Work Text:
Two years ago
Your cheeks burned with pricks and pokes as cold air continued to berate your skin, yet you made no move to fix anything. The view of the city was always too beautiful to look away, and you certainly wouldn’t now, not when the sun was about to set.
All the new-age buildings glowed in reflection of the orange sunlight, and even your breath — which you could see furling up in such temperatures — captured the rays beautifully.
The sucker in your mouth, a childish little thing you’d snatched from someone’s cubicle, tasted of lemonade. Your lips, dry and cracked from the recent cold weather and lack of scheduled balming, took to the flavor badly, the sourness of the candy causing your split lips to temporarily shoot with an oddly endurable pain. You kept the sucker in your mouth so as not to have it touch your lips again.
“You can’t smoke up here.”
But you weren’t.
You turned to the voice, where a man stood just in front of the roof’s entryway. He looked upset, though he had no reason to be – you had done nothing wrong.
Your breath fell out again as you opened your mouth to speak, the water vapour curling and furling in the cold. The candy was stored to your cheek by your tongue.
“Did you hear what I said?”
You did.
Perhaps this man had never seen a cigarette in his life, as the thin paper stick slowly disintegrating in your mouth looked nothing like one. You scoffed at his ignorant dismissal of you when he had no idea who you were and you the same of him. Assumptions had made a fool out of greater ones before him, and would continue to long after.
You didn’t bother trying to answer him a second time. If he wasn’t going to listen in the first place, why would you deign him a response anyways?
“I said, you can’t smoke up here.”
Persistent, he was.
You jumped down from the viewpoint you’d found months ago, hands leaving their refuge in your coat pockets to aid in your balance. The walk up to him took no time at all, and soon you were directly in front of him, blocking his view of the sunset.
His cheeks were red in the wind, his clothes not nearly warm enough for the weather. You recognized him from somewhere, perhaps he worked on your floor. Kang, you thought his name was, though you couldn’t be certain.
He seemed about to stutter something else – perhaps about not wanting to catch your supposed second-hand smoke.
You popped the sucker out with a sharp tug, putting emphasis on the sound and extra care into not cringing at the sour flavour meeting your chapped lips. Feigning the exhalation of tobacco, you let more warm breath pour out.
His eyes widened. He said nothing.
Slowly, you stepped around him, going faster when he tried to hide his back. You snatched the small cardboard box from his hands with quick fingers
The thing with cigarette boxes is that they always have warnings.
Smoking while pregnant can cause serious impediment.
Smoking is known to cause lung cancer.
Do not smoke if it could affect your health.
Nice little things like that.
“You can’t smoke up here.”
•
One year, nine months ago
“I don’t smoke.”
The sun no longer set while you were still at work, yet the view was still alluring enough for you to return day after day. You turned at the sound his voice again.
What a strange thing to have said.
“Sure.”
“I really don’t.”
Your gaze returned to the horizon, where you were watching the skyline. You didn’t know who he was trying to convince. Someone below honked their car horn, and your eyes trained to the disruption.
He came up to stand beside you at the edge, gaze on you before it shifted to look down.
“I kept thinking that I was going to start… That day was the closest I ever got.”
You’d never heard of someone struggling to start smoking. It was always the struggle to stop – the battle, as people called it.
“Why are you telling me this?”
His hands were in his pants pockets, clothes still too little for rooftop wind. He didn’t shiver.
“I just… wanted you to know.”
Your eyebrows raised without meaning to. A silent question suspended itself between him and you. Why?
“I… thought you might have a bad opinion of me.”
The truth was you had no opinion of him. It was a single day, three months ago when you’d spoken with Kang Younghyun for the first time, one that you easily forgot. People assumed things. People smoked. It was just life. That day was entirely insignificant to you at that point, not important enough for you to remember his small mistake or the idea that he may or may not have smoked once you went back to work.
You propped your arms on the concrete barrier between you and a twenty-four story drop, turning your head to finally look at him for longer than a moment.
