MIDNIGHT MEMORIES C - 4

CHAPTER 4

In the brief flicker of time before I’m back in the ballroom, I dream of Maeri.

I’m six years old, sitting on a stool at one of the counters in the kitchen, watching the remarkably spry way her plump little form bounces around the space, stirring pots and rolling doughs.

An odd little dance.

She slips me a cookie, fresh out of the oven—warm and chocolatey—and winks.

“Don’t tell Jimin I gave you that,” she tells me. “There will be no end to him whining if you do!”

We share a conspiratorial giggle, the way old friends do when swapping secrets.

I know the truth: the cookie is a special treat just for me, because I don’t terrorize her like my brothers do—because I babble and sing to keep her company while she works—because Maeri’s fond of me.

As I take that first nibble, I feel special and loved.

Each bite tastes like magic.

Next, Maeri is comforting me after Hoseok put a worm in my tea.

It’s a prank that shocked us both, not just because of its foulness but also because neither of us can imagine Hoseok hyung digging through the soil to capture the creature to begin with.

“There, there,” Maeri murmurs, putting her arm around me.

I feel sheltered, like a duckling tucked beneath its mother’s wing.

“I’d pick three of you to one of her any day, Taehyung.”

Late that evening, when a similar-looking worm curiously finds its way onto Hoseok’s pillow, I ask Maeri if she knows of anyone who may have done such a vile thing.

“I don’t know what you mean, Taehyung. I can’t think of a single soul,” she insists.

She shakes her head vehemently, but her eyes twinkle, telling a very different tale.

There’s more, too.

Maeri decorating my bleak room in the attic with paper roses so I can have a bit of beauty and cheer.

Maeri slipping me books from my father’s study before Yeji purges them all to make way for her new embroidery room.

And Maeri smoothing back my hair from my face as I sob into the lumps of my pillow after Yeji and my brothers leave for Prince Yoongi’s ball.

“They’re ashamed of me,” I whimper all over again in my mind. “Yeji rarely lets me leave the house. Hyungs tell everyone I’m their stepbrother, not half-brother. Even the cat hates me.”

As if to prove my point, Jimin hyung’s chimmy jumps off the foot of my bed in a huff.

“Will I ever know happiness, Maeri?” I cry.

“Your father believed you deserved all the happiness in the world, Taehyung,” she reminds me. “And I have just the thing that may help.”

I sit up, staring, wide-eyed and hopeful.

“You do?”

She nods, grinning so widely her cheeks plump up like the dough in her loaf tins downstairs. “But if I show you, you must promise me one thing.”

“Of course. What is it?”

“That you’ll make a wise choice.”

She pulls out the gown and the shoes then—the most lavish fabric and delicate designs I’ve ever seen.

In my rush to prepare for the ball, her words—and my promise—go forgotten.

!~~~!

Seojoon tosses his head back in a raucous laugh.

They can probably hear him as far away as Fallsbridge.

I don’t remember him telling me his name is Seojoon, of course.

But he’s called himself by name about three times since I opened my eyes to find myself dancing opposite him.

“And that, My Prince,” he tells me, “is why good old Seojoon will never go to Tian Shan again without a compass, a vat of strong ale, and a pair of fine riding boots.”

Make that four times.

By the way he speaks, I can tell I’m supposed to find this all humorous—even though I have a feeling there’s also a scandalous preamble to his tale that I’m missing.

Still, I grin and manage a polite chuckle.

“Well, I should say not,” I agree.

Seojoon is tall, with wavy brown hair that curls around his ears and must tickle at his collar, despite his attempt to tie it back in a queue.

Searching the room over his shoulder for Jungkook is harder than it was with Wooshik, so I sneak sly, sideways glances instead when I think he’s not watching.

As we waltz past one of the buffet tables, I spot Hoseok picking up pastries before scuttling off to find Jimin.

Not far away, Yeji dances with Prince Yoongi.

Her face is flushed, and she hobbles slightly—both signs of the gout in her knee acting up.

She must be furious that her aging body is betraying the youthful beauty of her face at a time like this.

I don’t, however, see Jungkook.

“Did I already tell you about the mix-up with the sheikh’s camels that nearly cost me the shirt off my back—literally?” Seojoon asks.

“No, I don’t believe you did,” I say.

Not that I’d know if he had.

He laughs again.

“Right. You’re in for an even wilder ride this time, then.”

As he speaks, we bump lightly against another couple dancing beside us—it’s Namjoon, again with the plump lips man.

Strange.

When he wanted to woo the plump lips why come to me.

