Jinyoung cracked a drowsy eye open as the train pulled to a stop. The tinny overhead voice announced his station, and he sighed in relief that he hadn’t missed it. He really needed to get better about dozing off on the train. He was going to be using it a lot more thanks to these back-and-forth trips to Inje he’d agreed on with Mark, and he didn’t want to rack up fees by accidentally sleeping his way through a cross-country trip.

He got out of the train, stretching his arms. It was unseasonably warm for April outside, warm enough to take off the coat he’d thrown on as a force of habit. Still, the air felt heavy and thick. He wondered if it rained earlier in the day, or if rain was coming.

On the walk home, he passed a convenience store and dropped in. He’d noticed from the last time Mark visited that he loved snacking, but there wasn’t much left in his house due to his extended absences. Jinyoung filled up a basket with an assortment of things, then went to the fridge in the back to pick out some beer.

“There's going to be a rainstorm tonight,” the cashier said conversationally as he scanned Jinyoung's items. “Do you have an umbrella on you?”

Jinyoung shook his head. “When is it supposed to start?”

“Twenty minutes. If you’re on your way home, you should run before it starts. They said on the nightly news our area's gonna get dumped on.”

“I’ll hurry back and stay inside, then.”

“Best to. Thought I'd warn you since it's so warm out. I bet a lot of people will try to go to the park or on a walk if they haven't seen the news.”

Jinyoung hooked the plastic bags around his wrists and took the road towards his house at a slight jog. They were going to be cooped inside all night, then. It wasn’t like he’d planned an outing or anything, but the thought made him a little anxious. There was something cozy about being inside during a downpour. Mark had done a good job of staying away from him on the mattress last time, but what if he tried burrowing closer during the storm?

Jinyoung made it home only five minutes before the rain started.  It started as a steady drizzle, but quickly escalated until it was pelting the roof in a relentless rhythm. He hoped Mark had thought to bring an umbrella with him on the way down, or else he was going to show up soaked.

About ten minutes later, Jinyoung heard his front door being violently pulled open, accompanied by a momentary blast of the cacophony outside.  “Sorry, but I’m dripping a bit of water inside,” Mark called as he closed the door. “My umbrella turned inside out.”

“There’s a towel on the shoe rack,” Jinyoung called back. There was a rustle of activity in the entryway, and a moment later, Mark emerged into the kitchen. He was a little damp, but not too bad considering the force of the rain.

“Hey,” Mark said. “It’s Biblical out there.”

“Maybe you should have stayed in Sokcho.”

“I’m under a roof here. Same thing.” He had a plastic bag hooked over his arm. “I bought some ingredients for hotpot. Sound good?”

“I would say it’s a bit warm out for hotpot, but with all that rain…”

“It’s gotten a little bit chillier, but it’s still a warm rain. Anyways, hotpot is hotpot. Best during cold weather, but good anytime.”

“True.”

“I’ll make it if you do me a favor.” He pulled his bookbag from his back. “I wrote a poem for an assignment, and I’m wondering if you can help me translate it to Korean.”

“Shouldn’t you be figuring it out for yourself instead of asking me to do it? Your Korean’s still messy.”

“I said help me, not do it for me. I just want some guidance and any advice on making it rhyme in Korean. It’s nonrhyming in English, but I like rhyming poetry better.”

“All right. I’ll have a look. What’s it about?”

“It was kind of a devil’s advocate assignment. We’re supposed to take figures that are normally portrayed as unsympathetic and see if we can pull out a side to them that readers can relate to.”

“That’s pretty tricky. I thought you were only in Composition 101?”

“I am. But our teacher says this is something basic everyone should know how to do. An aspect of persuasive writing and developing a fully fleshed character or what not.”

“So who did you pick?”

Mark fumbled through his bookbag, pulling out his composition notebook. “Know anything about Korean mythology? I picked Seokga, the trickster god.”

Jinyoung dropped the pot he’d been pulling out for Mark to use on his foot. He was too shocked even to curse as it smashed his toes.

“Are you OK?” Mark asked. “That must have hurt.”

“Seokga?” Jinyoung repeated numbly.

