Got No Time To Lose

Drunken on subways late at night are dangerous, they say, but it’s always the people up on the streets that end up starring in a morning news as victims. Kidnapped, missing, or even getting beaten up. No one to blame except themselves, unfortunately.

This morning you saw two intoxicated female that got their money and jewelry stolen—and were surprised to see so minor a crime like that to be reported—and officers interviewing something like ‘They can’t even blame the thieves at this point, when the exact same two already made two appearances at the police station for the same case.’

You agreed. People get warned every single time they go out for drinks not to end up dead on the sidewalk, don’t they?

You absolutely couldn’t understand how they end up like that. No way. Because you believed and knew even when you’re disastrously plastered you’d still be capable of dragging yourself home intact.

You see the reflection of yourself on the subway door you’re standing next to as an evidence. Well, you find it a little bit challenging to stay standing still, but it must be the driver rushing to get off work as quickly as possible. Yet you still would embrace it as generously as you would with a sober mind.

Not that you’re unforgivably drunk right now; people can barely walk when they really are. But you can easily look at your almost-sober self staring at your own hardly alcohol-soaked eyes through the same reflection a little woman behind you is gazing at.

Turning around to face her might risk you a majestic stumble that will probably make you look tanked up. You begin to feel dizzy but somehow never lose that awkwardly long eye contact with her. It’s not you. It’s her that keeps you from throwing your eyes to somewhere else. You’re on the very verge of shying away. But you hold on. She does too.

She scans you up and down as you barely hold your eyelids up to do the same on her. Next stop you’re switching the position to face the other side.

You usually don’t prefer anything flirty out of your mouth, but look at her. Just look. Talking on the phone while locking eyes with you?

Damn she must be drunk too. We can have a little more, probably another glass or two, and take each other home safely. It would be a misery to leave such a petit lady like her to be on her way home alone at a dead of night like this. Oh now she smiles at you. You smile back.

“You’re not yourself.” Then she rolls her eyes at the phone. That’s a cute voice! Wouldn’t feel so sorry if you said it matches how she looks.

“There are pickpockets everywhere at nights and if you’re drunk you won’t even remember it the next morning. But, if you say so.” She just keeps laughing on the phone, which mysteriously makes you mirror it.

The mechanical female voice informs the next stop before the train halts for another group of people to push you into the car. You’re at the other side of the car, facing the opposite door, and that girl is stuck between you and the door. She’s still on the phone, chuckling.

“You don’t sound sober though, just saying.” A series of jolts push you right onto her but you manage to avoid squeezing her figure on the door with your chest.

“Okay, okay. Do you even remember your name, Minji?” Your arms are above her head on the wall and the door each for support, while the girl in front of you is nailing it without holding anything but her phone on her ear.

Then there’s a terrifying jolt that almost makes you believe the car derailed and flipped over, which ultimately throws you onto the wall. It blows the fatigue off of your alcohol-pickled brain in a second, before you notice something’s missing and think of shouting ‘pickpocket!’.

“Is this yours? You should be a lot more careful if you want to wake up in your bed tomorrow.” What’s in the palm of hers is your wallet with the house key attached. She examines it for a second before handing it to you, who hasn’t even recovered from the brutal contact with the wall.

“Thank you, umm–”

“Where do you live by the way?” You were waiting for her name. She checks your looks while you try to shove your wallet into your pocket. It fails to get in for four times and plaps on the floor again. “What, this isn’t yours? Or is it just that you’re too messed up to recognize it?”

She giggles at you while you’re barely holding it there with your hands sliding down the metal bar because of the sweat. “I mean… It’s mine and thank you for not stealing it.” Your eyes give up and that leads to you making a silly smile. You reach for her hand with the wallet as she withdraws it to her chest.

“Well, you wouldn’t have known even if I did,” It confuses you as she parries several attempts to snatch it back. So your focus moves from her hand to her face which is still wearing a big smile.

“But you’re too cute for that, aren’t you?” You know the alcohol is doing its thing when you start spamming flirty lines at a random person. And when you feel like stepping on even further you know it’s over.

“Where do you live?” She puts your wallet in your pocket herself and looks up at you as if you just said something strange. “So you’re that drunk. Two stops before the terminus.” What does she mean that drunk?

