this is a may queen fanfic (i can't find an archive, so i put this under misc); may queen is this asian drama that i've recently gotten obsessed with, even though i'm only on the fourth episode.
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erase and rewind
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When Hae Joo's still in elementary school, the world starts to open up.
It could be because there are these dinners with In Hwa, whose mother is adoring, and her own mother (not-mother, she has to remind herself, but she doesn't want to remember; she wants to go back to the time where she didn't know the truth, because the truth is a noise pounding behind her ears and in her heart, and the obedient head nods she gives her not-mother as she gives her not-sister piggyback rides after dinner) who is drinking liquor faster than the words start slurring out of her mouth.
It could be because her mother and her father and her sister and her brother and the truth; because Hae Joo knows that: she knows that they're not really her family. Her mother is crying and angry, and it's not her fault, Hae Joo knows that much, so she smiles and picks pumpkin leaves and tries not to waste too much time crying on the streets, because what good will that do? It won't bring food home for her sister and brother. It won't bring a smile to her mother's lips.
(Her father always smiles at her nonetheless.)
It could be because this new school is full of opportunities and Hae Joo won't let In Hwa's negativity get in the way, because most of the time, In Hwa can be unreasonable, but she's still a good friend at the end of the day.
It's because of the things Chang-Hee says like wasting time is fine because of you and how he's always there, and then he's leaving her with his bicycle and her heart is beating too quickly for this to be okay (the last time she remembers her heart was beating this quickly, her not-mother was not-leaving, but threatening to, and her father was crying, and it was a mess; but those were bad memories, and these are good ones, she knows that much), and Hae Joo thinks that she really likes Chang-Hee.
...
He writes her a letter sometime after she moved.
It's a thick package that arrives through the mail—her not-mother is giving her a faint smile, and Hae Joo smiles and nods at her, because not-mother had never once told her you're not my daughter, I'm not your mother because perhaps they're not related by blood but this is enough forever—and Hae Joo hastily unravels it, with shaking hands.
There are words and promises and a FIRST PLACE IN THE NATION seventh grade mathematics trophy with the pink streamers (it needs some color, she had said once, as he looked at her incredulously) still there, and Hae Joo places it next to her bed, and can't stop smiling for the rest of the day (or for that matter, whenever her eyes come across it).
"Omma," Hae Joo manages to get out, letting the pumpkin porridge on her plate sit for a few moments, the scent wafting into her nostrils and making her eyes water (later, she'll clarify that that's her eyes watering only because of the food, not because she misses him, because it's been a few weeks, yes, but it's only a few weeks, and who knows how long it's going to be before they meet again, see each other again?); she speaks with a certain burst of confidence. "Chang Hee—"
"How is your school going?"
Hae Joo sets down the fork, her fingers entwined with one another, then slipping out of the tight grasp she tends to hold them in, fingers contorted into odd positions—she misses welding, the way that her fingers would hover precariously and then cling tightly to the instruments, brushing lightly against the golden-coloured polish, the way that the area would smell like the sea (and boats and big dreams—her dreams have never been anything but big). "It's going well. I'm 15th."
"Out of?" Her mother's smiles are becoming more tangible over the weeks, and Hae Joo wonders if it's right to disrupt the peace that had settled around the ruins after such a short time.
"One hundred." She wonders why her mother, out of the blue, bothers to speak about her education; out of the months and years she had been at the schools her family flitted in and out of, her mother had been reserved and distant in those matters, always flinching when Hae Joo had spoken of the last school she had gone to, the last place where they had lived, the strange and wonderful families they had encountered at such a place.
Her mother nods, appraisingly. "That's good to hear. However, I know you can do better."
"Omma," she says again, wondering if this is the right time to say it. "Chang Hee—"
Her mother smiles sadly, "I know."
...
Hae Joo didn't think that she'd forget a single detail of home (a city wherein the population was small enough for everybody to casually know one another, but still a city where if Hae Joo tried hard enough, she could always find a new route to discover, another place to hide away into). Except it's three years later, and everything is changed, and yet, at the same time, nothing is changed.
She finds herself, not on purpose, standing back at the edge of the field, near the cliff, with the waves rushing fiercely below, the wind whispering all the secrets that have passed in the time she has been gone. Hae Joo gives long glances to the rubble where her house once lay, the red ashes and bricks that have not been cleaned by the wind and heavy rains of the autumn months. "You're back," a voice calls, hesitantly. "H-Hae—"
She turns quickly (because the voice sounds like him but it can't be, because, honestly, she's not that lucky; nobody's that lucky), tripping on a series of stones.
He rushes forward, and Hae Joo falls into his arms. Moments pass before she regains her sentences, and steps back, both of their cheeks on fire. "I missed your birthday," he says, after what feels like an eternity of staring into one another's eyes, trying to memorize the new creases and shadows in each other's eyes, making up for all the lost time.
When they were younger, their conversations were full of smiles and hopeful promises. (You don't have to do it, Chang Hee had once said, eyes earnest and young.)
She's not quite sure what they are, but she doesn't spend too much time thinking about—there's lots of time of thinking what they are; endless nights lying outside on the cold straw mattress, the scent of pumpkin leaves floating through the window, and the pauses when she's riding a bicycle, feet pedaling, pedaling, then stopping, toes getting caught, and a memory of her fingers clinging tightly to the fabric of his school uniform shirt lingers in the forefront of her mind—it because time is something that they don't have a lot of.
There are times where they're on Skype, and if she presses her hand to the screen, she can almost feel his reassuring warmth, but it's cold and distant and it's just not this, whatever this is (to be). "I-I missed you," he says, slowly.
"I missed you too," she smiles.
...
They meet again, not for the first time, fourteen years after she left, and Hae Joo's heart's still beating that quickly, because Chang Hee is smiling at her like she's the only thing in the world and she knows that everything's going to be okay.