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Gravity ties everything together. The moon to the earth, the earth to the sun, Miae’s feet frozen stuck to the floor of the academy classroom.
The thing is, she doesn’t let anyone hurt her for long. People will always talk–have always talked–and sometimes what they’re gonna talk about is her, but she can’t let that get to her. So people think she’s annoying, or that she’s trying too hard. So what? She’s not gonna get all upset about it. She’s not gonna be sad.
But God, she’s so embarrassed .
Miae muffles a shriek into her blanket, kicking her feet furiously into the sheets before flinching upright. What right did those kids have to say anything about her? Why should they make her feel anything at all? Her fury is rudely cut short by the image of Cheol’s surprised face wafting into her mind, and she suppresses the urge to scream again.
Gravity ties everyone together. It’s just that the ones who are bigger, the ones who shine a little brighter–their gravity is just the tiniest bit stronger. She’s always clung to Cheol more than he ever did to her. Everyone knows it. It’s just the universe, and that’s just them .
Miae’s heart suddenly aches in a way that’s become familiar to her. There are hot tears–embarrassed ones, not sad ones–quickly collecting behind her eyes, and she needs fresh air more than she’s ever needed it before. Swiping at her eyes, she stumbles out of her room and tiptoes out of the apartment. She doesn’t even want to think about Cheol, much less look out of her window and into his.
As soon as she’s outside, and completely sure she’s alone, she lets herself fall to the ground, tears slipping out carelessly. It’s still hot outside, even late into the night. Balmy air folds around her. The moon, the blinking lights of a passing plane, and the steady twinkling of the sparse stars blur together in her vision.
The buzz of cricket song and the hiss of wind slipping through the trees is louder than her mind, and she’s grateful for it. A bit of distraction, a moment of calm.
And–she didn’t want to be, and she’ll never tell anyone, but she’s so hurt. She’ll be better tomorrow, but just for right now, she’s so sad she wants to crawl into herself and hide until she’s certain she’ll never have to face Cheol and the other academy kids again.
The sound of a door clicking open, then shut, hardly even surprises her.
Miae doesn’t need to look up to know it’s him. Who else would it be? He’s always shown up when she thought of him, whether she wanted to see him or not. Whether he wanted to see her or not. She can’t tell if the swoop in her heart is relief or despair, and she’s not awake enough to decipher it. Instead, she slouches deeper, digs her chin into her hands, and ignores him.
“Hwang Miae?” He sounds confused. Concerned? Rough with sleep, soft with…something Miae can’t quite figure out.
“Yeah?” She answers into her hands.
“Are–are you crying?”
Suddenly he’s all up in her face–crouching in front of her, poking her forehead to tilt her head backwards, brushing her limp bangs away from her eyes–and Miae feels nauseous . She meets his eyes slowly, like a flower turning towards the sun. Like an asteroid dragged into a black hole’s waiting arms.
Had he heard what the kids were saying about her? Does he know? Does he know that she knows? Does…does he agree with them? The shame returns with a fury, and she snaps away from him, face burning.
“No!” She bursts out, squeezing her eyes shut. Her voice is far, far too loud for the summer night.
The crickets keep chirping. Cheol inches closer. “Liar,” he huffs, thumbing at the tears drying on her cheeks. Miae’s breath is all tied up in her throat.
She wants to jump up and run away, but she’s bolted to the pavement. He’s too close. She can’t look away, even as tears flicker through her vision. Gravity, gravity, gravity–
Then he’s tugging her into his arms, and she feels like she’s melting in the summer heat and her embarrassment and Cheol.
“What are you doing?” She almost shrieks, this time more careful to control her voice. She twists, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of his face, but he only tightens his arms.
“Isn’t this what you’re always doing?”
“But you’ve never–”
“Why’re you crying?” Now he sounds embarrassed too, voice gruff and neck warm where Miae’s face is buried.
“I’m not,” she says, and this time she’s not lying.
“Did you fight with your parents again?”
“No!” She tightens her grip on his shirt even as she scoffs. “It’s none of your business.”
Maybe he’ll figure it out one day. Maybe he won’t.
“You have to tell me.”
Maybe it’s too hot to be sitting outside like this, hugging, but who is Miae to fight the pull of gravity?
“Hwang Miae!”
“Cheol-ah.”
It’s just the universe. Just them.