He is looking again.

 

I am certain of it. Glancing discreetly in his direction to see if I am wrong, I find myself perplexed that he continues to observe in this direction. Now, I wish I could claim his actions to be faultless, but I am starting to wonder because surely, he is gazing at me. Yes, it sounds conceited and impossible, but it is true. Perhaps one would advise me to ignore him, but I cannot do so. Especially not when he remains in the reflection of the famous full length armoire mirror. More so that I am the only one amongst my people to see him and the fact that this person has been steadily dwelling on the other side since my first visit to this opulent antique museum.

 

“Jaehwa!” calls out a fellow group member of mine in a cheerful manner. “Hurry up or you’ll be left behind.” I truly concur to her statement since the legend of the aforementioned mirror is already explained by our sagacious museum docent. Basically, it is a cleverly made up myth about it being a portable portal as long as one knows its required angle. I must say that I find it to be a preposterous claim, but the moment I discovered this mysterious male, I might actually believe in it. Well, if only I get the chance to cross the velvet rope and reach out for him. Tough luck. Casting one more inconspicuous glance at him, I hasten my pace and catch up to the others.

 

The museum docent explains about the wonders of the innovative sundial, to which I permit myself to consider something familiar for the nth time. “What is the point of a sundial if it is kept in the shadows?” I question inwardly, not outwardly since it would be most disrespectful to do so. Still, it bugs me so I stuff my hands into my white long-sleeved hooded shirt’s pockets. In the right pocket, I smile upon touching the spherical object. My parents gave me the glistening orb as a keepsake for a lifetime. My father once mentioned to me that I am its rightful owner since I am brilliant in both looks and personality.

 

Honestly, I think he was just being nice since I don’t think that I am spectacular. I believe that I am ordinary, and that is perfectly fine by me. I find it strange that people think that ordinary is synonymous to nothing. Perhaps I end up jinxing myself because the precious orb escapes my shallow pocket, mercilessly rolling across the floor.

 

Eyes widening, my feet scramble in the direction of the object, hoping that it would not disrupt this orderly place. Maybe someone yelled at my insolence — I don’t know. All I am certain of is the fact that my item is spinning precariously into the rough edge of the beautifully lacquered armoire mirror. Tightening my jaw in arrant defiance, I extend my hands to catch it when my left leg trips me over the velvet rope and I am tumbling and hurtling and falling so fast that when gravity pulls me into its clutches, I find myself within centimeters against the fabled structure.

 

And beyond it when I notice that I am no longer in the dusky and solemn museum. My hands are scratched by the coarse cinereal brick road, I see the sunlight permeating this pathway and the place possesses a bustling atmosphere. I think I hear some children laughing, and I feel so confused because I didn’t actually think that this whole thing is possible in the first place. Precisely then a silhouette overshadows my hands, so I instinctively look up to identify the individual. I gulp when I realize that the person is the very same guy that has been watching me.

 

Before I could stop myself, a breathless laugh escapes my lips as I stand up in a hasty manner. Smoothing out the wrinkles in my hooded shirt, my eyes flicker to his being. This man has an admirable stature, a nonchalant look about him and his hair seems to be brownish-blackish in colour. Even so, as we truly look at each other, we both articulate disconcerting things simultaneously.

 

“Kim Jongwoon!”

 

“Im Jaehwa!”

 

Obviously, I am indubitably shocked at his tremendous accuracy but at least I’m not the only one feeling like that. The astonishment is displayed on his face, yet eventually we both start smiling. It looks like he is even shaking his head imperceptibly in pure disbelief. “How did you even…” is what I initially think of, but I didn’t really mind it after all. Our hands, they start to make their way towards each other to form a handshake but then we both pull our respective assets back. For me, it must be the tingling sensation on my cheeks that linger but for him, well — I don’t know. So it secretly delights me that Jongwoon averts his gaze temporarily out of apparent shyness since his face is starting to colour.

