, reassuring. “Yes. Last week, I asked what you would want to remember. This is how we’ll be warming up to that answer.”

“You seem to enjoy changing things.”

“One might say I enjoy changing the lives of others for the better.”

Sana raised an eyebrow. “But you’re just asking me to lie to myself.”

“And you’re not already?”

“So this is like a meditative approach?” asked Sana, ignoring Jeongyeon’s question. The doctor seemed satisfied with her inability to offer a counter.

Jeongyeon nodded. “Some may call it that, sure. I like to think of it as ‘reflectively proactive.’ You really need to immerse yourself as much as you can, no matter how hard it may be.” She opened her notepad and adjusted a knob on the machine. “Ready?”

“Maybe.” Sana wasn’t sure what to expect, after all. “But let’s start.”
 

Sana was only eight when Momo first arrived at her door, pigtailed and pulling along a small wagon of colorful boxes. She had been taught never to open the door for strangers, but when she had seen that it was another kid outside the entrance, she just couldn’t help herself.

“Hi!” she greeted, tilting back and forth on her heels in excitement. She liked new people, possible new friends, and she hadn’t met a girl her age outside of school yet.

Momo grinned sheepishly, eyes big and bright, and Sana could spot chocolate between her teeth. “Hi… My class is doing this project where we sell cookies for cancer research.”

(Clenched teeth as the picture stuttered, lifeless glass orbs replacing sockets before the image buffered up again, returning to normal. She relaxed her jaw.)

“Oh!” Sana blinked, eyes shining at the prospect. “My dad has that! Um,” she quickly dug into the pockets of her sweatpants, pouting when she only managed to take out a few coins, “is this enough? My mom isn’t home.”

At the time, she didn’t understand the look that Momo had given her, knitted brow and round eyes. It was before a time when those looks would eventually become more prominent. Momo looked down at the few coins in Sana’s palm for a moment before nodding and taking them into her hand.

“This is enough,” she said, turning and rummaging through some of the boxes in her wagon. “Some of them can’t be bought… because I started eating them… but I have a bunch still!”

Sana grinned widely, “I’ll take the sugar cookies!”

(“What would you change here?”

She exhaled. “I still don’t understa—”

“Just, if you could – what would you change?”

“… Chocolate chip cookies.”)

Sana peered over Momo at the boxes. “What’s your favorite?”

It was surprisingly easy to imagine Momo’s smile, a smile out of place in time. “Chocolate chip!”

“That’s a good favorite. I’ll take those since they’re yours.” Sana smiled, giggling and hugging the box to her chest once Momo passed it to her. “You’re really cute! What’s your name? Do you live around here?”

Momo nodded, tucking her chin down against her chest. “I live two blocks away.”

“That’s so close! Do you go to the school by the park?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve never seen you before!” Sana whined. “Who’s your teacher?”

“Ms. Ito.”

“Ah, I have Mr. Akagi.” Sana pouted. “Will you hang out with me if you see me again?”

Momo blinked, looking up at her. “Me?”

“Yeah!” she squealed, pulling Momo in like a fish on a reel in order to give her the tightest squeeze she had ever given anyone, so tight that the cookies had definitely been crushed within the box. “We can even ride our bikes home together.”

“Okay,” said Momo, her cadence soft and shy.

Sana would learn much later that Momo had not only never ridden a bike by that point, but that she had also been very nervous to try. But she did it anyway, and the two started riding home together within a week of that first meeting.
 

“That’ll be it for today,” Jeongyeon said, tearing Sana way from a warmly toned world that she had forgotten. The clinic’s walls were much too cold and devoid of color.

“I thought Mina sent you a bunch.” She didn’t bother moving when Jeongyeon stood up and took it upon herself to remove all the wires.

“We’ll take our time.” Jeongyeon had a soft smile on her face as she finished up. “This is just the start.”
 

“How’d the session go yesterday? I never got the chance to ask. You were starting something new right?”

Sana’s eyes found Mina’s. “Isn’t this your favorite section of the game?” She had been sitting on the couch behind Mina while she sat on the floor, playing some short video game that Sana had seen her beat three times in the last year. It was some narrative-focused game where the main character explored the memories of their cursed relatives – Mina always got emotional over it, and Sana wasn’t sure why she’d subject herself to it more than once if she was only going to get upset every time. Then again, she barely paid attention to what was happening in it – just recognized the familiar colors and shapes and music.

Mina shrugged. “I don’t know if I have a favorite section but,” she paused the game and turned herself around on the floor to face Sana, “you’re my favorite person.” Her smile was gentle, small. Just like her. “So, how’d the session go?”

“It was different.” Sana hummed, gaze resting on Mina’s expectant expression.

“And what was different about it?”

“I got more of those wire things put on me than before.”

“Are they trying to shock you again?” Mina frowned, her hand reaching over to rub Sana’s knee. Sana wondered if Mina could feel the plating underneath, if she knew that it with her thumb wouldn’t smooth out the kinks in the armor she never wanted.

She shook her head. “No. It’s just for monitoring. She’s asking me to remember things, and then halfway through remembering them she wants me to change something about it.”

“… Interesting.”

“I definitely don’t know what it’s meant to do.” Sana fiddled with the armband on her wrist, recalling how the session went. “I’m not sure how to describe it.” It had been odd and uncomfortable, but it was different.

Mina raised an eyebrow at that. “Is it because— did it do something?” There was a nearly imperceptible squeeze on Sana’s knee.

For a brief flicker of a moment, she considered squeezing back. Considered that it had been a long time since she last made the effort to pull someone in, realized that she had stopped driving cars long ago and had gone back to bicycles. Tried to remember, for a moment, when she last hugged anyone.

“I don’t think so.”
 

“Did you have a good week, Sana?” Jeongyeon asked when they met for their next session.

“It was normal.”

“What do you usually do?”

“I hang around Mina.” Sana tried not to scratch at one of the electrode pads on her arm. Her limbs felt heavy. “But I don’t talk much.”

Jeongyeon nodded, acknowledging. “And why is that?”

“There isn’t really anything for me to talk about. I just,” Sana never thought about it much, “talk back, I guess.”

“I see.” Jeongyeon opened her notepad, taking a seat. “Did she share any stories with you?”

Sana watched as Jeongyeon wrote something in the margins. “She usually just talks about her day at work, or she tries to fill me in on whatever she’s watching or playing.” She chewed her lip as the graphite made its way across the lines. The fatigue was particularly heavy today.

Exhaustion seeped into her muscles daily, but certain days it rooted her to the ground by the ankles. They were the days when Mina would arrive late to work because she had to forcibly, manually, get Sana out of bed. Feed her, bathe her – coax the frigid reality from her skin with warm suds.