“And why should my opinion matter?” you said. “I’m nothing but a stranger, a coworker at most. The only opinion you should care about is your own.”
A pause.
“What do you think about smoking?”
His answer came as no surprise to you. It was quite the easy situation to read.
“It’s bad, I suppose.”
“Then you have your own opinion. No need for mine.”
•
One year, eight months ago
“You keep invading my secret spot, Kang Younghyun.”
Your eyes didn’t leave the horizon, yet you knew he was standing there, next to you.
“It’s not secret,” he said.
“Not anymore.”
The silence between you stretched on, comfortable in its simplicity. You were used to the silence that wasn’t silence (as the noise of the world around you kept on) from the months you’d already spent on that roof alone.
He didn’t appreciate the silence like you did. “…It’s a beautiful spot.”
It was.
“It is.”
“Do you think,” he paused for a moment, looking to the ledge and you and the horizon, “it’d be a good place to propose?”
Another strange question, but by now you were used to those from him.
“For me, it would be perfect. For anyone else… it’s all up to them.” You turned from the view and leaned your back against the railing, elbows propped up on your sides. “Why? Are you planning on proposing to someone in my secret spot?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, forget about it. This is our secret spot now. You’re not allowed to show it to anyone else.”
Not that you could truly keep the place to yourself, it was simply that no one but you ever really stayed there. After all, there was no smoking allowed.
“Would you stop me?” he asked, “If I did?”
“I wouldn’t have to. You’ve promised.”
“No I haven’t…?”
“Of course you have.”
•
One year, one month ago
You were in a precarious position, standing up above the entrance to the door – having climbed up in the most awkward way possible – with a basket of rose petals cradled in your arm, the other hand poised and ready to shower the petals on cue. But the cue never came.
Well, it did, but only one person came through the door when you were waiting for two.
“Where is she?”
“A break…” he mumbled, but you could barely hear it. He was so quiet you thought you’d misunderstood.
“What?”
“She said… we should take a break.”
You’d never experienced something like that before, the whole idea ran past your mind as you tried to comprehend it, but you just couldn’t. Younghyun was about to propose, and that was a big deal to him, you knew that. It had taken months for him to convince himself to just do it, asking you for advice along the way. And now…
“…And? What did you say?”
“Okay…”
“You…?”
“I said okay!” he exploded, “I’m an idiot!”
He hid his head in his hands, no tears falling even though there should have been.
“Why would you say that of all things? Aren’t you in love with her?”
A definitive answer. One more sure than sure. “Yes.”
“Then why?”
“I don’t… I don’t know.”
You looked at the petals in the basket, useless now without someone to drop them on. They’d seemed beautiful only minutes ago, yet as you ran your fingertips over the soft velvety flowers, you couldn’t help but see the red color as an omen. You had nothing more to say.
“I don’t know.”
•
One year ago
“You seem to be coping well.”
It had been a while since you and Younghyun had run into each other on the rooftop. Ever since the proposal incident, you hadn’t had any chances to speak with him. He was there now, standing next to you at the railing like he always would, except his frown and dark circles were deeper than usual.
“Oh yeah?” he scoffed. “What gave it away? My dark circles? My chipper attitude?”
“I was trying to make you feel stronger.”
“It didn’t work.”
“I can see that.”
The longer Younghyun’s break went on, the more he seemed to appreciate silence. But you knew that wasn’t true. Unlike you, who harmonized with the silence, Younghyun hid himself within it. He treated it as a wall, a fragile wall, but a wall nonetheless.
It wasn’t your job to get through his walls. It shouldn’t have been.
“Then… how are you coping?”
He said nothing, but he turned to look at you for a moment, an emotion you couldn’t identify twisting on his face. His hand went to the back pocket of his slacks, pulling out a yet unopened pack of cigarettes.
“Those won’t help.”
“I know.” He brought the box up to his face and turned it over in his hands as if reading the labels. “I still haven’t ever used one.”
“Then why do you have them?”