“Yeah. Thought I’d tie it back to my religious studies major, and that mythology is unique to Korea, unlike Buddhism and Christianity. Are you sure your foot’s OK?”

“Y-You made Seokga sympathetic?”

“Well, he naturally kind of is, isn’t he? It’s like Loki—who doesn’t like Loki? Trickster gods are maligned, but there’s something far more human and charming about them.” Mark opened his notebook to the right page and set it on the table. “Seriously, Jinyoung, just sit down and prop up your foot. I’ll take care of the rest of the cooking stuff.”

Jinyoung numbly hobbled to the table. His pulse was escaping him. The whole moment felt unreal, like he was still sleeping on the train and inside a version of the evening invented by his subconscious fears of Mark discovering his identity. The echo of his voice speaking his abandoned name resounded through him. Seokga. Seokga, the trickster god.

With shaking hands, Jinyoung picked up the composition notebook. The words on the page swam in front of his eyes. He took two deep breaths, blinking to clear his vision. When he was steadier, he began to read:

They say Mireuk is the great god,

but what is so great about imagining something from nothing,

following instructions of spirits far wiser of the world,

and discovering what already exists to be discovered?

All of us imagine, inventing worlds in our sleep,

crafting existences out of fragments of what might be—

does this make us gods?

All of us obey when we hear counsel that is wise—

does our obedience to the counsel make its wisdom ours?

All of us discover the world around us and shape it into something new—

does discovering water and fire and land mean we have a claim to them?

True greatness comes not from inventing and discovering.

It comes from suffering in the invented world

alongside all else who suffer in it with us

from the unforeseen consequences of having created something

that evolves and twists outside of our carefully mapped plans.

Seokga, you created nothing from the sun, found no fire,

formed nothing into the insects of man and woman,

but through your cleverness, you bested the one who did.

Why should your cunning be called unjust, a deceit?

Why should the god who was deceived be called great instead,

when your intelligence and craft showed us

what we would need to survive this world we were into?

Mireuk left; you stayed and suffered at our sides.

All that was of Mireuk’s making he abandoned,

but the unjustness that was yours remains yours,

your weight as well as ours, our shared flaw and strength,

our human burden that makes us great,

greater than the god who gave life, but did not live.

Jinyoung dropped the notebook, now shaking too much to hold it in his grip. He’d been erasing words written about himself from the moment he was cast into the human world, and never in the thousands of thousands of years he’d existed had he read anything about himself that wasn’t a rebuke or a curse for what he’d done. He’d never read a single kind word about himself, nothing understanding or forgiving. Nothing that saw anything of value or worth in the cleverness he’d once prided himself on.

But here, in this specific age, from this specific person, it finally was. Words that touched so gently upon all the things Seokga had wanted but never had. Not worship or adoration. Just a simple acknowledgment that he’d meant no evil, but had reaped far more than he’d sewn, and was continuing to reap along with everyone else. And Mireuk, for all his supposed greatness, had in actuality done little more than bring life to a small swath of the sprawling world.

Tears pricked Jinyoung’s eyes. He’d never cried. Never, not in any of his thousands of years. He hadn’t even believed he’d possessed an emotion as vulnerable as sorrow. But here it was, finding him after all this time. In this seemingly unexceptional age. Because of one seemingly regular person.

He looked at Mark, blinking away the dampness in his eyes. His heart felt full of something he’d forgotten. It was the same as when he'd looked down at the land Mireuk had breathed life into and thought with an inescapable desire, I want this. I want to live intermingled with this incredible world.

But living intermingled with that so-called incredible world had broken him, removing the brilliant, clever, and curious Seokga and replacing him with the dour, cold, and disconnected Jinyoung. Mark had given him some credit for remaining and suffering alongside humanity, but that was only the partial truth. Mark had been far more accurate when he had accused him, as Jinyoung, of being ignorant of true heartache and suffering by closing himself off to love. That was the real truth, the thing that robbed him of all greatness he could have had. He refused to love as the world died around him, as every soul that existed alongside him one day ceased. And because he did not love, those deaths meant nothing. His suffering was solely due to the fact that he existed, not because he existed past the span of anything or anyone he loved.

