⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Mirae lingered at the back of the classroom, her fingers absently fiddling with the strap of her watch while the hum of the projector overhead filled the dimly lit room, casting muted beams of light onto the screen at the front, where a duo of detectives stood. Their attempt to deliver an informative presentation on the merits of police work had derailed, thanks to the unfiltered curiosity of their young audience. What was likely intended as a straightforward discussion had turned into an impromptu Q&A on crime scenes and the macabre, the questions growing more gruesome with each eager hand raised.

It was her third visit this year, but the space still managed to surprise her and she let her eyes wander. The walls were adorned with fresh poster boards—colourful displays on ecosystems, mathematical riddles, and an ongoing class art project. Mirae marvelled at the homeroom teacher's endless energy to redecorate, but as her gaze traced a particularly detailed drawing of a seahorse pinned near the window, a sharp elbow jabbed her side, wrenching her from her thoughts.

She turned, scowling, to find the aforementioned teacher grinning at her with a mischievous glint in her eye. Cha Eun-kyung's dubious sense of humour had been both a source of exasperation and comfort since their shared middle school years, but Mirae could seldom refuse her requests. Her agreement to this latest ordeal had been reluctant at best because she wasn't one for public speaking, but when Eun-kyung had insisted on a marine biology presentation for her class, she had begrudgingly complied. She figured it couldn't be too bad; after all, how hard could it be to entertain a group of eight- and nine-year-olds with photos of bizarre sea creatures?

Her attention shifted back to the front of the room, and a sly smile tugged at her lips. The younger detective, perhaps new to these school outreach programs, maintained an expression of strained politeness as a particularly inquisitive girl pressed him for more "gory details" about a violent crime she'd heard about. The child's enthusiasm was alarmingly specific, and Mirae didn't need to be a mind reader to detect the discomfort brewing beneath the man's patient exterior.

Poor guy. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. At least she wouldn't have to endure that sort of interrogation. Her turn to speak wouldn't come until after the detectives' ill-fated Q&A session, and by then, she hoped the students would have exhausted their grim curiosity. Still, she couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy for the man, his professional composure tested by a room full of pint-sized crime enthusiasts.

The man's partner was clearly more accustomed to such situations, and he finally stepped in to redirect the conversation with practiced ease. "Cannibalism is certainly an interesting topic," he interrupted, his deep voice carrying over the restless murmurs of the class. "But what's even more fascinating is how our forensic teams use science to solve these mysteries. Let's talk about that instead."

The younger man shot him a grateful glance as the tide of questions shifted to topics less gory and more scientific. Mirae's lips quirked upward in amusement as she crossed her arms, leaning back against the cool plaster of the wall, content to observe from the periphery, until Eun-kyung nudged her again with a knowing smile.

You're next, Kraken," she whispered, and Mirae lamented inwardly. 

"You do know Kraken's don't exist, right? Please tell me you know that. You're an educator after all."

"How would you know? You said it yourself, most of the ocean is unexplored. There very well could be Krakens down there, or even giant megalodons."

"You've been watching too many sci-fi movies, Eun-kyung."

The teacher shrugged, not denying the accusation, but Mirae's triumph was short-lived. The detectives were wrapping up, which meant she'd run out of time to make her escape. 

"God, they're just kids, Mirae," Eun-kyung snickered, "not thesis panellists, and you've done this before anyway."

"Good point. Fish should be a lot less complicated than...whatever those two just talked about."

"Yes, but it never is just about fish with you."

Eun-kyung's ever-bright smile trailed after Mirae as she made her way to the front of the classroom, a silent reminder of the countless times that same expression had coerced her into public speaking or class leadership back in their school days. A decade later, it seemed little had changed. 

The room felt warmer under the focused gaze of thirty wide-eyed children, their anticipation humming in the air like static as she bent over Eun-kyung's laptop, navigating to her prepared slide deck. As the first image loaded on the oversized screen at the front, Mirae's attention flicked to the back of the room, where she spotted the younger officer settling into a chair. He propped his ankle up on his knee, leaning back in a way that suggested an intent to observe rather than escape. She had expected him to have moved on to whatever his next appointment was, and his refusal to do so annoyed her. As if she needed another pair of scrutinizing eyes. 

