#` ✦ ⋮ my art ⋮ gotta love spending ten years drawing the same circle.

[spiderman-homecomeme]

kiss you once (and then some more)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Three

concept: mistletoe kisses

❆❆❆

                            when i close my eyes (it’s just you and i)

It’s almost a mystery, why he’d ever agreed to put himself through the torture of end of the semester gift shopping for the mentally and emotionally exhausted teachers at Midtown. It’s mid-December on a Saturday afternoon. The Karens are out in full force. The shitty jazz cover of Baby, It’s Cold Outside has lasted so long, he wonders if it’s just on an endless loop.

But... he figures if it buys him precious time he gets to spend with MJ, then as far as he’s concerned, it’s all pretty worth it. 

He’s behind her at a loose follow, his hand shoved into his pockets as he glances around the aisles, trying not to only look at her. 

(He’s slightly successful at that.)

It’s funny how he could almost get lost, seeing her expressions shift as she peruses the shelves, her lips twisting in thought as she picks up various pieces of festive art work. It’s all cheesy, of course it is, though none of those seem to draw any sort of reaction from her. But, the dozens and dozens of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe’s get kind of old. 

Though she doesn’t make any verbal indication of her dislike, her face says it all. Brows scrunched ever so slightly, mouth pulled back just a bit. It’s subtle, but Peter’s had plenty of experience staring at her face to know exactly what it is. 

So, caring and curious friend that he is, asks about it. “What?”

“Eh, nothing,” She says, shrugging, clearly not caring. “Just that the mistletoe stuff is kind of stupid. And a bit creepy, if you think about it. Society only accepts it as a tradition because they think it’s an acceptable way to get someone to kiss you.” 

“Oh,” Peter said, nodding quietly. She’s not wrong. 

But he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought of meeting MJ under the mistletoe. 

Though, after hearing her thoughts, he instantly feels bad for ever thinking that about her in the first place, for ever making her play that role in his overactive imagination.

“But,” Michelle adds, still not taking her attention away from the green and red wall decor. “If there’s mutual feelings, more importantly, if there’s consent, then yeah, I guess it’s fine.”

Of course, he agrees with her. Obviously. But… He’s still in that limbo of not being entirely sure what she means by all this. 

“I still think it’s dumb, though,” she concludes. 

Peter nods. “Oh, yeah same.” A beat passes, he knocks his hands together, shifting on his feet as his lips purse.  He’s not sure why he thinks to open his mouth again, to ask what he’s about to ask, but he does. “So, you’d probably never try it, right?” 

She frowns slightly, though it’s not out of upset, only in contemplation. Her brow furrows as she shrugs, and she seems off guard. “Well… I mean—I wouldn’t say… Never…?” Her eyes briefly flick over to him once before training on another interesting sign on the display.

If Peter hadn’t been paying attention, he might not have noticed the slight change in her disposition, the subtle switch from calm and cool to flustered. 

And again, he’s a little dumbfounded as to what to do with this. What could have gotten to her? 

After a beat, she speaks again, any traces of frayed nerves vanishing just like that. “Yeah, I’d do it with someone I liked and trusted. A friend or something, I don’t know.”

His brain short-circuits for a moment.

“Any of your friends?” He finds himself asking, unable to keep the nervous chuckle from bubbling up out of him. 

She tucks an errant curl behind her ear with jittery hands. “Ah—I… I mean. Not just any friend,” she rushes to spit out. “There’s… um—” she swallows, gesturing vaguely. “—one.”

Peter feels his heart jump and skip into his throat, and he just knows that his ears, nose, and cheeks are all turning a bright shade of pink. Though he’s not quite sure if the nervousness he feels is because he thinks she’s talking about someone else—she must be, right?—or if he thinks she’s talking about him. 

But, again, as he tries to think of all their friends, it’s a short list considering how small their circle is, and he’s not sure if he’s seen MJ express interest in any of them. 

That could also mean jack shit, but it’s fine.

“Ned?” He asks, somehow managing to put a teasing edge to his tone. 

MJ huffs out a light laugh. “No,” she replies simply, keeping tight-lipped. 