To make him jealous, I guess.

I cringe, half- expecting the Earl of Ulsan to recognize me, but his eyes are blank when our stares meet.

It’s as if we’ve never seen each other before.

“Ah, pardon us, good fellow,” Seojoon chuckles.

For just a moment— a short note or two of the music—his hand leaves my waist. “I’m afraid I was born with two left feet.”

Namjoon nods and moves on, and as we do the same, I notice Seojoon tuck a small bit of leather into one of the pockets of his tuxedo jacket.

“Did you Did you just take that man’s billfold?” I ask him, unable to contain the horror in my whisper.

“Of course not, Taehyung,” Seojoon dismisses with that manufactured laugh of his. “Don’t be daft.”

He tries to sweep me up in his arms again, to woo me with dance, but the moment I press against his chest I feel the soft lump of the extra wallet through his jacket.

I certainly have no affection for Namjoon, but a thief is still a thief.

And a thief was responsible for the death of my father—in the robbery on the highway that tipped his carriage.

I’ll have nothing to do with one.

“I know what I saw,” I scold him, pulling away again. “You’re a pickpocket. You stole from a stranger—and right under the king’s nose!”

“Let’s not be melodramatic,” Seojoon insists, speaking slowly and cautiously, just as he might to a child having a tantrum. “We both know that Loch-lover has plenty more banknotes where that came from. He’ll never miss that lot.”

The casual way he dismisses his behavior tells me this isn’t the first time he’s helped himself to another’s belongings.

Perhaps such pilfering has even had something to do with his misfortunes in Tian wherever he was and with the sheikh.

So, when he reaches for my hand again, trying to coax me back, I take another sharp step away from him.

“I will not be a party to your crimes, Seojoon,” I say softly, shaking my head.

He rolls his eyes and exhales loudly, in a sigh that’s more a statement of annoyance than exhaustion.

“Really, Taehyung, is it necessary to ruin our evening?”

You’re the only one who’s ruined anything, I think, but he’s not worth the breath it would take to explain this.

Besides, I have to find Jungkook.

Shaking my head, I turn and walk away.

“Unbelievable!”

Seojoon scoffs and hisses something unkind in my wake, but I don’t quite hear the rest of his words.

Even if I did, I wouldn’t care: Jungkook’s here.

He navigates through the labyrinth of dancers toward me, with his easygoing air, his perpetual smile, and my choker still tied around his wrist.

Immediately, everything seems better.

“Something peculiar happened after I left last time,” I tell Jungkook as we stand together on the balcony, staring out at the moonlight on the snow.

I’ve just finished explaining what happens when I try to leave the castle—the tripping and dress changing, the blackouts and headaches.

Now, hearing this past midnight was different, he stands up straighter and leans closer.

“What was it? Are you alright?” His eyes dart across my face with concern, as if expecting to find a scar or welt—some sign of my usual fall.

I place my hand on his forearm.

For some reason, knowing he’s worried sends tiny sparks of warmth, like comets, through my veins.

“I’m not hurt—not really, anyway. Nothing like that,” I assure him.

Jungkook eases.

He glances down at my hand on his arm, and a grin plays at the corners of his mouth again.

The midday sun is back in his eyes.

“After I fell, I dreamed,” I tell him. “I saw Maeri, our family cook. I’ve never dreamed after any of the other midnights before.”

He nods eagerly.

Something about him reminds me of a puppy excited to see his master after a long day alone.

“Did she say something important—in your dream, I mean? Did she give you any clues?”

I hold my breath a moment, replaying the scenes in my mind, hoping that if I parse them out, I’ll find some hint as to why we’re here or what we’re supposed to do to stop this cycle.

But there’s nothing.

Only memories of events past, no portents of the future.

“No ” I whisper, the word coming out bitter, as if I’ve just sipped turned wine.

Pulling Jungkook’s jacket tighter around me, I look back out across the icy landscape.

We’re as frozen in time as the trees on the mountainside, dormant until spring’s thaw.

The barrenness of our state strikes my heart like a dagger.

“What if I never see Maeri again?” I say. “She’s been so good to me—I wouldn’t even be here tonight if it wasn’t for her.”

Confusion ripples across Jungkook’s forehead. “Really? How come?”

With a sigh, I tell him about my brothers and Jimin’s surly cat, then about the trunk at the end of Maeri’s bed and the gown and shoes inside it.

“I have no idea where she got such things,” I explain. “She’s worked for my family so long, and I’ve never seen her wear them herself, but she gave them to me—all because she wanted me to be happy.”

