{ @eominjun }
there is a balance to their relationship. it is the balance made by two people, from small children to young adults. they were two vines placed next to each other, they grew on the same tree, and so grew together, entwined.
where there is sera, there is minjun. where there is minjun, there is sera.
her place in his life was the natural order. they were in his bed, sera lying on her stomach, propped up by the elbows, legs swinging behind her, and ankles purposely hitting minjun’s knees in a disorderly rhythm. she flickers her eyes back at him to see if he’s annoyed yet, her lips twitch upward.
it’s inane to say sera does not know what minjun does - what kind of person minjun really is. she sees numbness in his eyes, so unfeeling and distance, cruel and indifferent -- but as does he sees hers. the sly trick, distrust, and sharpening knives. but she feels as if she’s lived by him like a mirror. two black sheeps on a scale, equally judged, equally devoured. that is what defines minjun -- what allows her flick her childish smile at him, so easy to trust.
the only sound in the room is the crinkling of the page in a book way too old to have been borrowed out the library and the thumping of the bone of her ankle resounding with a deep knock against the bone of his knee. she’s one index finger into his jewelry box, scouring for the pair of earrings she saw him wear yesterday. the silver caught her eye and she would probably steal them for a while. when among the trinkets, she spots the worn corner of what looks like a polaroid sticking out of the velvet bottom of the jewelry box. the sound of clanking metal halts, sera’s movement freeze as she pries the paper from underneath the bottom.
when she pulls it out, her head tilts at the black and white image. it’s an ultrasound. how curious. why would minjun have this?
her head whips back, “ hey jun, ” one hand outstretched as she holds the piece of paper delicately between her fingers, “ what’s this? ” sera’s eyes keep focus on his face.
