Seungwan found herself at the entrance of a restaurant. The scene was hazy in the late evening sun, but there was something more here that she just couldn’t quite put her finger on. There was something more than the humid atmosphere, something more than the slow bumbling of patrons shuffling through the door, rustling past each other like the leaves whisked in and landed on the entrance floor, caught in a hot summer breeze.

But Seungwan didn’t have time to think much further as the flow of people corralled her through the door.

As hoards of people scrambled to get seated, Seungwan happened to get shoved towards a booth of her own, one in the corner with a good view of the rest of the establishment. She tucked herself into the booth, looking at the room around her. The interior appeared to be… vintage, to put it lightly. Not as lightly, it looked like the restaurant’s high wooden beams, period clothing-adorned staff, and bamboo flooring were all pulled straight out of a historical drama... and Seungwan surely wasn’t dressed for the right occasion. 

She looked down at her clothing, wondering how the striped pajama pants and 1975 band t-shirt did not raise any eyebrows from the rest of the customers. Then again, it seemed like they didn’t notice her at all, almost like she was invisible. Furrowing her eyebrows, she held her hand up to the light, shocked to notice a shine of translucency, as though her hand had become fogged up glass, barely retaining some semblance of color.

None of this made sense to her; it felt almost like a dream.

In fact, as Seungwan’s eyes widened, she realized it probably was.

That explained the strange warmth that she felt at the center of her soul, the b magic along her fingertips, like sunlight or dandelions or stars or gold, a pure yellow, a memory, a happiness.

Even after knowing what it was, she just couldn’t find the right words — something magical, she guessed. Funny that one could only describe magic that way, with a reference back to itself, a definition consisting only of what it was and never what it was like. 

Some things, as Seungwan came to know, were just not meant to be like other things.

Joohyun, she assumed, was one of them.

And as the genie walked into the room, trays of food in hand as she whirled around delivering dishes gracefully to various tables, Seungwan clambered to her feet, hitting her hip on the edge of her seat in the process. She waved her hands vigorously to get the woman’s attention, but it seemed like she was drowned out amidst the din of the loud patrons. Immediately, she started walking toward Joohyun, passing through people like cutting through waves, an easy feat as a result of her incorporeal existence in this dream world. Yet as Seungwan neared her, she had to pause.

Joohyun didn’t quite look the same.

She was still as unbelievably beautiful, of course, with the same smooth skin and soft, long hair. But she looked younger somehow, not a day different than when Seungwan had last seen her, but with a glimmer in her eyes that the songwriter hadn’t seen before, a light that was much dimmer now, one that Seungwan could only catch on special occasions when time seemed to thin, when the air seemed to lighten, when there were two people out on an apartment balcony watching cars go by. 

It was that kind of youth Seungwan saw there, and one that she hadn’t seen very often.

Maybe, she thought, she should just leave Joohyun alone.

She felt as though she would be interrupting some sort of moment, some sort of trance that Joohyun happened to be suspended in. It was almost as if she danced along the restaurant floors, shoes and dinner plates and glasses tapping and clinking, composing a rhythm set to the melody of the people’s voices, everyone harmonizing as they talked about things as mundane as the weather or as exciting as the sights they’ve seen on their travels.

So Seungwan settled back in her seat, saw some dishes appear on the table that hadn’t been there before, but no sign of any other customer occupying the booth. The singer looked around warily, suspicious of who delivered the dishes, before succumbing to the scent of fresh fish and warm rice. It was not as though anyone else could see her in the case that she was indeed accidentally indulging in someone else’s meal.

She ate slowly as she took in the flavor and the scene before her, letting them intermingle as she stared — perhaps a little too blatantly — at how Joohyun moved amongst the people, retaining all of the agility and poise that Seungwan found familiar. Every so often, that youth that Seungwan was so fixated on before would appear again, though. It wrote itself into Joohyun’s smile, sprung itself into Joohyun’s step. It was strange, but not unwelcome.

Seungwan found herself entranced again.

She soaked in every detail of this reality, every detail of Joohyun. She was so lost in it all, so much so that she hadn’t noticed the gradual trickle of patrons exiting the restaurant, so much so that she hadn’t noticed someone slip into the booth across from her. Seungwan was too busy digging into her dish when...

“Hello there.”

She could recognize that voice anywhere.

As she looked up from her plate, she was met with the sparkling brown eyes that she’d grown to know so well, even grown to miss sometimes. It was weird, how she was almost too shocked to respond, hands jittering like a schoolgirl’s during her first confession.

“Hi,” she could only reply, receiving a laugh from the other side of the table.

Joohyun smiled, showing no glint of recognition, as if she had never met Seungwan before. However, it was strange that she would be the only one to notice her, especially when no one else did.

“Why do you seem so nervous? You didn’t appear to be so shy when you were gawking at me serving tables just an hour ago.” 

Red spread across the singer’s cheeks. “Oh… Oh! You noticed that? I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean to I was just —”

“You can slow down. It’s alright, I don’t really mind. People tend to do that sometimes.”

“Stare at you?”

Joohyun paused in thought, propping her head up with her palm. “Yes, I suppose, though they all have different reasons.” Placing her elbows on the table, she leaned in. “What’s yours?”

Seungwan stuttered, scrambling for any answer she could conjure.

“You’re… You’re just beautiful, I guess!”
She felt like smacking herself upside the head for that one.

“Oh am I?” Joohyun smiled knowingly. “You know, I get similar comments from the greasy old merchants that roll through here on their travels. I’d start thinking that you’re just like them, if only you weren’t so adorably shy.”

With her charming smirk such a far cry from the modest smile that Seungwan often saw, she felt a small revelation tug at the back of her mind.

This was definitely not the Joohyun she knew.