Page 97 of A World Apart
“Y’know, we do this thing these days, where we can print custom, temporary tattoos so you can see how you feel about it on your skin before you have to live with it for life. You interested? I got a few minutes spare.”
I turned to Jihoon to see what he thought. He raised his eyebrows at me, an interested gleam in his eye. He cocked his head to the side in a half-shrug, his mouth pursed as if to say, ‘why not?’
I turned back around to Albert and said, “That wouldbe awesome!”
“Yeah, well alright then,” he groused, “why don’t you kids let me get something drawn up for you, and you head back here in a little bit and we’ll see how you like it.”
“You’ll pick something for us?” I asked, surprised.
“Sweetheart, that’s what I do.” Albert raised one bushy eyebrow, the northern neighbour to that majestic mouth canopy.
“Albert,” I said very seriously. “I trust you.”
He hacked out a laugh and waved us away.
“What do you think he’s going to draw for you?” Jihoon asked when we were far enough away not to be overheard.
I pretended to give the question some real thought, before suggesting, “The Union Flag.” For a moment, Jihoon stared at me, and even through his mirrored sunglasses, I could tell he was trying not to react, which just made me laugh.
“Yeah, I have no idea. I guess we’ll take what he wants to give us.” I shrugged, feeling as carefree today as I’d ever felt.
“What about you?”
“By your guess, probably the Korean flag,” he said dryly, making me laugh again, and I automatically reached for his hand only for him to pull away at the last second. He tried to cover it up by reaching up to run his hand through his hair.
My laughter dried in my throat, and I turned away, trying to pretend not to have noticed. I knew no handholding was a rule and I was even completely on board with the why of it.
So why did that sting so bad?
I tried hard to push down the intrusive thoughts, the ones that reminded me this was what our future looked like − always pretending we weren’t a thing. The pretence was so convincing that even I wasn’t sure anymore: were we something real or was I just a good time?
I hated the rule, but even more, I hated that I understood it.
But most of all, I hated not knowing what we were.
I cleared my throat to cover the sudden cloud of awkwardness that had settled between us.
“Look,” Jihoon suddenly pointed to a porta-cabin style pop-up that was decorated in hand-drawn portraits in various different styles, from Picasso to Renaissance. The words ‘Photo Booths’ were lit up in neon tubes, even though the day was bright.
“You want to go in?” I nodded my head to indicate the small, boxy building just as a smiling couple walked out, hand-in-hand, clutching a long roll of photos. My stomach clenched, just ever so slightly at the sight of the happy pair.
“Yes, come on.” He headed over and I followed.
Inside the doors, the cabin was small − about the same size as the apartment I shared with Becka − with several, differently coloured and themed photobooths. One was very obviously occupied, if the giggles and scuffling feet under the burgundy curtain across the door was anything to go by. We gave that one a wide berth and looked over the other machines as we passed. Musical booths, black and white portraits, old timey booths, one that I think made you look like cartoons, and then finally the last one − a normal yellow and black Kodak machine.
Jihoon pulled me inside, and it didn’t escape my attention that he looked over my shoulder beforehand.
The booth was predictably small with only one small, flat disc passing itself off as a seat. Jihoon sat and then, with his hands securely wrapped around my hips, he pulled me down so that I was perched on him, and in that moment, all thoughts of hand-holding, or not, were erased to make room for the way he felt so close to me, surrounding me in every possible way. The booth was lit only by the screen, cheerfully asking us to make a selection, but all I saw was his eyes, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head. His eyes seemed to glow in the dim light, pupils so dark and wide they almost swallowed his irises.
“Hello!” chirped a mechanical voice, startling us both, “please make your selection.”
Jihoon chuckled, his eyes crinkling slightly.
“Allow me,” I offered, pulling some change out of my pocket and feeding the machine, selecting a standard 4-frame.
“Get ready!” the mechanical voice warned, the screen flashing a countdown from 5.
Jihoon and I turned to the camera and smiled before the flash went off.