His companion, however, didn't linger. The older man exchanged a few words with Eun-kyung at the door, his phone already in hand, before stepping into the hallway. Mirae felt a prickle of nerves climb up her spine, but there was no time to dwell on her apprehension because the classroom fell into an uncanny silence, all eyes glued to the projected slide on the wall.

Her opening image was an anglerfish in all its monstrous glory—its translucent teeth gleaming, its bioluminescent lure glowing like a sinister beacon in the dark. Mirae couldn't help the grin that spread across her face, her initial anxiety dissipating. Children had an insatiable curiosity, and she had just the thing to entice them. Facts about salmon migration might have put them to sleep, but showing them the eerie wonders of vampire squid and gulper eels would have them in the palm of her hand.

"Alright, class, raise your hand if you've ever heard of the anglerfish."

A few tentative hands shot up, though most of the students simply gaped at the picture, their expressions oscillating between awe and horror. From the corner of her eye, Mirae saw Eun-kyung suppressing a laugh, and even the young detective cracked a faint smile.

"Well, let me tell you something," she continued, clicking to the next slide—a close-up of the anglerfish's gaping maw. "The deep sea is like another world, and this little nightmare right here, she's the queen of it. Who wants to know what she does with that creepy little light on her head?"

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Junho watched as his partner slipped out of the classroom with his phone pressed to his ear, his hurried promise to return soon a transparent lie. Calls from the man's wife were rarely brief, and Junho doubted he'd see him again before the day's end. Sighing, he leaned back in his chair, his mind already straying to the case notes waiting on his desk, and the ever-persistent concern about his brother gnawing at the edge of his focus. The thought of wasting an afternoon here, surrounded by children with sticky hands and endless questions, felt like a poor use of his time.

Yet, as the next presenter stepped forward, Junho's curiosity was unexpectedly piqued. The woman—young, neat, with her hair braided over one shoulder—had the sort of calm demeanour he associated with librarians or accountants, and he closed his eyes with a stifled yawn, preparing himself for another sanitized, monotonous drone. Then, she projected her slide deck and defied his expectations.

She was self-assured and didn't coddle the audience like he had during his own presentation, steering clear of the grislier aspects of police work. Instead, she revelled in the strangeness of her subject, weaving odd and sometimes grotesque facts with an enthusiasm that fed into the children's appetite. 

And she handled it all masterfully. Every question, no matter how bizarre, was met with a thoughtful answer, laced with just enough humour and intrigue to keep everyone captivated, including him. Junho found himself unexpectedly invested, his earlier annoyance dissipating as he listened. She spoke with the ease of someone genuinely passionate about her subject, her words painting vivid pictures until one question broke her rhythm. 

"What happened to your finger?"

The man's gaze snapped to her left hand where it drummed against the desk she stood by, surprised that he hadn't noticed earlier. It was not subtle, and she hadn't even made any effort to conceal it, instead choosing to encircle it with a string of cheap plastic beads. Her middle finger was a third of what it should have been, two knuckles missing with the end rounded off unnaturally, and for the first time in her presentation, she faltered, though it was barely perceptible. There was a brief pause, a flicker of tension tightening the corners of her mouth, before she plastered on a smile. It wasn't quite as friendly as the others, but unless someone was watching closely, they wouldn't have noticed the difference.

Junho noticed. Reading people was his job—catching the cracks in their composure, the shifts in body language that betrayed truths words couldn't. 

"Little tussle with a great white," she finally responded with a smirk, as if she was accustomed to her audience's limitless imagination and no sense of filter. "I'm not the only one who lost something though."

With a fluid motion, she reached for the leather cord around her neck and tugged it forward, revealing an ivory-coloured triangular object dangling from it. It caught the dim light of the room, the serrated edges glinting faintly as she held it up for all to see. She let the children gape at the shark tooth for a moment before using it as a seamless segue into her next topic: the predatory might and evolutionary marvel of great white sharks.

