1 the making of you and me

Honk!

Her eye twitched.

Honk! Honk!

Her ear twitched.

HONK! HONK!!

She pressed her head against her shoulder, breathing harder. The sun was glaring at them, heating their car and temper in consequence. The road was riddled by tree branches and stray items because of the storm that caught everyone off guard the previous night and derailed all their plans.

HONNK! HOONNKK!

Her breath hitched, eyes flared, and fist clenched till the screw in the wooden hand-fan pierced her skin and left a flaring red circle of its presence on her palm.

'Cool down. All I needs to do is cool down. Remain calm and civilized. Be a mature person. Don't let the hormones get to me,' the woman in the passenger seat repeated in her head, as her hand moved back and forth to fan with haste.

HOONNKK! HOONNKK! HOONNKK!

The dam to her patience broke.

"The fucking mother of a tortilla's last fucking rotting tomato, I swear I am going to skin that asshole alive and roac—"

"Jill! Language!" her husband snapped from the driving wheel, eyes alternating between his daughter pretending to read in the backseat and his wife cursing in front of her. He gulped.

HHHOOONNNKKKK!

"Stop the fucking car!" Jill raged, banging the car door open on the narrow street. It hit the stone wall and made a loud clanking noise of financial loss, which Jill expertly ignored by thrusting her seething face outside.

All she saw an obnoxious truck. Honking for dear life.

Jill's patience ran thin and she flung the hand-fan at the truck behind them, even before her foot left the safety of her husband's car.

CRASH!

The handfan hit the truck.

The side-view mirror laid shattered on the ground as Jill raged towards the truck.

Her husband hurried out in an equal frenzy, collecting his scattered wits in incomprehensible sentences, "Ji-ill, how—why? why—when—why would you? Oh Jill! Why—"

His words were cut short by a head popped out of the passenger seat of the truck's window, screeching, "YAH! ARE YOU CRAZY, YOU BITCH?!"

"AM I CRAZY? THINK AGAIN, MAYBE I AM FUCKING DRIVEN TO INSANITY BECAUSE OF YOUR INCESSANT FUCKING HONK—"

"--Jill, no, stop—"

"—HONKING THAT WOULD NOT LET ME FUCKING BREATHE—"

"—YAH! DON'T YOU FUCKING PROJECT YOUR PROBLEMS ON MINE YOU INSANE WENCH--!!"

A kick, and a loud thud, were followed by the truck's door flinging open as a short woman jumped out, red in her face and bouncy in her steps. She was gorgeous, Jill would never agree it out loud, but even in rage, she walked with grace, dressed in a form fitting modern hanbok.

Jill chose to continue playing the blame game instead: "—AFTER I HAVE WORKED MY FUCKING ASS ALL NIGHT PACKING—"

"AISH, SHUT IT. I NEEDED TO PISS BUT I WILL KILL YOU FIRST, YOU WENCH! COME HERE, YOU JERK! HOW DARE YOU!" The short woman challenged, one hand in her jacket pocket and the other urging Jill to head on and make the first attack.

Though, Jill's husband jumped in between them.

"No! Holy God, no, in the name of Jesus no, no deaths—please--!!" he began to intervene but the short woman pushed him out of perspective. He stumbled, losing his footing and falling over his butt all the way across the narrow street.

The disrespect! The woman may be as gorgeous as they come, but disrespecting the only priest of Bloomsville was a big no, even for gorgeous ladies! It's hard to decipher if Jill did it out of pure loyalty or was it a of the part of being the priest's wife, but she did it nonetheless.

She uttered the name of Lord and chose to go berserk.

She lunged at the short woman with equal intensity of her pouncing at Jill. Grabbing each other's hair, pulling out their roots and screaming curses that Satan might probably jot down for later use in hell. For hell hath no fury like two women scorned.

Jill's husband, with wide sunken eyes and profusely sweat dripping, borderline petrified— could only blink at the scene before him. It had been ages since he had seen his wife being so expressive. The last time...was it senior year at high school? Nonetheless, mustering enough courage to get up, he walked up to knock at the truck driver's window.

"Excuse me?"

It slid open with gentle ease and the head of a man wearing a big, proud, smile came into view; eyes fixated on the scene before him as his chin balanced on the edge of his palm, threatening to fall off.

"Um—excuse me—can you—um, will you not do something about it?" Jill's husband tried requesting help, pointing at the women scratching each other like jealous cats, snarling and screeching.

"What's to do? My Hari is doing great, isn't she?" the truck driver blinked proudly, as if there was no problem in everything that was going on. He pointed a silver ringed finger at Hari, holding down Jill in a chokehold, whilst the latter elbowed her side.

What a wednesday afternoon.

The priest shook his head, "Wh-what, no, my fellow man, violence is never the answer to a situation, please try to understand and in the name of our Lord Almighty, let us help break this up—"

Hari's husband waved a hand in the Priest's face. "Shut it, man, you're such a bore."

Jill's husband pursed his mouth, nostrils flaring, before he opened it again and continued:

"Young man! Your attitude towards family is very laid back and I do not appreciate the ways of your –"

"You are one to talk, hypocrite. Scram, you are blocking my door."

"I refuse to be addressed as a hypocrite, young lad, I go by a name and it is Jack!"

"Jack-ass," the man snickered.

"That was unbearably childish and not at all infuriating, if that is what you were trying to achieve."

"Generic Jack."

"The simplicity of a name does not holds substance to its owner or their power," the priest sighed.

"Jack is stuck on his high horse. I wonder who is gonna help Jack off the horse?" The truck driver snickered, holding down laughs and beating the steering wheel in front.

"Your childishness precedes that of my daughter and she is five!"

"Oh! I've got a better one for you. Jack and Jill went up the hill to do it in the water. Jack slipped, the condom ripped and now they have a daughter! How was it?" he sang out loud with much enthusiasm.

"Dear Lord Jesus, send me some patience," Jack looked heavenward and cried out an exasperated sigh.

"Jesus said services are out for the weekday. I know, I am closely associated—

And Jack, after sending a prayer to the heavens, punched the man in his eye.

--oomph!"

The little girl in the back seat of her car, bored of the rhyme book in her hand, pushed it away and crawled across the seat to take a look outside. She rolled down the car window and poked her small head out.

The little boy, upon hearing the sound of a punch, abandoned his football and peeked out of the tinted window. His car was behind the truck, being driven by their family driver.

On the other side of chaos, his dark eyes met her hazel ones with curiosity. She took out her small hand from the window and waved at him, a gummy smile pushed up her lips and chubby cheeks. Two dimples popped on the left end of her lips and it rendered him fascinated by sheer sight.

It was a smile full of warmth and comfort. He had never seen something so genuinely endearing.

So, he waved back at her, a toothy smile flashing in perspective.

"I am Rory!" she shouted in introduction, the smile never leaving.

"I am Jaehyun!" he shouted back, intrigued and jittery. Her voice was squeaky, yet thick with an accent he didn't know.

"Friends?"

"NO!" four people shouted in abhorrent retaliation.