One could argue that the process of a drunken night with a stranger – in which one leaves before they’re left – is much easier than that of waking up in the arms of a man you’re on closer terms with; a man you’re able to recall every second of the previous night with. 

A night that didn’t involve alcohol. 

Nor drunken, slobbery kisses and unintelligible mutterings. 

Once the initial anxiety of the prospect of falling into a murderer’s trap passes, it’s much easier a process to lose yourself in the feeling, to zone out of your surroundings and get stripped out of your clothing, to be laid onto a bed in a random hotel room or apartment by a random man who’s identity you’ve purposely avoided going past surface level with, knowing you’re to leave once the act is finished.

Perhaps a minute or ten minutes between its end point. 

By no means is it a good feeling, the aftermath, but knowing there’s no obligation for you to stay, that besides the pleasure or stress relief you’ve brought to the other, you hold no ties to this stranger, and you’re unlikely to see them again, brings a sense of ease. 

No guilt on either party’s side, especially not directed at the other, if both parties are single and of age, at the most, a fleeting curiosity of what could happen had this have been an actual date, or if you hadn’t have met under the circumstances of the harsh glare of club lights and alcohol, may possibly present itself.

What would happen if you stayed until morning, could it progress into something more, etcetera, etcetera.

But reality soon hits and it passes. It doesn’t linger in your memory for too long. Not if it’s an act you’re becoming accustomed to, quite familiar with. 

However, waking up in the arms of a man  who you’re on much closer terms with, knowing alcohol and harsh club lights weren’t involved in the slightest in the lead up, knowing you willingly placed yourself in the arms of the aforementioned male, regardless of whether it was a moment of weakness, regardless of whether clothing hadn’t been shed, is a whole other experience. 

And, though not half as intimate in the technical terms, you’d argue that it’s a ton more vulnerable.

And certainly anxiety inducing.

Particularly when your surroundings and sense return to you and the details you hadn’t taken into account the previous night hit you like a ton of bricks. 

That only in viewing so; his dark hair that shines a certain shade when the light hits it, the even rise and fall of his chest each time he inhales a breath, the urge to reach over and trace his plump, ever so kissable lips with your finger. How much taller he is in comparison and how small you feel being pressed against his bare torso… in perfect view of those taut abdominal muscles you’ve envisioned in great detail over the passing weeks,  that certainly do exist in the flesh… does it truly hit you what has happened. 

How long it truly takes for the regret and anxiety to manifest. 

That worry seems to lessen a small amount when you feel his arms tighten their hold on you, pulling you closer, so close that you can hear the beating of his heart. 

But it’s no time to get lost in the moment, rather time to plan your escape route, regain your clarity.  

You crane your neck, in search of the dress you rid yourself of the previous night, expecting it to be exactly where you left it, a puddle on the floor, only to see it neatly folded on the bed you were supposed to sleep on.  

Your eyes scan what else you can see of the room in search of a particular something – this novel of his, that since your getting there has had pretty much the entirety of his attention – only to stumble upon a suitcase with no doubts in your mind that it has a lock, thus will be packed with his essentials and likely this novel of secrecy also. 

So even now, you don’t have what you planned to be your bargaining chip against him, to stop the events of the night being brought up within a second of the book’s name being mentioned.

Because in your hopes, this novel has been hidden or subsequently kept out of reach and eye sight, because it’s embarrassing for him. 

Basically, perfect blackmail. 

So you sigh and lay your head back against the pillow, fully awake, Jongin in full view. Sleeping peacefully. 

Strangely, in the worst way, in all your years of being in love or the process of falling in love with your best friend and only being able to imagine him in such cases, you find yourself imagining what it would be like, to have a lover-like connection like this, with a man like Jongin.

One of pure intimacy, one where being held in his arms come nighttime is a habitual doing. A sense of normality for you.

And in the strangest way, the worst way, it doesn’t leave you cold. 

“Why would she leave you?” You find yourself mumbling, this time going as far to trace his features with a feather like touch, mulling over the tremendously breathtaking physical form presented to you.

And as much as the physical aspects leave you in awe, the longer you’re around him, the more curious you become about him and his upbringing, his intelligence and personality, you feel you can pinpoint something that may have played a part in their breaking up. 

There’s distance. Even when you’re in bed together, held in his arms, him perfectly at peace… there’s distance.  

And of all the times in the world where you’re hoping he doesn’t wake up, he chooses this exact moment to do so.

