As I clumsily dab the wet paper towel against the damp patch on my trousers, I cannot help but feel a sense of dread wash over me. The coffee spill is stubborn and I fear it will leave a nasty stain once it dries up.
As I lean against the marble top by the basins with my knee resting against its cool surface, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hazel eyes stare back at me, silently questioning how I ended up in this situation. How did I find myself in the restroom of a quaint café in Oxfordshire, with remnants of cappuccino splattered all over my crotch?
Was it the result of my foolish question to the universe, asking if things could possibly get any worse?
"I think you might," my attention is brought back to the boy who spilt the cappuccino all over said crotch when his voice reaches my ears, "need to use some soap too."
With a blank expression, I fix my gaze on him and gradually start to blink while taking in his words of advice. He seems to feel uneasy under my scrutiny and quickly looks away. I cannot help but feel amused by his awkwardness and a small smile unconsciously tugs at the corners of my lips. He tries to act casual by leaning on the tiled wall, but it only makes him look more nervous.
While maintaining pretty good eye contact with him, I reach out my hand towards the soap dispenser and it automatically dispenses a pink substance on the paper towel. As I dampen the paper towel and rub the soap over it, a white foam starts to form. The longer I continue with this action, the more my scowl deepens. The stubborn stain does not seem willing to disappear, not today.
These trousers are probably ruined forever. Even though I may not wear them often, I actually did like them. Just as Sabina said, they are adorable.
Peeking up at him again, I say, "You don't have to stay in here with me, you know? I am perfectly capable of wiping myself down… in the crotch."
"I am genuinely sorry," he whispers quietly. "I have no idea what is wrong with my coordination sometimes. I'm not normally this clumsy, I swear."
"Somehow I doubt that," I breathe out, and whilst watching him widely and noticing the look of guilt on his face, I chuckle at him in amusement. "I'm just teasing, mate. It's okay. It's no big deal. I didn't like these trousers anyway."
"You said the exact same thing last time too," he murmurs to himself under his breath.
I'm surprised I was even able to hear him. His words make me frown in perplex. What does he mean that is the exact same thing I said the last time too?
Before I can question him about his words, he quickly muses, "So, what brings you to Oxfordshire?"
How does he know I am not from here? Do people from Oxfordshire have a certain air around them, a certain pep in their step?
When he sees the expression on my face, the sides of his lips tug up some more to broaden his grin, showing off his pearly whites. For a while, I stare at the silver piercing that is perched around his bottom lip.
Looking into his eyes and the way he communicates, I see a good-natured, intelligent, funny guy. However, the presence of the piercing implies that he may also have a spontaneous and adventurous side to his personality. Perhaps it was an impulsive decision that he made one day, but it certainly adds to his overall persona.
"If you could not tell from the accent, I'm actually not from here too. I'm from Shoreditch." At his words, I look up in genuine shock.
"Really?" I muse, the astonishment audible in my tone.
"Yeah."
From Shoreditch too? What a coincidence.
I squint at him in intrigue, wondering if I have maybe bumped into him before.
His eyes are the first thing which scream familiarity but then his piercing throws me off. I don't think I have ever met anyone who had a piercing back at home. I would remember that if I did. I would never stop telling Taylor that I befriended a cool guy even if I hadn't actually befriended him. Maybe I have seen him without a piercing or before he ever got a piercing to begin with.
"I'm here in Oxford to try and make a living," he continues, hugging himself as if to protect himself from the cold air hanging within the restroom. "University is no joke though. The movies downplay it with parties."
"Movies downplay everything. High school, university, even love."
"Well, me personally, I'd like to believe that I'll meet my one true love in a warm diner or a nice, quaint café."
"Right," I murmur back with a smile of disagreement.
"What? Don't you wanna believe that?"
"And mistake every charming guy I meet at a café for my one true love?" I muse, staring at him flatly. "That's just setting myself up for heartbreak."
"A little heartbreak never killed nobody."
"Lots of people have actually died of depression from heartbreak." When I hold my hand out to him to hand me some more paper towels, he does so although clumsily.
"Is that a known fact?" he muses, seemingly curious.
"I don't know, but it could be." He lets out a tiny snort at my response and as I am distractedly trying to dry myself, I ask him, "So what are you majoring in?"
"Uh… Astronomy," he says with a little smile twitching on the corner of his lips as if he's in on a joke that I don't know about. "Yeah, uh… Ursa Major."
Ursa Major?
"I'm sorry, what?"
His grin widens and I notice that the sides of his eyes crinkle when he does that and deep dimples appear in his cheeks.
"You don't remember me, do you?" he muses knowingly.
I pause in my actions for a second, caught completely off guard by his question and flickeringly my gaze wanders all over his face. From his beautifully intriguing eyes to the metal ring clinging to his bottom lip.
