Minho sits in the garage, slumped forward against the steering wheel. He needs a moment of silence before he goes into the house. Before he says goodbye.

He didn't mean to hurt his father. Well. He did. But it wasn't planned. Afterward he sat on his bed, thinking, while his father lay on the floor. Minho cried. For both of them, for everyone. Because it had to happen this way.

He didn't kill his father, though Minho isn't sure he'll heal. So much Death in one vessel, one human. His body is paralyzed. His voice might be gone. There's a burn on his wrist in the shape of a hand, cuts like fingernails. Soon someone will find him, lame in Minho's motel room. The story is going to grow so much bigger than the Lees, the neighbourhood, the community. He feels horrible that his family will have to face this. That this is how his family will remember him.

So Minho is going to say goodbye. He's going to leave his family with one more memory. No arguing, no anger, no ill-will. An 'I love you,' which he isn't sure he's ever said to them before. Then he'll go to Jisung's house, and he'll ask to try. Try to change something, something that could change everything. And when Jisung tells him to fuck off... he'll know he has nothing left. And he'll find a way out.

He's ready. He's had his moment of certainty. He's felt the weight briefly lift off his shoulders. At least his last action will be in defiance of Life and Death and this broken universe. Not me, not anymore. Maybe it will even save Jisung's life.

He leaves the garage and goes into the house. He asks a maid where his sisters are, but his mother intercepts him before he's even made it to the staircase.

"Minho, what a surprise." She's pouting, arms crossed. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm sorry, Mother. I know I've been a pain. I love you very much."

He leans down to hug her. She's surprised — her hands stall over his back.

"Oh. Well. Thank you." Her eyebrows furrow as she sees his face. "Your cheek is red. What happened?"

"Um, nothing." At least she noticed the mark. She used to pretend when he was younger. "I'm apologizing to Haewon next."

"I see. Good on you, son. See you at dinner?"

He smiles at her. "Maybe."

She swats at his arm, giggling. She thinks he's joking. He lets her.

He climbs the staircase to the third floor. Haewon is sitting in a rocking chair, knitting and drinking wine, while her husband attempts to assemble a new crib. Minho knocks and Haewon looks up at him. Her eyes go cold.

Minho walks in, behind the rocking chair and hugs his arms around her neck, like he used to when she was 14 and he was barely six, playing the same prank on her for the thousandth time, the classic boo! and run away. She thought it was cute back then.

Now she rolls her eyes. "I know what you're doing, stop."

"Sorry. I don't mean to barge in. I just wanted to say that I get why you're mad. You don't have to forgive me. I love you though, okay?"

"Jesus Christ, what's gotten into you?"

He drops his arms. "Nothing. Anyway. See you."

He pats his brother-in-law on the shoulder, then walks over to Hara. She's giggling and spazzing out in a baby bouncer, but her face goes blank when she sees him. He crouches down, picks up one of her toys and holds it out to her.

"I'm sorry," he whispers.

She takes the toy and tentatively puts it in her mouth.

He's about to leave when Haewon calls out to him.

"Hey, seriously. You okay?" She looks worried. Kind of... warm. Which makes him happy.

"I'm okay. I'll be okay."

"Okay. Love you."

He smiles and leaves the room.

Sooyun is working in the rose garden, papers scattered on the table in front of her. Minho pulls up a chair and sits. She looks at him and makes a sound like a cat screwing up a hairball.

"Back to ruin my life a little more?"

"Christ, what'd I do to you?"

"I don't spend every day sucking up to Father just for you to bust in and screw it all up. Our relationship is delicate, but I'm coaxing him into trusting me, and I'm making progress, so next time you're about to explode over dinner, just — don't. We all want to curse Father out sometimes, believe me, but some of us don't have the luxury of being the default heir."

She picks up a bell and rings it. A maid scuttles out and refills the glass of whiskey in her hand. She raises it to her mouth and barely winces as it goes down.

"Anyway," she says, "I'm not mad mad, but it's a little frustrating that you're just allowed to run around huffing and puffing, and no matter what, you're going to get your job back. If either of us did what you're doing, Mother would have us sent to a convent."

"You're right," Minho says. "I'm sorry. I haven't taken my privilege seriously."

She looks up at him. "And?"

"That's it."

Her eyebrows bounce. "Okay then. What are you doing here?"

"Mending fences, apparently, with all the apologies I've made. Mother, Haewon, Hara, you."

"Wait around a bit, you can add Father to your list. He said he was going to the tearoom with Mr. Yoo."

Minho looks down at his hands.

