FIND ME

@innayh

with the way things are going, yunhwa's starting to look like a hub for old faces than fresh, new ones. not that she minds particularly—life deals its due however it likes, reminders and all. exhibit a: the "draft" folder that's buried deep somewhere on her hard drive that's collecting virtual dust, near-forgotten until the email that popped into her inbox a couple days ago. the sender wasn't unexpected, past associations and exchanges considered, but the request sure was. 

it’d never crossed her mind that she would ever see kwon inna and the word “freelancer” sitting in the same sentence, but eunsoo’s gone and seen enough to understand that people won’t always be in the same spot where you’ve first found them. so hey, why not just take this for what it is and hold off on the curiosity. she shoots a text, gets a response, and now here they are, situated at a table at some joint’s outside seating, basking in the afternoon sun. 

yhpsh​

[...] 

“no?” he parrots, brow raising high at her response, expression rightfully expectant for further elaboration. but who else would it be for? come on now… “ehh?” his head tilts, eyes lowering to his newfound favorite, now suddenly the subject in question. a trade? as if he hasn’t easily spent thousands on this—well, it wasn’t like she’d know—and gazing over the look on her face, it wasn’t like he’d turn her down either. 

“sure,” he relents with ease, offering up the vase without much of a second thought. favorites come and go, but seonho figures he can relish this moment for a while longer if he played along properly. “but,” he waits for her to take the vase to speak, eyes flicking over her face idly. 

“what are you going to give your new neighbor as a welcoming gift then?”

there's something about all of this that practically begs for a total suspension of disbelief. it goes beyond the slim-to-none chances of possibility, the years that manage to wash up and from the undertow of an age-old guilt, the mere positioning of the here and now. to be tongue tied and utterly at a loss—and in front of him, of all people—is a feeling so uncharacteristically foreign that it only adds to the surreal disconnect.

kim eunsoo knows how to bend language to her will better than most; if not out of sheer wit but a reason to keep the pace—long days and longer nights, the sweet burn of the hours passing, hummingbird pulses. the subtle draw of a furrowed look, close-lipped mirth, a low rumble of a laugh. she knows, and thus does as any young thing helplessly in love would, with the mastered ease of a magician and all their summoning acts held against the flat of the wrist. 

only that eunsoo has fallen back and behind, ten years and counting, out of sight, out of mind. in her place stands a fumbling thirty-something who is hellbent on seeing this pointless fib to the end. prideful? as hell. 

where she expects questions, many questions, ends with the wine plucked free and the vase pushed into her hands without so much as a beat of hesitation.

“...thanks.”

just like that? if it means a guaranteed slip away with no harm done, then don’t mind if i do.

in her haste, however, a glaring detail is overlooked: the card might be tucked into her back pocket, but the gift tag hanging off of the bottle neck bears the same spiderlike scrawl: welcome to the building! from your neighbor at #207 

she thinks to turn on her heel, until seonho drops that and she has to fight the urge to visibly cringe. what’s better than starting out with one dumb lie? ending with two. 

the day opens up with the usual set of morning rituals: turning the living room blinds to let the sun slip in, a light jog around the waterfront, come back to shower. eggs over easy, buttered toast, hot tea to kick the coffee habit once and for all. no need to savor any part of these hours—there’s work to be done, and lingering any longer under the pretense of being an early bird is only delaying the inevitable. 

as always, the commute is brief. the convenience in the absence of grueling traffic is perpetually at odds with the passing, passive guilt of knowing you can do better. the latter has the pull to have you crank the radio dial a tweak louder to be subject to today's scalding newsbyte on carbon emissions, but not nearly enough to stop you from taking those few minutes cruising around the lot to find the optimal parking space before you clock in. there’s nothing profound about the casual hypocrisy you engage in, dime a dozen and deliberate. 

you’re stopped by the receptionist on your way to your office. the cursory glance to the wall clock tells you there’s a handful of minutes and then some to let this be. small (town) talk unfurls with a chirped ease that comes with hanging around for this long—the going on’s and what’s to come, personal ventures, the looming dread of the inevitable grunt work for the latest exhibit rolling in. then comes the breath and a “so.” followed by, “any plans for tonight?”

