The smell of fried chicken and melted cheese filled the villa's living room, thick and comforting, cutting through the clean, woodsy scent of the seaside air drifting in from the half-open balcony doors. The low table was crowded with greasy boxes—golden-crisp chicken glistening under the overhead lights, wedges of pizza still steaming, bowls of pickled radish and fries tossed in almost as an afterthought. It was the kind of spread Ji-hye used to look at longingly on TV commercials when she was younger, but never dared indulge in.
She stared down at it now, lips parting, a knot of temptation curling in her stomach. It wasn't the kind of meal she ever had these days.
"Delivery's here!" Harin sang out, as if the boxes themselves weren't proof enough. She plopped down cross-legged in her loose pajamas—tiny shorts, a soft oversized top slipping off one shoulder—and reached for a can of beer. With a satisfying pshhht, she cracked it open and raised it high in the air. "Cheers!"
