Chapter Text
༊·˚ Chapter 1
2048
Tuesday
₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ ₊˚⊹♡
Chicago, Illinois
Even as time went by, as I grew older and more mature, I couldn’t find the force to forget the first memory I’d ever obtained. Most people would never remember the day they were born. Not what day or where they were born, but how they felt and how the moment seemed in the eyes of their baby self. It is a rare gift I have, to know what the first ever feeling that ran through my miniature, feeble body was.
The memory was picturesque. I could picture it effortlessly, like it was just yesterday when my heart first beat and my eyes first opened.
I remember the warmth I felt, the bright colors and the natural lighting pouring from the windows, as well as the smell of my eomma’s perfume that mingled with the sterile scene of the hospital. I was small, swaddled. I opened my eyes for the first time and blinked. Everything was a first for me.
The world was vast and overwhelming in my eyes. In a tiny body like mine, everything was scary but unbelievably interesting. There was crying coming from beside me. I looked up and saw a woman. My vision at the time was slightly blurry, but once it focused, I could see the woman’s face.
It was my eomma.
Eomma held me close and kissed the top of my head for a while, repeatedly too. Her eyes glistened with tears, and streaks slid down her cheeks, capturing the light like droplets of water. She smiled in a way that made her seem younger than now.
She was seventeen at the time, I remembered. She was young, too young to have a child. To this day, the reason why is still inconclusive, even with the vague answers she gave me whenever I’d ask.
Appa was barely fifteen, and he was as tall as I recalled. He’s taller now, and he’ll always be a giant to me.
Appa leaned over and brushed my forehead tenderly like I was the treasure that could end financial instability. His hands were trembling, but his smile steadied him with how genuine it was. “We did it,” he’d said.
His voice sounded weird, as if it was breaking up with each breath he inhaled. I looked up at Appa and saw a black-haired man with glasses and a bandaid across his cheek. He was handsome and looked like he’d earn big later on in life.
I blinked again, and a small coo left my lips once they parted.
Appa seemed to like the sound, as he had chuckled warmly before kissing my cheek. “We’re a family now.”
Eomma nodded weakly. Her eyes glimmered even more than before. Her tears flowed freely, and one fell on me before I tried blinking it away. She sobbed, cradling me in her arms like she was preventing me from leaving if I tried. “No matter what… We’ll protect our aegi… Our.. Hyunwoo.”
That was the moment my name was said. I acquired that name.
Appa smiled and nodded. “I like that name. Hyunwoo..” He looked down at me. “Ne, it suits him.” His eyes quivered slightly, and they creased at the edges from how broad and shaky his smile was. “Our precious Hyunwoo..”
“Saranghae, Hyunwoo,” eomma said. I remember how when she said it, her voice cracked softly. It felt like this moment, to her, was a tsunami she welcomed with open arms, even as it promised destruction.
Appa nodded firmly, “Ne, ne. Saranghae, Hyunwoo-ya.”
Hyunwoo.
It is a pretty name. Even though I couldn’t understand it or what they were saying as a baby, I felt a connection with that name. I recall how that name, being said outloud, made my body feel all fuzzy. To me, it was the push I needed to begin my life.
To eomma, my birth was a spectacular, beautiful tsunami, strong waves of rippling water shining from the moonlight that destroyed everything in its path naturally. To me, the sight of the parents who’d care for me and create a safe haven—a home—for me was the water we carelessly consume or waste; the drinkable water is how I see my parents.
I waste it.
I waste the opportunity to be with them.
I use too much of it.
I unknowingly overwhelm them.
I can’t live without it.
I can’t live without them.
I cherish it.
I cherish them.
“…”
Baby me would never understand how essential that name—”Hyunwoo”—is to me now, how meaningful that moment was. Maybe that’s why I remember it, because of how deeply it affected me.
What if my name was something else? Would that change my identity? Would I have grown up different, maybe less cold?
What if it was something joyous like Jaehui? Would I have grown to be stronger and less of a coward that hides my feelings because of the fear? Would I have been a leader?
Would I haven’t needed to resort to memories to bring me comfort?
