[ 금 ]

@geuum​

yeeun: …i feel like I’m talking to myself.  i guess i kinda am. 

there’s a lot of noise in the background: late-night traffic, people yelling drunkenly in mandarin, children whining inaudibly to their distracted mothers, a stray dog barking excitedly at all the ruckus.  the walls here are thinner, and the city still leaks in through closed doors and windows.  still, it’s her voice that remains the loudest.  remains anchored in.

yeeun: how’ve you been?  are you being a good student?  did you check up on my plants? i hope they’re doing okay.  i know they’re in good hands, but I can’t help it.  make sure no one bullies them.  appa’s not too fond of the cactus.

she laughs.

yeeun: i guess you aren’t either.  i don’t know why you guys hate it!  she’s done nothing to deserve this.

a pause.  the sound of a siren fades in, then out.  and then it’s just white noise, the soft indentations of her breathing.  she isn’t at a loss of words, she’s just thinking.  wondering.  considering her words.

yeeun: anyways, i guess i’m not gonna be home for a month or so.  i missed traveling.  i wanted to let you know that…but if you have time- and i know you’re busy- maybe you could come visit sometime.  wherever i’ll be.

yeeun: i miss you.

from here // accepting

hyunwoo’ll admit he would have fallen asleep on the spot some time ago if it wasn’t for the kid lounging around his living room like he’s got nowhere else to be. but hyunwoo’ll take that, and the knitted brows and the lips that are pressed together too tightly when jungkook thinks he isn’t being watched. and it’s not that he thinks the younger’s fleeing from something: the kid does well with words, is as bright as a bulb and probably owns a charm only the youth would possess but he’s always a little quiet and his thoughts often seem to linger in places they shouldn’t be.

hyunwoo very well thinks it might be exhaustion because he’s heard jungkook talking about his classes at yonsei and the increasing difficulty he has in managing his time properly to have some study time. or maybe it’s simple weariness, the kind that comes with having too much on one’s plate. he’d be no stranger to such symptoms.

or maybe it’s neither. who is he to know?

maybe that’s why in spite of the weariness clinging to his silhouette on the couch, he offers a smile to the figure sitting by the open window. the nice breeze that fills the room after is but another reminder that spring is finally here and with that, a little bit of liveliness.

you ever heard about how food tastes differently in each country?

jungkook perks up at that with one slice of pizza in his hands and hyunwoo doesn’t bother hiding his amused smile; the kind that only comes at bearing witness to the simple pleasures of life and seeing what it does to other people.

what’s got you laughing? the cheese running down your hand.

jungkook listens well, and hyunwoo often thinks that’s what still makes him a kid.

but     and this he realizes with a musing smile while handing the younger a napkin to clean the greasy tomato sauce off his hands     these are his presumptions and thoughts to keep.

hey, hyunwoo? mhmmm? how’s pizza in the states?

sometimes he forgets how little he talks about his home, and the differences in culture and upbringing. how the troubles that jungkook is going through are the outcome of years of hard work and strict training and how hyunwoo cannot, on a personal note, relate to this at all. how his own youth was spent in a troubled upbringing, shaped by experiences he’d rather not recount. but he also realizes the curiosity that comes with his silence and the fact that jungkook asks to be told more, even if he doesn’t need to.

from here

(play)

today, a dark and heavy cloud hangs restlessly over the city. at mid-noon, she feels a sleepy lull wash over her, fingers pressed forcefully against her mouth to stifle an impending yawn. customers straggle in, but business is scarce– everyone’s in a hurry to head home in preparation for whatever rain may come. yeeun can’t blame them- she sneaks several glances out the window throughout the day, hoping to catch any signs, only to find the streets disappointingly dry. by closing time, still, nothing.

each step gets considerably lighter as the shop gradually fades in the distance, replaced by rows of trees and people on bicycles, carrying a gentle, harmless current of wind as they pass. she only means to make a quick stop before heading home but a familiar figure catches her eye, chest swelling with an unspeakable feeling. jungkook.

home can wait.