“Cindy?” 

She shakes her head again. “Mm-mm.”

“Flash?”

The pointed glare she throws over her shoulder is enough to make him laugh in spite of his overactive nerves. He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay! Okay! Sorry. Got it. I’ll stop.”

The corner of her lip quirks up into a slight smile, and she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek as she goes back to the shelves. 

Even though he desperately wants to get to the bottom of this, Peter drops the subject. More than anything, he wants to know who MJ’s thought about kissing under the mistletoe. It fills him with an anxiety he hadn’t known he could feel, the butterflies in his stomach when she looks over at him close to combusting. 

He wonders if he’ll ever find out, if she’ll ever feel comfortable enough to tell him. As much as he wants it to be him—God, he wishes it was—he can’t help but feel that it’s gotta be someone else. 

After all, it only makes sense. 

He and MJ are just friends. 

That’s all they’ll ever be, and he’s perfectly fine with that. 

                         somebody waits for you (kiss her once for me)

Flash’s party is like a minefield; a dangerous plane of holly branches hung above every doorway and low-ish railing, all done in the name of his grand scheme to get some holiday action. It works for the most part; he gets a few kisses from willing participants, and merely moonwalks away from those who scoff and turn their nose up at him. 

It’s not all that bad, Peter supposes. He just has to watch where he’s standing. Sure, he knows he’s not obligated in any way to kiss anyone, but he’d rather avoid the awkwardness if he can. 

The red and green is easy enough for him to spot, just barely visible to where he only has to glance up every few feet. 

Though, maybe he’s paying a little too much attention to where the mistletoe is, and not enough to where he’s actually going.

He runs into MJ not ten feet out of the kitchen. 

She lets out an uncharacteristic yelp as she tumbles back, but Peter’s quick to catch her, one arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her upright again before she can hit the ground. 

“Sorry,” He winces, losing himself for a moment when she doesn’t look away—or pull away, her palm pressed over his heart. 

He can’t help but notice how heavily she’s breathing, how fast her heart races in her chest, though he knows that that could very well be from the almost-fall. 

“Nice catch,” she breathes, the corner of her lips twitching into half-grin. 

A beat passes before Peter realizes he hasn’t said anything, and that he hasn’t let her go yet. Clearing his throat, he yanks his arm away, reaching back to scratch his neck. “You okay?” He asks, suddenly unable to look directly at her. 

She stares down at her drink—the one he’s just realized she’d been holding, thankfully not spilled—seeming to bite back a smile. 

“Yeah!” She says quickly, nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She rocks back on her heels, lips pressing into a line. Another beat passes. “Where’s Ned?” She finally asks casually.

“With, uh—” Peter coughs. “With Betty.” 

MJ gives a single nod, huffing out a single, soft laugh. “Should’ve guessed.” It’s her turn to clear her throat. “Do you wanna… hang out?”

It’s funny that she asks that, because Peter’s sure that’s what his exact wish was just a second before. Neither of them should even have to ask, given their closeness and that they’re already at the same party talking to one another, they’re already “hanging out,” but somehow, this feels different. 

Peter nods, and he follows her close behind to a quieter corner of the house—as quiet as it can be, filled to the brim with tipsy, hormonal teenagers and the thumping bass of an aspiring DJ-slash-Influencer. 

They stand awkwardly in the corner, Peter finding it harder and harder to keep his eyes off of Michelle; the way one side of her curls is pinned back, her bangs still falling in her face. The way her flowy dress flutters every time someone opens the door to the backyard and a breeze sneaks in. 

He realizes after a moment too long of just staring that she’s speaking to him. There’s a shake to her voice, a nervous chuckle under every word she says. 

“It’s cool if you don’t want to—”

“No, sorry, I—” He laughs, bashful, feeling a warmth flood his face. “I—didn’t hear you. What did you say?”

Her lips press together as she bites back another anxious laugh. “Um—” She swallows thickly, looking upward. “There’s… That.”

Peter follows her gaze, his mouth falling open when he sees the delicate, but cheesy mistletoe hanging just above them. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat passes. 

