I tapped my foot along with the beat of the violin, smiling as I joined in with a few simple chords on the piano. I've missed this.

 

My hands began to fly across the keys: the tempo having sped up to a more cantered rhythm from its languid beginning. I looked up to watch Jae (my nickname for him) playing the violin. The upper part of his body was rocking back and forth as he grinded the notes out across his bow, really getting into the music.

 

I began to slow down whenBomand Seunghyun entered the room, Jae instantly taking the hint to wrap up our little improvisation piece.

 

"Wow," Bom said, "I'm impressed. Why aren't you majoring with us in music again, Dara?"

 

I smiled, relieved at her positive comment. I'd been worried I may not compare to them: the disparity in our abilities so great they'd have to find someone else to jam with. Normally, I don't give a damn about what people think about me – do they like my clothes? Will they think I'm too abrupt? But this is different. It's important to me and I like these guys. I want them to think that I'm good enough.

 

"That was amazing, Dara," Seunghyun commended, gracing me with a dazzling smile – that guy has seriously white teeth. I gave him a small smile in return.

 

Thump!

 

Crash!

 

The door swung open, slamming against the wall. Daesung's head peeps just above his cello case as he struggled to heave it through the door.

 

"Hey guys," he called, as bright and bubbly as ever.

 

I went to help him, pulling the neck of the case towards me as he shoved the bottom half into the room.

 

"Thanks," he said, "it's times like these I wish I'd opted for something like a flute or the violin. Although…" He flexed his arm, pointing to what I think should be…a muscle? "It's a bit like lifting weights. Gives you a real work out."

 

I nodded, biting back a witty retort. Not everybody reciprocates my sense of humor.

 

Bom came over and frowned. "I don't see anything, Daesung.No muscle there."

 

"What?" He looked to his flexed arm and gestures, "how can you not see that?"

 

"Guys!" Jae shouted, "Dara has got class in 30 minutes, so if we want to play, we've got to get a move on."

 

 

 

 

I slipped in as quietly as I can, cringing as the doors' squeaky hinges deny me my intended subtle and silent entrance. Isn't that just great?

 

Mr. Yang stood at front of his desk, addressing his all seated and all ready class. When he heard my approach, he turned round sharply, frowning.

 

"Sorry I'm late," I apologized, "I…I got a bit lost."

 

He raised an eyebrow, the lines on his forehead becoming ever more prominent.

 

"Lost? Couldn't you get your bearings yesterday? I'll have to give you a map," he responded curtly. "Do you have your Creative Writing piece?"

 

I nodded, sifting in my bag for the piece. Where is it? It's in here somewhere…

 

A multitude of sheets cascade from my bag, most of which are music, scattering across the floor. Damn.

 

I can only imagine the exaggerated patience plastered across Mr. Yang’s face. "Take your time Miss Park."

 

I knew my face is flushed red, and I know I've just made a complete fool of myself on only my second day here. Jiyong’sfangirl, who I've also nicknamed the Black Haired Wonder, snickered and whispered not so inconspicuously, "What a loser." 

 

What a .

 

I scowled at her as soon as I've given Mr. Yang my work. Jiyong sat beside her, wearing that characteristic smirk of his. I gave him a swift kick as I pass him, smiling in satisfaction as he grunts in pain, the smirk gone.

 

"Is there a problem, Mr. Kwon?" Mr. Yang asked.

 

"No," Jiyong replied through clenched teeth, "just got cramp in my leg, Sir."

 

"Well, if there will be no more interruptions, I'll continue."

 

 

 

 

I'm walking down the hallway when Jiyong suddenly appeared beside me. Class has just finished.

 

"Didn't think you'd taken music," he said, obviously having taken note of the sheet music I'd all but emptied on the floor when searching for my work.

 

I frowned. "I haven't. I'm just playing along with a few string players, that's all. What's it to you?"

 

He held his hands up at my sharp tone. "Just asking. Trying to be civil."

 

"That's a first."

 

"Dara!" Jae stood at the end of the corridor, waving my jacket like a bright blue beacon. Damn. I'd been in such a rush I'd forgotten to retrieve it.

 

The grin on his face, however, vanished when he noted Jiyong at my side.

 

"Who's this?" Jae asked, a little reproachful.

 

"My archenemy," I answered, taking back by jacket, "Fa-Jiyong." I'd almost forgotten, Fang is my nickname for him. Jiyong is what everyone else knows him as.

