010 Inundated
Inundated (2 of 2)
R | EunHae | AU; Angst
Summary: He prefers the drowning.
Warning: SiHae
A/N: This is boring. Also wordy. Move along, kids, nothing to see here.
8,719 words
--
Youngwoon is the first to notice the awkward silence that hangs between the two of us in the office, since we have adjacent desks. He stares inappropriately at Hyukjae and me several times during the day. Hyukjae waits for me to finish the presentation; consequently, Youngwoon waits for me, as well.
“How was it?” Hyukjae thoughtfully asks when the three of us are making our way to my parking spot.
“Fine,” I say, conscious of Youngwoon being more nosey than usual. “Everything was okay.”
Youngwoon interjects, then, “You guys are being weird!”
“What?” Hyukjae tries diverting his attention. But it doesn’t work - Hyukjae is terrible at lying and pretending, after all. Hyukjae laughs and tries acting ‘normal,’ which gives Youngwoon everything he needs to have to reach the conclusion he’s been wanting to reach since the Soup Incident.
“Are you guys together!”
It is more of a statement - a Eureka moment, than a question. He seems surprised - which is a little surprising because Hyukjae really is obvious, sometimes, and because I’ve never expressed my dislike of him, mainly because it doesn’t exist.
The following day, Hyukjae is determined to make a statement - that there’s nothing wrong with two guys from the same department dating each other. He also goes overboard by actually reading the company policies and his contract to see whether we are breaking rules with our dating. I say dating. Because he seems to think we are exclusively dating. And he’s determined to show everyone how exclusive it is. And how it’s dating.
I give him the go signal. I mean, I can’t be bothered by such things, to be honest. I, for one, do not have anything against us dating. Youngwoon thinks I’m allergic to commitments and stuff but I don’t really think so. I just avoid them. Or avoided.
My sister seems to think Hyukjae is a possessive kind of person. Now it’s tried and tested and certified. He really is possessive - and it’s a different feeling, maybe because I’ve never actually let anybody do that. But Hyukjae calls me his boyfriend, with so much emphasis on his.
“See you later,” he kisses me on the lips for everyone to see - we are now officially a spectacle to watch out for. Because he’s as spontaneous as he is possessive. The Boss warns me once about it. It’s okay to date but don’t be such exhibitionists, he says. It irritates me. Because, well, someone hasn’t opened a dictionary ever. But I assure him we’ll tone it down, that he doesn’t have to worry.
It enrages Hyukjae, though, and he makes this despicable plan of having sex in the office and taping it and sending everyone copies and then quitting our jobs. It doesn’t take me a long time to convince him how stupid of a plan that was.
He stubbornly snorts, refusing to finish the reports he originally planned on finishing early. “Come on, we’re going out.”
“I’m doing things,” I gesture to the mess on top of the coffee table.
“Tell Boss we were too busy having the sex we can’t have in his office because we don’t want to be such exhibitionists, then!”
I laugh, because that would definitely be extremely amusing to witness - not to experience for yourself, just to witness. I mean, imagine the Boss’s reaction when someone tells that to his face?
--
The Friday Dinners with Youngwoon is a little more animated than usual because Youngwoon is overjoyed with Hyukjae’s apparent progress with me. He praises him endlessly for achieving what countless men have tried to accomplish before but regretfully failed to do.
“You’re Donghae’s first boyfriend since forever!” Youngwoon isn’t even drunk and his words are already slurry.
Hyukjae smiles and I recognize the pride written on his face, on the lines in the corners of his eyes. He turns to look at me, a little surprised, and smiles more before he turns back to Youngwoon because he said something funny about some guys at the office.
Youngwoon goofily smiles when he leaves, saying that we have the house to ourselves now. He shakes Hyukjae’s hand and hugs me with that proud look on his face, as if I’m his son and I’ve just gotten my diploma. I walk him to the door and he looks right at me.
“Are you happy?”