“I—I um… I made a joke about us. Kissing,” MJ admits, her eyes not meeting his. 

“I mean—” Peter lets out a light laugh, blood rushing to his face, ringing in his ears. He feels dizzy, floaty even. “I—I’d be cool. With—with doing that.” 

Her eyes flit up to meet his, her lips curving into that cute small smile he’s always liked. 

“Oh,” she breathes out, looking down again shyly. “Me, too.” 

And then, she leans in, slowly, cautiously. It feels like a million years pass before her lips touch his in the most gentle and softest of kisses, and his head swims at how sweet it all is. 

Turns out, kissing his best friend might be one of the best decisions he’s ever made.

                                       maybe we’ll be all the love

The three gentle raps at her window make her heart skip. She swings her legs over the side of her bed as if on instinct, wrapping the knitted blanket around her shoulders as she makes her way to the window—the one that her upside-down boyfriend’s enthusiastically waving at her through. 

There’s nothing she can do to hold back her smile, even as she desperately tries to seem nonchalant when she yanks the window open a little too hard. 

“Hey,” he says. 

She can already hear his dopey smile before he rips his mask off, tossing it in her room behind her, already leaning in—to kiss her, she assumes. 

“Hi,” she replies, quirking a brow at him, a hand coming up to his chest, holding him back. “You sure that’s safe to just… show your face like that?” A light laugh bubbles up from her, warmth blooming in her face when he shrugs, clearly not having thought that through, the idea of him being so distracted by the idea of kissing her that he throws all sense of secrecy out the window. 

“Eh, I mean—” He chuckles. “You’re the only one who can technically see my face, so…” 

She peeks over the window pane, looking up to see that he’s hanging by a web from the above apartment’s balcony.

A shiver ripples through her when the cold December breeze picks up. Her eyes narrow into a glare. “Are you gonna come in? It’s cold. And you’re letting that in here.”

His lips stretch into a cheeky smile. “Can I get a kiss first?”

MJ’s mouth twists, fighting the urge to roll her eyes. 

“If you come inside, I’ll kiss you.” 

“What if I told you there’s mistletoe right above us?” 

Her expression is blank. She blinks once at him, not looking up like he wants her to. “There’s not,” she deadpans. 

“What if… I’m the mistletoe?”

“Peter—” She almost laughs, wrapping her blanket tighter around her when the cold bites at her skin. 

“Web-stletoe…” He muses. “Mistle-web—”

Michelle leans over the window pane, her hands coming to the back of his hand and pulling him to her, capturing his lips into a sweet kiss. It’s awkward at first, with everything being all switched around, flipped upside down, but they quickly settle in to the feeling. She can feel Peter’s lips quirk upward (down for her) into a smile. 

Suddenly, she finds the cold not so bad. 

When she pulls back, her expression mirrors his own, even as she tries to bite back the dopey grin. 

A light giggle bursts from him, making her heart strings swell with a warm crescendo. 

“Get inside, loser.”

                                     i’m just gonna keep on waiting

It’s cold out on the deck, but Peter doesn’t seem to mind it. As long as he’s sitting by the fire pit, he can ignore the way the breeze nips at his face, no doubt turning the tip of his nose and apples of his cheeks a bright shade of red. With the fire and a mug of hot cocoa in hand, he’s set for a peaceful night. 

His friends are all still inside, no doubt drinking it up while some holiday movie plays in the background. It’s not as if he doesn’t want to be in there celebrating with them, to be listening to Flash tell his likely overdramatized stories about random celebrities he’d met while going to school in LA, to hear Gwen and Cindy drunkenly singing along to every Bublé song that comes on. It’s such an overwhelmingly happy, cheerful atmosphere inside. 

So much so, that he felt he needed a moment of just… nothing. 

But then, the gentle click of the backdoor opening cuts the moment short, though not that he minds really. 

He looks over his shoulder, immediately standing on instinct when MJ walks through and closes the door behind her. 

“Hey,” he breathes, smiling slightly. 

She startles, not realizing he’s been out here. “Oh, hey.” 

