xlvii. All the Right Kinds

It was raining today; a summer shower that fell so hard you didn’t believe your ears.

“It’s from your father.”

You reached forward, taking the postcard from your mother’s hand slowly, the smell of fresh coffee filling your lungs as you took a deep breath and read. And read. And read.

It wasn’t even long enough to warrant such attention.

But you gave it an infinite amount.

You stared on in wonder, your curiosity getting the better of you. All kinds of questions regarding both it and the person behind it springing to the forefront of your mind.

All of which was blown away with the clashing wind this early morning as your felt your mother’s arms wrap around you. She held you like a child. Protectively. She handled you like glass. Breakable. And she said her next words with a trembling voice. Scared of something you wouldn’t understand until this long summer came to an end.

“I love you, Hyunjoo.”

You laughed despite your eyes which began to tear, grasping at her clothes like a lifeline.

And you said, “If you don’t stop being so sappy, you’re gonna make me cry.”

But you already were.

Because everything she did was for you, whether you knew the extent of it all at the present point in time or not. 

He couldn’t decide. Not because he didn’t know you well enough. Rather because he knew you too well. And when there were so many options to choose from, he was prone to minor headaches — the reason he’d been dead set on one particular girl since middle school.

It didn’t help that Ricky wasn’t taking this entire shopping venture seriously in the least. 

“What do you think?” He appeared before Niel, his smile large on his face as he rose up a piece of fabric in one hand and a plastic pouch in the other, “Boxers or briefs?”

“You’re insatiable.” Niel rolled his eyes, physically face palming at the fact that Ricky had failed to drop the argument that, Niel thought, ended with Hyunjoo’s answer last December. Niel had accepted the fact that his opinion was of the minority, but he didn’t need it rubbed in his face every month or so — just in case he somehow forgot. 

“A gag gift is the best gift.” Ricky argued, visibly downtrodden by the lack of encouragement he received from Niel for his playful ways.

“Your gag gift is your own gift.”

Though that comment brought a smile to his face, large and all kinds of insatiable, “You know me so well.”

“Too well.” Niel added, headache inbound as he stood on the intersection of mildly frustrated and slightly charmed. Because he could never just stop being friends with Ricky, no matter how hard he tried — though Ricky would argue his attempts had left much to be desired. 

“I know you two object to this whole ‘couple’ idea, but you play the roles too well to deny it at this point.” A familiar voice spoke up from behind them, startling Niel right out of his skin.

Turning and locking eyes with the third wheel that appeared out of thin air, he held a hand to his chest and sighed, “Are you fond of sneaking up on people?”

“I could be fond of it,” Kim Myungsoo smiled, dimples and all, “just for you.”

“Niel hubby!” Ricky sprung between the two, pushing Myungsoo’s shopping cart out of the way to do it, “Are you blushing in the face of such obvious flirting?”

“Both of you are idiots.” Niel shook his head, taking a right turn down mildly frustrated, heading straight towards flat-out annoyance.

“For some reason, that sounds like a compliment when you say it.” Myungsoo joked again, eyes looking past Ricky’s to throw another heart-throbbing glance in Niel’s direction. And Ricky’s reaction was anything but expected. 

“I’m starting to like you.” Ricky admitted, playful Myungsoo just the right kind for him, “Just a teensy bit.” 

Niel guffawed at Ricky’s confession, the addition of Myungsoo to their usual afternoon bickering bothering him a lot less than he thought it would. The farthest from awkward as it got, in fact. And he, feeling like this had everything to do with Myungsoo’s own effort to approach them comfortably, couldn’t help but agree with his shorter best friend’s sentiments — emphasis on “shorter,” as taking a jab at Ricky whenever he can rewards his ego with the best kind of satisfaction there is.

“And I’m more than just a teensy bit flattered by your feelings.” Myungsoo nudged Ricky with his elbow, cooing out a small noise affectionately. Who knew all it took to look past the love triangle between himself, Ricky, and a certain Mayor’s daughter was a bit of bromance? Niel certainly didn’t, though he was thankful for it nevertheless.

A friend of yours, of the infamous Song Hyunjoo’s not being a friend of his had always left a bad taste in his mouth.

“What do you think?” Ricky held up those same two items he had discarded into Niel’s shopping cart earlier, falling for Myungsoo grinning face first, “Boxers or briefs?”

