Seol's slender hand caressed the shelf densely populated by tens of thousands of authors, residing side by side, his brain decoding the words printed on the covers, choosing which to take to the roof tonight. He reads to escape - or rather, pretend he was somewhere, someone he was not.
He climbed up the inclined set of steps and walked out to the rooftop. He sat down and stared up at the lost stars that littered the sky messily, the dim constellations bright enough to light up the pages of the book that lay in his hands, just so that the characters were depictable. Seol's hands dug into his pockets to grab his earphones and untangle the messy knots. Finally, his fingers traced over his phone screen to press play, allowing the music to flood his ears.
"Remember the way you made me feel."
Steam curled from the lid of his fresh cup of liquid caffeine, the woolly material of his black and brown striped jumper hung around his dainty wrists, and slick black fabric draped down his legs to his classy boots of the same colour. His eyes tried focusing on the fancy lettering on the fine paper, pronouncing the phrases in his thoughts.
"Trying to remember all the good times, our life was cutting through so loud," the man whose voice was embedded in the back of Seol's mind sang.
Seol's eyes slowly filled with hot tears. This was all logically beyond him; was his alternative to a blood-curdling scream at the top of his lungs. The rooftop grew to be his primary place of reflection over the years, not many people came up, especially at this hour.
As if on cue, the rattle of the ladder leading up to the roof triggered his wiping-of-damp-cheeks reflex, composing himself, as if he were being productive in the slightest, just like the good daughter the Queen of Voreumyan raised.
Voreumyan was a city on the outskirts of Seoul, with a definite hierarchy, Seol's family being at the top, passed on for generations of course. He often ridiculed being royalty of a - what should be - long forgotten land in his head, but respect for ancestors was always prioritized here. Any verbal word of what he Seol were thinking and he'd be banished, frankly. Of course, his family had very capitalist views but he couldn't care less about whatever that meant.
"Seolhee," Soeun called.
He shifted in his seat and turned to face her, "Yes, mother?"
"Princess Chaewon had these mailed," she lifted a couple of iced cinnamon rolls bundled in a small white box tied with a red bow on the front, "What a sweetheart. Come inside, love, we're going to lock up, and you should get some rest, we have a big day tomorrow."
"Yeah, okay. On it." Seol managed to get out in about the best normal voice he could muster at the moment.
He didn't know exactly what was going on tomorrow, but his family had been going on about it since lunch this afternoon. No matter how 'rude' his parents made it out to be, he never really ate breakfast with the family, it was usually just an oat bar from a cupboard and a carton of apple juice anyway. But he guessed they probably were gushing over it at breakfast too.
Seol turned on his phone and winced as his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, he paused the music and rose from his position on the white cluster of metal. He slipped off his shoes once he made it back into the building he'd dare call home and slid the unread book back into its original position. He trudged into his en suite, soaked his toothbrush under the tap, and stared in the mirror.
Ready for another restless night.
'Searching for meaning
But are we all lost stars
Trying to light up the dark?'
