The Two of Us Until Now

"I'm more wiped out than I thought…"

When he'd first started clawing his way back into the studying he'd abandoned for so long, every part of it had made his skin crawl. But people adapt — isn't that what they say? Bit by bit, without skipping a single day, he'd gotten to the point where he could more or less keep up with the new semester's classes.

That didn't mean it cost him nothing. Yu-seong shut his reference book with a sharp thwap and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

"You worked hard. Want me to make some coffee?"

"Yeah. Please."

Does she ever get tired? The thought drifted through him as he watched Seol-hwa head for the kitchen. There had been plenty of reasons to start studying. Like she'd said — even without a clear dream, it widened his options. Or simply because he'd decided he couldn't keep going the way he was.

But the biggest reason was probably Seol-hwa herself. The second she had a spare moment, she was pulling out books and reference materials, buried in studying — and sitting next to her doing absolutely nothing had started to feel awkward. So he'd ended up studying alongside her. That was all it was.

He stretched, thinking he might as well collapse onto that wretched sofa of theirs, and only then noticed that the desk held more than just reference books. He'd assumed they were studying together, but apparently she'd been doing something else as well. It was a notebook — different from the spiral-bound ones she used for schoolwork. Well cared for, still looking clean. Come to think of it, he remembered catching her scribbling in it from time to time.

He was curious about what was inside. But even between lovers — even between family — just cracking it open without asking would be wrong in more ways than one. There were lines you didn't cross.

"What are you doing?"

Still, he couldn't quite let it go. He was locked in a staring contest with the notebook when Seol-hwa returned with the coffee, tilting her head at him.

"Nothing much. Just… that. You were writing in it while we studied, too. It's been bugging me."

"Oh, that? It's a diary."

Honestly, he hadn't expected that. Put bluntly, she didn't exactly have a past worth cherishing. Why would she want to write any of that down?

He didn't say it out loud, but Seol-hwa must have read it on his face. "It's just a habit," she said, as if telling him not to worry. "I don't write every day. Back then, whenever I felt down, I'd put it into words…"

"'Back then'?"

Meaning things were different now? Seol-hwa answered with nothing but a soft smile.

"Want to read it? A lot of it's… pretty dark, though…"

"…Are you sure? I'm curious, yeah — but I don't want to force anything."

It was still private, no matter how you sliced it. There had to be things she didn't want anyone else to know. She'd said herself the contents were dark; he had no desire to pry them open against her will.

He asked again, just to be sure. Seol-hwa simply nodded, calm and steady. "It's okay."

"If it's you, Yu-seong… you'll take all of it."

"…That's hitting below ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the belt."

"What is?" she asked, tilting her head in genuine confusion. Yu-seong had no choice but to turn away and mutter, "Nothing."

He set the coffee she'd handed him on the table and opened the diary in place of his reference book.

Judging by the year, she'd started writing around her elementary school graduation ceremony.

As he read, anger rose in him like a tide. He swallowed it down and kept turning the pages. Plenty of the stories she'd told him herself were written there too.

On the date she'd left home, there wasn't even a long entry. Just a page blotched as if by tears, and a single sentence scrawled in what looked like pure rage.

It was something he'd always thought whenever she talked about her family — what kind of household does that to a child? How do you raise someone until their eyes are certain that no one will ever care about them? How do you make a person believe they should never have been born at all?

The eyes he'd seen that rainy day rose before him again, sharp and vivid. The anger piled up until there was nothing left underneath it but a hollow, bottomless emptiness.

He was about to slam the book shut when Seol-hwa urged him on — "Just a little more" — and so Yu-seong kept reading.

Unlike the sparse, scattered dates from middle school, the recent entries — from around the time she'd started spending time with him — barely had a blank day among them. And running through every page was the same consistent feeling: happiness.

Page after page, filled to the margins with gratitude — that Han Yu-seong had seen her. That someone, anyone, had finally looked at the girl no one had ever bothered to see.

"…I wanted you to know."

Yu-seong turned toward her at those words. Her cheeks had gone as red as ripe apples — she was clearly embarrassed — but she didn't look away or turn her head the way she usually did. Her eyes stayed on him.

"You say it a lot, you know. Things like, 'Is it really okay if it's me?' Or that you have to try harder if we're going to live together… I'm happy you feel that way, but I wanted you to have a little more confidence. Even now, I'm already more than—"

Before she could finish, Yu-seong pulled her small frame tight against him.

"Y-Yu-seong…?!"

"…Just stay like this. For a minute."

Seol-hwa seemed thoroughly flustered by the sudden hug, but if he didn't do something, the sheer loveliness of her was going to short-circuit his brain. She'd started it, so for now this was only fair. That was how he justified it to himself.

It didn't take long for her to settle. She slipped her arms around his waist and began gently stroking his back. In that warmth, something Eun-ha had said around the start-of-term ceremony floated up unbidden.

If someone finds joy in the present, people are naturally drawn to them.

The Seol-hwa in front of him was the living proof of those words. Because she trusted that Yu-seong would accept her, she could show him who Yun Seol-hwa really was — the fragile parts included. She could be a little spoiled. She could lean on him when things got hard.

Family. That trust — the way she thought of him that way — simply made him happy. Every time he wondered whether someone like him was enough, there was someone who told him that someone like him was exactly right. The gratitude he felt for that was beyond anything words could hold.

"You've turned ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into a real spoiled brat," he said, giving her cheek a gentle pinch. Seol-hwa beamed up at him.

"And whose fault is that?"

Maybe all the fussing from his mother, from Eun-ha, from everyone else who'd piled on to look after her was finally showing results. The hair he carefully stroked was soft as new clothes, and the body he held close smelled warm and clean, like fresh laundry straight off the line. It was dangerously addictive. Pulling away from her was harder than it should have been. Just a little longer, he kept thinking, and extracting himself became a genuine project.

In the end, he never quite managed it. He ended up sitting on the sofa behind her, arms wrapped silently around her from behind. He'd just called her a spoiled brat, and now look at him. He scoffed at himself inwardly.

At first he'd thought he was the one helping her out of pure one-sided goodwill. Now it was the other way around — he was the one who'd be lost without her, in more ways than he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠could count. In the practical day-to-day, and in everything else besides… these days, he couldn't even imagine a life without Seol-hwa in it.

While Yu-seong sat there quietly wrestling with that thought, Seol-hwa cradled the finished diary against her chest and skimmed back through its pages.

"The photos, the diary… I want to leave a lot of things behind. Memories. As many as I never got to have before."

"So many they'll be a pain to deal with?"

"Just thinking about it already makes me excited."

Smiling, she went back to reading through the diary. Her eyes held a whole crowd of feelings — longing, sadness, regret… but threaded through them, here and there, were joy and delight as well.

You couldn't erase the past or rewrite it. But you could fill the days until those old things barely registered anymore. The way things had been going — he'd make sure only good things waited ahead of them, too.

Someday they'd put together an album, and look back ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and say, Remember when that happened? That day would come. And until it did — so that it could — he'd keep going. Yu-seong made the quiet promise to himself, without a word.