The Busan Boy (EDITED)

0. a sad memory

ELEVEN YEARS AGO 

JULY 2007 

BUSAN, SOUTH KOREA

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"I'M GONNA GET out of here soon," he admits.

His short-haired counterpart pushes her windbreaker sleeves up to her elbows. "Where?"

"Seoul," he answers. He nudges her. "Come with me."

"Yeah?" She wrinkles her nose and pries open a Milkis can with mischief. "It'd be funny. To see eomma's reaction."

"I'm serious."

"Uh huh." A skeptic through and through, she licks up stray soda. "Well, what's so bad about Busan?"

He studies her. Then shakes his head. "I can't stay here anymore."

Now she does look up. In the moonlight, her skin glows a cool beige hue, like warm milk. He can see the curve of her thin eyelashes. Slowly, he watches realization fall on her bold coffee eyes. "Actually? You're gonna do it this time?"

"I figured it out," he says, drawing in a breath. "I'm gonna stay with a cousin in Seoul. Audition around."

"When did you decide?"

"Last night."

"You like it that much? Dancing? Singing?"

He lowers his head. For a second, she thinks he's hesitating. Her heart lifts. But then the wind blows, and his eyes meet hers, so full of fire that it scares her. It's a strange and sorrowful joy she doesn't want to understand.

A laugh sighs from his mouth. "I love it so much I could die."

It's the crack in his voice that gets her. That unsteadiness, proof of something so powerful within him even he can't contain it. She knows, then, that he will never change his mind. That they were always going to go their separate ways.

She stifles the bitterness in her mouth and nods. "Okay." Takes a long sip. "Just don't forget me when you're famous."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not going to forget you."

"Yeah?" She raises her brows and curls a knowing lip. "Well, everyone forgets everybody over time."

"Not me," he insists.

"You don't have to be all defensive about it, you know. It's a natural thing."

"No, Nari," he says, suddenly frustrated. "It's not."

The words breeze past her. She smiles, choosing instead to lean into silence. His throat grows dry as she rests her cheek against his shoulder, so close he can smell the sweet wildflowers dancing in her perfume, feel its dizzying spell. His back aches, but he doesn't want to shift, afraid that moving will make her lean away.

Instead, he angles his head down a little to study her face, at her wide eyes as they stare ahead. There's a lot he wants to say. A lot of things he wants to prove her wrong.

But his fear wins over his desires. She drifts off to a quiet sleep. And in the end, all he can do is memorize her face.