There’s an awkwardness lingering in the air, pressing on his shoulders as they both offer half-hearted waves. 

Breaking-up can really put a damper on things. 

It had happened months ago, but it almost feels like a hundred years; so long since they’d mutually ended things before going off to college. There’s no bad blood between them. Not at all. In fact, he considers MJ to still be one of his closest friends. 

Sure, they went from kissing, holding hands, sleeping together—being together—to just friends, but… It hasn’t been so bad. They both knew it wouldn’t last in college, both of them worried about things going south. 

So, they ended everything before it had a chance to. 

And again. It’s fine. These things happen. People grow apart when they go off to college. It’s perfectly normal. 

Plus, Peter’s just glad that he still gets to have MJ in his life at all. 

“What’re you… doing out here?” She asks slowly, folding her arms across her chest to keep warm. 

“Oh, uh—” He shrugs, glancing around the porch, the awning above them, back at the fire pit. He mirrors her actions, rocking back on his heels. “Just needed some air. You know. You?”

She nods before letting out a faint huff of laughter. “Brad, uh—Brad just can’t seem to take a hint. So…”

A slow smile spreads across Peter’s face. “You’re hiding from him.”

She recoils in defense, brow furrowing. “I am not hiding from him,” she insists, stepping away from the door and closer to the fire. 

Closer to Peter. 

“I just… thought I’d come out here—” she starts softly, Peter finding himself drawn in immediately as she stops in front of him. She shrugs. “—at the same time he happened to go to the bathroom. Not hiding.”

Peter’s smile grows, and he tips his head at her. “Uh-huh.”

MJ huffs, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly. She glances up to the awning above them, her mouth falling open in surprise at what she sees hanging from the rafters. 

“What?” Peter asks, looking up with her, feeling a warmth bloom in his face when he sees. 

Mistletoe. Of course. 

The two of them laugh quietly, chuckling to themselves. 

“Wow,” MJ says, lips twisting in amusement. “Well. I mean—”

“—I guess—” Peter shrugs, scratching the back of his neck. 

“—If you want,” MJ offers slowly, her eyes not leaving his, the warmth in them making his cheeks burn. There’s something in her smile that takes him all the way back to that first party he’d kissed her at, makes him want to lean in. “For old time’s sake?” 

He chuckles breathily. “Yeah. For old time’s sake.” 

It should be harmless, right? At least, that’s what he thinks as he leans in, his hand naturally finding a home on the side of her face, delicately cupping her jaw as he presses his lips to hers.

But it’s a feeling so familiar, a feeling he’s missed more than words could ever begin to describe, and it’s as if the numbness from the past few months has vanished, giving way to the permanent molten ache in his chest. He sighs softly, pulling her closer, an arm coiling around her waist. Her hands come up to wrap around his shoulder, threading softly through the curls at the nape of his neck as she deepens the kiss. 

They’ve missed this, so much, their chests locking together like magnets, pulled apart for so long. 

And it’s in that moment, as they kiss by the fire, holding each other close, that they both silently thank whoever put that damn mistletoe there. 

                                         and telling me, “i love you”

“Honey, I’m hooooome,” Peter calls into the apartment, bags of groceries balanced in the crook of his arms, one propped precariously on his shoulder, supported only by the tips of his fingers as he kicks the door shut behind him. 

“Thank God,” MJ groans from the couch, not moving from her spot as she holds a hand up and out for him. “Hey,” she calls to him again when he sets the paper bags on the kitchen counter. “C’mere. Check this out.”

There’s a smile already growing on Peter’s face as he walks over, one bag still tucked in his arm. “What?”

Grinning from ear to ear, MJ lifts the bottom of her shirt, showing her growing bump. It’s not huge yet, but twelve weeks in, and she’s certainly bigger than normal. 

“Woah!” Peter’s eyes light up, though he tends to do that every time he looks at her belly now. He puts the bag down, kneeling down next to her, one of his hands coming to smooth over her bump. “There’s a little baby in there.”

“I think we’ve established that,” she jokes, her hand gently patting his. “Probably still looks a lot like a sea monkey right now.”

