Title: Almost

Characters: Min YoonGi, OC

Sum: He is and she is

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He gave out an air of rebellion in such a mild yet constant way which might be stated that it was of his nature of not having fashionable behaviours. His hair was way too long and out of normal order according to normal people's standard. The fringe almost covered entirely his eyes and reached out to the mid part of his nose. The flocks on both sides were messy, they pointed out in all directions. He dyed it in the reddest tone of orange which he believed would highlight and outstand him from others. But well he realized it was not at all about hair cuts and styles to make one different. Not at all. Hence, he would careless about his manners and appearance before people all the same. So at the same time, his look did and did not really matter.

She was, for the first glace, the most normal girl in the world. She looked sociable enough to be accepted without judgement. Her hair was styled simple and neat, black and long, always tied up or braided. Her clothes were set to be clean and modest and moral. Her behaviour and common sense made her a decent girl in anyone's eye. She managed to show her humour within a limit and her mistakes would be viewed as cute and ordinary which any human could also not totally avoid. That was for the first glance. But that was it, never more if someone ventured to look further to the depth of a soul. But she knew her soul well enough to be sure that she would never comprehend it in a full and clear meaning that humans in no way could grasp in one or two words, even herself. A word to described her soul, nowhere to be heard of. What kind of soul was it? A sinned one, a damned one which she believed exceeded anyone's else in the measure of complication and alteration. She processed some desires that human connections could not please, a vast loneliness she convinced herself that she would never get rid of, even until the day she died. She always had that kind of thought - that someday, when she accomplished something, anything, only then she would be ready to die. But she had no ideas what kind of accomplishment would it be.

Both were childish in strange ways.

He met her on a rainy night. We wouldn't call it 'meeting' because nothing really happened, they ran into each others in some corner, she apologized then went on, he kept his silence. Not even a stare exchanged, they passed each other and forgot quickly about the brief encounter that took place.

Their lives were filled with full of simple struggles. The kind of struggles everyone who wanted to live an extraordinary life had to tackle. He had problems with the true meaning of the arts he was pursuing – music, to the true nature of himself that he often found having nothing to do with the former. In the other words, he thought there would be no harmony in his heart and so he could create no melody. And further, if this condition was proved unsolvable, one day, Yoongi would become a kind of loveless and lifeless creature. In all of his miserable works, the hatred, the aversion and even the bitter attitude, all were over the place, pointing towards other people who he called "haters" or just the world. Schools sucked, offices sucked and the whole society sucked. He never had something with "big impact" which might mean the final destination, the goal he had to archive. Now he was just wandering, kicking and punching his small fists to some particular ugly faces that belonged to the unworthy jerks, and even those, they showed no interest in him. He knew this awful way he practiced this beautiful art will lead him to destroy both the art and himself.

Her problem seemed worse. She believed love was never to exist. She often preached her nice and opstimic meaningless words to people around her when they had troubles with their love affairs but unexpectedly, deep down there, in the bottom of her heart, a dry and indifferent desert prevailed. Affection was believed by her to be the best thing people had to offer. Yes, affection or admiration or esteem whatever it might be called, for the sake of world's peace. Yet the world however never had enough of that for its own good, not to mention love. Affection only, if one excited it too often, easily could cause tiresome because, according to her, humans couldn't endure each others for too long. It was necessary for them to get away from each other, otherwise, affection – the thin and breakable crystal of human's moral – so soon should be vanished. If we forced ourselves to esteem our fellow men as a polite trick on a daily basis, a consequence of becoming a hypocrite would be so unavoidable. That was her philosophy but tragically, she, on the edge of her last attempt to keep her "balance", long ago had realized that she was no better that what she had been hated the most – a hypocrite. She tried to create an equality between feeding her "fucked" self to keep it alive, and pleasing the world. Couldn't lose both, yet couldn't have them both unharmed. Sarah too was giving in a thought which ensured her that either of these things was facing the risk of being dead – herself and the world she was living in.

