Work Text:
Plonk.
When the camera containing tens of thousands of my photos falls into the murky water of a Venetian canal, a few things happen simultaneously.
One, moments of life flash across my eyes, because the resulting pain of such an unfortunate event is surely comparable to a near death experience.
Two, like the idiot I’ve always been in my whole life, I push off the bridge railing and jump after the said damn camera.
Not before three, snapping my head back midair to give the perpetrator of the tragic event a death glare.
As my body slams into the cold and questionably smelly water surface, I spot said perpetrator, a giant explosion of black and tan fur, peeking through the bridge railing, quirking his viciously prominent brows at me, as if mocking my clumsy demise.
I roll my eyes in the water, immediately making them sting, my heavy body an instant reminder that I haven’t swam in years.
Moments later, as I crawl up the bank of the canal, smelling like centuries of history aka sewage water, backpack dripping for miles, I see that taunting beast waiting for me. Next to him, I trace up a set of modelesquely long legs in flared cream leather pants, up onto a vintage floral shirt exquisitely draping over the tall torso, and up until my gaze is met with the sweetest, most disarmingly cheeky smile.
“I’m so very sorry, Yeontan likes to jump in front of people for attention.” A small wave of his hand, and the light in his eyes swirls, mischievous, “But can you really blame him though. After all, he only goes after those he loves.” He starts giggling, but there’s no menace to it, only mirth, and I find my lips curling at the sight of it.
Taehyung… Later, sitting on the patio of Caffe La Serra, over a huge plate of various cicchetti, I murmur the name quietly, feeling how it rolls off my tongue with ease.
The giant furball on Taehyung’s lap yelps, and he sighs and pulls a piece off oil-glistened anchovy off the crostini as a peace offering, “Yeontan, you’re very spoiled and so much trouble, but we still love you, yes we do.”
I look down at the digital camera on the table, still damp and very much non-responsive, “I’m not blaming him for this. But I really needed this camera, not sure how I could afford to buy another one. And the memory card, “A very long sigh, “do I dry it? Take it to a shop? Will it still work somehow, miraculously?”
A fried polpette ball on a fork finds its way towards my lips, “try this, what a lovely bread crumb crust, you’ll love it.” The smell of fried fish and cheese is tempting, so I comply and open my mouth, fingers still lingering on the camera.
Taehyung’s eyes crinkle as he watches me eat, satisfied, “do you really need a camera though? When you’re surrounded by all this-“ he waves his hands around, bringing attention to the surrounding.
Caffe La Serra is tucked away in a converted 19 century glasshouse, amidst the lush greenery of the biennale park. It’s just far away enough from the nearby Giardini pier to avoid the commotion of in-and-out water taxis. The lazy afternoon sun streams through wrought iron framed glass ceiling, draping everything in prismatic light.
I have to agree, “This is a nice spot, very pretty, almost like a dream.”
“Well, it is all held together by your sheer will, so yes, it can be surreal.”
“That’s a strange way of describing life, but I guess you’re right. In a way, everything we perceive is on our mind, dream or reality.”
Taehyung sips on his double espresso in the tiny ceramic cup, “Having said that, I think I should be responsible for Yeontan’s blunder. So what would it be then? Champagne at Club del Doge, private yacht trip, or-“ he leans in and winks, “maybe a tete-a-tete in a more intimate location?”
My ears start to burn but I try my hardest to keep a poker face, “Um no, that’s- ahem, I mean, we barely know each other… Some companionship is enough, really. I’d like to see more parts of Venice, and if you have time, and Yeontan of course, ahem…” my words trail off feebly as I’m sure the blush has spread to my cheeks by now.
Taehyung observes me for a beat, thoughtful, before responding, “But of course, you’ve always had an affinity for Italy. I will be here whenever you need me.”
