Coffee and Cream.
Coffee and Cream
"I never knew that we would last this long, did you?"
"It's a good thing though, right?"
"Of course, my Chorong."
The sun glittered through the leaves, casting festive shadows upon the sidewalk, dashing to and fro in a game of tag. The short silhouettes revealed two kids, a boy and girl, wrapped lightly in scarves in the barely chilled air. Amid a flurry of smiles and giggles, they reached out their tiny hands in futile attempts to catch the other.
They were four, maybe five, maybe six years old. There was no way to know, no way to keep track; time always blurred when they were together - and they were together quite often: they grew up in the same neighborhood in the province of Chungcheong, saw each other in their diapers, and visited each other's houses frequently. (Your parents are my parents, and vice versa, they both agreed. He hurried over to her house for some of her mother's exquisite kimchi.) They shared ice cream cones, danced crazily together, and belted out off-tune notes during the occasional karaoke sessions during family parties.
"Woohyun-ah, sweetie, I need to run some errands, so could you please run over to Chorong's house and play there for a bit?"
And he would be off in a flash, and she would waiting at his doorstep with two lollipops in hand and his favorite book. Her hair would be in two braid pigtails with some stray strands sticking out against the colorful backdrop of spring, and he would his hand and pat them down, saying, "You're always so messy, Rongie." - A pout, a laugh, and a kick on the shin - ow.
(He needed band-aids all too often, and he didn't know exactly when he started wanting it to be her who was kissing his pain away, even with her gross saliva and messy hands and bird nest of hair.)
"Do you like this coffee? Because I do."
"It could use a bit more cream, I would say."
"Oh, you and your sweet tooth."
The years passed as quickly as the trains whizzed through the local station, with people getting on and off and then back on and off again. No longer were they simply a little boy and a little girl, with dreams as high as the sky and with worlds as small as their own backyards, but they had gradually changed into teenagers, complete with awkward breakouts and friendship drama and fights with parents.
"Chorong-ah, I won't be able to pick you up after your dance lessons today; would you mind asking Woohyun to walk you home instead?" said her mother.
"Aw, eomma, I'm not a little kid anymore! I can handle it!"
"It'll be dark though. Here, I'll call him myself if you won't," Mrs. Park dialed into her cell phone.
(And that's how they found themselves standing silently together outside Chorong's dance studio, staring at their puffs of breath in the crisp air while Woohyun fiddled with her bag that he offered to carry.
"Let's go," Woohyun cleared his throat after a while, taking her arm in his. She made no move to take her arm away, and so they kept it like that, just like the good old days.
He remembered the furious beating of his heart and the sheen of sweat on his temples and the warmth from their skinship, and he swore that if he didn't love Park Chorong before, he did now, and there was no running away.)
"It's nice and warm here. I like it."
"It is a cafe, after all."
"Stating the obvious, as usual."
To him, she was better than cold lemonade on a hot summer day and refreshing shade from the scorching sun and a water fight in the pool. She was more beautiful than the electric blue skies and the vivid green in the trees and the yellows and pinks and purples and oranges of the sunset each evening; she made his world come alive.
He wasn't sure if she knew though, despite all the hints that he dropped, trying to get her to look his way instead of toward some crush who didn't even acknowledge her existence.
("Let's go watch that newest movie that just came out!" he would suggest. "I'll pay for the tickets and everything - you better come, Chorong.")
("Are you sleepy? Here, my arm makes the perfect pillow, obviously.")
("So this girl confessed to me the other day... tell me, what should I do? ...Tell me not to date her.")
And so it continued, until - in the summer when they were sixteen, somehow the truth got out when he had thought he could trust Sunggyu with his best-kept secret and Chorong heard about it second-hand and he was embarrassed and everything was a mess, but in a way, it was kind of a relief.
"I-it wasn't supposed to turn out this way, to be honest," Woohyun subconsciously scratched the back of his neck, gaze fastened onto the floor.
Chorong smiled. "We'll see," she whispered, her eyes forming into moon-like crescents. She tentatively slid her hand in his, and his heart nearly shot up his throat. "How's this?"
He swallowed, willing himself to keep calm. "It's nice. And warm. I like it."
So they kept it that way, and the whole world spun around them like they were the center of the universe.
"Guess what? I have a present for you!"
"What is it?"
"A time capsule."
The memories became a blur, but they were happy ones - he knew that. Some snapshots he had captured with his camera: a night at the carnival, a ride on the ferris wheel, games at the arcade, movie marathons at his house, the here-and-there romantic dinners that ended in long road trips to the middle of nowhere. An album full of polaroids, train tickets to Seoul, hand-made birthday cards.
Time rushed past, yet it stayed still, frozen in air.
He could spend a forever with her, he really could -
"The coffee shop is closing soon; we should really go."
"The coffee was bitter anyway."
"Gosh, it's cold outside."
"Want to drop by the record store on our way back?"
"Sure thing."
"Let's go!"
"Let's never let go of each other."
"Hah, let's not be this cheesy at this hour."
"I know you love it."
"I do."
He watches her from the cafe window, the snow trampled beneath her feet, a scarf wrapped hastily around her neck.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. "Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"At the cafe," Woohyun answers nonchalantly.
"You should stop going there; I'm serious. This isn't good for you. Get a move on -"
"Shut up, Sunggyu."
He'll be okay, he promises himself. He'll be okay.
"It's a good thing though, right?"
"Of course, my Chorong."
The sun glittered through the leaves, casting festive shadows upon the sidewalk, dashing to and fro in a game of tag. The short silhouettes revealed two kids, a boy and girl, wrapped lightly in scarves in the barely chilled air. Amid a flurry of smiles and giggles, they reached out their tiny hands in futile attempts to catch the other.