A frown mars my expression as confusion fills me when his words repeat in my head. What does he mean I don't remember him? Do we know each other? His eyes are very familiar but that could be because I just saw someone with heterochromatic eyes. Perhaps since he's from Shoreditch too, I just happened to run into him one day and then completely wiped his face from my memory.
Even if that may be, I should remember the lip piercing. It's a distinctive attribute that I would not forget.
Do I have to play that off? Pretend as if I remember him when in actuality I don't. His face is just a black dot pressing onto my cerebrum, but that dot isn't conforming to something familiar. It's weird because if there's anything that I tend to not forget, it is people's faces. Except if I pretend to know him, it is going to be pretty awkward if he asks me something from a previous conversation and I don't recall shit.
"I… uh…" I stammer nervously, and he stares at me. I don't miss the amused look which surfaces on his face and from this reaction, I hope he doesn't get offended easily. A little anxious chuckle leaves my lips. "Sorry, I don't. Should I?"
"Hold on a second." He holds up his index finger and then fumbles with something in his pocket. Once he has retrieved it, he fixes them onto his face and I realise that it's his glasses. "Just picture me as much shorter, a lot geekier and with no piercings at all. How about now?"
I look at him; really look at him.
And that's when it hits me where I know him from.
"Oh, you're that guy from outside the froyo shop all those years ago. The one who," my eyes widen like saucers, awkwardly as I cut myself from finishing that sentence, "The one who spilt my slushy all over my shirt. Is that just your thing? You go around spilling different kinds of drinks on people?"
He chuckles in merriment and his eyes glimmer in amusement. Flicking his glasses off, he pockets them again and grins up at me. "No, it was an accident. Both times."
I murmur in response, gazing at him in a disbelieving manner.
"I promise."
"So, you're majoring in Astronomy in Oxford, I'm guessing?" After asking him that, he bobs his head up and down in confirmation. "Second year?"
"I'm doing my first year actually. I… I took a gap year."
"Oh, doing what?"
His mouth opens and after a while of waiting for him to answer the question, I glance up at him in intrigue but instead of responding he shuts his mouth immediately. Then he averts his gaze onto the soap dispenser and when I catch the dark haze that passes through his eyes, I purse my lips into a grimace, wondering if I should not have pried into his business like that. I just thought when people take gap years it's all fun and games. His eyes state otherwise.
"You don't have to answer that," I proclaim quickly, waving my question away and going back to trying to dry my trousers.
"Oh, no," he tries to reassure me, even waving his hand dismissively. "No, it's fine. It's just…" He grips his bottom lip and his piercing disappears into his mouth and he releases a deep exhale. When he responds, he looks at me intensely, "I was… going through some stuff so I needed a break from school."
"Oh, I totally understand." I nod until my words ring inside my head and I retract them. "Not that I understand what you went through, but I understand why you don't wanna talk about it with a mere stranger."
"No, I got that." He smiles large again, and the crinkle in the corners of his eyes and the deep dimples in his cheeks are back.
"So," I start, approaching him slowly with hilarity playing around in my eyes and when he stares up at me, a slight nervousness in his gaze, I instead scrunch up the paper towel in my hand and throw it in the trash bin, "you're my serial drink spiller? What a crazy coincidence."
He ducks his head in embarrassment, but a little, self-conscious grin twitches onto his lips. "I thought I had to commit the deed three times to be considered a serial drink spiller."
"Well, I wouldn't put it passed you not to."
He breaks out in loud guffaws at my words and when a tiny snort escapes him at the end of his chortle, he palms his mouth and yet still, his shoulders shake and his eyes crinkle to indicate that he's laughing. Again, I just stare at him, fascinated by him. He has this contradictory air around him. At times, he seems confident and then he seems to get gripped by a timidness. In my spellbound state, my eyes take in his beautiful features.
"Oh, by the way," he voices and that snaps me out of my daze, "since I couldn't buy you that t-shirt last time, I was hoping I could compensate you now with a new shirt and some trousers maybe."
I remain quiet as I contemplate his suggestion. Glancing down at my now dry trousers, I scowl irritably at the stain that the cappuccino has left. I mean, I knew it was going to happen. I was just hoping that for once, luck would be on my side, but obviously not.
Running my hands under the taps which automatically spray water all over my hands, I bring my gaze back up to meet his and I catch the open softness that emits from him as he brightly grins again. Then I ask him, "What's your name again?"
"Kai," he responds and the name sounds familiar too.
Drying my hands with another paper towel, I look at him and introduce myself too, "Seong Jin."
* * *
"So," he starts as we are walking down the pavement towards my aunt's house, and he gestures to the camera hanging off my shoulder, "Are you a photographer?"