It catches me off-guard. So I don’t answer him right away. What is the measure of happiness, anyway? Besides, I haven’t been happy for a long time. How am I supposed to know if this is happiness I’m feeling or just contentment? Being with Hyukjae is convenient - he pays half the bills and I don’t have to move out, also the sex is great. But whether this ensues happiness or not, I don’t really know. I’m not sure. I didn’t really have the time to think about it.
“Donghae, does he make you happy?”
Does he? Hyukjae? “He does.” Maybe.
I’m afraid Youngwoon will pick up on my hesitation and uncertainty, but he doesn’t. I think. He smiles and messes with my hair before he goes out the door. “Good, he says. That guy’s completely smitten.”
When he’s gone, I go back to where Hyukjae is and I kiss him so as to make sure. Does this make me happy? I don’t know, but I like it. For now, I’d have to content myself with liking the time and the kisses with Hyukjae because happiness is such a big word - far-fetched.
It ends abruptly, that Friday night, and I realize how domestic we’re becoming, the two of us, as he wipes the table and I load the dishwasher.
--
Hyukjae is comfortable with this - with his hand holding mine as we walk to the office, or the convenience store, or Youngwoon’s apartment, or the movie theater.
He walks to our reserved seats with excitement in his eyes, rivaling the kids with their parents, clasping their popcorn and 3D glasses in an adorable mess.
“I need to pee,” he whispers as soon as I sit down beside him. He dumps his popcorn and other things at me and goes off. I arrange them neatly on top of his seat.
The theater is packed with people, mostly kids with parental supervision. The trailers begin to play and more people enter to take their respective seats.
“Donghae?”
It’s a voice I didn’t really want to hear. Or I want to, but I keep telling myself not to. I don’t look at where it’s coming from. It’s too soon. It’s nice being with Hyukjae and being able to forget other people - him, in particular. It’s too soon to have it all crumbling down at my feet. I try to remember that night I really kissed Hyukjae and how he kissed me back and how wonderful it was. I also try to think about how great it is because I can kiss Hyukjae without having to ask for his permission, and because he kisses me, too, without having to ask.
“Hey, it’s me.” He stands in front of me and gives me no choice but to see him - the whole of his face, the stubble on his chin, the faint lines on his forehead, the handsome smile, the perfect set of teeth, the dimples on his face, the shine on his eyes, the familiar contour of his lips. “I can’t believe you’re watching this movie. Are you alone?”
There are pros and cons of saying yes and no. But what bothers me the most is why I have to think about the answer, the process of his thoughts that will ensue depending on whether I choose one or the other. “No.”
“Oh,” he looks a little hurt - which is what I was going for. “You’re on a date?”
“I’m with a friend,” I say. He beams and says goodbye. He says he’s alone and we should watch a movie some time. When he’s gone, I feel a weigh on my chest. As soon as Hyukjae comes back with tales of a long queue for the toilets, which was filled by hyperactive kids.
I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I lied and I said Hyukjae is a friend - which he is, but he’s also my boyfriend and I should’ve said yes to that last question. I feel guilty because when the movie starts, Hyukjae places his hand on my knee and an arm on my backrest, and my brain’s too busy to respond to him. I am thinking of the movies I want to see, and the availability of my time. I feel guilty because I don’t consider Hyukjae’s schedule coinciding with my free time. I feel guilty because I’m considering someone else’s.
--
“Okay, I lied.” Hyukjae says while I read The Subtle Knife on my bed. He’s fiddling with his phone, setting the alarm for tomorrow. His mother’s expecting us for lunch the following day.
My breathing tightens a tiny bit. Me too, I want to say. But it’s his confession, not mine. I put a bookmark between the pages and set the book on the bedside table.
“The line wasn’t long,” Hyukjae says. “I didn’t come back quickly because I saw you talking with someone and I felt jealous like all of a sudden, which I know is weird and overstepping a few lines because I don’t know. But I’ve been feeling terrible about it.”