“No, I’m not. And I live, well, I live…” Finally, you know you’re done when you don’t know where the hell you are.

“Do you even recognize the stations?” You don’t wait to unfold a paragraph of excuses for looking drunk while being not that drunk.

“Of course I do! I’m almost sober. Almost. I’m standing still in a wild subway, I can defend any robbery or kidnapping attempts for sure. But not enough to remember the last station we stopped at so… Sorry but where the hell are we…?”

Her hand is cold. You learn that by the sensation of her palm checking on your forehead and cheeks. With that face, with those soft fingers, with those big eyes looking upwards and her lower lip tucked between her teeth.

You don’t have a clue why she bit her lip while checking how hot your face is. By the contrasting temperature, you feel how warm your face has become.

You’re certain it’s because of her, not the alcohol. “You’re burning. Don’t tell me you’re sober now.” Miraculously you’re returning. It’s escalating at quite a speed, from picking up a wallet to her stroking your face. It heats the atmosphere up; it’s cooling the alcohol down.

You begin to feel that as long as you’re with her, you might want to be sober so you can remember it the morning after. And the day after. Then the whole week if not forever.

“We’re two stops away from the transfer station. So where do you live?” She doesn’t withdraw her hand off of your forehead although she has to tip-toe to maintain it.

You didn’t really need to know where you are, come to think of it. You didn’t really need her to palm your forehead, either, yet you let her.

“Three stops from now. Do you want to–”

“Yeah.”

She’s like ‘whatever it is’. You’re no different, actually. You’re not even sure whether you will be able to recall a thing when you wake up. “It’s Hanni.” At least the name, hopefully.

“That’s the cutest name I’ve ever heard.” Her hand is now down on your chest for balance. You can feel every fingertips slightly dig into the fabric of your shirt. What’s more lethal is the smile that makes her eyes crescent-shaped.

“Oh, is it? That’s sweet.” Maybe the same fingers will dig into your bare flesh tonight. Your guts tell you that it’s a once-in-a-lifetime occasion. You didn’t believe in love at first sight.

You don’t believe the minor crimes that target drunk people late at night. Not when you’re standing in front of this angel. She even warned you of it. She picked your wallet up for you. Theft? No, absolutely not. She’s no one to commit such a foul contradiction.

“I'm–” The moment you’re about to tell her your name you get a phone call. It’s your friend. You can almost smell the bitter alcohol over the phone. He’s surprised you picked up. More than five bottles of soju were shared and both went completely nuts.

“I’m almost home, don’t worry about me. No, sorry but I’m expecting a guest tonight. Yeah, it’s a girl and she’s so fucking cute!” That grit when it comes to pushing down the cute aggression.

The way you’re unaware of yourself literally announcing that you want to take her to your place less than an inch in front of her sends your consciousness off miles away.

Hanni blushes as her fingers climb up to your shoulder. You also blush furiously. What an absolute joke. Now you can feel your heart racing as you imagine what could unfold in tens of minutes.

You arrive at the transfer station. A flood of people exchange their ways, in and out. So it’s the next stop. You don’t want her to stop looking up at you like that. “Do you live near the station?”

******

“Ten minutes on foot?” Outside is rather cold. Her cold hands overlapping yours startles the nerves up your arm. So you grasp on it tightly for the warmth to be shared. It’s cold but smooth. Her fingers feel thin in between yours.

“It’s cold. Are we almost there? We got no time to lose.” What you see is a pure smile. Hanni uses her eyes every time she does, which makes it unbelievably contagious.

“You’re cold?” You push the locked hands into your pocket. “Yeah, my hands are freezing.” The pace slows down as the alley gets darker with the streetlight distancing away. Your thumb strokes on the back of her hand.

You find yourself unable to walk straight. “Me too.” Or it’s Hanni gradually pulling you to the wall. Or it’s you pushing you both to the wall side, you can’t tell.

After a few more steps, you feel her pushing you lightly on the wall. You pull the hands out and raise it to your mouth. “The other hand.”

“Is it better?” You let out hot air on her hands; it’s an old trick for couples on cold days. She bites her lower lip again before looking around. “Your breath smells like alcohol,” As if she’s making sure there’s no one watching. Like some sort of criminal.