n. 707

Fire

Air • Earth • Water

“Yeah, I don’t know if I’m gonna release it.”

Wonshik smiled wryly, happy that the production aspect wasdone, but tired and greatly, greatly doubting his work. The studio space he hadrented out for finishing touches was pretty plain. The coffee table had wrappersfrom the fast food place Jungeun had picked up food for them, and a few emptycans of energy drinks sat randomly around the room itself. It was the aftermathof hours and hours of him tweaking things here and there, re-recording somethings, and balling up scraps of paper he had notes on.

“Why not? You’ve been at it forever.”

Jungeun was lying down on the couch, her feet perched up onan armrest. For the last few hours she’d been reading on her phone or watchingWonshik’s back as he worked on the mixing board. She was used to the wholeprocess by now. At first, it was a shock to see Wonshik, who on the outsideseemed pretty lazy, work so hard without giving a thought to anything else.Then, she started to get annoyed. He spent way more time working and not reallytaking time off to spend time with her. He’d gotten better, and Jungeun foundit hard not to want to encourage him.

Kind of like now.

The swivel chair moved side to side as Wonshik moved hisknees, avoiding Jungeun’s eyes and looking at some random piece of art on thewall that he could bet there was a similar one two studios down in thebuilding. “It’s not great. I don’t think my flow or anything really meshed. Iprobably shouldn’t have used—”

“Just do it anyway. It’s good.”

“Not this time.”

“Wonshik, come on.”

He frowned. He rarely got genuinely agitated with Jungeun, or anyone for that matter. But,especially Jungeun. This time, he was a little too tired and a little too angryat his own doubts to want to listen to her. “I just think maybe I should stickto working behind the scenes on other people’s tracks. I like that stuff, too,but I don’t wanna be the guy that does better for someone else than himself.That’s just bullshit.” It was something he knew was rumbling around his circlesslowly. Sure, he enjoyed collaborating and helping bring someone’s ideas to life,but if he couldn’t execute something for himself what was the point? It wasn’tlike he could mention it to any of his friends or anyone remotely close to himthat wasn’t Jungeun at this point. She didn’t care about that stuff, so she wasthe one person who he should be ableto talk about this kind of this, right? They were dating, so it made sense. Heshared enough of his work with her anyway.

So why couldn’t she see what he was seeing?

(And why wasn’t he seeing what she was?)

“Shut up. Who cares if you think it’s not good this time.You put a lot of work into it and you might as well just put it out. You canalways build off it again.”

For someone who went with the flow and relaxed way more thanher, Jungeun found that Wonshik was surprisingly hard on himself when it cameto music. Maybe because he had to give up a few things to pursue it (a fewthings meaning contact with his parents), but he did not once ever say he’dwant to give up like this. Not to her. It was disheartening.

“Besides,” she said, speaking before he could open his mouthagain (she could still see he was angry, his eyebrows were doing that thing again). “Even if no one else likesit, I’ll still listen to it.” It’d be right there on her phone, like everythingelse he put out.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

the thing had fallen to the floor.

in a moment of carelessness in which doyoung was occupied with his own thoughts, the crystal had smashed into little pieces at his feet. a shard dug a shallow slice across his ankle with an added sting as the cool water of the vase trickled from the small side table on his feet; by the time his gaze fell on his injury, the blood was of a pastel shade.

(mom always hated blood; the sight of it made her unwell. whenever he was hurt, it was his sister who would go on to clumsily put a band-aid on his wounds.)

cleaning this up, he thought now with a little frisson of heat, wasn’t something he wanted to do. not after he’d already burned the cream sauce for tonight’s dinner. doyoung would always remember that small, irritating detail, as he would remember the incessant ringing of his phone and the boom of thunder from the late-summer storm.

he remembered the harsh smell, the sudden scream of the smoke alarms and the way he’d mechanically taken the pan off the burner and dumped it in the sink. how he knelt on the ground to clean the wound before wrapping his ankle up. how he gathered the bloody shards from the floor and mopped up the water which his carpet was beginning to soak up.

it didn’t mesh well. whatever his expectations had been, no piece of this puzzle fit together: the end product was an ugly thing. he exhaled, willed himself to push past the haze which was clouding his judgement and went to do as he needed.

