With the amount of times that Hrafn ventured up to the rooftop—Haneul and Chief Seong had to convince, and bribe, the penthouse supervisor to let them place a “Rooftop Closed for Renovations” sign. For every little thing, the creature decided to go outdoors to the garden. Now in Hrafn’s defense, Haneul had known he’d need to be lenient. After all, the alien had spent weeks indoors without being able to step a single foot out.

But one month later then turned into two. And for lunch, for studies, for star mapping—Hrafn did everything outside.

“It’s really endearing,” Chief Seong had admitted once, “He’s like a kid. Eager to go and play outside.”

But money and good relations could only buy them so much time. And while the overseer of the apartments knew that Haneul’s passion project garden occupied the rooftop, it was still technically a public area that anyone could go and use. 

Staring down at the paperwork on his desk, however, Haneul found himself incapable of exhaustion by the situation. Every day Hrafn had something new to talk about. He’d discovered a new route between Earth constellations and what he believed to be his planet. He had learned about the different types of plant food and begun caring for the roses. He’d become proficient and nearly fluent in Korean and had moved on to learning both Mandarin and English, absorbing any materials that Ha-Rin, Chief Seong, or Haneul provided for him. Good weather with gentle sun or encroaching cold with near-frozen rain, Hrafn enjoyed every day up on the rooftop garden. It was cute.

I’ll have to make him a tent, Haneul decided, skimming over the contract in his hand. He could see the blinking light on his intercom that Secretary Yun was trying to get ahold of him. For once he wasn’t in a meeting, so he figured he’d just let her enter if it was something important enough. He doubted it though. 

A small smile caught the edges of his lips as he continued on with his previous thought. Or a canopy. That might be better for him, it’ll give him more room to tuck his wings however he’d like. And despite how cold I think the winter will be, he’s said his planet is almost always covered in a solid layer of ice. I doubt our winters will bother him enough to take real shelter. 

Winter…Haneul looked out the window at the hazy, pale gray sky. A time where I can’t leave at all. Stuck in the labyrinth of this city…

A murder of crows flew past his window, their pitch black wings glimmering with greenish hues in the cool daylight. I wonder if Hrafn’s wing will be healed by then. 

Knocking at his office interrupted his thoughts. 

His father strode in with a stern glance and shut the door behind him. Oh, that was why his secretary had buzzed the intercom. Haneul was painfully aware of the fact that anyone could look in and see their interaction. It was an open concept room. Who decided on the glass rooms for senior leaders? It felt like some sick joke now.

Secretary Yun gave him a grimace from the other side of the glass wall and sat at her desk. He sighed and took his own seat, watching as his father swept a disdainful gaze across the office, as if it were contaminated. Outwardly,  Chairman Kim was known for being disgusted with just about anything that wasn’t his current woman of the week—cold and caustic, it was a miracle how anyone put up with him. But he was head of the conglomerate, and regrettably Haneul’s only direct blood-relative. He didn’t hate his father, no, and one of the most painful things was that they actually tended to be fairly agreeable on most days when the corporate mask was gone. That made the relationship all the more strained, perhaps. There were many good memories that Haneul had between him and his father. When neither of them were being pushed by the family, when neither of them had responsibilities that would affect the company, there were times that seemed like they could do anything together.  

With the disapproving scowl, and the calculated way that Chairman Kim sat in one of the spare chairs, Haneul supposed today would not be an amiable day between them.

“You’re coming to dinner with me,” Chairman Kim said, leaving no room for negotiation. 

Haneul could practically taste the direction of this conversation. “As it turns out, I have a very important meeting this evening, I’ll have to pass.”

“No, you don’t,” his father interjected, neatly crossing one leg over the other. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you ever since you were sick those few months back. You come to work, go home, and don’t leave until the next day for work once again.”

“Become an adult, they said. Become independent, they said.” Haneul rolled his eyes and pretended to be very drawn to whatever paperwork was currently scattered on his desk. 

A dark look crossed Chairman Kim’s face. His eyes flickered to the ground for a moment in hesitancy. It took only a second before him to regain his composure. “You will be joining me for dinner. We’re going to meet your marriage partner.”

The papers fell from Haneul’s hand—his heart thrummed in his throat. “My marriage partner? Father, I haven't chosen from the candidates.”

“Haneul, you and I both know you’d bid out your time for too long. The fact that I am a time bomb has alarmed your grandmother and the rest of the family.” Chairman Kim rested his head against the pads of his fingers. “You’re my heir. You are to take over. You’ve been squandering three years worth of time saying ‘you’ll look through the choices’. Your grandmother made the decision for what’s best for the company. Your partner's family owns the second largest international shipment company—having a merger between the two companies will ensure any of our clients have affordable and timely merchandise transportation across seas.”

“What is this, the barbaric era?” Haneul slammed his fist down on the table. “Am I some princess for you to politically marry off?”

“Are you my sole heir?” His father bit back.

Haneul bit his tongue.

“Yes, it’s political, economic, good business, whatever you want to call it. I had to do this when I was your age,” his father continued with a low growl. “And you will do the same. That is the price to pay for this family.”

“You can’t do this, father, please.” Haneul was not beneath begging. Sometimes he’d have to appeal to the better nature of his father. 

It seemed, however, that was against his cards too. His father’s lips pinched in disapproval and he crossed his arms over his chest.

“The driver will come around in the next forty to pick you up. You’re not allowed to meet me there. The last thing I need is for you to run off on your own,” Chairman Kim heaved a pained breath. “I don’t want to do this either. But decades upon decades of spending and buying and saving and planning rides on this company. As I took the torch, so I must also pass it onto you. If only your mother…”

He stopped there.

Haneul clenched his fists. His father was not cruel. Had there been other children, he probably would have given any of them the chance to take the chairman’s spot. But there was no one else. And in his old age, Chairman Kim had become a womanizer to try and erase the branded touches of a woman from long years passed. Haneul drank to drown his grief, and his father had his own methods of dampening the past…to curb decades long mourning.

“I understand, father.” It was bitter and curt, Haneul felt his lip tremble.

His father stood in one smooth motion, no one could tell that he was a man climbing towards the end of the frailty and mortality for a human life span. “It won’t happen right away, Haneul. You will still have some freedom left for a time.”

“There’s work I need to wrap up before we leave for dinner,” Haneul responded darkly. “Please, see yourself out.”

Chairman Kim said nothing else, nodded, and waved lightly before leaving.

Haneul sank back into his chair and cursed.