Still, whenever I find myself going through a harsh time, I think of that moment, along with others, because it swiftly lightens my mood and fills my mind with happy thoughts. It’s like my personal cure from melancholy.
I’ll never forget it. I’ve made sure of it. Just as I’m thinking about it right now, I’ve thought about it over and over again on specific days when I’m feeling gloomy. Thus, I’ve added more details to the sentences—to the story—that occupy six pages worth of my favorite journal. I’ve written the memory down. I can’t risk forgetting something so impactful because something random overshadowed the thought.
I can’t risk losing my water source—the droplets that first dripped from the hose.
꧁ 𓆩༺❄༻𓆪 ꧂
✧₊˚.⋆⛈⋆⁺₊✧
Of course, not all the memories I have are good. But memories aren’t recallable because they are all delightful.
There wouldn’t be a reason to select only good ones and leave out the negative. It would be like altering your own reality so you’d believe only good things happened. That would only harm your mindset and raise your expectations. I should know. I’ve seen others try that method: isolating themselves in pleasant thoughts, blocking out the truth persistently.
The only way to heal is by facing the problem head-on. What matters most is how you choose to resolve it.
If it weren’t for how I’d chosen back then, I’d probably be in a different place, a different person, with different acquaintances, and with a different outlook on life—on everything. The only thing that would stay the same is my age: 15. Maybe my decision had mattered more than I had realized—no, more than I failed to realize. Maybe I would have lived through a more fulfilling childhood if it weren’t for my own choice.
My choice mattered. My choice on how to view those negative memories hurt me.
I’ve experienced countless miserable and abominable moments, such as the first time I had to present something for a project I completed, or the time I broke my leg after failing to play soccer properly; however, nothing was as life-changing as the day it happened. The memory in which that was spoken.
I could never seem to forget those same four words. They stuck with me all throughout my childhood. There wasn’t a single day at that time that I didn’t ponder about their unpleasant meaning and why they were directed at me. Of all people… me.
It felt like betrayal the third time I heard that same phrase, once I could at least comprehend it. I was around seven the third time I heard it. The second time was less impactful. I’d heard it once, hearing it again was as insignificant as it was easy to ignore. Yet her tone never left me. Her voice was more hushed—heartless like she’d threatened me—when she had whispered in my ear on the night of my fifth birthday.
The first time, however, was like a lighter grazing the beginning of a fragile piece of rope.
I was far too young to hear those words, to bear the truth after understanding.
I was only four at the time, so I was reckless and unaware of life’s own truths and realities.
I was a grown aegi, a toddler, full of wonder. I wanted to learn more about the things around me. The environment was indescribably magnificent. In the eyes of a child, everything was colorful and eye-catching.
The red luggage that passed by me was brighter than the color of fresh blood. The flowers inside a flower pot were a pink so pure it felt like a Valentine’s heart would burst from them. It was nighttime, so the moon’s light only highlighted the different tones across the surface it touched.
I wasn’t born with an artist’s talent, but I knew beauty when I saw it. Even at such a young age, I knew what beauty was and where to find it. Beauty isn’t all around me. Beauty is only present if you perceive something as it. My outlook on life when I was a kid was positive, effervescent. Hence, naturally, I thought, everything is beauty.
The dark sky at night was beauty, the girls’ shiny hair was beauty, the pavement shimmering with moisture was beauty, and the headlights from the car were beauty.
My immature mind couldn’t understand beauty. I was just fascinated by everything, I still remember…
My big eyes looked around the place. There was a road in front of me, a three-way junction with no cars in sight, except the occasional vehicle zooming past us. To my left, there was a quaint cafe still open despite the hour. (10:02 PM) Behind me, a bank stood tall. To my right, there was a sidewalk leading down before turning right and disappearing. My eomma was with me, and we’d just gotten out of the boring bank. We were there for what seemed like hours.
Eomma was to my right, talking to a woman about her age or older. I could hear the conversation, but only snippets were understood by my imaginative mind. Her voice was distant and full of laughter. She seemed happy. I held Eomma’s hand, hers larger than mine.
