04: dream a little

Mingyu waits patiently for Irene to answer after he has knocked on her door. She invited him for dinner a few days ago, and since she had shown him so much kindness, he accepted though he had a load of work to do as well as fatigue to battle.

The door opens and he straightens up.

“Hey,” Irene greets him with a smile. She looks out of place again—wearing a bright yellow dress with white stripes. It doesn’t fit in with the drab brown and grays of their apartment building, but if Irene was to wear anything else, then she wouldn’t fit in with herself. “Come in.”

Mingyu takes his first steps within her apartment and his mouth drops once he sees that it’s nothing like his. She has a lot more furniture than she does, and the entire thing looks a lot cleaner too. In fact, he can’t spot a single thing out of place. And if there was something out of place, it looked too clandestine not to be intentional.

While her furniture doesn’t look like it came out of the Ikea catalog, they lookhomier. The couch’s cushions are not perfect or extremely soft looking, but they have a “gently used with a lot of history” look to them. Even the wood on her drawers did not seem glossy with a seal, but they look like they’d make a really satisfying sound if you knocked on them.

“I hope you enjoy Chinese takeout,” Irene says, already pulling out a chair at her dinner table.

“I definitely don’t mind.” Secretly, Mingyu is surprised that she would go for something as lowkey and simple like Chinese takeout. It feels more like Irene to go buy French pastries, but he’s in no place to make judgement.

“So,” Irene starts as she pushes a foam box towards him, “I just wanted to check in with you.”

That’s right; after Mingyu had his embarrassing meltdown only last week, Irene asked him if it was alright to him to come visit her every so often to “check in.” At first, he didn’t know what she meant until she reached out to him asking how his day went and if he was worried about anything. It felt nice—having someone ask him if he was simply doing well, so he complied, and now he’s eating dinner with her.

“I’m doing alright.” Mingyu shrugs, digging into his egg rolls. (He wonders if Americans know what real Chinese food is like.) “I’m tired from today. There was a lot of walking in the library to look for books.”

“I thought you had a study group. With those two boys you’re always with. Didn’t they help out?”

“Oh,” Mingyu mumbles to himself. After his exchange with Wonwoo, he hasn’t been talking to him or Seungcheol. While he has texted Vernon every now and then, he tries to avoid them all entirely. (It’s difficult to cut yourself off from people you see every day.) “I haven’t been talking to them.”

Irene stops eating. “Why not? Aren’t they your best friends?”

“Well, yeah, but you know how it is. Things change.”

“What do you mean? Did something happen?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Things just changed. They brought in someone to replace me, and I guess I’m okay with that.”

“Replace you?”

“Yeah,” Mingyu chuckles humorlessly. “They bring him in to every single plan we have. It used to be about the three of us, but now it’s about the three of them—and I’m just here. So, yeah,” he sighs softly, “things change.”

Irene frowns, and she digs into her Chow Mein for the meat. “Did you try talking to them?”

“Yeah, but arguments happen, and I’m not about to give attention or effort to people who don’t care.”

“Mingyu,” Irene states his name as if to scold him, “I’ve seen you with your friends. You three seem very close to me. It’s hard to believe that something like that can just change. Things like friendship don’t just change. They change to a myriad of things, sure, but they don’t change on a whim.” Irene sets down her chopsticks and places her soft hand over Mingyu’s. The very motion causes him to pause and look up. “You should talk to your friends. You shouldn’t forget the years or months you’ve had with them over some dumb argument.”

He looks at Irene with eyes that feel droopy. One part of him wants to tell her that it really doesn’t matter at this point. This part of him isn’t screaming it, but it’s whispering its desires to him, and a quiet voice is always more pleasing to listen to. But the other part of him is a thorn in his heart that silently weeps for him to listen to Irene. Because he doesn’t want to be lonely, he nods.

“Okay.”

Irene narrows her eyes. “That’s it? That’s all that it’ll take you?” Mingyu thinks she’ll scoff at him, but she doesn’t. She smiles. “If it takes only conversation to change your mind, then it means your mind was never made up.”

