Have you ever hurt someone because you loved them?

Even now as I think about everything that’s passed, I’m not sure if such a thing is possible. At least I that’s what I thought I did that day, to Mark. I remember crying my eyes out at Incheon International, when a white van pulls up into the passenger pick-up area.

“Get in, we have a long drive ahead of us.” The manager, Seunghoon, orders from the driver’s seat.

Jaebum, steps out of the car and stores my luggage at the back.

“It’s going to be alright.” He tells me, putting a firm hand on my shoulder.

Jackson’s also seated in the back when I enter the van. Because of a ticketing mishap, he’s not due to leave for Hong Kong until the following week. As a result, he’s coming with us to Busan, where we'll meet with our representing lawyer. Youngjae and Bambam are all in their respective hometowns for the break. Yugyeom’s with Mark in L.A.

The long drive is tolerable. Jackson does most of the talking while Jaebum and Seunghoon take turns responding to him. That leaves me to sit and watch the world as it passes by. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I pay attention to the conversations. Sometimes I think. Eventually I fall asleep.

The next thing I know, Jackson is nudging my shoulder gently.

“We’re here.”

...

Busan is just as I remember it. It’s metropolitan, but turn the right corners and you’ll stumble into areas that fight back against the obsession to modernize. It's a poetic conflict which I admire deeply.

My mom’s at the gate when we arrive. Along with my dad, she’s the humble owner of a successful convenience store; a tiny lady with a small frame and round belly from the long days of sitting behind the front counter. Her wrinkled skin is two years ahead of her age, but her spirit is unshakeably young.

“Come in, come in! Oh my Jinyoung, you never mentioned how handsome your friends are. How are you boys?”

“Hello Mrs. Park!” Jaebum has to brush past her to enter our townhouse complex – she’s that excited to see us.

The apartment complex is a white, unspectacular thing. The wings of the building surround the courtyard, which comprises of a solitary tree and some benches for sitting. Our apartment is a lot cleaner than I remember -- my mom usually has her sewing projects strewn all over the living room. Since my sisters are studying abroad, my mom sets up Jackson and Jaebum up in their room. Seunghoon elects to sleep on the couch, despite my mother’s insistent offerings of my parents’ bed. I keep my room to myself. No one dares share a room with me, either back at the dorm or in my own house.

I don’t unpack. I sit a while on my bed to remind myself that I’m okay. Maybe I really don’t need Mark. If the company's findings don't work in our favour, maybe it’s for the better. Perhaps we both need more growing up to do. I catch myself thinking in circles again and I force myself out of my room, out of my head.

...

“The lawyer just texted me. He'll meet us on Sunday over lunch.” Seunghoon says.

He’s careful not to say anything too loudly that would inform my mother who is otherwise in the kitchen, occupied by a cooking frenzy to feed the additional mouths.

"Where is he now?"

“In Mokpo. He's collecting some research that will help us. When he gets here, he’ll walk us through the investigation proceedings. Until then –“

“Until then we’re relaxing!” Jackson chimes.

My dad steps in at that very moment. He’s a stocky man with a wrinkled face caused by excessive frowning. It’s rare for my dad to smile unless it’s about baseball. Otherwise, the frowning is often a result from running the shop – dad’s favourite dinner talk topic involves complaining about the latest of incompetent employees.

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