somewhere

right. her eyes are darting down to appraise his attire with what she hopes was the least judgmental stare she can manage. even being in a flower shop all day didn’t stimulate her eyes as much as a sweep of his outfit. a mildly bewildered string of laughter escapes her at his response, wincing as if she was caught red-handed doing something she shouldn’t. “you must get that a lot from florists then. you fit right in with my flowers.”

she decides then to get back to work, not able to resist jesting with her new customer. easy conversations makes for easy customers, she believes. his remark has her scratching at an invisible itch on the crown of her head, sheepish grin adorning her features, “but of course. the boxes can definitely wait.” boksoon is talking as she rounds the counter, nudging the boxes aside to create a path she could take out of the mess, “what’s the occassion, may i ask? a gift bouquet? something more official perhaps? or better yet, did you have a theme in mind?” she asks the standard questions according to her self-designed sales protocol, wanting to get an idea of what he could be looking for.

she was just about to lead him down the aisle but his remark had her frozen, looking up at him with bewilderement. “a dandelion’s angry older brother?” she recounts, a short round of polite chuckles escaping her, despite his early warning. “i’m not quite sure if we have a flower that’ll match that description unless we take food from a dandelion without his permission,” the female retraces her steps to the counter, reaching for one of the many catalogues they kept in the store, “i mean, that usually pisses my brothers off so it might just work.”

“before we move on to such desperate measures though, perhaps there’s something in here that could work as a substitute?” she flips the book open to a section of multi-petalled flowers before offering it to the male with tip of her head. her gaze flits across the shop then, gesturing him to a walk as she searches the shop floor for something that could begin to match his eccentric description. it only peaked her curiousity of what he could need the flowers for.

                 Her joke is funny, that he’ll give her, but because he swears that she offered his sweater some-sort-of-a judgmental glance earlier, Lotus makes a point by purposefully not budging the muscles in his face. Unfortunately, he’s betrayed by a split-second upward twitch of his lips.

                “See,” He begins, feeling significantly more relaxed than he’d been as an embodied bundle of trepidation upon arrival, “I was thinking more along the lines of… A dandelion’s older brother ‘in-need-of-an-attitude-adjustment’ kind of angry, not ‘twenty-something-years-of-suffering-from-a-pest-problem’ angry? So, kind of more edgy than pointedly frustrated.”

                 When Boksoon withdraws back to the counter, Lotus kind of gets the hint that he’s sort of beyond help. In his immediate defense, if it were socially acceptable, he would’ve started wearing a sign on his forehead that said HELPLESS months ago. Feeling particularly guilty, he wordlessly accepts the catalog when she offers it, smoothing the palm of his ringed hand along the fronts of the pages she had purposefully exposed for him. With his attention fixated on the contents, he moves to follow after her, slowly situating one foot in front of the other.

Long fingers tap idly against her now empty glass as she sat at the bar, enjoying the way the bass thumped in her chest. Alchemy had had quickly become her new favorite stomping ground thanks to the red head behind the bar, usually keeping to the crowd for coverage as she watched him. Now Aeri usually didn’t resort to stalking, she always preferred to insert herself into the object of her interests life quickly and easily. But slow and steady wins the race these days.

A smirk tugs at her red painted lips as she listens in on the conversation between the man and the red head, her gaze wandering slowly over to them both before darting away to the crowd. She turns back just in time to see him approach, reaching for the glass nimbly as he slides it across to her. “Only /kind of/ offended? Even though you took your precious time to make it?” Aeri turns, giving the man down the bar a small grin and a wiggle of her fingers.

“Ooh, my very own knight in shining armor huh?” She brings the glass up to her lips, taking a small sip without taking her eyes off of him. “I’ll give you a call if anything happens, trust me.”

           The cool, calm, and collectedness of her reaction instantly catches him off-guard simply because it doesn’t even remotely resemble what he’s used to dealing with in situations of unwarranted attention. The awkward declines, lukewarm attempts of hidden disgust, and split-second disappearing acts of his female customers have almost become something of a staple in his expectations of uncomfortable exchanges, so much so that he still inspects the look of her face for any traces of causticness that he may have missed the first time.

