Your heart goes to war.
male reader x lesserafim Eunchae
Tags: smut, heavy angst, arguments, meta-narrative, igenuinelyshedatearwritingthis, grownassmanbtw, not an easy read.
13k words
Part 2 of Wings, were made to fly
Everything is still in the house. Too still. The dishes are done. Neatly, stacked in the dishwasher, gently trickling water. The dining table, a glass panel with see-through history, work documents piled neatly on one side, hugging the wall.
The house is a chamber. Windows seldom opened, doors rarely ajar. Agreed on, by both inhabitants, because creating openings in the capsule means letting dust, the ugly, in, letting it settle.
Everything’s clean. Nearly spotless. The marble floors have been mopped. The clothes in the laundry aired to dry. The walls are all in this sanitary, pure white and silver, like a single speck of dust would be nigh impossible in this expanse-
“I fucking hate you.”
From the bedroom, the girl, Eunchae, storms out, head in hands, her steps quick but aimless. On closer inspection, her simple oversized tee is the same shade of purity that’s plastered all over the walls, her hair in a smooth, wavy curtain like she just got it done.
Behind her, you trail, near lazy, like you’re used to the words, simple black joggers and simple black shirt, clean as the rest of her, as the rest of the house.
“Get the fuck back here.”
“Fuck you!”
“Hey!”
Bang.
“It’s always this shit with you! All the time. It never fucking ends, never fixes itself like it’s supposed to-”
“And you think that this is all on me?”
“Some part of it is you, at least admit that, you fucking prick.”
Bang. Bang.
“I’m sick of your shit, Eunchae.”
“Yeah? Are you? You’re going to fuck off now, are you? Call it quits for real?”
You click your tongue. You try to steady your breathing. Stay calm. Stay calm. Her words are blunt. Blunt and rude, blunt because they aren’t sharp. That’s what you’ve been reminding yourself every day, right?
“Let’s stop dodging the issue here.”
Eunchae spins to face you, her face frosty, her cheeks flushed. She looks almost drunk.
“And again with that. Don’t you feel repetitive, always flipping things back on me with that shit? What are you, a robot? Recorder? Metronome?”
“Stop trying to get a rise out of me! This is pointless!”
“Is it? Everything that doesn’t help you get your way is pointless? We’re only allowed to follow the plot you’ve made for us, is that it?”
“No!” You say, finding this whole thing ridiculous, “The fuck? All you have to do is listen to reason! Where is this taking us? Back to the same old shit we’ve always been doing.”
Eunchae’s mouth opens like she’s choking back a laugh, struggling from spitting it right into your face.
“News flash, dipshit,” Eunchae shakes, “everything we’re doing right now is a repeat. Like a stupid fucking sitcom. And you’re the fucking star, assface!”
You roar. “Don’t yell at me!”
The house echoes your ferocity- literally. When the two of you were shallower, in earlier days, she’d take an unconscious step back, an instinct upon your voice reaching this decibel. But now? Her hide’s grown thicker, which means all she does is raise an eyebrow in that particularly annoying way, the one that gets under your skin. Her lips flat. She looks like she’s about to kick you in the balls. And fuck it, the ethics. You wanna throw hands.
You swear, the amount of effort required to prevent you from going full on ballistic has popped several veins in your skull. You know how it looks, played this little finicky game before, with the bloody mirror in view as well.
You redden, purple up, and it takes a hot second before the natural complexion of your face returns. And, pathetically, it’s only then you note your balled fists. You hate it. You don’t like this look, a sentiment shared by your partner. Anger doesn’t get you anywhere.
You drop your tone. Drop everything. She’s just another person. She can’t touch you. All she’s saying are meaningless words. You’re better than this. Than her.
Your next words are sanitised, hands slipped back in your pockets like you don’t give a damn. “We need to start talking like normal human beings.”
Eunchae’s tone follows yours, no longer shrill screech. “And how’s that been working for you? Do the results look satisfactory?”
Her eyes cast to the room around you, like she’s coaxing you to take a look at everything yourself.
Hell, she makes things so difficult.
“We at least get somewhere when we aren’t screaming bloody murder.”
Her reply is scathingly quick. Like repeats turned ad hominem.
“There’s no need to stabilise your driving when you’re on a roundabout with no exit,” Eunchae bites. “Like you always like to say, pointless.”
You snap. “God, fuck. Eunchae, please. For fucks sake! Fucking please!”
Lord knows you’re fucking trying, hands in your hair, wincing and all. Eunchae turns her head to the side, like she’s ignoring you. The truth is, she doesn’t want to let it get to her. You power on, because there’s gotta be goddamn light at the end of this goddamn tunnel.
“We need to settle this issue. And we do that with talking. Not with this… infighting.”
“We need to settle this issue… again.”
You take a breath. “Yes. Again.”
Eunchae levels her eyes on yours. Her arms are crossed, not because she’s angry, but because it’s protective. Protective of all the skin of her arms she has pinched between fingers. “Fine. I’ll make my argument simple. There is no solving this. We’re just wasting our breath.”
“So we should just let this fucking horseshit continue?”
This time Eunchae makes a sound of annoyance. She shifts her weight to her other foot.
“Why do you like that word so much, anyway?”
“Huh?” You furrow your brow, “What? The word ‘fuck’? It’s just a word.”
“Just a word. That’s all that’s ever meant to you, hasn’t it? Just a word. And anyone that doesn’t subscribe to that notion is stupid trash.”
You have no idea what she’s getting at. You’ve been using that word since forever. She uses that word. But you don’t snort. You resist the urge to make any sound that suggests belittlement, any words to betray how it’s raining down upon you. Control. Control.
“Fine. I won’t use that word. Remove the profanity. Whatever. Happy?”
“Really?” Eunchae replies, “What a surprise. Should I be honoured?”
“What is your problem?” Everything that comes out of her mouth seems poised to spite you. Unnecessarily so.
“My problem, dipshit, is your stupid need to level everything to your playing field. It’s absurd. Injust. You’re in control, always.”
“Always? I’m puppeteering your life, am I?”
“You may as well be,” Eunchae says matter-of-factly, “We play by your rules, don’t we? We stop the yelling, talk things out, communicate like we’re in a debate club. Somewhere where you can use your stupid, verbose bullshit to outweasel yourself from being in the wrong.”
You stare. “Are you serious? You think conversing like normal human beings, respectfully and peacefully, is a shit way to resolve our arguments? Even when we descend into playground insults and verbal fuc… warfare? Is this not a logical solution?”
“So nothing else matters, does it? Just the right way to do things? The cold hard facts?”
What is she talking about? “What are you talking about?”
Eunchae scoffs, not even bothering to hide it. The pad of her thumb rubs at her eyes, and it stings, but you’ve gotten used to it. Because this happens every time. And you’re not sure when this bled into normalcy.
“Forget it.”
“What?”
She doesn’t reply. Her lower lip shakes. Your hands are in the space, grasping for something, whole body shaking and shuddering with all the effort you’re putting in to just reach.
“Eunchae, talk to me. What’s all this? What are you on about? We can’t even communicate right now.”
“Of course we can’t!” Eunchae screams, and you can’t even fake your surprise, eyes widening, caught in a moment where nothing makes any logical sense-
“You’re not listening! You never do!”
“Huh?” You say, flabbergasted. Preposterous. You’ve done nothing but try to listen.
“I don’t care anymore. Get the fuck out of my house.”
“Your house?” Your voice rises. Shit. Tone it down. “We bought this place together. Even split. Fifty-fifty.”
Your resist the urge to add, the fuck you mean your house?
“Then draw a line! I’ll stay behind my fifty percent. Just leave me the fuck alone!”
“Eunchae,” you slap a hand to your forehead, “You’re going to run from this? Again?”
“I don’t care! You win! I give up, give in. Whatever you’re going to say, you’re right!”
“Eunchae!” You shout. Fuck it. You need to get her to listen somehow. She’s not receptive to anything right now. You’ll apologise later.
Probably.
“Work with me here! I’m trying my best to talk to you. We can’t keep running away from our problems. They don’t just magically disappear.”
“Don’t they?” Eunchae retorts. She’s forsaken the urge to rub her tears away, to give a crap about the trails down her face and falling off her chin. “Isn’t that how it always goes? We talk, we agree on something. You dictate what I say. Sure. Happy for a couple of days. Otherwise, we take a break. A week where we start over from zero. We kiss, have awesome make up sex, and everything’s forgotten, isn’t it? Pause, incident, pause?”
You don’t retort. You can’t. It’s true, regardless of how wrong it is. That’s how it is. That’s how it always has been. Putting it brutally, the two of you discard each other when shit hits the fan. The attraction is fleeting. Intermittent. Hell. Like… disease.
