( & . — NOW WE’RE SLEEPING NEAR THE EDGE )
HOLDING SOMETHING WE DON’T NEED
the edge of the han river, they’re more often than not found there and it’s funny to think that they all skate around. constantly on the move and yet they all come back to one place. headlights of someone’s car blind her when they pull up and she throws an arm up to shield herself, jokingly yelling that she’s too young to look into the light. she’s about to continue, teasingly scold the person who’s come there in a car and not on a board but it’s someone she doesn’t know and yet she does all the same. a familiar face but it’s not him. it couldn’t be him but her breath’s caught in her throat, heart pounding against her chest, all the same.
nearly three years and he still has this power over her. nearly three years and she’s not over what he did, not over him. it’s the latter that annoys her most because the former she’ll never forgive. it’s a vicious cycle: knowing that forgiving him would be a step closer to forgetting him but it won’t happen. it can’t. she just can’t do it. the most she can do is try to let it go.
and that’s the first song that comes to mind when jaeseop mentions that yura can play the guitar. it’s just her luck that it belongs to the guy who reminds her so much of her ex, if she could call him that. if what they had was worth calling a relationship.
because it was too late when everything began making sense in her head. the midnight dates, stolen kisses, the glances at his phone when he thought she wasn’t looking. she was naive enough to look past it, to let that go when she should’ve let go of him first. when she should’ve let go of his hand so that his girlfriend’s wouldn’t try to leave a mark on her face. the scratch faded from her promise ring but yura still swears she can see it in a certain light. dark, dim, gloomy, the color of self-loathing and it suits it all too perfectly.
when she accepts the guitar from him, it’s the first time their eyes meet, the first time he smiles at her, and she can feel her heartstrings being tugged. no, it’s actual strings being pulled, she becomes a marionette and she has half a mind to give the guitar back and say she’ll never play a song for him again. as if offending this guy will somehow be her finally standing up to him the way she should’ve sooner. looking at her board gives her more solace than she thought it would— she can hear her grandfather’s voice when he first gave it to her: it’s okay to fall as long as you get back up. a loud strum of the guitar shocks everyone and she laughs when there’s a chorus of protests.
♫ , from walking home and talking loads
to seeing shows in evening clothes with you
from nervous touch and getting drunk
to staying up and waking up with you
he was a charmer. it was why she gave him such a hard time at first — because he was too smooth, too good to be true. but he was also too experienced to the game when yura was but a rookie. sneaking off campus and jumping on the back of his motorbike, every cliche in the book but she was so damn blind.
she just wanted it to be true. she wanted to know love didn’t have to fall apart like her parents’ did. all she did was get too close to the edge.
♫ , now we're sleeping near the edge, holding something we don't need
all this delusion in our heads is gonna bring us to our knees
she didn’t believe it at first either. another cliche. believe the player, don’t trust the girl. players are the best at turning girls on each other when it should be him that incurs their wrath. a scratch and yura could pretend it was all the girlfriend’s fault that it escalated but the truth is she didn’t have to believe him, not when he was so blatantly pretending that she herself was to blame for it all. she didn’t have to believe a single bit of it, including when he told her he loved her.
♫ , so come on, let it go. just let it be
why don't you be you, and i'll be me?
everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze
why don't you be you, and i'll be me?
— a n d i ‘ l l b e m e
it’s a repeat of history. she learned it all, knew it word for word from her mother. from her grandfather. she could see it in the way her stepmother looked at her with such contempt. she knew the history and didn’t learn.
♫ , i used to recognize myself
it's funny how reflections change
when we're becoming something else
i think it's time to walk away
the lies continued. another game. cat and mouse. push and pull. repel and attract. she believed him one more time, a stupid mistake but one that belonged to her unlike the hand in hers. she lost herself. lost herself the same way her mother did. the shame couldn’t be washed away now even as the scar from the scratch faded.
