she has reached new depths of self-pity, she thinks. pity, twisted together with loathing, garnished very generously with copious amounts of heated, raw embarrassment – that would be the most accurate recanting of her feelings towards herself at the moment. yoona can feel the heat of her shame now, clawing upwards from the cavity where her heart used to be (it’s all shrivelled and dying now, probably from aforementioned shame); trying to make its way to her cheeks and forehead and to the tip of her nose, where they will burst forth with blooming roses of bright rouge, making her look like she’d played around with too much red blush. she is trying, very hard, not to let her emotions win over her head in this battle, barely managing to maintain the blasé demeanor she’s been exuding, even though her smile to the waitress with the sympathetic but amused eyes is a little bit too tight-lipped to be natural.
and why shouldn’t she be amused? she’s been catering to a single woman who’s been sitting at a table reserved for two for ten goddamn minutes now. a woman who’d come in buzzing with nervous energy and palpable excitement, holding off on everything except water because “oh, my date’ll be here soon, we can just order together”.
yes, if she were the waitress, yoona would be amused as well. unfortunately for her, she was instead the woman at the table sitting all by her lonesome for nearly a quarter of an hour now, beginning to admit to herself that maybe, just maybe, she’d been (oh god, she can’t even say it it’s so tragic) – stood up.
( and she’d so been looking forward to this as well - a pleasant, enjoyable, non-monotonous night - she was such a tragedy. )
fingertips have shredded her napkin into tiny, pathetic strips onto her empty plate. she debates asking for another one – then debates asking for a strong gin and tonic – and then just debates leaving –
( the couple beside her is trying to subtly point her out. the female of the two is blatantly laughing, the asshole. )
and then, suddenly, graciously, a body is sliding smoothly into the seat across her, and a deep, strangely familiar voice is exclaiming apologies heard throughout the entire restaurant. yoona tilts her chin up, ready to unleash the furious, mortified beast within her, until she catches sight of the man’s face.
well. this isn’t her date. unless oh saeryun was somehow the twenty five year old “nice junior bank associate” her dad was talking about.
( somehow, though, she doubts it. )