 

"Who are you then?" Jiyong questioned.

 

"A friend of Dara's," he replied, and smirked. "She doesn't hate me."

 

A tight smile formed on Jiyong's lips. "She's mistaking hate for love."

 

My mouth dropped open. I can feel it agape, like a fish, and I'm pretty sure my cheeks are tinged red. "No!" I protested, "I think you need your head checked if that's what you think. Maybe the doctor could also tell you how small that brain of yours is – if one can actually be located, that is."

 

He smirked at my expression, the upturn of his lips not fake like the tight smile he'd given Jae. He's enjoying this. Jerk.

 

"Can't keep denying your feelings for me, Dara," he said, and walked off. What a stupid thing to say! How can he even contest such a thing when it's obvious I hated his guts? What would…

 

"Dara?" Jae waved a hand in front of my face, and I vaguely wondered how many times he's already done that to grab my attention.

 

"Huh?"

 

"You spaced out," he explained. "Just wanted to let you know that we do gigs sometimes and play at schools, promoting music and whatnot. We just wanted to know if you'd be interested? Some of these are paying gigs so…"

 

I waved off the money, because I really don't care about that. "I'd love to. I haven't played in front of an audience in forever. It'd be good to get out and play again."

 

A grin broke out across his face, looking relieved. "Great. I guess I'll be seeing you tomorrow."

 

 

 

 

I'm splayed across the settee, clad in shorts and a t-shirt plastered in bright fluorescent ducks ('cause they're cool), with a book in hand when the doorbell rings.

 

"Dara, will you get that?" my mom asked.

 

I don't want to get up. I'm way too comfy. "Can't Durami get it?"

 

"She's with me."

 

I groaned as the doorbell rang again. "Coming," I mumbled, "hold your horses you interrupter of good books and comfy positions."

 

And for the third time that day, my mouth hung open and I asked myself what I've done to deserve this kind of torture.

 

"Jiyong, what the fu…"

 

My archenemy put his finger to his lips and pointed to the two younger kids in front of him. He gave me a look that speaks volumes. No swearing in front of the kids.

 

I frowned, and crouched down to the kids' level. "Annyeong," I greeted.

 

A small girl waved at me, smiling big to reveal a gap where one of her front teeth has fallen out. The young boy gave me a small smile, and I smiled back.

 

I looked up to Jiyong, asking, "What are you…"

 

But before I can finish, my mom appeared. "Oh, hey Jiyong. Come in."

 

"What?" I looked at my mom, confused. Jiyong is not coming in my house. Do we have any embarrassing pictures in the house? I'm pretty sure the baby ones are all tucked away in an album somewhere. But…Durami could give him all the ammunition he'd ever want. Note to self: bribe Durami to keep mouth shut, r.e. will buy her new shoes.

 

"I saw Jiyong at Hongdae and overheard him on the phone to his babysitter, who'd cancelled. I offered to look after Dami and Deukkiewhile Jiyong's at work," she explained.

 

"Thanks again," Jiyong said to my mom, his voice sincere and polite. Huh, if only he could be like that with me.

 

I looked over at both of the kids. I hadn't even recognized them. I'd last seen Dami when she was one and Deukkie when he was three, and that had been almost five years ago now. My mom had occasionally babysat both of them when she'd been a close friend of Jiyong's mom, their friendship having transpired from years in the waiting room outside the principal’s office when Jiyong and I had gotten in trouble. I'd barely seen Mrs. Kwon for the last couple of years, which I'd assumed was because my mom had become gradually busier running her own veterinary clinic.

 

I turned to Jiyong, realizing he's giving me sweeping glances up and down, wearing that oh so annoying smirk of his, the one I always wanted to wipe off with a slap or a punch. Normally the latter.

 

Nice ducks, he mouthed, while my mom ushered Deukkie and Angel inside.

 

I turned sharply away from him, walking over to the kids, purposely ignoring him. How dare he mock the ducks!

 

"I don't suppose you guys remember me, do you? You've both grown so much since I last saw you," I said, ruffling Deukkie's hair. "I'm Dara."

 

Deukkie and Dami's eyes lit up in recognition. "We've heard mom and dad talking about you and Oppa before, and how you both get into lots and lots of trouble at school pulling pranks on each other. Mommy thinks you secretly like each other," Dami reported.

 

"What?"