As I looked up at the sky, shifting in my brown winter boots, I saw the moon. It was a blinding white, full moon. My blue eyes glistened under the moonlight, as did my jet black hair. I looked even paler than under the trees’ shadows.
It was winter time, and I felt it. I shivered and instinctively rolled my small hand into a fist to keep it warm. My eomma didn’t seem to notice, too busy with her friend. I wore warm attire though: a caramel brown winter coat matching my eomma’s, a cream-colored pom beanie, a dark brown scarf around my neck, and gloves complementing my beanie.
I looked up at the sky again, and seconds after I did so, I saw something falling from the sky. I didn’t know it then, but it was a perfect, tiny snowflake that was descending at a graceful pace.
The first snowfall.
The second snowflake soon followed the first, and then there was a third, then fourth, then tenth, then fiftieth!…
Flakes rained down from high up, coloring the sky with white dots like the stars did. They caught on my gloves and my long eyelashes. I blinked heavily, giggling to myself from the excitement I felt. “Woaah…” I mumbled in awe. “White dots!” I pointed to the sky, expecting my eomma to look. She didn’t, but as a kid, disappointment wasn’t felt as deeply compared to an adult.
I giggled again, and I smiled when a snowflake fell right into my outstretched hand. “Pretty…”
My eyes trailed upwards to see the snowflakes falling in greater numbers. It was like rain, but slower and more mesmerizing. A particular snowflake caught my attention. It was the largest, and glistened like ice.
I held out my small hand. In my perspective, I touched it, but it was too far away to actually grasp. I pouted, but I refused to let it go. With a smile and determination, I reached out higher, standing on my tiptoes. It didn’t work.
I stood there, staring at the same flake still descending as slowly as a feather. My hand was still trying to hold it. I wanted to hold it, to reach it, so I let go of Eomma’s hand. She didn’t notice, and neither did the woman; they were both too engrossed in whatever they were talking about.
I took one step forward, then another and another. My feet led me closer. It felt like I was getting nearer to my grand prize. The snowflake was beauty. It caught my attention easily. I needed it!
I was walking forth now, not knowing where I was going, just knew I was heading toward my goal. I held my hand out higher. “So close.. It’s so pwetty..”
I reached… and reached, and walked further… and closer..
A loud honk rammed my body, but I didn’t pay attention to it; I hardly even heard it. The next thing I knew, a car’s tires screamed against the asphalt, hitching to a stop abruptly. A cold wind swept past me from the sudden stop of the car. The headlights shone on me like a spotlight, catching the attention of the few passersby still out and about. There was another honk, accidental or not.
It didn’t matter because my eyes were still locked on the snowflake. All I could see were the flakes twirling like ballerinas just beyond reach.
I heard a shout. “Hyunwoo!” The voice was unfamiliar at first, but when a hand grabbed mine and I saw whose it was, I knew. It was my eomma.
I looked up at her. Her eyebrows were furrowed sharply, and the grin from before was a scowl. I could see her teeth; she was gritting them tightly, and I swore I could’ve seen sparks from the effort.
“What were you thinking?!” she whisper-shouted.
Before I knew it, she yanked me from where I stood and dragged me to the parking lot where her car was, where we had parked to enter the bank. I didn’t know why she held my hand so vigorously. It stung, but I didn’t say anything.
I pouted, glancing over my shoulder to the snowflake. It was gone now… I would never be able to catch it, or even see it.
Eomma stopped suddenly. I peered around. Our car wasn't close, so why did she stop? We were between two cars that didn’t belong to her. She stood there, her back turned to me, for a solid minute before I heard a sharp inhale. She whirled around to face me. Somehow, she looked even more infuriated than seconds ago.
“Yah! Are you asking for death right now, Hyunwoo? Is that what you want?!” she exclaimed, yanking back her hand from mine. “You could’ve died back there. Did you not look where you were going, you idiot?! You have eyes for a reason, so fucking use them before you cost us a fortune paying hospital fees!!” She was breathing hard, spewing words faster than I could catch up.
“Eo.. mma?” I whispered, calling her as my wide eyes focused on her brown ones. I fidgeted with my fingers shakily—that was a habit I’d later acknowledge as anxiety.