 

Yet he must have spotted something remarkable in doing so because the corners of his eyes soften and his mouth stretches into a winsome smile. The male grins in utter contentment until he looks at me again, losing that enlightened countenance immediately.  A sober expression dominates him. “Ah, Jaehwa…” mentions Jongwoon quietly. Maybe he is trying to ease the conversation, but obviously I ruin it due to a certain observation that I must point out.

 

“Jongwoon, do that again,” I insist as my eyes turn owlish in nature. He gives me a weird look. “Pardon?” he responds quizzically. Sighing childishly, I ask him to re-enact his earlier reaction, the one created when he was avoiding my attention. He blinks, obeying the random request from the long-sleeved hooded shirt me. The smile is nearly recaptured and I can’t help but to feel exceedingly ecstatic. “There!” I exclaim, indicating the smile he is wearing at the time of speaking. “You look really handsome when you smile like that.” The words are out before I can even consider their weight, so I smile anyway because it is the truth. His face turns scarlet for a moment or two before it fades.

 

“Y-You, is that how you introduce yourself to people?” questions Jongwoon with the slight furrowing of the brows. I bite my tongue, a little sad that this guy would probably think of me to be queer. Wait, why should I even care — But the sound of his musical chuckle resonates wondrously within my ears, and it causes me to watch him as he then speaks once more.

 

“Im Jaehwa — and his voice drops to a low whisper here — come with me.” His eyes crinkle in a mien that I find to be absolutely charming, specifically when he decides to fix such a grin onto himself. Since I fell into his world, I decide to go along with it. After all, I would probably be able to return through the mirror portal, right? Taking a quick glance at the rectangular object that hangs in a nearly straight position by the rainbow-coloured restaurant, my attention returns to Jongwoon and I nod enthusiastically to this offer. I am deathly certain that his countenance can never brighten up so amazingly like it did ever again after this fleeting moment.

 

Our first stop strangely turns out to be a makeshift stall that is selling various pastries. Kim Jongwoon patiently waits in line, evidently hoping to get some baked goods. Well, I find that logical and illogical at the same time. “Hey,” I ask with surmount caution. “Why are you buying food? Didn’t you eat lunch already?” That notion subsists because it is a quarter after two according to the town’s inky clock tower. This companion of mine has the nerve to casually admit that he only nibbled a cream biscuit or two during lunch hour. I am appalled. Of course he ends up hungry! “You should eat properly then,” is what I remark almost instantaneously.

 

A flicker of emotion is the response he gives me after placing his order. “Ah,” acknowledges Jongwoon with a guilt-ridden smile. “I suppose.” Though I wait for more words to manifest, surprisingly they do not. Instead, after neatly stepping out from the queue, this very person does the unexpected. He offers me a bun called the red bean bun. Honestly, it is more like he tosses the brown paper bag at me. “Aren’t you hungry?” is how I choose to protest as I peer into the packaging. To be frank, they look quite delicious. “Sharing is caring,” is what he decides to quip, and I find myself at a loss as to how I am supposed to beat that adage.

 

Before I could muster any plausible excuse, Kim Jongwoon approaches me and begins ripping the brown paper bag in half. My concerns are definitely raised at that abnormal act. He blinks in an endearing fashion before explaining tersely. “So that we don’t dirty the buns with our hands when we eat them,” answers the male as he carefully holds the bun in his hands with the baseless packaging. I could not refrain from laughing. “Now aren’t you a little silly?” I comment helplessly. “Aren’t the buns dirtying our hands instead?” Perhaps struck with a twinge of defiance, he does not reply and bites into the pastry with coloured cheeks. Deciding to imitate his manners, I do. And I find myself exceedingly overwhelmed by its rich flavour.

