( ‘ it’s a kindergarden routine, trying to raise some kind of reaction out of her. he’s said worse, she’s done worst. mrs. kim jiwon. hah. try harder, old man. ) oh i'm doing perfectly fine, don’t worry about that. you, on the other hand ( ‘ a pause, to cue a semi-dramatic effect ) should be more careful. ( ' she keeps her tone even, bordering apathy the growing grin only a stunning portrait of a signature devil may care disposition ) have you heard what they've been saying about you and your fitness trainer boyfriend, lately? ( ' she picks up the bag again, shaking it slightly ) d'you want parmesan, by the way? ( ' she'd forgotten to do it this time around, sprinkle just a bit of that grated goodness while it's hot and ready. better late than never, she muses ) well, you're not alone. ( ' it came out sounding more serious than it should have, and there's that tiniest twinge of regret — at the end of the day, it's not entirely wrong ) technically speaking.
Questions rise in the absence of a direct gaze, the skeletons she's buried underneath looking her right in the eye, waiting. The realization doesn't hit her abruptly; only the most gradual tipping of the scales and it's not in her favor, a deadweight kind of ache pressing against her chest as a result, deliberately. Putting up pretenses would only make this harder. But it's the only thing she does, the only thing she's come to know around him.
"Alright."
A nod, a gentle smile, and her face suddenly feels like it's not her own; the skin too tight, the mouth too stiff. Funny how it's all come down to this — drawing out masks in the wake of irony, a game of playing pretend.
( Don't waste your pity. )
After all, it's nothing that she hasn't done before —
Is it?
She makes her way to the exit leisurely, only stopping briefly to make sure he's following. The hallway is emptying out, any stranglers few and far in between. Background noise had been reduced to listless static, a restless kind of silence that's ever so heavy, ever so present.
For a few lingering moments there's nothing else heard but the padding of their footsteps, uniform, in time with each other's. Each one is a reminder, a ghost of some faint memory that returns in some vivid apparition. "Remember this? Remember that?" — remnants of polaroid nostalgia once flickering bright now fine, thin shreds at the bottom of the wastebin; ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
She shoves her hands into the pocket, fingers curled into tight fists. She needs a smoke. Space. Something, anything to remedy this sudden sensation of queasiness. She opens her mouth, round and readied with an excuse — a few words and the turn of her heels. The project isn't due for another week. This could wait, they can wait, save this for another day —
"This is going to be fun." The all too somber mood, broken abruptly by one sentence — caught with a sarcastic sort of bluntness that sounds a tad too harsh. Shit. So much for showing enthusiasm.
She clears her throat; a sparing attempt to make it look like it was all intended. "Though I don't think you'll have much to worry about —" The shadow of a grin returns, teasing. She means well, she really does ( it’s the least that he deserves ). "You've always been good with this history stuff."
Palms still stuck on the glass, she surveys the layout: point A set to be the doorway, with point B standing opposite to the exit. Approximating distance proves to be a daunting task when your sense for accuracy has utterly gone to shit ( for all she knows, where ‘x’ marks the spot could be right under her nose and she’ll completely miss it ).
To make matters better worse, the red solo cup prior had been exchanged for a shot of tequila — her last drink for the night, but in retrospect, it’s also the last boost that prompts her to a state of complete oblivion. She’s relaxed, free from the tight reign of proper sense, and strangely very, very confident. Risk is dismissed without a second thought, the high chances of consequence severely underplayed right down to harmless possibilities.
She looks at the fountain with a sudden surge of optimism.
How bad could this possibly be?
Turns out, she’s proved wrong pretty quickly. The first attempt to stand almost knocks the wind out of her, sneakers giving away to a slide across the immaculate polish of the floors with a pitchy squeak and she’s ready to give up all together. Honest to god, fuck this — the curse comes out in a labored hiss, as a steady foothold is finally found. But she's doing it for Jia, her Jia, there's no reason to render this into a lost cause.
The rest becomes an ordeal handled with two left hands, two left feet — grabbing and slipping for walls, corners the door knobs in between. It only gets harder when she somehow managed to even get out of the building, greeted with nothing else but fresh, cold air to gulp in after that strenuous haul and the workings of gravity. But her relief is short-lived when she spots the fountain — waiting.
Fuck.
"Embarrassing" would be a way of putting this gently. “Disastrous”, more like it. But any concern for appearances have long disappeared by the third round. She's back to when she's two and still learning to walk — steps pushed forward in an uneven stagger, arms spread out like an eagle. But she makes, she makes it, putting up a hand in joyous greeting at the sight of the other making her way up the path.
