(myungsoo/sungyeol) the curve of forgotten things
Title: the curve of forgotten things
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: g
the curve of forgotten things
It is twelve in the afternoon on a Sunday morning when the Device wakes Myungsoo up.
It vibrates quietly on his side table, and he gropes around for it as his hand bumps into the clock and a softcover book until his fingers are encircled around a cool, familiar weight of glass and metal.
Im Seonhee:
It’s time for lunch, Myungsoo. You’ve slept through breakfast.
He pushes himself upright, slowly stretching the sleep from his limbs. Surely enough, there is one unread message, received at 9.12am. Unconsciously, he starts feeling for his mask on the table until he realises it’s been across his mouth all along-he had fallen asleep with it.
His Device vibrates once more, and the sound echoes so loudly in his room and inside his head that he wonders how he could have slept through the first message.
Im Seonhee:
Kim Myungsoo. I made seafood soup. It’s getting cold and Moonsoo is asking for second helpings. I will give it to him if you’re not down in one minute.
His fingers taps quickly across the surface as he clamors off the bed, and Myungsoo makes it to the dining room in less than thirty seconds.
Kim Myungsoo:
Awake!
By the time his mother’s Device vibrates, Myungsoo is already seated at the table, stomach growling. Sometimes, just sometimes, the signal transmission lags. Moonsoo glares at him, eyes hard, mask already fixed across his mouth.
In the hopes of permanently controlling infectious diseases, the government decided to eradicate the spoken language.
It worked - Myungsoo remembers learning in Modern History that speaking exposes people to a maelstrom of antigens, so communication was restricted to the realm of the Internet and through the Devices. Soon, other forms of the spoken language were curtailed: first songs then television broadcasts and political debates.
And Myungsoo can never forget the statistics, listed unquestionably one after another like how the letters of the alphabet are arranged from A to Z: how the average human now lives longer than a person who engaged in face-to-face communication (3.5 years), how noise pollution has decreased exponentially in the last twenty years (100%), how the literacy rate has stablised itself to include close to the entire population (98%).
The spoken language disappeared completely in 2028. Myungsoo was six.
Today, every citizen of Seoul is issued a Device and an ergonomic mask, one that should be changed five times in a lifetime, at birth.
Im Seonhee:
How was lunch?
Kim Myungsoo:
Delicious. Thank you.
And his mother replies with something extremely unusual today-
Im Seonhee:
You’re welcome :)
They are encouraged to drop the use of emotions in their language at the age of eight and to fully conform to this unofficial rule by the time they turn ten. Language is less an art and more like mathematical formulas: precise and exact, and emotions more often than not turn pure meaning into sentimental jargon.
Myungsoo grips his Device tightly and slips out of the chair. His mask is affixed firmly back across his face and as he makes his way back towards his room, his socked feet makes the quietest, muffled noises against the beige carpeting that covers the entire house.
He cannot remember the last time he has seen his mother’s lips curled into a smile, or if the muscles in a person’s face can still contort that way. For a happier, more perfect world, there are a lot fewer smiling people.
(or perhaps people are just smiling beneath those heavy, black masks but Myungsoo doubts it)
Like everyone else, Myungsoo spends all his time in his own room. His computer blinks one o’clock and he’s midway through an essay on the Spanish Influenza when his Device vibrates.
The sound is jarring in the complete silence.
Im Seonhee:
You have a dental appointment with Dr. Lee at three-thirty.
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes, I remember.
At around two twenty, the Device vibrates again.
Kim Moonsoo:
hyung, do you have my hard disk? i remember giving it to you two days ago and I need it for my biology homework.
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes, I do. I’ll leave it outside your door. Also, you need to remember to use proper capitalization.
There is a ten minute lapse before Moosoon replies.
Kim Moonsoo:
Yes, hyung.
There is a book Myungsoo remembers reading that recounted how displeasure used to be measured in tone and volume. Now, it is a lot simpler: it is the time taken between a question and a reply.
Five is the number of people Myungsoo has actually seen in real life; three is the number he remembers. His mother, his father, the doctor that delivered him, the nurse, and his brother.
Of the three he remembers, the more appropriate number should be one and a half, because most of the time, his mother and brother have half their faces covered by the mask and his father is only ever around right before dawn and at the verge of tomorrow. His mother periodically reminds them that working with the government is a time-consuming, but rewarding, career.
