CHAPTER SIX: Heal

Take my mind

And take my pain

Like an empty bottle takes the rain

And heal, heal, heal, heal

<<< PAST <<<

“Is it done yet?” Byulyi peeks her head into the editing room.

“No,” Sandeul says, clicking away at his mouse, eyes glued to the three screens before him.

“Bull, your assistant just told me you worked on it this morning.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s done.”

“Nice try. He also said he saw you put my name down.” 

Sandeul lets out an exasperated breath, and then grumbles, “I should dock his pay, that little has a big mouth.”

“Good thing you’re not the one paying him then,” Byulyi smirks, fully entering the dimly-lit room and nudging the door closed with the back of her foot. “I brought coffee.”

The magic words.

A rumpled-looking Sandeul turns his head her way, giving Byulyi a nice look at the dark circles around his bloodshot eyes. Not surprising, considering the blanket draped on his lap and the empty bottles of Red Bull strewn about. He probably edited all night and slept over again. 

If he even slept at all.

“Three shots of espresso with a touch of skimmed milk,” she wags her eyebrows at him, looking mighty proud of herself. “See? I know what you want.”

“A heart attack?”

“In a cup. Just the way you like it,” Byulyi winks. “Okay, quickly now. Show me so I can leave you alone in your dark, smelly dungeon. Holy , it stinks like in here.” 

“You’re the ,” Sandeul pulls a face; and out of consideration, she pretends not to notice him trying to sniff himself discreetly.

It’s the least she can do. 

Byulyi’s just happy that, despite running on fumes and being grumpy because of it, their project’s lead editor still indulges her request instead of kicking her out.

He exits out of the frames he’s working on, and after a few keyboard and mouse clicks, the main screen switches from a macabre shot of a man getting decapitated, to a boring, plain black screen. And then the credit rolls.

Sandeul turns a knob on one of the panels before him, causing the footage to play at twice the speed.

Byulyi leans forward in anticipation.

Twenty seconds in, he releases the knob and hits the pause button.

And that’s when she sees it.

Director of Photography      MOON BYULYI

To say that the smile that spreads on her face almost splits it in half is an understatement.

“Sweet,” a positively tickled Byulyi breathes out in awe, before pulling out her phone to snap a quick picture of the screen. She’s so darn jittery that the image comes out a little blurry, but she doesn’t care.

She sends it to Yongsun anyway.

“Thanks,” Byulyi pats her co-worker and friend on the shoulder, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You’re the best.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sandeul waves a hand, shooing her towards the door as he takes a long gulp of his coffee. “By the way,” he says after swallowing, stopping her before she can make it out of the room. “You going to the crew meeting tonight?”

Hand on the doorknob, Byulyi throws the guy an amused look over her shoulder. “Deul-ah, when have I ever missed one?”

“...true.”

Byulyi chuckles. “Smell ya later?”

“,” he flips her the bird. “But yes, yes you will.” 

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Two years. 

That’s how long it took for Byulyi to land her first project as a cinematographer since she started working for SoloStar Productions. 

Granted, it’s for a low budget, ten-minute, straight to YouTube film — a passion project of a young up-and-coming filmmaker — but it’s still not something to scoff at.

For one, she gets a pay bump, even if it’s not by a lot. And two, she finally gets to see her name next to the title of Director of Photography when the credit rolls.

And for Byulyi, who’s clawed her way to this position — from a production assistant, a gaffer, a key grip, a camera assistant, and finally, a camera operator — this feels like a culmination of sorts. A sweet reward after all the long, arduous hours she’s spent slaving away at various film sets.  

So, while some of her more jaded colleagues will barely bat an eyelash at her accomplishment, Byulyi’s just over the moon. And has been since two she first signed on for the project two months ago. 

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Speaking of which…

Her phone goes off the moment she leaves the editing wing of the post-production office.

Byulyi lingers in the flex space right outside of the double doors, fishes out her phone, and doesn’t even glance at the screen before picking up the call. 

“My jagi, the Director of Photography,” her most favorite girl in the universe coos, blessing her ears with the sweet sound of her voice.

“Hello to you too,” a giddy Byulyi giggles, still floating on cloud nine. “Are you proud, baby?”

“Always,” Yongsun tells her, and that much is evident in her tone alone. “I’m happy for you, my love. You deserve it.”

