HERE IS WHERE WE; het!kaibaek
HERE IS WHERE WE; R, 3011 words / romance
het!kaibaek
for xoxocamp's 2nd weekly challenge
HERE IS WHERE WE
Here. We first met here, in a small cafe near the edge of the city. You were looking hotshot and my eyes were looking bloodshot due to lack of sleep. A motorcycle jacket wrapped itself around your body and a pair of sunglasses rested atop your head like a pair of eyes always looking upwards, always hoping for something more, always praying. I was working as a waitress and you were doing a little travelling.
You asked me, “Baekhyun, is that your name?” and I said in return, “Yes, sir, I will be your waitress this morning.”
I remember the day being something between cloudy and sunny, kind of like there was some kind of overcast shadow or some kind of odd feeling in the air, but I just pinned that on the uncharacteristic autumn morning weather. Often, we had days like that, but I assumed you didn’t care about it, so instead of making small talk about the weather, I dove right in asked, “Do you know what you’ll be having?”
And you said, “No, give me.. ten more minutes,” and I kind of remember wondering why you’d needed so long to decide on simple breakfast items, feeling very annoyed that I hadn’t gotten any sleep at all in the former twelve hours, feeling like I wanted to take a nap. I walked away and two moments (moments consisting of maybe three seconds) later, you waved me down again and I asked, “Done so quick?” with a fake-ish smile on my face.
You said, “Yeah, sorry for that”. For a moment I felt less hostile, but then immediately felt like wanting to just hurry up and have you order, a small part of me feeling very excited that I would get to leave the establishment soon, seeing as my shift ended in three minutes, but then also felt very tired once more because I realized I would have to finish waiting on you just to leave.
“And what will you be having, sir?” I asked, flipping a palm-sized notebook open and pulling a pen out of the uniform apron pocket. You told me what you wanted and then you followed up with something really weird.
“When do you get off work?” You asked in return. I replied with something like, ‘very soon’ and you asked me if I wanted to join you, “For breakfast.”
My face grew very rosey and the blush crept very low down to my neck and I felt like a chili pepper, warm and with a reddish tint. I said, “Uh, sorry,” and you said, “No, wait, I’m sorry, that was really forward of me, please forget I ever asked,” and I nodded and walked away, letting the kitchen chefs know about the order. I sat at the breakfast bar type of area and waited for the food to be done, knowing that if I were to get the job done quicker, I’d be able to leave quicker. The cafe was closing very soon, I think. It was one of those Waffle Shop type places, specializing in breakfast.
We caught a few glances of each other as I was sitting there and you were sitting at the other there. I did something kind of close to the way a little girl would laugh upon seeing her crush at the school yard and for some reason, I felt very attracted to you all of a sudden. Perhaps I was desperate or probably delusional with grogginess, but it was a very odd type of feeling - like spring love, but it was autumn.
Your omelette and coffee were soon finished and I hesitated as I approached you with the dishes in my hand. You gave me this sheepish sort of smile as I set the plates down in front of you and I tried my best to smile back, but really couldn’t because I felt very awkward about the situation we seemed to be in. You looked a little apologetic and I think I may have mirrored your look because again, you said something like, “Really just gonna.. apologize again.”
Being myself (sometimes quick-witted and daring), I asked, “Do you keep apologizing just to have a reason to talk to me?” You chuckled and I really smiled for the first time in your presence. Your smile faded a little and mine did, too, still seeming to mirror your actions. I was oddly drawn to you and I remember sitting down right across from you and asking, “What’s your name?”
“Jongin,” you said. I repeated your name and you said, “Yeah, that’s it.”
Before you left, I had written my name (in case you had forgotten) and my number on your receipt.
HERE IS WHERE WE
“Can I kiss you?”
We got here because we had gone on a date a few days after you had eaten at the cafe. It seemed like you had implemented the 3-day strategy and that it had worked, because I almost kind of forgot about you when you called about a ‘date’ only to have me be jostled by my own memory. I told you I was busy that night (I don’t think I really was, more like I was playing hard to get) and you were okay with it (I think you said something like, “I think I’ll just wait until you aren’t busy”) and then we had mutually agreed on the coming Friday (it was a Tuesday).
