The Line Was Crossed

I was about to check my sister's feed when I stopped myself.

Arin comes first right now.

My eyes meet Arin's again through the second-floor window.

I hurry into the kitchen and start on the fastest thing I can make — kimchi fried rice.

A familiar voice drifts in from far away, the sound of Arin's tablet.

Arin, mask and hood pulled down low, sits down on one of the chairs at the table.

"Sorry I'm late."

Even as I apologize, her eyes stay locked on the tablet.

The kimchi fried rice is done once I top it with a fried egg. Despite rushing, it's already 12:20.

Reading her mood, I carefully take a single spoonful.

"I miscalculated the time it would take to get back. You waited a long time, didn't you?"

"……"

No reaction. I'm screwed.

Even coming out of her room and down to the table is no small effort for Arin.

"I promise it'll never happen again."

Slowly, the eyes that had been fixed on the tablet begin to move, and then they settle on me.

"…Promise."

"Yeah. I promise."

How long has it been since I made eye contact with Arin like this?

She didn't say it, but she was waiting for me.

As usual, she leaves about half of it untouched and heads back upstairs, eyes on her tablet.

Now I need to check on my sister.

I open her account feed and find a new post waiting.

The title alone tells me nothing good is coming. Weren't you supposed to be out shopping with Jeong Yisol?

The first photo. The background is the plaza in front of the subway station.

A full-body shot framed from just below the face down.

Don't tell me this is why she wore that outfit out of the house.

Fuck. Was she baiting men's stares?

The second photo. There's a toilet in the frame, so it's a bathroom.

Her blouse is unbuttoned and her bra is hauled up — her chest is exposed.

Her long skirt is hiked up, but where her panties should be, there's nothing.

Then I see them, snagged around her knees. There's a wet stain on my sister's panties.

Should I call that a relief? At least she wore underwear out. Then again, there were escalators.

The comments are in an absolute frenzy.

Coming Soon. What's that supposed to be?

Does it mean there's still more to come?

She definitely didn't go out just to shop.

I check my phone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠through lunch and cleanup, but nothing new happens.

Should I follow her again?

I don't even know where she is — picking her out from hundreds of markers is impossible.

I'll have to track her from the house.

Patience. There's still plenty I haven't seen, so maybe I'll comb through her past activity for now.

It's short, but the tone matches my sister's earlier posts, and there are photos attached this time too.

There's a bruise on her arm, like she ran into something.

The atmosphere here is completely different from her account feed — the comments are mostly concern and sympathy.

Unrelated posts about beauty, daily life, and travel are mixed in too, so it takes longer than I expected.

Wait. Did someone come in? I just heard a voice.

My sister? No — it's a different voice.

I head to the living room and find the two women I saw earlier taking off their shoes at the entrance. My sister and Jeong Yisol.

"Jihoon! ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It's been ages — how have you been?"

"Oh, um… it has been a while, Yisol."

"What's with the formal speech? Creepy."

The polite register I use with my sister slipped out of habit — with Jeong Yisol, it's always been casual talk.

"Force of habit. Have you been well, Yisol?"

"Getting by. Chaeyeon must be a handful, huh? I get it."

Jeong Yisol wears an expression of serene enlightenment. Six years as her boarding school roommate — she'd know better than anyone.

"Hey, stick this in the fridge, then bring out two cans of highball and slice up some apples."

"You came all the way here just to drink with each other? I bought some for Jihoon too — let's all drink together, Chaeyeon."

My sister furrows her brow and tucks her hair behind her ear, hesitating as if thinking it over.

"…Three highballs and apples."

"Yes, of course."

Things are heading somewhere strange. And here I was, wound tight as a drum over that "coming soon."

I do as I'm told and set out the highballs and sliced apples.

Still, Jeong Yisol is as energetic as ever. Textbook extrovert. So why would she write a post like that?

My sister tells Jeong Yisol she's going to change clothes and leaves the room.

As if she'd been waiting for exactly this, Jeong Yisol sidles over.

"Your body's all healed up? Nothing hurts?"

"That was ages ago. I jog two hours every day now. Put on a decent amount of muscle, too."

"Last time I saw you was a year ago, right? You actually look like a man now."

Jeong Yisol has gotten quite pretty herself in the meantime.

Was that why her face stiffened earlier — because that guy was only looking at my sister?

…I have no real evidence for that.

"Are you still getting your checkups from that professor?"

"Just once a year now."

"My dad couldn't even get an appointment with him, and he still takes you."

Two short vibrations rattle through my pocket, one right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠after the other.

My sister's room is quiet.

…Don't tell me she just uploaded something.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

The question comes a little out of nowhere, and the moment I open my mouth to answer, my sister emerges from her room.

Black sweatpants and a sky-blue short-sleeve tee. She's changed the colors.

"Who'd ever date him? He's such a high-maintenance pain."

"A thoughtful man like Jihoon is hard to come by, though."

"If he's so great, then you date him."

Jeong Yisol goes silent, and the whole mood turns sour.

My sister settles into a chair with a triumphant little smile, cracks a highball, and takes a sip.

Maybe she feels guilty, because Jeong Yisol cracks open a can for me.

…First one in ages. Not bad at all.

"Hey, did you buy any clothes?"

