#he's nothing if not consistent in his weird blue orange morality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vanaera · 6 years

Text

Translucent Fireworks

Synopsis | Jungkook yearns for a New Year to come after the warmth he sought in Busan turned lukewarm. Sparks start to alight when spring comes and a girl with a coloring book and weird laundry schedule stepped in his laundromat.

Genre | Fluff, Drama, Slight Angst

Wordcount | 23k+

A/N | Surprise, surprise! @cinserity, you thought me taking up your freaking laundry!au is a joke? AHAHAHHA No. Sorry this is not a crack fic. I prefer to stay in my drama/angst expertise. Enjoy reading!

“Comfort settles on what is familiar; familiarity is made by routines and traditions. As much as anyone would like to have their days vary from each other, a constant is needed to hold one’s life in place.”

These were Jeon Jungkook’s mother’s constant reminders to him whenever he would like to do something stupid in his high school days just to make life “exciting.” In the thawing winter of the last week of February Jungkook reminds himself of this when he fumbles for his keys, his eyes in a never ending fight against the sleep hanging on his eyelids.

His movements are slow as he crouches down, a gloved hand inserts the key to the padlock, twists it, and then he places the key and padlock in the pocket of his green bomber jacket. He grasps the metal gate of the store front before he pushes it up, higher and higher until the gate is no longer obstructing the face of his laundromat.

He steps away to look at his laundromat’s signboard: “Jeon’s Laundromat” printed in the usual blue and green color scheme with a simple washing machine cartoon art that was a trend in the 1970s and still a trend in the 2000s for the vintage look. It’s simple and basic, a perfect match for a simple laundry business in the simple Myeongjang-dong, Dongnae District of Busan. The white paint has faded and grayed with age but the shop still resonates the same warm and homey aura back when he used to play toy cars inside as he keeps his grandmother company. Jungkook tries to curve his lips to form a smile on his tired face. He wishes the same warmth could soothe his exhaustion.

“Wow, you opened early. It’s like five thirty in the morning.”

Jungkook turns to see his high school friend, then-partner in crime, now a florist with his own flower shop across his laundromat giving him a cheeky smile. “Shut up, Jimin,” a hoarse chuckle resonates from his throat as Jungkook leans on the wall of his shop and decides he needs a distraction. He tries to appreciate the ridiculous color combination of his friend’s orange parka, green sweatpants, and a Mickey Mouse beanie sitting atop a taupe brown mop of hair. “You look ridiculous,” Jungkook snickers.

“Hey, excuse my outfit,” Jimin chortles as he looks down at his pink-socked feet in his slippers, stifling a guffaw. “I ran out of food, so I rushed out, just put on anything on my sleepwear to look decent.”

“You look anything but decent.”

“Oh shut up! I’m gonna be in my usual glory when I open my shop later,” Jimin’s eyes crinkles. “I’ll be as beautiful as my flowers later, just you see,” he says as he steps away waving at Jungkook to bid him goodbye and a “See you later, coconut head.”

“Yeah, see you later,” Jungkook waves as he enters his shop, flipping the “Sorry We’re Closed” sign to “Come In, We’re Open!” He stays by the glass door to look at the morning dew of early morning under the mellow yellow patch of the skyline about to overwhelm the parting navy colors of night. Jungkook could make out the pots of white carnations behind the doors of Jimin’s pastel blue flower shop. His eyes then travel to the apartment unit above the flower shop to watch Mrs. Taehee Jung gather the dried clothes she hung up the night before. Old Sangmin’s bakery is still thriving on the far right and Jungkook remembers his elementary days when his mother used to buy him muffins on the way home from school. He makes a note to buy some toasts later to munch on. Home-based convenience stores are opening one by one, and he could already see someone mopping the floors of the red-bricked establishment of Kim’s Italian Restaurant on his far left. His view is disrupted when Mr. Changmin Song, a resident below his apartment unit, waves at him as he walked on the street. Jungkook is compelled by moral norms to return the wave with a smile. Oh and there’s Mrs. Eunhui Lee, a patron of the laundromat, biking past him and Jungkook waves again.

His mornings are always filled with warmth, a stark difference to his life five years ago in the concrete jungle of black and white buildings. He doesn’t miss the pressure of schedules that drove people here and there, the constant feeling of glass screens pressed against stressed flesh while shouting some things that are needed to be done – a life where everyone needs to go somewhere and do something in such a never-ending hurry. Jungkook’s glad he traded a life where people are controlled by time and cold apathy for a life of laidback days, serene nights, and warm sympathy of people. However, he’s been used to the warm life here for too many years that sometimes Jungkook thinks the warmth of being home had already turned lukewarm with unwanted consistency. His laidback days dragged too long, the silence of his serene nights started to deafen him. He feels he missed something – something he skipped over and never bothered to check when he packed his belongings and set his eyes for the rural world. He feels so unsatisfied when he already thinks he’s content with his life.

The sight of the increasing people on the street signals Jungkook it’s time to focus on his own shop now so he rips his stare away from the door and lets it graze the interior of the laundromat. Fifteen cheap but functional silver and white washing machines lined against the cerulean blue walls, the center being occupied by two long wooden benches placed against each other for the customers to sit on. A vending machine and change machine are placed against his right where a corner of the walls leads to a comfort room. A desk to his left serves as his station where he can keep an eye on his shop. Still the same old Jeon’s Laundromat his grandparents started in the 1970s.

“Another day, here we go again,” he sighs, walking towards the washing machines to start another business day.

Nothing much happens in his day for him to describe in detail. He eats three regular meals, sometimes in solitude, sometimes in the company of his florist friend. He sits in his station with people he was all-too familiar now coming in and out. At times, he stands up to walk around the shop and see if he could be of any help for his customers. Sometimes he engages in conversations with the older ladies who were friends with his late mother or father just to know about their day even though he knows he’ll get the same response: “Just okay, there’s nothing much I do in my days anyway”, “My son is still irresponsible”, “Hey, you know you can come over and have dinner with us someday.” His lassitude in the morning was sustained in the evening, and by the time he hits the covers of his bed, another day has slipped through his flimsy fingers.

The days that followed were also like this. He opens the laundromat around five thirty to eight from Monday to Sunday. He collects the coins and cleans the shop before he closes around nine to ten. He would refill the vending machine and change machine every Tuesday and Thursday. On Friday nights, he does accounting works that keeps his business alive. At the end of the week, the cycle will repeat. He wakes up tired and he sleeps the exhaustion away only to wake up again to find that getting up from the bed is always going to be the challenge of the century. He’s always greeted by faces he have seen since he was three and sometimes he thinks he’s a sick bastard for wishing for them to not show up in his day when all they meant was good company. He lives a comfortable life with the same routine, same activities, same setting, and same faces and he can’t deny he is uncomfortable with this. He thinks his days are too identical, only differentiated by the numbers of the months, days, and years. A never-ending cycle only bordered by the thin lines of time, dictating the consciousness of man of what is yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

In his defense, Jungkook knows he tried. He tried to start and end his day a little early or a little late. He also tried playing with the days of the week like how he decided two weeks ago to have Mondays as his day offs. He didn’t realize he grew accustomed to the seven-days-a-week work in the constricting gray walls of Seoul that he unconsciously brought this work attitude in his hometown. He also tried to engage in new activities his younger self have been dying to do years ago. He tried so many ways, more than he can count with his hands, just to make his day a little bit different from the others, even just a flicker of variety in his uneventful life. He’s desperate, he knows, because no matter how many times he tried, they always end up in the same conclusion – it’s pointless.

It’s hopeless. It’s not like his job requires activities that could make his day eventful. It’s not like something will happen if he woke up a little earlier or slept a little later. It’s not like he still enjoyed the activities his younger self liked to indulge. These thoughts boggled his mind throughout Mondays, only making him weary in his own day off so yesterday he decided he doesn’t need day offs and just open the laundromat everyday. He knows he always needed a distraction and his business could be enough as one. “Maybe I’m being too ungrateful,” he thinks. He has a job that could support his lifestyle; he has a home he can come back to – an apartment unit which stood through time since he was an infant who grew to dream of the city and then came home last year to detach himself from the nightmares of the urban life. It makes him nauseous sometimes when he admits he indeed has a life others would dream of. However the comfort of one’s life doesn’t ensure the comfort of one’s physical and mental well-being. He’s always troubled with this feeling of being so dissatisfied for no reason. This emptiness metastasizing in his chest fills up the hollows of his lungs. They block the valleys of his throat, drowning him with the ripples of nothingness. It disables him in some days with such unreasonable lethargy to get up and live another day. He never expected this void could swallow him whole. Many times he decided to just give up, it won’t go away no matter what he does. All adults feel like this anyway. It’s only normal.

But when he lay on his bed, his eyes mapping the lines made by the cracked paint on his ceiling does he remember why he shouldn’t stop trying.

This venom of dissatisfaction – it deemed him incapable to be himself when he lived in the gray city years ago. It haunted him on day’s end driving him sometimes to be so drunk of dread and regrets. That’s why a winter a year ago, he decided it’s time to come home. He’ll fix himself.

He can’t give up now that he’s so near to getting rid of this.

“Here’s your change Mrs. Song,” Jungkook stands by the door as he hands the silver coins to the woman in her late fifties. Mrs. Eunji Song, a friend of his mother and their past neighbour years ago, still has the same curly brown hair and fascination for pink clothes

“Ah, thanks Jungkook,” the lady smiles and gets her change before latching her hand on the door, getting ready to make her way home now. “By the way, do come to our house any day to have some dinner. You know you’re always welcome in our home,” the lady smiles again making Jungkook give her his own smile. She has always been so accommodating to their family even back then when he used to tease and make her daughter cry for fun. He wishes he could feel thankful for the offer like his younger self would be; not this disgusting guilt pressured by instilled culture.

“Will do, Mrs. Song. Have a safe trip home,” He bids her goodbye as he opens the door for her. He gives her one last smile to compensate for the bitterness of his thoughts before she rounds up the corner of Sangmin’s bakery.

Jungkook goes back to his station as he lets his vision linger on the other customers of his shop. He could see Mrs. Jinhee Park, a friend of Mrs. Lee, gathering her dried clothes. Mrs. Eunhui Lee, a mother of two and his apartment neighbor, feeds the coins to the coin slot of the washer before she presses a button to start her laundry. He could make out the familiar back of Park Jihyun, Jimin’s younger brother, sitting on the bench reading some manga he remembered Jimin raving about a week ago. It is three thirty in the afternoon and he’s expecting more familiar faces to turn up when the six o’clock mark comes for people who preferred to do their laundry at night.

Jungkook knows everyone just as how every resident in Myeongjang-dong knows everyone. After all it’s a small town. Newly moved residents in their area were welcomed warmly in the neighborhood with some rice cakes, and then they are introduced to everyone around the town. The tradition is preserved through the years as well as each family’s background, making it easy for everyone to pick apart every event in one’s life like a dissected frog experiment. Labels are permanently marked and gossips spread like wildfire. Jungkook knows Mrs. Song came from a poor family but founded a business which earned her family enough wealth to last their next generation. Mrs. Park’s husband died early and then she married her neighbor who was her first love during her youthful days. Eunhui had her first son at the age of sixteen with a jerk who left her. After two years she had her happy married life with her bestfriend.

Jungkook is pretty sure everyone knows his mother died when he was in college because of tuberculosis and that his father just died a year ago which was actually the reason why he went back to his hometown with his older brother. It was only him who stayed and preferred to run the family business. Unlike him, Junghyun loved the city and has a nice position as a supervisor in a company.

A peaceful and secure life is what Jungkook have always wanted. He doesn’t have dreams as ambitious as his brother’s nor does he feel unsatisfied with the laundromat business. As he looks around the establishment founded by his grandparents, Jungkook is thankful they, along with his parents, provided him a secure future. The prosperity of the business hasn’t changed nor the patrons of Jeon’s Laundromat even after his parents died. It has always been the same; everything hasn’t changed one bit. Neither do I, Jungkook thinks. Comfort is felt on what is familiar but sometimes he wishes it was the other way around – familiarity to be felt on what is comfortable. He always felt too comfortable with his life now that he feels unfamiliar with himself.

His mother had always reminded him that constants are needed to make life solid enough to be manageable, tangible, and most importantly, liveable. Jungkook thinks he already has too many constants in his life that his world seemed to stop moving and no matter what he did he’s still stuck in the same position. A stagnant echo in the gray static of a television left behind by the transmission signals.

Jungkook returns to work when Jihyun came to his station to say goodbye with a message from his brother that his attendance is very much wanted by the florist later at nine o’clock in Uncle Bob’s Bar. Jungkook sends him off with a message for Jimin to stop being so demanding like a clingy girlfriend.

The afternoon hours blend into the evening, and just like he expected, more customers went to the shop to do their laundry at six ‘o clock. At eight forty-five, Jungkook is pulling the metal gate downward, locking it with the huge brass padlock, and tucking the key in his pocket as he steps away to end another day of business.

“You’re only closing now?” An all-too-familiar voice he sometimes finds irksome drives Jungkook to give Jimin a once-over.

“Wow, you sound like my wife,” Jungkook walks towards his friend, who self-proclaims “beautiful as his flowers”, sporting a sky blue and white striped button down and navy jeans.

“Eww, you shouldn’t dream to have me as one when I’m already taken. Dude, I already have Minyoung!” Jimin cackles, starting to make a sprint as Jungkook charges after him to knock off the stupid grin from his face. It was ages ago when Jungkook ran like this; he really needed one that night to take his mind off of these stupid thoughts.

Uncle Bob’s Bar is actually owned by Kim Sangjin, Old Sangmin’s younger brother, and is located a few blocks away from the bakery. The two take their usual seat at the far right corner of the bar. Jimin raises two fingers to Mrs. Kim who has already memorized the friends’ orders that hasn’t changed since their college days.