“In a cute way, right?”

Her smile widens. “Definitely in a cute way.”

His hand stays on her bump as he leans in to place a gentle peck on her forehead, his eyes sparkling when he pulls back to look at her. “What’s the fruit size for twelve weeks?”

“I think the app said a plum?” 

Peter awwwws, now leaning down to place a kiss right on her belly. “My li’l plum.” 

MJ makes a face at that.

“Fine,” He huffs. “Our li’l plum.”

“You’re such a dork,” she laughs, nudging him gently on the shoulder. 

He snickers back before placing another set of kisses along her growing stomach. One spot makes a giggle bubble up from her chest, and she jumps slightly. “If you keep doing that you’re gonna get kicked.” 

“By you or the baby?”

“Me. Can’t feel the baby yet.”

Peter closes his eyes, laughing into her shirt before sitting back on his heels. 

Her smile is soft as she looks at him. Her dork. She shifts her attention to the bag he’d brought over, finding herself curious. “What’s in the bag?” 

Again, his eyes light up as he lets out a gentle gasp. “There’s more in the kitchen, but this bag has all the goodies in it.” He reaches a hand in, pulling out a giant tin of hot chocolate mix and another of loose leaf peppermint tea. “For you, of course.” 

“Amazing.” 

“I also got some of those Hawaiian sweet rolls,” he says, grabbing exactly that. “You mentioned wanting those the other day, I think.”

She did.

“Then…” His tongue sticks out as he searches the bag. “I got some ice cream. I didn’t know if you’d want cookies and cream or chocolate chip… so I just got both.”

“Thank you. You’re so sexy when you can’t make decisions.” 

Peter snorts, playfully shrugging off her hand that’s trying to dramatically caress his face. “And—stop that—and—” He laughs, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he holds out a cheap, plastic mistletoe. “This.”

She rolls her eyes, half-heartedly pushing his hand away. “Peter.” 

“It was in the check-out line! I was waiting a long time. I got bored.” 

And she shakes her head, smiling fondly. “I love you.”

He throws a wink at her before holding the mistletoe up between them, laughing when she grabs it from him and tosses it aside before pulling him in for a tender kiss. 

His eyes are gleaming when he pulls back, one hand moving back to rest on her bump, his thumb drawing soothing lines into her skin. 

“I love you, too.”

[complexmagrparchive]

                       EVIL IS WHATEVER DISTRACTS

NAME › Natalie Eunseo Howard/ Natalie Kim   D.O.B. › 08 17 1991 (25) OCCUPATION › Freelance Photographer/ Receptionist INSTA › @dysofbngwld​

content warning: alcoholism

PORTFOLIO

( Basically her style is based on JDZ Chung’s work so in no way am I claiming credit for any of the work but that’s who the actual photographer of these pieces are.)

Portrait A, for Dazed Korea

Portrait B, for Complex

Portrait C, for personal portfolio

Landscape A, for personal portfolio

Portrait D, for unreleased photobook

Portrait E and Portrait F, for Complex

Portrait G and Portrait H, for Nylon Korea

DETAILS

born to an american soldier and a young korean woman in busan.

father leaves the family, is never heard from again.

mother remarries, gives birth to siblings. natalie gets lost in the mix.

gets into art high school in seoul for drawing, stands out little among peers.

drinks for the first time as a teenager, likes it more than she should.

takes photography up as a hobby, posts to blog and slowly gains notoriety.

gets into hongik, continues to not stand out among peers, drinks more.

begins freelancing as a photographer, drops out of college.

spends too much time drinking/partying and not enough time working. sets foundation to ruin her own life.

comes to the realization that she’s probably ruining her life with destructive behavior.

A guy tells her about a condensed version of the twelve step plan, for new year’s she tells herself she’ll give it a try.

Step one; admitting that one cannot control one’s alcoholism, addiction or compulsion.

“Hi, my name is Natalie and I’m an alcoholic.”

The group greets her back as a collective, and it’s only when she looks around the room desperately searching for kind eyes to connect with that she realizes she’s the only person under thirty in the room.

