Interlude: the HER when she first met HIM.

The sun, to me, had always been beautiful in a different way—from the scarlet vermilions of the sunset, spilling over my skin, to the bleak first light of the sunrise, filtering through the tree leaves.

When I was little, I believed that if I simply kept walking, on and on and on, at one point I'd end up where the sun touched the ground—that unknown land of horizon that never seemed to get any closer, no matter where I wandered.

Sometimes, Jungkook is like the sun, one of my life's breathtaking mysteries. He's far, far away, but also right in front of me—and when I first met him, as he was standing there in his suit and tie, tall and lanky, with an solemn expression that didn't match his youthful face, I naively believed, just like the younger me—that if I kept walking forward, on and on until the end, then a small part of him, even just a small part, might one day belong to me, and only me.

But the sun never truly lands on the ground when it sets, and neither will it ever belong to one person. The sun can only hang where I cannot reach, in a place where I cannot fathom, its warmth belonging to every single life, every corner on Earth as much as it does to me. I can only stand in the distance—I can only raise my head, hold out a hand, and watch from afar.

But perhaps, in the end—just like the universe is affixed so impeccably from star to galaxy—this is simply how it is meant to be.

—

When it came to night, I asked Jungkook to meet me at a café, so we could discuss the matter of having dinner with my parents.

We settled across from each other in a green-leather booth, Jungkook's long legs protruding from under the table as he balanced one atop the other, his black coat spilling over the seat while I explained my parents to him in detailed account.

"My dad's the quiet one, the one who you won't see talk as much." I start, placing my face in my hands with a sigh. "Let's see...he came from a poor background, so he's practically built everything he has. Because of it, he won't automatically develop a good opinion on you just because you're filthy rich."

Jungkook raises an eyebrow at my disappointment, a slight smirk on his lips. "So there is something my money can't buy." he says, evoking a snort from me.

"All I can say is, good luck." I snark humorously, "Ever since I've been old enough to remember, my dad's always gotten his way with things."

"I think I know one or two about your father." Jungkook nods, not one to be discouraged as he gestures for me to continue. "Your mother, then?"

I drum my fingers on the ceramic mug of my coffee. "Well, you know how my mom's family has a practical vendetta with your father's."

He nods again while I chew on my lower lip in thought.

The dim, single-bulb lighting of the overhanging lamp falls over the protruding features of his face in a warm glow. There's a shadow casted from his short, straight eyelashes, slanting onto the curve of his cheekbone. I turn my head to stare outside, where the sound of rain begins to drum on the pavement, wisps of grey smog clouding the translucent moon.

"My mom was the youngest of four in her family. My grandfather spoiled her often—from then to now, I don't think my mom's ever lowered her head for anyone. Not even for my dad." I chuckle, shaking my head. "Sometimes, she's really unreasonable. It's not even surprising whenever she throws temper tantrums—she's the unpredictable one, the one who's just as likely to be calm one minute as she is to be furious in the next." I a bit of coffee foam off my lips, adding, "You'll have to be careful. My mom has a lot of biased perspectives that stem from the deep-rooted grudges of her younger years."

Jungkook peers at me through the dark locks of hair, which brush his eyes in a gently tousled manner. "How so?" he asks, quizzically.

"Well, for one, she doesn't like anyone who is the third child of their family." I confess, before I wave my hand in the air, dismissing the obvious lack of sense in my statement. "As for why that is, there's a particular story that's probably longer than your dissertation—but first, for now, I'll sum up a few important points for you."

"Okay." he answers, quite sincerely. His body leans forward subtly, evidencing his intent to listen closely to what I have to say next.

"Remember: the Kim family's Three Biggest Do-Not Dos." I begin with gusto. "One, don't ask my mother about my father's parents. Two, don't ask my mother about her brother. Three, no matter what, please, please do not start a conversation with either about their marriage—not even the generic small-talk kind, about how they met or what made them fall in love with each other, et cetera."

Jungkook's gaze floats over mine for a moment, before he dips his head in a nod. "Okay." He acknowledges calmly, "I'll be sure to take your word for it."

Seeing that he was indeed trying very hard to comprehend the inner workings of my family—and because it already seemed a rare occurrence for me to be teaching Jeon Jungkook something he didn't know—I reach over and pat him twice on the shoulder.

