Archive of Our Own

The Seoul sky that night was like a phone screen left on too long—bright but cold, filled with dots of light that never truly warmed anything.

On the rooftop of an office building where working hours always stretched past the boundary of reason, Choi Jiwoo stood at the edge of the guardrail, her blazer slightly open, her hair a mess from the autumn wind.

The woman was beautiful. Everyone in the office knew that. Clear skin, a sharp jawline, large eyes—the kind of beauty that made people automatically assume her life must be fine. But tonight, her face looked like a used meeting notepad: crumpled, covered in scratches, nearly torn. She stared at the city without focus. The cars below were like toys, the apartment lights like pixels. Seoul never slept, but Jiwoo desperately wanted to—a long sleep, the kind you never have to wake up from.

Her hands gripped the cold railing. Her fingertips were numb, whether from the air or from the reality that had just struck her in rapid succession, like incoming message notifications.

Her savings. Gone.

Money she had scraped together since her early twenties, since her first paycheck—small but brimming with hope. Overtime pay, skipped lunches, annual bonuses she had never once used for a vacation. All for one simple, deeply Korean dream: a small apartment in her own name. A safe place. A quiet place.

Her father had blown it all. Online gambling. Foreign sites with colorful banners and false promises. "Just one more time," he had said, "I'll definitely break even." The only thing that came back was a zero balance and a long trail of lies.

Her mother? Her deceptions were tidier. Quieter. An affair with a man from church, from the same circle, from a world that always pretended to be holy. Jiwoo had discovered it by accident—an unlocked message, a photo that had synced without warning. Her world collapsed without a sound.

The office? Don't even ask. A supervisor who smiled to her face and stabbed her in the back. Group chats that buzzed constantly but never came to her defense. An overtime culture that was practically worshipped, gossip that spread faster than financial reports. Jiwoo was tired of pretending to be strong. Tired of being the "understanding sunbae." Tired of swallowing everything alone.

She lifted one foot onto the guardrail.

"If I fall now," she thought flatly, "at least everything stops."

Right at that moment, she heard a giggle.

Not from below. Not from behind the door. Right beside her.

"Hehehe... your expression is hilarious."

Jiwoo jolted. Her heart hammered wildly. She spun around, her body reflexively ready to fall or flee—but there was no room to run.

A woman was standing casually at the edge of the railing, as if the spot were her own apartment balcony. Short black hair, slightly messy but deliberately so. A wide grin that showed off a prominent snaggletooth. Her eyes narrowed with mischief, like someone watching her favorite drama.

"Where... where did you come from?" Jiwoo's voice came out hoarse.

The woman shrugged. "From there, from here. Unimportant places."

Jiwoo narrowed her eyes. "This is the top floor. Security is tight. You can't possibly—"

"Relax," the woman cut her off lightly. "I'm not a thief. And I'm not a restless spirit either. Don't make a horror-movie face like that."

Strange. Deeply strange. But Jiwoo was too exhausted to be truly afraid. Fear required energy. Tonight, she had run out of everything.

"If you're here to stop me," she said coldly, "don't. I don't need a lecture."

The woman laughed softly. "Who said I was going to lecture you?"

She stepped one pace closer. Jiwoo reflexively backed away. Her heel touched the slippery edge. Her heart lurched.

"Don't—"

The word hadn't finished leaving her lips when her foot slipped.

Everything happened fast. Too fast. Jiwoo felt the world flip upside down, the air sucked from her lungs. But before her body could truly fall, something grabbed her hand.

Strong. Warm.

Jiwoo let out a short scream, then fell silent. She opened her eyes.

The woman—who had pulled her back from somewhere with an effortless motion, like pulling a child out of a puddle—had yanked her back onto the floor. Jiwoo landed hard, sitting, her breath ragged.

"Oh my," the woman sighed, still laughing. "If you want to die, don't be careless about it. Troublesome, you know."

Jiwoo stared at her with reddened eyes. Angry. Ashamed. Bewildered. Everything mixed together.

"You're insane," she hissed. "You almost made me—"

"Die? Wasn't that your goal?" The woman sat cross-legged in front of her, too close, too relaxed.

Jiwoo wanted to retort, but no words came out. Her head was spinning. Her hands were trembling.

The woman observed Jiwoo like she was judging a painting. Then, without warning, she reached for Jiwoo's hand.

"Hey—don't touch me!"

But the touch was gentle. Those fingers brushed the back of Jiwoo's hand, slowly, almost like soothing a kitten. Jiwoo's skin felt warm beneath them—then suddenly cold.

Four small dots appeared on the back of her hand. Blackish-purple, forming a simple pattern. No pain. No sting. Just... there.

Jiwoo gaped. "What... what is this?"

The woman laughed softly, satisfied. "A mark. You're lucky."

"Lucky how?" Jiwoo's voice rose an octave. "You're insane. Is this some kind of tattoo? Poison?"

"My name is Carmen," the woman said, ignoring the question. "And you, Choi Jiwoo, just got yourself a choice."

Jiwoo looked up sharply. "You know my name?"

Carmen grinned. "I know a lot of things."

She leaned in, her lips almost touching Jiwoo's ear. Her voice dropped low, but stayed light, like she was joking around in a café.

"How would you like to live four more years?"

Jiwoo laughed shortly, almost hysterically. "Is this a joke? You think I care about living or dying right now?"

"You care," Carmen answered quickly. "If you didn't, you would have jumped without hesitation."

Jiwoo fell silent. Her chest tightened.

"Four years," Carmen repeated. "I can get you what you want. An apartment. Money. A little bit of revenge, maybe. A life that doesn't feel like garbage."

Jiwoo snorted. "And in return?"

Carmen rested her chin on her hand. "You do a few things for me. Trivial things. Entertaining things. After that—" she shrugged, "you can die in peace. Without... side effects."

Jiwoo stood up abruptly. "This is insane. You think I'm going to sell my life to a stranger who materialized out of thin air?"

She stepped toward the railing again. This time, deliberately.

"I'd rather die right now than play out this bizarre drama."

As she looked down, something changed.

It wasn't the city she saw. It wasn't asphalt or car headlights. Down below, flames licked the air, red and black, churning like a giant mouth. The heat reached all the way up to Jiwoo's skin. The smell of scorching filled her nostrils.

She stumbled backward, screaming.

Carmen was already standing beside her again, as if the fire was an ordinary sight.

"That's what's waiting for you," she said lightly. "If you jump now."

"This... this isn't real," Jiwoo trembled.

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment. No horns. No red eyes. Her face remained a human face, with that insufferable snaggletooth.

"I'm not forcing you," she said finally. "I'm just offering. If you're sick of living like garbage, why not just sell your life? At least get some profit first."

Jiwoo stared at Carmen, searching for signs of deception. All she found was... a strange kind of honesty. Not evil. Not good. Neutral. Like a work contract.

"Why me?" Jiwoo asked faintly.

Carmen smiled crookedly. "Because you're interesting. And because you're not quite finished yet."

The wind blew again. The city returned to normal. The flames vanished as if they'd never been there.

Jiwoo looked down, at the four dots on her hand. Her life felt like an absurd drama that had gone too far off-script.

"If I agree," she said quietly, "you promise?"

"I promise," Carmen answered lightly. "I always keep my promises."

Jiwoo laughed softly, bitterly. "Damn it."

She gazed up at the Seoul sky, full of light. For the first time that night, there was something other than exhaustion in her chest.

Maybe curiosity. Maybe anger. Maybe a small, foolish hope.

"I haven't said yes yet," she said.

Carmen grinned wide. "I know. But you haven't jumped either."

And there, at the edge of that tall building, between a city that never slept and a fate that had just shifted direction, Choi Jiwoo stood—still alive.

---

Carmen pulled Jiwoo away from the guardrail with a single light motion, as if Jiwoo's body weighed no more than a work bag. Jiwoo reflexively resisted, but her hands were trembling, her knees still weak, and she was far too exhausted to truly refuse.

"Hey," Carmen said softly, her tone suddenly shifting lower, no longer mocking. "Don't stand there anymore. The wind has no manners."

Before Jiwoo could retort, Carmen had already picked up Jiwoo's blazer from the concrete floor—the black blazer Jiwoo had shed in frustration earlier, a small symbol of all the responsibilities she had wanted to leave behind.

Carmen patted it down briefly, then casually put it back on Jiwoo's body.

"Hey—I can do it myself," Jiwoo protested on reflex.

"You can, but you look like you don't want to," Carmen answered lightly.

Her hands were deft, far too familiar for a stranger. She straightened the blazer's collar, tugging it slightly so it fit properly on Jiwoo's shoulders. The faint office perfume scent that Jiwoo had grown to hate because it always reminded her of meeting rooms—blended now with an unfamiliar scent from Carmen. Not floral. More like air after rain, cold and clean.

Jiwoo stared at Carmen with suspicion. Her brows furrowed, her lips tightening.

"Who exactly are you?" she asked. "And don't just say 'Carmen.' That's not an answer."

Carmen laughed softly, her giggle surfacing again, but gentler. "You look cute when you make that failed-detective face."

"I'm serious."

"So am I," Carmen shot back, raising both hands slightly, as if surrendering. "That's why I'm not lying. You just don't like the answer."

Jiwoo clicked her tongue. "What answer?"

Carmen didn't answer right away. Instead, she stepped in front of Jiwoo and extended one hand.

"Hold on."

Jiwoo reflexively stepped back half a pace. "I don't want to hold anything from you again."

"Relax," Carmen said casually. "This time it's not hellfire."

"That doesn't make me any calmer."

Carmen snorted, then without warning—pop.

Something appeared in Jiwoo's hand.

Jiwoo screamed.

"WHAT—?!"

Her hand reflexively rose, nearly throwing the object away, but she stopped when she realized what she was holding.

Paper. Several sheets. Thick. Official.

Documents.

Her eyes raced across them, her brain refusing to process. Government logo. Official seal. A name.

Choi Jiwoo.

An address.

The name of the apartment complex she had memorized by heart—the one she had only seen for years in brochures, in subway ads, in dreams that were far too expensive.

"What... what is this?" her voice trembled.

Carmen slid her hands into her pants pockets, whistling softly. "If I'm not mistaken, that's an apartment ownership certificate."

Jiwoo slowly lifted her head. Her face was pale.

"Don't joke around."

"Sweetheart," Carmen answered with a grin, "I'm not the type to joke with government documents."

Jiwoo flipped through the pages with trembling hands. Everything was there. Unit number. Square footage. Date. Official's signature. Even the slightly crooked stamp—that tiny detail she had always noticed on real documents, never photocopies.

"Impossible," she whispered. "I... I don't have any money."

"You do now," Carmen said lightly.

Jiwoo swallowed. Her chest was tight. Her head was filled with a single thought, repeating over and over.

Demon.

That was the only word that made sense.

"You're a demon," she said finally, her voice low but firm. "This has to be a demon's work."

Carmen stopped laughing.

She stared at Jiwoo with a flat expression for a moment—then shook her head slowly.

"Ah," she said. "It's always that."

"If you're not a demon, then explain," Jiwoo challenged. "No human can appear out of nowhere, show me hell, then hand over an apartment like it's candy."

"Who said I was human?" Carmen shrugged. "But a demon? Hmm." She tilted her head, thinking for a moment. "Too dramatic. I'm allergic to bat wings."

Jiwoo glared at her. "You're playing with my life."

"On the contrary," Carmen shot back quickly. "I'm offering an option. Your life is the one that's been playing with you all this time."

The wind blew again. City lights flickered far below. The documents in Jiwoo's hands felt heavy—not because of the paper, but because of what they meant.

"Why now?" Jiwoo asked quietly. "Why give me this now?"

Carmen stepped one pace closer. This time, Jiwoo didn't back away.

"Because you needed proof," Carmen said. "You're not the type who believes empty promises. You've been lied to far too many times already."

The words struck precisely at their target. Jiwoo gritted her teeth.

"If I go home," she said quietly, "that apartment... is it real?"

"Real," Carmen answered without hesitation. "The door opens. Electricity works. Hot water runs. Annoying neighbors included."

Jiwoo nearly laughed. Nearly.

Carmen glanced at an imaginary watch on her wrist. "It's late. You look like an office zombie who took a wrong turn to the rooftop."

"I am an office zombie."

"Exactly," Carmen pointed toward the emergency door. "Go home. Sleep. I'll stop by tomorrow."

Jiwoo tensed. "Stop by where?"

Carmen smiled broadly, her snaggletooth visible again. "Your apartment, of course."

"I haven't said I agree yet," Jiwoo reminded her.

"I know," Carmen said casually. "That's why we'll talk tomorrow. Relax. I don't like forcing things. I like negotiating."

Jiwoo stared at the documents in her hands again. Then at the four dots on the back of her hand. Then at Carmen's face—a face too human to be called a monster.

"What if I run?" she asked faintly.

Carmen laughed softly. "You can try. But you're too responsible a person to run."

That sentence silenced Jiwoo.

Carmen stepped backward, toward the shadows of the emergency stairwell. Before disappearing, she turned her head.

"Oh, by the way," she said lightly. "Tomorrow, wear comfortable house clothes. We might be talking for a while."

"What if I refuse?" Jiwoo asked.

Carmen winked. "Then we'll still talk. I'll just be more disappointed."

And somehow, that sounded more terrifying than hellfire.

Carmen vanished just like that—like night swallowing a shadow.

Jiwoo stood alone on the rooftop, her blazer neat on her body, apartment documents in her hand, and the city of Seoul beneath her feet—still noisy, still cruel, but tonight... slightly different.

She drew a long breath.

For the first time in a long while, she stepped away from the railing.

Home.

---

After Jiwoo's footsteps had completely faded behind the emergency door—the sound of her work shoes disappearing down the metal stairs—the rooftop returned to silence.

Carmen was still standing there.

The night wind swept through her short hair, playing with the ends as if it knew the owner of that body well. The city of Seoul stretched wide before her, half-lit apartment windows, streets that were never truly empty, life pulsing on without caring who had nearly given up tonight.

A sweet smile etched itself onto Carmen's lips. Not a mocking smile. Not a satisfied smile. More like the smile of someone who had seen the same pattern repeat itself over and over—hundreds, thousands of years.

"Humans," she murmured softly.

Her voice dissolved into the wind.

"They always think death is the solution."

She rested her elbows on the guardrail, looking down—this time without fire, without illusions. Just the city. Real. Heavy. Beautiful in an exhausting way.

"When really," she continued quietly, the smile unfading, "so many of us would die to become one of them."

Carmen closed her eyes for a moment.

She remembered other faces. Other souls she had encountered. Some who begged to live longer. Some who bargained everything for one ordinary morning. Some who only wanted to feel tired after coming home from work, eat instant noodles, then fall asleep on the sofa.

Small things that felt like burdens to humans.
Trivial things that, to a being like her, felt... luxurious.

She opened her eyes again.

"Choi Jiwoo," she said softly, tasting the name like a new flavor on her tongue. "A good name."

There was something in that woman. Not just exhaustion. But a stubborn resilience that refused to die no matter how many times it was trampled. The kind of human who survived not because her life was good, but because she was too used to surviving.

Carmen laughed softly.

"I chose you well," she said to herself.

She stepped up onto the guardrail with a light motion, as if gravity were a suggestion, not a rule. The wind struck harder, her thin coat billowing.

Down below, the city kept moving. No one looked up. No one noticed that something non-human was standing at the edge of the sky.

Carmen leaned her body forward.

There was no hesitation on her face. No dramatism. Just a simple decision, like stepping out of an elevator.

She jumped.

Her body fell—then scattered into the wind, breaking into shadows, a small laugh lingering for a moment before truly vanishing, swept away by the cold Seoul night.

The name still lingered in the air.

Jiwoo.

And far below, a human woman was walking home with apartment documents in her bag, not knowing that her life had just been bound by something far older than this city—something that, for the first time in a long while, felt a little... alive.

---

The key turned with a soft but firm click.

Choi Jiwoo stood frozen in front of the apartment door for several full seconds—too long by normal standards, too short for someone whose life had just shifted direction. Her hand still gripped the door handle. Cold. Real.

Slowly, she pushed it open.

The door swung wide.

And Jiwoo's jaw genuinely dropped.

The apartment was there.

Real.

Not an illusion that would vanish if she blinked too long. Not a dream that felt too neat. A small but bright living room welcomed her, the ceiling light glowing softly, clean wooden floors, the faint scent of fresh paint mingling with the smell of furniture that hadn't been used long.

A light gray sofa. A simple coffee table. A large window facing rows of other buildings—not romantic, but alive. A small kitchen on the right side, induction stove, a refrigerator that still had its energy sticker attached. Even indoor slippers were arranged neatly on a rack.

"Insane..." Jiwoo murmured unconsciously.

She stepped inside—one step. Then two. Every step felt like walking onto something that shouldn't belong to her yet. Her hand touched the wall. Cold. Smooth. Real.

She looked left and right, as if waiting for the apartment to simply vanish. But it didn't. The wall clock ticked. The air conditioner hummed softly. From outside, she could hear the faint sound of a motorcycle passing and someone laughing on a neighboring building's balcony.

This was... life.

That weird snaggletoothed creature hadn't lied to her.

The realization struck Jiwoo harder than any bitter truth had tonight.

She dropped her bag to the floor. The apartment documents were still inside, their weight now feeling doubled. Jiwoo stared at the back of her hand—the four dots were still there, faint but clear, like ink fused into skin.

She rubbed her face with both hands, her hair disheveled, her breathing trembling.

"What the..." she muttered, her voice cracking, "what is actually happening to me?"

A small laugh escaped her lips. Short. Bitter. Almost like choking.

"This has to be a dream," she told herself. "Yeah. I'm exhausted. My brain is broken."

She pinched her own arm. Hard.

"Ah—damn it."

Pain.

Real.

The laugh turned into a sob without warning.

Jiwoo lowered her body slowly, then sat on the living room floor that was still far too clean for tears. Her back leaned against the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hands gripped her own arms, as if afraid her body would scatter if she let go.

Tears fell one by one, then in a rush.

The weeping she had held back all day, all the years she had pretended to be strong, finally shattered all at once. Her shoulders shook. Her breath hitched. No melodramatic sounds—just the sound of someone who had held herself together for far too long.

"Am I stupid..." she whispered between sobs. "Did I just make a deal with something evil?"

Carmen's face surfaced in her mind. That insufferable smile. That snaggletooth. Her casual way of speaking, as if life and death were just light conversation topics.

"I didn't even see her as a demon," Jiwoo laughed weakly through her tears. "That's what scares me the most..."

Her hand went back to looking at the back of her hand, touching the four dots with the tips of her fingers, slowly, almost full of regret.

"If you're evil," she said quietly, not sure who she was addressing, "why do you look... so incredibly human?"

The apartment was silent, but not the silence of emptiness. It was the kind of silence that usually comes after a long day—silence that should have been a place to rest. But tonight, that silence felt heavy, full of questions that had no answers yet.

Jiwoo wiped her tears roughly. Her chest still ached. Her head throbbed.

She looked around once more.

This was the dream she had chased for years. A safe place. A place of her own. And she had gotten it not from hard work, not from a system that claimed to be fair—but from a strange being who appeared when she wanted to die.

Ironic.

Jiwoo bowed her head, her forehead touching her knees.

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do now," she whispered.

On the floor of her new apartment, Choi Jiwoo wept—not because she wanted to die anymore, but because after everything that had made her want to die, life had given her something... and she was terrified the price would be too high.

---

That morning, the apartment felt too quiet by Seoul standards.

Sunlight filtered in through the thin curtains, landing right on the wooden living room floor. Jiwoo woke up on the sofa with a stiff neck, her blazer still hanging neatly on the back of the chair, and a head full of the remnants of last night's tears. Her eyes were swollen, her throat dry, and for one brief second, she forgot where she was.

Then her eyes caught the wall clock.

The wall clock of the apartment she owned.

Jiwoo sat bolt upright.

"Not a dream..." she murmured faintly.

She rubbed her face, let out a long breath, then stood up slowly. Her steps were hesitant as she made her way to the kitchen, as if afraid everything would collapse if she moved too quickly. She opened the refrigerator—empty, except for a water bottle and one small carton of milk. Realistic. Not excessive. Not magical.

"I'm still alive," she said quietly to her reflection in the fridge door. "And this... is still real."

That was when something slammed into her chest.

Thwack.

"AAAK—!"

Jiwoo screamed and reflexively caught the object with both hands. She stumbled a step backward, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest.

In her hands: a strawberry.

Large. Red. Glossy. Far too perfect to be an ordinary supermarket strawberry.

"Oh my god—WHAT NOW?!" she yelled.

"Good morning," that voice came from the living room, casual as always.

Jiwoo turned, her head throbbing.

Carmen was already seated on the sofa.

Her legs were crossed, shoes kicked off carelessly, short hair slightly mussed, her snaggletooth visible as she smiled broadly. She looked... far too at home there. As if the apartment had been waiting for her for a long time.

Jiwoo froze.

"You—" her breath hitched. "How in the world did you get in?!"

"The door," Carmen answered lightly. "A fascinating concept. It opens."

"I didn't give you a key!"

"I didn't need one."

Jiwoo gripped the strawberry tightly. "You appeared out of nowhere again! Normal people knock!"

"And miss the moment you panicked?" Carmen chuckled. "No."

Jiwoo rubbed her face in frustration. "You really have—no sense of ethics."

"I'm not human," Carmen answered quickly. "But I'm learning."

Jiwoo opened her mouth to retort, then stopped. She stared at the strawberry in her hand. Her brow furrowed.

"...Why a strawberry?"

Carmen leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Because it's your favorite fruit."

Jiwoo fell silent.

"That—" she laughed softly, in disbelief. "That was just... a long time ago."

"Still is," Carmen countered gently. "You just rarely eat them now."

Jiwoo stared at the strawberry again. Its surface was cold, fresh. The sweet scent faint but clear. Her memory drifted to high school, to spring afternoons, to sliced strawberries with sweetened condensed milk she had bought with the last of her pocket money.

She swallowed.

"I don't have time for things like that," she said quietly, more to herself. "When I come home from work, I just want to sleep."

Carmen stood and walked closer. Her steps were light, nearly soundless. She stopped in front of Jiwoo, looking at her—without a mocking smile this time.

"That's the problem," she said. "You live like a machine. Work. Survive. Repeat."

Jiwoo snorted. "Who in South Korea doesn't live like that?"

"Many do," Carmen answered. "But they pretend not to be tired. You're honest about your exhaustion. That's different."

She pointed at the strawberry with her chin. "Eat."

Jiwoo hesitated. "This isn't... something weird, right?"

"If you turn into a plant, I'll apologize," Carmen said casually. "But the probability is low."

Jiwoo clicked her tongue, then bit into the strawberry.

The sweetness immediately filled her mouth. Fresh. Real. Not artificial.

Without realizing it, her shoulders dropped slightly.

"...It's good," she said quietly.

Carmen smiled, satisfied. "See?"

Jiwoo looked at her with tired eyes—but more alive than yesterday. "Did you come just for this?"

