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Jaemin's teeth sunk into the flesh of a ripened strawberry while Iris' practical corpse sunk into the cushion of her bedspread blanketed over her mattress.
The September sun was mellow and pale in the sky, whirlwinds of gentle autumn breezes tickling the skin around Jaemin's neck to pull his scarf up higher so it was practically hiding his chin. The fruit was nothing like from the farmer's market in mid-June, but the sweet treat paired well when he often spent times settled on the old, withered fencing just bordering his front yard, under the canopies of decaying maple trees.
Cars and trucks sped by and made his fringe flutter in front of his eyes, but his thoughts were distant. He was content, to say the least. Alone, food to eat, and a knitted scarf made from Renjun hugged around his throat.
But as the sun set under the sleepy horizon, Iris choked down a breadstick or two prepared by her Papa Kepley just downstairs, warm and squishy on the inside. A stack of homework sat idly on the antique desktop passed down from when her grandma studied at university. A stark dress shirt hung around her body with her arms threaded through the sleeves, an enormous duckling plushie day across from her before she offered them a bite of her garlic bread.
The carbs laid heavy on her stomach, like a rock burdened just above her navel. The over-shirt might as well been dry ice on her shoulders, though it was only as lounge material after the night of prom last year when the both of them accidentally trip and fell into the lake when taking pictures.
That night, they walked home under the glow of street lamps and kissed for the first time in the middle of still intersection. Jeno shrieked that Iris was crazy to drag him out in the middle of the street, but cars didn't dare to drive by at one a.m., besides the Coca Cola driver delivering his orders across the country.
Iris dragged him down by his loosened tie, his leer falling to dance across his love's features that had grown waxy from perspiration on the dance floor just before they left the school grounds on the night of May 10, 2018. Maybe a part of him still treasured how her russet eyes reflected stardust under the marquee of streetlights.
His roseate lips pushed into her's, as if they tasted of liquid twilight and comforting tea leaves in an alabaster mug.
Her back was practically touching the asphalt if it wasn't for her elbows. The night was still, much like the one hovering over the roof just four months later of Iris' home.
So, with a heavy heart, she began to shrug off the top. . .
She paused, eyes settled on the flooring beneath her feet that hung off the bed. She hiked the sleeve of the button-up back onto her arm, savoring the worn fabric against the goosebumps speckled along her skin.
Oddly, the garment made her content.
Heaven's knows why, she should burn the damn thing.
Iris didn't even take a second glance at the stack of Spanish papers sitting along her desk before flopping back down on the bed, and a rough scrape of wood upon wood made her push herself against the wall where her bed met it at, glancing over to see a. . .
