Life is so simple, really.

 

There's the good, and the bad.

Just those two.

 

For example, Grandpa is one of the good ones.

He's a funny old man with a crooked smile to match his crooked teeth, and one leg turned a little too far inside from an injury during his army days. After my parents died he took me in. Once upon a time his old liqour store was the place to be. He claims it was the height of fame in its prime, in the most luxurious part of Seoul.

 

I wouldn't say so much of it now. It's just a hole in the wall shop with crumbling walls and a broken neon sign. Cigarette butts crowd in the corners of the bathroom, and some mysterious matter keeps dripping from the walls. But it's Grandpa's pride and joy. So as he says, it's mine too. You have to keep your pride clean, he says. So here I am, sweeping the storefront for the nth time.

 

“Seulbi,” Grandpa's long time employee, Mrs. Kwon waves her hand at me.

“huh?” I pause just before my broom hits a pile of pigeon dung on the street and look up.

Mrs. Kwon wipes her hands on her apron and bustles over,“Where's your grandfather?”

“Grandpa?”

A loud boom of laughter echoes from the back room of the store, along with a crash.

“He's in there,” I point.

“Oh goodness, not again!”

 

I've seen Mrs. Kwon in pictures of her younger days. She was a classy, stunning woman with wide hips and thick lips; a beauty in her prime. But in the time that I've known her, she's had the ambiance of a grandmother; her black hair is cropped and curly, and her figure has been lost to a softer roundness. I laugh at the wide swings of her hips as she disappears into the store, and go back to sweeping.

 

“Hello, pretty thing.”

I sigh as an older man in a dark suit approaches. With a deep breath I force a cheerful smile.

“Good afternoon, how may I help you?”

“Where's the adults?” he croons, “don't tell me you're alone?”

“They're inside right now.”
The man smiles, revealing rotted out teeth. Probably a smoker.

“Inside?” he wheezes a laugh and his breath reaches my nose.

Definitely a smoker.

I in a breath from my mouth to avoid crinkling my nose at a customer, “I'm afraid so.”

He hobbles a step forward, and the pungent scent of alcohol seeps into my nostrils.

“So you're alone, then?”

I lean against my broom and raise my eyebrows, “so you're a drunk, then?”

“How old are you?” he slurs, losing his composure.

“If you're not going to buy anything, you're gonna have to leave.”

He gives me a dirty look, “How much for you for a night?”

I choke a laugh, “Wow, thanks for that, but I think I'm a bit out of your price range.”

I take a nervous step back as the man slips his wallet out from his back pocket and shuffles forward, waving it in his hand.

 

“I got plenty. Name your price.”

“Like I said,” I tighten my grip on the broom handle, “too much!”

With a great swing the broom hits the back of the man's knees and he drops like a fly.

“Seulbi! What happened?” Mrs. Kwon appears in the glass doorway of the shop, my grandfather behind her with a confused look on his ancient face.

“Shoo!” Grandpa shouts and hobbles over, waving his arms, “shoo!”

The man curses under his breath, stands up, and shoots me a glare. Then he scrambles up and leaves.

“Wretched thieves!” Grandpa waves his fist at the man's back, “don't you come back!”

“Good job, Gramps,” I pat him on the back.

“I did good, didn't I, Seulbi?” he smiles like the little boy his mind has reverted into.

“You did great,” I smile, “Now why don't you go back inside and read another book.”

He looks thoughtful a moment, then nods.

"A book? Yes, a book.”

I watch as he waddles back into the store, asking Mrs. Kwon who she is for the eighth time today.

That's another one of the bad things in my good life. Dementia.

It comes and goes. Sometimes it comes when Grandpa forgets who he is again, or when he mistakes me for my mother. It's like a time machine that takes him back, and makes him forget all the things he's lost. He's always sorry when he comes back, but there's nothing he can do to stop it from coming.

Mrs. Kwon helps Grandpa back into the shop then hurries to my side.

“What was that all about?”

I sigh and go back to sweeping, “just another creep looking for a e.”

“Again?” She groans and raises her hand to massage her temples, “if you're grandfather wasn't so stubborn we could move this shop to a decent place...” I watch as she hobbles back into the shop grumbling and cursing, pushing Grandpa along.

