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# Chapter 130: The Temperature of a Tattoo Needle
The basement of Haeul’s tattoo shop was always summer. No matter the season above, down here it was perpetually warm. It was the temperature where the desk lamp’s light touched the floor, and the speed at which Haeul’s fingers moved. Sea-ah sat in the chair, her sleeve rolled up. The skin beneath her collarbone, above her shoulder blade, was exposed. This was the second tattoo she was getting in that spot.
“Does it hurt?”
Haeul asked. The needle never stopped moving. The microscopic vibration piercing through skin. It was less pain than heat—as if someone were slowly, but deliberately, scraping away at her flesh.
“No.”
Sea-ah answered. It was a lie. It hurt. But the hurt felt necessary. As if something trapped beneath her skin was escaping through the needle’s tip.
“Don’t lie to me.”
Haeul said. The needle went deeper. “It has to hurt. That’s what makes it permanent. Things carved without pain disappear.”
Sea-ah looked at the ceiling. The basement ceiling was low, painted white with mold blooming across it. The mold looked like a map—a map to anywhere. But Sea-ah wasn’t going anywhere. She sat in the chair, accepting Haeul’s needle.
Eight days had passed since the trial. Two more weeks remained until the verdict. All the time between felt the same texture to Sea-ah. All gray, all endless, all gnawing at her. That’s why Haeul had suggested the tattoo. Carve out the old before marking the new.
“Did your mom call yesterday?”
Haeul asked. The needle kept moving. Tattoo sessions always came with conversation. Haeul said it dispersed the pain. Or distracted the patient. Really, it was both.
“Yeah.”
Sea-ah answered.
“What did she say?”
Haeul asked.
“…If I was eating.”
Sea-ah said.
“Are you?”
Haeul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sea-ah answered. It wasn’t a lie. She was eating. Very slowly, very little, but eating. Pretending to eat every time her mom called had become habit. Maybe that was a tattoo too—lies etched into her actions.
“What about Do-hyun?”
Haeul asked.
“He’s going to school.”
Sea-ah answered.
“Has he contacted you?”
Haeul asked.
Sea-ah didn’t answer. Do-hyun had contacted her. Multiple times. Text messages, calls. Sea-ah had only read them. Never responded. Because responding meant knowing who she was. And right now, she didn’t know. Since stepping down from the witness stand, she’d forgotten who she was. Or rather, the distinction between witness and Sea-ah had vanished.
“You didn’t reply, did you?”
Haeul asked. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. She already knew.
“No.”
Sea-ah answered.
“Why?”
Haeul asked.
“…I don’t know.”
Sea-ah said. That was the truth. She really didn’t know why she couldn’t reply to Do-hyun’s messages. Why her own voice sounded like someone else’s when she talked to her mom. Why her body automatically responded whenever Kang Ri-woo tried to find her after leaving the hospital.
Haeul put down the needle. Released it. Sea-ah looked at her back in the mirror. The new tattoo was half-finished. A flame shape. Pointing downward. Like fire escaping from her body.
“Look at this.”
Haeul said. Wet tissue in her hands, wiping away blood and ink. “This is you. Fire falling down. But look here.”
Haeul pointed to the lower part of the tattoo with the needle’s tip. A small hand was drawn there. A hand reaching to catch the fire.
“What is that?”
Sea-ah asked.
“Not done yet. I’ll do it next time.”
Haeul said. “That’s someone trying to catch you. I’ll draw it later. Once we know. Once we know who will catch you.”
Sea-ah looked at herself in the mirror. The tattoo needle’s marks. Her skin was swollen and red. Still hurting. And she knew it would hurt for days more.
“What else did lawyer Kang say?”
Haeul asked, sitting down. Putting away the needle.
“…Nothing.”
Sea-ah answered.
“No contact?”
Haeul asked.
“He left handprints. On the hospital wall. His hands were shaking.”
Sea-ah said. That was from last week. When she’d visited Kang Ri-woo. He was still hospitalized. His fingers wouldn’t move. Or they moved, but not under his control. As if they belonged to someone else.
“What did he say?”
Haeul asked.
“Just kept saying he was sorry. Over and over.”
Sea-ah said. Her voice grew smaller. “But I didn’t hear it. I’d already heard it all. I heard it all in court.”
Haeul looked at Sea-ah. A long observation. A tattoo artist’s eyes. Eyes that read skin. Where the wounds were, where it was most sensitive, where to cut deeper.
“You’re not alone.”
Haeul said.
“Yeah.”
Sea-ah answered. Not agreement. Confirmation. That’s right, I’m not alone. Haeul is beside me. Do-hyun is behind me. Mom is beneath me. Everyone is reaching out their hands to catch me. And yet I keep falling.