Jungkook lets his eyes travel around the rustic mahogany interior of the bar complimented by the orange glow of candles placed in lamps overhead that attempted to mimic some form of chandelier. The chestnut cabinet holding liquors older than him was nested near the wooden staircase leading to the second floor where college students seems to be having some game of beer pong which reminded him of his own reckless days, back when life rolled on and on before it advanced too fast when he packed his things for the modern streets of the city. Now here he is, back where he started, hoping his untuned life will be fixed by his stay in his hometown.

“We used to do that back then,” Jungkook’s attention turns to Jimin, realizing he’s staring too long. He’s zoning out more frequently as the days pass by.

“Ah, yeah, then we’ll have bets with Taehyung and Hoseok who can take more shots then end up losing count because we always end up wasted. Can’t believe they’ll only come visit us just to drink here.”

“Seokjin called earlier,” Jimin starts, “said he and the guys gonna prepare some get together in Seoul. Last boyhood days, I say. He’s serious with Hana ever since college and he’s preparing to put a ring on it in July.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen with the news. He thinks it is risky prolonging romances with an indefinite ending that’s why he’s glad Seokjin and Hana were able to see a wedded life together as their future. “Really? Wow, I’m glad for them. It’s been like six years and they managed to keep the romance alive.”

“’Cause Seokjin looks damn good. Same reason why Minyoung will never get tired seeing this handsome face every day.”

“I will punch you for real this time.”

Jimin laughs as he leans on his chair, making himself at home. Well this bar was like their home but that was years ago. “Anyway, Seokjin and his happily ever after is not the reason why I wanted for us to have a drink here. It’s about you.”

“What about me?” Jungkook gives him a pointed look.

“It’s just that,” Jimin runs his hand through the strands of his hair as he finds the right words to say. “You just sound so…listless? Like you’re tired everyday for no reason.”

“I…-“ Jungkook stops, the aggressive “I’m not” he wanted to say dying in the confines of his throat.

“See? You can’t even deny it,” Jimin leans forward, his hands almost reaching out for him. “What’s wrong? Is it because of your life here? I told you you don’t have to force yourself to continue the business if you really felt that inferior to your brother-“

“No. It’s not about him,” Jungkook cuts him off with unnecessary hostility. Sure, sometimes he felt inferior to Junghyun because his position is something to be envious of compared to his laundromat business. Jungkook always felt the need to tell himself every now and then that the city is for Junghyun and this province is for him. Being jealous of something he would never enjoy in the first place is pointless.

Jungkook thinks his friend would not be able to fathom the complexity of his dilemma so he comes up with something he could reach. Jimin’s concern makes him feel sorry for his recalcitrance.

“What’s your favorite holiday, hyung?”

If Jimin was taken aback with the sudden diversion of subject, he did a good job masking it with a smile. “Thanksgiving.”

“Why?”

“Family gets together then we play games and eat lots of food. It has always been my favorite holiday ever since I was a kid.” Jimin‘s smile grows into a grin that makes Jungkook decide to lull himself in this subject longer. “God, this is a cheesy question from slambooks but since you brought it up, what’s yours?”

“New Year,” Jungkook replies instantly. “I like the adrenaline rushing through me whenever I count down the minutes separating two years. I like seeing the sparks of fireworks and the fact that this is the only day it is legal for you to cause some ruckus and make loud noises. It always promises a new start, a change in your life.”

Jungkook remembers his college days when they’ll sit on Seokjin’s car and drive around town blaring rap music beyond reasonable levels of volume, his mom’s eyes crinkling as she greets him “happy new year” with his dad, he and Junghyun buying those sticks that sparkle and cackle like small fireworks when you set them alight. The feeling of exhilaration, the tingles on his spine, the feeling of setting your eyes on only one end – Jungkook misses that. A new start, a change in my life, Jungkook always knew this is what he needed. He’s been too comfortable, too familiar with everyone that he felt foreign to the thought of making life exciting. What he feared most has already happened - Life has gotten boring. It numbed him of his will to live like he wanted to and made his days and nights dreary and aimless. It’s sad when every time he thinks of this he could picture the college student version of him years ago who declared he’ll never be like the adults who stopped living for the sake of existing.

Jimin must have realized what he meant with his reply and so as their drinks arrived, his friend’s words stuck to his mind until midnight as he slumped down on his bed, imagining the worn off lines of his ceilings to be constellations that disappeared after he graduated.

“Don’t worry. You’ll get your New Year soon. I know you can.”

Winter finally melted away when March came, only leaving the cold breeze and chilly dewy mornings for spring as remnants of its wake. Jungkook was never one to give sentimental meanings to seasons unlike his sappy florist friend. Jimin always told him spring is the first season – it’s a perfect time to start anew especially after winter wiped the life away of the usual plants that grew in his shop. He remembers Jimin telling him one afternoon, “The cold has ended and the time to plant new flowers has come. It wasn’t used as a personification for hope for nothing, you know.”

It was only now he thought that Jimin’s metaphors about spring must be true.

It was nine in the morning of a usual Monday when spring entered his shop with a swift swing of the door and a blur of pink sweater and jet black hair

Jungkook knows everyone just as how every resident in Myeongjang-dong knows everyone – except this girl. His eyes follow her as she stops at the sixth washer, dumps her laundry, presses some buttons, inserts some coins, closes the cover, presses start, and finally sits on the bench. It was only then he noticed she carried some sort of paperback with lots of black and white pages – too big for a pocket book, its cover too minimalistic in design to be a magazine.

After living in the town for so many years, he thinks maybe he adapted the prying attentiveness of old country people. It makes him feel better thinking this could be the reason why he suddenly want to decipher the paperback in the girl’s hand, not because he’s too attached to the sentiment of having some kind of change that could alter the repeated cycle of his life. Minutes are not enough for him to recognize the material when he realizes the paperback was no more in view and he’s now staring at her eyes. Jungkook immediately tears his gaze away before he could print the crease of her eyelids or the color of her irises in his memory. He chides himself for being too curious even though he knows no matter what he tries to convince himself with, this inquisitiveness will only creep behind his back and implant itself in his mind.

Most of his customers are patrons, people he have known for so many years as their predecessors have also been patrons since his grandparents started this business. He couldn’t recall anyone’s relative who has a short stature and shoulder-length hair that matches this girl. He also hasn’t heard of any newly moved residents or any tourists traveling around their area. It’s impossible for her to live in a neighboring town and just come to Myeongjang-dong just for the sake of her laundry. He thinks it’s only fair for him to question her origin and motive.

He lets his eyes wander again to the girl’s way, noticing now that Minhee Jung, the photographer down the block, is also staring at the new girl. Mrs. Lee is also here, sitting on the other side of the bench looking agog to know her identity. He wasn’t the only one curious of her then.

Minutes passed with his eyes running through the pages of the 4th volume of Naruto he borrowed from Jimin with the mechanical whirring of the machines that turned to be melodic in time. His reading was interrupted with him bidding Minhee goodbye and helping Mrs. Lee with her laundry, including occasional gazes on the girl who kept flipping through the paperback he was still trying to figure out. The air in the laundromat wasn’t so still like yesterday. Jungkook felt strange when relief engulfed him with the steady hymn of pages turning.

By ten’ o clock, the girl finished her laundry and left with a soft “goodbye” Jungkook almost fails to hear. The minute she steps outside, the man shoots up from his seat and strides to the glass door in big steps to watch her disappearing figure make a turn on the corner of Kim’s Italian Restaurant. It dawns on him it’s also the same route he takes on his way home but he thinks he’s being paranoid. He couldn’t give a substantial answer why his attention was so hooked to the girl and her paperback so he didn’t bother to confuse himself further than he already is. Jungkook just blames it on the unusual black and white paperback so he can sleep that night.

It wasn’t until Wednesday when Jungkook’s interest was piqued again. The girl entered his shop at nine ’o clock, used the same washer, sat on the same spot of the bench and pulled out that damn paperback. Just like what he did on Monday, he read the same manga, though now he was on the 12th volume because he’s determined to finish Naruto to prove Jimin he can catch up to this story about ninjas. However, his usual reading pace is slowed down just so he can look at the girl in patterned successions; his eyes drift to her way when he lands at pages whose numbers are divisible by four. After three, four glances, he thinks she looks attractive in her blue pullover and gray jeans as her attention is captured by the paperback which is driving him mad.

Jungkook prides himself for his rationality. Even in his group of friends, his common sense and wit is regarded functional whenever they end up in sticky situations brought by his group’s occasional sprouts of foolishness. However today, Jungkook can’t really keep up this pride as said rationality is thrown somewhere when he decided to stand up and walk around the shop to finally discern just what this infuriating paperback is.

The pace of his walk is sluggish, almost similar to a fugitive’s gait as he pretends to inspect the washers on the opposite side of the one she’s using. He knows he doesn’t look suspicious as his customers know he does walk around the shop to assist them, “except today,” Jungkook thinks. His walk gradually slows to a stop when he neared the spot behind her, her back coming into full view as now he can finally look at the page. It’s black and white. Black ink swirled around and met other lines to form a mandela, “a flower,” Jungkook prefers. Patterns circled around with detailed geometric shapes and curvy triangular projections that made petals look so abstract than it should be. The other page is also the same – a black and white mandela he is sure would look better with some actual colors than the present monochrome scheme. “It’s a coloring book,” Jungkook mutters under his breath, comprehension now settling as to why this material is an outsider in his shop. He’s used to seeing his customers flipping through printed materials filled with pages to pass the time – mostly books and magazines. It isn’t everyday one would see someone bring a coloring book with them to a laundromat and just stare at it for a whole hour.

The girl picked up on Jungkook’s uncalled prolonged inactivity as she suddenly turned to her back, her eyes catching his guilty stance of peering, of “being prying,” Jungkook thinks. He immediately composes himself, his mouth preparing a buyable excuse his mind has concocted. “Ah- I’m sorry if I bothered you. I was just checking the washers.”

The girl only gives him a tight smile and a polite nod before she quickly returns her attention to her coloring book.

Jungkook reminds himself not to act like a weirdo anymore to save himself from nerve-wracking explanations for his questionable actions he himself is finding hard to understand. He leaves her spot, walks around the washers, never going to her side to avoid another wave of awkwardness. He whips out his manga the second he returned to his station and convinces himself to just stick to reading because he needs to finish this volume by tomorrow. He thinks he’s effort is impressive for trying hard to anchor his attention back to the comic book though he couldn’t proudly say he did enough to avoid the girl’s direction for just thirty minutes. He guiltily admits he can’t keep himself from sneaking a few glances in between reading. He thinks his reason to do so could justify the act this time. It’s just too weird, he thinks. Why buy a coloring book if you’re not going to color it anyway? Why stare at it for an hour? What’s so interesting with a black and white drawing anyway?

The girl bids him goodbye by the same ten o’clock mark and Jungkook finds himself rooted again on the glass door as he watches her silhouette blend with the province landscape and remnants of the morning glow of the sun. Today he blames it on the girl’s unusual pastime that bewildered him up to the day of her return.

��By Friday, Jungkook’s certain he’s acting like a damn stalker and he doesn’t know how to explain for himself anymore. The girl arrived at the same time, same jeans and sweater – a dandelion yellow now – ensemble, and did the same routine in front of the sixth washer. However, Jungkook could make out she brought something with her along with her coloring book. He raises himself from his seat a little to just peek – and oh it’s a watercolor set, the cheap set he usually sees in the neglected corners of bookstores. He falls back down on his seat when the girl suddenly stood up and walked towards his station. For a moment Jungkook panicked, he sat up so straight he almost knocked off the air of himself as his hands frantically pat his askew shirt, desperately making himself look presentable. “Shit, maybe she figured out I’m being a creep,” he thinks as he counts the seconds she’ll stand in front of him and demand for him to stop acting so suspicious – but that doesn’t happen. He could see her stand clueless by the door, her head snap left then right, probably thinking what to do, before she decides to wind up to the right end of the shop where the comfort room is situated. Jungkook counts up to ten seconds when her figure reappears, her right hand now occupied by a small see through cup filled halfway with water. Jungkook diverts his attention to the fifth page of the 12th volume of Naruto when the girl nears his station before he returns his gaze on her to see her now opening the watercolor set.

Jungkook thinks it’s unusual to be so amused watching a girl color a page using watercolor. He doesn’t know what he finds so relaxing with her peaceful posture - her coloring book laid open on her lap, the watercolor set placed on her left side as her hand gracefully flicks the brush around. He can’t make excuses for himself anymore why he’s itching to know what she’s coloring, what kind of color she is using now, why watercolor and not colored pencils. Some kind of tranquility blankets the interior of his shop as he flips through his manga again, his excitement dying down to an unperturbed state he never felt until recently. The mechanical song of the machines lulled him to delve in the world of ninjas, recurrent glimpses on the girl brings him back to his world in Myeongjang-dong. By eleven o’clock she bids him goodbye and then Jungkook finds himself staying by the glass door again. Jungkook can’t think of anything to blame now as he ponders over her extended stay just to finish her coloring session.

On Sunday, Jungkook finally decided to approach her. She came by nine ’o clock again wearing a lime green sweater and faded jeans bringing the same watercolor set and coloring book. Jungkook saw her making her way to the sixth washer and already expected her to do her laundry routine, sit on the bench, and start coloring. He didn’t expect he will be met by a missed note in his machines’ automatic symphony caused by anxious tapping of fingers against metal and the desperate squeak of the money return button under unforgiving pressure. The girl’s figure was hunched on the floor, her fingers flicking the coin slot and rapping the surface of the washer in interlaced sequence and this time Jungkook knows this is the reason why he should actually go to her and not because of him being nosy as per previous encounters.

“Umm, excuse me, let me help you,” Jungkook gets on his knees beside her, already insulting himself for sounding so dumb.

“My coins got stuck inside – I”

“No it’s alright. It happens sometimes. Don’t worry.”

Jungkook fishes his pen from his pocket, twists its cap to turn on the small handy flashlight he uses to make out the metal works in the dark crevices for him to determine the problem. He tuts his tongue, realizing the coin jam can’t be solved with simple knocking and tapping of the machine.

“What’s the problem?”