"Not that you have anything to apologize to him for," Sooyun adds. "Not anything reasonable."

Minho nods, eyes still down. "I know. Sooyun, I... I have to tell you something."

"What?"

"You have to forgive me."

"Minho, what?"

Something comes over him then. The touch of wind on his skin, a breath against his ear. The hand of a ghost slipping into his.

He lifts his hand, turns it upward. The tips of his fingers are almost transparent. Threadbare, like a dying leaf or a spider's web.

Blossoming skin, skin like gossamer...

He looks up at the edge of the forest. He feels a smile rise on his lips. He's here.

"Minho, you're freaking me out."

Sooyun is looking at him with a pinch between her eyebrows. Minho leans over to wrap his arms around her.

"I love you," he says.

"Oh. Okay. Did you do this with Haewon and Mother too?"

"Yeah, you're not special."

She snorts a "bitch" and leans her cheek on his head.

"You better get out of here soon," she says. "You've already wasted five and a half minutes of my action time."

"I am, actually. Leaving. I came to say goodbye."

"What?" She pulls away, looking at him. "Minho, really? Where are you going? Who knows you're going? Why are you going?"

"I can't stay anymore. I need to know you won't hold it against me."

"Hold what against you?"

"Leaving... everything."

"Where the hell is this coming from?"

"I think you know."

She looks into his eyes, like she's searching for something. Then she leans back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her voice is small.

"Where are you going?"

"I don't know."

"Will you call?"

"I'm not sure."

"Is the singer going with you?"

"I think so."

She clicks her jaw, looking away.

"Will you hold it against me?" he asks.

"It's... it's not that simple. But I know why you'd want to get the fuck out of here. And I know..." She sucks in a breath, tips her head back. "I know I haven't made your life any easier. I swear to God, the next time Father says something about you..."

Minho doesn't know whether to smile or cry. Smile because she won't need her armour anymore, or cry because he's at fault.

"Promise you'll lead the family business," he says.

"I mean... I'll try. Father might not let it happen."

"You have to try. Please."

"When are you leaving?"

"Soon. I want to... take a walk first, in the forest."

"What's in the forest?"

"Remember when we used to sail paper boats in the creek?"

"Yeah?"

"I want to see where they ended up."

She slumps forward, rubbing her face in her hands. "Jesus, Minho. This is going to be ugly. Mother's going to have a heart attack."

"I think she'll be alright. We all are, eventually."

"Except when we're not."

"Even then."

He reaches over the table to ring Sooyun's whiskey bell. The maid comes running out to refill Sooyun's glass. He gestures her over, whispers in her ear to send someone to his motel room.

Sooyun watches the maid go, then holds her drink out to Minho.

He shakes his head. "No thanks."

She sighs and knocks it back.

"Can I take one of these?" He points at her papers.

She rifles through them to find one she doesn't need. It's a page of terms and conditions. He folds it and tucks it into his pocket.

He smiles up at her. "Goodbye, Sooyun."

She gives him a tired smile over the rim of her glass. "See you later, Minho."

—

The flowers are in bloom in the garden. He walks through the gate and across the field, past the tree line. The air is warm and the sun is moving in shadows across the forest floor.

He's creasing the paper into a diamond, following his memory. Their nanny taught and retaught them every time they forgot which wings and corners went where. Fold it straight, Master Lee. It will sink otherwise.

The paper opens up and the mast peeks out from between the folds. It's a little wonky. He doesn't mind.

The ground slopes into crystal clear babbling water at his feet. He finds pebbles and drops them into his boat, then sidles down the furrow and places it in the water. It bobs, wavering, before following the current downstream. Minho walks along the bank, hands in his pockets. He doesn't have to run like he used to; his legs are long enough to keep pace.

His skin is alive. He can feel the tingle, the lightness, the gossamer, spreading everywhere he's most vulnerable; his palms and eyelids, the insides of his wrists. He likes the feeling. The wind is touching every part of him.

He can see the old chainlink fence approaching through the trees. "To keep out the bears and squatters," his mother once told him. Built over the creek, there's enough of a gap to let the water flow through and keep everything else out. There must be an opening somewhere farther along; once Haewon said she kissed a boy in the forest past the fence (Minho was dead jealous).

Beyond the fence is a place wilder than Minho knows, wilder than young Minho could have imagined. The fence is taller than him, even as an adult. He pulls himself up, his polished shoes scraping against the grimy steel. The crossed chainlink at the top pinches his fingers, but somehow he makes it over, taking a controlled plunge to the other side. He hears something tear as he falls. His jacket is suddenly looser on his back.

