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i.
Yoo Heeyeol is very much the master of the house, silent and at times intimidating. Even when out and about his presence lingers in the building, Jieun ready to see his piercing look everytime she looks up or around a corner.
In the afternoons he sits in his study, smaller than the room she has seen Fhi Fan in but more than adequate, large chair turned away from the large desk more often than not as he looks out through the window. It takes days, over a full week and passing by him countless times, before she sneaks inside. Jieun touches his hair gingerly; it's shorter at the sides and over his ears, almost prickly to the touch. His head fall back, resting against the leather, eyes closed and she takes in the serene expression his face has.
"C'mon, kitten, let go," he murmurs. Jieun pulls her hands back, stands still as he turns the chair over to face her. He squints one eye open, tired and red beneath heavy lids, and Jieun coos as she drops down to sit on the armrest. She brings a hand up to run through his hair again, using the other to steady her. The silence fills the room again, settling in and filling every nook and cranny.
"What's eating you?" Jieun asks.
"Poor little bunny, don't know from nothing," he says in the same low tone as earlier, an amused edge to his voice. The corner of his mouth curls up, lopsided smirk as he opens his eyes to look up at her. Jieun's hand stills. His hair prickly against her palm, almost like the beginnings of stubble on his face. "Get a wiggle on, kit, we're going out tonight."
Jieun leans forward with closed eyes, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He smiles when she pulls back.
ii.
"You dewdropper!" she says loudly, an accusation she knows is wholly untrue with how she can hear Kiyong bustle around downstairs those rare mornings she awakes much earlier than she has to. There's nothing else she can accuse him off though, all of them would be lies much worse than this.
"Better than being a drugstore cowboy," Kiyong plays along and teases, flicking her nose softly.
"Says you," Jieun says, eyes wide and laughter bubbling up.
"Don't you agree?" he asks and of course she does, so she has nothing to reply but to let her fingers skirt down his sides and tickle. The shock of laughter that leaves him is loud and surprised, and he wails as he pulls away from her and spins around to be able to protect himself. Jieun wiggles her fingers at him.
She stops in her tracks when she sees Fhi Fan over Kiyong's shoulder, his expression clouded and moody — a stark contrast to Kiyong's laughing face and crescent eyes. Kiyong spins around. Fhi Fan levels them with a single glance. "Try to keep the volume down, please."
He closes the door to his study, something that has happened rarely in the time Jieun has lived in the mansion with them.
"Don't be cross with him for being a wet blanket," Kiyong says, almost worried. They begin to walk down the hallway, careful to keep their steps light. Jieun blinks at him in surprise. "'s prone to headaches, always has been. Today must be such a day."
"No worries," she says, all of a sudden guilty at how loud they must've been. She looks over her shoulder at his door. "D'you think we should apologise?"
Kiyong shrugs, loops his arm around her waist and pulls her along, down the hallway and around the corner — down the stairs to the drawing room, Heeyeol already in the armchair and Sayo and Noshel on one of the sofas.
iii.
She's laughing as Sayo ushers her forward to the best of his ability, laughing lightly himself, the dressing room a wonderland she has yet to learn navigate through on her own. More than once has she gotten lost in it, even larger somehow than one would think possible — a maze of clothing racks, vast enough to eat you up alive. (Perfect for hide and seek.)
Jieun looks back over her shoulder and Noshel appears by his side, two dresses slung over an arm, the other brushing against Sayo's as they fall into step again. As natural as breathing.
"Do I really have to try these on?" Jieun asks, unsurprised when a hand touches the small of her back and ushers her to the side, though a door she didn't even notice. She’s tried on enough dresses and costumes she’s sure they must have her measurements by now.
"We won't stand for you looking any less than perfect, doll," Sayo says. Jieun gives him a look, but the softness of silk dresses underneath her fingers as Noshel hands her them is enough to keep her quiet. They push her forward into the changing room.
"Won't be a man who can keep his eyes off you when you've got that on, showing off your stilts," Noshel says seriously.
"That's a load of baloney," she tells them, slipping black silk and lace over her head. Noshel laughs, maybe Sayo too. Jieun can't stop smiling.
"Poor little bunny, trying to act like she knows the world," Kiyong's voice comes, sudden and close, just outside the drapery that's between her and the others in the room to protect some idea of modesty. Jieun laughs at it, surprised and happy, twirling around as she fastens the button in the back of the dress and pushing outside to look up into his happy eyes. "Cash or check?" he asks, but before Jieun has time to answer Sayo grips her hand, pulls her out to watch her; answers "Check" for her in an almost stern tone. Laughing once again she spins before them, hemline rising when she lifts her arms above her head.
"She needs new shoes for this," Noshel comments. Sayo nods in agreement.
iv.