“Eey.. Do you think the world bends for your whims?! Tch, why’d I get stuck with a stupid child?” She ran a hand over her face and hair before angrily shouting, “Of all the ones I could’ve gotten!!!”
I flinched. She was being loud. Did I do something wrong? Why was she mad? Did I mess up? “E–Eomma..?”
Eomma grasped her head like she had a migraine before pulling me closer forcefully. “Pabo-ya? Jinjja pabo-ya?” she rhetorically said, her eyes only widening from the anger.
“A–Aniyo..”
She scoffed and chuckled wryly. “Jinjja? You really expect me to believe that? When you clearly ran across the road like a retard!!”
I flinched again and tried shrinking back, but she only held tighter. I weakly mumbled, “Eom–ma..” as if to get her to stop.
“Jinjja..” She let go, making me stumble to the pavement. I blinked rapidly, knowing full well I was going to cry. She didn’t care. “You—” she jabbed a finger at him, “you’re the reason I’m in such a mess!! Why can’t you just.. be normal!?”
“Eo..? W—”
“Nega modeun geol mangcheosseo!”
My pupils blew wide, not from elation, but from sheer shock. What? She had never said that before. That I ruined everything? Her only son? “Wae..” I tried asking, only to sound dejected and lost. “W–Wae?”
“Neo jeongmal…”
She raised her hand as if she was on the verge of smacking me, so I jolted, shut my eyes, and winced to prepare for it. All the while, I cried.
She screamed, “Before you were born, we were fine!” She groaned and lowered her hand, clenching it into a tight fist. “Now I’m just fucked and trying to just survive!”
Why was she doing this? All of a sudden? We were fine just minutes ago. “Joesonghamnida..” I quickly apologized, too used to it anyway.
“I was stupid for having a fool of a kid so young.” Her hands clenched tighter from barely held back rage, the type where violence soothed it. “You were dumb back then, but look at you now! How could you get dumber?” Her cold, sardonic smile was like that of the devil. “What use do you have? All you do is torment me, you fucking son of a bitch!”
I could understand most of what she was saying. I didn’t understand the weight of her words, except for whenever she’d belittle me. It hurt. It hurt so badly that I couldn’t stop crying even if I tried. My vision blurred from the pouring tears, so I couldn’t see when a hand came down to roll up my sleeve and pinch my arm so hard I yelped.
The pain evoked small sobs. And in a voice clearer, more cruel and cutting than anything I’ve heard—than any yell or slap, she whispered:
“Yoon Hyunwoo. Never forget your roots.”
“…”
Back then, I didn’t fully understand, but the words still sank deep into my body. It was a weight I’ve carried, a weight that’s proved an unstoppable burden even when I walked with ease or came out successful. They weren’t just instructions, they were a warning, four chains wrapped around my meek, throbbing heart.
Even now, years later, I still hear it every time I answer somewhat disrespectfully after being wronged. Every time I do something incorrectly when she needs it most. Every time I fail her.
With my eomeoni, mistakes aren’t tolerated. A mistake reminds her of me. And I’m not tolerated when I fail. If I give it my all, she finds it puny how I still lost. If I don’t give it my all, she finds it unproductive and immoral.
How could I find beauty in a woman so cruel? How could I find the snowflake within her?
꧁ 𓆩༺❄༻𓆪 ꧂
✧₊˚.⋆⛈⋆⁺₊✧
Miami, Florida
The memory dissolved like salt soaked in a glass of water. One moment I was back in that hospital room where I was a small, comfortable, and wanted baby, and the next, I was staring at the version of myself who existed twelve years later. The version I learned to become. Even now, as I sit here in my bedroom pondering about the past, I can still feel the sting behind my eyes. I knew the pain was severe the moment I found myself crying whenever I thought of those unpleasant memories. What could I do though? Erase them?
I’d rather not. At least with the bad, came the good as a reward of surviving hardships. That’s what I believed in, and what I believe in now. If that isn’t true, I still wouldn’t because knowing I’ve overcome—even somewhat—the past fills me with a newfound sense of pride, gratitude, and reason to push through. I can’t rid myself of what made me stronger.
