★ what happened to the most beautiful girl.
i. the river
He is only about 8500 kilometers away from where he should be-Seoul, South Korea with a five-kilogram math textbook, not in Paris, France with his Japanese girlfriend. They are at a carnival (he says, "And, Yuu, we are in Paris-" pronounces it like Pah-ree with a French accent and all). Sitting in the compartment of the Ferris wheel, Kyuhyun can see the Seine River. He takes her hand.
"I'll teach you Japanese while we ride," she says in very broken Korean and a slow-spreading smile on her face.
"No, thank you," he replies with a grin of his own. "I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Because I recall that it took a month and a half for you to pronounce my last name correctly." She laughs, a tinkling sound, and he pushes her gently, playfully, like a lover should push their other half (but, truthfully, it's because he's afraid that any large amount of movement will disturb the Ferris wheel and send the toppling over). "And right now, you're getting better, but sometimes you still have a Korean accent."
"I'm two years younger than you. I have a lot to learn. Maybe a little bit more of the world to see. And you've been all over the world! Japan, Korea, Thailand, China, America, Canada…" He says this slowly and leaves out And even in my heart.
Yuu smiles.
"I don’t think that two people have ever been happier together than you and me."
"Because a gorgeous boy two years your junior just told you that, aren't I right?"
"Kiyuhiyon-kun, don't get your hopes up." Yuu winks. "Besides, you're not at all that gorgeous, anyways. There are probably hundreds like you." And he laughs; she points in what seems like the closest direction available, but Kyuhyun doesn't mind much. "Oh, the Seine River."
"We should go at night, where all the lights light up," he tells her in a dreamy voice. "It'll be like our fantasy. Let's go together, what do you say?"
Her gaze is serene when she says, "I'd like that very much."
And maybe one day, Kyuhyun thinks, a little sadly, she will learn my name in our summer of love.
-
ii. the city
The bar is busy, and this is what he lives for.
Not really.
Donghae goes to sleep tired, wakes up tired. He is tired of heaving around a dirty dishrag; tired of cleaning up after drunken customers (he seems to be getting more and more of those, lately); tired of mixing the same drinks over and over again; tired of his corner of the universe-tired of this large, French-speaking city.
The same people, again and again. He doesn't think it'll ever change. There are only a few things worth mentioning that have changed since almost two years ago and that is that a) he knows his way around town now; b) he gave up on the idea of homesickness; c) he will make Eunhyuk and Shiwon pay for his phone bill one day; d) well-why is he in Paris in the first place?
There is nothing in this city for me.
Liar, liar.
It's not a lie. Truth.
And that's how he ends his sad, lonely monologue.
He tells stories in their native Korean to his roommate; sometimes making it up as he goes along; other times it's a story they both know so well that he ends up talking up a storm with him. Donghae doesn't mind him, and he doesn't mind Donghae, and that's how their bond formed.
Tight?
What do you think?
And there are rules; unwritten, unspoken, unsaid. Donghae does not bother him while he is playing StarCraft; Donghae does not go into the kitchen ever; Donghae does not go to bed after five. "I'm older than you, you know?" he had said, but his roommate looked at him incredulously and told him, "That's fine. Now compare your room to my room and then say that to me."
It was true, but it was also harsh and, most importantly, in the past. The present (future, even) is very, very bleak and noisy and was about to go black if he stayed on three-hour sleeps for another half month. Someone asks for something. He nods absentmindedly. His French is very broken. Drives the customer crazy.
His roommate tells him, "Donghae, you need work on your French."
He smiles a weary smile.
-
iii. the bridge
She is plagued by stupid, silly thoughts. She is in one of the most magnificent cities to have ever graced the planet with her brilliant, loving boyfriend. She is standing on the ground where kings and queens have walked over maybe three hundred years ago.
Her mother is not here. Her father is not here. They could, technically, do anything they wanted to do, and it'd be just their little secret.
The cobblestone path is old; the trees are old; the wood is old; their love is old; she is old.
She has seen Japan, Korea, Thailand, China, America, Canada, but not his heart. Old enough. It was simple, and very, very clear. They had no love song to fit them because they fell apart over the years. Or maybe they grew up. Her hand was supposed to fit in his but suddenly it seemed like it didn't anymore. The fall could be very easy. She could make it seem like an accident. She could perform this final act of kindness. Maybe he'll come back to his senses. Wake up one morning and laugh and say, How silly was I to have fallen in love with her.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
And she goes.
-
iv. the party
S. Korea, three years after:
"Have you lived in France?"
Donghae looks at him from behind the bar, but barely. His smile is tiny and forced; flicks away strands of hair impatiently.
