“You saved him,” remarked a husky male voice over a whistling kettle.

“I want to kill him myself,” came his companion’s reply.

“When the time comes, will you be able to?”

She plopped tea bags into two cups. “I will,” the stranger resoluted.

“If you fail then I’ll be the one to send him to hell.”

“I won’t let you taint your hands.”

“You’d taint yours?” He arched a dubious brow.

The kettle hissed to a stop. The guest poured it, watching the colors whisk into a deep reddish brown hue. The vengeful ghost sent it a glare so harsh that it might have bubbled on whim. “A person who doesn’t exist doesn’t matter.”

He was handed a cup rather ungraciously, a result of his doubt.

“How are things at your end?” She inquired.

“She can’t live without me,” he said gleefully. “Asked me to marry her.”

A smirk scintillated. “Will you?”

“Marry someone who asks for her husband’s death? Do you think so?”

“Sehun will die, with or without consent,” she affirmed. “Isn’t it time to think about your future?”

He ruffled his hair as if to fragment his frustration. “What about you?”

“I don’t plan for the future.”

-

It didn’t take the turn of a key and the push of a lever for Yüzhen to know that the raucous clamor behind the door belonged to her grandmother. From flying crockery and piercing shrills, she was well attuned to idiosyncrasies tossed at the television. However she was not expecting to meet a guest and definitely not in the form of Oh Sehun.

His gaze met with hers, exchanging soundless whispers of betrayal and treachery. She found herself unable to pull away from his dark realms, unable to stop him from reading her soul like a book he might pluck from a shelf.

“Stop staring Yüzhen, and marry this boy. He’s good at giving shoulder massages,” Grandma Huang interrupted the silent interrogation.

She blinked, astounded by the suggestion. “He’s already married,” she pointed.

The color rushing to Sehun’s cheeks flushed to the roots of his hair. He laughed nervously at the misunderstanding and nodded only to receive a whack across the head. It temporarily blinded him and before he knew it Grandma Huang shoved him with her foot yelling, “Get off my couch, usurper!”

Never in his life had he been administered such rough treatment. Astonished, he stared at Yüzhen for reasoning. She could only downcast her eyes and offer a sorry twitch of her lips.

“You get out of my house right now and stop staring at my granddaughter!” Grandma Huang roared making him jump with fright. He held up his hands in defeat, bowing slightly while taking a stagger backwards. Fire burned in the elder’s eyes and if she could, she would have lasered him to nothingness.

“I’m leaving, going,” he insisted.

Yüzhen had enough permission to show him to the door. He was grateful for that much, afraid that the old hag would appear out of nowhere to chase him with a baseball bat.

“I’m sorry about my grandmother,” Yüzhen whispered. “She wants me married quickly and wastes no time if she finds suitors unsuitable.” Yüzhen imagined he would snort and perhaps ridicule her for revealing such a statement, perhaps even leave a degrading comment aimed at her private life. However he did nothing of the sort. He only peered at her, reading her with depth that left her feeling vulnerable.

“Where did we go wrong?” He blurted.

“Grandma is like that with everyone! You should see how she treats Tao,” Yüzhen blabbered quickly, guising her discomfort.

Sehun bobbed his head, his mind roaming elsewhere. A wish to explore the past was drawing him. There were unanswered questions whose answers he found impossible to find regardless of where he searched. He wanted to learn more about his anniversary with Kyungri, the very day they had gone their separate ways.

Where to begin led him to the porch. He stood lost in hazy memoir of bittersweet passion. Had he a timepiece he might have picked all the sandgrains of time and reconstructed everything to see what he’d done, what she’d done, why they’d turned out in such a way.

He stared into her window and caught glimpse of a shadow. She was a passive rock and he a spring tide on the shore in constant battle, wishing to erode the surface of the stringent stone. She had told him nothing, as if it no longer mattered, as if it’d been nothing but a fleeting dream of delirium that’d corroded upon awakening.

-

Yüzhen played with her curtains, parting and shutting them, occasionally stealing glances through them and onto the porch outside the gate where the shine of Sehun’s dark mop remained still and unmoving. He vexed her irrevocably. Did he have nothing to do but hang around at her gate?

“You must really have loved her… That or you’re psychotic,” she murmured, a tinge of envy coloring her expression. She wrenched the curtains to block his image from sight.

Huffing, she went in search for something to do, anything that would erase his dejected features and betrayed physiognomy and discovered a new love for ironing creaseless clothing. As if the iron were an eraser she smoothed clothes like paper, crisp and crinkle free, gliding until not even the smallest of folds were visible to the eye. Like that, she mounted hills and valleys and may have continued to do so even with Grandma Huang staring down at her, had the sounds of battering not broken her thinking. She sat the iron and listened to the melodic pitter patter of rain as it grew in crescendo. Thoughtlessly, without unplugging the iron, she bolted from there, racing toward the door, forgetting to replace her home slippers with shoes as she grabbed an umbrella and threw open the front door.

-

There was one person who Sehun thought could clear the confusion in his mind. His car rolled in and when the headlights caught sight of Sehun, the vehicle came to a stop. Huang Zitao emerged shortly afterwards wearing a poker face that hinted dislike. Sehun grinned sourly. Neither of the two felt warm feelings towards the other. A chilly atmosphere began to settle. Sehun could feel the callous coldness in his bones.

Aware that he was in his boss’ presence Zitao refrained from verbal lashings. This was his employer, his lover’s lawful husband and Kyungri’s murderer. Zitao was careful, aware he had to be shrewd.

“You’re late,” Sehun remarked, insinuatingly. His gaze searched signs until he found what he’d been looking for. It made him snort. “Had a good time?”

Involuntarily, Zitao felt his fist clench. “It’s none of your business.”

“My wife is not my business.” Sehun inclined his head. “I’ll take note of that.”

“Why are you here?”

Sehun chuckled mirthlessly. “If you think it’s about that then don’t worry. I don’t care what you do with her. I’m here about Park Kyungri.”

“Park Kyungri? Who’s that?”

“Why do you call her your ‘sister’ when she’s obviously not?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re a liar Mr. Huang. I don’t know why you’ve brought her here. Perhaps it’s for the same reason you bed my wife. I don’t care to know. However, I’ll have to ask you along with your sister to disappear. Vanish before I make you.”

The confrontation was met with a fist. Sehun stumbled and cradled his cheek, eyes b with tears.

An umbrella tumb