Jeongyeon eyed her carefully. “Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
 

Beautiful summer days felt endless in Sana’s childhood, especially because she had made such a good friend to spend them with.

Although she had made friends in school since her very first year of learning, none of them lived nearby and, aside from the occasional birthday party invitation that came in the mail from her classmates, she didn’t really have any major urge to see them. She had Momo, who lived only two blocks away and who was just as fun as anyone else, and she was completely content with a summer with just her.

“Momoring!” Sana whined as Momo giggled at the whipped cream on her face, Sana wiping it away from her eyes so that she could glare at her friend. “Why’d you do that?!”

“I’m sorry!” Her laughter didn’t sound too remorseful. “I didn’t know it would fly out of the can like that!”

“But why’d you even press it?” Sana pouted, looking down at her t-shirt. This wasn’t what she had signed up for when she and Momo agreed to try making ice cream sundaes in the yard.

In truth, having ice cream melt in the sun was probably not the most ideal method to begin with, but Momo’s dad was working inside and they didn’t want to disturb him. Still, even the melted ice cream and the chocolate syrup had gone without a hitch.

Momo frowned. “I wanted to make sure it was open.” Then, again, her frown twitched until she started laughing again. “You look so funny, Satang!”

“I’m going to make you look funny!” Sana smirked, relishing in Momo’s fearful squeal as they began running in circles around the yard.

“Get away from me!” Momo begged, the effort wasted when Sana finally caught up and pounced onto her, trapping her against the grass. “No!” Momo whined, half-laughing as Sana kissed her all over her face, getting the condiment all over her cheeks and forehead. “Ew!”

Sana stuck out her tongue triumphantly. “That’s what you get!”

She rolled off and onto the space beside Momo, giggling to herself as Momo made disgruntled noises and wiped the whipped cream off with her arm. It really was a pretty day, blue skies with nothing but the large cedar tree canopies in the yard to keep it from view. The girls’ chests heaved, desperate for air after their chase, and it all felt right.

It was instances like these that Sana had attributed to freedom long ago. Even as they were restricted to the yard or restricted to a small timeframe of the day to hang out, limited by their young ages and tiny bodies, Sana had never felt freer than in these moments – worries nonexistent and the rush of air into her lungs inflating her senses.

She turned her head and saw Momo looking at her, a grin smeared slightly by white.

“I’m glad that you’re my friend,” Momo said abruptly.

Sana blinked, blushing at the sudden sentiment. “Where’d that come from?”

Momo shrugged, choosing to stare back at the sky with that goofy smile on her face.

(“Let’s pause there. What would you change?”

She furrowed her brow. “I don’t really think there’s anything—”

Slightly firmer, “If you had to.”)

Her gaze remained on this childlike caricature that no longer existed, the words fresh and ringing in her ears like a call meant to be answered. Momo’s eyes were on hers, expectant and void of the weight of the future that would inevitably take her. The Momo from this time was sweet and innocent, shyer than her older counterpart but shy all the same. It had undoubtedly taken a lot of courage for her to say those words at the time, but Sana had been too young to understand the strength behind it.

“You’re my best friend, Momoring,” Sana replied this time, and her heartbeat picked up when Momo suddenly reached for her hand between them, and looked up at the canopies above.

They had only known each other for two years by the point of this memory, but Sana knew that this was something Momo was certain of, even back then. There had been long, sake-fueled nights of sentiment sprinkled sparsely throughout their adult lives together, but Momo had always made sure to remind Sana in those slurred hazes that, from the moment they first rode home together on their bicycles, Momo knew that Sana would be her best friend.

Thus, this old yet new Momo sighed contently at the sky. “I think we always will be.”

And then she turned her head again, meeting Sana’s gaze with a grin that felt so ancient and buried – deeply contagious in a naïve happiness that had long gone.

(The slightest urge at the corners of her lips, a subtle beep from a foreign machine.)

Then, the door opened. And Momo’s father stood against the edge, phone in hand with a look that the girls couldn’t understand in that moment.

“Sana, your mother is coming to pick you up,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically low and cracked at the edges. “Please get ready.”

When he had disappeared back inside, Momo turned to Sana, her hand pulling away and shifting back into the original playback of this old, forgotten memory. “He’s hiding something,” she mumbled, brow furrowed.

(She inhaled deeply; knew why Mina chose this as a significant memory.)

Sana shrugged, an unsure smile on her face that didn’t reach the eyes. “It’s probably fine.”
 

“He isn’t relevant to her.”

“She was there in that moment, and for every moment after during that time.” Jeongyeon handed Sana a small lunchbox, seeming to want to seize the moment for a break.

“I thought we were focusing on her.” Sana shook her head. “Why bother using that memory? I’m sure Mina gave you plenty. She was there for most of our—”

“Hirai Momo was not mutually exclusive from the rest of your life, Sana.” Jeongyeon took out her own lunchbox. “Remembering her means remembering your life, because she was deeply ingrained in it.” Sana’s jaw set, and Jeongyeon nudged the lunchbox closer to her. “It’s a part of why it feels as though your life stopped when hers did.”

It was an echo of something she already knew, of something she saw in the eyes of those around her. It was relieving, somehow, to hear it from a doctor and not just from within her own muzzled mind, from between the lines of Mina’s fingers when she sobbed and hid her face.

“But I moved past what happened with him.” Sana crossed her legs, opening the lunch and taking a moment to eat a piece of pork. “It was—it was losing Momo that was the problem,” she said, threatening to clench and choke on her food. Saying Momo’s name aloud had stopped being easy a long time ago.

Jeongyeon observed her with a careful eye, even as they ate. “You’re a victim of a very specific psychological phenomenon. Knowing that you’ve been through this before and have come out of it fine should be a reminder that you are not beyond help.”

“They aren’t the same,” said Sana, voice flat.

A sympathetic smile etched itself into Jeongyeon’s features. “I understand. But I think that you’re capable of coming out of this. The point is that it’s important to remember how she shaped your experiences, even if they weren’t necessarily about her. You need to remember that you had a life, too.” She nodded. “We’ll find you a way out.”

“We?”

Jeongyeon simply shrugged, that smile still on her face, and they continued their meal in silence before starting up one last time for this particular session.
 

“He doesn’t look like himself,” Sana commented, voice quiet as she and Momo stood side by side in front of the casket. “I wonder if it’s really him.”

Momo had been silent for a majority of the time, her hand always finding Sana’s between the bodies of unfamiliar relatives and strangers that Sana had never met but felt obligated to receive condolences from. Aside from her mother, Sana felt that the only person who could really be there for her was Momo, as she had always been an only child – now fit for a home that would feel lonelier than before. But mother was busy with the blurred faces, faces that Sana could barely register at the time let alone in an old, suppressed memory.

