///

Picture this: A night out cruising on the highway, rolling in the classiest, sleekest two-seater you can dream of. Passing the quiet cityscape on a clear road, flooded by sunset orange street lights; not another car in sight.

On your passenger seat, the loveliest, most highly sought-after woman in South Korea.

Kim ‘Seola’ Hyun-jung.

Warm streaks of light through deep rose strands, dripping onto black fabric like honey over melted butter. Weary eyelashes fluttering atop distant eyes, gazing on a point somewhere beyond the ever-changing scenery.

"..."

And you remember the way she held the shirt close to her face.

Straight road; transmission to gear five. Steady pressure on the pedal.

The lightshow blurs in a hurry.

“I wish this didn’t have to happen.”

Another chapter of a drawn-out story. The repeating causeway lights indifferently listen in on your tired affair, like they always did.

“We never had to leave.”

Again and again, answers unquestioned seeping into the cushions of your seats.

“…”

After all that's said and done, silence over the unlit interior, unperturbed by late-night songs on the radio.

The road curves now, winding back towards familiar civilization. 

Gear four once more, drag pulling on your bodies as the brakes slow down the car.

The cue for another trip coming to its end.

“Your place?”

You ask, though you already know the answer.

Resigned eyes meet your own:

Obviously not.

Fame was a deafening profession, and you both knew where to get away from it all.

“Right away.”

You smile and drive onwards, last stop in mind. The stars shine through the dimly lit sky, and you know that they’ll be around for the rest of the night.

///

“What are you dreaming about?”

“Nothing much, really. Just the moments we had back then, coursing through the midnight sun.”

“Stuck in the past again, aren't you?”

“I can’t help it.”

“Hm.”

“…”

“…”

“You really were gorgeous with that pink hair.”

“Shut it.”