everything you do

[ @provlematic dawon x hyunseon

“the weather is so nice today.”

the utterance wasn’t meant for any singular person in particular, solely for herself and the warm temperature pressing its weight against her face. there was the faint sound of her classmates yelling five stories below her, and if dawon leaned over the ledge of the roof, she’d be able to watch them run around the school yard. but she was content with where she was: back pressed up against the exterior wall of the rooftop stairwell, strawberry milk in hand, and cream bun sat beside her outstretched legs, waiting for her to inevitably rip it from its plastic packaging.

she had every intention of heading back to class once lunch was over, but the weather was just too good to waste, so when the sound of her classmates slowly dissipated into muted traffic she stayed still. this day wasn’t meant to be wasted on math. and at this point into her high school career, she knew that her homeroom teacher wouldn’t waste another breath if she skipped out the lesson for the third time that week.

dawon didn’t move when she heard the shuffling of footsteps approach her spot on the rooftop, though the arrival of company raised her annoyance more than what would be rational. but when her guest made their way directly in front of her, in turn blocking the sunlight that she had gotten so well acquainted with, her eyes opened to form crescents of irritation.

“what do you want, hyunseon?”

life’s a breeze when your family status has got your bratty back. you know, kick down some kids and let ‘em tumble, make them your bread delivery boys (we’re talking about literal bread here, hyunseon has enough of that bread,) smack upside their helpless heads to remind them that they’re pathetic. pathetically powerless. all of this roots from boredom, the kind of boredom you feel when everything’s handed to you from a to z since birth. the boy’s just itching to feel some sort of discomposure in his life. funny how when everything is prim and perfect, still as a pond—you feel the urge to disrupt it. some way, some how.

“i want to be the only one up on this rooftop, that’s what i want.”

and when he’s gotten sick of these yes-boys nodding their heads to his every order, he feels even duller than ever. not at all rebellious, not at all snappy, and no longer fun. he itches for some sort of other diversion this afternoon. he eyes dawon who’s, again, beaten him in grabbing the rooftop spot. yeji? sora? he reels his memories for a second before snapping his fingers. right. sooah. sooah’s friend. when he’s managed to file through his long list of exes, he slaps on a smile before reaching out for the uneaten cream bun.

“you eating this?” hyunseon gives her exactly 2 seconds before ripping open the plastic wrap, taking a big bite out of that bread (even though he just got the same one delivered to him last period,) just to give her that big, trademark smile of a bully. her face scrunches were entertaining and quick in her response to things. at the end, whatever’s fun is fun, and whatever that can give him a quick fix of frenzy was good. yoon dawon is no exception.

@clementide

on those rusty 6th street apartment walls across the block, you see the new york city’s own blue named 4am, daybreak. 

the city’s asleep but the gleam in your eyes still brightens our tiny one-room (ours? ours. anything mine is yours.) they look like they’re about to spill a whole past-life story about how you held the sky in your eyes, chest, and then in your pale set of hands before you met me. you wear that amaranthine color on your lips religiously since the day i told you you look breathtaking in it. so you still do, even when i can’t see them under the dim moonlight. then you’re autumn itself with the baltic amber scent of a handmade candle you bought somewhere on 26th street.

-aiden. -hm? -sometimes, i wish i met you somewhere else. -huh. like where– seoul? -maybe, yeah.

then maybe i wouldn’t feel so up in the air every time i’m looking at you like this. i blink at your sudden confession and wonder if it’s okay to interpret them the way i did. then i intuitively, tactfully, turn a blind eye.

this is to say—that i am the most cowardly person in this eventide; yet you still reload the pistol for me to shoot in the dark.

-...sol, are you homesick?

no, aiden—i feel just fine, here with you.

old habits die hard.

by that, we mean the young shaman’s habit of caring too much. turning a blind eye to upcoming bad fortunes on strangers’ lives has never been one of his best know-how’s. as if he hasn’t been called a lunatic a hundred too many times, he peers over and on the spirits that shadow them– always, always finding himself wanting to voice what his sixth sense is warning him. 

“i– can i just say, i don’t think you should go that way?” 

he ends up giving into at least two out of five of his internal debates on the daily.

this particular spirit of the dead is hell-bent on taking this girl down and to the underworld. her life-line is dim, almost like a wavering candle light in the way she looks like she’s ready to step on over to the flip side any second. inwoo sidesteps all too adeptly as the spirit engages, his eyes adamant on keeping that pole intact and on the ground. just not on her.

