fragments of us ֶָ֢ (odehan)

a mural speaks to a stagnant heart

prologue

The city was always alive with an energy that stirred the soul. At the center of this chaos was a small, unassuming café called 'Fragment.' Artists, dreamers, and lovers alike came to this refuge, drawn by the warmth of its mismatched furniture and the promise of stories told in words left on its walls.

There was something about this place that called to Hyeongjun, as if each word on the wall spoke directly to his heart. He found comfort in the stories left behind by strangers, their words serving as a silent company for his lonely heart. But nothing could compare to the silence when he was alone in Fragment at close, staring at its empty walls, waiting for a story to fill the void.

One day, as Hyeongjun was tidying up the café, he heard the sound of a spray can outside. Curiosity pipqued, he walked outside to find a tall boy with messy hair painting a mural across the street. The boy's strokes were precise, yet there was a passion behind them that drew Hyeongjun in.

Hyeongjun stood on the sidewalk, watching the boy paint. There was a rythm to his movements, a practiced ease to the way he moved the spray can, like a painter to a much-loved brush. The mural slowly began to take shape, and soon, a mesmerising cityscape filled the wall.

As the final touches were added to the painting, the boy stood back, admiring his work. Hyeongjun took this as his que to speak, walking up to the boy. "It's beautiful," he said, his voice breaking the silence.

The boy turned, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He looked Hyeongjun up and down, taking in his weary expression and the smudges of espresso on his sleeves. "Thanks," he replied, his voice as soft as a whisper. "I'm Seungmin, by the way."

Hyeongjun nodded, a small smile tuggin at the corners of his lips. "Hyeongjun," he said, extending a hand. Seungmin took it, his grip firm yet gentle at the same time. The two stood there for a moment, their hands still connected, each studying the other.

The silence between them wasn't awkward, but filled with a kind of comfortable quitude. Hyeongjun found himself captivated by Seungmin's intense gaze, the kind of look that seemed to say more than words ever could. He had a magnetism about him, something that drew Hyeongjun in like a moth to a flame.

"You work at Fragment, right?" Seungmin's question broke the silence, his voice low and soothing.

Hyeongjun nodded in response. "Yeah, I'm basically the unofficial barista and unofficial counselor here."

Seungmin chuckled at this, a sound that sent a slight shiver down Hyeongjun's spine. "Sounds like a lot to handle," he said, a hint of amusement playing on his face.

Hyeongjun shrugged, leaning against the wall. "It's not all bad," he said, a bit of melacholy creeping into his voice. "Sometimes the best part is the silence at close. When everyone's gone, and it's just me and the empty walls... it's peaceful."

Seungmin was silent for a moment, his eyes studying Hyeongjun. There was a hint of understanding in his gaze, as if he knew what Hyeongjyn meant. "Is it really peaceful, or just lonely?"

Hyeongjun was taken aback by the question, but he found himself answering honestly. "Maybe a bit of both," he admitted. "Sometimes, when the café's empty, it feels like the silence is more than just absence of sound. It's like the walls are whispering stories to no one but me."

Seungmin nodded, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. "You seem like a writer," he mused. "Those are the kind of words I'd expect to find scribbled on the wall inside."

Hyeongjun couldn't help but laugh softly. "You have no idea how many times I've come close to scribbling my stories on the walls," he confessed. "But then I remember that Fragment isn't mine, and I stick to scribbling in my little journal instead."

Seungmin seemed intrigued by this. "You write then?" he asked, his gaze suddenly more intense. "Anything good?"

Hyeongjun shrugged, feeling a bit bashful under Seungmin's gaze. "I try," he said. "I've been working on a novel, but it's been... difficult. I'm stuck, can't seem to move past the halfway point."

Seungmin hummed, leaning against the wall beside Hyeongjun. "Writer's block, huh?" he said. "I've heard it can be debillitating. Not being able to express what you feel through words."

Hyeongjun huffed out a sigh, pushing away from the wall. "It's more than that," he said, his voice hinted with frustration and sadness. "It's like there's this story inside me, trying to get out, but I can't find the words. It's as if... as if my heart is too empty to write, no matter how hard I try."

Seungmin watched Hyeongjun, his eyes filled with an enigmatic understanding. "Sometimes, the most beautiful stories are born out of the emptiest hearts," he said quietly. "Maybe the reason you can't write is because your story hasn't fully started yet."

Hyeongjun looked at Seungmin, his eyes slightly widened with surprise. There was something about the way he spoke, the wisdom in his words, that was both comforting and disconcerting. It was as if Seungmin could see right into his soul, and somehow understood things even Hyeongjun didn't fully comprehend yet.

"Maybe," Hyeongjun allowed, his voice softer now. He leaned back against the wall, staring at Seungmin from the corner of his eye. "But it's like waiting for the rain on a dry, day with no clouds visible. It feels... hopeless."

Seungmin was silent for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he stared at the cityscape in front of them. When he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. "You know the rain usually comes after a drought, right?"

Hyeongjun looked at Seungmin, a bit startled by the cryptic response. "I know," he said quietly. "But sometimes, the drought lasts too long. Sometimes, you start to wonder if it'll ever rain again."

Seungmin smiled wryly, his eyes still glued to the city. "Sometimes, patience is a value," he said, his voice betraying a hint of wisdom. "The greatest things are worth waiting for, even if the wait is the hardest part."

Hyeongjun felt a pang in his heart at Seungmin's words. It was as if he was speaking directly to the depths of his soul, as if he knew the turmol that was constantly churning in his mind. "If only waiting didn't feel so much like drowning," he murmured, half to himself.

Seungmin turned to him, his eyes sharp and penetrating. "Sometimes," he said, his voice a gentle caress against the cool evening air, "You have to let yourself drown to find out how to breathe again."

Hyeongjun felt a shiver run down his spine under the intensity of Seungmin's gaze. It was as if every word he spoke was laced with a deeper meaning, a hidden truth only meant for those who were willing to listen. "And what if you find out you can't breathe on your own?" he whispered, the question filled with a vulnerability he unintientally showed.

Seungmin leaned slightly towards him, their shoulders almost touching. There was a quiet understanding in his eyes, as if he knew the depth of Hyeongjun's fears and insecurities. "Sometimes," he said, his voice soft but firm, 

"You don't need to. Sometimes, you just need someone to hold your head above the water until you can breathe again."