7. Chapter Seven #3
I shake him, my grip tightening until I can feel the heat of him through the fabric. “Maybe. Might make me feel a little better.”
Because inside I’m burning up. Seeing him has cracked it open all over again, every bit of anger and hurt and desperate longing I left with ten years ago, and I want to shake him.
Want to yell in his face and yes, maybe hit him too.
Just to make him feel something, just to prove he’s real and here and not another ghost I’ve been chasing across the country for weeks.
“Then get it the fuck over with,” he says, flat and tired. “Because I’m exhausted and my joints hurt too much to be fist-fighting in the damn street.”
I snort, but his words sink in, cutting through the red haze. I realize I’m panting, my hands still fisted in his jacket, his chest rising and falling beneath my knuckles.
I finally back off, letting him go.
Ryowoon dusts himself off and narrows his eyes at me, his gaze dropping mournfully to the crushed cigarette on the pavement.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He sighs, long and put-upon. “I’m guessing you won’t leave until I humor you either.”
I fold my arms and arch a brow.
Ryowoon runs a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. “What the fuck ever. Come on then, let’s at least get out of the street. I need another fucking cigarette now.”
I follow him up the steps of the apartment building, my footsteps echoing off the concrete.
He stops on the second floor outside a door, but instead of unlocking it he just grabs a lighter from beside the doorframe and drops his bag.
Then he walks over to the railing across from the door and leans forward, digging in his jacket pocket.
I glance at the locked apartment door. His, clearly.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
He growls, “No, I’m not,” and pulls out a cigarette. He puts it between his teeth and looks over at me as I lean on the rail beside him, then offers the pack. “Want one?” The words come out garbled around the cigarette.
I shake my head. “I quit, remember?”
Ryowoon gives me a look from beneath his lashes, something flickering in his eyes. “I remember. Just thought you’d need it for this conversation.”
I wait while he lights up, just looking at him in the dim light.
Taking in every bit about how he’s changed, how he hasn’t.
The way his hands cup around the flame, shielding it from the breeze.
The way the lighter catches the planes of his face, throwing shadows across his cheekbones.
The ink curling up from beneath his sleeve when he lifts his arm.
He exhales smoke and tips his head back, looking at the sky. “So. Came all this way to yell at me?”
“No.” The anger’s drained out of me now, leaving quiet behind. Now that I’m here, now that I’m looking at him in person, I can barely believe it. “Mrs. Nam passed.”
Ryowoon goes still. His eyes stay fixed outward, not looking at me, but he says quietly, “I know. I heard.”
I frown. “You heard? How?”
“I follow some of the kids from school on social media. Saw the posts about it a few weeks ago.”
My brow furrows. “What? You have social media?”
He scoffs, giving me a chagrined look. “Of course I have social media, Seyeon. I’m thirty, not eighty, for crying out loud.”
I resist rolling my eyes. “No, I mean, I searched everywhere. Tried looking you up under a thousand different names. You’re not on anything.”
He grunts. “Well, I don’t use my real name online.” Then, quieter, under his breath, “And I might’ve blocked you.”
I close my eyes. My hands fist at my sides. I try to find patience, try to breathe through the irritation rising in my chest.
Then I blow out a breath and open my eyes again.
He turns his head slightly and quirks a brow, prompting, “What about it? What about Mrs. Nam—what does that have to do with you being here?”
“She left you something.” I reach into my jacket and pull out the sealed envelope, showing it to him. “Both of us something, apparently. Under the condition that this part of her will can’t be opened without both of us present.”
Both of his brows shoot up. He stares at the envelope, and I watch the emotions flicker across his face. His eyes slide over both of our names printed on the front in Mrs. Nam’s handwriting.
“She sent you after me,” he says finally, his mouth curling on one side, bitter and knowing.
I nod.
Ryowoon straightens, exhaling. He rubs at his face with one hand and then puts out his cigarette against the railing, shaking his head. “Of course she did.”
I nod toward the apartment. “We should probably sit down to open it, don’t you think?”
He makes a face, mouth twisting like he wants to argue, but then he turns and I follow him as he unlocks the door.
