"He didn't look happy, or was it me?"

Wrapping his arms around her, Seojin pulled Ahyun into his warmth. It was nearing noon and the two were still entangled in a mess of blankets, clothes, sentiments, and love.

The night had ended with Sejin congratulating them heavily, even suggested at throwing a marriage party for the two, yet something felt somewhat embittered.

"No, Jinnie, he was really very happy. Stop overthinking."
Ahyun had been busy playing with his fingers, at the same time measuring the little difference between each other's digits, kissing the pads of his little crooked fingers. It was fascinating how her fingers would fit within the gap of his finger, like those impeccably germane puzzles.

She could smell the clean, manly musk from miles away, through the steel walls and icy glass, where her hot, hungry breath created patterns out of condensed vapour. Stroking his hands like a condensing window, drawing wet circles in the dark, she kept humming something very soothing.

The sheet of the feathers had draped the two. Their states of dishabille were entrapped in the playful gaiety of fury and transparency. The two were entitled to be together. They had just wanted to be in love forever.

She traced her fingers along his jawline, feeling the stubble against her skin. Their eyes met, reflecting the depths of love and devotion they held for each other. With each breath, they inhaled the essence of their desires, and with each touch, they rediscovered the completeness they found only in each other's arms.

Seojin's coltish thumb smoothened the creases of her tangled locks as she airily turned around to face him. Her lips pressed into a thoughtful grin, her eyes wide and shimmering as she gazed at him adorably. Their eyes lingered for longer than necessary, the intensity building between them.

Brown eyes, hard and filled with a glint of elation, met the stars of her eyes. It was as if he could see deep into her soul, unravelling the mysteries she held within. Seojin felt her heart quicken, a wave of anticipation washing over her as he stepped closer. His aquiline features suggested a swooping hawk eager to reclaim his quarry. And she was more than willing to be captured.

"A picture would last longer, you know?" He grinned, stealing a peck from her lips.

Ahyun was in love with Seojin, and she couldn't deny the little erupting bubbles in her tummy every time her man would gaze lovingly at her.

"Why should I? You are my husband. I get to watch you to my heart's content, Mr. Kim, without any hindrance."

"Is that so?" He chuckled lightly seeing her forehead wrinkle into several lines of frown.

"Are you implying it isn't Mr. Kim?"

"I wouldn't dare, my lady..."

Love was, is, and shall be a delicacy, something that not everyone can afford. And to find and taste the same on the shrivelling palate was fortuity.

...

The quest for sanity had driven Sejin to insanity. And oh, how hypocritical it can make one of oneself. He had of late, despite, or in spite of, his recent acknowledgement of insanity, begun to wonder what sanity meant and even was.

He had spent the whole night thinking. Thinking, plotting, discarding, repeat.

Nothing felt easier in the whole stature he pulled off, the calculations, the terrible fallouts and the pregnant woman whose body was a mere test tube with a green hummus liquid, a glass jar with pickles, a specimen holding jar, just with the foetus working as the green liquid, or the pickled cucumber or perhaps the sensitive little specimen.

With the piling hurdle of sheets, his hungry stomach gurgled for some fuel. Sejin quickly picked his head up to peer at the clock, eight o'clock. So, he hadn't eaten for the whole day without even noticing?

Shelly must be hungry as well. She had two bodies to feed now.

The thought had perhaps induced a little bit of empathy as she turned down the open sheets, moving to the next room. Ramen took about three minutes, and him being too hungry, he quickly fetched a plate of ramen and stood still.

The radio blared the latest single to hit the airwaves. Its pain-filled love lyrics pierced the solitude of the room. Sejin stood perfectly still at his spot, hands crossed gently on his waist, his red hair pulled back into a loose ponytail with a white hair tie. He wore a simple plaid shirt and a dark brown leather jacket.

He took some gala time swinging to the music, slurping his noodles as the other plate of ramen boiled in the pot. The fire kept surging more and more as the noodles kept boiling, softening to a point of no return: a gooey, salvaging pool of hummus. Discarding the cup with a few drops of sticking remnants, he caught hold of the ladle, swirling it, slapping the gooey noodles against the pot's innards.

'It will be easier for her to digest,' he thought, slicing a few spams and adding them to the mixture.

A few mirrored steps clangoured through the caving basement, and a little switch on the far wall lit up the otherwise murky room.

"Eat this..." He muttered, timidly eyeing her with his peeking gaze. Still, unmoving, but left uncuffed.

The contagious boring eyes ticked to the rhythm of his movement as Sejin pulled the nearest chair sitting next to her. He scooped a spoonful of the slimy blob, beckoning her, "Open your mouth, Shelly, eat this."

The woman bestowed her looped stare, not willing to agree to his demand.

"Open your mouth, Shelly."
He spoke again. This time the dripping saccharine felt icky as she turned her face away.

The matter of patience in his control wasn't something that would stick together for a longer time, it would break just how he now had pushed the spoonful of ramen into her mouth, pushing it past the barricade of her lips, leaving her lips scarred, scratching the epithelium of the gums, and didn't pull the spoon out until she ingested the blob, now tasting metallic with her own blood seasoning.

Amidst the feeding, she kept coughing, but nothing of it held Sejin back from feeding her, "You need to eat, you need to live. That's all," he kept repeating, chanting those more like a written transcription.

Through the estranged moment of silence, an essence of something arriving could be felt, be in someone, be it something, "What do I live for?" Be it some words.

Sejin shrugged his shoulders, not really putting any hesitancy to his words, "For my experiment. Simple."

Her body felt like a dumpster; broken wrists, broken ankles; she was a mere roofless house, burning, bleeding.
Shelly's breaths were drawn into her aching chest in sharp, almost painful, asthmatic gasps as she did her best to jog the circumference of her brain at a somewhat reasonable speed.

"Don't you fear the god? Using, exploiting, hurting the people brought up in your sympathy?"

Sejin sighed and took the plate, setting it on the table just beside her, then passed her the pillow he'd brought with him, and left. She returned to her thoughts, feeling as though her forehead was going to split. It was too much, it was overwhelming. She shakily brought her eyes to her temples. It didn't help at all. She wanted to clamp her hands over her ears and curl into a tighter ball. The windows began to rattle, and the girl flinched back from the sound, the pain in her head building.

The emotions rushed against her head, centring on the 'third eye'. Anger. Fear. Outrage. Dismay. Pain. Malice. She whimpered. The windows rattled harder, attracting the attention of her sub-conscious, who eyed the shaking glass warily.

"Sympathy is overrated, and why do I work for free? Who works for free? Not even God.
He pliantly goes on with his eyes closed, not heeding the cries. No compassion, no sympathy until you have prayed greedily for a slice of mercy to overflow your platter.
And Satan, he has his contracts clear; I give you a soul, take another in return."

The darting footsteps took his presence away, leaving a greater depth in the hollowing narcissism, "And, your husband will be here soon. So, pray to your god or whatever, that he is here within a week."

Although the word wasn't exactly pity, it was near.

Sharing other people's emotions. Reassuring them. Recognising them via the means of their eyes. It was nearly perfect, but not quite. He was ambivalent about other people's problems. Whether they were depressed, indignant, or enamoured didn't matter to him. He was reluctant to comprehend them. He didn't wish to soothe them, stick by them, fortify them, save them, mend them, or serve them.

Why was it that the most important and acclaimed emotion that one could feel for another was also the one that could be most taxing and painful?
It must be true that pain was a good teacher, but the wise and caring are the ones who must endure the most suffering.

Life is not only a great paradox in that it leads inevitably to death.

___________

I bet you didn't see this coming!