Perdition

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?”