Still, it hurt. When something changes you drastically, you can’t really imagine how you’d bloom as a person had that not happened. I could’ve tried avoiding the hurt, but it wouldn’t have worked.
It never goes away.
It never went away.
I was twelve at the time it happened once more. I’d already lost count of the countless times those words were uttered to me. I’d given up the hope of her stripping the words from her vocabulary.
There were four awards—trophies—in his hand. He gripped them so tightly it stung his alabaster skin. The certificates in his other hand were bending at the corners from the restrained urge to crumple them. There were students ogling him; there were people whispering about his brilliance, talent, and looks. His teachers congratulated him, the ones who did find the time to show up.
I remember feeling nothing. Absolutely nothing.
I usually felt some satisfaction or a boost to my self-esteem, but at the time, I couldn’t find the explanation to do so. To feel anything except the feeling that the whole event—him being rewarded for his hard work—felt wrong.
Hyunwoo’s younger sister—oldest in the sense of the two sisters—Arin, was the first to reach him. She threw her arms around his neck like she’d been both waiting the entire awards ceremony to see him and waiting to brag on his behalf. “Hyunwoo~! Congrats! But four awards? Jinjja? You’re such a nerd.” Her voice was loud, sweet, and carefree—everything mine wasn’t. She meant well, but even then, he couldn’t return her energy.
Aecha, the youngest of the three, held up a cookie she’d already bitten. “Oppa, oppa, oppa! Bwa!” She pressed it to his hand like it was a gift sent from heaven. Hyunwoo ruffled up her hair once, but no smile was present despite Aecha’s adorable qualities.
Then Aera, their eomma, approached them. Heels clicked, her posture was immaculate, and her eyes scanned every corner of the courtyard—not for danger, but for both flaws that could ruin her aesthetic and flashing phones from paparazzi.
“Hyunwoo, let’s take a picture. Eung?” she said in her sugary public-voice. “All of you, stand here.” Her hand touched Hyunwoo’s back, not tenderly but to position him like a prop.
Their appa, Hyeonseok, stepped in on Hyunwoo’s other side. Hyeonseok was tall and quiet, the type of man whose presence makes people pay attention. He glanced at his only son’s awards. His expression was unreadable at first, before he nodded with a slight smile.
I knew it was his version of affection then. Nowadays, he rarely has the time for us, so moments like these are treasured. The simplicity never mattered to me.
“Good work,” he said.
“Gamsahamnida,” Hyunwoo replied, his voice just as practical as his appa’s. However, he didn’t move from where he stood.
“Hyunwoo-ya,” Aera repeated softly, through her jaw tightened. “Don’t just stand there. The picture is for you, after all.”
Hyeonseok added, “Just one photo. For the family. They’d like to see your accomplishments, Hyun.” He didn’t raise his voice since he didn’t need to. Authority came in different forms, his was the silent kind one instinctively wanted to listen to.
Hyunwoo stepped forward. The maid who rushed to them from her car accepted Aera’s phone when she handed it over. She curtsied and took the picture efficiently. Arin threw a peace sign, Aecha hugged his arm, and Aera angled her chin to catch the light in the way that highlighted her facial features. Meanwhile, Hyeonseok stood still, with a friendly half-smile plastered.
And Hyunwoo? Hyunwoo’s face stayed frozen. His lips were straight and his eyes were lidded like he was upset. It seemed like he was frowning.
The camera clicked multiple times. Click, click, click, click
Hyeonseok reached into his wife’s bag and handed Hyunwoo a gift. “Here, son. For your accomplishments.”
It was expensive, obvious from the weight alone. The scent was strong and managed to lift Hyunwoo’s spirits, just a tad. Hyunwoo knew what it was before opening it. He’d wanted cologne since his previous favorite ran out. He accepted it politely.
Aera smiled slowly. “Take a picture of us with Hyunwoo’s gift.” She indicated the gift with a flat hand.
The maid did as she was told. The camera clicked once more.
Click
A perfect portrait of a not-so-perfect family.