The breath he took was deep, and you wondered if you should’ve stopped talking.
“I don’t know. I guess I keep them as a reminder. I look at them and know that I’ve been through worse and will be in the future, but I’ve never turned this way yet. Every time I put them back in my pocket… I’m a little stronger than I was before.”
You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers. “…That’s quite poetic.”
“I’ve had some time to think.”
Bracing your hands on the railing, you pushed back and swung around. You stuffed your hands in your pockets. “I suppose that’s one way,” you said, resigned. “You don’t need me then.”
When you moved to go, to leave him alone with his walls and his unopened cigarettes, his hand wrapped around your arm. Not hard — gentle, but enough to make you stop.
“No. Stay.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It’s just better this way.”
This way?
“What way?”
He gave no answer. Though, there isn’t always a need for one.
•
Eleven months ago
“I don’t understand,” you muttered, looking down because you didn’t dare look at him, “I thought it was just a break?”
“I guess it wasn’t for her.”
The news had surprised you more than him, though he didn’t know it. You had honestly thought that two people so in love with each other could take a break and return to what they once were, and Younghyun had told you himself that he loved her.
“Are you okay?”
His head had been resting, defeated, on the metal railing, but your ignorant question made him jerk up to glare at you.
“No,” he seethed. “No, why in hell would I be okay?”
You stepped closer. “It’s not a real question, it’s an opener. I’m asking if you want me to comfort you.”
A moment passed where nothing happened, nothing except him turning to face you, one hand still gripping the rail, knuckles white. You had no idea what he was thinking about if not his recent heartbreak, but the look in his eyes, the ones that were studying yours so intently, told you it couldn’t have been that. He was thinking about you. But what, exactly, was the question.
“…That would be nice.”
Then he leaned in and his arm wrapped around your waist and you stumbled forward in surprise and your hands sandwiched between his chest and yours and his lips grazed yours and it was all too fast and you were almost too shocked for a second to hate it but you did. You hated it.
Pushing him off before he could complete whatever he’d planned to use you for, you took a deep breath and closed your eyes. As you opened them again, you did your best to not read into his desolated expression. You didn’t want any reason to stay.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped out — because you really were, “I’m sorry, but I can’t comfort you like that. I won’t.”
And you walked away.
•
Eight months ago
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. You’ve told me already.”
“Then why won’t you look at me?”
You looked at him.
“Do you want me to?”
He looked away.
•
Seven months ago
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
•
Six months ago
“I’m sorry.”
“I know. Thank you.”
•
Five months ago
“I want to try again,” he said, a finality to his voice that you hadn’t heard in a long time. There was a finality, yes, but also uncertainty. An uncertain conclusion.
Your gaze kept to the horizon, as it always was. “Try what again?”
“Kissing you.”
You tensed. Suddenly the wind felt stronger than before. “Younghyun…”
“But not now,” he cut you off. “Not now, because I made a mistake and I want to do it right. I want to make this right.”
“Younghyun, I—”
“And only if you want it. I made you uncomfortable before and I never want to again, but I have these… feelings, and— and I can’t seem to get rid of them and I know I messed up but…”
His words seemed to fail him, yet you said nothing. You wanted him to continue.
“But I want to fix this. I don’t know if I can… but if you’ll let me try…”
You looked at him.
“Can I get back to you?”
•
Today
“Do you remember, a year or two ago, when you said this would be a perfect proposal spot?”
“You’re remembering that? On purpose?”
Any memories associated with unfriendly exes, you thought people liked to forget.
“Shut up, I’m trying to be romantic.”
“Oh.” You shrugged. “It’s working?”
“Don’t sound so surefire.”
You laughed together. What a lovely sound.
“Well, are you going to propose? A little early, don’t you think?”
His smile could have blinded you, or perhaps could have been hung in the Louvre, in your opinion. But then you’d never get to see it, so maybe not. You’d rather keep Kang Younghyun to yourself.
“Someday. I’ll surprise you.”
“I’d like that.”