 

“This is amazing!” I say without thinking at all. Maybe noticing how I devoured it at an alarming speed, he observes me with great interest. “… You really don’t know the good things in life, now do you?” mentions Jongwoon blankly. That makes me squint at him judgingly. Of course I wouldn’t understand the things of this annoyingly compelling guy’s world. His comment almost stings me. Then he looks at me with a growing smirk. “Right,” he adds eventually, likely to have noticed the arrant truth in his proclamation. “We better get a move on, Jaehwa — oh, wipe that paste off your mouth before you forget.” Chuckling, he kindly sends his green checkered handkerchief in my way before walking further up ahead. I find myself obsessively rubbing that offending spot rather fiercely.

 

Whilst we are walking down the long street peacefully, he decides to dart aside for a few seconds. “Jongwoon—” is the name I verbalize, whipping my head in the apparent direction hastily because I fear losing him by accident. Coincidentally, he reappears with that roguish smile of his. In his hands, I note the arrival of a new item. It bursts in my face before I identify it. “A bubble blower!” I point out, partly livid and shocked. He affirms my observation, talks about having bought that plastic thing at a nearby stall on a whim. This person is impertinent enough to laugh at my reaction.

 

“What are you — a child?” I exclaim with a slight sulk. The he who continues blowing bubbles nods at first, but frowns afterwards. “I’d like to think so, but no,” murmurs Jongwoon soberly. “I’m forty, after all.” My eyes definitely dilate and every scintilla of my attention focuses on this man unwaveringly. My gaze does not attenuate and I cannot help but to wholly disbelieve his utterance. “W-What?” I vocalize lamely. Noticing my distraught self, Jongwoon tinkers a little with his incipient answer. “Alright, alright,” he amends with a cheerful attitude. “People always say that I look younger than my age. I’m twenty-nine this year.”

 

Albeit being authentic information, it is still seriously difficult to digest. I think it shows on my face because he proceeds to inquire me. “And you?” he asks in an informal tone, having the cheek to stoop down to my eye level. I stare at him dolefully. “Twenty-one,” I admit after a while, feeling defeated somehow. Which is really weird. He blinks in acknowledgement, smiling with pure mirth. “So between the two of us, you’re the kid, Jaehwa,” concludes Jongwoon with a breathless laugh as he turns away. I actually feel stupefied that something so trifle is bugging at me. Though abashed, I propose a question that has been gnawing at me since I arrived.

 

“Jongwoon, don’t you work?” is what I ask. “I mean, maybe not on a daily basis but…” For it is a Thursday — according to those poorly printed calendar extracts that are rudely pasted on derelict shop windows — and besides, I remember him watching for a long time now. At first, he seems to have not heard what I said since he is persistently trying to blow his fringe upwards for no apparent reason. I find it sort of weird and cute even though it is quite random. After failing miserably, he diverts his attention to me. “I’m a freelancer,” answers Jongwoon in a simple demeanour.

 

My zero knowledge of that particular word forces him to elucidate a little more. Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, he confesses something marvellous in the quietest of whispers. “I’m a freelance performer,” continues Jongwoon. “And my expertise is singing. I go by the name Yesung whenever I perform.” My eyes widen, b with newfound curiousity. To affirm his statement, the corners of his mouth tilt upwards and a melodious tune escapes him effortlessly. In spite of appearing sneaky about his profession earlier, now he is singing ever so loudly that people are giving him bizarre looks. Eventually, even I look at him admiringly because in spite of the massive volume, his voice is clearly trained and polished. So it saddens me when chooses to stop abruptly and run into some dodgy-looking area.

 

“Jongwoon?” I breathe hesitantly. Almost magically, he reappears by the dull doorway and beckons me to follow his lead. I do, slowly finding out that this is the arcade. After exchanging some money for game tokens, he chooses to insert all of the circular currency into a particular machine. Looks like he is only going to play this one game to entertain him or something. While I muse, it turns out that Kim Jongwoon is observing me in that cool manner again for the nth time before picking up a makeshift microphone that is attached to the machine set. “Just in case you think that I was kidding,” he utters solemnly. A small, “Eh?” and a confused smile is all he gets initially, but then I narrow my eyes at him when he hits the first note of the karaoke arcade machine perfectly.

