forget-me-not || lee dohwa

𝐈𝐟 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐌𝐞 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐈 𝐀𝐦, 𝐈 𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐂𝐫𝐲

If One More Person Asks Me Who I Am, I Will Cry

Handling heartbreak or any sort of sadness had never been Gyeoul's forte. She would throw herself on her bed, sobbing until she fell asleep. She'd then wake up and lock herself in her room, with her paint and paper and canvas. By the time she would come out, organs cursing at her from dehydration and hunger, there would be sketches and paintings littering the floor of her room.

"The Christmas tree is out and about," Kyung would dryly comment in reference to her hair, when he passed her by on the staircase, earning a weak shove in return.

But this time, Gyeoul didn't have the choice to race to her bed and drown her home with her tears. One moment, Lee Dohwa had learned her name and offered to walk her to wherever, and in the next, he looked at her as if she were a stranger.

She was a stranger but he had forgotten the whole conversation they had had. He had forgotten her name and her face and how she had made a fool of herself in front of him.

"But...we were just talking less than a minute ago." She said, "You were waiting for me to tie my shoelaces."

Lee Dohwa shook his head, "I'd remember if that happened. I'm self-aware, you see. Not...that you'd know what it means," he sighed, noticeably upset about something.

As he moved to leave, Gyeoul obstructed his path. "I promise I'm not lying," she said, "You said something about being aware and about a writer, and then said you'd take me to Kyung."

He seemed to seriously consider her words for a moment, "You...I haven't seen you around school but you really do look familiar. Wait, did you say Kyung? You mean Baek Kyung?" He had said this to her just a while ago, voice so full of disbelief that she had almost felt offended.

Gyeoul recalled how there had been no sign of her falling sick in the library, how the books she had moved returned to where they had been, the prints of her shoes vanishing, and now...this. It was as if this world didn't want to know that she existed.

"You know what, never mind," she said softly as she tried to find a way to leave without lying because the last thing they needed was for her to throw up on him, "I'll try to look for my brother on my own."

"Brother!?"

Assuming that this would probably be the last time she saw him—and even if she did, it wasn't as if he'd remember—Gyeoul reached to hold his free hand in both of hers. No calluses, she noticed. Her boss must've removed or overlooked that detail because a musician like him was sure to develop roughness in his hands. "Thank you, Lee Dohwa," she smiled sincerely, "I'm grateful that I got to see you and hear your voice and just...I'm so glad that my wish to meet you in real life instead of in my sketchbook came true. You're my best friend and though I'm a little upset that you'll forget me, I'll remember you for as long as I live."

Lee Dohwa's eyes widened just like before. He stood very, very still, making her wonder if he had stopped breathing.

As Gyeoul tried to pull away, he dropped the violin case and tightened his fingers around hers—harmless but enough to keep her attention. "Wait," he tugged at her, "You said in your—in your sketchbook. That means that you...you drew me?"

She nodded hesitantly.

He inhaled, lips quivering, and then he frowned childishly as if on the verge of throwing a tantrum, "Oh, for the love of—I can't believe it—Lady, I have a bone to pick with you!"