#t. 운명 따위 없다는 걸 알고있지만

[haruusari]

운명 따위 없다는 걸 알고있지만,

he had seen her, first, in january.

the exhibit had been lame and yoonjung had ditched him last minute for a date that promised to end in sex, rather than shared cigarettes in haru’s shitty studio apartment. he hadn’t blamed her. a part of him had been in the middle of wishing he had chosen sex over the exhibit, too (christ, it had been boring) -- when he saw her.

he saw her.

(he would draw her, days later. paint her, sketch her, mold her. a face frozen in shock. soft hair, pale thighs, pink knees. flowers in her arms. a sculpture in front of her that meant nothing, because she was the most breathtaking piece of art in that entire gallery that night. nabi, you came! haru remembered hearing a voice greet her. but how could you do this to me? he had listened to her cry in the stairwell.)

he sees her, again, tonight.

like fate. like a vision. 

she’s alone and she isn’t crying, and she’s all the more beautiful for it. but haru knows he ought to walk away. haru knows there’s no such thing as fate. haru knows --

“are you here with anyone?” he asks, despite himself. motions at the empty seat beside her. lets his gaze drop briefly to her wet mouth. her glass is almost empty. “is this seat taken?”

@clementide