For the first time that night, Momo spoke up. “I think they put makeup and stuff on. But it’s him.” She paused, tightening her grasp on Sana’s hand. “They should’ve made him smile. He always smiled.”

“I guess there’s nothing to smile about,” Sana joked, though it came out more sad than anything else. She wanted to be strong for her mother, for these people who seemed to know her father for so much longer than she ever would – who knew his inside jokes, his work mannerisms, his cherished childhood memories. At only ten years old, she wasn’t sure if she had the right to cry. But she could distract herself. “Would you want them to put a smile onto your face?”

“When I die?”

“Yeah. I don’t think I’d want them to.”

Momo nodded. “Same. I just hope that they keep my bangs. Also, if I grow up and I still like stuffed animals, I want to have whichever one is my favorite to come with me. I don’t want to be buried with nothing.”

( I’m sorry that I didn’t stop them. )

“Why wouldn’t they keep your bangs?”

“Mom hates them. She thinks I look prettier without them.”

Sana blinked, effectively distracted. “She does? Then why do you have them?”

Momo offered a small, innocent smile. “I got gum in my hair once and the salon lady said she knew a good haircut for me. Mom was so mad when dad brought me home with bangs, but I love it.”

“I love it, too. I think you’re very pretty, Momoring,” Sana said with a soft, reassuring grin. It was the first time she had smiled all day, but it didn’t last – the weight of the situation too heavy to hold up the corners of her lips for too long.

They stood there for a while, offering the silence whatever thoughts they could muster. In her mind, Sana praised her father, remembering the fun times that they had together, remembering how he taught her a lot the basic things she learned to do during her youngest years. She looked back on all the times that he had kissed her mom happily on the mouth, how he always made sure to kiss Sana goodbye before school once he had been bedridden. Remembered how, even when he was told that he had gotten cancer, he simply smiled at her, lifting her up into a hug upon the hospital bed as her mother wept, and said, “The only thing I’ve got that really matters is you, and your mom. When I’m with you, any pain fades away.”

But then he faded away, leaving pain behind like an imprint on the doormat.

Momo had pulled her away at some point, taking her to a railing near one of the temple exits. She never let go. After a while in the humid air, she spoke up hesitantly, “You haven’t… I mean, I thought you’d—well, most people…” She paused. “Are you okay?”

It was a question she had already been rendered numb to before Momo had arrived, barraged by seemingly countless people who felt the need to know how she was holding up, as if they didn’t have a clue, as if they ever knew her, as if they’d know what she’d be like if she wasn’t holding up the weight of her father’s death and her mother’s grief on her ten-year-old shoulders. But, despite their youth, Momo seemed to look straight through her.

Yet, Sana resisted, leaning against the railing as the cicadas sang their dirge, uncertain what to do with her hands as she observed nothing in particular from the grass below. “I will be.”

(“I shouldn’t have done that,” she said abruptly, pausing the reel in her mind.

A hint of surprise, “What would you have done differently?”

“I should have cried.”)

Her free hand twisted on the railing, the other squeezing Momo’s tightly as the question hung in the air like goodbyes that were all too late. But in this reparation of events she had sworn to forget – having once reduced them to blips that were better buried along with her father – she wondered if it wasn’t too late. Even if it was all fake, even if it would never reach a girl who ended up buried too.

“N-No,” she whimpered, and she found her body enveloped by a familiar warmth just as the first drop fell down her cheek. Her small frame shook, Momo’s arms doing their best to keep her steady in this time, a time before her inevitable muscles that she’d grow into. Muscles that often felt shaped and formed and built to fit Sana in them.

Momo balled up the back of Sana’s kimono with her small hands, holding her tightly, safely. “You’ll be okay,” she said, in her high, raspy voice that reminded Sana of morning cartoons on the weekend when they were children like this.

The same words, but from Momo. Yet, somehow, so different.

A comfort rather than a lie.

(It was hard to swallow the sudden lump in .)
 

“So it’s like watching an old home video?”

Sana nodded. She and Mina were grocery shopping, an errand that Mina insisted they should do together. She always let Sana push the cart.

“And you said that she asks you to change something about it, right?” Mina raised her brow at the price tag on one of the boxes of tea she was looking at, quickly placing it back on the shelf.

“Right.”

There had been a couple of more sessions since the memory of her father’s funeral service, but Mina was the type to wait a while before asking about something again.

“Do you think that it’s,” she glanced at Sana, “working for you?”

“I don’t know what it’s doing.” It was the truth. With every session, she left like a frayed rope, pulled between her Hollowed self and the distortions that Jeongyeon was forcing her to create.  She had said it was to warm her up for the inevitable question that Jeongyeon had wanted her to answer in their first appointment, but what was being accomplished?

Although, there had been brief moments. Moments that felt alien and foreign to her now, moments where an indistinguishable feeling crawled up through and risked escape, moments where her eyes and mouth moved in ways that felt so rusted over that they nearly creaked at the corners, moments where the armrests fell victim to tight grasps that she thought she had lost the strength for. But that’s all they were, just moments. And every time she opened her eyes again – Jeongyeon there with her pen on her pad of paper – she felt more tired than ever, and those moments vanished.

“What do you usually try and change?” Mina asked gently, taking a break to lean against the front of the shopping cart, her eyes meeting Sana’s.

Sana hadn’t ever thought to look for trends within her choices. “I’m not sure,” she answered, but then paused to ponder the question while Mina patiently waited. “I think that I pick the things that I wish could have happened differently, as well as maybe things that I know will make her happier.”

“Momo?”

“Yeah.” Sana shrugged. “Last week, we were going through that memory of her and I at the beach when I wanted to find shells and she wanted to build a sand castle. Instead of us just choosing to collect shells, I changed it so that she would build the sand castle and I would decorate it with shells that I found.”

Mina gave her a small smile. “That’s really cute.”

Sana shrugged. “The first time we tried, I caught flashes of when I last saw her,” she could feel her arm shake subtly against the handle of the cart, Mina’s eyes traveling toward it naturally before returning to her gaze, “but it’s a little easier now. That version of her doesn’t show up anymore, at least when we’re doing the exercise.”

“Maybe it’s,” Mina’s hand rested atop Sana’s forearm, coaxing it to still, “having an effect after all. Isn’t there something to be said about acknowledging regret?”

“What do you mean?”

“The desire to alter something that’s too late to change.” Mina’s thumb rubbed against her skin carefully. “The fact that you can do that… isn’t that a step forward?”

“I don’t know… Is it?”

Mina frowned. “I guess I don’t really know either,” she sighed, pushing herself off the cart and beginning to walk down the aisle again, and Sana followed. “But I’m always hoping.”

“I know.” Sana idly looked along the shelves as they moved on, inevitably spotting a familiar label. “Hey,” she said, stopping Mina in her tracks and causing her to turn around while Sana reached for the box on the shelf, “this is what you usually make, right? Is this what you’re looking for?”

