A Little More Lovestruck

All this talk about the homecoming party is getting to you. Between the people in the middle of the Sunken Garden playing sports or whatever and your friends around you, you wish you'd just find an excuse not to go. 

“No, I don’t think I am,” she breezes, ripping off another bite of kimbap from the roll. Steam rises from where Yuri chomped off of, followed by an identical column in her mouth. “Hah, fuck,” she whines as she tries to get her burning mouth back under control. 

Ryujin looks over to Yuri’s other side, “So you’re not going either?” meeting your gaze and finding only a look that’s far too surprised to not be comical. 

“Not because of that,” pointing to your friend fanning her mouth next to you. “Those kinds of events just aren’t my thing at all. Plus, I have Silksong waiting. Only 67% done on the first game out of 112%.”

“Come on, nerd, you need the fresh air. It’ll be fun, stick with us.” Hanbin nudges you from your other side, making you drop your kimchi back onto your lunchbox. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, “We’ll find you a fineshyt to grind with on the day.”

“What? It’s not that—” and the table erupts in teasing and jeers. A round of laughter follows, but you were always touchy with it, even if you never really showed or said. At least, not in front of…

Yuri dusts off her pants, “Gotta go, next class,” and scurries off while still chewing without another word. You have to follow, because it's your class too—albeit being thirty minutes too soon—anything to get out of the situation. Once you get up though, your ears catch the slightest hints of gossip behind you from your friends, punctuated with the usual tones of teasing and tomfoolery only your friends could ever, ever make, and you shake your head at them. What else were you supposed to do?

Instead of paying them any more mind, “Hey, busy on the day?” as you jog to match her pace.

“No, I’m just… I don’t wanna.” And despite the earlier brisk steps, she slows to a more comfortable rhythm. “Not like I have the funds to put an outfit together, can’t just pop back home and find something nice to wear.” 

“What, that’s all? Ryujin must have something your size—”

“And… I’m not looking for a teary goodbye.” 

She’s right, you have to admit, though the realization is less than pleasant; much more so to Yuri who’s probably had this weighing on her since the announcement. 

“I want quiet ones, with each of you, separately. It’s just… I’ll miss you all. There’s a lot of stuff I want you all to know,” and you can feel the subtle shaking in her voice as she says it, “especially you.”

You concede, “Okay, okay,” falling finally into an easy pace with her towards the class you know won’t even miss you. “When were you leaving again?”

“Just a month after the end of sem. Then I’ll help with all the logistics like packing and plane tickets, which’ll take about a month or two—don’t visit, house will be messy,” she shoots you a glare, ”I’d love to come to the homecoming, seriously, but I just don’t have it in me right now.” 

One last try to convince her, “I mean, really, Ryujin would have something you can borrow. And if you really think about it, won’t that be a good stage for goodbyes?”

She ponders for a bit, as if scared to commit to anything she can’t uphold, so you offer her a little more, “Come on, I’ll go with you. It’ll be fun. Plus, there’s a call for volunteers. If you wanna do that too, I’ll be right there with you. I want you to come, so please?”

“Hey, what's the first—Whoa,” she gasps out loud, looking you up and down. Yuri's wrapped herself in a gorgeous brown dress that'd never catch anyone else's eye, hugging her body not at all too tight, but still doing long-overdue justice to the curves she’d always tried to hide. The deep sunset hue that bathes what she calls the bad side of her face makes her glow in only the most ethereal light, and the way her deep, dark hair falls around her face to make a perfect frame of her gorgeous features is nothing short of magnificent. 

And you're staring.

“Uh, yeah, ready.” Your gaze shoots down to the floor, inadvertently to her cute shin-high boots that somehow make her look taller than she has any right to. You can't deny the warmth that spreads across your cheeks, nor the jitters you just got from the half-second spent looking her in the eye, but if she noticed, she didn't say anything. All she does is push her hair behind her ear, pick up her guitar case, start to walk in step with you. It's a short, silent couple minutes down the stairs and back to your car, punctuated only by commas of footsteps and the occasional colon of a throat being cleared. 

Engine starts, and you're off to the last time you'll ever see her, again. You want to say something, anything—“The first thing,” you scramble to recall, not at all distracted in any way, shape or form whatsoever, “we… sign off on inventory. You took the floor? Tables and setting?”

“Yeah, and you took backroom?” She doesn’t meet your eyes, but you figure she doesn’t need to. 

“Mhm” is all you need to say back. 

It’s not really anything: you’re only vaguely aware of the way your shirt sleeves cover your arms, and how your jacket sleeves cover your shirt sleeves. There’s friction there where there shouldn’t be, or that the friction isn’t something you think you could get used to. Your leather shoes feel loose in some spots and tight everywhere else, so unlike the usual sneakers you have on. And it doesn’t help that Yuri is right next to you, looking every bit as pretty as she always is, but wearing the lightest makeup and in the nicest clothes you've ever seen her in.

You can afford a momentary distraction at a red light, can’t you? Look over to your side, find her having pulled down the sun visor and going through some routine of checking her cheeks and lashes. Just a touch more liptint dabbed gently yet firmly with her pinky, a light swish of her bangs back into place, and the tiny smiles and poses she’d always do when she was faced with a mirror and a challenge she had yet to figure out how to overcome. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, just… nervous. Big event.” Yuri settles back into the seat, sun visor flipping up a bit too gently to reach up all the way. But her eyes land back on the road, as the light turns from red back to yellow and finally back to green, and she lets out a deep breath of something or other just as the car jerks forward. 

