Tomorrow you'll meet me when Monggu runs to me and I fall down. You'll help me up and mumble incoherent things while I stare at your tan skin and godly looks. We'll both snap out of our trances and smile awkwardly, sharing few words.

Overtomorrow we'll meet again and you'll introduce yourself as 'Jongin' grinning and overing a hand shake. I'd ask with sudden courage if you'd like ice cream and we'd eat by the sidewalk, like children again. 

I'd ask what your job was and you'd say back-up dancer and I'd reply back-up vocal. You'd ask me to sing right there and then and I'd widen my eyes in shock.

In the end I do, but only if you dance right after. You did.

We switched phones numbers at the end of the day when your Mum calls you and we'd be awkward again. 

Before we went out seperate ways, you'd ask for my age and I'd reply 20, and you'd shout out "19!" when I entered the North-South line, and you the East-West line.

But that won't happen, yet, because I'd have to wait for tomorrow for it to happen.