But that would all change, if he allowed himself to want Mark. Loving Mark would be a form of living, actively and with his heart invested. It would leave him raw, flayed, removed of the protective layers of all the unfeeling lives he’d led until he was returned to a core. He would return to the being that had first been cast down into the human world, standing on the threshold of innumerable decisions that would define who he would become. Indifference versus love. Open versus closed. Seeing versus blindness. Living versus existing.

And if he wanted Mark, he would have to choose everything differently. He would have to love and love freely. He would have to open himself up to all the world had to offer. He would have to see all of its facets and see the people who dwelled there and see himself for who he really was.

And who he was was an undying soul. If he truly loved Mark, he would need to stay by his side and tell him the truth, not disappear when the time came and leave their story with no ending. And if he stayed by his side, he’d have to watch him die. He would have to expose himself to all the pain and suffering of losing something precious that he’d spared himself from in centuries of indifference. Yes, he would love. But he would also live to see that love taken never to return, and live on for more endless centuries, working fruitlessly on his mission as Mark’s bones turned to dust in the earth.

Mark would either save him, or break him permanently. And Jinyoung knew from experience which one it would be. There was no choice. He couldn’t be with him. He couldn’t keep their promise and stay by his side for fifteen more years and just hope his feelings would fade in time. Because if he stayed with Mark, he was going to love him. And if he loved Mark, he would damn himself to a life of suffering so great, so endless, it wouldn’t be just his heart he sacrificed, but his mind.

Tonight will have to be our last night together, Jinyoung resolved. It would be such a cruel thing to do, leaving Mark right after he’d done something so unbelievably kind. But his cruelty would be as much of a blessing to Mark as it was to himself. Mark deserved to be untethered, to have the opportunity to find whoever his real soulmate was and grow old with that person and rest their bones together. It might take him years to understand that, but Jinyoung was sure one day he’d be thankful that his life had taken the path it did rather than being knocked off course by someone who could provide no ending.

He’d give Mark a beautiful last memory, though. He owed him that, for the poem. Even if the poem had been the beginning of the end of them, it was still the most beautiful thing that had ever touched Jinyoung’s life, outside of Mark himself.

“It’s perfect,” Jinyoung said finally. His voice came out like a whisper.

Mark looked up from where he was slicing strips of beef. “Is it? No need to flatter—I know I’m an amateur.”

“No. It’s beautiful. I think…I think it’s the kindest thing someone who has never known kindness can hear.” He picked up the notebook again, holding it reverently. “Can I keep this? This exact copy?” He wanted to take it with him, when he left. It bore the name 'Seokga,' so he’d have to burn it one day. But he wanted it to be the very last text that met the flame before he was finally free, if that day would ever come.

Mark looked a bit baffled. “I’m going to have to translate it, though…but I guess when I’m done with that, you can have it if you like it so much?”

“Please. I want it.”

“OK. Then I want you to have it, too.” Mark smiled at him gently. “You’re so beautiful, did you know that? When you let yourself feel.”

Tears came clouding back into Jinyoung’s eyes. What was this person? Why had he needed to meet him, if he was bound to have to let him go?

Jinyoung rose to his feet, aware of the fact that if he did nothing, the tears would flood out. “Back in a moment,” he said in a strangled voice. He turned and left the room. Barely aware of what he was doing, he threw the door to the backyard open and fled out into the rain.

It did its job quickly. When he lifted his head, it masked all of his tears until he couldn’t tell if he was even weeping at all, or if it was all the rain. And really, what was there to weep for? Tonight, something beautiful had happened; tomorrow would be the day it would all be over, not tonight. Tonight, the air was warm, the rain was refreshing, and on the other side of the door was someone who had written loving words for him—not just Jinyoung, but Seokga, the one who had never been loved. Maybe he couldn’t stay with that person, but the fact that such a person existed proved that the world was not such an unforgiving place as he thought.

