[2] Red | Mingi ✓

ten | the one where the closing credits roll out in her head

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AFTER RYUJIN RESURFACED, MINT LOST sight of how to look at things and until Ryujin, things were fine. Job owners went to work, other job owners went in for the drafty comfort of their homes, locked in, it was meant to be an ultracautious measure that before long would make the streets safe to toddle again. Mint had been grateful when Ryunjin stopped talking, perhaps sensing she added gasoline to fire.

   Now, as she stepped the first foot beyond the threshold and onto the corridor, which bore an eery form of stillness, it occured to Mint that she might be doing the same (the gasoline and fire thing, that is). Exercising caution made all the gripping fears creep in, and she had to remind herself that behind one of these doors was the big bad wolf she'd managed to lay off for more than a week—hopefully, and counting. Eyes wide, ready to see, ensnare her with. And teeth barred in the name of a smile, ready to eat her with, tear her limb from limb.

   Innocent lamb like her, thought Mint, whose only purpose for springing up out of her closet had been to head downstairs for the mail and then it was back to reclusion. She wasn't a bonafide recluse, but even then, she was close to becoming one. By the next time Chan—as the new friend—sees her and asks how she felt, Mint wouldn't have the guts to say great. She planned being real with him, tell him she wanted to go away—no idea where. She didn't belong there, she belonged nowhere.

   Feeling subdued she froze to the click of a door behind her, following the beep of the electronic lock system. To her, the sound was as loud as it would in the heart of a college frat party, but it triggered her to keep on for the elevator, slowly but not pleasurably, as though convinced running would've been a cause for alarm. She couldn't recall the last time she'd taken a leisure walk down these halls or played ballerina until someone rushed out upon hearing the thud of a grown body making a landing on the wooden floors and not in a graceful way. The same door had drawn open, so slow it might have seemed deliberate; or cautious. She froze again. Still, it didn't cross her mind to make a dash for it.

   He called out. It would be the first time hearing her name interweave with hopefulness, up to a point it came off more optimistic than not. Mint whirled faster than she'd practiced, and hissed under her breath, then acknowledged Mingi with a rehearsed indifference. It wasn't exceptional—some emotion must have managed to slip through, as seen from the way his eyebrows flew into his bangs before dropping to meet in the middle. A slight crease took form there.

   That was when she noticed something off.

   Then she saw what it was, quelling the surprise that had knocked into her because, for the life of her, she was done marvelling at every little thing this man did.

   "Your hair." It bore a similar shade to polished wood, and while nothing compared to the red Mint had known for what began feeling like all his life, it didn't do him any less justice.

   "I needed a change in image for many reasons," he said, without plans to list out those reasons. "I thought, too, it was high time I started fresh."

   A kind of justified anger jump-started inside Mint. "Do I even want to know?" She asked.

   Mingi took his time chewing over a response only to say, in the end, that he would tell her later. As if there would be a later. Sure, she thought irritably, because I'm so predictable.

   "Yes," she said, her two feet going ahead to scuffle backward as though by a force of self-will. There were mails to get to, she harkened back to why she was even here long enough for unwanted company to assume they had the right to stop her for chitchat. And in a conditional probability where this was a test to see how far she'd come, Mint could verily say, without a doubt, that she passed. Perhaps even, it might soon be safe to state she finally belonged in womanhood. "I'll see you later, Mingi."