Sea-ah sat back down in the chair. Haeul picked up the needle again. To start the next section. Tattoos were completed over multiple sessions. You couldn’t carve everything at once. The skin couldn’t handle it. Neither could the mind.
“Where next?”
Sea-ah asked.
“Here.”
Haeul pointed below the collarbone. “Close. Toward the heart.”
“Why?”
Sea-ah asked.
“Because that’s where the fire comes from.”
Haeul said. “I think you believe that place is cold. That it’s dead. But actually, it’s the hottest part. Where your fire comes from.”
The needle went in. Lightly at first. Then deeper. Skin opening. A red line appeared. Blood beaded. Haeul wiped it away. And carved again.
Sea-ah looked at the ceiling. The mold still there. Months ago or now. Unchanged in appearance, but actually growing every day. At an invisible speed.
“What will you do when the verdict comes?”
Haeul asked. The needle still moving.
“…I don’t know.”
Sea-ah answered.
“Go back to school?”
Haeul asked.
“Can I?”
Sea-ah asked. The question was both for herself and Haeul.
“I don’t know. But you’ll be able to.”
Haeul said. “Because you already stood in court. Already became a witness. There’s nothing more frightening than that.”
Sea-ah knew that was false. There were things far more frightening. Things far heavier. Like having to keep living after the verdict. Whether Kang Ri-woo goes to prison or not, she has to keep living. That was the heaviest thing.
The needle went in again. A third layer. Skin getting deeper. As if Haeul were reaching inside Sea-ah’s body. Putting something there. Fire. Or a name. Or a date. Or a promise.
“Does Kang Ri-woo have a mother?”
Haeul asked.
“Don’t know.”
Sea-ah answered. “Never seen her.”
“Siblings?”
Haeul asked.
“Don’t know.”
Sea-ah answered again.
“That’s the most tragic thing.”
Haeul said. She put down the needle. Wiped it clean with tissue again. “I think how deeply someone can hurt another person is ultimately determined by how lonely they are.”
Sea-ah listened to that. And considered that it might be true. That maybe Kang Ri-woo hurt her so badly because he couldn’t make her his any other way. Couldn’t hold her with love. So he tried with violence.
But that thought didn’t ease Sea-ah’s guilt. It deepened it. If Kang Ri-woo was that lonely, she should have seen it somehow. But she hadn’t. Or she had, and turned away. Because her own pain was too large.
“Come back next week?”
Haeul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sea-ah answered.
“Then we’ll finish this fire. And that hand too.”
Haeul said. Before the mirror. Looking at the tattoo. “That hand—we still don’t know whose it is. So I’m leaving it blank. Reserve space. Until someone comes and catches you.”
Sea-ah looked at herself in the mirror. The fire carved into her chest. Still incomplete. And below it, the hand that would be drawn. The hand yet to be drawn.
“Should I be the one to catch you?”
Haeul asked. So naturally. As if it had always been planned. As if it were written in fate. But Sea-ah knew this wasn’t fate. It was choice. And choice could always change.
Sea-ah looked at Haeul. For the first time, directly. Meeting her eyes. Haeul’s eyes were always reading something. The grain of skin. Fingerprints. Wounds.
“…I don’t know.”
Sea-ah said. It was the most honest answer. The only answer she could give.
“That’s okay. We have time.”
Haeul said. The basement of the tattoo shop was still summer. Under the desk lamp’s light, Sea-ah and Haeul sat in silence. It was different from the silence of the courtroom. It wasn’t evidentiary silence. It was waiting silence. Waiting for someone to speak. Waiting for someone to open their hand.
Sea-ah’s skin still hurt. The tattoo needle’s pain. It could have been healing pain or wound pain. Sea-ah still couldn’t tell the difference.
But she knew one thing. What was carved into her skin wouldn’t disappear. Tattoos were permanent. They would stay with her from beginning to end. Just like the words from the witness stand.
And that wasn’t frightening. It felt necessary. Proof that she was alive. Proof that she spoke. Proof that she burned.
Fluorescent lights illuminated the basement. Not hospital lights. Not courtroom lights. Tattoo shop lights. There, Sea-ah felt it for the first time. Love for her own body. Or more precisely, her body’s love for her. The way skin receives wounds yet still heals. The way cells suffer damage yet still regenerate. All of it was love. Her body’s love for her.
Haeul handed her water. Sea-ah drank. It was cold. It flowed down her throat. That coldness proved she was still alive.
“You okay?”
Haeul asked.
“Yeah.”
Sea-ah answered.
This time it wasn’t a lie.