CW: Self-harm
Stealthy shadows of the night,
From their razor sharp claws I take flight.
Yet how could I possibly run away?
For the shadow and I are one in the light of day.
- J.
When Jihoon drove to Yingyue's place, unable to make a decision and not knowing what to do once he got there, the last thing he had expected was to find a lone woman crying in a dark corner. Mouth agape, he nearly fell backwards in his rush to runaway.
Cursing his decision to walk the remaining block, he remembered the stories his overly superstitious grandma used to tell about vengeful ghosts. That was the time his father, tired of Jihoon's rebellious ways, had sent him back to Korea to continue his high school education under his halmeoni's strict guidance. Back then, Jihoon had secretly scoffed every time she scolded him for doing one thing or another that would summon evil spirits or bring death itself. After all, his mom was a scientist and he prided himself on having a rational mind. Having lived with his grandma for over four years, however, had obviously allowed some of her beliefs to insidiously creep into his subconscious. Why else would he be panicking about something that could easily be explained?
Get a hold of yourself!
Nursing his bruised ego, Jihoon breathed through the loud pounding of his heart and once again assessed the situation. The woman had her back towards him, her body looking incredibly small as she pressed herself against the wall. He couldn't see much except for the white coat she wore. The fur trim lining the collar was familiar, though. Didn't Yingyue have something similar? He remembered her wearing it to the hospital a few days ago.
But what's she doing out here at this time of night?
Didn't she fear leaving her house? Jihoon was about to dismiss the possibility it was Yingyue, but a niggling thought stopped him from walking away. At the very least, he had to confirm. If it wasn't her, then he was going to possibly help a stranger in need. But if it was indeed Yingyue, then all the more reason he shouldn't leave. Steeling himself against the embarrassing shiver racing up his spine, he slowly approached the woman.
"Miss... Are you okay?"
"Go away!" she shouted. "Leave me alone."
That voice...
"Ying...Yingyue?" The moment she raised her head and Jihoon saw her tear-stained face, he knew he would never have forgiven himself if he had left her there. "Yingyue! It is you! What are you doing here?"
His heart constricted in his chest and his knees buckled as every protective cell he possessed screamed at him to quickly take her in his arms. Crouching to her level, he moved to embrace her. To his surprise, she fought against him. "Let me go! Please! Please!"
"Yingyue, it's me. Jihoon."
She looked at him with glazed eyes, while her whole body shook. He realized she couldn't recognize him, perhaps blinded by fear. It happened to him, too, those nights he'd wake up from terrible nightmares. For a few seconds, he wouldn't be able to tell friend from foe.
And so, he gave her some space and whispered words of comfort to calm her down. It took Jihoon a while to convince her she was safe. When Yingyue's gaze finally flickered with recognition and she let him embrace her, the joy he felt was. Not only did it feel good to hold her in his arms, but also knowing she trusted him to take care of her when she was vulnerable felt even greater.
Now they were on their way back to her home. Noticing how she was unstable on her feet, Jihoon had swept her up and carried her princess-style. To his relief, she didn't protest. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her head against his chest.
"Are you comfortable?" he murmured against the top of her head.
She nodded, her soft hair brushing against his chin. The delicious scent of peaches teased his nose. He leaned down intending to brush his lips against her forehead, but caught himself just in time. Only an asshole would take advantage of this situation. Besides, even though the need to touch her came so naturally, it wasn't actually his place to do so.
When they finally reached her gate, he bent down to enter the passcode, then twisted the knob open. He was tempted to slow down his steps just so he could hold her a little longer, but that was another selfish urge so he stifled it. By the time they entered her house, Yingyue was visibly calmer.
"I-I'm okay now," she said, sliding her eyes to meet his then quickly glancing away. "Please let me down."
His grip tightened around her without him meaning to. When her lips parted in surprise, Jihoon gave her an apologetic look then lowered her to the ground. Her soft body slid against his. Jihoon sucked in his abdomen and bit the inside of his cheek, reprimanding himself for his inappropriate response. Luckily, Yingyue was oblivious. As soon as her feet landed on the ground, she put some distance between them and gave him a wary gaze.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" she asked, her tone clipped and cold.
A weird feeling arose in his chest. It was as if someone had pierced a nail through it, dug it back out, and then left it hollow. Jihoon ran his tongue over his lips to moisten it. Of course, he had expected her to be angry after the way he treated her, but actually seeing that change in the way she looked at him... Sighing, he replied, "I... I couldn't sleep."
She frowned. "You couldn't sleep so you decided to walk around my neighborhood?"
"Uh..." He grimaced and looked around the room. They were both still standing by the door. In front of him, Yingyue crossed her arms looking like she was ready to block him from going farther into her home. "Right..."
Stop dawdling and just apologize, his sister's voice filtered through his head.
"You see," he cleared his throat, "actually, I wanted to apologize."
"At—" she glanced at her phone "—four in the morning?"
"I..." He gnawed on his lower lip and wiped his palms down his pants. Why did he suddenly feel like that time back in his high school when he was waiting for his grandmother to come to the principal's office and listen to his transgressions? "Yeah?"
Yingyue sighed. Shoulders drooping, she turned away and did a little wave with her hand. "It's late and I'm tired. You wouldn't mind seeing yourself out, would you?"
"S-sure, I'll go."