There’s a softness to his gaze, fond and mysterious, as if we’re discussing a secret that would be uncovered if I probe just a little more. My heart hammers uncertainly, so I look down and stuff myself with fried sardines instead, like the idiot that I am, “Oh um this fish is very good.”
A chuckle, Taehyung goes back to picking up a bite of everything and putting it on my plate, “No rush, we can try more dishes if you want, we have all the time in the world. Their zaeti cookies are also literally the best in the universe, with big golden raisins. I’m not sharing so we would need two orders.”
I blink at him, taking in the laid back exuberance, and try to sound as smooth as anyone possibly can with a mouthful of deliciously greasy anchovies, “Deal.”
—
Venice is for dreamers, or souls that wish to be lost, even just for a moment.
Maybe the two are the same after all, I’m not sure, the continuous slew of golden Aperol Spritz Taehyung hands me doesn’t help either.
In the eternal city sinking under the weight of all the memories left behind, we find corners that belong to just the two of us. At the expansive Doge’s palace, on the second floor behind all the opulent ball rooms, there’s a small lounge with emerald green wallpaper that takes on a golden tint at sunset, and embroidered curtains heavy enough to hide a secret. The chaise next to the window is covered in crimson velvet, sinking in like the passage of time when I sit down. From there, we watch the sun droop behind the church of Giorgio Maggiore across the wide lagoon, glinting the water with a million shivering shards. Taehyung would hum a tune, the lyrics perpetually escaping me but the melody so familiar. We talk of the courtesan that would’ve sat in this very seat hundreds of years ago, waiting for a glimpse of her casanova passing by on a bobbing gondola. I wonder if the light had painted her features in gilt, the same way it shrouds Taehyung as he makes a silly face at me.
The tiny island of Burano is another refuge, with its town square surrounded by brightly painted buildings. We dine on the outdoor terrace, bickering about which dish is better, the buttery sautéed razor clams fresh from the harbour, or the hand rolled pappardelle with scampi and smoked ricotta. Taehyung sheds his cheeky self when he strikes up a conversation with the local elders sitting near by with lacework needles in hands, asking them in broken Italian the best place to buy lemon bussola cookies. Their collective laughters are infectious, making the sun a little warmer on the skin. Taehyung has a habit of tilting his head cutely when he talks to elders or children, perhaps as a subconscious gesture of sincerity. The elders’ conversation meanders into past glories of the island, we can no longer follow their rapid-firing Italian, but somehow, beyond language, we understand them and smile back.
We play a thoroughly childish game of hide and seek at Libreria Acqua Alta, a bookstore that is Venetian floods materialized in a palpable form. The place wears the ravage of time proudly, every section in the literary maze filled with makeshift structures like stairs made from water stained books, canoes and gondola as bookshelves, and our favorite: a fire exit door that opens right onto a watery canal. There’s a tiny porch outside of the door, just big enough to step onto a gondola if docked, and a lone antique chair - nap spot of stray cats, respite for the weary. Taehyung usually ends up there, with an old feline purring on his lap, shedded fur all over his vintage bell bottom like a patchwork rug, flipping through a yellowed book with his long leisurely fingers (fairy tales, gothic romance, and once in a while, a retro sci-fi). “Books are alternate universes, you know,” he says in a mockingly somber tone without looking at me, “alternate universes that we can hide in”. The cat hisses when I walk towards them, not willing to share. “Are we hiding?” I’d tease him right back, my faded shadow climbing onto his crouched silhouette with every step, “do we want to be found then?” He giggles and lifts the book to hide his face; there’s a murmur of words, but they’re swept up by the draft from the canal, lost to me.
—
The painting is so large that when I stand in front of it, my vision is filled with its windswept nautical landscape.
The nude female figure stands in a huge scallop shell, long golden curls escaping from the silver ribbon to cascade down her torso. There’s something unnatural about the way she stands, as if the curves of her figure blend and drift weightlessly into the billowing wind.
