Like Chasing After the Sun • taekook

Two

Venice is for dreamers, or souls that wish to be lost, even just for a moment.

Maybe the two are the same after all, I'm not sure, the continuous slew of golden Aperol Spritz Taehyung hands me doesn't help either.

In the eternal city sinking under the weight of all the memories left behind, we find corners that belong to just the two of us. At the expansive Doge's palace, on the second floor behind all the opulent ball rooms, there's a small lounge with emerald green wallpaper that takes on a golden tint at sunset, and embroidered curtains heavy enough to hide a secret. The chaise next to the window is covered in crimson velvet, sinking in like the passage of time when I sit down. From there, we watch the sun droop behind the church of Giorgio Maggiore across the wide lagoon, glinting the water with a million shivering shards. Taehyung would hum a tune, the lyrics perpetually escaping me but the melody so familiar. We talk of the courtesan that would've sat in this very seat hundreds of years ago, waiting for a glimpse of her casanova passing by on a bobbing gondola. I wonder if the light had painted her features in gilt, the same way it shrouds Taehyung as he makes a silly face at me.

The tiny island of Burano is another refuge, with its town square surrounded by brightly painted buildings. We dine on the outdoor terrace, bickering about which dish is better, the buttery sautéed razor clams fresh from the harbour, or the hand rolled pappardelle with scampi and smoked ricotta. Taehyung sheds his cheeky self when he strikes up a conversation with the local elders sitting near by with lacework needles in hands, asking them in broken Italian the best place to buy lemon bussola cookies. Their collective laughters are infectious, making the sun a little warmer on the skin. Taehyung has a habit of tilting his head cutely when he talks to elders or children, perhaps as a subconscious gesture of sincerity. The elders' conversation meanders into past glories of the island, we can no longer follow their rapid-firing Italian, but somehow, beyond language, we understand them and smile back.

We play a thoroughly childish game of hide and seek at Libreria Acqua Alta, a bookstore that is Venetian floods materialized in a palpable form. The place wears the ravage of time proudly, every section in the literary maze filled with makeshift structures like stairs made from water stained books, canoes and gondola as bookshelves, and our favorite: a fire exit door that opens right onto a watery canal. There's a tiny porch outside of the door, just big enough to step onto a gondola if docked, and a lone antique chair - nap spot of stray cats, respite for the weary. Taehyung usually ends up there, with an old feline purring on his lap, shedded fur all over his vintage bell bottom like a patchwork rug, flipping through a yellowed book with his long leisurely fingers (fairy tales, gothic romance, and once in a while, a retro sci-fi). "Books are alternate universes, you know," he says in a mockingly somber tone without looking at me, "alternate universes that we can hide in". The cat hisses when I walk towards them, not willing to share. "Are we hiding?" I'd tease him right back, my faded shadow climbing onto his crouched silhouette with every step, "do we want to be found then?" He giggles and lifts the book to hide his face; there's a murmur of words, but they're swept up by the draft from the canal, lost to me.