—

the news filtered through his headache, and he turned toward his father like an automation. doyoung didn’t know what happened first: was it the spoon that dropped out of his hand, or the heart that dropped out of his body?

the two across the table spoke of details that were like a buzz in his brain, of arrangements, of invitations that needed to be sent out. whether or not he had someone that needed to be put on the guest list. are you freaking kidding?

“does sooyoung know?“ the words didn’t register in his brain until he realized his father was staring at him, and so was the woman by his side. they looked… guilty. a mixture of emotions seemed to flood through his father; he’d never been good at hiding what he thought. it ultimately meant the downfall of his parents’ marriage and for a brief moment, a sharp sensation made itself known in his chest, tugging and pulling in ways that were unfamiliar to him. it gnawed away at his conscience until a hurtful realisation settled in: perhaps sooyoung, for all the past years, did have a reason to be as angry as she was.

used to be. still is? doyoung was ashamed to say that he didn’t know.

they were gone quicker than he’d anticipated after the announcement was made, and doyoung was alone again. alone in an apartment that had no photos to speak of, nothing to turn to, to look for comfort.

the storm was over, and everything was quiet. had it ever been so quiet? he could hear his own heartbeat, the blood rushing in his ears, the hum of the heater as it kicked on, the drip of rain from the gutters. the emotions swelling up inside his chest were difficult to understand but they massed into some kind of hard, hot knot inside of him the longer he pondered the words of his father.

what was the point in marrying again now? and why would he drop that information on his unsuspecting son in the middle of dinner especially when his own daughter wasn’t even around to hear the news in person? nothing had prepared him for this and he felt a wave of helplessness overcome him.

it was the kind of feeling that would not leave, even when he absent-mindedly rang his twin’s number for the first time in years. doyoung didn’t want to be the bearer of bad (or good?) news, but something in him screamed for the comfort of someone who could understand. he didn’t need sooyoung to forgive him for the things he did or didn’t do, but he needed her to hear the news from him.

hello?

a shaky exhale.

Three minutes ago, Sooyoung had been eavesdropping from the balcony upstairs, chin on her own palm. The stairs face the front entrance (west), leading down into the dining space in a spiral (east), but she could already tell their expressions hadn’t matched. How would one describe that? She could say something about how Mom’s never been the motherly type if she didn’t have to be, and that this was no exception. Youth is a fence, however. Should she step through the gate anytime, she’d simply meet their mother on the other side.

Mom doesn’t repeat herself, assuming it’s because her daughter doesn’t care. But Sooyoung’s in touch with her cell two minutes after it had stopped ringing on the counter. Indifference doesn’t have to last forever, what more if she’s done with all she’s got to do for the weekend? “Good thing you didn’t answer,” she says in passing, just as terse. There’s a spring in her step when she excuses herself from the common space, a phone to her ear when she redials.

Straight to voicemail, like it’s his turn to shut off the need to care. They are twins. But then she reads the following text, and it’s nothing and everything she’s expected. Something. It wouldn’t have made any difference if Mom had picked up the phone. Talking about it out loud, though... is that on the same page as being too naive?

i. seoul fashion week, ca. 2017. 08:21 pm

’who’s he?‘

jooyoung’s voice always betrays her emotion. for a secretary it’s an unfortunate trait to have      for seoyun, as an employer, it’s a good detail to notice. particularly so when it means navigating a sea of unfamiliar faces and separating models from designers from celebrities from sponsors and so forth. in her function as seoyun’s personal assistant, jooyoung possesses an almost otherworldly understanding of these type of functions, the importance and meaning behind socializing and building contacts which is exactly why she’s usually the one to accompany seoyun whenever there is a gathering to be attended.

seojun has long since rescinded his offer of being his twin’s companion for events such as this one and usually, she can understand. it’s on her worst days where she feels left alone and behind by her older brother but thankfully, these are few and far inbetween.

“who do you mean?”

in the masses of faces she has yet to recognize before she can categorize who’s who in her brain, jooyoung’s words make little sense. the first few rows are fully occupied with all sorts of colorful people, foreigners and locals alike and the heiress can’t help but marvel at the prettiness by which she is surrounded.

it’s not until jooyoung     very roughly, one might add     elbows seoyun in her side that she snaps back, accusing eyes still dutifully following her secretary’s line of vision only to be met with the sight of… a model.

which is perhaps an understatement in and of itself. he should not be called a mere model, but seoyun lacks the mental capacity to come up with a word befitting the elegance she sees displayed in front of her with such casual ease. the worn design is splendid in its own right, highlighted by the beautiful lights from above but it’s the man wearing it which makes her pause all the calculations she’s been going through this evening.

