08. LOOK BACK ON THE PATH YOU CAME.

Saturday morning.

"Which one says 'virtuous girl of good breeding, faithful daughter in-law material'?" I ask, ignoring Jungkook's laughter as I plow frantically through my closet.

"Yerim—" he starts, watching me with an amused expression from the doorframe. Those thin lips of his curl as his dimple surfaces on the plane of his cheek.

"No, no, no." I toss a few garments onto my bed behind me, wallowing in sheer dissatisfaction. "Nothing, absolutely nothing!" I cross my arms over my chest, my silk robe whisking around my legs as I parade down the line of clips and hangers, unaccepting of anything but the absolute perfect fit. "This one, too dull. This one, too frilly. This one, too casual..."

"You'll look fine in anything." Jungkook interrupts with a cough, earning himself a silencing glare.

"That's not what my mom said." I huff, pulling out another slew of hangers from the rack. "I need to look maidenly. Obedient. Composed, she said. Youthful, yet mature and fertile..."

Jungkook chokes on his glass of water. I click my tongue miserably.

"I've never felt this nervous for something, you know." I admit, knitting my brows together as I finally turn to face him. "It's like...a job interview. I've done this before. Plenty of times, all sorts of jobs...only, I have the tiest resumé to back me up this time. No experience whatsoever. None. None at all. And you'd think—" I hiccup as I in a sharp breath, interrupting my upset rambling. Suddenly, my shoulders slump as I let myself fall face-first onto my bed, the mattress—two season's worth of clothes and all—sinking underneath my weight.

Accepting defeat, then, I lay still, limp as a fish on land.

"Rim, my parents will like you even if you show up in a trash bag. I can guarantee it." I hear Jungkook say. I hear his footsteps draw close, a clink sounding from the glass in his hands as he sets it on a nearby surface.

".....Mhhhh..." My voice comes muffled through the fabric of two or three layers of dresses. I raise my head, wailing, "You don't know that."

"I know everything I need to know."

"You can't predict every outcome." I argue with a stubborn scowl.

"I can form a very educated guess." he retorts, equally as obstinate.

I roll over onto my back, then, and see that he's walked over to the edge of my bed. Jungkook's figure towers over me, his dark hair falling over his eyes as he returns my exasperated gaze with an undeterred quirk of his lips.

Now that we lived together, Jungkook's face was the one I saw most, but even still, it stunned me whenever I stared at it too long. I remember nights where I would wake up in the middle of the darkness, my finger tracing the outline of his nose to his jaw in the air, wondering if all men looked so innocent when they slept. Knowing, that once those beautiful, starry eyes opened, there was a part of him that would close off to me. In the night—his habit of sleeping with a pillow had evolved into sleeping with one arm draped loosely around my waist, and on the bed we were vaguely close enough that I could sense his chest rising and falling as he breathed—it was easy to pretend that he belonged to me.

"Fine," I mutter softly in defeat, "but I still don't know what to wear." Then, reaching my arms outstretched like a kitten, I say, "Carry me downstairs, please? I'll call Sooyoung unnie."

—

Park Sooyoung and Kim Namjoon were brought together by fate, in the form of modern-day clichés.

First, there was the classic high school trope: in which Sooyoung, rich girl, homecoming queen, and varsity tennis captain fell head over heels for Kim Namjoon, valedictorian and president of half the academic clubs in the entire school.

Then, there was the quirky college trope: in which Namjoon, in his senior year of his undergraduate, became so frantically aware of his late-blooming crush on a certain acting major that he could not, for the love of God, focus on his medical school application enough to maintain his sanity.

But of course, because fate never made things easy, there was finally the famed hospital trope: in which Park Sooyoung, newly crowned face of global makeup brand Etude House and South Korea's rookie actress of the year, after having her appendix removed, somehow managed to walk out of those hospital doors with a ring on her finger.

And, with Sooyoung and I having practically been raised together by our parents, I was the maid of honor at their wedding.

"Kim Yerim!" Sooyoung loudly shrieks when she picks up my call, at a volume high enough to salvage my eardrums.

Jungkook immediately frowns when he sees me practically jump from my seat, a single brow furrowing as he glances across the room at me.