 

“Yesung, that’s just plain showing off now,” I say sarcastically, and it irks me that even as he laughs at my remark, it does not stray from the original key. I would be a liar, however, if I do not admit this part of him to be exceedingly alluring.

 

“How was my singing?” is what he decides to ask after we exit the place. I smile honestly at him before rating his art to be six out of five stars. His eyes gleam. “Jaehwa, that is so benign of you to say—“ he mentions with the softness framing his expression when he decidedly disappears with the remaining words. Shaking my head in amusement, the smile on my face enlarges. Where did he scurry off now? I search for him, spotting his figure by the cotton candy vendor. “You’re going to eat again?” are the ungainly words that fall out of my mouth before I could do anything about it. His eyes flicker from the spun sugar to me in a despondent manner.

 

“I know that I’m probably the strangest person you’ve ever met,” assumes Jongwoon with an odd voice. “Having weird eating habits, strange antics, keeping pet turtles, rambling occasionally like this — you can name something aberrant and it’ll usually be true. So excuse me and I’m sorry for being the person who is accompanying you during your stay here.” Following that extemporaneous speech, he turns away and orders a stick of cotton candy. While he pays for the required fee, I contemplate on his words. When he returns, I look at him undauntedly. “But I think your supposed weirdness really makes you lovable…” is what I confess, and it is inevitable that we both flush in embarrassment. He looks at his shoes for a while before we walk down the lengthy streets in silence.

 

As he eats the cotton candy, I allow my eyes to wander to my surroundings. It is nearing five in the evening now, and some of the stall owners are beginning to pack up their items for the day. I suppose I’ll be returning by nightfall, I guess. The prospect of parting with this person is starting to feel very dear to me. I wonder why is that so. Out of cheekiness, I turn to my left to ask jokingly if he’d miss me after I leave when the cotton candy is a few centimeters apart from my face. Blinking, I glance wordlessly at him. He has done it again. He is offering me this sweet confectionery. Naturally, I reach out to hold it by the stick when he pulls away rather swiftly. My cheeks redden then, feeling awkward for misinterpreting the situation. I watch my sneakers as we walk, the raw emotions eating me from the inside when unmistakably, the pink candy floss appears in my line of sight again.

 

With immense hesitancy, I look to Jongwoon, but he does not provide me with a clear answer. He just gives me that sort of vulnerable gaze before using his brownish-blackish fringe to hide his eyes. I gulp at a certain notion that exists in my mind, finding it to be absolutely ridiculous and impossible. Yet I know that this is the one thing I cannot question aloud. It just is. Taking one last uncertain look at him, I lean forward slightly, expecting to be greeted with humiliation. Instead, my mouth finds a clump of cotton candy. I blush anyway. It is rather quaint, considering how he is holding the treat for me. I know that sharing is caring, but this type of conduct feels intimate — yet on a strangely comfortable level. I am aware of his capricious ways, but something tells me that this has more feeling and intent in it. I wonder incessantly.

 

Is this how he speaks I love you? Biting another mouthful of cotton candy, I chew properly as I watch him quietly. And I can guarantee that the joy of his heart reaches his eyes, pulling his lips into a full grin. The subtle amount of colouring on his cheeks makes him all the more appealing to me. So much that I have to turn the other way. Did I really end up falling for such an erratic person?

 

Then my eyes catch a glimpse of an incredibly shiny object from afar. My feet instinctively direct themselves there in a clumsy and quick fashion, and I find myself constantly fighting to maintain a proper balance. I vaguely remember skipping steps and leaping over platforms. At last, I scoop the sparkling item in my hands and remain amazed because it turns out to be my one and only keepsake. Staring at the runaway orb, I wonder about what would have happened if I returned without it. A chill runs down my spine because that thought is extremely terrifying. “Jaehwa!” Jongwoon calls, his expression showing much tiredness. I flash a quick smile, partly entertained by the turn of events. Perhaps he is unsettled about the fact that I am the unpredictable one right now. With a frown, he reaches out to me in a rigid and tensed manner.