It takes a moment for you to realise Eunchae’s already stalked away, moving past you. She defeats you, in that moment. You’re still staring at the same spot, because you’re not sure you believe what’s happening right now.
“So we’re just going to let this go?”
“Just tell me what you want from me and I’ll do it,” Eunchae mutters, her voice soft, lost.
This isn’t victory. Not for you, not really. This is a resignation. There was no fight here. There’s no cause for celebration. All Eunchae did was just roll onto her back and tell you to get on with it.
You walk out. Grab the keys, slip into slippers. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. Clear your head, get some space, whatever. You have no idea what to do. Whether to move forward, or to hang back.
Eunchae sits by the dining table, motionless. She’s another piece of the furniture. Pure, clean. Whatever to distract from what this all is. Does it make sense? Pfft, no. Of course not. Does it hurt?
Eunchae hangs her head in her hands and cries.
In another instance, maybe, just maybe, things play out differently.
If the rules of the world weren’t written this way. If everyone said, hey, okay, do your thing. It’s your little corner of the world, I won’t intrude. A world free from judgement maybe. Maybe.
It’s like this, see. You try to play things properly, really. You put all the extra little thoughts in. Maybe too many at times. You act, no, play, no, am the perfect boyfriend, to the best of your abilities. On judgement day, you should at the very minimum be tilted to the correct side, wholly because of your own actions.
Things are happy at the beginning, romantic. You wipe the ice cream off her lips. She giggles. The Han river. Noodles and fried chicken. Spicy bokkeumbap. Yeah, things like that.
For a good while, a very good while, you’re happy. Content. She’s support in your fragile little world, and things are great. The two of you push deeper, wading into the marsh, not looking back. Hell, not even looking forward. Looking at each other.
And that’s the moment. Right there. Pause the video. Zoom in. Right fucking there. Take out your notebook.
See, at first you think it’s a joke. Horror stories concocted by your mother told to her friends whenever they come over for dinner and girls’ night. About how cohabitation is a test. A real make or break. About how getting closer means getting further apart. And other nonsensical horseshit.
Taking a step forward, but forward’s the wrong direction. Like bringing this person in means the end for everything else. And look, you’re smarter than this. Smart enough to know not to fuck this up. And to know how not to either.
But the house is a warzone. One that deceives you at first. You enter, weapons lowered, taking in the scenery. Oh, those are some nice flowers. Put them by the side. Look at the paths! They sparkle.
And then you realise the whole fucking place is laced with land mines. Kablooey.
And hell, why do things keep escalating? You’re not on an escalator, you’re not playing a roguelike videogame. What’s this, Tetris? Putting the blocks and pieces into place speedily without fucking up the arrangement?
The first time was bad, sure. Eunchae’s tired of always having to bring your clothes to the laundry room, always having to make the bed in the morning. She just wants things to be neater, nicer.
So you explain how it seems ridiculous to you that she believes a laundry trip is mandatory once a day, considering that two people times two outfits is at most fourteen articles of clothing, a day. Which doesn’t even fill up the machine you bought halfway.
She calls it unhygienic. You call it uneconomical.
It gets heated. Stupidly so. It’s the first time you find yourself genuinely angry with her, and you don’t know why. She cries, and it’s the first time that she’s ever done that in front of you. So you panic.
Fine, you give in. Compromise. You’ll even dump the clothes in the washer for her.
That pisses her off. Because she doesn’t want to just win. It’s never been about the victory in battle for either of you. It’s about the war. She needs to make you understand. And agree that she’s right.
But it doesn’t make sense.
Over time, things change. It’s less emotional turmoil and more brokering, a painful game of sorts. But instead of decapitated heads rolling it’s simply layers unravelling in front of you like unbundled canvas. And the picture it paints, not pretty.
You make deals. Bargain your way to allow you to drag her to your side. Barter trade.
Bring your weapons to the table: Cold hard logic against metaphysical morality. Raise them up and fight.
And after, the two of you have peace. Come back together. Like Frankenstein; your bodies meld. Heat, passion, till your eyes roll back into your skulls. It feels better that way, raw and unprotected, vulnerable after so many hits.
Then your hearts. Stitched together. Smiles. What were we even arguing about? It feels so stupid now. Love blooms, because love is like most flowers. Seasonal.
And the two of you let the festering problem reach further, hold tighter.
Your feet are light on the pavement. Coffee. Need coffee. Starbucks will do. A roadside coffee shop will do. Anything will do.
Clangle. Past the Christmas decoration, past the little lights.
The barista is sweet, serene, adorned with an elf hat. She’s pleasant, taking your order with a gentle smile and a clear lack of care for anything in her immediate surroundings.
So coffee takes a while. And she kind of puts too much sugar in it. But whatever. That won’t be enough to ruin your day.
Sweet is the season. Your right hand, clasped around the bag, the bag containing the artificial softness you didn’t really bother to wrap up. Whatever. She’s going to love it.
You shift in your brown wool jacket. No time to waste.
She’s already got everything set up, of course. The treats, the tree, the candles. She’s got a Santa hat on, a Santa-red dress. Her face lights up when you toss your bag over like you’re going to bludgeon her and bash her head into a pulp.
“Hey babe!” She laughs, hands sinking into the softness of the puffy toy through its protective plastic layer.
“Eun-ah, you’ve done so much. It looks so good!”
You reach over to try to kiss her, but the sheer size of the soft toy provides some resistance. The two of you laugh, but meet anyway, your mouth over hers, dominating the kiss.
“Cute dress,” you smirk.
“Thank you,” Eunchae gives a little bow, swaying from side to side.
“Can’t wait to peel it off.”
“Pervert!”
You laugh.
“At least let me have dinner first! There’s always only one thing you want on your menu, isn’t there?”
“It’s the only food I need,” you reply, twirling your finger in the air like you’re summoning a spell. “I’m a repeat customer.”
“Well, you’re going to have to wait. Until after we get some actual food in both of our bellies.”
“Ever heard of the term, start with dessert?” You toss the pondering question over. Eunchae hits you with her Christmas gift.
“I told you. Wait. I have more in store for you. You haven’t even gotten to the best part yet!”
Coffee. Coffee. How it clears the mind. Rids the fog, some would say.
You sip slowly. The drink has long gone cold by now, but you’ve been nursing it. Resisting. Taking as long as you possibly can.
Through the glass panel of the kitchen, where you can watch Eunchae. Watch as she moves quickly, rapidly. Ruthlessly efficient are her hands. She does her work. Fingers a blur. She does the laundry. Quick are her steps. Routine. Routine.
Your eyes watch her. Unmoving. A provocation. Seeing when she reacts. Your mind? Cycling a million possible retorts to cook her like a well done steak the moment she opens her mouth.
“Stop looking at me,” she says, obvious with her anger.
“You want me to leave?” You reply, as if one long walk wasn’t enough.
“Do whatever you like. But give me some privacy. Stop looking at me like I owe you rent. It’s unnerving.”
You take another sip. Mug’s empty. “What is?”
“You looking at me. I don’t like it. The more you look at me the closer you get. The more I have to deal with your bullshit. Go away.”
She stacks another one of her shirts on top of the pile, before grabbing the entire folded tower and hurrying off to the bedroom. Like she has anything else to do.
You wash the mug. Place it back on the drying rack the way you know she likes. Your cup kissing hers. You follow.
“So we’re really going to do this?” You say softly. All traces of irritation, anger are gone, replaced by a droning monotone disconnected from emotional appeal. She won’t get to you now, because you won’t allow it.
Eunchae ignores you. The clothes go back into the drawers. Neatly, neatly. Scented with detergent you both agreed to use to clean. Like a promise to blend.
“We’re just going to avoid this, again. For another week. Maybe two. Then we’ll remember to start talking.”
She just packs.
“You don’t give a shit about us.”
“And you’re saying you do?” Eunchae looks up at you defiantly from her kneeling position. She opens the next drawer, turning back not even a second later.
“Clearly, I do. I’m the only one actively trying to solve the issue here.”
“There’s no issue between us.”
“There is an issue.” you say pointedly.
“No there isn’t. Not one either of us can solve, evidently.”
“Do you want things to improve?”
“In this snail race?”
“Eunchae.”
“What? Go do your thing. Your little distancing routine. Go out. Have a drink. Chat with your buddies. Pretend to check out that chick at the bar. And come back in a couple weeks when you want to fuck me again.”
You sigh. You’re not even irked at that. It’s all so… desensitised. You’re tired. “We have to at least try, babe.”
Eunchae tenses unnaturally. Was it the word? Or everything else? She stands up, making a means to move, but you’re in the doorway.
