& ) thought it was over.
a threatening touch upon her hand, keeping her alarmed, even having her close enough to just turn around and tell the person to just fuck off. but she kept her eyes closed, the moment she heard that voice. she wasn’t dreaming, was she? it was surreal — the feeling, the touch, that voice. just when she was beginning to think about him too. the overflowing thoughts were making her feel as if she was lacking oxygen. man, his hands. they still felt as if they could keep her from harm’s way.
fluttering her eyes after hearing her name being called, she was staring at the window’s reflection. there he was, over her shoulder with his hand grasping with hers. the aching feeling breaking through her ribcage built her abnormally breathing patterns. never in a thousand, ten thousand, twenty, even a million years did she think she’d see him again. at least, not here at the very same subway cart and line. not now.
soojung exceptionally kept their hands in tact — even intertwining them together. turning around, she looked up at him. wow, he got taller and well, more handsome. there were over a handful of things she could and wanted to say to him. ‘i missed you’ was the very first, but being so overwhelmed by the shocking encounter, she let her eye unwittingly water. no tears, just that clear shine that she could be on the verge to.
"w-what? h-h-how?" she continuously stuttered words out of her mouth until she was able to say two words properly.
"ahn jaehyun?"
starved lungs plead like desperate beggars for oxygen. lifting and descending, lifting and descending. funny, how the anxious heaving of his torso stood as the paragon of what her leave had on his psychological backlash. at times when her presence was known, he was happy.. no, more than that. almost euphoric. but the second she departed, all of that elatedness was strewn into nothing but a billow of negativity.
the sight he sought to see was surreal and with wide, attentive eyes blinking from underneath the shadows cast by the hood thrown over his head, his mind thinks of ways to convince his cynical brain that this is reality. no way. he must be dreaming, his lucidity was lost. a tough pinch to his exposed flesh seemed like a requirement.
the muscles in his anatomy tighten into stronger knots, and his body tenses more than he thought it could. knots that couldn't, with ease, be untied. mentally, his head manifested a countdown. his cue for composing his being, and capturing his breath. letting his lungs breathe.
3.. 2..1..
in spite of his fingers holding a mild tremor, he appears to have regained a piece of his mind. enough to cloak her in his arms, her head having a resting place on his solid chest. having her sheltered in his embrace, his narrow fingers caressed the dark hairs equivalent to the softness of silk, with the most tender caresses he could manage.
always he despised physical contact, it was cringe-worthy. not with her. if anybody dared to place a dauntless finger on him, they'd just earn a guaranteed death sentence. then again, every life comes with a death sentence. but if any person set a finger on her, they would obtain not only that but a sweet kiss to their face. from his fist.
"I missed you..." words sincere, his eyelids fell to a close, barricading any unsolicited beads of liquid.
