Page 122 of Wicked Fox

“It doesn’t even sound like me. She’ll know it was you.”

“Fine, then what would you type?”

Jihoon wrote out a quick note:We should talk.

Junu grimaced at the plain message like it brought him physical pain. He made to grab the phone, but Jihoon pulled it away. Junu sighed. “When you just type texts like that, they look flat. You have to add volume.”

“Add volume?” Jihoon asked, perplexed.

“Yeah, put a heart or emoji after,” Junu suggested.

“No.” Jihoon drew the line at putting a winking smiley face in a text.

“Fine, then give it a wave.” Junu grinned as he pointed to the~symbol.

Jihoon rolled his eyes, but he added the~before pressing send.

“Why are you helping me?” Jihoon asked.

“I told you. I don’t like to be around grouchy people. It puts me in a bad mood.”

“Really?” Jihoon didn’t believe a thing out of the dokkaebi’s mouth. He was too smooth, too good at lying.

Before he could prod Junu more, his phone beeped. Miyoung’s name appeared on the screen. Jihoon lifted surprised eyes to Junu. The older boy gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, and Jihoon smiled back. Then he realized how friendly he was acting toward the dokkaebi and stopped grinning.

He read the message:I’m at Namsan.

•••

Namsan was a high mountain in the middle of the city. Though there were many restaurants that boasted well-known wang donkatsu along the way, the main attraction was Namsan Tower. A popular place for dates and somewhere Jihoon wouldn’t go if he were paid. Except he found himself crammed into one of the cable cars leading to the top. He didn’t like how crowded it was; it was giving him a headache. Or maybe that was the result of being anxious all day.

And even after reaching the end of the journey, he still had to climb stairs that led tourists and lovers past food stands. Jihoonglared at the hot dogs on a stick surrounded by fried potato and remembered promising one to Miyoung once. It had been a different Jihoon who’d promised that to a different Miyoung, he thought.

It was hard to find her in the crowd of bodies and he craned his neck back to look at the top of the tower, wondering if he’d have to go up there. He was pretty sure you needed a reservation to go into the restaurant on top.

He took in the landscape at the base of the tower. The fence that ran around the perimeter was covered in padlocks, so plentiful and colorful they created a metal tapestry. Locks also created metallic Christmas trees in the middle of the courtyard.

Walking to the fence, Jihoon had to admit the view was stellar. As the sun approached the horizon, it gave the city a glow. He could mark the patterns of Seoul from up here, where the old tile roofs of the hanoks merged into the newer metal and concrete of the city. Such a contrasting mess to see the old homes that boasted under-floor coal heating and rice-paper walls next to the most modern of skyscrapers. But in this city the dichotomy worked. In this city the dichotomy thrived. It seemed that sometimes opposites did find a balance.

Then he saw her, standing at one of the viewfinders that showed the city below.

He approached her slowly, worried now that she might take advantage of the location to pitch him over the side of the mountain. But he comforted himself in the fact that Miyoung didn’t like to make a scene.

“Miyoung.”

“Yes?” she replied coldly, as she refused to look at him.

“You said you’d talk.”

“I told you where I was. You were the one that wanted to talk,” Miyoung corrected him.

Jihoon seethed. His frustration was two centimeters from breaking the surface. It made the low headache brewing pulse, but he took a deep breath and tried again.

“Fine, I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said, then waited for her to accept his apology. She didn’t and instead studied the locks that decorated the fence. They were covered in claims of everlasting friendship and love. A beautiful rainbow assortment of promises.

“Did you hear me?” Jihoon asked.

“Yes,” Miyoung replied, studying another lock.

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