“Excuse me.”
You don’t budge.
“Excuse me, please.”
“Don’t run away from this.”
“It’s not about how fast I can fucking get away from you, mister. It’s about how quickly you’ll catch me.”
She’s moved up right into your personal space, fearless in a certain sense, but her eyes don’t meet yours. You’re a barrier, and nothing else. Her eyes are motioning to move past. And you feel it’s all grossly unfair.
Is there anything to say that could change the current predicament? Any way to reason yourself out of this one? One that anyone could understand?
Finally, after a few moments, when Eunchae realises you’ve gone still, she looks up. She’s not daunted by the proximity, not affected by the look in your eyes.
Her eyes, still red like they’ve been rubbed raw. Her lips are slightly swollen, like you’ve been kissing her too much. She looks so much like something that needs protection. And you’re not impervious like you’ve been telling the world. Everything begs you to hold on.
“What, you want to fuck me already?”
You blink. “I thought you didn’t like that word?”
“Yeah, but you love it, don’t you? You love that word, and all the things that come with it. It’s all you want to do, all you want to hear, right? Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me!”
“Eunchae!” You say, scandalised. Like you’re scandalised.
“Isn’t that all you want? My body? That’s what keeps you running back, right? You only give a fuck about my body.”
You pop. Zero to a hundred. It’s not true. It’s a blatant lie. It’s everything to rouse you. And what she insinuates, you detest it.
“Yeah, you’re right,” you spit, “I do.”
You repeat the lie, because a part of you knows she hates this just as much as you do, all these naysayers with their opinions on what the two of you can be, will be, should be. Your hand seizes her wrist, bringing the two of you closer like you’re about to kiss her I love you.
“You’re right, Eunchae. That’s all I give a shit about. You. Your body. That’s what you want to hear me say, right? That you’re just a warm body I can use by my bed, a convenient way for me to drain my balls.”
Eunchae’s eyes darken. Magic, the way they manage to switch up like this. Like she wants to eviscerate you with a trebuchet.
“Fuck you.”
You let her pass, because you can’t stand to look any longer. You shouldn’t let her go, but you feel like screaming at the walls.
You’re wrong. You mean so much more to me.
But they’ll never see that.
“Hey, what do you think is wrong with us?”
You glance over at Eunchae from your seat at the glass table. Her figure’s sprawled out on the couch, her head cast skyward like she’s stargazing through the ceiling.
“Wrong with us?”
If she nods, it’s imperceptible. But you heard right.
You turn to your hands, on the table, fingers outstretched and flat on the cool glass, back when they didn’t yet learn to curl into fists. The house smells like human petrichor, mixed in with that suffocating smell of sanitizer, of appearances.
“I think it’s about what’s wrong with me, isn’t it?”
Eunchae frowns. “No. I’m a part of it too. It takes two hands to clap.”
“Does it really though?” You reply, “Besides. I have two on my own.”
Eunchae glances down to look at you. From this angle, with her feet facing you and her body resting comfortably, she looks cute. Her chubby cheeks on her small face. A squishy look.
“A part of it is me. At the very least. We’re both guilty here. That’s why we keep crawling back to each other, unable to call it quits.”
“I mean, hasn’t this gone on for long enough? Why are we still torturing ourselves like this, like a pair of obnoxious siblings stuck under the same roof? Why can’t we just call it quits?”
“...I don’t know,” you say finally. And even if you did have the right answer, the one that solves all of this, would it matter?
Fundamentally you know, there’s something wrong with all of this. There’s these things called rules, or whatever, lines drawn in the sand you’re supposed to abide by. Wards, fences, walls, signs all pointing in the opposite direction. Don’t do that. Don’t follow your heart. Not to her, young and malleable.
You slowly pick yourself up from the chair, and Eunchae watches closely as you cross over. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t move a muscle. Her eyes just hold on to you, tracking your movements till you’re kneeled, on one knee, by her head.
Quiet. A moment for the two of you. Just the two of you. You watch her, and she watches you. Her gaze is pensive, pliant, waiting for your next move.
You reach over to give her a kiss on the lips. One that you give all the time, but the kind she never gets tired of. When you pull away from her delicate softness, the hints of a smile grace her cheeks. You rub her head for a couple gentle moments. Hopeful ones.
And then you get up and start moving again, Eunchae watching you gently as you start busying yourself with life.
Eunchae never throws anything, in all her rage. Then again, neither do you.
In fact, the house is often so spotless, so incredibly untarnished, that simply by appearances the two of you seem to be living a perfect life.
One more check. A whiff of your collar, a straightening of your cuffs. Things have still been in an uncomfortable flux, but just because the two of you currently hate each other doesn’t mean you’re going to miss out on important obligations. The tickets to her rehearsal are still there. You’re not going to just not go.
A quick glance in the mirror, which reveals that you look tired, tired from fighting and leaving and being hollow, from avoiding.
Combat between two urges, one that declares that things should be over, and the other that yields to the idea that you need her back by your side, that you miss her warmth.
Fight it out.
Eunchae took the car; You grab an umbrella just in case and start to make your way over, in your navy suit and brown oxfords. You look good, a guy that’s clearly out for a date, some attractive looking event, and you cycle through the million things you’re about to say.
And you think to yourself, the funny thing is this. Adjacent to Murphy’s law, nothing that anyone thinks will actually happen does happen. There’s always that additional layer, that extra hurdle life throws on the track that catches one off guard, that derails, that can’t be prepared for even with a million years of careful consideration.
So you choose to eliminate as many bad options as possible by trying to think of them first. Get rid of all the worst ways this night could go. Scrap the breakup story. Scrap the messed up performance. Scrap the why did you come? I didn’t want to see you here.
And ironically, try not to think of all the good endings.
Her dress is red, for some reason. Like a Chinese ornament, or something. Hair done up, in a singular, smooth ponytail, a plume that rests gently behind her. And the thing is, she knows your seat, she gave you the damn tickets after all, so she knows immediately once the stage lights cast down on her that you’re here.
Her back straightens. She almost smiles. Almost. A quick bow and she turns to the keys, sitting with her feet tucked together.
She looks good. Nothing like the clipped seraphim she was every day of the past week. Her makeup conceals it all, brings out her eyes, always bright, spotlights in the dark.
She tests the keys, the same little pattern you’ve heard time and time again, at home, at her practices, at her performances. You close your eyes for a moment. You always prepare yourself mentally before her performances. She has her routine. And you have yours.
One. Two. Three.
Eunchae starts to play. The tune wafts in, gentle, romantic. She strikes each key with certainty, precision.
She eats it up right from the start. Her fingers, soft and slow at first, pressing gently when she knows the audience is focusing more on her than the tune. When the music overwhelms, when they start to give in to the message, they speed up, become a blur, tapping notes in succession.
The pieces she chose are good. They always are. And her skill goes without saying. The first song. A short break. A violinist comes on stage. And Eunchae accompanies his second piece.
Her eyes are mirthful. She doesn’t focus too hard on the notes, on the music sheet in front of her. Her fingers already have the song memorised. Her smile mirrors her playing, like she just forgets all about it and seeps into her notes. There’s not a tinge of sadness in her notes, like it never existed at all.
She doesn’t need to glance at you. She just needs to feel.
She gets one more piece. Brisk are her movements. A few people by your side, in the front row, take pictures.
You don’t know if you can live without her.
She comes down five minutes later than everyone else. And you’re not sure who needed to mentally prepare themselves more.
You stand in the first row, watching as all the other performers greet friends and family. All till a swish of red distracts you.
She walks purposefully, smiling and thanking as eyes fall on her. Her pace never falters. Swiftly, she reaches you. By your side.
Come on. You can’t even look slightly pissed if you tried. You smile, and she does as well, her chin dipping shyly.
“You-”
“Yeah. I came.”
Eunchae beams, her pearly whites showing for the first time in two weeks, and she turns away and does a little spin. The crowd parts naturally to give her room.
“How was it?”
“The performances? Great. The band was amazing.”
“But I was better?” Eunchae shifts her weight to her left foot, crossing her arms.
“You’d better be. Otherwise I’d be dating someone else right now.”
“Prick,” Eunchae shakes her head, “can’t you be nice and stop teasing for once?”
You chuckle. “You were amazing, babe. Gorgeous. As you always are. Everyone was transfixed.”
She glows. Everything feels better. No need for anymore words. The two of you communicate just like this. Her eyes glisten.
“Hey, none of that. You still need to receive all the praise and appreciation.”
Eunchae nods since she understands. She blinks a couple times, and they disappear. Later.
“I’m hungry. I’ll see you in a few minutes?”
“Go,” you nod. “I’ll wait for you in the car.”