You picked me up on your motorcycle and then took me out to a Taiwanese restaurant and we conversated over beef noodle soup, which wasn’t a very attractive dish to be eating on a first date but it didn’t really seem to faze you because you showed some type of genuine interest towards whatever I was saying. Relatively, I was doing more of the talking, but the both of us didn’t really say anything at all, just introduced ourselves and our jobs.
“I’m Baekhyun, I work at the diner and I’m a part-time American Apparel model.”
“I’m Jongin, I do a few odd jobs here and there and I barely make enough money to survive.”
It was almost very formal, but you were still wearing your leather jacket and blue jeans. I was wearing a red-and-white sundress.
We ate the majority of our meal in a very comfortable and shared silence, often looking at each other with eyes that conveyed some type of weird emotion and with our lips curled up into wry smiles. The corners of our lips were a bit stained with noodle soup, but our own tongues found the speckles before we could find each others’.
After we had eaten the beef noodle soup (you paid), you took me out for another ride on your motorcycle to a little arcade in a plaza. It was weird, to have my cheek plastered on your back as you drove me around but I think I liked how intimate the position felt. Having the wind flip my dress up every few moments, however, was not fun.
We played a few shooting games and found ourselves laughing at how bad we were at them and also shared a few anecdotes about our lives along the way. I told you about the time my brother had puked during a zombie movie while we were shooting monsters in a haunted house. You told me about how bad you felt to be shooting deer because you had a friend that looked almost exactly like Bambi and had a last name that meant ‘deer’.
Before we left the arcade, you had won me a stuffed animal at a novelty claw machine. Apparently, you were very good at this and wanted to show off a bit, which was your main reason of having brought me there. You won me a dog plushie and I had ridden on your motorcycle with it between my chest and your back, feeling kind of weird but also like I had a bit of you close to my heart in a literal sense.
You parked your motorcycle in front of my apartment and we stood next to the wooden fence for a little. I bowed my head in a too-formal manner and then you asked, “Can I kiss you?”
I stood there for a few seconds, a little dumbfounded and shocked that I was being asked such a question. It was as if you had asked me about my parents’ divorce or about why I felt the need to almost never mention my little sister or something. But not nearly that bad, it just caught me a little off-guard.
“I, uh, suppose,” I said. “There’s not really anything bad that could happen if we were to kiss right now, I don’t think. It would be okay if you were to just peck my lips. Yeah.”
You chuckled and for a second your eyes did the same thing they were doing all night, but then they were closed and mine were, too, as I felt your lips against mine for a very split second.
HERE IS WHERE WE
Maybe we had taken things too fast, but after our third (maybe fourth, I lost count) date, we had found each other in my bed. Our naked, post-sex bodies stuck to each other as our eyes locked. It was very intimate and it was strange not seeing you in your leather jacket. You wrapped your arm around me and I desperately wanted to say something, like the expression in your eyes indicated my ability to speak: desperate, your expression was desperate.
“I’m very tired,” you said. It was near the early morning, as we had spent the majority of the night having sex. We had been in that weird embrace for a bit already, engaging in light ‘pillow talk’ as you ran your hand down my spine. I tried to memorize every part of your body by pressing my palms against your sticky skin but I couldn’t. You were too much for my mind to process. “Very, very tired.”
“Go to bed,” I said. It was one of the first things I had figured out to say to you within an extremely long ten minutes. You looked down at me like I was crazy and I had nothing to say but, “Please stay the night.”
Your lips curled upwards on the side and it looked too melancholic to be a smile but you nodded and said, “Okay, I will,” and buried your head into the crook of my neck.
This is how we fell asleep most nights, you with your head hidden and with me holding you tight because I so badly needed and wanted you to stay.
You became some kind of booty call after that first night - a friend with benefits, but it was as if ‘affection’ and ‘admiration’ were a few extra benefits. It became routine for me to call you straight after some photo shoots and you, somehow, were never busy or, somehow, had always made enough time for me in your day. Our exchanges were often heated and quick, but the afterglow of our actions was often the highlight of the sex. We would often just lie there, staring at either each other or the ceiling with eyes that I still call ‘desperate’, keeping weightless conversation flowing. I would talk about work, you would talk about work. I would tell you about something that had happened to me before and you would listen. You never were too keen on talking.
It seemed to me that you had always been louder during sex, always saying something - saying my name, giving me instruction, telling me something, anything. You would spend a lot of time muttering, “Baekhyun, Baekhyun..” right against my ear and I would reply with a moan or something, just to make sure your initial statement had gotten a response.
