( his lips taste like nicotine, and when he left, she started smoking cigarettes. )

doyoung, is all taeyong can think of right now.

standing outside on the deck of an apartment 27 stories high, a beautiful view of seoul city lights is in front of him. secluded and away from the crowd, his elbows press into the firm wooden rails to hold himself up, occasionally alternating between reaching to the side to take a sip of beer out of a red paper cup, still three quarters filled, and taking a drag out of the lit cigarette he held in between two thin fingers. 

taeyong, in all honesty, did not want to be here at this party doyoung invited everyone in their friend circle to, because there was too much people, too much mess, and—

“hey, you.”

her. her voice, her face, her body — taeyong doesn’t dare turn around because she’s wearing a skin-tight strapless dress (in red, no less) with a pretty choker on her neck that contrasts the colour of her fair skin, her hair styled in waves and a pair of cute heels. not that he took notice of it when he saw her earlier.

“you’re all alone?” is the next thing she says and he can hear how she’s being fake with her words, because he knows that she knows he was standing out here on his own — and before he knows it, she’s positioned very cosily beside him, her back pressed against the railing and her elbows bent to support her. notes of rose, violets and vanilla fill his head, almost making him dizzy, and he notes that she’s wearing a long coat now ( “thank god” is what taeyong says in his head ) and… from what he can see in the corner of his eyes, devil horns?

“yeah,” he replies as he forces himself to glance over at her, to be polite, effectively pulling away from her side, the front of his band tee on display as he leans his weight onto his other forearm, thumb flicking ashes in the air as they blow away with the light breeze. he’s staring pointedly between the devil horns she’s wearing on her head, how her short, brown hair sits on her shoulders and the fake trident she’s holding in her hand. “turns out trouble likes to follow me. don’t you think so, nayeon?” 

a sickeningly sweet laugh leaves the girl’s cherry coloured lips, her front teeth sticking out oh so cutely before she’s back to grinning. the way she eyes him from his newly dyed hair, down to the chains on his ripped jeans and his combat boots doesn’t go unnoticed by taeyong. he also doesn’t miss her biting at a corner of her lip like she wants something — and he has a gut feeling on what she wants. “black looks good on you,” she simply replies, a hand reaching up and quickly fixing at the strand of his raven hair that looked out of place to her. 

taeyong’s usual reflex is to flinch when someone comes near, or reaches out to touch him, but he lets her pass this once — for the 56th time, and again, he wasn’t keeping count — and goes back to his original position of leaning on the rails with two elbows, bringing the cigarette up to his lips, taking a purposely longer drag instead of replying.

“smoking is bad for you,” nayeon says promptly, a frown on her lips. “they’re addictive.” 

and so were you, he thinks but would never dare to say. (there’s another small voice in his head that corrects his were to an are, but he’s quick to dismiss it.) “i don’t recall asking for your opinion on what i do with my life,” taeyong replies instead, blowing a stream of smoke into the night, wishing for all the thoughts plaguing his mind—and her—to leave.

he wasn’t a smoker — in fact, he hated the smell. however, since he’d met her, he tricked himself into believing he’d “blown” all remnants associated with her, vanishing into thin air. 

that is, until the touch of her hand finds itself on his bare arm, sliding its way up from the tip of his elbow to rest on his bicep, her candy red fingernails trailing along his skin, and taeyong suddenly feels like something in his head short-circuited because he’s on fire. there’s a part of him that knows she’s playing with him. his heart, his feelings, his attraction to her… it was all too much for his brain to handle, and here she was, in all her glory, driving him insane with a single touch. 

from what he’d learnt, nayeon was the kind of girl who wore boys hearts on her sleeve, and he could see where his used to be.

“why are you here?” taeyong grits out, stubbing his cigarette into the ashtray beside him, leaving it in there. what he said wasn’t meant to come out so sharply, but by the way she jostles backwards and widens her eyes, an impact was made.

“i was invited by—”

“that’s not what i meant, and you know it. don’t play with me, nayeon.” 

his gaze bores into her own, and slowly, he finds himself trapping her body in between him and the railing. now, taeyong was a nice guy. dark past aside, his friends knew he turned his life around, and he set out to keep it that way. recently, he started volunteering at a local orphanage – in hopes to teach the newer generations to not repeat the same mistakes he did. he was someone new, and he wasn’t intent on falling into old habits. the difference between them? taeyong grew up, and nayeon didn't. taeyong always drew a line; nayeon never saw the warning signs and crossed anyway.

he’s sent into momentary nostalgia, thinking of how nayeon never saw or chose not to see things, which ended up in him often having to save her – like when she tried helping him cook and couldn’t hold the knife properly when chopping vegetables, she’d almost cut herself with the sharp side, so he held her hand and showed her how to do it properly. or when she’d almost walked into traffic because she was on her phone and wasn't watching where she was going, he had to physically pull her by the arm. 

“someone’s feisty tonight,” nayeon's voice purrs into his ear as her body presses much closer to his. 

his better conscience tells him not to fall into it – her – again, but there she is, before him, temptation on his fingertips. and being the responsible individual he has always been, he does the most mature thing he can think of in that moment.

“i have to go,” he says, pulling away from her as he turns on his heel. history can’t repeat itself, he mentally chants in his head. he pauses in place to down the remaining amount left in his cup, and taeyong thinks he may regret drinking that much at this rate, but he doesn’t seem to give a , slamming the now empty cup down on the table. “don’t you dare follow me.”

with the sound of a door sliding shut and the sight of his figure walking away from her, nayeon does as she’s told. she then looks over to the cigarette he’d left behind. using one hand, she’s reaching out to pick it up and holding it to her lips, while the other reaches for a lighter in her own pocket, relighting the burnt end. she’s then seen sighing into the night, index and middle finger pulling the now lit cigarette as she expels smoke out of , the impression of taeyong’s lips staining her frown.

she hopes for him to come back, but an hour into her hoping, and the realization dawns upon her – that he won’t come back. (he doesn’t come back, and all she’s left with is a relapse of a dormant addiction because of another she couldn't get a small fix of.)

notes;
because i'm totally hopeless!!!!!
i'll indulge you all by putting this thing out.
i've had it for months, but i'm lazy to do more.
yay for unbeta'ed things that don't make sense(?)
okay, bye.