Eunchae nods, the little angel, turning and leaving like a flare shot away from a flare gun, leaving your life. Others watch her go, then watch you, watching her leave.
You get it. And damn. There’s so much more.
In the car, you’re a shaking wreck. Everything feels wrong. Everything feels foolish.
And that’s even before Eunchae knocks on the windscreen, telling you to let her in. The lock clicks, and she surges in, grabbing a hold of your neck and kissing you hard.
Her lips meld to yours, mixing cherry lipstick with strawberry lips.
Your hands seized her shoulders, and each subsequent kiss deepens. It feels right, it feels good. Like she left, but dammit, she came back.
“Close the door,” you say between kisses, “the aircon is leaking out.”
She laughs, eyes wet, but does so anyway. She tucks herself neatly into the seat. And contact is broken. Just for a moment.
Because you’re pulling her in right after, again. And it’s a good while before the headlights of your car come on.
“I’m sorry,” Eunchae says first, the two of you on the highway. No, you don’t miss the details. Her hand clasped in yours. The other one fiddling with the hem of her dress, nervous like she’s been hurled back to her past, to your first date. The way she looks to the front because it hurts to look at you.
“We’re so stupid.”
“We’re not. Just… difficult.”
She laughs again. Weakly. Like she’s tired of it. Both of you are.
Your hand leaves hers for just a moment, so you can make a safe right turn onto the highway. And it comes back to rest on her thigh.
Her eyebrow perks up curiously, and you nonchalantly give her thin leg a squeeze. She shakes her head. She doesn’t even need to say it.
“I’m just telling you, this dress is a bitch and a half to take off. It’ll take like, ten minutes. And a lot more space than the interior of a car.”
You do your best to look disappointed, like that’s really the first thing on your mind. “Later then. What do you want to eat?”
And it’s strange, because food feels almost secondary. And it feels like it’s because nothing makes sense.
And look. The makeup sex is amazing.
Every time the two of you come back, it’s a couple days where the two of you can’t do anything else but tangle up in a mess of limbs and kisses.
It’s so good that in a messed up way it seems almost worth it to keep breaking apart, because returning feels consistent, probable.
The two of you stumble like drunken sailors all over the house, pulling and pushing each other around, gasping, moaning, groaning with round after round of mind boggling pleasure. That’s the only time things appear even a little messy. Her. You. Madness. Psychosis.
She becomes pliable, pudding, doing whatever you want and whatever you ask, loving it, making it feel like everything’s right with kisses down your cheek. A private moment for two, right?
“Let’s go out,” she says.
“When?”
“Get away from me!”
“No!” Eunchae screams. “You started this!”
You snort. “I started this? Me? When you literally just barged into the bedroom and screamed your head off?”
“You let it happen again! How did you let it happen again? What’s the point of saying things have changed, will change, if the same mistakes are going to happen again?”
“Things have been improving! I’ve been doing what you asked! Picking up the laundry. Cleaning the toilet. Waiting outside the office for an entire additional hour to pick you up! It’s been two months without incident. This was just a mistake. I was busy. It slipped my mind!”
“Of course! You were so busy you couldn’t remember to not let our house catch on fire? How do you nearly fuck up boiling water?”
“Just get one of those automatic ones that turn off by themselves! My boss dialed me with something important!”
“Made out of moneybags, are we?”
“Oh come on. It’s the simplest solution.”
“Well then, excuse me if I prefer using an item that’s not even spoiled rather than investing in a minor upgrade.”
“Then that’s your problem, isn’t it?”
“My problem? Yeah? Do I have to burn my fingers off the next time for you to get it?”
“The hell? That’s just being bitchy, Eunchae!”
“Fuck you! Can’t you not be such an unbelievable… pricklord?”
“…Okay, that’s just weak.”
“Fuck off! I should pour that kettle of hot water over your head!”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe I am! God knows I’ve already lost my mind living here long enough. With you!”
“Yeah yeah, everything is me, isn’t it? I’m the problem here.”
“So you think you can pin everything on me instead?”
“That’s not what I said! I’m done with this.”
“Then leave! For good! Has no one grown a pair of balls in this house? I know I definitely haven’t, and the last time I checked, you’ve got enough for both of us! So be a man and move on from me!”
“So it’s on me to leave as well! You haven’t learnt to be an independent woman yet, is that it?”
“There is no independence here, under your charge.”
“Stop saying that!”
No, really. You should be the bigger man here. The actual man. The one you’re defined to be. Moving on is logical. This will pass, and so will she. Plenty of fish, in this sea.
You know what it looks like. This isn’t a Mexican standoff, poker table, an all-in gamble. There shouldn’t be this much trepidation on the fact that both of you are seated on opposite sides of the dining table for the first time in what feels like forever.
“The truth is we can’t understand each other.”
Eunchae doesn’t react for a moment, like the truth doesn’t faze her. Which makes sense. Because the words have always been written here. On the walls.
“We don’t agree on things. We don’t see eye to eye. We even… think differently.”
“Your point being?” Eunchae says, and you’ve never felt the coldness in her low tone before, but you do now.
“We don’t work. We don’t even have the same value system. What you think is right and what I think is right, they don’t align. It’s like being a shitty MBTI match. I’ve tried. You’ve tried. We do our best to carve a way out for both of us, but we never come out the other side. It’s starting to hurt the way I look at you. And I know it has affected the way you see me as well.”
“So I should go, then.”
“No,” you say immediately, like it hurts. “No. It’s just… it’s bad.”
“Get to the point.”
You look up into her eyes. Her tone is detached, no, lobotomised, and it’s completely foreign. But the look in her eyes is anything but. Exactly the same way as before. Bright, but dimming with each passing moment. Affected.
“I… I don’t know what to do.”
Eunchae stares. Then the tears burst from her eyes.
And you could say a million things about that moment. About how it hurts, how it feels wrong. About how afraid you are of each next passing second, unsure where this road is going, or if there’s any road at all.
Your heart knows. Your mind knows. Each sparkle down Eunchae’s cheeks knows. She bites her lips, redirecting the pain outward, into something she can feel. She sniffs.
“You should let me go.”
Your throat goes dry. The right thing is to agree, right? Let her lead a better life, you’d do that if you truly loved her. You had no right to keep her for so long anyway, or to keep her at all. So you should just say it. Everyone would be happier this way.
But. What’s stopping you?
Eunchae’s breath catches, half because she actually needs air when she’s dying like this, and half because she’s watching your own tears fall.
“I don’t want to. I really, really don’t want to. I don’t know why-”
“I don’t want to either.”
And you wish she didn’t say that. Because the truth is you love her. But that doesn’t matter, at least not anymore. Not here. Love is bullshit, disaster, the problem. The only thing that can’t be explained in any sort of rational manner-
“I still love you. So much.”
And Eunchae sobs. Loudly. Her eyes crush into this ugly shape, her teeth gritted like she’s in pain. And the truth is, the two of you should be sick of each other. The two of you should hate each other. By coexisting, logic states that the two of you aren’t a match. The two of you can’t even decide on dinner sometimes, for gods’ sakes.
She just says, I eat anything, even when the both of you know she has particular foods she doesn’t eat, and then you go I eat anything, because you actually do. And then the two of you just stand there, in the mall, waiting.
“We can’t keep going back,” Eunchae murmurs, rubbing at her eyes, her whole body trembling with each uncontrolled weep. And love, which is the sweetest pain, the most intense, it all just… seems so pointless. Why? Why couldn’t you have been different? Why are you still fighting for this? Eunchae’s next words make so much sense.
“All we’ve been doing is coming back to this moment. It’s a loop. We break, we fall. We come back. -hic- We never move on. You argue with yourself over and over again if you’re doing the right thing, like it matters to deny what’s in your heart.”
She sniffs again, and your hand shoots out to grab the tissue box by the end of the table. To drag it into the space between you two like a marker.
“...Should we just go?” You say, clearing your throat like you’ve been yelling for seven straight hours at a wall.
“I don’t know,” Eunchae admits, shoulders hunched, dabbing at her eyes with the tissue. She looks up with this sad smile, this look that tells you she can’t care any more about the consequences. “How could I ever know?”
She’s right. You’ve always known she’s right. You picked her because she’s always been right. Right in her own way. Just. The whites on the wall don’t need to peel for you to understand. There’s no need for a bell to signal the end of this ballad.
“I’d still try, you know? Over and over again. No matter how long it takes. Regardless of if it matters. If it changes anything.”
“At the very least, I’d still be with you. Even if it hurts. I don’t know if I know how to go.”
“I know you would,” Eunchae almost laughs, this unnaturally light sound in this sombre mood, “But it’s okay. We can move on. Pretend this never happened. Pretend you never had the urge to come to me, to take me, use me, communicate something in a way that matters. Pretend you never loved me.”