instead, her eyes follow quietly and admiringly     it’s not before long when the stranger departs the stage and she releases a breath she hasn’t known she’s been holding in.

beside her, jooyoung smiles in silence.

ii. 10:01 pm

“you’re sunggeun’s brother?” ‘and you’re seojun’s sister.’

the realization is simple enough to split her lips apart into a sheepish, somewhat apologetic grin, having her feeling all kinds of foolish and giggly the moment it clicks.

sunggeun and seojun, military buddies and business partners. not particularly someone she wishes her brother would hang around with as much as he does but who is she to tell him what to do with his life. what surprises her far more than seojun’s disobedience is the remarkable difference.

she remembers sunggeun, tries to compare the vague impression he left behind with the precise way his younger brother carries himself and finds it easily overshadowed.

eyeing soogeun and the way with which he observes her, quiet in a way she can’t quite place. patiently, like he doesn’t mind standing there and having his time stolen by a person he’s heard of, someone he should be familiar with by mere association. how strange. if her heart speeds up a little at the quick quirk of his lips he offers, she pretends not to notice.

if jooyoung hadn’t excused herself to use the opportunity to involve the mayor’s son in a discussion about donations, seoyun would have sent her away to spare herself the embarrassment of having been caught blushing down to her neck.

iii. 02:24 am

the brunette is not new to the celebrations usually concluding a successful fashion show. in fact, she’s been to enough shows, spoken to enough models and seen her fair share of designers come and go on the international stage to understand how cutthroat the business is and how little room is left for actual creativity when everything needs to have a due date, a tangible name for the masses and a vision to be understood.

but even the elite will celebrate, will find an excuse to pour the alcohol and to turn up the music. some poor souls will wake up the next morning with a booming headache, a few designers might even go as far as to tear up their recent work in a fit of rage at things not having gone their way. emotions boil over easily, far more so when compliments or the champagne get to your head and perhaps for the first time in her life, seoyun understands the impulse to give in to what’s thrilling.

except, her weakness isn’t the drinks or the vain compliments with which others decorate themselves. hers comes in the form of a gentle tug of her hand, a pull into another direction and towards a warmer presence, a twitching of lips that turns into full smiles and quiet laughter in between whispers     propositions of where to go, what to do.

“let’s go dancing.” 

‘i don’t know how to dance.’ he’s laughing, possibly at her and her suggestion. seoyun finds, she doesn’t want him to stop even if it means making a fool out of herself for a little while longer. it’s why she beams at him, her dark hair having long since come undone from the strict hairdo it’d been forced into by her stylist. now it’s falling over her shoulders in an almost unruly manner and she’s blissfully alright with it.

“you don’t have to know. you’ll learn.”

she holds out a hand, brows raised questioningly, teasingly when she looks at soogeun again; a smile dancing on the corners of her lips like she knows something he doesn’t.

‘say you’ll teach me?’

hands are linked as two silhouettes disappear from the afterparty.

iv. 06:34 am

it’s too hot.

too hot in a way that makes her think she should consider going back inside to avoid clothes sticking to her like a second skin; she tends to look like a wax-figure when she sweats. another point of insecurity, seoyun thinks she should be working on them. at least the sunhat makes it bearable for her to sit in the audience to watch her brother.

glancing to her side with her eyes hidden behind big, angular sunglasses, seoyun doesn’t know what to expect. possibly another sweaty person who doesn’t quite understand what he has been dragged out here for although she reasons that he seemed anything but nonplussed when she asked for his company for the day.

soogeun seems to feel her eyes on him when he turns slightly, just enough to face her     his lips quirking upwards appreciatively and seoyun finds herself returning the smile.

how simple. how nice.

(still too hot, though.)

“does sunggeun know about this?” judging from his posture, seoyun would consider soogeun to be somewhat interested in the proceedings of the day. maybe because what’s happening seems somewhat similar to his own hobby although seoyun will concede that attending a horse show such as this one might very well appear strange to someone who has not really grown up with them. she’s not afraid to say that they’re not typically found in an education for a child of seoul’s upper class but then again, perhaps seojun did bring a little of his british flair back home. maybe that’s what attending eton college got him.

“i don’t think so.”

seojun’s silhouette appears somewhere near her peripheral although he’s dressed in his typical attire for days such as this one. the younger twin leans back in her seat, eyes darting back to the boy by her side to see what kind of reaction he’ll be having to this revelation.

