#inyun

[yosoyloqueveo]

in yun

PAST LIVES | 2023. Film, Dir: Celine Song

[caribbeangothbarbie]

every time I close my eyes, a world of possibilities presents itself to me.

There’s this one in which i’m staring at you without even a hint of fear that you might catch me doing so. Then it happens, you see me looking, so you look right back at me.

We both stand there staring at each other, maybe looking deep into each other’s eyes or simply just admiring the person standing before us.

we remain in silence doing so until one can’t take the tension any longer and cracks a smile. smile that quickly turns into laughter followed by the other’s laugh as well, just to be the beginning of this really small but beautiful moment. special would be a good way to describe it, the moment i mean.

perhaps if we could have those little moments multiple times a day every day, we could start cultivating what’s known as a meaningful life, for you are the one thing in mine that truly makes sense . that truly has meaning.

you are the reason my days are special everyday and that my life makes sense all the time.

living can be really tedious and overwhelming, sometimes confusing, but living with you by my side will forever remain the one thing i’ll always be certain of. ‘cause what’s life without purpose? and it’s pretty clear to me that i was brought into this one to love you.

so thank you, my lover. thank you for being the reason i’m excited to wake up every morning because i know that it will be another day of being loved by you.

and even if i open my eyes again and can’t no longer see this world of ours, there’s another one just as special waiting for me to experience it. and wanna know the best part? we are also in it ;)

- kc

[wavesmp3]

8000 layers of inyun

jeonghan x reader, joshua x reader - inspired by the movie past lives - wc: 6k - warnings: mentions of alcohol, like one curse i think - a/n: reader should be completely inclusive, i.e. not adhering to the background of the main character in the movie.

[first hello]

when you met joshua for the first time, it was in the grassy backyard of a house in long island one mile away from the beach. at a rickety, white table with spots of black showing up beneath the layers of paint. it was three glasses of red wine in, two hours after you had laid eyes on him, and one hour after everyone else had headed inside for sleep. 

when you met joshua for the first time, you had told him about inyun. how even brushing by someone’s shoulder on the street or locking eyes with a stranger on the metro meant there was something there between the two of you in a past life. he looked amazed at the notion. you thought he looked quite pretty. “that would mean we had something together in a past life, wouldn’t it?” he had asked. and even then, you could tell–he’s such a writer. there was a story already rising from the dark corners of his mind. you had just nodded. and told him about all the layers between two lovers, and about the 8000 it takes to take one’s hand and whole-heartedly decide you want to marry them. 

you don’t really remember joshua’s cheeks turning pink at the line. what you do remember is the sky changing colors. you remember how golden he looked under the string lights. you remember leaning into his face, almost falling forward, bracing yourself with a hand on his knee. 

you remember kissing him for the first time. 

*****

[jeonghans coming] 

joshua is already cooking dinner by the time you come home. you stop in front of the gray door, noticing for the first time in a while the scratch in the top corner from the massive yellow armchair you stuffed through the door even when it refused to fit through. you smile at the scratch, stretch your arm out to finger over the light brown mark. how long ago was that now? was that before or after you got married? you inhale. the air smells like wet concrete and basil. joshua forgot to turn on the exhaust fan, didn’t he? 

you don’t remind him to do so once you finally find your keys. instead you slip off your old, faded sneakers, drop your keys on the counter in the lime green dish you made in a pottery class two years ago, and greet him in the kitchen, kissing the side of his chin and reaching over his head to turn the exhaust fan on. he kisses your forehead as an apology, or at least he tries but you’ve already moved and his lips end up catching on the corner of your left eye. you wash the day and the grime off you, washing away the train and the throbbing in your feet. you meet him again for dinner, at the table you call your dining table and your home office. he brings over two plates of the pasta. you bring the wine. 

“you know jeonghan.” it doesn’t hit you then that that’s the first thing you’ve said to him since you left that morning.

joshua squints. his eyes, his eyes, his eyes. they were the first thing you noticed about him. the first thing you fell in love with. “yeah. your childhood sweetheart.” this he says with a teasing smile. you smile back. his smile was the second thing you fell in love with. 

“he, uh, emailed me earlier today.” you shift in your stool. “he moved out of his parents’ house, i think, and is between jobs. he said he’s going to be visiting new york soon.” 

there’s a stillness in the air, then. a shock beneath the table that’s curling around your calves and inching up your arms.

joshua, though, despite how well you know him, despite your knack to see through every emotion he feigns, still tries to nod it off. “oh. when is he coming?”

“in two weeks. “

“that’s soon.”

“i know.”

“are you going to see him?” there’s no mask of emotion here. everything in joshua’s mind and heart you can read in his eyes, except that reading doesn’t mean understanding and five years of marriage doesn’t mean you know someone’s every thought. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what he wants. you don’t even know what you want. all you know is jeonghan’s email. you spent two hours staring at it this afternoon. jeonghan, as you knew him, was a straightforward guy. he explicitly said in the email what he wants: to spend a day or two with you while he’s here, as much time as you can spare, show him the city you moved to when you turned 21. show him the country you moved to when you were 13. but beneath the straightforward request feels like a million subliminal ones. like he wants you to prove to him that you’ve made a life worth living here. like he wants to gallivant around new york telling you about a country that used to be home and asking you what would have happened if you didn’t go all those years ago. 

but jeonghan isn’t like you and joshua, he doesn’t make reading into subtext and writing a 100 pages about it his job. so you tell joshua what you decided on the train ride back. 

“yeah, i think i will.” and with the way your stomach twists, it feels like a confession.

*****

[first goodbye]

your first goodbye with jeonghan is when you’re young. it happens on the last day of school for you before your family’s big move to the states. even though you only found out a couple weeks ago, you knew this move was a long time coming. maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when your parents told you it was happening. maybe that’s why you just went to your room and started packing. 

jeonghan’s been in the same class as you your whole life. his whole life too. and for your entire lives you’ve been making the same walk back home from school together. today is no different. and yet, isn’t it? it’s the same roads, yes, the same stairs and the same shops on the way. but the air is different, it smells like home. it smells like you already miss it. and you haven’t even left yet. 

the walk is almost entirely silent. 

the roads diverge towards the end, into a smaller path that leads to your home and the main road that jeonghan takes to get to his. you take one step into the path and stop. jeonghan stops too. he stares. you stare back. 

(you don’t realize it then, but it’s the last time you’ll see him in person for almost 20 years. one of the last times you’ll even speak to him in around 7. it’s the last time you’ll ever stand on this street, and one of the last times you’ll breathe this air. most importantly, it’s the last time you’ll ever be this young.)

your first goodbye with jeonghan isn’t much of a goodbye. it’s him asking when you leave. it’s you saying sometime tomorrow. it’s him frowning, patting your shoulder, and saying, “be well, and don’t cry over maths anymore.”

*****

[second hello]

you round the corner by the candy shop and walk inwards to the park. you used to live around here. but god, where haven’t you lived? you used to come into this park and watch people. the man towards the south entrance that always sat on the middle bench. the tourists walking up and down and around looking amazed and bored and helpless. tompkins square park used to be your favorite park in new york, but walking into it now, you can’t really remember why you liked it so much. you wonder why he chose this park specifically to meet in. did you mention it once on a skype call? does he think you still like it? or has he figured that you’ve already fallen out of love?

you see the back of his head before you see him. and for a moment you get an instantaneous rush of every feeling there is to feel from seeing him again, here, in a park you thought you loved. but it’s not the park and it’s not the city that makes your entire body go numb. it’s seeing him. jeonghan. jeonghan. jeonghan. it’s seeing him for the first time in–you don’t even want to admit to yourself how long. 

but the instantaneous rush ends, and your body and blood come back to earth and back to this park you hate, when he turns around and faces you facing him. 

and there are no words to be said. 

there used to be oceans and countries and cultures and decades standing between you and him, but somehow now, all of that has compressed into four squares of broken concrete. you were never very good at maths. jeonghan, the one who comforted you whenever you cried over it, knows that best. but even you know that there is no way 20 years can turn into 20 feet. so much has changed. more than could possibly be encompassed in any greeting. it’s indescribable and overwhelming. it’s you and him and the whole world. there are no words to be said. 

so you hug him instead. 

*****

[ferry]

it takes almost a full hour for the pure shock of seeing each other again to wear off. there’s so much joy and excitement between the two of you that for a couple minutes all you do is say ‘wow’, throwing the word back and forth like two kids playing catch. 

the first thing on your itinerary was already decided by jeonghan over email: seeing the statue of liberty. so, you and him board the ferry together, asking how his family’s doing and telling him about yours. 

“your husband,” jeonghan starts, turning slightly towards you in his seat on the ferry.

“joshua.” 

he nods, mouthing his name silently. “how did you guys meet?”

“we met at this writer's retreat thing. we were kind of… i don’t know–together–i guess, while we were there, and funnily enough, it was only on our second to last day there that we realized we both live in new york. and then, it was only when we got back that we started dating.”

jeonghan’s lips make a small ‘o’. “he’s a writer too?”

you nod. then smile.

“is he good?” this he asks with a hint of mischief. 

you scoff. “you think i’d marry someone who isn’t any good?” 

he just shrugs and smirks. an action you’ve seen him do a million times before. when you were a kid, it pissed you off. when you were 21, it made your heart flutter. now, it makes you feel like a stranger. it reminds you that all he is is somebody you used to know. 

“what?” he laughs, covering his mouth embarrassedly. you didn’t even realize you were staring. 

“you’ve just been a kid in my head for so long.” you shake your head, a smile haunting your lips. “it’s so weird seeing you all grown up.” 

he hums. “i feel that too.”

“are you and-” you leave the space blank there. social media had told you a lot, but you don’t remember it ever telling you a name, “still together.”

he grimaces. you wish you didn’t ask. “no. we broke up some time ago.”

jeonghan doesn’t say anything more about it, but honestly, it’d be more shocking if he did. even as a kid, he took things at face value, not going any deeper into contexts and double meanings. he isn’t too shy to ask what you mean, nor is he too shy to say it. that’s just who he is. 

“do you have pictures from your wedding?” jeonghan asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. you fetch your phone out of your pocket and show him your favorite picture from the event. you and joshua didn’t really have much money at the time of your wedding. it was a small, courthouse wedding with a dinner afterwards with just your families. the picture comes from when you were walking out of the courthouse together. with the small bouquet, joshua had purchased that morning, and the simple white dress you had thrifted a couple weeks prior. you were so happy, walking out of that building hand in hand. you were so hopeful. 

“you look very nice.” jeonghan tells you quietly, staring at the photo. you mutter a ‘thanks’. he then surprises you, bringing a hand up to the picture and wordlessly zooming in on your face. his gaze bounces between you and your picture. finally, looking up, he says, “you look so young.”