Jieun is giggling at one of Namhoon's stories when Heeyeol catches her around the waist and leads her out on the dancefloor. Kiyong laughs, clapping his hands and urging her on and Jieun looks up to meet Heeyeol's eyes. He smiles at her, fingers sliding over the curve of her waist and when the band begin to play again he takes a step back. Jieun's always been a bit of a heeler, but with the red shoes on and a dance partner who knows his onions the whole ordeal goes much better than she perhaps would've imagined.
When the dance is over Heeyeol pulls her into a tight embrace, kisses her cheek almost absentmindedly, before he lets go and disappears into the crowd of people milling about. Kiyong appears by her side, hands her a glass of sparkling water and then another of Gin fizz. He leans down, whispers "Come outside" softly into her ear; something more follows but is drowned in the noise around them. Jieun smiles and nods.
"You're goofy about that boy," Namhoon says, gaining agreement from both Noshel and Sayo who nods.
"That I am," Jieun says, laughing, because there's no point in denying it, least of all to these people. "If you'll excuse me I'll be on my way now, said I’d meet him outside in just a mo'."
"Attagirl!" Namhoon says, winking at her. Jieun takes his hand, lets him spin her in a large circle before he lets go. She dances away, spins and sways, red shoes hitting the hardwood flooring.
v.
"You're the bees knees, mister Fhi," Jieun says. Even though they’re both smiling, Kiyong's arm is wrapped around her shoulders and she can feel him tense at her words, prepared to shield an attack. She likes to think she knows Fhi Fan better than that.
"For crying out loud, Lee Jieun!" Fhi Fan says, slightly exasperated but more fond than anything else when he looks up from his typewriter and books. She giggles, feels how Kiyong relaxes into her side fully again. Soft, warm. Comforting. She leans back into his embrace.
"Sorry," she says, giggling under her breath still. Fhi Fan only shakes his head, smiling gently. Sunlight is pouring into the room, illuminating the world in a way that removes all edges; Jieun can't stop staring in wonder at Fhi Fan's profile and the fan of his eyelashes against his cheekbones, soft shadows playing on his face.
Moments pass by quiet and slow before Kiyong says, most apologetic, "I have an errand to run."
Jieun turns her head to look at him, asks "You mind if I stayed?" and they both look to Fhi Fan. Fhi Fan waves a hand, limp wristed, already immersed again in the book he has held open in a lax grip. Kiyong rolls his eyes and presses a kiss to her hair. Jieun touches his arm, drags it up over the fabric of his shirt and fixes the collar. He pulls back before she's finished and it just looks more rumpled, but she can't reel him back in to fix it before he leaves the room.
Even with the two of them in it the study is silent. Jieun wonders if this room has ever seen life, been lively and filled to the brim with energy. If it has had people dancing in it. The bookshelves that line the walls, the large and heavy desk say otherwise. It is not the purpose of this room, she understands, but she wishes it was. Fhi Fan spends too much time in it, collecting dust like the books and forgetting how to be alive. He's not like that though, she has seen, he's filled to the brim with energy he can't channel into his work, frustration and headaches the only things he's left with until he drinks his problems away.
"What are you writing?" Jieun asks. She's surprised herself, hand flying up to cover her mouth. Fhi Fan blinks slowly. He places the book on the desk, still open where he was reading it.
"You want to know?"
"Pos-i-lute-ly," Jieun says, nodding.
"A collection of short stories," Fhi Fan says, meeting her gaze before twisting his body and ducking down. He rummages through the drawers of the desk, in search of something Jieun isn't sure she dares ask. The sound of papers scraping and shuffling fills the air, as does the smell of aged paper. "I've already written one. When I can't sleep at night though, it's poetry."
"That's swell," she says. She means it, but in part she says it only to stop the silence. Fhi Fan looks like he knows as much when he reappears over the edge of the desk, a book in his hand. Jieun feels sheepish. His eyes are cool and perhaps she has overstayed her welcome, though he won't say as much. She bites her lip, smiles at him. It's enough to bring another smile out of Fhi Fan, and that stills the unsettled and uncomfortable mood she had started falling into.
"Don't think we aren't aware you crashed that first party Heeyeol met you at," Fhi Fan says just as she walks out the door.
vi.
Late July means the arrival of lazy heat, lazy air. Noshel and Sayo lounge on the sofa she has almost come to think of as theirs, leaving Jieun to sit by herself on the other. Not that she minds that. She likes to be able to curl up, the soles of her bare feet against the scratchy texture of fabric.
Entering the room Namhoon smiles at her, places a tray with food on the table. Noshel groans, Jieun assumes from the smell of it as he pointedly looks away. Too much to drink the night before, perhaps. Namhoon shakes his head at him, still smiling as he says "Something to eat, doll."
Jieun smiles back, takes the pastry he gives her and watches him pour her a glass of orange juice.
"Too early for the giggle juice, innit?" Sayo drawls.