Mingyu manages a small smile that he can’t suppress. Irene laughs in front of him, and it warms him up. He’s tired, sure, but this gives him energy.

- - - - -

After walking downstairs to throw out the trash, Mingyu walks up the stairs the same time Dean does.

“Hey,” Dean wheezes as Mingyu skips a few steps, “kid, why the hell are you walking so fast for? You got some important meeting up there?”

“No,” Mingyu replies, shaking his head and slowing down his steps. “I’m just trying to get back so I can get more sleep.” He observes Dean’s gasps and frowns. “Dean, maybe you should consider getting out more often. You’re so out of shape that you can’t even go up the stairs without getting winded.”

“Hey,” Dean snaps, “that’s not my fault. I can’t afford a gym membership, and I don’t work in a convenience store doing slave work.”

Mingyu continues to frown. “Whatever, I guess. How have you been?”

“Oh, so now you want to ask me how I’ve been?”

Mingyu purses his lips, remembering what his most prominent exchange with Dean was. Dean had tried to reach out to him, and because Mingyu was an , he shot down his friendship. He’d take it back if he could, but now the only thing he has is an apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said on the rooftop.” Mingyu hangs his head low as he and Dean slowly make their way up the stairs. The elevator is currently undergoing repairs, but Mingyu doesn’t mind having to take so many steps to apologize. “I wasn’t in the right state of mind. Everything was so suffocating, and it felt like you were trying to smother me though that wasn’t the case.”

Dean coughs, wheezing after he does so. “Ah,” he breathes, “you know what? It’s not even a big deal anymore. We all have our days.”

“So, we’re good?”

“Of course.” Dean glares at Mingyu with his narrow eyes. “We’re ing friends, right?”

Mingyu laughs at Dean’s familiar hostility. That’s perhaps one of the best qualities about Dean. There’s something about that’s particularly cynical yet real.

“Yes, we’re friends Dean. How’s your music coming along?”

“Great.” Dean coughs, and they pause at the next stairwell for him to catch his breath. “I still have a lot to write, but it’s going great.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to be the star of my short film?” Mingyu teases Dean. He knows that Dean will laugh and shake his head, but it’s worth a try.

“No,” Dean, as expected, says with a smile. “I’m just a boring dude. Maybe you should do it on Irene. She’s more interesting than me and more photogenic. Or,” Dean lowers his voice, “do it on Jennie Kim. I bet she has a sugar daddy.”

“Dean.” Mingyu frowns at the suggestion. “Jennie hates me.”

“The people that hate you always have the best stories about you.” Dean shrugs and they continue walking up the stairs. “Do you even know how to make a film, kid? You always have your nose tucked into books, but none of them are about filmmaking.”

“I don’t know. There’s you, right? You’ve never read a book about music theory, yet here you are.”

“And what’s your point? Dumb people make good stuff too?”

“No.” Mingyu cracks a smile. “As long as you what you love with passion, it’ll turn out well.”

“,” Dean murmurs. “The hell are you getting all this stuff from? It’s like you read the Bible or something.”

Before Mingyu can come up with a witty remark, they walk past the none other Jennie Kim. Tonight, for whatever reason, her blonde hair is curled and shiny—like the diamonds or whatever sparkles on her thigh-high dress. She dons a thick, fur coat around her shoulders, making her look more disdainful than she usually does. Mingyu goes speechless at the sight of her elegance because it’s something he has only seen in movies.

“What?” Jennie snaps at the two of them. “You act like you’ve never seen a woman before.”

That’s the only thing she says before she continues to walk down the stairs, her heels clicking as she does so. She leaves a sweet-smelling perfume behind her, and it gently tickles Mingyu in the nose, as if it invites him to run down after her.

Mingyu and Dean stand in silent for another few seconds before Mingyu turns to him. Dean is no longer wheezing, and he has a blank gaze resting upon his features.

“Jesus can me in the ,” Dean mumbles to himself, leaving Mingyu in a great deal of confusion.