They were four, maybe five, maybe six years old. There was no way to know, no way to keep track; time always blurred when they were together - and they were together quite often: they grew up in the same neighborhood in the province of Chungcheong, saw each other in their diapers, and visited each other's houses frequently. (Your parents are my parents, and vice versa, they both agreed. He hurried over to her house for some of her mother's exquisite kimchi.) They shared ice cream cones, danced crazily together, and belted out off-tune notes during the occasional karaoke sessions during family parties.
"Woohyun-ah, sweetie, I need to run some errands, so could you please run over to Chorong's house and play there for a bit?"
And he would be off in a flash, and she would waiting at his doorstep with two lollipops in hand and his favorite book. Her hair would be in two braid pigtails with some stray strands sticking out against the colorful backdrop of spring, and he would his hand and pat them down, saying, "You're always so messy, Rongie." - A pout, a laugh, and a kick on the shin - ow.
(He needed band-aids all too often, and he didn't know exactly when he started wanting it to be her who was kissing his pain away, even with her gross saliva and messy hands and bird nest of hair.)
"Do you like this coffee? Because I do."
"It could use a bit more cream, I would say."
"Oh, you and your sweet tooth."
The years passed as quickly as the trains whizzed through the local station, with people getting on and off and then back on and off again. No longer were they simply a little boy and a little girl, with dreams as high as the sky and with worlds as small as their own backyards, but they had gradually changed into teenagers, complete with awkward breakouts and friendship drama and fights with parents.
"Chorong-ah, I won't be able to pick you up after your dance lessons today; would you mind asking Woohyun to walk you home instead?" said her mother.
"Aw, eomma, I'm not a little kid anymore! I can handle it!"
"It'll be dark though. Here, I'll call him myself if you won't," Mrs. Park dialed into her cell phone.
(And that's how they found themselves standing silently together outside Chorong's dance studio, staring at their puffs of breath in the crisp air while Woohyun fiddled with her bag that he offered to carry.
"Let's go," Woohyun cleared his throat after a while, taking her arm in his. She made no move to take her arm away, and so they kept it like that, just like the good old days.
He remembered the furious beating of his heart and the sheen of sweat on his temples and the warmth from their skinship, and he swore that if he didn't love Park Chorong before, he did now, and there was no running away.)
"It's nice and warm here. I like it."
"It is a cafe, after all."
"Stating the obvious, as usual."
To him, she was better than cold lemonade on a hot summer day and refreshing shade from the scorching sun and a water fight in the pool. She was more beautiful than the electric blue skies and the vivid green in the trees and the yellows and pinks and purples and oranges of the sunset each evening; she made his world come alive.
He wasn't sure if she knew though, despite all the hints that he dropped, trying to get her to look his way instead of toward some crush who didn't even acknowledge her existence.
("Let's go watch that newest movie that just came out!" he would suggest. "I'll pay for the tickets and everything - you better come, Chorong.")
("Are you sleepy? Here, my arm makes the perfect pillow, obviously.")
("So this girl confessed to me the other day... tell me, what should I do? ...Tell me not to date her.")
And so it continued, until - in the summer when they were sixteen, somehow the truth got out when he had thought he could trust Sunggyu with his best-kept secret and Chorong heard about it second-hand and he was embarrassed and everything was a mess, but in a way, it was kind of a relief.
"I-it wasn't supposed to turn out this way, to be honest," Woohyun subconsciously scratched the back of his neck, gaze fastened onto the floor.
Chorong smiled. "We'll see," she whispered, her eyes forming into moon-like crescents. She tentatively slid her hand in his, and his heart nearly shot up his throat. "How's this?"
He swallowed, willing himself to keep calm. "It's nice. And warm. I like it."
So they kept it that way, and the whole world spun around them like they were the center of the universe.
"Guess what? I have a present for you!"
"What is it?"
"A time capsule."
The memories became a blur, but they were happy ones - he knew that. Some snapshots he had captured with his camera: a night at the carnival, a ride on the ferris wheel, games at the arcade, movie marathons at his house, the here-and-there romantic dinners that ended in long road trips to the middle of nowhere. An album full of polaroids, train tickets to Seoul, hand-made birthday cards.
Time rushed past, yet it stayed still, frozen in air.
He could spend a forever with her, he really could -
"The coffee shop is closing soon; we should really go."
"The coffee was bitter anyway."
"Gosh, it's cold outside."
"Want to drop by the record store on our way back?"
"Sure thing."
"Let's go!"
"Let's never let go of each other."
"Hah, let's not be this cheesy at this hour."
"I know you love it."
"I do."
He watches her from the cafe window, the snow trampled beneath her feet, a scarf wrapped hastily around her neck.
His phone vibrates in his pocket. "Hello?"
"Where are you?"
"At the cafe," Woohyun answers nonchalantly.
"You should stop going there; I'm serious. This isn't good for you. Get a move on -"
"Shut up, Sunggyu."
He'll be okay, he promises himself. He'll be okay.
after you left
i wrote a story of wandering around
where time lasted longer
the bitter coffee i drink thoughtlessly
seems to have become my lifestyle
yesterday's memories have faded
causing my heart to become cold
- 'julia' (infinite) ♥
a/n: so my first try at pinkfinite isn't exactly the best, but it's a start, right? i admit that it's sort of a mess and probably super rushed at the end :( yay for failed plot twist... anyways, 'julia' is one of my most favorite infinite songs. infinite always has such upbeat songs with such sad lyrics - and just from listening to them, you can almost taste how bittersweet it is ;_;
(did you see my not-so-sneaky 'reply 1997' reference? i couldn't resist. /gets bricked)
comments and constructive criticism welcome. /hides
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