Kiss Me Slowly

i. September 30, 2018 - Daegu

Room is spinning out of control
You act like you didn't notice
You brushed my hand
What would happen if we kissed?
Would your tongue slip past my lips?

He holds up the framed photograph, studies the little girl beaming at the camera, her bangs scattered neatly across her forehead, dark eyes curved into happy arches. The giraffe – of all things – behind her is bent down, unfurled blue-black tongue captured en-route to swipe the small carrot perched atop her head.

"I started crying about ten seconds later," she admits with a sheepish smile. The side of her arm brushes against his bare forearm, a rustle of whimsical fabric in floral swirls of color. He hums a question to quiet the thundering revolt inside his chest. "The tongue was pretty scratchy, it caught some of my hair, and all the kids started laughing," she remembers in that breathy, laughter-filled voice that makes his throat feel dry. "I was mortified."

"What were you doing standing with a carrot on your head under a giraffe?" He laughs and glances at her quickly, out of the corners of his eyes, and God she's beautiful and unpretentious, and his traitorous bravado is slipping as surely as his halfhearted protests to her mother's generous pours of chardonnay at dinner an hour ago. His fleeing confidence tells him that he's not exactly tipsy, even though his face feels flushed, and the world looks a little dreamy. But that could just be her, and she's too good for him.

"The zookeeper said it would make for a great photo."

"He wasn't lying," he teases and watches her step around him carefully to walk over to the white desk under the window of her childhood bedroom.

She touches a hand to a stack of papers neatly arranged in the middle of the desk. "My first script," she tells him, resuming her role as dutiful post-dinner tour guide.

"Eon-jin-ah why don't you show Hyun Bin-ssi around the house while I prepare dessert?"

"Delicious Proposal?"

She turns around to face him, her surprised gaze finding his, and she gives him a soft smile. "No, actually, a year before that, Secret Tears. It feels like a lifetime ago," she muses. "It's always weird coming back here."

He nods, replaces the photo frame back on her bedside table, and tucks his hands into the front pockets of his sleet gray slacks. "It's hard to feel like the same person who left," he says pensively, his fingers toying with the silky tie stuffed in his pocket. At some point during dinner, he ditched the food-splattered necktie and rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt into his elbows. It was that kind of night – warm and casual, like old friends coming together after many years. He hasn't had this much unadulterated fun in so long.

"Yeah," she breathes, her eyes alight with some kind of realization as they search his, and with the script in hand, she takes a step in his direction. "Sometimes I miss that person," she says, a melancholic sigh drifting past her lips, and it's like a sucker punch, this sudden need to hold her against him. He swallows the urge. "I'm sorry I'm not much of a tour guide."

He huffs out a small laugh. "What are you talking about? This is a great tour," he insists. And then because maybe the chardonnay is in his veins, making him a little braver, "I'm glad Director Lee left before the tour."

A whisper of a knowing smile trembles at the corners of her lips, and the look she gives him says she knows a lot more than she lets on. It taunts him, endlessly. Then she looks away and doesn't say anything as she lowers herself to the edge of the bed and crosses one leg over the other, resting the script against her thigh.

He clears his throat and his mind of all thoughts of a private tour, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as if that might stop them from reaching for her. "Tonight was fun," he says sincerely, voice gruffer than he intends, and he promised himself he wouldn't stare tonight, so he looks around her room awkwardly. "Thank you for hosting us. Your family are wonderful."