a purely self-indulgent study of hye-jin and du-sik as a couple
they’re so comfortable with each other. they touch each other so casually, as if it’s not the first time, as if it’s somehow already familiar. it’s how they’re half-leaning into each other anytime they’re together. it’s how they’re already holding hands, and yet hye-jin still reaches over with her other hand to hold his wrist. it’s how du-sik wakes up from his nightmare, terrified and in pain, and his first instinct is to call for her, to reach for her, to turn his face into her neck and close his eyes.
both of them grew up too fast, were hardened too quickly by pain. they went through life with their heads down and eyes forward. so yes, it makes sense they’re acting childish now that they’re together. because love does that, right? it remakes the familiar into something new. things like the sunrise, the ocean, a name now have radiance, so they cannot look with anything but wonder; a child lifting their head to see the stars for the first time.
after their date in seoul, when du-sik is reeling from his past and hye-jin, in all of her tragic kindness, thinks it’s her fault. the way she tries, clumsily, to fix it by selling her necklace, taking a step back. and then du-sik simply says oh, is that what you thought? that’s not it at all. don’t do that yourself. here, i built you a jewelry box for your necklace. i can’t buy it for you, but i can do this. i can sit beside you and give you a home to keep it in. hye-jin takes the box and talks about how pretty it is, but she’s looking at him while she says it.
i know they talked about fate, about destiny, but i don’t think it’s anything so abstract. i think it’s the way a planet’s orbit bends slightly when it drifts close to another. our paths are still the same, more or less. only now, mine’s a little slanted towards yours.
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