This one night, you had been extra chatty and you gripped my hand, holding it up to the ceiling and watching as the light on my lamp shadowed it. “Our hands look like one big monster hand,” you said, causing me to laugh. I agreed with you and you waved our hands around. “Weird, though, your hand seems to fit against mine perfectly.”
A familiar blush crept its way along my body. I was going as red as I was on the first day that I had met you. Rosey and warm as a pepper. “Stop that,” I said, not really specifying what I wanted you to stop. I wanted to make you use context clues because I was too shy to say something like, “Stop being affectionate or I’ll scream and melt.”
“But really,” you had continued. Your fingers splayed against mine and you put your palm against my palm, flat as our fingers grazed against each other. “It’s perfect. I think it’s really, really perfect.” You were trying to sell me on the idea.
“I suppose you’re trying to tell me that our hands are meant for each other?” I raised an eyebrow and tried to keep my blush from doing much more.
You hesitated, then you said, “I suppose I’m trying to tell you that we are meant for each other,” I didn’t say anything. I kept my palm close to yours and I was imagining the rise and fall of your chest. “Really.” You said, like you were trying to sell this other idea to me.
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. “Okay.”
“Yeah, I think I’m in love with you,” your heartbeat grew quicker and it felt like that was the only sound in the room, like I couldn’t hear your breaths or my breaths. For a few minutes, it sounded like that. Sounded like a rapid, irregular heart trying to beat its way out of its skin encasing.
The concept of love seemed hard for me to grasp, so I just swallowed air and stammered something out, “Yeah, I think I’m in love with you, too,” and took three very deep breaths, ready for you to regret your decision.
But all you did was smile. And then you said, “awesome”, like this was the best news that you had ever heard in your entire lifetime.
HERE IS WHERE WE
It was beautiful. It was so beautiful for the first month. You told me you loved me all the time, you took me out for dates all the time, you made love to me all the time, but somewhere along the way, you had stopped coming home from your odd jobs early, rarely apologizing about your disappearance. You told me you were busy. I knew you weren’t seeing any other women, I knew it for sure, but your interest in me had stopped growing since you told me you loved me. It was all about the thrill of the chase for you.
But we tried to make it work anyway. You kept telling me you loved me and I kept telling you that I loved you, too. We told each other we loved each other on an hourly basis, keeping our relationship occupied with the sudden rush of pseudo-love. Our feelings were like a dam that wasn’t working properly.
When you were around, we spent a lot of time having sex but it never felt exactly the same as it had when you had loved me the most. We were falling out of our honeymoon phase and neither of us wanted that, so we just held onto each other non-committally, with the same desperation we always had in our eyes. The desperation that had acted like a chameleon to our situation.
At first, we were desperate to have a relationship, but then we were desperate to keep the relationship going. We were always desperate for something, always so needy, never fulfilled.
We were growing tired of each other. Sometimes, you even left my apartment directly after sex, saying you were busy. I never asked you with what and you never expected me to do so.
On one afternoon, the sun seeped in through my windows and I sat on the couch as you paced back and forth in my living room. We were there for a movie date and had gotten bored of it halfway through. The DVD’s case was still sitting in front of my television. I could tell you didn’t want to leave me and that was the only reason why you were still here. I watched your feet vaguely as you walked around, staring blankly at the motion blurs your shoes had become.
I was thinking about our relationship in the back of my mind, like they were photographs that I had tucked away during spring cleaning. Polaroids of our first date appeared in my mind. Polaroids of the first time we had touched each other looked blurry. I was never the best rememberer or the best photographer.
My mouth kept opening and closing as I tried to find words to say. Any phrases seemed lost to me, so I looked like a fish out of water. You looked at me and asked, “Are you-”
And it was as if your words had dumped me into a tank of tap. I cut you off, asking, “Do you want to break up?”
We stared at each other for a minute. There was no more desperation in your eyes and I could feel my eyes clearing up as well. I held my knees to my chest and looked up at you expectantly, not sure what I was waiting for. It was a simple question, but loaded as well.
Your lips parted and then you said, “Yeah,” and you left my apartment without saying another word.
I sat there with my lower lip beneath my upper teeth, feeling like a large part of me had just walked out the door. I could feel, physically, emotionally, something clouding my eyes and for the first time in my life, I was crying desperation, flushing any sense of feeling out of my system.