 

“Im Jaehwa, you better get away immediately,” he warns cryptically with an unnatural voice. Since I don’t move, he edges closer and grabs my right hand — when he doesn’t because he fails to brush against anything tangible.

 

Our eyes flicker to each other’s simultaneously with an involuntary shock, and I have come to realize that deep down in my heart, I have always known that this occurrence is inevitable. For I have always been the one watching him from the other side, noticing him since the very first time I stepped into that ancient museum. I think, upon descrying his dark and moody exterior, I considered the miracle of his smile. So when I fell into his world, I count my blessings for meeting Kim Jongwoon face to face. Despite having the spell of innocence shattered into infinitesimal pieces, I feel a new wave of something unfathomable approaching me. With the distant wail of a transportation ringing in my ears, memories consume me.

 

“You are my favourite cloud on a cloudy day,” is what I remember saying to Kim Jongwoon as my fingers run through his brownish-blackish hair. He chuckles helplessly before pushing the offending hand away good-naturedly, comfortably sitting next to me on the luxurious couch. “And what is that supposed to mean?” he inquires, the blithe emotion evident in his articulation. “Some pick-up line?” I permit him to place an arm around my shoulder before answering honestly. “Mmh, just what it is supposed to mean,” is how I choose to reply him “After all, you are my cloud prince.”

 

Blinking that random recollection away, I suppose I called him cloud prince because it has something to do with the shortening of his stage name. Even as he tries to make his way to me again, people are starting to gather at the crossroad and my feet are stuck frozen to the ground. Noticing the desperation in his gimlet eyes, it makes me speculate as to who I have been in his life. A sister; a neighbour — a best friend? My guesses are wrong because a twinge of excruciating pain jolts my being. As the stray papers on the cold ground begin their ascension in the air, another incident temporarily pulls my mind under ever so strongly that his voice no longer reaches me

 

Receiving a tap on my shoulder, I turn around to meet him with a bouquet of flowers. I recall gasping at their beauty and his handsome appearance in formal wear. “Happy 21^st birthday, Im Jaehwa,” he greets with a roguish smile, presenting the aforementioned bouquet. “Thank you for being my beautiful princess.” While that, he distracts me with a chaste kiss on the cheek before placing the tiny hidden crown in the bouquet on the top of my head.

 

Back in the present for a moment or two, I realize that eighty-eight plus ninety-two equals to a hundred and eighty degrees. A flatline.

 

This recollection is especially vivid to me. The interior of the olden train, the abrupt halt. The sickening sound of a massive crash. I am lying down on the flooring, looking up into his glassy eyes. “Hey,” is what I remember telling him strenuously. “Brighten up, won’t you?” Even now, I am able to picture the ruined atmosphere with intricate detail. Doors hanging flaccidly, train handles surviving by a loose limb and wrecked lighting. My left hand traces his bloodstained face longingly before continuing. “My cloud prince is not supposed to cry…” are the words I whisper as his tears begin their melancholic descent.

 

I am struck by the revelation that my living counterpart is dead, and so I do not exist at all. For a shadow cannot continue their plight when their being meets the end, likewise the comparison of a reflection and its person. So when the passenger train collides into me, I feel utterly empty and hollow for there is nothing substantial to perceive. The crowd, they forcefully pull him back to a safer area while he screams in unbearable agony for his profusely bleeding right hand that still tried to reach out for me in distress. As the people reprimand him for being crazy, for attempting to re-enact the freak accident that took place four years ago, the spare connection we share causes our eyes to interlock.

 

With broken hearts, we both know with lethal perspicuity that this is never truly meant to happen.

 

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Greetings! In case you are wondering, this story is actually inspired by the aforementioned mirror that lingers in my house, aha.

Well, I would like to thank you for taking the time to read my oneshot. It is rather lengthy, after all.

I hope you enjoyed it and if you are willing, do leave a comment below about this piece. Of course, if you choose not to, rest assured that I will not find myself exceedingly vexed.

Have a nice day now, ^-^/