14th February, 2020

My alarm goes off.

It's a horrible piercing sound that travels straight through the brain like an ice pick, and leaves you wondering what sick soul decided that a day should start off with maximized discomfort.

I flinch upright on my bed, jolt into reality like getting thrown into a lake, and immediately tell myself I should get that bloody siren changed to something more calm and refined.

Something like ocean waves... harp music... or that one song, 'If You' by BigBang...

I grab to my forehead and massage my temples. BigBang? I ask myself with furrowed brows. I don't even listen to BigBang... what's a thirty-four year old doing listening to k-pop?

I yank the warm covers away from my stiff body and take a moment to look around my room, still rubbing the sleep from my tired eyes. There's a bandaid on my right upper-arm, but I ignore it. I must've scratched myself I think. I must've fallen back into my old drinking-habits last night and acted a fool.

My apartment smells like dirty clothes and resembles a junkyard-sale. I would do something about the musty odor, but it isn't like anyone has ever stuck around long enough to care about my mess.

I kick aside random trinkets and important documents as I amble toward my clothes.

I reluctantly dress myself, throwing on an unironed shirt, stained jeans, and a thick beanie, before faltering into the kitchen for a cup of black coffee. I grab my bagpack, and then finally, I am ready to leave my safe shelter.

I leave my apartment building, and when I open the door, it feels as though the cold winter weather of February slaps every inch of my body bare. It is the sort of cold that can freeze the blood of those who don't take sufficient care to be warm in heart and core, and I am one of the unlucky ones.

I push through the icy wind, until I enter the Seoul Metropolian, and breathe into my hands to restore the life in my numb fingers.

I'm supposed to be at work at seven. At my wonderful job as a sales associate, which I most definetly do not hate with every fiber of my being,

As I look around at the handful of people waiting in line on the platform, hiding my face in a far too over-sized winter coat, I remember today's date.

It's Valentine's day.

A day invented by some some sick fucker who wanted to make the world feel miserable for 24-hours.

I bury myself deeper in my coat, and even though every person around me is hiding their face in their coat as well, I notice that they all look sad.

I decide to change my schedule on a whim, and trust the faint feeling in my heart that tells me I'm not supposed to be at work today.

I turn around and hurry down the stairs of the platform, until I'm running through the trainstation and making my way to the first floor, where a KTX to Busan awaits me on the tracks.

I squeeze myself past the doors when they are already sliding shut, and catch my breath as I rest my palms on my knees.

I am not an impulsive person.

I usually never do unexpected things like this, but instead of miraculously learning how to swim after getting thrown into that lake this morning, it felt like I was falling to the bottom of the waterhole, unable to breathe nor float.

I suppose then, that this is a survival reflex.

I probably did need a break.

I watch the train drift further along the platform until it is running away from my daily life at a speed that feels. comfortable.

I grab my phone as I watch the passing surroundings. "Right, hello, Sa-jang nim? Uhm... I'm not coming in today... no, yes, I feel a bit sick... it might be foodpoisoning..."

I drag myself to a seat by the window, find a pen in my pocket, and whip out my diary from my bag.

A ripped page... not sure when I did that.

Today was my first time writing in the logbook after more than two years. Had my life really been on hold for that long? I wonder. I note the date and scribble a little smiley face next to it. It could have been worse, I think. I could have been forty.

Three hours later, I arrive in Busan, and I had written down exactly nothing.

I had been trying to think of something to write the entire time, however. I really had.

_

I take a bus from Busan Station and ride fifteen stops until I get out at Haeundae Beach.

There is a thick fog that makes it hard to even see the ocean.

Busan in February. I shake my head at myself. What a brilliant idea, Jungkook.

I take a deep breath as I gaze at the view, and try to look at the bright side. At least the salty wind is pleasent. At least the sea still reminds me of my childhood.

I walk along the coastline, scribble more faces into my diary, and throw a stick at the waves as I think about anything.

Like how overrated sand is.

It's just a bunch of tiny little rocks, isn't it?

I trace the waterline, and a boy walks into my view. He is wearing an outfit so mismatched it tells me he must be a creative person, and his hair has a deep blue color that makes me look over my shoulder as he passes.

I wanted to dye my hair when I was younger, but then I realized people would end up expecting me to be as interesting as my hair, and decided it wasn't for me.

I walk past an abandoned beach house and look through the window, catching a glimpse of it's vintage interior.

If only I could meet someone new, I hear a voice in my head whisper as I look the house up and down. Someone interesting and fun...

I wipe my runny nose and shake my head, eventually walking past the forgotten structure. The chances of that happening are somewhat diminished, seeing as I can't even look people in the eyes when I don't know them.

Maybe I should go back to Yugyeom? I think. He never wanted anything serious, but he was nice to me, and the sex was good

I glance behind me.

He was nice, I repeat in my head. Nice is good.

_

I visit a small cafe and treat myself to a slice of apple pie. As I warm my hands to a cup of scalding coffee and sit in moderate peace, my eyes wander off toward the blue-haired boy, sitting a few tables away from me, sipping a latte so very much like the modern youth.