It’s as if I’m standing under the pale blue sky with her, amidst the sea foam and scattered roses, staring into her calm and omnipotent gaze, mesmerized.
“Birth of Venus, always a favorite at Uffizi.”
Taehyung chimes up next to me, boots clicking on the marble floor. My lips curl up at the sound of his voice. I can’t quite remember how we got to this moment in time, but I know he’s next to me, and that alone is comforting enough.
He continues, “I do love Boticelli, how he painted the same model over and over, in almost every paint he had ever done, tracing her features on canvas long after she had passed away.”
“Right, Simonetta Vespucci. And that he requested to be buried next to her, at the church down the street, even though she was married to another.” I concur, but add after a pause, “Is that romantic or creepy though? To be so obsessed about someone else’s wife for the rest of his life?”
Taehyung hums, and makes a face at me, “Probably a bit of both. But he succeeded in immortalizing his love for her. Isn’t that what we all want, to be remembered for eternity?”
“I don’t know. I’m happy with living as passionately as I can, I could care less if people remember me after I die.”
Taehyung turns his head away at the words, his features falling into the shadow, “And yet you keep coming back here, to all your favorite places, dragging me with you every time.”
“You’re doing your quiet mumbling thing again.” I walk towards him, until our arms almost touch, and I can feel the warmth radiating off his skin, “It’s nice having you here though, sure hope you’re not bored out of your mind.”
He sighs, a little dramatic for effect, “always a little weird when you stop bickering and act super sweet, but why am I a sucker for it every time…”
We walk around, shoulder to shoulder, our footsteps echoing in the empty museum. Taehyung’s hair is ash blonde today, trestled so messily, making me want to tuck the curls behind his ears, “Immortality is easier to believe in a city like Florence anyways. I mean, these very tiles were constructed by the Medici family; and within a 5km radius, are all the architectural and art wonders of the whole renaissance. There’s a reason why religion, and even fantasies like vampires seem more possible in this town. Immortality is not a wish here, but an almost certainty.”
I stare at Carravagio’s Medusa portrait behind him, taking in the shocked expression on the bloody severed head, before retorting, “I don’t know…”
Taehyung arches a brow at me, “Ohh?”
The eyes of Medusa bore onto me, and the snaked hair slithers and hisses, as I add, “All these… these achievements are beautiful, but it almost feels like the opposite to me. We try so hard to create perfection, to capture beauty and awe and love and passion distilled into these fragments of perfection. But why? Isn’t it the very fear of death that pushes us to immortalize every moment? Botticelli kept painting Simonetta because she died months after they met, his love was the opposite of immortal, it was unrequited and never saw the light of the day.”
Taehyung clicks his tongue and shots a half-hearted finger gun at me, “And bam, just like that, you’re back to your true dark emo self.”
I feel bad for dampening the mood, but the thoughts stick on my mind. The snakes slither and reach out of the painting, and the white walls start to ripple like liquid surfaces, before slowly melting away in bigger and bigger gaps. All around us, the painted landscapes are growing, dripping into the gaps, taking over, bringing with them snow flakes and restless wind. My thoughts are muddled, something buried deep within bubbles up, and I stand frozen and unsure of everything.
Hands hold onto my arm, and pull me out of my thoughts. Taehyung’s voice is gentle as always, like a beacon of warm light amidst the chaos, “And yet, he tried.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded, as he continues, gaze thoughtful, “Botticelli lived for decades after Simonetta died, and created many masterpieces with her as the muse. He tried to preserve love despite the inevitability of death, in spite of it. Heck, we all try. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, I think that’s quite nice actually.”
His golden curls gleam, hands rub on my arms ever so gently, drawing small comforting circles, “my dear little emo bunny, not everything in life is so extreme, all eternity or death. There are infinite small moments in between, and for most of us, they are more than enough.”
