why you sent me email? I am going to your house soon. 좀 있으면 볼껀데 왜 이메일 보내고 그래 .-.
My English is not good. It is funny? 헐... 니가 더 웃겨... 니 걱정이나 해, 난 한국에 사니까 영어 못해도 되즹 ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ 넌 아마 한국에서 100년은 더 공부해야됨 ㅋㅋㅋㅋ 그래도 너 진짜 많이 좋아졌음! 인정! b(^_^)
Yes, I know 사과. 나 그정도는 알거든 -_- I love apple! 너 사과 알레르기 있으면 내가 니꺼 다 먹을깨~ 죽으면 안 되니까~ 나 케이크도 들고 가니까 아줌마한테 얘기해줘. 빈손으로 찾아가면 예의 없으니까! 난 ☆신사☆라구.... 유 노 젠틀맨??
I didnt forget! Promise는 한국말로 약속이야. What do U want to eat at the 편의점? 비싼거 말구, 나 이번달 용돈 거의 다 썼어 ㅠㅠ 다음에 학교 앞에 분식집에서 떡볶이 사줄께. 아직 안 가봤지? 거기 very delicious 하거든~
I don’t know who you talking about. 나한테 관심있는 People 한두명이 아니니까...☆ ㅋㅋㅋ 암튼 걱정 하지마, 나 공부할 시간도 없는데 내 마누라 찾을 시간은 있겠니 OTL
근대 나도 너 좋아하는 애 한명 아는데 비밀이지롱 ㅋㅋㅋ 약오르지 ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ 나중에 얘기해줄게!
for @rarenight: in which san and soojung finally run out of time.
San had often contemplated what his eventual death would be like. He knew his mortality was more or less connected to the portrait in his closet; ergo, it wasn’t important what happened to him, but what happened to the portrait itself. It was all simply a matter of how and when. All he had to do, whenever he so desired, was get rid of the portrait. It wasn’t exactly the kind of thing he could ask someone else to do for him, so he’d have to destroy it himself when the time came.
He imagined he’d do it after a few more decades spent lazing about and traipsing around the world, once life had nothing left to give him and he had nothing left to return. He’d leave the bookstore to his favorite employee, and all of his money would go to charity (or something like that). He’d like his ashes to be scattered in Russia, but if that couldn’t be arranged for, then maybe a rocky creek in the southern countryside would do just as well.
All of these plans were nebulous at best, thanks to San’s inability to take his own business seriously, but they were plans nonetheless. He figured he still had quite some time to sort his affairs out— after all, he technically had all of the time in the world. One step at a time, and he’d get there eventually.
There was, however, one thing that San failed to consider: nothing in life works out according to plan.
San wakes up in hell. At least, that’s where he thinks he is until he realizes that this is his home, and his home is on fire. Everything is red. The walls of his apartment flicker scarlet and orange as the growing flames stretch their arms towards the ceiling. He chokes on the grey smoke as it billows around him, and his eyes sting as he struggles to keep them open. With every gasping breath he takes, his lungs convulse and force out violent coughs that double him over. Mustering together what little strength he has left, he drags himself towards the window and fumbles clumsily with the lock before collapsing to the floor., his energy depleted.
Through the haze, he can see a figure come forward. They cut a striking silhouette amidst the harsh glow of the fire, and as they approach him, he can discern Soojung’s features pulled into a pained grimace. He looks into her eyes, like he’s done so many times before, but this time, something is different. A silent understanding passes between them: this is it. Soojung kneels down next to him and gently places a hand on his cheek.
“괜찮아.”
For a moment, he thinks he can see a tear glistening in her eyes.
When he opens his eyes again, he’s sitting at a table in Soojung’s tea room. Despite being dead, it’s rather comforting to be in a familiar setting during his last moments. He’s been here countless times to tag along on Soojung’s reapings (which isn’t something that most humans can say when they pass), but this is the first time that he’s been on this side of the table. Across the room, Soojung removes a whistling kettle from the stove and peers at San over her shoulder.