The expression that Mina gave her in that moment was unreadable, eyes and brow narrowed to only the subtlest degree. “Yes… it is,” she said, carefully grabbing the box from Sana’s hand and placing it in the cart. Her voice changed. “Thank you, Sana.”

Sana wasn’t sure what Mina was thinking in that moment.

But it was still a moment, wasn’t it?
 

“How many successes have you had?” Sana asked.

Jeongyeon chuckled. “Why, are you doubting your treatment?”

“I was just curious.”

“Well, this is a relatively new method.” Jeongyeon attached a few more wires onto Sana. “I started training seminars once I realized that it worked on my wife. It was an experiment born out of desperation, one might say.”

“Your wife was Hollowed?” It was unexpected. Made the idea of success seem more tangible somehow compared to numerical statistics placed in front of her on paper.

“Correct,” Jeongyeon said with a hum, returning to her seat. “She’s the strongest woman I know. But even so, I lost her for eight years after her mother passed away.” She shrugged, smiling. “And then she recovered.”

“Eight years is a long time to keep fighting for a breakthrough.”

Jeongyeon the machine. “What can I say? I’m committed.”
 

“Happy birthday, Minari!”

Mina practically jumped out of her seat, headphones sliding off as Momo and Sana approached from behind her with a small cake in one pair of hands and a bunch of balloons in the other. “Wh-When did you do this?!”

“You’re playing Maplestory on your birthday? Isn’t that old by now?” Sana teased when she noticed the computer screen, placing the small cake on a free space atop Mina’s desk before leaning in to kiss her on the crown of her head.

Momo giggled, likely at Mina’s pout. “We just got it from the store. It would’ve been here earlier, but we thought you’d see it if you noticed it in the fridge.”

“Thank you,” Mina said softly, the glow of the firelit candles highlighting the rosy pink dusting her cheeks. She looked at her phone’s lock screen. “It’s already eight… I thought for sure that you two forgot.”

Sana scoffed, offended. “When have I ever missed your birthday?”

(A sigh.)

“Same.” Momo nodded, though she began snickering when Sana nudged her in the shoulder. Momo knew because Sana knew, but she did care just as much.

A tiny, bashful smile made its way onto Mina’s face as she looked up at them. “Should I blow it out?”

“Duh!” Sana nodded.

“Don’t forget to make a wish, Minari.”

Mina smiled, that adorably gummy thing that Sana and Momo loved about her, and carefully pushed back her hair, blowing the candles. Sana and Momo cheered quietly, not wanting to be the victims of a noise complaint in their dorm building, before helping to cut the cake into pieces for each of them.

“I can’t believe this is the last time we’ll be celebrating your birthday together on campus.” The sigh that came out of Sana was dramatic, accentuated by the way she pretended to fall against Momo’s side as they sat on Mina’s bed. “I can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind!”

“We did it in high school, I’m sure we can survive this time too,” Mina said, giggling. “I just can’t believe we even got this far.”

“Come on, Mina. Don’t remind us of how we’re aging,” Momo frowned, “especially when you’ve got a year on us.”

“Of course we got this far!” Sana smiled. “Momo’s the hardest worker I know, you’re the best girl that” – she winced when Momo nudged her hard in the side – “I know, and I’m there somewhere,” she finished with a lilt, tongue between her teeth.

Mina shook her head, rolling her eyes. “You’re smart and you work hard and you’re pretty and—”

“Mina, please.” Momo snorted. “Don’t boost her ego too much, she respects you enough to take you seriously.”

Sana and Momo both snickered when Mina gave them a deadpan look. Mina was sweet like that, trying to balance out whatever subtle negative implications that the two made about themselves or at one another. If they were truthful, sometimes they did it on purpose just to hear her say something cute.

Sana pouted, batting her eyelashes innocuously. “I didn’t get to hear you finish, Minari…”

“Oh, shut up.” The girls all shared a smile before Mina moved on and asked, “Are you two going to be staying at home after you graduate?”

Momo nodded, but Sana had something different in mind. “I haven’t brought this up but,” she turned to look at Momo, whose eyes found hers, “I was hoping that Momo and I could move into an apartment together or something.”

“What?” Momo visibly gulped, cheeks pink. “When did you decide that?”

“I didn’t decide anything yet, I’m asking you to think about it now.”

“That’s a big commitment and I don’t know if my parents—”

Sana rested a hand on Momo’s knee. “I was thinking that we could both use a break from home.” She glanced toward Mina, noticing a peculiar look on her face before Sana decided to forcibly perk herself up. “Besides, I’d be the best roommate! And you cook, so we really would just make the perfect pair, no?”

Mina chuckled. “You as the best roommate and Momo as the cook?”

“I’ve been doing a lot better lately,” Momo grinned, “and I’ve been making my own meals.”

“Even though it makes me nervous, I’d like to try your cooking.” Mina smiled back. “Just make sure you two bring me some of it every once in a while, okay? I’ll be lonely here on campus without you, so don’t forget me.”

( I didn’t mean to. )

They eventually finished up the cake, letting Mina return to the game she had been playing when Momo and Sana decided to take a brief walk outside the dorm building.

“So… moving in together, huh?” Momo tried, penetrating the calm silence.

Sana smiled, hands in the pockets of her coat. “Great idea, right?”

“I mean, we’re best friends so of course I’d want to be roommates.” Momo chuckled. “It just seemed out of nowhere… we’ve been living in a dorm together this whole time, too. Don’t you know I’m sick of you already?”

A swift smack landed on Momo’s arm. “You wouldn’t have wanted anyone else but Mina and I, and you know it, Momoring!”

“Yeah, Mina made it tolerable.” Another smack. “Okay! Okay,” she chuckled, “I’m kidding. But you never mentioned it before.”

Sana shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been hitting me how we’re going to be returning to the way things used to be, when we weren’t coexisting in a dorm.”

Momo nudged her arm gently with her shoulder. “Come on, we’ve always coexisted.”

“You know what I mean,” Sana said softly, rolling her eyes fondly.

“Yeah, I do.”

“I just don’t want us to go back to that.”

“To what?” Momo raised an eyebrow. “Our neighborhood?”

“I feel like you’d be happier with me than your parents, Momo.”

Momo stopped them, tugging on Sana’s arm until she stood in place. “What?”

Sana bit her lip. “Your dad is so busy, and you know how your mom is… Haven’t we been happy on our own?” She gently slid her arm through Momo’s grasp until her hand rested firmly within it, tightening it herself. “You already got that position lined up at that dance studio, and I’ve got a year left of my internship at the company before they give me a full-time job. We can make anything work. We don’t need anybody else anymore.”

Momo’s face had been unreadable at the time. “I’ll think about it.”