“He’s just someone I know.” Lie number two.
Hyukjae smiles, in relief. “I know! I’m sorry I was jealous. And that I didn’t tell you right away.”
“Hyukjae?” He turns to me from under the covers. The temperature’s a little too cold. God, something is fucking wrong with me. “I love you.”
Lie number three.
--
Hyukjae holds on to it. He clutches at those three words in all his steadfastness. He tells me secrets and I keep them. He makes me breakfast and I eat them. He buys things for the two of us and I use them. He comes and I swallow. Sometimes, I don’t. But there isn’t really much of a difference. He asks if I’m okay and I nod. He proceeds on kissing me on my mouth and massaging my back and my thighs and I groan because it feels nice.
I take. I take and never give. I don’t really know that there’s a significant difference between taking and receiving. I realize I take things but I don’t feel the need to give anything back. Because Hyukjae doesn’t ask for anything. At all.
Because Hyukjae has patience for the shit I can’t do properly - like being his boyfriend.
Also, because he believes in those three words. Which are lies.
Hyukjae says those words too, sometimes. But he doesn’t really need to. I have the words to make up for his speechlessness. In return, he has the actions to make up for my being a motionless rock, or a piece of IKEA furniture, or a useless flimsy thing.
I realize that he’s the one who loves, who loves more, who loves alone.
And sometimes, I feel bad about it. But I think of the heartbreak I’d put him through if I tell him the truth. And it will pain me to know that I’m the one who caused him such pain. So I shield him with my lies.
I decide to wait until those lies become truths.
--
Youngwoon looks at me with a certain glint on his eyes I can’t quite pinpoint. His eyes are accusing and it’s weird to find his message on my phone, asking to meet as soon as possible, privately, without Hyukjae.
“Where were you last night?”
I don’t even get to greet him properly. I sit down and the food is already served and he’s just sitting across me, obviously agitated, as if something is bothering him. I flinch.
Where was I last night?
I told Hyukjae I’d be spending all night at the office. I did stay all night. I did leave, however, at around twelve, and reached the hotel at half past midnight. Technically, it’s already morning. So, yes, I spent all night in the office, absorbed in all the work I set my mind to do, completing tasks due the following week. “I was working at the office.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Lee Donghae. Tell me while I’m still asking you nicely.”
His voice is a hiss. There are people nearby, so I realize he’s holding back his voice and his anger. “What the hell are you talking about? I was at the office.”
He laughs, then, but it’s scary.
I remember clutching the key card and riding the elevator to the twenty-third floor. I remember being anxious. I remember feeling excited - relieved, as well. I remember the distinct look on Siwon’s face as the door clicked open. I can still feel his hands on my hips, easing into the layers of clothes I had on. He kissed me on my mouth and I felt so much more alive. I smiled at his urgency; my bag fell to the floor along with some of my clothes. His lips moved to my neck and I grasped at his hair, missing how his curls felt against my fingers.
“I saw you, Lee Donghae.”
There is a glitch in my breathing for a moment and I’m back in the restaurant across Youngwoon. “What?”
Youngwoon releases a breath, shakes his head twice and grips at the table so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You were with Choi Siwon, damn it!”
Siwon touched me gently, handled me with so adoration it almost felt as if he loved me too. He whispered words as he took me and he told me how much he loved this, how much he missed this, how he’d do fucking anything to have me for himself again. It was difficult to focus, to see his face clearly while he moved inside and along with me. I must have cried, because he kept telling me to stop crying in that gentle, soothing voice of his. He kissed both my eyes and wiped the tears I wasn’t able to see.
“Tell me you’re not cheating on Hyukjae with Siwon.” Youngwoon’s eyes are pleading; he’s about ready to rage and thrash the table or the whole restaurant if he has to. “Please, Donghae.”
I shake my head.
“Donghae,” he starts but stops. He takes a deep breath, trembling in anger and frustration, maybe, or pain for Hyukjae. Oh, god. Hyukjae.
