two

***

Sitting on his sofa in his clothes that were too big on me and a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, all I did was stare at how out of place his wallpaper was. It looked fairly old and worn down, the colours of the flowery wallpaper fading into light pastels; he’s probably renting this place. Minseok comes out from the kitchen then with two bowls of steaming soup balanced on a tray. He places it down on the small coffee table and sits down beside me. “Here, it’s chicken and corn soup,” he says, handing one to me with a spoon. “Drink, it’ll warm you up.”

I take it from him and try a sip; it tastes pretty good and I continue to drink it slowly. “Thanks,” I reply softly.

“You’re welcome.” He drinks his own serving, glancing at me every now and then as we sit in silence, drinking the warm soup. I think it’s a comfortable silence because he doesn’t ask me anything unnecessary, prodding into my reasoning unlike all the other people I’ve ever met. He finishes before me, setting his bowl down and then leaning back into the sofa, waiting for me to say something.

I finish soon after, but remain quiet because I have no idea what to say. He shifts from beside me and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and looking at me inquisitively. I find the way he seems so interested in me to be quite bizarre. No one ever looks at me like that. “Is there something on my face?” I ask, finally breaking the silence.

He quickly shook his head, “No, no, not at all. Far from that actually. I was just thinking that you’d make for a good subject for my photos. I mean, um, just that, uh,” he ended up stuttering and something bubbled up from inside me. I laughed. It’s been a long time since I last laughed so heartily. Maybe it was just the way he looked so tongue-tied or how his eyes widened, that made my stomach begin to hurt from the giggling.

The sound of a shutter going off made me pause and frown. I wiped at the tears that had formed at the corners of my eyes and I looked in the direction of the sound. Minseok was holding a camera in his hands, pointing in my direction and resembled a child caught in the middle of causing mischief. He opened his mouth about to speak when I cut him off. “You just took a photo of me,” I said bluntly, all previous humour gone.

Placing the camera in his lap, he looked to be contemplating on what to say. “I was being impulsive,” he said after a moment. He shrugged and stood up, about to walk away, when I called out.

“What? Impulsive?” And I remember his words earlier, “I make for a good photography subject?”

Minseok turns and regards me with soft eyes, “It’d be nice if you worked with me, but I’m not going to force you, especially since you seem