*****

the ferry stops for a bit near the statue, everyone rushes towards the corner nearest to the monument to take a photo. you offer to take his. he accepts, awkwardly smiling at first, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack, but then eventually, lightening up, posing cutely and requesting different angles. 

while the ferry heads back to manhattan, he carefully examines all the photos you took. it reminds you of when he told you about his photographer friend in college who took photos of him for fun. 

“why didn’t you want to keep talking then?” you ask abruptly. 

somehow, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. your second goodbye with him. the four minute skype call. 

he looks taken aback. he doesn’t look at you. “it didn’t really feel like you were giving me much of a choice.”

it’s not what you wanted to hear, but you don’t really think there’s anything he could’ve said to mend a ten year old wound born from a petty 21 year old desperate to love and be loved. 

“i held that over you for a long time. i was a bit mad.”

he responds immediately. “you said goodbye so quickly. i was a bit mad too.”

you frown. “should i be sorry?”

he half laughs at that, shrugging and finally looking at you. “we were kids.” 

and of course, that was all that really needed to be said. 

*****

[second goodbye]

your second goodbye with jeonghan happened when you just moved to new york. it was a short period of time marked by running between 10th and 14th to catch your train and eating too many meals at the ukrainian place in the basement of 7th. 

the two of you had found each other again online. a friend request turned to messaging turned to skype calls every evening and sometimes even in the morning. and somehow, someway, despite the years between your last words with him, the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off. he told you about home and about all the classmates you hadn’t thought about since you left. you told him about america, about your new life, and about new york. but mainly you talked about how weird it was to see and talk to him again and about how alone you felt here.

the goodbye comes when your laptop crashes and it takes a week before you’re able to talk to him again. it comes after you spend the week devastated, crying in the middle of the street over a dropped bacon egg and cheese. it comes when your laptop is finally fixed, when you call him again, and when he doesn’t even seem worried. 

“do you plan on coming to new york?” it's the first thing you say when he answers the call, two days after your laptop was fixed. 

he looks like he just woke up, hair crumpled and bent in places it shouldn’t be. between a yawn he says, “what?” 

“i can’t leave new york right now. so if you don’t plan on coming here, there’s no point of this anymore.” 

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking off to the side of his camera. you stare into it. you had been practicing this conversation all day. you knew what you were going to say. and in your heart, you knew what he was going to say too. 

all he ends up doing is smiling awkwardly and patting down the back of his head. “do you want me to visit?” 

no, you think with a sigh, you just want more. 

“i think we should end this. i need to focus on becoming a writer, and you-“ 

you falter here. he what? 

he nods. you nod too, just as an excuse. 

“okay.” 

“okay.” 

and the call ends in 4 minutes. 

*****

[first confession] 

the bar you’ve chosen to take him to tonight, is a small, irish pub on the corner of a street you spent half your 20s in. you feel so much older than you are, when you get off the subway, point to an old red brick building, and tell jeonghan that you used to go to school here. 

his gaze lingers at that building. you try not to notice, but you do. 

“remember inyun?” he says after you get your drinks. his martini, your beer. 

you laugh at him. “it’s actually how i got joshua.” a memory flashes in front of you: the golden glow of the string lights and joshua’s lips on yours for the first time. you can’t tell if it's the beer or the memory that makes your entire body flush with warmth. 

“that game we used to play as kids,” jeonghan says, excited, “we should do that here.” 

you smile. how many days did you and jeonghan spend sitting next to each other on the train and making up a past life for every two passengers?

“okay.” you point to the two girls sitting at the bar, one of them on their phone, the other resting her head atop the counter. “what about them?” 

jeonghan turns to face them. “classmates.”

you make a noise of disapprovement. “sisters.”

he mimics the noise. “no way.”

“look.” you say, gesturing to the way the girl that was on her phone places her free hand on top of the other’s head. “it’s just so…” here you lose the words for it. the girl on her phone bends down and places the smallest kiss on her friend’s head. 

“familiar.” jeonghan finishes. and when your gaze falls back to him, you find that he’s already looking at you. the game somehow feels different than it did when you were kids. 

jeonghan inhales sharply and nods his head towards a boy and a girl playing billiards in the corner. “what about them?”

you take a moment to observe them. these two seem less familiar with each other. there’s a lot of extra laughing, a lot of awkward pauses between turns. “coworkers.” you finally say.

“strangers.” jeonghan counters. “like she took his order at a food place that he left a bad review for.”

you give him a look. he shrugs. 

the game continues. you do the two bartenders which you both agree must have been lovers. you do the group of boys, in business casual sitting two tables over. jeonghan says they were all dogs in the same shelter. you say they were in a band together. 

the game continues until the only two people in the pub who you haven’t made up a past life for are you and jeonghan.

jeonghan gives you a half smile. “what do you think we were in a past life?”

this was always how you and him ended the game. you wonder how many past lives the two of you have created for each other by now.

you think for a moment, eyes flicking between the bartenders who were lovers and the friends who were once family. “two people squished next to each other on the train.”

jeonghan laughs at that one, knocking his head back and accidentally kicking your leg under the table. he shakes his head. “a bird and the branch it sits on.”

“a keychain and the ring it’s attached to.”

“a celebrity and their bodyguard.”

“enemies.”

“friends.” 

something snags on your throat at that. 

you laugh, not meaning for it to sound as forced as it does. “but we’re that now.” 

a silent question hangs in the air: are we?

“why’d you come to new york?” you ask him. you already said your goodbye to him. years ago, on a skype call that felt akin to a breakup. seeing him and facing him again was not something you had expected to ever have to do. and the thing is, it’s not just facing him. it’s facing your past, and it’s facing all the different ways he’s known you. 

jeonghan doesn’t seem surprised that you asked, but his eyes do this…thing as he looks up from the glass. this fearless, shameless thing that makes you feel things you wish you didn’t feel. “i came to see you.” 

you don’t take your eyes off his. what is it they say about eyes again? windows to the soul?

“but you and joshua.”

you flinch. 

“you guys have those layers of inyun.”

“all 8000,” you whisper back to him, like the world might burst if you spoke any louder.

he nods solemnly, hopefully. “maybe you guys have even more.”

he looks at the bar. the warm light paints him in colors you’ve never seen him in before. he’s so much older than you remember. he’s so much more real than your last skype call. 

(your memory of this moment fails you. you can’t remember which one of you it was that asked)

“how many layers do we have?”

a number hangs off the tip of your tongue. but the world will burst if you say it outloud. so you don’t. for the world, for yourself, for joshua. 

*****

[you were right]

“you were right,” you tell joshua when you come home that night.

“about what?” he meets you in the kitchen, exhaust fan whirring in the background. 

“he came to see me.” 

and even just the admission of it, of the entire day you spent with jeonghan, has you exhausted. 

you hug joshua. he sets the book that was in his hand down on the counter and lets you. he feels so warm next to your heart. he feels so at home. and you, in your apartment, in his arms, feel split in two. 

carefully, you ask him: “are you mad at me?”

“of course not.”

“do you want me to cancel tomorrow?”

“you haven’t seen him in forever. you should go.”

you exhale into his shoulder. 

“i mean, it’s not like you’re going to run away with him or anything, right?” he jokes. 

“please,” you scoff, “you know me.” 

“i know you.” he laughs, and you feel it throughout your entire body.

“i know you.” he repeats. 

you hug him tighter. 

“you’re it for me.” joshua tells you quietly. “you make my life so much bigger.”

you can’t tell if it’s the confession or the exhaustion or both that brings you close to tears. “what if something happens?”

he doesn’t ask what you mean; he just repeats himself. “it’s only you.”

*****

[not touching but almost]

you meet jeonghan the next morning at the hoyt-schermorhorn street station. he asks how you slept. you say well. 

you stand in front of the sliding doors, holding onto the pole. he follows suit, his hand right under yours. staring at his face, you search for which features of his have stayed the same and which have changed. 

“your eyes.” you say at the same moment the train screeches. he leans forward, mostly to hear you better but also to stay upright as the train sways. his fingers inch towards yours. “your eyes are still the same.” 

he looks embarrassed for a moment. then smiles. you do too. 

the train stops. the signs outside read: ‘fulton st’. 

you look back at him. “i can’t stop smiling.” fuck the train, you’ll repeat it until he hears what you have to say. 

he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself this time. he just laughs. “why?”

you shrug, smiling again, and feeling entirely, wholly like a kid. “just ‘cause.”

his fingers inch towards yours again. you don’t even think he means for it to. you look down at your hands. close but not touching. not touching but almost. 

the train stops again. ‘chambers st,’ it reads this time. you both get off.

*****

[a whole part of you i’ll never know]

there’s this memory that bounces around your head from time to time. it was before you and joshua had gotten married, in your old apartment, the one in hell’s kitchen above the thai place with the light up dragon that played pop music late into the night. 

so with an old miley cyrus song floating up through the air and in through the open window, joshua tells you that there’s a whole part of you he’ll never know. 

you don’t deny it at first. you turn in bed to face him, cup his cheek in your hand and flinch at the stubble growing in. you kiss him and tell him, “you know me better than anyone.” 

“but i-” he hesitates here, mouth opening and closing like he can’t decide what kind of conversation he wants this to be. “it’s like there’s this whole portion of your brain that will always be out of reach. like i can see it there in the distance, but i can’t get to it.” 

“just ask. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“it’s not that.”

“what is it then?”

“he knows that part.”

the song goes quiet. you can hear a drunk person vomiting. you can hear your heart beating. breathlessly, you say, “jeonghan?” 

and joshua, joshua, joshua. he looks like he regrets it. “you, just, you always talk about how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york and how different you used to be. but what if that wasn’t the first time?”

you shake your head. “i’m not a kid anymore.” 

“i know.” and against all odds, joshua smiles. “sometimes, i just wish i knew you when you were.”

*****

[second confession] 

the day, in all honesty, is some of the most fun you’ve had in a long while. you and jeonghan get dumplings and rice noodles in chinatown and eat them in columbus park while watching people play ping pong. he wants to go shopping in soho and so you take him to your favorite spots. you wait with him in line at the famous bakery on lafayette only for him to hate the pastry he got. and in the evening, you and jeonghan meet up with joshua to get dinner near your apartment. 

“so how do you like new york,” joshua asks while walking to the restaurant. 

jeonghan nods slowly. “not bad.”

your husband’s eyes widen. he was born and raised in new york. it’s the only place he’s ever known. “not bad?”

jeonghan shrugs. “it’s a little smelly.”

joshua just chuckles at that. “you get used to it. what have you seen so far?”

