not what you think

i: n-4

He hovers the cursor over a specific job post found after monotonous hours of settling in the bow of a computer, in an almost miniscule internet cafe in the outskirts of Incheon.

Call Center Operator

Yangwon Hotels Ltd

A swift click links him to the official page to read the criterion, or rather conventions to make an entry.

Specifications:

Must be 18 or older

Must hold high school diploma or equivalent

Must be able to handle calls in a professional manner and direct calls to concerned personnel upon wishing for thorough inquiries

Other duties include-

After meticulous reading of the remainder, Joonki finds it eligible to make an effort for the job. He skims through it one more time to finalize and quote the deadline to send in an application. A large yawn and few effortless, subdued stretching of limbs later, he realizes himself exiting, not before handing over the endowment for anxious hours of occupying the booth.

Two pacing later, Joonki takes a peep at the sky upon finding his feet to ankles drizzled in thin sludge. The usual blue paint on airspace has fused to a glum gray, with sporadic lightning.

Just like his heart, he thinks.

A sarcastic smile adores his slim, almost extinct profile of his lips.

He tries to remind himself of a day where his mind and heart felt feather light, but he finds it levitating slowly to the ground.

Like dead leaves, contrary to the animated silhouette conjured in the rain.

The thought of last year blemishes him with anguish.

And rage, for not being able to move on still.

But he has to try. For someone dear, someone who holds out to him like a lifeline.

His attentiveness spaces into reality when he discerns a small sphere shape onto his cut rate outfit, the locality darkened than the typical gray manifested split seconds ago, or what he perceived like so.

His mind plays a tug of war in savoring the plops of a thundering shower skimming his skin, or going home while basking in a slow hatred morphed because of the previous year and forgetting the feeling of existing in delicate, fulfilling moments.

Is it worth it, to undergo the unpleasant ordeal in flashback? Which happened to have casted him as someone so contrasting of the one who found solace raindrops ushered to his mind? To bathe in this beguile moment without the nose diving feeling?

Rain has always been familiar for washing away your past, your sins, your every dire moment hidden in callous crevices of the brain. A momentary flee from worldly duties, to rejoice in the clarity blessed by mother nature, glossed in literature over years.

Then why do his knees jerk aptly with dread at the scenery of rain?

Heaving a sigh, he pries out of his random indecision as his feet pick up the pace towards his miniature studio apartment near the heart of Incheon, not yet before boarding the subway where his only sibling awaits in a tensed mood, unbeknownst to him.

The only person in every divided perimeter in the world who loves and protects him.

His mind renders to be cloudy as the atmosphere which overheads him, too occupied to have realized he's waterlogged from head to toe, attracting eccentric glances from pedestrians ranging the entire platform by the subway.