After Kuro catches up to him, they walk together through the tree-lined neighborhood, beneath golden leaves that catch in their hair and scatter gently over the surface of the canal. The sky invites Iseul to look up, endless and vast and unobstructed by high-rise buildings and sunlight glinting off its glass surfaces. White bed sheets and clothing flutter in the wind, hanging from laundry lines that extend between aged apartment buildings. Silver windchimes hang from shopfronts, singing their gentle songs in the breeze.
Along the length of the canal, past vintage teahouses and cafés, is a small shop that happens to be one of Kuro’s favorite places to frequent. They reach the humble shop after fifteen minutes, where the sign above the wooden frame reads Shiratori Silk Pudding. As a small branch of a popular café, the shop only serves their famous crème caramel pudding.
“I am a pudding aficionado,” Kuro declares with utmost certainty.
Iseul doesn’t suppress his snort. Kuro’s just strangely enthusiastic about the most mundane things, and although he’s not even a tourist anymore, he acts as though he’s coming here for the first time. “I think that’s common knowledge.”
Kuro gives him a curious smile. “You know more about me than you let on.”
“Well, Leo saw your Sapporo Pudding Shake commercial and proceeded to buy three boxes. He delivered one box to me. It was disgusting.” Iseul makes a face. “Even if you made it look good, there’s something wrong about having pudding in drink form.”
He can’t imagine how many boxes Kuro would’ve been gifted from the company, especially since he personally received a lifetime supply of Jinro Chamisul Soju after his last endorsement deal with them.
“I would be offended if I didn’t agree,” Kuro says, eyes creased with humor. “But I’ve been to about fifteen pudding shops in Japan? I think this place ranks at the top.”
“Were you filming some kind of food documentary?” Iseul asks, receiving a laugh in response. “I have high expectations now.”
“You can take my word for it, this time around.” The aproned employee greets them warmly as they enter the shop. Kuro’s gaze catches on the display of glass jars, all different flavors from caramel to strawberry to coffee. Chestnut and pumpkin are the seasonal flavors for the month. The sign on the wall promises fresh milk from Hokkaido, high-end Okukuji eggs, aged vanilla—all to ensure the best flavor of their natural ingredients. “Which do you want?”
“No, wait,” Iseul says, cutting in front of him. “I’ll pay for this.”
Kuro stares at him curiously. “Hm?”
“Just let me buy you something,” Iseul insists. “Not that it makes up for the trip or anything.”
There’s a beat of silence, before Kuro nods.
“I appreciate it.” It’s relatively inexpensive, and yet he acts as though Iseul’s giving him something much more. “Thank you.”
Kuro goes for the standard custard with caramel, while Iseul chooses coffee. The glass jars are carefully packaged, covered with gold foil and tied with red ribbons. The employee smiles as Iseul hands over his card to pay. Given that the weather is much warmer than yesterday, they decide to sit at one of the tables outside the café.
Kuro slides into the seat in front of him, bristling with anticipation. “You bought me pudding. Consider me charmed.”
“It doesn’t take much to win you over then,” Iseul deadpans, but Kuro seems to recognize the trace of fond amusement directed towards him.
Iseul pulls on the ribbon to untie it, and unwraps the jar. He’s immediately greeted by the subtle scent of coffee and cream. Kuro isn’t looking at him now, instead fixated on his own dessert. He could have bought Kuro a proper lunch, but Kuro insisted that he wanted to come here of all places.
He hopes that it’s as good as Kuro claims, because he never really had a penchant for sweets. He sinks his plastic spoon into the whipped cream and pudding, then guides it to his mouth.
It has a gentle texture, like silk. Not too sweet, but not too bland either—just smooth, supple custard with a hint of coffee and vanilla cream accent. The aftertaste is pleasant, a bitter caramel that appeals to Iseul’s tastes.
Kuro looks up at him expectantly. “How is it?”
“Good,” Iseul replies, and he means it. This one word makes Kuro’s expression brighten, and it’s curious how much he cares for his opinion even when it comes to food.
