[ yi sang removes his hand from hong lu's grasp. hong lu feels its loss like an inexorable loss in a chain. how funny, hong lu thinks. he doesn't remember ever thinking of loss this way, that it was something to feel, and notice, and take in. hong lu doesn't think he much likes it, the idea of it. but yi sang's hands are nearby. hong lu can take them into his again later.
so hong lu gets up from his place on the floor. yi sang tears a page from his notebook. it's that notebook, hong lu thinks - the letters, the half-drawn wishes. the cry for help. the torn page is like a photo removed from its frame. hong lu smiles.
he reaches for a piece of glass. he sets it on the page. between the two of them, they collect the shattered pieces of a fallen star. ]
Your notebook is a book, right? Yi Sang, does your book have a title?
no subject
so hong lu gets up from his place on the floor. yi sang tears a page from his notebook. it's that notebook, hong lu thinks - the letters, the half-drawn wishes. the cry for help. the torn page is like a photo removed from its frame. hong lu smiles.
he reaches for a piece of glass. he sets it on the page. between the two of them, they collect the shattered pieces of a fallen star. ]
Your notebook is a book, right? Yi Sang, does your book have a title?