I woke to Siwon beside me, looking at me and kissing the top of my head. I love you, I told him. It didn’t feel like a lie.
Youngwoon calls my name again and I have trouble looking at him clearly because probably the tears are clouding my eyes again.
I can still feel Siwon’s hands on my back, on my thighs, all over my body. I shiver and remember how good it felt. I look across the table and see the blurry figure of Youngwoon and how he’s trembling for Hyukjae.
“Please, Donghae.”
--
Hyukjae welcomes me home with a bright smile and popcorn and movies he rented out. We sit down on the couch and he collects me to his arms and gently pulls my head to his shoulder as the world gets saved by the heroes. He says he wants to watch another one. I am too exhausted and conflicted to argue.
When the credit rolls for the second time that night, I kiss Hyukjae’s lips gently, my mind emptied of thoughts, focusing entirely on his lips and how it feels to have him with me, how comforting it is. His hand snakes behind my neck, to my hair, and he pushes us closer together. I feel him smiling into the kiss, and he gains the upper-hand. This time, he’s the one kissing me and I respond to the speed of his movements - or the lack of which, the feel of his skin through my clothes. When the kiss breaks, he cups my face with his hands and looks at me and I get surprised by the seeming amount of love his eyes show. I wonder what he sees in my eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of the third movie, my phone vibrates on my pocket and I know it’s Siwon. Somehow, I had promised I’d break up with Hyukjae to be with him again. Maybe he’s calling to check up on my progress.
Hyukjae eyes my pocket, maybe he felt it vibrating, too. He smiles when I don’t answer and it stops vibrating. Maybe he thinks time with him is so much more important than whoever was calling me.
The difference between Hyukjae and Siwon is overwhelming. With Siwon, I constantly feel like drowning. With Hyukjae, I feel like I’m holding him down under water letting him drown.
I prefer drowning.
--
When Hyukjae falls asleep, I finally make my way out of the bed to call Siwon. Yes, I’ll break up with Hyukjae as soon as I can, Siwon. Me too. I love you. I really do.
I release a breath, feels happiness surging to my lungs. This has been going on for the past two years and I don’t know if I can wait any longer. I’ve been away from him for far too long, maybe. I turn to go back to the room and Hyukjae stands a few steps behind me.
He laughs.
My smile falls. My heart falls along with it.
“I must have been so fucking stupid not to see that one coming,” he mutters to himself but I hear him. “So. Fucking. Stupid.”
Panic rolls in and I can’t find an ounce of strength to move or say anything.
He gathers his things and the metallic ring of his unzipping the suitcases - he only has two, dominates the whole of the apartment, followed by his cursing. The profanities are endless, but directed only to himself. He can’t believe what an imbecile he is, letting himself be deceived.
I don’t know what to do. So I think of Siwon waiting for me in his apartment, maybe I can move in with him altogether, maybe he can move in with me. I think of his hands and his skin and his perfect smile and body and how I miss touching it already. I think of the smell of his perfume and how it gives me comfort and peace and thrill and I the intelligent conversations and the idea of marrying him, if he wants to, because I love him.
Hyukjae is on the phone, asking someone for a place to crash; then, he stands in front of me, suitcases in tow. There are no tears in his eyes and he’s standing strongly - a contrast to my weakening knees, to my being on the state of almost-collapse.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say. And I regret saying it the moment I hear it. It sounds like a consolidation of my lies; it seems to be cancelling out the truths and realities we had - or have, along with the lies I’ve woven into the picture.
He nods. I notice his sneakers and the jacket over the think layer over the white shirt he wore to bed. I notice the sweatpants. And I realize if it’s just another day, he won’t set foot outside, because the colors don’t match and he should, at least, wear a pair of jeans.
But it’s not just another day, I realize.
There is not a single word as he leaves.
I wonder why it feels so much like drowning.
R | EunHae | AU; Angst
Summary: He prefers the drowning.
