♧ + ♥ + ♛
♧, ♥, ♛ : ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜsᴇs ʜᴀɪʀ ; ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇ ᴄʀʏɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ sᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴍᴜsᴇ ; ᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇs sʜᴀʀɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴅᴇssᴇʀᴛ // ( a la esta )
“ Are you crying? ”
“ What, is it not obvious enough for you? ”
“ I just never get to see you cry. ” She hesitates, because she didn’t mean it like that.
And he knows.
But every word hits him with reality. He keeps his eyes locked on the screen. It wasn’t even that sad of a scene. The movie was pure matter-of-fact, but it was the mixture of sarcasm and anger. He teared up. Just something about the feeling, of the main character feeling put out like an old cigarette. Like the old joke that’s being held onto just for the sake of pity, for keeping that part of life alive. He sees a filter of blues and greens, it reminds him all too much about every Sunday. His bath where he debates over knowing what it feels like to sink, to have his back completely flat against a smooth porcelain.
The screen goes black and she looks at him, maybe worried. But in a way, Jimin simply looks at him. The way his chin rests on the edge of the pillow that he’s holding close, the way he’s slouching and lazily staring at what was supposed to be a stress relief.
“ I’m hungry. ” She states it plainly. “ Got anything sweet? ”
Daehwan gets up, running both of his hands over his face and then through his hair. He hasn’t made it for a long time, now that he thinks about it, the snack he used to always have the ingredients for. Lemon pudding, a childish thing. He kept lemons for lemon water, the whipping cream was because he liked the dessert himself, and he kept a stash of sugar for the occasional dash on his cereal.
She doesn’t get up until she hears him whisking, the metal scraping against a plastic bowl. Long legs bring her over to where he’s standing, working at making the memory return. He made this only when she asked, at least, that’s what Eri told her. She leans on the counter, facing Daehwan and watching him just as she did years and years before.
But something makes her reach out and take away his cap. Daehwan looks at her with suspicion, stopping and slowly working at the mixture. He’s learned not to ask, since she never answers. Especially not when she puts the cap on herself, or when she uses nimble movements to detangle the ends of his fringe. She wants to say he needed a haircut almost as badly as he needed to get out of this school, to go be Jeon Daehwan.
This isn’t exactly who she remembers.
He’s close, but there’s always something missing. Even as he hands her the whisk, he knows she won’t lick the remnants off like most kids, but he gave it to her anyway. Did he forget? Or is she just not adapting?
They sit with the mixing bowl and two spoons. Refreshing and cool is the taste of lemon pudding, their childhood.
“ Can we just go back to Kids Next Door? ”
“ Since you can’t handle Fight Club, I guess. ”
With a small, embarrassed smirk he groans. “ Shut the fuck up, okay? I wasn’t crying. ”
She smiles, he’s back.
