here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows

higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

– e.e. s

Yonghwa flipped through the pages of the book. It was a bit silly and sometimes wise in its silliness. He asked his mom one morning if she recognized the author, and she had merely patted his face and said, "What are you doing with a book, dear?" and resumed the preparation of breakfast. It wasn't offensive; it was the truth. He still had no idea what he was doing with it. The only piece he managed to read without breaking out his translator at every other word was the bit about hugs and tugs, and he agreed with the author once he finished, thinking, I prefer hugs rather than tugs, too.

He shoved the book back in his bag, promising himself to look it over again before the return date. If anything, his rusty English would improve. A few titters broke his train of thought, and he looked up at a group of passing girls who smiled shyly at him. He raised his hand in acknowledgement, and they glanced away and laughed amongst each other. Yonghwa scratched his head.

He left his home in Busan a few months ago and had since been residing in the heart of Seoul with an old friend and two new ones he met on the way here. The air was thick on some days; compressed and suffocating. There was nothing open about it, nothing refreshing that his hometown offered, but it had beauty and character in its hustle and bustle. The sound of traffic, the fragrance of food - the whole of it was intoxicating. He was going to seal a deal in the music industry, of that he was certain.

And then there was her.

He had the confession on the tip of his tongue, but his bravery - or lack thereof - wouldn't allow it any further than that. So he was practicing, practicing the art of singing his heart through songs or through the influence of prose. That she would see him for the first time.

-

"I want a guy who can read me poetry in two languages - no, ten!"

Yonghwa blew the hair out of his eyes. She climbed onto the railing, gripping onto the balustrade that overlooked the courtyard of their school. She was going to fly somewhere nice, and she could feel it in her bones. Her determination shone in her face. Below, their mutual friends waved up at them and told them to hurry down.

"Isn't that steep?" he paused and clarified, "Your expectations."

"What good are expectations if you settle?"

She stuck her tongue out at him and playfully punched his arm. "C'mon, Jung Yong. Our friends are beckoning."

-

"Hyung's reading." Minhyuk said, absently, as he munched on a custard bread. It wasn't spectacular news to say the least, but he'd been at it for hours at a time. Sometimes he'd poke his head out of his room and ask him if he knew the English equivalent of a certain word, and all he could do was eat his bread because hyung knew more than any one of them did.

Jungshin continued to flip through the channels of their small television ("It's so ancient, it has antennas," Jonghyun once dully observed) before turning it off. He tore off a piece of bread from the one sticking out of Minhyuk's mouth. They were rationing; it was the only logical thing to do, and he was a growing boy. His stomach was growling at him to eat the couch. He briefly wondered how Yonghwa was able to skip meals at a time.

"He can, you know."

"I know he can, but it's - I don't know. Think it's for her?"

"Who is 'her?' You guys only recruited me recently, remember?"

Minhyuk grinned sheepishly. "Oh, right. Forgot. Well, look on the bright side! You're so good, we've accepted you as an old friend."

The other boy expressed approval. Saving face was what Minhyuk did best.

"Er, I don't really know her that well, either," he admitted. "I've only heard bits and pieces, like she's here in Seoul and that he likes her. The usual story of new city dwellers."

"So what's your story?"

"Music. And bread. Bread is a given. Did you know that there's this bakery down-

"You're going to get fat."

"You have frog legs."

-

Seohyun examined the unfamiliar book in her hands. To say she memorized every one of the store's titles would be an exaggeration, but there was a certain je ne sais quois to nearly all of them that made them recognizable - apart from the fact that every front cover of every book was stickered with their business logo. It wasn't rare to receive random books, as they welcomed donations provided they were in excellent condition, but neither was it a common occurrence.

It had a simple cover, beige and green, with an artistic rendition of a spindly tree. 心 was emblazoned on the front.

She pursed her lips and scanned the summary on the back, frowning at the discovery that it was in Japanese, as the cover indicated, but she half assumed it would at least be a translation. She had read up on a few phrases, studied what she could in a few independent textbooks, but she saw very little reason to learn it. English, however, was necessary, what with the influx of foreigners and a desire to see more of the world where it was prevalent.

She fanned the book open, surprised when a slip of paper fell onto the floor. It was an ordinary scrap, about the size of a small index card, and folded haphazardly. She unfolded it and read the sharp text, graceful in its lines and masculine in its rapid curves.

I love you - love in as many languages as possible. I can say it in as many languages as you ask me, even in the unfamiliar characters of Greek or Russian, though they are marred by my unfamiliarity with them. But I could learn a hundred new ways to write and speak it, some of them of my own creation, and yet you would never return it.

How sad, she mused. If it was real, anyway, though she was most certain that it was. There had been a recent wave of pseudo-poets, pseudo-romantics in love with the idea of strangers, of secret notes and love letters. It started two years ago where new books and old were filled with youthful love and saccharine, though deep-felt, confessions. Sometimes, she had unwittingly acted as a messenger when they requested her to gift wrap and send the book of choice to an intended recipient (and sometimes it would be returned to the store - a clear rejection). It tapered off towards the end of last year, but there were few that kept at it, but less for the response and more for the idea that it could be found by someone who picked up the same book.

As if to say that someone somewhere in the world had the same tastes that you did, had the same expectations out of life, or could be your lost twin or a soulmate. It was all romantic in the way possibilities and destiny were romantic.

Seohyun was never one to steal such vulnerable messages. Even if Ae Sook claimed them to be teenage rubbish - "Wait 'til you reach my age, Joohyun! Love isn't something to be trifled with, but there you kids go leaving messages in books. Why, back in my day we just told our intended lovers that we thought they were beautiful. That's how it's done! Leaving messages in books ... you all might as well sit in your diapers for the rest of your life!" - there was something perfect and unsettling about this one. Like they were emptying their heart of an old love. It didn't seem like it was written for frills or for everyday catharsis; it seemed like they wanted to wring their heart dry until there was nothing left but the basic structure.

Yet if there was something she knew from observation alone, from stories of her dearest friends who fell in-and-out of love quite often, it was that those memories you sent away so frivolously were often the ones you wanted back. So after she was finished tidying the shelves, she took the note and tucked it away in the safety of her diary. And it would stay there, even if it was the only one, until the author came back to look for it.

▲

NOTES:

I have no idea who the mystery people are going to be. I had a vague idea when I first started, but this story is taking on its own life form. It's a little distressing.

If it wasn't obvious by now, this is somewhat AU. Eventually, I think, anyone who isn't an entertainer will find their way into that world. Maybe. I haven't decided completely on that part yet. But the timeline is as such that it's occurring in the (real life) present. It's not that significant a detail, so don't worry too much about it.

Next chapter this weekend. Maybe. I'm worse off when I give myself deadlines.