ghost

× 08 ×

I run my fingers along the words on the crumpled list.

I bite my lip and hold my breath as I use a red pen to cross off the first item.

I exhale sharply as soon as I lift the pen up off the paper.

I swallow hard.

The next thing to do is

"Apologise to Kyun-Ok seonbae."

I don't have much to go off on, and I doubt his mother would know; she said she didn't know any of his friends.

The only other person I can rely on at this time, is his sister, Jung-Ok.

I dial her on my mobile, as I see the sun rise up above the trees from my window.

"Hello?"

"Hi, um, it's Hwan-Jae."

'Am I being too familiar?'

'What if she's weirded out?'

I shake off the negative thoughts and put my focus back on her voice.

"Ah, Hwan-Jae! Hello, is there anything I can help you with?"

My gaze slowly shifts to my bedroom door.

Just beyond that.

Eun-Hyuk sleeps.

I gulp.

"Yeah, do you remember that list you saw?" I inquire.

She reassures me she does.

"The second item is to apologise to a seonbae? Kyun-Ok?"

There's silence for a brief moment.

Then I hear a frustrated and exasperated sigh.

"Kyun-Ok? Why would he want to apologise to that idiot..."

I stay silent and fiddle with the paper in my left hand.

"Yeah. I know him, but you obviously don't."

My ears perk up.

"Was he important to Eun-Hyuk?" I ask. I can feel something caught in my throat. It feels like a big, sticky marble.

"Yeah, you know right?" She says.

"Uh?" I didn't mean to let that slip but, it was said reflexively.

"He was gay. Kyun-Ok was his first crush."

I feel my heart sink, and plop down in my stomach.

'His first crush?'

'Then why is "Fall in Love" on the list?'

'He's obviously done it before.'

I feel sick, these thoughts keep suffocating me.

"Yeah but, Kyun-Ok didn't take too kindly to him confessing, and he started avoiding him."

I grit my teeth.

He sounds like an asshole.

"Give me a sec, our mums are friends, I'll see if I can find his address anywhere..."

She trails off and for a few moments, all I can hear is shuffling and the sound of things moving.

Eventually, she comes back; and tells me the address.

I scribble it down on a sticky note and shove it in my jean pocket.

"Thank you, again," she says.