- - - - -

Mingyu feels his stomach churn and churn as he watches Wonwoo and Vernon talking from afar. He has been thinking about this nearly all week and the past week. All he wants is to apologize and maybe take them up on whatever offer they want—regardless if it’s about going to the museum with Seungcheol or just roaming the streets.

Finally, when his heart feels like it wants to rip his chest apart just to punch him in the face, Mingyu drags his feet over to them.

“Hey, guys.” Mingyu pinches the skin on his leg through his jeans to keep his voice steady. “I’m sorry for what I did a few weeks ago. It was really stupid of me of to get jealous.” His voice begins to shake when his two friends look at him with unblinking eyes. “But in the end, y-you guys are my friends, and I love you both. If it’s alright with you, I want to talk to you guys again.”

Vernon and Wonwoo continue to stares, and Mingyu wonders about jumping off that bridge in Brooklyn.

“Are you kidding?” Wonwoo says after another nerve-wrecking second. “Dude, you don’t have to apologize. You’re our brother, of course, it’s okay.” He purses his lips and averts eye contact for a second. “And to be honest, I’ve been wanting to say the same for the past week and a half now.”

“Really?” The relief Mingyu feels exceeds all other forms of relief that he’s encountered.

“Yeah, dude.” Vernon shrugs, a wide smile on his face. “It’s no big deal. We’ve been through hell and we’ll go through hell again.”

“But r-really? I thought that—”

“It’s fine, bro.” Wonwoo waves Mingyu’s worries away. “We were in the wrong too. We just let in an outsider into our group and left you out without even thinking about it. That wasn’t right, and you deserved better.”

“Mhm.” Vernon murmurs. Although he’s wearing a turtleneck, Mingyu can still see the dark marks on his neck, reminding him of all the troubles they’ve gone through in the past year alone. “So… Why don’t we go to the library? Seungcheol’s waiting for us.”

“Alright.” Mingyu smiles. He’s more than glad that everything’s alright now. “Let’s go.”

And they walk off to the library in their signature walk. Vernon to Mingyu’s left and Wonwoo to Mingyu’s right. It’s just right.

- - - - -

Irene sits across from Mingyu as they enjoy another dinner together. This time, they’re in Mingyu’s apartment, and instead of Chinese takeout, Mingyu asked Mr. Lee for a few Korean dishes.

“So,” Irene asks Mingyu, “how was your day?”

“It was good.” Mingyu’s lips curl up as today’s events run through his mind. “I finally apologized to Wonwoo and Vernon, and I thought it was going to be the worst thing ever­­­—having to apologize. But it turns Wonwoo had wanted to do the same.”

Irene’s eyes light up. “That’s amazing, Gyu!” Mingyu blushes at the sound of his nickname on her tongue. “I told you that it was going to be alright.”

“Yeah, thanks for that.” Mingyu looks back down to his Styrofoam takeout box and tries his best to suppress his smile.

They eat in a comfortable silence for another few minutes, with Irene staring off at the wall—no doubt thinking about her own day—and Mingyu staring at Irene. The yellow light of Mingyu’s lamp is unattractive, but on a face like Irene’s, the light seems to cause her to glow.

“Hey, Irene?” Mingyu breaks the silence.

“Yeah?”

“Can I take a picture of you?” he blurts out. When Irene raises her brows in question, Mingyu stutters to undo any damage. “I need to submit a film for film school, and I-I-I just— You—”

Irene starts to giggle, and she covers . “It’s fine, Mingyu. I was just surprised. No one’s ever asked to take a picture of me.”

Really? I wonder why, Mingyu thinks to himself.

Without another word, Mingyu nearly trips over his long legs as he runs to get his camera on the shelf. When he comes back, Irene is still trying to eat, but she can’t stop giggling. It doesn’t faze Mingyu, however, and he likes the fact that she can’t keep still. She tries to make eye contact with him, but she can’t bring herself to, so she looks directly into the camera. At that, Mingyu feels a small part of him melt.

“Are you done?” Irene giggles through her words. Her cheeks are a slight shade of pink at this point.