That same distance ensues, when he opens those dark, soulful eyes, that seem to have the ability to see straight through you.

Finally after some moments, he says a quiet, “Sometimes souls you’ve envisioned staying with you for a lifetime, desert you, and the cruel world can’t provide you with an answer.” There’s a few seconds of pause. “It’s life.”

Though it makes no sense given the current level of proximity between the two of you, he sounds so far away, the words almost having you brunch back in surprise and somehow you find yourself questioning whether he’s actually replying with Min-seo in mind, and the hurt he experienced from their abrupt ending. 

Perhaps it’s his mother he refers to – and certainly she has to be a part of this choice of reply.

But the funny thing, or the most curious at that moment in time, is what dawns on you. There’s something else. Perhaps a someone else, outside of Min-seo and his late mother, and certainly something he’s not telling you.

Something you’re unaware of about him. 

Some card he’s been dealt in life – perhaps ongoing – that tells you he’s more acquainted with the feeling of hurt than he’d like to let on. That it’s played a much stronger role in his life than he’d ever wish to say.

And thus, as much as he plays the blase role, the role of the detached observer who’s simply curious as to the schemes you’ll concoct because you share acquaintance and simply tagging along because you could be of use to the other in future, he has all the potential to become the main player of this scheme that stems from the hurt, longing and slight thirst for revenge of an ignored best friend and a betrayed – or abandoned – lover.

For reasons unbeknownst to you; reasons that go deeper than what you know of him right now. 

And you, yourself, you know in that moment that whatever it is, it’s dangerous. If there’s anything you know about reading the mood or atmosphere, you know to trust your instinct, and your instinct tells you that it’s dangerous territory you tread, that whilst you may find answers, there’s a high probability of being hurt in the process.

But there’s something pushing you forward, making you vow to yourself that before this coalition is to end, you will find out the truth of the entirety of the situation. Not from the perspective of someone who wants to use it against him for their own gain, but out of curiosities sake. Truth’s sake.

One thing you know is that yes, curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.

And also, you’ve been known to thrive in danger.

“Don’t worry about having to redress yourself in last night’s dress or walk out of here in pajamas,  most of the guests have left by this point and if not, are known to stay in their suites until later.” He shuffles your positioning so you’re separated, both making a move not to bring it into the conversation, before sitting up, and motioning to the bed you were supposed to be sleeping in. 

“There are some clothes over there, feel free to keep them, they're not half as dressy as the dress, but perfectly appropriate to leave the venue in.”

“You’re quite meticulous about this, hm?” In reference to his organization and apparent cleanly habits. 

He avoids direct eye contact, as if already knowing you’re on the search for something to use against him, or assess. “I don’t like to see clothes on the floor. Particularly not at that price.” Though you swear the latter half of the sentence is simply added for good measure. 

The outfit isn’t as dressy as the dress as Jongin mentioned, but it wasn’t anything to scoff at either. Definitely trendy; with skin tight pants, black in color and a navy blazer presented before you in combination with the Louboutins of the night before, the outfit accentuated all the right places. 

You’re perched on the edge of the bed you didn’t sleep on as you glance up at him, biting your lip. “I bet if we had’ve gone the whole way last night, you would’ve preferred I kept the heels on.” 

His eyes widen momentarily, quickly glancing the other way.

You chuckle, the sound quite lilting in its nature. “It’s okay,” you then whisper once you’ve edged closer. “I would’ve preferred so too.”

“They’re yours now,” he says, something of a smile painting his features. “As are the other clothing pieces, if you want them, that is.”

You nod instantly, ecstatic at this news. “I do have a question though,” you wait for a sign to continue. “Where does your knowledge of fashion come from, Jongin?”

He twiddles with his thumbs, once again avoiding eye contact. “My mother was a designer before she…” He stops here, and as much as you want him to continue, you decide not to push the subject. “It’s also a branch of my–” He stops instantly at this, as if he’s already said too much, shaking his head. “Never mind, it’s not really that interesting. I just picked it up along the way. Shall we go?” Offering his arm out to you.

Which you take, questions spinning in your mind, all left unvoiced.

He opens the car door for you this time, which makes you realize you’d acted so abruptly the first time, you didn’t even realize it was in his intention to do so. But it’s not something you dwell on, because if it had bothered him that much he surely would have said so, wouldn’t he?

The drive back to your apartment is relatively quiet, though you do resist the urge to compliment his navigational skills, him finding his way back so smoothly without having to question you once, but wonder if that’s simply due to a GPS or previous knowledge of the area. 

