The Ponderings of a Man In Love
I've had this FanLore for Zen strewing in my brain for a little over a year and finally decided to write it out into a one shot!
What does it mean to experience first love?
Zen wondered as he watched you doze off beside him to the sound of a movie you both had forgotten about halfway through. He smiled to himself softly, gently brushing away a strand of hair that had fallen over your face, planting a tender kiss on the top of your head. The comforting gesture caused you to snuggle further into his side, cozy and loved. Treasured and wanted.
Zen often thought about the meaning of first love when he was with you. He always felt a pang of guilt over dating other girls before you, even if you weren't bothered by it. He knew you were his yesterday, today, and tomorrow--his dusk and dawn. His moon and stars--leaving him with the fact that you weren't his first, which felt wrong in every way imaginable. So there he sat wondering, and really pondering, what it meant to experience first love. Had he experienced it before? If so, that idea devastated him, leaving his heart aching, poking, splintering, and desperately wanting your comforting. Hoping all his wondering meant nothing.
He snuggled in close, soaking in your warmth, soothing his self-inflicted wounds, nuzzling your hair, blinking back the sting of tears.
Slowly he doze off to the sound of your steady breathing, calming his anxiety. Slowly learning to bask in the simple pleasures of a quiet evening.
His breathing steadied, finding rhythm with your own, and in complete unison, your chests rose and fell.
He found his peace in his small basement apartment.
But absolutely and entirely, he found his peace here with you.
And in his slumber, there came a dream. Or, more accurately, a nearly forgotten memory.
Zen was younger here, much younger than you knew him now. His hair barely reached past his shoulders, fashioned into something of a mullet. His leather jacket just a size too big, but in a year's time, it would fit him perfectly. And he stood in a place filled with familiarity. His secret mountain hideout. The view was the same as it had always been, and somehow, that comforted the young boy, here now, and the man he would come to be.
The cold evening air nipped at his cheeks and nose, a gentle breeze passing through his hair with the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Following the scent with his eyes and nose, he found a scene this young boy very well knew but was far from the scene his adult counterpart adored. There stood a girl who simply wasn't you.
Ji-an, a younger, much more boyish Hyun, recognized with an air of giddiness coating his thoughts, and in like manner, she was viewed with rose-tinted glasses.
He admired her long black hair as it gently swayed in the passing breeze, her sharp and unusually dark eyes staring down at the view he found so much comfort in, reflecting nothing of the setting sun or the city lights flickering on one at a time. And her lips turned in a slight frown with a lit cigarette in hand. Ji-an was a girl made entirely of mysterious beauty, and for a long time, Hyun might've considered her the most beautiful girl he'd ever met. She was in the same gang as Zen, that's how they had met. She was older than him, but only slightly, maybe sixteen or seventeen. She was a force to be reconned with, a calm before a storm. Freedom and rebellion. Anger and desperation. Loneliness and devastation. But other than that, she was a total mystery. Hyun never knew more about her than she let him see, and maybe that was part of why he clung to her so helplessly. Or maybe it was because he envied her and how free she seemed to be. Maybe he wanted to live reckless abandoned where he was allowed to be who he wanted to be, the way Ji-an seemed to. Or maybe it was because bad habits always seemed more attractive than good ones at the start.
Ji-an sucked on her cigarette, holding the smoke in her throat until it burned.
“You know,” she began as she turned to look at Hyun, “I think if we had met before everything hit the fan, I would’ve fallen in love with you for real.”
Hyun watched and admired the rugged elegance she exuded. Marvalling, despite how her words cut him deeply. His heart secretly wondering--when will anyone ever truly love me?
“For one thing, you’re a real looker,” she leaned in and kissed Hyun's lips softly, leaving the faintest taste of cigarette smoke and strawberry lip balm on the tip of his tongue.
Is that all I'll ever be? A pretty face barely worth loving? Another secret wonder he wouldn't discover until much later.
“You’re not so bad of a guy either,” she reached out, with her free hand and gently played with the fringe that hung over his forehead. “If I wasn’t so damaged, I’d probably be able to appreciate that heart of yours,” she poked his chest playfully and with a tone of self-mockery, sucking another puff of cigarette tar into her lungs.
“But instead, here I am, giving you cigarettes, beer, and bad memories,” she scoffed.
Hyun took a step closer to Ji-an, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. He peered into her face, hoping to read the meaning in her words by seeing her expression more clearly, but there was nothing he could see. Her eyes continued to stare dispassionately at the scenic view, and not for a moment did she meet his searching gaze, nor did she acknowledge his presence at her side. Instead, her brow furrowed, and irritation fizzled in her vacant eyes.
"We shouldn't have met," she said, tossing her cigarette onto the ground and stomping it out under her boots.
Hyun felt his heart drop.
Ji-an turned on her heels and walked towards her motorcycle.
"W.. wait! Ji-an, where are you going?" He called.
There was no answer except the loud roar of a motorcycle engine starting.
She paused, looking towards Hyun, with more emotion in her eyes than Hyun had ever seen before, "Get out of here. Become something."
She rode off, the rumbling of her motorcycle fading the farther she got. And Hyun could only watch, confused, lost, and entirely too alone for a boy his age.
Zen jolted awake, beads of cold sweat running down his back and his heart dropping into his stomach, leaving his chest feeling hollow and unbearably lonely until he heard you.
"Hyun?" you said, coming back into the living room with a glass of water, "Are you okay?"
He looked at you, and the frenzy in his eyes became calm. A deep breath entered his lungs, and it was exhaled smoothly.
And that's when his wondering all made sense.
Zen realized it then as his hysteria calmed at the mere sight of you. He knew then that perhaps in all possibility, before you came and before he had forgotten what life was like in your absence, he would've considered Ji-an his first love experience. And in some way, maybe she was. Maybe she was his first love, but that thought didn't seem to bother him so much anymore. Because maybe love was more about changing than firsts and lasts.
(Although, admittedly, he was perfectly enchanted by the idea that you would be his last. You would hold all his ending chapters, and perhaps, that was far more important than keeping all his opening phrases.)
Ji-an encouraged his flaws but neglected his strengths. He knew now that they were bad for each other, beasts ravenously hungry for love and acceptance. In love with their shared self-pity. Wanting each other because of the addictive nature of cigarettes, loving the nicotine clinging to their clothes and mingling in their mouths. Loving the faint taste of strawberries after every kiss that made the bitter taste of tobacco seem pleasant and sweet. But even still, she inspired his drive for freedom.
And you? You came and captivated him.
You nurtured his strengths and loved his flaws, and for that, he loved you, but as his feelings began to grow, he wanted to be better for you. He wanted to change. So maybe, just maybe, it was for the best that you came at this moment in his life. You came at the point in his life when he still had room to grow but was mature enough to treasure you wholeheartedly. Perhaps now was the best time to love you--not to say it was the only time he could love you, nor was it the perfect time, for he knew that if he had met you ten years ago or ten years from now, he'd be ready to love you precisely and honestly--so now as Zen looks at you, finally finding his moment of lost peace, he realizes that all this wondering about "first love" was for not because all that matters is that he loves you.
Zen nods, gently grabbing at your waist and pulling you in. He rests his forehead against your torso, hugging your waist tightly.
I do not own any characters, all ownership goes to Cheritz. Thanks for reading!