FIN.
het!kaibaek
for xoxocamp's 2nd weekly challenge
HERE IS WHERE WE
Here. We first met here, in a small cafe near the edge of the city. You were looking hotshot and my eyes were looking bloodshot due to lack of sleep. A motorcycle jacket wrapped itself around your body and a pair of sunglasses rested atop your head like a pair of eyes always looking upwards, always hoping for something more, always praying. I was working as a waitress and you were doing a little travelling.
You asked me, “Baekhyun, is that your name?” and I said in return, “Yes, sir, I will be your waitress this morning.”
I remember the day being something between cloudy and sunny, kind of like there was some kind of overcast shadow or some kind of odd feeling in the air, but I just pinned that on the uncharacteristic autumn morning weather. Often, we had days like that, but I assumed you didn’t care about it, so instead of making small talk about the weather, I dove right in asked, “Do you know what you’ll be having?”
And you said, “No, give me.. ten more minutes,” and I kind of remember wondering why you’d needed so long to decide on simple breakfast items, feeling very annoyed that I hadn’t gotten any sleep at all in the former twelve hours, feeling like I wanted to take a nap. I walked away and two moments (moments consisting of maybe three seconds) later, you waved me down again and I asked, “Done so quick?” with a fake-ish smile on my face.
You said, “Yeah, sorry for that”. For a moment I felt less hostile, but then immediately felt like wanting to just hurry up and have you order, a small part of me feeling very excited that I would get to leave the establishment soon, seeing as my shift ended in three minutes, but then also felt very tired once more because I realized I would have to finish waiting on you just to leave.
“And what will you be having, sir?” I asked, flipping a palm-sized notebook open and pulling a pen out of the uniform apron pocket. You told me what you wanted and then you followed up with something really weird.
“When do you get off work?” You asked in return. I replied with something like, ‘very soon’ and you asked me if I wanted to join you, “For breakfast.”
My face grew very rosey and the blush crept very low down to my neck and I felt like a chili pepper, warm and with a reddish tint. I said, “Uh, sorry,” and you said, “No, wait, I’m sorry, that was really forward of me, please forget I ever asked,” and I nodded and walked away, letting the kitchen chefs know about the order. I sat at the breakfast bar type of area and waited for the food to be done, knowing that if I were to get the job done quicker, I’d be able to leave quicker. The cafe was closing very soon, I think. It was one of those Waffle Shop type places, specializing in breakfast.
We caught a few glances of each other as I was sitting there and you were sitting at the other there. I did something kind of close to the way a little girl would laugh upon seeing her crush at the school yard and for some reason, I felt very attracted to you all of a sudden. Perhaps I was desperate or probably delusional with grogginess, but it was a very odd type of feeling - like spring love, but it was autumn.
Your omelette and coffee were soon finished and I hesitated as I approached you with the dishes in my hand. You gave me this sheepish sort of smile as I set the plates down in front of you and I tried my best to smile back, but really couldn’t because I felt very awkward about the situation we seemed to be in. You looked a little apologetic and I think I may have mirrored your look because again, you said something like, “Really just gonna.. apologize again.”
Being myself (sometimes quick-witted and daring), I asked, “Do you keep apologizing just to have a reason to talk to me?” You chuckled and I really smiled for the first time in your presence. Your smile faded a little and mine did, too, still seeming to mirror your actions. I was oddly drawn to you and I remember sitting down right across from you and asking, “What’s your name?”
“Jongin,” you said. I repeated your name and you said, “Yeah, that’s it.”
Before you left, I had written my name (in case you had forgotten) and my number on your receipt.
HERE IS WHERE WE
“Can I kiss you?”
We got here because we had gone on a date a few days after you had eaten at the cafe. It seemed like you had implemented the 3-day strategy and that it had worked, because I almost kind of forgot about you when you called about a ‘date’ only to have me be jostled by my own memory. I told you I was busy that night (I don’t think I really was, more like I was playing hard to get) and you were okay with it (I think you said something like, “I think I’ll just wait until you aren’t busy”) and then we had mutually agreed on the coming Friday (it was a Tuesday).
You picked me up on your motorcycle and then took me out to a Taiwanese restaurant and we conversated over beef noodle soup, which wasn’t a very attractive dish to be eating on a first date but it didn’t really seem to faze you because you showed some type of genuine interest towards whatever I was saying. Relatively, I was doing more of the talking, but the both of us didn’t really say anything at all, just introduced ourselves and our jobs.
