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Summary
The angels, behind them, sit back and strike their harps through the shadows, rousing the cicadas once more into ensemble. The willow leaves whisper back in response, shushing them, willing their tymbals to quiet down, and listen.
“Jimin.” Minjeong sighs. Sinks. “Tell me again.”
(Please, feed it to me in prose, not in iambs, not in dactyls; not in verse, not in—)
Jimin’s voice arrives half-steady, soft. Heaven-wrought and bleeding reverent.
“I like the way you say things.”
(Tell me, so I can hear it, so I can feel it vibrate against my skin; so I can test it on my tongue to know it’s—)
Minjeong’s breath catches.
Then—
“Again.”
Minjeong struggles to separate desire from divinity when Jimin, their resident graduate student for the summer, arrives at their home.