less of you

"Where are you?"

"I'm out."

"Out where?"

"What does it matter, Yunjin. You're out all the time."

The line stays silent, and you can almost see the way her face contorts into hurt at your words.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it." You lean on the brick wall of the alleyway, cool night air blowing away cigarette smoke.

"I'm not out. I'm working."

"I know, baby. I'm proud of you." The words are empty; it's not that you don't mean them, it's just they've been said time and time again. Like the weight of the words has been slowly leaking, drifting into the air.

"I'm coming back next month." Maybe you were wrong about how her face contorted. Maybe it wasn't even hurt. Maybe it was that despondent sort of apathy that came with being disappointed one too many times. Maybe she didn't even make a face, just listened to the words and felt nothing. "We're delaying the European leg. Just for a bit. I'll have a week to chill in Seoul."

Maybe you don't feel anything either. Maybe you're used to it all, the routine, the calling, the : "hey, baby how was the show? You looked great up there, can't wait to see you again". Maybe you're used to being alone, connected by a landline to someone who was equally alone, except for the whole world screaming their name.

"I don't even," you pause, and no, you do feel something. You feel it all.

"You don't even what?" she asks, and you don't know if it's despondence, hurt or anxiety, the way you get anxious over whether a couple words will tear your apart.

"I don't even remember what you look like sometimes."

You imagine she's hurt.

She doesn't call you the next 3 weeks. You've stopped watching all the fancams, stopped keeping up with all the interviews. It's too much, to see Yunjin smile when all you want to do is scream.

It's a tad dramatic, but just by a bit. You've gotten used to it. You can sprawl on the bed, stay out late. You never have to say no to the invites. It's all just a distraction, all some misdirection so you don't have to stare at that burning red fire in your heart that says you're lost without her, though.

You're leaning on the wall of the bar again, long drag of the cigarette wafting when you call her. Your friends are probably looking for you, but that's alright.

"Hi."

"You awake?"

"Mmhm."

"I just… wanted to hear your voice." It's weird, to admit it. It's weird that it's weird. You've known her for a decade, been dating for half of that, but your voice still comes out all hoarse.

"I'm here."

"I checked on your mom yesterday. She misses New Yo—"

"I know. She called me last night."

The answer is short and testy. You get it. She's busy, hell, you are too. But at least you're here. You curse your line of thinking because this has always been Yunjin's dream. But still, it's enough for you to recoil and say: "Do you think it's better if we just, cut things loose?"

You hear the static through the phone, and it's like you're hearing the thousands of miles between you two, the month long trips, the after practice phone calls where she's tired and can't talk long, the good morning texts you forget to respond to.

You don't know why you said it. You know that it's just going to put more weight on the two of you, you know it's not what you want, it's not even what she wants. Maybe you just said it so you could hear something, some semblance of emotion in her voice.

It works. Her voice is strained and choked when she says "I don't know how to do this without you."

It's not fair. She's been operating without you the whole time. She says it like the weekly i believe in u texts you stopped sending a month ago were the only things that held her together, like you were her engine, or whatever the cliche was. "Then tell me what to do," you pleaded.

She's crying now, and so are you, outside a bar in Seoul while heaps and heaps of fans wait for her shows. The cigarette helps a little.

"Wait for me."

Is it bad to say you were nervous to see her? Is it bad that after nearly a year, you were scared? Honestly, you're glad she asked you not to go to the airport. There would be too many cameras there anyway.

Something in your soul shifts, you swear it, the moment you see her, the moment she steps out of the company car, with a face mask covering the face you can't remember. It's almost better that way, adds to the anticipation. Yeah, you're anticipating now, can't wait to see her, can't wait to hold her and tell her you're sorry and that you don't know how to do this without her either.

She's barely out of the car when she rushes to you, and she feels like home and honey and smells like she always does, like nuts and figs, and you do tell her, a crying mess you say: "I missed you so much".

"I'm such a mess, I need a shower," she laughs into your chest.

It's dangerous, you hugging this A-list celebrity outside an apartment in Seoul, but neither of you care. "I'm sorry for everything," you cry. "I just missed you."

