“My deepest condolences.” Daehyun placed a warm hand on Yongguk’s shoulder. His head hung in mourning, mops of wavy brown hair framing his painfully handsome face. His pretty fiancée ducked her head, but no words escaped her lips, as she had come to pay her respects with Daehyun.

“Thank you.” Yongguk swallowed. His eyes flickered to Daehyun’s fiancée, disgustingly named Jieun, and he nodded briefly in her direction.

“She was wonderful.” Daehyun concluded before linking his arms with his fiancée and walking silently towards the church.

Jieun had been wonderful. More than Yongguk could ever ask for; it was him who had abandoned her in the last days of her life. In the month following Youngjae’s death, Yongguk had brought Jieun to Rouen, discovering that she had a severe form of pneumonia. He had left her with her parents, but her last days weren’t peaceful. Jieun’s mother wrote distressed letters, explaining how Jieun would wake up at night, screaming, drenched in blood, claiming to see demons.  

The final letter her mother had written Yongguk had come at the beginning of September, as Yongguk was working with Himchan to sell out some furniture. Although he had grown distant from his wife, the young bourgeois had spent a week locked in his room, filling his head with nostalgic thoughts of her. Only the most frightening part was, he couldn’t quite remember her. Despite having spent three years with her, her features were already beginning to fade from his memory, as were the precious moments they had spent together that they had sworn never to forget.

Yongguk sighed deeply as his eyes swept the gray-laced scenery. The sky was painted purple and black, as threatening clouds rolled overhead. The small green hill of the cemetery contrasted against the purple in the sky, making the small black casket at the top seem bigger than it was. Yongguk backed against the overhang of the church, tripping over the uneven cobblestones that led to the entrance of the church. Himchan’s darkened figure emerged from the fog. He was dressed in an elegant black suit, slender and slimming, accentuating Himchan’s trademark white skin. His features were wrinkled with concern as he approached Yongguk, his eyebrows brought together above his eyes and his lips in a perfect pink pout.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was lost in the wind, barely a whisper as it reached Yongguk’s ear.

Yongguk bit his cheek, he felt strangely empty, as if with Jieun, a part of his mind had died, taking with it all those prominent memories. “Hollow.”

Himchan trapped his lip between his teeth. His hands fidgeted at his side as he looked around for any curious eyes that might be observing them. He reached out tentatively, as if Yongguk’s hands were hot coals that would burn him, before firmly grasping them. He opened his mouth, but the words were stuck in his throat. He simply nodded and let go of his lover’s hands, nodding silently before heading into the church.

Yongguk sighed as Himchan’s warm touch dissolved into the frigid air. These rare moments that he could spend with Himchan outside of the privacy of the hotel room slipped past them like water through fingers. They tried so desperately to make the most of these precious seconds, where they could stare a bit longer in each others’ eyes, but eventually the fear of getting caught overtook them and they would separate as if nothing happened between them.

He made sure no more guests were coming this way before turning on his heel towards the church. The entrance to the chapel was narrow, the moist air bringing out the smell of the wood. The brown stones, which had been slowly indented over time by the steps of hundreds of people before him, led him to the wooden benches. He sat at the front, observing the decoration behind the priest. Gold and brown crosses gleamed under the candle light, and the colorful glass windowpanes shone momentarily with each passing ray of sunlight as clouds rolled by.

With hollow eyes he watched the priest move his mouth, putting in soft words Jieun’s life and painting Yongguk’s sorrow with them. His fingers occasionally  danced in the air as he reached to flip a page in the Bible.

Yongguk had never felt more out of place. His eyes itched to look back and stare at Himchan, but Yongguk feared he’d be stricken dead by God. Yongguk had never been much of religious man, and despite Jieun’s protests, had never been to church besides their wedding day.  But he knew of sins and Heaven and Hell, and despite not truly believing in any of it, a part of him didn’t want to risk being wrong, in case there were such things.

