the past is something jihyo, in all her exuberance and grace and openness, would very much prefer to keep shut.
loss is something inimitable, it seems; there are days grief hits harder than she’d like, moments when her smile falters even just for a moment — by no means is she fake in her enthusiasm for life, but the cause of such fervour is one she tends to keep to herself, unwilling to spill all of her heart out across the table ( she still needs to keep some cards on hand, after all ). all remembrances of the person she was, and the people she surrounded herself by, are things she tries to keep away, cover up with potted plants and dancing and beat down car adventures. but on a day like today, it appears as if the universe reminds her of how it has her on a leash — and how they don’t intend on letting go.
it’s just a regular oolong tea order, at first.
she tries not to pay much attention to how familiar the voice sounds ( despite being years older ), the slight pang of something she feels as she prepares the tea in the plastic cup. where she knows the voice from is the question; there’s a ghost of familiarity, of something that probes and prods at her — a feeling she can’t seem to shake off. nevertheless jihyo ignores it ( as she does all negative emotion ), sealing the cup and walking towards the counter for the customer to receive it.
then he says her name, and memories come back to her like a flood.
she resists the urge to curse under her breath, and for a moment jihyo can only stare into the other’s face with an uncharacteristic silence. words longing to spill out end up stuck in her throat, and the girl says nothing, eyes overtaken by surprise and nostalgia ( and maybe, maybe just a bit of resentment ). zach said i’d be able to find you here — of course he did, she thinks, for a moment bitterly regretting ever telling their common friends where she spent most of her days. there’s a stall in his voice, a certain uncertainty that she catches easily; it’s simple to note people’s quirks, she finds, when you’ve grown up with them.
( she also finds that just because you’ve grown up with someone doesn’t mean you know them at all. )
“… oh.” placid smile, cold eyes. play it cool; you can’t get upset here. “you’re .. here.” clearing her throat, she takes a straw and throws it lightly beside his drink alongside a napkin, now actively averting his gaze. “would love to chat, really, but .. work’s work, you know ?” please leave. “not the best timing, sammy.” in more ways than one.
he doesn’t really know how he ended up here. and it’s super cliche-- he knows-- that looking at her in front of him makes him, for the first time in a long time, miss what he had back home. back when he called america his home. when he’d sneak his uncle’s car out using only his permit, and they’d drive to a diner in the middle of the night, laughter ringing, insults being tossed back and forth, along with bits of milkshake, cherry bits and the stray piece of bitten fry. he remembers the eyes that turned into crescents, pupils sparkling-- remembers those terribly snapbacks he and his friends used to wear with just tank tops, and the girls’ wavy hair tied up into ponytails or “apple hair” or whatever was trending back then.
he’s dfound himself missing it-- more often than not. but he also isn’t too arrogant or too self-absorbed to not see that it was his doing in the first place. he’d distanced himself and he knows it. and friends like the ones he had, deserved more than just static silence with no explanation. so... naturally...
sammy notices the cold air-- the aloofness. the way jihyo is avoiding his gaze. and he knows, almost for sure, that she is putting up a front. he knows her that at least that much. ( but does he really, anymore? )
he isn’t deterred, however.
he leans against the counter on one arm, the other hand curling around his drink as he stares at her with a blank expression, almost unnervingly. this goes on for a few seconds before he bites his lip in thought, an old habit really, before he finally pulls himself back to his full height, boba in hand. he peers at her through his overgrown white fringe. “okay then,” he pauses, thumb idly swiping at the condensation on the cup just so some part of him is moving-- a small, nervous tick. “i mean,” he shrugs as he unwraps the straw and stabs it into the lid, “i can wait. or i can come back.”
and he knows he’s being insistent, or-- not leaving much room for her to ignore him if she wants. so he adds, “unless you really don’t want me to. but i--” he pauses, wetting his lips-- another nervous tick-- but his lips curl into his easy grin anyway, a force of habit-- feigning ease. “just wanted to talk.”
dededos
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