#harong

the first time something happens. hayoung didn't think about it at the time, but pieced it together in retrospect. there were many of them, these incidents, small enough to pass unregistered consciously but later, in context, they fit together, slide together like pieces of a puzzle or beads on a string, matching, joining so naturally it's strange, that one didn't see it before. brain sorts out what is irrational. fills out the blank spots. makes sense, and spares you the details. what you thought you saw, you thought, and you never know. probably just saw. imagined. the first time. small, so quick, just passes. hayoung's sitting in her room, the door is half open, the hall outside is dark, there is movement in the corner of her eye - chorong's walking by. the gap between the door and the frame slicing her in panels, showing one at a time, front, middle, back. the back of her shin and her heel, wisp of black hair. that's what hayoung catches. she's probably heading to the bathroom. five seconds later chorong walks past again. it's so quick hayoung barely sees her. heel, shin, black hair. also towards the bathroom.

another time, later. chorong's sitting bent over some papers, hayoung calls for her, unnie, chorong turns her head. and then again. it's not that chorong has two heads, but there is a second face, like a shadow of the first, only solid. follows, one beat later, the curved movement of the first. like they're both interested in what hayoung has to say. it's over in a second. first one, then the other, and then they've melted together again. the second, catching up. hayoung blinks. chorong looks at her. what?

later yet. chorong's cooking dinner. hayoung walks in on her - walks in, because that's what it feels like, even though it's just that, cooking - chorong's stirring a pot with one hand and adjusting the temperature with the other and chopping vegetables with one and meat with another-- chorong catches her, freezes. they look at each other for a split moment. swift, as if never there, all hands melt together into one, one on each arm, and the extra knife clatters down against the cutting board.