“it’s a construction site down this way. i tried taking the same route last time and it was blocked off–” he tries his best to come up with reasons, any, so she doesn’t fall flat and dead on the ground in the next few minutes. but as is his (or her) luck, this poltergeist is an irritable one. evidently unhappy with inwoo having stepped into its frame-up, it leads her right under the crumbling cement structure (held up poorly with some run-down metal poles.) and inwoo, at the last split second– dashes as if his life depends on it before propelling her down and away from the chunk of plaster. 

 she’s on the ground, so is he, and now this is the hard part.

“not to sound creepy, but– haven’t these things been happening to you more than they should? like, on a regular basis?”

이번 생엔 너가 나를 찾았어.

우리가 어디에서 어떻게 존재 하던 우리 둘은 서로를 찾게 돼. (맞아, 우연이 아니야. 우연이라기에 너의 미소는 언제나 한결같고 영원히 머금을수 있는 진정제 같아.) 내가 태어나지 않았을때 부터 널 알고있었던것 같이 넌 그렇게 미소 지어. 알아, 뭔가 조잡하고 엉성한 운명에 대한 이야기 같단걸.

근데 말이야, 넌 초월적인 힘이란걸 믿어?

-응, 넌 안 믿어? -난 잘 모르겠는데. -왜? -그렇다면 우리가 여기서 이러고 있을까. 너무 볼품 없는거 아니야, 우리? -우리가 뭐 어때서?

우리가 뭐 어때서. 그렇게 말하면서 나를 바라보는 너의 눈동자는 잠잠한 밤 아래의 호수 같아. 별들을 담고 있지만 그래도 흔들려서 반영이 흐려. 근데 그 빛 만은 확실해. 넌 여전히 나보다 당당하고 확신에 차 있어. 우리가 어떻게 삶을 살던, 어떻게 하루를 보내던, 딴 사람들이 우리를 어떻게 생각하던 너는 전혀 상관하지 않아. 그러면 난 또 그런 너의 태도에 위로를 받고. 또,

이기적 이게 다시 한번 너를 내 가슴 한 언저리에 담아. (너가 허락한거야, 알지?)

-...그러게, 맞네. 우리가 뭐 어때서. -그래, 맞아. -뭐가 그렇게 뻔뻔하냐, 이지은.

내가 푸스스 웃으니까 너도 웃어. 맞아, 생각 났어. 넌 전에도 그렇게 웃은적이 있어. 근데 어제도 아니고, 작년도 아니고 몇십년전도 아니야. 아마 꿈에서 본것같은데 그것도 확실치 않아. 아마 우주비행궤도 어디선가 본것은 아닐까. 널 이번 생에만 알았다기엔 넌 너무 익숙하고도 아련해. 내가 너의 손을 잡기만 하면 넌 내 옆에서 사라지지는 않을것 같아.

(그러니까 내가 그 손 잡아도, 원망 말아주라.)

-우리 둘중에 하나는 그래야하지 않겠어? 넌 겁쟁이잖아, 겉으로만 단단하고. -...그래, 세상 당당해서 좋겠다, 넌. -응, 좋아. 그러니까 너도 그랬으면 좋겠어.

그래, 이제 알았어. 넌 가만히 있어.

(내가 더 노력할게.)

she doesn’t like this just as much. roeun wonders if he knows (since it’s so obviously written on her face) or cares (since he seems so obviously invested in his own turmoil). it is just as much as a bother. though noeul doesn’t seem to care to make it any easier with the way he acts. face pulled into such distaste she almost wants to slap off him. (but temper, roeun. temper. he isn’t going to do anything without proper coaxing.)

“what did you mean then?” play innocent. at least till he tests the last of her patience. either way he’s going to have to do it. it’s just whether or not he’ll do it while she’s still nice or otherwise. “so?” her brow arches, gaze meeting him steadily with the gesture. a kid she knows now is about to get beat up with it. “it’s simple and cute.”

“and? what’s your point? who cares if it’s versace when it makes you look like a pimp or some shady ass dealer? because that’ll go over so well with my pastor of a dad right?” she tries her best not to spat, though it comes off as dry and testy enough as it is. as if she has time to argue with him on this. she reaches out to slap down his hand, thinking better of it last minute and grasps it instead, tugging. “come on, we’re trying it on.” it isn’t like he has an option anyway.

