Sanctuary

Two. (Electricity)

Oh my, my, my, what you do to me
Like lightening when I'm swimming in the sea
There's an energy when you hold me, when you touch me
It's so powerful

As a child, home was the fenced fortress on the hill, with its sprawling gardens and cold slabs of marble. She would run through its endless hallways and countless rooms, searching, always searching. The place where she longed for warmth.

Later, home became her five-bedroom penthouse with its stunning views of the city, a physical token of her success, polished but warm, safe but lonely. Her haven in the nighttime, it would often find her curled on the living room couch, hands warm around a mug of hot tea, contemplating the darkness outside. The place where she longed for love.

Now, home is something Se-ri doesn't quite understand anymore. It slips through her fingers like sand. She feels more at home watching him patiently tidy and fold her paraglider on a nameless mountain in the Interlaken than in her own bed in Seoul.

He moves with such grace, long muscled limbs and capable hands maneuvering her equipment flawlessly, shooing her away when she tries to help. It's just as well. She's content to just watch in silence, drunk on the sight of him, counting all the little things she seems to have forgotten about the way he carries himself and the way his jaw sets at an angle when he's focused. She thinks the forgetting is her mind's way of protecting itself against going mad with missing him.

Ri Jeong-hyeok straightens to his full height, the paraglider in his arms now a neat, thick rectangle with dangling obediently straight ropes. He's taller than she remembers, a stark outline against the bright, clear sky. She feels so very betrayed by her memory. Slanting a half-smile at her, he steps in her direction. "Where would you like me to put this?" he asks.

Snapped out of her thoughts, she throws a thumb over her shoulder, down the hill. "I have to return it to the rental shop. There's a car over there, waiting to take me back to the hotel," she responds, and he nods dutifully, coming to a stop at her side, waiting for her. She turns around so they're both facing downhill, shoulder to shoulder, the breeze blowing between them carelessly, like it's everyday they get to share the same air. She glances at him and finds his gaze warm and intent on hers, inquisitive but tempered. Her eyes dart away self-consciously. He's heartbreakingly handsome with all his sharp angles and slicked back hair; she can't seem to get out of her own head long enough to put coherent words together. She starts walking, an unhurried gait that he mirrors as he follows her, quiet now, as if all his words have been depleted. It's surreal, this peaceful stroll with this man in this place. An hour ago, she was grappling with muted hope, floating through the sky aimlessly, high on a fleeting rush of adrenaline. She almost can't comprehend the suddenness of his presence, the flood of emotions that came with it and the myriad of possibilities fighting for her attention.

"I don't remember you being this quiet." His deep voice is teasing, the lilt of his words curious, an accent unlike any of her previous homes, but one that evokes unspeakable warmth and safety.

"I don't know where to start," she admits. "I'm so overwhelmed. I have a million questions."

He hums thoughtfully, a sound that comes from deep in his chest. She wants to press her ear against it, feel the vibrations of that little noise shudder through her. Even more overwhelming than the questions is this burning need to touch him. "Start at the beginning," he suggests at last. "Beginnings matter too, you know." It's a play on her musings from earlier when she was rambling about endings after a clumsy landing.

She scowls at the ground, pensive, and she can tell he's watching her. "Where is the beginning?" she wonders out loud.

"That's a good first question." They reach the rental shop, and somehow with his armload of her things, he still manages to courteously hold the door open for her. "The beginning is crossing the border, leaving you on the other side," he tells her softly and deposits the paragliding gear in the designated area. He turns back to face her, dark eyes sad with reminiscence, but when he finds her stepping out of her red overalls to reveal the black tights and oversized white button-down beneath, those eyes glint a bit brighter. A swarm of butterflies takes flight in her stomach, and she smiles as his hand reaches for hers, long fingers threading through hers, curling tightly.