The detective's jaw didn't drop like the children's did, but his mind lingered on her words nonetheless. There was something too polished in her delivery. It all fit together too neatly; a perfect story, wrapped in just enough deception to silence further inquiry.

He wasn't sure he believed it, but then again, he wasn't sure he didn't. Her answer had been so convincingly that it might as well have been the truth. But if it was the truth, why had there been that fleeting hesitation? Why the brittleness in her smile before she'd turned the moment into a teaching tool?

It was a small mystery in the string that plagued his life, but it was a brief distraction nonetheless. Better to spend a few moments thinking about an odd woman he'd probably never see again than to allow his mind to return to the cesspit of anxiety that had begun to fester within him since his brother's disappearance. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

Later that evening, Mirae stood outside Eun-kyung's apartment, her arms laden with a chaotic arrangement of bags, parcels, and a bouquet of assorted flowers she had picked up last minute at the market. The building was a cramped, dingy complex, its walls marked with the wear of years and the faint smell of dampness lingering in the stairwell. She had long since stopped marvelling at Eun-kyung's stubborn refusal to leave this place, despite her frequent offers to help find something better. Her friend's pride had limits, and she could only hope she hadn't exceeded them tonight.

She knocked for a second time, and before she could second-guess herself, the door creaked open.

"Happy birthday!" Mirae greeted before Eun-kyung could object, holding up a ribboned box like a prize. "I know you said you weren't feeling well enough to go out tonight, but we have to celebrate. So I brought cake... and a few other things." She gestured at the bounty in her arms with a sheepish tilt of her head. "You won't have to lift a finger, I promise, I'll take care of everything."

Then her friend stepped into the light, and the smile froze on her lips. The first thing Mirae noticed was the haggard look in her eyes, heavy-lidded and rimmed with shadows, but it was the bruise that stole the air from her lungs—a jagged bloom of crimson and violet, spreading across Eun-kyung's cheek like a smear of paint. Mirae recognized it instantly, that telltale pattern of burst blood vessels and swelling. She had seen bruises like that before, on her brother after their father's rage had spilled over.

She felt her arms slacken, and the parcels teetered precariously in her grasp, but she caught them just in time. "Eun-kyung, what the hell happened to you?"

Before the woman could respond, Mirae had dropped everything on the narrow table by the entrance and was cradling her friend's face in her hands, fingers trembling against her cold skin.

"Who did this? What the fuck? Are you okay?" The words spilled out in a rush, tangled and frantic. "Did someone fucking hit you?"

Eun-kyung jerked back, shrugging her hands off with a sharpness that stung. "I'm alright," she placated, her tone clipped and rehearsed. "I fell asleep on the bus, woke up too late and stumbled when I was getting off. Smacked right into the seat in front of me. No big deal."

It didn't look like an accident. This sort of bruising wasn't caused by a single strike. No, by the way it spread outward, it looked like someone had slapped her. Repeatedly. 

"I don't think—" 

"I said I'm fine." Eun-kyung's gaze was steady and her jaw set. "I iced it. It's nothing. Can we please stop talking about it?"

Mirae opened her mouth to argue but faltered at the look in her eyes. There was a quiet desperation there, a plea not to press further, so she swallowed all questions, even though her stomach churned with unease.

For a moment, the silence between them was thick enough to drown in. Then, with a stiff nod, Mirae stepped back, forcing her hands to her sides. "Alright. Okay, as long as you're okay now... but you'll tell me bout it later, won't you?"

"Another day, maybe..." Eun-kyung offered her a brittle smile. Now, what have I said about overindulgence? You can't keep doing this for me. How can I ever repay—"

"Here we go again," Mirae cut her off, breezing past her into the apartment. "You know you don't have to do anything in return. You just have to let me do things for you. And, for the record, not all of this is for you."