“There’s a coin tipped to the side inside. Don’t worry, it’s easy to fix.” He grabs the toolbox placed at the foot of his chair, right where he places his slippers for comfort, and he pulls it up to rest on his desk. He’s glad he decided to keep a toolbox for incidents like this even when Jimin discouraged him why he needed a toolbox since he’s not a washing machine mechanic. He opens the box and gets his utility knife before closing it again.

Jungkook may not know how to fix washing machines in general but he learned how to fix simple problems like this back when he aided his mother ran the shop. He slid the knife in the slot, pushed the tilted coin with it, and twists it a little. When he felt it slide smoothly, he smiles as it starts the tuned music he has been waiting five minutes ago.

“It’s fixed now,” he gets up from his knees and closes the cover before standing up only to meet the girl’s eyes in such close proximity, her breath so close to his chest he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck standing up . He’s frozen in his spot and he could only stare at her, her image surely making an impression in his mind. Her small warm brown orbs are adorned by creaseless eyelids. She has small cheekbones and he could see blemishes on her cheeks but her make-up did a good job in hiding them he thought twice if they were really there in the first place. Her face is shaped like a strawberry, her thin lips painted cerise that can rival any shade of red. Before Jungkook could stop himself from staring, the girl stepped away and cleared her throat softly muttering an apology, bringing the man back to his senses.

“Umm, yeah, it’s okay now, just press the start button,” He murmurs then immediately turns away, his eyes set for his station before he was delayed by a soft voice he now has a face he could match with.

“Thank you.”

“It’s alright,” Jungkook says without turning back as he sits on his chair, his lips unknowingly curving into a smile.

She leaves by twelve in the afternoon with a goodbye after finishing another page. Jungkook wonders if he’ll have his following weeks filled with her presence like this.

That night he was enveloped in the hospitality of Jimin’s small unit nursing a cold glass of water to amend the sheen of sweat glistening on his neck. His friend’s house is wedged between two other complexes around the street that corners Old Sangmin’s bakery. He felt the need to take the ten minute fast walk right after closing the laundromat just so he can get some answers he is very embarrassed to ask for. After dawdling on the polaroids that hung on his friend’s wall which portrayed Jimin’s family, their group, and his girlfriend, he thinks it’s time to disregard this empty pride and just start speaking.

“Have you heard of any newly-moved residents in town?” He licks his chapped lips before he opts to be clear with his intentions. “A girl around 5’2, long hair, always wears sweaters, jeans, and Converse sneakers?”

The playful glint in Jimin’s eyes did not surface when recognition first kicks in. “Oh her! She’s the new resident in the apartment complex across yours.”

“What?”

“You didn’t know?” The gleam in Jimin’s eyes is of pure unbelief. “She just moved in last week. Saw her carrying a luggage on your street last Sunday afternoon when I was doing bouquet deliveries.”

“How come I didn’t know about this?”

“You open your Laundromat at the ass crack of dawn and go straight to bed past ten. Of course you wouldn’t notice. Actually,” Jimin’s eyes sweep over his sofa before bringing it back to his friend, his stance more rigid. “I heard there’s something with her. No one in the area knows anything about her. No one could even say where she has come from.” He leans closer as if someone will hear him, “She seems secretive too. Suspicious, no?

Jungkook snickered, shaking his head. “Are you sure you’re not just relaying gossips you heard from the housewives here?”

“Maybe,” Jimin rests his case as he leans back, dismissing delirious perceptions influenced by old town idle talk. He then startles Jungkook when he decides to turn the subject to him. “Why did you ask?”

Jungkook hoped to evade this question when he made his visit but then he has no choice now as his friend’s teasing smirk signifies he wouldn’t let him drop the subject anytime soon. “Okay fine, I find her weird. She came to the Laundromat on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and this morning at the same time – 9 a.m. And she always bring this coloring book –”

“What the hell.”

“I know, right? It’s weird. She brought this coloring book and stared at it for one hour and then on Friday she decided she wanted to color-“

“No,” Jimin interrupts him, the smirk on his lips erased by the staggered look in his eyes. “What’s really weird is she does laundry four times a week. No person living alone would need to wash their clothes that frequently.”

Jungkook wished that night he didn’t hear Jimin’s remark. He only realized that this girl’s laundry schedule is anomalous enough to disregard her strange affinity with her coloring book. “Four times a week, Jesus Christ,” the man drapes his arm over his eyes but it’s useless when he can see mandelas playing on the cracked lines of his ceiling. His friend’s observation planted itself in his head like lawn weeds. It proliferated in his thoughts and formed a growing sea of green that always taunted him to just dive in. It's annoying; disquietude shouldn't be so charming.

The weight of his thoughts only materialized when the following weeks came. The once plain days of Jeon’s Laundromat is now perplexed by this girl four days in a week – Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday. She always comes by at nine ‘o clock in the morning, does her laundry, and stares at her coloring book or colors some pages, “always with watercolor,” Jungkook notes. The sharp swing of the door signals her arrival along with the gust of cool dewy breeze from the outside and after that, Jungkook’s attention is now on her until she leaves. By the second Friday, Jungkook confirms Jimin’s right when he said there’s something with this girl. This woman washes the same clothes she already washed in her previous visit. His eyes became familiar with the sight of the pink and blue striped button down, lavender skirt, and royal blue dress being dumped inside the washing machine. Sometimes it’s the yellow sundress, white pleated skirt, and mint green blouse he thinks she doesn’t wear in the first place. He sees them pristine clean even before she dumps it in and still pristine clean after she washed them. Jungkook doesn't linger on probable reasons behind her activity when he's already drifting in his space, wondering why he’s bothered by the thought of their colors fading anytime soon.

Her presence is tangible in some days and an aftertaste in every night. Jungkook never saw her in the days that were not in the schedule of her laundry nor is he fortunate to have just a glimpse of her room light turned on when he comes home. His ears are already used to the quiet street, soft click of the light switch, and the silent hiss when he draws apart the drapes on his window; the dark rooms across his apartment devoid of any life. The hollowness at nights was filled with dreams of mandelas and watercolors and it is until the day after tomorrow will these dormant curiosity and sense of adventure come full force; a reminder that there is indeed life, just not visible for him at nights.

She’s queer, odd, unfamiliar, and definitely offbeat in the musical of his very ordinary, normal, and uneventful life but her tune is not outlandish to be disturbing. He can’t will himself to admit to Jimin he likes watching her color pages with her cheap watercolor set, wondering to himself how she likes to color, or what her favorite color is because she always come in his shop wearing sweaters in hues that define the vibrant spring. The air around the laundromat is colored with new pigments as the girl brushes around her coloring book while Jungkook reads mangas. The music of the washers accompanies exchanges of shy glances and the timid curve of lips.

This is uncharted area, an unexplored field, and his bare feet is still trying to get used with the rough and itchy weeds but he doesn't deny the buzz in his bloodstream wills him to run across this sea of green and just forget they were in fact parasitic foliage on his lawn. He goes against the cautions of unfamiliarity set on his door since he was a child and decides maybe - just maybe a discrepancy can actually give him comfort.

He starts to anticipate the days of her visit and the undisclosed wishes of her mandelas.

Geometry suddenly became a fascination on Tuesday.

Jungkook postponed business until eight thirty when he realized his refrigerator is practically devoid of anything edible. He used his usual opening time and first two hours in Farmer’s Market and by half past seven he is already waiting by the bus stop, his hands occupied with plastic bags that will satisfy his appetite for the following week.

The road was silent, except for faint chatters of the town people and the brief appearances of trucks and local cars. Farmer’s Market is a subdued repose in weekdays and a loud frenzy in weekends, Jungkook remembers as he sits down on the bench. He settles his purchase by his side, muscles effortlessly releasing the tension he wishes his mind could do a better job at. God, he’s already tired and he hasn’t started work yet.

Rustling of the leaves filled in the noiseless street and the patterned zipping of vehicles cannot make it better, exaggerating the seconds to grow into centuries in his mind. Jungkook knows he needs something to occupy his mind. His eyes look down at his wrist adorned with the watch that was handed down from his father. He always felt comfortable with the warm brown leather straps, still-distinct black of roman numerals arranged on a circular plate of the yellowing white face of the clock. The hands were at seven and nine, two lines connected at the center. And since they look like lines, they also look like they could extend whenever at whatever point - his plane geometry teacher said so. Can it turn into something when the area near seven is connected to one and nine is connected to three? Can expansion of mere periods create a difference from its original form?

Jungkook thinks yes, it can when he recognizes the familiar supplementary lines he used to draw on his notebooks. Extremes can be in unison in the form of acute and obtuse angles. The angles are uneven but they still measure a 180. They can be a clean 90 - 90 but Jungkook prefers them unbalanced because he wanted to feel normalcy in inconsistency. Jungkook then sees the lines on the aged face of his clock transform to lines on the graying white and blue of Jeon's Laundromat. His laundromat their point of intersection with him and the sweater girl as the lines that will coexist in the brief two or three hours if she decides to finish one page. The difference between their angles so noticeable like the drastic split between 120 and 60 because her fleeting hours of stay cannot equal the stagnant years he lived on this establishment. Jungkook thinks his ceiling will now bear the misalignment of these askew lines.

Jungkook detaches himself from his trance when he felt the bench creak. The wooden parallel lines of the bench on his right were unceremoniously interrupted by another person. Blue jeans, cherry red fuzzy sweater, and straight jet black hair makes Jungkook remind himself that emergence of supplementary lines is scheduled on the day after tomorrow, ascertained tomorrow if it’s Sunday or Tuesday like today. Tuesday is not tomorrow. Why is she here? Jungkook sides a glance, ever perplexed with her presence, and he sees her hunched over, hands on knees, puffing out tired breaths, and still unaware of him with plastic bags of the same color as his by her side. With the sunlight gracing her profile, she looks more breath taking than he remembers. He was already taken aback before with her imperfectly beautiful freckles and her thin red lips, but what he never noticed before was the raven black crowning her head, darker than her midnight tresses; an indistinct inconsistency of her natural being.

Appearance of green and blue lines crosses his vision and disrupts his thoughts. The sudden whish of opening doors makes him look down on his watch while standing up to grab his bags. It was only 7:56, such little time never felt so long. As he sets his eyes toward the bus, he now notices the strange sweater girl was no longer by his side and was now struggling on the metal steps of the vehicle.

Should he help her? Helping her won’t make him seem creepy right? Damn it, Jungkook hurries toward her side. He gently taps her shoulder and mutters, “I’ll help you with this.”

She must be quite startled with his sudden interference with her widened eyes and parted lips, but the man can’t seem to be aware of this when he’s mesmerized with her eyes, registering their color is not just brown, it’s hazel. He sure learns more about her this Tuesday which cannot be granted in the confines of his laundromat. He immediately looks down and grabs her plastic bags as the thought of social convention enters his mind which deems it quite inappropriate to stare for too long.

“For one passenger or two?” The rough voice of the driver in his mid forties weirdly sounds outlandish to his ears when he stood up to place his card on the sensor for the vehicle fare.

“Uh…”

“Only one,” the firm tone makes the male whip his head to sweater girl’s way, now nearing him as she got up the steps and flashed her own card before beeping it.

“You don’t have to, I got my own,” she pulls her lips a little into a smile.

Jungkook feels spring coloring his cheeks with embarrassment. This is so uncool. He tears his gaze from her and settles it on the nearest vacant seats behind the elderly woman and a married couple seated in the first two rows. He lets her make her way first before following, his eyes trained on his shoes until he plops himself down on his seat. “Too much for one day, shucks.”

“Thank you for helping me.”

“Huh?” He looks at her face and sees her expectant expression before realization hits him.” Ah- oh here are your bags,” he gives them to her, disregarding how her fingers felt a little calloused when they overlapped his. This shouldn’t even attract him and yet he finds himself magnetized towards her eyes again.

“Pull yourself together, man!,” He averts his eyes toward the opposite direction, hoping for the ride to end faster ‘cause shit he’s acting like a retard now and he can’t even redeem himself by engaging in small talk-

“You’re Jeon Jungkook, right?”

“Wait- huh?” Jungkook whips his face toward her direction with such alarm in his eyes as if he was caught stealing. He thinks she hid her bewilderment of his suspicious behavior behind curious eyes and a friendly smile.

“Jungkook-sshi right? Owner of Jeon’s Laundromat?”

“Why – ah yes,” Jungkook almost forgot that here in Myeongjang-dong, everyone does know everyone. He opens his mouth to speak but found words dying down his throat. He can’t think of how to continue the conversation when his awkward reply simply ended her attempt of small talk. He observed her eyes glancing his way then back to the window, her fingers twiddling with each other as the quietness settle on both of them.

“Maybe she’s also uncomfortable with such quietness,” Jungkook thinks. Small talk probably eases the pressure from the silence between two strangers who surely have acknowledged each other’s presences before. Since she went beyond her way and started a small talk with him, the man thinks it’s only right that this time, he start one. So when the bus halts on the next stop to let the married couple get down, Jungkook is staring at her way and opens his mouth.

“You do market shopping on Tuesdays too?”

It’s her turn to be startled as she looks his way, her mouth gaping before stretching into a pleasant line. It’s fortunate she smiles a lot; she has a beautiful smile. “Y–yes. It’s less chaotic during weekdays.”

Jungkook felt his own lips tugging into a crescent. He finds courage to talk more and bask longer in her presence. Relief seeping in his bones when he notices the shimmer of curiosity in her hazel orbs. It’s been such a long time he noticed those childlike glimmer in the eyes of the people around him apart from his friends.

“I heard from people you just moved in here.”

“Ah, yes around the first week of March. My friend recommended a better work position around here. I’m an accountant by the way,” she supplies with a chuckle. “How about you? Did you start your business on your own?”

“No, my grandfather started the family business and it was passed down to my mother then to me. It also happened that my patrons are successors of my grandfather’s patrons.

“It’s wonderful then that you continued the family legacy.”

“It is,” Jungkook replies with a timid smile.

