The Sake of Courage
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He wasn’t quite sure why he came. It was a Valentine’s get away. In truth, it was one of those, “let’s ing run away from obligations” drive. This always happens to Jiyong when he was writing, and he likes company in his panic. Jiyong had told them of his refusal to be commoditized during a day of true love. Seung hyun choked out a laugh,
Really? A day of love? Who the believes in that these days?
He had told Jiyong to come of it, that Valentine’s was a holiday made by Hallmark so they can obligate people to buy cardboard representations of affection. Jiyong grimaced at him, at his cynicism. Seung hyun was much more of a cynic these days, they wondered if it was because of his new role for his new movie. Jiyong had told him, a man not in love is not a man at all… and again Seung hyun’s throat dilates and lets out a “tss”
What the heck is wrong with these people?
So he doesn’t really know why he was here— on a tatami mat; in front of a low rise mahogany table; thin slices of raw fish glisten in the pale yellow of the light; a ceramic bottle’s mouth releases a slithering slice of thin steam. He didn’t know why he was here, because he liked being at home, in his hovel, as Jiyong calls it. He could be doing something else, say… like… read his script for the millionth time. He finds himself staring at the door, staring at the thin, translucent shoji. A nag in his chest develops. He shakes his head. He pours himself a cupful of sake.
The night progresses and they were all laughing, and talking, and remembering dreams and reigniting that fire that drove them to be the idols that they are. It was a good night. Perhaps Valentine’s blessed them with a love for their craft once again.
Seung hyun, on the other hand, did not feel blessed at all. He was happy for them, he was, remotely so, but he was still trying to figure out why he came. He didn’t need to be revitalized in the passion of rapping; he had been dying to put on those comfortable shoes. He could have just stayed home and break-in his new shoes of acting. But instead, he was here and still staring at the shoji and drinking more sake than he should.
He was left alone, because the boys knew just how he was when he is reluctant to leave character. They did notice that he was drinking a bit too much. It was only 9 o’clock, and Seung hyun is already studying the decanter with much scrutiny.
This is when they arrive, when she arrives.
He looks up to her, to them, and it clicked.
There is that weird window of intense clarity when you get intoxicated, and this is where Seung hyun was at. And how clear she seemed, how obvious it was. He was waiting for her. He only agreed to going because Jiyong had said 2ne1 would come along. It was clear as the sake in his cup. He had wanted to see her.
Sandara.
At the thought of her name, something clenched inside his chest, and the window of clarity afforded him a weird focus on her peach lips, on her cream skin, on the chocolate of her eyes. And he realizes all this time, since the day he had met her, he always thought of her that way, like a dessert for his eyes. Is that kind of erse, he wonders.
He watches her greet everyone, bowing and smiling, and greeting. He wanted his turn, but his legs were resolutely crossed. He doesn’t move, even what he wanted most was to bow to her, obligate her to acknowledge his existence. But alcohol wraps around him, numbing his extremities, dulling the connection of want and execution. He would be baffled, but then again, he was a touch drunk. He just downs another cup of sake.
Surprisingly, she sits across him and gives him his share of her bow and her smile. He feels bad because he gets only left overs. He nods to her in acknowledgement.
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