You feel her smile into you. "I missed you too. He's looking, isn't he?"

You look to the company driver, scolding you with his glare. She's still working, she always is wherever eyes can see. "He is," you laugh.

"We should go up."

"Yeah, but you're comfy."

"C'mon, we can snuggle all night."

"You haven't moved either," you point out.

"Yeah, 'cause you're comfy."

"That's what I said. I thought it was time to go."

Yunjin loosens up a little, just enough so her face isn't glued to your chest and looks up to you. She looks at you, wanting and happy, but also tired and searching, like: yeah, this is all nice, but what about the past year? What about all the distance, all the dejection. It's gone in a flash. She pulls her mask down.

"Now do you remember what I look like?"

You lean in, and she closes the gap in a second. It's red hot fire, just like her hair, which is blonde now but it still feels the same, like flames in your hands as you run your fingers through it. She tastes different. She tastes the same.

Ahem.

You're forced up to the apartment, bowing a low apology to the company driver.

It's better this way. She showers, and you finally get to see the real her, the one you know, the one you fell in love with, not all glammed up for the cameras but raw and real and beautiful and just for you. You hold her the whole night, let her talk your ear off about the tour, about Eunchae and the girls, about New York and home, about how she wishes they'd add a Toronto stop so she could see your home, about how she's so fucking sorry if you felt like you were being ignored. And you tell her no, that you should be sorry and that you missed her so much. About how you were cranky because really, truly you don't know how to do this without her but everything is okay now, because she's in your arms and she feels like Toronto, and you tell her this until she falls asleep in your arms and you fall asleep in hers.

You wake up on the couch, same position you fell asleep in and the sun shines through the window. Maybe it's the light or the plants you replaced because you let the old ones die, or just Yunjin clinging onto you, eyes still closed and soft, but the whole place looks a little brighter, feels a little more like home.

You kiss her on the forehead. She stirs in that same way she always does, keeping her eyes closed but tensing her body in an almighty stretch.

"Mmmm," she groans, and then she wakes up with her eyes and they're already locked on yours.

You stay there for a moment, just watching each other, before you kiss her. You kiss her because she's home and she's yours.

"Ew, I just woke up," she says, lazily bringing a hand up to your face. "Kiss me after I brush my teeth."

You kiss her again, with tongue, just to prove a point. "I've waited long enough. "

"You're disgusting," she laughs, but she kisses you back.

It's just pecks at first, but it devolves into something more. Something better.

After nearly a year, nothing could hold you back now. Your breathing grows more erratic as your tongue climbs deeper into her, your body warms as she shifts so you're no longer holding her, but shes straddling you right on the couch.

The kiss says everything you said last night and more, the i'm sorry's and the i missed you's. You sit up, because just laying there while she's on top of you wouldn't be grand enough for your return. You need to press every inch of your body into her, every fabric of your being, feel her breasts, the warmth of her sex on your lap so that even when she goes on tour and leaves you again, you'll have imprinted your love on her and she on you. Maybe that way you'd feel less empty without her.

Your hands are in her hair, softly, lovingly, and you try pushing her down so you can love her harder, but she's pushing back against you until you're just two people pushing against each other after a thousand years of distance.

It'd be impossible to stay there, lest you suffocate and die in her lips, which doesn't seem so bad, but she pulls away before you let it happen.

"I need you inside me again."

Again, she says, like it's recurring, scheduled, automatic like she didn't just go a year without it. Or maybe she meant it like: it's been so long, I've been waiting for this for so long.

Yeah, that makes more sense, but it doesn't matter much now. What does matter is how she claws your back, whispers through the kisses for you to take it off.

Your hands slide to her front, lifting the oversized shirt she loves to steal from you up.

Your shirts are off in a second. You don't close the gap, you just sit there in awe, looking at her shirtless form, her messy hair cascading down her head, the sharpness of her collarbone, her perfect breasts, nipples pointed at you like they missed you.

"I'm dating Huh Yunjin," you say out of breath, disbelief lining the air.

Huh Yunjin smiles a bit, just a curve, a hint, some acknowledgement before she escalates things with: "Huh Yunjin wants you to fuck her silly. Like, a year's worth of fuck."