The next minutes were spent in silence, less awkward now, and when the bus halts on the fourth stop, Jungkook stands up to bid goodbye when the girl beat him to it.

“This is your stop too?”

Oh, right she lives across him. Jungkook rubs his neck. “Uhh… yes.”

They stepped out of the bus, the girl’s plastic bags secured in Jungkook’s grip (he insists to do so), as they walk in peace past the Italian restaurant. During their silent trip, she dropped in casual remarks how the weather was nice today, or her neighbors were so kind to give her homemade kimchi when she moved. Jungkook told her that people here are really warm and Busan style kimchi is one of a kind to which she agrees. As they go up the stairs of Ahjummah Bongcha’s apartment complex, Jungkook can’t help but glance at his own unit just across the street. How many nights has he spent wondering how this girl lives across him when he can’t even sense an inkling of life and now he’s here, feet landing on the front of her unit in the third floor as he gives her her plastic bags. Lines are lingering at the intersection today before they can become supplementary lines now with a smaller difference of fifty-eight degrees.

“By the way where do you live?” She gives him an inquisitive look as she sets her plastic bags down first before she can put them inside.

Jungkook suddenly feels like a thief caught in his act. “Don’t get creeped out, okay? I live across you –”

“And you didn’t make any remarks when we’re climbing up the steps?”

“I only noticed now, I swear!” Jungkook grins. “I was absentminded when we’re going up the steps –”

She suddenly laughs, slapping his shoulders playfully and Jungkook really does swear a tingle of electricity didn’t just sprout from the contact. “I’m just kidding, don’t get too defensive.” She opens her screen door and makes ready to bid goodbye. “Thank you with the plastic bags, again, Jungkook-sshi.”

Jungkook suddenly realizes he missed something important every rational person engaging in small talk should have known in the first place. He holds onto her arm before she can close the door and she looked so shocked with the sudden action. His next words make those hazel eyes soften and her lips extend into a charming smile Jungkook knows he’ll always remember before he goes to sleep.

“What’s your name by the way?”

“Kim, Sarang.”

The strange sweater girl doesn’t seem so strange now.

The following days have been a blur of sparks and new colors but Jungkook manages to remember them all. The peculiar Kim Sarang, the color of her sweaters, the stretches of her smiles, her longer visits, and the pigments she likes on her mandelas.

Monday permitted him to go to her usual seat and ask about her day as per social convention for two acquaintances. He gestured to her ever familiar coloring book filled with colored and black and white mandelas and he spent that day learning that watercolors and coloring books were a big part of her childhood. She has always been fascinated with transluscence and light play, the way the first splash of tints won’t look the same way when the minutes dried them up.

“You have to be very good in predicting how they’ll look after you painted them, so it’s really important to know the amount of water you’ll put in the paint,” she demonstrates with a flick of her wrists and lets him see the mirage of lilacs filling the petals of another Mandela, the same color of her sweater today.

“Then, you must be really good at predictions,” Jungkook chuckles.

“Nah, the outcomes are just easier for me to see because I’m already used to them.” She then looks at him, “You said your medium of preference is colored pencils so you’re already used how the outcomes of the textures will look.”

“Uh, I think not. I just wing it and it happens to look good.” Jungkook’s crinkled eyes matches the grin now painted on her lips as she laughs.

She ends her laundry duty with Jungkook helping her and a smile with a wave “See you next time” as she steps out his laundromat. The man finds himself planted on the doorstep, watching her leave by twelve o’clock, wishing next time would come sooner.

Soon enough, next time, comes two days later in the form of Wednesday and a game of twenty questions.

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Blue. Yours?”

Jungkook grins, “Red.”

It’s Sarang’s turn to start another question.“Favorite holiday?”

“New Year.” Jungkook could already feel warmth spreading on his chest with just the thought of it.

“Oh yours just comes next to mine. Mine’s Christmas.”

“Really? Then you must like all the Christmas lights and the trees”

“God no, I’m just in for the gifts.”

Jungkook’s blank face makes her guffaw. “Okay, I like the lights and trees. It’s sounds so corny when I say it out loud.”

“Then mine’s cornier. I like new beginnings.”

“Wow, you’re sentimental.”

“Yeah, kinda explains why I have that stupid car freshener by my side. Jimin gave it to me when I told him I’m going back in Busan and he thought I have my own car. His face is undescribable when he was so disappointed he saw me coming down from the bus.”

“But he’s happy you kept it.”

“Yeah he was. He’s one sappy fellow-“

He just didn’t expect a third person to join in. “I’m so gonna tell hyung about that.”

“Oh no! Jihyun, Wait!”

Wednesday was quite short when Sarang left by eleven thirty with a grocery errand she has to do and Jungkook says it’s okay, his hand resting on the collar of Jihyun’s shirt. It’s okay, he’ll see her again soon enough.

Friday was not so okay when florist Park Jimin suddenly barged in the laundromat while Jungkook is in mid-sentence about his dog Cloud, Sarang also surprised with the new presence.

“So I heard I was sappy.” Jungkook could tell Jimin was quite offended.

“Uh… you are.”

“You brat –“

“You know you have a business to attend to right?” Jungkook points to his flower shop.

“Shop’s closed because I wanna visit my childhood friend-“

“We see each other everyday.”

“- who happens to just remembers me as a ‘sappy fellow’”

Jimin turns his attention to Jungkook’s company, his eyes lighting up when he recognizes the girl Jungkook was talking about. He offers her a hand, “Sorry for my interruption. I’m Park Jimin, you must be sweater girl-“

�� Jungkook suddenly chokes on his own spit.

“Umm, Kim Sarang actually.” The girl shakes his offered hand with a polite smile.

“Sorry,” Jungkook apologizes while already pushing Jimin out of the shop, “he makes stupid remarks sometimes but he has good intentions.”

“Hands off me, brat.”

“No, get out. You have your own business to attend to.”

“Hey, you’re only 25, I’m already 27. I was born here first. I ate more rice than you.”

“You-“

Their banter was suddenly interrupted with a set of giggles that came from sweater girl. “You must have a wonderful childhood,” she remarks before she suddenly remembers Jimin might have been set aback “Oh, sorry for laughing, I just-“

“It’s okay,” Jimin reassures, making his way to her side already getting comfortable on the bench, “It’s what makes me charming, got my girlfriend swooning with the Chim Charms.”

Jungkook felt the need to interject. “Yuck.”

“Shut up.”

Sarang’s curiosity wills Jungkook to talk about his childhood. He tells her about how close he was with his grandparents and parents, the treats they spoil him with, and that everyone in town was friends with their family. Jimin also shares in the story-telling when they got to the part how nine year old Jungkook accidentally spilled laundry water on Park Jimin when he was cleaning up. Fortunately, little Jimin agreed to forgive him if he would play with him because other boys in town ignore him since he’s a wimp and with those puppy eyes he won over nine year old troublemaker Jungkook who he later found out was two years younger than him.

“I’m still bitter about it.”

“No one cares hyung.”

Jungkook continues on with his tale. He can’t stop when the girl was looking at him with eyes that will him to talk and talk. It feels strange to tell someone about his whole childhood and adolescence; how he stuck with his friends he met in high school through Jimin, how lightweight he feels telling her all about his good old days, because everyone has, there will always be good days even though life has ever been hopeless and miserable.

Sarang gave him stories of her own happy days in return. He learns that even though she lives far from her parents, they always wait for her daily Skype calls every evening without fail. She also has a childhood friend named Aecha whom she met in daycare when no one wants to play with her because she’s a klutz and kept messing the arranged tables of other girls for tea parties.

“Like Jimin,” Jungkook side comments, earning a playful elbow nudge from the florist to which she laughs.

Sarang tells him she’s got a lot of similarities with Aecha except being good in math to which Jungkook says it happened to be his best subject.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jimin answers before Jungkook can. “He went to school competitions for math quiz bees and he manages to always, always get the gold medal.”

“Pure luck.”

“I think not,” Jimin insists. “His mother has this display thing in their living room where all his medals are. All gold, I’m telling you. Oh, plus certificates from art events in college.”

“Really? Wow, you must have passed through high school and college with flying colors.” Sarang turns to Jungkook and he’s taken aback when he sees the flicker of interest in her eyes. He doesn’t know what to feel about it.

“Can’t give Math all the credits though,” Jungkook rubs his neck. “Drafting classes gave me the rainbow wings which I used to fly with flying colors.”

“Rainbow wings? That’s new,” She sniggered. “You said you draw sometimes but I never thought you were this good.”

Jungkook lets out an awkward laugh as Jimin starts to sell him out again. “He’s really good. He used to draw cool backgrounds for school events which provided him extra allowance he used to treat his family, sometimes me.” Jungkook feels Jimin getting sappy now, “He’s really gifted, he even helped me paint my flower shop which garnered much compliments from my customers.”

Sarang’s smile got wider now. “If you’re good in numbers and art, I’m guessing you took architecture as your major right?”

“Uhh yes,” Jungkook rubs his nape again, already uncomfortable. Jimin suddenly senses this and tries to change the subject but-

“You must have tried making blueprints for a company before, no?”

The sudden question got Jungkook rigid and stiff. He suddenly diverted his eyes away from her, her words left hanging caused a sudden sweep of cold air in the midst of spring, seemingly freezing their conversation as well in a hideous iceberg, suddenly growing sharp spikes that taunt him. Seasons should be chronological in manner, he can’t remember autumn when he’s trusting spring to cure him. He can’t remember now-

“Your watch, is that your father’s?”

Jungkook returns his gaze on her, her hazel eyes so gentle and her thin lips smiling not as wide as before but it’s still warm enough to soften the edges of the tension. Jungkook appreciates her effort of noticing his discomfort and exhales slowly with “Yes, how did you know?”

“It’s got brown leather straps and the face is already yellowed. It’s quite a trend for men back then.”

Jungkook dismisses any unpleasant thoughts when he pulls a smile for himself. Good old days. “I always liked these straps than stainless silver ones. I’m more comfortable with this.”

Jimin smiles and tries to liven up the mood again, “Yeah, when he got it from his dad he won’t shut up about it.”

Jungkook stares at him to which Jimin nudges away.

Sarang leaves by twelve thirty, laundry in hand, and an apology to what happened earlier. Jungkook can’t bring himself to watch her leave like he always does.

“You know, she doesn’t know, right? Don’t be too upset.” Jimin tears his attention from whatever that will seem to enclose around him again.

“I know hyung, it’s just-“

“I understand. Just… don’t be closed off. I think there’s still something about her,” Jimin scrunches his face as he gestures, “with the four times a week laundry duty or maybe just because she’s a clean freak. But seeing her now,” he looks at the laundromat owner, “she’s kinda alright; just… curious and interested. Like you are about her.”

It wasn’t until he got home by the raven night sky of ten o’clock does he understand Jimin’s point when he finds a plastic food container containing a still hot stew before his doorstep. He picks up the sticky note attached on top of it, a neat handwritten “I’m sorry about earlier - KS” in black ink. No need to feel too hurt. It’s been years, he has to move on. It is already a luxury to have the pure interest of others for the purpose of understanding in this world when nitpicking other’s flaws mattered more than anything else for the ‘necessity’ of leverage on others.

Jungkook straightens up, a smile and wave ready to be sent to the apartment across his only to be greeted by a dark unit with no hint of any life.

Sunday came around too soon for Jungkook’s liking but the thought was quickly diminished when his eyes caught a movement of rose pink while he’s reading the 13th volume of Naruto. He snaps his neck toward the wall clock and right, it’s already nine o’clock. Of course, spring is here.

He stood up from his desk and found Sarang already seated on her usual spot, same coloring book and watercolor set by her side. He walks by her side and before she acknowledges him, he already starts speaking.

“Uhh Sarang, thank you for the kimchi stew two days ago, I just,” he looks down when he feels his throat getting blocked up. “I hope I didn’t scare you that day.”

“Oh no, you didn’t,” she shifted in her seat. “I just felt bad because I thought maybe I offended you in some way-“

“No offense taken, the topic was just… uncomfortable for me.” Sarang gestured for him to take a seat beside her and he does so. “I wasn’t ready to talk about it anytime soon.”

“I know, it’s okay,” she smiles. “People don’t like talking about what unsettles them.”

“Thank you for understanding.”

Sarang’s smile just gets wider. Jungkook isn’t sure if it’s only for him with the way it looks somehow strange but he knows he feels a tad better now.

“You’re a great cook by the way. The stew was amazing. It has this some distinct taste, definitely not from Busan. It must be from your hometown then.”

Jungkook notices her eyes flicker in a way he can’t comprehend but he doesn’t mind it too much when she tells him “I- I don’t think it reflects anything from my hometown. I used to live in Gwangsan-gu, Gwangju, but I never managed to capture the Gwangju taste in my cooking.” She paused for a while before she lets out a chuckle, “But I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Jungkook spends the rest of the minutes by her side in silence, watching her color the pages in uniform motion, union in her strokes evident, and how her favor of blue tints always happen to appear in huge splotches or in tiny linear details.

She leaves early by ten o’clock because of accounting works she needs to be done for the client she’s working with. Jungkook sends her off with a smile, watching her retreating figure. Few words were shared today but Jungkook could see more opportunities in the following days, affirmed so when she turns back for the first time before she rounds the Italian restaurant to give him one last smile.

The following weeks proved it to be true as each day bled to another one. The day seemed like a millisecond, too miniscule for Jungkook when months ago they felt tediously long like centuries. Spring will come by nine o’clock and another conversation and shared laughter will fill the timeframe of Sarang’s visit before they’ll part by twelve with full smiles and shy waves of their hands in their wake. His shop became livelier with animated chatters and giggles, stories of how he found a stray pup with his group of friends by the corner of their college dormitory and decided he’ll keep him as Cloud, how Sarang laughed when she told him she sucked at math and how many times she failed her college entrance exams but she still wants to be accountant so no one’s gonna stop her at that. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do,” she snorted as Jungkook cackled. It sounds too hilarious that it surprised the man himself but he doesn’t care. It felt so long ago since he felt like this.

