EIGHTEEN

He leans in even more, and I feel like jumping off a way too high cliff, just to stop this rapid beating of my heart. This is not what I’m supposed to feel right now. This is a feeling I should be suppressing. This can only end badly, and again, probably only for me.

Then my phone rings.

I don’t pick up immediately; I keep my gaze strongly fixed on him. I’m not sure why I can’t manage to pull myself away, but it feels as if I’m drowning in his eyes. I almost forgot how they make me sway. It’s something I haven’t felt for anyone else, and I hate myself for feeling it again, after all these years. Or still after all these years. Even after what happened.

For a moment I think that if he leans in any more, the chance that I’ll be pulling back will be near to improbable. For a moment I think that I’d just let things happen, and face the consequences later. But he doesn’t do anything other than give me that look. That questioning look. That look he would have never given me back then, because he knew what I was thinking even before I was.

It doesn’t work like that anymore. He doesn’t know me that well anymore, and I don’t know him like that anymore either. The people we’ve become in the meantime are completely different, so still feeling, or thinking I’m still feeling the things I used to right now, are simply stupid. Whatever this is, it’s based on who he was, and who I was before.

It’s impossible to base a love on the past when there’s no future in sight.

So I end up picking up anyway. Slightly reluctant, slightly relieved.

"Daesung?"

I just realise I never bothered checking who was calling me. I can’t help but flinch a little when I hear her voice.

Guilt. I shouldn’t be here right now.

"Yes?"

"Oh, Daesung! Where are you? It's so late!" The silent tremble in her voice clearly states her worry.

I really shouldn’t be here right now.

Nothing happens for a while; I’m just listening to her rapid breathing. The guilt inside my stomach only grows when I hear a soft sob. It’s hard for me to swallow. I hate it when people cry. I hate it even more when I’m the cause.

Without saying another word, I get up from the couch, and wobble my way to the hallway.

There’s another quiet sob from the other side of the line.

"Why are you calling, Hikari?" I sound more annoyed than I should.

For starters, I shouldn’t talk to her like this; she doesn’t deserve this at all. It’s only normal she’s calling. I’d call her too if I didn’t know where she was. Of course I’d worry about her. Still, the annoyance doesn’t leave my voice, and the longer the silence lasts, the more annoyed I get. I suppose I’m more annoyed with my own behaviour, than I am with hers.

I know she’s hesitating before giving me an answer, it’s clear she knows something's wrong. Seriously wrong.

"Am I interrupting something?” Her voice is soft, and gentle, and I’m not worthy of it one bit. “Are you still at work?"

For some reason, I hope she’ll get angry and yell at me when I give her my cold reply.

"No, I'm not at work."

But she doesn’t. She merely carefully hums.

"Where are you then?"

Please, Hikari. Get angry.

"Out."

She hums again, though this time; I can hear the crack in her once so steady voice. Is she crying?

"Out where?"

"Just out,” I snap.

I don’t have the right to get angry. But I suppose I’m only doing it because she isn’t.

I listen to her broken breathing as I feel my feet fumbling backwards until I reach the wall. I slide down the same time my heart drops.

Yes. She’s crying.

"Are you drunk?" She asks once she has regained a bit of her composure.

"No,” I grit my teeth. “I'm not drunk."

She doesn’t believe me, and she shouldn’t either. I’m lying. She knows it, and I know it.

"Please, just come home," she pleads.

She’s begging me for something I’m fully aware of I should comply to, yet for some reason, I feel like staying.

"No." The refusal coldly leaks out of my mouth and into the receiver.

I’m disgusted with myself, and obviously, Hikari is, too.

"You come home right now, or don't bother at all." Her voice has changed so suddenly, turned threatening without a warning.

Right now, I’m supposed to give in. Instead, I panic.

"Fine, then I won't!"

I press the screen of my phone harder than necessary, then lower it.

What in the world am I doing?

I feel sick. I feel genuinely sick.

Slowly, I lower my head to bury them in my hands. Not only do I feel sick to my stomach, I also feel so incredibly bad. Bad for saying the things I’ve said, bad for doing the things I’ve done. I knew I shouldn’t have come the moment I got out of my car, still, I stayed.

Stupid, stupid Daesung.

I’m no longer fully aware of what I am doing when my feet guide me back to the couch. It’s like I’m letting my subconscious lead me all the way back to him, and even though I know it’s wrong, I let it.

Not much later than that, Seunghyun comes back. A mischievous smirk dances on his lips as he places yet another bottle on the table. His smirk grows even wider when he sits next to me. His leg is touching mine again, and even though I didn’t mind before, I mind it now.

“Something wrong?” He asks.

There’s a sense of amusement swirling in his words, and it tugs the knot in my stomach harshly.

I feel like throwing up.

“No. Nothing at all,