[drabble] you, me & a lonely glass of moscato
i saw you on the streets of chungmuro. we spent that night under the stars on the roof, you, me and a lonely glass of moscato. you said you wouldn't drink - you had to ride home later on that sorry excuse of a bike you practically threw down on the kerb. i didn't want to pretend to know any better so i kept my silence and toasted the air.
we talked till the bubbles were gone, and the sweet dry taste of the moscato had dried in my throat. the air was cold for a summer night, but you said hop on your bike. you handed me a smooth skull of a helmet that fit too closely on my head like it was made for me, but i made a lame joke that all your pillion riders must have a universal head size.
you said, no, just you.
the ride home passed much too fast, the wind slipping through my fingers like so many hours whizzing by, and closing my fist around it didn't help me capture a whisper. my hands on your shoulders like a casual acquaintance, leaning my weight into your every turn, not daring to slip my arm around or bring me closer to your warmth.
the slightly sour tinge of moscato touching the air was what i smelled all the way home, i wondered if you smelt it too. but i couldn't see your face in the mirrors - i could see only my own pink-rimmed eyes sleepy with the comfort of rosé. in my mind a rock opera was bursting alive, singing to the blast of the wind in my face and i remember an impulsive gratitude for being alive.
at the foot of my apartment block you said let's do that again, and impetuously i wanted to lean forward and give you a kiss.
but i don't know you and you didn't remove your helmet.