happened. She moved to go around him. He stepped to the side to block her path.
“This is my neighborhood,” Jihoon pointed out. “If you’re not following me, what are you doing here?”
“How do you know I didn’t move back into my old place?”
“Did you?” He lifted a brow in challenge.
“No.” Miyoung moved to the other side and was blocked again.
“Did you mean it before?”
This stopped Miyoung in her tracks.
“When you said you’d help my halmeoni, did you mean it?”
“It’s why I came back.”
“I don’t know if I can trust you.”
Miyoung nodded and spun away so he couldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes. She didn’t have a right to be hurt by his distrust. But the movement was too quick, the road too steep, and her legs too weak from hours of walking. They gave out beneath her, and she began to topple over.
Jihoon caught her a millisecond before she hit the asphalt. He held her so close she felt his heart pounding through his shirt. Not so calm after all. Hers sped to match it in a frantic race as the warmth of his body seeped into her.
His breath fluttered her hair. If she turned her head, they’d be face-to-face. So close she could lean in and . . .
Jihoon stepped back, releasing her. They were both soaked through now. His umbrella lay next to them, where it had fallen.
She remembered another rain-filled night when he’d held her close. When he’d looked at her with affection. Now he watched her warily.
“Here.” He picked up the umbrella and thrust it at her.
She frowned at the handle, as if it would come alive and bite her.
“Why?”
“It’s just an umbrella. Don’t read too much into it.”
“I’m not,” she insisted, but her fingers still wouldn’t reach for the handle.
“Take the damn thing.” Annoyance laced his command. And a blaze of fire spread through her, forcing her limbs up. She thought she noticed a shining line connecting her heart to Jihoon’s, then she blinked and it disappeared.
Miyoung gripped the handle, her hand brushing against his.
“I don’t want to be like this,” he said, still holding the umbrella. “I don’t want to hate you.”
“What do you want, then?”
“I don’t know.” He finally let go of the umbrella. “It makes me so mad you’re back, but if you leave again I’ll hate you even more.”
Drops of water fell down his cheeks. She didn’t know if they were tears or rain.
“I’m used to people leaving,” he continued. “I’m just not used to them coming back.”
His words pierced her heart, leaving another hole in the already battered thing.
“Here.” She tried to hand the umbrella back.
“Just take it and get out of here.”
There was a force in his voice, a heat that arrowed through her, and she felt her hands clenching tighter around the umbrella. A command she could not deny. “I’ll return it.”
“Tomorrow,” Jihoon said. “At the hospital. I’ll meet you there after school.”
She nodded and walked quickly away, not wanting to look back, but she did. He stood in the same place, drenched, watching her leave.
* * *
• • •
The rain had slowed to a drizzle by the time Miyoung walked through the narrow alley that led to Junu’s apartment. Each step felt heavy. Like more than just rain-soaked socks weighed her limbs down. She stumbled, her vision blurring, lights flashing behind her eyes. For a second she thought they were ghosts and remembered another time she’d come down this alleyway searching for help. It seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had been less than four months earlier.
She fell to her hands and knees. A discarded shard of glass sliced into her palm and she swore. But even her cursing was weak. She would have lain there, letting the sprinkle of rain cool her overheated cheeks, but a shadow fell on her.
“What a sight,” Junu said with a tsk. “Normally I’d rejoice at having a pretty girl sprawled out waiting for me. But I know for a fact this one bites.”
Miyoung didn’t have the energy to yell at him or punch him, though they were both all she wanted to do right now.
Junu hoisted her up, swinging her arm around his shoulder.
For some reason she was grateful he hadn’t thrown her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. It was really the small things she’d learned to be grateful for in these final days.
She was unceremoniously deposited in the dry bathtub, where she wouldn’t drip on the pristine floor. Junu returned with a cup