At the sound of her voice, a patter of hasty footsteps echoed from the hallway, and a whirlwind of energy in the form of a little girl came barreling into her legs, barely reaching her knees but making up for her size with sheer exuberance.

"Mirae's here! Mirae's here! Mirae's here!" the girl chanted, her giddy giggles filling the air.

"Eun-ha!" Eun-kyung swatted her daughter's head, pulling her away from her friend's legs. "You cannot call her by her name like that—it's rude!"

Eun-ha stuck her tongue out at her mother in defiance. "She said she doesn't mind!"

Mirae winked conspiratorially at the child as if sharing a secret, forcing herself to remain lighthearted for her sake. If Eun-kyung wanted to pretend she was okay, she wasn't going to break that facade in her daughter's presence, 

"That's right, I don't mind one bit."

"Where are your manners, Eun-ha?" Eun-kyung massaged her temples. 

"You call her by her name too!"

"That's because she's my friend."

"She's my friend too," the little girl turned to their guest expectantly. "Aren't you, Mirae?"

When Mirae nodded, Eun-ha beamed, satisfied with her ally's reassurance, and she skipped alongside her as she carried her offerings into the modest kitchen that adjoined the living room. The space was cramped but warm, the counters stacked with dishes, the faint aroma of soy sauce and sesame oil still lingering in the air as Mirae unwrapped her parcels. 

Then Eun-ha tugged insistently at her sleeve, wide eyes shining with practiced innocence as she clasped her small hands together in an exaggerated plea. "Mirae-unnie, did you bring me egg tarts?" she asked in a sweet sing-song.

Eun-kyung snorted. "Oh, so now we remember our manners."

"Yes, I brought egg tarts, Eun-ha," Mirae chuckled as she opened one of the containers to reveal two neat rows of golden, flaky pastries. "But first—dinner and cake."

Eun-ha's face fell into an exaggerated pout, but before she could protest, Eun-kyung interrupted. "Dinner?" she echoed with a note of apprehension. "You brought dinner...you shouldn't have."

Mirae nodded, already moving to the fridge with the practiced efficiency of someone well-acquainted with the place, as she transferred neatly sealed containers onto the shelves. "Fried chicken for tonight, and I had our cook make her special seaweed soup and tteokbokki just for you. The rest—" she gestured at the remaining containers—"should last you the week at least. I know how busy you've been lately, and I don't want you stressing about cooking on top of everything else."

Eun-kyung leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a mixture of gratitude and resignation softening her features. "You've got to stop spoiling me like this, I'll get used to it."

"You should be used to it by now, I'm not going anywhere," Mirae replied with a teasing smile, already carrying the warmed dishes to the little kitchen table. Eun-ha trailed after her eagerly, clambering onto her usual chair with the excitement of a child awaiting a feast.

It was a familiar routine, a seamless choreography born of years of friendship and quiet understanding. They moved around each other effortlessly—Mirae arranging the food, Eun-kyung retrieving utensils, and her daughter bouncing in her seat, her small hands itching to reach for dessert. It was as if they had always belonged in this space together, their lives fitting into each other's like interlocking puzzle pieces. 

Eventually, the three of them settled into their seats, the earlier chaos melting into ordered disarray. Outside, the city buzzed on, indifferent, but within these walls, time seemed to slow, holding them in a moment of shared camaraderie.

Abruptly, Eun-ha looked up from her plate with a gleam in her eyes, as though a thought had burst to life within her. She rummaged in her pockets, her tongue poking out in concentration, before triumphantly producing a small ring made of plastic beads—green this time, threaded with surprising precision.

"Mirae-unnie," she announced, "I made a new ring for your baby finger. Mama and I have matching ones too!"

Eun-kyung rolled her eyes, but there was no hiding the affection in her smile as she raised her hand, revealing an identical string of viridian beads looped around her middle finger. "See?" she muttered dryly, "Matching. I've been inducted into her little cult."

Mirae chuckled, allowing the child to slide the ring onto her shortened finger. "It's perfect. A perfect fit."