He continues working through it, finding that he'll be able to finish eating. It’s nice to be able to spend a few moments appreciating the quiet atmosphere of the neighborhood, enjoying the taste of the foods Kuro likes so much.
His phone vibrates with a new message notification, and he pulls it out from his pocket to check.
managerleo
Did you survive the first night?
How’s everything coming along?
He has a lot to tell Leo, but instead of spending time writing all of the details, he raises his phone slightly upward. It’s hypocritical to do the same thing that he chided Kuro for, but he angles his phone toward his unsuspecting companion who is still concentrated on his favorite dessert, and snaps a photo.
The sound of the camera shutter interrupts their silence.
Kuro looks up, blinking in confusion. “Did you just take a picture of me?”
“Um, I—” Iseul’s phone slips from his grasp, but he catches it in time. “I’m sorry.”
He shuts himself up before he says anything he regrets. The guilt burns at his face.
Kuro leans his weight on one elbow, resting his face in his hand. “Do I look good at least?”
He turns his phone to Kuro, sharing the photo captured on his screen. Against the backdrop of the wooden storefront and golden trees, Kuro has a spoon in his mouth, looking as though he’s enjoying this for the very first time. “Actually, I think you look ridiculous.”
“Wow,” Kuro says, laughing disbelievingly, “I don’t think I’ve heard that before.”
Iseul gestures to the corner of his lips. “You have something there.”
Kuro brings up a thumb to swipe at his cheek, missing the spot. It makes Iseul slide a napkin over to him, because he has the sudden, inexplicable urge to clean Kuro’s cheek himself. The realization terrifies him.
“Your fans would find this very cute, I think.” Iseul clears his throat. “Should I delete the picture?”
Kuro waves a dismissive hand, amused. “It’s fine. You can do whatever you want with it.”
“My manager asked what I was doing,” Iseul explains lamely, “so I’m just sending this to him.”
Only a few moments after he sends the message, Leo responds.
managerleo
This is a date, right?
I thought you were working on your music??
haniseul
Don’t misunderstand.
I’ve been productive. I’ll send over some samples when they’re ready.
Kuro takes a spoonful of pudding, letting out a hum. “How’s your progress with writing?”
“It’s taking form,” Iseul says. “I have the rough outline and draft completed, but it isn’t anything worth showing you yet. I’d like to have a better draft by tomorrow so I can give it to you. Do you need something now to start composing?”
“I’m working on some tracks to use as a foundation for when you finish writing. Until I know what your story is, I can’t actually produce something for you.” Iseul nods at that. “What concept are you going for?”
Iseul's been expecting the question. Kuro doesn’t ask for the story, but the concept—as though the former is too all-encompassing that he doesn’t expect Iseul to have figured it out by now. A part of him wants to agree, when he always felt too many things to be described with words, trying to make sense of the words he needed but didn’t have.
He was reaching for something he couldn't grasp, like the steady ebb of the waves on the shore. There were certain things that he never allowed himself to think or talk about when it came to his music, but in the amount of time he spent with Kuro, he began to feel something forming beneath his hands, something more tangible, like wet sand coalescing beneath his fingers.
He thought that working alongside Kuro meant that writing needed to be an insurmountable task, having to work all night until his bones ached from carving out his music, trembling with the impossibility of creating something perfect, but it’s nothing like that.
For the first time, he has complete reign over what kind of story he wants to share, and his chest feels so full with knowing what needs to be said, like finding an answer to a question he always had. His story is something that fits him comfortably, because he’s finding closure in the decisions he made all those years ago. It’s not as terrifying as he thought it would be.
Having to arrange all of his thoughts into words, words into stories, felt like relearning his home again and what it was like to leave it. But his story doesn’t end there, representative of a halting cliff at the edge of the forest. Neither does it celebrate his career like the path up a rising mountain, nor does it fault the worst of his struggles like getting lost on the way down. It’s a path that goes full-circle, ending where the story starts.
So it’s with steadfast determination that Iseul tells him, “The decision to leave home and what it means to return.”
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