“I’m Baekhyun, I work at the diner and I’m a part-time American Apparel model.”
“I’m Jongin, I do a few odd jobs here and there and I barely make enough money to survive.”
It was almost very formal, but you were still wearing your leather jacket and blue jeans. I was wearing a red-and-white sundress.
We ate the majority of our meal in a very comfortable and shared silence, often looking at each other with eyes that conveyed some type of weird emotion and with our lips curled up into wry smiles. The corners of our lips were a bit stained with noodle soup, but our own tongues found the speckles before we could find each others’.
After we had eaten the beef noodle soup (you paid), you took me out for another ride on your motorcycle to a little arcade in a plaza. It was weird, to have my cheek plastered on your back as you drove me around but I think I liked how intimate the position felt. Having the wind flip my dress up every few moments, however, was not fun.
We played a few shooting games and found ourselves laughing at how bad we were at them and also shared a few anecdotes about our lives along the way. I told you about the time my brother had puked during a zombie movie while we were shooting monsters in a haunted house. You told me about how bad you felt to be shooting deer because you had a friend that looked almost exactly like Bambi and had a last name that meant ‘deer’.
Before we left the arcade, you had won me a stuffed animal at a novelty claw machine. Apparently, you were very good at this and wanted to show off a bit, which was your main reason of having brought me there. You won me a dog plushie and I had ridden on your motorcycle with it between my chest and your back, feeling kind of weird but also like I had a bit of you close to my heart in a literal sense.
You parked your motorcycle in front of my apartment and we stood next to the wooden fence for a little. I bowed my head in a too-formal manner and then you asked, “Can I kiss you?”
I stood there for a few seconds, a little dumbfounded and shocked that I was being asked such a question. It was as if you had asked me about my parents’ divorce or about why I felt the need to almost never mention my little sister or something. But not nearly that bad, it just caught me a little off-guard.
“I, uh, suppose,” I said. “There’s not really anything bad that could happen if we were to kiss right now, I don’t think. It would be okay if you were to just peck my lips. Yeah.”
You chuckled and for a second your eyes did the same thing they were doing all night, but then they were closed and mine were, too, as I felt your lips against mine for a very split second.
HERE IS WHERE WE
Maybe we had taken things too fast, but after our third (maybe fourth, I lost count) date, we had found each other in my bed. Our naked, post-sex bodies stuck to each other as our eyes locked. It was very intimate and it was strange not seeing you in your leather jacket. You wrapped your arm around me and I desperately wanted to say something, like the expression in your eyes indicated my ability to speak: desperate, your expression was desperate.
“I’m very tired,” you said. It was near the early morning, as we had spent the majority of the night having sex. We had been in that weird embrace for a bit already, engaging in light ‘pillow talk’ as you ran your hand down my spine. I tried to memorize every part of your body by pressing my palms against your sticky skin but I couldn’t. You were too much for my mind to process. “Very, very tired.”
“Go to bed,” I said. It was one of the first things I had figured out to say to you within an extremely long ten minutes. You looked down at me like I was crazy and I had nothing to say but, “Please stay the night.”
Your lips curled upwards on the side and it looked too melancholic to be a smile but you nodded and said, “Okay, I will,” and buried your head into the crook of my neck.
This is how we fell asleep most nights, you with your head hidden and with me holding you tight because I so badly needed and wanted you to stay.
You became some kind of booty call after that first night - a friend with benefits, but it was as if ‘affection’ and ‘admiration’ were a few extra benefits. It became routine for me to call you straight after some photo shoots and you, somehow, were never busy or, somehow, had always made enough time for me in your day. Our exchanges were often heated and quick, but the afterglow of our actions was often the highlight of the sex. We would often just lie there, staring at either each other or the ceiling with eyes that I still call ‘desperate’, keeping weightless conversation flowing. I would talk about work, you would talk about work. I would tell you about something that had happened to me before and you would listen. You never were too keen on talking.
It seemed to me that you had always been louder during sex, always saying something - saying my name, giving me instruction, telling me something, anything. You would spend a lot of time muttering, “Baekhyun, Baekhyun..” right against my ear and I would reply with a moan or something, just to make sure your initial statement had gotten a response.