"None of that in this," Namhoon says, laughter ringing loud, putting down the glass within Jieun's reach. He grabs his trumpet from the floor where he left it last night, saluting as he leaves for the day through the front door.
"Sap, that's what you are," Noshel murmurs and tilts his head back, fingers carding through Sayo's fringe. Sayo huffs out a low laugh, jerks a nod in agreement, tips of his fingers trailing the seam on Noshel's shoulder. Jieun reaches for the glass, takes a sip of the juice to make sure there's nothing but fruit in it. There isn't — or if there is, it's so little there's barely a trace of it.
She's nibbling on the pastry when Fhi Fan appears by her side, sitting down next to her and crossing his long legs at the ankles. He smiles but his expression is pinched, the way she has learnt means he has a headache. He had barely touched his drink the night before, opting instead to lounge in the outskirts of the party all lonesome.
"How's the novel coming along?" Noshel asks. Fhi Fan massages his temple with one hand.
"It's a collection o—"
"—of short stories, we know," Sayo says. He turns to Jieun, grinning. "Clever boy that one. Released his first book at the age of eighteen, celebrated as a genius. The voice of a generation."
"And how!" Noshel chimes in. Jieun laughs and leans close to Fhi Fan, flopping down and resting her head on his lap. She raises the pastry up to his mouth and he takes a bite.
vii.
Heeyeol is playing the piano in the drawing room, soft melodies atypical for both him and the house; pieces from the turn of the century, perhaps older still. On the sofa opposite from where she's seated Sayo and Noshel are immersed in a quiet conversation about God knows what, much like they've been in the past few days. A feeling of unrest lingers in the air, so different from the jovial feelings the rest of the summer has been all about.
Fhi Fan and Namhoon sit on either side of her and every so often she peeks at what Fhi Fan is reading. Another of the many novels he has collected it appears, dreary and without hope or love, but he still smiles at the words every now and then. Those are the moments she looks down on the pages. Jieun's peeking at the text again when her world turns dark, two hands covering her eyes and she doesn't even have to guess who it is. "Kiyong," she says and smiles brilliantly, tilting her head back to get a look at him. There's a smudge of paint on his cheek and he leans down to press a soft kiss to the tip of her nose.
"Young love," Namhoon says and lets out a heavy, theatrical sigh. Jieun laughs, throwing punches at his large chest with tiny balled up fists in mock irritation. In the corner of her eye she catches Fhi Fan glancing over to Heeyeol. "I think we all remember those times; a girl waiting in every port, crying her eyes out and believing she was the only one."
"Indeed," says Fhi Fan drily.
"Some never get over that first spring of love," Namhoon says. There is a coolness in his voice now, matched by the coolness of Fhi Fan’s expression. The silence that follows his words is more than simply just uncomfortable, it is invasive and awkward and cold. Love should be warm, Jieun thinks, like Kiyong's embrace and his careful hands, it should never bring on coldness.
Heeyeol clears his throat.
"What does a sailor with a girl in every port know of love?" Kiyong says, smiling softly and nudging Namhoon with his elbow. Namhoon laughs, loud and roaring, grabbing his drink.
"What does he not know?" Namhoon asks. Fhi Fan clicks his tongue, shakes his head. Jieun leans closer and rests her head on his shoulder, but he moves away from it.
"Call me when dinner's ready," Fhi Fan says, brushing off his trousers as he stands up. "Love is of little interest to me."
"We aren’t going out tonight, it's been too long since we brought the party home," Heeyeol says. Fhi Fan stops in his tracks, casts a glance over his shoulder. Heeyeol shrugs.
"Call me when dinner's ready," Fhi Fan repeats and leaves up the stairs, quiet silence settling in his place.
Jieun lets herself be pulled up from the sofa by the tug of Kiyong's hand, spun around so he hugs her from behind and presses her close to him, burying his nose in her hair. She smiles. She doesn't understand why it feels shaky. Smiles shouldn't be shaky, never uncertain or unsure.
The only sound in the room is Heeyeol pushing back the piano bench, standing up and stretching out his legs. He looks up the staircase, moves toward it before stopping and looking back at them.
"Kitten," Heeyeol says, "wear your best dancing shoes tonight."
Jieun nods, smiling still. It feels more like a grimace.
Heeyeol walks up the stairs, disappearing from sight. Kiyong holds her hand, pulls her along down the corridor on the ground floor and never looks back. Jieun feels the need to run, to grab him and run to the end of the world. She swears she can hear footsteps behind them, the smattering of heels that she's certain follows her.
viii.
Exhaustion crushes over her like the tidal waves meet the shore; Jieun closes her eyes, feet still moving, and all air has left her. The night time breeze cool as it hits her face. She opens her eyes; is blinded by flickering electric lights, her hands touch the balcony railing. The metal is cold.
It's a long fall.