When the family arrived at the estate, the front entrance was lined with maids in crisp uniforms. Arin skipped ahead to gossip about whatever rumor she’d overheard at school with her best friends. Aecha ran her way inside and hugged the first person she liked the attire of. Hyeonseok walked off to take a hospital call outside in the front yard.
Once everyone was gone, just the two of them alone, Aera turned toward Hyunwoo. “Yoon Hyunwoo. Come with me,” she ordered.
Hyunwoo followed, though he didn’t want to. It had been a long day, and it was a Friday not to mention. Being alone was what he craved.
Aera led Hyunwoo to the side of the entrance, where the tall pillars hid them from view. Her facial expression changed instantly. There wasn’t any sweetness or public warmth there, just pure irritation that had been hidden behind perfectly drawn eyeliner.
“You looked miserable in that picture,” she said, her voice flat as floor tiles. “Do you want people thinking you’re ungrateful?”
His gaze fell to the tiled floor. I’m not ungrateful.. I just.. I don’t know what it is you want to see from me. How do you want me to act? “Aniyo.”
“Hyunwoo-ya,” she proceeded, setting herself closer to her son. Her voice dropped to an articulate, cutting tone. “After everything I’ve sacrificed, is this how you manage to repay me? With silence and a bad attitude?” Her eyes narrowed.
“Why must you exaggerate?” he grumbled.
Aera’s eyes widened, not from fury but from surprise. “Eo? Exaggerate?” she repeated, each syllable coming from her mouth soaked in disbelief. “Is that what you think I’m doing, Hyunwoo?”
He didn’t answer, but held eye contact.
I remember the moment clearly. There had been a familiar fire flaring inside of me. I was mad. I’d never gotten the will to get mad—to argue back and question my eomeoni. I’d surrender, hold out my hands myself and let chains grip my wrists. But ever since I grew a conscience, I began fighting back.
Aera clicked her tongue, the sound polite in public but a bad sign in private. She reached out to straighten the collar of his suit. Not lovingly but correctively. “You stand there with that look in your eyes,” she began calmly, a slight scoff leaving her, “and expect me to not take it personally? You present yourself like a statue. It isn’t pretty.”
Fingers slid up his neck before hands clasped his jaw, nails biting his skin, and she tilted his head back to peer into those enrapturing blue eyes. “You should know well, other mothers would kill to have a son as gifted as you. As beautiful as you.”
Hyunwoo’s jaw tensed beneath her hold. She was so awfully close, it only multiplied the threat swirling between her lips. Beautiful, talented, gifted… all the things she claims to love about me. Why do they feel like they’re hers? Her tools and decorations. They’re taken from me, but it’s still not enough for her. How idiotic…
“You understand that, don’t you, my love?” she murmured deceptively affectionately.
Hyunwoo held her gaze. His blue eyes—rare and striking pupils, the very thing she flaunted to the public—stared back with equal irritation, without fear above all. “Eung.”
Aera’s cheek twitched a fraction, enough to reveal the temper bubbling like a volcano nearing eruption. “You can’t behave this way. Not in front of cameras. Not in front of people who know who we are. Do you understand how you make me look?”
There it was. The truth disguised as concern.
Hyunwoo exhaled sharply. “I didn’t misbehave. I haven’t done anything.”
Her thumb pressed into the corner of his mouth, flattening it. “That,” she hissed, “is exactly your problem. You think silence is normal. It’s not. It’s disrespectful and makes people think you’re cold.” She finally let go of his face, smoothing down the front of his suit jacket. “You are part of this family, Hyunwoo-ya. Thus, you represent this family. You represent me. When you look unhappy, people assume I’m doing something wrong.”
She laughed humorlessly once, cutting the laughter off. “And I can’t have people assuming that.”
The chandelier in the foyer glimmered overhead, its crystals scattering light across the marble like broken pieces of something that was once whole. Hyunwoo’s gaze sharpened, even as Aera was seeing herself out. “At least you’re aware of what people assume about you.”
Aera froze mid-step.
She gradually spun around to see her son, to see if what she heard was actually uttered from that ungrateful mouth. “Repeat that,” she whispered.