Warning: SiHae
A/N: This is boring. Also wordy. Move along, kids, nothing to see here.
8,719 words
--
Youngwoon is the first to notice the awkward silence that hangs between the two of us in the office, since we have adjacent desks. He stares inappropriately at Hyukjae and me several times during the day. Hyukjae waits for me to finish the presentation; consequently, Youngwoon waits for me, as well.
“How was it?” Hyukjae thoughtfully asks when the three of us are making our way to my parking spot.
“Fine,” I say, conscious of Youngwoon being more nosey than usual. “Everything was okay.”
Youngwoon interjects, then, “You guys are being weird!”
“What?” Hyukjae tries diverting his attention. But it doesn’t work - Hyukjae is terrible at lying and pretending, after all. Hyukjae laughs and tries acting ‘normal,’ which gives Youngwoon everything he needs to have to reach the conclusion he’s been wanting to reach since the Soup Incident.
“Are you guys together!”
It is more of a statement - a Eureka moment, than a question. He seems surprised - which is a little surprising because Hyukjae really is obvious, sometimes, and because I’ve never expressed my dislike of him, mainly because it doesn’t exist.
The following day, Hyukjae is determined to make a statement - that there’s nothing wrong with two guys from the same department dating each other. He also goes overboard by actually reading the company policies and his contract to see whether we are breaking rules with our dating. I say dating. Because he seems to think we are exclusively dating. And he’s determined to show everyone how exclusive it is. And how it’s dating.
I give him the go signal. I mean, I can’t be bothered by such things, to be honest. I, for one, do not have anything against us dating. Youngwoon thinks I’m allergic to commitments and stuff but I don’t really think so. I just avoid them. Or avoided.
My sister seems to think Hyukjae is a possessive kind of person. Now it’s tried and tested and certified. He really is possessive - and it’s a different feeling, maybe because I’ve never actually let anybody do that. But Hyukjae calls me his boyfriend, with so much emphasis on his.
“See you later,” he kisses me on the lips for everyone to see - we are now officially a spectacle to watch out for. Because he’s as spontaneous as he is possessive. The Boss warns me once about it. It’s okay to date but don’t be such exhibitionists, he says. It irritates me. Because, well, someone hasn’t opened a dictionary ever. But I assure him we’ll tone it down, that he doesn’t have to worry.
It enrages Hyukjae, though, and he makes this despicable plan of having sex in the office and taping it and sending everyone copies and then quitting our jobs. It doesn’t take me a long time to convince him how stupid of a plan that was.
He stubbornly snorts, refusing to finish the reports he originally planned on finishing early. “Come on, we’re going out.”
“I’m doing things,” I gesture to the mess on top of the coffee table.
“Tell Boss we were too busy having the sex we can’t have in his office because we don’t want to be such exhibitionists, then!”
I laugh, because that would definitely be extremely amusing to witness - not to experience for yourself, just to witness. I mean, imagine the Boss’s reaction when someone tells that to his face?
--
The Friday Dinners with Youngwoon is a little more animated than usual because Youngwoon is overjoyed with Hyukjae’s apparent progress with me. He praises him endlessly for achieving what countless men have tried to accomplish before but regretfully failed to do.
“You’re Donghae’s first boyfriend since forever!” Youngwoon isn’t even drunk and his words are already slurry.
Hyukjae smiles and I recognize the pride written on his face, on the lines in the corners of his eyes. He turns to look at me, a little surprised, and smiles more before he turns back to Youngwoon because he said something funny about some guys at the office.
Youngwoon goofily smiles when he leaves, saying that we have the house to ourselves now. He shakes Hyukjae’s hand and hugs me with that proud look on his face, as if I’m his son and I’ve just gotten my diploma. I walk him to the door and he looks right at me.
“Are you happy?”
