"Hi sweetheart." He says. "I missed you!"
My tears are flowing, some in my eyes and many in my heart. Curled in the dark in the corner of the kitchen floor. I'm sitting right next to the dishwasher; apparently its soft waves sounds like a mother's womb.
"Hi." I lift my head. The trails of dried tears feel stiff on my cheeks; they're soon to be covered by new tears.
"If you're here that means I feel really bad right now, huh." Rhetorical. I already know the answer.
He doesn't speak, just brings himself to sit on the tile next to me.
"You're writing about me?" He asks, nodding to the phone on my thigh.
"Yeah." I don't look at him, just keep swiping my fingers to record our conversation. "I guess I just felt like it this time. Writing calms me down, you know. Plus if I read about you, it makes you feel real."
He's a few inches away from me. We don't touch. His back rests against the fridge with his clasped hands over his knees. He looks at me with a tilted head; our eyes meet.
"I am real."
"Yeah." I close my eyes, resting my head against the fridge. "Just for a little bit."
"What's your name?" I ask.
His accent changes when he answers. The placement of his dimples, the color of his hair, how much space he takes up, it's all in flux.
"I mean it depends, doesn't it?" He replies.
Slowly, I sink myself closer to him. He lets my head rest on his thigh, pulling up a big, fluffy blanket to cover us. Suddenly the tile floor doesn't seem so cold.
"It depends who you need. Right now I'm Channie. Ta-da." He laughs—oh that beautiful laugh—and I can't help but smile. "Because I speak your language, I have a little sister of my own, and you know I'm patient. Hell, I have seven kids already, what's one more?"
Part of me wants to be in his lap, to be fully engulfed, but I know this is a delicate balance. "Plus, I might be scared." I tell him. "Scared to be held. Because I shouldn't want to be. That's what I've always told myself. Friends are okay. But not by a man. Ugh—" he smiles kindly as I cut myself off— "that's a whole other deal."
"It's okay," he says, "just focus on right now. Your own pace, right? Remember what I said, when you need me, I'm here."
Against his leg, I nod in response.
"Oh, Yoongi sunbae says hi. He said to listen to his music," Chan laughs.
"Is he not coming tonight?" I frown.
"I'm not sure, babygirl." He rests his hand on my shoulder.
I never know who will appear in my mind but there are always those who occupy my thoughts.
My hip starts to hurt from laying on my side. The tile may not be cold anymore, but it's hard against my bones.
"Here, come." A new voice sounds. His English broken but his tone jovial and calm. He sounds like little fireworks. I smile because I know who it is; he's taller; there's more space against his chest for me.
"Come, come." He pulls me into his lap. I curl up as he wraps the blanket tighter around us.
Hoseok's lap is safe. It's calm. He is wholly platonic, wholly loving, so I have no fears or misconceptions.
I smile against him— I'm beginning to calm.
"Gwenchana, cheonsa." He doesn't move, just lets me rest. "It's okay. It's okay, angel."
As quickly as he comes, he goes.
His stature is small but his arms strong enough to hold me even tighter. Yet this isn't a lap I want to stay on; he knows that.
He releases me to tickle my sides. "Changbin-ah!" I giggle and fall off his lap.
The blanket still covers us both, but I'm back to my first position— sitting against the corner cabinets as he lays against the fridge.
"Jagiyaaa~" He wiggles with a pout and the cutest voice. If he's trying to make me laugh, it certainly works.
My face is still damp from my tears. Old paths covered in salt down my cheeks and neck, on my lips.
I reach my hand up to rest my palm against his cheek, just smiling. He takes my hand in his own and sets our joined hands between us.
"I wish I could be like you," I say to him, looking down.
He looks startled. "Me? Wae?"
"Because you're so strong. A man of principle, right? That's what I wanna be like. I want to be disciplined like you. And even after all the shit people have said to you, you're still so strong. So funny and kind." I smile to myself when he doesn't answer.
Instead, he pulls me in for a hug. I giggle as he ruffles my hair. He places a kiss on my temple before leaving.
I'm tired. With my eyes closed, it's warm alone in the blanket. The sound of a TV show in the next room lull me to sleep.
"Darling?"
I wake. My bones hurt again from laying on the tiles. I look up at the man with a tired smile, the first one I loved. He's slim and tall.
He crouches in front of me. "Yah, no looking at other oppas, hmm?" He teases. He's quiet. I appreciate that.
"You've been spending too much time with our captain," I tease back, just as quiet.
"Come." He doesn't touch me but offers a hand to pull me to my feet.
"Seonghwa~" I whine, but I'm happy he's here. I'd missed him. "I'm tired."
"De, but no sleep on floor." I reach for his hand and he pulls me up. I follow him to the bathroom where he keeps me company as I wash my face. After that, I try to leave. He stands in front of the door motioning brushing his teeth.
I glare at him before turning around to brush my own.
"Hey Seonghwa," I say, "komawo." Thank you.
I hug him and he holds me until I'm ready to let go. Because it's him, his height makes me feel safe.
"Come," he says once I let go, "sleep time."
His endearing smiles make me feel happy inside. He's not silly right now, but his goofy smile is also one I love. I love all his different smiles— the teasing ones, the knowing ones, the shy ones, the amused ones.
When I get to my mattress, there's someone already laying down.
"Yunho?" I'm confused. Yunho isn't usually here.
He pats the bed and I crawl under the covers next to him.
"Seonghwa Hyung said to stay. No phone tonight, hmm?" He nudges me and I smile. He takes my phone and plugs it in for me.
"You won't be here in the morning, will you?" I ask, but already know the answer.
"Aniyo." He opens his arms and I cuddle against his chest. "But you'll feel better in the morning. One day at a time."
I fall asleep.
9-11-23
YOU ARE READING
Afternoon Thoughts
Non-Fictionメ Thoughts of a bleeding mind. Sometimes, the darkest thoughts swirl to become the most beautiful dance when woven into words. To write calms me. Perhaps someone will know these feelings.