“Thank you,” Byulyi leans against the wall, crossing her feet at the ankles. “It’s weird. This has been a thing for months now, but seeing my name there just made it feel more real, y’know?”

“I think I get it,” her girl says. “It’s a big deal, and things like that always take a while to sink in.”

“Man, I’m so pumped. I feel like I’m about to bounce off the walls.”

Yongsun laughs. “You’re adorable. I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“Why don’t you go here then and kiss me for real?” Byulyi dares the other woman. 

“You know I would if I could,” Yongsun says with a longing sigh. “But I’m gonna be stuck here for a while. I have to call a few people back to the office to re-work some plans with me.”

“More demands from your client?”

“Now they want us to put in another water feature — that’s what, six now? Why can’t they just tell me everything they want before we re-make the plans for the nth time?”

“Because that would be too easy, Yong.”

“Ugh,” Yongsun grunts. “And if I have to sit through another meeting discussing the logistics of flying in several species of koi to color-match every water feature, I’m going to grab one from the office pond and slap them with it.”

“I’d actually pay to see that,” Byulyi laughs, and then sobers up after a while to say, “Oh, right, speaking of meetings—”

“Yeah?”

“Today’s the second Friday of the month,” she says in a sing-song manner, pushing herself off the wall to sit down on a nearby window sill. “You know what that means?”

“Crew meeting?”

“Yep.”

“You want me to pick you up later? I’ll probably be here till after midnight anyway.”

“It’s alright, baby. I can always take an Uber. I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You’re never a bother, jagi,” the older woman says. “You know I’d feel better knowing you’re safe.”

“But only if you’re sure, okay?” Byulyi says, massaging the back of her neck. “And if you’re too tired later, just go straight home. Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

To her surprise, that only elicits a low chuckle from her girlfriend. “Ah, Byul-ah. You’re so cute when you act all noble.”

“I’m not acting,” she pouts.

“Oh, so you’re just noble?”

“Aish.”

This unnie.

“Promise me something though,” Yongsun says. “Enjoy yourself, but please don’t go overboard tonight? Remember, we have plans for brunch tomorrow.”

“Yup, I know.”

“Byul-ah…”

“And yeah, I promise,” she mumbles, a little half-heartedly.

Yongsun sighs. “You sound like a kicked puppy.”

“Ehh,” Byulyi kicks her legs back and forth, not helping her case in the least. “You know I hate making promises like that. There’s always a danger that I won't be able to keep it.” 

“Okay, fine, no more promises. How about—” Yongsun pauses, and then hums in thought. “—just try?”

“Just try,” Byulyi nods. “Now that I can promise.” 

“Aish.”

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So… crew meetings.

For certain SoloStar employees, crew meetings — specifically the bi-weekly Friday night ones — are more of a social gathering than a work-related affair.

Byulyi doesn’t really know who coined the term, or when it first began. But she figured it caught on because ‘crew meeting’ sounded better, and way more respectable, than what it really is, which is getting plastered with co-workers. 

Ironically, the usual venue is the dive bar right beside their production office, aptly named The Studio. 

It’s silly, but the older crew members get a kick out of telling their wives that the reason they are going to be home late is because they have a meeting at the Studio. 

As if their partners don’t know any better. 

“I saw some of the rough cuts the other day,” one of the old codgers tells Byulyi sometime during the night, when she’s about one and a half bottles of soju in and feeling pleasantly buzzed. “Fantastic work, Byulyi. You have a great eye. The shots I saw were beautifully done.”

“Thank you, sunbaenim,” Byulyi bows her head slightly, feeling her face heat up even more than it already has from the alcohol. “That means a lot coming from you.”

He smiles a toothy grin, his clammy face as red as a tomato. He juts his chin at the bottle in front of her. “Are you working on your third?”

“Oh, no. This is my second.”

“Still? Ah, you’re lagging behind tonight, Byulyi.” 

She scratches the side of her head in a sheepish manner. “I’m pacing myself. I’m trying to behave.”

“Nonsense,” he clicks his tongue at her, and then fills up her glass to the brim. “The night’s young and so are you. Drink up and finish that bottle. Next one’s on me.”

He stands up and claps her back. Then he ambles on over to the other side of the long table, where his fellow sound engineers are holding court.

Despite his increasing state of insobriety, however, he remembers his promise and eventually sends another bottle of soju her way. 

Byulyi just shakes her head and chuckles low to herself.

And then downs the rest of her second bottle in one go.

