Interlude: Blindness is also a form of clarity.

The entire situation unfolded like this: Jungkook goes out on a business trip, leaving me to finally take the initiative and storm Jimin's apartment, where I incidentally catch Park Jimin and Kang Seulgi in a compromised position on the couch.

Naturally, Seulgi thereafter agreed to let me stay in her own apartment with her—up until the wedding itself, which was when Jungkook would arrive back from San Francisco—but it wasn't until after two weeks of me staying at her place that Seulgi finally brings herself to ask what's been on her mind.

"What are you really thinking, Rim? The way you feel about Jungkook—is it really something that can be changed with a situation like that?" she asks, lying on her side of the bed beside me. It's midnight, and Seulgi had just finished typing up an outline for the next chapter in her book. "I know you told him that you'd go back to pretending not to love him again—does that mean you plan on giving up your feelings for him altogether?"

I turn onto my side to face her, pulling the blanket closer to my chest.

"Honestly? I don't know if I'm giving up or not." I say, "When you like someone for that long, it would feel strange not to like them anymore. Ten years, unnie—ten years is so long, so long that I don't even remember what it was like to not like him."

My voice drowns out in the Seoul traffic for a moment, the rush of engines outside creating a long pause.

But, in the end, I finally answer her question. "You know, in those ten years, I've dated other men." I muse, "I've also had physical relationships with other men, but I always knew I loved him. Maybe it's because I'm tired...or maybe it's because I'm scared of a bad ending...I think I've always been waiting for an excuse to stop trying. So, even though I know it's only reasonable that he doesn't trust me yet, I walked away. Because Soojin...Soojin was an excuse to stop trying."

Seulgi mulls over this quietly as I stare at the ceiling in silence.

"Rim," she begins, slowly, "are you really sure you want to give up now? Didn't he say he liked you? Didn't he say he'd be willing to try for you?" she questions in the dark. "It's not that I'm scolding you, but Yerim, from what you and Jimin have told me, he's always lost the people closest to him. To ask him to try was already a big step—you can only proceed slowly from here on, but that doesn't mean you won't be able to reach that point together. What exactly do you need him to say or do for you to believe—for you to understand that he also loves you, but it might take some time for him to trust you?"

Kang Seulgi, in the end, will always be Kang Seulgi. She never keeps the words she wants to say encased in her heart—she says them, regardless of the consequence, and it's only her who can always see things so clearly.

"You're right." I sigh, "I'm the one who stepped away this time. I just think—I just feel like we were too lucky, you know? We were lucky that we had security cameras, we were lucky that I believe Jungkook, because after some time passes, there will be another Seo Soojin waiting for us, and when that time comes, will we still escape unscathed? Just like..."

It's only when the words fall into the air that I realize what I've been referencing all along. Seulgi seems to realize as well as I chuckle bitterly, "Just like how much my mom loves my dad, and my dad loves my mom...but everything was so cruel to them anyways."

Seulgi lets out a long exhale as she hugs me under the blanket. "I'm sorry, Yerim." she whispers as I hug her back. "Actually, it's okay if you two don't end up in a situation where love is a factor—Yerim, no matter what, I just want you to be happy. I just want you to find your own happiness, okay?"

I shake my head. "Unnie, how can I have a say in this sort of thing?"

"I promise you, you have a say." She pulls back as her fiery eyes glimmer in the darkness. "Can you promise me you'll be happy?"

Laughter bubbles at my throat at such a childish thought of promising happiness. "Okay, I promise you."

—

We remember our lives by the important days.

On my first day attending the first grade, I wore a navy, neatly ironed blazer and a striped red bow-tie. The classroom was square and white-walled with a large green chalkboard at the front—no windows, but the sky was clear that day. Almost as if I was already aware of the shortness of my youth, I carved my initials on the underside of my desk when the teacher wasn't looking, crooked letters clumsily formed with the thin scratchings of my pencil.

On my fifteenth birthday, I kissed Lee Minhyung during spin-the-bottle. It was the first time my parents had left me to my own devices for so long in the house, and I'd taken it upon myself to rebel in every way I could imagine. My good friend back then was a girl named Kim Saeron—we spent the afternoon before decorating the house with gold streamers and large lettered balloons, ones that spelled "HAPPY BIRTHDAY"—except we'd accidentally popped the T, so it spelled "HAPPY BIRHDAY" instead.

On the day before I graduated from college, I floated down the Connecticut River until sunrise. The sky was streaked across the river, blended lines of orange and pink and yellow and blue. The water and the air were one in that infinite moment of peace, and as the wind coursed through my lungs, I felt both invincible and mortal for the first time. I'd acquired several mosquito bites from that night, yet I never regretted signing up to be on that five-person canoe.

On my wedding day, I had a small cold. My mother was deeply fearful that my nose would start running in the middle of the ceremony. "What happens if it starts flowing when Jungkook has to kiss you? Never mind grossing out my new son-in-law—how can you stand there and let your nose run like that before the holy presence of God?" Thankfully, her worries were proved false by the end of the day. I threw the bouquet, cut the white cake, and danced with my father until my feet ached without having to run for a tissue. When I went home holding a bottle of white wine, my hair was let loose over my shoulder, my feet bare from heels long lost, and the suffocatingly skinny dress on my body was half-unlaced by the brink of it all.

I immediately went upstairs to my room after, seeking sleep after a hot shower and a change of clothes.

Yet, I couldn't sleep.