“She sounds like a special person to sacrifice so much for you,” he says softly. “I understand why you miss her.”

“She is,” I whisper.

My bottom lip quivers.

I fight to hold back the tears threatening to cloud my vision.

“She’s always been there for me, especially since Appa died last year. I don’t think I’ve ever properly thanked her for it. I hope I get the chance to.”

Jungkook inches closer, placing his arm around me.

I lean into him, resting my head against his shoulder.

His spearmint-like scent curls around me, soothing and fresh.

Together, we’re as seamless as ink on a page.

“You will, Taehyung,” he soothes. “You’re not alone in this—you have me, and we’ll figure this out together. No matter how much time it takes, no matter how many midnights strike.”

Wiping a tear from my lashes, I look up at him and manage a weak grin.

Leave it to Jungkook—the young man who smiles when spurned by the prince, who speaks of going to bookstores when we’re trapped by time, and who gives strangers his most expensive possession to keep away the cold—to be optimistic.

“How do you do it?” I ask him.

He blinks, confused, and his smile wavers as if he’s just misunderstood a joke.

“Do what?”

“How are you happy all the time, even on a night as strange as this?”

Jungkook’s smile broadens again, and he shrugs.

“I don’t know—I just choose to be, I suppose. Happiness isn’t a passive feeling. It’s something you participate in. You can decide to be it no matter what’s going on around you.”

Out in the snow, on the ground below us, the foxes emerge to play by the lake.

Tumbling and rolling, nipping and chasing one another.

Jungkook chuckles as we watch.

“Look at the white-foxes,” he tells me. “They don’t seem bothered by the fact that this is the fourth time they’ve scampered out of the woods. They’re living in the moment—no cares, just enjoying each second that passes.”

“They’re lucky,” I murmur. “I wish I could be more like them.”

Jungkook glances down at me. “You can be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for one thing, if we’re going to be trapped in this cycle of midnights, we may as well enjoy it, don’t you think?”

Seconds pass as I gape at him, unspeaking and unsure.

I open my mouth to challenge him, to tell him his explanation is about as clear as the mud puddles that dot the path to our stables after a storm.

But before I can, his meaning becomes obvious: Jungkook withdraws his arm from my shoulders and extends his hand to me instead.

“May I have this dance, Taehyung?”

I think he’s teasing at first.

We’re on the balcony, not in the ballroom, and the men with their pipes will think we’ve gone mad.

It’s going to start snowing any second now, too—we’ve been through this before.

We know this.

But then I remember the way Jungkook smiled at me when I first came here with the prince, and his generosity in offering me his jacket, and the excitement that bubbles down to my bones whenever I look at him.

And, with a curtsy, I take his hand.

I don’t notice the flakes that begin to fall.

I don’t mind that we can barely hear the music.

And I don’t bother to wonder if the old men are chuckling about us.

For the moments we’re dancing across the balcony, there’s only the two of us.

Me, in Jungkook’s jacket.

Him, with my choker tied around his wrist.

Bound together by time and the notes of the waltz.

“Can all bookbinders’ sons dance as well as you do?” I ask as I marvel at the way our feet move together, as perfectly measured as well- spaced blocks on a printer’s press.

“Only the ones whose moms were part of the Royal Ballet before they married off to a bookbinder,” he tells me, chuckling.

Jungkook’s hand moves from my waist as he gives me a twirl.

For a few seconds, the evening becomes a kaleidoscope of snowflakes and moonlight.

Then, when I face forward again, he pulls me closer, and his hand returns to my waist.

I ease back into the warmth and strength of his ink-blotched fingers, grateful for their return.

It’s strange how quickly I’ve grown fond of having them there.

“So, you read, you dance, you’re going to university,” I muse. “And—” I add, teasing “—you’re exceptionally talented at making lonely people smile when it feels like the world might be ending ”

Jungkook’s mouth creases with mock seriousness as he pretends to mull over my words.

“Yes, yes, and yes—though I’m not so sure about the lonely-people-smiling part. You’ll have to provide the proof for that.”

The waltz comes to an end, and I stare up into his face.

His starlit—bright eyes, his tousled hair, and his perpetual grin.

And I smile.

I smile like I haven’t all night—not with Prince Yoongi or Namjoon, and certainly not with Wooshik or after finding out about Seojoon.

It’s free and genuine, uninhibited and unstrained.

Happy.

“And there it is,” Jungkook murmurs, beaming.

I lean into him then, so close that I can feel the cold of his nose against my cheek—and I don’t mind one little bit.

