And this must also be the book blessed with the “sensational glide” of somebody’s tongue. Seokga shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Trying not to overthink it.

He fails.

The Ship of Theseus question is always on his mind. And this falling-apart book makes a little fissure of hope jolt through his heart.

He doesn’t like or agree with Jang’s (rather depressing) theory, but perhaps…perhaps he can formulate his own, one that says the red thread connected him to Kisa because of what they once shared, and what they might again. Perhaps it was Hani he needed first, Hani with her history in espionage to sneak past his defenses and pick the lock on the cage around his heart. To show him he could love, and be loved in return. To show him he was deserving of it.

And perhaps it’s Kisa he needs now, Kisa with her healing hands and gentle nature. There must be some intrinsic part of her soul that calls to him, no matter the time—whether it’s the bustling nineties or thirty-three years later. No matter the place—whether it’s New Sinsi or a rather monstrous underworld cruise ship. No matter the body her spirit rests within—whether she’s a deadly gumiho as seductive as the night itself, or a genius doctor with a mane of coffee-colored curls and the shyest, sweetest smile. Oh, Seokga thinks, he could fall in love with her forever, in all her forms. She’s not Hani. She’s Kisa. And he is beginning to adore her.

Ardently.

Kisa doesn’t stir as Seokga drapes the blanket over her, admiring how the moonlight seeping in through the window illuminates the soft curves of her face, the small part of her lips. The way her brows furrow and unfurrow even in her sleep, as if she’s solving complicated equations in her dreams.

“Good night, Kisa,” he whispers.

When he finally gets to bed, his smile reluctantly grows as his little brother drowsily rolls toward him.

Kisa’s hair resembles an angry porcupine in the mornings.

“Good morning,” says Seokga, who has spent the last fifteen minutes meticulously arranging his own hair into artful messiness, brushing his teeth, and ensuring that he looks overall attractive (sans shirt, he might add) before hopping back into bed with the sleeping baby and excitedly awaiting Kisa.

She blinks at him as she stands in his doorway. “You’re right,” she says sleepily. “Hwanin does cry more than the average baby.” The pair of them were up through the night, constantly awoken by the child and the general anxiety of being on a cruise ship whereupon a murderer is sneaking about. To his disappointment, Kisa is not staring at his pectorals as he sits in bed. Instead, she’s staring at…his lips?

He attempts to subtly pucker them. The lip balm he applied must be paying off.