“how does someone like seojun keep something like this quiet about himself?” soogeun crosses his arms and seoyun has to fight herself to keep the smile off her face.

the things only siblings know about each other.

“wait until he wins.” letting out a satisfied sigh before tugging at his arm for soogeun to lower his shoulder so she can lean her head on it, seoyun’s smile widens a little when seojun spots them in the crowd, followed by an enthusiastic wave from him. she can feel the vibrations of a chuckle on her skin and when she looks up to soogeun, she finds him with a grin as well.

“what’s gonna happen when he wins?” the question comes eventually, though long after the first round of show-jumping has started.

when the wind turns, she catches the whiff of something she can’t quite put a finger on and scrunches up her nose in distaste. consider her a little childish when it comes to the smell of… well, you know.

soogeun seems to notice but doesn’t say something. at least he smells nice.

maybe that’s why he wraps an arm around her so casually.

“nothing.” her smile comes back when she hears soogeun chuckling at her humour again. “i just like it when he wins.”

Okay, call bullshit on me, fine. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am sentimental.

Maybe I’m a coward.

And what of it?

Cowards can be sentimental. We’re just not good at dealing with it.

There are a few things I can pinpoint on what led me down this path (if that’s what you want to call this).

The first would be discovery.

Do you remember your first time?

Like when you really looked at a girl?

Mine was on the cover of an album, a not-yet washed up superstar giving a look that I couldn’t describe in middle school.

“Do you like that singer?” “No.”

I didn’t even know what the music sounded like. I knew her, thought she was pretty, but—

“I can get it for you.” “No, it’s okay.”

I put it back on the shelf at the time.

(Hey, spoiler: I did that a lot early on. The whole, obvious-metaphor-foreshadowing-it-might-as-well-be-written-on-my-forehead thing.)

And each time we went to the store after I’d beeline right back to the music section and stare at the same album cover over and over.

(I still haven’t gotten over her.)

In middle school, but more in high school, other things happened.

“Jinsol.” “Mhm?” “[can’t be bothered to remember their name] told me that her brother asked you out.” “Your friend is nosy.” “Yeah.”

I kept cooking. I was always cooking. Dad wouldn’t be home for a few hours. He said he was going to a mixer later and asked us to wish him luck. Weird, right? Why would he want to go through all that trouble again?

“…hey, Jinsol?” “What?” “Did you say yes?” “Yeah.” “Why?” “I don’t know.”

(You really, really didn’t know.)

(We broke up. You remember that, don’t you?)

High school is so awkward. Boys are weird, girls too. Everyone’s a bit awkward and unsure of themselves, thinking that some drama is worth the time and effort. Rumors spread fast, too. Like when they see you with your mom that happened to pop by for the first time in a few years to tell you that you should think about college and marriage and whatever else it was you didn’t listen to.

(God, I wish I could tell you that now. Don’t fucking listen to her!)

“I didn’t know your mom was, like, alive.”

Well, she was dead to me, so—

“You’re so cool.” Come again?

As it turns out, some people will talk shit for things but others will think you’re strong and put together. It’s nice… but also a bit uncomfortable.

Then there’s another first.

You know that old habit of looking at the album cover over and over again? Well, imagine that as a real person. A real person you happened to see working at the store (a different one, you wouldn’t want to do that to her), beautifully styled hair, gorgeous eyes, dimples (cute!) and a voice that made your skin crawl in the best kind of way. God, and when she accidentally touched your hand? Game over. It was the feelings I’m sure I was supposed to feel before. Or you, rather. You were supposed to feel them that one time. You remember it. You were going out with a different boy and he kissed you at sunset behind the gym and you felt—

Nothing. Not a fucking thing.

But this, dear, is the kicker: You told yourself to kiss him again, just to see if maybe he did something wrong.

Those feelings were void of anything other than the disappointment you felt because something was off, something was wrong, and it sure as hell wasn’t the captain of the baseball team that was doing it for you. He was a catch (ha!). You smiled, held his hand, and let him walk you back home so your brother could see you and then tattle on you to your dad for coming back home late because you were with a boy.

Eventually, grocery store girl no longer worked at the store.

(And no, the boy didn’t get to another base.) (ha!)

After grocery store girl there was bakery girl, teacher, woman in that drama you never really could follow the plot of…

There was certainly a pattern and you caught up to it pretty quick.

