Jihoon hasn't slept well in years.
Not since he survived the accident that killed the woman he loved.
Yingyue never leaves her house.
Not since her parents died in a car crash two years ago.
Both crippled by their own fears, the two of them should...
CW: This story deals with mental health issues including trauma, depression, suicidal thoughts, and self-harm. Please read at your own discretion.
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The moon, the moon trapped in a frozen lake,
And I, gazing upon it, a wandering shadow.
Neither whistling leaf nor wailing wind a sound make,
There is only I, sinking in ice-cold sorrow.
--- J.
Kang Jihoon was starting to believe he was a masochist.
Why else would he be out this snowy evening, braving Shanghai's rush hour traffic to see a woman who didn't even want to see him?
Because he enjoyed torturing himself, of course. In fact, he enjoyed it so much, he once clung to an agonizing relationship for so long he ended up killing...
Jihoon stomped on the brakes of his thoughts, as he parked his car in a quiet alley along the Old French Concession. While he sat in the dark, a familiar ache made its insidious presence known. Tiny needles into his chest. Jihoon swallowed a numbing gulp of air, then blinked several times to moisten his gritty eyes.
He wasn't going down that road again. Not right now at least. For now, he was intent on finding a distraction. Something to delay having to go back to his empty apartment where he'd have to face another tortuous battle with sleep, or more precisely, the lack thereof. If that meant wasting his time in traffic and challenging his would-be yoga teacher, then so be it.
Running away from your problems again? A coward and a masochist.
Ah, there she was again. Even though he'd left his shrink back in the US, her voice—no, his projection of her voice—had followed him all the way to China.
"So what?" he grumbled.
What right did she have to mock him?
More importantly, why was he fighting with a voice in his head? Perhaps sleep deprivation had finally driven him insane.
Grabbing his trench coat from the passenger seat, Jihoon shrugged his frame into its soft confines and hastened out of his car. At once, a freezing gust of wind ruffled his carefully styled hair, tugging a handful down his forehead. Jihoon attempted to smooth it back, but the stubborn strands refused to stay put. Suppressing a sigh, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and made his way down a narrow alley, flanked with red-bricked buildings.
Dull light spilling from apartment windows and storefronts illuminated a shadowy path where French Phoenix trees towered, their slender trucks gleaming silver. Stripped bare by winter, thin branches spread open like fingers perpetually worshipping the night. Meanwhile, flurries waltzed their way down --- tiny fairies descending from the sky.