He pressed his hand over his heart and wrinkled the soaked fabric of his shirt. Was this feeling happiness? Sadness? Both? Whatever it was, it was at such a magnitude that it didn’t feel like either. Proof again that he couldn’t let it reach any deeper than it already had. With enough cracks, the walls around his heart really would shatter, even if he left and never looked back.

He heard the door opening behind him. He thought Mark would ask him what the hell he was doing, but instead when he looked over his shoulder, he saw that Mark was running out to him, releasing a wild whoop as he barreled into the rain. His joy was so beautiful that Jinyoung wanted to imprint it in his mind, a perfect encapsulation of the living Mark so he would never have to think of him in his mind as dead and buried. I’ll give you a moment of joy to remember me by, too. Like a fool, Jinyoung threw his head and arms back and spun around like a dancer in the pelting rain. Mark caught his hand and spun him around, water flying from their bodies as they moved. Jinyoung laughed hysterically for the first time in his life, not because anything was particularly funny, but because for this one night he was going to close the door to his bitterness before he had to walk away, and that freedom made the weight of the world light enough to give in and laugh.

The two of them spun wildly in the rain in their shared moment of craziness, their folie a deux, until they were soaked completely through. Mark pulled him closer, pressing him into his damp chest. “Jinyoung,” he murmured into his ear, just barely audible above the din of the rain. “I want to kiss you with the laughter still on your lips. Can I?”

Jinyoung didn’t answer. He placed his hands on Mark’s chest and kissed him himself.

Maybe there was an element of gratitude in it, or of feelings still overflowing from having read the poem. Maybe it was because he wanted to give something back to Mark at least one time before he left, after what he’d been given by him. All he knew was in that moment, he wanted to do it more than anything. And so he did.

There wasn’t much to feel except wetness. The rain overwhelmed the moment, though Jinyoung could still feel enough faint traces of Mark underneath it to not want to stop. Mark was the one who pulled away, grabbing his hand and dragging him back towards the house. When they were inside, he wrapped him back in his arms and kissed him harder. Water still trickled down their faces, but slower now. Jinyoung could feel the softness of his skin, the inherent warmth. His tongue brushed against Jinyoung’s lips, and he opened them wider to accept him.

I shouldn’t do this, he thought. This will make it harder for him when I go. But maybe it would mean something to him, to have done it once rather to wonder forever what it might have been like if he'd had the chance. Or maybe Jinyoung was just being selfish by wanting to know for himself. No one was ever going to love him again. He wasn’t going to let anyone else love him. After this, his desire was going to go back to being transactional and empty. But just this once, he wanted to experience it emotional and full.

Mark’s hand slid towards the back of his pants, and Jinyoung’s hands fisted into Mark’s shirt. Before he could change his mind, he tried to ease it up and off, but it was adhered quite stubbornly to Mark’s skin. Mark pulled away, his eyes wide.

“Jinyoung,” he said quietly. “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“Undressing you.”

“And do you have any idea what that will make me want to do?”

“A very good idea.”

“And you’re OK with that?”

Jinyoung brushed a bit of hair from Mark’s eyes. “Yes,” he said. “Before it’s too late.”

Mark looked at him questioningly, but Jinyoung silenced whatever question there may have been with a kiss. There was no hesitation after that. They stumbled down into the mattress. Jinyoung guided Mark’s hand lower to touch him, and surrendered to the new sensation of it. It took his breath away, how different wanting the person who was doing it made it feel.

Never again, he reminded himself as his voice leaked out. Just tonight. Then I have to forget.

But he knew even as the thought crossed his mind that he never would. Leaving would spare him being there for the end of Mark’s fleeting lifespan. It would not spare him the memory of Mark flitting through his life for a few brief weeks, and having, for however short a time, made him want to love in a way that could transcend how little or how much time they both had left.

When it was all over, Jinyoung sat up on the mattress, holding Mark’s hand as he lay prone and panting beside him. Mark seemed, by all accounts, to be the type who passed out immediately after without much dialogue. He was truly struggling to keep his eyes open.

Jinyoung watched him, trying to hold himself steady. It had been so much more than he’d thought it would be, and even now, he felt seconds away from collapse at knowing he would soon be leaving. He didn’t want to. He wanted to stay in bed forever, letting Mark dive into him as many times as it took for the moment to feel as unending and permanent as it wasn’t.