Fatal ways of living that two young existences possessed indeed were eroding themselves. Both warriors had been vexed and exhausted with the fight. None loved the idea of surrendering but life kept going hard on them and they were naked to confront the ruthlessness of loneliness.

Every morning Sarah kept seeking for the reflection of herself in the bathroom mirror and fancied that as a method to check up her spirit condition while hoping her face would show a sudden brilliant expression which could inspire her heart and magically save her day out of meaninglessness. She found nothing this morning as any other one. Today was her 20th birthday yet her facial features seemed to age more than it should have and to celebrate, a pimple popped up right on the top of her nose, as if all of her self-conflicts and agitation had transformed into a pimple, appeared on no other day than today, THIS day – her birthday, only to vex her and make her more ugly than she already was. Or there had been a very high chance that even her body wanted to deal with her shit no more – all the bullshits she called "life balance" or "living skills" or "EQ techniques" – and it one-sidedly decided for her that it was enough and slapped this pimple to her face to take off the invisible mask she had been wearing shamelessly for all her life . She looked up again, bitterly though that what was showing on this mirror must have been her true face. Smileless, gloomy and there, an underlying sadness that was carefully covered. Oh, what made she sad for, Sarah wonders at the thought. Nothing. Plain and pure and random sadness challenged anyone to find out, or, more dangerous, to console. Her black and small eyes were once praised for the eye-smile they naturally produced now quietly stare back at their reflection without blinking. On her short nose, the area around the pimple reddened. There was hardly any vivid color on her bare lips, they turned in a faded purple sometimes but mostly stayed in a boring skin tone. Now they were decorated with a mixture of both conditions plus a fainted smirk which seemed very odd. She felt quite pleased with what she saw.

The clock marked seven - university. Sarah quickly washed her face one more time and started applying some soft make up just to make sure no one would ever see the face that only belonged to its owner.

Sarah was told once that one of the vainest thing to do on this planet was going to a university. As any other decent and obedient student in Korea, Sarah survived the "bloody" entrance exam to mighty three – SKY universities, without much or very much effort. Now she was in "the most wanted" department of Korea National University. That dreamlike life was just a thing she would spend not more than 3 seconds before willingly exchange it to some ruffian child, just to get a day to behave like them. But she committed no nonsense when she still had her mind, especially when her mother was still living rather a good life. So everyday, she skipped no sessions and tried to live up to the title "genius" they gave her. "A fucking genius" she thought to herself when having her lunch while suffering others' stares of admiration. Being loved by everyone, a dangerous game she had quite enough of it.

Sarah stood still when her professor and classmates sang her a very happy birthday. She smiled the whole time and looked very content. The sparks in her bright small eyes told no lies. She thanked everybody and wished them a nice day in return. Day went on and when 'it' came, she even managed to show the unique vividness of her voice during her mother's call. She was promised a "cozy party" when she got home. All went well, all was well. But in her head, nothing very pleasant was processing. Only she thought how fake they all were and how tired to receive gifts and love when truly in her heart there was no anticipation and interest in giving them back on their birthdays. No wonder why she hated all that emotional bond craps and the "two-way" nature of it. Receiving always meant returning. Wasn't it so nice and lovely when there was no taking or giving at all? Mankind had invented all kinds of method to trap people in its communities and look how miserable we all were.

