Last Night at the Café

22 | Facial Soap

A / N

Part 2 of Kazu's birthday! Enjoy!

~

"I WAS SO nervous!" she exclaimed the moment they were out on the street, walking hand in hand.

The night was warm with a blanket of clouded sky hanging low, signalling the approach of warmer weather and rain. Seollal was happy and overfed, with a cooler bag of side dishes that his mother had prepared. Ajitsuke tamago, as she had learnt, was the egg she often ate with her ramen. It was accompanied by a roll of tamagoyaki, a rolled egg that was savoury and sweet, a spicy bean sprout salad, and chuka wakame, a salad made of rehydrated seaweed.

"Aren't you used to parents?" he asked, one brow raised as he smiled.

"Not when their sons are grown up!"

"What was it you said just now?" he teased. "He's a good child?"

"It just came out automatically," she muttered blandly.

Back at her apartment, they had settled into their routines. She didn't always have him over, to stay the night that was, but when he did, he knew where to find the clothes he had secreted beside hers in her closet, where to find her cleaning supplies when one of them spilled food while cooking, where to get out snacks for himself whenever he was in for a short nap in between shifts.

More of his things were starting to find its spot at her place. A sweater, a mug, a toothbrush. She was so familiar with the sight it was as if his things had always been there since the beginning.

"I didn't want to bring your birthday present because it's a little embarrassing," she said.

She dug around in a drawer by her desk.

"Why? What is it?"

"Here."

His eyes grew large at the white notebook in her hands. The cover she had drawn consisted of a ship, tall and majestic while it rode a wave, with a pirate swinging from a rope, sword drawn at a giant fish in the sea.

He turned the cover to find the cast of characters, all drawn out in markers with their names below them.

"The main character," he murmured, a finger on the boy. "Decha?"

"It's a pretty name."

She had curled into his side, her head on his shoulder as he scanned through the lines. His mouth was forming a smile.

"You think so?"

She nodded.

"I love this," he said softly, his voice awe-filled. "When did you do this?"

"Whenever I had free time. I tried learning calligraphy from Yu Ah but it's not pretty." She turned to a page occupied by hangeul script, strokes of black ink on white paper. If one looked close enough, one could study the wobble of her brush, the uneven strokes, the spots where she had paused. "She wrote them out for me and I copied them."

He let out a laugh.

"Thank you. You put in so much effort into this. It's like a personal book just for me."

"See? She's got a credit page too."

My dearest Kim Yu Ah for teaching me calligraphy, for otherwise mine would be like chicken scratchings

The rest of the pages were filled with handwritten stories, as original as she had planned for it to be, with words and whole paragraphs crossed out, and pictures drawn between the lines. Then he paused, allowing the rest of the pages to flip.