"…Haven't picked anything out yet."

I'd forgotten completely. Like I've had a spare thought for clothes with everything going on.

I'm on pins and needles even now.

"Oh, I get it — that's why you were browsing the men's section earlier."

"Yisol!"

"If I'd known, I would've just bought them myself. Could've counted as a present and everything."

So that really was what she went to look at.

There's such a thing as too much meddling.

Fine. Time to use this as my excuse and get out of here.

I drain my highball in one go and stand up.

"Before I forget, I'll go pick something out and order it now."

"Nothing black or white."

"Stay as long as you like, Yisol. It was really good to see you again."

The moment I'm back in my room, I check the two notifications from earlier.

I go straight to her feed and start scrolling — and my finger freezes.

My sister stands in the thumbnail wearing the long skirt and blouse.

Both of her hands are at her buttons, and what should be there… isn't visible.

The mask and hat that used to hide my sister's face.

Everything below her lips is showing. Did she film it like this on purpose?

I press play. My sister undoes the buttons of her blouse one by one.

She strips off each piece of clothing in turn until, in the end, she's completely naked.

It's borderline. Her upper lip flashes into frame, almost, almost.

She turns around, braces both arms against the wall, and spreads her legs.

She pushes her hips back toward the camera, staring into the lens as if meeting its eyes — and the video cuts off.

…She's crossed the line. She didn't cover her face.

And she did this while Jeong Yisol and I were sitting in the living room downstairs.

There's one more post beneath it I haven't seen.

A photo taken with her head turned, framed from just below her lips.

No mask this time.

The demands for a face reveal are pouring in, blatant and relentless.

…I have to stop her here.

It's quiet outside. Is Jeong Yisol planning to leave already?

At that moment, someone knocks on my door.

Wound tight, I open it to find Jeong Yisol standing there.

"Hope I'm not interrupting. I was about to head out, but it felt like a waste to just go."

"You're not staying to see Mom? She'd be thrilled. You could crash here too."

"She's been slammed lately. I'll catch her next time."

She seems to have already made up her mind. Nothing I can do about it.

It's only five o'clock. If Jeong Yisol leaves too, God knows what my sister will do.

My sister steps closer.

She tilts her chin up slightly and looks down at me.

She's so composed it's hard to believe she posted that content minutes ago.

I watch the two of them — Jeong Yisol and my sister, their backs turned — as they head out the door.

From what I can catch, my sister is walking her to the subway station.

I close the door, sit down, and drum my fingers against the desk.

There's not much time. I have to find a way to stop this.

Let me retrace my sister's anonymous activity. There has to be a hint in there somewhere.

My sister believes she deserves to be ruined.

And the more ruined she becomes, the easier it feels — she's even enjoying it.

Hell… but she wants it to be heaven.

If I strike at that, will it stop her?

If I just tell her to quit, she'll drown under those comments. I need to touch the part of her nobody else knows is there.

If that doesn't land, I could always consider hinting that I've seen her in real life.

But that's a card I can only play once, and there'd be no taking it back.

Even sweeping the area in Cheat Mode, too many markers light up. Tracking her like ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this is hopeless.

An hour passes, and still no reaction to my comment.

I go back to her feed to check again — and stop.

…Both of her recent unmasked posts are gone.

I don't know if it's because of my comment, but either way, my sister deleted them herself.

Wait. I can see my sister's marker approaching the house.

I hurry to the living room, but she doesn't spare me so much as a glance before disappearing into her room.

At least the borderline face-reveal post is down.

The tension drains out of me, and I close my eyes for a moment — waking up thirty minutes later.

I'm picking out a few outfits I promised to buy that morning when it happens.

My fingers react before my brain does.

Master, I'm sorry for pretending to be punished.

The post title feels like it's speaking directly to me — and with no heart emoji, it reads stiff. Cold.

In the thumbnail, my sister — mask and hat on, otherwise naked — is bowing her head low toward the camera.

She's covered her face again. So has the face reveal actually stopped?

…She didn't have to go this far, though.

I press play.

Bent forward with her head bowed for a long moment, my sister slowly straightens up.

Huh? What is she doing? Stop.

My sister grips the doorknob, eases the door open, and peers outside.

The eyes visible between her mask and hood look desperately anxious.

Leaving the door ajar, she bows her head toward the camera once more.

The instant her hand reaches out, the camera lurches hard, and rough breathing fills the audio.

I straighten up and lean in close to the screen.

The background is familiar.

…That's our living room.

That spot is right on the way to the second floor.

It's okay. She stopped in front of the stairs.

Fuck. You can't go up there!

My sister paces the living room.

At the edge of the trembling frame, the door to my room comes into view.

She doesn't come any closer.

She stands in place for a moment, then turns and walks back toward her own room.

The shaking camera finally steadies.

She's set it down somewhere.

After a breath, as if steadying herself, she glances outside — then flings the door wide open.

There isn't the smallest movement to cover herself. Not even an attempt.

My sister stares into the camera.

Something slides down from the corner of her eye, soaking into the mask.

…Is she crying? Her eyes look so full of anguish.

Slap!!!

Without warning, my sister opens her hand and strikes her own cheek.

Slap!!!

Then the other side.

All I'd stopped was her face. Nothing more.