 

I look ahead at the alleyway directly in front of Grandpa's shop. It's infamous in Seoul. They call it Blacklight, and with good reason. During the day it's a tunnel of shadows all shrouded by clusters of run down signs and dark entrances; the crumbling, looming buildings look as if they would cave in on anyone who dared to walk through.

 

But if only you could see it at night.

 

Under the moonlight the alley is a forest of glowing neon. Glittering dresses flash and gleam, drunken laughter and smoke rise from the sea of faces. Colors and voices stack upon each other layer by layer in a dizzying array of stimulation. The only thing that doesn't change is the fact that it's dangerous all day, every day. Dirty old men, es, gold diggers and gang members young and old pour out of that alleyway every sunrise, too drunk to even remember their name. It's a little part of the city the cops gave up on--figured it would work itself out, I suppose. And it does. We do. We get along.

 

“Hey, chick!”

 

Except for some of us.

 

I turn around with a smile, “Hello.”

 

They're boys, all dressed in black school uniforms that hang off their bodies, revealing loose tank tops beneath.  They make their way towards me, tall and ominous with shaggy dyed hair hanging amongst their pierced ears and dark eyes. They bring with them a chill that raises the hairs on my neck, and something about their slow but steady footsteps makes my knees quiver.

 

They're called the Drifters. No one's sure who came up with that name, when they came to exist, or how. All we know is not to mess with them.They watch Blacklight from the shadows that even the glow of neon can't reach. They laugh with white teeth showing like wild dogs as they swallow another mouthful of smoke. Toxins drip from their youthful lips, and the glint of the knives in their pockets is unmistakable.

 

A tall blonde one yanks a cigarette from between his teeth, drops it on the ground, and approaches me with the eyes of a predator. I trace his long neck with my eyes until they land on black ink snaking out from beneath his shirt collar. A tattoo, for sure. I can see one on his wrist, too.

“What do we have here?” he whispers with smoke on his breath.

“Hello,” I say again, looking into his eyes that are only inches above mine.

“Confident,” he grins, drawing his lips closer to my temples until I can feel his next words on my skin.

 

“I like that.”

 

“Knock it off, Joon,” another boy grabs him, this one has dark orange hair, a wide nose, and small eyes.

 

“I was just playin' around, Hope,” the blonde one insists, sliding the orange haired boy's hand off his shoulder.

 

“Don't piss Jimin off,” Orange-Hair warns him, glancing over his shoulder to a dark street corner.

 

The blonde one shows his teeth and grabs Orange-Hair's collar, “What did you say?”

 

“That's enough.”

 

Orange-Hair shoves the blonde off of him as a man in all black emerges from the shaodws. Beneath his uniform is a black sweatshirt with the hood up, covering his eyes. His voice alone is enough to send the two scrambling out of the way.

 

I tighten my grip on the broom.

 

“Nice shop,” I see a smile appear from under the lip of the man's hood, along with a dragon tattoo dancing up his jugular.

 

“Thank you,” I reply, and try to hold my broom even tighter to keep my hands from shaking. It's not as if I don't know who they are. Everyone knows in this neighborhood. They're terrorists, rebels, gang members- call it what you want- they're no good. And this one in black is the ring leader, he calls the shots and the goons do his dirty business. I see them around; lurking in the shadows of the neon signs and puffing smoke, then pinning the glowing butts of their cigarettes on any passersby, making a game out of torturing others. Even breathing the same air as the leader is nothing short of a death sentence.

And I just spoke to him.

 

“Where's the old man?” the orange-haired one appears again, stepping in front of the one in black.

 

“Huh?”

 

His eyes are cold and hard. “I said,” tilting his head, “where's the old man?”

 

“He's inside,” I answer and immediately wish I hadn't. Orange-hair leans back thoughtfully and the afternoon sun makes a glint on the knife sticking out from his pocket before the hem of his jacket can cover it again.

 

“Inside, huh?” He clicks his tongue and shakes his head, then smiles at me, “What can you do? We'll just have to come back later.” He turns and goes back into the group, the blonde one follows after shooting me a dark smile.

 

“She says he's inside,” Orange-Hair croons in his low timbre, “I told her we'd come back later.”

 

The leader's voice sounds from underneath his hood, “I suppose we will.”

All I hear is the sound of the heavy black uniforms swishing and the scrape of shoes on pavement as they disappear into the dark alley.

