Take Off | Li Wan x Jia Chong; modern.
“Are you afraid?”
Li Wan’s eyes flicked up to meet his, her lips parted. Around them, the sky was darkening quickly, and there was the audible hum from the streetlights that lined the park, illuminating a pale yellow glow. But he instead strained his ears to hear her breathing—the sharp inhale of breath, which she held in her chest before releasing it—and watched her eyes dance over his face.
This was not the first time they’ve met. True, while they’ve only had few brief encounters—which, for the most part, were spent in silence: she would linger on the swing and idly dangle her feet, while he rested his arms on the back of a nearby bench, newspaper in hand—he had already adapted to her presence just as she to his, in the way that her ears would hitch at that sound of his familiar footfalls, her eyes brightening once they met his. However, this was the first time he was able to see her in such close proximity: from here he noticed that her hair, dark and center-parted, falling freely down to her waist, had the slightest reddish-brown tint to it, and her eyes a light hazel rather than his assumed dark brown, contrasting with her light skin.
He stood behind her, dwarfing her as she gripped her fingers tightly around the chains of the swing, knuckles blanched. “What is there to be afraid of?” she challenged, forcing her voice to remain steady.
Not at all innocently, he arched a brow. “There are many things.”
“I don’t think you’re one of them.” She dared to pull the corners of her mouth into a tight smile, but he could still see the faint tremor of her lips. Determined not to be intimidated, she lowered her gaze and dipped her chin down, keeping her expression from view. “Unless you’re trying to frighten me on purpose.”
He, too, gripped onto the chains as he bent down towards her, his lips hovering over her ear as a deep rumble sounded from the back of his throat. It took her a moment to realize that it was a quiet laughter, more so to himself than her. “Do you want to try it?”
The possibilities thrilled her; a shiver shot up her spine, and her eyes darted towards his light, lackluster blue ones, which very much reminded her of gems even from a distance. Without her needing to respond, he took a step back and began to rock her slowly. She gripped the chains in a vice-like hold, not bothered when her dark whipped around her face.
He pushed her slightly harder, increasing her height; she laughed outright—a sound he had not heard from her before—and challenged him to go higher. He complied and continued to push her higher until his fingers could no longer reach her back. She continued her pace, pumping her legs as Jia Chong receded to the side, leaning against the worn metal piping of the swing set. When she turned towards him, he whizzed by in a blur; she could still make out the dark gleam of his black hair—a stark contrast to his chalky-white skin, almost the same color as his button-up shirt—and the light blue of his eyes watching her. She thought she had seen his lips curve into a smile, but she was sure she had imagined it: nothing was clear anymore, but she loved the night’s air, cool on her skin, and feeling of his hands upon her back; the feeling of his lips hovering over her ear, his body radiating immense heat.
Then the swing set lurched, and she was going too fast and too high to stop; she cried out, her eyes squeezed shut. All at once she was afraid: afraid of the height, of the darkness that seemed to envelope them, of the arms that wound around her and held on too tightly. She crashed into him as he seized her in a vice-like grip, pulling her to a stop.
His eyes flicked to the upper corner of the set, which he had failed to notice was completely rusted through. Luckily it didn’t snap underneath her weight, but it very well might have.
She ripped herself away from him, jumping up from the swing and whirled, facing him fully. With her hands cupped around her elbows, eyes wide, he watched her with an eerie calmness in his expression. She was unsure of what to make of this man, and had decided early on to stay away from him. Even when he approached her just minutes before, she contemplated running away, to dart into the bushes until she could find a subway port. But now, with him looking at her with those light blue eyes, she felt her resolve falter. He was a stranger, but already she felt much more at ease with him than with many people she’s known for years.
The sequins of her black shirt shimmered in the dim light, reflecting it back towards him. He waited for her to move, and when she began to laugh again, he felt his brows shoot up. He had expected her to be angry with him—perhaps even to cry—but she instead took a hold on his arm and pulled him forward, seating him on the swing. He complied, watching her as she pivoted around him so that it was now she behind him. Her dark hair spilled over her shoulders and framed his face; with her looking down at him, her dark hair like a curtain on either side of them, he watched the corners of her lips curve in a bright smile.
“Now it’s your turn,” she said, her eyes holding a spark that had entranced him for a moment. “Are you afraid?”