“tonight–” you begin, then trail off into puzzled silence. tonight to mean in another eight hours. a wednesday like any other, its sole virtue rooted in being the halfway point of a week. 

the pause on your end must be too long for her comfort, what with the way she counters it with a laugh and wraps the thought up with a “you know, since it’s your birthday and all.” 

well now. will you look at that. “no, yeah–” you continue. “just this and that. taking it easy.” what this and that refer to you haven’t a single clue. what can’t be resolved now can only be relegated to be a 5 o’ clock problem. 

when you sit at your desk at last, there’s a pinned tab to a five day itinerary in otaru pulled up on the screen, first opened three weeks ago. the list stares at you, and for a moment it invokes something more than a wistful feeling. then your eyes fall onto the excel sheet right next to it.

 slowly, the mouse hovers to the top of the screen. with a click, it’s unpinned and x’ed out. for another time, maybe. 

yhpsh​

[...]

today, at least, sunday afternoon on a whim—he’s redecorating. contemplating the proper placement for his new addition, a rustic vase bid off an auction in seoul when a knock at the door steals away his attention. eh? it isn’t like he’s given his address out to anyone. so? who could it be?

he moves before he realizes, vase still in hand whilst reaching for the door. though, what’s to come is something seonho can’t possibly fathom. not in a million years.

introducing: blast from the past, name he hasn’t thought of in years, held hands, stomachaches, hole-in-wall eateries, shared notes—kim eunsoo. college girlfriend.

he almost wants to laugh.

“i should be the one saying ‘oh’.” seonho speaks with ease, deep timbre rich with amusement at all that he could read off her face. thankfully, at this exact time and space, eunsoo’s reactions hold more weight than his own. something to cling and harp on (not the most chivalric gentleman are you?) over his own surprise. but more importantly—his gaze drops to the bottle in her grasp, brow arching as he points a finger. 

“is that for me?” 

what were the odds, really?

sure, the world's small enough—for paths to be re-crossed, faces flickering into recognition, for nostalgia and memory to have the sway that they do over the plight of human emotion. a decade and then some is time aplenty to let bygones be bygones. but in this very moment, even the courteous space between the foot of his door and where she stood frozen suddenly feels painfully intrusive. 

so much for going the distance.

“...right.” if it didn’t seem like it was possible to be more caught off-guard somehow, then there you have it. eunsoo's eyes rove over his face, the newness of the pleasant nonchalance and the years that have sculpted it. a newer realization strikes in the wake of it: the last either of them had seen each other was through the grainy blue wash of a monitor screen. life had briskly moved on since—the who-what-where-and-when’s of anyone and anything reduced to nothing more but trite gossip at the odd school reunion, then nothing completely. 

( ‘he got married a while back, didn’t he?’ ‘oh, yeah. that’s right.’ ) 

she shifts back by half a step, unsure of what to do and too certain of what needs to be done to escape this situation all at once. 

that what? her mind lags, then races, lightning quick. the wine. “no.” a single syllable that cuts too sharp, too fast. why are you lying? “uh, i meant–” what are you supposed to mean? that this was for the person over at #280? over 60 units down? she catches a glint of ceramic and with full, bludgeoning confidence announces: “–it could be.” gesturing to the vase, “trade rare item for rare item, how’s that sound?”

@yhpsh

(2-3 months prior)

she's reached a point in her life where there's nothing left to run from: no more proverbial monsters under the bed, adolescent insecurities, the uncertainty that plagues most after; reduced to nothing but bygones and the fine dust that settles in memory of such things. momentum is meant for the present tense anyway, to push yourself forward and onward.

naturally, there was no reason to think much else of it. the apartment next to hers, which had been vacant since a plump, middle-aged novelist had moved out and back to seoul, had been in the process of being reoccupied for the past week and a half. a face of a tenant she’s yet to see, but has already conjured up a mental image of from the movers’ hauls—furniture, décor, and the odd art piece that suggests wealth, refinery, and origins that are rooted far beyond yunhwa.

she keeps it simple, a bottle of ginseng wine from some local distillery and a card with words of welcome. had worked like a charm for the last eccentric, well-off spinsterly neighbor, so might as well. 

once at the door, she gives it a light knock, then waits. the pause that stretches after is long enough that eunsoo reconsiders simply leaving the gift there, but then the door creaks open. 

plastering on a smile, she starts with what anyone would: “hi–” 

only to freeze. the wide stretch of her mouth falters. what’s left of the spiel dies on the spot, leaving nothing more but stunned silence.

her grip around the bottle tightens. when she finally summons the energy to speak, her voice comes out far too small for her liking. 

