Pandora's Box | kim mingyu & jeon wonwoo

15

It had been years since the last time my nose and my lungs had had the pleasure of breathing the fresh country air, so when I stepped off the train and stepped onto the station platform, my senses were practically stunned at the cleanliness.

It's a funny thing, that. From the moment I had moved to Seoul and made my life in the city, I hadn't even noticed how dirty the air was until this instant. I wondered if a certain city girl had felt the same, all those years ago. I shook the thought away: she had been too blinded by her disdain of the country to ever see the beauty in things like that.

It was this very wave of nostalgia that was hitting me on my way out of the train station that had been holding me back from coming home all these years. Every year my mom would call and try to persuade me to stop by for the holidays, but it was a fight that always ended in my parents visiting me. It was like a dance my parents and I had grown accustomed to after so long.

As I went down the stairs of the platform and I underwent an underground tunnel, I looked around for any familiar faces. I felt like I could breathe again when I realized that no, there was no one from my previous life around here today. It felt so alleviating, in fact, that as I walked up the steps that led me to the outside world, where the cabs were sure to be waiting, I was absolutely stunned for what had been awaiting me there.

I had forgotten that he had been there. I had allowed myself to pretend that he wasn't.

Like a monster stalking its prey, awaiting the perfect moment to strike, I felt like the very sight of him had pierced me as I met his eyes. The moment had been so intense, that I had stopped dead in my tracks, and the only reason I bothered to keep going was because of a complaint a young lady behind me had made. It was only because of my dedication to being a good citizen that I was able to go through the motions and make my way to him.

He stood there, leaning against a car he didn't have before, intensely watching me as I made my way towards him. He was parked in the pick-up section, where friends and family usually parked to wait for their loved ones. I was at a loss, because for all thoughts and purposes: that was not what we were.

Not anymore.

Before I realized it, my feet had stopped a couple of centimeters before him. I stood there and took all of the changes in. His long, messy, hair no longer existed. In its place, there was now a swift undercut; it was the haircut of a man. I knew then that we had grown up, not just from his haircut but from his clothes as well. He wore a tight and warm-looking white turtleneck and some classic denim jeans. He wore a coat that almost seemed out of style in this rural countryside, as it was more lavish than anything I owned. Everything about him, down to his very clean, brown, leather boots, was spotless and pointed out to me that the years had not passed in vain.

Time does not pass in vain.

He cleared his throat, and I forced myself to meet his gaze. "Your mom asked me to pick you up," Wonwoo clarified, shattering any possible theory I had going on in the back of my head. Upfront and to him, I simply nodded, making sure my face was expressionless. Inside, however, I resisted the urge to chuckle. Of course, it had been my mom's doing that I was now suffering like this. How could she ever know? She just assumed that distance was the only thing that had come in between Wonwoo and me.

"Is that all?" Wonwoo interrupted my train of thoughts. For a second I was confused, but I returned to my senses once I noticed the gestures he was making towards my luggage.

I nodded. "It's a short trip, figured I didn't need much," I explained. Wonwoo pretended to nod in understanding, but I could tell by the way he was looking at me that he too was in a state of disbelief. I had always been an over-packer. I loved being prepared for any little thing. If I ever went on a trip to the beach, I always made sure to take a sweater "just in case" it got cold. It was in my very nature. His lips didn't need to spell out what his gaze was so clearly screaming at me: I had changed as well.