"A while before I moved back here." He gives the ordered drink to Kyuhyun. They are complete strangers. "What? Do I have some obscure French accent now?" Donghae grins as Kyuhyun blushes.
"Not really," he jokes. "It's just that… I don't know, actually. It was on impulse. I went to Paris three years ago."
"Oh, so have you?"
"… Paris was sad, I thought."
"Paris is shit." (No bitter edge.) He goes back to mixing drinks. "No, but really, what were you doing there?"
Kyuhyun pauses.
"I… found Yuu," he says quietly, almost timidly.
Donghae raises an eyebrow but does not look up.
"Did you lose her or something?" When Kyuhyun does not answer, he says, almost mockingly, "I didn't know that it was this easy to lose people these days." He eyes him. "'Coz when I was your age, you could find anybody. Anything. Well. Almost."
A girl walks in front, stops at Kyuhyun, whispers something in his ear, and leaves. They return to their dry conversation.
"She's pretty. Can't imagine how you could've lost her."
"I didn't."
"You said-"
"Well, actually, I did."
Donghae sets his towel on the counter. "Make up your mind. I'm twenty-five and single and if you don't hurry soon I might never see kids," he adds as a joke.
"… I thought I could carry her," Kyuhyun says sadly. Donghae stays quiet. "I thought, you know, maybe I could carry her through life. And if I was too tired then we'd stop together and maybe later we could keep on going. We'd go places that people've never heard of. And…." He trails off.
"It's a little like singing? A very, very high note. You can try all you want but you just can't hit that note."
"That's a little literal."
It is quiet when a bell in the distance rings solemnly.
"Sorry," Donghae says softly; "we'll be closing now." Kyuhyun wonders if he meant something other than that. "I suppose you should go with your girl now."
"Oh, she had a ride with her."
"That's not very nice, huh." And he keeps cleaning the glasses like maybe he could make it shine again.
"No," Kyuhyun agrees apologetically.
"I could call a taxi, if you'd like."
"No thanks."
"It's raining out there. Like. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. A backdrop dance. Sort of. I'm sorry if I don't make much sense right now."
"You make perfect sense."
"Better not be sarcasm."
"It's not, it's not."
Donghae points first to the clock and then to the door. "Five oh seven. Crazy kids. Aren't you going now?"
Kyuhyun laughs. "I'm going, I'm going."
"Don't forget to close the door on your way out."
"I won't, I won't."
And that is how they end.
He is only about 8500 kilometers away from where he should be-Seoul, South Korea with a five-kilogram math textbook, not in Paris, France with his Japanese girlfriend. They are at a carnival (he says, "And, Yuu, we are in Paris-" pronounces it like Pah-ree with a French accent and all). Sitting in the compartment of the Ferris wheel, Kyuhyun can see the Seine River. He takes her hand.
"I'll teach you Japanese while we ride," she says in very broken Korean and a slow-spreading smile on her face.
"No, thank you," he replies with a grin of his own. "I'll be fine."
"Are you sure? Because I recall that it took a month and a half for you to pronounce my last name correctly." She laughs, a tinkling sound, and he pushes her gently, playfully, like a lover should push their other half (but, truthfully, it's because he's afraid that any large amount of movement will disturb the Ferris wheel and send the toppling over). "And right now, you're getting better, but sometimes you still have a Korean accent."
"I'm two years younger than you. I have a lot to learn. Maybe a little bit more of the world to see. And you've been all over the world! Japan, Korea, Thailand, China, America, Canada…" He says this slowly and leaves out And even in my heart.
Yuu smiles.
"I don’t think that two people have ever been happier together than you and me."
"Because a gorgeous boy two years your junior just told you that, aren't I right?"
"Kiyuhiyon-kun, don't get your hopes up." Yuu winks. "Besides, you're not at all that gorgeous, anyways. There are probably hundreds like you." And he laughs; she points in what seems like the closest direction available, but Kyuhyun doesn't mind much. "Oh, the Seine River."
"We should go at night, where all the lights light up," he tells her in a dreamy voice. "It'll be like our fantasy. Let's go together, what do you say?"
Her gaze is serene when she says, "I'd like that very much."
And maybe one day, Kyuhyun thinks, a little sadly, she will learn my name in our summer of love.
-
ii. the city
The bar is busy, and this is what he lives for.
Not really.
Donghae goes to sleep tired, wakes up tired. He is tired of heaving around a dirty dishrag; tired of cleaning up after drunken customers (he seems to be getting more and more of those, lately); tired of mixing the same drinks over and over again; tired of his corner of the universe-tired of this large, French-speaking city.
The same people, again and again. He doesn't think it'll ever change. There are only a few things worth mentioning that have changed since almost two years ago and that is that a) he knows his way around town now; b) he gave up on the idea of homesickness; c) he will make Eunhyuk and Shiwon pay for his phone bill one day; d) well-why is he in Paris in the first place?