@yhhyejin

(7 months prior)

coastal towns aren't much of a novelty, but the way days seem to stretch around these parts is something she’s yet to get used to: the hours pulled looser, lighter, freer. not a bad thing by any means, only a matter of relearning what it means to take your time.

so eunsoo learns at her own pace, still is in spite of it being a handful of months since she’s picked out a place and settled into something of a routine that begins and ends at oddly humane parts of each day that her previous pseudo-vagabond life wouldn’t allow for. 

the clock ticks a little past five, and the car’s already parked in her designated spot. there’s a moving truck near the front of the building, which eunsoo pays no mind to initially, not until a figure with a teetering tower of boxes attempts to maneuver their way through the door. 

she stands a little ways away, thinking they’ve got it, they’ve got it, they’ve got it...until the topmost boxes start to wobble off the stack and there’s no real choice in the matter but to swoop in. 

yhhyejin​

like all great things in life, it happened by some dumb stroke of luck; eunsoo and hyejin, both victims of the late 2000s inability to keep anyone in touch, reunite a decade and a half later in some small down just outside of busan. it reads like something out of low-budget chick flick, and hyejin was absolutely ecstatic about it.

perhaps she gets far too comfortable far too fast, if the way she casually invites herself into eunsoo’s apartment (even though hers is just a floor above) and throws her white coat over the couch’s armrest is any indication of that. wasn’t that the beauty of small towns, though? city life allowed for anonymity and let loneliness go unnoticed. in yunhwa, you either made friends fast (and kept them) or you resigned yourself to eternal solitude.

hyejin sits herself down at the dining table, watching eunsoo flit from one end of the apartment to another as she went through the motions of her own after-work routine. “so, how was the museum?” read: find any talking rocks today? “oh, also i finally joined that hiking facebook group you were talking about, the admin’s kinda cute isn’t he?” then, finally: “you in the mood for maru’s? don’t think my neighbor would appreciate me showing up to ask for something else for the fifth time this week.”

eunsoo's not one for surprises, but the routine appearance of hyejin at her door these days hardly counts for one.

the pressing lack of need to put up appearances is a plus with comfort, what with the way she doesn't think to push away the stack of papers or clear off the opened cans from the tabletop as the other’s lead in. 

crouching in front of the fridge, eunsoo finds nothing more but a couple bottles of hard cider. the consequences of pushing back her grocery by yet another week. she reaches for what’s left of the pack anyway. 

“same old—well, besides the exhibit work for the new relics...” oxymorons are as much of a running joke as they are a well-established happenstance in her field. “how was clinic?” 

eunsoo sits in the remaining chair. “kinda?” one bottle opens with a pop and a hiss, followed by another. “isn’t he just tall?” clink clink, cheers. she gets a mouthful of fizzy raspberry. “not that that’s a bad thing. you should come this weekend to see for yourself though.” 

cold drinks after work, near sundown, picking up conversation with an ease that suggests it’s only been a matter of days and not years since they’d seen each other last. that’s yunhwa for you. 

35 y/o anthropologist at haemyung's artifacts who's been at the post for about a year now, before that she’d been pretty much all over the country working on research/exhibits/heritage sites. loves her job (even though it took her awhile to get there!) but just needed a change of pace for now. hence why she’s here! 

friendlier than she looks, even if she’s all serious business at work. opinionated and emotional around close friends/family

plots and connections

almost/already 30 gang hmu!!

coworkers, interns or employees around the plaza

visitors that ask way too many questions 

those that have worked corporate before? 

being from the same alma matter

parents being from the same hometown or something

jjingshin apt residents/neighbors 

you’re both solo frequenters at some nearby restaurant and then you end up being forced to sit at the same table because of limited seating

hiking buddies that met through a fb hiking group