“yesterday i saw the rockefeller center, times square, and central park. and then,” jeonghan looks at you, “we met in tompkins square park, and we took the ferry to see the statue of liberty.”

“you know i’ve never actually been to the statue of liberty.” joshua confesses, lightheartedly. 

“really?” jeonghan asks dumbfounded.

“really?” you mutter to the ground. 

joshua shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. 

jeonghan looks at you, disappointed, and jokingly says, “what are you doing? you should take your husband to see it.” 

jeonghan doesn’t really wait for a response, but you still give him a half-hearted laugh before putting a hand on joshua’s elbow, and quietly, almost shamefully asking, “have we really not gone?”

the conversation has moved on without you it seems. while laughing at something else jeonghan’s said, joshua shakes his head ‘no’.

the rest of the dinner goes well. the food is good, and the conversation flows. joshua heads back home once it’s over to get work done, and you and jeonghan go to your favorite bar in the area, a posh sort of place with dim lighting and fancy cocktails. the two of you grab seats at the bar.

“what’d you think of joshua?” 

jeonghan looks happy, a smile gracing his face for a moment. he tilts his head, and you almost miss the way his smile turns down. “i didn’t think liking your husband would hurt this much.” (almost). “i can tell he really loves you.”

“i love him too.” you say, just to fill the space. but what you really want is to beg him to take it back. beg him to say something else. anything else. say he hated him instead. 

“yesterday, you asked me why i didn’t try to keep talking back then.” jeonghan continues. “the truth i learned here is that it wouldn’t have mattered how hard i tried even if i did. you were always going to leave because you’re you. and i liked you because you’re you. and who you are is someone who leaves.”

you start to refute, but stop yourself because… he’s right. the last two times you parted ways with him, it was because of you. you started the goodbye. you were the one who left. 

“but for joshua,” jeonghan says, eyes scanning across the bar, staring at every bartender and every customer before finally, finally, landing on you, “you’re someone who stays.”

and it turns you inside out. 

“i’m sorry if i hurt you in the past, jeonghan.”

jeonghan doesn’t falter. he never has. “i’m not.”

*****

[last confession, last goodbye, last hello]

you walk jeonghan to the uber from your apartment. the address has always been a little finicky; the uber will only stop two blocks down. the long ones. not that that matters much. nonetheless, you and jeonghan walk it slowly, pausing for a couple seconds each time the wheels of his suitcase get caught on a cellar door. 

“thank you for emailing me.” you tell him, lifting your chin up slightly. “i’m really glad that you did and we got to do this.

he nods. “i’m glad i did too, but i was actually a little unsure about it.” 

this surprises you. the sentiment yes, but also the way he says it. tucking his hair behind his ear, and squinting his eyes at a stop light, refusing to meet yours. jeonghan is the surest person you’ve ever known. 

something catches in the back of your throat. something foul and hopeful. something that makes you feel young. “why?’ 

he shrugs, looks up at the second deli you’ve passed and mouths the name of it. like he’s practicing it, memorizing the name, the location, the guy sitting out front, and the cat that always lingers in the back. why does he care so much about the little things? 

“i didn’t know if you’d want to see me again.” he finally says. “the last time we spoke was so long ago. i wasn’t sure if you had left me in the past for good.” 

you hit the end of the second block where the uber will be picking him up soon, right under the ice pop shop that you always walk a little slower by on the hottest summer afternoons. across the block the walking signal is red–a memory comes back to you: your first summer in this new apartment, your first month being married too. you standing on this side of the block and joshua standing at the other. waiting for the cars to pass, waiting to greet each other in the middle of the road. you can feel that day in the bottom of your stomach. you remember exactly what joshua's hand felt like in yours. 

“i think i did.” you tell him. “but i don’t regret doing this with you. it was like meeting you again, and meeting the version of myself that last saw you too.” 

you turn away from the signal and look at him. he looks sad almost. “sometimes i still think of you as that kid i used to walk home from school with.” 

you remember what you used to tell joshua: how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york. you remember what he used to say back: what if that wasn’t the first time. and so, you reach into your past and try to remember who you used to be before you moved to america. 

“i haven’t been that kid for a long time now,” you frown, watching jeonghan’s pupils dart back and forth between yours, “but they still existed. they were still real.”

the uber pulls up. jeonghan puts his suitcase in the trunk and opens the door to step inside. and with one foot in the car to the airport and one foot planted on the street you call home, he says, “what if this is just another past life and we’re already something else in another?”

the only thing you can manage to give him in response is a nod. you don’t like to think about what if.

he smiles. and you feel something break apart in your heart.

“i’ll see you then.”

in another life, jeonghan is more than just a series of goodbyes. but in this one, he gets in the uber, and you don’t imagine seeing him again. you don’t think you will. because for the first time in this life, you're not the one that left–he was.  

you make it halfway back down the two blocks back to your apartment when you see joshua. it just so happens to be in front of the deli jeonghan had committed to memory silently beside you. you inhale deeply; it feels like the first breath you’ve taken since jeonghan landed in new york. joshua is 8 stoops away from you. 

at 5 you think about when you met, the writers retreat in long island, the most beautiful serene place you swear you’ve ever been and the stupid pick up line you said about inyun.

at 4, you think about his eyes, his eyes, his eyes, and the line he wrote about them in an essay that was published 3 years ago saying that they're the only part of the nervous system that's exposed, a direct line to someone's head and heart. was he right? did you look into jeonghan’s mind tonight? have you been staring at joshua's heart? 

at 3, you think about all this talk about past lives. and you think what if it’s not about your past lives with jeonghan or with joshua? what if it’s about all the past lives within you? 

at 2, you think about the kid you left in a country that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. 

and at 1, you think about jeonghan. 

he stops right in front of you. staring at you staring at him. your whole world feels bigger than it ever has before, and your heart, in response, splits in half to fit him inside. you feel that something in your throat rise and boil. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, before falling into his arms. the sob that’s been waiting in the bottom of your soul for the past 20 years comes bursting out of your throat. you cry into your husband's shoulder. you feel the weight of all your past lives and all your future ones like they aren't in the past or in the future, like they're now beside you begging you to imagine what could’ve been and what was. 

joshua holds the back of your head. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. it’s all been said before. instead he kisses the corner of your eye and takes you home.  ****************************

a/n: absolutely adored this film and it simply has not left my mind since i watched it over a month ago. and so, i did what i do best and wrote a fic based on it lol. i hope i scraped even half of the complexity the movie has. if you've seen the movie, i'd love to hear your thoughts about it or your thoughts on this piece. as well as if you haven't seen the movie! but if you haven't seen the movie, i highly recommend you give it a watch. it's such a quiet, gentle film that will crawl into your heart and claim it as home.

[winwintea]

inyun

PAIRING ↬ next door neighbor!mark lee x fem!reader

TAGS ↬ fluff, romance, slight angst, potential soulmates, past lives au, friends to (?), shared dreams, the idea of inyun/inyeon or “fate”

SUMMARY ↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?

WORD COUNT ↬ 3.7k+

AUTHOR’S NOTE ↬ somebody (me) decided to rewatch past lives 🙈 this was supposed to be fluff and a gift for @https-lvesick but finals week started sinking in… thank you to my saviors @viasdreams and @polarisjisung for beta reading, love y'all <33

PLAYLIST ↬ jazz bar - dreamcatcher; mago - gfriend; you - nct dream; dejavu - nu’est w; wham bam shang-a-lang - silver

THERE IS A WORD IN KOREAN:

"인연"

it means providence or fate. 

but it's specifically about the relationships between people. 

it's an "인연" if two strangers even walk by each other in the street and their clothes accidentally brush. because it means there must have been something between them in their past lives.

Your apartment door was wide open, boxes half-unpacked and filling the hallway. You’d tried to keep things organized, but between the moving of your furniture and the delivery guy calling for directions, you slowly lost your organization.

You were crouched on the floor, handling a box of kitchenware, when you heard a muffled voice behind you.

“Uh, hi? Excuse me?”

Startled, you turned to see a guy standing at the end of the hallway, a paper bag balanced in one hand and a set of keys dangling from the other. He was dressed in a simple hoodie and sweatpants, glasses fixed upon his face, and his hair slightly tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Are… are you my new neighbor?” he asked in Korean, motioning toward the boxes that completely blocked his door.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” your voice squeaked as you responded in some broken korean, not mentally prepared to face a neighbor on the first day of moving him. You scrambled to move a tower of books out of his way. “I didn’t realize—let me just—”

“It’s fine, really,” he interrupted in English this time with a small laugh. “I’m Mark, by the way. Do you speak English?”

“Oh!” You paused mid-shove, shocked at his perfect accent. “Yes. Yes I do.” You were suddenly aware of how disheveled you looked. “Y/N,” you replied, brushing stray hair from your face. “Nice to meet you, and again, sorry for the mess. Your English is really good.”

“No worries. Happens to the best of us,” Mark said, crouching to help move the heavier boxes. “I’m from Canada, so English is kind of my thing.”

“Aah. I see.” You nodded, still mortified.

“This is your first day here?”

“Yeah. My friends were supposed to help, but they bailed at the last minute. So here I am, single-handedly creating a big explosive mess.”

Mark chuckled, lifting a box with ease. “I’d say you’re doing a pretty solid job for one person. Though... maybe try not to block your neighbors' doors next time.”

“Noted,” you said with an embarrassed laugh, standing to hold the door open as he slid the box inside.

When the hallway was clear, you expected him to leave, but he stayed, looking at the stacks of boxes still waiting to be unpacked. “Need an extra pair of hands?”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—”

“I insist,” Mark said with a grin. “I’m a pro at this. Moved like five times in the last three years.”

Before you could protest further, Mark rolled up his sleeves and got to work. He moved like he really had done this a hundred times, lifting heavy items with ease and made the process less awkward with his small jokes.

“This box says ‘Bathroom,’ but it’s definitely full of shoes,” he teased, pulling out a pair of sneakers.

“Okay, maybe I got a little lazy with the labels,” you admitted.

“Lazy? Nah, this is strategic. Keeps life exciting,” he quipped, tossing the sneakers back in.

You laughed, the tension from earlier fading away. Somehow, he’d turned what felt like a stressful task into something almost fun.

Once the last box was inside, Mark clapped his hands together. “Mission accomplished. And since I’m basically your hero now, I think I’ve earned a reward. Got any snacks?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, I have… instant ramen?”

Mark grinned. “Perfect. My favorite.”

After settling in for a few days, you don’t encounter Mark again. That is, until a series of random moments start pulling you back into his orbit.  

On one of those nights, just past 9 p.m., the apartment complex suddenly plunges into darkness. The familiar buzz of your refrigerator stops, and the streetlights outside shut off, leaving your apartment only dimly lit from the moon. 

