still here

the city brims with the season’s unparalleled ambient of rosy warmth, and yoonil stands in the midst of it all with an expression too aloof for the soft coos in the air.

he supposes it’s not so bad, with her by his side.

“why?” he throws her question back around, slipping out the hand in his pocket so he can reach it out towards her. the gentle swaying of his hand prompts her to continue her steps past the fallen apricot flower petals, patient and considerate. “–because i didn’t want to go to work today, that’s why.”

liar. she doesn’t say, but it’s almost as if he can hear it from the way she looks at him, her rose-colored cheeks complimenting the cherry blossom tree a little too well. yoonil can’t help but to free a burst of laughter, turning around to look at her face-to-face. he tucks the loose strands of her hair behind her ear, finger tips lingering at the side of her cheek. 

it takes only a step for him to pull her in by her hand, narrowing the distance between them. this time, he’s just a little more bold. a little more daring with a grasp on her hand that is stubborn about not giving her the room to shy away, and he stands with the same smile he used to give her during their own schooldays.

it’s as if he’s waited a whole cycle of countless seasons just for her.

“well, i wouldn’t have even thought about coming here if it had nothing to do with you.” 

he’s a far worse liar than she is. there’s that twitch of his lip, familiar and a bit too telling, especially when he’s trying to keep something from her. she wonders if he knows that she knows -- either way, it’s the bunny-eyed roundness of her gaze that humors him every single time. 

just like now.

“just work, huh?” and then it’s her turn to lie. she pretends like it’s not him who has her flustered gaze deviated from the tip of his nose to the heavy branch of petals just behind his head. not the way his fingertips linger at her cheek, butterfly wings against her skin, that erupts an ocean of red to lap over every single inch of territory he explores. not the way he pulls her in like gravity, and the stumbling step she takes towards him, because who else would be there to cushion her fall?

he holds her there as if she’d rather be anywhere else. 

trees surround them like a forest of pink clouds and lilypads, the sweet scent of the arriving season gently wafting from the petals that drift down to the ground like dewdrops. people dot the streets in singles and pairs, distant laughter winding through the bristled branches as jieun stops to stare. the scene before her looks like an explosion of pastels. gentle colors flood her vision until she, too, renders herself a part of this palette: dizzy, soft-spoken, and a little peachy in the cheeks.

he's only a breath away, but her fingers reach out as if to draw him in -- not because he isn't close enough, but because he should be even closer. “why did you bring me here?” she muses in that very tongue-in-cheek way because she knows why. she knows more than anything, but she wants to hear him say it anyway.

with her, he always learns. learns that he can laugh without feeling like he has to, learns that sometimes, he should wait for cloudy skies to bring out the sun behind. he also learns that she gives and gives until he finally takes the utmost care that she showers him with, with rosy tint of her cheeks and ring of her laughter like a nightingale’s.

he almost feels selfish for the fleeting thought of wanting to keep her by his side until world without end.

“of course, i’m the one borrowing your company––but i don’t know about having to take that many shots, really.” it’s a smile of reassurance that he gives as he takes the hollow steps down and off the bus, taking her hand in his until he makes sure she also lands her last step off the ledge.

the scene free of scorched windows is still fairly bright, coral and hazy blue of the sky prompting the end of the day. the streets slowly contrast the brew of the night with neon signs and banner stands, and it’s the casual back and forths of what kind of new menus on the streets look good, how it feels like just yesterday that they were also wearing those school uniforms, and the fleeting expressions of hers that make him realize that these are the moments that matter.

maybe too much.

“i forgot, aren’t you a horrible drunk?” he turns his head with the question, pausing briefly to walk in even strides with her pace. “i hope at least one of us is fair-minded enough at the end of it so we can make it back home, though i bet that’s going to be me carrying you on my back.”

if only momentarily, she's stolen by the blue stretch of the sky. there are clouds folding over each other like waves, and she feels an immediate rush of calm from head to toe. her footsteps fall into shorter strides, but she doesn't have to turn her head to know he's matching her step for step.

as if the electrifying tickle of his fingers leaving her palm hadn't been enough, she does, anyway. just to make sure he's really there. really, really there.

