The One From Afar

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 one that you could only admire at a distance—Jang Wonyoung.

You glanced behind you, and against one of the back windows, you see her in every bit of disarray that you anticipated: slender fingers clawing at the glass, buckling knees clenched tightly together, mouth agape in a wide o-shape. Your group never really took to having roles of any sorts, but if Wonyoung were to have received one, it would definitely have been ‘group muse’. The one who remains brilliant in the face of adversity. The one who loves herself more than anything or anyone else—and not even in a bad way. The one resilient enough to carry the weight of a hundred mountain on her backs if that sacrifice assured her the success she craved—that she fought for. But that wasn’t the only role she filled in your life.

Jang Wonyoung was the one you loved from afar.

Her eyes were quick to meet yours, and upon connecting despite the difference in your seating arrangement, you notice a glint in her eyes. Like some sort of shimmer. It’s tiny. Almost imperceptibly ignorable. But when you focus all your attention towards 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.

Jang Wonyoung is untouchable in every sense of the word.

In your final years of high school, not only did she maintain her academic spot and graduated as valedictorian of your year, but she did this while also interning at one of the country’s largest conglomerates. This merited her a scholarship from the same company to fully fund her college of choice, and of course, for someone as ambitious as Wonyoung, this meant a secured one-way ticket abroad.

But that wasn’t the only reason she became untouchable.

Over the years, you and the other five girls meet up here and there, semi-infrequently if you may. Scattered across time over pub crawls, spontaneous visits to each other’s apartments, or even road trips over longer holidays, you were always with them one way or another. But Wonyoung? Wonyoung was nowhere to be found. It was another projected she had to rush for the upcoming Paris Fashion Wee. Another deadline she had to crunch for that the executives dropped on her plate. Another seminar she had to host and speak for at the same time at her home college. You pity her—that woman never gets a break. But you miss her. You really do.

She didn’t just become untouchable at some point—further beyond either of you could ever hope to achieve in your lifetime—but she became unreachable as well.

She didn’t have the time to answer Facetime calls or even to respond to Discord pings. She rarely even glanced at her text messages (which you gathered from the months-old ‘thank you’s’ when you greeted her ‘happy birthday’. Hell, she didn’t even receive the snail mail invite your alma mater sent you all for your reunion. She just sent a catering service and a mobile bar in her stead—posh, but it missed the spirit of the whole thing.

It left everyone wondering what exactly was going on with Jang Wonyoung, why couldn’t anyone come close to her? Get close to her? Why did she always seem so distant? The thing is, while she pushed everyone away as a defense mechanism, she kept one person within a relatively safe orbiting range.

You.

As the door to her apartment beeps, signaling that she’s arrived, you stand up from the couch and smoothen out the creases of your suit. You hold the bouquet of flowers you bought from the corner flower shop across from here and clear your throat, ready to greet her.

“Oh, you’re still here,” Jang Wonyoung says nonchalantly. You’re not sure what to concern yourself with more: the bags under her eyes, the limp in her step, or the apathy in her tone. “I told you I was staying late at the office. Why did you wait for me?”

Ouch. She’s not just stabbing you in the chest—she’s raking her claws against your face now too. “You know there are other words you can say, like ‘Thanks for staying up’ or ‘Glad to see you’re still here’.”

She rolls her eyes and quickly gets out of her high heels, not bothering to arrange them by the shoe rack. Why? Because as soon as she enters the living room, and you offer your small gift of roses to her, you’re immediately darting towards the rack to fix it for her.

“Did you clean the suite like I told you too while I was at work?”

“Yes ma’am,” you snappily reply, standing back up now and fixing your tie.

“And did you take Fifi to the vet? Why do I still smell her?”

“Your dog—.”

“My daughter,” she corrects, staring holes into your skull, daring you to make that mistake again.

“Your daughter … is at the veterinarian. She’s being taken well care of. I told them her diet, her grooming routine, and to avoid using any sort of restraints on her. Ma’am …”

“Good, good. And did you portion my meals for tomorrow? Well, for later, I guess, since it’s the next day. Hm?”

