Wicked Fox (Gumiho #1)(94)

“I do.”

“I’m not sure,” Miyoung said. “But yeah, it seems like that’s the end game. Gumiho only bring death. Even to ourselves.”

Jihoon shook his head. “If you stopped feeding because of me, I don’t want the responsibility of it. My halmeoni is already in a coma because of me.” And he realized part of the reason he’d been so angry wasn’t because of Miyoung’s part in what happened to Halmeoni, but because of his. He’d been such a bad grandson and still she’d given everything for him.

Suddenly, it felt like a great idea to drink. He picked up the bottle and poured more into his cup, gulping it down in one shot. He hissed at the burn in his throat.

“If I die, it’s not for you. I’m dying for me.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jihoon wasn’t sure if she didn’t make sense because she was drunk or because she was Miyoung. Probably a mix of the two.

“I watch my mother and I realize how lonely she is.”

Jihoon didn’t know where this turn in the conversation had come from. And he wasn’t in the mood to give Yena any sympathy. He took another shot and this one went down a bit easier.

“I never worried about the things I was missing out on. Like having friends or relationships. I think I always figured there’d be time for that later. But now . . .” She sighed. “Everything reminds me that my time is running out. I’m weaker now. I have scars now.” She traced the white mark on her palm, a twin of Jihoon’s.

“My mother told me to make a choice. So I did,” she said, flinging her arms wide, knocking herself off-balance. Jihoon caught her before she fell. She put her hands on his shoulders for stability. “And every day I decide to keep doing this, I know it’s what I need to do. Not for you. Not for my mother. I made this decision. So it’s mine. It’s all I have that’s just mine.”

A pang shot through Jihoon, a tightening of his lungs.

He cupped her cheek lightly. Why couldn’t he admit before that he’d missed this? Hearing her voice, running his fingers along her hair, seeing her eyes so close he traced out the pattern in her irises. Blooms, like flowers. He’d missed it all desperately.

“Miyoung-ah.” He said her name quietly, his hand moving down her neck. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t be sorry. We’re both sorry all the time. A sorry pair.” She chuckled. “I wish things could go back,” Miyoung said with a wistful sigh. “Can’t we just be Miyoung and Jihoon again? Can’t we be okay for five minutes?”

“I think I can do that.”

“Good.” She smiled sweetly. “Because I’m going to throw up.”

She ran to the edge of the playground and vomited in the underbrush.

Jihoon gathered her hair back and held it as she was sick.



* * *



? ? ?

Jihoon carried Miyoung on his back up the sloping streets. Her arms and legs hung from him like vines, swinging back and forth as she drifted in and out of drunken consciousness.

“I’m sorry I sucked out your halmeoni’s gi,” Miyoung mumbled.



He tensed, unsure if he wanted to talk about that right now. Then he realized most of his anger had evaporated.

“I know how stubborn she can be. If she asked you to take her energy for me, then she probably made it impossible to say no.”

“I’m a horrible gumiho,” Miyoung muttered. “I couldn’t even say no to a halmeoni. Some immortal being I was.”

Jihoon chuckled.

Then he shifted to hitch her higher, thanking the stars when he saw his apartment across the street.

“I’m sorry I left,” she said. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“No one likes a martyr.”

He started up the stairs, his legs wobbling as he climbed.

“You know what I missed the most?” Miyoung whispered by his ear.

“What?” He tried to ignore the tingle along his skin as her breath fluttered over it.

“Being friends.”

“Huh?”

“You were my best friend.” She rested her cheek against his shoulder. “I miss my best friend.”

“I miss you, too,” he said, but she’d already fallen asleep.





61





MIYOUNG WONDERED IF someone’s brain had ever broken out of their skull. Because even as the fog of sleep still sat over her, she was sure this was going to happen to her. The pounding behind her eyes made it almost impossible to open them. And when she tried, she immediately shut them again with a moan.

“I see the alcoholic is awake,” Jihoon said from the bedroom doorway. “Oof, and you look awful.” He seemed particularly pleased about this fact.

Miyoung succeeded in opening only her right eye to glare at him. The sun blazed through the windows, exacerbating her headache.

“Haven’t you ever heard of curtains?” Her voice sounded like gravel scraping over a pumice stone.

“Yes, but I also don’t drink two bottles of soju by myself.”

“Was it only two bottles?” Miyoung mumbled, closing her eyes again and pulling up the covers. “I could’ve sworn it was a hundred.”