“야, 솔직히 말해. 너 나 보고싶을까봐 일부러 일찍 가는거지?”
“어. 맞아,” he says, leaning back with an easy grin.
“어?”
“일부러 집에 불 붙이는 미친놈이 어디있냐?” he scoffs. “그래도 내가 먼저 가니까 잘 됐지, 뭐. 죽는거, 진짜 별거 아니더라? 내가 뭐가 무섭다고 백년넘게 이런 개고생을 했는지... 그래도 네 덕분에 이번 생, 행복했어.”
“윽, 닭살. 내가 살다살다 너한테 이런 소리를 다 듣냐,” she replies as she takes a seat, gingerly setting down a stout white teapot. She wrinkles her nose at him, and he does the same. They’ve never quite mastered the art of being kind to one another.
“이쁘게 말할때 좀 받아주지.” He laughs, but a hint of melancholy colors his tone.
“안 하던 소리를 하니까 그러지.”
“사람들이 갑자기 평소에 안 하던 짓을 하면 죽는다던데?” He says, raising his eyebrows to feign exaggerated surprise. Soojung doesn’t seem to like his joke, and she frowns almost imperceptibly as she pours him a cup of tea.
“선하게 산다고 했더니 너 진짜 선하게 살았나보네. 내가 너한테 망자의 차도 대접해주고 말이야,” she changes the topic, sliding the cup and its matching saucer towards him. He’s just as surprised as she is, but he’s rather pleased that he hadn’t spent the last century in vain.
He’s been here enough times to know what this is for. The Tea of the Dead erases all memories of one’s past life so that they are a blank slate when they’re born anew. It’s a favor bestowed upon those who have lived good lives, that they might not remember the sins and regrets of their past. A complicated mix of emotions clouds his mind as he takes the cup in his hands. There were so many things in San’s life that he regretted doing, and his portrait was the manifestation of those actions. The image of that monster, bearing the likeness of his spirit, was something he could never forget. Could he be fully present in his next life, knowing full well what kind of person he had been before? He studies his reflection in the rippling surface of his teacup, then pushes it away.
“미안하지만, 차는 사양할게. 환생해도 다 기억하고 싶어서.”
San thinks back on the last one hundred years of his life— those years were ones filled with more good deeds than bad, and more beauty and light than he’d ever thought he was worthy of. He’d sought forgiveness and made amends. Perhaps most importantly, he’d lived out his life with people that had made it feel whole. When Soojung and San first met each other in the streets of Gyeongseong, neither had any idea that they’d come to be nearly inseparable. Now, he feels almost as if there was never a time in his life when Soojung wasn’t a part of it. Though he’d never admit it to her, she’d come into his life when he was at his lowest. Her friendship had given his days meaning when he had nothing. By remembering this life, he’ll always be able to remember her. He wants to hold onto all of the times they’ve had, everything that had once felt inconsequential in the moment, but became precious simply because they shared them together.
“너 정말 괜찮겠어?”
“응. 그래야지 다음 생에도 널 찾지?”
“내가 널 기억 못하면?”
“이렇게 잘생겼는데 날 기억 못할 리가.”
“...너는 못생기게 환생해봐야 정신을 차리지. 그래, 날 찾던지 말던지.”
He manages a wry smile, accompanied by a short sigh. “그러니까 너도 빨리와. 기다릴테니까.”
“내가 이승에 있을 시간이 얼마나 남았다고... 알았어, 빨리 갈게.” She quickly averts her gaze, and San thinks he hears a tremor in her voice as she shrugs off his words. He grins. He knows he shouldn’t be making fun of her in their last moments together, but sometimes, it’s just too easy.
“어휴, 뭘 울컥하고 그래. 친구도 없는게 나중에 또 혼자서 얼마나 울려고?”