“It sucks,” Eunchae admits, “We could call it quits here, right now. And it’ll feel like we’ve dumped a pointless amount of something to get to nothing. And maybe in a few years you’ll really forget all about me, realise that this was all pointless. Move on to someone younger, prettier and better. And that’s just how life works. It allows you to fixate on all the right things, and you’ll just get rid of anything that’s even halfway difficult to approach.”
Eunchae sniffs again. Her tears have stopped, and this moment really does feel final. There’s nothing left to write.
“I should go,” you say.
You should go.
“The house,” she begins, turning to face the walls. Everything the two of you have taken shelter under, that’s been built together. Fifty-fifty. Even. Split.
“Keep it. It’s yours.” You say. The truth is, even the idea of retaining your share of everything feels like a black mark you won’t be able to erase. It’s best to just leave everything as it is. Cut yourself off completely. Remove yourself from any suspicion.
“This house was made because of you. It should be left to you.”
Eunchae nods, slowly at first, like she’d argue. But arguments now are… needless.
The two of you pack like a couple. An actual one. She just hands things over wordlessly, things that go neatly into the next part of your suitcase. Clothes are easy. Everything else is difficult. Because how do you find things that she hasn’t touched, hasn’t graced? How do you just… remove everything that’s been tormenting you for months?
And it’s the way the tears start again, because each layer you unpack is another thing, another stupid reminder of what the two of you blended and made. Eunchae sinks to the floor, cradling one of those predrawn artworks the two of you never got around to finish painting, and even you can’t find the strength to pick her back up. You called it stupid. She’d promise you it’d be finished in two weeks, together. Bought it last year. On holiday. You watch her. Face concealed, that wavy curtain of hair you always thought hid her beauty from the outside world now looks like refuge, the last thing stopping her.
“I don’t want you to go.”
It’s soft. But genuine.
You zip up your suitcase. “I’ll see myself out.”
You declare it like she doesn’t trail behind you anyway, white following black, all the way to the door.
“It’s… for real this time,” you say, exhausted. This has been a long time coming. Eunchae nods, like she agrees, her eyes still staring straight at the center of your body. Maybe she can see your heart. But she probably can’t. Because otherwise she probably would have stopped you by now.
“... goodbye?” Eunchae says slowly.
And you look past her, at the house. The room. Everything that’s still there, that Eunchae will slowly have to filter out, toss away. And you almost smile. Maybe a part of you will still be here, even though it doesn’t matter. You won’t forget, will you? This should feel important.
The house still smells like her. You wonder how long it’ll take her to get rid of your scent.
“Bye.”
And the important thing here is not how you leave, turning away, letting the door close on you without support, without either of you having a hand on the handles, but the way she reacts. Because you might not goddamn see it, but it’s everything that’s happening behind the door, the thing you can only imagine is happening, that really gets you.
How she slumps against the door, forehead first, then sinks. The way she has to curl up against it, a ball of ashy hair, her nails scratching at her lower lip, eyes empty.
The way her fingers still find a way to scratch at the wooden front door, like you’re on the other side, and she’s the one waiting for you to open up and let her inside.
And your feet still haven’t left the dais.
Does it matter? Is everyone right? Is this lie of pretending she doesn’t exist, like she isn’t right fucking there, is this the best thing us as human beings could come up with?
Should you give a fuck? Don’t we pride ourselves on freedom of expression? If this fucked up way of constantly thinking about her, constantly coming back to her is wrong? Then what isn’t?
Desecration. Humiliation. The she knows or she doesn’t. Innocence and youth and the you shouldn’t do her like this, like everything’s true in your heart is false because it cannot be seen. Anguish.
The door clicks.
Eunchae stumbles away from the door, eyes widening like gold is falling from the sky. She barely gets a foot away before it swings open, and you’re quick, rushed.
You grab her by the scruff of her neck, pulling her up, tossing your luggage to the side. You don’t care if the handle cracks the marble.
And yeah, it looks like a fight. And it is a fight. A fight to protect the one goddamn thing you love.
Your lips find Eunchae’s. She’s pretty, all with her rosy lips and panicked gasps, but the kiss is anything but.
You press hard. Your fingers go to her hair, her neck, pulling her in. Her nails curl against your thin tee like she’ll scratch your heart out.
It takes a moment for you to realise she’s crying. Wait no, you are. What does it matter?
You pull apart for a fraction of a second, so you can realign yourself and kiss her again. She cries directly into your mouth, and it’s a rough pound against your chest that finally separates the two of you.
“Why?” She croaks, your lips stained with the salt of her pain, “you were supposed to leave. You had to leave! Now we’ll just go back into that same rhythm again!”
You don’t reply, just pull her in again. And yeah, she goes powerless. She kisses you back, harder than you thought possible, her fingers tugging hard at your shirt, pulling it up and bunching the fabric up.
The two of you break only when desperately necessary, both heaving like the two of you have summited a peak.
“I can’t go. Won’t go. Don’t go.”
And Eunchae squeezes her eyes tightly shut. And your lips go to her cheek, right below her eye. All this isn’t new to you, save for the fact that this is the latest time you’ve mended back together.
Her hands go to your back, squeezing you tight, keeping you close. She doesn’t draw away, only pulls you in deeper, because the both of you realise losing this is the only real defeat in both your lives.
She pulls your shirt off, over your head. Her hands rest against your chest, next to your beating heart.
“I missed you,” she admits, between laboured sobs.
“Me too.”
“Bedroom.”
The two of you stumble backwards, a clumsy waltz back. You guide her, slowly, all while she starts pressing gentle kisses on your neck, your collar. Breathes in your scent hungrily like your memory can fade away from her nose, given time.
You guide her hands to find the top of the mattress. Her fingers close, take in the textile feel of the fabric.
You reach for the hem of her shirt. And you wait, longer than you should. Long enough to hesitate.
But she nods. And you pull it off of her.
Her bra is simple. Grey. Your lips find hers first, a kiss to reassure, to remind her this is happening, your hands thumbing away her tears, which are stilling.
She doesn’t shiver at your touch, doesn’t flinch when your lips go to that spot beneath her ear. You’ve been in this spot before.
All she does is tug you over her, closing the distance to nada, till you can feel her own need on yours. Her hands disappear behind her back, and it’s quick, the way her bra is tossed aside with her left hand, and her cute little handfuls are bared to you.
And sure. Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe you’ve taken things too far. Maybe what’s important is that you don’t fucking care. You want her. She wants you.
You kiss her shoulder. Then her breasts. You’re painstakingly gentle with each, placing gentle kisses on each mound, your hands rubbing her waist in circles. She arches her back, her breath catching in a delightful little gasp.
“More,” she asks cutely.
You swear you’ll protect her till the day you die. You use your thumbs first, introduce them to the sides of her breasts. It’s a formal greeting, letting her feel the warmth of your touch as you draw the curves of her chest before you start applying any pressure.
Her fingers find your hair, moaning as your tongue paints her sensitive skin, glides over her nipples.
“Oh fuck,” you hear. You grin inwardly.
You rub her peaks against your tongue, rub the surrounding flesh with your fingers. They feel good in your hands, good as they always would. That’s the exercise here.
Eunchae shudders, her elbows squeezed to her side like it tickles, her fingers clenching on open air.
“Mmnn!”
“Love you, babe. So much.”
You kiss her lips again. Your fingers brush over her rubbery nubs firmly, insistently, a metronomic motion.
“God yes,” she says, smiling with her eyes.
Below her shirt, she has shorts on, denim booty shorts, previously concealed beneath her oversized tee. Your hands are already slightly edging downwards, and the only thing that stops you is a sudden giggle from above.
“What?” You say, confused.
Eunchae reaches for her own chest, gently squeezing and humming softly. “You look so stupid going to take my pants off while you’re crying.”
You laugh, and she joins in. “Doofus, you’re crying too.”
“Fuck,” she says, grinning as she does so. Then her hands come down to help. One firm push from her, mixed with one sharp tug from you, and everything else falls off of her.
“Damn, beautiful.”
Eunchae laughs, meaning to pull you back up to her, but you’re already snaking your way down below, till your knees are off the bed and on the floor.
“Not wasting time, are we?” She says idly, propped up on one elbow, the other tossing her hand back behind her.
“All we do is waste time,” you reply, pulling her legs apart without another word.
Her pussy, soft, inviting, looking like it can’t fit more than a couple fingers in there. They shine with arousal, and you don’t need to look up to know she’s slightly flushed.
You take the same approach you did with her tits, rubbing gently into the flesh of her thighs, and pressing loving kisses to either side till she nearly kicks you from her giggles.
