@hpjmoon (x)
Nostalgia isn’t a far-fetched notion for him, regardless of how sentimental, of how rarely he allows himself to indulge in the bittersweet.
He takes the detour by pure chance, the same curves and bends down the road, traced in by memory. The building falls into sight along the way, mostly unchanged. Hard to believe, even now, that several months prior he’d been in a bit of a crisis, pigeon-holed into a rooftop apartment in shambles. Funny how time seemed to have taken care of everything in the aftermath—fast forward to the present, and he’s seeing, doing better.
Despite himself, there’s a part of him that almost misses it; maybe no man’s an island by pure default, but the near-absolute isolation he’d found isn’t so easy to have, let alone in a city like Seoul.
One more look, and Kikwang continues on without so much of another pause. The streets only get busier—louder—by the hour, the sound of people making their way around, with places to be; defined and with direction, there’s no time to lag behind. He hurries his pace, steps a little faster in hopes to escape the emerging crowd, only to end up bumping shoulder-first against a guy who’s far more familiar than he realizes.
“Oh.” There’s only a part-glance, a half-bow, and just enough room for an apology. “Sorry—”