"Hey!" Slurred words are caught in the loose grin — Song Jimin! Smiling! Can you believe it? — as she slumps down onto the stone ledge. "I missed you. So, so much. But, oh my god—
( * he’s feeling something so foreign. but he can’t even process what she’s saying, talking about something happening on sunday or whatever. jesus - he’s so distracted. by eyes that reflect his own, in the strangest way. hasn’t he thought that before? ) ( * he even turns to her, looking at her sincerely before leaning in slightly so he can speak quietly. ) i think i fell for you — falling. i think i’m falling for you. ( * god he’s so serious, he’s being legitimate, because he just wants to go for it. to see if she pushes away of course she will or to look for some kind of answer. as to why he’s so sudden, why his heart is racing when he notices that she’s maintaining eye contact like usual for so long ) ( * he knows song jimin enough to be fast, to lean in quick and to kiss her quickly. out of fear of being killed pure curiosity, he kisses her. but he pulls a blank face when he lets go, partially unsure of what he did. but also somewhat tempted to do it — again. ) woah.
( ‘ she snorts, her expression beyond one of incredulous distinction. incredible — he’s changed up the formula this time around. a pinch of dramatics, courtesy of watching one too many soaps. ) look, jeon — ( ‘ but he’s already stopped looking, eyes closed, leaning in. the rest is history. ) ( ‘ but shit, wait — is the room suddenly colder? even the spring chirping of birds have suddenly quieted down, settling for a stony kind of silence ) ( ‘ for the longest minute, she doesn’t even move ) ( ‘ she closes her eyes, then slowly opens them again ) how much was the bet? ( ‘ her voice is eerily calm, every word echoing with a dead thud ) ( ‘ her eyes flick up to meet his ) ( ‘ the names are pulled out before she can think them through ) was it bobby or jiyong? ( ‘ the look on her face says more than enough ) whose neck do i have to snap along with yours?
There’s the briefest flash of a smile, expression visibly softening at his gesture. A brief thought passes through her mind, but it’s not said aloud. There’s no need to bring up family antics, sibling centered tragedy – at least, not this soon. The parallels drawn between them unbelievably uncanny; he knows this, so does she. There’s nothing else to make of it when such simple fact already proves to be more complicated than it’s worth. So she leaves it alone, as quietly expected, reaching out instead for the cigarette. Questions always came later, interjections kept little to none.
Though tonight, she allows herself just this one: the quizzical raise of an eyebrow, a playful scoff.
“Tch – lame.”
She’s not here for easy fixes. But hey, baby steps – she supposed they counted for something, and that’s always better than nothing. Always.
The bottle is pushed before her, and staying true to protocol, she has her fill; the burning sensation down her throat familiar, almost bittersweet. “Alright.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, inhaling nicotine, letting it go in smoke. The ashes are flicked off the end, settling into the dirt.
“Never have I taken acid. Or – any other type of drug, actually. ”
In ceremonious fashion, the bottle’s tipped up, set down, then slid across. Front and center.
Every step taken is heavy, threatening to fully drag her down completely beneath the dirt. Thoughts of reassurance are hinged with uncertainty, awkward, forced — swallowing them down is hard on a stomach that refuses to stop twisting and turning. The memory is a broken record on repeat: third period history class, the usual expectations of mindless work met by the announcement of yet another project. The far from unexpected: his name called out, “Song Jimin” following right after — the pair complete.
Her reaction had been nothing but a slight nod in his direction, the slightest impression of a smile, amiable. They’d been more than just shared glances, quips of smalltalk in between classes — once, and only once. In her mind, it’s remembered as if it had happened ten years ago, rather than less than one. This is the kind of distance that she’d slowly been carving, stained bloody by past regrets, present guilt. It all comes down to this: there’s things that she shouldn’t have promised, things that shouldn’t have been left unsaid. The verdict: she’s a crook, a thief in more ways than one, and the greater crime is that she’s too much of a coward to face the consequences.
Breathe in, breathe out. Stand still for a moment. It’ll be fine, it’ll be okay. He doesn’t know, he’ll never know.
Just one project, just a small stretch of a few hours, and it’ll end there. That’s how it has been during the entirety of this semester. That’s how she imagines the rest of this time will be.
It’s with this vindication that she can find the strength to fully walk to where he’s waiting, back turned in her direction. The briefest nudge against his shoulder, greeting him with a raised brow when he looks at her — just for old times’ sake, to settle any sense of uneasiness for the both of them. “Looks like you’ve been here for quite a while.” Her tone is light, composed. “Ready to go?”
Body sprawled out, limp. Eyes glazed over, staring into the vast empty. Hair netted and tangled. Porcelain skin, ragdoll weight pressed against the mattress.
There’s nothing human about you in the dark.
The risk of breaking doesn’t hang heavy. Nothing but an inevitable truth now, you realize, in more ways than one: the natural bend in your spine, the creak in your joints, the workings of your typical anatomy. Submissiveness is an innate concept, and you sink almost gratefully under the pressure. You’ve been told to count your blessings, whenever possible. This happens to be one of them.
