e i g h t .

It’s funny how one can have so much to say, and yet be at a loss for words. Here she is, talking to her sister, whom she hasn’t talked to in over three years...but the things she wants to say just won’t come to mind. “S-Sica?” she splutters out, happy to be able to say the name once again. A short sigh comes from the other end, and it worries Krystal — Jessica has never had a great temper.

“Soo Jung,” her sister replies coolly. Overjoyed, Krystal opens to speak again, but is cut off by her sister’s harsh, insincere tone. “Where are you? I heard you ran away. Why would you do that? Are you that much of an idiot?” Jessica asserts sharply, her words cutting through Krystal’s temporary joy. Of course, she should have known better than to think her sister would have well-wishes for her. That’s not how Jessica — or, as her parents still call her, Soo Yeon — works.

Biting her lip, Krystal’s gaze falls to the floor, where even the tiniest specks of dirt catch her eye. “I’m in his house,” Krystal confesses, almost shamefully. “I’m trying to avenge you. I’ll make them pay, Soo Yeon, I’ll destroy them one step at a time.” she growls, her fingers curling into a fist. Sica wouldn’t have left if it wasn’t for him. Sica would be the same if it wasn’t for him. It’s his fault. He ruined everything. It’s his fault.

“Stop being childish,” Jessica sighs, obviously resigned. “And never call me Soo Yeon again.”

That said, the line goes blank, and Krystal is left with the phone buzzing dully into her ear. To think that time might have softened her sister was foolish, Jessica isn’t easily malleable. To think that her actions would be thought of as noble and good was also foolish. It just doesn’t work like that. Fingers gripping tightly onto her phone, she exits her room, and nearly crashes into Jongin as he makes his way down the hallway, presumably towards her room. “What are you doing?” she snaps. “Stop being a nuisance.” Krystal growls as she pushes him out of the way and stalks into the kitchen.

What’s her problem? Jongin wonders, eyebrow raising instinctively. Curious, he pads after her, poking his head around the kitchen door cautiously. There she stands, looking like a lioness, on guard and ready to attack. Krystal is hunched over the kitchen counter, slicing vegetables quickly as she grumbles now and again. “I thought you were going to order chicken—” Jongin starts, watching her closely.

Krystal looks up, forces a dim smile onto her face, and says, “Your mother wants bulgogi.” Jongin nods and slides into a bar stool, watching her intently as she works. “Is there a reason why you’re watching me?” she mumbles, still absorbed in chopping. Startled by the question, Jongin glances around quickly before relaxing, his signature grin intact.

“Hm, you’re interesting, maybe?”

Setting the knife down beside the cutting board, Krystal wipes her hands on a towel before looking up to meet Jongin’s gaze. “Look, I’m not interested in playing childish games or having anything to do with my bosse’s ‘darling son’. Please, just leave me alone and let me do my job. I need this.” she pleads, watching as Jongin fumbles over his words before nodding curtly and leaving. Is it a mind game? Left to her own devices, Krystal continues cooking, a silent smile curling onto her lips as she recalls her sisters age-old dating advice; all boys wants what they can’t have.

Spectacular.

“Jongin, honey! Please come down here, supper is ready!” Mrs. Kim calls up into the abyss of her house. A small frown comes to occupy her face as she receives no reply. She has always maintained a steady, loving relationship between her son and her, what happened? It doesn't seem logical that they’ve grown apart. Sighing, she turns to regard Krystal, “Dear, can you please go get my son?”

Krystal nods once before skipping up the stairs, her feet barely making a sound against the hardwood steps. Padding down the hallway, she doesn’t even pause as she reaches his door — she grips the door handle firmly before opening the door and stepping inside. “Jongin,” she calls, but receives no reply. “Kai?” she tries, wondering if he’s more apt to respond when referred to by his “persona”. Still, no reply.

Pale, fading sunlight filters into the room through a set of arid curtains — and standing by that window is Jongin, who seems entranced by the setting sun. “I don’t really want to go down there,” he confesses, seeming more genuine than ever, at this time. Krystal an eyebrow as she comes to stand by his side, following his gaze. Contrary to what she believed, he’s staring not at the sunset, but at a pitch black car parked in the family’s driveway. “I hate him.”

“Your father,” she presses, “why would you hate him?”

Jongin turns to look at her, to meet her gaze, which bores into the side of his face. Then, he shrugs and stuffs his hands into his pockets. Jerking his head towards the door, he keeps in step with Krystal as they exit the room, and walk down the hallway. They’re standing close enough for their arms to brush every so often — it’s not uncomfortable, per say, but it’s different. As the two walk down the stairs, Jongin watches intently as his parents approach.

Mr. Kim is a brooding, broad-shouldered yet handsome man with features as defined as Jongin’s. He mouth is permanently pressed into a thin scowl, and his voice echoes no matter how softly he speaks. His aura is dark, and something about him feels heavy, and yet one cannot help but respect him. “Jongin,” Mr. Kim announces, and suddenly, Krystal feels a hand grab onto her own. Her own hands are held behind her back, and Jongin’s hand is now looped into hers. “Why didn’t you respond to your mother?”

“I’m sorry—”

He growls. “I didn’t ask for an apology, I demanded an explanation.” Mr. Kim snaps. Chills. That’s what Mr. Kim’s tone evoked. They crawled up her back and tickled the nape of her neck, chilling her to the bone. Jongin squeezed her hand, and suddenly she was hyper aware of his presence and the tension in his muscles and bones. Jongin is the person she should feel least comfortable around, and yet being in the presence of Mr. Kim makes her want to cling to him. It’s a strange limbo that she’s being put in as of right now.

Mrs. Kim lets out a quiet chuckle. “Oh, enough, you two!” she caws. “Let’s go eat.”

The household is silent as the group of three enters the dining room, sitting down stiffly as Krystal serves them. Mr. Kim watches her every move, to the point where it’s almost unnerving. As she bows, about to take her leave, Jongin speaks, “Mother, can Krystal eat with us?” Mrs. Kim looks from her son, to Krystal, to her husband. Then, she nods, smiling all the while. Biting her lip, Krystal sets out a plate for herself before sitting down next to Jongin.

Great.