"Not just this," Carmen answered. "I came to remind you."

"Remind me of what?"

Carmen gazed out the window, at the pale but bright Seoul morning sky. "That if you want to live four more years, you need a reason to wake up tomorrow."

Jiwoo fell silent, the strawberry still in her hand.

"Not a big reason," Carmen continued. "Not a grand dream. Sometimes it's just... a favorite fruit you forgot to enjoy."

She turned back to Jiwoo, a small smile adorning her lips. Not insufferable this time. Almost warm.

"Appreciate small things," she said. "That's what keeps humans walking."

Jiwoo stared at the strawberry for a long moment. Then took another bite—bigger.

Inside her chest, something shifted gently—not a grand hope, not sudden courage. Just one simple thing:

The desire to see tomorrow.

And strangely, that felt... enough.

---

Carmen stood up abruptly, making Jiwoo, still chewing her strawberry, reflexively turn her head.

"Done," Carmen said, clapping her own hands together as if she had just decided something important. "You. Shower."

Jiwoo blinked. "Huh?"

"SHOWER," Carmen repeated louder, then pointed at Jiwoo from the top of her head to the tips of her toes without shame. "You smell."

Jiwoo frowned. "Smell like what?"

"Like a decomposing corpse," Carmen answered casually. "The failed suicide version. A mixture of stress, overtime sweat, and unvented despair. Not pleasant."

Jiwoo's face immediately flushed red. "YOU'RE INSOLENT!"

Carmen burst out laughing, her giggling filling the living room. "There it is. Your angry tone is coming back. Good."

"I'm serious!" Jiwoo pointed at Carmen with the half-eaten strawberry. "Your mouth is seriously vicious!"

"And you're alive," Carmen shot back lightly. "We're even."

Jiwoo snorted in exasperation. "I didn't ask you to come to my apartment, make sarcastic comments, and then—"

"And then give you an apartment, strawberries, and a reason to wake up in the morning?" Carmen cut in, grinning.

Jiwoo fell silent for a split second.

"...Damn it," she muttered.

Carmen moved closer, then pushed Jiwoo's shoulder gently toward the bathroom. "Go on. Hot water. Soap. Your hair smells like office."

"I don't smell!"

"You smell like trauma," Carmen shot back quickly.

Jiwoo let out a long string of curses—clearly the product of years of holding back at the office. Carmen listened with a satisfied expression, even giving a small clap at the end.

"Wow," she said. "Your vocabulary is rich."

Jiwoo slammed the bathroom door shut.

BANG.

"DON'T COME IN!" Jiwoo shouted from inside.

"Relax," Carmen answered from outside. "I'm not interested in seeing a naked human first thing in the morning. Later."

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN LATER?!"

Carmen just laughed.

The sound of running water began. The shower's trickling filled the apartment, filling the space with a sound that was... normal. Human. Carmen stood quietly in the living room, her smile slowly fading—not turning cold, but changing shape.

Softer.

She walked to the window and looked out. The city of Seoul in the morning was different from at night. More honest. Not excessively glittering, but alive. People walked quickly with coffee in hand, buses stopped and went, life kept moving without caring about anyone's drama.

Carmen let out a soft sigh.

"Finally," she murmured.

Her gaze shifted, piercing through walls, through air—seeing something Jiwoo couldn't see.

Last night, Jiwoo's aura was a mess. Full of small shadows clinging to her shoulders, her back, even in the cracks of her thoughts. Those small creatures weren't large or spectacular. They didn't have long fangs or wings. They were just... there.

Little demons.

They lived on whispers.

Tired, aren't you?
It's pointless.
You're a failure.
Everything would be calmer if you just stopped.

They never pushed directly. They only coaxed. Eroded. Gnawed slowly until the human herself stepped to the edge.

Those little demons loved humans like Jiwoo. Humans full of regret. Humans who collected "if only" and "should have" like curated belongings. Regret was the best fuel in hell—hot, stable, and abundant.

Carmen had seen it clearly last night. They had swarmed Jiwoo like flies on an open wound.

Now?

Gone.

Not completely annihilated—little demons never truly left. But they retreated. Kept their distance. Didn't dare approach.

Because Jiwoo had cried last night.
Because Jiwoo had eaten a strawberry this morning.
Because Jiwoo, still confused, had chosen to shower instead of die.

Small things like that were poison to them.

Carmen smiled faintly.

"Clever," she murmured, not sure if it was directed at Jiwoo or herself.

From the bathroom came the sound of Jiwoo cursing again, this time because the water was too hot.

"AISH—HOT! DID YOU SET THE TEMPERATURE?!"

Carmen laughed softly. "Not me. That's karma."

"I hate you!"

"You don't yet," Carmen shot back casually. "You're just not used to being saved."

The water kept running. Carmen walked to the small kitchen, opened the fridge, and looked at its meager contents. She frowned.

"We need to go shopping," she muttered. "Humans can't live on trauma and strawberries alone."

She pulled out a chair and sat, resting her chin on her hand. Her gaze turned warm again, almost... fond.

Jiwoo was an interesting human. Not because of her beauty—that was a boring bonus for a being as old as Carmen. But because Jiwoo wasn't completely broken yet. Cracked, yes. Exhausted, deeply. But there was still something stubborn inside her. Something that refused to go out even after being trampled repeatedly.

Such creatures were rare.

And dangerous.

Not to Carmen—but to hell.

The sound of the shower stopped. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened a crack.

"You're still here?" Jiwoo asked suspiciously.

Carmen turned, smiling sweetly. "I promised I'd come today, remember?"

Jiwoo stepped out with wet hair, a towel on her shoulder, her face fresher though still tired. She looked... different. Not bright. But more present.

She paused for a moment, staring at Carmen. Her brow furrowed.

"You... look weird."

"Thank you," Carmen answered automatically.

"That's not what I meant," Jiwoo shook her head. "You look... soft."

Carmen fell silent for a split second.

Then laughed softly. "Don't think too much. You'll get dizzy again."

Jiwoo snorted. "You're mysterious but annoying."

"And you're alive," Carmen repeated quietly. "That's enough for today."

Jiwoo opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again. She let out a long breath, sat on the sofa, and leaned her head back against the cushion.

"...I'm still confused," she said honestly. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I don't know what you are. I don't know what you're going to ask of me."

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment. Warm. Steady.

"I know," she said softly. "And it's okay."

Jiwoo turned her head, looking at Carmen. "Really?"

"Confusion is a sign you're still thinking," Carmen answered. "As long as you're thinking, the little demons can't work."

Jiwoo swallowed.

In the air of that apartment, there were no more soft whispers slithering toward her ears. No dark urges pressing in. Only honest exhaustion... and a morning moving slowly forward.

Carmen leaned back in her chair, her soft smile still holding.

Four years.

A short time for a being like her.

But maybe, for a human woman named Choi Jiwoo, four years would be enough to teach her one important thing:

That life doesn't always have to make sense to be worth living.

---

That morning, Choi Jiwoo still went to work.

The alarm still rang at six-thirty. She still woke up with half-dead eyes, brewed instant coffee that was too bitter, put on work clothes that were neat but boring. Her routine hadn't changed—and that was precisely what felt strange.

No panic.

No obsessive calculations in her head about how many won she could set aside today. No guilt when she bought coffee at the convenience store because "that money should have gone into the apartment fund." The apartment was already there. She had stood inside it. Its walls were real. Its key was in her bag.

And in four years... she would die.

The thought surfaced just like that, flat, without drama.

I'm going to die in four years anyway.
So what's the point of saving until my back breaks?

That realization should have been terrifying. But strangely, what Jiwoo felt instead was... lightness. Like releasing a heavy backpack that had been clinging to her shoulders for far too long. She was still tired. Still angry at the world. But the massive weight that had been pressing on her chest was slowly loosening.

The morning bus was packed as usual. People stood pressed against each other, staring at their phone screens. Economic news. Celebrity dramas. Office group chats already active even though working hours hadn't begun.

Jiwoo stood near the door, gripping the metal handle. She looked at her own reflection in the glass. Her face still looked exhausted, but there was something different in her eyes. Not as bright as a happy person's—more like someone who had stopped hoping for too much.

"Four years," she murmured quietly.

"I heard that," the voice appeared right in her ear.

Jiwoo sighed. "You always hear."

Carmen stood beside her, leaning casually as if the bus were her private space. Today she wore a thin black jacket and a plain t-shirt. Her hair was half-tied back, making her snaggletooth even more prominent when she smiled.

What was interesting—not a single passenger reacted.

No one turned their head. No one stumbled into Carmen's body. As if she didn't exist.

"So," Carmen said lightly, "how does it feel going to work without the burden of a grand dream?"

"Empty," Jiwoo answered honestly. "But... peaceful."

"Good," Carmen said. "Emptiness is space."

Jiwoo glanced sideways at her. "You're a weird creature."

"Thank you."

The bus stopped. Jiwoo got off and walked with the flow of people. The Seoul morning air was cold, slightly damp. The traffic light at the large intersection was already crowded with pedestrians waiting their turn to cross.

Jiwoo stopped at the edge of the sidewalk.

And there, Carmen appeared closer, almost pressed against her shoulder.

"Look at that," she said quietly.

Jiwoo followed the direction of Carmen's gaze.

A high school girl was standing a few steps in front of them.

Her frame was small, wearing a school uniform that was neat but slightly oversized. Straight black hair, cut simply. She wore dark sunglasses—strange for a morning that wasn't particularly bright. In her right hand was a white cane that she gripped tightly, its tip touching the sidewalk with hesitation.

The people around her moved quickly. Some bumped her shoulder without meaning to. Some muttered quietly because she was in the way.

The girl was silent. Her shoulders stiffened slightly.

"What?" Jiwoo asked.

Carmen smiled. "Help her."

Jiwoo frowned. "Why me?"

"Because you're here," Carmen answered lightly. "And because you can."

The pedestrian light was still red. The flow of people grew denser. Someone shoved without meaning to, making the girl stumble slightly.

Jiwoo reflexively stepped forward. "Hey—"

The light turned green.

People immediately surged forward. A push from behind nearly knocked the girl off balance. Without thinking twice, Jiwoo reached for her arm.

"Hold on to me," she said quickly.

The girl jolted, startled. Her hand reflexively gripped Jiwoo's wrist. Her hold was strong—too strong for such a small body.

"I-I—" her voice was flustered. "Sorry—"

"It's fine," Jiwoo said quickly. "I'll help you cross, okay?"

The girl hesitated for a split second. Then nodded slightly.

Jiwoo walked slowly, adjusting her pace. She noticed how the white cane moved uncertainly, how the girl's head tilted slightly toward sound, not light.

Only then did Jiwoo truly realize.

This girl... couldn't see.

In the middle of the crossing, someone pushed from the side. Jiwoo automatically strengthened her grip, shielding the small body with her shoulder.

"Thank you," the girl said softly. Her voice was sincere, no pretense. "I almost fell earlier."

"It's nothing," Jiwoo answered. "Where are you headed?"

"To school," she answered. "I usually cross alone, but it's crowded today."

They reached the other side. The human current dispersed again. Jiwoo stopped and slowly released her hold.

The girl held on a second longer, as if making sure Jiwoo was still there.

"Oh—" She realized and quickly let go. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Jiwoo smiled faintly.

Only then did she see the small name tag pinned to the girl's bag.

Jeong Lee An.

The letters were neat, slightly faded from being touched often.

Jiwoo stared at the white cane in Lee An's hand. Something in her chest tightened—not pity, but a sudden awareness of how easily this world forgot people who moved just a little slower.

"Thank you, unnie," Lee An said again, bowing slightly. "Really."

Jiwoo shook her head. "Be careful on the road."

Lee An smiled faintly. A simple smile, but genuine. Then she stepped away, her cane touching the sidewalk in a slow rhythm.

Jiwoo watched her back for a few seconds longer than necessary.

"She's been blind since birth," Carmen's voice appeared beside her.

Jiwoo startled. "You know her?"

Carmen nodded faintly. She stood at Jiwoo's side, occupying the empty space Lee An had just left. Her gaze followed the girl—and for one brief moment, Jiwoo saw something she had never seen before.

Carmen's expression softened.

Not a teasing smile. Not a mocking laugh. But something warm, almost... protective.

"She passes through here often," Carmen said. "Always alone."

Jiwoo swallowed. "Can you see... everything?"

"No," Carmen answered quietly. "But some humans are easier to notice than others."

Jiwoo watched Lee An grow more distant. Around her, people hurried past without truly noticing her. The world kept moving at its own rhythm, uncaring who had to adapt.

"Why did you ask me to help?" Jiwoo asked.

Carmen glanced at her. "Because little demons hate moments like that."

"What?"

"Moments when a human chooses to help without a grand reason," Carmen said. "Without reward. Without a plan. It starves them."

Jiwoo fell silent.

She looked at her own hand—the hand Lee An had held. Its warmth still lingered faintly.

"I don't feel like a good person," she said quietly. "I was just... there."

"Enough," Carmen answered. "Sometimes that's already more than enough."

The traffic light changed again. The human current shifted. Jiwoo drew a long breath. She felt her steps carrying a different weight now.

Not the weight of burden.
But the weight of presence.

Beside her, Carmen stood silent, her snaggletooth showing as she smiled faintly—not at Jiwoo, but at a world that still, slowly and cruelly, offered small reasons to keep walking.

---

Carmen laughed softly, her voice light like something that didn't want to disturb the morning.

"If only I could touch that kid," she said, still gazing in the direction where Lee An had disappeared among the crowd. "I would've helped her myself from the start."

Jiwoo turned her head quickly. "Huh?"

"But I can't," Carmen continued casually, as if discussing the weather. "She's too clean."

Jiwoo stopped walking.

"...What do you mean, too clean?"

Carmen finally turned to Jiwoo. Her smile was still there, but her eyes were slightly different—more serious, though still soft. "Literally? No. In terms of... existence? Yes."

Jiwoo snorted, stuffing her hands into her coat pockets. "That sounds like you just called me dirty."

Carmen chuckled. "Oh, I did say that."

"What—" Jiwoo stopped and glared at her. "So what am I? A morally defective human?"

"No," Carmen answered quickly. "You're just... already splashed."

"Splashed with what now?"

"The world," Carmen said lightly. "Regret. Anger. Despair. Everything that makes a human into an adult human."

Jiwoo rolled her eyes. "Wow. Thanks. An explanation that makes me feel fantastic."

Carmen laughed again, louder this time. "Relax. It wasn't an insult."

"It sounded like, congratulations, you're dirty because your life sucks."

"More or less," Carmen said honestly.

Jiwoo stopped on the sidewalk and stared at Carmen with a flat expression. "You do know normal humans get offended when they're called dirty, right?"

"And you're pretending to be offended," Carmen shot back, pointing at Jiwoo's face. "But you're not really."

Jiwoo fell silent. She clicked her tongue quietly. "Infuriating."

Carmen stepped forward, standing level with her. People kept passing through Carmen's body without noticing, but Jiwoo had grown too accustomed to be surprised anymore.

"That kid," Carmen said quietly, "hasn't been eaten by anything yet."

Jiwoo frowned. "Eaten?"

"Major disappointment. Hatred. Rotting regret," Carmen clarified. "The things that turn a human into an open door."

"A door to what?"

Carmen turned to her. "To us. To them."

Jiwoo didn't answer right away. She remembered Lee An's face. The way that girl had stood calmly even when jostled. The way she had said thank you without suspicion. The way her smile had been simple, without layers of cynicism.

"So," Jiwoo said finally, "because I'm already full of problems, you can stick to me freely?"

"Not freely," Carmen countered. "You gave permission."

Jiwoo sighed. "I was almost killing myself. That wasn't conscious permission."

"And you're still alive," Carmen answered gently. "That was a choice."

Jiwoo stared ahead. The office building was already visible. A glass structure reflecting the morning light—beautiful from afar, insufferable up close.

"If I'm dirty," she said quietly, "why do you seem... comfortable near me?"

The question slipped out on its own. Jiwoo herself was a little surprised.

Carmen was silent for a moment.

The morning wind swept her hair. That small smile returned, but this time there was something deeper behind it.

"Because dirty doesn't mean rotten," she said. "The dirty can be cleaned. The rotten... is already too late."

Jiwoo swallowed.

"You're not rotten yet," Carmen continued. "You're just tired."

They walked a few more steps in silence.

Jiwoo finally snorted quietly. "So that girl... is too clean for you to touch?"

"Yes," Carmen answered. "Humans like her usually have guardians."

"Guardians?" Jiwoo glanced at her. "Angels?"

Carmen laughed softly, almost amused. "Ah, they don't like being called that."

"And you?" Jiwoo asked. "What are you?"

Carmen glanced at her briefly. "You haven't asked with the right intention yet."

"What if I ask now?"

"You still want a simple answer," Carmen shot back. "I can't give you that."

Jiwoo let out a long breath. "You're truly complicated."

"And you're still following me," Carmen shot back lightly.

They arrived in front of the office building. People in neat uniforms filed in one by one—exhausted faces already set to professional mode.

Jiwoo stopped.

"I have to go in," she said.

"I know," Carmen answered.

Jiwoo turned, then nodded slightly toward the street they had walked earlier. "Thanks... about earlier."

Carmen raised an eyebrow. "About what?"

"About telling me to help," Jiwoo answered. "I... feel strangely lighter."

Carmen smiled. "That's a nice side effect."

Jiwoo hesitated for a second, then said, "If I'm really dirty... that means I can still be useful, right?"

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment.

"Precisely because you're dirty," she said quietly, "you can touch the world in ways a being like me can't."

Jiwoo looked at her hands again. The hand Lee An had held earlier. The hand that could still help, even though her life was a mess.

She snorted softly. "Fine. Then I accept the status of 'dirty but functional.'"

Carmen laughed softly, satisfied. "I like that term."

Jiwoo stepped into the building. As the automatic door closed behind her, she glanced back once more.

Carmen was still standing outside, leaning casually, watching the human current with an expression that was hard to read—somewhere between amused, fond, and slightly... envious.

In the distance, Lee An was no longer visible.

But something had changed.

And Carmen knew—sometimes, one small touch from a "dirty" human was far more dangerous to hell than a thousand clean prayers.

---

The days passed without grand noise.

No dramatic explosions of change. No dramatic moments worthy of being framed on a movie poster. Time just moved slowly, consistently, like footsteps that had finally found their rhythm.

It had been a month since that night on the rooftop.

Choi Jiwoo woke up in the mornings not because the alarm forced her anymore, but because of a ridiculous new habit—opening the fridge and checking that there were still strawberries.

Sometimes one small box. Sometimes just a few she bought at the convenience store near the apartment. Not always sweet, not always fresh. But the ritual—washing the fruit, cutting the stems, biting slowly—had become a small reason to open her eyes.

Not a purpose for living.
Just... a reason to wake up.

Carmen appeared often, often she didn't. Sometimes she sat at the kitchen table commenting on how Jiwoo cut strawberries in a way that was "not aesthetic at all." Sometimes she just stood near the window, silent, staring at the city as if counting something Jiwoo couldn't see.

And every work morning, at the same intersection, Jiwoo almost always met that girl.

Lee An—or, as the girl had said with a small smile, "Just call me I-an, unnie. It's easier."

At first it was coincidence. Then it became routine.

Jiwoo would stand at the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the green light, and without even needing to look, she knew when I-an was near. The sound of the white cane touching the sidewalk with its distinctive rhythm. The way the girl stood slightly to the side, listening to the traffic with her head tilted.

"I-an," Jiwoo greeted one morning.

"Oh! Unnie!" the girl answered cheerfully, her face immediately turning toward the sound of Jiwoo's voice despite her eyes being hidden behind dark sunglasses. "I hoped I'd run into you today. Someone almost stepped on my cane earlier."

Jiwoo chuckled. "You okay?"

"Still alive," I-an answered casually. "That's already an achievement."

That reply made Jiwoo fall silent for a split second. Then smile faintly.

They crossed together.

Sometimes they just walked in silence. Sometimes I-an talked nonstop—about school, about boring lessons, about a math teacher whose voice made her sleepy, about how the texture of the sidewalk changed near the bus stop.

"I can tell when we're near the bakery from the smell," I-an said one day, proudly. "When it rains, the smell is different. More bitter."

Jiwoo listened. Truly listened. Not while thinking about office emails. Not while counting time. Just... present.

One morning, when they stopped on the other side of the street, I-an suddenly asked, "Unnie, you work in that glass building, right?"

Jiwoo turned. "You know that?"

I-an smiled. "Every morning, the wind changes when we pass here. It's usually because of the shadow of a tall building. I've memorized it."

"Oh," Jiwoo murmured. "You're perceptive."

"Had to be," I-an answered lightly. "If I wasn't, I'd just be tired alone."

They laughed softly.

Carmen stood a few steps away from them, leaning casually against a lamppost. Invisible to everyone except Jiwoo. She watched I-an with calm eyes—not touching, not getting too close. Just observing.

Jiwoo had once asked why Carmen always kept her distance.

The answer had been simple. "I don't want to make her heavy."

That day, after crossing, I-an didn't excuse herself right away.

"Unnie," she said hesitantly, her fingers kneading the strap of her backpack. "Can I tell you something?"

Jiwoo nodded. "Of course."

They stood at the side of the sidewalk, slightly removed from the flow of people.

"I used to be angry," I-an said suddenly. Her voice stayed light, but there was something deeper beneath it. "Really angry."

Jiwoo didn't interrupt.

"When I was little, I often asked why I couldn't see. My grandmother always answered softly, but I didn't like the answer. I thought... something must be wrong. Someone must be to blame."

Jiwoo swallowed.

"I once hated my mother," I-an continued honestly. "Even though she was already gone. I thought if I could see, maybe she'd still be alive. Stupid, right?"

"No," Jiwoo answered quietly. "That's human."

I-an smiled faintly. "Yeah. But tiring."

She lifted her face toward the sky—not to see, but to feel the sun.

"Slowly, I realized," she said, "that if I kept being angry, I'd just live with a head full of voices that hurt myself."

Jiwoo fell silent. That sentence was like a reflection of her own thoughts—of long nights full of whispers she thought were only hers.

"Now I live with my grandmother," I-an continued. "She's fussy. Really. But she always says, 'I-an, you can be sad, but don't stay sad too long. The world doesn't stop to wait for you to be ready.'"

Jiwoo laughed softly. "Your grandmother is wise."

"And fierce," I-an added quickly. "But I like her."

They were quiet for a moment. City sounds filled the gaps between words.

"I don't blame anyone now," I-an said finally. "I'm still sad sometimes. But... I want to live."

That sentence was simple. Not heroic. Not full of slogans.

But somehow, it pricked Jiwoo right in the chest.

She remembered herself—years spent living while blaming. Her father. Her mother. Her office. The system. Herself. Everything mixing into one bitter taste that was hard to swallow.

"You're amazing," Jiwoo said honestly.

I-an laughed softly. "I just don't want to be tired twice."

Jiwoo fell silent, then smiled bitterly. "I think I'm just starting to learn that."

