[what startles seol isn't the sudden croon of his absurd nickname for her, or even the way the crowd parts so readily for him, as if he were some conductor in front of an orchestra, and not a man who, only a few years prior, could barely piece together a letter of misconduct without her help. for one, this is exactly the sort of greeting she'd anticipated from him, hoped for perhaps, just to give her a sign that she hadn't bought these flowers for a stranger. and secondly, well... inho always did have a theatrical streak.
so, no, it's neither of those things. it's the familiarity of it. the feeling, fierce as a punch-gut, that maybe she's missed that cocksure grin of his a little more than she realized.]
Sorry if I'm interrupting. [she says, reigning her nostalgia in and remembering the flowers, the crinkly kraft paper tickling the underside of her chin. sheepishly tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she enters through the opening, shooting an apologetic smile to everyone who'd stepped aside (some of which she recognized as distinguished musicians themselves). if anyone has questions, she hopes that they'll leave it to inho to explain himself long after she's gone.]
Inho! [with his arms angled like that, it almost looks like he's inviting her in for a hug, but the notion is so ridiculous, it doesn't live past the moment its conceived. even back when they were still in regular contact with each other, they'd never had that sort of tactile-friendly relationship.] You were phenomenal out there. Really, really phenomenal.
[the praise she heaps on him feels somehow disproportionate to the performance he'd given... although phenomenal doesn't really cut it, seol's never had the mind for music, can barely sight-read any of her old piano exercises, let alone differentiate between the what pieces he'd played that evening. it's not as if she came prepared with a script in mind or homework done on tchaikovsky or chopin or whoever; she'd only come to see him again.
stopping just short of his outstretched arms, she hurriedly fluffs up the wrapping before transferring the bouquet to him. there's no way of telling whether the way she's beaming up at him is because she's running on the high of a first-time reunion in six years, or because she's happy to pass the weight on to someone else.]
From Jung and I. As congratulations.
[sure, she'd been the one to run into the florist's and select the arrangement of flowers, but jung had agreed to split the bill with her. clearly, this meant that it was a gift from both of them.]
Edited (cant sleep so here i am) 2020-04-07 21:18 (UTC)
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windfall2020-04-01 01:00 am
come baCK!!
so, no, it's neither of those things. it's the familiarity of it. the feeling, fierce as a punch-gut, that maybe she's missed that cocksure grin of his a little more than she realized.]
Sorry if I'm interrupting. [she says, reigning her nostalgia in and remembering the flowers, the crinkly kraft paper tickling the underside of her chin. sheepishly tucking a stray hair behind her ear, she enters through the opening, shooting an apologetic smile to everyone who'd stepped aside (some of which she recognized as distinguished musicians themselves). if anyone has questions, she hopes that they'll leave it to inho to explain himself long after she's gone.]
Inho! [with his arms angled like that, it almost looks like he's inviting her in for a hug, but the notion is so ridiculous, it doesn't live past the moment its conceived. even back when they were still in regular contact with each other, they'd never had that sort of tactile-friendly relationship.] You were phenomenal out there. Really, really phenomenal.
[the praise she heaps on him feels somehow disproportionate to the performance he'd given... although phenomenal doesn't really cut it, seol's never had the mind for music, can barely sight-read any of her old piano exercises, let alone differentiate between the what pieces he'd played that evening. it's not as if she came prepared with a script in mind or homework done on tchaikovsky or chopin or whoever; she'd only come to see him again.
stopping just short of his outstretched arms, she hurriedly fluffs up the wrapping before transferring the bouquet to him. there's no way of telling whether the way she's beaming up at him is because she's running on the high of a first-time reunion in six years, or because she's happy to pass the weight on to someone else.]
From Jung and I. As congratulations.
[sure, she'd been the one to run into the florist's and select the arrangement of flowers, but jung had agreed to split the bill with her. clearly, this meant that it was a gift from both of them.]