"You know, you really had my students fooled with the shark story," Eun-kyung remarked. "It's almost impressive how they don't notice your tales changing every time you visit. What was it last time? A fight with thugs? Or was it wrestling with a bear gone wrong? The shark tooth was a nice touch though, at least you had proof this time."

What she didn't say was that she still didn't know the true story behind it, even after all these years of knowing her. They were all entitled to some secrets after all. 

Brushing over the pendant that hung from her neck, Mirae shrugged. "It's just resin, nothing special. And okay, I'll admit the thug fight was a bit over-the-top, but come on, they bought it!"

"Well, believe it or not, third graders are notoriously gullible."

"I know. That's what makes it so fun. And their questions—my god—that poor detective looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor. Bet he was expecting to deliver a tidy little slideshow, not a discussion on cannibalism."

At the mention of the detective, Eun-kyung's expression turned sly, a teasing retort already forming on her lips, but before she could speak, her daughter seized Mirae's hand, her small fingers examining the middle one now adorned with two sets of beads.

"Do you want the old ring back?" Mirae inquired.

"No!" Eun-ha declared, shaking her head so vigorously her pigtails bounced. "You should keep it. Gifts can't be taken back."

Mirae's lips curved into an involuntary smile, her free hand reaching out to squish the girl's cheeks. "Well, aren't you just the most generous little thing in the world? I should get you a present too."

"Mirae..." Eun-kyung's warning tone cut in, knowing all too well her friend's tendency to splurge on them.

Undeterred, Mirae leaned closer to Eun-ha in a conspiratorial whisper. "What do you say, love? Want to tell me what you'd like, or should we go pick it out together in a few weeks after I get back from my trip?"

"She's six, Mirae. She doesn't need anything else."

But Eun-ha, delighted by the idea, hopped up in her seat and flung her arms around Mirae's neck. "I don't need anything else!" she parroted.

"Sure, you don't need anything, but there's got to be something you want. Right?"

Steering the conversation away from any outrageous demand her daughter might make, Eun-kyung leaned back in her chair, wiggling her eyebrows with exaggerated suggestiveness. "So... that detective, huh?"

Mirae groaned, throwing her hands up in protest. "Eun-kyung, no! Don't even start."

"Oh, come on!"

"Pretty sure he's married. Didn't you see the wedding band? And the way he spent half the day on the phone? I mean, you come on." Mirae brought her fingers to her ear, dropping her voice into a gruff imitation of the older man. "Hello, darling. Yes, darling. I miss you too, darling."

Eun-kyung dissolved into a fit of giggles, flinging a crumpled tissue across the table. "Shut up! You know I'm not talking about him. I'm talking about the other guy. You know, the pretty boy."

Mirae cocked an eyebrow, feigning disinterest. "If you think he's so pretty, why don't you ask him out?"

"You know he's not my type."

"Oh, I know all about your type," Mirae quipped, casting a meaningful glance at Eun-ha, who was busy stacking her fried chicken crumbs into little pyramids.

"You're not supposed to judge!" 

"I'm not judging! I am merely pointing out a fact"

"You're doing it in a judgemental way! But that's beside the point," Eun-kyung waved her off, steering the conversation back toward her original intent. "Seriously, come one. He was cute. And, from what I hear, a great guy too."

"And how exactly would you know?"

The woman beamed, her voice taking on a singsong quality that sounded undeniably like her daughter. "I know his partner's wife. She says he's great. Apparently, it's just him and his mom at home. Must be a bit lonely, don't you think? Want me to talk to her, see if I can set something up?"

Mirae shook her head immediately. "No, thank you. No time for that."

"And what else have you got going on? You have no life."

"I do! I have my research. And I have you and Eun-ha to spend time with."

"That's not much of a life."

"Says you! You're the one with no life. You try seeing someone...make sure he's not a two-timing scum this time though, please."

"Don't you turn this on me," Eun-kyung groaned in vexation. "You do this every time I try to set you up. Why do you have to be so damn stubborn? Just once, try it for me. When's the last time you went out with someone? Scratch that—have you ever dated? Because I don't think I can remember you even mentioning anyone."