“You don’t have to be shy, you know.”
“Funny,” you reply, “coming from you.”
You plunge your tongue between her legs.
Eunchae gasps, her eyes widening as it hits her all at once. You go deep, plunging into the depths of her core while making her sure her legs go still.
You lap gently. Take what’s coating your tongue and go around her outer lips first, give both sides equal attention before you spread them again, drinking from the pool between them.
Eunchae shudders, throwing her head back, an unexpectedly low tone passing from between her lips.
You press down on your tongue, using your head for added effect to apply more pressure, letting her feel the heat of your own tongue.
“Shit!”
“Mmm, yum,” you reply.
Eunchae clamps a hand over her mouth, her eyes all wide, doing a remarkable job and concealing her pleasured groans even as your gentle laps against her pussy turns to lashes.
“Now who’s being the shy one?” you tease, gathering spit on your tongue as additional lubricant and letting it fall lewdly between her legs.
“Shut up. This is… different.”
You cock an eyebrow. “Different? What, does it feel like you’re being watched?”
“I don’t know, maybe, yeah.”
“Like you need to care about giving a fuck. Just keep your eyes on me. And you know I like it when you voice your enjoyment.”
“Fine, jeez, it’s embarrassing, you know,” Eunchae says. You don’t reply, already leaning forward for a second helping.
This time, a couple of your fingers work to pull her further apart, because the truth is, she’s tight. She always has been, and maybe always will be. You rub a finger between the slit, because you know it’s better when she has time to get used to it. And you know she loves it when you take your time with her.
And you haven’t even gotten to the button poking out from beneath her hood yet.
“Ah!” Eunchae cries when you seize it by the lips, legs shaking.
“God, you eat pussy like you’re famished.”
“Only yours,” you reply, pressing another gentle kiss to her thigh, giving her but a moment’s respite. “And like you’d blame me.”
A chuckle is her response, one that’s cut off as you really start to go for it, apply full strokes the way you’ve learned she enjoys.
She enjoys everything really, anything beneath your touch. But you’ve worked hard to know what really gets her going.
“Don’t cramp on me now,” you warn, because it’s happened before.
“Ah! That- guh, that’ll be later.”
It’d be better if it was never, because it really does get in the way sometimes. But occasionally that’s how it is.
Eunchae locks her feet together behind your head, sinking back against the sheets, arms spread wide. You glance up, able to observe her heavy breathing, her chest heaving as she tosses her head left, then right like she’s having a bad dream.
She decorates the room with her soft cries, her tone a blend of rich timbre and youthful charm. Your hands keep her legs well apart, fingers almost drumming a pattern into her skin.
“Fuck, that feels really good,” Eunchae confesses.
Her hips start to move in time with your tongue, bucking back and forth gently till she hits a particular spot and lets out a shattered moan.
“Right here?” You ask, redirecting yourself to find that spot you brushed by moments earlier.
The increase in amplitude of her voice gives you the answer.
“Oh my fucking-,” Eunchae buries her mouth into her elbow, “please don’t stop. I think I might cum.”
“I won’t stop, baby,” you say, your fingers replacing your tongue whenever you speak. Add one, let her feel the intensity. “I’ll keep going, right here, okay? Till you let go for me.”
You lower your head again, and all conversations stops. Just the soft sounds of you sucking on wet flesh and the louder sounds of what it’s doing to her entire body.
“Hnn- oh, oh,” Eunchae snaps her hips suddenly, like she managed to find even more than what she asked for.
“Oh shit, oh fuck. That’s really good.”
You almost scoff. As if she hates the word.
And the one thing about her is that she doesn’t lie. When she gets going, starts reaching her peak, it’s obvious. It comes in the slight tremble in her legs. Inconsistent at first, little twitches, her toes curling against one another, then more persistently, like a soft electrical hum.
“I’m going to cum soon,” Eunchae says, like you can’t feel it beneath the vibrations of her skin.
You continue your efforts. You don’t speed up, just keep giving it to her at this exact pace, the one that she’s into today, till it’s almost robotic. You don’t speed up, but you don’t slow either, and to Eunchae, it feels like a consistent, growing build up she can’t tug away from.
“Fucking g-mmmhmmph,” Eunchae hums, borderline painfully. Almost there. You will your tongue to continue, no matter how tired it may be.
Her voice comes out in vibrato.
“Fuck! Fuuu-uu-uuu-uu-ck!”
And it’s because her body does too. Her whole body shakes, convulses uncontrollably. You guess orgasms give some people electrical shocks, because her hips twitch and buck powerfully at incredible space, and yeah, you’ve seen this before, but it’s not like the scene isn’t amazing and incredibly hot each and every time.
Eunchae whimpers like she’s afraid, a long and deep orgasm that rocks her entire body, overstimulates every single nerve.
You hold her through it, closing your eyes and letting yourself hear her, hear how well you’ve done her, feel as wetness splashes against your chin.
You hold her till she stops shaking, fingers rubbing into her thighs, easing the muscles. She always gets like this. You pray, no cramps today, please.
Eunchae takes a few moments to gasp for air, a delirious, nonsensical laugh bubbling from between her lips.
“How was that?” You say, fishing for compliments.
It takes a couple of seconds for Eunchae to prop herself back up to look at you. Her eyes are wide, unfocused, her nostrils flared and jaw slightly open.
“You know our makeup sex is the best.”
You snigger, reaching up to pinch her cheeks. It’s still slightly cool from her faded tears. She slaps your hand playfully, scrunching her nose.
“You’re adorable,” you say, and she laughs.
“Come here, you sack of potatoes.”
You pull her towards you, just as your legs clamber back on the bed. Her legs stay splayed open on either side of you.
“Let’s get you out of these, hmm?” Eunchae’s fingers move your pants, almost gently singing a tune as she undoes them.
You watch her for a few good moments, lost in the way she looks, the way happiness evident in every fiber of her being brings a calmness to your heart as well.
You don’t know how you’d deny or ever leave her.
Eunchae seems to notice that she’s the only one actually doing anything, and she gives you that curious look, frowning and for a moment it seems like she’s going to berate you about leaving your laundry hanging about again. You help her hurriedly, shimmying out of your pants.
“Want a blowjob?” She asks, palming your length in her grip. The couple strokes that follow are wholly unnecessary, and only really serve to show how big you are in her hands.
You shake your head. “We have other days for that.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
No idea. You scoop your hands under her, under her sides, gently flipping her like a pancake. She makes a motion to raise her hips. You push them back down gently.
“Stay,” you say softly, slowly pulling her legs apart, lowering yourself till she can feel the heat of your pelvis above and behind her.
“This is cute.”
“Really, cute?” You say, slowly guiding yourself to her entrance. She’s beyond wet.
“Ye-ah!”
You push your hips forward, pressing delicately with each inch. Eunchae’s feet rub gently against the bedsheets, her voice hitching as her body grows to accept you.
It’s slow. She’s tight, but she’s also incredibly wet, so her body kind of tells you when you can sink fully.
“You good?” You ask breathily, your hands shaking against the bed. She feels indescribably good. Soft.
“Yeah,” Eunchae huffs, and the both of you hold onto your breaths as you thrust the last inch into her.
“There we go,” you gasp, feeling way too much at once. You can even discern her own heartbeat as your body drops over hers.
You press a kiss on her shoulder blades, and she rubs the back of your arms gently.
“God, fuck me,” she murmurs.
“Getting to it,” you mutter, frowning. She’s still somehow impatient.
The two of you shift till your hips are comfortably aligned. And then you lift your hips and slowly draw yourself from her warmth.
“There we go,” Eunchae says with a slight hiss, “that’s it.”
Plap!
Her perky derrière claps against your pelvis as it drops.
Plap. Plap! Plap!
“Nngh, fuck,” Eunchae groans, her head falling to the sheets already.
“This might be too much for you,” you say.
“Shut up. Prick with a big dick.”
You laugh. That’s a new one.
The pace gets easy. Eunchae lies comfortably, prone, simply making sure her hips are up at the correct angle to make things easier for you. You focus on hilting on each stroke, controlling your energy and making sure each thrust is even.
But in no time at all, she’s bucking her hips back up as well, meeting you back. And it helps. Feels great, too.
“Mmm, fuck, I really don’t know how I could possibly get away from this.”
“Yeah, it’d be your loss. People do say I have a magic penis.”
Eunchae snorts, and, like she didn’t learn her lesson, it’s cut off again by her need to moan.
“What’s with this position anyway?”
“You don’t like it?”
“No, it’s good. mmm... Just curious. You shy?”
Plap!
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, maybe it’s because sometimes you’re too pretty and it hurts to look at you.”