Alcoholism, she notes, is not an issue faced by the average 25 year old.

“I like drinking because it makes me feel invincible, and I don’t get that when I’m sober.”

There’s the distinct throb of her own heartbeat that drowns out any noise. The group claps and Natalie takes her seat but her heart echoes too loudly in her ears and she can’t begin to focus on the next person speaking or anything that happens during the intermission.

She only knows two things for sure: she’d kill for a drink right now, and she’s never coming back to this circle of fucking losers.

Step two; recognizing a higher power that can give strength.

JESUS LOVES YOU!

It’s a gaudy sort of flier, with the words written in bubbly rainbow and a teenage girl all but shoves it in her hands as she tries to make her way past the ensuing crowd of forceful christian teens trying to spread the good word in some shit-stain sidewalk in Hongdae.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life” The rest of the flier reads, and it’s enough to make her laugh.

For God so loved Jesus he sacrificed him for the sake of the ungrateful humans who turned their backs on his majesty.

For God so loved Natalie he had her father abandon her physically, and her mother emotionally.

For God so loved Natalie he gave her younger half-siblings more wonderful than she could ever be and a group of friends with more talent than she could ever hope for

For God so loved Natalie he made her a jealous, insecure woman who self-destructs the moment anything remotely good begins to happen.

God doesn’t make mistakes, and the bible says he loves her as much as he benevolently loves anyone else. But Natalie’s ready and willing to call bullshit.

The flier crumples up in tight pale fists and she chucks it into the street, praying a puddle destroys it before God’s love has a chance to ruin someone else’s day.

Step three; examining past errors with the help of a sponsor (experienced member).

“Do you think I’m a fuck up?”

Phone cradled between her shoulder and her face she swears she can hear the hesitation in his breath as he sighs loudly into her ear.

“This is really what you want to talk to me about at 3 a.m.? Shouldn’t you be editing photos right now, not indulging in an existential crisis?”

His voice is still rough and raspy, and Natalie is sure that before she called he was nearing his REM cycle and dreaming about something wholly more pleasant than spending the wee hours of the morning talking to a girl with a lack of boundaries or consideration for others.

“I’m editing the photos right now. But I started thinking about it and I got curious.”

He sighs again, more softly.

“Natalie go to sleep. The photos can wait, you’re ahead of the deadline this time. Hang up your phone, put the wine bottle away, turn off your laptop, and go to sleep. Don’t worry about stupid shit this late at night, you’ll only stress yourself out.”

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? Well good for you. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

It’s her turn to sigh.

He’s too damned nice and she hates him for it. Maybe that’s why they could never work out romantically, maybe that’s why they barely work out platonically. He’s beating around the bush avoiding the ugly truth that they’re both very much aware of.

“I’ll hang up after you answer my question.”

The line goes dead for a moment, and it’s only the steady subtle sound of his breath that makes her realize he’s still there

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up— ”

“ —Bullshit.”

“Shut up and let me finish for once. I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Do I think you’re a person who fucks up a lot? Yeah, anyone with eyes can see that. But do I think you’re a fuck up? No. You’re just some girl who’s kind of selfish and likes to make herself suffer and cut herself off from people who care about her. You’re also a girl who doesn’t respect my sleep schedule, but no I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Now will you let me go to sleep.”

The total honesty of it shocks her. Granted, it’s what she asked for (what she craves), but the reality of it catches her off guard.

“Okay.”

Her voice is small and timid and suddenly she can’t seem to be bothered about the pictures staring back at her from her computer screen anymore.

“You’re not a fuck up, you’re just a person who needs some work. Don’t get yourself so down, just go to bed and don’t forget to send me those pictures sometime tomorrow. Good night.”

The line goes dead before Natalie can muster a reply.

Step four; making amends for these errors.

After a decade, her mother’s house is more or less the same.

The same family portrait of three handsome children paired with two proud parents and an awkward gawky girl standing alongside adorns the living room wall. The same cream colored couch with hard, uninviting immaculately clean cushions. The same god forsaken coffee table whose corners only serve to gouge and bruise Natalie’s skin.