You used to worship those lips, not only because of how plump they fucking are, glossy and generous, but because they know exactly what to say to drive you nuts. Over the phone, that meant something else, but here, it means if she says she wants you to fuck her, then you're going to fuck her.

So: you do. All nastily you jump on her, hands on her breasts, kneading as you kiss her lips, down to her neck, sucking and pecking. Her head is thrown back and it's like the first time you met Yunjin, the excitement of it all. She's calling your name, screaming it as you work your tongue down to her chest.

You're feral for Huh Yunjin. Your tongue dances around her, finding her nipples, flicking and flicking until her back arches and her hands are in your hair, asking for more.

"Don't stop, don't fucking stop," she groans all haughtily. "Keep on going!"

The melody of it all spurs you on. A hand slips away from her breast, climbing lower, infiltrating those old pajama pants with ease.

It's so fucking humid in there which only turns you on more. Her panties are soaked, and you can't choose between keeping your mouth latched onto her nipple or switching focus to her cunt.

"I'm gonna taste you, baby," you decide, and all she can do is moan in response. You trace a finger over her pussy, still clothed with the wet garment, all slow and teasing before you bring it to your mouth. She's staring at you needily, and you her when you take the finger and lick it, lick all her moistness and slick. She shudders at the sight.

"H-how do I taste?"

Actually, your cock is throbbing in your pants because of how good she tastes, the perfect amount of sweetness and musk of a girl, your girl unfucked for a year. "So fucking good," you admit, thrusting your hand back down her pants.

She shakes when you trace the finger again over her clothed folds, bringing it up to her lips.

"Taste it, baby."

She opens her mouth, tongue lolling out as she laps the sticky stuff , all stringy in its viscosity.

"Holy fuck, you're so fucking hot."

"Come here," she begs, her own cunt juice lining her tongue.

You jump in, kissing her, tongues dancing, sliding her juices all around.

It's mixing with your saliva to make this truly heavenly concoction, it's making you drunk. Your tongues are fighting, her body is arching into you, your cock is so damn hard you don't know how you haven't cum already.

You're sucking each other in, the taste of her cunt juice grows mellow and you just need more. You need a years worth of it, and when you finally do release your mouth from hers to kiss down her body again, it's like a vacuum the way she gasps for air.

You kiss down to her belly, hooking her pants and dragging it off, exposing her folds. It's like gold, like Christmas in that you've been waiting a whole fucking year for it, like her first performance, like her voice the first time she sang for you.

She's so fucking wet it's insane.

You've barely brought your tongue closer, barely inched when she shudders, even at just the feeling of your breath on her.

"F—"

You jump in before she can react, your tongue lapping up every drop of her warmth. She's squirming. You don't let up. She deserves every little bit of pleasure she's getting from this for leaving you alone, for showing the world more of her than she showed you.

"Je— holy shit, it's so fucking good," she groans.

Her pussy convulses around your tongue, leaking even more of her slick all over your face, and you wear it like war paint. You bring a hand to her twitching clit, rubbing it softly.

She grabs your hair, bounds of it, pulling and pulling until her cunt squeezes and she cums, hands holding you so she can't cum anywhere but your face.

She pulls you up, face still squinting in bliss.

"I told you to fuck me," she huffs.

You can already feel your balls welling up— it's been a year after all. Just the thought of it, the idea of finally being able to do what you've been craving hits you.

You move slowly, taking her hands in yours as you line up with her sopping sex. You swear you've never been harder, the head of your cock throbbing and swelling, and it barely brushes against her pussy when you groan, squeeze her hands harder in focus.

She feels so good on the tip of your cock, it's throbbing right there at her entrance.

"B-baby."

You push in, and it's warmth, it's the fucking Sun and your nutrients and you realize this is it, this is why you've been so lost without her, because her pussy is your map, the only thing that makes sense.

She's squeezing your hands so tight her knuckles are white. She's tighter than you remember, walls closing in on you as you push further with a squelch. It's so fucking sticky, how your cock is thrusting into her.

