snippets of VCY

of erratic heartbeats and knotting of laces and ties

"Byeonhosanim, turn the first lace this way."

"It'll loosen up. See?"

She hears a sigh and looks down.

He's been trying to teach her how to tie laces for the past 15 minutes.

Her heart starts to hammer in her chest looking at him.

They are to interrogate the two assholes from the police station, and she bought these limited-editions this afternoon–overjoyed that she is going to perform in something thrilling.

In all the excitement, she had forgotten, she doesn't know how to tie laces.

Stupid shoes, she curses inwardly.

Suddenly, her leg is lifted up slightly and she breaks out of her bubble of thoughts.

Her heart hammers in her chest again.

He came to pick her up from home, only to find her struggling tying laces, cursing loud and audible enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.

And then god knows when he came inside, knelt down before her, making her eyes go wide.

And now he's got one of her legs in his lap as he ties her laces.

Blood rushing in her ears and cheeks is all his fault.

The heart hammering in her chest is also his fault.

All of it is his fault.

"We don't have much time left." He mutters, delicately taking her other leg in his lap and tying the laces slowly.

If he thinks this is enough of an explanation for what he's doing, he is so wrong.

If he also thinks she's focusing on the laces, he is so so wrong.

How can she focus when this man she knows is no ordinary lawyer from Italy instead more is crouching down in front of her, one of her legs in his lap, tying her bloody laces?

This too, is his fault.

Solely his.

Time stops and then suddenly restarts as he carefully places her leg on the floor and stands up tall, making her realize their height difference.

He glances at his watch before giving her a small smile.

Her heart is thumping abnormally.

Shut up. She tells it.

And nods at him dumbly before standing up and moving.

"Who used to tie your laces when young?" He asks her as he watches her first barge-in in his shitty apartment and now savor his stolen ramen.

He's trying to make her forget the events of this evening, he fools himself by telling his mind this.

His heart completely disagrees.

The movement of her mouth and the digging of her chopsticks into the bowl and pot stops.

"Eomma and then abeoji." The reply comes slowly.

The chewing resumes while her hands holding the chopsticks rests a minute before digging again.

He nods, looking away.

At this point, she doesn't give a fuck about the fixed window.

All she knows is that she can't leave this snobby mafia lawyer alone.

She's in distress.

For multiple reasons.

One at his eagerness at making her leave this pigeon-invaded apartment.