(“So, anything here?”

“It doesn’t make a difference, because we ended up moving in together anyway.” She paused. “But I should’ve been more honest about why.”)

“It’s not about the neighborhood,” Sana admitted with a sigh. “I just never realized how empty home felt until I moved out.” She reached out and found Momo’s hand, feeling how her fingers didn’t resist as she laced them together. “I love mom, obviously, so it’s hard to think about making that decision without some kind of guilt, but,” she frowned, “I think it may be for the best. It scares me. Also, she’s been trying some blind dates, so it’s not long before some stranger tries to make a home out of a cracked shell, right?”

When she let out a bitter chuckle, Momo squeezed their hands. “I didn’t know you felt that way… Why didn’t you tell me?”

Sana shrugged, feeling her cheeks warm up as she looked away. “When I’m with you – er, or Mina – I forget. But since the school year is ending, it’s unavoidable.”

“That’s okay. I definitely think we can figure something out.” Momo gave her a reassuring, yet bashful, grin. “I know we’re best friends and all, but I’m still honored that you’d want to live with me. Don’t you think you’ll get at least a little homesick?”

(A flickering drumbeat, a series of beeps to match.)

“Momo,” Sana smiled softly, gently pushing her and watching as their fingers stretched but never broke apart, “you are my home. And just thinking about moving back into my house is already making me feel sick.”

(She wasn’t sure what the sudden trace of salt on her lips was, but a line on her face felt cool against the current of the air conditioner.)
 

Sana sat at her desk, hands folded atop the surface as she stared down at the velvet box. The presence of her own ring on her finger shook her, like a hammer to a metal that kept ringing.

It had been a long time since she’d seen it, the matching ring. Somewhere in the dark haze of the funeral, she had swiped it after hearing that Momo’s family planned to take out the items in the casket, including jewelry, and her eyes never fell on it again after slipping it into the small container in front of her.

There were often nights where she couldn’t sleep, tormented by the weight of this object mere feet away. Sounding in her conscious as though it had been taken out of its small cage by a ghost, its shape traced in her mind and played like a glass harp in the darkness. Sometimes it felt like the only tangible object in the world outside of herself, like it was victim to the gravity of everything alongside Sana.

She wasn’t sure how long she’d been staring at it when Mina knocked on her door. “Come in.”

“Hey, Sana,” Mina spoke softly, slowly. “You forgot to eat your food. Do you want me to warm it up for you?”

Sana looked up at her. “I already ate.”

There was a heavy pause before Mina clarified, confusion evident on her face, “There’s a full box in the bag.”

“Oh, that’s for you.”

The confusion on Mina’s face melted away, contorting in multiple ways until it eventually settled into a form that Sana wasn’t familiar with. Her eyes moved to Sana’s desk and widened slightly.

She cleared . “Th-Thank you, Sana… I’m looking forward to eating it.” Her voice shook. “Wh-What are you up to?”

Sana glanced back at the box, suddenly unable to recall what had urged her to sit at her desk, to stare at a ghost encased in velvet. “Not sure.”

“Do you want to open it?” Mina asked, quietly letting herself in and taking a seat at the edge of Sana’s bed.

“Not sure,” she repeated, flat.

“It means a lot to you, I know.”

“It did.”

Mina shook her head. “It still does, otherwise you wouldn’t have stolen it.”

Her jaw clenched. “I wasn’t the one who was trying to steal it.”

She felt Mina’s hand on her shoulder, heard a sigh from her lips. “Right, I’m sorry. What I meant was that you wouldn’t have kept it if it wasn’t important to you.”

“Mina.”

“Yes?”

Sana turned in her chair, grabbing Mina’s hand with both of her own. It felt foreign, this type of physical contact, and she didn’t know what to do with it beyond simply touching. She could feel the way Mina’s hand grew rigid, frozen in what Sana could only assume was shock. A long time ago, this would have amused Sana, delighted her.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” she asked, looking up at her. Wondered if Mina heard similar calls in the night that kept her awake, calls that came in that same, familiar voice.

“Yeah. They’re dead but appear alive.” Mina’s eyes softened and, again, Sana couldn’t decipher her expression, but her gaze felt heavy as it lingered on her. And then Mina brought her other hand forward, holding both of Sana’s gently within her own instead. “I’ve seen them.” Then a small smile found its way onto her face, her thumb tracing the back of Sana’s palm. “But not so much recently.”
 

“I’m proud of you, you know.”

Sana raised an eyebrow. “What for?”

Jeongyeon smiled. “It’s only been five months, but you’ve been doing well.”

She was tired, mostly. To agree with Jeongyeon that things were going “well” felt like agreeing to the idea that things had been sailing smoothly, and that wasn’t the truth. It was exhausting to constantly be in a battle with oneself, the body fighting the brain on a molecular level beyond her understanding. There were sessions where she’d apparently crack the slightest hint of a smile, but it’d disappear as fast as it came. There were sessions where the dams she’d once built behind her eyelids briefly leaked, but just as quickly dried up like plaster when opened. It continuously felt as though someone was just barely holding onto her at the edge of a cliff, forcing her to lean forward over and stare into a canyon of shifting shadows before pulling her back by the end of it.

The worst part was that those fleeting flashes of success were just enough to make her think that, yes, she was capable of recovery. That she deserved to be healed, to have another chance after being good for absolutely nothing in two years. But when she thought of Mina’s toil, of the families and homes they had left behind, she couldn’t help but think that, no, she didn’t deserve it at all. Momo wouldn’t like the person she’d become without her.

“Good to hear,” Sana replied, noticing how Jeongyeon stared at her ring for a long moment before flipping open her notes.

Jeongyeon smiled. “Let’s begin.”
 

“Wow, and you call me cheesy?” Sana giggled, leaning happily into Momo as they stood at the front counter.

Momo shrugged, bashful as she handed a card to the jeweler. “It’s officially been two decades since we met… I thought it’d be a good gift.”

(The crack of a slight smile.)

“It is!” Sana grinned, practically bouncing as the jeweler came back and presented two velvet boxes to the girls. “Oh my god, did you get us diamonds?”

“No!” Momo whined. “Come on, you know that’d be too much for me.”

“Momoring, I only expect the best gifts.”

“The best gift is our friendship, dumby.”

( You’re right. )

Sana rolled her eyes. “You complain and make faces at me all the time.”

Momo smirked. “Doesn’t mean that I’m not right! After all, I’m always right. The eyerolls are just part of the package, and that’s mainly your fault because you’re so needy,” she said, taking the boxes and walking with Sana to a corner of the store so that they could privately open them.

Sana gasped and started bouncing again when Momo revealed two silver rings. They were a simple design, with roman numerals engraved into them. Unable to articulate anything in the moment, they both took the chance to test the fit of the rings on their fingers, content with the size as they freely flexed their digits.