Hyunwoo didn’t. He just stared at her with a neutral expression that she would undoubtedly call disrespectful. “Wae?”
Maybe I should’ve stayed quiet then. Maybe if I hadn’t said that, our relationship would be healthier and feel less like we’re trying to kill each other with words alone.
Aera walked back to him, her heels clicking against marble tiles like a countdown. She stopped right in front of him, close enough for Hyunwoo to get a whiff of her perfume. “You’re getting bold,” she stated. “Too bold.”
“Is it bold or are you just sensitive?” Hyunwoo countered, even as a part of him whispered Shut up. Just let it go. It’s not worth getting hit for this.
Aera’s eye twitched.
The word “sensitive” hit her harder than the cameras ever would. Her lips parted just slightly from the insult, the kind of insult that crawled under her skin and scratched from the inside. “What did you just call me?” she asked.
“You heard me.” I shouldn’t have said that.
Aera’s thin, stretched smile appeared. “You dare,” she said, dragging out the syllables, “to stand in front of me, after everything I’ve done for you, and call me—”
“Sensitive,” he repeated. “You’re proving my point, eomeoni.”
Her hand lifted before Hyunwoo could finish processing the shift in her posture. The slap landed clean across his cheek. His head jolted to the side. It stung but it didn’t hurt. Words hurt more than this.
Her chest rose and fell once before her expression reset. She slid her hand to his chin. “You will not,” she sharply stated, “use that word with me.” Her eyes narrowed. “I am your eomma, Yoon Hyunwoo. Not some… petty, egoistical—”
She stopped herself before speaking the last word she hated hearing from anyone’s mouth, hated knowing it came from women more than men.
Hyunwoo lifted his gaze back to hers, ignoring the way his cheek throbbed. “Then stop acting like one.”
Aera inhaled sharply—sounding like a gasp. It wasn’t from the insult itself, although it would only fan the flames, but from the fact that her son dared to challenge her authority. Her identity, her pride. Her hand twitched, ready to strike again—
—but she froze halfway.
Aera lowered her hand. Of course she wouldn’t risk leaving a mark.
Her eyes fell to his face. His perfect, alabaster skin, his rare blue eyes, his perfect proportions. His features the world praised, her favorite ornament, her polished proof of high breeding. The proof of a miracle.
“You’re predictable,” Hyunwoo said dryly, as if bored.
She scoffed bitterly, but didn’t tally back. Instead, she murmured, “You were always majestic.. Even as a cute little boy.”
Majestic, cute, and beautiful—all the words she offers like they’re supposed to console. Is anything she says even genuine?
Hyunwoo’s eyes averted from repulsion. “Don’t call me that.”
Aera tiled her head, thoroughly amused. “Oh? Wae? It’s true. You were born extraordinary. I knew from the moment I held you that you’d be everything I wasn’t.” Her gaze, calculating and envious, adoring him in the wrong ways, dipped. “Everything they said I could never be.”
I don’t understand that strange way she “loves” me. Not as a son, child, but as an achievement.
Hyunwoo whispered under his breath coldly, “I don’t want to be anything like you.” He shifted away from here, creating distance so he wasn’t cornered anymore. “I’ll never be like you.”
Aera blinked as if recalibrating, like the words needed time to sink through her ego and carefully crafted exterior. “You’ll never be like me?” she repeated, perplexed.
“Ne.”
“You said that like it’s an insult,” she mused. “Like being me is something to be ashamed of.”
“It is.” Stop.
Aera’s eyebrows furrowed from wounded vanity. “Watch your tone.”
“Wae?” Why should I keep letting you act the victim? Let you blame me for your mistakes, as if I made them? “Because you cannot handle being at fault?” He continued, “Because you harm when you feel threatened? Because you’re so full of yourself that anything around you is a reflection of—”
“Enough!”
…
“Go to your room. Now.”
Hyunwoo didn’t protest then. He would have if the argument had ended distinctly, but it ended in his favor. She’s at a loss. I left her without a way to defend herself except for ordering me to leave.
But he said one final thing:
“Never forget your roots… Aera.”