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Tomorrow, she’d figure out what to do about the bead Jihoon had returned to her. Tomorrow, she’d wonder if her mother would ever forgive her. Tomorrow, she’d worry about the mess she’d made of her life.

Tonight, she was too exhausted.

Jihoon unlocked his front door, holding it open for Miyoung to walk through. Neither of them had spoken in what felt like hours. Miyoung wondered if she even knew how anymore.

The entranceway was small, littered with shoes, and barely big enough for both of them to stand. Jihoon toed off his sneakers and bent down to place them neatly beside the shoes lined up by the door.

Miyoung stared stupidly at the knotted bows of her oxfords. Her whole body ached. Just the thought of bending down to untie them hurt. She flexed her hand, still sore, but already mostly healed.

Without a word, still kneeling, Jihoon untied them. She watched as he carefully undid the knots of her right shoe. Hepulled on the heel and she dutifully stepped out, resting her hand on his shoulder. She left it there. Holding on to the warmth of him against her palm.

It lent her a balance when her whole world was tilting. Who would have thought such a simple gesture could feel so intimate?

Jihoon moved to her left foot. His fingers danced over her skin, light as air but twice as soft. She took her time stepping out. She wanted to concentrate on only this. On Jihoon’s hands pulling on her ankle until it lifted. On his careful fingers holding her heel, sending tingles racing up her calf. Too soon, he was done, taking her shoes and meticulously placing them beside his.

Then he stood until they were face-to-face in the entrance of his apartment. For three breaths neither of them moved. Maybe because once they did they’d have to face the trials they’d just run from.

A series of rapid-fire barks broke the moment. A tiny ball of fluff ran down the hall, making a beeline toward Miyoung. Jihoon scooped the small dog into his arms before she reached her target.

“Dubu, stop it,” Jihoon chastised.

“Dogs hate foxes,” Miyoung mumbled.

Jihoon took Dubu down the hall. Miyoung heard a door close, muffling her barking.

“Where’s your halmeoni?”

“She must be downstairs, closing up,” Jihoon said. “Sit. I’ll be right back.”

She glanced around the living room. A lumpy couch took up the middle of the space. Photos crowded the walls, which were yellowing with age. And there was a stain on the bamboo mat covering the floor.

Miyoung loved it.

She could spend all day looking at this space that measured less than her bedroom, but held so many signs of life.

She glanced at the front door and the bright yellow bujeoks that framed it. She stood halfway out of her seat. Goose bumps rose on her arms.

Jihoon returned, holding a basket filled with random first-aid supplies. He followed her glance.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” He tore half a dozen down in one swipe.

“Thanks,” she said, then gestured at the basket. “What’s all this for?”

“Your shoulder,” Jihoon answered.

“I don’t need it. Super gumiho healing.”

“I know,” Jihoon said with a sigh. It seemed his calm had been a facade as well. Now, with nothing to do, he looked as tired as she felt.

“Give them to me.” She held out her hand.

He lifted a brow in question.

“Your leg will get infected if we don’t clean it.” She gestured toward his blood-soaked pants.

“Oh, it doesn’t hurt.” He crossed his legs to hide the wound.

“Don’t be a baby about it,” she said, pulling on his knee. She yanked his pant leg up, and he let out a hiss of pain. The imprint of her teeth was almost a perfect oval in the flesh of his leg.