You all have been so sweet! I honestly didn't expect more than a reader or two! This story comes to me in spurts, but I'll try my best to update probably every other night. Please feel free to leave suggestions or critisisms, or even things you'd like to maybe see included in TOP's musings. Thank you so much again for reading!

-H

Morning came, you were still beautiful and I was still awkward. Life, as always, interrupted the small peace we had found in the shelter of your bedroom, and we parted ways. (Not before, of course, you ensured we had exchanged numbers. Just in case, you said.) 

Hopelessly I walked down rows of narrow streets in search of where I could have possibly abandoned my car the previous night. I honestly had no idea whether I would hear from you again, knowing I would never have the courage to dial the number that still remained on my dying cell phone screen. But even if I didn’t, the evening I spent with you had calmed the storm that had been brewing within me far more than any drunken evening had, and even if the feeling was only temporary I was still grateful.  (I was also grateful to have finally found my car, though that quickly faded when I realized work would be on the other end of my drive.)

Traces of you lingered for days. In hushed whispers and fleeting moments of silence I found you. The velvet timbre of your voice shook my thoughts, the memory of your warmth left me cold. My state not going unnoticed by my friends, (or anyone else for that matter) left me with incessant inquiries as to my disappearance that evening. To finally satiate the nagging I relinquished some information. (Sparsely, not quite ready to completely forfeit memories belonging solely to you and me.) 

Surprised gawking lasted for sometime before silence fell over them, wordless conversation taking place between them. They suggested taking my mind off you, inviting me out the next evening. I agreed, knowing I had spent too long over analyzing what was simply just another evening. (Big surprise there right?)

Day fell to night, then rose back to day, leaving me short on time to reach my destination. It was a quiet place, an interesting hole in the wall where you could imagine the bartender knowing the name of every customer and exactly the way they liked their drink. Being the first to arrive (that in and of its self was a first) I took a seat to order something stiff. Examining their wares was cut all too short by something distinctly familiar.

My name rang as sweetly from you tongue as it did it’s first time (and would continue to do so every time thereafter.)  You leaned against the other side of the counter, just adjacent to me, that smirk still on your lips. I was taken aback before quickly realizing what happened, simultaneously cursing and praising my friends for being so invasive.

Smiling you asked what brought me around. I explained I had planned to meet someone, though I had a strong inclination to believe I had been ditched. I was almost sure for a fleeting moment I saw your smile fade, but before a knew it you were back, elbowing my arm that rested so close to yours.

“A date?” 

My breath hitched in my throat. “No.”  spoke almost too quickly. “No, just some friends- The ones from the party.” I tried my best to veer the conversation away from anything that could lead to trouble. (Not that I was particularly successful.)

Momentarily you turned from me, working the back of the bar, as my eyes worked their way across the expanse of your back. You turned back, red concoction in hand and set it in front of me. (I can’t remember what you called it, meaning the drink was obviously successful.) You laughed as I choked down my first swig before asking where I disappeared to.

I froze. Should I tell you I’m a coward, too afraid to ever pick up the phone, or lie, feigning disinterest. (I was quite good at both- being a coward and lying, that is.) Meet somewhere in the middle, I figured. I shrugged saying I figured you would have called if I was interesting enough.

You laughed, louder this time, rolling your eyes. Better to be a joke than rejected I supposed. Pulling a pen from your pocket scribbling a barely legible address on my hand. (Penmanship was obviously more my strong suit than yours.) You were getting off at 9 and I was to meet you there, you instructed. Or I could wait here and down more mystery drinks that you’d toss my way, you added laughing, but that soft glint in your eyes gave me my answer. I shot back the last of my drink smiling.

“Start my tab.”

Those two hours came and went, my fight to stay as sober as possible for once was surprising successful, even with the strange fruity concoctions you kept placing under my nose. Jogging out of the back you came to my side, taking my hand to pull me out of the small bar.

It was the first time I held your hand in mine. A small action in the grand scheme of things, but the feeling of your warmth tangling up my arms, through flesh and marrow and bone lasted far longer than any other memory that evening.

Our evening wasn’t one most would consider memorable. You had a craving for bibimbap, so we went to a small restaurant a few blocks down. (I assumed this was the address that stained my skin for weeks. I meant to look it up, but I never got around to it.) I don’t think it was our first date, you refusing to let me pay for your food as an apology for not calling, but it was the first time we really talked.

We grew up in the same neighborhood, you a year younger than me. You were a student, a music major. I felt vindicated, knowing you had chosen a major by passion rather than career, much in the way I had chosen the literature degree that hung in my office gathering dust. Closer to your mom than your dad, you only ate bibimbap here because, as you put it, this place was the only one that could hold a candle to hers. (Which I later found out, without a doubt, to be absolutely true.) You’ve dyed your hair more times than I’ve even had mine cut, and had a closet about the size of my kitchen.

Your eyes lit up at my confession to collecting toys, saying you had to come over and see.  You laughed at my bad jokes, and let me steal some of your egg when I finished mine to fast. You like to talk and I liked to hear you, so we sat at the shop window long after we finished our meal, long after the street lamps began to shine. Even long after the shop ajumma asked us politely to finish our food, and finally just shoved us into the cool night breeze.

We figured it was time to part ways then, me promising to actually call this time. You smiled, letting your eyes become lidded, before wrapping your arms around me and saying goodbye. Jasmine and amberwood lingered long after we parted ways, my brain working to commit it to memory, or at least stay its departure until we met again. (Which of course, I admitted, would not long.)