My knees buckle the moment their gone. The broom drops from my fingers and clatters to the concrete. 

Breathe. Just breathe. I force shallow breaths in and out of my lungs. Later. They said later. Why would they come later?

 

It's been two days since the Drifters came, and still no sign of anything. The occasional sleazy drunk slinks by, questionable men with sleeked back hair come and go, punks with piercings loiter around Mrs. Kwon's bar tent. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Then school starts.

“Don't be late,” Mrs. Kwon straightens my uniform, “be good to your teacher, make lots of friends--”

“I know, I know,” I roll my eyes with a smile.

“She's right,” Grandpa chuckles, back to himself for the time being, "You should always--"

"--Be confident," I finish with a smile, and he nods.

“Taehyung!” Mrs. Kwon barks, and the boy calmly eating breakfast at my table nearly dumps his cereal all over his dress shirt.

“W-what?” He peeks over his shoulder.

“Do something about your hair!” She waves a wooden spoon at him.

“What's wrong with my hair?!” he shouts back with his hands on his head.

Taehyung is Mrs. Kwon's nephew, and my only friend. We've known each other since elementary school, and while Taehyung was too shy to make more friends, I simply didn't see the need to.

“Did you even brush it?” I sigh, and attempt to pat his hair down.

He grabs my hand and looks up at me wide-eyed, “Do you think I should?”

This earns a flick in the forehead.

“You didn't brush it!?”

He opens his mouth to explain, but Mrs. Kwon cuts in before he can speak.

“Kim Taehyung, Kang Seulbi, do you see what time it is? Get your butts outside now! You'll miss the train!”

“Miss the train!” Grandpa repeats.

I glance at my watch.

“We gotta go,” I tear my backpack off of a dining room chair and swing it over my shoulder, “now!”

“!” Taehyung jolts up and puts on his coat, quickly following after me and barely dodging a second swing of Mrs. Kwon's spoon.

 

Buildings whiz by as I run. The wind catches my hair and dances through it, my flapping jacket hems slap against my waist.

“When did you get this fast?” Taehyung huffs from behind me, grunting as he pushes himself in one last sprint to reach me.

“I ran everyday during the summer, and worked all day too!” I shout back, worried my voice will get lost in the wind.

“So what?” He pants.

Laughter bubbles up from my throat, "Catch ya later!--"

I stop dead in my tracks, and Taehyung skids to a stop, nearly running into me.

"W-what's wrong?" He wipes the sweat from his brow, but in a breath when he looks up.

They're gathered against a run-down brick wall covered in grafitti, circled around something, and laughing.

"Why are the drifters here?" he whispers, pulling me around protectively, "didn't you say they came to your place last time?"

I hold on to the hem of his shirt with my shaking hand, "they did."

Quickly, I glance over my shoulder. With heavy laughter their formation breaks just enough for me to see what they're surrounding. A younger looking boy stands in the center, he's clean cut with wide eyes and a small stature. Also, he's covered in blood. His left eye is swollen and dark purple, blood drips from a cut on the side of his lip, and dirt covers his uniform.

"What are they doing!?" I whisper harshly, then whip around when Orange-Hair glances our way.

Taehyung takes my hand and starts pulling me away, peeking at them nervously every few seconds, "Don't worry about it, it's none of our business."

"But they're beating that kid!" I demand.

"Seulbi," he looks me dead in the eyes, "let's go."

Without another word I follow him to the station, forcing myself to not look back at the boy in the circle, not even once.

 

On the train I sit down and Taehyung stands above me with one hand hanging on the train handle, looking out the window. The subway bounces into life, the sound of rails against wheels fills the quiet car. Light from the rising sun falls on Taehyung's face. Since elementary school, he's grown up so much. On the outside, at least. His once small stature gave way to a lean and lanky tallness, and his once chubby face became high cheekbones and a straight nose. He notices me staring, and raises his eyebrows.

“So...technically speaking, I won,” I say.

“Won what?" He asks absent-mindedly.

"The race to the train station," I say, as if it were a real thing.

"Invalid,” he plays along and raises his eyes back to the window, blinking in the sun, “you cheated.”

“How did I cheat?” I frown and lightly kick his leg.

A hint of a blush shows on his worried face, “You almost did something dangerous, and it distracted me.”

“But I didn't.”