 

"Got to go now, guys," Jiyong said, having not heard our conversation. It seemed strange, them all being related. Deukkie and Angel are slightly-tanned, black-haired and brown-eyed, while Jiyong has pale skin, blonde hair, contrast to his darker eyes. But then I suppose it's appropriate really: they're the ethereal beings, while Jiyong is the devil incarnate.

 

"What time will you or your mom be collecting them? Or will it be your dad? I haven't seen them both in over a year. How are they doing?" Mom asked.

 

Jiyong's jaw seemed to clench at that. I looked at him intently. He caught my eye, but instantly looked away, almost as if he's afraid I'll see something. He bit his lip.

 

"Dad left a few months ago," he explained. I feel a slight squeeze in the pit of my stomach, sympathizing with him, because I know what that's like. I tried catching his eye, just so that I can give him an encouraging smile, telling him that it's all going to be okay. I had the sudden urge to wrap my arms around him so that he knows he's not alone and that I'm here and…

 

Hold up. This is Jiyong. Hello? You're archenemy. Get a grip, Dara.

 

"Oh dear," Mom said. "How are you all dealing with it? Do you mind if I ask whether it was a mutual breakup?"

 

My mom looked guiltily over at Dami and Deukkie then, the look on her face citing her look of panic over whether she should have spoken so openly in front of the kids.

 

"They know," Jiyong consoled, reading her expression. "Don't worry. Our parents hadn't been getting on for a while. Dad decided to just leave one day, packed up his stuff and left a note. Haven't seen him or heard from him since." He seemed indifferent to the whole ordeal, but I can easily discern his clenched jaw and his rigid stance. He isn't okay.

 

My mom shot him a sympathetic look. "How are you all holding up? How's your Mom?"

 

He shrugged. "She'd been better, but we'll get through it."

 

"I better not keep you any longer. Where's Seungri?"

 

Seungri is Jiyong's fifteen-year-old brother. I haven't seen him in almost five years either, and when I think back to him, I remember a tall, lanky kid with black hair and black eyes magnified by thick horn rimmed glasses.

 

"At a friend's. I'll try to get off as soon as I can. Won't be any later than eight. Thanks again, Mrs. Park."

 

Angel and Deukkie both hugged him tightly, with Jiyong equally reciprocating the gesture. I've never seen this side of him. It's eerie. Almost as if he has a heart.

 

"Be good," he said.

 

 

 

 

After about four hours of limb-twisting Twister, cookie-baking ('cause they're just yummy), and a Disney film, Jiyong returned to collect his siblings.

 

They're great kids, and just so sweet. It's because of Dami's Bambi eyes (they're lethal) that we'd all, save mom, being roped into playing Twister. I now have a sore back, which twelve-year-old Durami claims is because of my "old" age. I wonder if Jiyong and I can exchange sisters. I'll have to pose that proposition to him later.

 

I'd gleaned from Dami that they're mom has a new job and has recently been seeing less and less of them, and so Jiyong has had to take the reins, which is admiral considering he has three younger siblings and has just begun College.

 

"Ready to go guys?" I asked.

 

Dami is beside me, curled up on the settee, half-asleep.

 

Jiyong picked her up gently and asked, "How were they?"

 

"They were both just fine," my mom told him. "Dara made sure to keep them entertained."

 

He gave me an imperceptible nod in thanks.

 

"How are you getting home?" My mom asked.

 

"Bus."

 

She shook her head. "I'll take you back. It's too late and they're both really tired."

 

"It's okay. I don't want to put you out. We'll be fine, honestly."

 

Sometimes I see glints of myself in my mom, stubbornness obviously being an innate trait from her, because when she sets her mind on something, she does it. Like now.

 

"Meet me in the car," she ordered, and walked outside, shepherding the half-dozing Deukkie with her. "Come on, Deuk. Let's get you strapped in."

 

"See you, Deukkie," I said.

 

That left a sleeping Dami, Jiyong and I. "Where do you work?" I asked him, mildly curious.

 

In the dark I can barely discern the almost imperceptible upturn of his lips. "I'm an assassin."

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

"I like to fulfill my final contracts at night, under the sheath of darkness. Anyone you want rid of?" he continued.

 

"Don't suppose suicide is in your contract?" I asked.

 

"No," he said, walking outside. "But I think you'd miss me too much."

 

"I'm sure I'd survive."

 

I helped him maneuver Dami into the car.

 

"Goodnight Santokki."

 

"Goodnight Fang."