I-an tilted her head. "Learning what?"

"Learning to live without constantly punishing myself," Jiwoo answered quietly.

I-an nodded as if understanding, despite not seeing Jiwoo's expression. "Take it slow, unnie. No one's chasing you."

That sentence—no one's chasing you—made Jiwoo want to laugh and cry at the same time. Because all this time, she had lived as if something was always pursuing her from behind.

After saying goodbye, I-an stepped away, her white cane touching the sidewalk in its familiar rhythm.

Jiwoo stood in place a few seconds longer.

Carmen approached.

"You look like you just got slapped softly," she said with a small smile.

Jiwoo let out a breath. "That girl... is too bright."

"Yes," Carmen answered. "But not blinding light."

Jiwoo turned. "You like her."

Carmen didn't deny it. "I respect her."

"Is that different?"

"For me," Carmen said quietly, "that's the highest level."

Jiwoo gazed in the direction I-an had disappeared. Inside her chest, there was a strange feeling—not envy, not sadness. More like... a mirror.

That girl was blind, but she knew where she was walking.
Jiwoo could see, but had long not known where to go.

And for the first time, Jiwoo didn't feel alone in her confusion.

She stepped toward the office, the morning strawberry still tasting faintly sweet on her tongue, and one simple thought spun inside her head:

Maybe life didn't have to be conquered.
Maybe it was enough just to live it—with eyes open, or closed, as long as it was honest.

Beside her, Carmen walked slowly, unseen, smiling faintly.

The little demons didn't like this month.

Too many humans were choosing to live in small ways they couldn't touch.

---

The bus stop that afternoon was full but felt hollow.

People stood in lines, shoulders brushing each other but their thoughts far away—to home, to dinner, to phone screens. Choi Jiwoo stepped off the bus with a tired step she knew all too well.

And of course...

"Took you long enough," that voice appeared beside her, far too casual for a creature that technically shouldn't exist.

Jiwoo let out a long sigh without turning her head. "Don't you have anything else to do?"

Carmen stood beneath the bus schedule board, hands in her jacket pockets, her face relaxed like someone who had actually planned to wait there. Her snaggletooth showed as she smiled faintly.

"This is my job," she said. "Waiting for you to come home with that 'I hate the world but I'm still alive' face."

"I don't have that face."

"You do," Carmen shot back quickly. "It's your default face."

Jiwoo rolled her eyes and stood beside her. The evening wind swept through her hair, carrying the smell of warm asphalt and street food from the distance.

"Why wait here?" Jiwoo asked.

"Because the bus stop is the place where humans are most honest," Carmen answered. "Tired, hungry, wanting to go home. Your aura is really thick today."

"Fake poetic," Jiwoo muttered.

Before she could move any further, Carmen suddenly reached for her hand.

Jiwoo reflexively jolted. "Hey—!"

The grip wasn't hard. Not suddenly painful. Just... warm. Carmen's fingers brushed the back of Jiwoo's hand slowly, almost as if confirming something.

Carmen smiled.

"Good thing you're dirty," she said lightly.

Jiwoo immediately took offense. "Hey."

"Don't get mad yet," Carmen chuckled. "Because if you were too clean, I couldn't do this."

"Do what?"

"Touch you," Carmen answered honestly.

Jiwoo swallowed. Her chest felt strange—not fluttering, more like being touched without a clear reason.

"So," Carmen continued, still holding Jiwoo's hand, "I can know what touching a human feels like."

Jiwoo stared at their hands. Her own hand being held by Carmen—real, warm, not burning, not an illusion.

"...And?" she asked quietly.

"Complicated," Carmen answered without hesitation. "Warm. Lots of noise."

"Noise?"

"Pulse. Thoughts. Emotional residue," Carmen clarified. "You're noisy."

"Sorry," Jiwoo said flatly.

"I like it," Carmen shot back quickly.

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. "You just said I'm complicated."

"My favorite human is also complicated," Carmen answered casually.

A bus arrived. Doors opened. People began boarding.

Carmen didn't move.

Jiwoo glanced at the bus, then at Carmen. "We're not getting on?"

Carmen shook her head. "We're walking."

"Walking where?"

"To your place. Your legs still work, right?"

Jiwoo let out a breath, but didn't pull her hand away. They turned away from the bus stop, walking along the sidewalk that was starting to quiet.

Carmen kept holding Jiwoo's hand.

And the entire walk, she didn't stop talking.

"You walk too fast."

"You're slow."

"You're too tense."

"Because you're holding my hand in public."

"Relax," Carmen said. "No one can see."

"That doesn't make me calmer."

"Why? Afraid people will think we're dating?"

Jiwoo choked. "WHAT—no!"

Carmen laughed loudly. "Your face is hilarious."

"Do you just enjoy bullying me?"

"It's not bullying," Carmen said, tilting her head. "It's bonding."

"Humans don't bond like this."

"I'm learning," Carmen shot back lightly.

Streetlights came on one by one. The sky shifted from orange to purple. The city slowly entered night mode.

Jiwoo slowed her steps. Carmen automatically adjusted, without letting go.

For several seconds, they walked in silence.

Then Jiwoo stopped.

Carmen stopped too, turning. "What is it?"

Jiwoo stared ahead, not at Carmen. Her voice was quieter than usual.

"Are you always alone?"

The question escaped without planning. Without specific intent. Just... emerged.

Carmen didn't answer right away.

Her grip loosened slightly—not letting go, just shifting.

"Why do you ask that?" she countered finally.

Jiwoo shrugged slightly. "You always appear alone. Leave alone. Wait alone."

She finally turned. "Have you... ever had anyone?"

Carmen gazed at Jiwoo for a long moment.

Not with a mocking smile. Not with a light laugh.

Her gaze was calm.

"I've always been around many beings," she said quietly. "But being alone is... relative."

"That's not an answer," Jiwoo muttered.

"Because you're not asking about technicalities," Carmen shot back.

The night wind blew, carrying distant sounds from the main road.

"I'm not lonely," Carmen continued. "I'm used to it."

Jiwoo frowned. "That's different."

Carmen smiled faintly. "Yes."

She raised Jiwoo's hand slightly, looking at it like something intriguing. "That's why this is strange."

"Strange how?"

"I rarely hold anyone's hand," Carmen said honestly. "And I rarely want to do it for long."

Jiwoo swallowed. "Then why with me—"

"Because you're dirty," Carmen cut in quickly, then laughed softly. "And warm. And not pretending to be holy."

"That's such a weird compliment."

"But you're accepting it."

Jiwoo sighed, but didn't argue. They started walking again, their steps slow.

"If you're always alone," Jiwoo said quietly, "isn't that... exhausting?"

Carmen tilted her head. "You're asking because you care?"

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "I'm just a dirty human who's curious."

Carmen laughed softly, but this time there was something tender behind it.

"Sometimes," she answered. "Sometimes it's exhausting."

Jiwoo didn't say anything. She just held Carmen's hand back—slightly, hesitantly, but real.

Carmen was quiet for a moment.

"Oh," she said softly. "You learn fast."

"Learn what?"

"Holding back without fear," Carmen answered.

They walked again, hands intertwined, Carmen's teasing fading into smaller comments that were warmer than mocking.

And between the streetlights, the sound of footsteps, and a city that never truly cared, Carmen didn't feel completely alone today.

And Jiwoo didn't feel like she needed to hurry home.

The night was enough.

And that was already more than enough.

---

That alley was supposed to be just a shortcut.

The streetlights weren't completely dead, but dim enough to make shadows stretch long and footsteps sound too clear. Jiwoo walked while regretting her own decision. She usually avoided this alley, but tonight her thoughts were full, her steps automatic.

Her hand was still held by Carmen.

"You're spacing out again," Carmen commented lightly. "If you bump into a wild ghost, I'm not taking responsibility."

"You are the wild ghost," Jiwoo muttered.

They were almost past the mouth of the alley when the sound came.

Scuffing shoes. A stifled breath. And a woman's voice—not a scream, more like a sound pressed forcibly down in the throat.

Jiwoo stopped.

Her body went rigid before her brain fully processed what she was seeing.

Inside the alley, half-hidden in shadow, a girl was being dragged. One of the man's hands gripped her arm, the other covered her mouth. The girl struggled, her bag falling to the ground, its contents spilling out.

Jiwoo's eyes went wide.

Her heart immediately beat irregularly.

Run.

That was her first thought. The most basic instinct. Rational. Safe.

Her foot had already moved half a step backward when Carmen gripped her hand tighter.

"Don't," Carmen said.

Her voice wasn't joking. Not teasing.

Jiwoo turned, panicked. "We can't—I can't—"

"You can," Carmen cut in, quiet but firm.

"I'm just an ordinary person," Jiwoo's voice trembled. "I could die."

"If you run," Carmen continued without releasing her hand, "that girl might die."

Jiwoo swallowed. "You don't know that."

Carmen looked toward the alley. Her eyes were cold, sharp, as if piercing through time.

"Maybe not tonight," she said. "Maybe not at that man's hands."

Jiwoo felt her chest tighten.

"But whatever happens to her tonight," Carmen continued, "could become the reason she hates herself. Blames her body. Blames her life."

Carmen turned to Jiwoo.

"And that often ends the same way," she said quietly. "Death. Sooner or later."

Jiwoo trembled.

"That's not my responsibility," she whispered, as if trying to convince herself.

"No," Carmen answered. "But you're here."

The girl's voice sounded again—more panicked now. Jiwoo could see her shoulders shaking.

Jiwoo shook her head quickly. "I'm not strong."

Carmen moved closer, her face very near now. No mischievous smile. No teasing.

"I'll protect you," she said. "If things get too dangerous... I can enter your body."

Jiwoo's eyes flew wide. "WHAT—"

"It's not a pleasant experience," Carmen added quickly. "But you'll stay alive."

Jiwoo laughed shortly—almost hysterically. "You're insane."

"Maybe," Carmen said. Then, without warning, she pushed Jiwoo toward the alley.

"HEY—!"

Jiwoo's body moved before her mind was ready. Her shoes hit the asphalt. The sound of her footsteps was too loud.

"LET HER GO!" Jiwoo shouted, her voice cracking but real.

The man was startled. He turned, eyes wide at Jiwoo standing a few meters from them.

"What business is it of yours, damn it?" he snarled.

Jiwoo could still run now. She still could.

But the girl's gaze—those eyes, full of fear, wet, and desperate—held her feet in place.

Jiwoo grabbed a wooden plank lying near the wall. Her hands trembled.

"I've already called the police!" she yelled, though her phone was still in her bag.

The man laughed roughly. "Noisy bitch."

He shoved the girl against the wall and stepped toward Jiwoo.

That was when Jiwoo realized—she had no technique. No strength. No plan.

Just a body that had been tired for too long... and a rage that had finally found a target.

The man swung his hand.

The first blow hit Jiwoo's shoulder. Pain exploded. She stumbled, nearly fell.

"Jiwoo," Carmen's voice sounded in her head now. Close. "Focus."

"I—I can't—"

"You can," Carmen repeated. "Look at me."

Jiwoo didn't see Carmen physically. But she felt something—warm, strong, like another layer beneath her skin.

The man attacked again.

Jiwoo screamed, raising the wooden plank on reflex.

And struck.

Not at the head. Not at the hands.

Below.

That sound—a choked shriek, a cut-off breath, a body folding immediately to the ground—happened so fast.

The man fell to his knees, both hands clutching his groin, his face turning pale.

Jiwoo didn't wait.

She kicked him with all her strength, sending him fully to the ground. Jiwoo stumbled backward, breath racing, hands trembling violently.

"Go!" she shouted, her voice hoarse. "Go before I kill you!"

The man cursed, glaring at Jiwoo with hatred and pain, then with difficulty got up and ran limping out of the alley.

Silence fell.

Jiwoo stood frozen for a few seconds, then her knees gave out.

She ran toward the girl.

"Hey—hey, you're safe," she said quickly, hands trembling as she touched the girl's shoulder. "He's gone."

The girl was sobbing hard, her body shaking. Jiwoo immediately embraced her, shielding her with her own body.

"Calm down," Jiwoo whispered, though her own voice was unsteady. "I'm here."

That was when Jiwoo saw the girl's face clearly.

And her chest felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer.

"Yu... Haram?" she said without thinking.

The girl turned, her reddened eyes going wide.

"You—you know me?" her voice trembled.

Jiwoo swallowed. That face was unmistakable. Long hair, delicate features, the small beauty mark beneath her eye.

That influencer. That activist. The woman who often appeared on Jiwoo's phone screen—defending child victims of abuse, speaking loudly about broken systems, about the courage to survive.

"Yes," Jiwoo answered quietly. "I... I've seen you. Often."

Yu Haram laughed shortly—bitterly. "Ironic, isn't it?"

Jiwoo hugged her tighter.

"No," she said honestly. "Human."

Yu Haram sobbed again, quieter this time. Her body finally started to relax slightly.

In the corner of the alley, Carmen stood silently.

She wasn't smiling. Not joking.

Her eyes were fixed on Jiwoo—dirty, fragile, battered human, but standing between darkness and someone who had almost been destroyed.

"Good job," Carmen whispered, her voice only for Jiwoo.

Jiwoo didn't answer. She was too busy making sure the girl in her arms was breathing, alive, real.

In a night that was supposed to be just a shortcut, Jiwoo had chosen not to run.
She didn't just survive.
She made someone else survive too.

---

Jiwoo ended up escorting Yu Haram home.

Not because she felt heroic. Not because she wanted to look good. But because that girl—clearly younger than her—hadn't stopped trembling since they'd left the alley.

Haram was gripping Jiwoo's hand like a drowning person who had finally found the water's surface. Her fingers were cold, her nails pressing into Jiwoo's skin until it stung, but Jiwoo didn't let go.

"Sorry," Haram murmured for the umpteenth time as they stood at the side of the road, waiting for a taxi. "I... I got you involved."

Jiwoo shook her head slowly. "You didn't get me involved in anything."

The streetlight reflected off Haram's pale face. The light makeup that had been neat earlier was now a mess. The mask that had slipped off was tucked into her jacket pocket, as if it no longer mattered.

A few cars passed. None stopped.

Haram drew short, rapid breaths. Every engine sound made her shoulders lift on reflex.

Jiwoo stood a little closer, her body automatically positioning itself on the outer side—between Haram and the road. She didn't realize she was doing it until Carmen brushed her shoulder from behind.

The touch was light. Almost imperceptible.

But miraculously, the ache in Jiwoo's shoulder—the bruise from the blow earlier—began to fade. Like being pulled slowly by something warm.

Jiwoo held her breath.

Don't talk. Don't look. Don't react.

She bit the inside of her cheek, forcing her face to stay neutral.

Carmen stood behind her, rubbing her shoulder with a casual motion, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

"Slowly," Carmen whispered, only for Jiwoo. "Your body is still in shock."

Jiwoo wanted to answer. Wanted to curse. Wanted to say this wasn't the time.

But beside her was Haram—real, human, breathing, fragile.

Jiwoo chose silence.

"I never thought..." Haram spoke up, her voice hoarse. "I always thought... I was strong enough."

Jiwoo turned slightly. "Strong doesn't mean invulnerable."

Haram smiled wryly. "Funny, isn't it. I'm the one who always tells people, 'it's not your fault.' But when it happened to me..."

She trailed off.

Jiwoo didn't push.

A few seconds passed before Haram continued, quieter. "My head immediately got noisy. I kept thinking... did I take the wrong route, was I too confident, was I careless."

Jiwoo swallowed.

Carmen stopped rubbing her shoulder. But Jiwoo could still feel her presence—silent, alert.

"That's a common reaction," Jiwoo said carefully. "Doesn't mean it's true."

Haram nodded faintly. Her hand gripped tighter.

"I'm scared to go home alone," she said honestly. "Even though my place is close."

"That's why I'm here," Jiwoo answered simply.

A taxi finally stopped. The driver rolled down the window, glancing at them briefly.

"Where to?" he asked.

Haram gave her address. Her voice still trembled.

Jiwoo opened the back door. Haram hesitated a moment before getting in.

"Are you coming?" she asked quickly, almost panicked.

Jiwoo nodded without thinking twice. "Yes."

Inside the taxi, Haram sat by the window, Jiwoo beside her. They were close—shoulders touching.

Haram still hadn't let go of Jiwoo's hand.

And Jiwoo let her.

The ride passed in a heavy silence. The city passed behind glass, lights looking like blurred lines.

Jiwoo stared straight ahead. She was aware her breathing was still slightly unsteady. The adrenaline hadn't fully come down.

Carmen sat in the front seat, legs crossed casually, staring at the road with a bored expression.

Jiwoo didn't turn. Didn't speak. Didn't react.

If I talk, she'll think I'm insane, Jiwoo thought.

Haram suddenly spoke, faintly. "Unnie..."

"Hmm?"

"If... if you hadn't passed by earlier..."

The sentence hung there. Didn't need to be finished.

Jiwoo shook her head slowly. "We don't need to talk about that."

Haram swallowed. "I thought... people like me should've been safe. I talk about this stuff often. I thought I was ready."

"Ready is a myth," Jiwoo answered quietly. "No one is really ready."

Haram laughed softly—the vibration of it was bitter. "You talk like someone who thinks too far ahead."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "I'm a professional."

Carmen snorted quietly, almost laughing. Jiwoo held herself back with all her strength not to react.

The taxi stopped in front of a small apartment building. Its lights were bright. There was a guard in the lobby.

Haram drew a long breath, as if only now realizing they had arrived.

"Thank you," she said quickly. "I... I don't know what to say."

Jiwoo opened the door. "Just go inside. It's safe."

Haram hesitated a moment, then hugged Jiwoo suddenly.

The hug was stiff, awkward, but full of emotions that hadn't yet been sorted.

"Thank you for not running," she whispered.

Jiwoo was silent, then returned the hug slowly. "I almost did run."

Haram smiled faintly against her shoulder. "But you didn't."

They parted. Haram stepped into the building, glancing back several times before finally disappearing behind the glass door.

Jiwoo stood outside a few seconds longer.

Once the taxi pulled away and the street was quiet again, Carmen was standing beside her.

"You were amazing," Carmen said lightly, but her eyes were serious.

Jiwoo let out a long breath. "I was trembling."

"Natural."

"I was scared."

"Even more natural."

Jiwoo stared at her own hands—the imprint of Haram's grip still lingered.

"If you hadn't held my hand earlier," Jiwoo said quietly, "I probably would have run."

Carmen shrugged. "You're still the one who stepped forward."

Jiwoo laughed shortly, tired. "I didn't want her to think I was crazy."

Carmen smiled faintly. "Don't worry. You looked sane enough. Just exhausted."

They walked home in silence.

Jiwoo realized one thing that night.

She was still afraid.
She was still fragile.
She was still a human who broke easily.

But she also knew—when someone in front of her was more afraid than she was,
her feet could still step forward.

And Carmen, walking beside her unseen, didn't say anything more.

Their silence felt... just right.

---

That morning, Jiwoo woke up with a feeling that wouldn't smooth itself out.

Not a blazing sadness. Not a burning rage. More like tangled thread being pulled slowly from inside her chest—not painful enough to scream, but enough to make breathing feel tight.

Her phone was still lit on the bed.

One message. From her father.

Short. Formal. Cold.

About the divorce.

About how "we've both agreed to separate."
About how "going forward, each will handle their own life."

Not a single sentence asking, how are you, Jiwoo?

Jiwoo stared at that screen for a long time.

Then she laughed softly. The sound came out foreign, dry.

"Oh," she murmured. "So that's how it is."

She rose from the bed, walked to the kitchen with half-conscious steps. Opened the fridge. Three strawberries left. She took one, bit into it without washing it, without caring.

It tasted sour.

Fitting.

Since graduating college, nearly all the household expenses had been on her. Bills. Rent. Monthly groceries. A cousin's school fees that had been passed on. Even small debts her father had said "I'll pay you back later."

Years of savings—apartment money—gone at a gambling table.

Her mother? Gone with another man.

And now, divorce.

Two adults who had once said they loved her, now both seeming ready to live without Jiwoo.

As if Jiwoo was just a phase that had passed.

She sat on the living room floor, leaning against the sofa. Her back felt heavy, like carrying something invisible.

"Funny," she whispered to the empty air. "I didn't even get to be a child."

Her head started getting noisy.

If you weren't here, their lives might be lighter.
You're just a burden.
You were never really wanted.

The whispers were smooth. Rhythmic. Like small voices that knew exactly where the cracks in her thoughts were.

Jiwoo closed her eyes, drawing a breath.

Don't.

She knew those voices now. She recognized them.

But today, her defenses were thin.

A soft knock sounded.

Not at the door.

Inside her head.

"Excuse me," that voice appeared casually. "It's crowded in here today."

Jiwoo opened her eyes.

Carmen stood in the middle of the living room, wearing Jiwoo's gray hoodie—since when, she had no idea—hands in the pockets, face flat but eyes alert.

"Don't you work or something?" Jiwoo asked faintly.

"I took leave from hell," Carmen answered. "Reason: my favorite human looked like she was about to collapse."

Jiwoo snorted quietly. "I'm fine."

"Terrible lie," Carmen shot back, moving closer.

She knelt in front of Jiwoo without asking, then with a gentle motion—almost unfitting for a creature like her—stroked Jiwoo's head.

Her touch was warm. Consistent.

Jiwoo reflexively stiffened.

"Quiet," Carmen said softly. "Not for you."

Jiwoo felt something like a small wind inside her head—cold for a moment, then quiet. The whispers were cut off one by one, like a radio forcibly switched off.

"Hey," Jiwoo protested weakly. "That was—"

"Little demons," Carmen cut in casually. "The ones that like to slip into the heads of tired humans."

Jiwoo swallowed. "I... sounded that crazy?"

"Every human sounds that way in their heads," Carmen answered. "The difference is, you're aware of it."

Carmen kept stroking Jiwoo's head, her fingers threading through her hair with a slow, almost protective motion.

"You got news," Carmen said—not a question.

Jiwoo laughed shortly. "Divorce."

"Oh."

"Neither of them wants the fuss," Jiwoo continued, her voice flat but cracking at the edges. "Both of them... seem relieved."

Carmen stopped stroking for a moment, then continued, softer.

"Are you angry?"

Jiwoo shook her head. "Tired."

"That's heavier," Carmen murmured.

Jiwoo stared at the floor. "I feel stupid. I thought all this time I was helping because they were family. But now..."

"Now you realize you were used as a foundation," Carmen said quietly. "And foundations are rarely remembered."

Jiwoo laughed softly, bitterly. "I wasn't even asked to be part of the discussion."

"You're not part of the plan for their new lives," Carmen said without sugarcoating. "And that hurts."

Jiwoo finally cried.

Not loud, heaving sobs. Tears fell slowly, one by one, onto the back of her hand.

"I just wanted... just once to be chosen," she whispered. "Not because I'm useful. But because I'm me."

Carmen didn't answer right away.

She shifted her position, sitting on the floor in front of Jiwoo, then pulled Jiwoo into an embrace.