After carrying me down the stairs, he'd dropped me off at the kitchen counter chairs, where my phone had been charging. He'd then resorted to meandering off and eating the remainder of the oranges placed on the island table.

Having gained Jungkook's attention through Sooyoung's uncanny greeting, I point to the orange slice in his hand and then open my mouth wide, grinning in satisfaction when he walks over and feeds me one.

"Unnie, I need you to make an emergency wardrobe decision for me." I say, in between my mouthful of tangy fruit. "I'm meeting, um, his parents. You know...the possible future in-laws..."

While Sooyoung and I were attached by the hip at birth, we'd inevitably drifted apart when she'd gone to college two years earlier than I, and while were still good friends, we weren't as close as we used to be. It wasn't that I didn't want to tell her the truth—that I had a fiancé, not a boyfriend—but it was exactly as Seulgi had said. I feared the irreversible, in part, not because of the present situation before me, but because of the concept in itself—the powerlessness that comes with not being able to return things to what they once were. The moment I tell Sooyoung about Jungkook and me is the moment the matter spreads to every single person on our rung in the social hierarchy.

And things just wouldn't be the same.

"Of course, my Yerim-ie! Why don't you drop by my place? I have a few outfits you can borrow. Haeyoon would be so happy to see you..."

There was one particular detail that was also a defining moment in Park Sooyoung and Kim Namjoon's fairytale—their three year-old daughter, Kim Haeyoon.

"...You should bring your boyfriend, too! It's about time you settled. I can't wait to see what he looks like."

I glance over at Jungkook, who is scrolling through a few e-mails on his phone, his long body leaning at a slant against the fridge.

"I'm sorry, unnie. I think it'll just be me."

—

When I grab my car keys from the counter, I tell Jungkook that I'll be at Sooyoung's until late. My meeting of his parents wasn't scheduled until brunch on Sunday, and he would be leaving for the laboratory in an hour as well.

Knowing Sooyoung, she'd probably take me out to a beauty salon and then shopping after, so it was my best bet that I wouldn't be home for lunch or dinner after. It was our ritual whenever we met once every few months, as if the Gossip Girls show could also take on Apgujeong.

"Haetnim-ah!" I hear Sooyoung call out to her barking dog, voice muffled through the door. The lock turns almost immediately after, revealing the round face of a smiling Kim Haeyoon, her mother flashing that exact same smile at me behind her—adorable aegyo-sal and all.

"Myemim!" Haeyoon greets me with a little wave of her hand, tottering out the door to hug my leg. I laugh, rubbing her soft black hair with my fingers as Sooyoung ushers me in.

"Let's get to work upstairs." Sooyoung says, but not before reaching out to embrace me lightly. Along the way, she dips quickly into conversation:

"So, what's he like?" she asks, waving her hands around excitedly as I sit on the edge of her bed. Sooyoung's room was pastel and forest greens, with a fresh glass of wildflowers placed atop the vanity like a perpetuation of late spring.

"Well, he's the smart, introverted kind. He has a respected job, and he's very good at taking care of people." I say, watching her thumb through her closet.

"Really?" Sooyoung chuckles happily. "I always thought you'd find someone loud and wild like you. How long has it been?"

"Ah, two weeks, I think. We've known each other for years, though—"

"So I do know this guy?"

"Maybe." I smirk, earning myself a pinch on the cheek as Sooyoung hands me two dresses and two tops by the hanger.

"Tell me more!" she demands with wide eyes.

"I mean, you know how I am, unnie. I've always been incredibly secretive." I protest in reply. I finger the fabric of the first dress, placing it to the side, before pointing to one of the tops definitively—sophisticated black and a velvet texture, with a sweetheart neckline. "This one." I say, running my hands over the soft fabric.

Sooyoung nods. "Give it a try. I'll be in the bathroom—"

Before she can finish her sentence, her hand flies to her chest as she begins to retch lightly.

"Unnie—" I exclaim, immediately reaching out to rub her back with my palm.

Sooyoung leans weakly against my support as we amble in unison to the bathroom, where she grips the toilet seat with such strength that her knuckles turn white.

I stay silent as I gently gather her hair, keeping it back from her face—alarm, concern, and shock the frantic underline in my movements.