He glances down at me, then back up to the window, "Thank god for that."

 

 

 

 “So how was school?” Mrs. Kwon asks after handing another bottle of alcohol to one of her customers. At night she opens up the beer tent in front of Grandpa's store so all the already drunk people who stumble out of the alleyway can get more drunk.

 

Taehyung and I sit on the red plastic stools in a table at the end with a bottle of coke, pouring over our homework between shots of coke.

“You know how it is,” I glance over my shoulder with a smile, “school is school.”

Mrs. Kwon raises her eyebrows and a mischievous grin breaks through her lips, “any cute boys?”

Before I can open my mouth Taehyung cuts in;

 “Me.”

I peek at him and he glances up from his notebook and winks, then puts his head back down. He knows I have almost no interest in boys. I just want to survive high school.

I turn back to Mrs. Kwon and shrug, “He's right. He's the only good one.”

Taehyung nods in approval then looks at his aunt nonchalantly, “did I tell you we're getting married?”

“Tomorrow, actually,” I add, “isn't that right, sweetums?”

“Right you are, honeybunch.”

Mrs. Kwon looks at me, then him, then back to me. At last she sighs in defeat.

“You two are no fun.”

 

The one good thing about the broken streetlights is that you can see the stars. In the rest of Seoul, it's nearly impossible to even pin point one star, much less a whole sky of them. We're just far enough out of the view of the glaring city lights for the stars to be visible. Taehyung in a deep breath and puffs up his cheeks like a chipmunk. He walks beside his bicycle, and I walk beside him. Since we were in elementary school this has been our daily ritual. Breakfast together, then school, then coke shots, and then the walk home. Taehyung lives at the end of my street in a  fake brick townhouse with metal bars on the windows. It's kind of charming, actually.

“How'd your day go?”

“It ,” he lets the air out of his cheeks and looks down, “I can't believe we're not in the same class.”

“Let's get in trouble then. We could sit out in the hallway together after we get kicked out.”

“Great idea,” he nods, “while we're at it, let's get expelled.”

“Glad we're on the same page,” I retort.

“In all seriousness though,” his voice turns serious, looking straight ahead with distant eyes, “don't you wish we were in the same room?”

We stop at the front of his house and I playfully poke his side, “It sounds like you don't wanna be away from me,” I tease, “it sounds like you like me.”

He locks his bike to the fence in front of his house, then straightens.

“That's because I do.”

My heart drops. The sky starts to spin.

“You...what?”

A fierce blush blooms on his cheeks. He scratches the back of his neck and looks at the ground.

“C'mon, don't tell me you haven't figured it out by now. I've liked you for ages.”

“I...” I sputter. The only words I can manage are: “...didn't know.

 “Well now you know."

After a moment of silence he looks up shyly and smiles that awkward crooked smile that pulls up too much on one side, "See you tomorrow?"

I attempt to blink the shock away and nod my head, “Yeah. See you tomorrow.”

 

The way home is black and lonely. So he likes me. Kim Taehyung likes me. I curse myself for having never figured it out. All these years he was just someone I needed to survive. I always thought one friend was enough, and it just happened to be him. Pure coincidence had turned my fate inside out. Do I like him? What do I say?

 

A clatter from down the street awakens me from my thoughts.  One of the remaining decrepit streetlights shines on Mrs. Kwon's beer tent and the front of the shop. A stool flies out from underneath the red plastic and whacks the shop's glass door.

“What's going on?” I pick up my speed, trotting and then breaking into a jog as people start flooding out from the tent. The drunks curse and scream as they hobble-run past me, escaping whatever terror lies beneath the red plastic cloth.

I hear a scream from inside.

“Mrs. Kwon!” I throw back the flap and freeze.

 

“Hey, chick,” the tall blonde grins and pops a bubble in his gum, “long time no see.” In a flash his long leg slams into a stool and sends it bouncing out of the tent. Mrs. Kwon crouches on the ground with her head down. There's a red mark on her forehead where something must have hit her.

“Look who's here,” another one laughs, and swings a pocket knife on a key chain around his finger. I don't recognize him. He's smaller than the others, with short auburn hair and thick eyebrows.

“Aw, don't look at her like that Suga,” says Orange-hair, appearing from around the corner, “you'll scare her off.”