           “Well, I mean you’re not too far off,” Lotus quips after his prolonged moment of scrutiny, glancing down at the idleness of the work station in front of him when he comes up empty-handed. “Knights without so much of speck of rust in their armor have someone doing all the work for them, too.”

            And, just like that, this would approximately be where the conversation would end between customer and allegedly busy bartender, but part of him seems to be failing in registering what should be common sense. The other, more reasonable part of him is just simply choosing to ignore it.

           you’re probably asleep but i’m out             looking at the xmas lights downtown            right now...

            The steadily darkening expanse of night sky decides to accompany itself with fluffy, bloated specks of white tonight—and, yes, while the forecast hadn’t called for it, Haneul can’t find the means to complain. Between the strings of lights wrapped around every available inch of the rows of planted trees and the fresh, powdery layer of snow working to coat the metropolis in its wake, the stretch of the street is an absolutely breathtaking sight to behold. 

             Normally, after a long day of work, he takes the commute home back to Seoul and falls asleep the moment his head hits the pillow (unless he makes it to the couch first). But tonight? Given that the project they’ve been working on back at the repair shop had overstayed the last train home, Haneul found himself temporarily stranded overnight. It happens more than you’d think.

           But even with all the time he’s spent here in Seongnam, up until now, he’s hardly ever made the effort to explore any further than the hotel pub. The city takes up a completely different look than it does in the Summer, and Haneul can’t help but feel as though he’s cheated himself out of what could be a very good thing. Next time, he tells himself, he’ll have to dedicate a good night to adventuring the relatively unknown.

          Angling his phone in order to frame the full height of the lit-up trees within his camera’s canvas, he captures the photos. Granted, a cellphone’s camera can only do so much with its limited aperture, so the images come out a little on the fuzzy side of things—but hell if he knew anything about that. To him, someone who’s only just learned how to take a ‘selfie’ using the front-face camera, they came out perfectly fine (well, at least from the thumbnail’s distance).

     [01:47:23] sent: 코에미

         and i have to say, you’re missing          out BIG TIME.            

               It’s Saturday night, close to midnight, and really fucking busy. The dance floor is packed, and he doesn’t quite know if it’s the music or the whooping of the crowd that’s louder. What he does know, however, is that there are only four of them behind the counter in total—himself, two younger girls, and some new university student that’s been messing up every five minutes—and it’s been total fucking hell. He’s in the middle of contemplating a smoke-break during one of their rare lulls when some old drunk waves him down from across the bar’s counter.

               Everybody else, either idle or wiping down the same damn spot on the counter they have been for the past five minutes, pays him no attention. Disgruntled, but not making it visually evident, Lotus closes the distance between them and leans slightly against the bar. The old man responds well, grinning a partially-toothless grin.

              “What’s up, man?” Lotus half-shouts, offering a friendly smile of his own, “Can I get you something?”

              The gray-haired, unkempt gentleman juts out a forefinger, vaguely acknowledging the likes of a young woman situated somewhere ahead of him. Lotus squares the line of his vision up with where the old creep’s finger points to the best of his ability, ending up on what appeared to have been a brunette at the end of the counter. It’s not a common thing where he looks at someone for the first time and can’t look away, but it’s happening right now, and he almost doesn’t hear the geezer’s next request from the sheer distraction that she’s suddenly become: “I need t’buy her a drink. She’s beautiful.”

              “Uh, sure thing, man.” He says while just barely managing to tear his vision away from the girl, fixating his focus back on the greying features of the old man with only slight agitation from the sharp contrast of aesthetic, “The house specialty tonight is persimmon. ₩6362.”

              His customer grimaces and pulls a generous chunk of change from his jacket pocket, not bothering to count it before he slides it over the countertop and under Lotus’ hand. “If she asks, say it was me—but only if she asks. Don’t wanna seem creepy or noth’n.”

              “Heh. Yeah, wouldn’t want that now, would we?” The redhead practically snorts, turning his back on the stranger to prepare the ingredients for the cocktail he’s got in mind. The mixture is easy enough to concoct—crushed ice, persimmon syrup, orange liqueur, champagne, and lemon juice—the precision of preparation was what took time. And when he finishes, contented with the prospect (something he hasn’t had a chance to take his time on tonight), Lotus makes his way over to the opposite end of the counter and slides the bulbous glass over in her direction.