a scene that’s repeated itself countless times already: his back against the bench, her elbows propped on her knees as she watches people pass, occasionally pointing some out (d’you see him? he looks like he’d be an artist, look at his hands! ooh, what about her? maybe the sous-chef at a fancy french restaurant.) it’s his phone that lights up first, chirping insistently until she urges him to peel away and make their way to the bus stop across the street. only then does the rain come, one tentative drop at a time until it becomes a steady downpour. soon, thunder rumbles in the distance.

should we just take a taxi?

no.

he doesn’t question it.

foot traffic has dwindled considerably. now, the streets only thrum with the constant influx of cars, accompanied by water pelting the ground with unnerving persistence. yeeun glances over only to find a wayward strand of hair, affectionately reaching up to tug at it before she pats it down. she’s pulling away when he speaks up, voice just barely audible above the noise. tell me a secret.

a secret…

she considers him, his groggy yet focused eyes, the elbow bumping lightly against hers when the response takes a moment too long. i believe in fate. more than i think i know. more than you know, too. and i think…i think it wants something good for us.

for us?

yeah.

by the time morning comes the rain has stopped.

from here

city #7 is a shitty hotel room and lukewarm beer. he barely has enough space to stretch his legs, back against the side of the bed as they observe the yellowed stains on the walls. it’s just for a night, so she doesn’t mind all that much. not even when she has nothing but a view of dull grey buildings and the grocery store from her window, or when the shower only runs on cold water in the dead of november.

this is what you see in horror movies.

don’t say that!

what?– y’scared?

yeeun huffs, elbowing his side. her face is warm but her mind is clear when she fiddles with the pull tab, a steady thunk, thunk, thunk. when’s your flight again? he thinks. seven. yours? nine. several feet away, her suitcase lies pitifully, propped open. its contents have yet to find their rightful place again, but for now she lets it be. did you really like it here?

(it’s cramped, this space, but somehow it’s just right.)

can we ride this one again?

again?– you don’t want to go on anything else before we leave?

but she’s already got her fingers curled around his wrist, striding purposefully towards the line. the day has passed by in a whirlwind of color– balloons swaying in the air, the gaudy merry-go-round, her bright yellow headband that he laughs aloud at (not that it lasts long– soon enough he’s forced to join her too, only managing a word of protest before she shuts him up with a single phrase: you promised!)

you said you’d say yes to everything just for today.

yeah, i did.

if he notices that she hasn’t loosened her grip he doesn’t comment on it.

(just for today.)

seoul will always be a second home.

when she breathes in, it’s not the ocean, but the salt and tang of street stalls. the roads here are concrete. even the sky seems to choke: too much smoke and too many people, who pour into the streets and pass her by without a second thought. but the vendors are kind and when they cover her hands with theirs, she’s reminded of her grandmother. you’ll find your piece of seoul, they tell her. and she knows that buried deep under this claustrophobia, the city lives and beats just the same.

around them people chatter at deafening volumes. yeeun has to strain to hear his next words, leaning closer to catch them. jeon jungkook to you is?– she stares into the empty bottle, a makeshift microphone and nearly goes cross-eyed.

a weed. he blinks. but then his phone is ringing and he’s forced to pull away, glass knocking against the chipped surface of the table.

(he never gets a chance to ask her, but she readies her answer anyways:

the ones with single quotes aren’t mine, but the rest are. great story and fic prompts

do not return to sender, @geuum

“for a very special boy,” she announces in a stage-whisper amidst the bustling afternoon crowd. there’s a brief pause before he peeks over the counter, just barely visible on his tiptoes. the apple blossoms aren’t for sale– she’d haggled furiously just to steal a few in the morning, but they’re in the very same delicate white tissue paper, cinched tight with some leftover ribbon. when she walks around to greet him up close he’s grinning, holding onto them with both hands. 

“do you think she’ll like them?”