While it was nice, while Niel was thankful for this entire bonding moment as a whole, he couldn’t allow Ricky to dawdle any longer for more than just one reason, “You know we don’t have time to be goofing around like this.”

“Late for an appointment?” Myungsoo asked as he continued looking on between the choices Ricky had presented to him, hand on his chin in contemplation.

“This betrayer is going on a cruise with his family for the entirety of next week. He still hasn’t finished packing even though he’s supposed to leave tonight.” Ricky mumbled begrudgingly, “South America and Mexico, right?”

Niel deadpanned, “I’m surprised you remember.”

And Ricky mimed flicking long, flowing hair over his shoulder pompously, like a spoiled princess who hadn’t gotten what she wanted, “Only because you’re not taking me.”

Niel shrugged as he pulled his phone out of his pants’ pocket, “Your parents wanted you in Springfield, so sue my family for honoring your mother’s wishes.” 

“You’re already tending to my family’s opinions?” Ricky exaggeratedly fell to one knee, tossing his boxers or briefs conundrum into Myungsoo’s direction before exclaiming, “Are you sure you don’t want to just elope with me right now?”

“You’re a match made in heaven.” Myungsoo smiled, ready and eager to earn himself the title of “best man.”

Niel shoved Ricky’s face with his palm, almost sending him toppling over where he squatted, the time displayed on his phone showing it’d been over an hour since he arrived at the supermarket with his clingy best friend, “Just hurry up and choose something.”

Ricky recovered quickly, earning a whistle from Myungsoo for his quick reflexes — quite the compliment in retrospect. “Easier said than done. We both know Hyunjoo’s such an easy woman to shop for that finding something she’ll legitimately love is nearly impossible.”

“Hyunjoo?” Myungsoo questioned, your name rolling off his tongue with ease, “Then probably boxers.” He held up the blaring piece of pink fabric Ricky had tossed to him, “She’s a boxers kind of girl.”

“Finally!” Ricky threw his hands into the air, fake weeping in Niel’s direction, “It’s about time someone around here gives me constructive feedback on my decisions!”

“Yeah, great!” Niel yelled back, creating a bigger scene that all of Ricky’s over-the-top reactions had combined, completely fed up with being reminded of an argument that should hold no weight for him whatsoever — and yet somehow, unbelievably, does. “Why don’t you both get her boxers for her birthday? A matching set, in fact! I’m sure she’ll love it.”

Myungsoo’s smile toppled from his face as dramatically as a Jenga tower as its last piece of support is stolen right from under his feet. Out of all the possible outcomes that could have occurred as a result of approaching the duo that was Niel and Ricky, Myungsoo expected this one the least. And he was, unexaggeratedly, shocked. 

“Should we?” Ricky nudged him in the same manner he had earlier, Myungsoo’s expression not giving away even inkling as to what he was thinking, as expressionless as it got.

Myungsoo flinched at Ricky’s prodding, nodded, and smiled as though the earth was all the right kinds of round and he couldn’t be happier, “Sounds like a plan.”

Being put on temporary house arrest wasn’t nearly as bad as it seemed at first. It had its pros and cons, but most of all it was refreshing. Waking up early, cooking breakfast, watching the news, spending time with the friends you missed over both board and electronic games, hanging around your mom’s shoulder when she came home before showering, brushing your teeth, and heading to bed late at night to the background noise of a ten-hour marathon you tried to squeeze into four all felt so much better than you thought it would. 

Having an actual, predictable schedule these past three days beat out the spontaneous, sudden events of the past easily.

Sure, it would be short lived. 

You had other things to attend to.

But, just for this one moment in time, it felt good to be rooted in place.

To wash dishes as the sounds of laughter, music, and feet shuffling across the floor echoed from the living room. 

To play cards with your supernatural friends and end up forgetting momentarily that they could go all fangs and claws in an instant. 

To just lay down on the floor of your room, rain playing against your windowsill, as you had what is known the world over as “Girl Talk” — yet another part of everyday life you couldn’t get enough of.

“I’m actually surprised.” Minah spoke out loud, voicing her wayward thoughts whether you wanted to hear them or not, “After shacking up with Sungyeol in Italy for a handful of days and nights, not a single person’s called you out on how awful you are as a human being.”

“Sungjong’s royally pissed at me.” You reminded her, not denying a single claim past that.

“Sungjong’s always ing pissed off at something.” 