She supposes one more wouldn’t hurt, and cracks open the fresh one.

It’s impolite to waste a senior’s generosity, after all.

Yongsun would understand.

Right…?

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Yeah.

He wasn’t the last one.

Another sunbaenim, this time from the lighting department, loses a game of darts and has to buy the whole table a round. Of beer, not soju. Not that that makes it any better.

Alcohol is alcohol.

Drunk is drunk.

And Byulyi is… well. 

Byulyi is Byulyi.

And free booze has always been her Achilles heel.

So, as the night progresses, and more games are played, the drinks inevitably keep coming.

Needless to say, she goes from buzzed to faced before the clock even strikes twelve. 

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Tap.

Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Who the hell is tap dancing?

And why are they doing it on her shoulder?

“Shhhhhhhhhhh,” Byulyi shushes, placing a finger to her lips. Except she ends up shoving it up her nose instead. “Ouch.”

“Byul-ah.”

Hm.

That voice.

“Byulyi.”

Pretty, pretty voice.

“I swear to god. Moon Byulyi, wake up. Now.”

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Oh.

Hm.

Blinking rapidly, Byulyi peels her eyelids open, and then squints. 

Why is everything hazy? Why is the world sideways? And why is her cheek mushed? And cold?

Why?

Ahh.

She’s slumped against the metal table. That’s why.

But… 

Why does the side of her face feel wet?

She reaches up and wipes and cheek with the back of her hand.

Ah, yes. That’s drool.  

“What happened to trying?” an unamused voice sounds out from over her shoulder.

“I… tried?” Byulyi hiccups, squinting at the fuzzy person in the shape of her significant other. “Hi. Unnie?”

“Yes, Byul-ah. It’s me.”

“Great,” she slurs, grinning lopsidedly. “You look pretty blurry. But still very pretty. Blurry. Yet pretty. So, so very pretty. And blurry.”

In response to her rambling, the aforementioned pretty blur just cups her forehead and sighs.

“Time ‘sit, unnie?”

“Home time,” Yongsun says, tightly, and then gathers up Byulyi’s stuff before proceeding to help her off the chair.

Byulyi tries to walk on her own; but the world is being damn uncooperative and going all wobbly on her, so she ends up swaying side to side like a pendulum instead.

It’s Yongsun that grabs her and holds her steady. 

Grounding her, like always.

Her amazing girlfriend. 

Nay, fiancée. 

And after slurring her goodbyes to all her sloshed colleagues left at the bar, Byulyi lets herself get half-carried to the car parked outside. 

Where she gets deposited quite unceremoniously in the passenger seat by a struggling Yongsun. And when the poor, breathless woman pulls back after buckling her in, a mesmerized Byulyi stares up at her girl, jaw hanging open at the sight of her. The light from the lamp post is right behind Yongsun’s head. Giving her some kind of halo effect. 

“Wow,” Byulyi exhales, utterly captivated. “You look like an angel.”

The reaction she gets is that of exasperation mixed with something that looks a little like fondness.

Yongsun reaches up and gently brushes the hair out of Byulyi’s eyes.

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you,” Yongsun says, sternly. “You said you’d try to behave.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Byulyi mumbles, scratching her cheek. “But I didn’t break my promise. I… tried.”

“Not hard enough by the looks of you.”

“Still tried though,” Byulyi insists, and then yawns, her head lolling back and bouncing against the headrest. “If I didn’t, would I be able to do this?”

She leans forward, almost launching herself, and places a slobbery kiss on Yongsun’s pouty lips.

Lips that strangely feel like a nose.

Because, yes, that’s definitely her nose. 

“Totally meant to do that,” Byulyi mutters lamely, collapsing backwards.

“So, you’re saying it could’ve been worse? That you could’ve been more wasted?” Yongsun says in a tired way, wiping the saliva off her nose. “Glass half-full, and all that?”

“Huh?” Byulyi tilts her head, and then knits her brows. “That’s a waste. Always empty the glass.”

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“You’re unbelievable, Moon Byulyi,” Yongsun rolls her eyes, her annoyance melting away to reveal a ghost of a smile on her lips. 

“Better believe it,” Byulyi grins all dopey-like, her eyelids at half-mast. 

A sweet kiss gets deposited on her cheek by the other woman. Followed by a soft caress.

“Rest, jagi,” Yongsun kisses her again, and then pats the middle of her chest before she straightens up and closes the door.