Well, not as quick as when she arrived.

She was funny and thought you were funny. You hit it off immediately.

Oh, did you forget how absolutely pretty she was? When you had to share a book because she forgot hers, your hands touched and you swore you were as much of a mess as those characters you always made fun of in dramas with your brother. This was better than grocery store girl. This girl flirted. Or, you thought she flirted.

(She liked baseball boys who had chapped lips, apparently. Her loss.)

Quick intermission from the narrator (aka You):

Your brother: You sure talk about [girl who likes boys] a lot. Don’t you have any other friends? You: I do, but they aren’t as interesting. Your brother: Maybe if you were more popular you’d get a boyfriend and that’d be more interesting.

(you weren’t unpopular, he was just being an asshole)

You: I think that’s okay. Your brother: Okay, weirdo.

(Head’s up: he started wondering stuff then.)

You graduate high school, go to college, move out after the first year and into the dorms.

(Mom is radio silent again. Shocker.)

You actually admit to someone you’re gay.

“You sure?”

For fuck’s sake—

“Have you ever done it?” “Well…” “Oh my god, I gotta take you somewhere.”

That somewhere was amazing for two reasons:

The first is where you met the first (one of three, your body count is and will always be low, Jinsol) girl you slept with.

The second is what we’ll get to later. Keep up with this part first.

Turns out, kisses were good! So were other things! Like, the skin crawling feeling times ten. You’ll know, don’t worry. You’ll be able to pinpoint album girl’s look too. You’ll also be able to pinpoint exactly what gets—

“Jung Jinsol!” “Huh?” “My new model kit came in.” “I’ll be right over.”

Then you had that brief stint with the other girl who worked at the school bookstore with you. Remember the dates? Like, your first real date? Thrilling. The dates and the getting to know you phase is absolutely the best and after that

you wanted nothing more.

You fucking coward.

You came all this way, Jinsol, only to string everything along and just end it there?

No wonder you never had a girlfriend!

But, of course, that’s not why we’re here, is it?

No, because you had the audacity to stare at a girl in a cooking class you didn’t even need to be at while she was with her mom of all people, like she was the top prize at an arcade. You had the fucking nerve to keep staring, got caught, and got fucking winked at.

Oh, if only album girl could see the woman you became:

(She’d have laughed in your fucking face.)

Remember when you heard she asked around about you?

The prettiest girl you’ve ever seen?

You’re on the right path now.

Remember that neighborhood?

You know, that super gay friendly one? And the parade?

And how she asked for your number?

Your cooking class crush (Cooking Mama is bullshit compared to this!) asked for your phone number. How can someone play it cool when someone like Sooyoung asks you for your number? You can’t. You didn’t. You tried, but you couldn’t stop gushing over the subject with your friends. Imagine getting to go on a date with Sooyoung. You did, didn’t you? Just now. She’s so…

Fucking greasy.

She says the same tired lines you’d hear in a joke book but for some reason, it does it for you. It works. You’re making out with her in your dorm. More than once. More than that, and you definitely did let her whisper sweet nothings into your ear and whisk you right off your feet and into her expensive bed. You’ve gone on a few dates and man, are dates the best! They’re fun, easy, and you go back to living your life normally.

(Her smile though, that kind of made it hard to just live your life normally, didn’t it? I sure as hell realize that now. I can admit that now. Can’t you admit to anything?)

“She’s not messaging me, Jungeun.” “Sooyoung?” “Yeah. I mean, it’s weird.” “Why don’t you just call her?” “Why would I do that?” “You’re dating, right? Just call.” “No, we just go on dates.”

You vaguely remember the look that Wonshik gave Jungeun.

You know,

There were a lot of dates.

A lot, a lot.

How many dates does it take to get to dating? What changes? You aren’t great at flirting. You didn’t really practice that enough, and when Sooyoung wasn’t reciting a pickup line she had you melting in her hand (sometimes because of her hands) at the things she’d do or say. She remembers things so well even if you say them offhandedly.

So what exactly changed from the first date to the… you lost count, didn’t you?

She messages you again. Your jealousy subsides (but it wasn’t jealousy at all. Who cares if she talks to someone else? (you care) It wasn’t a big deal.) and things carry on. She’s a bit weird about things, though. Her looks are a little more genuine and sporadic visits become more frequent.

