The Flowers He Gave Me |Kim Namjoon|

01. the sorcery of three clematises

The Flowers He Gave Me

Copyright©️ 2021 Marielewrites

All rights reserved

– the sorcery of three clematises –

MAGIC EXISTS AFTER ALL, I realize as my tunes fill the bar, sucking up everyone's attention. Binna's voice makes everyone around the stage move with us on the music. With her eyes shut, she twirls around, catching everyone's eyes instantly. If they weren't coming for our music every week, they'd come to get a glimpse of her.

     Every Friday evening, we play some songs here. It's not much in other people's perspective, but it's our paradise. The stage is a place where I am looked at and don't even realize it at the time. I concentrate on the guitar firmly in my hand alone. I play not only for the people in front of me, but I play for myself, too. Bringing the songs Binna and I have created to life brings me to another world.

     The purple bangs of my best friend fly from one side to another when Binna dances next to me. Her short haircut and her oversized clothes fit her amazing, even on our stage. Her Asian features make her shine next to me.

     Once she finishes the last song, she inhales sharply, needing to fill up her lungs fully again. She throws her head back with sparkling eyes. "I could do this forever, Juniper," she laughs excitedly. "I don't ever want to stop!"

     I laugh with her, experiencing the exact same feeling. When we've set foot on a podium, we don't ever want to get off. It's unfortunate the Magnifica its owner always makes us. He needs it to be free for the next beginning band.

     This time isn't any different; my eyes falls on the man. He watches us, though Binna doesn't realize it yet. He's daring us to sing one more song. Without any music enchanting me, I feel myself shrinking under his threatening gaze. There are two different Junipers, you see. One who'd do anything on the stage as long as she plays, and one who's a coward at every turn.

     My hand curls around Binna's wrist, and I lead the way off our stage. Most of the customers have already forgotten our songs and faces due to the amount of alcohol in their systems. Sometimes there are some exceptions. People approach us, then. Some even start a conversation, mostly with Binna. I prefer to stay hidden whenever my guitar is set aside.

     I'm not the average guitarist who adores all attention they can get. Don't get me wrong–I love the life on stage, but I'll never stop enjoying the peace and quiet afterward. It's a perfect balance between the two versions of me.

     My dark blond hair stands out between these walls. I got it from my mother, who's American. She married my father, a Korean. They moved to Korea before I was born. I've never been anywhere else.

     "Two mojitos, please!" Binna hops upon a bar chair, using her usual flair as her personal secret weapon.

     The bartender scrunches up his nose, making his moustache move with. "Ai, will you ever stop trying?"

     "Never." My best friends grins at the man, unwilling to give up. One day, she'll get that mojito she's been asking for every week since we began performing at the Magnifica.

     "Well, I ain't giving you any alcohol, girl. Stop being so persistent," he scorns dismissively. Binna sighs deeply, folding her arms over her chest. She looks very much like a child who's just denied another cookie.

     I chuckle as I seat myself on a bar chair myself. The sparkle in her eyes remains, and it will only go when she's asleep in her bed. Right now, she's on a sort of high that music provides her with. It makes her braver, more social, and more energetic. She's a lot to handle with when we get off stage.

     "This way, I won't get to drink one sip of alcohol before I die," she complains, annoyed.

     "This isn't so bad, either." I wink at my best friend, then throw my bottle her way. It flies through the air, turns around several times, and it goes... right over her.

     My eyes widen when it collides with the back of a person who most certainly isn't Binna. I think I stop breathing when he turns around, revealing a sort of heart-shaped face that I've laid eyes on while playing the guitar on stage. I'd found it strange that he was watching me while he could be watching Binna, the true star.

     The young man approaches me, his eye-catching pink-coloured hair bouncing up and down as he walks my way. "Good evening," he greets us kindly. I feel my face reddening already. "Did one of you, by accident, lose track of this..." He turns my bottle in his hands, trying to find the label of the drink's brand. "Pomegranate juice?"

     Binna can't contain her growing smile. I'm lucky she hasn't burst out laughing already. "There's only one person between these walls who's crazy enough to like that poison." She waves her hand my way.

     "It's healthy, and it actually tastes good," I defend myself in front of this stranger, the need to disappear on the spot building up.

     "Of course," she giggles funnily. "But I prefer something stronger. Watch me getting a mojito this time." I suck in a breath when she puts her thumbs up behind this stranger's back, getting all amped up I'm talking to someone that is not her.

     The stranger smiles at me, revealing a dimple on each cheek.

     On moments like this, I want to have my best friend her ability to talk–to be social. It's hard to face that I'm not sometimes. I can sing together with her on the stage. I can play together with her. I love to perform, but not alone. Binna's always been by my side, trying to get me out there, on that stage. We grew up singing and dancing. I don't know anything else. Our shared soft spot for music is a sure thing, but I don't share her talkative personality. We're still very different, though sometimes I forget so.

     "This is yours, huh?" he speaks again. Slowly, he offers the bottle back. His fingers uncurl around it, revealing slightly more than only my pomegranate juice.

     There are tree petite flowers resting in the palm of his hand.

     I look up at him, my eyes flickering to the three wonders one more time. Unsure, I take my bottle in my hand, leaving the flowers alone. It makes the stranger let out a low chuckle. His eyes are shining at me. I feel myself beginning to move back.

     He stops me by moving his open hand closer to me. "They're yours to take."

     "Oh," I whisper. "Oh," I say a little louder. With slightly shaking fingers, I reach for them. They conjure a soft smile upon my lips. "Aleumdaun. Thank you."

     "They stand for mental beauty and ingenuity," he points out, smiling as he does exactly that.

     I snort, unable to stop myself. "How many of these have you given tonight?"

     His brows go up, and the corners of his mouth lift up, amused by the question sent his way. I'm blown away instantly.

     "Only you, clematis."

     "Clematis?" I echo one of his words.

     His eyes drop to the flowers adorning my hand. "The flowers–they're clematises."

     There goes my so-said "mental beauty".

     "Yes. Of course." I send him one of my smiles back. My face has never become so red as now. "I knew that."

     "Sure you did, clematis," he deadpans fantastically. My eyes fall on the three special clematises again–one pink, one purple, and one white. He watches me gazing at the flowers he gave me in silence. Eventually, he happily nods his head, his teeth-showing smile still widening. "I can't wait until next week."

     And then, he turns around and disappears in the mass of humans.