“No,” Mingyu lies, pretending to fix the focus of the camera lens. He doesn’t want to be “done” just yet.

- - - - -

“Hey, Irene?”

She looks up from her book (Pride and Prejudice). “What’s up?”

“Do you have any family?”

Mingyu doesn’t think the answer is sudden since they’ve known each other for a while now, but Irene purses and seems to think about it.

“I have a mother,” Irene finally says. Mingyu waits for her to elaborate or add an anecdote within her answer, but to his surprise, she says nothing after and only continues to read her book.

“That’s it?” Mingyu ponders out loud. “You didn’t have any siblings? What’s your mother like? What about your father?”

Irene sighs quietly and she puts her book down in her lap. Mingyu sits only a few feet away from her, so he can see very clearly how her eyes start to stare at a random point in the distance. The cool wind flows around them, and below, a group of people pass by their apartment building.

“I was an only child,” Irene murmurs, the wind nearly blotting out her words. “I don’t know what happened to my father; my mother said one day he walked out and never came back.” Irene shrugs. “And my mother… Well, she’s very ill, and she doesn’t remember me anymore.”

Mingyu puts his pencil down in his lap so it doesn’t fall through the fire escape. He thinks about what Irene just said and how she managed to say it all without it making her voice crack.

“Why do you ask?” Irene asks while Mingyu looks at her in awe.

“N-No reason,” Mingyu confesses. “You just—you never talk about your personal life, and I just got curious, that’s all.”

Irene smiles as if to calm him.

“It’s okay, Mingyu. I don’t have much secrets. I just don’t talk about the things in my past life. I mean, I came here for a reason, and that’s for a fresh start.”

“Fair enough.” Mingyu nods. He had his fresh start a long time ago, and even then, he didn’t want to talk about how poor he was to anyone—not even his counselors. “Thanks for telling me.”

“It’s not a problem,” Irene replies in her smooth voice.

- - - - -

Dean and Mingyu are walking up the stairs again since the elevator still hasn’t been fixed. While Mingyu doesn’t mind, Dean is still wheezing and complaining.

“I’m honestly tired of this bull. I can’t believe this ing bull dumb ing ,” Dean spits out a string of curses like he’s rapping them. “The ing landlord couldn’t even hire a few more workers to speed up the process. What kind of headassery is this? There’s so many people who need to go up and down, and not to mention, there’s 15 ing floors.”

Mingyu just twiddles his thumb as he listens to his friend curse and curse. If there’s anything Dean is passionate about, it’s ranting and music.

As they walk past the ninth floor, they come across Jennie Kim. Mingyu braces himself for the bout of insults that will surely spill out of , but to his surprise and confusion, she only glances at them before continuing to descend the stairs.

“What the hell was that?” Mingyu nudges Dean. “Did you see that?”

“Jennie Kim? Yeah, I saw her.”

“Did you notice how she just looked at us? Without actually making fun of us?”

“Hm,” Dean murmurs. “I wonder why.”

“Yeah, same.” Mingyu muses to himself. In all his years at this apartment building, Jennie has always told him off for the dumbest things. It’s strange that today is the one exception.

- - - - -

“Whoa, dude, what the hell?” Vernon fishes through Mingyu’s fridge. “Where’d you get all this food? I literally opened this for some water, and the next thing I know, you have cold lasagna? Since when did you start cooking American food?”

“Oh,” Mingyu absentmindedly replies, “Irene wanted to try something.”

“Irene?” Vernon shuts the fridge and sits across from Mingyu. “Your hot neighbor?”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “She’s just my neighbor, Vernon.”

“But she’s hot.”

“Sure.”

“Well, damn,” Vernon remarks. He reopens his textbook. “Your hot neighbor is cooking for you. That’s, like, pretty hot by itself. I wish someone would cook for me.”

Mingyu lays his pencil down for a few seconds, wondering about what Vernon just said. It really has been a while since they had enjoyed a homecooked meal. No matter how good people say 5-star gourmets are, nothing can compare to the simple pleasure of eating something homecooked.