When she began to walk away, panic set in. Jihoon opened his mouth, trying to come up with something. He had always been eloquent and could bullshit his way through anything. That was how we quickly climbed up the corporate ladder because he always knew what to say to get into people's good graces. But why were words failing him now?
"Y-yingyue!" He silently cursed his stutter. "Yingyue wait!"
Although she didn't turn around, she did pause by the foot of the staircase. "Whatever you want to say, do make it quick. I really am tired."
"I'm sorry," he blurted out, "really sorry for the way I acted. I... I—" Where was his ability to speak? His Mandarin was good enough for day to day conversations and business negotiations, but it now fell short of expressing the depth of his regret. "I shouldn't have done that. Really." How many times am I going to say really? "Please forgive me?" Was that the best you could do? He grabbed a fistful of his hair.
Unsurprisingly, Yingyue didn't seem convinced because she ignored his blubbering appeal and resumed her ascent to the second floor. Jihoon took a step forward then stopped himself. What was he doing? Clearly, he was no longer welcome. If he chased after her now, wouldn't it be seen as an unwanted invasion? Maybe it was better to give it up and come back at a more suitable time. But— "Yingyue, please?" he tried again.
At the top landing, she finally turned. He couldn't really see her face well because she was now too far, but the flat tone of her voice communicated her feelings well enough. "I'll think about it. Now, please go."
Nodding, Jihoon swallowed the lump of emotions that welled up his throat and sharply turned away. This was what he deserved. He continued to nod as he once again chewed at his lower lip. When the metallic taste of blood hit his tongue, he savored it. Yes, this was for the best. Why he ever thought it was a good idea to start another relationship was beyond him. Someone like him was meant to live like this for the rest of his life— surviving alone with nothing but ghosts to keep him company.
A laugh threatened to tumble out. Jihoon pressed his lips together then made his way out of her house. No need to let her know he was falling apart. After pushing past the gate, he turned around to make sure it shut behind him, then took brisk steps towards the direction of his car. Only then did he allow the laugh he earlier suppressed to come out in staggered bursts. If someone was to hear him, they'd probably run away because there was nothing joyous about that sound. Meanwhile, a jumble of other conflicting emotions bubbled in his chest, growing hotter and hotter by the second. He was panting. Once he turned the corner, he erupted into a shout and punched the brick wall with enough force to break the skin of his knuckles. He sneered as pain shot from his hand up to his arms.
Ah, that's better.
This was familiar.
Closing his eyes, Jihoon inhaled a lungful of cold air then let it out in one, long exhale. Ignoring his wound, he moved again. After a few meters, he spotted his silver SUV shimmering underneath the street lamp. As he was scooping his keys out, an intense wave of agony caused him to drop them. A clang resounded as metal hit cement. Jihoon examined his right hand and found blood dripping down his fingers. Any attempt to move it was excruciating.
Now he'd really done it.
Using his left hand, he picked up his keys and pressed the key fob to unlock his car. Once he got into his car, he struggled with the seatbelt, then started the engine. Somehow, in between bouts of swearing, he managed to use one hand to drive himself to the hospital. The exchange with the ER doctor was embarrassing to say the least. He was sent off to do an X-ray, where it was confirmed that he had fractured his knuckles and needed to get a cast. The thought of all the inconveniences he had to suffer from here on made him want to bang his head against the wall. But, he'd rather not crack his skull in addition to his fingers.
"Fuck me," he muttered in English.
By the time he was done, it was already seven in the morning. He made a call to his secretary to help him book a driver and arrange his morning schedule to accommodate his current self-inflicted condition. After stopping by his apartment for a quick change of clothes, he took a taxi to the office. He arrived at exactly 9AM, an hour before the official work time. Yet even though he managed to escape walking down a roomful of people, he couldn't avoid the meetings he had to attend.
"Boss! What happened to your hand," Wang Yiwen, the head of his PR department, asked.
He scanned the various pairs of worried eyes aimed his way and cast a flippant smile. "Just an accident."
Yiwen narrowed her gaze. He looked away lest she saw through him. The thing was, Wang Yiwen knew him better than the other employees because he was stupid enough to hit on her last year. She turned him down, of course. Not only was she already in a relationship back then, but she also knew better than to sleep with the boss. For that, Jihoon was grateful. Truth be told, he hadn't been in the right frame of mind, only wooing her because she resembled his ex.
I'm an asshole.
"You need to be more careful and get well soon," Vira Hunt, the Marketing VP, quipped much to Jihoon's relief. "How are we ever going to survive without your two A.M. emails?"
Someone coughed, while a few others snickered. Jihoon took the jab in stride. "Who says those emails will stop? I can use my other hand to type you know."
There were groans all around.
Smiling, he called a start to the discussion and settled in his seat. To his frustration, he couldn't muster enough focus to fully process the progress reports being presented. Normally, he was quite good at compartmentalizing his thoughts and maintaining the required facade. Yet today, something bothered him like the proverbial pea under the mattress. It was only at the end of the day, when he was once again alone at his apartment, that he realized what it was.
He was in grave pain.
And it wasn't because of his injured limb. No, he barely felt that. What hurt more was the organ in his chest, the one he'd torn so much to shreds, it continuously bled with little hope of ever healing again.
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A/N: Sorry T.T The last thing we need during this time is a sad story, but this is how it's turning out to be. Hope you're all taking care of yourselves. I love you all!