It catches me off-guard. So I don’t answer him right away. What is the measure of happiness, anyway? Besides, I haven’t been happy for a long time. How am I supposed to know if this is happiness I’m feeling or just contentment? Being with Hyukjae is convenient - he pays half the bills and I don’t have to move out, also the sex is great. But whether this ensues happiness or not, I don’t really know. I’m not sure. I didn’t really have the time to think about it.
“Donghae, does he make you happy?”
Does he? Hyukjae? “He does.” Maybe.
I’m afraid Youngwoon will pick up on my hesitation and uncertainty, but he doesn’t. I think. He smiles and messes with my hair before he goes out the door. “Good, he says. That guy’s completely smitten.”
When he’s gone, I go back to where Hyukjae is and I kiss him so as to make sure. Does this make me happy? I don’t know, but I like it. For now, I’d have to content myself with liking the time and the kisses with Hyukjae because happiness is such a big word - far-fetched.
It ends abruptly, that Friday night, and I realize how domestic we’re becoming, the two of us, as he wipes the table and I load the dishwasher.
--
Hyukjae is comfortable with this - with his hand holding mine as we walk to the office, or the convenience store, or Youngwoon’s apartment, or the movie theater.
He walks to our reserved seats with excitement in his eyes, rivaling the kids with their parents, clasping their popcorn and 3D glasses in an adorable mess.
“I need to pee,” he whispers as soon as I sit down beside him. He dumps his popcorn and other things at me and goes off. I arrange them neatly on top of his seat.
The theater is packed with people, mostly kids with parental supervision. The trailers begin to play and more people enter to take their respective seats.
“Donghae?”
It’s a voice I didn’t really want to hear. Or I want to, but I keep telling myself not to. I don’t look at where it’s coming from. It’s too soon. It’s nice being with Hyukjae and being able to forget other people - him, in particular. It’s too soon to have it all crumbling down at my feet. I try to remember that night I really kissed Hyukjae and how he kissed me back and how wonderful it was. I also try to think about how great it is because I can kiss Hyukjae without having to ask for his permission, and because he kisses me, too, without having to ask.
“Hey, it’s me.” He stands in front of me and gives me no choice but to see him - the whole of his face, the stubble on his chin, the faint lines on his forehead, the handsome smile, the perfect set of teeth, the dimples on his face, the shine on his eyes, the familiar contour of his lips. “I can’t believe you’re watching this movie. Are you alone?”
There are pros and cons of saying yes and no. But what bothers me the most is why I have to think about the answer, the process of his thoughts that will ensue depending on whether I choose one or the other. “No.”
“Oh,” he looks a little hurt - which is what I was going for. “You’re on a date?”
“I’m with a friend,” I say. He beams and says goodbye. He says he’s alone and we should watch a movie some time. When he’s gone, I feel a weigh on my chest. As soon as Hyukjae comes back with tales of a long queue for the toilets, which was filled by hyperactive kids.
I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I lied and I said Hyukjae is a friend - which he is, but he’s also my boyfriend and I should’ve said yes to that last question. I feel guilty because when the movie starts, Hyukjae places his hand on my knee and an arm on my backrest, and my brain’s too busy to respond to him. I am thinking of the movies I want to see, and the availability of my time. I feel guilty because I don’t consider Hyukjae’s schedule coinciding with my free time. I feel guilty because I’m considering someone else’s.
--
“Okay, I lied.” Hyukjae says while I read The Subtle Knife on my bed. He’s fiddling with his phone, setting the alarm for tomorrow. His mother’s expecting us for lunch the following day.
My breathing tightens a tiny bit. Me too, I want to say. But it’s his confession, not mine. I put a bookmark between the pages and set the book on the bedside table.
“The line wasn’t long,” Hyukjae says. “I didn’t come back quickly because I saw you talking with someone and I felt jealous like all of a sudden, which I know is weird and overstepping a few lines because I don’t know. But I’ve been feeling terrible about it.”
“He’s just someone I know.” Lie number two.