Recently, whenever his mother reminds them of this fact, Myungsoo’s finger hovers over the send button. The message is addressed to his father.
Kim Myungsoo:
Does the President smile behind his mask? Do you?
Myungsoo always catches himself just in time, and the white-hot guilt that follows is almost cleansing.
At three twenty, Myungsoo saves his essay, minimises the window and opens a special window. It is a directory to licensed medical facilities, and Dr. Lee Heewon (Dentist) is listed on the second page. He keys in the number carefully into his Device before starting the conversation.
Kim Myungsoo:
Hello, this is Kim Myungsoo. I have an appointment with Dr. Lee at three-thirty.
(receptionist):
hi, kim myungsoo! nice to meet you. according to your files, you’re a year younger than me so you wouldn’t mind the informalities, right?
Myungsoo can only stare at the screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard.
(receptionist):
…kim myungsoo? i didn’t scare you off did i?
Kim Myungsoo:
Excuse me, but who is this?
(receptionist):
oh right i forgot to introduce myself i’m lee sungyeol i’m the temporary
A new name appears suddenly on his screen and the old conversation is wiped. Myungsoo almost drops his Device.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
Kim Myungsoo?
Kim Myungsoo:
Tes.
Kim Myungsoo:
Sorry, I meant to type ‘Yes’.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are an extremely eloquent person. It is very impressive for a person your age. Now, let’s get straight to the checkup. If you could click on the icon on the right, we could get started.
Myungsoo spots it immediately, and recognises it as an icon of a strange, obsolete object known as a ‘video camera’. He presses it and the dark screen flickers to life.
Dr. Lee’s face (number seven, he thinks unintentionally) stares back at him in the corner, in a tiny box, he can see his own face reflected back. The mask swallows half of his face but Dr. Lee does not seem to notice.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
This is just a regular checkup, so I’m going to ask you to remove your mask for five minutes so I can have a look at your teeth. Are you alone in the room?
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
Then the risk of catching something in the air is close to nothing. Let us begin.
Dr. Lee has pretty eyes and long hair tied into a bun. Her mask is slightly different-silver, instead of the standard black and even bulkier than his own. Medical-issue.
Myungsoo inhales deeply, sucking air through the filters before peeling the mask off his face. Historical books have told him how, that in the past, even the most normal of procedures took place in real life and face-to-face. He believes the book described it as ‘ridiculously careless’.
‘Ridiculously careless’ also defines the receptionist perfectly, Myungsoo thinks.
(receptionist):
Kim Myungsoo? Dr. Lee would like to consult you in person this afternoon. Attached is the address and a map. Your results are normal, but Dr. Lee would like to perform additional tests. Thank you.
The sweep of fabric against fabric when he wakes up, the clink of chopsticks against porcelain, the click of his nail against glass when he doesn’t angle his finger properly as he types: these are the sounds Myungsoo grows up to so when the Device vibrates, it is the loudest thing in the world.
Today, as Myungsoo follows the map on the Device, he marvels at the silence of the outside world: no whine of rubber wheels on tar, no chirping birds, not even the rustle of leaves in the wind. It is a serene, organised calm until Myungsoo realises it is also a world devoid of life.
Myungsoo shakes his head lightly to dislodge the thought and touches a hand to his mask. It is strapped on tighter than usual across his mouth, because the outside air is polluted with antigens and industrial waste and danger. He is also clothed in a special outfit for this outdoor occasion - gloves, a bulky jacket and heavy boots. Just in case, his mother had said before sending him off.
He makes his way to a white building and before he can push open the large glass door, a gloved hand encircles itself around his wrist and tugs him into a small alley.
The Device slips out of his fingers, but before it falls to the ground, a hand catches it and Myungsoo feels his vision spin before he’s pressed up against a wall. He can feel the scratchy brick even through his jacket.
Staring back at him is a boy with pretty eyes. They look extremely familiar.
The boy hands Myungsoo back his device, and when he takes it carefully, it is already vibrating.
Lee Sungyeol:
Hi!
Myungsoo looks up and the boy, Lee Sungyeol, tilts his head to the left. The strange way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes Myungsoo think he could be smiling.
Kim Myungsoo:
Hello. But if you’d excuse me, I have a dental appointment to attend.
Lee Sungyeol:
No, you don’t. I called you out here, not my mother.
Myungsoo frowns at the screen.