Yoongi never had an intention to go for a higher education and indeed he didn't. Studying had always been a pain in the ass and all his life, he distinctly just wanted to find a way to get rid of it entirely. Hip hop confronted him in a crowded street of Hongdae. Then he kind of got so into it, like an insect flew its way to the fire only to be dead, well, he was not dead...yet but it was the nearest way to describe his only love. Dramas happened but nothing could stop him flying into the embrace of hip hop. His father raged furiously when his son announced boldly and nonchalantly the idea of quitting schools to become an underground hip hop artist, not that he fully understood the meaning of word "underground" at that time which turned out to be lucky for the old man's good because if he would have he could have fainted by a heart attack of the thought from now on his son was going to live like a rat. It was imaginable how bad the malady had become of the battle between he and his father when they already were pretty much opposites when it came to choice of career. Both were harsh to each other and it was really hard to say whether Yoongi had won the fight fairly but at least he got to do whatever he liked. That was what really mattered, at least to him. Now he lived alone in a lodging near Hongdae, making music online and working part-time in order to pay for his living expenses. He of course couldn't make money with his music, because that was the way underground culture worked, boundless music and absolute freedom which at the same time meant no money. And it was the thing divided them and the mainstream artists who they called by a name "K-pop idols" sarcastically. But as usually he thought of it, even though this "market" thing had never invaded his lazy mind that much, he bitterly found the problem was hopelessly enigmatic to his case. He wanted to make music to change things but how could he do it when he isolated himself from the popular audience by choosing doing underground activities? In this picture, mostly artists often listened to other artists' music, mainly to detect any seemingly diss made toward them, if there was one, then they got to make a counter at that. And the youngsters who got attracted to hip hop only because they had this mere fondness for the "swag" style or, for the worse, some of them were convinced blindly by the bold disastified messages which were often wrongly interpreted by their young brains, or worst, they found the idea of a society destruction were the only resolution of their wronged lives. Yoongi was not sure if his motivations had been better than these, the only thing he knew was he hadn't found "it" yet.

Today, in the morning he had listened to some new materials in attempt of creating something really stunning, that "it song" he had always dreamt of. But he messed up his mind even worse than before. The substances themselves were bad enough to his ears. He considered some advices and ideas from his fellow undergrounders but disagreed with all. Yoongi had no mood to fill his poor treated stomach. Then afternoon saddened his day by a tender rain then he lost his rythem. He ceased all of his works just to sit by the window watching the damp raining scene of the outside world. SEOUL. Sounded like soul. Just then he suddenly had this thought that he was so lucky to have a passion which he could say he would die for it, otherwise, with his idle body and idle mind, he might have become someone useless, a shameful creature that should never be born. As this moment went by, he could feel it, the thin line ran between everything and nothing, fully content or fully empty. The raindrops touched the window's glass, blurred his vision then left their trails, then gone. His thoughts faded. The raining sound successfully pulled him back to his sleep which seemed to happen long ago. He had been awake for two days straight.

Sarah was such a sweetheart to her mother. The small party among three family members almost got to be most touching event of the year, if only her father hadn't had a 'business' call from abroad then left in the middle of her story about the birthday celebration in class this morning. Her mother assured Sarah that her father had made such a great effort to arrange an appearance in such an important event like this, but unfortunately, he couldn't be free from his works and "you must know what kind of works he has already, right?" Sarah said fine and her mother continued the interrupted merriment. As usual, she had to report her schedules and her performance at university through a "trifling" chat and it turned off her mood everytime. She hated this unworthy trick of her mother so much. Her mother did not make a big deal about her studying because she already knew her daughter had perfect results but still she had to show that she CARED. The intention of monitoring Sarah's life was covered carelessly under her 'unchangeable trust'. Sarah kept it cool even though she knew all the tricks long ago. Of course her mother was very pleased. But what ugly must be when her mother finished talking just right after getting know the daughter's informations. Ticked her off everytime.

She retired to her room, trying to be indifferent to the quarrel of the emotions in her heart. She should have been used to it. Should she know she wasn't. Sarah let out a subsided sigh, calmly laid her fingers on the top of the book column thinking of how strange that she had no excitement to read anything at the moment. That never happened before. She changed her view to the window: the rain had stopped. There the scene of a long cleared street, combining with the dimming lights of Hongdae seemed more intriguing unknowingly. She felt disappointed at the thought that she'd never gone out at night to Hongdae. All her young friends had. And she remembered that there was never a promising freedom - something she'd always thought she was fighting for by enduring all the hard labour of study. Another more tiring, more intense challenge awaited her at the end of each stage. "After this, you are free" oh, why had she believed in such a lie? The memory brought Sarah a late anger, but she did not lose her temper. She turned to grab her coat and processed to go down stairs quietly. Much to her surprise, no one got into her way. Just like that she went out.