She glares at him. “안 울어! 절대 안 울어, 새끼야!”
“계속 거짓말 할거면 난 이제 가야겠다.” He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. His chair scrapes against the floor quietly as he finally gets up from his seat and taps the table twice. “넌 좀 아프지 말고. 밥도 잘 챙겨먹고. 남은 시간동안 너 하고싶은거 다 하고. 그리고 나 잊어버리지 말고.”
“그래... 너도 버티느라 정말 고생했어.” Soojung gets up after him with all the rehearsed grace of a professional— he’d almost forgotten that this was her job. They walk towards the door in silence, their soft footsteps almost deafening in the absence of their words. He stands at the threshold, suddenly acutely aware of Soojung’s presence behind him, and he cannot bring himself to open the door.
San lingers in the doorway, looking at her like he still has something left to say. Correction: San lingers in the doorway, looking at Soojung because he is suddenly bursting at the seams with words unspoken. Every part of his being is telling him that he can’t leave just yet. In another universe, he might take her hand and tell her everything that he wants to say. That he’s grateful for her, that he’s glad that they met in this life, and that he’s a better person for it. That he loves her. That, God, he’s always loved her.
It would be so selfish, so like him to say all of this and walk through that door. Part of him is scared they’ll never meet again and he’ll never have the chance to tell her the truth, but he’d rather stay silent forever than hurt her. He cares about her too much to leave her to pick up the pieces of a life no longer lived and a love she will forget.
And yet, standing in between life and death, he lets himself be selfish again, just one last time. Before he has any time to change his mind, he steps towards Soojung and laces his fingers through hers. He doesn’t break his gaze as she looks up at him, shocked. He knows this is too little, too late, but if he could only choose one memory to bring to his next life, it would be this. The warmth of her palm against his, the sunlight turning her eyes into pools of honey, the tremor in his chest where his heart used to beat. The delicate smell of her shampoo, the air around them coming to a quiet halt, the 10 centimeters between them as they stand face to face in her little tea room. This moment is all he’d ever need, he thinks, to know that he’d loved her in a lifetime gone by.
“이렇게라도 하지 않으면 너무 후회할것 같아서.” He says. It’s the most honest he’s ever been. He opens his mouth as if to keep going, but the words get stuck in his throat. He squeezes Soojung’s hand tighter. She doesn’t pull away.
“다시 만나는 날, 그때는 꼭 내가 더 용기 낼게. 그러니까... 그때까지 잘 있어, 정수정.”
전 국민, 아니, 전 세계 사람들이 이산처럼 살고있다고 했다. 사회적 거리두기라... 그에게는 그저 일상일 뿐. 요즘 따라 손님들도 없으니 책방도 잠시 쉬고, 산은 요 몇일동안 집에서 즐거운 백수생활을 누리고있었다. 심지어 다니던 교회까지 잠시 문을 닫아서 집을 나갈일은 거의 없었다. 혼자서 집에있는게 좋은 산은 굳이 격리하는마냥 지냈다.
그러나 이런 고독한 나날들을 함께해주는 동반자가 있긴 있었다.
그들이 처음 만났던 날, 폭우가 쏟아졌다. 황량한 거리를 각자 걷다 마주친 둘은 채찍비를 피하려 황급히 산의 집으로 같이 뛰어갔는데, 그러다 그녀랑 같이 산지 벌써 3년 정도 됐다. 133년동안 해왔던 사랑중 그녀를 향한 사랑이 가장 순수했다.
맑고 초롱초롱한 눈으로 도도하게 내려다보면 너무나 시크한 그녀. 밤에는 옆에 사랑스럽게 딱 붙어서 곤히 잠드는 그녀.
그녀의 이름은 밀라. 산이 키우는 고양이이자 딸같은 존재.