“of course she will!” the answer seems to reassure him. he spins on his heels, pausing as an afterthought to give her a hug before scampering out the door. yeeun watches him in amusement before rounding back to help another visibly overwhelmed customer. 

another day passes just like that, bouquets exchanged for a modest amount of money and some small talk. she hears about mothers and their troublesome kids, hopeful confessions, silly neighborhood gossip. just like that, the last customer leaves and the sun’s already set. she locks up at 7. gets home at 7:30. by the time the clock reads 8 pm, yeeun is full and sleepy, almost forgetting to take a look at what she’d brought home. 

today’s leftovers comprise of several still-thorny roses and a mildly flattened marigold. there are a good deal of daffodils at the bottom of the bag– she takes those first, and after some deliberation decides to go with the marigold too. 

“for a very special boy,” yeeun says again. this time she’s loud. shameless, like the way she crowds into his space and then back out again.  two waltzing steps put him at close enough proximity for her to thrust the flowers into his lap, right as he looks up with a questioning stare. the bench gives out a whining creak when she finally sits down, toying with her zipper (it’s the first time her hands are empty and she doesn’t quite know what to do with them).

“for me?”

“uh-huh.” 

for once she’s quiet. a yawn escapes, and she burrows deeper into her jacket, listening to the rustle of paper as he turns it in his hands.

(she lets the flowers speak instead.)

in this corner of the world, everything is painted gold. they walk from afternoon into early evening, jieun with her dirt-covered shoes and him with his laughter-ridden eyes. school’s out and the days are much shorter, but she still sees him in perfect light.

he takes her backpack and slings it over his shoulder. she pops a lollipop into her mouth, walking ahead. she doesn’t stop even when she trips over her shoes, laughter like cherries on her tongue. only smiles when he stops her with a hand around her arm, knee on the ground, fingers looping around her shoelaces.

-lee jieun, you’re such a klutz.  -what are you gonna do about it? -walk behind you, you dweeb. -and then?

the sun washes him out, raining honey down on his skin as he takes a step back. she can barely make out his grin, but she hears it in his voice.

and then?

for @geuum​ 

(play)

a hand appears first, fingers wriggling as a greeting. then it’s the sky, a blurry blue-grey, gradually coming into focus. a pan downwards to reveal a cluster of cherry blossom trees and the quiet street, mostly clear of traffic. only an old man cleans the front entrance of a building on the right, the light scratch of his broom against the brick path accompanying their quiet steps.

oppa.

the sound of footsteps gets more hurried before the screen’s black, everything briefly muffled. eventually there’s color again, this time the soft grey of a hoodie. laughter, raspy, laden with sleep. soon, the top half of his body comes into view, too. he isn’t looking at the camera, but up ahead, pretending not to see it. it’s followed by a dissatisfied hum. the street is cobbled now; on either side, more trees. more footsteps. 

are you still filming? mhm.

he finally turns around, gaze past the camera. a mechanical whirr accompanies his face slowly getting bigger and bigger–

i can tell you’re zooming in on me.

the image lurches to one side and suddenly everything’s ablur again– this time it’s the sound of her laughter, dampened but irrevocably clear.

from here

it’s the second storm of the week– even worse than the first, so it’s no surprise that when she finds her way there the electricity’s been cut. when yeeun steps past the front door his apartment’s been plunged into darkness, barely lit by the candles dispensed throughout the kitchen. an inhale. vanilla. and something citrus-y, tangerines, maybe. (the gifts she’d clumsily pushed into his arms the first time they’d split ways, his flight number droning over the speakers, her breathless goodbye, not knowing it wouldn’t be the last time.) she stands for a moment, wet hair dripping all over the floor, eyes closed, breathing in, out. when she opens them, a tuft of hair behind the couch catches her attention.

“hey, stranger.” he’s sprawled out, facedown in a pillow he’d probably snagged from the far end of the sofa. even in the dark she can make out the tangled wires of his earphones, one dangling off his shoulder and in a muddled heap beside his phone.

please, let me listen to celine dion in the dark in peace. it’s a half-hearted attempt at shooing her away, an uncharacteristically lame joke, voice flat with exhaustion. instead, she grabs the towel hanging off the chair and settles down beside him. the carpet will still be damp once she gets up, but for now she lies on her back, eyeing the ceiling. her fingers search for that stray earphone, stealing it from his grasp.

“then lemme listen too.”

this time, when thunder rumbles in the distance, she’s not alone.