Groaning, you fumble around for your phone, only to realize the battery is at 4%. Great. You grab a flashlight, slowly open your door, and step out into the hallway, hoping to find someone who knows what is going on. 

That’s when you spot him.

Mark is sitting on the floor just outside his door, a small stack of candles beside him.

“Hey,” he greets, a faint smile on his face as he waves a lighter. “Power’s out in the whole block, apparently. Wanna borrow a candle?”

You take in his setup and smirk. He’s surrounded by neatly arranged tea lights and thick pillar candles.“Uh, are you in a cult or something?”

“Eh, my grandma’s kinda superstitious. Always told me to keep candles around the house just in case,” he says, shrugging. “I thought she was overreacting, but turns out she’s kind of a genius.”

You sit down a few feet away, gratefully accepting a candle he lights for you. The flame brightens up the dark hallway, leaving warm shadows on Mark’s face.

“So,” you start, leaning against the wall, “What do you normally do during blackouts? Just... sit around and wait?”

“Basically. Or… get this,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “People actually talk to each other. Crazy, right? You could, I don’t know, tell me something about yourself. Like… how many candles do you keep at home?”

“None,” you admit holding up your flashlight. “This is all I’ve got. I guess I’m doomed in a blackout. Your grandma would be so disappointed in me.”

“She would,” he agrees with a laugh. “But I’ll let it slide. Only because you’re new here.”

The conversation flows easily after that. You both begin trading random facts: Your favorite childhood snacks, his love for playing guitar, the time you accidentally dyed your hair orange trying to bleach it yourself. He counters with a tale of a botched bleach job that left him looking like a walking science experiment for months. 

Minutes turn into an hour, the candles continuing to burn as the two of you share quiet laughter and stories. And for the first time that night, the darkness doesn’t feel so bad.

—

A few days later, you’re hauling overstuffed grocery bags up the stairs when Mark pokes his head out of his apartment. His hair is tousled, and he’s wearing an oversized hoodie that practically swallows him whole.

“Oh, hey!” he calls, his face lighting up when he spots you. “Need help?”

“I got it, thanks!” you manage to say, despite your arms straining and the bag handles digging into your fingers.  

Before you can argue, Mark is already down the hall, grabbing it from you, and effortlessly carrying it to your door. “Looks like this thing was holding on for dear life,” he teases, hoisting it easily as he follows you to your door.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I was gonna knock on your door anyway,” he interrupts with a grin. “I baked something earlier and thought you might want to try it.”

That makes you pause mid-door unlock. “You bake?”

“Why does everyone react like that?” he says with mock offense. “Yes, I bake. Don’t look so shocked.”

“You don’t look like the baking type. Or cooking.”

“Oh, I can’t cook.” He scowls as if thinking about a bad memory, “But baking is pretty easy. It’s just throwing everything into one bowl, mixing it up, and waiting. Piece of cake. Or, in this case, cookies.”

A few minutes later, you’re both sitting on your tiny kitchen floor, a plate of freshly baked cookies between you. The smell of warm chocolate and butter fills the air.

“These are amazing,” you say after taking a bite, your voice muffled by the cookie in your mouth.

Mark beams, leaning back against the counter. “Not bad, right? I got the recipe off some YouTube channel. Figured I’d test it out before offering it to my friends.”

You squint your eyes, pretending to look offended. “Wait, so I’m just the guinea pig?”

He admits, laughing. “Pretty much. But hey, honest opinion: too sweet? Not sweet enough?”

“Perfect,” you reply, reaching out for another. “But you should’ve added nuts. Makes it more sophisticated. Just make sure you aren’t allergic.”

He gasps, clutching his chest. “Sophisticated? Wow. Didn’t know I was baking for royalty.”

You chuckle, playfully tossing a crumpled napkin at him, and the conversation once again flows effortlessly from there. You laugh over Mark’s failed attempts at “fancy” macarons, and somehow turn into stories about childhood food disasters.

By the time the plate is empty and an hour has vanished. With Mark, even the simplest moments feel like they belong in a movie.

—

Then it’s yet another lazy Sunday when the doorbell rings. You open the door to find Mark holding a massive box labeled 50-pack instant ramen.

“I think this is yours,” he says, biting back a laugh.

You glance at the label and groan. “Oh my God. I ordered five. Five!”

“Well, congrats,” he says, handing you the box. “Looks like you’re set for the next year.”

You sigh, dragging the box inside. A few minutes later, there’s another knock. Mark’s returned to your door, grinning this time.

“You know,” he starts, leaning against the doorframe, “if you need help finishing all that ramen, I’m just next door. We could, like, host a ‘ramen buffet.’ Charge admission or something.”

You snort. “Sure. I’ll make you the first VIP guest. Free ramen for life.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve ever gotten,” he says, eyes sparkling. “But seriously, I’ll take a few packs off your hands if it’s too much. My midnight snack stash could use a refill.”

Later, you text him a picture of your pantry. 

YOU: Your VIP pass is ready 

MARK: I’ll bring the chopsticks! 😂

The first time the dream comes, it’s vivid enough to remember even after you wake up. In the dream you’re walking through a bustling marketplace, the air thick with the scents and noise of those around you. People push past you, but you don’t feel overwhelmed by them. Instead, there’s a strange pull, like a thread tugging at your body. You turn your head and catch a glimpse of someone—a young man with a warm smile, eyes glinting in the sunlight, and a soft laugh that echoes through the din. 

You can’t see his face clearly, but his hand brushes yours as he passes. And in that moment, it leaves a spark. A warmth that feels almost familiar.

When you wake up, the details are already fading, but the feeling of that touch, that spark, seems to linger, and you can’t seem to get it out of your head.

A few days later, you're sitting with Mark in the hallway outside your apartments, the floor scattered with takeout boxes and empty soda cans. The two of you have somehow fallen into the habit of these late-night talks, sharing parts of your day and random thoughts that cross your mind in the moment.

“Have you ever had weird dreams?” you ask, swirling the straw in your drink.

Mark leans back against the wall, his hair slightly messy from running his hand through it too many times. “Weird how?”

“Like…” You pause, trying to find the right words. “Like they’re not just dreams. More like memories. But not yours.”

Mark raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay, now you’ve got me curious. Spill.”

You chuckle, feeling a little silly but continuing anyway. “I’ve been dreaming about this place—a market or something. It’s super crowded, and I’m just walking around. But then…” Your voice trails off as the memory becomes clearer in your mind. “There’s this guy. I don’t know him, but when I see him, it’s like I do. And when our hands brush…”

Mark’s expression shifts, his playful smile fading into something more serious. He sits up straighter. “Wait. You said a market?”

“Yeah.”

“And… hands brushing?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah. Why?”

He hesitates, running a hand through his hair again. “Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but… I’ve had the exact same dream.”

For a moment, the world feels like it’s spinning. You blink at him, looking for any hint that he’s maybe joking, but his face is earnest, his brows furrowed like he’s trying to solve a mystery.

“No way,” you say, laughing nervously. “You’re messing with me.”

“I’m not!” Mark protests, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I swear. There’s a market, right? And I’m just walking, but then I see someone—you, I guess? And when our hands touch, it’s like—”

“—like a spark,” you finish for him, your voice barely above a whisper.

Mark stares at you, his eyes wide. “Exactly.”

The air between you grows silent, the laughter and casual banter from earlier replaced by something more ominous.

“Do you think it means something?” you ask after a long pause, your voice trying to stabilize itself.

Mark lets out a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. “My grandma used to say that some people are connected through 인연—fate, you know? Like… maybe we knew each other before. In another life.”

You study his face, the soft curve of his jaw and the way his lips press together like he’s holding back more than he’s saying out loud. “Do you believe that?”

He turns to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know. But if it’s true…” He pauses, his gaze dropping to his hands, which rest in his lap. “Maybe it’s why I feel like I’ve known you forever, even though we just met.”

Your breath catches, his words affecting something deep inside you. The dreams, the strange familiarity, the unexplainable pull towards him, the way you could spend hours with each other, you’ve felt since the day you moved in. It’s all beginning to make a strange kind of sense. 

You don’t say anything, but your hand brushes his as you reach for your drink, and in that moment, the spark from your dream seems to jolt back to life.

Mark glances down, his fingers twitching as if he’s tempted to close the gap. Instead, he looks at you.“Maybe we’re just imagining things,” he says softly, but the hope in his voice betrays his words.

“Maybe,” you reply, though you’re not sure you believe it either.

For the rest of the night, neither of you mention the dreams again. But when you go to bed, the image of two hands brushing in a crowded marketplace still lingers in your mind, clearer than ever.

It’s a Friday evening, and you’re sitting on Mark’s couch, a blanket thrown over both of your laps. The faint smell of popcorn fills the air as a half-watched movie plays on the screen. Mark’s head is tilted back, his eyes weary from the long day, his fingers idly drumming to a beat on the couch cushion between you.

You glance at him, noting how cozy it seems here. It’s moments like these that feel strange… and effortless. Like you’ve done this a thousand times before.

“Hey,” you say, nudging his arm lightly. “You’re zoning out. The movie isn't that bad.”

Mark snorts, turning his head toward you. “Oh, yeah? Name one character besides the main guy.”

“Uh... The dog?”

“Exactly.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling in that way that makes your stomach flip.

But before you can laugh along, his phone buzzes on the coffee table, breaking the moment. Mark’s smile fades as he leans forward to grab it. You watch his face shift—something serious.

“Who is it?” you ask, your voice careful.

“It’s... uh, an email. From SM,” he says, mentioning the entertainment company where he’s been interning. He hesitates, scrolling through the message. “They want me to come in for a meeting. Apparently, there’s a potential opening on one of their teams in Vancouver.”

You sit up straighter. “Vancouver? Like... Canada?”

He nods, his thumb still hovering over his phone screen. “Yeah. They’ve got this big international project coming up, and I guess they think I’d be a good fit.”

You’re silent for a moment, the weight of his words setting in. “That’s... amazing, Mark. Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” His tone is quiet, almost hesitant, and it doesn’t match the words. He sets his phone back down and leans back again, trying to avoid your gaze.

“So,” you say, trying to sound nonchalant even as your chest tightens, “you’re thinking of going?”

Mark runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit you’ve noticed over the months. “I don’t know yet. It’s a huge opportunity, but... I’d have to leave. Like, soon.”

“Right,” you say, your voice a little too steady. “It makes sense. You’ve been working toward something like this for a long time.”

He finally looks at you, his dark eyes searching. “Yeah, but... leaving means leaving everything. Everyone.”

You know what he’s implying, but neither of you says it out loud.