But he felt an equally terrifying imminent collapse at the thought of staying. He imagined watching Mark get older day by day as he stayed the same, and knowing every day that he was a day closer to losing him. Wasn’t it better to lose him all at once? Even if it meant he’d never feel him again like he just had, even if it meant this really was the last time they’d ever see each other?

“We forgot about the hotpot,” Mark said in a fading voice. He squeezed Jinyoung’s hand, as if that might help him stay awake.

“I’ll package it up and put it in the fridge,” Jinyoung said quietly. “Take it home with you when you go. It’s fine. You just rest for a bit.”

“And you?”

“I’m not tired.”

Mark cracked open an eye, looking at him hazily. Jinyoung met his gaze with difficulty. Mark's eyes were so beautiful in the most contradictory ways possible. They were so frank and straightforward, but at the same time so deceptive. They weren't at all like the rest of him. The Mark he knew was snarky and sarcastic and teasing and cruel enough to make someone who didn't want to be close to anyone long for an impossible nearness to him. But there was nothing cruel in his eyes. Those eyes were pure and innocent and needy, and cut straight into the depths of Jinyoung's guilty heart.

“Jinyoung?” Mark said.

“Yes?”

“Did I make you fall in love with me this time?”

Jinyoung swallowed and nodded, trying not to cry. “Yes,” he said. “You did.”

A brief smile touched Mark’s lips. His eyes fluttered closed. “Good,” he said. “Then you’ll always be with me.”

With that, he settled his head against the pillow and fell asleep. Tears slipped down Jinyoung’s cheeks and he buried his face in his knees until he was calm again. When he was, he lifted his head and gazed down into Mark’s face. He didn’t care anymore if it hurt. He wanted to look at Mark one last time. What Mark had wanted most was for Jinyoung to see him clearly, after all. So he would.

He understood, now, what he had blinded himself to before. There was nothing ignorant or pathetic about Mark. However short twenty years were in the scheme of the universe, Mark had lived more than Jinyoung had in all his centuries, and lived true to himself. He suffered just like anyone did, but his heart was so inherently loving and kind, kind enough to begin to pry open the heart of another that had been closed for an eternity. When the gods had made men, he was exactly what they had been intending to make. Not perfection, but someone good who could gaze into the darkness but still walk towards the light.

If Jinyoung were still a proper god, he would have immortalized Mark in stars. Spirited him to the heavens. Maybe even deified him, as a consort. But perhaps it was best that he didn’t have the power to do that anymore. Mark belonged on the earth. Humankind was always teetering on the brink of corruption, always one disaster or war away from a point of no return. There had to be good people to pull humankind away from that brink. Mark had worth and value beyond being beloved by a god.

And Jinyoung’s sole purpose now was centered on erasing himself. He couldn’t bring Mark into that. It would be selfish. Not only selfish, but cruel. How would Mark feel about being asked to help him cease to exist?

There was no way out of it. He had to go. Mark had been right, that loving him would make Jinyoung see him clearly. But seeing him clearly meant that Jinyoung had to let him go. There was no other way.

Jinyoung gently released Mark’s hand, then gathered up his clothes and slipped back into them. He went through the room and gathered up the necessary documents—his passport, his license, his birth certificate. He grabbed his phone and looked up flights from Incheon Airport. Yangyang Airport was closer, but that might be the first place Mark would try when he realized Jinyoung had run. Jinyoung would take the train to Incheon and leave from there instead.

But where to disappear to? Not back to America, that was too obvious. Europe? Australia? Some small country Mark would barely even know of? Lichtenstein? Lesotho? Suriname?

But he doubted there would be anything much to erase regarding Korean mythology in any of those places. If he wanted to continue his work, it would be better to stay in Asia. Couldn’t he stay hidden in Korea, somehow? It was a small country, relatively, but there were enough people to disappear among. Besides, Mark couldn’t just up and leave his entire life in Sokcho. His student Visa was tied to his university; he was bound to the north part of the country and couldn’t go too far afield for any significant amount of time.