"There's never been anyone to mention."

"Ugh, you are so boring."

"Now you sound like my grandfather." The humour drained from Mirae's face. "He's been... sentimental lately. Desperate to see a wedding before he—"

She stopped herself, but her words lingered in the air, and the carefree atmosphere dissipated. Eun-kyung reached across the table, her hand steady as it covered her friend's.

"I'm sorry," she consoled, "about his tumour and... everything. Your family must be going through a lot."

They were, and yet Mirae didn't know how to feel about it—or perhaps, more accurately, she didn't know how to articulate the tangled web of emotions tightening like a noose around her. Her grandfather had always been the cornerstone of their fractured household, the sole force capable of keeping their father's worst tendencies at bay. Without him, she didn't know what would remain of the fragile structure they called family.

Her brother seemed to have a more straightforward relationship with grief. He cried often, though only when he thought no one was there to witness it, and he spent nearly every waking moment by their grandfather's side, as if determined to fit an entire lifetime of memories into the dwindling weeks—or perhaps months—they had left with him.

Mirae, on the other hand, buried her thoughts under layers of avoidance. If she didn't acknowledge the looming shadow of loss, maybe it wouldn't materialize. Maybe, by refusing to give the thought space in her mind, she could pretend the abyss wasn't waiting for her at all.

Her lips twitched, trying to summon a smile that didn't quite form. "He's been spending a lot of time reliving childhood memories. Playing games, telling old stories. Big fan of Red Light, Green Light, even though he can barely walk straight. But lately, he's been fixated on a wedding. He wants to see at least one of us married before..." Her words faltered, but she cleared her throat and pressed on. "But none of us can give him that. At least Minhyuk is closer. He adores his girlfriend, but he hasn't brought her home yet. Won't tell us her name, even. So I doubt there's going to be a wedding anytime soon. Grandfather's going to miss the only one our family will ever see."

Eun-kyung frowned, her tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "Wait—you don't even know your brother's girlfriend's name? You do know you can probably stalk his socials to find her, right?"

Mirae shrugged, her expression unreadable. "He'll tell us when he's ready. With a family like ours... I don't blame him for keeping her to himself."

"Well, tell your grandfather not to worry," her friend stated lightly in an attempt to diffuse the gloom. "I'll cosplay as a guy and marry you myself. He'll get to attend a ceremony after all."

Mirae blinked, caught off guard by the absurdity. "You're ridiculous."

"I'm serious! You're basically my wife already with all the lunches you bring me."

"Don't thank me," Mirae denied, a faint smile breaking through. "Thank our cook. I can't even boil water without the smoke alarms going off."

"Doesn't matter. I'd marry you anyway. At least until you find your actual soulmate."

A startled guffaw burst from Mirae's chest, breaking through the heaviness seeping between her ribs. It was preposterous, and yet... oddly comforting. She didn't dare say out loud that a soulmate didn't have to be a man you'd never met. Sometimes, it was just your best friend—the person who made you feel human when you couldn't stomach yourself. The person who reminded you that, despite your atrocities, you were still worthy of the joy and peace they brought you.

But the thought turned bittersweet, and her laughter faded. Only Eun-kyung made her feel that way. Only Eun-kyung made her feel like she wasn't simply the sum of all her failings.

Eun-kyung, alarmed by the shift in her expression, sprang to her feet. "Alright, enough of that," she asserted cheerfully. "Let's get dessert. Eun-ha's been eyeing it all through dinner like it's some forbidden treasure."

Her daughter clapped and began to chant, "Cake, cake, cake!"

Mirae chewed her lower lip thoughtfully before standing too, maneuvering her friend back into her seat. "The birthday girl shouldn't be doing anything, let me get it."

She ignored Eun-kyung's complaints as she rummaged through the drawers for a lighter, and placed candles onto the red velvet cake she had brought, while Eun-ha began an off-key rendition of the birthday song. 