—

It’s the day of Mark’s big decision. Whether to take the overseas job offer or stay in Seoul. You’ve been avoiding the topic, scared of what it might mean for you. But tonight, the two of you find yourselves on the rooftop of your apartment building. The breeze carries the faint scent of flowers that Mark planted the other day in the community garden.

You sit side by side on the edge, legs dangling over the low wall. Although dangerous, Mark always promised that he’d catch you if you fell. He also wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. He’s always thoughtful like that.

For a while, neither of you says anything, just watching the sun slowly start to descend down the bustling city. 

Finally, Mark breaks the silence. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about 인연.”

You turn to look at him. His face is painted in soft, golden light. “Yeah? What about it?”

He chuckles softly, almost nervously, running a hand through his hair. “At first, I thought it was just a cool idea. Like, ‘Oh, that’s neat. Fate and past lives and stuff.’ But… I don’t know. Every time I’m with you, it feels like there’s something bigger happening. Like I’ve known you forever, and I don’t even know why.”

Your breath catches. Hearing him say it out loud makes it feel so much more real than you imagined in your head. “I feel it too. Like… we’ve been here before. Not just on this rooftop, but in some other life, in some other time.”

Mark finally turns to you, his eyes searching yours. “But what if we’re just making this up? What if we’re using fate as an excuse to… I don’t know, hold onto something that isn’t real?”

The vulnerability in his voice shakes you. He’s scared, just like you are. Scared of the intensity of it all, scared of what it means to let go. Or to keep holding on.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words.

“I don’t know if this is fate, Mark. I don’t know if some invisible thread tied us together, or if we’re just two people who got lucky enough to meet. But maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe it’s not about why we found each other, but what we do with it now.”

Mark looks at you, his lips parting as if to speak, but he hesitates. You can tell he’s turning your words over in his mind, weighing them. “So… what do we do with it? What if I take the job? What if I leave? Does that mean we weren’t meant to be?”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything.” You reach for his hand, your fingers brushing before he laces them with yours. “You taking the job or staying doesn’t erase what we’ve shared. If this is fate, Mark, it’ll find a way to bring us back together. And if it’s not… then I’ll still be grateful for every moment we’ve had.”

“You make it sound so easy. Like letting go wouldn’t completely wreck me.” His grip tightens, and you see his throat bob as he swallows hard. 

You smile, but there’s a little sadness to your voice. “Who says letting go has to mean goodbye? Maybe it just means letting the story unfold the way it’s meant to.”

The silence that follows feels heavy but not uncomfortable. You can see the wheels turning in Mark’s mind. He’s thinking, unsure of what to say. 

Finally, he exhales a long, shaky breath. “I don’t know if I believe in fate, either. But I believe in you. And I believe in us.”

Your heart skips a beat, but he’s not done yet.

“So… if I stay, it won’t be because I’m afraid of losing whatever this is. It’ll be because I want to keep building it with you. And if I go… it’ll be because I know we’re strong enough to handle the distance.”

Tears prick at your eyes, and you laugh softly, shaking your head. “You always know exactly what to say, don’t you?”

He grins, that familiar smile that’s become so dear to you.

“Not really. I’m just winging it.”

You both laugh, the warmth from your voices cutting through the bittersweetness of the moment. The future feels uncertain, but for the first time, that uncertainty doesn’t feel so scary.

As the last rays of sunlight fade, you rest your head on his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart. Whether it’s fate, luck, or sheer coincidence, you’re here now. And for now, that’s enough.

TAGLIST ↬ @lyvhie @aquaphoenixz @galacticnct @yizhrt @polarisjisung @multifandomania

[gluion]

🍓 🥤🪐☁️ for the ask game <3

thank you bar for popping in!!

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

i’ve actually read a lot of fanfiction since i was young and actually attempted to make my own works (which im pretty sure are terrible HWJHSJSJ) but in the context of when i started posting, i was obsessed with the romcom music & lyrics and really wanted to give it my shot in writing a sunwoo fic with a similar premise (take note though i had some other wips before!) and it rotted in my drafts for almost a year 😭 only found the courage to pick it up again and finish it after reading beam’s fics <3

🥤 ⇢ recommend an author or fanfic you love

oof i have a lot ofc but i think i’d give it up to @sungbeam (night terrors & liu) and @wavesmp3 (are you happy?, the sea is yours to take, & 8000 layers of inyun) as some of my favorite authors ever since i admire alot of their works (from plotlines to charas) to even writing style. i also love @loserlvrss (sitting in traffic & alike tides, aligned waves [coming soon]) @jnnul (falling in love at first sight x3) and @blissfullsvn (wish you were sober) !!! i know its alot but these writers have works whose writing styles/plotlines i enjoy quite alot!!

— tumblr wont let me link some works i think i reached a limit or smth idk… but pls check them out everyone

🪐 ⇢ name three good things going on in your life right now

1. enjoying my break so ive been playing some more video games :’))

2. motivation to write has increased with the amt of feedback ive been getting from my bonedo works </3

3. good food & good company!!

☁️ ⇢ what made you choose your username?

my current user is based off of day6 (even of day)’s the book of us: gluon — nothing can tear us apart which is such a personal album imo… dropped when members went on hiatus and where the sea sleeps still makes me feel so much emotions despite how long its been. ive used similar user names on other platforms like twitter and ive always just loved the sound (glue-ion) and how it looks!!! i do miss using zzoguri but i feel like gluion has always been such a big part of me since i used it back in 2021

[chokherbalii]

my roman empire is inyun

[quicksilverster]

your tags on 8000 layers of inyun made my day when I saw them!! thank you so much for reading and enjoying - wavesmp3 <3 (and as a side note I guess lol, your tags on a story about us too <3333 I love them dearly)

omg hi omg 😭😭😭 i've been a fan of your work since the pandemic era so believe me when i say I'm freaking out rn 😭😭😭😭

thank you for the tags on crashing and itysgbti, i literally almost fainted when i saw ur username on my notifs 😭😭😭

[jessiangravelblr]

Inyun - How It Feels [Official Music Video]

[kazus-akari]

There is a word in Korean called 'inyun,' which means fate. If two strangers walk by each other on the street and their clothes accidentally brush, it means there have been 8,000 layers of inyun between them.

I have started wearing the chain with your initial again.

Does it mean there is already an inyun between us, or that you and I were close billions of years ago in heaven, like Adam and Eve?

[justcyrinne]

The last time I made a Sunday Currently post was in 2021 on my old Tumblr blog. Now I want to do this weekly series again and hopefully, I am going to be consistent this time.

Reading

Normal People by Sally Rooney. I started reading this book last year in ebook format. But I stopped reading at page 110 because my eye strain and astigmatism got really bad due to too much screentime. I guess I am really a physical book girlie. I started looking online for a physical copy and didn’t find the perfect copy until last February. I only read it though on my free time (alternately with The Body Keeps The Score by Bessel Van Der Kolk, MD). Now I am currently at page 65 (I reread from the beginning when the book arrived just because).

Thinking

Whether to buy a microwave oven or not is one of the thoughts that has been occupying my mind lately. I do weekly food prep and I am tired of heating my food on the stove. The washing of used pans and cleaning the kitchen right after takes so much time. I live alone so there’s no one to delegate this chore to. It takes me 5 to 10 minutes to heat all the foods because I only have 1 burner stove, plus I’ll spend another 5 to 10 minutes in aftercare. I know this purchase is a need but I still am not convinced whether it will be worth spending 5k for or not.

Praying

For God’s guidance and peace of mind. I badly need those two right now.

Needing

Aside from guidance and peace of mind, I think I need to take a break from work because I can feel that I am about to get burnt out. I feel so drained lately that I could no longer focus on my work. I can no longer finish my tasks before deadline because I get distracted so easily and I am having a difficult time getting back to what I was working on. It’s honestly frustrating. Yeah, I need to take a break from work. Not sure when though :(

Loving

But despite feeling drained and exhausted due to work-related stress, I just love how I am living alone in a peaceful place where I can spend quiet time as much as I want to.

Watching

Queen of Tears and Can’t Buy Me Love on Netflix. I decided to watch Queen of Tears because I recently finished Penthouse (downed 3 seasons in 1 week lol) and I needed a banlaw series because Penthouse was quite heavy. My brain needed some detox from all the death scenes and verbal abuse… huuu!! Queen of Tears was tagged as comedy but the plot is getting thicker each episode. I kinda regret starting it but, oh well, I am now hooked. I have no choice haha! With Can’t Buy Me Love, I am only watching it for the SnoRene plot. I love them so much they’re so cute together lol!! I also recently watched Past Lives because I was finally emotionally ready lol. FYI. The name of the cafe in Penthouse was 인연 (InYun). InYun was also mentioned in Past Lives. Skl.

[wavesmp3]

[tbz] 8000 layers of inyun

younghoon x reader, jacob x reader - inspired by the movie past lives - wc: 6k - warnings: mentions of alcohol, like one curse i think - a/n: reader should be completely inclusive, i.e. not adhering to the background of the main character in the movie.

****

[first hello]

when you met jacob for the first time, it was in the grassy backyard of a house in long island one mile away from the beach. at a rickety, white table with spots of black showing up beneath the layers of paint. it was three glasses of red wine in, two hours after you had laid eyes on him, and one hour after everyone else had headed inside for sleep. 

when you met jacob for the first time, you had told him about inyun. how even brushing by someone’s shoulder on the street or locking eyes with a stranger on the metro meant there was something there between the two of you in a past life. he looked amazed at the notion. you thought he looked quite pretty. “that would mean we had something together in a past life, wouldn’t it?” he had asked. and even then, you could tell–he’s such a writer. there was a story already rising from the dark corners of his mind. you had just nodded. and told him about all the layers between two lovers, and about the 8000 it takes to take one’s hand and whole-heartedly decide you want to marry them. 

you don’t really remember jacob’s cheeks turning pink at the line. what you do remember is the sky changing colors. you remember how golden he looked under the string lights. you remember leaning into his face, almost falling forward, bracing yourself with a hand on his knee. 

you remember kissing him for the first time. 

*****

[younghoon’s coming] 

jacob is already cooking dinner by the time you come home. you stop in front of the gray door, noticing for the first time in a while the scratch in the top corner from the massive yellow armchair you stuffed through the door even when it refused to fit through. you smile at the scratch, stretch your arm out to finger over the light brown mark. how long ago was that now? was that before or after you got married? you inhale. the air smells like wet concrete and basil. jacob forgot to turn on the exhaust fan, didn’t he? 

you don’t remind him to do so once you finally find your keys. instead you slip off your old, faded sneakers, drop your keys on the counter in the lime green dish you made in a pottery class two years ago, and greet him in the kitchen, kissing the side of his chin and reaching over his head to turn the exhaust fan on. he kisses your forehead as an apology, or at least he tries but you’ve already moved and his lips end up catching on the corner of your left eye. you wash the day and the grime off you, washing away the train and the throbbing in your feet. you meet him again for dinner, at the table you call your dining table and your home office. he brings over two plates of the pasta. you bring the wine. 