♫ , tryna fit your hand inside of mine
when we know it just don't belong
cause no force on earth could make it feel right, no no
tryna push this problem up the hill
when it's just too heavy to hold
i think now's the time to let it slide
“i’ll leave her.” a lie. “it’s over between us.” another. “you’re the one i want to be with.” and another. because there’s an important word he left out. one he would use before and one that’s gone missing now, only. i only want to be with you. you’re the only one i want to be with. just like that, it was over.
♫ , so come on, let it go. just let it be
why don't you be you, and i'll be me?
everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze
why don't you be you, and i'll be me?
— a n d i ‘ l l b e m e
a coda and she feels lighter than she did when she first saw him. she hands the guitar back and she thinks maybe she could do this for real. maybe she’ll see him again and she’ll just be herself.
come on, let it go, just let it be
why don't you be you, and i'll be me?
— a n d i ‘ l l b e m e
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( & . — MAMA SAID I GOTTA TAKE A GAMBLE ON MYSELF, )
TOLD HER I’LL TAKE CHARGE AND MAKE IT A SURE THING
jitters, nerves, butterflies. all the novels and fairytales tell you of how love will make you feel this way. a false way of preparing you for that special kind of magic. so what prepares you for this, for an audition to be a triple threat when you’re wondering if you’re a threat at all?
a couple of her friends could attest to her being a threat in general— jongdae, seungjae, most of the guys, maybe even hyeri except their threats come in the form of forcing affection upon the other. the best kind of threat if you ask her. her self-confidence is dwindling at the thought of it and while she entertained the idea of becoming an idol, she just couldn’t commit. commitment is her biggest problem. a hobby is fleeting, a career change often coming soon, and it’s only proven true by the change in her major. business to interior design. but there’s a part of her that’s begging for the opportunity, the chance, because it is just like that missy elliot song,
♫ , it’s another day, another chance — i wake up, i wanna dance
but that’s not the only thing. it can’t be, right? the incessent need comes from somewhere and she knows she can’t be acting on a whim. she knows her impulses, knows her spontaneity when it arises. this isn’t that. instead —
there’s a part of her that just knows she can do this. if she didn’t, then why did she ask jongdae for singing lessons? if she didn’t, why did she bother asking rome to teach her how to rap? if all she wanted was to dance, why bother learning anything else at all? it’s these little plans that make her realize she is making a commitment. but to what she doesn’t know yet. hearing of the auditions should make everything just click! , fall perfectly in place but it doesn’t and she wonders why.
she’d wanted her cousin but she supposes he comes a close second, which she tells him first and foremost when she plops down on the couch in his place.
“do you ever sleep here?”
he doesn’t answer and he doesn’t have to. yura already knew within an hour of being at her cousin’s place after she moved to seoul that someone else also lived there. it was unmistakable but hearing about how his clothes just keep magically appearing all over the place was the cherry on top. how they make it work is the real magic to her because they’re both trainees ( or were ), both people that she wouldn’t have imagined seeing in a relationship. the first time she saw rome around his friends and not her cousin, she thought he was a completely different person. but it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t a fluke, nor his behavior a facade or his words a fallacy. it was all genuine. two people who hadn’t lost themselves in each other but found something worth holding onto. for a fleeting moment, she wonders if that is what she wants and not necessarily the same dream.
“i can’t believe i’m saying this but didn’t you come here to talk about you.”
“i thought a pretty boy like you loves hearing about himself.”
“you’re interrogating me, not talking about me.”
“so it’s okay as long as i talk about you? wow, conceited.” “i should say that to you.”
she chuckles, “you’re right.”
as easy as that, the first seed has been unknowingly planted.
there wasn’t much convincing done that day because being told “do what you think is right” is great advice but not what she wanted — this, she tells him for the fifth time when he’s helping her choose a song for the audition. a moment of silence and she knows he’s uncomfortable under her stare. it was intentional, she didn’t master that particular look for nothing.