오늘도 역시 산의 하루는 밀라의 울음소리와 함께 시작했다. 눈치없이 늦잠을 잔 주인님 때문에 아직 아침밥을 못먹은 고양이는 빨리 일어나라는듯 그의 얼굴을 마구 밟아댔다. 산은 이윽고 신음을 내며 몸을 일으켰고, 비몽사몽 눈을 떴을 때 시간은 오후 1시 되어가고 있었다.
“아이구, 배가 그렇게 고팠어?”
아직도 잠이 들 깼는지, 산은 비틀비틀 걸어가서 사료와 물을 갔다놨다. 허겁지겁 먹느라 바쁜 밀라는 이제야 좀 조용해졌다.
옥상 문을 열어서 담배 한 대를 꺼내 피웠다. 시원한 샛바람이 솔솔 불면서 벚꽃의 향기가 은은하게 났다. 날씨도 화창하고 하늘에 구름도 없는게 꼭 봄이 정말로 왔다는 증거 같았다. 맛있게 먹고있는 밀라를 흐뭇하게 보다가 어느새 산도 허기를 느꼈다.
냉장고를 열자 그 안에 내용물은 별로 없었다. 다 먹어가는 반찬들, 대파 한단, 바나나 우유. 이 재료들로 끼니는 못 때우겠다는 생각이 들었다.
“집에 뭐가 이렇게 없어? 오늘 장이라도 봐야되나...”
냉장고를 뒤지면서 중얼중얼 말했다.
나가야된다는 생각에 산은 미간을 찌푸렸다. 집을 나가기 싫은 이유? 그냥 귀찮으니까. 설령 다들 두려워하는 바이러스 걸려도 불멸이라 죽을수도 없고, 어차피 같이 어울리는 사람도 없어서 누구한테 옮길 확률도 적었다. 그때 슥 다리 사이를 지나가는 밀라를 보고, 산은 마음에 무언가 걸렸는지 인터넷에 급하게 검색했다.
- 고양이들은 코로나 걸리나요?
(왠만하면 걸리지 않는답니다.)
대답을 확인하고나니 부끄러움이 몰려왔다. 산은 머쓱하게 헛기침을하며 대충 씻으러 갔다. 나왔을때, 밀라는 햇빛이 사글사글한 곳에서 누워있었다. 그 모습을 빤히 바라보면서 산은 어울리지 않는 애교 섞인 말투로 얘기했다.
“밀라, 파파 다녀올께. 집 잘 지키고있어.”
나가면서 산은 가디건을 어깨너머 둘렀다. 그러자 다시 한번 밀라를 힐끔 처다봤는데, 밀라는 새상 무섭게 그를 째려보고 있었다.
“ you remind me of the way flowers bloom so furiously in spring. ”
for @eterneli, from this meme
status: still accepting if you’re okay with waiting forever
there are few things san finds more fascinating than a new immortal. correction: there are few things he watches more carefully than a man coming to terms with his newfound permanence. half of him perversely wants to watch them make the same mistakes that he did, to see them also fly too close to the sun. the other half of him prays for their soul. byun baekhyun, however, keeps san entirely too busy to do anything of the sort.
chungwoon seems to attract other immortal beings, perhaps because it’s one of the only places in seoul where the antiques being sold are as old as the person selling them. the bookstore is lined with history, the small joys of a past century suspended in the present. when baekhyun sauntered into the store for the first time, slender fingers dragging across rows of weathered spines like he owned them, san simply assumed he did. it never really occurred to him to question the fact that this boy with a baby face was calling him ‘kid’— after all, anyone with so much confidence in their seniority couldn’t be any younger than 200. imagine then, san’s chagrin upon finding out that the pianist was a paltry twenty-something, a mere millennial!
yet despite baekhyun’s uncanny knack for getting under san’s skin and his dogged insistence on calling him diminutive names, he makes a fairly decent customer and, surprisingly, even better company. (perhaps san is getting lonelier as the years go by, or maybe he just has something of a soft spot for the other.) sometimes he’ll let himself into the store after hours and imperiously order a latte, and sometimes, he’ll send san on a wild goose chase around the store, snapping out fickle orders just because he can. but when the sky mellows into a sunset glow, so does he. san likes the way baekhyun speaks sometimes, pensive and serene. “you remind me of the way flowers bloom so furiously in spring.” he has no immediate response.