“For Christmas, you should come over,” Mingyu tells Vernon. “I’m sure Irene is free. We can cook for you, Wonwoo, and Seungcheol.”

Vernon’s head snaps up.

“Bro, what?” Vernon raises his brows and opens his mouth to form an o-shape. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” Mingyu shrugs, not at all minding the thought of having too much people in his small apartment. “Irene’s really nice too. She won’t mind. I think she’ll actually like you all.”

“Damn, well, if she’s chill with it, then I’m chill with it.”

Mingyu cracks a smile. “Sounds good. Clear your calendar.”

They both chuckle at that. As if they ever had anywhere to go during the holidays.

- - - - -

Mingyu is jotting down a few notes for his short film as he walks through the empty hallways of the 11th floor. It’s about 2AM now, but he couldn’t sleep, and it wasn’t like anyone would hear his quiet footsteps as they paced back and forth. (He would have stayed out on his fire escape, but it’s freezing outside, and he can’t focus if he’s shivering the entire time.)

“Goodnight.”

Mingyu freezes when he hears a muffled voice through one of the doors. Just when he thinks he’s discovered a ghost, the door to one of the hallways starts to open. Somehow scared of being discovered muttering to himself and scribbling in his text book, Mingyu hides behind the corner of a wall and crouches down, holding his breath and trying to still his heartbeats.

“Goodnight, Jennie.”

Goodnight, Jennie?

A figure walks past Mingyu’s hiding spot, and he peers up at it to verify its identity, and to the confirmation of his doubts, it’s the none other Dean Kwon.

Mingyu holds his breath as he watches Dean’s figure retreat further down the hallway. He has a lot of questions as to why his friend is at Jennie Kim’s apartment at this hour, but he’ll have to keep them to himself until then.

- - - - -

“What are you doing?” Irene asks Mingyu when he points his camera towards her. “I’m literally reading a book, Mingyu.”

“I know.” He shrugs. (He wants to say something smart like you don’t know if I’m filming you.) “Just keep reading.”

Irene places her book down and gives him a stern look, raising one brow at him.

“Tell me more about you and film school. Why do you want to get in so bad if you’re studying this hard to graduate and become a lawyer?”

“It just makes me happy, and I don’t know—not much makes me happy these days.” Mingyu sits on the chair by her small table and fiddles around with the settings of the camera. “I like to create stuff, you know? I’m not a decent writer, so I can’t really make good stories that way. But I feel like films can make better stories anyway, and they can evoke so much emotion.”

“You’re very passionate,” Irene notes and Mingyu smiles that she noticed. “It’s good that you have goals like that. But that doesn’t explain why you’re so intent on doing something else.”

“Well…” Mingyu rubs the back of his neck, unable to explain why himself. “I have to make money somehow, don’t I? Unfortunately, to make films, you can’t just do it. You have to have some sort of footing first.”

Irene’s are wide and curious, making her look like she belongs in a movie.

“You’re very dedicated then, aren’t you?”

“Sure.”

Irene laughs, picks up her book, and smiles at him.

“So what’s your film about? I already know it has me in it.”

Mingyu blushes and looks back down at his camera as to not make eye contact with her. When she smiles like that, a part of him wants to stand still and just admire her in her entirety.

“Well, I was curious about you when you first moved here.”

“Is that so?”

He chuckles to himself. “Yes.” Now all his curiosity seems silly. There was nothing to be afraid of when it came to Irene. She’s just like anyone else. (Except better.) “Dean and I wondered about you for a quick minute, and I’d always see you around.”

“What did you think of me?”

Mingyu blushes again, but he brushes it off with a laugh.

“Well, Dean called you hot several times, and I…” Mingyu pauses, remembering his first encounter with Irene. He met her that night he was drunk and stumbling in the hallway. And then a few days (or weeks, he doesn’t remember) later, he saw her crying through her window. “Um,” he tries to start again, “I was just curious as to why you were moving here. Mostly, everyone who moves here is at a halfway point in their lives where they’re not much but will be.”