I have no idea what to expect stepping inside. Part of me imagined something chaotic—clothes everywhere, empty takeout containers stacked on surfaces, mess from living alone without anyone to answer to. But the reality is nothing like that.
It’s quiet. Simple. Just a small space, one bedroom from what I can see through the cracked door down the short hallway.
The main room has a couch, a low table, a small TV on a stand.
The kitchen’s barely separated from the living area, just a narrow counter with a two-burner stove and a sink.
But it’s clean. Organized. Everything has a place.
The furniture is dark and simple, worn in but cared for.
There are no pictures on the walls, no awards or certificates like the ones my mom has hanging in her house.
But there’s a thick blanket folded neatly over the back of the couch, books with worn edges stacked on the table, a coffee mug sitting on the counter beside the sink. It’s lived in. Private.
Ryowoon gestures toward the couch without taking off his jacket. He drops down onto the floor instead, folding his legs beneath him with his back against the side of the couch.
I watch him as he settles, the slow careful way he moves, the slight wince when he tucks his legs under. The motion makes my chest tighten but I don’t say anything.
I sit on the couch, the cushion sinking slightly beneath me. The envelope crinkles in my hand.
Ryowoon looks up at me from the floor and gestures toward the envelope. “Let’s get on with it so you can get out of here.”
I stare down at him. “You’re really going to act like this?”
“Like what?” He tips his head back against the couch cushion, looking up at the ceiling. “I’m letting you in my house, aren’t I?”
“You’re sitting on the floor.”
“My couch. My choice.”
I press my lips together and look down at the envelope again, running my thumb over the seal.
There’s nothing left to say about it, nothing that’ll change what we’re about to find out. I take the envelope and slip my finger beneath the seal, opening it cleanly. The paper inside rustles as I pull out the folded sheets, looking at Ryowoon. “You want to read it first, or should I?”
Ryowoon makes a go-ahead gesture, his hand flopping toward me lazily.
I unfold the first sheet and start reading. My eyes scan the lines once, then twice. I blink, the words not sinking in properly.
“What?” Ryowoon prompts.
I open my mouth. Read it again just to be sure. “She … she left us the store.”
Ryowoon jerks back like I just slapped him. “Let me see.”
He snatches the papers from my hand and starts reading, his eyes moving fast across the page. I stare blankly at the table, numb. The words keep echoing in my head but they won’t make sense. Mrs. Nam left us the store. Both of us. Together.
“What even…” Ryowoon shakes his head, still reading. “What does this all mean?”
I take the papers back, needing to see it myself again, to confirm I didn’t misread. The legal language is thick, formal, the kind that makes you have to reread sentences three times before they settle into your brain. And with each line it gets harder to believe.
I glance at Ryowoon. His face is pale, eyes locked on mine.
I start reading out loud. “‘The property located at 42 Haebyeon-ro, Haemok, Gyeongsang Province, including the attached residence and all fixtures therein, is hereby bequeathed in equal shares to Heo Seyeon and Cha Ryowoon. Ownership shall be held jointly, fifty percent to each party, with the following conditions…’”
I pause, swallowing hard, and keep going.
“‘Neither party may make alterations, sell, lease, or otherwise dispose of said property without the express written consent of the other party. Should both parties agree to dispose of the property, the transaction must be conducted in person by both parties together. No legal representative, agent, or proxy may act on behalf of either party in matters concerning this property. Both parties must be physically present at said property to execute any and all decisions regarding its future.’”
Ryowoon’s brow wrinkles. “And what the fuck does that all mean?”
I set the papers down on the table and run a hand through my hair, the lump in my throat making it hard to talk. “It means Mrs. Nam left the store to us equally. Fifty-fifty. And it comes with conditions that are … pretty rigid.”
“Like what?”
“Like we can’t do anything with it without the full consent of the other. And if we don’t want to maintain it, we have to sell it. Together. In person. Not through a lawyer or anyone else.”
Ryowoon gapes at me. “Does that mean what I think it means?”
I sigh and lean back against the couch cushions, staring at the ceiling. “It means we now somehow jointly own a business. And we can’t do anything with it without both of us physically stepping foot in it. Together.”