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For the record, even top idols need junk food.
On another day, Yoomi might be dieting. But she wrapped filming for a drama last week, she has no upcoming shoots, and Adonis won't be making their comeback in the immediate near future — so no diet, at least for now, because Yoomi doesn't actually hate herself.
And really, it just figures that the brand of instant ramen that she came here for is on the top shelf. Ramen in hand, she moves to put in her basket. Too late, she realizes her mistake, and at least five more packages of ramen come tumbling down. "Sorry, excuse me," she says to the other person on the aisle, wincing as she crouches down to pick up the fallen ramen.
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Yoomi looks up, meeting his eyes, and her breath hitches. It's been years, years since she cut off all contact and he fell off the face of the Earth, and yet — she doesn't have to think twice to know that it's him. "Kwangsoo," she says, as good of a confirmation to his question as any.
This is bad news — she knows it is; it can't be anything good — but even as she pulls her hand back, away from his, she can't really find it in herself to look away, either. Yoomi stands back up, taking the moment to compose herself.
Placing the fallen packages back on the shelf and unable to say it while looking at him, she says, "It's been a while, hasn't it?" It has been a while, she tells herself. They must both be different people now. It doesn't matter, the times she's wondered, late at night, how he might be doing; it doesn't matter.
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Three years. It's been three years, but Yoomi already knows that without having to be told. It's kind of hard to forget the moment it felt like your life and career were over, even if she's spent the past three years doing her best to pull herself back up.
"I've been—" Good. Bad. Everything in between. If she tries to look back, it's hard to know; everything has kind of blurred together. "—good," she says. Because she has been. By most standards, she's doing well. She has her fair share of endorsements and CFs, and the dramas she's been in have done well. It's... good. More decisively, she repeats, "I've been good."
She dares to steal a glance, and Kwangsoo is looking away; quickly, she averts her eyes. "And you?" she says. "Have you been well?"
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Good. For a second, Yoomi thinks, his face doesn’t say the same, but then — who was she to say? It had been more than three years since they last saw each other. He doesn’t know her the same anymore. So how could she think that she still knows him at all? Maybe things have been good. Maybe he’s even been great. How could Yoomi know? “I see,” she says. “I’m glad.”
Still looking down, Yoomi toes at a seam in the linoleum floor. It’s strange: There’s something that still feels very familiar, being around Kwangsoo, but at the same time, it’s even more awkward than if he were a total stranger. And maybe that’s what makes it so uncomfortable: he shouldn’t be a stranger to her, but he’s become one.
She says, before she can think better of it: “I’ve missed you.” It’s the truth. And Kwangsoo can take it at surface value, or maybe as something more meaningful. Yoomi means it either way.