“it should be you, you know.”
but he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t wince, doesn’t lose focus the way she continues to do every other minute. let’s face it, all it takes is three second for her to figure out she’s not feeling a song. that much she says too.
“i can’t help you if you’re not feeling anything.”
“you’re lucky you’re dating my cousin or i’d think you were hitting on me saying it like that.”
a scoff and a roll of his eyes is what she receives and it’s not without a scoff of her own. maybe she’s not confident in performing for this audition just yet but she knows one thing, she’s got a reason to be conceited. even if she’s not feeling anything, she’s feelin herself. yonce taught her better than to think otherwise, and there’s the second seed.
the day comes and the butterflies come back, flown away only to come back with more troops. a mental and emotional war within her body. the music could play and she’d still move in beat, still find her rhythm, and knock it down with a stomp of her foot. it’d belong to her but would the lyrics? dohee texts her and yura’s on the verge, a mess about waiting to be released, comparable to the kraken when it comes to enforcing her own wrath, but it’s a video. one that yura can recognize from the thumbnail it’s frozen on alone. it’s her. it’s no longer just about her, not when dohee reminds her that if one touch (...) could take control of her whole body. that reminder is all she needs, that all she has to do is let the music touch her the way it did when she performed then. when it wasn’t about being perfect but being herself and now, just when she needs it to most, is when things do click! into place. this is it, the final seed. this is the last one to be planted into her heart, the music quenches a thirsty soul, and she’s blossoming right then and there.
“my name is kim ahyoung. i also go by leilani. you can give me a new stage name if you sign me.”
forget being a triple threat, she wants to be a threat to this song, to this stage, to everyone else that auditioned and who’s left waiting. to those watching, trainees, even artists, she wants to give them cause to be concerned. that’s a true threat. if there’s a stage they haven’t stood on soon, she wants them to question why and think they have to go running back to keep up. it’s extreme but she’s feeling herself.
♫ , feelin' myself, i'm feelin' myself, i'm feelin' my
feelin' myself, i'm feelin' myself, i'm feelin' my, feelin' my
feelin' myself, i'm feelin' myself, i'm feelin' my
feelin' myself, i'm feelin' myself, i'm feelin' my
changed the game with that digital drop
know where you was when that digital popped
i s t o p p e d t h e w o r l d —
male or female, it make no difference
i stop the world, world S T O P
movements are sharp, smooth, powerful. this song screams female power and yura wouldn’t dare disappoint queen b, not when she knows this song is one she loves. because not being able to own her confidence, not being able to let it show, that’s a threat to one’s self-confidence, a threat to one’s identity. yura is taking that right back, now she’s a threat to convention, to all the gender bias and double standards that say a woman can’t do whatever the hell she wants.
she can stop the whole damn world if she wants and she sure as hell stops the beat, it changes, her own making. she manipulated it, made it hers, and now it’s a new song, one she plans to own just as much because people are right, she’s conceited, but she’s got a reason for it and everyone will know. singing and rapping isn’t her biggest strength, not compared to dancing but this choreography, how she made it, how she wants it to be seen. that is, and it’s strength she wants them to see most. tell her she’s not a triple threat, she’ll still be standing tall. seeds of doubt are gone and all she has now are the ones of confidence, of strength, of will-power that make her infallible.
♫ , see this ain't nuttin' that you use to
out of the ordinary and usual
you got to have the mind of state like i'm so great
can't nobody do it like you do
( & . — SO WON’T YOU TAKE IT, )
I FEEL LIKE FOR THE FIRST TIME
I AM NOT FAKING
it’s expected that if falling in love is out of her comfort zone, touch would be too. but yura’s captivated by the choreography. whenever dohee asks her to perform with her, she can’t resist. because as much as the choreography isn’t always her preferred style, it pushes her, challenges her, excites her. she’s kept on her toes and the choreography literally calls for that at times, jumps and floorwork, fluidity yet precise movements. the type of choreography yura never thought she would love but she does.