The hug wasn't warm like a human's. But there was something more stable about it—like an anchor in the middle of a storm.

"Do you know why little demons like you?" Carmen asked quietly.

Jiwoo shook her head, her nose clogged.

"Because you held on for a long time," Carmen answered. "And people who hold on for a long time often forget that they're allowed to stop pleasing everyone."

Jiwoo laughed weakly against Carmen's shoulder. "I don't know how to live any other way."

"That's why I'm here," Carmen said simply.

Jiwoo drew a deep breath. "You're... strange."

"Thank you."

"They took everything from me," Jiwoo continued, more honest now. "Money. Time. A sense of safety."

Carmen lifted Jiwoo's chin gently, forcing Jiwoo to look at her.

"But not your life," she said firmly. "And that's the most expensive thing."

Jiwoo fell silent.

"I don't promise your life will become fair," Carmen continued. "But I promise—for these four years—you won't be alone inside your own head."

Jiwoo let out a long breath.

"I hate it when you get serious," she muttered.

Carmen smiled faintly. "Me too. Tiring."

They sat like that for a while. A silence that didn't press down.

Outside, the afternoon moved on as usual. The world didn't collapse. Didn't stop.

And inside that small apartment, a human who had just realized she was no longer chosen by her parents... was still breathing.

Still here.

Still had strawberries.

Still had one snaggletoothed demon who chased the cruel voices from her head without being asked.

And for that day. That was enough.

---

Carmen flicked her fingers.

Snap.

Jiwoo's phone, which had been lying beside the pillow, vanished in an instant—then reappeared in Carmen's hand.

"HEY—!" Jiwoo reflexively exclaimed. "That's mine!"

"Relax," Carmen said casually, her thumb already nimble on the delivery app. "I'm just saving you from starvation and worse life decisions."

"I didn't ask you to—"

"You haven't eaten since morning," Carmen cut in without looking up. "And you're the type of human whose thoughts get crueler when your stomach is empty."

Jiwoo fell silent. Damn it... true.

Carmen scrolled through the screen with an expression of exaggerated seriousness, as if handling an important interdimensional transaction.

"Hmm... seaweed soup? Too sad. Tteokbokki? Too emotional. Ah." She stopped. "Gimbap and sundubu. Safe."

"You didn't even ask what I want," Jiwoo protested weakly.

"You want to feel not alone," Carmen answered quickly. "Food is just the medium."

Jiwoo stared at the back of her phone—now no longer in her own hands. She should have been angry. Offended. Kicked Carmen out of her apartment.

But what came out instead was a small, tired, resigned smile.

"Damn," Jiwoo muttered. "I'm starting to get comfortable with you."

Carmen glanced sideways, the corner of her lips rising. "Dangerous."

"You're a weird snaggletoothed creature," Jiwoo continued. "Not an angel."

"Thank goodness."

"Not a demon either."

"Debatable."

Jiwoo let out a breath, leaning her head against the sofa. "I've seen paintings of angels. They're calm. Clean. Don't touch people's things without permission."

"And boring," Carmen added.

Jiwoo chuckled softly. "Demons aren't like you either."

"Oh?"

"Demons should be frightening. Cruel. Have an aura... you know."

Carmen leaned in, grinning. "I frighten you."

"At first," Jiwoo admitted. "Now you're just... annoying."

"That means I've leveled up."

Jiwoo laughed softly, then suddenly fell silent. Her thoughts drifted, like an old reflex surfacing unbidden.

She closed her eyes, her lips moving quietly.

A prayer.

A prayer she used to know by heart. One she hadn't spoken in a long time, but now came out on its own—stumbling, awkward, messy.

Carmen stopped scrolling.

She turned, watching Jiwoo with a raised eyebrow.

When Jiwoo finished—her prayer short, more like an apology to a God she had suddenly remembered—Carmen laughed.

Not a mocking laugh. More like... entertained.

"Wow," she said. "You remembered God."

Jiwoo opened her eyes, embarrassed. "Don't laugh at me."

"Has it been long?" Carmen asked, curious.

Jiwoo shrugged. "Who knows. I'm not mad at God. I just... forgot."

Carmen leaned back against the sofa cushion. "Humans often do that. Remember when they're desperate."

"Is that bad?" Jiwoo asked quietly.

"No," Carmen answered. "It's human."

Jiwoo looked at her. "You didn't burst into flames or anything?"

Carmen laughed softly. "Your prayer wasn't that strong."

"Too little faith?"

"Too little conviction," Carmen corrected. "But honest."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "I don't know what category you belong to."

Carmen thought for a moment. "Neither do I."

"If God knew I made a deal with you—"

"Relax," Carmen cut in. "Your God has known for a long time that you're tired."

Jiwoo swallowed. "You talk like you know everything."

"I'm observant."

Jiwoo's phone chimed. Order confirmed notification.

Carmen returned it, dropping it into Jiwoo's lap without gentleness.

"Premium demon service," she said.

Jiwoo held her phone, then looked at Carmen. Her smile was still weak, but more real than it had been this morning.

"You're not angry I prayed?" she asked.

"Why would I be angry?" Carmen countered. "I'm not a competitor."

"Then what are you?"

Carmen moved closer, sitting on the floor in front of Jiwoo, her chin resting on her knees.

"I'm a pause," she said. "Between despair and a stupid decision."

Jiwoo fell silent.

"I don't want you to worship me," Carmen continued. "I just want you to live long enough to choose."

"Four years," Jiwoo murmured.

"Four years," Carmen repeated. "And see how many small things you've been underestimating."

Jiwoo remembered the strawberries. I-an. Haram. The warm touch on her shoulder. The food that was about to arrive.

"I'm still scared," she said honestly.

"Good."

"Why good?"

"Fear means you care about your life now," Carmen answered. "Before, you just wanted it to end."

Jiwoo let out a long breath. "You're not normal."

"And you're comfortable," Carmen said lightly.

The doorbell rang.

Jiwoo rose slowly, opened the door. The smell of food immediately rushed in. Warm. Real.

She returned to the living room, setting the food on the table. Carmen was already sitting casually, as if the place were indeed her own home.

Jiwoo handed her one set of chopsticks without thinking.

Carmen stared at the chopsticks, then at Jiwoo.

"...You're offering?"

Jiwoo realized, her face reddening. "Reflex."

Carmen smiled—small, sincere, without her usual insufferable expression.

"I can't eat yet," she said quietly. "But thanks."

Jiwoo pulled the chopsticks back, slightly embarrassed.

They ate in silence. Jiwoo sipped her soup, her body slowly warming.

In that silence, Jiwoo thought:

This creature might not be an angel.
Not a demon.
Not anything she had ever been taught about.

But strangely...

On the day when her parents had chosen lives without her, in an apartment bought through a bizarre deal, with a snaggletoothed creature who had laughed at her prayer... Jiwoo didn't feel abandoned.

And that, somehow, felt sacred enough for one day.
---

Four months slipped past without Jiwoo truly noticing.

Not because time moved quickly, but because her life, strangely, had begun to find its rhythm. Not a grand, ambitious rhythm. Just small things that repeated and didn't hurt.

Like lunch.

Like strawberries.

Like meeting I-an after her tutoring sessions.

That day, Jiwoo had just picked up I-an from a small music academy on the second floor of an old shophouse. The building was noisy, the smell of cheap coffee mixing with the dust of old books. I-an emerged tapping her white cane, her face bright as always.

"Unnie!" she exclaimed. "I'm hungry."

"Coincidentally," Jiwoo answered, "so am I."

They walked side by side toward their usual small restaurant—a cheap, quiet place where the server already knew I-an was blind and always used clock directions when setting down plates.

Carmen walked alongside Jiwoo.

As usual.

And as usual, Jiwoo pretended not to see when Carmen leaned slightly toward I-an.

Her fingers lifted, hesitant.

As if wanting to stroke the girl's hair.

But stopped a few centimeters from I-an's head.

Carmen snorted softly. "Damn."

Jiwoo glanced quickly, then looked straight ahead again. "Don't."

"I know," Carmen murmured. "Reflex."

Jiwoo lowered her voice, her lips barely moving. "You look like a curious ghost."

"I'm not a ghost."

"You're not human either," Jiwoo shot back flatly.

Carmen laughed softly.

I-an, walking on the other side, suddenly smiled. A calm smile, unforced.

"Unnie," she said casually, "your scent is different today."

Jiwoo reflexively tensed. "Different how?"

"Sweeter," I-an answered thoughtfully. "Like... fruit? But not strawberries."

Jiwoo swallowed.

Carmen raised an eyebrow, turning to Jiwoo with a smug expression. "See."

Jiwoo pinched the air toward Carmen—a small, nearly invisible motion.

"Don't start," she whispered.

I-an chuckled softly. "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Jiwoo answered quickly. "You're just... perceptive."

"They say a person's scent changes depending on their mood," I-an said lightly. "Today you seem calm."

Calm.

The word felt foreign, but not wrong.

They sat down in the restaurant. Jiwoo helped I-an sit, explaining the table position, the placement of utensils, the direction of her drink. Movements that were now automatic, full of habit.

Carmen sat in the empty chair beside Jiwoo, her legs pulled up onto the seat, her chin resting on her knees.

"She's getting more stable," Carmen said quietly.

Jiwoo didn't turn. "Don't talk about it."

"You're scared she'll realize I'm here."

"I'm scared I'll sound insane."

Carmen laughed softly. "You've gotten good. Talking in your head."

It was true.

Jiwoo could now converse with Carmen without sound, without strange expressions. Partly practice, partly necessity. She didn't want to look like she was talking to herself in front of other people—especially not in front of I-an.

"What are you thinking about, unnie?" I-an asked suddenly, sipping her water.

Jiwoo startled slightly. "Huh?"

"You've been quiet," I-an continued. "Usually you comment on the menu."

Jiwoo quickly grabbed the menu. "Ah—yeah. I was thinking about what to order."

"Tuna gimbap," I-an answered quickly. "You always order that when you're confused."

Jiwoo fell silent, then laughed softly. "Caught me, huh."

"Unnie is easy to read," I-an said cheerfully.

Carmen grinned. "I agree."

Jiwoo held back a smile.

She realized something—lately, she no longer felt like she had to hide inside herself. Carmen was there, yes. Strange. Annoying. Sometimes outrageous. But her presence made Jiwoo... more present.

More aware of her body. Her emotions. The people around her.

Like now.

I-an talked about her grandmother, who was starting to grow forgetful. About how she was learning to recognize spaces through sound and texture. About a classmate who was too overprotective.

"I'm not fragile," I-an said, laughing softly. "I just need extra time."

Jiwoo nodded. "And you've never asked to be pitied."

"Pity is tiring," I-an answered casually. "I prefer being understood."

Carmen gazed at the girl for a long moment.

A gaze Jiwoo recognized now—not a hungry gaze, not a possessive one.

A gaze of respect.

"If I could," Carmen murmured quietly, "I'd watch over her from afar."

Jiwoo answered in her heart, *You already do.*

The server arrived, setting down the food while explaining the plate positions to I-an. Jiwoo watched how I-an smiled, saying thank you sincerely.

"Your scent really is different today," I-an said again, picking up her chopsticks. "Lighter."

Jiwoo was silent for a moment.

She remembered herself four months ago—standing at the edge of a building, gaze empty, wanting it all to end.

"I think," Jiwoo said quietly, "I'm learning to stop hating my life."

I-an smiled broadly. "That's my favorite scent."

Carmen laughed softly, a sound only Jiwoo could hear.

"Human," she said, "you're evolving."

Jiwoo sighed, but smiled.

That lunch passed ordinarily.

No grand miracle. No dramatic fate.

Just three existences—two visible, one not—sharing space, sound, and something that was slowly growing without a name.

And for Jiwoo, that was already more than enough.

---

Jiwoo stopped in front of the convenience store display window longer than usual.

Not because she was confused about what to buy—her basket was already full. Instant noodles, strawberries, milk, tissues, soap, a few snacks she didn't actually need but somehow felt right to own.

Her eyes had landed on the back of her own hand instead.

The four dots had changed.

Only three and a half remained.

Not because the color had faded—but because one dot seemed to have split in two, marking time that had already traveled too far to pretend she wasn't counting.

Jiwoo stared at it for a few seconds, then laughed softly. Not a happy laugh. Not a despairing laugh. More like the snort of someone too tired for an exaggerated reaction.

"Who even cares," she muttered.

Carmen, standing beside her, immediately grinned.
"You care."

"I care about strawberries," Jiwoo shot back quickly. "Not about my death clock."

"Your lies are getting worse," Carmen said, folding her arms.

Jiwoo paid for her groceries, then walked out with two large plastic bags in each hand. Heavy, but somehow her steps felt light.

Carmen followed her, chattering as usual.

"I still don't get why I'm not allowed to help," she grumbled. "If I held those bags—"

"—people would scream seeing plastic bags floating in midair," Jiwoo cut in. "And I'd end up on local news."

"Not bad," Carmen said casually. "Human possessed by shopping bags."

"I want to live quietly," Jiwoo shot back. "Three and a half years left. I want peace."

Carmen chuckled. "You sound like a grandmother."

"Shut up."

They walked along the long sidewalk toward the bus stop. The sky was starting to darken, streetlights flickering on one by one. The atmosphere was quiet—not romantic quiet, but the kind of quiet that made shoulders reflexively tense.

Jiwoo almost passed the bus stop entirely.

Almost.

Her steps slowed.

Then stopped.

On the bus stop bench sat a high school girl. Her hair was disheveled. Her uniform was dirty, the sleeve slightly torn. On her face—a purplish-blue bruise beneath her left eye, and a small wound on her lip.

The name tag on her chest was still pinned on.

Kim Joo Eun.

Jiwoo swallowed.

The girl wasn't crying. Wasn't sobbing. She just sat stiffly, her back tense, her hands gripping her bag tightly as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the world.

And her gaze...

That gaze locked onto Jiwoo immediately.

Not an empty gaze.
Not an angry gaze.

A gaze asking for help.

On the other side of the bus stop, several other students stood. Neat uniforms. Expensive bags. Faces far too relaxed for the situation.

"Hey, Joo Eun," one of them spoke up, her tone made light but full of pressure. "You've got money, right? Lend us a bit."

"Just say you're begging," another added, laughing softly.

Joo Eun shook her head quickly. Her shoulders trembled slightly.

"I don't have any," she said quietly.

"Ah, liar," another girl said, stepping closer. "You said the same thing yesterday."

Jiwoo stood frozen.

The shopping bags in her hands felt heavier.

Carmen stopped too. Her face changed—her smile disappeared, replaced by a cold expression Jiwoo rarely saw.

"Oh," Carmen murmured. "This is an old smell."

Jiwoo swallowed. "I'm not—"

"You see that bruise?" Carmen cut in. "That's not from falling down stairs."

One of the students moved closer again, this time her hand reaching for the strap of Joo Eun's bag.

"Don't be stingy," she said. "If you are, you know what happens."

Joo Eun looked at Jiwoo again.

Her eyes were glistening, but she didn't cry. As if crying wasn't a safe option.

Jiwoo remembered herself.
At the office.
At home.
At the cold dinner table.

The same gaze.

*Don't look at me.*
*Please look at me.*

"Come on," Jiwoo whispered, more to herself. "Don't."

Carmen turned. "Are you going to walk past?"

Jiwoo didn't answer.

"I can mess with them," Carmen continued lightly. "Make the lights go out. Create some weird wind. But it'll just be temporary panic."

Jiwoo clenched her fists. "I know."

"And you also know," Carmen said quietly, "that if you walk past now, that face is going to follow you home."

Jiwoo closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them, her feet were already moving.

She approached the bus stop with steady steps, the two plastic bags still in her hands.

"Excuse me," her voice rang out clearly in the quiet air.

All heads turned.

Jiwoo stood in front of Joo Eun, reflexively positioning her body slightly in front of the girl.

"She's my sister," Jiwoo said flatly. "Is there a problem?"

One of the students laughed. "Sister? Who are you?"

"An adult," Jiwoo answered shortly. "And that's enough."

"This is our business—"

"It's my business now," Jiwoo cut in. Her eyes were sharp, tired, but unhesitating. "Do you want me to call your parents? Or the police?"

A moment of silence.

The kids exchanged glances. They weren't major criminals. They were just used to never being challenged.

"Tch," one of them hissed. "Wannabe hero."

"Leave," Jiwoo said. "Now."

It took a few seconds, but finally they backed off. One by one they distanced themselves, still muttering curses, but no longer daring to approach.

The bus stop fell quiet again.

Jiwoo let out a long breath.

Her hands were trembling.

She lowered the shopping bags, then crouched down in front of Joo Eun.

"You're safe now," she said gently. "They're gone."

Joo Eun stared at her for a long moment, then finally cried.

Crying that had been held back too long. Her shoulders shook violently, her voice choked.

Jiwoo reflexively embraced her—not caring that her uniform was dirty, not caring about anyone's gaze.

"Calm down," Jiwoo whispered. "I'm here."

Carmen stood beside them, watching the scene with an expression that was hard to describe—not happy, not angry.

More like... acknowledgment.

"You know," Carmen said quietly, only for Jiwoo, "this isn't my task."

Jiwoo stroked Joo Eun's back slowly. "I know."

"But you did it anyway."

Jiwoo swallowed. "I just didn't want her to grow up thinking this world is full of people who only want to take from her."

Carmen smiled faintly. "Human."

Jiwoo glanced at the back of her hand again briefly.

Three and a half years.

She didn't know how many more faces like this she would still encounter. Didn't know how many wounds she couldn't heal.

But that night, at a quiet bus stop, with shopping bags fallen at her feet and a high school girl who finally felt seen, Jiwoo knew one thing.

Her time was decreasing.
But her presence... was starting to mean something.

Joo Eun stopped crying—first, because of sheer exhaustion.

Her tears didn't vanish completely—there were still small sobs caught in her chest, a breath that hadn't fully stabilized—but her eyes now dared to look at Jiwoo again. Her face was swollen, but something had changed there. Not happiness. More like... relief at not being alone.

"Thank you, unnie," she said quietly, her voice hoarse. "I... I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't come."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. She released the embrace slowly, making sure Joo Eun was stable enough to sit on the bus stop bench by herself.

"You didn't do anything wrong," Jiwoo said. "And you're not overreacting."

Joo Eun nodded quickly, like someone who needed to be convinced over and over. "They do that a lot. I usually just stay quiet. But today... they started pulling my bag."

Jiwoo clenched her fist briefly, then released it. "From now on, if anyone bothers you, find an adult. A teacher. A security guard. Anyone."

"Most people pretend they don't see," Joo Eun murmured honestly.

Jiwoo didn't deny it. She knew.

Beside them, Carmen stood with her arms folded, expression half-amused, half-baffled.
"Look at you," she said lightly. "Collecting high school kids one by one like flyers."

Jiwoo didn't answer out loud. She just sighed quietly inside. *Quiet, you.*

Joo Eun wiped her nose, then pulled out her phone with hands still slightly trembling. "I... I want to call my sister. She said I have to let her know if I'm running late."

Jiwoo nodded. "I'll wait."

Joo Eun moved a bit away, speaking quietly into her phone. Jiwoo stood a few steps from the bus stop bench, giving the girl space, but staying close enough to stand guard.

Carmen moved closer to Jiwoo's side. "Do you realize?"

"Realize what?" Jiwoo asked quietly.

"You've stopped thinking, 'this isn't my business.'"

Jiwoo stared at the asphalt. "I just... happened to be here."

"Four months ago, you were standing at the edge of a building," Carmen shot back. "Now you're standing at a bus stop waiting for a high school kid."

Jiwoo snorted. "Don't make it dramatic."

"Too late."

Not long after, a car pulled up at the side of the road. The door opened, and a woman stepped out with quick steps, her face full of worry.

The moment Jiwoo saw that face, her chest felt like it was being pulled back into the past.

Kim Dahyun.

Or the name she'd once heard in school whispers—Stella.

Her hair was shorter now. Her face more mature. But Jiwoo recognized her immediately.

Stella, who had once been known not for achievements, but for wounds that were never truly hidden. Stella, whose left ear was nearly deaf from violence at home—because one night she had stood in front of her younger sibling and taken a blow that was never meant for her.

Stella, who had collapsed in the school corridor from a high fever, but still forced herself into class because she was terrified of being called lazy.

Stella, whom Jiwoo, without much thought, had taken to the infirmary because they happened to be on the same route to class.

Their only direct interaction.

At the time, Jiwoo hadn't cared beyond that. Not because she was cruel. But because she was too busy keeping her own grades perfect, her own life neat.

Stella approached Joo Eun and immediately embraced her.

"What happened to you?" she asked quickly, checking her sister's face in panic. "Who did this?"

Joo Eun shook her head quickly. "I'm okay. Unnie, this—" she turned to Jiwoo, hesitant, then continued, "—this is the unnie who helped me."

Stella turned.

Their gazes met.

For a few seconds, Jiwoo was struck silent. And from the way Stella stiffened for a moment, Jiwoo knew—Stella recognized her too.

"...You," Stella said quietly.

Jiwoo swallowed. "Hi."

There was an awkward pause. Not from hostility. More because it was two people who had both stored away the past in different places, now meeting without preparation.

"Jiwoo," Stella said finally. "Choi Jiwoo, right?"

Jiwoo nodded. "Yes."

Stella laughed softly, nervous. "I... I almost didn't recognize you. But your voice is the same."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "You too. Just... you look healthier."

"That's because I don't live in that house anymore," Stella answered honestly. "And because of Joo Eun."

Joo Eun held her sister's arm, looking at them back and forth. "You two know each other?"

"From the past," Stella answered. "Same school."

Jiwoo wanted to say *I was just passing by,* but the sentence felt too small for this situation.

"I just happened to pass the bus stop," she said finally. "And saw them bothering Joo Eun."

Stella bowed.

Deeply.

Long.

Jiwoo reflexively stepped forward. "Hey—don't—"

"Please let me," Stella cut in quietly, still bowing. "Thank you for protecting my sister."

Then, after lifting her face, Stella added with a voice that trembled slightly, "And... thank you, too. From back then."

Jiwoo fell silent. "Back then?"

"When I collapsed at school," Stella continued. "You were the one who took me to the infirmary. I never got a chance to say anything because I transferred schools not long after."

Jiwoo remembered that day. The smell of antiseptic. A uniform soaked in sweat. A teacher who arrived too late.

"Oh," she said quietly. "That... was just coincidence."

"Maybe to you," Stella answered. "To me, it was the first time someone helped without asking anything."

Joo Eun stared at Jiwoo with wide eyes, as if just realizing something important.

Carmen stood beside Jiwoo, invisible to everyone except her.

Without saying a word, Carmen raised her hand and stroked Jiwoo's head—gentle, slow, like calming a child who was too hard on herself.

Inside Jiwoo's head, one sentence surfaced on its own, calm and honest.

*I'm not as terrible as I thought.*

Jiwoo swallowed. Her chest felt full, but not tight.

Stella pulled out her phone. "Can... can we exchange numbers?" she asked hesitantly. "It's nothing. I just—if Joo Eun ever has trouble around here..."