You could hear the scowl in her words without even turning to look at her. Despite the growing fondness Sungjong had when he spoke of his and Minah’s late night gaming sessions, she didn’t share even half the heart-warming sentiment. It was a pity she couldn’t see that he’d reached a point in which he was never “ing pissed” at her. Though, what was even more pitiful was how easy it was to objectively judge another’s relationships over the one’s you yourself had. 

It was complicated, you’d convinced yourself.

“I want to keep things simple while I’m here,” you attempted to convince her.

And she wasn’t buying it.

“What? You going somewhere?” She sat up completely, staring down at you seriously, giving you a front row seat to that frown that sunk a thousand ships, “Again?”

“I want them to yell at me, to get mad at me, to curse me to the ends of the earth. It’d both make our reconciliation easier and stop us from having to force smiles over a game of UNO.”

“So you’re leaving then.” She concluded, slumping back down onto her back. Letting out a soft mumble of pain as she hit the carpeted floor harder than anticipated. In the face of your responding laughter, she nudged you with her elbow.

“I want to know what love is.” You sang out, arms hugging yourself in a cheesy manner that had her scoffing beside you.

“Have you ever tried writing lyrics before? You’re so naturally indecisive it’s borderline addicting. I mean, just listen to yourself. I want. I want. I want.” She chanted, her own fingers holding her gently, rocking back and forth to a song you couldn’t hear, “We all want a lot of things, don’t we?”

“If it’s not too much to ask, I’m feeling for a pizza right about now. Extra green peppers.”

“Your wants are insatiable.” She snorted as she laughed, her eyes disappearing beneath her cheeks, her natural charms overflowing to the point where you wanted to hug her right then and there. To the point where you didn’t want to give her up to Sungjong, no matter how much he’d gotten used to having his handed to him — in Minah’s own words — by her in Street Fighter. 

You wanted her to have everything she wanted. Because she deserved it.

Everyone she wanted. Because didn’t she deserve it?

Your heart sank, the strings that kept it suspended in your chest slacking, giving way at the sight of her wordless smile. 

And what she did next didn’t help alleviate the odd feeling building at the pit of your stomach. Folding and unfolding like your hands at the ends of your shirt. Curling and uncurling like your toes that sought out the breeze blown in by the air-conditioning on this hotter than usual, rainy day. Squeezing like your eyes as she reached into her purse and swung a pink-colored bag  towards your still horizontally laying face. 

She made a surprising sound effect with a high-pitched voice, cutely, exaggeratedly, voicing out after, “Tada!”

You sat up, tentatively taking the bag from her. She had most likely heard about it from Niel and Ricky — the not-so-secret secret they heard from their parents who were well acquainted with your mom. They had left earlier, along with a work bound Yura — the reason you and Minah had some down time. Still, she didn’t have to. As you jokingly told Ricky and Niel last Christmas, “Isn’t the gift of our friendship better than anything money can buy?”

Minah saw right through you for the second time, denying your words before they even fully made it out of your mouth, “Considering the fact that you’re friends with a bunch of clueless, self-centered males, I really think I did. Is this or is this not the first gift you’ve gotten since the twentieth?”

“I have a feeling you’re talking about one clueless, self-centered male in particular.” You jested, kicking at her legs playfully, being an only child naturally causing you to seek contact — of any kind — with others whenever possible, “Short and the most clueless of them all, perhaps?”

Minah frowned that same frown, even though the topic had changed from a certain eternally pissed male werewolf to an infinitely more annoying source of displeasure for her.

Waving her hand in the air, she dismissed it with a sigh, “Let’s not talk about it and say we did.”

You elbowed her, winking deliberately slowly, “Let’s talk about it now and vow to never talk about it again.”

“Deal.”

Her gift was a pair of pink headphones. 

Pink: because Bang Minah felt like it was time for her to start sharing some of her own charming habits with you. 

Left hand stuffed into your pocket, raising the volume of your iPod to inhuman levels, you bounced down the street to the rhythm of the pleasant pounding against your eardrums — thoroughly enjoying Minah’s gift. It wasn’t that late; around eight. The sun had gone down. Cars drove past you every now and then. But, ultimately, the rain kept everyone in. 

The rain you were now walking through, your right hand holding up the large umbrella your mom had given you before you left the house.

Her own insatiable desire for twizzlers had you braving the light storm. 

