Harboured
clxjaebum
jaebum can’t help but see a little bit of himself in her and her sadness. it’s just a hunch that he gets, but he feels as if the familiarity resonates from the grief felt after a death of a loved one, whoever that may be for her. he sees himself in the way she hunches over when she cries, sees himself in the shake of her shoulders, in the tears that fall from her round, puppy-like eyes. a lump grows in his throat and he has to try his best to ignore it.
he watches as she calms herself, and silently listens. he listens because he knows how good that feels, for someone to just listen and not ask questions, not pry. to listen means to be honest to that other person; it means not offering pointless and sometimes superficial pity. it means acknowledging that pain.
downing the rest of his beer, jaebum shakes his head a little belatedly in response to her apology. there’s no need for her to be sorry, especially considering that he had been the one to approach her first. honestly, it’s surprising that she isn’t creeped out.
he sure would have been.
a little muffled laugh leaves his lips when she, out of the blue, offers him some chocolate. it says a lot about her character, and from what he can see, she is the epitome of fluffiness; she resembles a cute puppy.
out of politeness, jaebum accepts the chocolate, pops it into his mouth, and lets the sweetness drown his sorrows as well.
“do you come to the harbor often?” he finds himself asking, reflecting back on the days when he had come here on the days when grief and guilt hit him particularly hard. at a time this late at night, it was the most tranquil part of the city, a place where he could let his feelings flow.
Boyoung smiles, a faint upturn of her lips that can only really be seen when looked for, contrasted by eyes made brighter with a tad bit of merriment, when the man takes the chocolate. Weird as it may be, it’s a bit comforting that there’s someone she can share her sweets with even though she doesn’t know him. It just makes her fuzzier inside.
(Kiyoung would always have pockets full of candy for her and the other orphanage kids when he came home from school. He’d drop by the convenience store with some of the money he earned from said store during his night shifts and buy something sweet or savoury.)
“Do you come to the harbor often?”
She stills. “Somewhat,” she answers after a pause. “Came more often years ago, but now I come maybe once a month.” It’s gorgeous, she almost says. But painful. Like a succulent.
“Oh, your shirt is wet,” she notices belatedly. “Do you need a tissue?”
"And how about you? Coming to the docks.”
She shakes her head at herself immediately. “It’s okay if... if you don’t want to answer, mister...?” She trails off, fidgeting with her sleeve, suddenly and uncharacteristically uncertain. “Sorry. What’s your name?”