“...nothing, never mind.”

just because he’s good at disregarding other people’s feelings, it doesn’t mean he’s not keen about them. updated forecast on roeun’s mood: prospected to be about 105 degrees of ‘in the mood to smack upside (noeul’s) head.’ looks like it’s time for noeul to find a spare rope for that short fuse of his, because hers is burning up even faster.

“pimp? shady ass dealer? roeun, are you kidding me–” he whines, drawing out his words just a bit longer. in this fleeting moment, noeul broods on why their parents’ generation can’t come to terms with the fact that appearances unequal to one’s bearing. and to boot, roeun’s dad just had to be a whole pastor to saturate the amount of conservativeness that noeul has to deal with. alright, well. he really shuts up about it now. her slap-down on his hand says a little too much to go unnoticed. good thing he’s hopelessly smitten.

smile, noeul!

during school hours, haneui seldom basks herself in the loll between the minutes. for example, the current surround-scene of sleepy, mind-boggled students with each a notebook and pen in front of them. soft calls of the customers’ names from the pick-up counter, often jotted down incorrectly on their personalized cup of caffeine. loose leaves of her earl grey, now sinking down to the bottom of her tempered glass cup.

following, a boy dozing off on the table by the glass window.

haneui finds the way he’s sprawled across almost the entire table (he’s big–) uncannily familiar. what was it? oh! she snaps her fingers as she waggles an index finger around the boy’s general area in remembrance. he’s just like bori, her uncle’s latest golden retriever she’s happily capered around with some time last month (except he’s not nearly as energetic looking as bori at the moment.) settling down in the seat across from him, she neatly places her notepad, chromebook and her teacup to the side before drumming her fingers on top of the table. she hopes that the extra fifteen minutes of sleep she’d let him savor is at least something, if not a whole lot.

“hello? eunjin sunbae? chop chop, we have to get this project done!”

leaning close, she half-whispers around his ear before peeking at his eyes. they’re closed-shut, barely showing any signs of coming back to reality. so she spares a few more seconds to take in his features, tilting her head to the side as she tries to match the placid expression with his usual demeanor back in class. he’s quite hard to not notice, with his outspoken bearing and all. haneui feels like she’s sitting in the intermittent calm of what’s about to come, thinking about how he’d probably shift the lull in the atmosphere once he’s awake. this time, she brings her hand along his nose, tapping it once, twice, then for the third time as his eyes flutter open. finally!

“good morning, sweetie. you’re late for school.”

she’s not good with names. has a better knack to matching faces to small details, uneven eyes, mole beneath the lobe or something like that. here, situated comfortably before a thick appointment book, she’s far more preoccupied with rearranging saturday’s appointments to focus on anything else. in fact, almost misses the call her way.

“mm?” her eyes flick over absently to the voice, pen cap pressed between rows of ivory and brow arched in curiosity. the male in question is familiar and sure enough, drops enough mentions for the memory itself to become increasingly clear. dabin’s cousin—yes. she remembers, vaguely.

“yeah, yeah—cee is fine.” only her grandmother calls her cecila. “uh, you’re dabin’s cousin—right?” her mind stalls, twirling the pen absently to try and fill in the blanks. match a name to the face. a name. a name. why is it that she can’t remember anything beyond the tattoo on his shoulder?

oh. right. by the pool. she would’ve had well along the lines of buzzed by then. 

her lips curve, hopefully masking the fact that she had forgotten his name—fingers plucking the pen cap from her mouth. her pen presses into the pages absently, scrawling brief words for later. shoulder tatt. name. underline. underline. 

“so, what are you getting today?”

every gesture of hers drag from his perspective. her words, the way she tries to remember his name (obvious,) the way she tries to sweep it under the rug with a curt smile (way too obvious.)

cee. dabin’s smile. some kind of muffled exchange of words. not really three-way.

“wow, it’s already one-sided. i see how it is.”

he puts just an ounce of effort into feigning his pitiful stance, running a hand through his hair and lazily shaking it back to place. then, a lopsided smile that lives to its shortest. funny for a lover boy, but hear him out: to him, fate’s a thing. wait, no– scratch that. the nuance is different, here. some sort of inescapableness that comes from repeated encounters with another, is a thing. take romance out of the equation, and the idea itself isn’t as cheesy.

(okay, but do we really want to?)

“it’s ian.” when she follows up with a typical holder-to-client sort of question, he sighs visibly before getting up from his seat. the method to his madness, you ask? 

well, it sure isn’t beating around the bush.