All around us, the snow flakes fade little by little, and all the painted colors swirl and blend, dripping into a kaleidoscopic landscape of its own. I breathe out a long exhale, and feel my spirit lightening up before speaking again, “I think maybe I’m just getting hangry. Isn’t there that really good pizza place down the street, in the back alley? The one with extra basil on the margherita?”
His eyes squint and crinkle more, and he punches my arm half playfully and half in frustrated relief, “Finally, Jung Jungkook, an excellent suggestion.”
—
I blink, and find myself in a rowboat, paddling rhythmically towards the ominous opening of the sea cave. The ocean mist splashes on my face with each movement, and the moonlight is bright and disorienting; but I keep rowing, pushing hard against the resistance of the water.
I don’t remember how I got here, or exactly why, but a restlessness gnaws at me from the inside; all around me, emptiness, saved for the crashing waves slapping against the boat.
The cave comes to me, one motion at a time. The entrance is low, with jagged rock slabs hanging above. As if I had done this many times before, I paddle hard then lean back, waiting until the boat slides through the opening and the low hanging rocks are replaced by the higher ceiling of the cave again.
Darkness envelops me from above, and the sploshing of the waves echoes within the cave like a dissonant symphony. I’m not afraid, for there is an illumination deep from the water below, mesmerizingly blue, as if lit by a million fireflies. Grotta Azzurra is what the Capri locals call this place, the light coming from the moon or sun shining through from under the cave walls; but legend has it that there’s magic in the otherworldly blue, a curse of the nymphs that Emperor Tiberius worshiped here. And it calls to me now, this manic energy of enchanting hues, piercing into my mind relentlessly, louder and louder until I surrender to the thought I’ve been too afraid to face.
Where’s Taehyung?
The space next to me on the rowboat is painfully empty. The light from the water beckons, and I take another longing look, and with a long stuttered inhale, I jump in.
The chilliness of the water tenses up my muscles and cuts through all my muddled thoughts like a blade. My eyes sting from the salty ocean water, but my mind doesn’t care, drags me down instead, towards the crystalline blue light that flickers and glimmers all around me - on my thoughts, in my pores, taking over my breaths as I drift deeper and deeper into the enchanting light.
I wonder if I’d hear the melody of the nymphs that Emperor Tiberius heard thousands of years ago, as my limbs become heavy and my thoughts dim…
Cold, heavy, and dark…
I choke on my breath and gasp out loud, snapping my eyes open to an entirely new space.
The light is gone. Through hazy darkness, I can make out sterile walls in front of me, and a concrete ceiling; the air is dry and stale. My vision is blurred, eyelids so heavy that it takes all the strength in my body to keep them open.
Where am I? Wasn’t I- wasn’t I just in the water?
I try to move my arms and legs, but they feel leaded, immobile. I try to at least turn my head, to survey my surroundings more, but it’s hard, each millimeter of movement taking all my effort. There’s a beeping sound, and eventually I see the jumbled wires coming off my head and connecting to blinking equipment at the edge of my peripheral.
My breaths turn ragged as fear paralyzes me, mind descending into chaos: where am I? What is happening? I need to go back to the other world, I don’t belong here, don’t want to be here.
I need to find Taehyung.
That’s when I spot it, beyond the equipment and web of wires, the beeping and sterile air, there’s another silhouette lying in another bed next to me, facing upwards, enveloped by the darkness.
I want to yell, want to see and figure out who it is, want to get up and rip the wires out; my wayward heartbeats thrum in my ears urgently, and I gasp on my labored breaths, desperately wishing to escape this nightmare. But my vision turns to mottled spots, and the last shred of strength is exhausted, as my head slacks into the pillow, eyes droop shut.
My thoughts drift into the abyss, untethered, sinking into limbo and loneliness. The world is no more, dissipated like pixels that blend into a homogeneous black. No more splashing of the canal water, the boozy punch of the April Spritz. Venus’ serene gaze fades, and the wind swept roses sink into the waves. All that’s left is nothingness, and my thoughts slow and turn into silence…
Come back.