"I'm okay." Sooyoung says after a while, still kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. She offers me a frail smile that doesn't do much to bring the color back to her cheeks.

I shake my head. "Does Namjoon know?"

Her expression falls immediately. "No." she answers quietly, before repeating with more conviction, "No, he doesn't."

"Is it always this bad?" I ask again, lightly.

"Yes. Haeyoon was worse, actually." She finally wobbles to her feet. I take her arm and guide her slowly to the sink.

The sound of running water ceases when she says, "Namjoon didn't tell me, but I know he's been offered a job in L.A."

My eyes widen. "Unnie, that's overseas. And with what you have..."

Sooyoung was pregnant.

She nods. "I know, but it's the perfect opportunity to grow his career."

"How long will he be there?"

"I don't know."

"Do you plan to move with him if...?"

"No, not at all."

The room goes silent as Sooyoung lowers her head into her hands. When she finally opens her eyes again, she tells me to go change into the top I'd chosen.

I nod, returning as quickly as I can to see Sooyoung wiping her tears.

"Unnie..."

"The mirror, Yerim-ah." she insists, discarding her tissue into the wastebasket. She turns me towards my full-length reflection, undeterred in the least.

"What do you think?" I ask.

"Good choice. But, you know, I think you could use a little throwback to your college days." she says a bit nasally, watching me from behind with slightly puffy eyes.

I scoff. "My college look doesn't suit me anymore. Not that I'm old—age is just a number—but my youth? It's over..."

Sooyoung's eyes roll to the back of her head. "Kim Yerim, you're only twenty-five. There's nothing wrong with looking back in your life every once in a while."

I eye my reflection in the mirror dubiously. My face stares back at me, questioning.

When Sooyoung puts her hands on her hips and sniffles, I relent.

—

Jungkook comes home late at night, sometime far after I'd turned off the lamp in our room.

When I hear his footsteps shuffle towards the bed, I sit upright on the mattress, white sheets gathered atop my lap.

Hearing the commotion, he asks, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

I shake my head. "Can't sleep."

"How was your visit with Sooyoung noona?"

"Good. She's expecting her second."

"Send her my congratulations?"

"Of course."

Jungkook doesn't lie down, rather, in the vague darkness illuminated by the pale blue light from the window, I see him propping up two pillows to sit back on like me. "Rim, don't be too nervous about tomorrow." he says.

"I'm trying not to, but I can't help it. Historically, the daughter in-law always has it the hardest." I say, "Sons are less likely to bend against their parents wishes for women than are daughters for men."

Jungkook seems appalled. "And what journal published that statistic?"

I snort softly. "Um, just about all the chaebol dramas ever produced in South Korea center around a rich man who goes against his parents' will to date a poor girl. Dramas always try to make fairytales out of reality—they make a main character 'exceptional' by giving him unusually ideal qualities—this goes to show that most rich men in real life, you see, don't fight for their relationship with the one they love, thereby making the drama more interesting, because it's the one time that they do..."

Jungkook chuckles. "I can't be 'exceptional', Kim Yerim?"

I ask, "Are you saying that you'll fight against your parents for me, Jeon Jungkook?"

I turn my head. In the darkness, I'm still unable to pick out the exact expression on his face.

"Yes."

"You're promising me too much." I warn, but my heart warms with inevitable glee. In my elated state, I tilt my head to rest it on his shoulder.

"I don't want you to fight for me." I murmur feverishly, in the end. Drowsiness finally overtakes me into a state of fading consciousness. "As long as you're with me, I'm okay. Just don't leave..."

Jungkook is silent, I think he's asleep.

"I remember Sooyoung said today, 'Kim Yerim, you're twenty-five, there's nothing wrong with looking back in life', but I think, after meeting you, there's no turning back..." I continue to mumble deliriously. "You're my life-long calamity, Jeon Jungkook...I'm going to miss you, no matter where you go...Later, you may think I'm a burden, because I ask you to carry me so much...if you don't want to carry me anymore...that's okay, we'll have kids, our kids will carry us when we're old..."

Then, I lift my head just barely to kiss his ear, and the last thing I hear is Jungkook's voice, shallow and gentle.

But when I wake up the next morning, I don't remember what he said.