The Marble in Her Eyes
As soon as she stepped into the café, the place was packed. Every seat was taken, even the ones tucked in the corners. Yeo-won scanned the room with a troubled frown and checked her phone again.
This was the third time.
She had tried three different cafés, and all of them were full. These weren’t trendy specialty spots either—just ordinary chain cafés.
Maybe it was the hospital nearby drawing so many people. With this many cafés around, how could there be nowhere to sit? As Yeo-won anxiously searched for options on her phone, Jae-young slipped up behind her.
“Um, I know a café close by. Would you like to go there instead?”
“Let’s do that.”
At her quick agreement, Jae-young pointed in the opposite direction and started walking. They followed the sidewalk for about ten minutes until the street grew noticeably quieter, opening onto an alley that felt far removed from the bustling hospital area.
In just ten minutes the atmosphere had changed completely, as if they had stepped into another world.
“It’s right here.”
“Here…?”
The building Jae-young indicated was small and dilapidated. The brick structure had no windows to peer inside, no sign announcing a café—only a lonely, rusted iron door.
Yeo-won hovered uncertainly, reluctant to open it. Jae-young reached past her, grasped the handle, and turned.
The moment the door swung open, a rich wave of coffee aroma washed over them. Inside, the space transformed; it truly did look like a café after all.
A middle-aged man behind the counter spotted them and gave a polite nod. Jae-young, moving as though he came here often, guided her toward a table in the back.
“Have a seat. I’ll get the drinks. You only drink Americano, right, sunbae?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
Yeo-won watched his retreating back, head tilted slightly.
Did I ever tell him I only drink Americano?
Maybe she had mentioned it once, long ago. She decided it wasn’t worth dwelling on and rubbed at her dry eyes.
The café’s dim interior probably didn’t help; her vision felt strangely hazy.
When she looked up, old-fashioned orange bulbs swayed gently from the ceiling.
No windows and such weak lighting. They could at least make the bulbs brighter.
Just then Jae-young returned, carrying two steaming cups.
Plenty of cafés had unusual concepts. She assumed this was simply one of them.
Once he sat down, silence descended. Jae-young kept his head bowed like a criminal awaiting judgment, offering no words. Yeo-won, lost in her own heavy thoughts, didn’t know how to begin either.
What do you even say in a situation like this? Should I offer comfort first?
They had only recently reconnected. If she started dispensing pity, it might offend him instead.
She stole another glance at him.
No ghosts hovered around him at the moment, but she never knew when one might appear.
Still, telling a clearly suffering person that a ghost clung to him might push him toward an even more desperate act.
At the very least, I should warn him to be careful…
“Thank you for helping me earlier.”
“Sorry?”
His sudden words startled her. Jae-young lifted his head, the corners of his mouth curving in a faint, fragile smile.
“I’m glad the last person I called was you, sunbae.”
The weakness in his voice made Yeo-won’s brows draw together sharply. He had stressed the word last. She raked her hair back in irritation, wrestling with her thoughts before finally speaking.
“…Were you really trying to die?”
“…”
He didn’t answer, but his empty eyes and the fine tremor in his hands said everything.
The words stuck in her throat.
Asking why someone wanted to die would only plant more reasons in their mind.
Frustration rose like thirst. She lifted the Americano and drank it in several swift gulps. Setting the cup down with a sharp clack, she let out a long breath.
“Bowling last time was fun.”
“…”
“Let’s do it again sometime. I’ll play better next time.”
A friend had once told her she never embellished her words.
It was true. She couldn’t offer the exaggerated sympathy others managed so easily, and genuine comfort felt nearly impossible for her.
So this was the limit of what she could give. She might not be able to speak beautiful, heart-stirring phrases, but stating simple facts came easily.
The fact that bowling with him had been enjoyable was no lie.
Sometimes a plain sentence could resonate more deeply than flowery ones.
To someone who had emphasized last, promising a next time was perhaps the most indifferent yet tender comfort possible.
Yeo-won had been staring fixedly at her Americano when the continued silence felt strange. She lifted her gaze.
Her eyes widened.
Jae-young was crying. Tears slid silently down his blank face.
“Ah…”
With a dazed sound, he lowered his head. Clear droplets pattered onto the table. Flustered, Yeo-won stood, grabbed a thick wad of tissues, and held them out.
“A-are you all right? Does something hurt?”
Her voice carried real worry. His face twisted in pain.
He was crying so hard he seemed to be holding his breath, so she simply set the tissues on the table.
