remembering charms and pendants

eight years of tears and longing, of fears and misunderstanding, of firsts and happiness, and of love.
a series of chronological one shots of sam dong and hye mi's elusive 'afterward.'

prologue. 하나, hana.

He knows.

And she knows that he knows.

What she doesn't know is how he knew. But she's also sure that he doesn't know that she knows that he knows.

It was all so confusing that it has led her to plopping down in her old desk in their class preparatory room and laying her head down on it for many times a day.

Like what she was doing now. Hye Mi's right cheek was plastered on her desk as she stared at the clear blue of the sky outside. Her shoulders were slumped, and both of her legs were swinging back and forth, back and forth, under the table. She took a deep breath and blew up her bangs. Then she coughed loudly.

"That's what you get for inhaling dust," came a voice from the door.

Hye Mi froze, her eyes widening. She knew that deep, male voice. This was why she shouldn't be hiding away in this place. This was why hiding here was a futile exercise; there was always one person who ended up finding her here. The one person who she didn't want to face right now. Him.

"Hye Mi. Are you okay?" Sam Dong's face suddenly appeared in her vision. He had crouched down in front of her, his eyebrows pulling together. He pressed a hot palm to her forehead. "You aren't getting sick?"

She blinked, and abruptly sat up, "N-no. I'm not sick. It's just—it's dusty." She blinked at him again, her eyes widening a bit at the intrusion of her personal space.

"Hey," he said, now smiling at her, "You should at least clean this table if you're going to press your face in here." A hand came up to cup her left cheek gently, and he turned her face to poke at the thin film of dirt that had attached to her right cheek.

"See, your cheek's all dirty," the hand that had poked her rooted around in his pockets before he looked up sheepishly and continued, "I don't have a handkerchief, though. Do you have one?"

Hye Mi was as still as a statue, her eyes trained on his face.

"Hye Mi?" A moment, then Sam Dong sighed. "I'm guessing you don't have a handkerchief, too. Is it okay if I used my hand?" He wiped off the dirt with his thumb.

Hereyes were still transfixed at his face, his lips pouting into a small 'o' as he concentrated on her right cheek.

She blinked. Again. It was now the time to stop his assault on her senses!

She pushed her head back and swatted both of his hands away. "I can do it myself," she said, standing up and placing a hand on her dirty cheek. The steel legs of the table made a scraping sound; her hip had bumped into it in her haste to leave the room. Sam Dong chuckled—dense as he was, he didn't miss the fact that the palm on her cheek wasn't wiping any of the dust away. It was holding her cheek as if it was protecting a treasure.

Of course he knew.

(Never mind that it was just because he accidentally looked through her wallet—the important thing was that he knew.)





warning: short chapters, yes? oh, and my korean teacher is named google translate so treat those characters up there, as mere useless decoration. i love everyone who loves dream high. and samdongxhyemi, of course. ahem.