I don't really know how or when it started. I genuinely didn't notice anything at all.

written while listening to "Tell a lie" by meego (D.P. ost)

We went to the same elementary school, same high school. He took a gap year after grad while I took on three courses in college. We hung out during the summer when we could. He helped me find a job cuz I wouldn't stop complaining, and then, once I complained about not having the guts to apply either, he sat me down and watched me submit my resume online to fucking get it over with.

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Two of our friends worked at the same clothing store, so we sort of just became a group after a short while. We'd get food. We'd get drinks. We'd walk the areas of our city meant for sightseeing. We'd go for karaoke. On our way back home, I'd doze off against the window on the skytrain and wake up with my head on his shoulder, his face turned away from me.

At work, he'd cover me when I was called for cash, or sometimes he'd fight me to take the call, and he would get me lunch later.

Not much sooner when he got his driver's license, he'd drive all of us home, but I would be in the front passenger seat. He'd play my favourite station when the other two guys would complain, then allow them control over the songs when I said I didn't mind.

aesthetic, cinema, and retro image Temporarily removed couple, ulzzang, and korean image header, twitter, and grey image

Then, one shift where we had to close up, I asked him if I could stay over for the night.

"Why?" he asked.

"It's 12 AM. We're both tired. It's not safe for either of us, so lemme stay over. I'll be in the living room, anyway."

There was a pause that I couldn't interpret, but eventually, he slipped his hand into mine and led me to his dark blue Toyota Corolla hatchback, the one his older brother passed down cuz he'd just earned a Tesla.

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The drive was quiet. Our two friends had gotten off early because they covered a different shift this season. It was just the two of us, something that happened surprisingly often until it held a different weight this time.

The walk to his apartment entrance was still silent. The elevator ride up to the fourth floor practically deafening. Unlocking his door and following him into the dark, hearing us move ourselves and our stuff around — not a peep from our vocal cords.

My bag on the barstool, his wallet and keys on the countertop, then dropped into the bowl by the microwave instead.

"Why?" he asked again. The back of his head was highlighted by the moonlight. "You said there was nothing between us that day." The day a friend of ours from high school said we looked good as a couple, and I said that we weren't each other's type.

"There is nothing between us. Why can't I stay the night? I said I'd take the living room."

"I... don't want you in the living room. To be honest," he rubbed the back of his head but didn't turn around, "I don't even know why I brought you here. I shouldn't have you... here."

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I blink at the floor, fiddling with my fingers. "Well gee, thanks, aren't you a gentleman. Sure, leave a woman you know on her own at night, who needs to pass by a shady neighbourhood." I contemplate storming out. I feel like storming out. But we're not enemies. We don't hate each other. And, I don't want to be floating, looking down at my body, and seeing my name on the news, and watching the people I know break down in tears, and blame him for being stupid just because of his feelings. His feelings. Hah. How funny. I thought I was the emotional one.

I don't notice he's standing in front of me until the smallest huff of air he gives brushes my forehead.

"There's nothing between us." It almost sounds like a question, but also not. He's not confident in particularly making it a statement. His eyes both feel like they're staring at me, and right through me.

"Did you... want something between us?" I ask.

It looks like he's struggling to have his tongue shape the words and spit it out.

"What do you want?" He chooses to ask.

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I stare at his long, dark lashes. His cheeks. His mouth. His Adam's apple.

I choose to hug him as if he were a house of cards. The slightest pressure dangerous, but frankly, the descent of those cards when they fall can look pretty.

He doesn't hug me back, but leans his cheek against the top of my head. It's getting warm.

"What are we?" I ask against his collar bones. His chest is seriously warm. I press a little closer to search for his heart beat.

"I don't know. Do we want to be something?"

I want to pinch him for making things complicated. But maybe I'm making things complicated too.

I pull away and feel an abrupt resistance around my waist. His hands are locked behind me.

He slowly leans down, and hesitates millimeters away from the corner of my mouth. Can I?

I don't move.
He waits for three more seconds, then presses his lips lightly against my skin.

My cheeks are red, I can feel it.

How did this start?

original source: 蛇 on quotev.com (aka me)
Thanks for readin'~