FALLING | Day6 Dowoon

Day 1-DoWoon

For Yoon DoWoon, loneliness was as familiar as breathing. He glances at the crowd of students surrounding him—girls giggling flirtatiously, boys who became his friends through the pressure of status and the shared background of a wealthy family—and he smiles ironically.

Ranked number one in his class, the eldest son of one of the most powerful men in Seoul, DoWoon was born to be thrust into the spotlight of popularity. But most of the time, he wished he had been born as anyone else. 

As he reaches the courtyard and unchains his bike, he feels the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. Placing one foot on the pedal, he senses the first stir of wind through his hair, closes his eyes, and grins what might be the first authentic smile he's worn all day.

His father had offered him a driver to drop him off and pick him up from school, but he refused. Because the fifteen minutes he spends pedaling freely, the sun on his face, blending into the crowd carelessly, are currently the best fifteen minutes of his life.

/-/

As DoWoon enters his apartment, expensive in an austere and modern way, he doesn't even check to see if anyone is home. Opening a large envelope, he pulls out a statement detailing the money his father has deposited into his account. He feels mildly surprised to see a small handwritten note, barely a sentence long.

"Call my secretary if you need anything."

Flopping himself down on the couch, he reaches in his pocket and pulls out his wallet. Grasping a picture carefully, he cradles it in his hands, the corners torn, the edges faded. The woman in the picture smiles beautifully, her long silky hair hanging down her back gracefully. Enough time has passed that DoWoon sometimes forgets her face. But the memory of his mother will be etched on his heart forever.

As he gazes at the red necklace she's wearing, he's reminded of a red barrette in long, wavy hair belonging to someone else. Since their freshmen year of high school the seating arrangement has always been the same. One row over, two seats in front, Jina Park had worn her hair the same way every single day. Loose down her back, pinned by a small red barrette adorned with scarlet hearts. DoWoon smiles absentmindedly as he thinks about her habit of twisting a strand through her fingers when she's nervous or concentrating. But he quickly pushes the thought away.

Sitting up slowly, he picks himself up and puts his belongings away neatly. Then, pouring himself a glass of water, he walks to his room and sits down in front of a desk, pulling out his notes. DoWoon will study for the next two hours, take a short dinner break, and then continue until he has completed every assignment and memorized every note thoroughly. It's not that he wants to live this way. He just has expectations to meet, and nothing else to keep him company. He straightens his back, attempting to stretch out the tension that stealthily creeps back into his shoulders.

For Yoon DoWoon, his days are filled with tasks he didn't choose, but there's not much he can do. After all, no one knew better that a life of privilege means a lifetime of earning the things you have been given. His future had been decided before he was even old enough to form an opinion.

/-/

Somehow, while studying, DoWoon lost track of time. Raising his arms above his head and yawning, he's surprised to find that it's now dark outside. As he feels the familiar stir of hunger in his stomach, he walks into the kitchen, flipping on the light. He scans the list of take-out numbers on the refrigerator, but for some reason he feels like none of them will satisfy him today.

A short walk to the bus stop, followed by a brief ride, is how DoWoon finds himself sitting outside a convenience store, sipping banana milk while he waits for his ramen to cool. Looking across the street, he sees a girl his age with two identical younger girls in tow. They both look to be about seven or eight. The little girls smile and giggle as the older one leads them to an ice cream stand. The smallest one, with curly pigtails, claps her hands as her sister hands her a cone.