Because there is romance and immortality in little mundane things.
Mayhaps their first i love you~ in the citrus series.
Italicized her/she- Jennie
Notes: So, this is to nurse a hangover-but-it's-also-not-a-hangover kind of thing at work; and I am just overall in my phase of romanticizing the shit out of everything because it's cute and it makes me enjoy life.
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The night feels new.
A little different from the ones she's used to, a kind of taste that settles on the tongue a little longer.
It must have been the biting cold, she figures, burying under her skin despite the thick sweater she has on, or it must have been the flickering streetlight down the road or the way she's suddenly craving for a stick of Pall Malls despite feeling calm. Autumn, she thinks, is both a beginning and an ending -like it's suspended somewhere in between and that bled into the nights, into everything it manages to touch and so she looks at her, cheeks a little red from the night air and smiles. This, she knows, this moment -feels familiar even though everything else somehow feels foreign.
"If I knew we were going to end up on the sidewalk at 2:55am," she says begrudgingly, between mouthfuls of noodles. "I would've voted for a night with movies and wine back at the apartment."
"To be fair, you did say you wanted soju tonight." Lisa laughs at the face she's making, "and what's so bad about spending the early morning outside a 7/11? This feels-" she struggles to find the perfect word for it for a moment, it was nice, yeah. The kind of nice that makes her feel warm and more at home than anywhere else. It also feels a little too impulsive, like there's nothing else existing in the world right now other than their glorified youth under dimly lit streets. "New."
She finally settles on the word, because it does for the most part feel that way. New and otherworldly, something about the moment felt special despite being so ordinary.
"Yeah, but like we could've bought a couple of bottles and went back home," the words come out sloppily, her desperate attempt at trying to get as much cold air on the surface of her tongue, "Now I smell like smoke and cooked meat, and reek of alcohol."
Of course, she knows this isn't true. Not to her anyway. Their shoulders were touching, barely a breath between them and she's surrounded by her scent; lavender and hints of something fruity like citrus, but then the more she spends time in her space the more she thinks of leather and a kind of milky creaminess that compliments the cold evening-definitely not samgyup and alcohol. Or maybe she's just being biased and the thought alone has her chuckling.
"What's so funny?' Jennie whines and she can't help but note the constant pink on her cheeks and maybe it's not from the cold.
"Did you burn your tongue?" or maybe it's from the neon lights from that restobar across the street, she thinks, a kind of pretty pink halo around Jennie.