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇

The kitchen was spotless now, the scent of dish soap lingering faintly in the air as Mirae made her way to her friend's bedroom, where Eun-kyung lay sprawled on the carpeted floor, one arm tucked behind her head, her legs propped up against the edge of the bed. She smiled at the familiar sight, sinking onto the floor with a contented sigh, and Eun-kyung shifted immediately, her head finding its place on Mirae's lap, as though no time at all had passed since they were teenagers sharing this same unspoken intimacy.

Mirae's fingers found their way into her hair, combing through the strands in soothing, rhythmic strokes. It was a ritual of sorts, one they had performed countless times over the years, and even the bruise on Eun-kyung's cheek was reminiscent of the one she had sported back in college when one of her old boyfriends had gotten aggressive. She had refused to speak about it for weeks back then, so Mirae allowed her some privacy now as well. She'd nag her about it later. 

But this moment wasn't entirely theirs anymore. Eun-ha buzzed around them with the unselfconscious energy of a child, a toy camera clutched tightly in her hands as she moved with mock seriousness, snapping pictures of everything—the rumpled bed, the framed photos on the wall, and, of course, the two women. 

They watched the little girl twirl and crouch to find new angles until ultimately the pretense of artistry tired her out, and she plopped down next to Mirae, holding out her small hand expectantly.

"What is it?"

Eun-ha huffed, shaking her hand for emphasis. "Your phone."

Eun-kyung smirked, her eyes still closed in contentment. "You can't just demand things, Eun-ha. What do you say?"

The little girl's face lit up with an exaggerated sweetness as she batted her lashes. "Pleaseee? I want to see the Nemos."

Mirae couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. "The Nemos, hmm?"

Eun-ha nodded emphatically, and Mirae pulled out her phone, opening the gallery to the pictures of her three pet clownfish, all of whom the child had unilaterally named Nemo.

"They can't all be called Nemo," Eun-kyung muttered exasperatedly.

"Yes, they can," her daughter countered without looking up, happily swiping through the images. "They're brothers. Nemo 1, 2, and 3."

Mirae shot her friend an amused glance but didn't say anything, content to let the girl's logic go unchallenged. Meanwhile, Eun-ha resumed bustling around the room, refusing to sit still even with the device clutched tightly in her hands. 

"Don't blame me if she breaks it," her mother warned, and Mirae elbowed her. 

"She would never!"

"Oh trust me, you don't know half of what she's capable of. Always on her best behaviour with you, isn't she? Speaking of best behaviour, I told you not to do the dishes, I would have gotten to them tomorrow."

"What part of birthday girl does nothing, did you not get? I wasn't going to leave the dishes for you."

"But you hate doing dishes," Eun-kyung pointed out. "You don't have to do things you dislike."

I'd do anything for you. 

But that was too alarming a truth to utter now, so Mirae settled for tugging at her hair playfully. "I don't hate it that much."

Then Eun-ha froze mid-step, her frame wracked by a sudden fit of coughs. Her small body trembled as she stumbled backward, her eyes watering as the hacking persisted, but her mother was already in motion, sitting up and pulling her close. 

"Is she alright?" Mirae exclaimed in alarm. 

Her friend's face was deceptively calm, and her voice carefully neutral. "She's fine," she murmured, dabbing at the child's tear-streaked face with her sleeve and patting her back. "Our girl seems to have caught a bad cough as of late."

Mirae's concern deepened, her gaze flickering between mother and daughter. "How long has this been going on?"

Eun-kyung hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering. "A few weeks. The doctor says it's nothing serious—just a lingering cold." She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Kids, you know? They're like sponges for germs, but she's okay. Tell her you're okay, my love"

Eun-ha, now quiet but still nestled against her mother, hiccupped softly. "I'm okay," she echoed hoarsely.

"Alright," Mirae hesitated momentarily. "But you'll tell me if something is wrong, won't you? If you need anything—hospital fees, medicine, someone handled—anything at all, promise you'll tell me."