You collapse onto her, still thrusting in before she takes all of you. You're bottomed out, laying on top of her as she whispers into your ear how she missed this, how she dreamed of you fucking her while she fingered herself in those lonely hotel rooms.

You pull back now, still slow, before you go back in. Your pace is quickening, soon you can even hear that lewd little smack of your balls, even over your shared grunts.

She's holding onto you for dear life, arms wrapped around you like she might lose you, and you pump and pump and pump to tell her, I'm not fucking going anywhere 'cause you're here.

It's so fucking risky, her being an idol and all, but her legs are wrapping around you and she's tightening, begging you, telling you where to cum. And you cum right there inside of her, spilling every little bit of hot load physically possible, the well of bliss climbing up your spine and releasing as pure love into her, spilling and spilling as she too cums. And at the end, you're just two huffing messes reunited, laying on the couch covered in cum and cum.

You fuck each other like this the whole day.

"Hey, my friends are going out tomorrow night. You think they'll be mad I didn't get them anything while I was on tour?"

"Tomorrow?" You don't mean it.

"Yeah," she says slowly.

"You're going out tomorrow?" You definitely don't mean it. But you still said it. Said it like: hey, I haven't seen you in a year. And you're going out with your friends tomorrow?

Her eyes find you. "That okay?", but really: Yeah. Did you think you were the only one I missed?

"Of course baby, have fun." Do you mean it? You don't know.

She plops a relieved head onto your shoulder, wrapping her arms around you. "I'll tell them you said hi."

Hey, listen, it's not like the whole week goes like this. You may be an angsty mess after the distance, but you're not a heartless monster.

It's great, actually. Forgetting what it's like to live alone, it's as great as falling in love again.

You can't believe you're admitting it, but the vanity in your washroom, now full with products upon products is the prettiest thing you've ever seen. Other than her, of course.

And the way she shoves you, hip first out of the way when you're cooking, all that's not how you do it, here, let me show you before she takes the chopsticks out of your hands and adds god knows what into your recipes.

It puts a smile on your face so big you don't even complaining that no actually, my way tastes way better.

It's even the most endearing thing in the world when you've already fallen asleep and she's still up, just laying there watching whatever it is she's watching, when she laughs. Not a cute little puppy laugh, but a full on guffaw. It wakes you, and you look around, asking what happened? what's wrong? is everything alright? and she covers her mouth, looking apologetic and telling you to go back to sleep, sorry for waking you. You don't, you stay up, watching with her, teasing her that her fans are wrong, she can laugh at home.

And of course, you fuck her like she's yours. What it would be like for this to last forever.

"3 days," you say lazily one night, eating her favourite takeout food on the couch, watching her favourite TV show, It Was Only a Week. "You're gonna be gone again in 3 days."

You love this couch, the version of it while she's still here. It's full of sweaters, the throw blanket is all bundled up, it's not clear of everything, unused like it usually is. You love this version of the house, and it'll be gone again in days.

She puts her head on your shoulder, sombre. "I'll be back," she says.

"For a while. And then you'll be gone again."

She tenses, just a bit. It's been a good couple of days. The best, but still, you're running away from things. "Is this too hard?"

Her head is still on your shoulder, betraying the strain in her voice, the tears welling up in her eyes.

"Did you— did you really mean it when you asked?" she says.

"Asked what," you say, quiet, afraid of the answer.

"If it would be better if we cut things loose?"

"I need you, Yunjin." You're both just staring at the TV screen, bodies too afraid to react. It's like you're minds are still on the phone, still apart while you just sit there, huddled together like everything is okay.

"But is that okay? Is it okay that we need each other so badly? I'm never gonna stop touring! Not for a long time. This isn't— there's no end to this. Not for a while."

You shift on the couch, break the illusion. "I—"

"I love you," she cuts you off. "I really do, I just want us to be okay."

"I love you too, Yunjin, I didn—"

"Good," she cuts you off again, as if she didn't raise the topic, as if she didn't flick whatever switch it was that brought her back to a thousand miles away. You think of pushing through, of telling her how you feel, but she kisses you again and she's back in front of you, looking so stunning and beautiful and real, not just an image on a screen, not just a voice on a landline.

You lean further into her.