“D’you have anything you’re good at?”

Sarang turns to him with an incredulous look before lifting her book to him “Isn’t it obvious already?”

“No,” Jungkook sniggers as he clears his statement, “I mean aside from watercolor painting.”

“Well, what are you good at besides math and drawing.” She raises her eyebrows and moves them comically, something Jungkook considers weird at the same time awfully cute.

“You won’t believe it but I sing and dance.”

“Okay, you’re just bluffing.”

“No, it’s true!”

“As if. No one can be a whole package, you dork.”

“Just wait ‘til you see this,” the man fumbles for his phone, eyes scanning through numerous files before his thumb presses on the center. It starts to play with seven men on the stage in flashy outfits getting ready with their formation as a thunderous beat starts to boom out from his phone. “Too loud, too loud for the shop,” and Jungkook frantically inserts the jack of his earphones, fits his ear with one bud, and as he turns to his side, he never imagined he’ll get a close up of Sarang’s warm hazel eyes. “She really has pretty eyes- okay I’m violating her personal space.”

Jungkook clears his throat, “Umm, if you don’t mind I-” His fingers were ready to fit the bud in the girl’s ears before his action was intercepted with the girl’s much smaller fingers that sends a jolt to the man’s body.

“It’s okay,” she smiles, fitting the bud in her own ear. “I wanna watch your performance you’re so adamant to show me.”

“Not that adamant - okay fine.” Jungkook presses play again yet he cannot bring his eyes to focus on his first ever show performance for their college event. It was a good show actually, but Jungkook reasons he looks like shit there anyway and the view in front of him is much nicer to look at. Sarang with her eyes trained on the performance, lips painted in cherry gloss parted slightly, her figure leaning closer to him to get a much better view from his small outdated handphone. Jungkook basks in the lack of proximity between them as he watches her locks fall forward on the side of her face and God, he wants to tuck that hair behind her ear but he has to control himself so he puts his other hand on his side of his ear bud to look he’s also focused on the show. He’s never been focused on someone as much as now.

Five minutes have already passed as Sarang leans back in her place, surprising Jungkook as he realizes he’s stared at her profile for so long.

“You- you like it?” Jungkook trains his eyes somewhere to keep the blush creeping on his cheeks

“Yeah, you got some killer moves there, and vocals too, Mr. Justin Seagull”

“Oh my god, that was the dumbest stage name ever that I thought back then was really cool.” If spring has colored his cheeks earlier, well now his ears are already in vibrance too. “Anyway, what about me being a ‘whole package’ you said earlier,” Jungkook raises his eyebrow to attempt a smug look and he himself is surprised where the hell he got this cringey confidence just to mask up his blushing self.

“Oh stop it,” She chuckles, playfully hitting his shoulder. She looks down at her forgotten book as she smacks her lips together before she looks his way again. “To answer your question earlier, there’s something I’m also good at, aside from painting and my work.”

“Really? What is it?”

“I dance.”

“Can you show-“

“Sorry, I don’t have any embarrassing footage to show in exchange.”

“Hey, unfair!”

Jungkook never thought he could grin this much without hurting his jaw. Smiling, laughing – it felt so surprisingly effortless. It felt like he travelled back in time, back to his good old days with this foreign excitement he used to have now embedded on his chest that continues to manifest, overwhelming and unyielding even when he tried to contain them. He decides he wouldn’t stop; he can’t. He’ll continue to run over this uncharted zone, farther past the familiarity of what he has grown up to.

Each day, another page is colored in Sarang’s coloring book.

“What if you only use the colors I’m going to say for the next page.”

“I’m gonna accept that challenge.”

Jungkook grins.“Okay… use purple, pink, and brown.”

Sarang immediately flips the book close. “Forget it, you have a terrible color choice.”

“Just try it!”

“Fine.”

After a few minutes, Jungkook was already gaping at her. “Wow, it looked amazing.”

“Of course, I have to amend the hideous color scheme.”

“It was just for a challenge – okay touche.”

Everyday, another area is marked with memories on the unknown field of unfamiliarity.

“You know, you always walk in my shop in sweaters of various colors.”

“Well, I like colorful stuff.”

“Ohhhhkaayy.” Jungkook immediately leaves her place.

“Where are you going- Wait what is this?”

“Strawberry popsicle,” he hands it to her. “It’s pastel in color plus you’ve been eyeing that in my vending machine since yesterday.”

“Oh okay, thank-“

“That would be 500 won.”

“Nevermind.”

“I’m kidding! Take it, my treat.”

Everyday, another new conversation for Jungkook to run in his head as he slept with thoughts of supplementary lines, their angles not so askew anymore with 100 and 80 degrees angles, a 20 degree difference that makes him smile . Constellations on his ceiling started to burn brighter now, awakening dead stars long forgotten in the dust.

Weeks and weeks followed with Sarang’s longer visits and the ever present color of spring on Jungkook’s cheek that reflected their blooming friendship. A few times, the man finds himself convincing no one but him that he’s already satisfied with their childlike tales and childhood stories, sometimes mature discussions, and then… and then the prolonged stares, lingering touches, shy smiles. It’s foolish, pointless even to deny he wanted that 20 degree difference in their supplementary lines to disappear. In fact, no more supplementary lines; he wanted to feel her presence other than in his laundromat, the only intersection he has with her. How about a line? That could go on and on forever; he can meet her everyday with no hindrances at all. Right, he can opt for a line-

“So… how’s your girlfriend, son?”

“Huh?”

“Your girlfriend? The one with the coloring book.” Mr. Changmin Song tries again. Jungkook was still taken aback with the sudden interference in his thoughts so he lets his eyes focus again to what’s in front of him. Oh right, he was helping Mr. Song in packing his laundry. His mind is wandering towards her way too much again.

He clears his throat as he packs the last bundle in clear plastic. “Uhh, she’s… not my girlfriend.”

“You two always have a nice time here everyday, also not to mention I saw the food container on your doorstep one night when I went up to get my pliers back from Eunhui.” Mr. Song insists.

Right, everyone in Myeongjang-dong knows everyone, what did he expect? “We’re just friends, Mr. Song.” With three packed bundles in tow, Jungkook uses his hip to push his glass door open, stepping out of the shop to proceed to secure the bundles on Mr. Song’s bike.

Mr. Song follows him outside and positions himself next to his bike as he gives the laundromat owner a grateful smile. “Thanks son for helping me with this.”

Jungkook sends him a polite bow in return with “Anytime, sir.”

As the elder man positions himself on the bike, ready to pedal back home, he calls Jungkook’s attention one last time. “You know son, if you wanna get the girl, ask her on a proper date. That’s how I got my wife stuck by my side ever since. Okay I’m gonna go now, good luck with your romantic endeavors.”

“Thank..you, sir.”

Right. It’s foolish to convince himself he’s already satisfied with his friendship with Sarang, when from the start he already wanted more. The interest and attraction was already there, evident in his eyes even. Jimin tells him so one Wednesday night, spaghetti half finished as Jungkook cannot keep himself still in the back room of the florist’s shop.

“You look like a hungry puppy whenever you talk about her. Are you that thirsty?”

Jungkook spits out the water he’s drinking.

“What the hell?! That’s just unnecessary!” Jungkook accepts the napkins the florist handed him. ”How did Minyoung tolerate you with that mouth of yours?“

“It’s the Chim Charms – okay I’m gonna be serious.” Jimin pulls a straight face when Jungkook attempts to splash the water to his face.

“Hyung, I just…,” Jungkook messes up his hair in frustration, maybe in embarrassment also. “I wanna get to know about her other than in my shop. I want to meet her everyday, not just every other day.” He lets a shy smile slip on at the thought.

“…sap.”

“What?”

“Nothing! First off, go text her. Of course you already have her number, right - What do you mean no?”

Jungkook shakes his head, “I don’t know how to… you know I don’t know much in the dating scene. I’m not like you, or Tae-hyung, or Seokjin hyung who’s effortless in picking up girls.”

“Then the next time you see her, during your conversation just slip in casually, ‘hey can I get your number, if it’s okay?’” Jimin sees Jungkook’s eyes widen and he lets out an exasperated sigh. “Just be casual, okay? Keep it cool and manly like what you always fail to seem to be - ouch that hurt!”

A kick on the shin to his friend, and a “Thank you for the meal and happy birthday, more years for you to tolerate my insufferable hyung,” to Minyoung who sends him off with a friendly smile, Jungkook leaves Park’s Flower Shop. It’s already thirty minutes before midnight. He’ll just sleep it off then tomorrow he can see her again. His lips unconsciously pull into a smile.

He whistles the tune of some love song he heard in the radio as he makes the final steps towards the main door of his apartment complex when his eyes catches an unfamiliar movement right across him. Are those arms waving at him?

“Jungkook!”

Great. Now his mind is conjuring an imitation of her voice. He must be going crazy. He shakes his head and continues to walk only to be stilled again.

“Jungkook, hey!”

It sounds too real. He lets his eyes sweep before him, stopping at the movement of a figure and arms as he strain to focus them. Okay, this can’t be real.

“Sarang?”

“Yes! Sorry to bother you so late, but can I ask you a favor?”

Jungkook never thought he’ll get to see her this soon. “Okay, just hold this for me then I’m done,” Jungkook gives her the pliers he was using before returning to the bunch of red and black wires he was fiddling. A few twists here and there and a wrap of electrical tape, Jungkook bends down to plug in the now fixed cord of Sarang’s washing machine.

“I’m so sorry for disturbing you so late, I know you must be on your way home but you’re the only one I know around here-“

“Hey, what’s the rush?” Jeonguk stands up to meet Sarang’s eyes, stilling her from her rambling. “It’s okay,” He assures to which the girl relaxes her rigid shoulders. It really is okay, Jungkook thinks. More than okay, actually, when he gets to see Sarang in a messy bun, glasses perched on the bridge of her button nose, slim frame dressed in a long dress he guessed must belong to her mother.

“Umm, okay,” Sarang’s eyes wanders to the side, probably thinking what to say to fill in the silence. They must be doing it a lot, filling in the silence. The awkwardness drives the man to let his eyes travel around the unit that has always been plunged in darkness, until now. The furniture was decent, minimalist even with her small sofa pushed to the wall and an old television situated across the room. A coffee table in the center holds a couple of fashion and art magazines his mother used to display in the laundromat. Aside from that, nothing much stood out – no picture frames, any memorabilia that may give him a glimpse of her childhood.

“You must have been in the middle of unpacking.” Jungkook turns back to her.

“Huh?”

“Your unit,” he gestures around the room, “it misses picture frames of your family. I remember you told me your mom likes taking photos.”

“Ah yeah,” Sarang bites her lip, “I left some of the boxes back in Gwangju. The moving company will bring them to me by next week.”

Before Jungkook could enjoy more of her company, Sarang’s voice brings him back to his rationality. “Thank you for your help again. I know it must be getting late; I owe you a lot.”

“Ah, no need to worry about that,” Jungkook walks toward her screen door, Sarang close behind him.

“I still feel embarrassed though; If you need any favor in return, feel free to ask.”

“Okay, noted” Jungkook grins. A favor from sweater girl? Wow, he actually hit the jackpot tonight. But what favor can he ask her of? There’s practically nothing he needs assistance of - wait.

Before Sarang could send him off with a smile, Jungkook’s foot wedges itself between her screen door and wall, wind knocked out from himself with the sudden action.

“Actually, I already have a favor in mind,” Jungkook smiles. “Can I have your number?”

Jungkook never thought a day could pass without his heart humming around his ribcage. His days were still as is: open the laundromat at 5:30, collect the coin and clean the shop around nine or ten before he closes; refill vending machine and change machine every Tuesday and Thursday; do accounting works on Friday nights. Sarang still drops by at nine every Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday, her stays getting longer and longer that Jungkook started sharing lunch times with her. The only difference might be the constant exchange of messages that fills his mornings and nights with grins and bubbling joy. He still isn’t able to have her presence in Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Sundays; nor does the light in her unit rarely signal her residence in her home, but he got messages all week around to fill him with his hunger he never felt before.

Sometimes they’ll talk about miniature things that have never been interesting until now.

“So I read one day that washing machines have some meaning to them.”

“Yeah?” Sarang stops to look at his profile. “You’re starting to be real poetic about your business now.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I just came across it. Since they turn the clothes around them, it somehow mimics a cycle. You put dirty things in them and they come out clean now, kind of like how you change oneself for the better.”

Other times they’ll send messages about things that they have taken note of each other.

Sarang: Hey, I just passed Mr. Sangmin’s bakery. I bought some muffins. (3:30 PM)

Jungkook: Oh really? I’m gonna buy some later ahahahha (3:31 PM)

Sarang: No need. I already bought enough for us two. Expect me there by 4. (3:31 PM)

Jungkook whips his head to the calendar by his desk. It’s Tuesday, that’s strange-

Sarang: You know, you always text with “ahahahha” like an awkward teenage boy (3:32 PM)

Jungkook: Maybe I am (3:32 PM)

Jungkook: ahhahaahah (3:32 PM)

The man’s attention diverts to the sound of the chimes by the shop’s door.

“Welcome –“

“Hi,” Sarang smiles. “I got some muffins for an awkward “teenage boy”.

But there are also times when they’ll send each other signals that cross whichever boundaries set by social convention. Maybe it’s just him, Jungkook doesn’t really know.

Jungkook: I always have fun when I talk with you (10:30 PM)

Sarang: Me too. I have never experienced talking with someone for hours until now :D (10:31 PM)

Jungkook brings down his phone to look across Sarang’s balcony. Another Wednesday night granted him a soft glow in the room, a smile spreading on his face as warmth envelops his chest.

“Yeah, me too.”

Never has Jungkook been more curious of Sarang’s strange lifestyle when the following Friday night came. It was around nine thirty when the laundromat owner closed the shop and stayed inside to do accounting works when a set of three knocks on his glass door broke his focus on his tax returns.

Jungkook stands up from his desk to walk towards the door, familiarity sinking in along with surprise when he finally makes out the face of his late night visitor.