Hyukjae smiles, in relief. “I know! I’m sorry I was jealous. And that I didn’t tell you right away.”
“Hyukjae?” He turns to me from under the covers. The temperature’s a little too cold. God, something is fucking wrong with me. “I love you.”
Lie number three.
--
Hyukjae holds on to it. He clutches at those three words in all his steadfastness. He tells me secrets and I keep them. He makes me breakfast and I eat them. He buys things for the two of us and I use them. He comes and I swallow. Sometimes, I don’t. But there isn’t really much of a difference. He asks if I’m okay and I nod. He proceeds on kissing me on my mouth and massaging my back and my thighs and I groan because it feels nice.
I take. I take and never give. I don’t really know that there’s a significant difference between taking and receiving. I realize I take things but I don’t feel the need to give anything back. Because Hyukjae doesn’t ask for anything. At all.
Because Hyukjae has patience for the shit I can’t do properly - like being his boyfriend.
Also, because he believes in those three words. Which are lies.
Hyukjae says those words too, sometimes. But he doesn’t really need to. I have the words to make up for his speechlessness. In return, he has the actions to make up for my being a motionless rock, or a piece of IKEA furniture, or a useless flimsy thing.
I realize that he’s the one who loves, who loves more, who loves alone.
And sometimes, I feel bad about it. But I think of the heartbreak I’d put him through if I tell him the truth. And it will pain me to know that I’m the one who caused him such pain. So I shield him with my lies.
I decide to wait until those lies become truths.
--
Youngwoon looks at me with a certain glint on his eyes I can’t quite pinpoint. His eyes are accusing and it’s weird to find his message on my phone, asking to meet as soon as possible, privately, without Hyukjae.
“Where were you last night?”
I don’t even get to greet him properly. I sit down and the food is already served and he’s just sitting across me, obviously agitated, as if something is bothering him. I flinch.
Where was I last night?
I told Hyukjae I’d be spending all night at the office. I did stay all night. I did leave, however, at around twelve, and reached the hotel at half past midnight. Technically, it’s already morning. So, yes, I spent all night in the office, absorbed in all the work I set my mind to do, completing tasks due the following week. “I was working at the office.”
“Don’t fuck with me, Lee Donghae. Tell me while I’m still asking you nicely.”
His voice is a hiss. There are people nearby, so I realize he’s holding back his voice and his anger. “What the hell are you talking about? I was at the office.”
He laughs, then, but it’s scary.
I remember clutching the key card and riding the elevator to the twenty-third floor. I remember being anxious. I remember feeling excited - relieved, as well. I remember the distinct look on Siwon’s face as the door clicked open. I can still feel his hands on my hips, easing into the layers of clothes I had on. He kissed me on my mouth and I felt so much more alive. I smiled at his urgency; my bag fell to the floor along with some of my clothes. His lips moved to my neck and I grasped at his hair, missing how his curls felt against my fingers.
“I saw you, Lee Donghae.”
There is a glitch in my breathing for a moment and I’m back in the restaurant across Youngwoon. “What?”
Youngwoon releases a breath, shakes his head twice and grips at the table so tightly his knuckles turn white. “You were with Choi Siwon, damn it!”
Siwon touched me gently, handled me with so adoration it almost felt as if he loved me too. He whispered words as he took me and he told me how much he loved this, how much he missed this, how he’d do fucking anything to have me for himself again. It was difficult to focus, to see his face clearly while he moved inside and along with me. I must have cried, because he kept telling me to stop crying in that gentle, soothing voice of his. He kissed both my eyes and wiped the tears I wasn’t able to see.
“Tell me you’re not cheating on Hyukjae with Siwon.” Youngwoon’s eyes are pleading; he’s about ready to rage and thrash the table or the whole restaurant if he has to. “Please, Donghae.”
I shake my head.
“Donghae,” he starts but stops. He takes a deep breath, trembling in anger and frustration, maybe, or pain for Hyukjae. Oh, god. Hyukjae.