That is however, until he brings out a silver flask that I can only guess holds some kind of strong liquor, and he empties it into his drink like water.

He has nice lips, I notice as I observe. Eyes too. Everything about him. He is one of the prettiest men I've ever seen.

I gulp when he catches me staring, and quickly finish my apple pie. I don't want him to notice me. It plants unwanted fantasies in my mind.

I decide to walk a bit more after leaving the cafe. I stall time, sing to myself, and enjoy how abandoned the beach is during this time of year. I'd been needing a break from the crowds and the city.

Eventually however, I do decide to return to the bus-stop, and wonder if tomorrow things will be different. If I will feel fresh and reborn, or if this trip is just a short intermission, and my life will simply continue to be on hold again the next day.

It it a depressing thought, but I can't help but think that- maybe that's what swimming is like. Being on hold. Just sitting there in the water, breathing and existing. Maybe that's exactly what I am supposed to find happiness in. Treading water.

After I make it to the bus and sit down on the muffy seats with a thud, my eyes dart toward the blue-haired boy sitting a few seats across from me, petulantly playing with the strings of his earmuffs, and staring out the window.

I slowly draw my diary from my bag, and lightly begin to sketch the boy and the inside of the train. Lightly burning his every detail into my brain as I put him to paper. I didn't think people could look so soft. His round, cherubic face makes him seem in need of protection, and his fluffy white coat does not make him look any less like a vulnerable little lamb. I wonder if he is loved, despite how terribly invasive that thought is. He seems like a creature that absorbs love and gives it back in tenfold. I had never met a person like that in real life, but I always imagined those people to look like him.

"So you're an artist."

I forcefully shut my diary and snap my head up at the blue-haired boy who is now leaning over the seats in front of me.

I had never heard him change seats.

"Oh... no," I murmur, my face heating up instantly.

The boy cocks his head, staring at me though I avoid his eyes. "You don't look like an artist," he says bluntly. "I mean, what people usually think an artist looks like."

His voice is so pleasant I can imagine myself falling asleep to it.

"You mean more like you?" I ask, smiling softly though I keep my eyes on the chair and only shift them upward once or twice.

I catch him smiling, a charming crooked front tooth appearing as his eyes turn to half-moons in the most 'kawaii' way imaginable. "Oh, do you like it?" He asks, taking off his earmuffs to proudly brush through his feathery blue locks. "My hair color changes a lot. I did this one because, well, during the winter the ocean isn't exactly blue, right? It's like this grayish sad color that no one really likes, so I chose blue to be reminded of the ocean in the summer, get it?"

I nod, making hesitant eye contact as my lips tug upward.

A hand wrapped in a knitted mitten appears right in front of my face.

"Park Jimin," the boy says like a military cadet. "It means 'wisdom higher than the sky'."

"Jeon Jungkook," I say softly, greeting him with a nervous chuckle, before crawling into myself like a slug.

"Jungkook," he says, trying out my name like a bike. "That would be hot to moan."

I choke on my saliva and cough, glancing around at the empty bus though there is no one to catch my embarrassment.

"Sorry," the blue-haired boy says, giggling loudly with a guilty look on his face. "My old friends warned me about coming off too strong like that. They said I make people think I'm a desperate manwhore in need of attention."

I swallow thickly, tugging at the collar of my coat. "Oh well, I don't - I don't think you're... like that."

The boy frowns deeply and leans further over the chair, resting his chin on folded arms. "Why?" He asks in an accusing tone. "Why don't you think so? You don't know me. Maybe that's exactly who I am. I could be crazy. I could be insane. I could be a serial killer."

I want to tell him that I think he looks like a cloud. "You just..." I dive further into myself. "You just seem nice is all."

"Nice!?" The man nearly yells in outrage. "I seem nice to you? What even is nice? Why would you call me nice? I don't need nice. Not from you, not from me, not from anyone."

He disappears behind the chair like a toddler, and I blink like a doll, coming up with the conclusion that I had somehow screwed up within a minute of meeting the boy.

I grab my diary again to finish the drawing, but around fifteen minutes later, a set of eyes peek above the chair again, and I slowly raise my head.

He rests his chin on the top of the chair, nibbles his plump lips and blows out his cheeks like a squirrel. Then, he suddenly rushes out of his seat like a restless child, and sits down next to me.

I freeze, closing my diary again and shoving it back into my bag.

"Hey," he says, staring at me, and I notice that his cream-colored skin is smooth as porcelain up close, some light freckles decorating his cheeks and nose area.

"Hi," I say so quietly my voice gives up halfway in.

'I'm sorry I just snapped at you, I'm in a bit of a shitty mood today. I broke up with my boyfriend because he was a creep."

He sighs deeply, and I only nod like a dork.

He slides closer to me, invading my space until he is almost sitting on my lap. "The truth is, I actually like you being nice to me."

The young boy bats his eyelashes at me, and I am not prepared for the flips and cartwheels my heart decides to do in that moment.

"That's odd for me. I mean, I can't tell what I'll like from one day to the next, but right now... I like that you're nice."

I make myself as small as possible when he leans his head down on my shoulder, and he grabs one of my hands to warm it between his mittens.

"I'll try to be nice to you too."