Jiwoo nodded quickly. "Yes. Of course."

They exchanged numbers. Joo Eun watched with a relieved expression, as if the world had just become slightly safer.

"Thank you, unnie," Joo Eun said again, this time quieter, more certain.

Jiwoo smiled. "Get home safe."

Stella opened the car door for her sister, then turned once more to Jiwoo. "I'm glad you're doing well," she said sincerely.

Jiwoo was silent for a moment. Then answered, "Me too."

The car drove away, leaving the bus stop quiet again.

Jiwoo stood for a few seconds without moving.

Carmen smirked faintly. "See?"

"See what?" Jiwoo muttered.

"You leave traces in people's lives without realizing it," Carmen said. "And you still say your life is meaningless."

Jiwoo let out a long breath. "I just... happened to be there."

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment. "And that was enough."

Jiwoo looked at the back of her hand again.
Three and a half.

Still decreasing.

But that night, at that same bus stop—without spotlight, without praise—Jiwoo knew one thing with certainty. She might not have been saved by anyone back then. But she had, quietly, saved others.

And maybe... that was reason enough to stay alive today.

---

Since that day, time moved in a strange way.

Not faster. Not slower. But... no longer empty.

Months passed, and Jiwoo's life—once straight, rigid, and nearly without pauses—began to fill with small dots she had never planned for. Not dramatic, sweeping changes. No moments of epiphany. No vows of a new life.

Just presence.

Days off were no longer synonymous with closed curtains and a phone placed face-down. Now, Carmen was almost always there.

That snaggletoothed creature somehow always knew when Jiwoo intended to laze around all day. She would appear without permission, sit on the living room floor, snack on things she'd ordered herself using Jiwoo's phone, then make sharp comments about how pitiful it was for a human to sleep until noon.

"You know," Carmen said once, leaning her head against the sofa, "in hell, people who wake up late are forced to run laps around the crater."

Jiwoo growled from under her blanket. "I'm not dead yet, you disrespectful creature."

"Precisely because you're not dead yet," Carmen shot back sweetly. "Wake up."

Sometimes they went out without a destination. Walked aimlessly, just wandering through Seoul's small alleyways that rarely made it onto tourist maps. Carmen would comment on the passing humans—sometimes cruel, sometimes too honest.

"That one is lying to their partner," she said casually.

Jiwoo snorted. "You're making that up."

"That one wants to resign but is too scared," Carmen continued, pointing at a man with a rumpled suit.

"...Okay, that one might be true."

Carmen laughed in satisfaction.

On workdays, Jiwoo still worked at the same office. The environment remained toxic, the passive-aggressive comments still present, the boss still pretending to be busy. But there was distance now. The weight in her chest was no longer as heavy as before.

She no longer calculated her savings with fear. No longer thought, *I have to survive for the apartment.* The apartment was already hers. And four years—somehow—no longer felt like a countdown, but like... time that could be filled.

And between those workdays, there was I-an.

Or Lee An—but the girl insisted, "Just call me I-an, it's cuter."

The routine formed without any agreement. Jiwoo often met I-an after her music or language tutoring sessions. Sometimes just helping her cross the street, sometimes eating street snacks, sometimes sitting on a park bench while I-an talked nonstop.

That blind girl was talkative. Shockingly talkative.

"Unnie, you know what," I-an said, swinging her cane back and forth, "I walked into the wrong classroom today. But the teacher was so nice, she made me tea."

Jiwoo laughed. "You get lost often, huh."

"A little," I-an answered lightly. "But I always arrive."

That sentence slapped Jiwoo without any violence.

Carmen usually stood a bit farther away when I-an was around. Jiwoo was aware that the creature always tried to get closer, tried to touch I-an's hair, but could never really do it. Her hand always stopped an inch before the girl's skin.

Carmen's gaze when she looked at I-an... was different.

Quieter. Softer.

One day, Jiwoo clicked her tongue, pretending to be annoyed. "Why are you always watching her anyway?"

Carmen glanced sideways. "Envy."

Jiwoo frowned. "Envy?"

"Yes," Carmen answered honestly. "A human like her... she's clean. I can't just touch her carelessly."

Jiwoo snorted. "So that means I'm dirty."

Carmen smiled crookedly. "Fortunately."

Besides I-an, there was Yu Haram.

The influencer Jiwoo had saved back then truly remembered her. At first, it was just a long thank-you message via Instagram. Then it evolved into light chats. Sometimes venting. Sometimes silly jokes.

Haram often sent voice notes late at night.

"Unnie, I was exhausted today," she said once, her voice still trembling. "But I remembered what you said... that a person's life can change because of one stranger. So I held on today."

Jiwoo stared at her phone screen long after the message ended.

Carmen, peeking from the side, snorted. "You're dangerous."

"Why?"

"You make people survive without realizing it."

Jiwoo didn't answer. Her chest felt warm in an unfamiliar way.

And then there were Stella and Joo Eun.

Their meetings weren't frequent. But they always felt... enough. Joo Eun, who turned out to be a dance prodigy—so much so that one day she sent a practice video with the caption: *Unnie, I won a competition! Treat me to a meal—wait no. I'm treating you.*

And Joo Eun really kept that promise.

They ate at a cheap but bustling fried chicken restaurant. Joo Eun ordered far too much, then laughed freely while saying, "I'm a champion, we have to celebrate!"

Stella sat beside Jiwoo, smiling faintly watching her sister so full of life.

"You made her brave," Stella said quietly.

Jiwoo shook her head. "She's always been brave."

"No," Stella countered softly. "She became brave because she feels safe."

Jiwoo fell silent.

On the way home that night, Carmen walked beside Jiwoo, hands folded behind her head.

"Do you realize," she said casually, "that your life is noisy now?"

Jiwoo laughed softly. "Yeah."

"It was quiet before."

"Yeah."

"Which do you prefer?"

Jiwoo glanced sideways. Carmen was staring straight ahead, her face relaxed, as if the question didn't matter.

But Jiwoo knew that was a lie.

"...Now," she answered quietly.

Carmen smiled. Not mocking. Not teasing. Just a small, sincere smile.

That night, when Jiwoo arrived at her apartment, she opened the fridge and took out a box of strawberries. She washed one, bit into it, and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Four years.

That number was still on the back of her hand. Still decreasing. Still real.

But now, between the days filled with names, the sound of laughter, short messages, and walks home together—Jiwoo no longer asked what her life was for.

She just lived—and it no longer felt... so unbearably painful.

---

The second year arrived without announcement.

No celebration. No clear marker line. Just the number on the back of Jiwoo's hand decreasing slowly, and herself, without realizing it, beginning to live at a more human rhythm.

She woke in the morning without heaviness in her chest. She worked just enough, not excessively. She came home with reasons—sometimes strawberries, sometimes a message from I-an, sometimes Joo Eun's laughing voice on the phone, sometimes an Instagram notification from Haram sending a photo of a stray cat she was caring for.

And, at some unknown point, she started setting aside money.

Not for an apartment. Not for a long future.

For cremation.

When Jiwoo mentioned it casually at the dining table, crossing out numbers in her savings book—Carmen nearly choked on the canned drink she was drinking without permission.

"You are the most impatient human I have ever met," Carmen said, coughing. "Not even dead yet, and already thinking about ashes."

Jiwoo shrugged. "Practical. I don't want to inconvenience anyone."

"You think death is a logistics matter?" Carmen snorted. "You don't even know if you want to be buried or burned."

"Burned," Jiwoo answered quickly. "I don't like damp soil."

Carmen stared at her for a long moment, then burst out laughing. Loud, unrestrained laughter, until she had to wipe the corner of her eyes.

"Humans," she said, shaking her head. "Weird."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. She wasn't offended. She was used to it.

What she wasn't used to—what was slowly shifting without her realizing—was the way her chest felt whenever Carmen was too close.

At first it was just a small disturbance. An awareness of proximity. Of how Carmen often stood too close without reason. Of the sound of her laughter that was too familiar in the ear. Of those brief touches on her wrist that always felt... as if they lingered longer than they should.

Jiwoo tried to ignore it.

This was just the effect of a life that had been too quiet, suddenly becoming noisy. This was just temporary attachment. This was just—

That day, they were watching a movie.

A cheap romantic film. Carmen's choice, ironically.

"I want to see why humans cry over stuff like this," she said, dropping herself onto Jiwoo's sofa, legs propped up carelessly.

Jiwoo sighed. "This is a Korean drama. You chose it."

"Exactly."

They watched half-sitting, half-reclining. Carmen kept commenting, nearly without pause.

"Why don't they just talk from the start?"

"If she were honest, episode seven wouldn't need to exist."

"Oh, now a kiss. Finally."

Jiwoo tried to focus on the screen. She really tried.

On screen, the two main characters kissed under a streetlamp, music swelling, emotions peaking.

Carmen snorted. "Human lips are always so forward."

Jiwoo turned. "What?"

"Look," Carmen said, tilting her head, then without shame pushing her lips slightly toward Jiwoo. "Like this. Provocative. Noisy."

Jiwoo stared at her. The distance between them was barely a handspan.

"What's your problem?" Jiwoo asked, her tone a bit sharp. She didn't know why she was annoyed. Maybe because Carmen wouldn't stop. Maybe because her chest felt strange.

Carmen smiled insufferably. "You're tense. Want me to explain the mechanics?"

"No."

Carmen moved even closer. Her lips still pushed forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Or are you curious?"

Something snapped in Jiwoo's head.

Not a thought. Not logic.

Just impulse.

Jiwoo moved faster than her own intention. Her hand lifted, pulling the back of Carmen's neck with a rough motion—not elegant, not hesitant—and before Carmen could react, their lips met.

The kiss was deep.

Not gentle. Not uncertain.

Jiwoo wasn't thinking. She just... pressed. Like someone who had been holding their breath too long and finally inhaled air.

Carmen's eyes flew wide.

For one second—just one—time froze.

Then, *poof!*—Carmen's body transformed into dense black smoke that slipped free from Jiwoo's embrace.

"—!"

Jiwoo lurched forward, her heart nearly leaping out of her chest. "Carmen?!"

The smoke swirled fast, then in an instant reappeared behind Jiwoo.

Heavy.

Jiwoo fell onto the sofa, face-down, her breath ragged as Carmen pinned her from behind—one hand holding her shoulder, the other beside her head.

"Don't move," Carmen said quickly, her voice changed. Not joking. Not teasing.

Jiwoo froze.

She could feel the weight of Carmen's body. Warm. Real. Too real for something that wasn't supposed to have a fully human body.

"Carmen—I—"

"I know," Carmen cut in, her breath uneven. "Quiet for a moment."

Jiwoo felt something strange—a soft vibration against her back. Not from the sofa. Not from herself.

From Carmen.

"I..." Carmen's voice sounded low, almost confused. "I felt something."

Jiwoo swallowed. "If you want to be angry—"

"It's not anger."

There was a long pause. Carmen slowly loosened her pressure, but didn't pull away.

"I don't have a heart," she said quietly. "Literally."

Jiwoo nodded, though Carmen couldn't see it. "I know."

"But just now," Carmen continued, her voice nearly a whisper, "I felt like something was beating."

Jiwoo closed her eyes.

She didn't know whether to feel guilty, or scared, or... relieved.

"I didn't mean to—" she said finally. "I was just... annoyed."

Carmen laughed softly. Short. Nervous. Unlike her usual self.

"You kiss people because you're annoyed?"

Jiwoo groaned quietly. "You're infuriating."

"That's a compliment."

Carmen shifted slightly, now sitting beside Jiwoo. Distance was there, but thin.

Neither of them looked at the other.

"Did I... break the contract?" Jiwoo asked quietly. "Is this part of 'things I have to do'?"

"No," Carmen answered quickly. "This... isn't part of the contract."

"Good," Jiwoo muttered. "Because I don't want this to feel like a task."

Silence.

On the TV screen, the movie was still running, scenes changing without either of them paying attention.

Carmen finally turned. Her gaze was different. Not teasing. Not playful. There was an honest bewilderment there.

"You know this is wrong, right?" she said.

Jiwoo nodded. "Yes."

"I'm not human."

"I know."

"I'm not supposed to—"

"—feel like this," Jiwoo continued quietly.

Their eyes met.

For the first time, Carmen had no quick answer.

"Four years," Carmen said finally, her voice soft but firm. "That's your limit."

"I know."

"And after that—"

"I die."

Carmen let out a breath, then laughed softly, bitterly. "Damn. You really are a troublesome human."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "And you're the most ambiguous creature I've ever known."

Carmen reached out her hand, hesitating a moment, then touched the back of Jiwoo's hand—where the number still remained.

The touch didn't hurt. Wasn't cold.

Warm.

"Don't fall in love with me," Carmen said quietly.

Jiwoo looked at that hand, then at Carmen's face.

"I'm not making any promises," she answered honestly.

Carmen closed her eyes briefly. And for the first time since they'd met at the edge of that building, the heartless creature felt afraid.

Because something inside her—something that shouldn't have existed—

had just learned to beat.

Carmen embraced Jiwoo first.

Not a dramatic embrace. Not sudden. Not hesitant either. Just one step forward, then both arms wrapped tightly around Jiwoo, as if letting go would cause something fragile to crumble.

Jiwoo fell silent.

Carmen's body was warm. Not fully like a human's, but real enough to make Jiwoo's chest feel full. Carmen's breath trembled slightly, pressed against Jiwoo's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Carmen said finally.

Jiwoo blinked. "Why are you suddenly being polite?"

Carmen snorted softly, but her embrace tightened. "Don't joke right now."

Her tone was... different. No mockery. No annoying laughter. Just deep exhaustion.

"I lied to you," Carmen continued quietly. "And I used you."

Jiwoo didn't immediately pull away. She just leaned slightly deeper into the embrace, her chin touching Carmen's shoulder.

"Go on," she said calmly. "I'm listening."

Carmen drew a long breath, like someone gathering something she had stored away for a long time.

"I'm not a demon," she said. "And I'm not some neutral creature who happened to pass by."

Jiwoo raised an eyebrow. "I've been suspicious ever since you laughed when I read that prayer."

"That was reflex," Carmen shot back shortly. Then she continued, "I'm an angel."

Stillness.

Jiwoo waited. Didn't laugh. Didn't interrupt.

"A cursed angel," Carmen added quickly, as if afraid the word would sound too grand. "I interfered too often in human affairs. I like... you all."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "You have bad taste."

"I know," Carmen answered faintly.

Her embrace loosened slightly, just enough for them to face each other. Carmen's eyes weren't joking now. There was something old there. Far older than her infuriating face.

"I like human interaction," she said. "The way you feel. The way you make mistakes. The way you fall and get back up even though the world isn't fair. I couldn't just watch."

Jiwoo swallowed.

"Up there," Carmen continued, "the rules are absolute. Observing is allowed. Getting involved is not. I broke them. Over and over."

"You helped people?" Jiwoo asked quietly.

"Always," Carmen answered without hesitation. "A child about to jump. A mother nearly killing herself over debt. An old man alone who had forgotten what it felt like to be touched."

Jiwoo felt her chest tighten.

"And every time I intervened directly," Carmen continued, "I lost a part of myself. Until finally... I was cast down here."

*Here.*

"The in-between world," Carmen said. "I can't go back. I can't truly leave."

Jiwoo nodded slowly. "That's why you talk about hell and angels with a joking tone."

Carmen smiled bitterly. "If I were serious, I might shatter."

She let out a breath. "I only have one human who can see me. One. And only one I can help without vanishing."

Jiwoo knew where this was heading. But she still asked, her voice nearly a whisper, "Me?"

Carmen nodded.

"I chose you not just because you were dying," she said honestly. "But because you... had almost surrendered to hell's offer."

Jiwoo remembered the flames beneath the building. The echo of Carmen's voice back then.

*False peace after death.*

"Hell is clever," Carmen continued. "They don't come with a whip. They come with a promise: 'Your exhaustion will end.' And you... you almost believed them."

Jiwoo laughed softly. Not funny. More bitter.

"And you saved me," she said.

"I used you," Carmen corrected. "I made you my bridge. I'm not allowed to touch other people directly, so I pushed you to do it."

I-an. Haram. Joo Eun—and maybe Stella.

"I made you help them," Carmen said. "Not because you had to. But because I couldn't."

Jiwoo was silent for a long moment.

Then... she laughed.

Not a bursting laugh. But a small, honest laugh that slipped out from her chest.

"Carmen," she said, shaking her head. "You're a crazy angel."

Carmen froze. "You're not angry?"

"I'm angry," Jiwoo answered casually. "A little. But I'm also alive because of you."

She lifted her hand, touched Carmen's cheek. "And I'm living better."

Carmen swallowed. "I wasn't supposed to fall this far."

"Unfortunately," Jiwoo shot back, "I already fell first."

Before Carmen could retort, Jiwoo rose slightly onto her toes, pulled Carmen's jacket collar, and kissed her again.

Not impulsive this time.

The kiss was slow. Deep. Not rushed. Like a decision that had been postponed for too long.

Carmen froze.

But she didn't disappear.

Didn't turn to smoke. Didn't pull away. Didn't crumble.

Her hands trembled in the air, hesitant for a moment, then finally returned the embrace—awkward, still unskilled, but real.

Inside her, something pulsed again.

Stronger.

Clearer.

"I hate this," Carmen whispered between kisses, her breath chaotic. "This breaks all the rules."

Jiwoo smiled against her lips. "You've always been terrible with rules."

They parted slowly. Forehead met forehead.

Jiwoo lifted Carmen's hand, pressed that palm to her own chest.

"Do you hear it?" Jiwoo asked quietly.

A human heartbeat. Steady. Alive.

"This is what you like about us," Jiwoo continued. "Isn't it?"

Carmen closed her eyes. "I like too many things."

"Good," Jiwoo said. "Use me."

Carmen opened her eyes quickly. "What?"

"Two years left," Jiwoo said, calm but firm. "Use me as best you can. Push me to help as many people as possible. So you won't be alone when I die."

The word *die* no longer sounded terrifying from her mouth.

Carmen gripped Jiwoo's hand tightly. "Don't talk like that."

"You know it's going to happen."

"I know," Carmen answered faintly. "That's why I'm afraid."

Jiwoo smiled gently. A smile she hadn't possessed before.

"When I leave later," she said, "at least you'll know... that a human life isn't wasted."

Carmen laughed softly, her voice cracking. "You really are insufferable."

"You said I was dirty," Jiwoo shot back. "Lots of uses."

Carmen stroked Jiwoo's hair for a long moment. Not chasing away little demons this time—because none were left.

Outside, Seoul kept living. Lights glowed. People went home. The world knew nothing about an angel who had fallen in love with a human whose time was limited.

And maybe... the world didn't need to know. Because for the next two years, Jiwoo would not live alone.

---

Jiwoo came home from work with steps far more relaxed than the version of herself from a year ago.

No longer counting the hours with a strangled breath. No longer staring at the office clock as if its hands were executioners. She was still tired, of course—Seoul hadn't suddenly become a kind city just because her life had improved. But now, that exhaustion wasn't empty. There was something waiting for her at the end of the day.

Sometimes it was just a warm apartment and a fridge stocked with strawberries. Sometimes it was Carmen's voice appearing out of nowhere, making cynical comments about humans who walked while staring at their phones.

And sometimes—like today—it was a whisper.

"The one in the gray cap," Carmen's voice drifted into Jiwoo's ear, low and casual. "His hands are too busy."

Jiwoo glanced briefly. An elderly woman was walking slowly in front of them, her shoulder bag hanging loose. Behind her, a young man was approaching far too close.

Jiwoo quickened her pace without drawing attention. When the man tried to reach for the bag's zipper, Jiwoo coughed loudly and deliberately bumped him.

"Ah—sorry," Jiwoo said coldly, staring straight into the man's eyes.

The man clicked his tongue in irritation and moved away.

The elderly woman turned, confused. "Oh? What is it, dear?"

Jiwoo smiled kindly. "Your bag was about to fall, halmeoni. Let me fix it for you."

The old woman laughed softly. "Ah, young people are so kind these days."

As they parted ways, Carmen snorted in satisfaction. "One point for you."

"I just bumped him," Jiwoo shot back quietly.

"The right kind of bump," Carmen said. "That's different."

They continued walking. A few meters later, the sound of a blaring horn split the air. A car was speeding too fast around a small corner, while a young boy was running after a ball into the street.

"Now," Carmen whispered quickly.

Jiwoo didn't think. She stepped forward, pulling the child into her arms just before the car screeched to a halt.

"HEY!" the driver shouted.

Jiwoo only nodded briefly, checking the child over. "Are you okay?"

The boy nodded, pale. "Y-yes..."

"Don't run into the street again," Jiwoo said gently. "Balls can be found. You can't."

The boy nodded quickly and ran back to the sidewalk.

Carmen stood beside Jiwoo, her expression calm but her eyes... glowing faintly.

"You're getting quicker," she said.

Jiwoo exhaled. "You're getting chattier."

They laughed softly—and Jiwoo realized that laughter no longer felt strange in public spaces. Carmen was indeed invisible to others, but her presence had merged with Jiwoo's steps.

That day, as Jiwoo waited for the red light at a crosswalk, a small hand slipped into hers.

"I-an?" Jiwoo turned.

The blind girl was standing beside her, her white cane in her other hand. Her grip on Jiwoo was steady, like habit.

"Unnie," I-an said cheerfully. "I heard your footsteps."

Jiwoo smiled. "I wasn't that loud, was I?"

"Distinctive," I-an answered. "Like... you're not alone."

Jiwoo fell silent.

The light was still red. People stood close together, the city's sounds whispering.

I-an tightened her grip. "I don't know what it is," she continued honestly. "But it's warm. It feels safe."

Jiwoo glanced sideways.

Carmen stood on I-an's other side, very close but not touching. Her hand lifted hesitantly, then lowered again. Her face was soft, almost fragile.

The light turned green.

"Let's go," Jiwoo said quietly, guiding I-an across.

In the middle of their steps, Carmen whispered, nearly inaudible, "This child... is special."

"I know," Jiwoo answered in her heart.

A few days later, Jiwoo met Haram at a small café near a community center. Haram arrived wearing a cap and a half-face mask, but her smile was still visible.

"Unnie!" she exclaimed, waving her hand. "I want to introduce you to someone."

Standing beside Haram was a tall woman, her hair tied up carelessly, a black jacket hanging open. Her gaze was sharp, her smile crooked, her voice raspy when she spoke.

"I'm A-na," she said. "Haram's girlfriend."

Jiwoo blinked. "Oh."

A-na raised an eyebrow. "Your reaction is flat."

"She's shocked," Haram cut in quickly. "This unnie is calm."

Carmen stood behind Jiwoo, folding her arms. "This one is cocky."

Jiwoo held back a smile.

They visited the social organization where Haram and A-na volunteered. The space wasn't big, but it was alive. Campaign posters for child protection covered the walls, the sound of laughter and discussion drifting from the next room.

"This is where we gather," Haram explained. "Sometimes it's exhausting, but... worth it."