His lips brush against mine, and my heart swells into a symphony, one more beautiful and elegant than any music the orchestra has played all night.

The clocks begin to chime.

Reluctantly, I pull away, breaking our kiss.

“It’s almost midnight,” I whisper.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave,” Jungkook tells me.

Although he nods, he clings to my hand as if it’s made of pure gold.

Something in his eyes makes me ache.

The idea of suffering through another waltz on the arm of a man who’s boorish or self-centered or a scoundrel suddenly seems unbearable.

“Me, too,” I say.

I wish I could stay, not simply so we could try to figure out why this night keeps repeating, but also because I like being here with Jungkook.

There’s so much I want to find out about him—his favorite book, which university he wants to attend, what it was like for him growing up.

I want to speculate about how many times we may have passed each other on the streets of Hongdae before tonight, never knowing we’d someday meet.

And I want to laugh with him about the mimes who gather in the courtyard—and reminisce about the scent of fresh bread that fills the air every Thursday when the bakery receives its weekly shipment of flour.

I want another midnight.

One spent entirely with him.

Maybe I don’t have to go just this once.

The second chime strikes, and the snow grows heavier.

I feel it collecting on my hair, forming an icy veil instead of melting away on contact.

I should be running by now, slipping in my shoes toward the French doors and into the ballroom.

I should be thinking of ways to outsmart the icy steps and paths so I don’t fall again.

And, above all, I should be worrying about Yeji and my brothers, hoping that, if this night doesn’t repeat, I can make it home before them.

But I’m not.

Instead, I glance from Jungkook—kind, cheerful Jungkook—to the glass doors and spinning ballroom beyond it.

When I turn back to him, I feel strong and determined.

Resolute.

“I’m not going,” I tell him. “Not this time.”

Jungkook’s eyes, hopeful but hesitant, widen like a pair of moons.

“But what about your clothes—and your stepmother?”

Another chime strikes—I’ve lost track of the number by now.

It’ll be midnight in a moment.

Let my dress melt to rags.

Let Yeji recognize me.

I’m not afraid.

With a grin, I tilt my head to the side.

Then, echoing the words he said to me during an earlier midnight, I say, “Some things are more important than ballgowns and chores.”

The smile on Jungkook’s lips is as bright as the morning sun on the horizon.

“Is that a fact?” he teases back as he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me closer.

Nodding, I close my eyes and tuck my head against his chin, nestling against the ivory-smooth hollow at the base of his neck.

Forget my little chair by the fireplace and the threadbare quilts in my attic; he’s far softer and warmer than they’ll ever be.

“What do you think will happen at midnight?” I ask him, giddy with joy and defiance alike.

“It doesn’t matter,” he assures me. “We’ll always have this moment. Be like the white-foxes, remember?”

As the chimes continue to toll, we brace ourselves.

Together, we form our own sort of statue, frozen in time, with snowflakes falling like ash around us.

But when the last bell strikes, nothing remarkable occurs.

The mountains don’t crash down around us like shattered glass.

The music doesn’t end, and the castle still stands.

I don’t even slip or hit my head.

I never thought normal could feel so strange.

“Taehyung, look—your dress!”

As Jungkook’s voice rings in my ears instead of the chimes, I open my eyes and glance down.

The delicate layers of lush organza still cascade over my body, surrounding me in a cloud of pale blue.

Not a single rag or tear in sight.

“My gown—it hasn’t changed!” I gasp.

Spinning in a circle, I giggle and relish the way the fabric grazes against my limbs.

“Careful now, you could still trip and fall,” Jungkook warns, chuckling, as he draws me close to him again.

My dress isn’t all that’s different this midnight, either.

The snow has stopped falling, the squall ending as suddenly as it began, and the old men on the balcony are repacking their pipes.

In the clearing by the lake, a pair of rabbits scamper past.

And, beyond the French doors, the waltz is over, and the orchestra begins to play something different, something new.

The dancers form small groups and begin to move in a new pattern—a quadrille.

Time has moved on at last.

“We did it somehow.” I laugh as I look up at Jungkook. “We broke the cycle of midnights.”

“You did, indeed,” replies a voice from behind us.

Startled, we turn toward the sound.

Jungkook’s arms tighten protectively around me, but I already know there’s no need to be guarded.

I’d recognize the woman’s voice anytime, anywhere.

“Maeri!”

I whisper the name of our family cook—my mentor, my friend—as her round, grinning form bobbles across the balcony toward us.

Only a few moments ago, I was lamenting her loss.

Now, she’s here, as if materialized from night air and snowflakes, and my heart feels ready to burst all over again.