This one night, you had been extra chatty and you gripped my hand, holding it up to the ceiling and watching as the light on my lamp shadowed it. “Our hands look like one big monster hand,” you said, causing me to laugh. I agreed with you and you waved our hands around. “Weird, though, your hand seems to fit against mine perfectly.”
A familiar blush crept its way along my body. I was going as red as I was on the first day that I had met you. Rosey and warm as a pepper. “Stop that,” I said, not really specifying what I wanted you to stop. I wanted to make you use context clues because I was too shy to say something like, “Stop being affectionate or I’ll scream and melt.”
“But really,” you had continued. Your fingers splayed against mine and you put your palm against my palm, flat as our fingers grazed against each other. “It’s perfect. I think it’s really, really perfect.” You were trying to sell me on the idea.
“I suppose you’re trying to tell me that our hands are meant for each other?” I raised an eyebrow and tried to keep my blush from doing much more.
You hesitated, then you said, “I suppose I’m trying to tell you that we are meant for each other,” I didn’t say anything. I kept my palm close to yours and I was imagining the rise and fall of your chest. “Really.” You said, like you were trying to sell this other idea to me.
“Oh,” I said. I didn’t know what to say. “Okay.”
“Yeah, I think I’m in love with you,” your heartbeat grew quicker and it felt like that was the only sound in the room, like I couldn’t hear your breaths or my breaths. For a few minutes, it sounded like that. Sounded like a rapid, irregular heart trying to beat its way out of its skin encasing.
The concept of love seemed hard for me to grasp, so I just swallowed air and stammered something out, “Yeah, I think I’m in love with you, too,” and took three very deep breaths, ready for you to regret your decision.
But all you did was smile. And then you said, “awesome”, like this was the best news that you had ever heard in your entire lifetime.
HERE IS WHERE WE
It was beautiful. It was so beautiful for the first month. You told me you loved me all the time, you took me out for dates all the time, you made love to me all the time, but somewhere along the way, you had stopped coming home from your odd jobs early, rarely apologizing about your disappearance. You told me you were busy. I knew you weren’t seeing any other women, I knew it for sure, but your interest in me had stopped growing since you told me you loved me. It was all about the thrill of the chase for you.
But we tried to make it work anyway. You kept telling me you loved me and I kept telling you that I loved you, too. We told each other we loved each other on an hourly basis, keeping our relationship occupied with the sudden rush of pseudo-love. Our feelings were like a dam that wasn’t working properly.
When you were around, we spent a lot of time having sex but it never felt exactly the same as it had when you had loved me the most. We were falling out of our honeymoon phase and neither of us wanted that, so we just held onto each other non-committally, with the same desperation we always had in our eyes. The desperation that had acted like a chameleon to our situation.
At first, we were desperate to have a relationship, but then we were desperate to keep the relationship going. We were always desperate for something, always so needy, never fulfilled.
We were growing tired of each other. Sometimes, you even left my apartment directly after sex, saying you were busy. I never asked you with what and you never expected me to do so.
On one afternoon, the sun seeped in through my windows and I sat on the couch as you paced back and forth in my living room. We were there for a movie date and had gotten bored of it halfway through. The DVD’s case was still sitting in front of my television. I could tell you didn’t want to leave me and that was the only reason why you were still here. I watched your feet vaguely as you walked around, staring blankly at the motion blurs your shoes had become.
I was thinking about our relationship in the back of my mind, like they were photographs that I had tucked away during spring cleaning. Polaroids of our first date appeared in my mind. Polaroids of the first time we had touched each other looked blurry. I was never the best rememberer or the best photographer.
My mouth kept opening and closing as I tried to find words to say. Any phrases seemed lost to me, so I looked like a fish out of water. You looked at me and asked, “Are you-”
And it was as if your words had dumped me into a tank of tap. I cut you off, asking, “Do you want to break up?”
We stared at each other for a minute. There was no more desperation in your eyes and I could feel my eyes clearing up as well. I held my knees to my chest and looked up at you expectantly, not sure what I was waiting for. It was a simple question, but loaded as well.
Your lips parted and then you said, “Yeah,” and you left my apartment without saying another word.
I sat there with my lower lip beneath my upper teeth, feeling like a large part of me had just walked out the door. I could feel, physically, emotionally, something clouding my eyes and for the first time in my life, I was crying desperation, flushing any sense of feeling out of my system.
FIN.