“depends what you mean by 'horrible.'” there's a wayward curl that catches on the upper edge of her grin, impish glimmer of her eyes hidden behind the rest of her fringe when the wind brushes it over her shoulder. she has to bite her tongue to stop herself from agreeing with him right away. her track record proved that ria never really cared to fall in the middle ground between one shot and one shot too many. "go home or go hard," as her coworkers would say.

and usually, it ended up being the latter.

he never knew emotions could bloom so easily.

some time around mid-spring, the boy’s forced to spout a well-mannered ‘hello’ to a girl standing in front of him with a smile. an older smile, a smile that’s natural to her rather than practiced. initial thought: she reminds him of a brand new book. the crisp first page on his finger tips, the smell of faint vanilin and almond that open up to a preface.

-so you’re yoonjung’s little brother, huh?

he, also, never knew he could feel so defenseless.

-yeah, i also heard a lot about you.

and for once, he doesn’t smile out of courtesy.

-

the sunset on his upper arm is gentle. through the rickety ride, he shakes along with a laughter when she speaks of her students like how a young mother would of her firstborn. when he blinks, the shakiness of the bus blurs the coy stretch of her lips–––a moment that feels all too cared for. so he captures her folded eyes, the dot on her left cheek, her half-bitten lips in his current panorama. together, they’re all etched carefully on his mental negatives.

“i just couldn’t bring myself to be assertive with any of them. kind of funny coming from me, huh?” he spares a moment for her response, watching as she tries her best not to laugh. “yeah, of course. i’m not ditching you on the bus like how i ditched you for another school.” he chews on the slight bitterness of his last words, corner of his lips pursing with a shrug.

the handles above them swing to a stop, and his words are half impulsive.

“…hey, wanna get off with me here and grab a drink?”

watching yoonil talk, jieun finds, is like the unraveling of a long, long dream. memories that are hazy but never fade. there are pieces of his younger boyhood everywhere, tucked away in places that are easy to miss. it's in the tiny crease of his upper lip and the bend of his fingers, minute details that she'd overpass had she likened him to something like a sunbeam. yoonil has been, and will always be, like a cloudy sky and a steady stream of rain.  

and on the days when the clouds disappear behind a sun so relentless and bold, she finds him in the quietude of their empty playground, anyway.

today, she finds him on her bus. “no, not funny! you've always been so gentle with everything...” a quiet drift-off as she spares a glance over to gauge his reaction, almost nervous in the way she bites into her lip. “...don't you think so?” her smile, at least, tells him that she does.

she only notices they've rolled to a stop when the shift in gravity has her knees pushing against his thigh, eyes rounding open when she realizes her hand has already found a tentative grip around his arm on her way up to her feet. she'd blame her lack of balance if it wasn't for the much too graceful way she executes the whole damn thing, cheeks a posie run of color when she agrees with something as simple as a nod. 

paris.

the city steals her in pieces and she lets it for the most part. there's a man stumbling along the cobblestone, beard outgrown and crushed newspaper in hand. his coat looks like it's been handed down generations wide, and the february wind cuts through the corduroy in relentless backstrokes. jieun likens herself to the cigarette in between his calloused fingers, fading, ashes to ashes. chasing the light at the end of the blunt like her next breath depends on it. maybe it does. maybe it does.

she blinks and she's across the seine. her head spins from the three glasses of cheat pinot noir that had come with dinner. one more glass and she'd remember how the same moon had followed her from seoul. the same moon with its sad afterglow of another night spent in his rooftop one-room. (the same moon that had watched as he fed her peach soju from his open mouth, hands under her skirt.)

maybe she'd still be in seoul if she hadn't let him fuck her with the windows down, moonlight stale and ruthless down his back. his "i can't do this," meant volumes in comparison to her "what can i do?" she had left because she had needed to escape that ending scene, that same goddamn moon haunting her from seoul to paris. chasing chasing chasing. 

no one knows what being saved feels like until you're wine-dazed in the middle of montmarte, smile unchained and carefree, because he's here? he's fucking here. it's a fleeting blur of seconds - him in his long coat in a sea of heads that she doesn't care for. he's grown inches from his days as an eight-year-old, but she could never forget those eyes, cosmic black in the midst of yet another orange sunset. 

