BABY STEPS
"...But kinda bluesy, like John Mayer- are you listening?”
“...Uh-huh.”
Can’t say he doesn’t deserve the guitar pick-turned-ammunition aimed straight for his shoulder, not that it appears to phase him. Few things do. These days, though, he seems particularly at ease-- as if he’s transcended general good-naturedness to become Buddha himself. Which is impressive. But also suspicious.
She suspects it has something to do with the recent development in their relationship. Well, her sister does. So does Gayoung, who’s also adopted an all-knowing expression at the mention of his name, which is both disturbing and annoying (leave it to Hayeon to broadcast her personal information to whomever she pleases). With the two of them breathing down her neck at every opportunity, she’s starting to think this is getting out of hand. Their interest in whatever this is, she means.
Whatever this is.
An idle strum, legs rocking to the side to peer closer at the screen. No new e-mails yet. Results aren’t supposed to be sent out for another two minutes, but she’s starting to get antsy. Kimoon seems to sense it, fingers brushing against hers soon after. A natural consequence of habit now, the little touches of reassurance here and there-- not that they’ve been serving their intended purpose. Probably just the caffeine. Who am I kidding?
“Oh my god, it’s here-- open it-wait!” Down the guitar goes. Her hands take on a newfound purpose, effectively obscuring her view instead. Vaguely, she can feel him shifting beside her before the recognizable clicks of her laptop mouse follow. A pause. “...Congratulations. Your song has been chosen to represent-” Oh my god. “Oh my god.” (For emphasis.)
After rereading said e-mail four times, Hana allows herself a little victory dance, complete with vigorous footwork and clumsy spins. Kimoon just watches and laughs. “Told you you could do it. Leap of faith, right?” That reminds her: just above his head, in puffy paint, a very poignant drawing of stick figures (one stubby-legged, the other obscenely long). And in Gayoung’s messy, childlike handwriting: TAKE THE LEAP OF FAITH.
“I’m taking it,” she tells no one in particular. Before he can react, she stoops towards where he’s seated on the floor and presses a kiss to his mouth. There’s a beat of silence. Then:
“...You missed.”
“Shut up.”