The priest led the group of mourning guests to the small hill behind the chapel, the same that Yongguk had been observing all morning, waiting for guests to arrive. There was a simple path, made of red earth, which carved through the rolling green hills studded with white and grey gravestones. The smell of rain gorged the air as the guests trekked silently towards the burial place, impending a warning on the weary mourners. Yongguk’s whole body itched with the need to feel Himchan’s reassuring arms around him, to hear his voice whisper soft words of comfort as he mulled around in a wreck of thoughts that muddled his mind.  Everything about this burial felt wrong. It was wrong for him to be here, to sit down and pray to a god he didn’t believe in for the sake of convincing everyone else that he did. It was wrong for him to mourn the loss of his wife, when he had played a huge part in her own downfall. It was especially wrong for him to want Himchan in this very moment; the moment in which he was supposed to think of nothing but Jieun and the sadness her death brought him. 

“Mr. Bang, it seems someone else is here to join us in our last prayers.” The priest turned to face Yongguk.

Yongguk looked up and was greeted by a familiar lanky figure. He immediately recognized the prominent jaw, round eyes, and captivating smile of Lord Choi.

“Lord Choi, I’m truly thankful you could make it.” Yongguk swallowed thickly and stared at Junhong’s emotionless eyes.

“Likewise.” Junhong’s words cut like a knife through the crisp air. The habitually joyful duke wore an expression of near disgust as he reached out to shake Yongguk’s hand.

Yongguk turned his attention to the svelte black casket, ornate with a gold cross and handles, held above the six foot hole in the ground by a wooden structure. It glistened lustrously under the peeks of sunlight that sometimes found their way past the dark clouds.  Beyond Jieun’s casket, Yongguk could see the small patch that was Youngjae’s grave.

It seemed like just yesterday he was back at the church, with only Himchan and the priest, holding a small burial for his son. Yongguk hadn’t wanted it to be a giant burial; he had told Jieun’s parents, Hyosung, and Lord Choi about the death of their son, claiming that the infant had rolled over on his stomach in his sleep and suffocated then. But Junhong’s piercing eyes seemed to read right through Yongguk’s lies. Especially now, with Jieun’s death so near to Youngjae’s and the exposition of Yongguk and Himchan’s adulterous relationship. But Junhong couldn’t be sure, as Yongguk had never denied or affirmed his suspicions about the couple’s relationship.

“It’s a shame that she had to go. She was so young, lots of promise.” Junhong sighed.

“It is a shame. Pneumonia is unforgiving.” Yongguk shook his head. “I’m going to miss her.” It wasn’t a lie; Yongguk would miss Jieun, but not in the way that many would have hoped.

Junhong tilted his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing subtly as he swallowed his next words. His eyes searched the stormy sky, as if it would spell out an answer to the enigma that was Yongguk. The bourgeois knew that Junhong was spending nights tossing and turning, hesitating to cast Yongguk out of his court. He knew that Yongguk’s presence, although once greatly appreciated, was becoming a threat to Junhong and his own business affairs, as word of his failed attempt to keep his vineyards spread. There was also his relationship with Himchan, Yongguk didn’t know how many people knew, and what they knew, but it didn’t stop Junhong from doubting him enough to kick him out.

“I have a lot to talk to you about, Yongguk.” The young duke finally whispered.

The priest was absorbed in reading passages from the Bible, and Yongguk took the opportunity to look at the duke again. Junhong’s face was tight, his lips drawn in a straight line, cheeks hollowed slightly. “Shall we meet then?”

“Tonight.” Junhong replied, eyes focused on the casket. “If you’re not feeling too distraught.”

“I will see you soon.” Yongguk nodded. He watched silently as the casket was lowered gently. His heart beat slowly as he followed the black coffin, its beautiful glossy exterior matted by the sudden downpour of red soil on it. He felt his lungs burn, but the tears refused to come.

*                                                       

When the last mourners had left, Yongguk allowed himself to sink to his knees and decorate the freshly covered grave with a beautiful white rose.  Yongguk didn’t know why he chose a white one; perhaps it symbolized a clean slate, a new beginning for the both of them. He stood over the grave of his wife, silently watching it, as if expecting more roses to grow out of the ground. He then placed a pink rose on Youngjae’s grave, a color that reminded Yongguk of his innocent cheeks after Yongguk pinched them playfully, and pressed a kiss into his hand, placing it on the cold grey stone.  As he stood before them, he had an odd feeling that this wasn’t goodbye, that he’d be seeing them again soon enough.