“It’s just homecoming, not even ours.” Just as the words leave your mouth, you regret it; you were always one to downplay, but not to others, especially not to her—

She giggles anyway. “Yeah, I don't know why my nerves are acting up. Maybe just some other stuff going on.”

Both you and she relax, with the sounds of a dusk-riddled urban Saturday evening filling the voids of silence. You settle, same as her, and the nerves don't seem as bad—not even yours. 

“Actually, I’ve got something on my mind.” She fidgets with the gingerbread keychain she keeps on the strap of her bag, trying to form the words in her head while her lips stay clamped, and with your eyes back on the road you can only imagine what could be so important that she can’t just tell you like she always does. 

“Just… I wouldn’t be here, staying out late, doing this, if it wasn’t for you. And I really, really… think this is gonna be fun. You know, besides all the work, it’s gonna be fun to see our friends, and the alums, and the professors—”

“And the pay,” you remind her, with a sigh too dreamy to warrant a couple additions to your bookshelf, or a weekend of fast food, or maybe half of a new, albeit knockoff, electric guitar. 

“Right, the pay…” and she’s suddenly all the less fidgety. “What are you planning on buying?”

“I’ve been saving up for something, but until it’s mine, I can’t really say,” as your mind drifts to that very knockoff electric guitar you saw with her at one of those stalls at the stripmall. You even remember hooking it up to the amp for her as she slid the strap on her shoulder, and the way she picked at the strings for that “wise-men-say” song was maybe 90% beautiful and 10% still beautiful but with notes her fingers defied her to play.

“Yeah? Me too,” and you catch her just as she looks away and back to the road ahead. Cars whizz past beside you, city lights twinkling overhead in apartment buildings and billboards. The smile stays on her lips as the two of you settle into a comfortable silence, and for a brief moment, you consider, but shove it away again. This is Yuri. This is enough. 

“You know she likes you?” Hanbin slings an arm around you, causing you to nearly drop the very expensive mic. “Turned me down. Twice. Don’t make me look bad, alright?”

You’re at the very least able to right yourself before anything falls, and the mic reaches its stand alive and functioning well. “What is that supposed to mean? And how do you even know that?” 

“It means it’s you or no one. She likes you,” he insists, with a light jab poke at your ribs, “and you’re being kind of a dick for not making a move.”

A chuckle and a shake of your head is all you give him. After all, it doesn't make any sense. She's Jo Yuri, for God's sake: university scholar, College of Mass Comm sweetheart, Music Circle senior vocalist, and the rest of a longer list of other things you could never live up to. She's Jo Yuri, and you're… you. 

“Yo. Just go. It's gonna happen,” as he helps you untangle a particularly uncooperative cord, “She’s not gonna say no. Granted, she won’t say yes either but—”

“Okay, thank you, Hanbin, get the fuck out of here. Employees and volunteers only.” Shove him away, give him a pat on the back, turn him around and to the door. 

Even still, you’re reminded why you and everyone else knows him to be so hardheaded, “One last thing.” He straightens his shirt, fixes his jacket, “Chaeryeong is out there getting talked down right now. Jeongin and Ryujin already got theirs, and I’m next. Not sure where Somi is, but I’ll bet she got Yuri’s goodbye speech first.” Each word weighs on your heart a little bit more, and that sinking feeling of losing her roots itself back into your chest, “Dunno when you’ll get yours. But don’t make her regret it.” He makes insistent strides towards you, almost angry, even, “Do not fuck this up.”

“Don’t fucking talk to me like that.”

“You know what I mean. Either do this for her, or do this for you. The rest of us aren’t supposed to care, but when it’s this glaringly obvious, we can’t just let whatever this is keep happening and still call ourselves good friends.”

Hanbin turns on his heel, marches out the double doors, rejoins the party on the other side. Yuri’s somewhere out there, baring her heart and thanking everyone for memories they’ve formed with her over the past few years. Soon it’ll be Hanbin’s turn, and she’ll no doubt thank him for his feelings and turn him down again. You recall his words, “She won’t say no,” but it still scares you, to death. You’re spiraling, you’re frazzled, you’re angry, “Why does she have to move?” “She has a great life here, why change anything at all?” 

No, none of this is helping. Hanbin’s right, do it for her. She deserves a good, happy, peaceful last few weeks here with everyone, with you. Do not fuck this up. 

“Fucking there you are.” She walks over to you, the widest smile tugging on the corners of her mouth, never mind the sweat that makes her hair cling to her forehead and the sides of her face. Her arms swing with each step less carefully than the rest of the night, but with the loud beats shaking the air around you, nobody else seems to notice. “I was wondering if you’d left me here already. I can’t find anyone else, looks like they left,” she crosses her arms as she falls into position next to you, scanning the rest of the area you’re looking after. 

A cup of Pepsi makes its way from your hand to hers, and while she does take it gratefully, you can’t really recall meaning to do that. “They let you off the hook already?” 

“For now. Once it ends, I’m staying to help with egress.” Yuri hands you back the cup, still half-full, thankfully, and with a faint lipstick mark on one side of the rim. Turn the cup around, mark steadily away from you, take a sip. She eyes you with a playful glare, “The fuck was that for? We’ve eaten with the same fucking spoon and fork at the same time and you’re queasy now?”