hpjevan:
deja vu // @hpjskip
the population of seoul is approximately ten million people; that’s about three million more than evan is used to.
one would think that after having been in new york for something close to a decade, he would be more used to the densely populated city, but school wasn’t the only reason he wanted to leave new york so badly. he never thought he would return to somewher so cluttered with people, the plan had always been to travel to obscure corners of the world but lo and behold, fate has a different take on how his life should go.
so there he is, the soles of his white– now almost grey– converse rhythmically hitting the concrete sidewalk until they reach the crosswalk where the rhythm of his soles cease, replaced by the dinging sound of the counter counting down seconds until the mass of individuals can being crossing the street. this is his life now, constantly surrounded by people too busy to look anywhere but themselves but evan is different; or at least he likes to think so.
people watching has become an oddly strange habit of his– perhaps not so much odd anymore as it, too, has become habitual for a good percentage of the global population. dark brown hues scan the sea of bodies behind the lenses of his glasses, faces becoming a blur until he looks back on one individual, a face he thinks he recognizes. it had been san francisco in the year 2000 when they met, two young kids tossed into daycare as their parents ran busy lives, too busy to even take care of them. skip, he remembers the name vividly– he liked playing with him then.
there’s a moment of doubt as to whether or not he really is who evan thinks he is, but there really is only one way to find out.
“SAN FRANCISCO?!”
it’s louder than he expected and also possibly the worst choice of vague words possible, but the deed has been done. now to see if it will have any effect on the targeted individual.
Skip spends a genuinely stupid amount of his time seeking out and eating various desserts.
It’s one of the many aspects of city life he thoroughly appreciates.
The browser on his phone is filled with tabs upon tabs of reviews on sweet shops in Hapjeong (the only thing in his life he actually bothers to study up on). He’d considered a few times starting a blog to document these endless sugar coated ventures to make back some of the dough he’d spent on sweets, but he’d never really been one for writing. He also isn’t much of a critic, either. Every dessert is equally deserving of love. Except anything with raisins. Hard pass.
On this day, the venue of choice is a cafe that specializes in cheese tarts. The idea of cheese + tart initially disturbed him — similar to the concept of a savory pie — but reviews hadn’t failed him before. Which is why he now held a pink paper package in hand, inside tucked a freshly baked tart. Just thinking about it has his mouth watering, but thoughts of cheesy tarts are interrupted by a loud holler of SAN FRANCISCO coming from behind him.
How he knew he was the target of this wild yell is a mystery to even him.
He turns on heel, eyes wide as saucers when they fall upon the source.
“Evan?”
Childhood playmate from the year 2000, somehow turned up at the same place at the same time in an entirely different country. The city is truly filled with boundless miracles.
He hustles over as fast as his legs will take him — which is fairly fast, as he’s a pretty long guy — hand raised into a pointed finger the whole way over.
“...Dude, what?! How long have you been here?”