A voice whispers feebly in the dark.
Come back, Jungkook.
I frown, and dwell in the abyss.
Please, come back to me.
The voice is insistent, caressing my thoughts, lingering and tracing, lifting me up, reminding me that away from the void, there’s a world out there, with light and sounds and impossibly beautiful landscapes, and someone waiting for me.
Please, Jungkook, I need you with me.
Yes, I remember. Way above there, if I try to move up, if I keep going, there’s a comforting azure light, crystalline and serene.
I follow the voice, and my body drifts up, away from the abyss, up and up towards the brightness… Up and up, the water splashes all around me, the blue light returns, and a set of hands grabs ahold of me and pulls.
I cough out the splattered water, and the world is vivid again, filled with the crisp night air that grazes by my wet skin, the precarious rocking of the rowboat, and finally, the face I’ve yearned to see, concerned and strained, as he drags me out of the water and onto the boat.
I collapse onto the wooden surface and finally let out a relieved exhale. The cave with shifting reflections of the waves, water damp on my skin, and Taehyung next to me, staring with that unabashed gaze I’ve come to adore. Whatever this is, is infinitely better than the sterile and grim nightmare from before.
“Thank god I didn’t have to dive in to find you this time. I’m such a shitty swimmer, probably even in this form…”he mumbles and shakes his head.
“In what form? What do you mean again?” I sit up, and finally voice all the questions I’ve been trying to avoid.
Taehyung makes a face at me, and sweeps my messy wet bangs away from my eyes, carefully, delicately, as if he’s done it countless times before, “Don’t ask me, . Ask yourself, it’s about time you remember.”
“Remember what?” My voice comes out a little shaky, surprising myself.
“Why you always come back to these places? Florence, Venice, Capri, Sicily, Pompeii… they are beautiful, sure, but it’s getting a little predictable, my love. A change of scenery would be nice once in a while, you know?” The blue light shifts on his face, and he looks ethereal, a nymph with my heart in his hands.
“We always come here? You and me?”
“Yes…” he drags the word out quietly, and leans into me, his torso warm and comforting, lending me strength, “Sometimes you remember, and sometimes you don’t. But I always come when you call for me… I’m sorry that I was a little slow today… They say my body is more and more drowsy, with my mind getting too attached to this world, as they predicted.”
I reach into him and snap my eyes shut, “What am I supposed to remember, Taehyung? Remind me please…”
“That we’re in your head, love. This world, me and you, we’re all in your thoughts.” He whispers into my skin, drawing out a shiver.
The waves echo in the cave, and his body feels so very real in my embrace, yet somehow, his words make sense to me, gives me the strength to acknowledge something hidden in the recess of my heart. Taehyung’s hand rubs on my back in comforting small circles, and he adds in a murmur, “NeuraLink, you volunteered before the accident, remember?”
The word strikes a chord with me, I blink my eyes, trying hard to search through my thoughts. NeuraLink…
The hospital-like room with the jumbled pile of wires. I see hazy images, of more rooms like that, with impersonal staff, flickering monitors. And a sense of excitement within me, tinged with fear.
“You always loved the idea, being an engineering major. Of a computer that can amplify the power of our thoughts. You used to always talk about how it could probably do much more than what we could comprehend.” Taehyung continues, “and you were right. No other volunteer survived the trial, but the program loved your brain, thrived in your logical yet creative thoughts. After only two trials, you did something nobody even thought was a possibility: traveling to different places.”
Ah. More fleeting memories flash across my mind, of worlds that were more dull, more blurry. And discomfort and limitations of what I could do. I whisper back, half caught in reverie, half asking myself, “Are they real? These worlds? Are we really here…”
Taehyung looks at me, hands still lingering on my arms, “Nobody knows. The details change, and things shift and morph to your wills. But sometimes you bring objects back to the lab, a rock, a flower, a piece of faded star… Are these cities in parallel world, or your mind is capable of materializing things out of intense desire, nobody can fully explain it…”
I hold onto him, letting our touches cushion me for the unfathomable truth that I’m beginning to remember. My head hurts, cracked open with memories gushing out like liquid seeping out of a raw egg, “but you’re here, in these places with me, and you remember?”
