[01] SIRENSONG, the cure
it could have been her crystal eyes that made me stop

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.

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She looked as awkward and out-of-place as a sea cucumber would be in a nightclub.

No actual enthusiasm in her heart to go out and see Seoul’s youngest and wildest, she was there just out of an invitation from a friend of another friend.

“Come,” they said, “it’ll be fun,” they said.

She ignored the crowds swaying to some Diplo. Instead, what she did was she went straight away to hide herself in a corner and some darkness. Sipping cola, a little whiskey, her fingers fiddled with the edge of her tight skirt. You’re uptight all the time, K. I like you this way.

She wanted to go home already, to curl up into a ball of mess under her expensive Egyptian cotton bedding. She could not dance and sway to Diplo; EDM was not her genre; fun was not a friend; and hands that would try and touch her were, above all, enemies. You don’t like a lot of things, do you, K?

She wanted home and her cheeks were burning pink—a perfect combination of alcohol—discomfort—and something else unmentionable. You’re never going to forget me, K. Come on, we both know that perfectly well.

She was in the process of not crying when someone walked in on her and faltered—stumbled—tripped—

And fell.

Or almost fell. He managed to catch himself just in time.

“Are you okay?” she asked out of courtesy.

He snorted out a laugh. “A bit embarrassed, but yes,” he searched for the source of the voice, “I’m fine, generally, yes.” No.

(Faltered—)

He tried not looking at her bare legs, an arm crossed against the chest, a half-full Collins glass on her one grip. He felt his heartbeat—vulnerably—oh so pathetically quicken, so he looked up and saw her face.

(Faltered—stumbled—)

(Tripped—)

Later in his bed he would think back and realize that oxygen was scarce in crimson eyeballs. Now, however, he just knew that she looked like a pretty little thing, like a Barbie doll but in distress, Jack and Coke, soft red veins crawling out of black irises.

“Are you really okay?” she asked again.

(Tripped.)

He did not answer her inquiry with a mortified snort of his this time. Instead, what he did was he took one step forward, letting her see him under the dim light that pierced through the corner. “Yeah.” No. Heartbeat racing, a lack of air in his head, he continued, “Hello, Krystal Jung.”

Her grips on the glass and on her tight skirt became a little tighter. The crowds were still swaying and fun was still not her friend. She was uptight as hell as she furrowed her eyebrows. “Oh.”

Quiet settled between them.

Under her scrutiny he tried to look cool even though his heart was pounding hard against his ribs. He contemplated if he should ask her if she was okay. In the end, though, he decided against it. Krystal Jung was a pretty little thing. It was written all over her black irises, TREAT WITH CARE.

She blinked her eyes once, then twice. She tightened her fists again and as her fingertips paled, she banished the quiet, whispering, “You?”

His smile was small and cautious. “Me?”

She sighed and leaned her back against the wall. A fleeting glance hovered over his feature for one last time, then she cleared . “Please don’t tak