There is nothing in this city for me.
Liar, liar.
It's not a lie. Truth.
And that's how he ends his sad, lonely monologue.
He tells stories in their native Korean to his roommate; sometimes making it up as he goes along; other times it's a story they both know so well that he ends up talking up a storm with him. Donghae doesn't mind him, and he doesn't mind Donghae, and that's how their bond formed.
Tight?
What do you think?
And there are rules; unwritten, unspoken, unsaid. Donghae does not bother him while he is playing StarCraft; Donghae does not go into the kitchen ever; Donghae does not go to bed after five. "I'm older than you, you know?" he had said, but his roommate looked at him incredulously and told him, "That's fine. Now compare your room to my room and then say that to me."
It was true, but it was also harsh and, most importantly, in the past. The present (future, even) is very, very bleak and noisy and was about to go black if he stayed on three-hour sleeps for another half month. Someone asks for something. He nods absentmindedly. His French is very broken. Drives the customer crazy.
His roommate tells him, "Donghae, you need work on your French."
He smiles a weary smile.
-
iii. the bridge
She is plagued by stupid, silly thoughts. She is in one of the most magnificent cities to have ever graced the planet with her brilliant, loving boyfriend. She is standing on the ground where kings and queens have walked over maybe three hundred years ago.
Her mother is not here. Her father is not here. They could, technically, do anything they wanted to do, and it'd be just their little secret.
The cobblestone path is old; the trees are old; the wood is old; their love is old; she is old.
She has seen Japan, Korea, Thailand, China, America, Canada, but not his heart. Old enough. It was simple, and very, very clear. They had no love song to fit them because they fell apart over the years. Or maybe they grew up. Her hand was supposed to fit in his but suddenly it seemed like it didn't anymore. The fall could be very easy. She could make it seem like an accident. She could perform this final act of kindness. Maybe he'll come back to his senses. Wake up one morning and laugh and say, How silly was I to have fallen in love with her.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
And she goes.
-
iv. the party
S. Korea, three years after:
"Have you lived in France?"
Donghae looks at him from behind the bar, but barely. His smile is tiny and forced; flicks away strands of hair impatiently.
"A while before I moved back here." He gives the ordered drink to Kyuhyun. They are complete strangers. "What? Do I have some obscure French accent now?" Donghae grins as Kyuhyun blushes.
"Not really," he jokes. "It's just that… I don't know, actually. It was on impulse. I went to Paris three years ago."
"Oh, so have you?"
"… Paris was sad, I thought."
"Paris is shit." (No bitter edge.) He goes back to mixing drinks. "No, but really, what were you doing there?"
Kyuhyun pauses.
"I… found Yuu," he says quietly, almost timidly.
Donghae raises an eyebrow but does not look up.
"Did you lose her or something?" When Kyuhyun does not answer, he says, almost mockingly, "I didn't know that it was this easy to lose people these days." He eyes him. "'Coz when I was your age, you could find anybody. Anything. Well. Almost."
A girl walks in front, stops at Kyuhyun, whispers something in his ear, and leaves. They return to their dry conversation.
"She's pretty. Can't imagine how you could've lost her."
"I didn't."
"You said-"
"Well, actually, I did."
Donghae sets his towel on the counter. "Make up your mind. I'm twenty-five and single and if you don't hurry soon I might never see kids," he adds as a joke.
"… I thought I could carry her," Kyuhyun says sadly. Donghae stays quiet. "I thought, you know, maybe I could carry her through life. And if I was too tired then we'd stop together and maybe later we could keep on going. We'd go places that people've never heard of. And…." He trails off.
"It's a little like singing? A very, very high note. You can try all you want but you just can't hit that note."
"That's a little literal."
It is quiet when a bell in the distance rings solemnly.
"Sorry," Donghae says softly; "we'll be closing now." Kyuhyun wonders if he meant something other than that. "I suppose you should go with your girl now."
"Oh, she had a ride with her."
"That's not very nice, huh." And he keeps cleaning the glasses like maybe he could make it shine again.
"No," Kyuhyun agrees apologetically.
"I could call a taxi, if you'd like."
"No thanks."
"It's raining out there. Like. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. A backdrop dance. Sort of. I'm sorry if I don't make much sense right now."
"You make perfect sense."
"Better not be sarcasm."
"It's not, it's not."
Donghae points first to the clock and then to the door. "Five oh seven. Crazy kids. Aren't you going now?"
Kyuhyun laughs. "I'm going, I'm going."
"Don't forget to close the door on your way out."
"I won't, I won't."
And that is how they end.