“I love it, Momo.”

Momo tucked her chin against her collarbone, twisting the new ring on her finger. “You’re just saying that. I know you’d like something more, um… more ‘more,’ I guess.”

Sana shook her head. “No, really! I actually really do like them, and they could go with pretty much anything too.” She grinned, leaning forward and giving Momo a fat kiss on her warm cheek. “Since this is going to remind me of you from now on, that means I can take you everywhere, basically.”

“Don’t you already?” Momo quipped, though her voice was soft.

“As if you don’t love it!”

“Yeah, I think I wouldn’t do nearly as much without you.” Momo held her finger up close to Sana’s eyes. “The roman numerals are for time, by the way.”

Sana blinked, curious. “Time?”

“Yeah, I thought… I don’t know, I just feel like a lot of my life has been shaped by our time together and I think our friendship has just taught me that,” she sighed, her gaze lingering on the ring, “this moment is the most important moment.”

“Like, this exact moment?”

“Sana, come on!” Momo whined. “No, like… this moment, as in the present moment, that we have right now is precious.”

“After you buy me a ring like this, I’m inclined to agree.” She snorted when Momo started whining again, grumbling about her not appreciating the meaning. “I’m kidding. I know what you mean.” She grabbed Momo’s hand, the first of many times that they would hug their rings together, and she offered Momo a saccharine smile. “You’re right. Each moment is important.”

(“Let’s pause there. What would you change?”

“… Nothing.” It was perfect the way it was, the way it had been.

“If you had to.”

“I said nothing.” A flicker of heat.

Jeongyeon’s rare, firm voice returned. “Sana, this is something you need to do.”

Sana’s jaw set. “This one isn’t negotiable.”

“This treatment isn’t negotiable, Sana. It’s just a memory, and it’s no different than—”

Gritted teeth. “Did you not just—”)

“—pay attention to what was going on?!” Sana asked, having opened her eyes to see a blinking Jeongyeon. “What part of that whole thing didn’t you get?! It is different. Because every moment is different and ing important, every moment with her was ing important!” She didn’t know when she had risen to her feet, the machine’s frantic beeping fading as wires pulled themselves off her skin, heat radiating from her ears. “You just sit there and ask me to change these memories in my head, ask me to around with these precious moments that I can’t fix or change, for better or worse. Trying to make me face things that were parts of our lives – so what if things could’ve been done better?! If they hadn’t happened, then maybe we would’ve been entirely different people!”

Her heart was racing, branches snapped, and she leaned over the table with a pointed finger at Jeongyeon, who remained wide-eyed and silent. “And what good is it?! Five months and I’m ‘doing well’ in what way?! That I don’t see a porcelain face every time anymore? Great, thanks! What ing else? What is this meant to do for me when I can’t change what’s happened?! All you do is remind me of how much she meant to me.” She felt her arm shake, felt her burning eyes twitch with an unfamiliar wetness, but it didn’t stop her. “Momo is gone, and I can’t change that! I ed up, okay?! I can’t change that I ed up, I—”

“Sana.”

Sana blinked, halting her yelling when she noticed the corners of Jeongyeon’s mouth pulling up. She glanced around quickly, noticing the wires dangling off the edge of the table and realizing that she had been leaning much farther on the table than she realized, and the sporadic beeping of the machine reached her ears again as though she were exiting a tunnel. Watching as Jeongyeon broke into a grin, Sana touched her cheeks, feeling the hot, soaked streaks on her face, and she suddenly noticed how puffy her eyes felt. Pulled her hand away to stare at it, to stare at the way her fingers glistened beneath the fluorescence of the room. Felt how was raw, burning and aching, and that things she had neglected to let herself feel were threatening the seams like tearing stitches.

Feel.

Finally, she breathed. And laughed – giggles rolling in like gentle waves until full-bellied laughs crashed against the shore, more tears falling from her face as Jeongyeon’s grin stretched impossibly wide. Sana’s body shook as she lowered into a squat upon the floor, the laughing hiccupping back into sobbing until she was shivering, and she hugged her knees, for once grateful of the sturdy metal wires and casings inside of her.

Jeongyeon squatted beside her, placing a gentle hand on her back as she wailed and wept. “You’re doing well, Sana,” she said, softer this time. “I’m proud of you.”
 

Although she had calmed down a bit, the weight of the emotions stockpiled in her chest was constantly threatening to collapse even as she biked home as quickly as she could. The warmth of the sun felt especially reassuring, and she willed herself to keep it together for just a bit longer.

She felt as though every muscle in her body was trembling, her hands shaking as she twisted the knob and hung her helmet up on the rack. Mina’s car was in their parking space – Sana had made sure to check – but she must have been in her bedroom if she wasn’t already out in the living room or kitchen.

Sana didn’t bother knocking, opening the door and watching as Mina peeked at her over a book, laying on the comforter. “Hey, you’re home. I –”

“Mina.” And like that, Sana’s lips started trembling, her eyes shaking as currents poured down her cheeks. She couldn’t contain it, couldn’t stop herself as she charged forward and crashed into Mina upon the bed, caring little for the book as she pulled it out from between them and tossed it to the side, pressing her body flush against Mina’s.

It took very little time for Mina to begin crying, having first frozen up completely at the sight of Sana crying in the doorway. Sana tangled herself in Mina and embraced her fully, sobbing and muttering apology after apology against her ear as her fingers curled into Mina’s hair.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

She could feel Mina melting into the present, could feel how her arms woke up and s around her form, holding Sana tight. “I-Is this really you? Am I d-dreaming?” Mina mumbled between tears, voice broken and weak, and Sana felt the way that Mina’s fists had balled up the back of her shirt. It wasn’t a scolding for empty apologies from an empty person this time.

Sana buried her face in Mina’s neck, kissing the skin once to let her know that it was real. It was the first time, after two years, that Sana had felt anyone against her. And in the wake of everything, she found herself craving it desperately, wanting to remain like that with Mina, aware of how she was the sole reason that Mina isolated herself in her own way. Sana knew that they needed this, and it was the least she could do for making Mina feel so alone for so long. She had so much to make up for.

They made no effort to pull away for the rest of the evening, content in their tangled limbs and wet apologies, and Sana wondered at what point she had forgotten how skin felt. Wondered how long Mina had been wishing for them to simply hold onto one another like this.

There wasn’t much else they could do, overwhelmed by the feeling that they hadn’t had a chance to do in years.
 

“You once said, early on, that you mainly worked on specific types of Hollowed cases.”

Jeongyeon nodded. “That’s correct.”

“What type am I?” Sana asked, fiddling with the armband on her wrist. What had once seemed like an ugly, muted shade of green was much more vibrant, neon Mina like always said it was. It was something she had noticed since the previous week, how often she found herself staring at things whose colors suddenly seemed more saturated after she had her breakthrough. The world had dulled in every aspect, she supposed.