Jeju, Jinyoung decided. I’ll go to Jeju, for now. I’ll disappear for a while. Do my work quietly, until he forgets me.

He bought the tickets for the earliest available flight and scribbled down the confirmation number. He didn’t pack anything, since any bustle in the bedroom might wake Mark up. He instead went to the kitchen and packaged the hotpot into the fridge as promised. He found the composition notebook still on the table and tore out the poem about Seokga, adding it carefully to his clear file of documents so it wouldn’t be damaged.

He wouldn’t leave a note of his own. If he was breaking his promise, he was going to break it completely. No goodbyes.

He stopped in the bedroom one last time to look at Mark. But the minute he looked at him, he felt his resolve wavering. He spun on his heel and walked out of the room. No more torturing himself. Time to go.

Carrying only his bag of documents and an umbrella, he left the house and walked out into the rain. It was a struggle not to look back, not to run back and dive back into bed with Mark and pretend like the escape attempt had never happened. But he kept on looking straight forward, kept on walking. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and opened the settings screen to erase everything that was on it. When he was finished, he pitched it straight into the rain-swollen river.

He was soaked all over again by time he made it to the train station. He bought a ticket and waited by the tracks. When the train came, he numbly took a seat and let it carry him away.

The sun was shining in Jeju, so bright that it hurt Jinyoung’s eyes. As soon as he was off the plane, he hunted down a shop in the airport that was selling sunglasses and bought a pair, along with some clothes since he had nothing but was on his back. He felt like he desperately needed a shower—after going out in the rainstorm twice, his clothes and hair were hopelessly rumpled, and his skin smelled as pleasant as mildew.

He didn’t have hotel reservations, and didn’t have a phone to make them. He’d need to take care of that quickly, and deal with the existing contract he had on the phone now dwelling at the bottom of the river. He wondered how many times Mark had tried calling, then shook his head and expunged the thought straight from his mind.

It was unnerving, not having much of a plan. Of course, there were sure to be plenty of libraries and bookstores to visit on Jeju, but where would he stay? Hotels, especially in tourist hot spots, would be a drain on his expenses. And how long should he anticipate staying for?

He found an old-fashioned map in the airport and circled some locations. First, he’d go to the public bath. Then, he’d deal with his lack of a phone. After, he’d find a motel and figure out a more permanent living situation from there. He’d be fine. He was nothing if not adaptable.

He called a taxi and showed them the public bath he’d found on the map. He took his time there, luxuriating in the feel of the water and the relief of scrubbing the past day off his skin. It was hard to ignore the slight soreness of his lower half and the small evidence of love marks on his body, but he did his best. Soon, that too would fade.

As he was leaving the public bath, he noticed a community billboard covered in notices. One in particular caught his eye, and he walked up for a better look. It was an ad from a landlord looking for a tenant in a room over a local restaurant that hosted live performances three times a week. “Don’t mind a little percussion? Don’t mind a little amplifier? Don’t mind a little din of customers having a good time? This room offers privacy, a cozy sea view, a complimentary restaurant discount, a considerably low rental fee—just not silence!” On the bottom was a tear off sheet of numbers for inquiries. None had been torn off.

Jinyoung ripped a number off the edge. He wanted to see how low that rental fee was. He wasn’t intending to spend much time in his room, anyways, so the amount of noise didn’t matter to him.

But before he could call, first he needed a cell phone. He hunted down another taxi to take him to a branch of his service provider, and he spent the next hour explaining that his phone had fallen in the river and he needed a new one. “While I’m at it, can I get a new number?” he asked. “Mine is one digit away from a hotline, and I’ve been getting a lot of sensitive calls.”

They obliged him, though it took some time to get everything in order. As soon as he had his new phone, he popped it out of its case, quickly went through basic set up, and dialed the number he’d pulled off the advertisement.

“Hello, you’ve reached The Blue Depths,” the voice on the other line said. “How can I help you?”

“Yes, hi,” Jinyoung said. “I’m calling about the room over the restaurant. Is it still available? I’d like to rent it.”