I let out a delirious scoff and immediately shake my head. "No. I wish."
"So, you just carry that camera around with you for decoration?"
"I wouldn't say that," I answer, grinning in amusement.
He mirrors my expression with his very own smile, his eyes lighting up with curiosity.
"I do enjoy photography, but I wouldn't call myself a photographer per say. To do so would be a disservice to those who truly possess the skills and talent necessary to convey a story through their pictures."
"Is it?"
"Mm-hmm. That might be why I want to join a photography club once I get to university because true photography is an art form that requires a discerning eye and the ability to capture the perfect shot. Merely clicking away with a camera does not make one a photographer."
"Have you not captured the perfect shot yet?"
I pause for a moment, reflecting on the question while gnawing on my bottom lip and after pondering, I shake my head again. "I don't think so."
"Then what draws you to photography?"
"I think for me, it's more about the ability to capture the mundane things, the beauty of everyday life. From the random man speed walking down the pavement in his extremely tight shorts or the woman who is excitedly speaking to someone down the phone while walking her cat on a leash. I just love how capturing that in a photo can reveal the emotions of people going about their daily lives."
"People actually walk their cats?"
I smile, nodding.
His grin grows larger and his eyes gleam with amusement. "Let me get this straight, so you're telling me that you have got a stash of miscellaneous photos of people doing mundane shit hidden somewhere in your possession?"
"Pretty much," I playfully state and together we chuckle.
When my aunt's house comes into view a few feet away from us, I come to a halt and he mimics my actions, turning slightly to face me with an enquiry shining in his eyes. I gesture over to the house with my chin, silently relaying to him that we have arrived at our destination. His lips purse into a disappointed smile, as if he wishes we had more time together.
Weirdly enough, I feel the same way. I like talking to him. I strangely do not feel like I'm digging myself into a hole as I share parts of myself. He seems like someone who would be a nice addition to my small, group of friends. His corny jokes earn him a light tug up of the lips and discouraging head shakes. Sometimes I cannot stop the tiny snort which escapes past my lips. Then taking a quick glance at him through my peripheral vision, I will notice the wide, proud grin stretching across his face.
I don't know how I could've even remotely forgotten him. Then again, we didn't really run into each other again after the whole slushy debacle.
For a while, we just stare at each other with an indecipherable emotion running through his eyes.
"Say something so I don't have to leave just yet," he almost pleads.
So that's what the emotion in his eyes was. He doesn't want the conversation between him and me to be done just yet. Over the past hour, I think, we've bonded beyond words can describe. I feel like he knows everything there is to know about me, but at the same time, he doesn't know enough.
It's weird because I have never really connected with anyone at first. It took Taylor two weeks to break my pledge of silence. It took even longer for me to trust her.
Kai is intriguingly mysterious, but at the same time, he's not because he is very open about himself. I feel like I know him but that may have something to do with the air of familiarity around him.
How come I don't tense up when he shuffles a little closer to me to playfully shove me when I unintentionally make him burst out into laughter? How come I don't stop myself from oversharing with him? Why do I want to be his friend? Whenever I meet a stranger or someone whom I've barely spoken to, I want the conversation to come to an end as quickly as possible.
Not with Kai.
As much as he wants to prolong the conversation is how much I want to prolong it. Maybe even more. Do I perhaps fancy him? But even as I ask myself this question, I know it's not that, because when I go to bed this evening the last face I'm going to see is the person who I currently have feelings for, Dominic Lachowski.
Glancing up at him through my lashes, I bite onto the inside of my bottom lip and ponder what I could possibly tell him to keep him here with me.
"I don't think I'm getting into Oxford."
His face drops and then his eyes shine with sympathy.
"Sorry. I couldn't come up with a better topic."
"No, it's okay," he assures me understandingly. "Are you sure?"
"The lady, Mrs Freon, said that they were looking for a specific type of student there."
"Well, that's not true at all. Mrs Freon convinced me that I was not going to get accepted yet here I am, and I'm pretty sure you're smarter than me. Once you talk to the lecturers you realise that they are just looking for someone who's an all-rounder."
"I think that's the problem. What if I'm not an all-rounder?"
He looks up thoughtfully. "I think they understand that not all of us have the same qualities. We're all different, Seong Jin."
"I haven't spoken to the lecturers."
"If Mrs Freon happens to think that you have the potential to be in our school," he pauses and grins encouragingly, "then they'll e-mail you and first thing in the morning, you head back and talk to the lecturers."
"I don't think I left much of a great first impression."
"What do you mean?"
"I snacked on a bag of Skittles and made it rain," I state through my teeth, averting my gaze in embarrassment.
"Rain money?"
"Skittles," I admit, poutingly.
He throws his head back and his laughter sounds into the sky.