You nod, clasping your hands together, a proud smile on your face. “Yes again, ma’am. All sorted out. All taken care of.”

She nods slowly herself. “It’s been almost a year now since I’ve hired you to help out around the house, but still … you never fail to impress me. I’d almost think you wanted this job.”

Gritting your teeth, you let the backhanded comment slide. You know how the dynamic is around here. You owed some bad people a lot of money, you reached out to her, she paid your debt off down to the last added interest. In exchange, you would pay off the money she spent on you by flying over here to Paris, living with her as her ‘butler’ of sorts, and doing as she asked—no questions asked.

“You seem awfully proud about yourself too. What are you gloating for? And why are you excessively dressed? I keep telling you I don’t mind you roaming around in your underwear for all I care—just don’t let the press see it.”

“Well,” you start slowly, trying to smoothen out the conversation before leading into it. “I was thinking … since all the chores for the week are done, your current project with Miu Miu is ahead of schedule, and you arrived home hours earlier than usual, I just thought … why not have a bit of a break? Why not go on a little date of sorts?”

She raises a brow, and you know this means her defenses are all the way up. “Date? With who?”

Ouch. Now that one hurt a bit more. “Well, lucky for you, I—.”

She bursts into laughter before you could even tell her your sincere thoughts. Swatting a hand at you as she crashes into the couch, she crosses her arms and shakes her head. “Stop being an oddball. It was funny back in high school, but it’s getting concerning now.”

“You know there are other ways to say ‘no’, right?”

She scoffs, uncaring about your current butthurt disposition. “I don’t do dates. I don’t do breaks. I don’t have the time for either. Now, is there anything else you want to bring to my attention? If not, I want you dressed more comfortably. I’m the one feeling choked just seeing you wear that—is that bespoke?”

You bite your lip. You are not going to tell her you spent a lot of money on this suit just to be dumped before the date even began. Instead, you let her rise from the couch, float past you like a ghost, and disappear into her bedroom where the door slammed shut behind her.

Falling to the nearby seat, you slam your forehead into her artisanal table. “What the fuck is wrong with me …?”

Indeed. What the fuck was wrong wth you? Did you really think that you, a lowlife nobody she picked up from her old life—from her past life, the life she left behind—could ever come close to being with someone like her—someone like Jang Wonyoung? You had to be absolutely insane to think you even had a modicum of a chance to be with her. It’s likely privilege enough that you get to live in the same suite as her, share the same meals with her, and even get to talk to her. Others would absolutely kill just to be in your place right now. Maybe they’d even enslave themselves just to be next to Jang Wonyoung.

But not you. Not you.

You were a bit more than an acquaintance. Treated a little less than a friend. But you swear—you swear it on your life—that through the exchanges, across the distance, and despite the friction you two had with each other, there was something there. You had to believe it.

What you didn’t believe though was that you would pass out on the dining room table, drool leaking out of your gaping mouth, arm outstretched as a flimsy attempt to prop your laying head and support it.

What you didn’t expect either was to wake up to the scent of brewing coffee, the sound of classical music, and a trench coat draped securely across your back.

“What—?” you mutter as you begin to rouse, rubbing the morning glories from your eyes. “Shit, what time is it? Did I oversleep?”

Wonyoung, with her back still turned to you, nods and pours coffee into two separate mugs. “Yes. Yes you did. By six hours. Good afternoon. It’s two in the afternoon now.”

“God, sorry, Wonyoung, I-I’ll go get Fifi—.”

“I called the vet. I paid for another night’s stay. My poor daughter will miss her mama, but I’m sure she’s treating it like a vacation.”

“Ok … then I’ll get the laund—.”

“Already picked it up. Did it myself. You’re still wearing my freshly ironed coat by the way. I’ll need it back now.”

Nodding slowly, you’re unsure of how to process all that she’s telling you at the moment. You slide the beige coat off your back and neatly fold it before sliding it across the table towards Wonyoung. “But what about—?”

“My work?” she interjects again, sapping the words from your mouth, only to fire them back at you with a smirk. “Oh please, I answer to the board, but I’m my own boss. I can work where I want to, when I want to, how I want to. I just told them I’ll be working from home today.”