♫ , i promise to keep this a secret, i’ll never tell but don’t you keep it all to yourself
she looks to dohee for guidance, permission, confidence and she finds it so easily in her friend that she forgets the pressure of trying to perform perfectly in order to uphold the talent of her friend’s choreography. the conviction is contagious— yura thinks she can dance across the stage, fly as if just a touch could knock her off her feet, take control of her whole body, the promise of the song fulfilled.
♫ , so won’t you take it, i feel like for the first time i am not faking
fingers on my buttons and now you’re playing
master of anticipation, don’t you keep it all to yourself
she forgets herself in the song, forgives her shortcomings, a leap of faith, a reach for the stars, and she’s back on her feet, yearning for another touch. a touch to knock her off her feet again.
♫ , just a touch of your love is enough to knock me off of my feet all week
just a touch of your love, oh, just a touch of your love, oh
just a touch of your love is enough to take control of my whole body
just a touch of your love, oh, just a touch of your love, oh
spinning, reeling, a chance to be free — she throws herself into the song, a smile exchanged with dohee as they nearly crash. a collision of power instead, of coordination, of an absoluteneed to dance because what they’ve been touched by is the music and she’s ecstatic when the music fades.
it’s not the complete song, not the end, and she knows this isn’t the end of her attempting dances like this either. there’s a rhythm in her heart, a melody that she can’t keep to herself and it starts in her feet, thunders through her veins to her very core, electrifying and she’s lit aflame.
she’s vaulted out of her comfort zone, springed into another type of dance, and she’s beginning to see the same type of beauty in the cherry blossoms that fall upon the stage, picking one and placing it in her hair before finding another to do the same for dohee. it’s her way of saying thank you, that and the way she says, “this was fun.”
( & . — EVEN IF YOU DON’T SAY ANYTHING I HAVE A FEELING, )
FROM YOUR HEAD TO YOUR TOES, EVERYTHING, YOU’RE MY TYPE
she’s the most comfortable now, yoga pants and a loose long sleeve with a baseball cap on her head. even dohee can’t deny that this is when yura looks her most confident, her most content, and she beams at hearing her friend admit it. words that a fashion mall owner wouldn’t want to say— because her own model should look best in the inventory, but there’s nothing quite like wearing your own clothes, your favorite clothes or at least your favorite style and this is just that for yura. there’s nothing she’d prefer over this, except shorts and a tank in the summer but even that’s too revealing most of the time in seoul. there’s a certain type of look you get by bearing your shoulders too easily and she laughs it off most of the time yet she adapted, changed slowly. tanks stay at home and she’s okay with it because t-shirts are just as comfortable if not more so.
even the performance is more casual— both wonjin and sunho agree. their preferred choreography among the group ( just don’t tell hyuk or he’ll be hurt ) because it’s not too difficult but still not that simple. an relaxed type of skill, and yura does the best with this. her domain, it’s clear to see.
♫ , your sneakers under your thin ankles
a perfect harmony with your denim skinny jeans
under your slightly big cardigan
your falling, long, straight hair is so pretty
simplicity that’s perfect for a impromptu flash mob along the festival’s walkway, clarity in the steps forward they take to slip into the crowd, melt in and reform with more members of their group. dohee’s the one stepping out of her comfort zone this time and yura can’t help grinning broadly as she winks at her friend.
♫ , your shy eye smile, the look on your face when you space out
it all looks so pretty to me, it makes my heart tremble
why did you come now? you’re my type
the show carries on even when their “stage” is over, a rush of skateboards traveling down the path to continue, a speaker lightly playing the song.
♫ , oh oh your delicate smile
oh oh your eyes when you look at me
there is no flaw anywhere
there’s no time to be bored, you’re perfect
and that’s just how she feels about the performance, it’s perfect. more than falling in love or touch, this is her pace, her type.
