i'm wrapped around your finger (and I can't stop)

The next morning, Minjeong feels both lighter and heavier than ever before.

Lighter because, for the first time in years, she had allowed herself to want something without overthinking it to death first. Without analysing every possible consequence until the feeling itself suffocated beneath the weight of practicality.

Heavier because now she had to live with the consequences of letting herself feel more than she should have.

The sunlight spilling through her apartment windows feels offensively bright as she stands in her kitchen nursing a cup of coffee gone lukewarm fifteen minutes ago. Manhattan hums beyond the glass as if nothing significant had happened at all.

People rush to work. Taxis honk. Somewhere below, someone shouts impatiently at a delivery driver.

And meanwhile, Minjeong cannot stop thinking about the way his forehead had rested briefly against her stomach like something fragile. The way he’d looked at her like she was something worth taking his time with.

God, this was exactly why she avoided things like this.

Casual was only casual until one person started thinking too much afterward.

Unfortunately for Minjeong, thinking too much was practically a professional skill at this point.

Her phone vibrates against the kitchen counter. For one horrible second, her stomach flips. Then she sees the name on the screen.

Yizhuo.

Minjeong exhales quietly before answering. “Good morning to you too.”

“You sound hungover.”

“I’m thirty-seven, Yizhuo,” Minjeong mutters, taking a reluctant sip of cold coffee before grimacing immediately. “Existing is enough to give me a hangover now.” 

Yizhuo makes a quip about a late night, voice thick with amusement even through the speaker. 

Minjeong remains silent. 

“Oh my God,” she gasps dramatically. “Did Kim Minjeong finally commit an act of human spontaneity?”

Minjeong rolls her eyes even though she knows Yizhuo can’t see her. “I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait,” Yizhuo says quickly, laughter spilling through the phone. “This is huge for me emotionally. You haven’t touched a man since-’’

“Yizhuo.”

“Right. Touchy subject.” A beat passes. “So… how was he? How was it? I need details.”

Minjeong pinches the bridge of her nose with one hand, coffee still cooling untouched beside her.

“Was he hot?” Yizhuo presses again. “Actually, no, forget that part, obviously he was hot or you wouldn’t have gone home with him. Was he good? Tell me he wasn’t one of those men that thinks asking if you came counts as foreplay.” 

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Stop deflecting, start talking.”

“I’m not deflecting.”

“Please, you forget how long we’ve known each other. I know when you’re avoiding something. Don’t try to lawyer your way out of this. Talk.” 

Minjeong opens her mouth to argue before immediately realising Yizhuo is annoyingly correct.

Outside the apartment windows, Manhattan continues moving without her. Somewhere below, a siren wails briefly before fading into the city noise. The normalcy of it all feels strange considering the fact Minjeong still can’t stop thinking about warm hands sliding carefully along her waist like she was something delicate. Like she mattered.

“It was…” She exhales slowly. “Nice.” 

A scandalised gasp explodes through the speaker.

“Nice? Nice?” Yizhuo repeats. “That’s what you say about a decent hotel. Or a sandwich. ‘Nice’ is not a word used to describe getting laid.”

Minjeong cannot help the reluctant twitch at the corner of her mouth.

“I’m serious,” Yizhuo continues. “Either it was terrible and you’re sparing his dignity, or it was incredible and you’re still reeling from the fact a man was actually able to make you orgasm.” 

Minjeong finds herself unable to answer, getting lost in thought again. How exactly was she supposed to explain this? How was she supposed to explain that the sex had almost become secondary somewhere along the way? 

That what unsettled her most wasn’t the attraction, or even how badly she’d wanted him, but how gentle he’d been with her afterward. During it too. The way he kept checking in quietly like her comfort genuinely mattered to him. The way he’d looked disappointed when she left. The way she’d almost stayed.

“You’re being quiet,” Yizhuo says carefully now, some of the teasing softening around the edges.

Minjeong swallows slowly before answering. “I...” Her voice catches faintly with hesitation. “I don’t really know how I’m feeling, Ning.”

Yizhuo doesn’t speak immediately after that. Which, more than anything else, tells Minjeong she’s worried. Normally, Yizhuo would’ve filled the silence instantly with another joke. Another dramatic gasp. Something loud enough to stop Minjeong from sinking too deeply into her own head. 

Instead, when she speaks again, her voice is softer around the edges, like she’s worried Minjeong might break. 

“Oh,” she says quietly. 

Minjeong stares down at the dark surface of her coffee. It had gone completely cold now, but she still wraps both hands around the mug anyway, clinging to the leftover warmth in the ceramic. 

The sunlight trickling in through the window warming her body doesn’t do much to settle the turmoil she feels inside. Somewhere below her apartment, a taxi horn blares aggressively enough to make someone shout back. The city keeps moving, but Minjeong feels strangely stuck inside her own mind.

“It’s stupid,” she mutters eventually. “I slept with a stranger, Ning. This isn’t exactly some great love story for the ages.” 

“Mm.” Yizhuo hums thoughtfully. “And yet you sound like someone just handed you a loaded weapon emotionally. You sound a little broken.”

Minjeong closes her eyes briefly. Because Yizhuo was right, that’s exactly how she felt.

“I don’t understand what happened,” Minjeong admits quietly, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Usually I know exactly where I stand with people. I don’t usually let myself get this emotional over strangers.”  

“That sounds suspiciously like lawyer propaganda.”

“I’m serious.”

“No, I know.” Yizhuo’s voice softens further. “That’s why I’m listening instead of bullying you right now.”