pgyul:
“as you deserve!” air conditioning or melting in sweltering seoul? yeah.
outside, incheon is a prelude. it swallows them both. the bustle typical for a weekend, yulhee makes sure their hands are locked even if it means their palms and fingers will slide. it’s no secret that heels are torture on any day, but being twenty-something means not having to pretend the walk to her car from here is her problem. being herself, on the other hand… “i have a spare pair of sneakers in my trunk.” ugly?
comfortable.
she’d been equal parts smart and ridiculous enough to park underground. it pays to have her keys in her right hip pocket, right hand wriggling free from ryubin’s left. yulhee presses the trunk button on the remote, unlocking the car with the button above before handing the keys over. “wait in the passenger seat.” she takes the luggage and rolls it to the back of the vehicle, the door already open. pirated italo-disco in 3… 2… 1…
“oh.” the promise of relief overrides whatever discomfort you might have felt seconds ago. if your intuition is anything to go by (and usually it is), you know exactly which pair awaits you. you try not to make a face, but it’s difficult when you’re just learning the one-two-threes of cordial socialization. and it’s not as if you’ve ever been bothered to show your best face around yul. “i think i’ll be okay without them.” you say. you'd rather go barefoot than ugly.
“thanks, though.” an afterthought, to be sure... but it counts, right?
sure enough and true to your word, you beeline straight for the passenger seat—not that you had any competition, so shotgun is hardly befitting—and tear your shoes off, tossing them into the dark depths of the footwell. toes wiggling, you nimbly snoop out the cigarette lighter-auxiliary cable, plugging it into your phone—out blasts b2uty’s loving u. you thrash excitedly about, the paltry weight of your body sending the car into a (rather muted) bounce.