Lee Sungyeol:
Don’t you think it’s sad? That we have to hold a conversation through these artificial devices instead of just speaking to one another?
Kim Myungsoo:
It’s a sacrifice we have to endure to ensure our safety. Didn’t you learn about the 2022 pandemic?
“You know we’re not going to die just because we speak to each other, right?”
For several seconds, Myungsoo thinks he has gone crazy, because the voice in his head does not usually sound so foreign or loud or unsteady and unpracticed. It’s only when he looks up from the Device to find Sungyeol with his mask hanging loosely around his neck that Myungsoo understands.
He drops his Device.
Sungyeol smiles and, unlike his voice, it does not waver.
Myungsoo skips dinner that night.
His head is still pounding, from the horror and the thrill because when he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can almost recall his mother’s voice. That was back when parents could tell their children bedtime stories, back when his father worked proper hours, back when there were more to words than their dictionary definitions.
Im Seonhee:
Are you sure you don’t want dinner?
He tries to isolate her voice in his head, to remember if she pronounces certainly words differently or if she spoke loudly or softly or if she liked to speak but all he can hear is Sungyeol’s voice ringing in his ears.
Im Seonhee:
Myungsoo?
Five minutes had passed since his mother’s first message. Quickly, he types back a reply.
Kim Myungsoo:
I’m fine. I’m going to bed early. Good night.
He turns off the lights and slips under the covers. For the first time in his life, Myungsoo can hear the silence. It envelops him like the blanket, heavy and still. Running his fingers over the small dent on his Device, Myungsoo makes a decision.
Kim Myungsoo:
I believe you.
The window next to his bed unlocks from the inside and when he cracks it open for the first time, the setting sun catches the bits of dust floating in the air. It hasn’t been opened for at least fifteen years’; understandable, since it has been decades since air has been described as being ‘fresh’.
This is his fourth meeting with Sungyeol.
Sungyeol always uses the clinic’s system to deliver messages to Myungsoo’s device because it’s one of the few mediums of communication that falls outside governmental control and today, his destination is a park close by the Han River.
Myungsoo decides to run when he’s halfway towards the destination. It’s hard to breathe with the mask and his shoes makes a thudding noise loud enough to clear his head and wake up the world but a moment, he ceases to think about anything but how easily his feet can move and the sounds it can produce. Less than a minute after he begins to run, Myungsoo thinks it is an extremely stupid idea because sounds travel and if he’s caught, he knows he will disappear.
His Device will be destroyed; his existence wiped from the system.
Fifteen minutes later, he spots a small, lone figure staring out at the river and Myungsoo takes his time, because he makes measured steps that make the least amount of noise possible. The park is not what it is defined as (“a large area of land kept in its natural state for public recreational use”) because ‘public recreational use’ is a mere term for theoretical essays, and this is just a large concrete area by the river.
“Hi,” Sungyeol whispers, turning around when Myungsoo is close enough and Myungsoo stands there, willing the courage to take over. Soon enough, he manages to slip his fingers under the straps of his mask and tugs it down. This is the furthest he has gotten the past three times each and every time, the words had just seemed to evaporate.
Sungyeol watches him wordlessly.
Hi, Myungsoo tries to say but the sound gets caught in his throat and when he tries again, it sounds like nothing more than a heavy exhalation. An itch blooms under his skin, hot and suffocating.
“Take your time,” Sungyeol says softly, and he pulls Myungsoo closer before pointing towards the edge of the river. He speaks slowly enough for Myungsoo to see each individual letter build themselves into words and then sentences. “I remember my father telling me that if I sat by the edge of the Han River long enough, I would be able to find the answer to any problem.”
Sungyeol sits down first, and Myungsoo mimics him. The water laps against the side of the concrete, and Myungsoo just watches the dark water as the sound fills the air between them.
“Water,” Myungsoo says (‘rasps’ would be a better word when he thinks back about this moment, because his voice sounds like how sandpaper feels on skin), “I like the sound of water.”
A smile floods Sungyeol’s features. “I like the sound of your voice.”
Something else blooms across his cheeks: hot and suffocating in a strangely pleasant way and it lingers, as Sungyeol starts telling him a story (Myungsoo’s not sure what it’s about, because he pays more attention to how his voice sounds over the water) and long after that.
+ anonfeedme
+ concrit is welcomed!