( & . — SO WHAT IF IT’S SPRING AGAIN )
FLOWERS WILL FALL ANYWAY
she likes this season more than summer in seoul. it’s nothing close to the climate on hawaii but it’s closer than the rest. there’s so much to love about seoul in the spring, is what eunso and dohee have told her but she’s not an avid believer. too much pollen in the air, too much fake love in the streets. broken promises waiting to happen and poison on the tongue that disguises itself as a confession.
that’s exactly what she was telling them about when they’re stopped by a younger male. junse, he says his name is and when he asks for a rap, yura laughs at eunso and dohee’s attempts to think of something for him. none of the three are particularly gifted in rap but yura’s going to be the last to remind them that if anyone has the chance for it, it’s her. it’s only a matter of time before they remember the rap they wanted yura to try out for the sake of the performances in yeouido.
“come on, yura! he said it’s for his school project!”
“his project is on freestyle.”
“you’re doing it for free, that’s freestyle.”
dead-panning at dohee gets her nowhere especially when eunso offers to sing so that yura feels less awkward. instead, it makes her feel apologetic. eunso and dohee both have sweet voices, too sweet for the type of rap yura likes most so her face is in her hands until dohee taunts her, “what happened to yura the brave?”
because everyone knows yura only identifies as a gryffindor, any other house be damned for trying to claim her.
♫ , spring, spring, spring has come again
like flower pollen that tickles even when I’m standing still
this street is filled with couples
there are more couples
than fallen flower petals, or is that just me?
why am I the only one alone at lake seokcheon?
i’m pretending to make a call
in case I look like a loser
baby, where are you? I’m here so hurry up — ✦
her and junse are bowing at each other when dohee drags her away, eunso quick on their trail, the both of them echoing each other as they ask, “does this mean you’ll perform with us now?”
“don’t you think i’m bitter enough in such a pretty season?” as much as she doesn’t like everything about seoul in spring, she does admit it’s beautiful. actually, there’s nothing like it.
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( & . — MY HEART AND CRUMBLED DREAMS )
ARE LIKE A DRY FLOWER PETAL ON THE WALL
"why didn’t you tell me?”
she swears she could hear those words from the moment she got on the plane in the first place. the tone, the inflection, the whine in his words, in questions she’s better off pretending she doesn’t have the answer to. truth being that she doesn’t want to remember the answers, doesn’t want to remember that she’s walking in the shadow of the past, following steps her mother didn’t want her to take, a path she can’t return from any longer.
fingers comb through fiery locks, a recent dye job thanks to a salon she found after landing and she crosses bare legs, the gesture drawing the attention of a male sitting a table across from her and she tries not to chuckle at the thought. a blooming first love on her mind a year ago is withered, dry. there, she was dying in the cold. here, she’s wilting in the heat and she hates how foreign it makes her feel in her own skin.
“because you’d come to the airport to get me!”
“of course i would. i can’t let you be alone in japan when your mom thinks you’re with me.”
there’s no faulting him for his concern. not only would his parents be upset but her grandfather would have jongdae’s head for it even though she didn’t warn him. something else she didn’t want, because jongdae is everything she’s not. proper, polite, demure, a good boy. she didn’t want to see him and be reminded that she should be better than this — that he looked out for her because he believed that she is better, because he cares and that’s another thing she doesn’t want to acknowledge in and of itself: that any guy could honestly care and not betray her.
jongdae is becoming one of the only exceptions and she doesn’t want that. they’re both so far away from each other now. even if he was standing there with her, even if he was sitting with her at this cafe, she’d feel the distance. they’re no longer the little kids they once were.
so she lies.
she’s getting good at it.
“i’m with some of my friends. you worry too much, oppa.” ( now that isn’t a lie ) “i can’t bring you along, you’ll embarrass me ~ ”
another whine and she laughs, earning the guy’s attention again for a completely different reason: her laugh is just so odd and loud.