“you know younghoon.” it doesn’t hit you then that that’s the first thing you’ve said to him since you left that morning.

jacob squints. his eyes, his eyes, his eyes. they were the first thing you noticed about him. the first thing you fell in love with. “yeah. your childhood sweetheart.” this he says with a teasing smile. you smile back. his smile was the second thing you fell in love with. 

“he, uh, emailed me earlier today.” you shift in your stool. “he moved out of his parents’ house, i think, and is between jobs. he said he’s going to be visiting new york soon.” 

there’s a stillness in the air, then. a shock beneath the table that’s curling around your calves and inching up your arms.

jacob, though, despite how well you know him, despite your knack to see through every emotion he feigns, still tries to nod it off. “oh. when is he coming?”

“in two weeks. “

“that’s soon.”

“i know.”

“are you going to see him?” there’s no mask of emotion here. everything in jacob’s mind and heart you can read in his eyes, except that reading doesn’t mean understanding and five years of marriage doesn’t mean you know someone’s every thought. you don’t know what to say. you don’t know what he wants. you don’t even know what you want. all you know is younghoon’s email. you spent two hours staring at it this afternoon. younghoon, as you knew him, was a straightforward guy. he explicitly said in the email what he wants: to spend a day or two with you while he’s here, as much time as you can spare, show him the city you moved to when you turned 21. show him the country you moved to when you were 13. but beneath the straightforward request feels like a million subliminal ones. like he wants you to prove to him that you’ve made a life worth living here. like he wants to gallivant around new york telling you about a country that used to be home and asking you what would have happened if you didn’t go all those years ago. 

but younghoon isn’t like you and jacob, he doesn’t make reading into subtext and writing a 100 pages about it his job. so you tell jacob what you decided on the train ride back. 

“yeah, i think i will.” and with the way your stomach twists, it feels like a confession.

*****

[first goodbye]

your first goodbye with younghoon is when you’re young. it happens on the last day of school for you before your family’s big move to the states. even though you only found out a couple weeks ago, you knew this move was a long time coming. maybe that’s why you didn’t say anything when your parents told you it was happening. maybe that’s why you just went to your room and started packing. 

younghoon’s been in the same class as you your whole life. his whole life too. and for your entire lives you’ve been making the same walk back home from school together. today is no different. and yet, isn’t it? it’s the same roads, yes, the same stairs and the same shops on the way. but the air is different, it smells like home. it smells like you already miss it. and you haven’t even left yet. 

the walk is almost entirely silent. 

the roads diverge towards the end, into a smaller path that leads to your home and the main road that younghoon takes to get to his. you take one step into the path and stop. younghoon stops too. he stares. you stare back. 

(you don’t realize it then, but it’s the last time you’ll see him in person for almost 20 years. one of the last times you’ll even speak to him in around 7. it’s the last time you’ll ever stand on this street, and one of the last times you’ll breathe this air. most importantly, it’s the last time you’ll ever be this young.)

your first goodbye with younghoon isn’t much of a goodbye. it’s him asking when you leave. it’s you saying sometime tomorrow. it’s him frowning, patting your shoulder, and saying, “be well, and don’t cry over maths anymore.”

*****

[second hello]

you round the corner by the candy shop and walk inwards to the park. you used to live around here. but god, where haven’t you lived? you used to come into this park and watch people. the man towards the south entrance that always sat on the middle bench. the tourists walking up and down and around looking amazed and bored and helpless. tompkins square park used to be your favorite park in new york, but walking into it now, you can’t really remember why you liked it so much. you wonder why he chose this park specifically to meet in. did you mention it once on a skype call? does he think you still like it? or has he figured that you’ve already fallen out of love?

you see the back of his head before you see him. and for a moment you get an instantaneous rush of every feeling there is to feel from seeing him again, here, in a park you thought you loved. but it’s not the park and it’s not the city that makes your entire body go numb. it’s seeing him. younghoon. younghoon. younghoon. it’s seeing him for the first time in–you don’t even want to admit to yourself how long. 

but the instantaneous rush ends, and your body and blood come back to earth and back to this park you hate, when he turns around and faces you facing him. 

and there are no words to be said. 

there used to be oceans and countries and cultures and decades standing between you and him, but somehow now, all of that has compressed into four squares of broken concrete. you were never very good at maths. younghoon, the one who comforted you whenever you cried over it, knows that best. but even you know that there is no way 20 years can turn into 20 feet. so much has changed. more than could possibly be encompassed in any greeting. it’s indescribable and overwhelming. it’s you and him and the whole world. there are no words to be said. 

so you hug him instead. 

*****

[ferry]

it takes almost a full hour for the pure shock of seeing each other again to wear off. there’s so much joy and excitement between the two of you that for a couple minutes all you do is say ‘wow’, throwing the word back and forth like two kids playing catch. 

the first thing on your itinerary was already decided by younghoon over email: seeing the statue of liberty. so, you and him board the ferry together, asking how his family’s doing and telling him about yours. 

“your husband,” younghoon starts, turning slightly towards you in his seat on the ferry.

“jacob.” 

he nods, mouthing his name silently. “how did you guys meet?”

“we met at this writer's retreat thing. we were kind of… i don’t know–together–i guess, while we were there, and funnily enough, it was only on our second to last day there that we realized we both live in new york. and then, it was only when we got back that we started dating.”

younghoon’s lips make a small ‘o’. “he’s a writer too?”

you nod. then smile.

“is he good?” this he asks with a hint of mischief. 

you scoff. “you think i’d marry someone who isn’t any good?” 

he just shrugs and smirks. an action you’ve seen him do a million times before. when you were a kid, it pissed you off. when you were 21, it made your heart flutter. now, it makes you feel like a stranger. it reminds you that all he is is somebody you used to know. 

“what?” he laughs, covering his mouth embarrassedly. you didn’t even realize you were staring. 

“you’ve just been a kid in my head for so long.” you shake your head, a smile haunting your lips. “it’s so weird seeing you all grown up.” 

he hums. “i feel that too.”

“are you and-” you leave the space blank there. social media had told you a lot, but you don’t remember it ever telling you a name, “still together.”

he grimaces. you wish you didn’t ask. “no. we broke up some time ago.”

younghoon doesn’t say anything more about it, but honestly, it’d be more shocking if he did. even as a kid, he took things at face value, not going any deeper into contexts and double meanings. he isn’t too shy to ask what you mean, nor is he too shy to say it. that’s just who he is. 

“do you have pictures from your wedding?” younghoon asks, pulling you out of your thoughts. you fetch your phone out of your pocket and show him your favorite picture from the event. you and jacob didn’t really have much money at the time of your wedding. it was a small, courthouse wedding with a dinner afterwards with just your families. the picture comes from when you were walking out of the courthouse together. with the small bouquet, jacob had purchased that morning, and the simple white dress you had thrifted a couple weeks prior. you were so happy, walking out of that building hand in hand. you were so hopeful. 

“you look very nice.” younghoon tells you quietly, staring at the photo. you mutter a ‘thanks’. he then surprises you, bringing a hand up to the picture and wordlessly zooming in on your face. his gaze bounces between you and your picture. finally, looking up, he says, “you look so young.”

*****

the ferry stops for a bit near the statue, everyone rushes towards the corner nearest to the monument to take a photo. you offer to take his. he accepts, awkwardly smiling at first, fidgeting with the strap of his backpack, but then eventually, lightening up, posing cutely and requesting different angles. 

while the ferry heads back to manhattan, he carefully examines all the photos you took. it reminds you of when he told you about his photographer friend in college who took photos of him for fun. 

“why didn’t you want to keep talking then?” you ask abruptly. 

somehow, he knows exactly what you’re talking about. your second goodbye with him. the four minute skype call. 

he looks taken aback. he doesn’t look at you. “it didn’t really feel like you were giving me much of a choice.”

it’s not what you wanted to hear, but you don’t really think there’s anything he could’ve said to mend a ten year old wound born from a petty 21 year old desperate to love and be loved. 

“i held that over you for a long time. i was a bit mad.”

he responds immediately. “you said goodbye so quickly. i was a bit mad too.”

you frown. “should i be sorry?”

he half laughs at that, shrugging and finally looking at you. “we were kids.” 

and of course, that was all that really needed to be said. 

*****

[second goodbye]

your second goodbye with younghoon happened when you just moved to new york. it was a short period of time marked by running between 10th and 14th to catch your train and eating too many meals at the ukrainian place in the basement of 7th. 

the two of you had found each other again online. a friend request turned to messaging turned to skype calls every evening and sometimes even in the morning. and somehow, someway, despite the years between your last words with him, the two of you were able to pick up right where you left off. he told you about home and about all the classmates you hadn’t thought about since you left. you told him about america, about your new life, and about new york. but mainly you talked about how weird it was to see and talk to him again and about how alone you felt here.

the goodbye comes when your laptop crashes and it takes a week before you’re able to talk to him again. it comes after you spend the week devastated, crying in the middle of the street over a dropped bacon egg and cheese. it comes when your laptop is finally fixed, when you call him again, and when he doesn’t even seem worried. 

“do you plan on coming to new york?” it's the first thing you say when he answers the call, two days after your laptop was fixed. 

he looks like he just woke up, hair crumpled and bent in places it shouldn’t be. between a yawn he says, “what?” 

“i can’t leave new york right now. so if you don’t plan on coming here, there’s no point of this anymore.” 

he doesn’t say anything for a moment, looking off to the side of his camera. you stare into it. you had been practicing this conversation all day. you knew what you were going to say. and in your heart, you knew what he was going to say too. 

all he ends up doing is smiling awkwardly and patting down the back of his head. “do you want me to visit?” 

no, you think with a sigh, you just want more. 

“i think we should end this. i need to focus on becoming a writer, and you-“ 

you falter here. he what? 

he nods. you nod too, just as an excuse. 

“okay.” 

“okay.” 

and the call ends in 4 minutes. 

*****

[first confession] 

the bar you’ve chosen to take him to tonight, is a small, irish pub on the corner of a street you spent half your 20s in. you feel so much older than you are, when you get off the subway, point to an old red brick building, and tell younghoon that you used to go to school here. 

his gaze lingers at that building. you try not to notice, but you do. 

“remember inyun?” he says after you get your drinks. his martini, your beer. 

you laugh at him. “it’s actually how i got jacob.” a memory flashes in front of you: the golden glow of the string lights and jacob’s lips on yours for the first time. you can’t tell if it's the beer or the memory that makes your entire body flush with warmth. 

