The First

In your final moments, there is only one person you can think of ever turning to. It wasn’t even hard really—it shouldn’t be. Not when she exists.

The only one who has ever been with you since the start—Lee Hyunseo.

At the driver’s seat, you catch but the slightest glimpse of her—her expression warping from her initial impulsive indulgence to an expression of catastrophic regret and grief. Your group never really took to having roles, but if you had to give her one, she was the ‘group baby’. Everyone was looking out for her. Everyone was trying to make sure she wasn’t left ‘unchecked’ or ‘unleashed’. The one who could come up with failing marks and still win her parents over with an innocent little smile. The one who could hold up the most stuffed toys in her hands more than anyone else. The girl who always kept your heart at the edge of your chest over what she might do—or say—next. But that wasn’t the only role she filled in your life.

Lee Hyunseo was the first.

Staring into the small of her eyes, as her pupils dilated and her neck whipped back ever-so-slightly, you two lock eyes, and immediately, you notice a sort of light flickering in hers. It’s tiny. Almost imperceptibly ignorable. But when you focus on it, your own eyes go wide—not in horror, not in fear, but rather, in awe.

As the mote of possibility beams right at you, swallowing you whole, you accepted your momentary blindness and allowed the unknown to consume you.

“Oppa? Oppa~. Are you still sleepy?”

Instead of waking up gradually and gently to the sound of that beautiful voice calling out to you, you find yourself shooting up into a sit, glancing about you, wondering where the hell you are and what on earth is going on.

This frightens Leeseo, who for some reason is dressed not in the usual pajamas you recall her to wear, but is instead wearing a sheer nightgown. You try not to glance at what’s beyond it as you feel the heat rush to your face. “Leeseo … what are you … where am … what’s—?”

She chuckles and moves over to where you are, sitting down on one of your thighs. She caresses your cheek before pressing her forehead against yours, hushing you. “I think you’re still stressed. You said you have a big presentation on Monday. Super important! Important enough to miss waking up on time on our usual Sundate.”

That’s right. You remember now.

Ever since your younger days together with the rest of your gang, even as the other girls took flight to pursue their own ambitions in life, Leeseo was the one who stuck by your side through thick and thin. At first, it felt like she was the younger sister you never had, and you worried you would have to carry the weight of responsibility for two people from then on. But lately, it feels like she’s the one taking care of you more than you get to take care of her.

One of those instances being right now. But you file it away, not wanting to provide another terrible example for your behavior. “Sorry, I was just … trying to rest my back and shoulders—.”

“Do they hurt, oppa? Here, let me get them for you.”

“That’s not necessary—.” But before you can protest, the girl’s already hooking her legs around your neck from behind you and squeezing you silent with her thighs. Once you stop fighting back, she slides down the length of your spine and you feel the fabric of her clothing—or lack thereof—gliding down you along with her.

Digging her fingers into the grooves of your shoulderblades, she reaches deep into your aching muscles and sinew, rolling off the lumps of pooled up lactic acid that acts as the main culprit for most of your sores. Once Leeseo senses that you’re a bit more open to the idea of a massage, she begins rotating your arms to try and find the other hidden points of tension before tackling them one at a time.

You feel deeply embarrassed by this. She didn’t have to do this, but she’s once again going out of her way just for you.

It’s no open secret. It hasn’t been for the past few years. You can tell.

She likes you. More than a brother. More than a friend. Leeseo feels strongly for you.

And to be honest? You do too. It’s just … how do you even manage something like this with your shared history? How do you break it to her? Should you even break it to her? What if things change? What if the relationship that has yet to come doesn’t work out? You don’t want her to hate you. She’s the last person you want to see walk out on you.

It’s thoughts like these that really constipate your emotions.

“Feeling ok? Is it too much? Tell me if it is, ok oppa?” Leeseo coos, continuing to massage you. But get the feeling that from the way she’s rotating the delicate folds of her palms around the small of your back she’s already done with her massage and is just toying with you now. Her caresses grow bolder and bolder, reaching to your front now, down the stretch of your stomach before rising up to your chest.

“Ya, Leeseo …” is all you manage to get out before she playfully buries her face into your skin and embraces you from behind.

You sigh. Such a kid.

She climbs your shoulder now and hops over your body, landing squarely on her feet on the floor. Her nightgown lifts up from her bottom briefly and you instantly keep looking away until she fixes herself upright once more. “I made breakfast! Want some?”

God, this is delicious.

She makes a mean French toast, that’s for sure. And when you couple that with the coffee she just brewed for you and the bacon and eggs that came fresh off the pan, you find yourself melting your sorrows away from a meal alone.

“You’re an amazing chef, has anyone told you that?”

Leeseo sticks her tongue out and feeds you more strips of bacon. “Not enough! Keep praising me.”

“Well, if you really must know, I feel absolutely energized now. Skip the weekend—fuck it. Bring me Monday. I’m ready for Monday. Give me that presentation already damn it,” you jest, and suddenly you two are giggling over your shared silliness. “But really, I … thank you. I don’t know what I’d be doing without you half the time.”

“Just keeping my promise, oppa. I’d never break it.”

Your throat tightens as you remember what she’s referring to.

You were just kids back then. No older than ten, if memory serves you right. You didn’t know how the world worked. Didn’t know half the stuff coming out of your naive little lips. But you still remember what she told you that day—the promise she made.

“When I get older, I’ll be your bride! So you don’t have to worry about ever finding a girl to marry, oppa~.”

You nearly cringe at the thought—not because it disgusts you, or humiliates you, or even puts you to shame, but rather, because you can’t believe she’s still holding herself to it.

When you glance up from your now empty plate, you see the contours of her face underneath the faint glow of the dining room light, and you see what you’ve always seen—the sharp of her jaw, the width of her smile, and the longing in her eyes.

Unchanging. Decades now, and yet … still unchanging.

Leeseo’s still the same young girl who made your heart beat for the first time all those years ago.

“You’re doing it again,” she warned with a lilt in her voice as she shuffles over to the sink, running the water. “What are you thinking of?”

“Nothing, just reminiscing,” you try to dismiss, pinching the bridge of your nose as you urge the memory to fade from view within the theater of your mind.

“Oppa, you’re giving me that look again,” Leeseo repeats, but this time, she’s leaning against the kitchen counter while her eyes are trained on you. “Don’t think I never catch it!”

“What look? I don’t have a look.”

“You have a look. It’s the look you’ve been giving me since we were kids. The look that tells me you still think I’m a helpless little girl.”

The words scathe you more than they should.

She isn’t lying. You still see her that way. How could you not? Whenever you go out together, she’s oblivious to the stares people give you two when she acts all clingy and touchy-feely. When she went to mixers and parties back in your college days, you had to chaperone her—it was the only way to stop any assholes from trying anything funny. You always brought her home with you to your parents whenever you visited them because they insisted on seeing her as well. It’s not like you had a choice.

You love her. You love Lee Hyunseo. But maybe, just maybe, this love you have for her is what’s keeping her here with you.

Maybe she’s not the one gluing herself to your hip. Maybe you’re the one shackling her to you.

Maybe it’s time you let her go.

As she does the dishes without being told to, you feel it stir in your gut. This discomfit sensation. This malaise. You stand up and head towards her, and she thinks you’re going to lean into her from behind and embrace her, but she couldn’t have been more mistaken.

You grip one of the soap-coated plates she was about to scrub and pry it loose from her. In a similar way, you get the sponge and squeeze it, pressing the rougher end against the oil and grease of the dish.