Pairing: Myungsoo/Sungyeol
Rating: g
the curve of forgotten things
It is twelve in the afternoon on a Sunday morning when the Device wakes Myungsoo up.
It vibrates quietly on his side table, and he gropes around for it as his hand bumps into the clock and a softcover book until his fingers are encircled around a cool, familiar weight of glass and metal.
Im Seonhee:
It’s time for lunch, Myungsoo. You’ve slept through breakfast.
He pushes himself upright, slowly stretching the sleep from his limbs. Surely enough, there is one unread message, received at 9.12am. Unconsciously, he starts feeling for his mask on the table until he realises it’s been across his mouth all along-he had fallen asleep with it.
His Device vibrates once more, and the sound echoes so loudly in his room and inside his head that he wonders how he could have slept through the first message.
Im Seonhee:
Kim Myungsoo. I made seafood soup. It’s getting cold and Moonsoo is asking for second helpings. I will give it to him if you’re not down in one minute.
His fingers taps quickly across the surface as he clamors off the bed, and Myungsoo makes it to the dining room in less than thirty seconds.
Kim Myungsoo:
Awake!
By the time his mother’s Device vibrates, Myungsoo is already seated at the table, stomach growling. Sometimes, just sometimes, the signal transmission lags. Moonsoo glares at him, eyes hard, mask already fixed across his mouth.
In the hopes of permanently controlling infectious diseases, the government decided to eradicate the spoken language.
It worked - Myungsoo remembers learning in Modern History that speaking exposes people to a maelstrom of antigens, so communication was restricted to the realm of the Internet and through the Devices. Soon, other forms of the spoken language were curtailed: first songs then television broadcasts and political debates.
And Myungsoo can never forget the statistics, listed unquestionably one after another like how the letters of the alphabet are arranged from A to Z: how the average human now lives longer than a person who engaged in face-to-face communication (3.5 years), how noise pollution has decreased exponentially in the last twenty years (100%), how the literacy rate has stablised itself to include close to the entire population (98%).
The spoken language disappeared completely in 2028. Myungsoo was six.
Today, every citizen of Seoul is issued a Device and an ergonomic mask, one that should be changed five times in a lifetime, at birth.
Im Seonhee:
How was lunch?
Kim Myungsoo:
Delicious. Thank you.
And his mother replies with something extremely unusual today-
Im Seonhee:
You’re welcome :)
They are encouraged to drop the use of emotions in their language at the age of eight and to fully conform to this unofficial rule by the time they turn ten. Language is less an art and more like mathematical formulas: precise and exact, and emotions more often than not turn pure meaning into sentimental jargon.
Myungsoo grips his Device tightly and slips out of the chair. His mask is affixed firmly back across his face and as he makes his way back towards his room, his socked feet makes the quietest, muffled noises against the beige carpeting that covers the entire house.
He cannot remember the last time he has seen his mother’s lips curled into a smile, or if the muscles in a person’s face can still contort that way. For a happier, more perfect world, there are a lot fewer smiling people.
(or perhaps people are just smiling beneath those heavy, black masks but Myungsoo doubts it)
Like everyone else, Myungsoo spends all his time in his own room. His computer blinks one o’clock and he’s midway through an essay on the Spanish Influenza when his Device vibrates.
The sound is jarring in the complete silence.
Im Seonhee:
You have a dental appointment with Dr. Lee at three-thirty.
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes, I remember.
At around two twenty, the Device vibrates again.
Kim Moonsoo:
hyung, do you have my hard disk? i remember giving it to you two days ago and I need it for my biology homework.
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes, I do. I’ll leave it outside your door. Also, you need to remember to use proper capitalization.
There is a ten minute lapse before Moosoon replies.
Kim Moonsoo:
Yes, hyung.
There is a book Myungsoo remembers reading that recounted how displeasure used to be measured in tone and volume. Now, it is a lot simpler: it is the time taken between a question and a reply.
Five is the number of people Myungsoo has actually seen in real life; three is the number he remembers. His mother, his father, the doctor that delivered him, the nurse, and his brother.
Of the three he remembers, the more appropriate number should be one and a half, because most of the time, his mother and brother have half their faces covered by the mask and his father is only ever around right before dawn and at the verge of tomorrow. His mother periodically reminds them that working with the government is a time-consuming, but rewarding, career.
Recently, whenever his mother reminds them of this fact, Myungsoo’s finger hovers over the send button. The message is addressed to his father.