She wasn’t allowed to take the armband off until her final treatment session with Jeongyeon and after a follow-up in the upcoming year to make sure that Sana hadn’t regressed in any way. But it was a fair compromise. Sana may have hated every shade of green, but it was still interesting to see the armband in an entirely different color after two years. Really, it was nice just to be able to see real color in things again.

“Let’s do our exercise first.”

“There’s more?” A breathless chuckle slipped out.

“Well, you never answered the question I initially presented to you when we met,” Jeongyeon said with a smile.

Sana squinted. “Uh… I don’t know, that feels like it was so long ago.”

“What would you want to remember?”

“Ah, right. The polaroid thing.”

Jeongyeon chortled. “Yes, the polaroid thing.”

“Is it just like… was the whole point to just get me to remember the good things instead of what ultimately happened?”

“Depends, I guess.” Jeongyeon smirked. “What did you get out of this treatment?”

“You made me go through memories that I hadn’t thought about in years.” Sana sighed. “Even though you asked me to change things, they led to the same conclusions.” She paused, thinking about it for a moment before continuing, “So maybe there weren’t many things to really regret, even if they could’ve been done better. But it gave me a chance to see her smile again, in different ways. I liked that. It felt as though she never truly left me, not as a ghost but as a friend.” She gently traced the pad of her thumb over the roman numerals of her ring. “It made me feel like I really did know her, inside and out. Does that make sense?”

“I think that makes sense.”

“It’s like you said that one time… ‘dead’ isn’t all she is.” Sana frowned. “Even as a kid, I knew that my dad had a chance of passing away. But Momo, she,” Sana sniffled, “was just so sudden. It’s different when you believe so badly that someone will be there forever. A-And I… I still feel like it’s my fault.”

“Why’s that?” Jeongyeon asked gently.

Sana grabbed a tissue from the small box on the table, dabbing her nose. “I was d-driving when we got hit. And I know that the guy ran the light, but I just… even so, I had a few drinks earlier that night. I wasn’t drunk, I knew that I was okay to drive. But you always second guess if you really were, or if it was your fault somehow. Momo was drunk, and she was,” she swallowed, “happy. She had confronted me about something at her studio’s office party – we always take- er, took each other to our work parties – and I told her that we could talk more about it at home. We were singing in the car when it happened…”

Jeongyeon nodded, sympathetic. “I read the case file and it seemed like a really bad crash. But it wasn’t your fault. As you said, and as everyone involved knows, it was the trucker who hadn’t been paying attention.”

“I wish we had gotten a few extra minutes there. It was just me who wanted to go home right after she came to me. I thought I was doing the right thing by saying that I wanted her to be more sober.” Sana wept quietly. “Maybe it was the wrong thing.”

“Is that what you want to remember?” Jeongyeon asked. “That you had gotten just a little more time?”

Sana wiped her eyes with her sleeve, pausing again as she thought it over. The sessions in the past often had her changing her words, had her changing her decision to act in a certain way in old, buried memories. But this was different, asking her instead to fill in the blank of something she’d missed. Replacing the unfinished image in the polaroid frame with something full, something complete.

“Y-Yeah… even if it’s just to let her know. If she’s even listening. I know I can’t change what ended up happening.”
 

“Momoring!” Sana groaned, stumbling into the bathroom after Momo pushed her inside. “You can just ask me to hold your hair back if you need to throw up, there’s no need to be so rough about it!”

“Shush, don’t be so loud,” Momo mumbled, locking the door. “I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

“How much have you had to drink?”

Momo rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I have something important I need to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” Sana asked, watching the way that Momo’s chest rose and fell. She was nervous, out of breath.

Momo’s cheeks flushed. “I’m scared that this could ruin our friendship.”

Sana froze. She could feel a cog creaking and beginning to turn deep in her stomach, anxiety building as Momo’s words reminded her of something Sana had tucked away a long time ago.

She remembered when they were thirteen and she got jealous when Momo talked about a cute boy in their math class. She remembered when they were fifteen and Sana had begun noticing the outlines of Momo’s hips, of her thighs and the hem of her clothes. She remembered when they were third-years in high school when Sana came out to Momo and Mina, and how elated she felt when Momo admitted that she, too, preferred women. Remembered how she was always too afraid to ever admit anything, even when Mina asked her if Sana and Momo had anything going on when they were first moving into their dorm. Remembered when they were halfway through university, when Sana told herself that Momo was her friend first, and her friend always. How, at twenty-five, Sana almost kissed her on the balcony of their hotel in Hawaii, lips coated in wine and her body warm with the affection she had for her friend. Remembered how she didn’t go through with it.

Because Momo was her friend, and she wouldn’t let herself ruin their friendship – wouldn’t let herself ruin the way that Momo’s smile always looked as though every experience, every breath, was something amazing. As though Sana was amazing.

“… There’s nothing that could ruin our friendship for me, Momoring,” Sana said, her voice softening. She gently grabbed Momo’s hand, pulling it up between them and caressing the ring on her finger. “These rings mean that we’re forever, okay?”

Momo’s eyes fell on hers, capturing her. “It means that the time right now is precious, important.”

“Right.” Sana smiled, feeling her cheeks radiate heat. “So you can tell me anything, even here in an employee bathroom.” She was surprised that Momo didn’t smile at that, and even more shocked when Momo’s gaze drooped to her lips.

“Sana, I,” her voice cracked, and Sana could see her visibly wince, “love you…”

Sana’s eyes widened at the bold declaration, but she tried, “I know you do, Momo. I love you, too.”

“Ugh, no.” Momo grabbed the hand that Sana had used to touch the ring, pulled it to and kissed the knuckles. Her lips were warm, timid, and Momo looked vulnerable as she pulled away. “L-Like this…”

Her heartbeat felt like a stampede. “Momo, I,” she gulped, not wanting to lose this after so long, “love you, too,” Sana said, feeling her cheeks rise like mountains when Momo’s lips tore into a beaming grin. A part of her wondered if she should have made the effort long ago. “I… I’ve loved you for a long time, actually,” she admitted, feeling a bit bashful, even if she had the advantage of not looking as ridiculously small as Momo did.

“M-Me too, I think,” Momo said, slurring over her words. “I r-realized it for sure a year ago, b-but when I thought about it… I think it’s been a lot longer?” Her face was positively red. “You’ve just always been there, so I think I just… took that for granted? I—We’ve never been apart, so it felt right all the time, but I never stopped to figure out why.” She averted her gaze, mumbling, “Th-This is embarrassing but it only hit me because I got mad at that girl you were hooking up last May.”

Sana blinked, jaw falling and half-laughing. “Sakura?!”

