( & . — MY HEART AND CRUMBLED DREAMS )
ARE LIKE A DRY FLOWER PETAL ON THE WALL
"why didn’t you tell me?”
she swears she could hear those words from the moment she got on the plane in the first place. the tone, the inflection, the whine in his words, in questions she’s better off pretending she doesn’t have the answer to. truth being that she doesn’t want to remember the answers, doesn’t want to remember that she’s walking in the shadow of the past, following steps her mother didn’t want her to take, a path she can’t return from any longer.
fingers comb through fiery locks, a recent dye job thanks to a salon she found after landing and she crosses bare legs, the gesture drawing the attention of a male sitting a table across from her and she tries not to chuckle at the thought. a blooming first love on her mind a year ago is withered, dry. there, she was dying in the cold. here, she’s wilting in the heat and she hates how foreign it makes her feel in her own skin.
“because you’d come to the airport to get me!”
“of course i would. i can’t let you be alone in japan when your mom thinks you’re with me.”
there’s no faulting him for his concern. not only would his parents be upset but her grandfather would have jongdae’s head for it even though she didn’t warn him. something else she didn’t want, because jongdae is everything she’s not. proper, polite, demure, a good boy. she didn’t want to see him and be reminded that she should be better than this — that he looked out for her because he believed that she is better, because he cares and that’s another thing she doesn’t want to acknowledge in and of itself: that any guy could honestly care and not betray her.
jongdae is becoming one of the only exceptions and she doesn’t want that. they’re both so far away from each other now. even if he was standing there with her, even if he was sitting with her at this cafe, she’d feel the distance. they’re no longer the little kids they once were.
so she lies.
she’s getting good at it.
“i’m with some of my friends. you worry too much, oppa.” ( now that isn’t a lie ) “i can’t bring you along, you’ll embarrass me ~ ”
another whine and she laughs, earning the guy’s attention again for a completely different reason: her laugh is just so odd and loud.
“i’ll come see you and everyone soon. i just want to explore a little!” fingers tap against the glass tabletop and when a waiter brings her drink, she nearly knocks her sunglasses off in surprise. a sly grin slips onto her lips when the same guy who’d been looking at her places them in her hand, intentionally lingering and she changes her mind.
in crystal clear english, she says “actually dylan, maybe you should come here to tokyo. do you want to?”
any time she asks him a question like that, it’s always more of a strong suggestion than a polite request and that’s how she finds herself following him around akihabara, pretending to understand the latest topic he’s on. it’s not very often that he goes on and on so excitedly about something — another thing’s for sure, they’ve both grown and dylan is no longer the small oppa she remembers still doing his best to defend her.
he’s still someone she would gladly punch someone out for but he no longer looks like he needs her to. it’s when they find a manga cafe that she’s most interested but he finds an old arcade game she doesn’t see the appeal of, easily distracting herself with the texts the guy is sending her about meeting up later. his broken english is cute, trying to explain to yura whose japanese is basic at best. looking over at jongdae, she smiles and waves, encouraging him to play on as she replies with one word, “yes.”
“i know you’re feeling sick but maybe i could get you some tea. there’s probably a vending machine close by.” he’s as concerned as ever but there’s no answer to his kindness and it should’ve been the first sign that something is off. wherever yura is, it should be loud and it is. the revving of engines, the preening of each car, the preservation of the kanjo as the guy puts it. that’s what he brings from osaka in terms of street racing and he tells her it’s better than in osaka here because of the streets. she doesn’t have the heart to tell him that she knows, because it’s why she came— an urge to see japanese street racing, to be part of it, because she wants to know what it’s like to go 200 miles an hour without crashing the way she has been for months.
but she can’t breathe. the glaring lights of sirens and the sound trap her breath in her lungs. yoshito is nowhere to be found and she realizes she’s done it again — planted a little seed of hope in a man undoubtedly going to let her down and it’s not as if she wanted him to stay. she’s not even sure she had his name right, it was about getting to where she wanted to be. in this moment, she doesn’t know why.
she does the only thing she’s been doing for months since the break-up, she runs. the texts from yoshito ( his newly appointed nickname ) are ignored in favor of dialing a number she’s had for years, one she’s been able to count on for so long.
“i’m sorry.”
she rests her head comfortable against his back. it’s true. things have changed but some things always stay the same. his back just feels more sturdy than when they were little. still, he saves her from herself again and she’s blinking away tears at the thought that she keeps losing sight so easily. a curtain of red shields her face from his once they dismount and she prepares herself for yelling, something, anything, but he just asks this, “are you okay?” and yura knows the meaning of finding comfort, finding home in a person instead of a place. she’s a broken record, another apology spilling from her lips when they’re normally so hard to come by, and he starts talking about the bike trail he chose for them to take the next day and she agrees wholeheartedly this time.
she somehow almost forgot. he calms her down, soothes her soul. there’s a lapse of chaos in his presence and she welcomes it this time. now, she accepts it. she can trust him at least, distance be damned.
“hey, oppa.”
“yes?”
“i’ll tell you next time.”
“next time what?”
“next time i come visit you.”
a secret promise exchanged with herself — one day, i’ll stop running.