“we’re perennials, people like us. we get a chance to try our hand at life over and over again,” he says after a pause. “have you ever been to church? they say no matter how much you sin, if you’re a christian, you’re reborn every morning. i have no choice but to bloom again with the full force of god.”
a playlist for @pomiifer and that which could have been
“you can´t feel what I feel. you change too often.”
“ah, my dear basil, that is exactly why i can feel it. those who are faithful know only the trivial side of love: it is the faithless who know love´s tragedies.”
“did you always like books this much? …i don’t remember everything. it comes back to me in pieces.”
one thing about living forever: san never really forgets. it’s not easy to forget, not when a different skeleton tumbles out of his closet every morning, dressed in vivid shades of someone else’s hurt. they say time heals all wounds, but they forget that eternity is plenty of time for san to pick at his cuts until they fester and bleed. each one of his days begins the same way it ends— on his knees, praying not to be forgiven, but to forget. hail mary, full of grace.
his memories wear the same faces, take him back to the same places without fail. most often, he is brought back to his attic in saint petersburg, to familiar, pleading eyes and the smell of drying oil paints. as befitting of a man named after the sunset, noeul’s memory casts long shadows in the dusky corners and cloudy mirrors san least expects him to be. some days, noeul’s voice lingers in his ears, whispers of “it’s not too late” and “this isn’t who you are” crashing into each other and ebbing away like waves on a rocky shore.
san hated— hates— the moral higher ground that noeul stood upon with such ease. how could he preach goodness and mercy when he was the one who had placed such terrible power within san’s open palms, all but saying, “this is now yours, do with it what you will”? and how, then, could he return to tell him to beg for his soul, to seek absolution before certain damnation? though san didn’t acknowledge it until a half-century later, noeul was right. in fact, if his friend was around to see his current milquetoast lifestyle, he’s quite certain he’d finally drop dead just from his abject mortification.
the bookstore, therefore, serves as his only concession of his wrongs; it is a whispered apology that only he can hear. it is his own personal hell, a study in scholarly silence and self-denial. he putters around the two floors night and day, both prisoner and warden. san forces himself into a position of service, remembering a quote someone had read to him years ago— “i slept and dreamt that life was joy. i awoke and saw that life was service. i acted and behold, service was joy.” lord, he hates that quote with all his heart. his days pass by in a gauzy blur as he watches the sun rise and set from the same window overlooking the seoul skyline.
a voice pulls him out of his haze, familiar and melancholy as a childhood lullaby, and san blanches. is that— he turns slowly, putting back the book he’d been flipping through carefully, as if any sudden movements will make the figure before him go up in dust —noeul? he can’t tell what he’s more afraid of, that noeul is just another manifestation of his own guilt or that he’s living flesh, breathing and heart blood-beating. yes, san stands quite still, trapped in a maze of books and faced with the one person he’s been running from for a century, holding his breath as time freezes around him. he dares not move a muscle. part of him wants to take the first step forward, to embrace an old friend and take refuge in the comfort of the past, and yet something holds him back. perhaps it is himself; perhaps he knows that the past is no place to return.
out of the blue, san hears his own voice, venomous and icy, ringing in his head: “i never want to see you again!” selfishly, he hopes noeul doesn’t remember that, not just yet at least.
“it seemed like something you might have liked me to do.” he says in that lilting, oddly old-fashioned korean of his, then pauses. “the world hasn’t done you any favors, it seems. what a terrible thing it is to remember.”
jacobvanloon
izzy806
turnnoffyourmind
andulkaphoto
prguitarman
titsay
stormborns
