“i already said, i wanted to see you.” he repeats, and it’s the truth. maybe she just doesn’t want to see it. “if you tell me you want me to leave and manage to make it sound half true, i’ll think about doing it.” kiyong tells her, his voice tinged rough near the edges. frustration, maybe. at himself, at her. at the way he seeks her out whenever possible, at the way he wants to keep pushing for more when he really shouldn’t be. still, he lifts a hand to skim his thumb along remi’s jaw. “you wanted to come see me too.” kiyong tells her, an assumption, but he thinks he’s right.
sometimes in the silence, in the stillness of the blue hour, remi can pretend nothing ever happened. she pretends that she's always been alone in her bed, in her little room, that this is her whole world. she pretends the sun will never rise, the clocks will never resume, the rain will never fall. there will be no ill-timed phone calls to make her heart drop, there will be no more deaths but her own.
its never that easy, though.
instead she finds herself in her kitchen area, feet cold against the wood floor, toes curling, fingers toying at the hem of his shirt. she bites at the inside of her cheek until she tastes iron metallic and heavy on her tongue. his voice rasps quiet in between them, floats down towards her, draws her in as she lets her gaze skate over his features, drops down abrupt to examine the toying of her fingers in the unravelling fabric of his shirt. "you need a new shirt, you should trash this." she informs him, disjointed from the conversation, but surely he's used to that now.
he continues on as if she'd never said it, and she doesn't mind that. sighs when the other repeats the statement, hammers it in. she'd missed it the first time -maybe. she sort of glosses over things sometimes, like her mind blurs out the things she doesn't know how to deal with. she wants kiyong to miss her. she misses him when he's gone.
but he erases something for her. every inch closer they get, the less of kiryung lingers in her head. she starts to forget the little things, the way he smelled, the way his palm felt in hers. she forgets him piece by piece and the memories that once gave her comfort, the thoughts of him that lifted her spirits, kept her grounded, are slowly replaced. when she finds herself reluctant to roll out of bed, its not kiryung's pictures that she scrolls through, its kiyong that she texts. when she hears a knock in the middle of the night she no longer prays for a moment that it will somehow, finally and magically be kiryung. instead her heart twists in her chest in anticipation, in the increased hope that it will be him, kiyong, all shaggy hair and ripped jeans and dark eyes.
her heart races in her chest and she feels seventeen again, lost in the way he's looking at her, in the ragged twist to his lips, the hand pressing to her cheek. she leans into the touch, shifts to tilt her head slightly, presses her lips to the center of his palm with a quiet sigh. "do you want me to tell you that i want you to leave? shouldn't you know better than to come int he first place?" she points out, but she steps closer, sighs quiet. "i didn't," she corrects, winds her arms around his waist and presses her cheek to his chest, listens for the reassuring thud of his heartbeat for a moment before she clarifies, "i wanted you to come see me."
areudirty
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