Yoongi was woken wide awake by the sound of his phone. A message arrived asking what was the meaning of his absence from a fellow rapper from his band. Cool air made his mind more clear and he remembered he had an outdoor performance at eight. Ten minutes had passed the time. Yoongi cursed loudly for being such a sleephead then hastened to his closet. In a time of a lightning, he was fully clothed in a charming way, even though not really neat but agreeable enough to go out. He grabbed his CD, the one he'd prepared for the event and not a second suspended, he was out of the door.

Sarah walked calmly and slowly on the roads she never crossed before. Things appeared to be exotic at this hour. She wondered whether her mother had gone to bed. Maybe she just found out that her precious daughter had sneakily got out of her house. Sarah felt no wave at the scenario, strangely it gave her a small cruel pleasure. A kind of pleasure of her other side where everything got darker and deeper. Left her self-pleased imagination aside, she looked up and thought to herself, let see what they conceal from me. From the empty street she was walking on, it led to a more crowded one filled with colorful lights and noisy sounds. At first she couldn't figure out what was the commotion then a small outdoor stage came at the sight, the crowd seemed to be high and crazy, like they were on drugs. What could it really be? She wondered.

Yoongi arrived when everything had been on set, lots of people had already gathered for the night. He came through without hesitation and successfully reached to the "backstage" which was just a small yard behind and divided from the main "stage" by a mere black cloth. His friend was busy enough to forget scolding him. Yoongi gave the DJ his disk while waiting for the show to begin. He gained his breaths after an intense run, looked around checking the audience. Then his mind went empty at what he caught in his eyes. Just by looking at them he knew that there would be no criticism on whatever he might sing, they'd already approved him. No mountain was there to be conquered because who knew would cheer and who didn't would never know. And that he would be only within this place, this hour, this name; trapped at an common illusion of his and rappers like him that he was teaching people. There was no connection, there was no story. Oh, what would he teach tonight, Yoongi wondered?

There were times Sarah did feel the sudden loneliness coming all over her body and preventing her to do anything else. Just like yesterday night, on her little voyage, when she almost reached to the small outdoor stage at Hongdae, suddenly her mind went blank, all she could think of was that that kind of frenzies and dizziness was totally not for her. Yes, that only single venomous thought how this or that thing did not belong to oneself merging to the surface to hint only one thing - one's loneliness. And she retreated to home, ending her night march and her little adventure like nothing really happened. She was a crazy person, perhaps? She couldn't have any idea about that. But what was worse? You knowing that you were crazy and you got comfortable with that, might be proud of that or wondering if from the beginning you were already like this, and what was "this" you didn't really know. She hoped she was a crazy person.

When she got home, no one confronted her, no one asked where did she go at such late hour, no one made it hard for her. So she just went back to her room, silently, thinking how easy her life was and much easier than many others' lives and how it would continue to be more easier in the future. All that was granted without her consent and if there was a mighty God to exist, he would tell her to be more grateful. But why was her soul turned out to be this empty? Look at her room! How many girls had had rooms like hers? Look at her table – the place she was always proud of – wasn't she such a dedicated and brilliant student for her entire generation? Now look at the mirror! Even the sadness was just so fake, she never lost anything in life. Like floating in the naught between words, she lacked both joy and grief.

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AN: cái này ra đời hồi mình còn tập viết bằng tiếng anh. mình muốn tạo một hiện trạng của seoul theo dòng sự kiện của hai người hoàn toàn xa lạ. Rồi cũng định cliche cho hai đứa gặp nhau, yêu nhau, kiểu lick each other's wounds. Nhưng rồi nhận ra plot kiểu đó quá khiên cưỡng. Đoạn trên thực ra không phải ko có plot, cũng có cao trào nhưng sau đó anti-climactic ngay lập tức lol. Nói chung mình thích những gì vừa nông vừa sâu như vậy.

Cái nữa là mình hay viết về seoul chứ ít khi lấy reference từ chính thành phố mình đang sống bởi cảm thấy gượng gạo sao sao đó. Có lẽ bởi mình cũng là một phần của nó chăng. chẳng bù cho Dostoievski và James Joyce toàn viết về thành phố của họ :(