they sit on opposite sides of each other at the wooden table, presented with half opened bags of chips, fruits and a semblance of palm prints dragged across the table.jun’s eyes trail along the condensed droplets as they slither their way down the old mug. he sits in silence, sipping softly on old barley tea. time: six thirty-four. the sun has long risen, but its light has long been drowned out by the fog of summer rain.
“how long have we known each other?”
best friends, but there’s more to it than he’s eager to openly admit. jun cracks open the pomegranate with both thumbs. the juice drips down his palm and wrist like ichor. he doesn’t hesitate to lap it up clean; tongue and lips stained red like the bruises on his neck and the boy’s waist.
“how long will we stay like this?”
minjun’s eyes peer out the glass panel into the bamboo fence. beyond their hostel lies the curling branches of yakushima, the island that inspired princess mononoke. “i worry sometimes.” his words are cut short.
“that i’m not healthy for you.” beyond physicality.
jun exhales. the humidity of japanese summers tire him. inhale. repeat.
“he’s a bad boy. he’s aloof. apathetic.” he wipes the sheen of sweat off his neck with the stained tshirt. his eyes are half-lidded, staring at his own reflection in the cup of tea. “that’s what they say about me in the gossip magazines.”
“my instincts tell me that’s true. for others, it’s not a good thing.”