His paper boat has already sailed past the fence. He runs to catch up. His shoes slip him up; he stops to yank them off, and shucks his jacket while he's at it.

He realizes he hasn't run for a long time. Run properly, arms swinging, breathing fast, feeling the ground against his feet. He feels like he can hear the giggle of a child somewhere in the trees.

He isn't sure what he'll find at the end of the creek. Maybe an underground waterfall. No — a gentle lake, the heart of the forest. Maybe all his paper boats are still floating there.

Then — a bear is in front of him. A massive brown bear with shaggy fur and a scarred snout. Minho startles, falling backward to the ground. He stares at the animal as it stares back at him.

It lumbers closer, and for a moment it just observes him, close enough that Minho can see the spirit in its eyes.

Its nose wobbles and its ears flip back. Slowly, it folds its legs and lies down, eyes falling shut.

His body is frozen. Did he just kill it? (Not 'it' — she, he thinks.) But her stomach is moving up and down. She's alive, just asleep.

Minho falls back, holding his face in his hands. Laughter escapes him. He doesn't know why.

He gets to his feet and walks carefully around the bear. He goes back to the edge of the creek and follows it. He can hear a deeper burble coming from ahead. He skips forward, climbing over a fallen tree.

He sees it. A circular metal drain embedded in a ditch, water rushing into it. Leaves and debris collect at the bottom rim, climbing up the furrow. He can see his paper boat underwater.

So this is what the fence kept him from seeing.

Minho laughs at this too. Maybe this should ruin everything. Maybe it would on another day. Finding all his happiest memories alive and afloat might be more upsetting on a day like this.

Dead things should stay buried. Alive things...

He keeps walking deeper into the forest, following no particular path. The sound of the creek has faded behind him. Now instead of a child's laughter, he hears singing. The wind brings it closer. High and soft and earnest, doting on each word.

Jisung is sitting in the lap of an old knobbly tree, fifty or sixty paces away. He stops singing when he notices Minho.

He raises his hand and waves. Minho waves back.

Minho settles down on the ground. He's not going to push too fast. It feels like they have all the time in the world. Eventually Jisung starts to sing again. The lyrics don't sound like his other songs. Minho smiles when he realizes — it's a love song.

I couldn't resist / falling in love
The poem of you / I've been dreaming of
Feet on the ground / hands unbound
If you and I fall in the forest, can we make a sound?

Minho moves closer gradually, inch by inch. He tries not to look at Jisung for too long, like he's a solar eclipse — the irony — but he can't help it. Jisung is wearing an undershirt, showing the tattoos on his arms. Minho didn't know he had any. Flowers grow from behind his ears and between his fingers; patches of his skin are raised, dark and rough like tree bark.

The longer Minho looks, the closer he gets — the harder his heart beats.

It can't only be one thing. It can't just be the way Jisung lisps his S's and sways to a silent rhythm and meets Minho's eyes when he means what he's saying. It's the compulsion to hate. And every time Death bubbles to the surface, Minho has to hold on. Close his eyes. Run his hands through the leaves. Feel the sun and shadow playing on his face.

Jisung is radiating Life. Minho is made of Death. Yet here they are, pushing closer, and it feels right — to try.

They're close now, within ten paces. Jisung has stopped singing. The afternoon is gone and the sun is lower, rays of light rifling through the trees. Jisung is looking down at Minho's hands. In the sun, his skin looks translucent. The blue of his veins, the red of his muscles. Minho wonders if it has reached his face yet.

Jisung doesn't say anything. Just shifts his body, lies on the forest floor with his eyes shut. Minho pushes closer. And a little closer. Lies down at his side. A murder of crows have landed in the swaying tree above. Minho closes his eyes.

He feels like he can hear the ground. Touch the sun and breathe through his skin. He breathes and breathes and breathes. The ground is padded with moss and leaves. It's starting to feel like a part of him. Like arms holding him.

Minho turns his head, looking at Jisung hesitantly. Jisung meets his eyes. His face changes slowly; fear, anger, exploration, control, freedom. The fire has gone out.

Minho lays his hand down between them. Jisung takes it, lacing their fingers together. Minho can feel his calluses.

Jisung's eyes speak for him. They're a question and an answer. They're a promise. Minho tries to give it all back. Everything he has. Every assurance in the world. Every I love you he never said. All he has to do is bow his head to kiss Jisung's shoulder. His skin, bare and warm.

Jisung closes his eyes again. He's smiling, big, with teeth. Happy. One of his flowers has coiled around Minho's thumb.

Minho closes his eyes as well.

His heart is beating so slow... he thinks he could fall asleep.