“Sh-Shut up… I’m drunk, who knows what girl… but it wasn’t me, Satang,” she hiccupped, “That’s for sure!”

(This was where it was meant to end, where Sana would tell her that she felt happy and that they should go home, because Momo was drunk and Sana didn’t want to be trapped at a studio party with such a massive ball in her chest throughout the rest of the night. She’d tell Momo how she’d love to continue this conversation in the morning, tell Momo how her smile was sweet before they went to grab their coats, before Sana teased Momo by holding the car door open for her. Where she’d drive until, in many ways, she couldn’t drive anymore.

But she wanted to change the image, fill it in and pray that the Momo in her heart would be happy. People said that a picture was worth a thousand words, and Sana wanted to be able to choose them. She needed this, needed a moment of control over the one thing that had been so wildly out of her control that she lost control of herself as a result.)

Sana giggled, and they broke into a small fit of them momentarily just before she pressed forward, pressing her lips against Momo’s, her arms wrapped around her neck as she pulled her in close, fingers playing with her scalp. Could feel like a phantom the way that Momo pressed back into her, returning the kiss with nothing but hot breath between them.

She pulled away and pressed her forehead against Momo’s, giggling again when Momo mumbled a small, “wow.” Then they smiled, rings touching as they held one another’s hands.

(Sana thought that they deserved at least that. Even if it was nothing more than an additional moment. Even if it was just hers, just Momo’s. This was how she wanted to remember her, a precious person who always found her hand, even in death as a circle of metal.)
 

“So what type am I?”

Jeongyeon shrugged. “You already mentioned it before. But I specialize in people who feel like they’re the direct reason that a loved one passed away. They’re often more difficult.”

“Really? Why?”

“They’re harder to crack. They don’t forgive themselves, even if it wasn’t their fault. And because they feel at fault, they feel undeserving of everything, including being alive.”

“Oh.”

“Do you feel deserving of life, Sana?”

Sana glanced at the neon green armband, her voice quiet. “Momo would say so, I think. And,” she found it in herself to smile a bit, eyes watering, “she’s always right, you know.”
 

“I think this is it!” Sana squealed, closing the door behind her and walking over to the kitchen counter where Mina was, hovering over a pot.

“Your status letter?”

“It’s from the GHT office! It has to be, right?” Sana felt a brief ping of doubt. “Oh god, what if it’s them telling me that I’ve got another year ahead?”

It had been over a year since her final session with Dr. Yoo, and she had just gone to her follow-up in the previous month. She wasn’t allowed to know anything about her results at the time, but Jeongyeon had smiled like always. Her smiles were always reassuring.

But now, seeing the bold letters of the address on the envelope, Sana wasn’t feeling as assured as she would’ve hoped. She glanced at Momo’s ring on what was once her empty hand. Momo would tell her to just open it, she figured.

Mina giggled, rubbing Sana’s arm. “Come on. We know it’s going to be good. Do you want me to open it?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Sana bit her tongue, ripping open the seal and pulling the letter out. She didn’t care much for the jargon of everything – that much had never changed, Hollowed or not – so she skimmed around for what she was looking for, her eyes and mouth widening as she caught sight of it. “Yes! Finally!”

“They said you’re clear?!” Mina asked, leaning into Sana’s shoulder to look over the letter.

“Yes, thank goodness.” Sana groaned in satisfaction, whipping around in place to pull a scissors out of one of the cabinet drawers. “This is going to be so freeing. I’m so sick of this ugly thing!”

Mina snorted. “I remember when you were in awe about the color changing. I almost thought you liked it back then.”

“Ew, no, it was never cute.” Sana grumbled, shooting her armband a glare. “It was a moment of weakness because I was amazed by color again. I’ve recovered my tastes.”

Mina laughed, stopping once Sana handed her the scissors. “What?”

“I was thinking,” Sana blushed, averting her gaze, “you had put it on me, so it would only be right if you took it off of me.”

“R-Really?” Mina’s gaze flickered between Sana and her wrist.

“Yeah, I trust you to strip me any t— Hey, what was that for?!” Sana whined at the sting on her arm where Mina had just smacked her. “You used to bathe me!”

Mina was blushing ferociously, and Sana found delight in it. “W-Well, that was just me taking care of you.” She opened the scissors, carefully angling it so that the strip would be between the blades. “And that wasn’t even all the time,” she added with a soft grumble.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking…”

Mina hummed as she snipped off the armband. She looked up at Sana in her silence, grinning. “I’m so proud of you.”

Sana blinked, looking down at her freed wrist. She rubbed it with her opposite hand, tracing over the subtle tan lines. It was just her skin, but her eyes watered anyway as she watched Mina dump the material into the trash bin and then place the scissors on the counter.

“Thank you,” Sana said softly. It could’ve been for Mina, for Jeongyeon, for Momo, for herself. She didn’t know, but all she could think about was how weightless her wrist felt.

Then Mina’s fingers found her wrist, delicately caressing and undoubtedly stirring goosebumps. “I’m so happy for you… Sana, you have no idea how happy I am for you. It was all worth it.” Mina looked up at her, that gummy smile etching itself into Sana’s mind even as the corners of Mina’s eyes dampened. “You’re worth it.”

Sana felt her breathing slow down, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wouldn’t have made it without you, Minari.”

They stayed like that for a second before Mina suddenly appeared apologetic. “Wait. What was it that you were thinking before? I just realized that I interrupted you.”

A part of her wanted to wait until the weekend, because maybe they should have been focused more on this, on celebrating this freedom. But if Sana were being truthful, she was ready to leap past it – to finally let go and be free of that constant reminder of everything awful she had been through. It was gone now, and she didn’t want to think about it anymore.

She had more important things to think about, and Momo had been knocking on the door of her dreams to get her to wake up.

(“If you don’t do it, then I’m going to sell the rings.”

“You know you can’t do that, Momoring.”

“… Okay, yeah, but seriously! Do it! You two deserve it, and you mean the most to me.”)

Feeling the weight of the rings on either side of her, she was grateful for the sense of balance and courage they offered as she enveloped Mina in her arms. She took a deep breath when Mina reciprocated, and Sana appreciated the way that her hands rubbed at her back.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go out on a date sometime.” She could feel the way that Mina suddenly stopped breathing. “I was thinking… maybe we could try once we move back to Japan?”

There was a long pause, but Mina never stopped caressing her back. “Is… Is that what you want?”

“Only if that’s what you want.”

She felt Mina breathe against her again, her nose tucking itself into Sana’s neck as her hands rose and her fingers knotted themselves in Sana’s hair. “It is,” she whispered, voice shaking.

Sana smiled, squeezing Mina tightly. “I’m happy.”

In this precious moment, she was grateful to be alive. To be full, not hollow.