“that game we used to play as kids,” younghoon says, excited, “we should do that here.” 

you smile. how many days did you and younghoon spend sitting next to each other on the train and making up a past life for every two passengers?

“okay.” you point to the two girls sitting at the bar, one of them on their phone, the other resting her head atop the counter. “what about them?” 

younghoon turns to face them. “classmates.”

you make a noise of disapprovement. “sisters.”

he mimics the noise. “no way.”

“look.” you say, gesturing to the way the girl that was on her phone places her free hand on top of the other’s head. “it’s just so…” here you lose the words for it. the girl on her phone bends down and places the smallest kiss on her friend’s head. 

“familiar.” younghoon finishes. and when your gaze falls back to him, you find that he’s already looking at you. the game somehow feels different than it did when you were kids. 

younghoon inhales sharply and nods his head towards a boy and a girl playing billiards in the corner. “what about them?”

you take a moment to observe them. these two seem less familiar with each other. there’s a lot of extra laughing, a lot of awkward pauses between turns. “coworkers.” you finally say.

“strangers.” younghoon counters. “like she took his order at a food place that he left a bad review for.”

you give him a look. he shrugs. 

the game continues. you do the two bartenders which you both agree must have been lovers. you do the group of boys, in business casual sitting two tables over. younghoon says they were all dogs in the same shelter. you say they were in a band together. 

the game continues until the only two people in the pub who you haven’t made up a past life for are you and younghoon.

younghoon gives you a half smile. “what do you think we were in a past life?”

this was always how you and him ended the game. you wonder how many past lives the two of you have created for each other by now.

you think for a moment, eyes flicking between the bartenders who were lovers and the friends who were once family. “two people squished next to each other on the train.”

younghoon laughs at that one, knocking his head back and accidentally kicking your leg under the table. he shakes his head. “a bird and the branch it sits on.”

“a keychain and the ring it’s attached to.”

“a celebrity and their bodyguard.”

“enemies.”

“friends.” 

something snags on your throat at that. 

you laugh, not meaning for it to sound as forced as it does. “but we’re that now.” 

a silent question hangs in the air: are we?

“why’d you come to new york?” you ask him. you already said your goodbye to him. years ago, on a skype call that felt akin to a breakup. seeing him and facing him again was not something you had expected to ever have to do. and the thing is, it’s not just facing him. it’s facing your past, and it’s facing all the different ways he’s known you. 

younghoon doesn’t seem surprised that you asked, but his eyes do this…thing as he looks up from the glass. this fearless, shameless thing that makes you feel things you wish you didn’t feel. “i came to see you.” 

you don’t take your eyes off his. what is it they say about eyes again? windows to the soul?

“but you and jacob.”

you flinch. 

“you guys have those layers of inyun.”

“all 8000,” you whisper back to him, like the world might burst if you spoke any louder.

he nods solemnly, hopefully. “maybe you guys have even more.”

he looks at the bar. the warm light paints him in colors you’ve never seen him in before. he’s so much older than you remember. he’s so much more real than your last skype call. 

(your memory of this moment fails you. you can’t remember which one of you it was that asked)

“how many layers do we have?”

a number hangs off the tip of your tongue. but the world will burst if you say it outloud. so you don’t. for the world, for yourself, for jacob. 

*****

[you were right]

“you were right,” you tell jacob when you come home that night.

“about what?” he meets you in the kitchen, exhaust fan whirring in the background. 

“he came to see me.” 

and even just the admission of it, of the entire day you spent with younghoon, has you exhausted. 

you hug jacob. he sets the book that was in his hand down on the counter and lets you. he feels so warm next to your heart. he feels so at home. and you, in your apartment, in his arms, feel split in two. 

carefully, you ask him: “are you mad at me?”

“of course not.”

“do you want me to cancel tomorrow?”

“you haven’t seen him in forever. you should go.”

you exhale into his shoulder. 

“i mean, it’s not like you’re going to run away with him or anything, right?” he jokes. 

“please,” you scoff, “you know me.” 

“i know you.” he laughs, and you feel it throughout your entire body.

“i know you.” he repeats. 

you hug him tighter. 

“you’re it for me.” jacob tells you quietly. “you make my life so much bigger.”

you can’t tell if it’s the confession or the exhaustion or both that brings you close to tears. “what if something happens?”

he doesn’t ask what you mean; he just repeats himself. “it’s only you.”

*****

[not touching but almost]

you meet younghoon the next morning at the hoyt-schermorhorn street station. he asks how you slept. you say well. 

you stand in front of the sliding doors, holding onto the pole. he follows suit, his hand right under yours. staring at his face, you search for which features of his have stayed the same and which have changed. 

“your eyes.” you say at the same moment the train screeches. he leans forward, mostly to hear you better but also to stay upright as the train sways. his fingers inch towards yours. “your eyes are still the same.” 

he looks embarrassed for a moment. then smiles. you do too. 

the train stops. the signs outside read: ‘fulton st’. 

you look back at him. “i can’t stop smiling.” fuck the train, you’ll repeat it until he hears what you have to say. 

he doesn’t ask you to repeat yourself this time. he just laughs. “why?”

you shrug, smiling again, and feeling entirely, wholly like a kid. “just ‘cause.”

his fingers inch towards yours again. you don’t even think he means for it to. you look down at your hands. close but not touching. not touching but almost. 

the train stops again. ‘chambers st,’ it reads this time. you both get off.

*****

[a whole part of you i’ll never know]

there’s this memory that bounces around your head from time to time. it was before you and jacob had gotten married, in your old apartment, the one in hell’s kitchen above the thai place with the light up dragon that played pop music late into the night. 

so with an old miley cyrus song floating up through the air and in through the open window, jacob tells you that there’s a whole part of you he’ll never know. 

you don’t deny it at first. you turn in bed to face him, cup his cheek in your hand and flinch at the stubble growing in. you kiss him and tell him, “you know me better than anyone.” 

“but i-” he hesitates here, mouth opening and closing like he can’t decide what kind of conversation he wants this to be. “it’s like there’s this whole portion of your brain that will always be out of reach. like i can see it there in the distance, but i can’t get to it.” 

“just ask. i’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“it’s not that.”

“what is it then?”

“he knows that part.”

the song goes quiet. you can hear a drunk person vomiting. you can hear your heart beating. breathlessly, you say, “younghoon?” 

and jacob, jacob, jacob. he looks like he regrets it. “you, just, you always talk about how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york and how different you used to be. but what if that wasn’t the first time?”

you shake your head. “i’m not a kid anymore.” 

“i know.” and against all odds, jacob smiles. “sometimes, i just wish i knew you when you were.”

*****

[second confession] 

the day, in all honesty, is some of the most fun you’ve had in a long while. you and younghoon get dumplings and rice noodles in chinatown and eat them in columbus park while watching people play ping pong. he wants to go shopping in soho and so you take him to your favorite spots. you wait with him in line at the famous bakery on lafayette only for him to hate the pastry he got. and in the evening, you and younghoon meet up with jacob to get dinner near your apartment. 

“so how do you like new york,” jacob asks while walking to the restaurant. 

younghoon nods slowly. “not bad.”

your husband’s eyes widen. he was born and raised in new york. it’s the only place he’s ever known. “not bad?”

younghoon shrugs. “it’s a little smelly.”

jacob just chuckles at that. “you get used to it. what have you seen so far?”

“yesterday i saw the rockefeller center, times square, and central park. and then,” younghoon looks at you, “we met in tompkins square park, and we took the ferry to see the statue of liberty.”

“you know i’ve never actually been to the statue of liberty.” jacob confesses, lightheartedly. 

“really?” younghoon asks dumbfounded.

“really?” you mutter to the ground. 

jacob shoves his hands in his pockets and nods. 

younghoon looks at you, disappointed, and jokingly says, “what are you doing? you should take your husband to see it.” 

younghoon doesn’t really wait for a response, but you still give him a half-hearted laugh before putting a hand on jacob’s elbow, and quietly, almost shamefully asking, “have we really not gone?”

the conversation has moved on without you it seems. while laughing at something else younghoon’s said, jacob shakes his head ‘no’.

the rest of the dinner goes well. the food is good, and the conversation flows. jacob heads back home once it’s over to get work done, and you and younghoon go to your favorite bar in the area, a posh sort of place with dim lighting and fancy cocktails. the two of you grab seats at the bar.

“what’d you think of jacob?” 

younghoon looks happy, a smile gracing his face for a moment. he tilts his head, and you almost miss the way his smile turns down. “i didn’t think liking your husband would hurt this much.” (almost). “i can tell he really loves you.”

“i love him too.” you say, just to fill the space. but what you really want is to beg him to take it back. beg him to say something else. anything else. say he hated him instead. 

“yesterday, you asked me why i didn’t try to keep talking back then.” younghoon continues. “the truth i learned here is that it wouldn’t have mattered how hard i tried even if i did. you were always going to leave because you’re you. and i liked you because you’re you. and who you are is someone who leaves.”

you start to refute, but stop yourself because… he’s right. the last two times you parted ways with him, it was because of you. you started the goodbye. you were the one who left. 

“but for jacob,” younghoon says, eyes scanning across the bar, staring at every bartender and every customer before finally, finally, landing on you, “you’re someone who stays.”

and it turns you fucking inside out. 

“i’m sorry if i hurt you in the past, younghoon.”

younghoon doesn’t falter. he never has. “i’m not.”

*****

[last confession, last goodbye, last hello]

you walk younghoon to the uber from your apartment. the address has always been a little finicky; the uber will only stop two blocks down. the long ones. not that that matters much. nonetheless, you and younghoon walk it slowly, pausing for a couple seconds each time the wheels of his suitcase get caught on a cellar door. 

“thank you for emailing me.” you tell him, lifting your chin up slightly. “i’m really glad that you did and we got to do this.

he nods. “i’m glad i did too, but i was actually a little unsure about it.” 

this surprises you. the sentiment yes, but also the way he says it. tucking his hair behind his ear, and squinting his eyes at a stop light, refusing to meet yours. younghoon is the surest person you’ve ever known. 

something catches in the back of your throat. something foul and hopeful. something that makes you feel young. “why?’ 

he shrugs, looks up at the second deli you’ve passed and mouths the name of it. like he’s practicing it, memorizing the name, the location, the guy sitting out front, and the cat that always lingers in the back. why does he care so much about the little things? 