The thick sheets above my body rustled as I tossed and the mattress, a small discomfort building in my chest. My hair folded into ribbons on the pillowcase as I inched towards the digital clock on my nightstand, watching the colon in between the digits blink over and over again.

It was like that for an hour or so before I finally dragged myself out of the bed, stuffing my feet into slippers and opening the door to the hallway.

The light was on downstairs, meaning Jungkook was still awake. I make my way quietly down the steps, following the light into the kitchen.

It's times like this that I realize how tall Jungkook is. He had also changed into comfortable clothing, a white sweater and a pair of ripped jeans. His back is facing me, the screen of his laptop illuminating the edges of his body, his shadow long and slanted in the dim light of the kitchen counter.

"You're up." I state the obvious as I shuffle to the cabinet to take out a glass, filling it with water from the pitcher.

Jungkook raises his head. The shadows rearrange as the light falls over his cheekbones and nose, his lips parting slightly.

I smile at him lightly.

It's the first time we'd been alone together ever since our conversation one month ago. I'd needed time apart to reorganize myself, and so had he.

The truth is, I'm afraid of myself the most. During my time alone, I realized more than anything that I needed to control myself better.

"What are you up to?" I ask. I can't bring myself to call out his name—I'm scared he can tell that my feelings are still there, that I'm not capable of upholding my part of the contract.

"Work." he answers quietly. I can't tell if he's disappointed or relieved that I'm speaking so distantly from him.

"Working on your wedding night?" I finally attempt a humorous tone. "Mr. Jeon, what employee of yours dares to bother you at this time of the night? Don't they know you should be busy doing something else?"

Jungkook closes his laptop, then. "On my wedding night, what should I be busy doing, Mrs. Jeon?" he asks, with all seriousness.

I feel my cheeks scorch as his eyes bore holes through me. "S-sleeping.." I spit out, inwardly cursing at myself.

Jungkook laughs, nodding. "Then, what are you also doing awake?"

"Can't sleep." I reply immediately, grateful for the change of topic. "I thought I could just lie in bed awake for the rest of the night, but the night is so long..."

"I see." Jungkook says.

"Wanna sit with me for a while?" I ask, my lips.

Jungkook agrees. We sit on the living room couch together, ample space between the both of us.

"You look thinner since I last saw you." I bring myself to comment.

He did look a little frail when I eyed him up and down at the altar. Nevertheless, Jeon Jungkook was Jeon Jungkook—he looked nothing less than beautiful when he stood there, waiting for me. 

"Trial periods have always been like this." Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair. "This method of drug delivery has taken me three years to develop. If anything goes wrong as a result of human error at this time, all that work will have been for nothing."

I pique, "As your wife, can I nag at you? You'd be doing yourself a huge favor if you ate your meals on time."

"Fine. Then as your husband, can I also nag at you?" he asks me in turn.

"You have nothing to nag about. I've been taking care of myself." I snort.

"You're the one who is sick." he states, matter-of-factly.

I take the opportunity to sniffle. "Okay, but I've done everything I can to prevent it—it's just that this virus has chosen me as its host. The universe is running its course. It's not my fault." I protest, throwing the pillow in my arms in his direction.

"You're right, it's not your fault." Jungkook catches the pillow without so much of a blink. "You're my responsibility. It's my fault."

I laugh in disbelief. "I'm your responsibility?"

Jungkook stares me in the eye as he asks, "Are you not?"

Jungkook has a point. A marriage isn't just about love. It's more of a responsibility. He doesn't have to love me to feel responsible for me.

"Then, I'm also responsible for passing the virus to you." I say as I cross my arms over my chest. "I'm sorry you had to kiss me today."

Jungkook chuckles, brushing over my apology. "Yerim, have you been well?"

I nod. "I think so." I say.

"Do you have time to come with me to the office tomorrow?" he asks. "Not the laboratory, but my corporate office."

"Okay. What for?"

"To get your I.D."

"I.D.?"

Jungkook nods. "After we have lunch with your parents, we'll go to my office."

I stare at him, puzzled as I watch him pick up the T.V. remote, having taken my silence as an agreement.

"You're my wife, Yerim. You should have an I.D. card that gives you access to my company grounds if you ever need anything." he clarifies, changing through a few channels before settling on a re-run of Goblin.

It's only when I turn my head towards the television that it finally seems to ring in my head, loud and clear:

Kim Yerim, you're married now.

They say that in order to understand where you're headed, you must first acknowledge where you've been.

I steal a glance at Jungkook as Seulgi's voice floats to the surface of my thoughts.

Yerim, I just want you to find your own happiness.

My happiness was once tied to Jungkook. Jungkook, who was a part of my life for so long, who defined my youth.

In a way, he's part of the reason I am the way I am. Over the years, because I wanted him to reciprocate my feelings for him, I've changed myself for the better. I worked harder to be someone that was worthy of admiration.

All along, I wanted to be someone that was worthy of him.

Even now, Jungkook is still an irreplaceable part of my life—but maybe I've realized—that it's never been the idea of losing him that scares me the most, but the idea of losing who I am.

Jungkook catches me staring at him, a question raising in his dark brown eyes that never makes it to the surface.

"Sorry." I murmur as I resist the urge to reach across the gap and circle my arms around his neck, to tell him that, despite everything, today was one of the happiest days of my life.

So I turn my head back to the T.V. and focus on Gong Yoo's hair.

It's time to let go, Kim Yerim.

Be brave.