smoking and curses.
also the girl that comes later is nayoung.

It’s raining but she doesn’t have an umbrella.

The bus shelter keeps her moderately dry, if you don’t count the blotches of rain seeping into her jacket, turning red to maroon. She tucks a wet lock behind her ear, her head to the side and lights up a cigarette.

Dirt-lined sneakers scratching against concrete, stress leaving her lips in puffs of white smoke. The thin stick of ember hangs loosely from her slim fingers and pretty pale skin.

She’s waiting for someone.

And her brows draws creases into her skin, folding into impatience and irritation when she realises it’s been more than an hour since she arrived.

Her free hand digs into a pocket, pulling out a phone. She punches the numbers into a cracked screen, having remembered them by heart.

The number you’ve dialed is currently unavailable--

She tries again.

The number you’ve dialed--

“Useless er.” For once she speaks, the words pronounced like an open wound. She tilts her head back, taking another long drag on her cigarette. It wasn’t a surprise, at least it shouldn’t feel like one.

And it doesn’t, she makes sure by gritting her teeth and hardening her heart.

But the images still flood in, made-up scenes of Sejeong with her arms around another faceless girl, familiar lips pressed against different necks. Today was supposed to be the day she left that behind, the day she spat every insult she could muster at the girl who once held her heart.

But you can’t pull triggers at someone who isn’t present.

Like always, in the arms of another, but never here. The thought of her stinks like foreign perfume, and not even the smell of smoke clears her head.

“You look like .”

Hana turns at the sound of a voice, glazed eyes meeting kohl-black ones. This girl isn’t Sejeong, was her first thought.

“What do you want?”

But the girl doesn’t answer her question.

“Smoking doesn’t suit you. It makes you look less pretty.” She says instead as she steps into the shelter, shaking the droplets from her umbrella, the same inscrutable smile still etched on her face. And Hana holds back a tch, before deliberately taking another drag on her cigarette.

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” She shot back, returning the smile. But the girl doesn’t answer again, her eyes fixated on watching the wet pavement and busy roads as she folds her umbrella.

A pause passes between them.

Then the girl turns, her attention returning to Hana, her hands wet with rain.

“Why haven’t you gotten on a bus yet?”

Hana swallows down a lie.

“It hasn’t arrived.”

“Hmmmm…” The girl raises her brows, obviously not buying it. A small smile still plays on her lips, and it makes her look as though she found something amusing about their conversation.

“What bus are you waiting for?”

The lie comes back up .

“53.” She picks out a random number from her head and the girl nods in response, folding her arms. And so they wait, for how long Hana doesn’t keep track. But she remembers how it makes her feel.

Heavy.

Annoyed.

Honestly, downright--what the does she want?

When bus 53 comes Hana doesn’t get on it and the girl next to her only hums, the sound of her voice honeyed with triumph. ing annoying.

Hana grits her teeth as she pulls out another stick, the old ember crushed under the sole of her dirty sneaker. But the girl swiftly takes it from her lips and pressed it between her own, red lipstick smeared on a white roll.

“Light it.” She beckons Hana over with a finger, her smile widening when the girl walks over reluctantly.

Her hands reach out with a lighter and the smell of the girl’s rose perfume enters Hana’s head like a thick cloud; she realises that they hadn’t stood this close since graduating from high school together.

For some reason the sight of the girl taking a drag on her cigarette keeps Hana looking, and she notices more things like how her skin looked tanner against her pink hair, or how her contact lenses was a subtle shade of grey.

“Why do you like this?” The girl frowns at the cigarette, looking genuinely confused. “Tastes like .”

Hana shrugs.

“I don’t, and shut up.”

Another pauses passes between them.

The girl opens her umbrella again and swings it slightly. For a moment they watch the rain together and Hana almost forgets that she’s waiting.

“The person you’re waiting for, she ain’t coming.” Even though they both know the truth, it still cuts into the silence like glass shards. “I’m telling you, she ain’t coming.”

Hana could only bring herself to nod, gaze stubbornly fixated on the rain, the blood rushing through her veins screaming salt salt salt.

“So stop waiting for her."

“I’m not.” Hana snaps back, for once turning to glare at her without reservations. That sickly smile still played on those red lips. Like she was amused, like there was something funny about something, Hana doesn’t even know what and it was annoying as heck.

“You know what, just leave me alone. Just ing go.”

The girl hums again, thinking. The sound of her voice light in the rain.

“Okay, suit yourself.”

Red heels scratching against wet concrete, her pink hair stays dry under the shelter of her umbrella when she leaves. The handle gripped softly by a pale hand and pretty skin, a wave coming from her free hand. 

Hana ignores it and takes another long drag on her cigarette. 

But this time the smoke tastes sweet on her tongue, and a pack of 25 cent bubble gum stays tucked in her pocket.