              “So,” He says, initially stumbling over his words (and mentally punching himself in the face for it), “I’m going to be real with you—that fellow over there bought this for you. It’s safe, he didn’t touch it, and I’ll only be kind of offended if you don’t want it. 

                Truthfully? Even though he’s been celebrating Christmas for a grand total of three years now, it still didn’t feel any different from the other days of the week. Granted, it was always his little sister, Areum, who’d put all the effort into the Holiday Season; and she only seemed to appreciate his participation when the reach of her arms just wasn’t long enough for the top-half of the artificial tree. Though, he never minded her incessant need to control everything this time of year. Her change of attitude made sense, because when it really came down to it, Areum was doing much more than just obsessively celebrating Christmas. She was celebrating the life of her adoptive mother who, more than anything, cherished this time of year.

                  In an attempt to be the supportive older brother he knows he needs to be, he invites her to go see the downtown Christmas lights with him later that night. Although initially hesitant, she accepts, and he feels so incredibly proud of himself for coming up with the idea until...

                Haneul looks up at the night sky and exhales loudly, watching his breath dissipate into a thin, foggy wisp. He stands near the entrance of the N Tower’s courtyard, attempting to look as inconspicuous as he can, because nothing screams fucking loser more than a full-grown man viewing the Christmas lights by himself on a Saturday night does.  But since he can’t exactly walk around with a giant sign on his forehead saying ‘i got ditched’ for an explanation, he’s pretty much convinced himself on leaving anyway.

business was uncharacteristically slow today. boksoon finally gets up on her feet with a deep sigh, arms stretching over her head to ease her tense muscles. the shop was beginning to feel claustrophobic, a nearly opaque sheen of condensation hindering her view past the glass storefront. she was bored, she was cold and man was she lonely. elbows come to rest on the countertop as she leaned back, head tipping upwards as she regarded the mess behind the counter, gift boxes stacked atop each other haphazardly. the faux wall easily towered over her, reaching about three-quarters of the way towards the ceiling. she figures she could handle a bit of tedious work today.

she gets ambitious then, balancing a stack of five boxes in her arms as she attempts to raise her arms to add them to the growing tower. the florist is swaying minimally, brows furrowing at the effort before a misstep sends the stack teetering off-balance and onto the floor. the dull thudding of hollow boxes didn’t make much of a ruckus, thankfully, only enough to muffle the tell-tale tinkle of the bell that sat above the front door. she’s crouching again, now lifting the boxes one-by-one to add to the climbing wall. the final box was just pushed in place when a noise from behind her startles boksoon minimally, earning a small squeak from the florist.

“oh- didn’t see you there,” a sheepish laugh was the prerequisite of her wide salesperson grin, unfazed even when she’s bumping into stray boxes that littered the counter area as she turns to face him, “and indeed, we do; to answer your question. the ones in-store are currently in-season thus we’re very much abundant with them right now but we could place orders for anything you’d fancy, of course! it will take a while so if you just needed a quick bouquet, i’ll be glad to bring you to have a look around!”

           What Lotus initially thinks would be an awkward thirty seconds of monotonous exchange between cashier and customer, isn’t. A genuine smile, half-humoured and half-civility, momentarily splits the seam of his mouth to reveal the cage of his teeth. Hers is an ironic reaction, somehow, because the bright reddish-orange of his hair and the colourful, noisy pattern of his over-sized sweater have never not warranted at least some sort-of acknowledgement.

           “I get that a lot.” He jokes, deadpan, and without skipping a beat, “And, actually, if you wouldn’t mind…? I mean, if you’re not still busy playing with your, uh, boxes, that is.”

           But as he waits for her response, his mind is plagued with even more concerns: How many flowers did he need to make a bouquet? Better yet, since when did flowers have a season? Aren’t they grown in greenhouses all year round despite the time of year? Or was it something to do with one of those ‘in style’ kind of things that his self-proclaimed ‘fashion-expert’ of a roommate yammered on about all the time? She tore him a new asshole over wearing a red sweater during last fall, and, fuck, what a bitch. 