Kim Myungsoo:
Does the President smile behind his mask? Do you?
Myungsoo always catches himself just in time, and the white-hot guilt that follows is almost cleansing.
At three twenty, Myungsoo saves his essay, minimises the window and opens a special window. It is a directory to licensed medical facilities, and Dr. Lee Heewon (Dentist) is listed on the second page. He keys in the number carefully into his Device before starting the conversation.
Kim Myungsoo:
Hello, this is Kim Myungsoo. I have an appointment with Dr. Lee at three-thirty.
(receptionist):
hi, kim myungsoo! nice to meet you. according to your files, you’re a year younger than me so you wouldn’t mind the informalities, right?
Myungsoo can only stare at the screen, fingers frozen over the keyboard.
(receptionist):
…kim myungsoo? i didn’t scare you off did i?
Kim Myungsoo:
Excuse me, but who is this?
(receptionist):
oh right i forgot to introduce myself i’m lee sungyeol i’m the temporary
A new name appears suddenly on his screen and the old conversation is wiped. Myungsoo almost drops his Device.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
Kim Myungsoo?
Kim Myungsoo:
Tes.
Kim Myungsoo:
Sorry, I meant to type ‘Yes’.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are an extremely eloquent person. It is very impressive for a person your age. Now, let’s get straight to the checkup. If you could click on the icon on the right, we could get started.
Myungsoo spots it immediately, and recognises it as an icon of a strange, obsolete object known as a ‘video camera’. He presses it and the dark screen flickers to life.
Dr. Lee’s face (number seven, he thinks unintentionally) stares back at him in the corner, in a tiny box, he can see his own face reflected back. The mask swallows half of his face but Dr. Lee does not seem to notice.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
This is just a regular checkup, so I’m going to ask you to remove your mask for five minutes so I can have a look at your teeth. Are you alone in the room?
Kim Myungsoo:
Yes.
Dr. Lee Heewon:
Then the risk of catching something in the air is close to nothing. Let us begin.
Dr. Lee has pretty eyes and long hair tied into a bun. Her mask is slightly different-silver, instead of the standard black and even bulkier than his own. Medical-issue.
Myungsoo inhales deeply, sucking air through the filters before peeling the mask off his face. Historical books have told him how, that in the past, even the most normal of procedures took place in real life and face-to-face. He believes the book described it as ‘ridiculously careless’.
‘Ridiculously careless’ also defines the receptionist perfectly, Myungsoo thinks.
(receptionist):
Kim Myungsoo? Dr. Lee would like to consult you in person this afternoon. Attached is the address and a map. Your results are normal, but Dr. Lee would like to perform additional tests. Thank you.
The sweep of fabric against fabric when he wakes up, the clink of chopsticks against porcelain, the click of his nail against glass when he doesn’t angle his finger properly as he types: these are the sounds Myungsoo grows up to so when the Device vibrates, it is the loudest thing in the world.
Today, as Myungsoo follows the map on the Device, he marvels at the silence of the outside world: no whine of rubber wheels on tar, no chirping birds, not even the rustle of leaves in the wind. It is a serene, organised calm until Myungsoo realises it is also a world devoid of life.
Myungsoo shakes his head lightly to dislodge the thought and touches a hand to his mask. It is strapped on tighter than usual across his mouth, because the outside air is polluted with antigens and industrial waste and danger. He is also clothed in a special outfit for this outdoor occasion - gloves, a bulky jacket and heavy boots. Just in case, his mother had said before sending him off.
He makes his way to a white building and before he can push open the large glass door, a gloved hand encircles itself around his wrist and tugs him into a small alley.
The Device slips out of his fingers, but before it falls to the ground, a hand catches it and Myungsoo feels his vision spin before he’s pressed up against a wall. He can feel the scratchy brick even through his jacket.
Staring back at him is a boy with pretty eyes. They look extremely familiar.
The boy hands Myungsoo back his device, and when he takes it carefully, it is already vibrating.
Lee Sungyeol:
Hi!
Myungsoo looks up and the boy, Lee Sungyeol, tilts his head to the left. The strange way his eyes crinkle at the corners makes Myungsoo think he could be smiling.
Kim Myungsoo:
Hello. But if you’d excuse me, I have a dental appointment to attend.
Lee Sungyeol:
No, you don’t. I called you out here, not my mother.
Myungsoo frowns at the screen.
