the h in hello stands for help
omhye:
[ ... ]
Trying not to appear too paranoid, she picks up the pace and clutches her bag tighter to her chest, considering her options. Defend herself? Good one. Run? Let’s be realistic. The third and final option comes half a beat later, when a figure emerges from the corner, a backpack toted innocently on their back. Without a thought, she’s crossing the road with hurried steps to join the unsuspecting stranger.
“Don’t look too weirded out, but there’s a weird dude following me and I’d really appreciate it if you pretended you knew me. Just look natural.” She pretends to laugh, taking the chance to step closer and grit her teeth into a forced smile. “I promise I’ll be out of your hair in a sec. Please?”
it’s another one of those college boy narratives. work? unfinished. sleep? deprived. stomach? growling. okay, but does any college student ever not give the run around their work until they’re practically put under the mightiest pressure? upon deciding that finishing maybe about 80% of his report will do for the time being, yihoon trudges his steps out the campus library. tired eyes alike float in the dusk like zombies, and he gains another one of those ‘okay, i’m not the only one dying at this dead of night’ consolations. an incessant relief to his cureless habits, so to say.
half a mile past the campus scene, he’s thinking about what to fill his stomach with for the night. for a moment, he thinks about shooting a text to gyul– but decides that it’s still too short of a notice to ask his 이모 (누나, arguably) for a home-cooked meal. days and days of shoving instant 컵떡볶이 and 핫바 down his throat can only go so long, and it’s now taking a toll on him. for once. finally.
he’s half zoned-out when he makes a long stride across the street, pedestrian signal blinking in bright green. duskiness of the scene doesn’t do much in cancelling out his jitters (all those work unfinished, they’re waiting!), and so he hurries his step to a slow sprint to reach the other side of the street. or, well, tries to, before staggering just three steps before the curb. the stranger who apparently has no idea what ‘personal space’ is has found her way next to him (not that he has much either, but,) so he sidesteps along with a brief stammer.
“a whatta-what?” a slower digestion at her words said, then you see him fighting the urge to turn his head around. and well, good thing for the girl is that it doesn’t take too long before his talent of adapting to make-do situation kicks in.
“oh– right. what’s for dinner? dad said he’s coming in a few minutes as well. you should really get in the habit of coming back with a bag of ice cream instead of nothing, though.”