A-na added, "We're not heroes. We just don't want to close our eyes."

Jiwoo nodded. She saw the way A-na stood—protective but relaxed. The way Haram looked at A-na—trusting and warm.

Carmen moved close to Jiwoo's ear. "You're surrounded by people who survived."

Jiwoo let out a breath. "So am I."

"Now," Carmen said.

The following days, Stella often invited Jiwoo out for coffee. No grand agenda. Just sitting, sharing small stories.

About Stella's fluctuating work. About Joo Eun, who was stubborn but soft. About Jiwoo, who without realizing it laughed more often.

"You've changed," Stella said one afternoon, stirring her coffee. "More... present."

Jiwoo stared at her cup. "I met a lot of people."

Stella smiled faintly. "The right people, huh."

Jiwoo nodded.

Outside the café, Carmen sat on a park bench, waiting. When Jiwoo came out, Carmen stood and shamelessly commented.

"Your coffee was too bitter."

"Wasn't about my coffee," Jiwoo shot back. "About my life."

"Ew," Carmen said. "You're getting philosophical."

A few weeks later, Jiwoo's apartment doorbell rang.

Standing at the door were Joo Eun—cheerful as always—and a chubby-cheeked girl carrying a large box of bread.

"Unnie!" Joo Eun exclaimed. "This is Nayeon. My junior at school."

Nayeon bowed quickly. "Thank you for always looking after Joo Eun, unnie."

Jiwoo chuckled. "Come in."

They sat in the living room, sharing bread while Joo Eun talked about dance practice. Carmen sat on the floor, eating bread she had taken for herself.

"Why do you always show up?" Jiwoo muttered.

"Open invitation," Carmen shot back casually.

Nayeon glanced hesitantly in Jiwoo's direction. "Unnie... I feel warm in here."

Jiwoo smiled. "Maybe it's the bread."

Carmen snorted. "Or maybe because you're safe."

When they left, the apartment felt full despite being quiet again.

Jiwoo stood on the balcony, looking at the city. The number on the back of her hand was still there. Decreasing. Real.

Carmen stood behind her, draping Jiwoo's jacket over her shoulders.

"You know," Carmen said lightly, "I'm not good at showing love."

Jiwoo turned. "I know."

"But I'm learning," Carmen continued. "Slowly. In my own way."

She pointed at the strawberries on the table. "I bought those. With your money."

Jiwoo laughed. "Jerk."

Carmen moved closer, nudging Jiwoo's shoulder. "I'm here. Every time you come home."

Jiwoo closed her eyes for a moment. Taking it in.

Her life was now filled with new people. Faces that gave her reasons. Small steps that meant something.

And in the middle of it all—the sweetest, the most infuriating, the warmest—was Carmen.

That snaggletoothed creature, who had fallen in love in an unpolished way.

And Jiwoo, who had finally learned to accept life—not because her time was long, but because her days were now full.

---

Night descended slowly on Jiwoo's apartment.

The living room light was dim, just enough to illuminate the sofa and the TV screen playing an old variety show—the kind full of fake laughter and excessive sound effects. Jiwoo sat sprawled out, her hair still slightly damp from a shower, one hand holding the remote, her focus half-hearted.

She needed a quiet day.

Unfortunately, Carmen had never understood that concept.

Without warning, something warm and far too heavy landed in her lap.

"—OI."

Jiwoo nearly dropped the remote. "CARMEN?! GET OFF."

Carmen was already sitting sweetly in her lap, facing the TV, her back leaning casually against Jiwoo's chest as if it were a personal chair provided specifically for her.

"You're bothering me," Jiwoo protested.

"You weren't watching with focus," Carmen shot back casually. "I'm helping."

"Helping how—by sitting in someone's lap?!"

Carmen grinned, her snaggletooth clearly visible. "Warmth."

Jiwoo gripped Carmen's shoulders. "I'm serious. Get off."

"If you hit me," Carmen said lightly, "I can disappear."

"Good," Jiwoo hissed. "That's exactly what I want."

Jiwoo raised her hand.

And Carmen—infuriatingly—turned into smoke.

"HEY—!"

The black smoke flew quickly toward the back of the sofa, then reformed into Carmen's body, now sitting cross-legged while yawning.

"Reflex," she said.

Jiwoo stood. "Come back here."

Carmen rose, took one step toward Jiwoo—then *puff!*—turned to smoke again, reappearing at the far end of the room, sitting on the table.

"CARMEN."

"Yes?"

"DON'T PLAY AROUND."

Carmen laughed softly, the sound echoing lightly. She jumped down from the table, barely halfway toward Jiwoo—*puff!*—now standing behind the sofa, right behind Jiwoo's head.

"If you get annoyed," she said cheerfully, "your heartbeat gets more noticeable."

Jiwoo spun around quickly. "Don't test my patience!"

Carmen raised both hands as if surrendering. "Okay, okay. One more time."

Jiwoo stepped forward—and once again, Carmen vanished, reappearing right in front of the TV, blocking the screen completely.

Jiwoo screamed. "THAT'S MY FAVORITE SHOW!"

"Liar," Carmen shot back. "You don't even know the host's name."

Jiwoo grabbed a sofa cushion and threw it.

The cushion passed through smoke.

"...Damn it," Jiwoo cursed. "ANNOYING CREATURE."

Carmen reappeared, this time sitting on the windowsill, her legs swinging casually. "You're sulking."

"I'm not sulking."

"You're sulking."

Jiwoo turned off the TV harshly, then sat back on the sofa, crossing her arms and turning her face away. Her shoulders were stiff, her expression clearly annoyed.

"I wanted to watch," she said coldly.

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment. Not teasing. Not teleporting.

Then she approached—walking normally this time—and sat on the floor, leaning her back against Jiwoo's legs.

No smoke. No tricks.

"What if I sit here?" she asked quietly.

Jiwoo snorted. "Don't bother me."

Carmen leaned her head against Jiwoo's knee. Her short hair touched Jiwoo's skin, warm.

Jiwoo wanted to shove her away. She truly did.

But she didn't.

"...Damn it," she muttered again, quieter this time.

Carmen smiled faintly. Not infuriating.

That night, the TV stayed off.

And Jiwoo stayed annoyed—but Carmen didn't leave.

"I want to ask you something."

Carmen's voice came suddenly, calm, almost too soft for someone who was usually noisy.

Jiwoo stopped pressing buttons on the remote that had been off for a while now. Her hand was still moving on autopilot, playing with the tip of Carmen's ear—which was right in her lap. A small, reflexive motion. She only realized a few seconds later that Carmen hadn't swatted her away.

"Why?" Jiwoo asked, lazy.

Carmen didn't answer immediately. Her head remained resting on Jiwoo's thigh, her eyes staring at the apartment ceiling as if the answer was there.

"Do you..." she drew a breath—something she didn't need to do, but did anyway—"regret choosing to stay alive?"

The question simply fell. Not dramatic. Not trembling. And precisely because of that, Jiwoo's chest tightened for a moment.

Her hand stopped.

Silence filled the room, only the sound of the city from the distance and the hum of the fridge in the kitchen.

Jiwoo looked down. Carmen's short, slightly messy hair looked soft under the lamplight. That ambiguous, snaggletoothed creature looked... calm. But Jiwoo knew. The question wasn't idle.

She shifted her body slightly, then—without realizing, or perhaps fully realizing—bent down and kissed the crown of Carmen's head.

A brief kiss. Light. Like punctuation.

Carmen stiffened for a moment. "You—"

"I regret it," Jiwoo cut in.

Carmen's heart—which she claimed didn't exist—seemed to stop. Her body went rigid, as if ready to vanish if the next sentence was painful.

"—if I hadn't accepted your offer back then," Jiwoo continued casually.

Carmen blinked. "What?"

Jiwoo smiled faintly. Her hand returned to playing with Carmen's ear, her thumb stroking slowly. "I would've regretted for my whole... well, the rest of my life."

Carmen half-turned her body, staring at Jiwoo with a mixed expression. "Are you serious or mocking me?"

"I'm serious," Jiwoo answered. "I really would regret it if I hadn't said yes to a random snaggletoothed creature who appeared giggling on a rooftop and is now driving me insane."

"Hey," Carmen protested weakly. "I'm not that insane."

"You sit in people's laps while teleporting into smoke," Jiwoo shot back flatly. "The definition of insane has been surpassed."

Carmen clicked her tongue, but the corner of her lips lifted. "You didn't answer my question properly."

"I did," Jiwoo said. "I don't regret living. I'm just... still learning."

"Learning what?"

"Learning to accept," Jiwoo answered honestly. "That life isn't just about surviving. Sometimes... it's filled with annoying people."

Carmen snorted quietly. "I'm offended."

"Good."

Jiwoo lowered her gaze again. Her expression wasn't heavy, but it was honest.

"I used to think death was the solution," she said. "Because everything felt like a dead end. I was alone. I was tired. I had nothing to wait for."

She paused for a moment, exhaling. "Now... I'm still tired. The world is still cruel. My parents are still disappointing."

Carmen listened without interrupting. Rare.

"But now," Jiwoo continued, "I wake up in the morning because of strawberries. Because of I-an. Because Joo Eun might show up with bread again. Because Haram might suddenly vent. Because Stella invites me for coffee."

Jiwoo looked straight at Carmen. "And because of you."

Carmen opened her mouth, then closed it again. For once, she was out of words.

"You know what's the craziest thing?" Jiwoo added. "I know my time is limited. But that's exactly what makes all of this... feel real."

Carmen swallowed. "I wasn't supposed to let you go this far."

"You didn't let me," Jiwoo shot back gently. "You just stood beside me and complained."

"That's an important role," Carmen murmured.

Jiwoo chuckled. She reached for Carmen's chin, lifting her face slightly. "You were scared I was going to say I regretted this, weren't you?"

Carmen didn't deny it. "If you said yes... I wouldn't know what to do."

Jiwoo stroked Carmen's cheek with her thumb. "Relax. I only regret one thing."

"What?"

"That I didn't meet you sooner," Jiwoo answered.

Carmen laughed softly, nervous, almost shy. "You're dangerous."

"Says the angel who fell in love with a human."

"Stop it," Carmen hissed, but she didn't pull away.

They were quiet for a while. Close. Warm.

Outside, the city stayed noisy. Time kept moving. The number on the back of Jiwoo's hand kept decreasing.

But that night, on the narrow sofa of her apartment—Jiwoo was certain of one thing.

She didn't regret living.

And if one day she had to leave, she would leave with memories of an ambiguous, snaggletoothed creature who sat in her lap, asking fearfully whether this life was worth choosing.

And the answer, now, was always the same.

---

Their relationship was genuinely sweet in a way that was completely abnormal.

There were no romantic movie-style dates. No candlelit dinners or vows of forever spoken with tear-filled eyes. What there was instead—Carmen appearing suddenly beside Jiwoo at dawn, flicking her forehead while saying, "Wake up, failed hero. There's someone about to jump off a bridge."

And Jiwoo, half-conscious, hair a mess, still wearing her faded sleep shirt, would only let out a long sigh.

"Six months left before I'm fired from this world," she muttered, reaching for her jacket. "Can I at least get a day off?"

Carmen laughed, floating upside down in the air. "You've been on leave from death for four years. Don't be spoiled."

That was their life now.

Carmen pointed. Jiwoo walked.

Sometimes it was just small things—a grandmother confused at the bus stop, a small child lost at the night market, a teenager sitting too long on the emergency stairs of a building with empty eyes. But sometimes... sometimes Carmen brought Jiwoo to the darkest points of humanity.

Like that night.

Rain was falling lightly. The city was wet and glistening like an unhealed wound. Jiwoo stood at the end of a pedestrian bridge, her hands gripping the cold iron railing, her eyes fixed on a young man standing on the outer side of the barrier.

The man's body trembled. His clothes were neat—too neat for someone about to die. As if he had just come from the office, or had just lost everything.

Carmen stood beside Jiwoo, silent this time. Not joking. Not infuriating.

"I can't touch him," Carmen whispered quietly. "But you can."

Jiwoo nodded. She stepped forward slowly, keeping her distance, her voice low as she spoke.

"Cold, huh?"

The man turned. His eyes were red, but dry. Tears that had already run out.

"Don't come closer," he said hoarsely.

"Okay," Jiwoo answered. "I'll stop here."

She tapped the iron railing. "I've stood for a long time in high places too. Not to jump. Just to feel... small."

The man fell silent.

Jiwoo didn't give a lecture. Didn't say *life is precious* or *your family will be sad.* She just stood there, wet from the rain, talking about things that weren't heroic at all.

About a cramped apartment.
About disappointing parents.
About waking up in the morning without a reason.

"I used to think death was peaceful," Jiwoo said honestly. "Like sleeping without dreams. But it turns out... life can be peaceful too. Sometimes. If you find someone willing to sit beside you even when you're a mess."

The man sobbed. His hands gripped the railing.

Jiwoo extended her hand. "I'm not an angel. I'm not even a good person. I just... have some time left."

And the man finally cried.

That night ended without death.

When the ambulance arrived and the man was taken away, Jiwoo sat on the curb, exhausted. Carmen crouched in front of her, her face pale—not from fatigue, but from something deeper.

"You know," Jiwoo said, laughing softly, "if this were a comic, I'd already be a B-class hero."

Carmen stroked Jiwoo's hair, gently. "A hero without a costume. Without a future."

"Brutal," Jiwoo muttered. "But accurate."

The days passed.

The number on Jiwoo's hand grew smaller. Six months.

She started joking about it casually. Too casually, until Carmen sometimes got annoyed.

"When I die later," Jiwoo said one morning, tying her shoes, "please tell people I was fired. Not dead. It sounds more professional."

"You really aren't normal," Carmen shot back.

"I'm dating a cursed angel. Normal left a long time ago."

They laughed.

Behind all that, Carmen's love grew in a quiet way. She watched Jiwoo change—not into someone perpetually happy, but into someone *present.* Jiwoo started looking into people's eyes when she spoke. Started laughing without guilt. Started getting angry when something was unfair.

And every time Jiwoo came home with a tired body and a soul slightly heavier from hearing too many human stories, Carmen was there.

Sometimes sitting at the kitchen table.
Sometimes sprawled on the floor.
Sometimes just as thin smoke curling around Jiwoo's shoulders.

Not always talking. Not always joking.

Just... accompanying.

One night, Jiwoo lay staring at the ceiling. Her hand lifted, looking at that number.

Six months.

"When I really die," she said quietly, "what are you going to do?"

Carmen didn't answer right away. She sat beside Jiwoo, leaning her head on her shoulder.

"I'll remember," she said finally. "And maybe... steal another human who's about to fall."

Jiwoo smiled. "I feel sorry for the next person."

"No," Carmen shot back. "I'll choose a stubborn one. One who likes joking about death."

Jiwoo laughed softly, then turned, kissing Carmen's forehead.

"Thank you," she said. "For making me a temporary hero."

Carmen closed her eyes.

And for the first time since she was cursed—she wished time could pause, just for a moment.

Jiwoo pulled Carmen into her embrace without warning, like a drowning person who had finally found something to hold on to.

Her arms wrapped tightly around Carmen's back, her fingers pressing in as if terrified the snaggletoothed creature would turn into smoke again if she loosened for even a second.

Carmen's back was cold—not deathly cold, but cold like honest night air. Jiwoo stroked it slowly, up and down, a reflexive motion she usually did to herself when panicking. Her breath trembled. Her shoulders rose and fell.

Then she cried.

Crying that wasn't dramatic, wasn't the loud sobbing of films. Crying that was choked, as if there were too many things that hadn't been said in time, too much time already spent pretending to be strong.

Carmen reflexively raised her hand, stroking Jiwoo's hair. "Hey... hey, I'm here," she said gently, her voice far from her usual cocky tone. "You're not alone—"

*Smack.*

The slap wasn't hard, but it was enough to silence Carmen. Carmen's eyes widened—not in anger, more in... shock.

Jiwoo wasn't looking at her. Her hands still gripped Carmen's clothes.

"Don't," Jiwoo said hoarsely. "Don't calm me down. Don't tell me to be strong. Don't tell me I'm fine."

She drew a deep breath, her chest aching.

"I just want to hold you," she continued, her voice cracking. "Just that. While I still can."

Carmen didn't move. For the first time, she truly didn't know how to react. All this time, she had always been the one who knew more—older than time, standing outside the line of humanity. But now, before her, was a woman who had chosen to fall in love while fully aware that their time had been flawed from the start.

Jiwoo lifted her face. Her eyes were red, wet, but sharp.

"I know we don't have much time," she said. "I know my ending is scheduled. But I'm tired of living halfway. I'm tired of pretending this is just... coincidence."

She laughed shortly, bitterly. "I'm in love with you, damn it. And I want to feel it. Completely. Even if it hurts later."

Carmen swallowed—a motion she shouldn't have needed to make.

Without speaking again, Carmen reached for Jiwoo's face and pulled her into a kiss.

Not a playful kiss. Not a provocative kiss like before, full of teasing and mockery. This was a deep, urgent kiss, as if Carmen was trying to prove something—to Jiwoo, to herself, to a universe that took too often without asking.

Carmen's lips were warm. Too warm for something that wasn't supposed to be fully alive.

Jiwoo was startled for a moment, then returned the kiss. Her hand rose to the nape of Carmen's neck, pulling her closer. The world shrank into their mingled breaths, Jiwoo's noisy heartbeat, and something inside Carmen that vibrated wildly, as if wanting to escape from her empty chest.

Carmen broke the kiss with her forehead still pressed to Jiwoo's.

"I love you," she said quietly, but firmly. No joking. No cocky smile.

Jiwoo stared at her, her breath still uneven.

"Not... not my love for humans," Carmen continued, her voice trembling slightly now. "Not curiosity. Not the obsession of a foolish angel who likes coming down to earth."

She lifted Jiwoo's hand, pressing it to her own chest.

"This," she said. "This one is different. I love you because you're Jiwoo. Because you're angry but still care. Because you're exhausted but still wake up in the morning. Because you know you're going to die, but still choose to live."

Jiwoo laughed softly between her sobs. "Do you realize how insane this is?"

Carmen smiled, a small, fragile smile. "I'm a cursed angel. I stopped making sense a long time ago."

Jiwoo embraced her again, calmer this time, more accepting. Her head rested on Carmen's shoulder.

"When I die later," she said quietly, "don't call me a hero."

"Why?"

"Because I'm selfish," Jiwoo answered honestly. "I lived because I wanted to. Because I fell in love. Because of you."

Carmen stroked Jiwoo's back—this time, Jiwoo didn't slap her. She let the touch stay.

"That's not selfish," Carmen said. "That's... human."

They were silent for a long while. No clock ticking loudly. No countdown being announced. Just two beings who both knew the ending lay ahead, but chose to sit in the middle of the road and hold each other's hands.

Outside, the city stayed noisy. Buses passed. Traffic lights changed. Life moved on as usual.

And inside that small apartment, Jiwoo fell in love completely—not *despite* the shortness of time, but precisely *because* of it.

Carmen closed her eyes.

For the first time since she was cast out of the heavens—she didn't want to return anywhere.

---

Those last six months didn't feel like a countdown. Strange—the number on the back of Jiwoo's hand was thinning, but her days felt full. Too full, until sometimes she forgot that the ending was real.

Two months before her time ran out, Jiwoo decided to do something that, according to Carmen, was entirely unnecessary and deeply human.

Celebrating I-an's birthday.

"She's not your kid," Carmen commented, sitting upside-down on the sofa, her head hanging down, her hair nearly touching the floor. "You know that, right?"

Jiwoo was cutting wrapping paper at the dining table of her apartment, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. "I know. But if I don't celebrate it, who will?"

"Her grandmother," Carmen shot back quickly.

Jiwoo looked up. "Her grandmother lives on a small pension and worries more about the electric bill than a birthday cake."

Carmen clicked her tongue. "You really are adopting high school kids one by one."

"Two," Jiwoo corrected casually. "It's two now."

Carmen rolled her eyes. "I'm an angel cursed because I cared too much about humans, and now I'm dating a human who's even worse than me."

Jiwoo smiled faintly without turning. "That's why we match."

Jiwoo's apartment wasn't big. The living room merged with a small kitchen, the dining table only fit four people if they squeezed. But that afternoon, the place felt... alive.

Pastel-colored balloons were stuck haphazardly on the wall—the result of a compromise between Jiwoo, who wanted simplicity, and Joo Eun, who was clearly going overboard.

"Unnie, birthdays are only once a year," Joo Eun said, blowing a balloon until her cheeks puffed up like a blowfish. "If it's not festive, you'll regret it later."

"She's blind," Jiwoo shot back. "She can't see the balloons."

Joo Eun paused, then smiled widely. "But she can hear us being loud."

"And smell the cake aroma," Nayeon chimed in, arranging the cake box on the table. The chubby-cheeked girl was sweating a little, but her face was bright. "I chose chocolate-strawberry. Safe choice."

Carmen floated closer to the cake box, her nose nearly touching it. "I smell... excessive happiness."

"You're smelling sugar," Jiwoo said flatly.

Stella arrived last, bringing candles and a lighter. Her hair was tied back low, her face looking soft, her eyes slightly glistening as she saw the simple decorations.

"You guys... really went all out," she said quietly.

Jiwoo shrugged. "Not really. This is the minimal level of effort from a failed adult who can't have a normal life."

Stella laughed softly, but her eyes stayed tender. She helped arrange the candles on the cake carefully.

"I never imagined," she said quietly to Jiwoo, "that I-an would have so many friends now."

Jiwoo didn't answer right away. She glanced toward the door, waiting.

And right at that moment—

"I-I... it smells different."

I-an's voice sounded uncertain from the doorway.

Jiwoo immediately stood. "Hey, birthday girl."

I-an entered slowly, her white cane touching the floor carefully. Her hair was tied in two low pigtails, her tutoring uniform still on. As she stepped further in, her foot bumped the edge of the table.

"Ah—"

Joo Eun reflexively moved forward, steadying the table before it shifted. "Easy, easy. Evil table."

I-an laughed softly, bashfully. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," Jiwoo said, gripping her arm. "Today you're allowed to bump into anything. Including my emotions."

I-an frowned. "What... does that mean?"

"It means you're free," Nayeon answered cheerfully.

Carmen stood behind Jiwoo, crossing her arms. She gazed at I-an with a strange expression—a mix of admiration and slight envy.

"She's so clean," Carmen murmured. "Even on her birthday, she makes this place feel brighter."

Jiwoo didn't respond. She guided I-an to a chair.

"Sit here. Don't worry, no traps."

"Unnie lies a lot," I-an said, but sat down anyway.

When the candles were lit and everyone gathered around that small table, the room felt cramped—not by people, but by something warm and fragile.

"Happy birthday," they said nearly in unison, a little messy.

I-an fell silent. Her hand touched the edge of the table, then stopped in midair, as if trying to feel the shape of that happiness.

"Can... can I blow them out?" she asked quietly.

"You can," Jiwoo answered. "I'll guide you."