“Sarang?” the man immediately opens the door to let her in. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

The girl removes her denim jacket, her slim form accentuated in a fit white tee and tight jeans. “Are you not expecting any visitors?” Her amused voice sounds foreign to his ears, already bringing his attention back to her from his dazed state.

“Ah, actually no. My patrons know I close around this time on Fridays. I was just… surprised. Yeah…” and this might be quite an understatement. He never expected to see her at all tonight with her clad in something so flattering to her proportions, too foreign from the comfort of her sweater and jeans ensemble. Maybe he wasn’t just used to it, anyways at least he got to see her again.

“So what brings you here?” Jungkook asks as he sets down a cup of green tea on his desk, smiling at the girl who’s seated across him.

She adjusts her seat on the extra stool the man brought out before saying her thank you. “I- I was just done with my work and I just saw the light is still on in the shop so…”

“It’s alright, I was just curious,” Jungkook dismisses, sitting himself back in his chair surrounded with papers and cash invoices. “Though I’m gonna be busy for a while, gotta do some paperwork.”

“That would be alright,” Sarang smiles.

The following minutes passed with the scratches of ink on paper and soft chuckles. Sarang decided to help him with his purchases “so you can finish faster, plus this is also what I work with so it’s fun.” Jungkook can’t help but sneak few glances at the girl, with her eyes focused on the numbers, fingers swiftly pressing on the calculator, and her lips painted so red he just noticed now. The surprise of her sudden visit still doesn’t wear off when he can’t still believe the girl who spends her nights away from her home is just here right across him now. He could just reach out and grab her hand and ask her if she feels the same way about him as he does about her because he’s confused if the attraction he feels, sees even, is just conjured by his inexperienced mind. He turns back to the computation he’s doing. It’s too soon for that anyway.

“Is it your dream to manage your family business?”

“Huh?” He felt his mind halt as all thought still around him.

Sarang clears her throat as she puts her pen down, account of his purchases already done. “Has it always been your dream to do the laundromat business?”

He clears his throat. He never told anyone about this nor deemed this topic worth talking about because of the uncertainties that plagued however he can’t fathom the unusual feeling his chest - so light as if he was floating. “Actually, no... It was my childhood dream though.” Jungkook leans back, papers already stacked neatly. “When I was in kindergarten, my teacher asked us to draw our dream and I drew the whole shop with our patrons and me sat on the desk. While growing up, I learned I really liked math and drawing so I became an architect. It didn’t occur to me it as my dream though.”

“Then what is it?”

Jungkook halfheartedly smiles, “I’m still not quite sure yet, but I do know I’m content with what I have now.” He feels he’ll turn the atmosphere somber now if he speaks of what happened years ago so he just pulls his smile a little wider for her, however he also can’t decipher what the girl’s tight smile means.

Jungkook doesn’t know what goes on in Sarang’s mind and he wishes to know what causes the unfamiliar look in her eyes, just like now, someday. He hopes to know why she’s never at home on some nights, what she does on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. When he thinks of it, sometimes he feels he knows her, has the little things about her mapped out on his palm for him to always remember, and there are some times, like now, when the people you seem to know can be strangers too in mere minutes. He thinks he may seem like a stranger earlier if he divulged the misery and pain he felt when he went to the city that made him realize dreams are not just labels. They can become strangers they can be familiar with when they’re both ready. Comfort with oneself can wait, he’ll settle with the comfort offered by familiarity so tonight he’ll be someone who’s familiar to her image of him – a 25 year old inexperienced in dating, awkward “teenage” boy who likes to talk about good old days.

“How about you? Have you dreamt of being an accountant since you were a child?

“ No… I don’t know.”

“Hmm?”

“I really don’t know what my dream is. I just know that I like doing this kind of paperworks. But it’s not enough for me to be called as a dream.”

“You’ll find it eventually. Everyone has one.”

Jungkook looks down to his stack of papers, stooping down to put them in the cabinet of his desk. “How about painting?”

“W-what?”

“Painting,” Jungkook says louder as he stands up to meet her hazy gaze. “You really like coloring mandelas and they look really wonderful, too.”

Sarang rubs her shoulder, “It’s just – just a hobby I had when I was in middle school – I don’t think-“

“You should try though. Start coloring your own life; you’ve already colored enough of the black and whites of others.”

Somehow, the following minutes, hours until they closed the shop together around eleven thirty, Jungkook manages to see her warm hazel eyes again.

Their weighty conversation about dreams and warmth became the catalyst for Sarang’s visits on Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday nights right before Jungkook closes the shop, as if her laundry visits in the morning were not yet enough. Jungkook could already feel the supplementary lines closing on in 95 and 85 degrees angles, an almost equal split and he’s never felt such excitement run its course down his bones.

On some Sunday night, they talked about Sarang’s high school memories.

“My mom skyped me yesterday by the way, she said she sent me my high school graduation pictures I left when I was packing. I just received them this morning,” she hands him a 2x2 photo.

“Wow, you look the same back then. You’re really pretty-“ Jungkook snaps his head to her, his hand on his mop stilling as he balks.

“Really?” Her grin spreads faster than the heat rising above the man’s cheeks.

“I mean- yes you’re pretty –“

“Thanks for the compliment! I’m gonna give you that photo as a thank you.”

It’s actually too much for a gratitude but anyway, he’ll take what he can get and Jungkook turns and tucks it in his wallet when she was busy wiping the glass door.

One Monday night was quite romantic when they both decided to cook carbonara for their late dinner in the kitchen at the back of the laundromat. She was actually surprised when he mentioned there’s a small kitchen in the shop so he explained his Grandpa extended the back of the shop to accommodate his Grandma’s fondness for cooking while managing the shop.

“You sure like pasta, hmm?” Sarang gives him a teasing smile as she stirs the cream.

“Yeah, but I, for the life of me, cannot cook my own favorite dish,” Jungkook snickered, heart swelling as he watched the girl prance around, pink apron his mother used to wear now neatly tight around her waist.

“It’s okay. I’m gonna cook for you instead.”

True to her word, Jungkook finds a familiar plastic food container on his doorstep the following week with a pink post it note saying “This is tuna carbonara, a specialty from my mom. Hope you like it ;)“

And last Wednesday night was when he realized his New Year actually happened. It was the best night he ever had since years.

“No Sarang, I’m going to ruin what you drew.”

“You know that’s not true; just paint and go; you had rainbow wings, remember?” Sarang smiles as he grabs his hand, and gives him a paintbrush.

It’s been years since Jungkook held anything that is related with art tools, anything that created lines and forms used to make him sick. However, none of that was present now, his chest unusually feeling light at the thought. He looks up towards the girl as she lays out two A4 papers with her hand drawn mandelas, her eyes glimmering with a shine he never saw before they started to talk, even before she was just silently coloring away in her own little world.

He sits himself beside her and grabs the first pigment that catches his eyes – lime green – youth, new beginnings, then cherry red – candy pops, sweet pomegranates he loved to eat in summer, and yellow, bright yellow – sunflower fields, summer, joy. After years of wrapping his heart with regret, disappointment, and hatred, he thought he would never feel happy again. But now – now he was actually happy, unadulterated joy that is so childlike he feels his chest is going to combust. He remembers all that he loves with the colors he chose - his family, friends, the life here in his neighborhood, the warmth he was showered with ever since he was born. It was time to let go, he realizes, now that he started to love again the warmth in this life he chose, now that his new year have already happened.

“I know my dream now,” Jungkook mutters as he stops his strokes and turns to face Sarang. “My dream is to live in a nice neighborhood filled with warmth. Sounds cheesy I know.” He giggles.

“No continue on,” Sarang prods him.

“Back then I thought dreams are supposed to be what you want to be, what job you want to have. We’re kinda systemized to think that our jobs define us anyway. After a series of success, disappointments later, I finally realized that dreams can be where you want to be, what your soul wants to experience, not just some title to add to your identity. When I went back to my hometown, here, it really felt a dream. You can’t be always happy with your dream though since happiness heavily relies on your state of mind but if it’s your dream, you have to feel content with it. Happiness can be found in contentedness anyway.”

Silence follows when Jungkook stops. He searches her eyes as he gulps his nervousness. He never bared this side of him to anyone yet.

“That’s wonderful, Jungkook” Sarang smiles so wide, cherry red lips matching the color he loved on the geometric design she drew, red, bright red- adoration. Time seems to have stilled in the chilly evening as Jungkook keeps his eyes on her, the tingling feeling blooming in his chest, bursting into fireworks, filling his heart with colors and sparks he never seen before, colors he deemed will never come to his life. And he feels the same sparks swimming in her eyes as he leans forward and places his lips against hers, uncertainties fading into nonexistence as he tastes the sweetness of youth and the thrill of new years on her soft lips.

“Wait, what, you kissed her?”

“Uh… yeah,” Jungkook shies away from the florist’s scrutinizing gaze. He trains his eyes instead on the Polaroid of their friends, sipping the tea his friend prepared when he suddenly visited without premise on a Tuesday night.

“Wow,” Jimin leans back in his chair, carding his hands through his hair, “I never thought you were this impulsive.”

“I don’t even know if that’s an actual kiss!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I just placed my lips on hers and that’s that; I didn’t even move ‘cause I’m really nervous but when I pulled away she was smiling at me and I think it’s okay but I-,” Jungkook stops as he slumps forward, “I really don’t know how she feels. I’m sure I like her, really like her, and I really like the kiss and then the next day she just smiled at me and acted like we usually do.”

“So, you just… go back to just being friends?”

“Somehow.”

“You know you’re treading in dangerous waters, now, right? Friends don’t treat each other like that; you’ve been prancing around each other and acting as lovers already. You have to clarify what you feel already or you’re just going to blur the lines further and cause more confusion on both of you.”

“But I don’t wanna scare her, hyung.” Jungkook bites his lips. He keeps thinking what he has now with Sarang is enough but he knows he is fooling himself because he knows he wants more, especially when he felt his feet running on soft grass and experiencing new horizons when he’s with her. “Also, I don’t even know what she does at nights and on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays - she’s rarely at home at all.”

“You still haven’t figured that out?” Jimin’s tone bounds on a wary one and it makes Jungkook more anxious.

“No… she pretty divulged everything from her childhood, school life, and even her work and when I look at her, it seems I know everything about her but at the same time nothing about her.”

“Okay, I know you usually dismiss me when I tell you ‘speculations’ of housewives around here and I think Sarang’s a pretty good girl. But I won’t deny I actually saw her earlier with a man-“

“But maybe it’s just because of her work. You know she does accounting for business people!” Jungkook finds it ridiculous. No one knows Sarang like he does. He’s the only one she’s close with around her, she said so herself.

“Alright, alright,” Jimin pats the younger’s forearms, placating the situation. “I’m just telling you what I saw, no need to be too defensive.”

Jungkook knows Jimin was just looking out for him; he was just somewhat disappointed how the florist can think of Sarang like that when he barely knew her. How can he think of her like that?

Jimin decides to go back to the initial purpose of their conversation. “Okay Kook, if you want to know more about her, go ahead. Ask her directly. Tell your feelings directly. You’ll never go anywhere unless you actually face the path you want to take.” Jimin takes in a breath before continuing. “It may… It may actually help if you tell her what happened to the engineering company you worked in. You already encouraged her to open up good memories with you when you started talking about yours. Maybe… maybe if you talked about more personal, things you want to hide, maybe she can tell you about hers too. Maybe she’s just like you, keeping personal stuff away and safe from anyone’s scrutiny. And if you started talking about yours, you’ll send her the message you’re serious with her and want to get to know her sincerely with hopes she’ll return the same feelings as yours.”

“Thanks, Jimin. Actually,” Jungkook looks at him, “I now got over that problem of mine. I actually felt I already set myself free from the past two years I drowned myself in endless self-pity and hatred. I actually feel happy now.” Jungkook smiles, the curve almost reaching his eyes, and he’s never been more proud of himself until now.

“Re-really? That’s great!” Jimin exclaims, arms grabbing the laundromat owner to hug him. Jungkook almost tears up, he can’t believe he’ll be able to actually say that himself now. “I’m happy, I’m actually happy again, mom, dad, Junghyun hyung.’” He can’t believe this was his new year at all – he thought it was meeting Sarang but he never thought accepting himself will be his new year, his new beginning. His days with Sarang made him relive his days; his memories that made him remember his dream, his happiness. And he felt Jimin now understand fully what Sarang meant to him when he pull away, eyes glassy reflecting his as he says, “I’m really glad, Jungkook, I’m proud of you. I hope things will go well with Sarang.”

Jungkook dwells longer in Jimin’s home, relishing in the positivity that filled the florist’s unit, washing away any tension that occurred earlier. Around eleven thirty, when Jungkook was putting on his shoes by the florist’s doorstep, he decides he’ll tell Sarang what he really feels for her tomorrow. He cannot wait anymore; he’s ready to finally tell her more of himself tomorrow, the things he was proud of and the things he was not. He trusts her enough to give her his heart, as a whole now.

“That’s good. I’ll cheer for you, Kook. Oh by the way,” Jimin stops him in the hallway, “go ask her also to be your date in Seokjin’s wedding. July 21st is already around the corner.”

“I will do that hyung – wait what month is it now?”

“It’s almost halfway of June, kiddo. June 13 to be exact.” Two months have already passed and summer has already started. Jungkook lets out an amused laugh; it always felt it was spring whenever he’s with Sarang.

Jungkook smiles as he waves goodbye, “I almost forgot Seokjin hyung’s wedding is in July.”

When tomorrow came, Jungkook postponed business so he can drop by around eight thirty at Saemi’s Bookstore, a shop owned by Mrs. Jinhee Park’s daughter, just a street away from Jeon’s Laundromat. It was the bookstore where he usually bought his art supplies back in high school, instead today, he’s not gonna buy something for himself. With the bills he saved in a piggy bank he never thought he owned, he purchased two sets of artist grade watercolors, a set of brushes, and one ream of A4 papers because a canvas and easel was not in the inventory of the bookstore. Once he goes to the city, he will promise Sarang he’ll buy her one.