Lee Sungyeol:
Don’t you think it’s sad? That we have to hold a conversation through these artificial devices instead of just speaking to one another?
Kim Myungsoo:
It’s a sacrifice we have to endure to ensure our safety. Didn’t you learn about the 2022 pandemic?
“You know we’re not going to die just because we speak to each other, right?”
For several seconds, Myungsoo thinks he has gone crazy, because the voice in his head does not usually sound so foreign or loud or unsteady and unpracticed. It’s only when he looks up from the Device to find Sungyeol with his mask hanging loosely around his neck that Myungsoo understands.
He drops his Device.
Sungyeol smiles and, unlike his voice, it does not waver.
Myungsoo skips dinner that night.
His head is still pounding, from the horror and the thrill because when he closes his eyes and concentrates hard enough, he can almost recall his mother’s voice. That was back when parents could tell their children bedtime stories, back when his father worked proper hours, back when there were more to words than their dictionary definitions.
Im Seonhee:
Are you sure you don’t want dinner?
He tries to isolate her voice in his head, to remember if she pronounces certainly words differently or if she spoke loudly or softly or if she liked to speak but all he can hear is Sungyeol’s voice ringing in his ears.
Im Seonhee:
Myungsoo?
Five minutes had passed since his mother’s first message. Quickly, he types back a reply.
Kim Myungsoo:
I’m fine. I’m going to bed early. Good night.
He turns off the lights and slips under the covers. For the first time in his life, Myungsoo can hear the silence. It envelops him like the blanket, heavy and still. Running his fingers over the small dent on his Device, Myungsoo makes a decision.
Kim Myungsoo:
I believe you.
The window next to his bed unlocks from the inside and when he cracks it open for the first time, the setting sun catches the bits of dust floating in the air. It hasn’t been opened for at least fifteen years’; understandable, since it has been decades since air has been described as being ‘fresh’.
This is his fourth meeting with Sungyeol.
Sungyeol always uses the clinic’s system to deliver messages to Myungsoo’s device because it’s one of the few mediums of communication that falls outside governmental control and today, his destination is a park close by the Han River.
Myungsoo decides to run when he’s halfway towards the destination. It’s hard to breathe with the mask and his shoes makes a thudding noise loud enough to clear his head and wake up the world but a moment, he ceases to think about anything but how easily his feet can move and the sounds it can produce. Less than a minute after he begins to run, Myungsoo thinks it is an extremely stupid idea because sounds travel and if he’s caught, he knows he will disappear.
His Device will be destroyed; his existence wiped from the system.
Fifteen minutes later, he spots a small, lone figure staring out at the river and Myungsoo takes his time, because he makes measured steps that make the least amount of noise possible. The park is not what it is defined as (“a large area of land kept in its natural state for public recreational use”) because ‘public recreational use’ is a mere term for theoretical essays, and this is just a large concrete area by the river.
“Hi,” Sungyeol whispers, turning around when Myungsoo is close enough and Myungsoo stands there, willing the courage to take over. Soon enough, he manages to slip his fingers under the straps of his mask and tugs it down. This is the furthest he has gotten the past three times each and every time, the words had just seemed to evaporate.
Sungyeol watches him wordlessly.
Hi, Myungsoo tries to say but the sound gets caught in his throat and when he tries again, it sounds like nothing more than a heavy exhalation. An itch blooms under his skin, hot and suffocating.
“Take your time,” Sungyeol says softly, and he pulls Myungsoo closer before pointing towards the edge of the river. He speaks slowly enough for Myungsoo to see each individual letter build themselves into words and then sentences. “I remember my father telling me that if I sat by the edge of the Han River long enough, I would be able to find the answer to any problem.”
Sungyeol sits down first, and Myungsoo mimics him. The water laps against the side of the concrete, and Myungsoo just watches the dark water as the sound fills the air between them.
“Water,” Myungsoo says (‘rasps’ would be a better word when he thinks back about this moment, because his voice sounds like how sandpaper feels on skin), “I like the sound of water.”
A smile floods Sungyeol’s features. “I like the sound of your voice.”
Something else blooms across his cheeks: hot and suffocating in a strangely pleasant way and it lingers, as Sungyeol starts telling him a story (Myungsoo’s not sure what it’s about, because he pays more attention to how his voice sounds over the water) and long after that.
+ anonfeedme
+ concrit is welcomed!