reeling
dowoon/nayeon
g, 800w
Somewhere in between Nayeon humming wordless songs unknowingly into his ear and him watching her hair fluttering gold in the sunlight, Dowoon finds the cheap leather seats of the bus too stifling against his skin. Sweat trickles in little beads down his forehead, and his hands suddenly feel empty.
“I want to get a fish,” he blurts out.
Nayeon turns from the open window, her head a sudden golden halo against the backdrop of bright light. “A fish,” she repeats. Her eyes are questioning but her lips are amused.
He swallows. “Yup.”
She smiles. It’s more blinding than the hot summer sunlight burning her shoulder. “A fish.” This time it sounds more like an affirmation.
They get off at the next stop. It isn’t any of their neighbourhoods but Dowoon is sure that if they ask around they’ll be sure to find a pet shop somewhere. The pavement scorches under their feet and Nayeon runs out of water, but by the time the sun starts to set they still haven’t found any place to buy a fish.
“Maybe today’s just not your lucky day,” Nayeon suggests on the way home. She passes Dowoon’s empty water bottle back to him. “Sorry I finished your water.”
“Maybe,” Dowoon answers. Nayeon just drank from his bottle and he wonders if that counts as indirect kissing? and are her cheeks flushed because of the heat or because she’s thinking the same thing? and the air is way too heavy around him.
She gets off at her stop and waves as the bus speeds away. He watches from the rear window until she’s nothing but a speck in the distance, then slumps down in his seat and tries to remember how to breathe.
Dowoon comes back from his grandmother’s Busan home newly tanned, head still drowsy from a summer mostly spent doing nothing. He texts Nayeon a simple I’m back after dropping his things on the floor of his room and throwing himself on the bed, listening to the cicadas singing just outside his window.
Did you get your fish? she asks in reply.
It would’ve died on the way back here, he texts back.
She sends him a voice message of her laughing. It makes Busan feel a lot further away, a reality completely divorced from this new life in Seoul where he’s in love with a girl whose laugh feels more like coming home than the smell of his mother’s samgyetang boiling away on the stove. He closes his eyes and replays her laugh over and over again until his mother calls him for dinner.
“This one,” Nayeon points. Dowoon bends over and peers through the glass at the lone fish swimming around, long fins cascading out behind it in a beautiful pale blue fan.
“Too flashy,” he shakes his head. “It’s more like you.”
She smacks him lightly on the shoulder but doesn’t argue. They move on to the next tank, full of colourful guppies flitting to the other side in fright when Nayeon presses her fingers to the glass. “Too small,” Dowoon says.
They move through the store, Nayeon’s hair tickling his cheek every time she bends over him to look into a tank, and even though a chill has begun descending on Seoul these days, the air is just as heavy as that time on the bus when he first announced he wanted to get a fish.
There are only two of them swimming together in the tank when they come across them, one with green scales shimmering blue in the light and the other an almost unnatural pink. Dowoon knows these are the ones when he touches the glass and neither seem to notice him there. Nayeon puts her hand just beside his. “The green one is you,” she says. She nudges his pinky with hers.
He grins. “Then you would be the pink one.” He nudges her back.
The attendant comes over. “This species gets lonely so it’s better to buy them as a pair.”
“Oh,” Nayeon looks disappointed. “We’re only looking for one.” She’s moving on to the next tank when he grabs her hand. Today might just be his lucky day.
“We’ll get them both,” he says firmly.
Her eyes are questioning but her lips are amused. “Why? I thought you wanted one.”
“I’m the green one,” he says, and for once he’s not stammering and searching for the right words. They come so easily when she’s around. “And you’re the pink. And they have to be together. That’s the only way.”
She laughs that homecoming laugh and flushes bright red. Later on in the bus with the plastic bag bouncing on his lap she wraps her hand around his and holds on tight, both of them watching the fish swimming around each other in silence.
/
g, 800w
Somewhere in between Nayeon humming wordless songs unknowingly into his ear and him watching her hair fluttering gold in the sunlight, Dowoon finds the cheap leather seats of the bus too stifling against his skin. Sweat trickles in little beads down his forehead, and his hands suddenly feel empty.
“I want to get a fish,” he blurts out.
Nayeon turns from the open window, her head a sudden golden halo against the backdrop of bright light. “A fish,” she repeats. Her eyes are questioning but her lips are amused.
He swallows. “Yup.”
She smiles. It’s more blinding than the hot summer sunlight burning her shoulder. “A fish.” This time it sounds more like an affirmation.
They get off at the next stop. It isn’t any of their neighbourhoods but Dowoon is sure that if they ask around they’ll be sure to find a pet shop somewhere. The pavement scorches under their feet and Nayeon runs out of water, but by the time the sun starts to set they still haven’t found any place to buy a fish.
“Maybe today’s just not your lucky day,” Nayeon suggests on the way home. She passes Dowoon’s empty water bottle back to him. “Sorry I finished your water.”
“Maybe,” Dowoon answers. Nayeon just drank from his bottle and he wonders if that counts as indirect kissing? and are her cheeks flushed because of the heat or because she’s thinking the same thing? and the air is way too heavy around him.
She gets off at her stop and waves as the bus speeds away. He watches from the rear window until she’s nothing but a speck in the distance, then slumps down in his seat and tries to remember how to breathe.
Dowoon comes back from his grandmother’s Busan home newly tanned, head still drowsy from a summer mostly spent doing nothing. He texts Nayeon a simple I’m back after dropping his things on the floor of his room and throwing himself on the bed, listening to the cicadas singing just outside his window.
Did you get your fish? she asks in reply.
It would’ve died on the way back here, he texts back.
She sends him a voice message of her laughing. It makes Busan feel a lot further away, a reality completely divorced from this new life in Seoul where he’s in love with a girl whose laugh feels more like coming home than the smell of his mother’s samgyetang boiling away on the stove. He closes his eyes and replays her laugh over and over again until his mother calls him for dinner.
“This one,” Nayeon points. Dowoon bends over and peers through the glass at the lone fish swimming around, long fins cascading out behind it in a beautiful pale blue fan.
“Too flashy,” he shakes his head. “It’s more like you.”
She smacks him lightly on the shoulder but doesn’t argue. They move on to the next tank, full of colourful guppies flitting to the other side in fright when Nayeon presses her fingers to the glass. “Too small,” Dowoon says.
They move through the store, Nayeon’s hair tickling his cheek every time she bends over him to look into a tank, and even though a chill has begun descending on Seoul these days, the air is just as heavy as that time on the bus when he first announced he wanted to get a fish.
There are only two of them swimming together in the tank when they come across them, one with green scales shimmering blue in the light and the other an almost unnatural pink. Dowoon knows these are the ones when he touches the glass and neither seem to notice him there. Nayeon puts her hand just beside his. “The green one is you,” she says. She nudges his pinky with hers.
He grins. “Then you would be the pink one.” He nudges her back.
The attendant comes over. “This species gets lonely so it’s better to buy them as a pair.”
“Oh,” Nayeon looks disappointed. “We’re only looking for one.” She’s moving on to the next tank when he grabs her hand. Today might just be his lucky day.
“We’ll get them both,” he says firmly.
Her eyes are questioning but her lips are amused. “Why? I thought you wanted one.”
“I’m the green one,” he says, and for once he’s not stammering and searching for the right words. They come so easily when she’s around. “And you’re the pink. And they have to be together. That’s the only way.”
She laughs that homecoming laugh and flushes bright red. Later on in the bus with the plastic bag bouncing on his lap she wraps her hand around his and holds on tight, both of them watching the fish swimming around each other in silence.
/