Perhaps, it would be better if she’d never gone back to Korea. 

At least then — she wouldn’t have to see him again, she wouldn’t have to hear the dark grogginess in his voice when he was tired or smell that clean scented cologne that he’d worn since he were a teenager. 

She’s daring — at least, for now. Coffee toned pigments veering briefly onto his expression, to the light that was peering through his aura brighter than the Seoul sun against her skin and the gentle smile that she hadn’t seen anywhere but in her memory until as of late. She thinks that it would’ve been better, for the both of them, if the adventures of the previous night was nothing was a bad dream. 

Seeing him is more painful than the beating hangover in her head and it didn’t help that she remembers every word spoken in her drunken ramble as though it were the national anthem. 

“Last night was a mistake,” she musters the courage to break through the silence, though doesn’t have enough bravery to look him in the eye. 

She knows, that she could easily get lost in them and she doesn’t need to observe him to know the way his expression probably drops into one that is an oxymoron of sorts — tender but confused. 

He had always been her weakness, her achilles heel and she only realises that because the only time she doesn’t feel the overwhelming anxiety, is when she’s drunk off her brains. The combination of being drunk and in his presence, finally clears the thick smog in her brain. Her senses, are awash.