I want to rush to her, fold her in my arms, and breathe in the scents of oat flour and cinnamon that linger in her graying hair.

But I hesitate, blinking my eyes in disbelief, convinced her appearance is simply another trick of this night.

“It’s all right, Taehyung,” she assures me, approaching.

Still, I shake my head.

“I don’t understand What are you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you, of course,” she tells me, chuckling, as if her response should be obvious. “You did marvelously, my dear—just as I knew you would.”

She adds the last bit with a wink.

The moonlight does odd things to Maeri, giving her an otherworldly glow I’ve never quite noticed before.

Her skin seems to shimmer, and her hair looks like spun silver, her curls a mound of coins atop her head.

Even the laugh lines that normally pucker around the corners of her lips seem smoother and younger.

As I gape at her, I realize the truth: more than her cooking is filled with magic.

“You did this, didn’t you?” I murmur, amazed. “You’re responsible for all the midnight memories?”

She smiles broadly, her chest swelling with pride.

“Now, I really can’t take all the credit. I only gave you the opportunity—you learned the rest for yourself. Your father would have been so proud.”

I glance up at Jungkook questioningly, but he only shrugs, as confused as I am.

Then, turning back to Maeri, I understand.

‘Choose wisely’ she’d said when she gave me my gown.

This is what she meant.

This has all been a test—a lesson, a competition for my heart and happiness as much as it’s been one for the prince.

Well, I’ve made my choice.

I choose Jungkook; I choose happiness.

Just like Appa had when he’d picked me so many years ago.

“You mean ?” I begin to ask.

But Maeri nods eagerly, her answer evident by the spring of her curls.

“Your father is the one who bought that dress you’re wearing. It was spun with special thread, dyed with bluebells and made by the Folk of the woods. My kind. I still remember the day he bought it, off on one of his travels. He wanted you to have something special, something to both bring and teach you happiness. I’ve been keeping it safe for you ever since.”

A bittersweet pang wrenches within my chest.

Appa, still giving me gifts, even now, from beyond the grave.

I fluff the bow on the ribbon cinched around my waist, then smooth out my skirts affectionately.

Every stitch of this dress has new importance to me now.

“I’ll never part with this gown,” I murmur. “I swear it.”

“I have no doubt of that,” Maeri says with another laugh.

She steps closer then, and her stare becomes more thoughtful. “Let’s get a good look at him now, shall we?”

Before there’s time to resist, she turns her attention to Jungkook.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she squints and stares, examining him with all the seriousness that she does the meats at the butcher’s each Tuesday.

“A handsome face kind and affable, but with a studious side, too,” she mutters, sharing her assessment.

Jungkook shifts uncomfortably and tries to look straight ahead, calm and compliant, but he sneaks a glance down at me anyway, and an amused grin tugs at the corners of his lips.

We’ll laugh about this someday, his smile seems to say.

Finally, Maeri reaches for one of his hands.

Turning it over in her palm, she grins as she studies its lines and blots of ink.

“Ah, you’ve chosen the bookbinder’s son,” she says, with a chuckle. “I should have guessed you two would find your way to one another.”

Taking his hand back, Jungkook reaches over to hold mine again instead.

“Choices are a strange thing, I suppose,” he says as he gently brushes away some lingering snowflakes from my shoulder. “Even with a world of options to pick from, you still end up exactly where you belong.”

“I will always find my way back to you Jungkook.” I squeeze his hand, and as I watch the flakes fall to the ground, I remember something: his jacket.

“Now that we’ve found each other and time’s moving forward again, there’s only one thing left to do.”

He raises an eyebrow and glances beyond me, toward the ballroom.

“Dance?”

“We will,” I assure him. “But first ”

My voice trails off as I slip his jacket from my shoulders.

Watching me, Jungkook gives a knowing chuckle.

Remembering our promise, he unties my choker from around his wrist, then we take turns setting one another to rights.

I fasten his buttons until he looks every bit a proper gentleman, more handsome and worthy than any I’ve danced with tonight.

Next, he ties the ribbon around my neck, his fingertips tiptoeing against my skin, sending welcome shivers down my spine.

It’s taken more midnights than I care to count, but together, we’ve tread a circle as bright and as full as the moon.

“There. Now, it’s really over,” I breathe, brushing my fingertips against the crystal at my neck.

Jungkook shakes his head and, smiling again, wraps his arms around me.

“Actually,” he says, “I have a feeling it’s only just beginning.”

!~~~!!!~~~!!!~~~THE END~~~!!!~~~!!!~~~!