โIn another moment, we were standing face to face, I and this fragile thing out of futurity.โ โ The Time Machine, H. G. Wells
Slivers of gold creep along the floorboards, long and curious fingers exploring the studio. One peers over a glass of water; another slithers into the space beneath the sofa, dancing with a collection of dust and forgotten change. A particularly ambitious ray fights past the curtain and falls over the left side of the womanโs face, illuminating the smear of vermilion across her cheek. It matches the shade of her lipstick, but Kyungsoo tries not to think about that.
The apartment is quiet, supplied with nothing more than an empty fridge, a tiny table with tiny chairs to match, and an old mattress in the far corner. A cell phone sits at the center of the table, an ancient thing with actual buttons and a one-by-two screen, and to its right is the untouched glass of water, glowing with stolen kisses from the sun. Kyungsoo stands by the window, occasionally peeking outside out of habit, and the woman remains seated at one of the chairs by the table, eyes trained on the cell phone, waiting for a call. She hadnโt said a word all night, hasnโt tried to wash her face or change into anything that isnโt sullied with red, red, red. Her body is still, rigid, reminiscent of the meticulously carved statues in the gardens Kyungsoo sometimes visits, but part of him is worried that sheโll crumble like sand if he so much as breathes in her direction.
Heโs never seen the woman behave this way, has never seen any side of her that wasnโt confident and certain, elegantly stoic in a way that drew him in with barely-concealed curiosity. She had seen something back there, in the now cordoned off warehouse full of sprawled bodies and pools of crimson. Kyungsoo was just the errand boy, told to stand guard outside while business was tended to, but the responsibility of escorting the lady to the safe house had been thrust upon him without warning, a command piercing and clear despite the clamour of bullets and explosions inside the building. He didnโt ask questions, and even now he remains silent, knowing better than to stick his nose where it is not wanted. But itโs more than that, he thinks. Itโs more than breaking protocol. This is a face that he is afraid to watch, reluctant to learn. Itโs far too personal, far too raw, like watching a neighbour undress through a crack in the drapes or a hole in the wall. His fingers fidget restlessly, pulling at a loose thread on his shirt, and his feet follow suit, shifting his weight and begging to walk away from the sight. Itโs too much for him.
But he keeps his post at the window, dutifully keeping watch for anyone who may have followed them here. The woman is strong and intelligent, capable and beautiful in ways that sometimes have Kyungsoo wondering if she had descended directly from the sun, far too brilliant for mere humans to comprehend. But now.. For now, she needs her space. Silence. Just time.
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