“yoonil-ah, you have no idea what you could do.”

his days were sing-song, but yoonil didn’t necessarily think they were bad. perhaps he’s been acclimated to this monotony for so long that such is his desensitized panorama. white, gray, then sometimes jet black, the clouds in his hefty thoughts shift between the same shade of absolutely nothing. 

but on this day, it’s as she tinkles in like a sun shower to tell him otherwise: the little details in their lives didn’t have to be so colorless, taken for granted and shoved to the side like a hastily read book. only if he took a second to knock on her door to ask her how she makes them laugh in such mirth, how her class always sound like chipping sparrows in early summer. only if.

“why, do you think i’ll sit across from you like how i sit across the block now?”

her question puts him in a laughter at loss, and he gives her enough time to settle into her seat before taking the creaky one next to her. this particular afternoon, he feels unquestioned and consoled. he wishes he can thank her, but feels sheepish and covers half his face with a palm to tacitly recollect the words he’s supposed to free.

“to tell you the truth, i always had so many questions that i’d set aside for you. i just didn’t get to any of them before i left, because my kids were more than just a handful to me. just like how i was probably a handful to them as well.” he pauses to shrug, then continues with a smile that sprouts from the most pleasant remembrances. “you should keep me updated on you and your kids, though. i’d love to hear about how your days are going during these bus rides.”

the bus treads lightly through evening traffic. stragglers board on and off, but ria all but sees the way his fingers bounce on top of his knees. hers curl around the edge of her dress, harder when she laughs. everything's easy - too easy. she can't count the number of times she's tucked a smile down towards her paint-blurred arms. there's a fading blue lily on her inner wrist from her top student, and she radiates in motherly pride as she tells him she's growing the future van gogh in the small cubicle that is her classroom.

time passes just like this, but ria doesn’t notice.

from every angle, he's a movie in motion. live action cuts of his every expression and the way his tongue curls around his words. maybe the sunlight hits him just perfectly now; or maybe, just maybe, she's staring a little bit too hard.

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?

the irony is that, the body never forgets. the mind can try to file and push and block, the heart remembers each bruise, each tear and each touch. gentle and coarse alike. refuses to forget in lieu of hope.

kihyun’s tried to destroy that very thing. by bruising and reminding himself just what he gets, what he deserves. what always awaits him the closer he gets to things gentler, tamer. closer he gets to the sun, the more hope he builds, he braces for the crash. much how he braces himself now, unsure with what she’s going to say, with how she’s going to view the mess around him. a reflection perhaps, of what’s always been inside. what he’s always known and what he thinks - she’s always known too.

it makes his insides churn, makes his heart ache in unfamiliar ways. in buried ways that he hoped he wouldn’t face again. so he doesn’t face her, not really. keeps his head tucked low, heavy. 

“you—–” he’s sworn a lot of things. that he wouldn’t open. not his mouth not his mind, not the memories and the possibilities. he wouldn’t open, he’d let them pry him dry before he spills that easily again. and it hadn’t been easy before, he remembers the cold nights and the way he stuck himself so desperately to warmth. to all things blue and soft. “how are you here……” he remembers trying to forget.

it scares him, makes him want to take a step back further into his domain. and further away. “why are you here?” being around him is a disaster, it ends in ashes and if the pool of them by his feet weren’t enough, the charcoal on his hands should show. she should know. she should remember. 

she stumbles through her thoughts in silence, picking up words on the way and hoping that they stick. maybe if her tongue will let her, she'd tell him that she'd choose this every single time. she can retrace them in her mind like they're painted behind her eyes: bruises, some the size of her fist. tattered blues and purples that were no match for the warm yellows of his voice.

if her tongue will let her, she'd tell him that she'd drown in ashes if it meant remembering this forever.

"i heard..." from where, she doesn't mention. it doesn't matter. nothing does, not in this space where he so effortlessly seems to belong that it makes her insides flare. "i don't know why."

it's not too far from the truth. she had walked aimlessly for the most part, pulled by the sheer memory of footsteps she had taken a hundred and ten times in the past. pulled by something like heartstrings and something else. rough callouses against her palm, chapped lips against the corner of her mouth, and warmth. always warmth. and maybe this is why she tries to pull more from her chest. water fills her lungs, and it feels like she's drowning in an ocean full of everything she tries to say but can't. but she still pulls.