“Really? You don’t think I’m at a halfway point in my life?”

“I don’t know—really.” Mingyu admits, suddenly feeling shy that he’s telling Irene all this. “It feels like you’re just here, you know? Like this is some sort of vacation for you.”

Irene raises her brows and sets her book down again. “What do you mean?”

“Irene,” Mingyu smiles to ease his nerves, “there’s no one that I’ve ever met that comes close to who you are. You’re… Sometimes I wonder if you stepped out of a movie, and because I met you, something good will happen to me.”

Irene makes a small noise and rises from her couch. She walks over to Mingyu and gives him a strong hug that seems to be impossible considering her small frame. Her very action surprises him, and he struggles to hug her back. There seems to be something fragile about her, and it’s not because of her relative size.

“Mingyu, you are so sweet and lovely.” Irene giggles in his ear and pulls away to reveal a shining smile. “That is the nicest thing someone’s ever said about me, and,” she laughs a little, “people used to say a lot. Just…” She presses her smile into a thin line. “I think you just needed a friend, and I think I did too, so I’m glad this happened.”

“Me too.”

Irene steps backward and picks her book up.

“Let’s not film me reading a book. That’s boring. Let’s go out to Central Park.”

And so they do, Irene leading the way, Mingyu a few steps back, admiring the view that is her.

- - - - -

Tell me, baby, what’s your story? Where you come from and where you wanna go this time?

Mingyu frowns at the voice singing. His eyes move over to the clock. It’s only 6 in the morning, yet it sounds like Dean is already up and about. With slow steps, Mingyu rises from his bed and stretches his legs. The past week had been busy, and he sure missed talking to his cynical friend—even if it was about music Mingyu couldn’t understand.

After getting changed into his day clothes, Mingyu heads over to the fire escape where Dean’s voice is the loudest. To his surprise, however, Dean isn’t in his usual place on the floor below him. Instead, Dean is in the strangest of places.

He’s on Jennie Kim’s fire escape.

Mingyu’s mouth drops when he sees the two of them sitting cross-legged on her fire escape with Dean serenading her with a soft guitar solo. Jennie has the widest smile on her face, and though Dean is looking down at his guitar as he plays, Mingyu can still see how his cheeks have stretched upwards—signaling his own smile.

Hm. Mingyu thinks to himself. Now he knows why Dean said that strange thing—“Jesus can me in the ” a few days ago. Dean said that particular event could happen the day he found Jennie Kim beautiful. Apparently, that day has long since passed.

- - - - -

“Irene, do you miss living in Korea?”

She lifts her eyes up from her book.

“Maybe you should keep studying instead of talking to me, but yeah, sometimes I do.”

“What do you do about it?”

“What do you mean? What do I do to stop the ‘missing’ feeling?”

Mingyu nods. “Yeah. For me,” he sighs, “I miss a lot of what Korea has that New York doesn’t. And it’s everywhere. I miss walking on empty roads of my small town. I miss knowing everyone. How do you stop feelings that hurt you everywhere you go?”

“To be honest, you can’t.” Irene’s words are surprisingly blunt. “The hurt always comes but it always leaves. Remember that. You just have to bite your tongue and trudge through.” After a pause, she adds, “I’m sorry it’s not easier.”

“Don’t apologize.” Mingyu shrugs, closing his textbook. “It’s not your fault. It’s the ing world’s.”

“Hey, don’t curse in my apartment.”

Mingyu chuckles. Somehow, he likes the little things Irene does—such as reprimand him for cursing.

“Are you missing Korea right now?” he asks. “Or anything?”

“I don’t ‘miss’ Korea,” Irene air-quotes the word miss, “per se. There’s a lot in it that I don’t like. For example, there you can’t get a tan. It’s totally stupid which I don’t like.” She shakes her head and closes her book too. “I like the food, though. Going shopping in Gangnam was fun. Korea has redeemable things. But,” she bites her lips almost hesitatingly, “what I miss the most are the people.”

“Friends and family? Or general attitude? Because New Yorkers are rude.”