Taehyung’s ember eyes dim and there’s a tinge of somberness in them, “Do you remember the night we argued? Try, love, think of the snow…”
Snow…
I search through my mind. Yes, something is in there. Of damp and cold night snow, and solemn darkness. When I look back up, all around me, the air is turning hazy, and slowly, the snowflakes descend, first small and sparse, but as Taehyung and I look onto them, give them our attention, they grow into bigger flakes, soft and light, absorbing the sounds around us.
It was snowing just like this, the night we fought.
The memories rush to me, stinging. Taehyung’s teary eyes, sucking all the life out of me, and I spoke with a hoarse voice, spoke until I was just an empty shell, walking aimlessly away, knowing fully well that I regretted every word I uttered. We had so many harsh words for each other, so many hurtful reasons to break up at that moment; yet now, in this dark cave with drifting snow kissing my skin, when our world is strung together with nothing but thoughts, the argument suddenly seems so… inconsequential, silly almost.
None of it matters any more. All parts of life are noise, just mirages of the mind, fading in and out as my thoughts meander. The only thing I want now, the only thing that I cannot live without, is him. In spirit, in love joined, however we’re able to be together.
Taehyung leans back, and continues, feeding me words I already seem to know, as if I’m watching a familiar video being played one more time, “after that argument, on your walk home alone, was when you were hit by the speeding vehicle at the intersection. By the time your body was rushed to the hospital, you were already unconscious. The doctors spent weeks trying to help you gain consciousness, but there was no hope. Until they remembered how your brain responded so well to NeuraLink.” His eyes brighten at the word, “you have no idea how happy I was, when they told us your brain was functioning again once connected to the software. I was so relieved to have you back. But there was no way for us to communicate with you, no way to see what you were experiencing…”
I think of the lonely figure in the bed next to me in the hospital room, “so you told them to connect you too… Tae, no, it could’ve backfired, could’ve damaged your brain permanently.”
He tsks and gives me a glare, “you have to lecture me about this every single time! And I’ll tell you this a million times again, it didn’t! I’m here, we can exist in your worlds together! I mean, there are issues, our mind and body connections are both untethering, but one day at a time, ok? I don’t care what’ll happen in the future, I don’t care if you keep bringing us back to Italy because it’s where we first met and travelled together. Every new moment we gain is a miracle, even if you don’t remember me half of the time.”
The snowflakes are blurring my vision, and all around us, the caves and water swirl and melt away, until everything slowly turns into infinite blue, as if we’re drifting in an endless cloud that shines from within. Carefully, gently, I lean in to embrace Taehyung, kissing the crown of his head. The memories come back like waves that receding back onto shore, memories that overwhelm yet are too precious to lose. I hold onto him, not caring if this is all ephemeral, iridescent soap bubbles that will float away and burst, “you’re an idiot, such an idiot. Why would you risk your life like this? And for what? To be stuck in a hospital, stuck in a dream while life passes you by…”
He punches me in the chest, “what does it matter, life out there without you is not real anyways, not to me. I’d rather be in your head, on your thoughts, anchoring you down so you remember everything, not just drifting between universes all by yourself…” he’s murmuring again, half to himself, the words gnawing at my heart, making me feel terribly weak.
I gaze into the infinite beyond, and when I look down, the view of nothingness beneath us is dizzying. I squeeze Taehyung just a little tighter, and utter the words from my heart, as the world disappears, and only we remain, together, “promise me that we’ll find each other, no matter what.” Even if I have to move universes, reverse time, conspire for our fates to connect again and again…
Taehyung leans in until we are cheek to cheek, “no matter what, my love.”