“Bullshit!” Eunchae calls immediately, but then her expression turns serious. “Wait, seriously?”
You press a kiss to her ear; You press another to her cheek.
“Don’t let it get to your head,” you whisper, before you start amping up your thrusts.
And you don’t see it, but Eunchae has a childish grin. And maybe it’s that kid competitiveness in her, but the harder and faster you start to thrust down, the harder her hips seem to rise up to meet yours.
Plap! Plap!
“Fuck,” you groan, tilting your head back. She’s gripping onto you so tight. Your head is swimming. The two of you could melt an ice pack with your shared body heat.
“So good.”
“Yeah? Liking it?”
“Mhmm!”
“Need something more?”
“No, this is great, really! Oh! Just, don’t act like I’ll break, mmkay? You’re gentler than usual today.”
Curious.
“Mmm, just let me know,” you mutter, refocusing your attention on making sure she gets it good. You press another kiss to her cheek, her hair tickling your nose, allowing you to catch a whiff of her pleasant ocean shampoo.
With surprising dexterity, Eunchae manages to reach for one of her hair ties laying next to her pillow, scooping her hair back and tying it into a neater ponytail. And it’s between her incessant moans and coos as well.
She tilts her head to the side, catching your gaze. She puckers her lips, and you get the message, meeting her for a couple of kisses. Difficult to get much more than light pecks in, but she doesn’t seem to complain.
You rearrange to kiss her better, and her ass rises up naturally, her knees tucking beneath her.
“This is nicer,” Eunchae says between surprisingly chaste kisses, “you looked like you were trying too hard earlier.”
“Really? Is that an insult to my endurance?”
“You talk too much.”
Eunchae tugs you towards her again, and you can feel her smiling against your lips, and you’re sure she can feel you too.
“Harder, babe. Come on.”
You nod, pumping your hips forward, more used to this more elevated position. Eunchae flicks her ponytail back, straightening her back as your hands come to rest comfortably on her waist.
“Fuck, darling, you feel so good. Seriously. You’re the best.”
“Good that you know that,” Eunchae replies, “now fuck me like you mean it.”
Your fingers dig into her skin, truth be told, you’re still a little scared she’ll break. It’s just something about her in general. You blame it on her squishy cheeks. There’s something about her that sometimes makes you hold back.
But whatever Manchae wants, Manchae gets. So if it’s a good dicking down, you’d be obliged.
The sounds of your hips meeting grows louder, rising to meet Eunchae’s volume. And her words get filthier.
“Oh god, yes! Fuck me! Harder!”
“That’s it,” she growls, “Yes! There!”
You gasp, overtaken by both exhaustion and pleasure. Eunchae doesn’t ever need to try hard to get you there, ever. Her gift, maybe.
“Mmm, fuck, Eun-ah, Chae, shit- babygirl,” your hands find her ass, kneading softly, something to distract you.
But Eunchae has other plans. She reaches behind grabbing a hold of your left hand with her own, and slowly tugs it forwards.
Towards her back, you think at first, or her shoulders, for stability. But no, she brings you all the way to her head, clasping your fingers and pressing them over the back of her skull.
Then the angle between her thighs widens, and she arches her back fully, letting you see this magnificent view of all of her, that descends past her hips.
Her moans become muffled by the sheets. “Please!”
“Fuck.” You press her down, fully, keeping her head pressed to the bed as you ramp up.
“Oh, yes, like that! Just like that!”
“Are you getting close?”
“Mmm! Are you?”
“You know I am.”
“Just hold on a little bit longer, okay? Mmph! You’re fucking me so good right now, it’s driving absolutely crazy. Keep doing that, you crazy bastard. I love it!”
Ah hell. Whatever.
You keep her pinned, your right hand grubbing her waist tightly; guiding the way her hips thrust back onto your cock so you can grind yourself as deeply as you can into her.
And you’re definitely on the right track, because her body twitches with surprising force, and she tries to tile her head back.
You release your grip on her locks, and she turns back to look at you urgently. You feel her trying to shift your weight. You slow, confused.
“I wanna see you when you cum in me.”
Your eyes go wide. But she’s already in motion, and the two of you reposition till she’s flat on her back, legs wide, you pressed, leaned between them.
She presses her hips up against you insistently, and it’s muscle memory that gets you fucking her again.
“Yes, I’m gonna cum!”
Yeah, you can feel that. Her legs are trembling again.
“Babygirl–”
“Cum with me! Cum with me, cum with me cum with me!”
Pleasure suddenly spikes throughout your whole body.
“Oh fuck, baby, wait–
“Fuck meee… Cumming!”
“Oh fuck!”
You groan, firing off first. It’s a complete crashing wave, one that knocks you off your metaphorical feet, till you’re dumping and groaning and simply gasping at how much it all is, suddenly spilling and shooting and feeling that it’ll never stop.
Eunchae’s a couple beats behind, her legs quivering and shaking with enough strength to rock the both of you as she shrieks, her hands twisted dangerously tight around your arms. Both your moans reverberate, and your eyes nearly bug out of your skull.
With her full-body convulsions, it’s a completely unbelievable and incredible sensation on your member, and it wrings dry any possible remnants you could have.
It actually takes you a couple minutes to process what happened. You nearly ripped your cock out of her from the amount of sudden, concentrated pleasure. Sure, make up sex has always been awesome? But that?
Eunchae murmurs gently, incoherently, her eyes still firmly shut. She’s tugging at you gently, trying to get you over her, and once you regain your senses you let her, the two of you collapsing in a post sex coma.
“Holy shit,” you murmur. “That was…”
“Nnmm, uh..uh huh.”
“Baby–”
“Yeah.”
You’d laugh if you weren’t gasping for air.
After another five minutes, when the hammering in both chests have stopped, Eunchae presses a kiss to your cheek. You jerk your head up, having already nearly fallen asleep.
She gives you another kiss on your lips, then rolls onto her side. You slide into that natural spot behind her, spooning you both.
“Covers.”
You tug the sheets and toss them over the both of you.
“I’m gonna pull out,” you murmur.
“Fuck it.”
You smile against her back.
“You’re crazy.”
“Mhm. Night, babe.”
“Night.”
You help to turn off the lights, then settle back into your spot. Everything feels right, just like it always has. The way you cuddle behind her, it’s like it has always been.
Except. Something nags at you, and it takes you a moment to figure out what’s up.
“Babygirl.”
“Yeah?” Eunchae asks a heartbeat later.
“You thinking?”
“...yeah.”
“About what?”
Eunchae doesn’t reply.
“... Is it about whether anything changed?”
A sniffle.
“Hey,” you say, reaching over. You cup her cheeks. They are damp. You sigh.
“I know. God dammit. I know.”
“It’s the same,” Eunchae murmurs, like it is heartbreak.
“Is it? Is it another loop, baby? Is it not working for you?”
“No, I mean… no. It…”
“What?”
You feel Eunchae shuffle in her position. “We’re improving. We are. You didn’t even dump your laundry in the right basket at first. Now you’re doing it for me. I don’t know how you feel, but I feel like every time, we get a little closer. Closer to that perfect thing we both want, the perfect day we can both wake up to.”
You feel fuzzy. “Then why the tears?”
“Because I don’t know if we’re healing fast enough. What if it takes too long to get there. What if the guilt gets to you? What if one of us gets chased out?”
A pause. You rub her cheeks gently, trying to rid her tears with damp fingers. You don’t know, honestly.
“Then fuck it. What matters is our here and now. And that we tried. I won’t run away from it. If I go down, I go down swinging. You’re what matters.”
“Do you believe that?”
You lie back down, your hand still protectively wrapped around her waist.
“I do. Because nothing’s worth it if I don’t.”
After a while, Eunchae’s breathing turns regular, smooth. You said something that mattered, something true. And it must have comforted her. And even as you sink into sleep, sink deeper into the confirmation that yeah, you know what, you believe in what you said. What does anything else mean in the grand scheme of things? Does anything matter more than the warm body next to you?
The real question is:
Did any of it matter?
Because what else is any of this? Besides video tapes that are only evidence to two?
You’re pretty sure you’ve told your knees to stop shaking three times already. And still, they wouldn’t listen.
You rub your hands together. It’s not even that cold yet. Some of the fleece on your jacket must have peeled off. The insulation feels like shit today. Your eyes scan the campus garden furtively, making sure that none of your friends are in the vicinity. You have to be undercover today, or you’ll never hear the end of it.
“Hey.”
Ah crap. You swallow slowly, turning your head to look at her. Hong Eunchae, hair done up in a ponytail, with those bangs that have become her signature.
“Hey.”
“You look like a wreck. Did one of the profs assign a surprise test or what?”