Which you would really like to bring up in conversation, the more you think about it. But you don’t. Instead you let the journey pass in silence, unaware the internal turmoil is passing between the both of you and something of an unspoken tension is brewing. 

He voices it after he’s walked you to your door, and glancing at your watch and taking note of the time is when you thank the heavens that it’s the weekend, noting that even after sleeping in such pristine circumstances, you’re still exhausted, and truly missing the feeling of your own bed, as cold as it usually is. So a nap is certainly on the horizon once you get the chance.

You’re taken by surprise at the sudden sound of his voice infiltrating your hearing. He clears his throat. “We shouldn’t have done that, _____.”

You blink. “Done what?”

As if trying to aid the two of you from eavesdroppers he lowers his voice. “Share a bed.”

You nod, but then blink up at him, hand on your door handle. “It’s not like we kissed or anything,” though there’s something of an awkward note behind it. 

You’d been thinking the exact same thing as Jongin, probably had the same view on the topic entirely.

The same feelings of apprehension and anxiety, which neither of you seem to be able to explain. In your case, you guess it made sense. You’d never actually awoken in the arms of a man, holding you so closely, protectively. You always made sure to leave once you and a stranger had gotten what you desired from the other, barely speaking a word to the other. You'd shared your bed with Taemin of course, but even then, it wasn't like you'd ever wake up in each other's arms. 

Sharing a bed was quite an intimate thing, regardless of how much or little clothing happened to be removed, at least as you’re learning. 

In Jongin’s case, that’s where you draw the blank. Through Min-seo or certainly... someone, you had confirmation he had dated,  at least at one point, though no idea as to how far they went – you knew for  a fact he didn’t sleep around – but regardless, had noted he paid a lot of attention to the romantic aspect of relationships. 

Romantic aspects that you’re by no means fluent in, and seemed to know the know hows of dating culture that skipped by you, so surely if he’d dated, must’ve cuddled with the partner before, without the use of alcohol, so certainly should have been less awkward about it than you, should he not?

Perhaps it’s his view of relationships and all the nuances involved that has him bringing this up. Perhaps you’re in a certain ‘no go’ zone in his mind that means cuddling is completely off the agenda, and him cuddling with you is supposedly going to lead to you getting a wrong impression.

Perhaps it goes even deeper, in terms of him thinking he’s emotionally cheating on someone his heart is taken by, by cuddling with another woman, which in all terms of obvious logic said woman would have to be Min-seo.

…Wouldn’t it?

Nonetheless, he’s viewing it as mistake. Possibly to a higher level than you.

“No,” he says gently, after processing what you’ve just said. “You’re right.” But then glances around, as if searching for the watchful eyes he expected from before. “But you shouldn’t be inviting me in here.”

Your voice is certainly lilting by this point, teasing. “Who says I’m inviting you in?” 

Jongin blanks, backing up a little. “I, uh–”

You giggle, letting him know it’s not that serious, nothing for him to berate himself over. “And even if I was, who says I’d have specific intentions?”

His expression is deadpan. “Considering you’re you–” But stops there, glancing at you. “You’re going to invite me after me saying so now, aren’t you?”

You nod. “You should have breakfast, take it as my thank you for all you’ve done in terms of leading and directing me through this party.”

You can see the gratitude manifest but also the apprehension. “As much as I appreciate the thought, I don’t think that’s wise…” 

“Why, are you afraid you’re going to fall for me once I invite you in, jagi?”

But he doesn’t laugh, except for a strained chuckle. 

So you decide to get a little bit more serious, peering at him. “Or is she still on your mind?” Though you make no move to confirm who you mean by she, which Jongin instantly picks up on. 

You see something flash behind his eyes, something like fear. “What?” He rasps. 

“I’m just curious,” you state. “Of who it is you’re so scared of running into, or encountering whilst you have me on your arm, also.” You tread lightly, eyebrow raising. “I’d expect it to be Min-seo, by all logical measures, but taking into your account your behavior at the party and prior encounters with her, it’s not exactly to this same degree. You don’t mind Min-seo seeing you and I together, but this other person… the thought of them encountering the two of us together doesn’t sit well with you, does it? Like, at all.”

Breakfast is tense, mainly because after your speech, he brusquely made his way inside, not saying another word, at least not until you’re seated at the table, opposite from each other. 

Neither says a word, but the sound of