She just came crashing back into your life after the distance, after you were used to living without her, and she came with a bang, a fierce crash the blew everything right into its rightful place. You don't care if it's toxic, if the lack of communication will only hurt, you're just happy she's really here to kiss you.

"Okay, and what about your mom, she'll want to come?"

"Yes, yes, I think Kkura and Eunchae are busy, but Chaewon and Zuha will be there!"

"Nice."

"Ew, you better not be watching Chaewon fancams while I'm gone," Yunjin slaps you on the arm.

"Catering is taken care of, venue is set, everything is ready for tomorrow. Congrats baby."

"Congrats? Why congrats?"

"I don't know, I just felt like saying it."

She laughs way too hard. It's really not all that funny, but you're going to miss that laugh. "I'm sorry we're spending my last day here having another going away party."

You reach a hand out to her and she grabs it, ushered into your chest by your pull. "That's okay. I can have you at night, though, right?"

"Mmm, I don't know. I have to be at the airport at like, 4 am."

"Then I guess, tonight I can have you?"

"I'm all yours."

Okay, you lied. She does look so fucking stunning all glammed up like this. It's a different kind beauty than the soft beauty you get to see everyday. It's big, it's grand, it lights up the room and doesn't let you look away.

It's just a couple of people, her friends, family, a couple of her group mates, but she wears the weight of being seen like a pro. The simile is weird, she is one. She's the best, takes the gravity out of a room, shatters the constitutions of anyone looking at her.

Especially yours. You're zipping the back of her dress up when her eyes find yours in the mirror.

Talk about weak Constitution, you stop what you're doing when you feel the weight of her gaze on you.

"So," she says.

"So," you repeat.

"This is it." She spins around, giving you a full view of her perfect face.

Your eyes are locked, unblinking. "What do you mean, this is it. We still have a whole party."

"Yeah, but, that's different. This is our last 'us' moment."

"I… I guess so."

She's so close you can feel her breath.

"We have to leave in… 20 minutes?" she says, voice all high, missing the innocent intonation of a simple statement.

"Then I guess we better finish getting ready."

"Then why are you looking at my lips?" Remember before, when you said she always knows exactly what to say to drive you nuts? Yeah.

"I-I'm not."

Her hands climb up to your lapels as she leans closer, stands on her toes so that she's right in front of you.

"Hmm, okay. I must've been seeing things, then."

Your tongue is in her mouth as soon as the last breath of the sentence tickles your lips, and she's kissing back, because yeah, you were looking at those plump fucking lips, all glossed up for the world and you just wanna let the world know: these are my fucking lips.

You can tell that this is the idol, the version of her that can stand in front of thousands with a smile on her face, because she's so much more assertive. You're at her every whim; she pushes you against the wall, palms on your chest as you're lost in her lips.

"You love these lips, don't you?"

It's rhetorical, it doesn't need an answer. You do anyway, saying yes in moans and groans as she drops to her knees, puckering them just to argue the point.

She's still in that dress, hugging her figure snug.

She doesn't stop looking at you, gives her lips a little lick as she slides your pants down.

She grabs it. The sensation ripples through your body, and with a couple of pumps and a kiss on the tip, she takes it, still half flaccid into her portly lips.

"Shi—nngh," you groan. It's indescribable, how hot it is. She always liked this, taking you before you were fully hard, said she liked the feeling of it growing in her mouth.

Of course, you're fully hard pretty soon. The groan that escapes her lips as your cock throbs in her mouth, you could listen to it all day. It's the best music she's ever produced, which is saying something given her discography.

Her lips are wrapped around your cock, tighter than the dress is her body, which she doesn't like, apparently. All slow and seductive, she glides her lips up your cock until it pops out of your mouth.

The dress you were helping her put on comes off, and she's just sitting there with only her panties. She's so fucking hot, how she loves to get on her knees and be your whore.

Her tongue comes out, opening wide, eyes needy when she says: "fuck my face, please".

Her hair is all done up and curled, better that way, you can get a better grip on it. She's moaning and gasping, begging you to stick your cock back in while you bunch her hair up, grabbing it.

