They ed. A lot.

There, she said it. She uses because it’s exactly what they do, it’s a bad habit to their dismal life. They’d for too long and too frequently, it was hard to keep up who had called who. It bothered her why she had kept up with this for so long – surely, that night on the bus stop three years ago was accidental and should not have happened again. And they blame it towards YG, at some extent.

One of their drunken and hazy nights had them mumbling about what could have been if YG didn’t fall into a coma. It was unusual, really, cause they weren’t drinking buddies, but they were on his floor, downing bottles and bottles of Jack Daniels, the heat of the room rising with every clink of their glasses. As their inhibitions fade, illusions come lurking in – and they blind reason, resulting to hazy, sensual consequences.

“Gods, do you ever run out of alcohol?” Chaerin remembered her vision swaying as she reached for another glass.

“I see that as a compliment, Pudong.”

“Yeah right, YG used to call me that – so don’t.”

“Ah, Yang Hyun Suk, our favorite president!! Woooh!” He raises his glass and performs a mock salute to no one in particular.

“If he wasn’t just so sick, we would still have our careers by now. It’s selfish of him just to keep it a secret. That old bastard had too much pride.” He ranted on as she silently agreed.

There was silence, then Seunghyun looked at her curiously, she remembered him laughing, mocking her of her previous nickname, “Pudong, pudong, pudong –”

“Stop it.” She slams her glass on the floor, almost breaking it.

“Pudong! Pudong! Pudong!” he sang like the rhythm of church bells.

The humid air, the smoke and his incessant teasing got her so worked up. It was a small thing really, but his deep baritone voice was getting into her nerves making her uneasy. She remembered getting up and balling her right fist, and if her memory served her right, she saw him smirk as she aimed her fist to his mouth. Yeah, she was definitely looking at his mouth at that time. Of course, her tiny arm was easily caught by Seunghyun and she remembered being dragged down to the floor. His broad chest felt damped against her s, and God she felt ing hot.

She remembered him expertly tugging her pants down, and smirking when he felt her curls of wetness unhindered by any fabric.

“Guess I couln’t help it.” She tried to sound casual, and he laughed along. She marvels at the feel of his fingers just circling her , his heavy breathes tickling her wet curls and just about every he is giving– the anger is instantly forgotten, and she doesn’t even remember how it had started. He’s pretty good at distracting people, a second talent to his rapping she guessed. So now, every time she tries to land a jab on his face, she still ends up , and the arguments long forgotten.

They’d each other on that creaking couch, on that dusty rag, on his kitchen’s counter, by his door, or the bathroom but never inside his bedroom – and no matter how rough the can get – they never, ever kiss each other on the lips. Kissing is for the romantic. Rough nipping and all over the body is understandable, but their lips remained evasive to each other. Perhaps on that first night, she had initiated things, but he didn’t follow through, and Chaerin didn’t question it. As long as she comes hard, she didn’t care for anything else.

She never stayed long either. Chaerin learned that early on, when he’d stand up after a good and he’ll smoke like no one was there. No post coital bliss. As if genuine bliss existed in their ‘relationship’.

So, all she needed was seconds to steady her breathing, and she’d stand up and beat him before he can even utter another word. It was routine, an unspoken standard operating procedure for them to keep on going. Just like any other night.

But November brings the wettest of months in Nice and a storm has been building up all around the province. Torrential rain has been banging the window sill of Seunghyun’s apartment since Chaerin came barging in, and they only took notice of the dangerous weather conditions when a big branch had banged on its glass.

“I need to go before the storm gets worst.” She grimaced, not really expecting a response from him.

Not some hours ago, it was freaking hot in the park, now, the streets looked like it was drenched for hours. The Riviera is truly unpredictable.

Another branch banged their temporary silence. “Stay.” He said as he puffed a smoke in the air, his pants hanged loose and ed, he was facing the window and the sudden clash of lightning illuminated his form, highlighting his toned body.

Chaerin would have swooned at this sight. But she had seen it a lot of times, nothing new, nothing fantastic about it. Before, he was well toned, muscles in the right places. But as months passed by, he just became a lanky, cranky, and misguided man. Nothing new, nothing special - she was just tired and she wanted to go home. The thumping of the tree branch did not stop though, it has become a constant rhythm to the room. Bang. Bang. Bang.

She nearly snorted at the absurdity of what he said, along with the fact that he uttered a word after their rough session.

 “Stay?”

“Yes. It’s a word that means that you remain where you are. Obviously, there’s a storm out there and your house is 10 miles away.” He brought his cigarette to his mouth again, and Chaerin’s nose crunched as a reflex when he puffed his smoke. She was never getting used to it, and she was tired of the smell. Actually she was tired of everything else, not that his cigarette would really matter, or him.

“It’s inconvenient, so I better go.”

“What part of staying did you not understand?” he puffs his smoke in the air, and she backed out, trying to dodge the smell, though it’s a helpless case. She decides to sit down the couch.

“Things get complicated when I stay. Tell me, why are we doing this again?”

“Cuz we , end of story.”

“Do you even wonder why we really do this?” she shakes her head. “Have you thought things thoroughly? Or do you even think at all?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Oh, so now you pretend not to know? Why are you so uneasy these days?”

“I’m not.”

“Did I ever leave you unsatisfied, unfinished?”

“No.”

 “Did I not bring you to the edge every time, huh, Chaerin?”

“No.”

“Did I ever bug you with questions like the ones you’re now asking?”

“No.”

“Then shut the hell up, and just stay!”

“I just couldn’t help but think about what all of these means, I’m wearing out, it’s been three years, .”

“Cause we ! We are so good at it, we might die if we don’t do it. We’re specifically designed to the wits out of each other. We complement like rabbits, and we hard, we rough. Our DNAs tell us we , get that? Why are you even complaining?”

“Cause I don’t want to stay!” she shouts back, on the brink of a breakdown. Oh, she did not really want to stay.

She could count on the days that he’d actually let her sleep in. There were two. These occasions were never talked about either. Those were the only days that the lines blurred a little, their rigid boundaries bending.

It was the day he came down with a fever. Chaerin was surprised that hardened sinners get affected by the most ordinary illness. It was winter and he didn’t have a fireplace in his dingy apartment. His teeth clunked endlessly when she arrived. The heater won’t even work and he had no sheets to warm him up.

She had expected to have a good that night, she was angry she played nurse for him the whole time instead. She was angry she had to monitor his body heat, to cook porridge, to wrap him with any recognizable clothing in the flat. And despite everything, he remained half conscious – and still shivering.

That’s when she started to really get worried.

She w