You could have made up an excuse. Such as, “Today is my day, and my day is a twizzler free day.” Most likely, she would have given into such childish reasoning. But the natural, completely familiar, way she asked you to — like she used to all the time before you even knew Springfield existed — go out and endure hardships just for her, just for a pack of candy, had you putting on your shoes before you knew it.

Had you chanting out, “I love you, mom,” before you left. 

And she said it back, smiling that smile only a mother can manage. 

So, there were no hard feelings about the way your hair curled around your face, sticking to your neck within the confines of your hood, humidity working its torturous magic as always. You never liked these pair of shoes anyway, water sloshing between your toes after accidentally stepping into a deceiving puddle that was larger than it seemed. 

The Snack N’ Go came into sight sooner than you thought. 

You walked faster, indifferent to the water that splashed against bare legs revealed by the shorts you donned. You hadn’t seen a certain cashier for a while now — the only time being when you immediately came back from Italy and he and Hoya drove you home from the airport. He hadn’t said anything about Sungyeol besides a single question of, “Did he find what he was looking for?”

And after your answer of, “I hope so,” the music Hoya proceeded to blast from the front seat stopped any other conversation that might have come up. When you arrived home, you told Hoya everything — save the more personal specifics. You figured he relayed it all to everyone else, as they showed up at your house that afternoon with the proposal of a game of cards and bag upon bag of junk food, not mentioning it in the least. 

Thus, it was inevitable he, Kim Sunggyu, knew. 

Kim Sunggyu, who wasn’t behind the counter, magazine in hand, bored eyes scanning from left to right, as you squinted through the blast of air-conditioning that hit your face as you walked through those automatic doors to snack heaven. 

A nondescript male was there instead, greeting you with an out of tune, “Welcome to Snack N’ Go!” You briefly wondered if they got deductions from their pay if they didn’t say that, as Sunggyu had never failed to. The stranger’s name was Chunji, as you read when you walked up to the counter, five packs of twizzlers of varying flavors in hand — thinking ahead. He was all smiles as he asked if you wanted your receipt after you paid. 

You didn’t answer his question, an inquiry of your own flowing from your lips before you could stop yourself, “Doesn’t Sunggyu have the Monday, Wednesday, and Friday night shift?”

He flinched back, momentarily confused before a sigh washed over him, as though this wasn’t the first time someone had asked about the infamous Kim Sunggyu. You had the same reaction as he suddenly asked right back , “Are you his girlfriend?”

“Sure.” You agreed with a shrug, because technically, according to the rumor mill, you still were. 

Your noncommittal response had him frowning, “You’re just like he described you.”

Too focused on figuring out where Sunggyu was over why he would talk about you, and more importantly what he’d said, you merely smiled, waiting for this Chunji person to finish the statement he’d paused in order to watch your expression. 

“He requested off today, so I took his shift. Something came up.” He balled up your receipt in his hands, throwing it behind him absentmindedly, gesturing with another heavy sigh, “I assumed you wouldn’t be wanting that.”

You laughed, taking interest in his flippant nature, “When do you work, Chunji?”

“I don’t think Sunggyu’d take kindly to hear that his girlfriend hit on me.”

Granted, you didn’t find what you were looking for, but you wouldn’t say what you found instead was nothing in its place. You had the best kind of happy smile on as you walked back home, reciting to yourself, “Saturday, Sunday, and Tuesday,” in an effort to carve Chunji’s existence in your mind. 

Not in the least expecting the celebration of your own existence that greeted you as you arrived back home, unsuspecting as you opened the door, drenched to the bone. 

In voices so loud you almost went deaf, your friends all screamed out,  “Happy 18th Birthday, Hyunjoo!”

Considering the fact that you had spent your birthday on a plane, trapped against a window thousands of miles up in the air, the streamers that popped high above you, the noise makers that did what they do best, and the smiles of everyone that’d long since made their marks in your life were more than you could have ever wanted. 

It didn’t get any better than this kind of happiness — a fact you didn’t need to convince yourself of.

A/N:

I don't think all of you saw this, so I'm posting it here for you. Also, VIXX.

You shot right through my gut,
I will gladly eat for you.
Mmmm, nom.

Click on the blue links below to go to each respective forum.

Springfield/Illusory Discussion Forum Series: The Mysteries Involved, Sailing Ships, Solving the Love Polygon, & Help!