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DAY 1 - HOPSCOTCH
HOPSCOTCH [OCT 1]
YERI/RENJUN
Yerim is chalk-covered sidewalks, drawn all the way to the curb. You've gotta stop and look for a while. The corners of her mouth pull up into a smile as if to say, like what you see?, her eyes behind it all lit up like Candy Cane Lane in the month leading up to Christmas.
"What're you thinking about?" she asks from where she's sitting upside down on Lucas's sofa. Renjun doesn't know how to tell her that Jaemin threw up on it two weeks ago and he had to Google what would get the stain to come out. Do you ever wonder, she'd said as soon as he walked in the door, face already pink with all the blood rushing to her head, what it'd be like to walk upside down?
Renjun looked up, registered the popcorn ceiling on top of the fifteen pounds of groceries that threatened to break off his pale arms. Probably something like acupressure sandals.
Yerim thought about that. Her black hair a crown, splayed around her head on the carpet. You're no fun, she finally decided on, sticking out her tongue.
That's what Renjun's thinking about, simply. The stitched-in corgi on her left sock is on its way to being unraveled. His eyes follow the fly that's been buzzing around the room in circles lazily, drunk off the stupor of a too-hot LA October. "Nothing."
Her lips pop from where she releases them, pressed together. "Liar," she over-enunciates. Picks at the thread tearing apart the corgi. Reminds Renjun about some quote about honorable death he learned in his Chinese History class from last year. Yerim leaned over his shoulder one night, stealing glances at his textbook. They never talked about it.
"What should I be thinking about?" He settles cross-legged on the floor. Across the hall, someone's yelling into their phone. The heat catches the words, suspends them until Renjun languidly realizes he's been following every turn of an argument that doesn't concern him at all.
Yerim's never been the best conversationist. She could talk for hours, going around the idea that she and Renjun were, at most, satellites in each other's lives, bringing up substanceless, vapid topics that didn't ever matter to either of them in the grand scheme of things. "I don't know," she says after too much thought. "Something."
Renjun used to have the biggest crush on her first semester. He couldn't remember why exactly, or how it'd fizzled out, but sometimes he felt the tinge of it in the most random moments. That didn't matter either, in the grand scheme of things.
"You wanna help me put the groceries away?" he asks, dusting off his shorts as he stands up.
Yerim's looking so far up that all Renjun can see are the whites of her eyes. "Only if you help me up," she warns.
He holds out a hand. She considers it for far too long for it to mean nothing. Renjun stares at the still-intact corgi on her other socked foot.
"I think she likes you back," Lucas had told him once. Renjun didn't believe him. It was hard to believe people telling you that you'd gotten what you'd wanted all along when your grasp still felt the weightlessness of air.
Yerim puts her hand in his. She doesn't thank him and she only reads the label of the pasta sauce while he shelves away everything else.
And when the silence gets to be too much for even him: "Organic," says Yerim, emotionless. "Cool."
YERI/RENJUN
Yerim is chalk-covered sidewalks, drawn all the way to the curb. You've gotta stop and look for a while. The corners of her mouth pull up into a smile as if to say, like what you see?, her eyes behind it all lit up like Candy Cane Lane in the month leading up to Christmas.
"What're you thinking about?" she asks from where she's sitting upside down on Lucas's sofa. Renjun doesn't know how to tell her that Jaemin threw up on it two weeks ago and he had to Google what would get the stain to come out. Do you ever wonder, she'd said as soon as he walked in the door, face already pink with all the blood rushing to her head, what it'd be like to walk upside down?
Renjun looked up, registered the popcorn ceiling on top of the fifteen pounds of groceries that threatened to break off his pale arms. Probably something like acupressure sandals.
Yerim thought about that. Her black hair a crown, splayed around her head on the carpet. You're no fun, she finally decided on, sticking out her tongue.
That's what Renjun's thinking about, simply. The stitched-in corgi on her left sock is on its way to being unraveled. His eyes follow the fly that's been buzzing around the room in circles lazily, drunk off the stupor of a too-hot LA October. "Nothing."
Her lips pop from where she releases them, pressed together. "Liar," she over-enunciates. Picks at the thread tearing apart the corgi. Reminds Renjun about some quote about honorable death he learned in his Chinese History class from last year. Yerim leaned over his shoulder one night, stealing glances at his textbook. They never talked about it.
"What should I be thinking about?" He settles cross-legged on the floor. Across the hall, someone's yelling into their phone. The heat catches the words, suspends them until Renjun languidly realizes he's been following every turn of an argument that doesn't concern him at all.
Yerim's never been the best conversationist. She could talk for hours, going around the idea that she and Renjun were, at most, satellites in each other's lives, bringing up substanceless, vapid topics that didn't ever matter to either of them in the grand scheme of things. "I don't know," she says after too much thought. "Something."
Renjun used to have the biggest crush on her first semester. He couldn't remember why exactly, or how it'd fizzled out, but sometimes he felt the tinge of it in the most random moments. That didn't matter either, in the grand scheme of things.
"You wanna help me put the groceries away?" he asks, dusting off his shorts as he stands up.
Yerim's looking so far up that all Renjun can see are the whites of her eyes. "Only if you help me up," she warns.
He holds out a hand. She considers it for far too long for it to mean nothing. Renjun stares at the still-intact corgi on her other socked foot.
"I think she likes you back," Lucas had told him once. Renjun didn't believe him. It was hard to believe people telling you that you'd gotten what you'd wanted all along when your grasp still felt the weightlessness of air.
Yerim puts her hand in his. She doesn't thank him and she only reads the label of the pasta sauce while he shelves away everything else.
And when the silence gets to be too much for even him: "Organic," says Yerim, emotionless. "Cool."