But in the middle of the night, with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company, there’s just this one that you’re thankful for:
Nothing else may be tangible, prone to your touch. But memory is.
It always has been.
Consider this. Think — no, remember. Of the boy that once shared his heart ever so honestly, ever so simply. His weight had been on this bed too. Embraced, kissed with vulnerability, traced ever so lovingly with heavy fingers.
Remember that you closed your eyes, but only to imagine smaller hands, a slender body. The scent of sandalwood and lavender. Anything to make this bearable, you told yourself. To make it easier.
But oh, you poor thing. Have you forgotten?
Nothing is supposed to come easy to you.
Ruination caught between the taste of liquor and a familiar mouth. What should be heard underneath practiced nonchalance, read between wide gapped smiles. Sunday morning rituals, where the bathtub held more than just soap and water. You know none of these things, but you’re much too sharp to not be aware of something. Yet here you stood, unacquainted, readily turning a blind eye.
You stupid, stupid little bitch. How could you not know? Selfish and bitter to the bone, stuffed and poached and fattened with your own indulgences while others gnaw tirelessly on bone. Can’t help but rub salt on their wounds, can you? When you can’t heal your own? Puncturing anything soft within your vicinity with pins and needles, drawing blood whenever possible. Kindness doesn’t sit with you easily, does it?
Of course not.
A reminder, in case you decide to forget again:
You had it coming. You deserved this.
If nothing else, you can have just this bit of humility, a small blessing. One can suppose all things do, especially those that have long begun to rot. One last regret perhaps, rather than a reading of wills. This one doesn’t need to be told, it’s long been buried deep underneath. No one ever needs to know.
After all, there’s nothing human about you in the dark.
And in the morning light, there’s no telling what you’ll soon become.
( ‘ she blinks once, then twice — processing. for the entirety of their relationship, she’s pretty sure the only two words that he’s used to refer to her that began with the letter ‘l’ are ‘lame’ and ‘loser’ ) ( ‘ it’s a change, probably one that should be welcomed — but a particularly keen sixth sense tells her that something is very, very wrong ) ( ‘ her face recovers the signature look of seriousness, paired with nonchalant tone and a cocked brow ) jeon daehwan. ( ‘ she puts the remote down. she thinks she’s got it perfectly figured out. of course he probably fucked something up and hadn’t decided to tell her until now, what else could it be? ) this is my dorm, not sunday service. if you killed a man, talk to the priest about the whole forgiveness...repentance stuff. ( ‘ desperate times called for desperate measures, don’t they? there’s no way he’s actually serious. ) but no, really, you can drop the act. ( if anything, she sounds more curious than suspicious ) what the fuck did you do?
( ‘ the same room, the same couch, the same company. nothing is out of the ordinary, the presumed usual. she’s sitting beside him comfortably, remote in hand — the only thing in mind is to finally watch that brand new season of daredevil. ) ( ‘ she doesn’t think that he could possibly be looking at anywhere else but the tv screen. ) ( ‘ a glance to her left ) do you wanna get take — ( ‘ her words stop abruptly ) jeon?
( ‘ cope — a strange word with even stranger implications. served completely with questionable purpose. let’s adjust the frame here, put it to proper perspective: in her mind the more fitting idea at play was ‘tolerate.’ being able to put up with their annoying little habits, their perks, their quirks. letting his debts quietly slide — with a price, he letting her eat bagels like sandwiches — with a consequence. ) ( ' naturally, she doesn't flinch when he playfully shoves her, the pull of reflexes put to a standstill when she decides to not trip him on his way to getting another bag. ) ( ' instead, she just scooches over, giving him some space to sit ) someone's learning fast. ( ‘ she pops a few pieces in her mouth ) last time i had to threaten you with courage before you got the hint.
She’s already zipping up her backpack, the bottles, the box of cigarettes and other necessities readied for their quiet rendezvous when she senses his presence. She doesn’t offer much of a smile when she looks up — blank expression even harder to read in the low light. Reservations, putting up walls — such defense mechanisms are rendered meaningless when everything is out in the open by the time the sun rises. Shadows of foliage cut across their faces, revealing part dark, part pale skin: it’s an almost fascinating concept of halves, exchanging friendly gestures between two who were less than so.
She scoots aside to give him space to sit, hands him a lighter, pushes him an already opened up bottle; no glass, no pretty confections, nothing on the rocks ( such rituals are meant to be kept as pure as possible ) — a kindness.
The nonchalant shrug in response — a boundary set. Small talk didn’t belong here, not when more substantial things are meant to be said at this hour. She shivers again, but doesn’t complain of the cold. The booze would soon bring the flush back into her cheeks anyway. One could say this is a silly game — but with the recent turn of things, it’s far more than just a game, far more than just letting a few small secrets slip. She crosses her arms, turning her body so that they’re face to face, alcohol between them.
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