Byulyi’s drunken doesn’t need to be told twice.

She passes out before Yongsun can even start the car, let alone buckle herself in.

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The following day, Byulyi wakes up to a full bladder, a bone-dry mouth, and a pounding head. 

Oh, and also an empty bed.

“You’re up, good,” Yongsun breathes a sigh of relief, when Byulyi finally emerges from the bathroom to join the other woman in the kitchen. “Jagiya, you look like death.”

She feels like death. But she’s not dumb enough to complain now.

Byulyi plops down on her usual seat at the table, and before she can greet her fiancée good morning, several things get deposited right before her. 

A full glass of water, a pitcher, a tablet of extra strength Ibuprofen, and a plate of toast.

“You have two hours to make yourself look half-alive,” Yongsun tells her, sitting down across from Byulyi, bowl of mixed fruits in hand. “We have to be at your parents’ place at eleven.”  

“...right,” Byulyi rasps out, before grabbing the glass and downing half its contents in one go.

Yongsun watches her curiously, and then pops a grape in . “You forgot about brunch, didn’t you?”

“Nah,” she denies, popping the pill in and then chasing it down with more water. “Believe it or not, I remembered.”

“Were you hoping to forget about it?”

She shrugs weakly, and then reaches for the toast, not wanting to comment on it either way. 

“Byul-ah,” Yongsun gives her a reproachful look. “We’re getting married in two weeks. You can’t keep pushing this off forever.”

Of course not.

Doesn’t mean she can’t try though.

But does she say that out loud? Hell no.

All that booze didn’t kill off that many brain cells.

“You have to talk to your parents about the wedding.”

“Well, to be fair, they know of the impending wedding,” Byul points out.

“They’ve known that since we got engaged last year,” Yongsun says dryly, effectively shushing her. “At this point in time, when we’re so close to the date, I think your parents should be aware of the when and where of the whole thing too.”

Byulyi just nibbles on her toast.

“Jagi,” Yongsun says, softly this time, reaching for her hand on the table. “Don’t you want your family there, celebrating our big day with us?”

“I do,” Byulyi gives her fiancée’s hand a little squeeze. “That’s why Hani’s coming. She’s all the family I need.”

Yongsun inhales deeply and then shuts her eyes, and Byulyi can just see her mentally counting to ten in her head. Sometimes it boggles her mind how someone like Yongsun has the patience to deal with her.

She wonders how deep that well goes.

And if it will ever run dry.

“Are you scared that they’ll say they won’t go? Is that why?” Yongsun eventually asks, her tone still kind despite the weariness on her face. 

Byulyi runs a hand through her disheveled locks, and dry swallows the piece of toast in .

Truth be told…

“I’m more worried that they’ll actually go,” she admits in a whisper.

It’s not that she hates her parents.

Or that they’re actively making her life a living hell.

To be fair to the two, as much as they were against the very idea of her being gay when she came out all those years ago, they never disowned her. 

Over time, there was even a clear progression in their attitudes from bigots to, well, something marginally better. Just like their relationship with Byulyi. Not icy, not warm. But somewhere in between. Say, tepid. Lukewarm.

And while the two won’t be marching in Pride parades in support of their lesbian daughter any time soon, they won’t be among the protesters at the sidelines either, carrying placards warning them of a future involving hellfire and eternal damnation. 

At least not anymore.

(Especially since her father is still a non-practicing, non-Christian man who only quotes the bible when needed to achieve a warped kind of moral high ground.)

She supposes she has Yongsun to thank for all of this.

For her parents going from actively avoiding all talk about her uality, to reluctantly acknowledging it once they met her future wife. 

Her smart, beautiful, landscape architect of a fiancée — with a father in finance and a mother in interior design. And a UK-educated sister with her own successful boutique. Oh, and said fiancée works for SLR Design, Inc. too — you know, just one of the biggest architectural firms in the world.

Basically, the textbook definition of a catch.  

Needless to say, the Moons were charmed.

So, from that point on, their awkward interactions improved, and evolved to a point where her parents now insist on having brunch with them from time to time. To catch up, of all things. 

Mostly with Yongsun. 

Not that Byulyi’s complaining.

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So, yeah, it’s not all roses, obviously.

As further evidenced by the fact that there’s a huge part of Byulyi that feels uncomfortable at the mere thought of having them at her wedding.