"What keen sense of justice you have, our humble Dr. Jeon!" I joke, causing Jungkook to crack a toothy smile.

He raises his own water glass in salute. "Actually, do you think you can tell that story of yours?" he asks, after a jolly clink. "Not that I want to pry, but I happen to be the third child of my family. It would help my situation a little if I knew why your mother dislikes me so much."

I hum in agreement. "Okay, but after that I'm supposed to go back to the office tonight. You know how I am."

Whenever I felt nervous, the only way to keep me sane was to work, work again, and work some more. Work separated me from things that were imminently issues in my life. It was objective, distant, and the best distraction one could ask for. If there wasn't anything I could do at the company, I went to my apartment, where I cleaned, I refurbished, I cooked, I reorganized, and then dwelled in my own exhaustion.

"I can get someone to fetch your laptop. You can work at home if you'd like." he suggests, staring at me intently. "I had them move in the furnitures you chose yesterday."

Ah, right—I had a home with him, now.

"Sounds fine to me." I shrug, before stretching my arms and chugging down the rest of my coffee. "Now, you see, when my mother was little..."

When my mother was little, she grew up in a family of six. My grandparents and their four children resided in a large, traditional house that had everything from a garden to a second outdoor kitchen. Out of four children, however, only one was a boy, and this boy grew up spoiled under my grandmother's wing. She favored him above all else, and when he became a man, he asked of her to provide him with everything he wanted, rather than going out to earn it for himself. Cars, a house, money for his children and wife. He was the third child of the family, but he never listened to his older sisters, much less his younger one.

All this, however, became intolerable to my mother when my grandmother passed away. My mother was out of the country at the time, and this uncle of mine was so intent on sealing his slot of the family inheritance that he immediately cremated my grandmother—before my mother could make it back to Korea in time. If this wasn't enough, my uncle began to demand of my grandfather to give to him the things my grandmother had supposedly promised him—the family house, large pockets of money—as his birthright.

"So yeah, since my uncle, all the third-in-lines my mother's ever met have been grade-A s." I finish, with an apologetic smile to flourish.

"Fair enough." is Jungkook's response, after mulling over this.

—

It's the warm, fuzzy kind of rain that coats the air in a humid cloud.

Rain makes me think. It pushes me to question a lot of things I normally tuck safely into a box that I never open up again. I don't know what it is with rain, but I do know that it affects my mood profoundly.

The famous poet, Robert Frost, wrote:

"The rain to the wind said,
You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged--though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt."

Jungkook and I share a large, black umbrella to the car, where he slides in with me in the back and informs the driver to take us home—and it's incredibly quiet, so much as pit-pats and shallow breaths can be, until he speaks to me again.

"Yerim, thank you for telling me all those things today."

A small pause.

"I know...it's not easy for you."

That's when I stop leaning towards the window, when I stop letting my line of sight follow the road and the shops and the people outside, to stare at him beside me.

Is it...supposed to be hard for me to say these things? Perhaps it's true—Jungkook is the first person I've ever completely explained my family situation to. I've always known, deep on the inside, that the relationships my family constituted weren't something to be proud of. It just...hadn't really afflicted me all that much.

I don't know why, but there's suddenly an unidentifiable pressure weighing down on my chest. My shoulders sag as I lower my head, only to murmur, "It's pitiful that I'm like this, right? I've said so many things that should have hurt me to say, that should have been hard to tell you, but I don't seem bothered at all, because I'm so used to those things. My parents' marriage, my family's brokenness—to me, it's all just completely normal—is that not such a joke?"

I feel his gaze on me as he sits there, unspeaking.

"I'm sorry." I mutter afterwards, "I'm not making sense."

It must be the rain again, something about the rain.

It is then that Jungkook finally makes a sound as he shakes his head, reaches out, and tucks a bit of my hair behind my ear. "You always hide the things that make you feel upset." he chides, softly. "It's not healthy, you know. Anger, sadness, regret—they're all a part of us, as much as we don't want to admit it."

I press my lips into a thin line, turning my head towards the window again.

A bit later, he adds, "Yerim, from now on, I'll also be your family. I promise, I'll try my best to give you my everything. When you feel tired or sad, you'll have me."

That's when I smile, despite the suffocating feeling in my lungs.

If time could turn me back—back into the Kim Yerim I was when I first met you, then maybe, just maybe, I could believe that.