"Someone handled? God, Mirae, you're not some sort of thug, you wouldn't hurt a—"

"Swear it."

"Okay, fine, I swear it."

Eun-kyung knew Mirae didn't believe her reassurances, but she wasn't about to say more. There were lines she refused to cross, even with her oldest, closest friend. It was already hard enough to accept all the ways Mirae showed her devotion—bringing over groceries, showering Eun-ha with gifts, covering meals without asking for so much as a thank you. Each favour was a double-edged sword, leaving Eun-kyung caught between gratitude and a gnawing resentment she hated herself for feeling.

Mirae didn't mean to make her feel this way, of course. She had always been like this, ever since they were children—her affection poured out in acts of generosity. Back then, it was lunch money, notebooks, or her share of the vending machine snacks. Now, it was books and toys for her daughter, unsolicited offers to babysit, or payments of overdue bills that she had been too preoccupied to remember. 

And Eun-kyung couldn't say no. She never had. Maybe she was too weak, too worn down by life to push away the only person who made her feel seen and safe. Or maybe she was selfish, too hungry for what Mirae offered so freely, even when it came with the weight of her own inadequacy. But Eun-ha's illness was a line she would not let her cross. She wouldn't let her shoulder another burden that wasn't hers to bear. 

Eun-kyung leaned into her friend's side, mirroring how her daughter was curled against her own, letting herself draw strength from her steady presence.

"Thank you," she mumbled.

"For what?"

"For everything." The next sentiment came out in a bitter rush. "Honestly, I should've just put you down as Eun-ha's father on her birth certificate. You've done more for her than anyone else ever has."

She meant it as a joke, but the humour didn't land, and Mirae's expression darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line.

"Or better yet, you should've let me hunt down that bastard and make him pay child support. Let him suffer for leaving you like that. You know I—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Eun-kyung cut her off, waving a hand as if to brush away the intensity of her words. "Your lawyers would've dragged him to court, and you'd have him paying through the nose. I just... I didn't want the fuss. Not on my behalf. I'm nobody."

"You're not a nobody...not to me, don't you dare—."

"It's okay. We're okay," she interrupted gently. "We're okay. We're okay." The words tumbled out like a mantra, as if repeating them enough times could make them true.

Mirae didn't argue, instead wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Of course you're okay," she affirmed fiercely. "And you'll stay okay. I'll make sure of it. Just tell me what you need, and I'll do it."

Her friend let out a laugh that was more air than sound. "Alright, then. I need you to go on a date."

Mirae groaned, shoving her away. "Enough with that. I swear, you're worse than my grandfather. He tried to set me up with one of his client's sons the other day. You all need to leave me alone."

"Was the client's son cute?"

"I don't know, I didn't go!"

"You stood him up? Pity. You should have gone, would have gotten free drinks out of it at least."

"At the cost of my sanity and dignity. No thanks."

"Your sanity isn't really worth much though," Eun-kyung retorted, earning her another rude gesture from Mirae's half finger. 

And just like that, they fell into the usual rhythm of bickering that had sustained them through so many difficult years, but even as Eun-kyung smiled, her mind strayed to the little card sitting at the bottom of her dresser drawer, emblazoned with the symbols of a circle, triangle, and square. She thought of the number scrawled on the back too, the one she had called just minutes before Mirae's arrival.

The timing was perfect, really. Mirae would be away on her family trip for the next few weeks, none the wiser to her absence, and when they saw each other again, Eun-kyung promised herself, things would be different. By then, she'd have the money she needed, and she'd finally be able to treat her to a meal without having to worry about paying the next month's rent.

Maybe then, for once, she wouldn't feel so small in her shadow. Maybe then, she wouldn't feel like such an inadequate mother. 

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A/N: Huzzah, they have met...sorta. More Junho content later I promise, just tryna set up Mirae as a character for now. As usual, don't be a ghost reader. I live for yalls interactions, so anything and everything is welcome, even a keyboard smash is highly appreciated and encouraged. And I'd love to hear any theories/predictions you may have too <33