My cheeks accumulate a light rosy colour and I redirect my gaze down onto my feet, drilling my heel into the concrete ground. A light, cold breeze whisks past us and my teeth chatter for a short while, before I hug myself to retain a bit of heat, the plastic in my hand creating a loud noise against my chest. Once Kai stops laughing at my misfortunes, he spurts out a few more chuckles and then looks at me smilingly.
"Why were you eating Skittles?"
"I was nervous," I defend myself.
He chuckles again. "And that gives you a reason to eat during an interview? Did no one prep you before you came here?"
"I think "do not eat Skittles" was a given and they thought I was smart enough to know that."
"Yet you're not?"
I wrinkle my nose, but I don't give him an answer.
"How exactly did you get an interview with Oxford?"
"Shut up," I nudge him and he stumbles a little with another laugh.
I shiver a little when another breeze skimmers past us and evidently, he notices and he unwillingly says, "I should probably let you go inside. It's getting colder as the seconds tick by."
"Yeah, plus I really need to plant my faeces here."
"What?" He chortles, giving me a peculiar look.
"Okay, that sounds mad weird out of context. It's just that, if I don't get accepted into Oxford, then I have to," my lips perk up into a little humoured grin and I glance at him from under my lashes, "you know? To leave a part of myself here."
"It's funny that you think that with context it makes the sentence, I need to plant my faeces here, better."
I'm about to counteract his statement, but then my phone vibrates. I pull it out of my pocket and see that it's a message from my mum. "Excuse me."
Seong Jin, why aren't you answering your phone? I'm starting to get worried. Merlin says you haven't arrived home. Please call me immediately when you get this.
"Okay, I really need to get going before my mum calls the SWAT team," I inform Kai, tucking my phone back into my pocket. "She can be overprotective like… all the time."
"That just means she cares about you a lot."
"Yeah, I know. I really have to go though."
He nods understandably even though he does look a little disappointed. When another round of wind blows at us, Kai brings his hood up and buries his hands deep into the crevices of his jacket pockets. His face peeks out from beneath the comforts of his cosy hood.
I shiver a little and glance over at the cobblestoned cottage which belongs to my aunt. It screams warmth and comfort away from the cold. I can already see myself curled up under an electric blanket with a nice cup of coffee burning into my freezing palms.
"It was really nice to meet you… again."
"Yeah." He sighs and then bows down swiftly which causes my eyes to widen. "Hope you enjoy the rest of your day."
Suddenly being reminded that bowing in farewell is a norm in our culture, I reciprocate the action courteously and respond in an oddly refined manner, "And to you… you too, I mean," I correct myself at the end.
He nods with a smile.
Trying to hide my crestfallen expression, I bid him adieu for the last time. He almost bows again until he recalls that he has already done that, and he averts his gaze in embarrassment.
Juliet would say, "Parting is such sweet sorrow." I think. After waving goodbye, I smile at him one last time and then walk up the few stairs before opening the door. Just before closing it, I glance back at him and see him still standing on the pavement looking up at me.
"By the way, Seong Jin," he yells loud enough for me to hear him, "if you don't get accepted into Oxford, we'll just kidnap the dean's nephew and force them to accept you."
My lips tilt upwards. "I'll hold you to that."
I eventually close the door and lean into it. A soft grin lingers on my face. The sort of grin imprinted on my face is difficult to wipe off until I shake myself out of the daze.
With a slight scowl, I realise that he didn't ask for my number nor did I ask for his. What are the chances that I'm going to run into him again? I could just run out after him and ask for his number, he is probably still close by, but that would just seem too… forward. Yeah, there is no way I am doing that. I'm far too cowardly to ask someone for their number with the many implications of doing something like that. What if he assumes I have spurned a crush on him or something?
We'll just kidnap the dean's nephew...
Why do I feel like I have heard that before?
"Seong Jin."
My train of thought is derailed by my aunt grabbing my shoulders and with concern in her eyes, she looks me over for any injuries.
Through a furrowed gaze, I look at her in confusion until I realise why she is doing this. I am pretty certain my mum put her up to this. Why is she so over-protective all the time? Even though she is so many miles away from me, her shadow of protectiveness still hovers over me. I appreciate it, but at the same time, I want to be able to do this without her worrying so much about me.
"Imo, nan gwaenchanh-a."
Finally, she lets go of me only to glower at me angrily.
I grin stiffly.
"Why don't you answer your phone? You had us all worried."
"Sorry. I was… you… I couldn't have my phone on during the interview."
"And after the interview?" she questions, arching the all-knowing brow. "I called you afterwards, didn't I?"
"The um… the connection was bad. I couldn't hear you properly."
For a while, she stares at me as if to make me pour out the truth. I don't. Obviously. "Have you called your mum yet? She's shitting her pants with worry."