Don't be fooled, she has you right where she wants you; this is still the Yunjin that has you at her every whim. It's all the more hot because this is exactly where she wants you, standing over her, fucking her face in the bathroom.

The suction does nothing to help your stability, her gags, the feeling of the back of her throat, the way her makeup she spent so much time on is smudged, it all leaves you woozy as you pound her throat.

She's taking you deep, so deep you can feel her sexy little throat convulse with every thrust, her eyes are a teary mess but she's looking at you with vigour, like if you stop and this whole things ends before you cum down her she'll leave for her tour and never come back.

The pressure in your pelvis wells up, and with an almighty thrust, hands full of her hair so her lips kiss your pelvis, you cum. Her eyes are closed shut as she stomachs the load, taking every last drop of it. It's in waves and waves, every time she swallows, convulses her sweet little throat it only draws more of your seed.

Only when every last drop of the stuff is in her stomach does she push against your legs, unburrowing your cock. She doesn't even stop there, your arms are dangling lifelessly at your side now, but she's still on her knees, grabbing your still swollen cock, licking up the underside, kissing the tip with these loving pecks, shifting it up so she can access your balls, sucking on them.

"Y-Yunjin, we should go. The party, it's about to star—"

She cuts you off with just a look, and it says everything. She stands up, grabbing you by the arm, stepping over her discarded dress, dragging you to the bed.

You fall down on your back, and there's a conviction in her eye that you don't need to hear to interpret. You know what it means anyway, that I don't give a fuck about the party. I won't see you again for another 2 months and I need you now.

You're back at full mast now, because you realize it too, that you don't care about the party either, that you'd rather be here, fucked dry before she's gone again. She lines up on top of you, sliding her panties to the side.

You've been fucking all week, but it's equally as weighted. The connection, the weight, it shifts from I missed you so much, baby, to I'm gonna miss you so much, just stay a little longer.

You're whole, you're complete, you're full when she's bouncing on your cock, when her pussy clenches around you leaving you a writhing mess.

You've seen her hips move on stage, seen how it steals all the gravity in arena, and now you're experiencing it real time, how her wet pussy slides up on you, hugging you tightly in all the right places.

Her hands are roaming your now bare chest as yours rest on her hips. Her face is still a mess of make up and mascara and lust.

You start to buck up, match her pace when she tightens, cumming on your cock. Both your phones have been ringing in the distance, maybe you don't hear it over her screams, maybe you both ignore it, choosing this over everything, just for one more day.

You fuck her from the back, grunting and thrusting, cumming and cumming until the sheets are a mess of her juices, of your jizz.

You fuck her standing up, her back against your wardrobe as you buck into her and she's moaning into your lips, how she'll cum and cum and cum while she's away, fingering herself while thinking about today.

She fucks you while the sun sets, filling the room with its golden light, like your bed is the stage.

You fuck each other until you're both a haze of sweat and cum and saliva, heaping messes of lust, splayed out in the moonlight, gasping for breath but unable to stop holding each other.

You fuck each other until you're asleep.

You don't dream.

She's gone in the morning. She let you sleep this dreamless sleep, perfectly content. And now she's gone. There's no in between, no solace that exists between the pain of her being away and the blindness when she's here.

She's gone. Probably in a rush too. The bed feels so empty, even though its covered in her love. You can see through the peep in the washroom door that the vast amounts of skincare and makeup sit there, untouched. She'll buy more somewhere abroad.

You don't want to check your phone. She's probably on the plane right now, sleeping, recovering from the night you just had. She'll have to be up the next day for practice, shake off the rust accumulated over the week. You don't want to see if she's texted you, maybe some heartfelt thing about how she'll be back, how you'll both make it through this, or maybe your phone is desolate, maybe she's already reverted back to the limelight, focused on her job and nothing else.

The worst part is, either option would hurt just as much, and you can't be mad at her for any of it. It's her dream, it's her soul, it's distinctly her, Huh Yunjin, the girl you fell in love with.

But Huh Yunjin is gone, again.

It ends just like that, with no resolution, no long talk about what you need to do to make this work. It's easier than that, it's either she's here, or she's not.

And right now, she's not.