“i’ll come see you and everyone soon. i just want to explore a little!” fingers tap against the glass tabletop and when a waiter brings her drink, she nearly knocks her sunglasses off in surprise. a sly grin slips onto her lips when the same guy who’d been looking at her places them in her hand, intentionally lingering and she changes her mind.
in crystal clear english, she says “actually dylan, maybe you should come here to tokyo. do you want to?”
any time she asks him a question like that, it’s always more of a strong suggestion than a polite request and that’s how she finds herself following him around akihabara, pretending to understand the latest topic he’s on. it’s not very often that he goes on and on so excitedly about something — another thing’s for sure, they’ve both grown and dylan is no longer the small oppa she remembers still doing his best to defend her.
he’s still someone she would gladly punch someone out for but he no longer looks like he needs her to. it’s when they find a manga cafe that she’s most interested but he finds an old arcade game she doesn’t see the appeal of, easily distracting herself with the texts the guy is sending her about meeting up later. his broken english is cute, trying to explain to yura whose japanese is basic at best. looking over at jongdae, she smiles and waves, encouraging him to play on as she replies with one word, “yes.”
“i know you’re feeling sick but maybe i could get you some tea. there’s probably a vending machine close by.” he’s as concerned as ever but there’s no answer to his kindness and it should’ve been the first sign that something is off. wherever yura is, it should be loud and it is. the revving of engines, the preening of each car, the preservation of the kanjo as the guy puts it. that’s what he brings from osaka in terms of street racing and he tells her it’s better than in osaka here because of the streets. she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she knows, because it’s why she came— an urge to see japanese street racing, to be part of it, because she wants to know what it’s like to go 200 miles an hour without crashing the way she has been for months.
but she can’t breathe. the glaring lights of sirens and the sound trap her breath in her lungs. yoshito is nowhere to be found and she realizes she’s done it again — planted a little seed of hope in a man undoubtedly going to let her down and it’s not as if she wanted him to stay. she’s not even sure she had his name right, it was about getting to where she wanted to be. in this moment, she doesn’t know why.
she does the only thing she’s been doing for months since the break-up, she runs. the texts from yoshito ( his newly appointed nickname ) are ignored in favor of dialing a number she’s had for years, one she’s been able to count on for so long.
“i’m sorry.”
she rests her head comfortable against his back. it’s true. things have changed but some things always stay the same. his back just feels more sturdy than when they were little. still, he saves her from herself again and she’s blinking away tears at the thought that she keeps losing sight so easily. a curtain of red shields her face from his once they dismount and she prepares herself for yelling, something, anything, but he just asks this, “are you okay?” and yura knows the meaning of finding comfort, finding home in a person instead of a place. she’s a broken record, another apology spilling from her lips when they’re normally so hard to come by, and he starts talking about the bike trail he chose for them to take the next day and she agrees wholeheartedly this time.
she somehow almost forgot. he calms her down, soothes her soul. there’s a lapse of chaos in his presence and she welcomes it this time. now, she accepts it. she can trust him at least, distance be damned.
“hey, oppa.”
“yes?”
“i’ll tell you next time.”
“next time what?”
“next time i come visit you.”
a secret promise exchanged with herself — one day, i’ll stop running.
( & . — AND IF I HAD ONE WISH COME TRUE )
I’D SURF TIL THE SUN SETS BEYOND THE HORIZON
there’s occasions on which yura’d been nearly kicked out and she thinks it’s mostly a joke. mostly being the key word, sometimes there’s this glint in the owner’s eyes as if he’s just itching to tell her never to come back. the number of times yura talks about dognapping one of the cafe’s cute pups puts her in this predicament and yet he still allows her to volunteer her time bathing them. only those old enough can be doted on in such a manner but it doesn’t stop her from somehow showering the others with affection in another way.
her snapchat and instagram story is filled with the sounds of excited yips when she sneaks them treats in exchange for tricks ( it’s only fair, isn’t it ) only to be scolded when she’s caught tossing one mid-air. she only has one job so just what does she think she’s doing— that’s the look he gives her now and her grin is barely bashful when she bows her head in apology, handing him the bag of treats as self-determined punishment.
all’s fair in love and war and the so-called peace offering was a mere distraction so he wouldn’t notice which treats yura used. the yell comes when she’s already successfully made her escape into the washroom, a trail of dogs behind her.