“So what?” Suga groans and catches the knife in his bare hand without even a flinch, “not like we need her.”

“I dunno,” the blonde growls in between chews, “I could have some fun with her.”

“Leave her alone!” Mrs. Kwon shouts from the ground.

“No one asked you, ,” Suga swings his leg into her head, knocking her over.

“Stop!” I scream, and tighten my fists on the hem of my shirt, “where's grandpa?”

“You mean him?” The leader appears from the back of the tent with Grandpa's shirt collar in his hand, and throws him down.

“Seulbi,” Grandpa whimpers when he sees me, recognition glowing in his eyes as bloods drips down his face from a cut in his cheek, “Seulbi, get out of here."

I shake my head at him and swallow down my anger, then send a glare at the shadowed eyes of the leader.

“Why are you doing this?” I demand, and my voice quivers.

“That one's easy,” the blonde drops down onto a stool and crosses his legs, then shrugs, “for fun.”

“Fun?” I breathe, my anger finally reaching a boil, “you nearly kill my family just for some cheap entertainment?”

The blonde one stops chewing and gives me a dead stare, “If you keep talking, we could add you into the bunch,” he flicks his head at Mrs. Kwon and Grandpa on the concrete, “what d'you think about that?”

I open my mouth to retaliate and get cut off.

“Stop it,” another unfamiliar face comes out of the darkness. I didn't even see him sitting in the back tables, all limbs and shadow. His dark brown hair hangs in his face, and a cross piercing dangles from his ear. Something about him feels gentler than the others--almost princely--and yet just as intimidating.

“Back off, Jin,” the blonde snarls.

“I think you better watch who you're talking to,” Jin retorts, and the blonde instantly shuts his trap. Jin let's his eyes drift onto Suga, who stands his ground with beedy eyes, twirling his knife.

”Who I am I talking to exactly?” Suga shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly.

“Put. The knife. Away.”

Suga catches the knife and holds it in Jin's direction, “Make me.”

“Shut up and get out of the way,” the leader finally steps in, lifting his leg over my grandfather to be in the center of the tent. He looks up at Jin, then at Suga, “don't pick a fight with Jin, . Don't you remember what happened last time?”

Suga looks ready to swing a punch, but he bites his tongue and backs off, retreating to the outer lining of the tent. I notice next to Orange-Hair is the kid from this morning. Getting a better look at him I can see his uniform is the same as the other boys, but it's buttoned up and well kept, completely different from the dirt and torn up coats of the others. His wounds from this morning are unmistakable, though slightly healed. A dried black scab has grown over the cut on his lip, and the swolling in his eyes has gone down a bit. I wonder for a moment if he's another captive play thing of theirs, but I don't have time to contemplate for long before the leader throws back his hood and looks me straight in the eyes.

To my surprise he's not that much taller than me, just enough so that when he looks at me his eyelashes overshadow the brown of his irises. He doesn't look at me for long though, and quickly shifts his eyes to Mrs. Kwon and Grandpa.

“So they're your family?” his voice is monotone; disinterested.

“Leave them alone,” I say in a low voice.

“What did you say?” He lifts his eyes up to me, but they're not threatening. Instead, they gleam with curiosity.

My anger finally explodes, “They didn't even do anything! How could you just come in here and beat up these innocent people for no reason at all?”

He laughs lightly and steps around me, brushing my hair over my shoulder. I feel a chill run up my spine as his lips graze the nape of my neck and his hot breath burns my skin.

“I think you should be especially careful of who you pick a fight with.”

“I...I'm not scared of you,” I force the words out, and tighten my fingers around my shirt hem to keep them from shaking.

He flicks his head, and all the boys leave the tent. Jin glances over his shoulder, holding the red flap above his head. A flash of concern crosses his eyes, then dissapates and he leaves. Only the leader is left, fully exposed in the dim light of the bar tent. His face is wide, and young. He couldn't be more than eighteen years old. A dragon tattoo snakes down his neck, the tip of the tail barely reaching the collar of his jacket. When he turns to leave I run to Mrs. Kwon and Grandpa's side, helping them up and inspecting their wounds.

The leader stops just before the entrance to the tent, “Oh and, girl?”

I look up.

He bites his lip, almost playfully, and opens his lips into an unnervingly pleasant smile.

“I think you should rethink that.”

And then he's gone.

* * *

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