By nine o’clock, he was already going up the stairs of Ahjummah Bongcha’s apartment complex when his arrival was met with a swing of the door and spring entering his line of vision clad in a cerulean sweater, basket of laundry in hands. Except today, spring is not in his shop but in the shell of her home.

“Hi,” Jungkook smiles sheepishly.

“Ju-Jungkook-“ her surprise was still written on her face when Jungkook gently pulls her toward back into the warmth of her home.

When he sets down his huge paper bags on her coffee table, he wipes his clammy hands on his jeans as he looks at her surprised form, confusion still written on her expression.

“Good morning,” Jungkook adds a wave because he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

“Don’t you think you should have said that before barging in my room?” Sarang says with a teasing shine in her eyes, but the man could not focus on anything but the way her cheeks are colored in cherry. He hopes it’s because of him.

“So what’s that?”

“I – I actually bought something for you. Since I don’t know what type of flowers you like, I figured I’d bring you something you like instead, so here,” he opens the paper bag and shows her the sets of watercolors he got for her, “They may not be roses but they are also filled with colors and I hope you like them.”

“Jungkook they’re wonderful.” He looks at Sarang’s eyes to find them so glassy and it is until she closes up to him that he open his arms to accept her form hugging him. “Thank you – Thank you so much,” she sniffles. The man immediately pries himself away to look at her eyes, wiping her tears.

“Why-Why are you crying?”

She turns away, “No it-s just-it’s just no one has done something like this for me. A-and-”

Jungkook makes her turn back to him, “and what?”

“No one really acknowledged my dream, e-even my mom. They sa-said it was just a po-pointless hobby and I’ll never earn anything from it. I usually referred to it as just a ho-hobby but then when you said I have to start coloring my own life and then this-” she stops to look at the watercolors and then at the brushes peeking in the other paperbag. She chokes on a sob again. “I-I never even got the opportunity to buy one for myself and then here you come taking with you all the stuff I ever wanted and needed,” she pauses, “metaphorically and literally and I know I’m blabbering too much but thi-this is all too much. I-I cannot say anything other than than-thank you so-so much. Thank you so much Jungkook.”

And as her sobs die down her body, Jungkook hugging her and carding through her hair after finding out it calms her down, he finally learns a lot of things he was dying to know. She mumbles she spends her Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays to go to the city to finish all the accounting jobs she does for businessmen in the surplus.

“I’m so sick of it but I cannot stop doing them because I won’t be able to make as many money I need,” she leans closer to him, her cheek warm with tears pressed against Jungkook’s chest.

It doesn’t take a toll on her though, she adds, she’s already used to the underside of life. She’s been through horrible bosses before, and didn’t wish a repeat of her experiences that’s why she left the city and went to this province.

“All of them are horribe – a-all of them.”

Her painful experience in the working industry was not the entire reason she left home. Eyes red, she doesn’t stop crying. “I left be-because I was afraid my mom will disown me, I told her I will be successful and yet he-here I am - so – someone she could never be proud of. I love her so-so much and I’m afraid she can’t even stomach the sight-sight of me and I-“

“Sarang, you’re a wonderful daughter any mother could be proud of. She doesn’t need you to be successful or what. You’re already enough; you have dreams and you’re a good person. If you think no one could ever be proud of you - you’re wrong,” Jungkook pulls himself from her to look at her eyes reflecting nothing but him. “I’m proud of you and I’m really grateful life gave me the opportunity to meet you.”

And that’s enough for her to relax her rigid form, her arms wounding tighter around him as Jungkook sways them to the lull of his heartbeat to calm her down.

He’ll have to tell her his feelings some other day. Watching Sarang give him a piece of her without him initiating anything is enough for him. He’ll hold onto that piece dearly and when he manages to give her his broken pieces he left in the dead nebulas of his ceiling, he wishes she’ll hold onto them too.

Jungkook goes to the laundromat and flips the sign to “Come in, you’re welcome.” Sarang did not visit at night.

Sunday came along with the following weeks and Sarang’s late night visits stopped as her morning laundry duties dwindled into only an hour in the shop around Mondays and Fridays only. She brings A4 papers decorated in different hand drawn mandelas and the watercolor set Jungkook brought her, however Jungkook feels he’s back to square one. She talks like the usual but her clipped sentences, half hearted giggles, and unfamiliar eyes make him think she’s avoiding him. He doesn’t want to go back to what they were before, not when he finally saw her whole piece, not when he wants to take all his chances to tell her he loves her. But if this is what it makes for her to stay a little longer by his side, he’ll wait until she’s ready to share herself again to him.

Another week passes when he finally sees a chance to be honest with her.

It was three in the afternoon of a humid Wednesday when he heard whimpers and “Jungkook I-I don’t know what-what’s hap-happening” from a call and immediately, the man closed his shop and sped to the unit he spent his nights wondering.

“Sarang?” He walks in and finds her slumped by her laundry, tears mixing with the water that started to flood the small room, the water frosty as it reached his feet. He runs to the side and pushes the toppled washing machine upright again. “Shit, what happened?”

“I – I’m so-sorry! I was just wa-washing my-my clothes then the washing machine suddenly stops and so-something went wrong with the outlet a-and I panicked and sud-suddenly water started overflowing- I’m so-sorry I don’t know what – what to do anymore.”

“Shhh, don’t cry,” he stoops down to her and helps her up, “I’ll help you fix this, don’t cry anymore.”

After an hour into cleaning up the flood, and fixing the outlet with another faulty wire he hasn’t noticed that started the trouble, Jungkook sees Sarang by the lavatory of her bathroom, face devoid of tears and hands frantically washing tons of vibrant clothess Jungkook swears he’s never seen on her before.

“The washing machine is fixed already.”

She whips her head to him, hands stilling, “Oh-oh thank you, I’ll just finish this.“ She wipes her hands on her old jeans, “Sorry for inconveniencing you, I don’t know what got to me – you can go-“

“I’ll help you wash those.” Jungkook goes to her side before she can make another attempt to dismiss him.

Silence ensues but the sound of clothes crumpling and the foamy sound of the soap makes it somehow not quiet. The smudge on the fabric the man is holding won’t come off no matter how hard he tries.

“You do know you’re washing with hard water right?” Jungkook looks at her, hands already still by her side.

“What do you mean?” She turns to him, eyes already resembling tower high wall he knows he cannot break.

“Your clothes won’t come clean- the hard water will make the scum-“

“It’s fine, I didn’t ask for you to stay-“

Jungkook pulls her hands away from the soap, fingers shaky as he tries to keep her from looking away from him. “Why- why don’t you just come to the laundromat and do what you do like always? Why are you avoiding me?”

“I can’t face you.”

“What?”

“I really don’t know- I don’t wanna talk about this anymore-“

“Remember that day you asked me if I make blueprints for a company?”

His question makes her furrow her brows, eyes trying to get to his intentions. “Whe-where are you getting at?” Now they’re on the same page.

“I want to be honest with you, and I’m gonna tell you yes, I made blueprints for a company before.” And then he tells her the tale of a brave naïve boy who’s ambitious and thought the city was for him, an attainable paradise for anyone who wishes for more, more, and more. After graduating with high honors, he got easily accepted in one of the prestigious companies, CAE Systems, an engineering firm with skyrocketing gross income. But it will always be inevitable in every big and small organization to have a virus caused by one’s own greed and power and he learned that in his second year of working at that goddamned company.

“It was astounding what ends people could reach just to get what they want,” her hands still in his, he keeps his stare on her, a stranger in his eyes but felt like home when he felt the squeeze on his hands. He engulfs her in his embrace before he could feel himself shatter in front of her.

He learned what fraud was having dealt with projects guided by questionable demands from his superior; he learned what embezzlement was when he got close enough to the higher ups to know the appalling numbers on the management director’s bank account. Growing up in a home surrounded by warmth guided by straight morals, he thought he needed to straighten up the strings of a city as stone cold as ice bergs with moral compasses only pointed towards money and power. He idly thought he can end it.

“I was the reason the company was put into shambles, and it was both my pride and greatest curse.”

Backed up with an ambitious reporter, he felt like a hero when he handed him every bit of evidence he could get his hands on. The media feasted on CAE Systems, charges were made, and not before long the company was shut down. Jungkook felt he has never done anything in his life as good as this. He only realized he was no hero when he was told no company will ever accept a whistleblower. It was already late for him to learn that no one recognizes good in a place where good is conditional. Resumes were ignored and unpaid bills started to pile up when it finally sunk in he was in a hideous concrete jungle and he was a lion cub who dared to pounce on a cruel hunter.

“It was difficult to experience rejection upon rejection, but what’s worse was when I started to doubt the morals I upheld, when my mind thought it misplaced good for bad – it made me miserable and I thought I was going crazy.” He felt tears slide down his cheeks and he cried harder when Sarang wiped them away. “But that’s o-okay, I learned to not blame myself anymore and I started to become happy again here.”

“I- I don’t know what to-to say Jungkook, I’m really bad at comforting others; I-I don’t even know why you’re telling me this.”

“You’re already comforting me enough,” he pulls away, “I’ve been anticipating a new year would come and you helped me finally see one, feel those sparks I always longed to feel. I’ve seen you let out your fears to me and I want to not hide anything from you anymore - I really don’t know what we are anymore but that kiss really-“

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“What? Sa-Sarang, listen to me. I don’t know if this is lo-love but this is what I-I feel-

“I don’t believe in love, Jungkook.”

“What? N-no-“

“You should go, Jungkook.”

Jungkook heads home with a broken heart and a broken gaze and he opens the Bacardi rum he locked away in his dad’s liquor cabinet one year ago to stop his alcoholic tendencies. Liquor burns down his throat after he downs his first shot; he finds it useless to smother the pain that’s constricting his throat, filling his lungs with bitter thoughts that he never even had a chance to see his love bloom. It’s cruel he thinks, second shot already making its way down the hollows of his body, to feel this way and not be able to stop what he’s feeling. He thought he’ll never feel anything as abominable as the nothingness and frenzy of thoughts that cursed him for two years, but this - this is harder to accept because he became naïve again.

He wished he should have stopped being greedy, wanting things to advance when the girl he adores probably never even wanted to be by his side at all. Adults never give anything unconditional anyway – balance must be observed for the order of an ironically unfair world - maybe children do, that’s why he did what he did. On the side he wished he should have stayed longer and stood his ground when she drove him out of her house, out of her life more directly. Maybe he should have seen her weakening resolve, her eyes probably pleading for him to stay against her fears caused by self-indicted obstacles. But most of all, he wished he should have seen the signs before – Jimin’s speculations, Sarang’s sparsely decorated home, her unusual lifestyle, and the concerning amount of clothes she kept on washing and washing until they fade when he never even saw her wear them at least once.

Twelve shots downed, Jungkook feels maybe his mistake was not knowing enough of her, maybe if he did, he could have stopped himself from falling when she can’t even hold onto his broken pieces he trusted into her. With his room hazy around him, he grabs his phone and dials the number of the police station where a friend worked at.

“Hoseok-hyung,” Jungkook manages to not drawl on the phone, “Are you on duty now?”

“Yeah, Kook, what’s wrong?” Hoseok asks; his tone must have convinced the other he’s completely sober.

“Can you – uh – Can you look up ‘Kim Sarang’ from your records there?”

“Hmm… are you sure she’s from Gwangju? No name like that is listed here.”

“Uh- no- no, nevermind. Sorry for disturbing you.”

The line goes dead along with the leftovers of the New Year he had. It was beautiful when it lasted.

“You don’t look like you’re getting married Jin, at all,” Jung Hoseok starts, mischief in eyes as they walk down to a restaurant Min Yoongi booked. “You look like you’re getting your first lay around here.” Hoseok isn’t completely wrong when they receive a few lingering glances of other people. They can blame it to their model friend for his Adonis-like looks.

“Uhh, you do know that’s the purpose of a bachelor party right?” Kim Namjoon pipes in. “To celebrate the last days of single-ness if you are not informed, officer Hoseok.”

“Hey, I’m not on duty now!”

“But the badge hanging on your belt-loops says otherwise,” groom-to-be Seokjin says before Taehyung hooks him under the elbow and hops away, “We have to walk faster if we wanna go to other places you slowpokes!”

It was the 16th of July, peak temperature of summer at a raging 24 degrees Celsius but Jungkook didn’t mind since he had Jimin to fill in the silence for two hours as they travel from Busan to Seoul for the bachelor party organized by Gwangju officer Jung Hoseok and photographer Min Yoongi for their eldest friend, Kim Seokjin. He shouldn’t have put on his hoodie over his white tee but Jungkook reasons he cannot feel anything that summer inflicts.

Jungkook sips his water as he smiles along the ruckus made by his friends yet he can’t make his smile wider than he wanted to. Not when the first girl he ever adored did not show up in the laundromat for the rest of the weeks; not when he never saw her face around the neighborhood again even though Jimin informs him “I haven’t heard about anyone moving out yet so for sure she’s still here.” He suddenly hears the loud guffaw Hoseok makes when Jimin nudges his elbow.

“You alright, Kook?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook wishes.

Jimin looks around before leaning towards him. “Don’t think about her for now, let’s enjoy ourselves for Seokjin. Let loose, just for now.”

The past two hours whizzes by with laughter and stories of Seokjin’s scarce dating life before Hana, of Yoongi’s proposal to his long term girlfriend signaling another wedding to be anticipated, Hoseok’s recent promotion, Namjoon’s prospering business, and Taehyung’s everyday mishaps as a veterinarian. Jimin talks about Minyoung and the probability of them moving in before he pops the big question of marriage and Jungkook just tells them everyday is still the same in the shop though he finally got over the CAE incident and he sees his friends’ smiles become wider. After their hearty dinner, they pranced to the nearest arcade where Jungkook loses himself in the fun playing basketball and claw machines, especially when he crushed all of his friends in Dance Dance Revolution.