She knows it sounds absurd.

They’re her own parents for crying out loud! But it just doesn’t sit right with her for some reason.

Because if such an occasion warrants participation from people they love, and love them, why is it that they’re among the last to cross her mind? 

And why does she feel that it’s the same for them too?

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It’s probably because there’s this gargantuan wall of silence between them, reinforced by years and years of absence and stilted interactions; that now, even the thought of chipping away at it feels like such an insurmountable task, so they don’t even bother.

That doesn’t seem to stop Yongsun from trying to act as a bridge of sorts. 

Like the way she would try to involve Byulyi more during conversations at brunch. Or how she’d keep track of important dates to make sure that she remembers to call her parents on their birthday, or anniversary, or some other momentous occasion.

It makes Byulyi love her more. Even though she feels bad that her fiancée’s endeavors won’t yield much in the greater scheme of things.

But it makes Yongsun happy to see her try.

So Byulyi makes an effort.

Even if she doesn’t believe in it.

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. 

Which brings us to today’s brunch.

It starts off swimmingly. 

What with her mother almost jumping out of her skin when Byulyi barges through the front door. Without so much as a hello, or an apology, she makes a beeline for the bathroom, her bladder bursting from all the water she’s been chugging to re-hydrate.

Thankfully, her soon-to-be wife has enough social graces for the both of them and greets her parents in her stead. 

As for the meal, it’s carrying on like usual.

With her father, the engineer, commandeering Yongsun’s attention from the get-go. They’re talking shop again, discussing old and current projects. And also things like bid solicitations, and new rendering platforms, and other mambo-jambo that completely flies over Byulyi’s head.

And while this is happening, her mother, the construction firm’s CFO to her appa’s CEO, sips her wine and pushes food around on her plate. Though she’s actively listening, and sometimes participating, in the conversation too. 

Unlike Byulyi.

Who mostly just eats. And drinks water.

She still feels out of sorts from her hangover.

And her stomach can only handle bland stuff right now too. A bit fortuitous; because her mother’s never been good in the kitchen, and bland is pretty much the benchmark of her cooking.  

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“Byulie?”

Byulyi looks up from her plate. And sees three expectant faces staring back at her.

Oh… .

Did she zone out again?

She swallows the food in , and consciously tugs at the collar of her shirt. “Y-yeah?” 

“I was just telling your parents that you have some good news to share,” Yongsun says, giving her a small, encouraging smile. “You know, the movie?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Byulyi clears . “I got to work as a cinematographer for a short film.”

“Good for you,” her mother tilts her wine glass in her direction before taking another sip. “Pass your appa the potatoes. What movie?”

“Piano Man. It’s a psychological thriller.”

“For a festival?” her father asks.

Byulyi colors slightly. “YouTube,” she says lamely.

Her mother arches her brow. “Not even Netflix?” 

“No,” Byulyi shakes her head, deflating even more.

“Byulie showed me the script. The story’s really good,” Yongsun tries to dish a save, bless her heart. “And the director’s really talented.”

“I’m sure they are,” her omma gives Yongsun an indulgent smile. “And speaking of talent, I saw the work you did for the Heritage Park restoration, Yongsun. You outdid yourself.”

“Thank you, omma-nim,” Yongsun bows her head graciously, casting a worried glance her way. 

Byulyi’s father perks up. “Oh, yes, about that project—”

The bile that rises up is the opposite of bland, but Byulyi forces it down with water and empties her glass in one go. 

She flashes Yongsun a small, reassuring smile. 

She’s fine. 

Everything’s fine. 

Totally. 

Yeah. 

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It’s not a family meal at the Moon residence if it doesn’t end prematurely by someone getting pulled away by an important business call.

They’re working on dessert when her father’s phone goes off and he has to excuse himself to take the call in his study. 

Ever the avid smoker, her mother takes the opportunity to slip outside to the garden for a quick smoke.

“Talk to your mom. I’ll stay here and clean up,” Yongsun says in a hushed way, nudging Byulyi towards the glass doors to the garden.

“Do I have to?” Byulyi whines.

“Jagiya,” Yongsun cups her face with both hands, drawing Byulyi’s eyes to her own. “It’s time to stop running from this. Rip the bandaid off. Whatever happens, happens. Either way, I’ll be here when all is said and done. Okay?”

Byulyi nods, spiritless.