Jae-young stared down at them, blinking slowly. Each blink sent another tear splashing onto the paper. Yeo-won waited until the flow eased. Several minutes later he spoke, voice low.
“I’ve been having nightmares a lot lately.”
“…What kind of nightmares?”
He hesitated, mouth opening and closing several times before the words finally emerged, barely above a whisper.
“…Dreams about my mother who passed away.”
Just saying it seemed to cause him pain; he squeezed his eyes shut.
“She used to appear occasionally, but the dreams have become more frequent. Falling asleep started to scare me, so…”
He left the rest unsaid, but the implication was clear.
So that’s why he overdosed on sleeping pills.
One thing still puzzled her. Why would dreams of his dead mother frighten him?
Perhaps their relationship had been bad.
She herself had felt hurt more times than she could count that neither her parents nor even her grandfather ever visited her dreams.
“Are you wondering why dreams of my mother would scare me?”
He had read her thoughts. Yeo-won flinched and shook her head.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, you really don’t have to.”
“Haha… it’s not a pleasant story. But I mentioned it before, didn’t I? That my mother was rather superstitious… She was a shaman.”
“Ah…”
The word shaman instantly brought to mind Grandmother Yoon back in her hometown. She, too, had been a shaman in her youth.
“Then one day she claimed a ghost had possessed me. After that she performed every ritual she could—exorcisms, initiation rites, you name it.”
He gave an awkward smile, then his eyes went dead as he muttered.
She had never been a good mother. But one day she suddenly told me to get in the car. It was raining. Once I was inside, she drove deeper and deeper into the empty mountain roads. Even as a child I sensed something was wrong. When I looked over, Mother was crying silently, shoulders shaking.
She kept muttering to herself. Then she looked at me and said everything was her fault. That she would stay with me until the end, so I shouldn’t be too afraid. She wrenched the steering wheel. The car slammed into an oncoming truck. She had planned a murder-suicide from the start.
Jae-young let out a laugh that was closer to a sneer.
Something wriggled on his back. This time it was clearer than ever—dangling scraps of flesh, jagged shards of broken bone protruding outward.
Yeo-won recoiled. An icy chill spread through the air.
The thing emerged with a creaking sound, swelling larger by the second. To her it looked like a monster feeding on Jae-young’s fear and trauma, growing stronger with every bite.
“…Jae-young.”
Something was very wrong. She called his name to stop the flow of words, but he was already spiraling, clawing at his own hair and muttering frantically.
“I should have died with her that day. I—I killed Mom. It’s my fault. I’m the one who’s bad.”
“Jae-young!”
“No, even now is fine—just let me die right now, right now—!”
“Yoo Jae-young!”
Yeo-won shot to her feet and seized his hand. The skin-crawling sensation that raced up her arm made her want to let go instantly, but she only gripped tighter.
“This isn’t your fault, Jae-young. That was abuse! And stop saying things like that. You don’t really want to die.”
“…Don’t I?”
He gasped the words between ragged breaths.
Her arm had gone numb and prickling. Seeing his deathly pale face, she bit her lip hard.
“If you didn’t, why call me? Because you want to live. You begged me to save you.”
Her breath suddenly caught. Was this the ghost’s influence too? Fighting to keep her blurring mind clear, Yeo-won forced a smile.
“I’ll help you. So please don’t be startled—just listen. Right now there’s a gh—”
She couldn’t finish.
In the instant before her vision went black, she saw the corner of Jae-young’s mouth lift in a tiny, satisfied curve.
Yeo-won collapsed onto the table with a heavy thud. The glass tumbled to the floor and shattered loudly. Despite the noise, the café remained eerily peaceful, as though nothing had happened.
“…The medicine took its time.”
Jae-young turned his gaze with an expressionless face and looked down at his arm. Even unconscious, she hadn’t released him. A low chuckle escaped him.
“You really are kind, sunbae.”
He stroked the hair of the unconscious woman.
“I should tell you everything. What exactly is on my back.”
His fingers drifted from her hair to the delicate skin beneath her closed eyes. A deeply satisfied smile bloomed across his face.
“The one helping me isn’t you, sunbae. It’s the fox marble embedded in those pretty eyes.”
Jae-young lifted Yeo-won into his arms. The air around them rippled. In the space of a breath the quiet little café dissolved into a crumbling ruin.
Carrying her, he stepped into the thickest patch of shadow within the wreckage and vanished without a trace.