The night was getting deeper when Hoseok leads them to a bar he booked to have some alcohol to tone down the liveliness buzzing in their veins. It’s the last part of the bachelor party they planned so “Seokjin can waste himself for the last time with no regrets,” as the police officer said.

When they entered the bar with neon signs that spelled “St. Jude’s,” does Yoongi take a double take.

“Hoseok, you booked this bar? I told you to book a decent bar, not filled with strippers!”

“Shit, I booked Anne Marie’s wait-“

“Why did you lead us to St. Jude’s for God’s sake where is Anne Marie’s?”

“I did not see the sign sorry! Anne Marie’s-“

Jungkook can barely hear what they are talking about when he felt his eyes adjusting to the strobe lights and the pounding bass of the bar. However all of that stops when a slow song starts to play and a spotlight is centered to a girl on the stage wearing nothing but a pair of scarlet high heels.

Even if she changed her hair color, Jungkook won’t forget her hazel eyes and the soft curve of her thin lips.

“Jungkook, we’re going, what are you-“

Jungkook stands frozen as Sarang sways to the song, her hands gracefully reaching for the pole before she swings herself off the ground, pale naked body gliding on the metal pole before Jungkook quickly averts his gaze to the left side of the bar with the signboard “Final show: Eve!”. The audience on the tables starts to clap and howl like hyenas; he could already see some man go to what he assumes the manager and mouth “one lap dance” before motioning towards Eve. Jungkook feels nauseous. This is too much.

“Hyung I’m not gonna leave”

“Jungkook what-“ Before Taehyung could grab the hem of his hoodie, Jungkook runs up to the stage and grabs Sarang by the wrist. He could already feel Sarang trying to free herself from him but Jungkook only tightens his hold as he maneuvers around the people. Somebody is already shouting behind them and Jungkook fastens his pace as his eyes finally land on the fire exit sign. He pushes the door open into an alleyway and immediately takes off his hoodie, slips it on Sarang’s shivering body and then he’s grabbing her by the wrist again and hails a taxi, pushing Sarang inside before he gets in and tells the driver to get them anywhere away from the bar

Sarang refused to look at him, fixating her gaze on the window of the vehicle watching the city whizz by. Jungkook falls into silence, only watches the reflection of the mascara tears ruin her cheeks as sobs seize her body. He guessed he wasn’t wrong at all with the drastic 120 and 60 split of their supplementary lines. He was just entirely wrong to think her minimal hours in his life was acute when the entirety of her life was an entire obscurity for him. Jungkook looks away, not knowing what to say as the taxi speeds away in the blur of the hideous city.

Sarang remained silent as Jungkook stopped the taxi in front of some hotel until the moment the man let her inside a room he checked with an amount he can afford.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” she seethed, her voice sounding so hard and unfeeling.

“I don’t need you to explain or what I just want you to stay with me-“

“Bullshit, Jungkook! BULLSHIT!” She suddenly fumbles with his hoodie, hands immediately taking the clothing off of her. “I know men like you,” she spits, “All you want is fun, right? Well here it is!” she exclaims, grabbing his hand to place on her shoulders, “Touch me, savor the moment after the scene you caused earlier, you can have all of me right here, right now!”

Jungkook stoops down to pick his hoodie up to give it back to her. “Put this back on.”

Sarang slaps his hand off, dropping the fabric to the floor. “What are you doing?! Now’s your chance, get on with it! Or are you that type who wants me to strip first before you do your thing,” she leans toward him again, her face contorted in a twisted scowl. “Do you want me to bend over too, sir?”

“Is that what you really think of me, Sarang?” He keeps his gaze at her, the tears on his clouding his vision not enough to deter him. “Or should I call you something else since that name is probably forged?”

He knows he finally broke down the crumbling walls she kept holding when Sarang wails as she hugs herself, cries rocking her figure as she kept mumbling “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Her apologies and hoarse cries filled the midnight in a distorted lullaby Jungkook felt long ago but never knew enough as he shifts in the couch, limbs numb. He stares across the girl on the bed, her back facing him, but it doesn’t hinder him from hearing her soft voice breaking the silence.

“Why- Why did you do what you did earlier?”

“I don’t know- I tend to follow my feelings first before thinking about the consequences.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this-“

“I love you”

“No, you don’t get to say that! It��s so unfair, you don’t-”

“Why?” Jungkook finds himself sitting up. “Why? Tell me why is it unfair because for the past weeks I’ve done nothing but reach out to you, give you my heart only to be shut down so many times and I still don’t know why I’m even trying. So tell me, why is this unfair.”

“You scare me, Jungkook. You scare me with the things you make me feel.” Her voice is barely above a whisper but he still hears it anyway.

In the morning, Jungkook wakes up with a heavy heart and a yellow paper with his name replacing the spot where Sarang laid.

He stands up, stuffs the paper addressed to him in his jeans pocket and sends his apologies to his friends immediately, especially to Seokjin. He leaves the hotel, leaves the city with the letter unread as he takes the earliest train back to Busan.

“July 16, 2012

Jungkook,

I’m sorry for all the things I have done, for all the things I’m about to do. I liked your stories, I do. They remind me of the warm town I was born in. But it also filled me with remorse.

You must have wondered at first why I do laundries abnormally frequent. I always wanted to wash away the dirt I’ve always felt. I grew up in a money hungry city which has never been touched by anything akin to love. I understood why at the age of 16 when I decided to let myself fall for someone as foolish as me. We left town and he led me to the city and introduced me to the land of dreams, of success, of everything men has ever wanted. But then I realized not everything is perfect; beauty blinds up the things we needed to see and he was the perfect example. He was lovely at first, until he started painting the mandelas I do on papers onto my skin. I never thought this same love will bring me my humiliation when he made a business out of me, my utter damnation when I realized there was no other way back.

I always got used to what the outcomes will be, the aftermaths of the things I have done. And then you came and I suddenly felt I was back to my youth again with nothing to worry, nothing to feel ashamed about. I started having dreams again. But I know this side of paradise will only crumble because I knew I have never been welcome to experience heaven as a luxury. So I never came back to your shop again these last weeks. I tried to wash my sweaters, the things I loved wearing whenever I’m with you. No matter how I tried to cut off everything related to you, I know I can never erase your scent from them; I can never erase you from the back of my mind.

I know my explanations are delayed and they may sound like excuses. I’m never fond of confronting you yet because I know I’ll only cry. Even if I’m a whore who probably knows the taste of every man who roamed this city, you’re the only one I kissed with my lips. I don’t know if this is love yet, and the mere thought of it scares me but when I saw you wanted to stay by my side even after all my dirt and grime must have repulsed you, I wanted to be selfish, I want to stay by your side too.

I left a lot of loose ties when I moved to Busan; I can't let these nightmares from here to the town. I need to sort them out first and I need to fix myself, too. I don’t know if you’ll wait for me, but I naively hope so. If you didn’t know yet, I slipped you letters on the pot beside your bicycle rack when I came from my work here. Even if you don’t believe them I hope you’ll read them. They’re the only things I’ve ever been completely honest about.

My real name is Kim Sarang, and meeting you was surely a blessing.”

Jungkook flips to the next letters.

“July 13, 2012

Jungkook,

I don’t think I’m even allowed to say I miss you after shutting you out and suddenly disappearing but your face is what I can only think about these days. I can't even write ‘dear’ to address you not after the things I have done. You make me feel things I don’t even deserve in the first place. I’m sorry, I really am. I thought about moving out because maybe you’ll never want to see me again but I’m sorry I can’t bring myself to actually do it. I can’t.

I’m frequently in Seoul now; I need to pay my debts as soon as I can, he already went to my home and I can't have him anywhere near you. My method might repulse you but I have no other way left. After I’m done, I’m cutting myself from this life for good. I’ll tell you the whole truth when I got back and finally fixed myself.

P.S. I finally understood what doing laundry with hard water does to your clothes. It ruins them and makes the dirt stick on the fabric. I’m washing with soft water now. Hope this lightens up the mood of my horible life.

- Sarang”

“June 14, 2012

Dear Jungkook,

The watercolors are fantastic! They were so so pigmented and I've never seen such brush shapes and sizes! It's summer and I can't believe it felt like it's my first Christmas. The last time I had Christmas was when I was 14.

I think my thank you's are not enough to let you feel my gratitude.

-Sarang"

"June 2, 2012

Dear Jungkook,

I'm not an accountant. I've never even been in college. My mother was an accountant and I used to help her when I was young that's why I know some things. I've made decisions I will always regret that I can't even ask why my life turned out to be like this. I work in St. Jude's every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday and it was horrible, disgusting, and pathetic. I abhor how it's name perfectly suits a filth like me, a very impossible cause. I feel more miserable when I can't even tell you that personally after all your honesty. I don't want to witness the repulsion that will cross your face. But I don't know what to do; I've got no diplomas that can enable me to have a respectable work and I've got huge debts I have to pay just so I can have at least a fraction of a normal life here in Busan. They say the past will always catch up to you and it's fucking true

I actually planned to end everything yesterday night. And then I remembered you and I know I can't just go without having one last moment with you. I never imagined that night would be a miracle. You told me I can find my dream and it was the nicest thing I've ever heard; after years of begging for someone to say 'everything is gonna be alright' even though it's not, I finally heard it. It's enough for me. I'll keep on living and I promise you, someday I'll tell you everything.

-Sarang"

Jungkook unfolds more and more papers, and he finds numerous post it notes and her watercolor drawings. There's a painting of his silhuoette by his desk.

"I always think you have a nice side profile."

He flips to the next and it's the replica of the interior of Jeon's Laundromat all in pastel with two silhouettes sitting in front of washing machine number - him and her.

"I'm sorry I always stay long here. Chatting with you here felt the closest to home."

But what makes him still is the last drawing in his hand. It's a portrait of him smiling, his eyes twinkling, and he looks so happy.

"You told me I had to color my life and I decided I'll do a portrait of someone and the first face that came to my mind was yours."

Summer melted and the crisp chilliness of autumn settled in when September peeked in but the chilliness was not enough to cool down the hyped conversation on the phone.

"Really?! Wow! Congratulations on the news Seokjin hyung!" Jimin turns to Jungkook, "Hana is pregnant!"

The younger grabs the phone. "Hyung, don't stress out Hana too much and I hope she's gonna be a girl so you get to beat the guys that will come close to her." Jungkook laughs, "I wanna see those long limbs put into use."

Jimin gets the phone back and updates Seokjin that Minyoung moved in with him recently, and Jungkook could hear the man's windwiper laugh from the other line.

The call ends with Seokjin telling them Yoongi's wedding will be on December and that he, Jimin, and Namjoon will be the ones in charge of the bachellor party.

When the call ended, Jungkook turns to Jimin while turning the stem of the Daffodil he was holding between his fingers. "Junghyun's gonna visit next week."

"Really? I'm gonna call Taehyung then so we can all hangout. He's on a break anyway for whatever reason he convinced his superiors."

"I'm not even surprised he can do that. Anyway he can finally have the drawing lessons he wants so bad," Jungkook snorts, "He said my skills are already rusty and I'm a bad teacher."

Before Jungkook leaves the shop, Jimin's voice stops him, "Still waiting for her?"

Jungkook's hold on the yellow bloom was firm. "Yes," He says and he exits the flower shop with a smile before he crosses the street and opens his laundromat.

Jungkook looks out from his glass door and watch the waking town in the early morning haze. Mrs. Taehee Jung is folding her laundry above Jimin’s flowershop. Convenient stores have now opened and Old Sangmin’s bakery is already filled with people. Kim’s Italian Restaurant is about to open like the usual. He waves to Mrs. Eunhui and towards Mr. Changmin Park who passes by. Everything is still the same, he sighs as he looks at the daffodils starting to bloom in the small potted garden he made with the help of Jimin and his chest warms at the sight.

He wakes up from his trance when Mrs. Eunji Song pulls the door open. He welcomes her in.

"It’s my first time seeing them," she points out.

Jungkook follows her line of sight and his eyes lands on the watercolor paintings gracing the walls of his once barren pale blue walls.

Jungkook replies, "Ah, I got them framed last week. I only got them today, Mrs. Song"

"It's a painting of your shop, and wait - is that you?"

Jungkook nods with a smile.

"The colors are wonderful, very lively, an exact replica of you these days" she looks back at him, amused and impressed. "See? It looks so the same! Who's the artist?"

Jungkook's smile stretches wider. "Kim Sarang."

The people around this Monday morning was sparse which allowed Jungkook to sketch the outlines of the shops thay line across his laundromat. His disposition was undisturbed until it was nine o'clock and the wind chimes resounded around the rather empty laundromat.

"Welcome-“

"Hi, Jungkook."

In the middle of autumn, it felt like spring again. Even if he has never seen her for so long, he'll recognize her warm hazel eyes and the timid curve of her lips. With cherry red sweater, blue cropped jeans and a her raven hair in a bob cut, Sarang looks at the artworks on the wall, her own paintings displayed with her name printed in small fonts on the paper.

She looks back at him, eyes glazed and her mouth agape.

Jungkook feels his heart thundering against his ribcage. "Yes, I waited for you." And even if she needs a year, he knows he will still wait.

Sarang leaves her sketchpad and her watercolor set he bought for her on the bench as she sped her way to him. Jungkook already stretches his limbs, welcoming her back in his arms, back in her home. Jungkook tightens his hold on her as he felt her tears wet his cardigan, strings of gratitude filling the rhythm of Jungkook's swaying.

"I've done a lot of thinking - and I know I've got better things to tell you, she mutters, "but the first thing I want to tell you is that I finally know what my dream is."

"What is it?"

"My dream," she looks up and Jungkook finds himself reflected in her eyes, "was to know how to love again, to feel new beginnings," and then he tastes them on the softness against his lips, the sweetness of youth and euphoric feeling of happiness. She moves against him with ardor, sparks flying and colors bursting behind closed eyes as Jungkook basks in the thrill and adrenaline of finally having everything back in his life. Sarang looks at him, with eyes reflecting him and him only as she says against his lips, "And I finally got them."

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