I woke to Siwon beside me, looking at me and kissing the top of my head. I love you, I told him. It didn’t feel like a lie.
Youngwoon calls my name again and I have trouble looking at him clearly because probably the tears are clouding my eyes again.
I can still feel Siwon’s hands on my back, on my thighs, all over my body. I shiver and remember how good it felt. I look across the table and see the blurry figure of Youngwoon and how he’s trembling for Hyukjae.
“Please, Donghae.”
--
Hyukjae welcomes me home with a bright smile and popcorn and movies he rented out. We sit down on the couch and he collects me to his arms and gently pulls my head to his shoulder as the world gets saved by the heroes. He says he wants to watch another one. I am too exhausted and conflicted to argue.
When the credit rolls for the second time that night, I kiss Hyukjae’s lips gently, my mind emptied of thoughts, focusing entirely on his lips and how it feels to have him with me, how comforting it is. His hand snakes behind my neck, to my hair, and he pushes us closer together. I feel him smiling into the kiss, and he gains the upper-hand. This time, he’s the one kissing me and I respond to the speed of his movements - or the lack of which, the feel of his skin through my clothes. When the kiss breaks, he cups my face with his hands and looks at me and I get surprised by the seeming amount of love his eyes show. I wonder what he sees in my eyes.
Somewhere in the middle of the third movie, my phone vibrates on my pocket and I know it’s Siwon. Somehow, I had promised I’d break up with Hyukjae to be with him again. Maybe he’s calling to check up on my progress.
Hyukjae eyes my pocket, maybe he felt it vibrating, too. He smiles when I don’t answer and it stops vibrating. Maybe he thinks time with him is so much more important than whoever was calling me.
The difference between Hyukjae and Siwon is overwhelming. With Siwon, I constantly feel like drowning. With Hyukjae, I feel like I’m holding him down under water letting him drown.
I prefer drowning.
--
When Hyukjae falls asleep, I finally make my way out of the bed to call Siwon. Yes, I’ll break up with Hyukjae as soon as I can, Siwon. Me too. I love you. I really do.
I release a breath, feels happiness surging to my lungs. This has been going on for the past two years and I don’t know if I can wait any longer. I’ve been away from him for far too long, maybe. I turn to go back to the room and Hyukjae stands a few steps behind me.
He laughs.
My smile falls. My heart falls along with it.
“I must have been so fucking stupid not to see that one coming,” he mutters to himself but I hear him. “So. Fucking. Stupid.”
Panic rolls in and I can’t find an ounce of strength to move or say anything.
He gathers his things and the metallic ring of his unzipping the suitcases - he only has two, dominates the whole of the apartment, followed by his cursing. The profanities are endless, but directed only to himself. He can’t believe what an imbecile he is, letting himself be deceived.
I don’t know what to do. So I think of Siwon waiting for me in his apartment, maybe I can move in with him altogether, maybe he can move in with me. I think of his hands and his skin and his perfect smile and body and how I miss touching it already. I think of the smell of his perfume and how it gives me comfort and peace and thrill and I the intelligent conversations and the idea of marrying him, if he wants to, because I love him.
Hyukjae is on the phone, asking someone for a place to crash; then, he stands in front of me, suitcases in tow. There are no tears in his eyes and he’s standing strongly - a contrast to my weakening knees, to my being on the state of almost-collapse.
“I’m sorry,” I hear myself say. And I regret saying it the moment I hear it. It sounds like a consolidation of my lies; it seems to be cancelling out the truths and realities we had - or have, along with the lies I’ve woven into the picture.
He nods. I notice his sneakers and the jacket over the think layer over the white shirt he wore to bed. I notice the sweatpants. And I realize if it’s just another day, he won’t set foot outside, because the colors don’t match and he should, at least, wear a pair of jeans.
But it’s not just another day, I realize.
There is not a single word as he leaves.
I wonder why it feels so much like drowning.