               Unbeknownst to the stranger who’s just situated herself in the seat next to him, unabashed and the like, is that JaeHyun doesn’t have a single fucking clue of what she’s just said. When she first speaks, he’s in the middle of reading a drawn-out line of dialogue for the third time, losing track somewhere in the middle, and finds himself just barely acknowledging the resolution she has to offer.

               But does he get angry? No, no, no– a young woman who proves to be eager and unfamiliar with the concept of personal space was most certainly far more interesting than the small selection of script he’d been attempting to memorize. In fact, after spending a good half-an-hour (or so) in sheer frustration, he half-appreciates the interruption. Makes it obvious by smiling bright and wide, almost teetering the fence between sarcastic and polite while still managing to play right back into her liveliness.

          Save for the occasional scuff of his booted feet and the low hum of the refrigeration units, the still quiet of the florist shop almost feels oppressive. Which is strange, he thinks, because Lotus doesn’t usually find himself on the receiving end of anxiety all too often anymore. The socializing necessities of his jobs, flowing on the brink of exhausting some days, have most certainly done their parts in assuring just that.

           So, in futile efforts keep (at least) marginally calm, he decides on attempting to help himself before resorting to hunting down any employees for assistance—which, for the most part, ends in a tiring conclusion. His deliberations on each-and-every prepared floral arrangement gets shorter and shorter as he shuffles down the aisles of hulking masses of colourful greenery, exploring every inch of available space in last-minute hopes of discovery. But it doesn’t come, much to his immediate chagrin, and he finds himself half-resignedly making his way to the front desk.

          A young woman is busied behind the counter, and he takes a full minute to silently admire the length of her long, black hair, before deciding to officially break up the silence that’s been plaguing him this whole time. Hopefully she doesn’t think he’s too much of a fucking moron, but considering he’s never purchased flowers from anywhere but street vendors and grocery stores, there’s a pretty slack chance of that.

           “Um.”  Lotus begins, voice uncharacteristically soft as he speaks, moving to stand in front of the counter, “Excuse me, but do you sell flowers here?” A brief pause, a hidden bout of panic, and an even quicker recovery, “Well, I know you sell flowers here, but I mean... different ones from what’s on the shelves? Or is that all you have?”

@sancteum:  A sudden rainstorm starts up and your character is caught without an umbrella, so my character shares theirs.

           Part of him absolutely abhors that he’s never bothered to get his driving permit. Abhors that he has to schedule his life around bus times or pocket change for taxis because every essential need isn’t within walking differences like his hometown, Boseong, had been. He can vividly remember the fragrant scent of its green tea fields, the scenic view of mountains over yonder, the friendly locals that actually stop and wave, the never-ending supply of rainy days—

           The perpetual slap of giant plip-plopping rain against the top of his umbrella wakes him from stupor, bringing him back to all things present. To the traffic-filled stretch of street, the slide of hurried footsteps over wet pavement, and rush of water running down and against the risen curb. To the smog and outright coldness of a metropolis that hardly knows his name (and, quite possibly, might not ever).

            He sighs aloud and moves to adjust the the strap of his work-bag, already dreading the long walk back to the bus stop. However, when a young woman with long, dark hair passes through his peripheral vision, he hesitates in the moment to look after her in slight confusion. She isn’t rushed, strategically diving under storefront awnings, or on the hunt for the next small cafe to wait the rain out in—she’s nonchalantly just there.

            Jae knows that living in Seoul for a few years should’ve completely eliminated the small-town kindness out of him by now, but he’s also pretty sure he’s just a glutton for punishment and everything’s practically lost on him anyway.  So, without further ado (and very minimal contemplation on his part), the young man eats up the gradually increasing distance between them with hurried footsteps until he’s but just a few feet away. When the stretch of his arm is just able to reach the umbrella over her head, he walks at a normative pace, failing to realize the sheer awkwardness of his invasive approach.

            “Are you trying to catch a cold?” He asks aloud, sounding more of a stern-father than the friendly stranger he’s trying to be, “Because this is how you catch colds.”