Soojin doesn’t break her promise. Even when whispered in the dead of night, when others can’t hear, a promise is a promise.

There’s something special about a promise to Soojin, like it’s an extension of her being, of who she is . It’s why she believes in honesty, no matter the cost.

Sometimes it’s to her detriment. When a white lie might spare the other heartache, Soojin knows it will only be temporary. Eventually the lie will come full circle and, well intentioned or not, it will only lead to more heartache.

So Soojin holds her promises like she cradles a newborn infant, with tender love and affection and like it is the embodiment of the future in living, breathing form. Because it is; a promise is.

“Jinjin!”

The voice splits the cacophony of the room like a hot knife through butter.

“Shu,” Soojin answers in reply. Despite her instinct to step back, to let Shuhua mew for her attention, Soojin remains still. Just like she promised.

“Everyone! This is Jinjin!” Shuhua latches onto Soojin. She motions the camera in close. “She’s mine!”

The finger under her chin tickles and Soojin does her best not to squirm. She already wants to, to squirm away from the attention of Shuhua and the camera lens; of the hundreds of thousands of eyes that the lens represents. But Soojin made a promise.

When Miyeon enters the fray, tugging at her other side, Soojin wishes the floor would swallow her whole. The staff in the ro