A week seemed like a blink of an eye, passed so whirring like the red postman’s van of Mr Jinsuk who often sent letters wrongly in the neighbourhood. Sunye had completed a month living there, or she would cynically tell that as existing for times to pass by, praying to skip the tardiness of waiting, for nothing she hadn’t yet to register in her mind, when she had nothing, or anyone to call her something.

Mr Seol seemed in a rush. “Sunye!” He called out. The girl scurried from the high shelves, with dust flying around her body, stack of heavy books in one arm and some puzzle playing around her head to see the wise line of the wizened man on the brow. 

“Do you have problem, Mr Seol?”

“I need you to send this package off to my house.” He stomped to the usual counter they used to hang out during brunch and pushed a freshly delivered posted package to her. She put the mountain of rebate books aside to examine the box. He resumed, “My wife is in the hospital. The attack came again.”

“Oh dear,” sighed her softly.

“The address is on the label. You’re off early today, after you arrange those books in their places. I’m going, and don’t forget to roll down the blind when you close the shop.” He put his jacket on and waved quickly before disappearing past the closed door.

“Send my regard. Be careful.” She called out, feeling pity for the old man’s wife who loved to stop by solely to send some warm savarin quite frequent for her husband’s tea. She had always looked so healthy that almost tricking when news suddenly rumoured on her misfortune.

That day, she carried the work as usual and as been told, she closed the shop very early and there was not much customer to worry for the business. There was still another errand for her to do. The address was only about fifteen minutes away from the bookshop and she had dropped the package safely into the bigger-enough-to-punch-through mailbox opening at the door. Taking the full granted chance, she didn’t forget to write down the address on her palm for Chanyeol.

It couldn’t help her to wonder why Chanyeol wanted the woman’s address, but she didn’t want to bother, either way, she had right-handedly returned the favour.

She directed the address to Chanyeol. With little wage, she could only manage a low price Samsung to replace her Oppo – though, she seemed to fight her reluctant to withdraw the money from the account that Mr Seol had made for her. Within minutes, that bloke replied something out of norm. She could feel his panache aura – the creep.

He said, he’s going to pick her up in an hour, not to mention incomprehensibly for her to dress black for the occasion. Sunye was half-way to shout like ‘who make you boss?’ right on his ear, but he had mentioned that it was crucial, hence, she didn’t have the right to budge.

He had arrived earlier than he had stated, looking silent inside the black Mazda as he rolled down the window, kohled darkly as it felt like that could match her decent eyeliner, and it also felt like she could feel him. She knew the feeling. She felt bad that evening. And rain started to titter and tatter, tapping the glass shield to slide up, and in the meantime, demanded her to get into the car as quick. Why bad weather had always interrupted the situation, she was sighing.

“Crazy, ain’t I?” He peered carelessly at her dirndl. They almost looked like some black metal musician.

“What’s happened?” She scrutinized the smear in his eyes. Was he crying, or was it just the rain? But the rain just fell. He didn’t answer her question straight away, but to press down the pedal, escaping the house yard.

“Did you bring your phone?”

“No. The energy died down. I’ve no time to charge, so I leave it at home.” She shrugged, exhausted from all of the confusion. So many things she didn’t yet know.

“Good.”

“Why?”

“We don’t want interruption in such occasion, do we?”

“What occasion? Chanyeol, what’s wrong with you?” She held out, shaking his arms gently as her worrisome regained higher implemented in voice. He focused too much on the road. For all while she had known him, he never became serious. Reflexive, he kept a grip on her wrist, taking a sidelong glance.

“Are you cutting yourself?”

“It’s none of your business.” She snatched her hand back.

“How depressed are you? Are you even taking drugs, huh?” His massive eyes looked even bigger than usual.

“What’s wrong with you?!”

“It’s crazy to live like this.” He suddenly pulled by the roadside, bated breaths, raging hearts fill the tense air. There was no drug that could ease them, not even the psychic consultant.

From afar, there stood the church, filled with black, clandestine and mysterious. Dark-dressed residents piled in, head lowly hung down and she felt like her eyes were belittling herself when Mr Seol was crying so hard at the entrance. His face was heart wrenching, even from a distance.

“It’s my mother memorial.” 

“You don’t say.” She gasped, seeing the guy aside of her looking so tormented.

“Let’s go.” He touched her cold hand, momentarily pursing his lips, before going out.

It was the first time she went to church since she lived there, not even a step or an intention to visit, even for once. She saw the priest from afar, and she felt like she couldn’t stand standing in so long between the aisles. She made a mad dash outside. Chanyeol was shell-shocked, that he even let her crashed into his shoulder, but that wasn’t hard enough to strike him down, but he did felt the pain surged down his psyche, at least internally.

Somehow, they ended up staring into each other, soaked up in the rain, drenched into the core. She hated grey. That was how the sky emitted its colour, as if grieving upon the death, or it was just merely coincidence to be the worst when the coffin was carried along by the men in black, off down the van went.

“I want to meet my Mum for the last time, I hope you understand, to go with me.” He begged through his longing eye. “Please.”