You find out she’s not seeing anyone. By find out, I mean she tells you and looks at you for any sign of life in that head of yours.

Anyone else, that is. Just you. She clarifies this.

Cool, you say. You’re a fucking idiot (you don’t say that to Sooyoung, I’m saying that to you (to me)).

“I’m not seeing anyone either.”

You don’t clarify and she gives up because she got the answer she wanted. Sorta.

There’s always a point when you get to know someone that you know their home super well. You know where all the plates, bowls, towels, etc. go. It feels cozy. It feels like your home.

(Remember when you found out that likes to be held a lot? There’s probably something to that. You don’t mind, do you? You’re practically the same size anyway. It’d be nice to do that every day.)

You graduate, move off campus (finally, going home seemed weird after dad got remarried), and moved in with…

Your little brother and his roommates.

“Huh?” is the reaction you got from Sooyoung.

Your brother’s roommates were nice, but it was annoying that they would drool over Sooyoung. That was your thing. Not theirs. No one else needed to be ogling her long legs but you. You were well enough acquainted with them, so you had exclusive rights.

Your brother saw you and Sooyoung kissing goodbye after a date when she was dropping you off. He didn’t say anything.

Well, not until you got in a fight with her about your “problems” or “whatever” and you moped around the house for a week.

“So you fought with Sooyoung?” “Yeah, she doesn’t get why I didn’t move in with her. It’s not like she asked me or anything”

(She might have, you might not have caught on.)

“Isn’t it normal to move in with someone you’re dating?” “We’re not dating, we just—”

That shot you right up and off the couch.

“You’re dating, right?” “…”

He knew!? How could he know!? That is still a mystery. He’s a fucking genius, that kid.

“We’re not. We just go on dates.” “Jinsol, that’s called dating.”

Oh my God.

So your brother knows, but your poor father didn’t when he helped move you into Sooyoung’s apartment. “Lots of space, it’ll be nice for you to have a room away from your little brother, eh? Better than you being with a bunch of men, too. All musicians, I’m sure—”

“Yeah, it’s nice.” He’d just keep going if you didn’t stop him. If he thought you living with boys was leading to a debaucherous life, he definitely didn’t want to know what you got up to with Sooyoung.

(Your brother talked to Sooyoung. It turns out the only dense one is you.)

So, what is dating? What’s commitment? Is it saying you want to see the same face every morning? Bed-head and all? Is a coward really just clueless?

Are you a dumbass?

Because, obviously, you’re sentimental as fuck.

The part-timer stares blankly at her, absentmindedly scratching his nametag.  Yunho, it reads in poorly-printed ink.  Not all Yunhos are created equal– he’s not nearly as handsome, or cool, or nice as her Yunho.  “As in, we won’t be restocking until tomorrow.  Come back then and we’ll have it.” 

So it’s with a huff and a flurry of stomps that Sarang exits the scene, a bag of strawberry gummies in hand.  What kind of convenience store runs out of strawberry milk?  School’s been a pain already- this kind of inconvenience (har har) just takes the cake.  Today just isn’t her day. She quickens her steps with a location already in mind, phone whipped out of her back pocket and one-handedly dealt with.

( 💬: 大頭大頭 ) are u off work??????!! ( 💬: 大頭大頭 ) nvm i see u ^_^

Minho has his back turned to her, gripping his helmet as he walks towards the door.  It takes him a second to notice the pair of hands pressed to the window up front and the face between them.  Not that this is anything new– even the cashier up front hardly bats an eye when she notices her.  Sarang’s right in front of him the moment he steps out, teetering on one leg as she beams with all her teeth.  (And the one gummy wedged in between.)

“Whatcha doin’ later? Mom gave me some gogi to share, wanna have dinner at your place?  And study?” No hidden intentions here.

Tch, study. He’s intent on walking away from the store seeing as his shift is over, not too surprised that she still follows. “You’ve seen Yunho a million times already,” he reminds her. “He’s not opposed to his ‘fans’ but like.” His face twists into something else as he snaps his fingers trying to remember another thing. “Uh, como se dice... What the hell are you doing trying to get to him through me?” A full stop in his tracks here, his hands clutch onto the strap of his messenger bag. “Still.”

Call him hurt and you’d be wrong. This just happens to be more of a matter of seeing how much Sarang squirms when she tries to think of a reason this time. How much she doesn’t if she already has one up her sleeve, more parts terrible than amusing for him and vice versa for her if she can get him to cave.