Gayoung, or Julia as she now calls herself, is your best friend. You met her, back when you were just kids and she had emigrated over from South Korea. She couldn’t talk much English, bowed in greeting as opposed to shaking hands and couldn’t quite grasp the bus route home because in Korea, everyone walked. Naturally, you showed her the way and grew inseparable since.

You’ve always been friendly by nature. A little too friendly, a little too soft around the edges but, hey—when has kindness ever been a weakness? You took Gayoung under your wing and she rested there happily, comfortably, until she acclimated to the bustle of America.

You’re older now, both women in your early twenties. She’s miles more confident now, no longer looking to you for direction but there is something sort of…missing in her. You know just what it is.

“He never showed up before,” she grits out, crossing her arms in barely restrained rage. Her eyes burn with unshed tears. You feel helpless. “So why would he show up now? All my childhood, he was such a fucking bum, couldn’t even get me gifts on my birthday—did you know he missed my birth? Yeah. Yeah, some asshole at the factory he worked at got hurt, so he went to help that guy, rather than help my fucking mom push me out!”

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say. You know Gayoung has a troubled relationship with her father, many unhealed wounds that have since festered, and you don’t want to pour salt in them.

“God…” you murmur, brushing her hair out of her face. You pause, before deigning to speak again. “I mean…maybe there’s something you don’t know. Something that stopped him. You’ve never spoken to him properly about it, so maybe this could be your chance—to get closure.”

She isn’t so pleased with your answer. She gives you an awful, red-eyed scowl and you try not to wince. You open your mouth to apologise but she shakes it off and puts her hand on your own.

“Just come with me, okay? I don’t wanna face him alone.” She implores—and that’s the story of how you got here.

Standing at the airport, sign in hand, next to a shaking Gayoung. A tall, wiry man with a longer face and olive skin emerges. His eyes crinkle warmly at the sight, his cheeks rounding out as he grins and he rushes to her. His voice is deep and warm as he calls out something in Korean you can’t understand but sounds full of love. You blink. This is the terrible deadbeat dad that’s haunted her?

He tries to hug her but it’s awkward and he deflates. You don’t blame her and neither does he, from his reaction. He shifts. His eyes turn to you, still warm, but a little more…lucid. You feel your own eyes widen, too. You didn’t expect for him to be so handsome.

“Appa,” Gayoung weakly introduces. “This is my best friend.”

His gaze lingers, his throat bobs. You tear your eyes away and shoot Gayoung a soft grin that she can barely reciprocate. You’ve always been better at composing yourself than she is.

“Ah,” he says, and you feel a bit overwhelmed at the sight of him. His voice is accented, though not unpleasantly. “Hello.”

“…Hi.” You reply awkwardly and tell yourself no fucking way. He’s off limits. He’s her dad.