—
There’s something eternally serene about sunsets, even after a tiring and overwhelming day. Here I stand, at the waterfront of Syracuse in Sicily, with the ocean in front of me, and the sun dipping towards the horizon, painting the sky and water in a kaleidoscopic splatter of pink and golden hues.
Syracuse is a city of resilience through the ages, there are Byzantine churches with WWII bullet holes, and modern buildings coexisting harmoniously next to ancient Greek amphitheater. The icon of the city is right in front of me: surrounded by limestone walls, a fresh water spring gushes out of the ground, creating a lush oasis of swaying papyrus and rippling water. Arethusa Springs is what the locals calls this spot, and it sits right along the waterfront, basking in the sunset with the ocean as its backdrop.
It’s nice to be in such a stunning location, practically a dream; but as I breathe in the salty Mediterranean air, and survey the languid pedestrians all around me, I can’t help but feel a strange urge within. That it’ll be better if I’m sharing this perfect moment with someone, a very specific someone that I cannot remember. I struggle with the fleeting thoughts that continue to escape me, and frown in response.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” A voice suddenly pipes up, startling me and making my camera holding hands shake.
I turn around, and find two inquisitive sets of eyes, from the person standing next to me and the flurry Pomeranian in his arms. The stranger pets the fluffball with his leisurely long fingers, and continues, “did you know that Arethusa was a nymph, and that she turned into a spring to hide from the river spirit? What’s with the Italians and nymphs anyways, they are in almost every local legend…” The dog glares and gives a resounding bark, wholeheartedly agreeing to the statement.
A bit of an odd conversation starter from a stranger, but I… like it, so I smile at him, taking in his billowing vintage floral shirt, and the forest green silk scarf that’s tied in a pretty bow on his neck, “who knows, maybe the Italians got it figured out. Nymphs, river gods.. maybe there is indeed magic in their landscape, magic that makes people come back over and over.”
He looks at me thoughtfully, the soft glow of the sunset shrouding his features, like gold shimmering over a statue of forever youth. It all feels so achingly familiar, and I blurt out a murmur before I can stop myself, “have I met you before somewhere? I could swear…hmm…”
He gives me a sassy little eye roll, but his lips betray him and curl up, “you could say something like that, yes. The funny thing is, I met the love of my life for the first time at this very spot decades ago. He was also a lone traveler, and terribly prone to dropping his precious camera, just like you.” His gaze turns a little wistful, his hand on the Pomeranian pauses in reverie, “I made a promise to him that I’d always find him, no matter how lost he was. So here I am, feeling the pull to this enchanted place again, ready to be of service.”
Something in his words resonates with me, something so genuine that it’s almost too raw to bear, I respond, “that’s very sweet of you, I really hope you do find each other.”
“I think we’ll do fine. He’s a bit of an idiot,” another eye roll, “but I guess so am I, what can I say-“ Suddenly, a flash of fur leaps out of his arms, and he yelps, “Yeontan, no!”
By the time I realize what’s happening, the pomeranian has already zoomed away. I swear I see the dog turn around to give us a victorious glare, before jumping up, up, tiny legs extended, body arching proudly midair, then dropping into the deep recess of the flowing spring below us.
The next moment turns slow motion in my mind, like some silly Hollywood action sitcom. The stranger next to me takes off after the dog, sprinting with his pretty scarf fluttering violently, his yells reverberating in the air, “Gukkie- Gukkie hurry we have to save him!”
I chase after them, leg muscles pumping into action, heart thrumming rapidly in my chest. When I finally reach the walled edge of the spring, as I jump into the unknown without hesitation, mind puzzled over whether the Gukkie he’s calling is indeed me, a realization dawns upon me.
The wind whistles, the sunset rays bask all of us in eternal warmth, and suddenly, with a huge grin plastered over my face, I am right where I belong.