Jiwoo held I-an's hand, directing her toward the candles. Joo Eun and Nayeon held their breath, Stella clasped her own hands.

I-an drew a long breath, then blew.

The candles went out.

Small applause filled the room. Not too loud, but enough to make I-an smile broadly.

"I've never had a birthday party," she said honestly. "Usually it's just my grandmother making seaweed soup."

"Seaweed soup is still valid," Nayeon said seriously. "But cake is also valid."

I-an laughed. Her voice was light, full. Carmen narrowed her eyes.

"This tiny human is dangerous," she said. "She makes me want to break the rules again."

Jiwoo elbowed the air. "Don't."

As the cake was cut, a small chaos unfolded. I-an bumped into the chair again, Joo Eun was too enthusiastic explaining plate positions, Nayeon nearly knocked over a glass, and Stella rushed to catch it.

"I feel like I'm in a weird family," Stella said, laughing softly.

"We are weird," Jiwoo agreed. "It's an entry requirement."

I-an bit into the small piece of cake Jiwoo fed her, then stopped chewing.

"Unnie," she said quietly. "Today... feels warm."

Jiwoo smiled. "Good."

Carmen stood in the corner of the room—not interfering, not disturbing. She just watched the scene: high school kids who hadn't known each other long, an adult woman who had aged too fast, and a small happiness that shouldn't have existed in Jiwoo's timeline.

"Look at them," Carmen murmured. "A few weeks ago they were strangers."

"They still are," Jiwoo answered quietly. "But strangers who care about each other."

Stella approached Jiwoo while the others were busy joking around.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "I don't know why, but... since knowing you, life feels a little lighter."

Jiwoo turned. Her smile was gentle, tired but sincere. "Same."

Carmen watched them—there was something uncomfortable in her chest. Not jealousy, but awareness.

Humans didn't need forever to create meaning.

That night ended with laughter, cake crumbs on the floor, and I-an falling asleep on the sofa for a bit before being picked up by her grandmother. Joo Eun and Nayeon went home still chattering noisily, Stella helped tidy up briefly, then excused herself.

When the door finally closed and the apartment returned to quiet, Jiwoo sat on the floor, leaning her back against the sofa.

Carmen appeared beside her, sitting cross-legged.

"You're happy," Carmen said.

Jiwoo nodded. "Yes."

"You know this hurts, right?" Carmen continued. "Because you know it's going to end."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "Yes."

"Then why?"

Jiwoo turned, looking at Carmen. Her eyes were soft.

"Because if I have to die," she said quietly, "I want to die with a lot of memories. Not regrets."

Carmen didn't answer. She just reached for Jiwoo's hand, gripping it tightly.

And that night, in that small, messy apartment, the cursed angel fell once more in love with the human who chose to live until the very last second—and with a world she had never regretted approaching.

---

Carmen began to realize something was wrong—not because Jiwoo was crying, but precisely because Jiwoo was too alive.

Too bright-faced waking up in the morning.
Too diligent at work, taking overtime without complaint.
Too often laughing at small things—coffee that was too bitter, shoes soaked by rain, even absurd television commercials.

And too often... kissing Carmen.

"I'm serious, Jiwoo—"

Before that sentence could finish, Jiwoo had already pulled the collar of Carmen's shirt and kissed her brutally—without warning, without permission. Not a sweet kiss. This was the kiss of someone who seemed to want to consume something before it was taken from her.

Carmen let out a short yelp—more of an embarrassed shriek—then her body dissolved into silver smoke and shot straight up onto the wardrobe.

"HEY!" Jiwoo shouted. "GET BACK HERE!"

"NO!" Carmen's voice echoed from above. "YOU'RE AGGRESSIVE!"

Jiwoo stood in the middle of the living room, hands on her hips, hair slightly disheveled, face annoyed but eyes shining. "You started it yesterday."

"I was just sitting in your lap!"

"THAT'S THE BEGINNING OF CRIMINAL BEHAVIOR."

Carmen peeked from the top of the wardrobe. "You're getting weirder."

Jiwoo snorted. "You're an angel. You have no right to complain about weird."

Carmen didn't retort. She just watched Jiwoo—the way her breathing was slightly faster than usual, the way her eyes always looked like they were chasing time.

And that was where the worry grew.

Not a loud fear. More like a fine crack inside her chest.

Jiwoo was starting to do everything with excessive intensity. As if every day was the last day—which was true—but Jiwoo lived it not with grief, but with euphoria.

She worked harder, even took extra shifts. Came home with a tired but satisfied face. Carmen sometimes sat on the washing machine watching Jiwoo take off her shoes.

"Are you not tired?" Carmen asked one night.

Jiwoo shook her head. "Being tired is for later. Not yet."

"When is 'now'?"

"'Now' is as long as I can still stand."

Carmen didn't like that answer.

Jiwoo also started donating more. Every month, without fail, she set aside money for the social organization where Haram and A-na volunteered. She came to help directly—lifting boxes, distributing food, sitting and listening to the stories of people whose lives were fractured.

A-na once patted Jiwoo's shoulder and said, "You're like someone who's already made peace with death."

Jiwoo laughed. "Maybe because I've already made its acquaintance."

Carmen stood behind Jiwoo then, invisible to everyone but Jiwoo. Her face was tense.

"You're too honest," she whispered.

Jiwoo just shrugged.

What unsettled Carmen the most was the way Jiwoo helped others. Not just helping—but being fully present. As if leaving nothing for herself.

There was a night when Carmen whispered to Jiwoo about a young mother who had lost her child in an accident. Jiwoo came, sat on the floor of that cramped rented house, listened to the weeping without trying to fix anything.

There was an afternoon when a man was about to jump from a bridge because of debt and false accusations. Jiwoo stood beside him, talking about trivial things—the smell of the river, how cheap shoes were slippery—until the man climbed down on his own.

"You're not an angel," Carmen said one night, her voice quiet. "That's my job."

Jiwoo smiled, washing her hands. "You're the one who taught me how."

Carmen fell silent.

That night, Jiwoo came home later than usual. The moment the door closed, she immediately leaned back, exhaling a long breath. Carmen appeared before her, face serious—rare.

"Do you realize," Carmen said, "that you're burning yourself out?"

Jiwoo looked at her. "I'm just living."

"No. You're spending your life."

Jiwoo laughed softly. "What else was I supposed to save it for?"

Carmen moved closer, her hand trembling as she touched Jiwoo's chest. "I'm scared."

That was a rare confession.

Jiwoo fell silent. She reached for Carmen's hand, pressing it to her cheek. "You're scared of losing me?"

Carmen nodded slowly. "I've lost everything once before."

Jiwoo kissed that palm. Gentle. Different from her earlier aggression. "I'm here. Now."

"But you look like someone who's already said goodbye."

Jiwoo smiled wryly. "Because I am saying goodbye. But in a pleasant way."

Carmen wanted to be angry. Wanted to shout. But what came out was just a tight embrace, as if she could hold back time.

The following days, Jiwoo remained the same. Too bright. Too active. But one thing changed—every time she helped someone else, she always returned to Carmen. Sitting on the floor, holding her, letting herself collapse briefly.

"I'm tired," she said one night, her head resting on Carmen's stomach.

Carmen stroked her hair. "Finally, honesty."

"But I'm happy."

"I know."

Jiwoo closed her eyes. "If I stop now, I'm scared I'll start being afraid."

Carmen understood. The fear was waiting behind the silence.

So Carmen stopped trying to slow Jiwoo down. She just made sure Jiwoo wasn't alone while she ran.

Sometimes Carmen was a nuisance—hiding Jiwoo's keys, making her coffee too sweet, sitting on Jiwoo's chest until she complained.

"You're annoying," Jiwoo said, laughing.

"You're too serious," Carmen shot back.

Amidst all that busyness, Jiwoo still came home every night. Still kissed Carmen—though sometimes Carmen dodged and turned into smoke just to make Jiwoo curse.

"Coward!" Jiwoo shouted.

"Self-defense!" Carmen retorted from the ceiling.

And in between all of it—between laughter, help, and exhaustion—Carmen learned something that was never taught in heaven.

That humans who knew their time was limited didn't always crumble.

Sometimes, they just burned too brightly.

And Carmen, a cursed angel who had fallen in love, could only hope her light wouldn't go out alone.

---

That night, rain fell without loud sound—only thin droplets clinging to the windows of Jiwoo's apartment like a breath held too long. The city outside was dim, building lights glowing softly, as if the world had deliberately slowed down.

Jiwoo sat on the edge of the bed, her shirt slightly oversized, her hair still damp from a shower. Her hands were restless, fingers linking and unlinking, then linking again. On the back of her hand, the mark glowed faintly—a reminder of something that couldn't be postponed.

Carmen stood near the window, her back to Jiwoo. Her silhouette looked calm, but Jiwoo knew—she always knew—that behind that calmness was a neatly hidden unease.

"Carmen," Jiwoo called softly.

Carmen turned. Her smile was small, defensive. "Why does your face look like you're about to go to war?"

Jiwoo laughed briefly, nervous. "I want to say something. Don't interrupt."

Carmen raised both hands. "Okay. I promise. I won't even turn into smoke."

That made Jiwoo smile a little, but the smile quickly faded. She drew a long breath.

"I want to touch you," she said honestly, without metaphor. "Not like usual. I want... really. I want you to let me."

The air in the room seemed to tense.

Carmen didn't answer right away. She walked closer, sat in the small chair in front of Jiwoo, level with her gaze. Her eyes studied Jiwoo for a long moment—too long, like trying to read something unwritten.

"You know I'm not fully human," she said finally, quietly. "This body... isn't a body that should be touched."

"I know," Jiwoo answered. "I don't care."

"That's not a convincing answer."

Jiwoo exhaled. "Okay. I do care. But I choose to still want it."

Carmen fell silent.

Jiwoo bowed her head briefly, then looked at Carmen again, her eyes honest, slightly wet. "I'm not asking for this because I want to die," she said. "I'm asking for this because I'm alive. Now. Here. With you."

Carmen frowned. "You're too enthusiastic about living a life that's going to end."

"That's because of you," Jiwoo answered without hesitation. "Because I know what it feels like to be loved by something that didn't have to love me."

Carmen stood, pacing briefly. "I don't like the way you talk about death. Like it's a gift."

"Not a gift," Jiwoo shot back. "A limit."

Carmen stopped. Looked at Jiwoo again. "I'm the one who set that limit."

"I know," Jiwoo said gently. "That's why I'm asking permission. Not just forcing it."

Silence filled the room. Only the sound of rain.

Carmen moved closer, knelt in front of Jiwoo. Her hand lifted, stopped in midair, hesitant, near Jiwoo's knee.

"You realize," she said faintly, "that if I allow this, I'll also be the one who hurts the most later."

Jiwoo smiled sadly. "Me too."

Carmen closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again, something had shifted—not recklessness, not the urge to flee. Decision.

"Alright," she said. "Tonight. But you listen to me."

Jiwoo nodded quickly. "Anything."

"Don't make this a farewell," Carmen said. "Make this... a meeting."

Jiwoo nodded again, slower this time.

Carmen stood, took off her jacket, then her shirt. Her movements weren't rushed, as if she were studying her own body—a body she hadn't considered as something that could be touched for a long time.

Her skin was pale, almost glowing in the bedroom lamplight. There was a faint trace of light on her back—the vestige of wings that no longer existed.

Jiwoo stood too, her hands trembling as she touched Carmen for the first time. Her fingertips traced along the arm, the shoulder, then stopped at Carmen's chest. Carmen flinched slightly—her breath changed.

"Slowly," Carmen whispered. "I'm not used to it yet."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "Neither am I."

They undressed each other, awkward and honest. No music. No dramatic lighting. Just two bodies trying to find the same rhythm.

When they finally lay down, Jiwoo beneath Carmen, Carmen's hands supporting her body, there was a second where they only looked at each other.

"You're beautiful," Jiwoo said quietly.

Carmen laughed softly, nervous. "I'm a broken angel."

"Still beautiful," Jiwoo answered.

Carmen kissed Jiwoo—a kiss that wasn't rushed, full of curiosity. Her lips traced Jiwoo's face, neck, shoulders. Every touch was like an experiment, as if Carmen was learning a new language.

Jiwoo groaned quietly, her hands gripping Carmen's back, feeling every temperature shift, every small vibration. Carmen's body felt real—warm, responsive—and that made Jiwoo's chest tight with an emotion too large for one night.

"Carmen," Jiwoo breathed. "I'm here."

"I know," Carmen whispered. "Me too."

They crossed that boundary slowly, with small laughs between awkwardness, with kisses sometimes interrupted by breath that was too heavy. Not perfect. Not neat. But real.

When they finally fully merged, Carmen held her breath, her eyes wide open, as if feeling something she had never felt in her entire existence.

"Is... is this normal?" she asked, breathless.

Jiwoo laughed softly, though her eyes were glistening. "Nothing about us is normal."

Carmen laughed too—then cried. Tears fell onto Jiwoo's cheek. Jiwoo wiped them gently.

"Don't cry," she said.

"I love you," Carmen said, stammering. "And I'm scared."

Jiwoo pulled Carmen closer. "Me too. But I still want this."

They moved together, searching for a rhythm that made them forget time. Every touch wasn't just physical—it was a confession. That this night existed. That this love was real.

When they finally lay exhausted, bodies intertwined, Carmen hid her face in the curve of Jiwoo's neck.

"I don't regret it," she said quietly.

Jiwoo smiled, kissing Carmen's hair. "Neither do I."

The rain outside stopped. The city began breathing again.

And that night, for the first time, human and angel no longer stood on opposite sides.

They met completely.

---

One week left.

On the back of Jiwoo's hand, the mark was now just a thin line—like a pen scratch nearly out of ink. No longer conspicuous. No longer glowing. But precisely because of that, it felt real. Undeniable.

Carmen kept following her.

Not like a shadow watching over, but like a second breath, loyal. There at Jiwoo's side when she woke in the morning, when she brewed coffee that was too bitter, when she tied her shoelaces with quick motions as if the world was waiting.

Jiwoo had grown more industrious. Too industrious, in Carmen's opinion.

Her days were full—helping at Haram and A-na's social organization, delivering food, keeping company with people who didn't even know Jiwoo's full name. Sometimes just sitting and listening. Sometimes carrying things. Sometimes standing between small conflicts that could grow large if left alone.

"Slow down a little," Carmen said one afternoon, standing at the edge of the sidewalk as Jiwoo finished helping a homeless man find a community health center. "You're not a miracle machine."

Jiwoo wiped the sweat from her neck. "I know."

"You're lying," Carmen shot back flatly.

Jiwoo laughed softly. "I just... want to maximize."

"Maximize what?"

"Time."

Carmen fell silent.

They walked side by side along a narrow street, small shops on the left and right, the smell of fried food and exhaust mingling together. The city remained the same—rough, busy, uncaring who would disappear next week.

"Carmen," Jiwoo said suddenly. "I know you don't like my method."

"I hate your method," Carmen corrected.

Jiwoo nodded. "Yeah. But listen first."

She stopped walking. Carmen stopped too, turning to face her.

"I want to fulfill your dream," Jiwoo continued quietly. "Your dream of helping humans. Without you having to vanish."

Carmen tensed. "Jiwoo—"

"I know," Jiwoo cut in gently. "I know this sounds selfish. Or self-righteous. But I can. I can still move, speak, touch. You can't."

She lifted her hand slightly, showing that thin line. "If I can be your hands for a while... I want to."

Carmen stared at the mark, then at Jiwoo's face. So many emotions flickered through—anger, fear, pride, and something almost like grief.

"You also know," Jiwoo continued, her voice quieter, "that maybe—just maybe—this will make things easier for me later."

"Later?" Carmen's voice was hoarse.

"When I die."

The word fell just like that, without drama. But Carmen felt like she'd been struck.

"Don't talk like that," she whispered.

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "I'm not scared anymore."

"That's exactly what scares me," Carmen shot back quickly.

Jiwoo stepped closer. She turned her back to Carmen, then stopped. Without looking, she knew Carmen was right behind her.

"If I were scared," Jiwoo said, "I would hold back. I would run. But now... I'm calm."

Carmen rested her forehead against Jiwoo's back.

The motion was small, almost invisible. But Jiwoo felt it—a gentle cold, a real weight. Carmen's breath touched the fabric of her jacket.

"Thank you," Carmen whispered.

Jiwoo closed her eyes. Her shoulders dropped slightly, like a burden finally released.

"I never imagined," Carmen continued, her voice trembling softly, "that a human who almost fell into hell would teach me how to love the world."

Jiwoo laughed quietly. "I never imagined a cocky angel like you would become my reason for waking up."

Carmen snorted faintly, still pressing her forehead to Jiwoo's back. "I'm still cocky."

"Yeah. But now you're the cocky one I chose."

They stood there for quite a while. People passed by, unaware of anything. Not knowing that among them stood someone whose time was almost up, and a creature who was never supposed to fall in love.

That week passed quickly.

Jiwoo helped more, but no longer as if being chased. There were pauses. There was laughter. There were nights when she came home and just sat with Carmen on the floor, eating instant ramen, talking about unimportant things.

"I think," Jiwoo said one night, "if my life ends next week, I've done enough."

"'Enough' is dangerous," Carmen shot back.

"But honest."

Carmen didn't argue.

On the back of Jiwoo's hand, the line was growing fainter. Almost gone.

And for the first time since that contract was made, Carmen no longer wanted to stop time.

She just wanted to be there—following, accompanying, and saying thank you, again and again, to a human who had chosen to live fully... even when death was already waiting around the corner.

---

Two days before her time ran out, Jiwoo met Stella at a small café near the station—the place they usually went to after work. The clock showed past four in the afternoon, a light rain had just stopped. The café was half-empty, the smell of coffee and damp wood blending into one.

Stella was already seated, her laptop closed, her hair tied up carelessly. When she saw Jiwoo enter, Stella smiled.

"You're late," she said lightly.

"Sorry," Jiwoo answered, sitting down. "I stopped to buy something."

She placed a box on the table. It wasn't large, wrapped neatly in plain brown paper. No ribbon. No card.

Stella looked at the box, then at Jiwoo. "What's this?"

"Hold onto it first," Jiwoo said. "Don't open it now."

Stella frowned. "Jiwoo."

"Two days," Jiwoo continued quickly, her voice soft but firm. "You can only open it in two days."

There was something in Jiwoo's tone that made Stella stop joking. Stella pulled the box toward her, hugging it briefly as if on reflex.

"Why?" Stella asked quietly.

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "Because I'm asking."

Stella exhaled, then nodded. "Okay. Two days."

They were silent for a moment. Jiwoo ordered coffee, Stella just stirred her drink that had already gone cold.

"I want to leave something else with you," Jiwoo said after a few sips.

Stella looked up.

"In two days," Jiwoo continued, "come to my apartment."

"For what?"

"To open that box," Jiwoo answered honestly. "And... maybe to help tidy up a bit."

Stella laughed softly. "You sound like you're about to move out."

Jiwoo laughed too, but briefly. "Something like that."

Stella studied Jiwoo longer now. There was something that had changed—not sadness, but a calmness that was too neat.

"Are you okay?" Stella asked finally.

Jiwoo nodded. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Jiwoo repeated. "I'm just... tidying up my life."

The word hung in the air.

Stella swallowed. "You're not sick, are you?"

Jiwoo smiled, gentler this time. "No."

"Work problems?"

"Already settled."

"Family?"

Jiwoo shrugged. "That too."

Stella wanted to ask more, but something in Jiwoo's face made her hold back. So she just nodded.

"Okay," she said quietly. "I'll come in two days."

Jiwoo stood, reaching for her jacket. "Thanks."

Stella stood too. "You're going home now?"

"Yeah."

Stella hesitated a moment, then hugged Jiwoo first.

The embrace was warm, spontaneous. Jiwoo was startled for a split second, then returned it. Her arms wrapped tightly—too tight for an ordinary hug.

"What's wrong?" Stella whispered, confused.

Jiwoo closed her eyes. "Nothing. I just... wanted to."

She released the embrace first, then smiled faintly.

"Please pass on my greetings to I-an, Joo Eun, and Nayeon," she said. "Tell them... they're amazing."

Stella nodded slowly. "I will."

Jiwoo walked away without looking back.

---

The box felt heavy in Stella's hands as she sat back down. She didn't know why her chest felt so tight.

She didn't know that inside that box was everything Jiwoo had arranged neatly and silently:

Money for cremation.
The apartment access card.
An envelope containing funeral costs.
A bit of cash.
A letter for parents whose love she no longer chased.
A letter for I-an—written in careful handwriting, full of simple sentences.
A letter for Haram—short, but honest.

And one small note at the very top, addressed to Stella.

*"Please don't cry yet. I'm leaving them to you."*

---

Outside the café, Carmen stood beside Jiwoo. Not joking. Not teasing.

"You didn't tell them anything," Carmen said quietly.

Jiwoo walked slowly along the sidewalk. "I didn't want them to know now."

"Were you scared?"

"No," Jiwoo answered. "I just wanted them to have two normal days."

Carmen gazed at Jiwoo for a long moment. "You're cruel."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "Yeah. But I love them."

Carmen moved closer, reaching for Jiwoo's hand. This time she didn't turn into smoke. Her grip was real.

"The box is heavy," Carmen said.

"What's inside is heavier," Jiwoo answered.

They walked side by side, dusk descending slowly. On the back of Jiwoo's hand, the line was almost invisible—only a faint shadow on the skin.

Two days left.

And Jiwoo had already said her farewells... without a single word of goodbye.

---

Those last two days didn't feel like days before the end.

They felt like a vacation that was too brief, too packed, and too sweet—until it made your teeth ache.

Carmen didn't go anywhere without Jiwoo. Or more precisely, Jiwoo didn't let Carmen go anywhere alone. They were like a pair of people who had finally agreed to stop pretending to be busy and chose to do the most unproductive things that had ever existed.

First thing: strawberries.

Not one box. Not two.

Jiwoo bought far too many until the convenience store cashier eyed her suspiciously. Carmen stood beside Jiwoo, counting in her head.

"You realize this isn't an eating competition, right?" Carmen said.

Jiwoo was already opening one box in front of the apartment, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "I'm chasing a dream."

"What dream?"

"Strawberry intoxication."

Carmen snorted. "Weird human."

Thirty minutes later, Jiwoo was leaning against the sofa, face pale and stomach bloated, still holding the last strawberry.

"My head hurts," she complained.

"I told you," Carmen said, but she stayed seated beside Jiwoo, stroking her hair. "You always overdo it."

Jiwoo smiled weakly. "But happy."

Carmen gazed at her for a long moment. "Yeah."

They kissed often. Not always hot. Sometimes just a brief peck on the lips while passing the kitchen. Sometimes a long, directionless kiss in the middle of the living room. Sometimes Jiwoo would suddenly pull Carmen close and kiss her cheek repeatedly until Carmen got annoyed.

"You're like a child," Carmen grumbled.

"You're my girlfriend," Jiwoo shot back. "Accept it."