“you used the vegan treats?”
if she’s going to spoil them, she should choose the healthiest option. that’s the least she could do! she could practically feel the way he fumes through the walls, snickering to herself as she sets the first dog in the sink, a pug that’s too energetic for the occasion but she accepts every challenge thrown her way. it’s always more fun that way. but the joke’s on her in the end when wonjin, yejin, and dohee end up coming to the cafe because they’d heard she’d be volunteering. if there’s one thing they could count on from yura when she’s left working on her own, it’s this: she’ll sing out loud like no one’s listening because she thinks it’s true. it couldn’t be further from the truth this time around. she’s already on the third dog and halfway through the song.
♫ , a wiki wiki mai lohi lohi
la we mai i ko papa he'e nalu
flying by on the hawaiian roller coaster ride
the result of watching the movie once again on rabbit with her sister. her own type of excuses turned around on her: it’s the least you could do. she had scoffed when hana said it to her but the truth is, it is the least she could do when she’s so far away. the start of summer vacation for her little sister meant more late nights for her. an early bird just like the rest of their family, hana is, in her own words, excessively bored because she isn’t allowed as much freedom as yura had at her age and yura knows she’s to blame. for very good reasons at that, which hana doesn’t let her forget for one single second. the song was stuck in her head the way it was when they were younger and hana was absolutely obsessed. a day wouldn’t go by without the baby of the family asking for a repeat of the song, whether it was through the movie or whoever was willing to sing.
“you’re lucky i don’t sound like a dying bird,” she used to tease whenever she was asked but she secretly enjoyed it as much as hana did. so she’s smiling as she thinks of it, the song one she relates to one of their purest times as sisters, one without as much conflict as there is now, without as much distance, when wonjin walks in first. he’s supposedly the stealthiest but yura almost turns around and if she had the slightest ounce of self-preservation, she would’ve. there’s not a single person that would call her shy so it’s not the presence of the camera that gets to her first upon realization but that she was singing at the top of her lungs ( as much as she could in the backroom, anyway ) and dancing around while bathing the shih tzu, one of the oldest dogs at the cafe and knowingly so. she owns the playpen and she certainly acts like it, barking in annoyance when yura stops once she realizes her friends have successfully infiltrated the room.
“hey!”
“oh no, don’t stop because of us! you keep on flying on that hawaiian roller coaster ride.”
it’s shocking that she’s speechless but once she does speak, the three flee just as quickly as they came in, especially wonjin. “i’ll show you flying!”
time-out. yura hadn’t been out on time-out since she was ten. but all four of them sit in separate corners as penance for getting suds all over the cafe, from the storage room to the main room and the owner is the one at a loss for words now. they were, after all, supposed to make his life easier, not create a mess and when he reaches yura, she bites her lip and he almost thinks she’s about to apologize. “look at it this way, maybe we could have a foam party.” yeah, that’s more like her and he’s quiet at first before he shakes his head. this time, it’s sincere when concern fills yura’s eyes, an actual apology on the tip of her tongue because she truly was sorry. but then he laughs and she’s staring in awe.
“you’re worse than the youngest puppies here,” and he ruffles her hair like she’s one of them too before telling her to clean everything up, head to toe. with a laugh of her own, she grins, saluting him with a childish bark. while she doesn’t understand yet, she’s thankful for it, that he has the patience and extreme tolerance to deal with her. it was more than she could say about her father, that much she is sure about and she makes a promise to herself in that moment not to make a mess in the cafe again when she comes back to help out.