“That’s my girl,” Yongsun leans in and kisses her lips. “You’ve got this, alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Byulyi mumbles, dragging her feet towards the door.

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The only acknowledgment she gets from her mother when she steps outside to join her, is that she starts blowing smoke towards her left, away from Byulyi.

Moon Ji-hye is sitting cross legged on a rattan chair, cigarette between her lips and an open pack of Marlboro Lights on the table.

They stay silent for a moment. Byulyi just shuffling her weight from one foot to the other, her mother leisurely puffing away on her little cancer stick.

“Omma?” she mumbles when she finally builds the courage, her eyes downcast, kicking at a pebble by her feet. “We’re getting married in two weeks.” 

“Where?”

“Vancouver.”

Her mother takes a long, deep drag and then exhales out an impressive plume of smoke. Byulyi watches it swirl up into the heavens and disappear.

“Two weeks, you say?”

“Mhmm.”

The older woman doesn’t say anything past that, so a fidgety Byulyi takes it upon herself to fill the silence. “It’s just going to be a very small, intimate ceremony with family and close friends,” she mutters. “Yonghee-unnie found us a—”

“We’re breaking ground for a hotel in Busan that week,” her mother interrupts. “Sorry, Byulyi. Your father and I can’t go.”

Oh.

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There you have it.

They can’t make it.

She got what she wanted.

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She should be ecstatic.

So… why is anger coiling around her chest like a goddamn snake? 

“You’re choosing work over your own child’s wedding?” Byulyi squeezes out of .

“It’s business, Byulyi. Nothing personal.”

Oh, but she is taking this personally. 

“I thought you liked Yong?”

“We adore Yongsun,” her mother confirms, tapping her cigarette over the ashtray. 

“Then why won’t you go?”

“I already told you.”

“Bull,” Byulyi says, being crass in front of her mother for the first time in her life. “You’ve flown to three different continents in the span of a week numerous times before. If you can do that for business, why not do it for me and Yong?”

“Byulyi,” her mother drawls out before taking another deep puff. “Let’s not pretend as if you want us there in the first place.”

“You don’t know t—”

“When did you decide on the date and location?”

Byulyi’s mouth opens and closes uselessly.

“That’s what I thought,” her mother says, not even sparing her a glance. 

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“If you’re mad about that, then be mad at me. I’m the one who’s been dragging my feet about inviting you two,” Byulyi says quietly, throwing a glance at an unsuspecting Yongsun who’s washing dishes inside. 

The older girl notices her through the window and gives her two thumbs up. Byulyi injects as much false cheer in the smile she gives back. 

A smile that instantly disappears when she looks at her mother. “Her parents have been wanting to meet you for a long time, you know?” she says, quiet and subdued. “They’re kind people.”

“I’m sure they are.”

“They’re nice to me. I think they might even like me.”

“Good for you.”

“Good for me?”

“Yes, Byulyi. Good for you.”

She blinks at her mother. “I’m not sure if you’re just being super condescending or if you think I’m actually lying…”

Silence is all she gets.

Not really helpful. But still very insulting.

“I’m not lying, omma,” Byulyi feels the need to defend herself, and she’s so damn pathetic for even doing so.

Her mother looks at her, and then blows smoke out of her lips. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Byulyi sputters, her hackles rising. “Don’t patronize me, omma. I’m not a child.”

“Moon Byulyi,” the infuriating woman drawls, and then arches a brow, in a way that makes her feel like she is a child who doesn’t know any better. Who doesn’t know her place. “Are you just trying to pick a fight? Or do you have anything worthwhile to say?”

Her outrage deflates like a dying balloon.

For such a tiny woman, Moon Ji-hye is certainly adept at making everyone else feel small.

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“Can you tell me something, please?” Byulyi says after she regains the ability to speak, stepping off the pavement and onto the grass. “If I had invited you several months ago, after we’d finalized things, would you and appa have come?”

The woman doesn’t say a thing. 

But the pregnant silence tells Byulyi all she needs to know. 

“You’re such a hypocrite, omma,” she says, and then laughs bitterly. 

And still, her mother doesn’t bother with a response. The woman just lights up another cigarette, completely unbothered. 

So, Byulyi shuts her eyes and does the counting thing that she’s sure Yongsun does from time to time.

It doesn’t really settle anything in her though.

If anything, it just propels her to blurt out…

“Why do you guys hate me so much?”

And goddamn