UNDERCURRENT - @draed THE BEACH - NIGHT KIYONG AND WONSHIK APPEAR, SMALL IN THE DISTANCE, AS THEY SLOWLY MOVE TOWARD THE WATER - It crashes, those waves. They’re heavy. Kiyong can hear it in the way they pummel into the sand. Churning up rocks and shells and hiding tangled ropes of seaweed in the swells. This wasn’t Kiyong’s idea, not with the way his pulse is jack-hammering its way against his wrist, like it might be intent to carve its way right out from his skin. It went like this: eyes met over dinner for a beat too long in a way that Kiyong knew meant he wanted to have a conversation, Wonshik. So why was it Kiyong that ended up texting him as the clock crawled toward ten? Probably because he’s been taking near any excuse to escape the hotel from the moment he walked into it. Regret settles stone-heavy in his chest and refuses to move. SENT: im leaving, going somewhere without cameras. you coming? WONSHIK: beach? So they’re at the beach. He hasn’t decided if this is better or worse than the hotel. Sea-brine sticks to the inside of his sinuses and stings, he wipes at his nose with the edge of his sleeve and tries for subtle. In the dark and maybe he doesn’t come up short. “So…” the sentence doesn’t find an end, the sound swallowed up by the rush of water. Kiyong walks them straight against the sand without veering closer to the water, it’s cold anyway. That’s normal. He slips one hand into his pocket and fiddles with the metal catch of his lighter. Suddenly and he wishes he were alone with a high stack of dried out driftwood to set fire to. Here, he should say something like ‘how’ve you been?’ but he doesn’t feel like it, so all he has to listen to are those rhythmic fucking waves. “Kinda surprised you showed for this, would’ve thought you had bigger things to do.” That’s what he settles on, and it’s mostly the truth. A large enough block of time where you’re locked in place, by now Wonshik seems too big to put up with it. Not that Kiyong can talk, if he hadn’t pulled out of scheduled filming he would’ve had an excuse not be here, too. Maybe he just wants to commiserate. “Not that I’m complaining. I figure they’ll be real focused on you the whole time.” he jabs an elbow into Wonshik’s side to punctuate that statement, a laugh that shakes any idea that it might be jealousy. Kiyong, alone and without a character, isn’t sure he likes being filmed after all. This is the idea of a truth, and Kiyong doesn’t have those sorts of ideas often. He prefers lying.