She’s been gone from Busan for ten years, and yet nothing’s changed; her mother’s kept a time capsule all of these years.

“What’s this?”

The satoori that her mother spits out so incredulously sounds all too familiar and all too foreign in the same breath. They talk every now and again on the phone, but the power of her mother’s accent gets lost in the distance. In person it’s powerful and a glaring reminder of how far from a Seoul-girl Natalie really is.

“It’s money, Mom. I got a second job because I wanted to pay you and your husband back.”

The envelope sits on that damned contraption of a coffee table untouched, but Natalie can’t miss the way her mother’s eyebrow perks up in disinterest and the way her lips purse. It’s an expected gift,  unwarranted as it is. Her mother spent fifteen long years raising her and another ten sending monetary support to encourage reckless habits. It’s the least Natalie can do even if her mother isn’t interested.

“I’m making japchae for dinner. Your father and your brothers will be home soon, why don’t you stay for dinner. It’d be nice to have a full family dinner for once.”

In the reflection of the coffee table, she can see that fucking family portrait she’s spent years forgetting existed. Her mother sits on a chair and smiles brightly, with a cherubic looking baby sitting on her lap. Her mother’s husband stands behind the chair, one hand resting on the wicker, the other resting on his young son’s shoulder. Another boy stands to the side with the same twinkle in his eyes as the older boy and the beautiful baby. Then, off to the side, stands Natalie in all of her awkward gawky teenaged glory. Her features don’t match up with the children who mirror each other so well. Her forehead is too wide, her ears stick out too much, a face too exotic to fit perfectly amongst a family so proudly and obviously Korean.

She’d like to rip that potrait off the wall and smash it into the ugly table her mother adores so much.

“Can’t stay. I gotta catch a train back to Seoul today, I’ve got work later tonight.”

If she doesn’t look, she’s sure she’ll be able to avoid the guilt that undoubtedly will attack her if she meets her mother’s gaze.

“Okay then. Call me when you get to Seoul and let me know you got there okay.”

She’s out the door before her mother can dare say anything more.

The guilt finds her in the end anyways.

Step five; learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior

Knees caked in dirt and gloves now soiled, she can almost understand the appeal old women find in maintaining a lovely little garden. Her roses are starting to bloom well, and the lavender look nice in it’s lonely little corner. It’s a patrician hobby;  for those with enough money to afford the time to spend tending to pretty little flowers and enjoying the simple pleasures of life.

The sun bears down too hot on pale shoulders, and Natalie can’t help but sigh at the way her knees ache when she pushes herself up as she assess her work. It’s nice, but not nearly enough. If she works hard, by mid August the rooftop might look like the secret garden she’s got in her mind.

Her phone starts to ring the second she pulls her clammy hands out from their lycra and leather prison. Temptation has impeccable timing.

“Natty! Where are you, baby girl? I miss your crazy ass!” the voice on the other end clings to every syllable and there’s a familiar itch in the back of Natalie’s throat suddenly.

“Right now I’m on my rooftop putting away gardening tools.”

Laughter on the other end rings somewhere in between bemused and condescending in Natalie’s ear and she tries not to notice the way her fingers clench into a fist as her nails dig into the rough material of her gloves.

“What the fuck. Did you magically turn into an eighty year old while I was gone?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay well Miss Howl’s Moving Castle, come turn into a beautiful young girl again and come to my birthday party tonight. I know you couldn’t possibly forget.”

Her teeth clench tightly, and critical eyes begin to assess the garden again. The lavender looks to far off and lonely in the corner, she thinks she ought to plant some celosia nearby.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of busy.”

“Oh boo, I’ll be so sad if you don’t come. Don’t ruin my birthday Natty, I won’t forgive you if you do. It’s at that one club in Itaewon, our favorite one.”

“I’ll uh think about it.”

“Good.”

The line goes dead before she has a chance to give another half assed denial. Slipping her gloves back on she makes her way over to the corner of lavender. Another couple of hours in the garden won’t kill her, and neither will one night in Itaewon.

She’ll make one last great hurrah about it.