“No,” you chuckle weakly, “that’s not it. But I’m sure you can guess what’s really up.”
Eunchae tilts her head to the sky for a moment, slowly walking over and dropping her bag on the seat next to yours.
“Yes, considering everyone’s eyes on campus will be on you from this day onward, I guess you’d be nervous.”
“Thanks for the sympathy.”
Eunchae laughs. “I mean, what were you expecting? You had the balls to come up to me to ask me out, you’d better have the balls to become the talk of the school for the next few weeks.”
“For the foreseeable future, more like. I can already imagine Yunjin’s instagram post. Comp Eng Loser tries to steal my bestie? I’m gonna smoke his ass.”
“Oh, Yunjin already knows.”
“What?” You freeze.
“Eh, you’ll be alright.”
“You do realise that the both of us have no idea if this is going to work, right?”
“All the more reason for you to not screw this up, then.”
“...Fantastic.”
“Emmchhe!”
Eunchae doubles over, her hands clutching her belly.
You pull the ice cream cone off your face, looking positively furious.
“Are you kidding me?”
“You look like Anpanman!”
“Oh it’s funny to you, is it?” You growl, rubbing the strawberry ice cream on your flushed cheekbones. “Seriously? Ice cream slap? This cone cost fourteen bucks!”
“Worth it!” Eunchae sings, throwing you finger guns.
“You!” You snarl, swiping at her face with the cone. Eunchae shrieks.
“Ah! You got it on me!”
A long streak of red slices across Eunchae’s features from lip to jaw, like a really bad nosebleed.
“Deserved. I’m taking a photo.”
“Hey!”
Eunchae’s fingers clamp around the hand reaching into your pocket, halting it. You roll your eyes.
“Fine. I won’t. Let go of me.”
“I don’t trust you! Haha!”
You sigh, watching as the ice cream starts to melt on her soft features. Without thinking, your free hand comes up to start wiping it off. Eunchae’s eyes widen for a moment. Then she giggles. Laughs. Her hands release your own, and she comes up to tap at your cheeks, like she’s checking if the damage has really been done.
You laugh too. Goddammit.
“It’s peaceful here,” Eunchae mutters, leaning her head against your shoulders. It’s nice and cool, the perfect temperature to come to the river. Eunchae was right in dragging your lazy ass over. “I thought it’d be busy, but it’s like everyone knows to keep things quiet and nice.”
“Yeah, it’s nice. But your jjapageti is getting cold.”
“Mmm… feed me.”
“You’re such a baby,” You sigh, but you do it anyway. Eunchae giggles, clapping happily.
“Delicious!”
“Yeah yeah,” you smile. Your hand reaches for the fried chicken next. “Try this.”
Eunchae makes an appealing crunch. She hums in joy, her whole body swaying at the taste. You laugh. It’s ridiculous. She even bobs her head.
“You better feed me next.”
“I don’t wanna!”
“Brat.”
“So I’m going first?”
“Prepare to have your mind blown, Miss Hong. This dish is about to be so good, it’ll give you an out-of-body orgasm.”
“Pervert!”
“What? It happens in Food Wars! This is culinary expertise here!”
“Sure, sure. But the plating looks kind of simple, don’t you think?”
“Blasphemy! How dare you insult my skills. It’s art. A Michelin recipe!”
“Michelin, eh? You know the tire company-”
“Yeah, yeah, just get on with it. I cannot wait to see the look on your bedazzled face when you try my bamboozling bokkeumbap.”
“Alright, Chef Ramsay. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
You watch intently as she scoops up a spoon of rice.
“Get the kimchi! That’s the best part!”
“Jeez, let me eat in peace, will you?”
The food enters her mouth. She chews. Bites. There’s a nice sounding crunch of kimchi. Her face is stoic. You watch with baited breath.
Then she frowns, squeezing her eyes shut and cringing.
“It’s salty!”
“Bullshit!” You leap to your feet, offended beyond belief. You were a goddamn magician in the kitchen earlier!
“It really is!”
“This is biased judgement. Malfeasance!”
“Settle down, boy who cried wolf. I rate it a five out of ten.”
Your jaw slams into the ground. “A five? Where are my boyfriend pity points?”
“Already included. Two of them, in fact.”
You feel like tossing the frying pan at her. Your hands vanish into your hair. This is outrage!
“Try mine.”
“No! This isn’t fair. We need an unbiased judge! I’ll call the neighbours over.”
“Scared you’ll lose?”
Your eye twitches.
“Yeah right. If mine’s a five, yours is not even surpassing a three.”
“Spoon to the plate, dipshit.”
“I can’t wait to puke all over you.”
“Ew!”
You take your seat. Scoop up a plate of suspiciously orange looking bokkeumbap. So what if her egg is fluffier than yours? The rice is the real deal breaker here. Eunchae watches you like she already knows she’s won. What an egotist.
You send it to your mouth confidently. Yeah right, there’s no way she’s gonna beat you. She nearly dropped the knife earlier, nearly caused a panicked mess. You can’t wait to spit it back at-
Your face blanks. You stare. Your spoon clatters to the table.
Eunchae shows her pearly whites.
You stare at the plate. Then back at her. Chew.
“That’s not fair!” You roar, slamming your hand down on the table like you need a drink. Eunchae shrieks with glee, climbing out of her seat and doing a celebratory spin.
“This is your mom’s recipe! How the hell am I supposed to beat that!”
“Eat my ass!”
Oh you’ll do that alright. But you’re still fucking mad.
“This was supposed to be an individual competition! No outside help allowed!”
“I cooked it all myself,” Eunchae says matter-of-factly.
“Using other people’s recipe is against the rules!”
“Uh, actually, dipshit, it wasn’t even in the rules. Brains beats brawn, right?”
“Fuck off!” You turn back to the table, shoving another mouthful of her bokkeumbap into your mouth, “Mommy’s girl. Cheater!”
Eunchae laughs, drumming her hands against your back. You continue eating, shovelling the impeccable taste of her mom’s cooking into your goblet, all while ranting about the injustice of society.
“Hey! That’s my lunch! Go back to eating your three out of ten! Asshole!”
The cabin shakes slightly beneath your feet, giving both you and Eunchae a slight scare. She looks up at you, sniggering.
“This is safe, right?”
“Yes, you big baby. Now focus on what’s behind you.”
You turn around, watching as the Ferris Wheel starts to ascend, giving you a great view of the Japanese coastline.
“Wow. Blue, blue, and more blue. Stunning.”
“Killjoy,” Eunchae grumbles, taking out her phone to snap a few pictures to send to Chaewon and the girls. You smile, hands in your pockets, one thumbing a thin chain of metal between your fingers.
“Hey, babe?” You say once the two of you are decently up in the air.
“Yeah? Could you bend over, baby? I want to take a pic behind you.”
You’ll ignore making the obvious joke this time.
“Are you enjoying our anniversary celebration?”
“Yeah,” Eunchae nods happily, then tilts her head to the side. “Why?”
“Rate it?”
“Ten out of ten? You brought me to Japan, babe. I think that’s definitely a step up.”
It’s good that she’s loving it and all, but you get a cheeky idea.
“A perfect ten? Okay then. Guess my job here is done.”
Eunchae narrows her eyes. “What is it?”
“Nothing?”
Her eyes drop to the hands in your pockets.
“What’s that? You’ve got something.”
“Is that so? Why don’t you guess? What has Bagginses got in his pocketses?”
Eunchae rolls her eyes. “Show it to me.”
“You’re no fun,” you sigh.
You pull the necklace out from your pocket, grinning as you see her eyes glimmer and her smile widen.
“Oh my god. I could kiss you.”
“Could? You better kiss me. This is worth at least a dozen kisses from my girlfriend. And a blowjob. And buttsex!”
“Freak!” Eunchae’s eyes widen, but her smile is still plastered on. “Give it here!”
“Giveitses?”
“Oh, stop with that. Come on!”
“Come here then!”
Eunchae cheers excitedly as she moves over to your side, giggling as you gingerly put it on for her.
“You lose this, and you’re paying me back with buttsex.”
“Stop!”
You smile at the little glimmer now added to her shine. It’s perfect, like you thought it would be. For a moment, nothing matters. Not the bill, not the time spent, not what’s going to happen next. It’s just you and her. And that indescribable feeling.
“What do you think?”
Eunchae looks down, her eyes similarly in a state of wonder.
“I love it.”
“It? Is that all you really have to say for yourself?”
She giggles, like she doesn’t even care how much she’s rubbing it in.
“Fine. What do you want me to say?”
“You even need me to tell you?” You say, shaking your head in disappointment.
“Come on. Say the three words babe.”
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