“i didn’t know if you’d want to see me again.” he finally says. “the last time we spoke was so long ago. i wasn’t sure if you had left me in the past for good.” 

you hit the end of the second block where the uber will be picking him up soon, right under the ice pop shop that you always walk a little slower by on the hottest summer afternoons. across the block the walking signal is red–a memory comes back to you: your first summer in this new apartment, your first month being married too. you standing on this side of the block and jacob standing at the other. waiting for the cars to pass, waiting to greet each other in the middle of the road. you can feel that day in the bottom of your stomach. you remember exactly what jacob's hand felt like in yours. 

“i think i did.” you tell him. “but i don’t regret doing this with you. it was like meeting you again, and meeting the version of myself that last saw you too.” 

you turn away from the signal and look at him. he looks sad almost. “sometimes i still think of you as that kid i used to walk home from school with.” 

you remember what you used to tell jacob: how you reinvented yourself when you moved to new york. you remember what he used to say back: what if that wasn’t the first time. and so, you reach into your past and try to remember who you used to be before you moved to america. 

“i haven’t been that kid for a long time now,” you frown, watching younghoon’s pupils dart back and forth between yours, “but they still existed. they were still real.”

the uber pulls up. younghoon puts his suitcase in the trunk and opens the door to step inside. and with one foot in the car to the airport and one foot planted on the street you call home, he says, “what if this is just another past life and we’re already something else in another?”

the only thing you can manage to give him in response is a nod. you don’t like to think about what if.

he smiles. and you feel something break apart in your heart.

“i’ll see you then.”

in another life, younghoon is more than just a series of goodbyes. but in this one, he gets in the uber, and you don’t imagine seeing him again. you don’t think you will. because for the first time in this life, you're not the one that left–he was.  

you make it halfway back down the two blocks back to your apartment when you see jacob. it just so happens to be in front of the deli younghoon had committed to memory silently beside you. you inhale deeply; it feels like the first breath you’ve taken since younghoon landed in new york. jacob is 8 stoops away from you. 

at 5 you think about when you met, the writers retreat in long island, the most beautiful serene place you swear you’ve ever been and the stupid pick up line you said about inyun.

at 4, you think about his eyes, his eyes, his eyes, and the line he wrote about them in an essay that was published 3 years ago saying that they're the only part of the nervous system that's exposed, a direct line to someone's head and heart. was he right? did you look into younghoon’s mind tonight? have you been staring at jacob's heart? 

at 3, you think about all this talk about past lives. and you think what if it’s not about your past lives with younghoon or with jacob? what if it’s about all the past lives within you? 

at 2, you think about the kid you left in a country that doesn’t feel like yours anymore. 

and at 1, you think about younghoon. 

he stops right in front of you. staring at you staring at him. your whole world feels bigger than it ever has before, and your heart, in response, splits in half to fit him inside. you feel that something in your throat rise and boil. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally say, before falling into his arms. the sob that’s been waiting in the bottom of your soul for the past 20 years comes bursting out of your throat. you cry into your husband's shoulder. you feel the weight of all your past lives and all your future ones like they aren't in the past or in the future, like they're now beside you begging you to imagine what could’ve been and what was. 

jacob holds the back of your head. he doesn’t say anything. he doesn’t need to. it’s all been said before. instead he kisses the corner of your eye and takes you home. 

**********************************************************

a/n: originally posted as an svt fic, but i loved this movie and this story too much to not repost. i hope someone sees this and enjoys it. i hope this means something to someone. i hope i've convinced you to watch the movie cause it is truly one of the best pieces of media i've ever ever consumed.

[winwintea]

↬ 𝙽𝙲𝚃 𝙳𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙼

𝚘𝚝7

reactions ✒        first kiss (☆) ✒        walked in on you changing? ✒        bailing you out of jail ✒        helping with homework

imagines ✒        disney world boyfriend (☆) ✒        flight seatmate ✒        meeting their kid for the first time + as a parent (☆)

text reactions ✒        "let's breakup" ✒        "i'm at the hospital"

character study ✒        what they look for in a relationship (☆)

𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚕𝚎𝚎

mark lee vs. the world ✒         social media au, scott pilgrim au, ongoing

↬ mark has never wanted anything in his life. the lead bassist for 'dream on', unemployed, and quite literally a loser, mark expects he's hit rock bottom from here. that is until you, the girl of his dreams quite literally skates out of his dreams and into his life. mark has never wanted anything more. but is love really worth the emotional baggage when you have seven evil exes, who each possess superpowers and are intent on defeating him?

inyun (☆)✒         3.7k words (past lives au, fluff)

↬ when you move into a small apartment complex in seoul, your next-door neighbor, mark lee, seems like nothing more than an ordinary guy. but as the two of you get to know each other more, it suddenly feels like you’ve known him forever. then mark mentions his grandmother's belief in 인연. the idea that every encounter is woven by threads of fate. are these coincidences between you and mark really accidental or is there something deeper going on?

the last hope (old) ✒         2.8k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with mark, the soldier who wishes to protect the country. His life is a brilliantly burning flame, whereas yours is nearly completely, gone. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never love another like him. even as he walks away to his main purpose in life.

𝚑𝚞𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚞𝚗

the last dance (old) ✒         3.7k words (angst)

↬ [part of the last love series] you've fallen in love with the gentle painter, renjun. though the locals call you a witch, renjun doesn't seem to care. but that all changes when they come to kill you. no matter how much pain it causes, you'll never regret falling in love with him.

belladonna! ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬ you've been tasked with visting and inspecting the grand rose theatre, a theatre that's been plagued with mysteries over the years. all seems well, until a string of murders follows your visit. as you further investigate, you find yourself falling for huang renjun, the beautiful male lead, and your mystery murderer who leaves you love notes and clues about who they could potentially be. will you be smart enough to be a step ahead of the killer? or will you find yourself caught within their trap?

pet names

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚓𝚎𝚗𝚘

underneath the tree (☆) ✒         social media au, ongoing

↬  you’ve heard enough of the word ‘christmas’ and it was only the beginning of december! sometimes you’d wish people would just throw their cheerfulness out the window and focus on reality. unfortunately for you lee jeno has just drawn your name for the company’s annual secret santa swinter swap and he’s going to make sure you get a gift you’ll never forget. (and maybe even get you to appreciate christmas along the way?)

𝚕𝚎𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚢𝚞𝚌𝚔

perfect strangers ✒         4.0k words (smut)

↬ one night, you fell in love with a man who would come to you the next morning as your doctor. unfortunately, you were betrothed to someone else, but you wanted to feel what love really was. "whatever choices we make, just know that my heart is yours."

𝚗𝚊 𝚓𝚊𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚗

that's okay (☆) ✒         3.7k words (fluff, enemies to lovers)

↬ you’re determined to outshine your academic rival na jaemin, the campus heartthrob infamous for his frivolous reputation. but when a few too many drinks suddenly ropes you into a fake dating scheme with jaemin, you realize that there’s much more to him than his playboy persona. can two opposites navigate a connection that’s anything but fake?

wicked love ✒         5.4k words (horror/thriller)

↬ his love is perfect. but perfection comes with a price.

pet names

𝚣𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚗𝚕𝚎

heart to heart ✒         3.7k words (fluff, romance)

↬ what happens when you discover you have the ability to read chenle's mind?

secure that once upon a time! ✒         4.3k words (romance, fluff)

↬ inspired by one of your favorite fairytales, chenle makes you feel just like cinderella for the night. but can you live up to society's expectations as the girlfriend of one of shanghai's most elite? an enchanting night with your prince may answer all your questions.

stop posting about BALLER (☆) ✒         1.3k words (crack, fluff)

↬ maybe your boyfriend's obsession with the sport was a little more extreme than you thought.

my apology letter (☆) ✒         3.0k words, (heavy angst)

↬ chenle always thought that love truly wins all. your relationship with him was filled with joy and connection. but lately, cracks have begun form. between small misunderstandings, unspoken frustrations, and the growing sense that he’s not enough for you, chenle begins to doubt his theory. is love enough to bridge the gaps between you or is letting go the ultimate act of love?

pet names boyfriend headcannons

[6:28 a.m.]

𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚓𝚒𝚜𝚞𝚗𝚐

hunger ✒         248 words (mini drabble)

boyfriend headcannons

↫ back

[arcdotio]

anyway the important part is that i learned that i am and can be, in fact, a good partner. and when i finally find someone who is and can also be, in fact, a good partner, perhaps our inyun will be strong enough for us to form some sort of acquaintanceship.

[colortheworldme]

The simultaneity of us. 

There’s you, there’s me. 

There’s a space in-between. 

I fill it with laughter and you with your kindness. 

And then we’re we. We go around, we live, we dance 

We invite the people we’re meant to be. 

And you learnt , that maybe, 

You like other women 

That this is too much pressure. 

Too much for your little heart to handle. 

Poor you, poor me. 

 there’s I, forever unsure. 

Hey, Hi. How are you. 

Im cool, I’m hot I’m funny and im smart. 

But I’m also sad. A  little mad. 

A little curious, but mostly scared. 

So How've you been. 

Good , fine. its been mostly nice.

While my entire being shifts. 

An old tango. Tired. 

Ready, to be retired. 

But neither of us know how. 

We’ were stuck, this meaningless void.

Why won’t the suffering just end. 

How can I kill us, when I can’t define what is us. 

I lost my sense of measurement. 

Me - You. 

How far from me, who we used to be. 

North, south, maybe at that bar or that old silver car

Forever in search, the point of Inyun. 

Its starting to feel unreal. 

You look different, you talk different, you feel different.

Yet, chillingly and oddly familiar.

I can sense something and I think you can too, 

the last vestiges of honesty. 

Maybe?

[allgrrl78]

Well, what do you know, I guess I can empathize with you after all. Maybe if you communicated your needs well and became braver in being more vulnerable, things could have been sorted well?

-

Wondering how it would have been if the circumstances were different and never knowing the answer?

OR

Changing the circumstances, giving it a try and being disappointed at the results?

To wonder, never know and be a “what if” or to know, be disappointed and get hurt? Which hurts more? Which pain is more meaningful?

—

You’ll be surprised how easy it is to make someone genuinely happy just by saying hello and being a friend.

—

I really want to see myself be a strong support to someone. To be my 8,000 layers of Inyun. And to be brave enough to stay. To be with someone who gives me more and more reasons to choose them everyday. Because the choice gets easier and easier to make everyday.

I don’t think I wanna settle, of course. But I now just want someone who will help me remove the sadness that results to rage and discontent. Someone who knows how to be broken, and sad, and vulnerable and not look at it as negativity.

Someone who meets my shadow self with an embrace and hug to put me back together again. Someone with maturity, truthfulness and courage to share his life. To make me a better person who is grateful, giving and accepting. Because these are what I am already working on for myself, and I can’t afford to be a version of myself that’s less than gentle, calm and thankful. And happy. And when you’re happy, you’re contented.