Embracing also became a habit. Jiwoo often hugged Carmen from behind when Carmen stood in front of the window. Pressing her cheek to Carmen's back, inhaling a scent that wasn't fully human.

Carmen rarely protested. She just stood still, letting herself be held, as if moving would make everything crumble.

The next day, they went swimming.

A public pool that wasn't too crowded. The water was cold, the sky clear. Carmen initially just sat at the edge of the pool, her feet touching the water.

"Get in," Jiwoo said, already in the water up to her chest. "I want to see an angel swim."

"I don't sink," Carmen shot back. "I also don't need to breathe."

"Just get in."

Carmen finally entered. Water touched her skin, and she flinched slightly.

"Cold," she said.

Jiwoo laughed. "Welcome to the human experience."

They swam without purpose. No race. No seriousness. Jiwoo nearly drowned a few times from laughing too hard as Carmen tried to imitate other people's swimming strokes stiffly.

"Do I look stupid?" Carmen asked.

"Yes," Jiwoo answered quickly. "But funny."

Carmen splashed water at Jiwoo's face. Jiwoo splashed back harder. They ended up exhausted at the edge of the pool, sitting side by side, shoulders touching.

Carmen stared at the water. "I'm going to remember this."

Jiwoo turned. "Remember which part?"

"Everything."

That night, they returned to the apartment. No grand plans. No farewell words. Jiwoo showered, then came out in a thin shirt and shorts. Her hair was still wet.

She immediately hugged Carmen.

This embrace was different.

Tighter. Longer.

Carmen felt Jiwoo's arms lock around her back, Jiwoo's face hidden in her neck. Jiwoo's breath was warm, slightly trembling.

"What are you doing?" Carmen asked quietly.

"Last hug of the day," Jiwoo answered. "Tomorrow there's still more."

Carmen swallowed. Her chest felt tight. She raised her hand, hesitated a moment, then returned the embrace.

Jiwoo laughed softly against her neck. "You're stiff."

"I'm afraid if I hug you too hard, you'll disappear," Carmen said honestly.

Jiwoo was silent for a moment, then hugged tighter. "I'm here. Now."

They sat on the bed. Jiwoo leaned her head on Carmen's shoulder. Her hand drew small circles on Carmen's arm.

"You know," Jiwoo said casually, "if this were a drama, I'd probably die dramatically in the rain, screaming your name."

Carmen laughed softly even though her eyes burned. "Please don't."

"Relax," Jiwoo continued. "I'd rather die after eating strawberries."

"Your mouth."

Jiwoo chuckled, then yawned. "I'm tired."

"Sleep," Carmen said gently.

Jiwoo shook her head. "Later."

She hugged Carmen again, tighter, as if trying to store the shape of Carmen's body in her memory.

Carmen held her breath. She didn't cry. She didn't want Jiwoo to feel those tears.

But her eyes were wet.

"If I'm alone later," Carmen whispered, almost inaudibly, "I'll still wake up early."

Jiwoo smiled faintly without opening her eyes. "Good."

"I'll still watch humans."

"Good."

"I'll remember you every time someone is stubborn but kind."

Jiwoo laughed quietly. "So, often."

Carmen finally let one tear fall silently, onto Jiwoo's hair.

Jiwoo stroked Carmen's back, still joking even though her voice was starting to grow drowsy.
"Hey, don't cry. I'm not dead yet."

Carmen closed her eyes, embracing Jiwoo as if time could be held back by arms.

"Sleep," she said quietly.

And that night, between breaths that began to even out and an embrace that was too tight, Carmen realized one cruel thing—not that Jiwoo would leave.

But that these last two days were the happiest days of her long existence.

---

The day came without sound.

No thunder, no clock tolling dramatically, no sign from a sky split in two. The world kept moving as usual—the sun still rose, the sound of vehicles still echoed in the distance, and that small apartment still smelled of soap and overripe strawberries.

Jiwoo opened her eyes first.

Or perhaps she didn't truly open them—only became aware that something was different. The air felt heavier in her chest. Her breaths were shorter. And before her, seated at the edge of the bed, Carmen looked... transformed.

At first Jiwoo thought it was an illusion. A side effect of a body beginning to surrender. But then she saw it clearly.

Wings.

Not small, cute wings like in children's book illustrations. Not pristine, perfect ones like church statues. Carmen's wings were large, unfurling from her back, layered with feathers—their color not pure white but silvery gray, caught in the morning light. Some strands looked imperfect, as if they had once been burned or broken, then grown back.

Carmen was trembling.

Her hands gripped the sheets, her shoulders rose and fell, and tears fell one by one without sound—onto the floor, onto the fabric, onto time that couldn't be pulled back.

"Ah," Jiwoo smiled faintly. "So it's real."

Carmen turned quickly, her face immediately crumbling when she saw Jiwoo's eyes open.

"Don't speak," she said quickly, her voice cracking. She crawled onto the bed, embracing Jiwoo carefully, as if Jiwoo's body were made of glass. "Please. Don't waste your strength."

Jiwoo laughed softly—a sound more like a breath. "You're crying."

"I always said I wouldn't," Carmen murmured, her nose pressed to Jiwoo's neck. "I lied again."

Jiwoo lifted her hand with great effort, her fingers touching Carmen's cheek, wiping away tears that were pointless to wipe.

"You're beautiful," she said faintly. "With wings and all that mess."

Carmen sobbed. "I hate today."

"Me too," Jiwoo answered honestly. "But I'm glad you're here."

Jiwoo's body began to remember.

Not in a dramatic way—no flashes of light or supernatural sounds. Memory came like small waves colliding with each other. Her father's cold face. A mother who chose to leave. Nights spent working while holding back hunger. Carmen at the bus stop, touching her hand while laughing cockily. I-an, smiling while saying Jiwoo's scent was sweet today. Haram, with tired eyes but full of fire. Stella, bowing too deeply. Joo Eun and Nayeon, with warm bread in their hands.

And Carmen.

Always Carmen.

Jiwoo let out a short breath. Her chest felt like it was being squeezed from the inside.

"Car," she called softly.

Carmen immediately raised her face. "Yes. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Listen to me, okay."

Carmen shook her head in panic. "Don't start like that."

Jiwoo smiled faintly. "I just want... to say thank you. For everything. For these four years."

Carmen's tears fell again. "You don't need to thank me."

"I do," Jiwoo insisted weakly. "You saved me. Not from dying. From an empty life."

Carmen bowed her head, her forehead touching Jiwoo's forehead. "I was selfish. I used you."

Jiwoo shook her head slightly. "We used each other."

Jiwoo's breathing was growing slower. Every inhale felt like a major decision.

"Car," she said again. "I want one thing."

"Anything," Carmen answered quickly. "Anything."

"Kiss me."

Carmen froze.

Her face drew closer, hesitant, afraid—afraid this would be the real final point. But Jiwoo looked at her with soft eyes that didn't demand, only hoped.

Carmen bent down and kissed Jiwoo.

Not a hot kiss. Not a passionate one. It was a trembling kiss, wet with tears, slow—like wanting to memorize the shape of each other's lips for the last time.

Jiwoo returned it as best she could.

When they parted, Jiwoo smiled.

"I love you," she said, clear even though her breath was already faltering. "Not because you're an angel. But because you're you. My Carmen."

Carmen gripped Jiwoo's hand tightly, as if with that she could hold back time.

"I love you," she answered, her voice shattered. "I'll always love you."

Jiwoo's breath slowed.

One.

Two.

Three.

Her chest rose... and didn't fall again.

A soft smile still lingered on her face. Her brow was relaxed. No fear there.

Only peace.

Carmen waited.

One second. Two. Ten.

"Jiwoo?" she called quietly.

No answer.

Carmen screamed—not with a loud sound, but with her entire body. She embraced Jiwoo, shaking her gently, then harder, then stopping—afraid of hurting a body that could no longer respond.

"Wake up," she whispered desperately. "You promised... you promised I wouldn't be alone before."

The wings on Carmen's back trembled violently, feathers falling one by one, drifting to the floor like off-season snow.

She pressed her face to Jiwoo's chest.

No heartbeat.

No breath.

Only a silence too vast for one small room.

Carmen finally wept loudly—crying she had never allowed in her entire existence. The crying of a being who had witnessed thousands of deaths, but only now lost one life she truly loved.

"Sorry," she sobbed. "Sorry I couldn't make you stay longer. Sorry I fell in love."

The wings slowly faded, becoming faint light, then disappearing. Carmen remained there, embracing Jiwoo, now without celestial attributes—just a creature with a broken heart.

A few hours later, the morning light shifted. The world kept moving.

And Jiwoo—whose life had once felt so pointless—left with a smile.

Not because she wanted to die.

But because finally, she knew what it felt like to be loved that completely.

---

Stella arrived that afternoon with hesitant steps.

The key to Jiwoo's apartment felt cold in her hand. There was a strange feeling pressing on her chest since morning—not a dramatic premonition, just an inexplicable emptiness. She remembered how Jiwoo had hugged her two days ago, too long, too tight. How her smile that time... was like someone who was already finished with the world.

The door opened.

The apartment was silent.

No sound of television, no sound of running water, no stale coffee aroma like usual. What remained was only the scent of strawberries—sweet, almost dizzying.

"Jiwoo?" Stella called softly.

No answer.

She stepped inside, taking off her shoes with a polite habit that felt out of place. The room was neat. Too neat. Trash bags had been taken out. Plants had been watered. Even the sofa cushions were arranged straight, like a hotel room before a guest checks out.

Her steps halted in front of the bedroom.

Jiwoo was lying on the bed.

Calm. Too calm.

The blanket covered up to her chest, her hands folded neatly, her face turned toward the window. Eyes closed. Her lips were slightly curved, like someone having a beautiful dream.

Stella exhaled in relief for half a second.

"Oh... you startled me," she murmured, approaching. "Napping, huh?"

She sat at the edge of the bed and touched Jiwoo's shoulder.

Cold.

Not air-conditioned cold—cold like something that had long been untouched by life.

"Jiwoo...?"

Her hand trembled as she touched Jiwoo's cheek. The skin was pale, rigid. No small movement in the chest. No delayed inhale.

Time seemed to stop.

Stella stepped back once, then twice. Her knees went weak.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

She reached for her phone with trembling hands, pressing the emergency number, her voice cracking as she explained the address, the condition—everything sounding like it wasn't herself. She returned to the side of the bed, trying to shake Jiwoo with a desperation that grew more panicked.

"Wake up. Please wake up. Don't joke."

Nothing.

The ambulance came with a siren sound that felt cruel in the silence of the apartment. Paramedics moved quickly—professional, efficient. Too efficient for a situation Stella knew the outcome of since the first touch.

They checked for a pulse. Nothing. Checked pupils. Fixed. CPR was performed despite the slim chance—more out of procedure than hope.

Stella stood in the corner of the room, hugging herself, trembling violently.

A few minutes later, one of the paramedics turned to her with a face that had delivered this kind of news far too often.

"We're sorry for your loss," he said quietly.

The sentence fell like a hammer.

No screaming. No fainting. Stella only nodded stiffly, as if understanding a language she didn't actually comprehend at all.

After they left—after Jiwoo's body was declared beyond saving—the apartment returned to silence.

A different silence.

Heavier.

Stella slumped onto the living room floor, her breath coming in broken gasps. Her tears came late, bursting without form, making her chest ache until it physically hurt.

Her eyes then fell on the small box on the table.

The box was simple. Not wrapped beautifully. Just brown cardboard with a thin ribbon. Stella's name was written on it in Jiwoo's handwriting—neat, careful, like someone who didn't want to write anything wrong.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the box.

"Why are you so neat about everything..." she murmured, sobbing.

She opened the lid.

The first thing she saw was an envelope.

Written on it: "For Stella."

Beneath it, several other envelopes—bearing the names of people Stella knew from Jiwoo's stories. There were also documents, the apartment access card, and money arranged neatly. Too neatly for something connected to death.

Stella took the letter addressed to herself first.

Jiwoo's handwriting was instantly recognizable. No excessive words. No drama.

> Stella,

> If you're reading this, it means I'm already gone. Sorry I left you in an unpleasant way. I'm not good at goodbyes.

> I'm leaving a few things with you because I trust you. Please don't misunderstand—I'm not asking you to take responsibility for my life. I'm only asking you to be a witness that my life once meant something.

> In this box there's money for my cremation, simple funeral costs, and the rest—if there is any—use it to eat well. Seriously. Don't be stingy on the day I'm burned.

> You can manage this apartment. I've already settled the administration. The access card is inside.

> Please open the other letters addressed by name. I'm tired of being a coward who doesn't dare speak directly.

> And one more thing—thank you for coming into my life. You're proof that I didn't completely fail as a human being.

> — Jiwoo

The letter fell from Stella's hands.

Her crying turned into deep sobs—painful, as if part of her was being buried alongside Jiwoo.

She reached for the other envelopes with trembling hands. There was a letter for I-an. For Haram. For Jiwoo's parents—which, just from the thickness of the paper alone, felt full of things never spoken.

The money inside that box wasn't small.

Far too planned.

Stella covered her face with both hands.

"You..." she whispered brokenly. "You really prepared everything yourself. As if you were sure no one would save you."

She turned toward the bedroom.

Jiwoo was still there, lying peacefully, as if only resting after a life that had finally felt full.

Stella stood, stepped slowly, and sat at the edge of the bed. She held Jiwoo's hand—cold, rigid, but still the same hand that had once helped, once embraced, once *was*.

"I came, Jiwoo," she said faintly. "I came, but you already left."

Tears fell onto the back of Jiwoo's hand.

In that silent air, Stella didn't see what Jiwoo had once seen. Didn't feel the warmth that had once been in the corners of the room. She only knew one thing with certainty:

Jiwoo didn't leave because she wanted to disappear.

Jiwoo left after making sure her life—and her death—left no mess behind.

And that, somehow, made her departure feel so much more painful.

---

The funeral home was filled with flowers.

White chrysanthemums, lilies, a few simple arrangements from coworkers, and one large flower board from the social organization where Haram and A-na volunteered. The air smelled of a mixture of incense, fresh flowers, and unspoken grief.

Jiwoo's photo was placed at the front—her face calm, that characteristic small smile, like someone who always looked tired but tried to be fine. Stella stood beside that photo since morning, holding it with both hands. Her tears had run out. Her weeping had already poured out last night, this morning, and when the ambulance took Jiwoo's body away. Now what remained was only an emptiness that made her chest heavy but her eyes dry.

I-an arrived earliest.

The girl gripped her cane tightly, her knuckles white from restraining pressure. The moment she heard people's voices, she knew this wasn't an ordinary place. She smelled flowers and incense, heard soft whispers, careful footsteps.

"Unnie...?" her voice was small, uncertain.

Joo Eun immediately approached, gripping I-an's shoulder. "I-an... I'm here."

"This... what place is this?" I-an asked, though it seemed she already knew the answer—and only hoped she was wrong.

No one answered directly.

And when I-an heard soft sobbing—not just one, but many—her last defenses crumbled.

"This is a lie," she said suddenly, her voice rising, cracking. "Unnie promised to teach me how to cook strawberries next week. Promised!"

Her crying exploded.

She wailed, truly wailed, like a small child who had lost the anchor of her world. Her hand slipped from her cane, her body trembling violently. Joo Eun and Nayeon immediately embraced her from both sides, trying to support her body that was nearly collapsing.

"Unnie wouldn't lie," I-an sobbed. "She always came. Always."

Joo Eun closed her eyes, her tears falling too. "I know... I know."

Nayeon hugged tighter, her voice hoarse. "I-an... we're here together, okay."

I-an's crying echoed through the room, cutting into everyone who heard it. Some mourners bowed their heads, unable to watch. No one dared to soothe her with empty words. No words were enough.

In another corner, Haram stood frozen before Jiwoo's photo. Her eyes were red, swollen. Her body trembled even as she tried to look strong. A-na stood behind her, wrapping an arm around Haram's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder.

"She... she just said she wanted to join the activities next month," Haram's voice cracked. "She said she was tired from work, but kept smiling."

A-na held her breath, holding tighter. "You can cry," she said faintly. "It's okay."

Haram turned and hugged A-na, finally surrendering. Her crying was restrained, heavy, like someone used to helping others but never ready when she herself lost something.

"I was late," she whispered. "I was late saying thank you."

A-na stroked her back. "She knew."

Stella remained standing at the front. Her hands stiffly held the photo frame. Several people approached, bowed, offered condolences. Stella bowed politely, automatically, as if her body moved without command from her mind.

Every time someone said, "She was a good person," her chest felt stabbed.

Because Stella knew Jiwoo wasn't just good. Jiwoo tried. Kept trying. Even in her last days.

When the ceremony began, the room grew quieter. Prayers were recited. Words about life, about parting, about returning to the origin. Stella heard them like sounds from underwater—distant, muffled.

I-an sat in the front row, still sobbing. Her hand gripped Joo Eun's clothes. Occasionally she turned toward the coffin, even though she couldn't see it clearly. She just knew Jiwoo was there.

"Unnie..." she murmured, over and over. "Unnie..."

Nayeon bowed her head, her shoulders trembling. She hadn't known Jiwoo for years, but long enough to know her departure left a massive hole. She remembered the breads she had delivered, Jiwoo's small smile, the way Jiwoo always said thank you like it was something grand.

Joo Eun stared straight ahead, her tears flowing without sound. In her head flickered short memories—Jiwoo standing at the bus stop, Jiwoo helping without many questions, Jiwoo who never felt more superior even though she always protected.

When the final session arrived—when people were given time to approach and say farewell—I-an stood with Joo Eun's help. She stepped slowly, her cane touching the floor with small, regular taps.

She stood before the coffin.

Her hand reached out, hesitant, until finally it touched the edge of that cold wood.

"Unnie..." her voice was nearly inaudible. "I promise... I'll live well. I'll learn to be independent. Don't worry."

Her crying broke again. Joo Eun and Nayeon hugged her from behind.

"I can't see unnie's face," I-an continued, sobbing. "But I remember. Her smile. Her voice. Warmth."

There wasn't a single person in that room who didn't cry.

Haram stepped forward next. She bowed deeply. "Thank you," she said shortly, her voice heavy. "For everything you did without asking anything in return."

A-na gripped her hand tightly.

Last, Stella stepped forward.

She stood for a long time in front of the coffin. Her hands trembled, but her face was calm—calm that was forced because there were no more tears that could come out.

"Woo," she said quietly, without formality. "You always said your life was ordinary."

She exhaled. "You lied."

Stella bowed her head, her forehead nearly touching the coffin. "I'll look after everything. I promise."

She stepped back, making room.

When the ceremony ended and people began to leave, the funeral home felt emptier. The grief didn't leave—it only changed form, settling in each person's chest.

I-an sat in a chair, exhausted from crying. Joo Eun and Nayeon were at her sides. Haram and A-na stood not far away, still holding each other. Stella returned to Jiwoo's photo, staring at that smile one more time.

In that room, Jiwoo wasn't there.

But her life—which she had thought was trivial, which she had thought was meaningless—turned out to have left behind so many hands gripping each other so they wouldn't fall.

And among the white flowers and late prayers, one thing became clear to them all:

Jiwoo had lived.
And her departure—though painful—was not in vain.

---

What they didn't know—and would never know—was that there was one creature standing a small distance away from the crowd.

Not touching the floor of that funeral home. Not leaving footprints. Not making a sound.

Carmen was there.

Her wings were now clearly visible—not something grand and glittering like church paintings, but real wings, with pale feathers that moved slowly in time with her unnecessary breath. Wings that only appeared when her task was finished. When there was nothing more she could do except escort and release.

She stood behind Stella, right beside Jiwoo's photo.

Carmen stared at the face in that frame for a very long time.

"Still looking tired," she murmured quietly, her tone almost joking. "Even dead, you can't pretend to be relaxed."

No one heard.

No one turned.

Carmen liked it that way—a grief that didn't demand attention, a love that didn't ask for recognition.

She saw everything.

I-an's crying—honest and raw, like an open wound.

Joo Eun and Nayeon, trying to become adults too fast. Haram, biting her lip, angry at the world for being too late. A-na, hugging without many words.

Stella, standing closest to Jiwoo, even though she never knew about the wings, about the mark on the hand, about the contract that was never signed with ink.

Carmen gazed at them with deep respect.

"You succeeded," she whispered to Jiwoo. "You made your life into a knot that connects to so many people."

She stepped closer, knelt beside the coffin. Her hand lifted, hesitated briefly—then she touched the wood with two fingers.

Not cold to her.

Not warm either.

But she knew Jiwoo was no longer here.

Jiwoo had already flown.

Carmen could feel it—like a current moving away, a soul being taken to the in-between, to a space of purification that was neither cruel nor kind. Purgatory. A waiting place, a place to tidy wounds that were too human to be brought home to eternal rest.

"Sorry," Carmen whispered. "I can't follow."

She knew the rules.

She also knew she would keep waiting.

Carmen sat in a back bench as people began to leave. The funeral home slowly emptied, leaving behind flowers and air still heavy with late prayers.

She closed her eyes.

In that darkness, her memory returned to the rooftop of a tall building, to the cold guardrail, to a woman with empty eyes too exhausted to be afraid.

*Four more years. Want to live?*

She remembered how Jiwoo cursed at her. How Jiwoo chose to live despite not believing. How Jiwoo laughed, loved, helped, fell in love with her in a way so deeply human that Carmen forgot she wasn't human.

Carmen smiled faintly.

"I fell in love with a human," she said quietly, half-mocking herself. "Again."

She stood and gazed at Jiwoo's photo one last time.

No more tears.

Her weeping had run out that day on the bed, with Jiwoo's body growing cold in her embrace. Now what remained was only a warmth that wouldn't leave—even though the one she loved could no longer be held.

"Farewell," Carmen said. "Thank you."

She leaned her body slightly, as if bowing respectfully—not to death, but to Jiwoo's life.

Carmen then stepped back.

The funeral home faded around her, replaced by a white space, vast and still. She knew Jiwoo wasn't here, but she could feel her traces—like the scent of strawberries left in an empty room.

"Maybe ten years," Carmen murmured.

"Maybe a hundred. Or maybe a thousand."

Time had never been a problem for her.

She had once waited thousands of years without a name.

Waiting for one more soul wasn't a punishment—it was a promise.

Carmen imagined Jiwoo one day in the future—reborn with a new name, a new face, a life that didn't need to be as heavy as before. Maybe Jiwoo would like rain. Or the sea. Or different music. Maybe Jiwoo would live without having to be too strong.

And one day—sometime, somewhere—Carmen would feel that vibration again.

A familiar warmth.

"I'll wait," she said lightly, as if speaking to the wind. "I'm patient. I'm not human, after all."

She laughed softly, a sound that echoed gently in the empty space.

Her wings stretched slowly, then folded again.

Carmen turned, stepping away from the funeral home, from a world she had to temporarily leave.

Her love was forbidden.

Her love was sweet.

Her first and last love for now.

And behind all the rules, time, and distance that couldn't be breached, one thing remained true.

Jiwoo had once lived.

Carmen had once loved.

And for an angel who had fallen—that was already more than enough.