when she's twelve years old, alone in her bedroom with his cd in her hands, chaerin finds it easy enough to trace the outline of his lips and imagine what it'd be like if maybe she was a little older, a little taller, a little closer. she makes it to the part when he'd brush her hair away from her eyes with his rough hands before she bursts into laughter and shakes the thought from her head.
sixteen, she shakes his hand for the first time and discovers they're calloused, like she's imagined. she sits across from him at four a.m. in the studio going over her lines for her recording, the dots of stubble on his chin especially apparent underneath the flourescent lighting, and misses a beat because she's too busy memorizing the curves of his jaw.
another two years. he lets her tease him, now, lets her curl up underneath his arms and punch him in the shoulder and steal the cap off his head. she borrows a sweatshirt when it's too cold in the studio and she's only wearing a tank top, and accidentally-on-purpose doesn't return it for a few weeks. he smells like honeysuckle and smoke, mint and stars.
when chaerin blows out the candles on her twenty-second birthday cake, there is a second of flashing light before it goes suddenly dark. teddy is standing across from her, eyes shining, laughter rough and soft as he stumbles over the lines to 'happy birthday', and she holds onto the tail end of a promise and inches forward, step by step, into the darkness until she smells him, feels him, presses against him,
kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.
teddy smells like sugar. teddy is clean-shaven, tastes like cake and stale alcohol and exhaustion. his hands stay at his side and her hair falls into her eyes, and there is nobody to fix any of it.
when she's twelve years old, alone in her bedroom with his cd in her hands, chaerin finds it easy enough to trace the outline of his lips and imagine what it'd be like if maybe she was a little older, a little taller, a little closer. she makes it to the part when he'd brush her hair away from her eyes with his rough hands before she bursts into laughter and shakes the thought from her head.
sixteen, she shakes his hand for the first time and discovers they're calloused, like she's imagined. she sits across from him at four a.m. in the studio going over her lines for her recording, the dots of stubble on his chin especially apparent underneath the flourescent lighting, and misses a beat because she's too busy memorizing the curves of his jaw.
another two years. he lets her tease him, now, lets her curl up underneath his arms and punch him in the shoulder and steal the cap off his head. she borrows a sweatshirt when it's too cold in the studio and she's only wearing a tank top, and accidentally-on-purpose doesn't return it for a few weeks. he smells like honeysuckle and smoke, mint and stars.
when chaerin blows out the candles on her twenty-second birthday cake, there is a second of flashing light before it goes suddenly dark. teddy is standing across from her, eyes shining, laughter rough and soft as he stumbles over the lines to 'happy birthday', and she holds onto the tail end of a promise and inches forward, step by step, into the darkness until she smells him, feels him, presses against him,
kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.
teddy smells like sugar. teddy is clean-shaven, tastes like cake and stale alcohol and exhaustion. his hands stay at his side and her hair falls into her eyes, and there is nobody to fix any of it.
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