“It’s already too late.” she tells him, and he can already feel her slipping away, like smoke. Like smoke that slips through his fingers, no matter how much he tries to hold it back. Smoke cannot be his. And neither can she.

…But why doesn’t that thought stop him?

He goes after her, following her as she leaves the dance floor, as she leaves him. He can’t accept this. He doesn’t know why, but he simply can’t. He won’t.

“Don’t leave, please.” He calls after her, and she freezes in place. He’s not stupid: he knows that she wants him, and he knows as well that something is stopping her from going to him. But that doesn’t matter to him.

…Maybe he is stupid after all.

He can faintly hear the song changing, and he recognizes the tune: “Now”, by TroubleMaker. He doesn’t know what exactly is happening with the song choices. They seem to match their movements, their words, even their inner thoughts… It’s weird, but then again, everything about this night is weird, almost surreal.

…Perhaps he’s dreaming? But, if that is so, then “Smoky Girl” wouldn’t escape him, if it was his sub-conscious that was controlling her.

As she’s turned towards him, he can see longing in her eyes. She wants this. He knows it.

Still, something makes it harder than it should be. It’s as if this has nothing to do with a simple choice for a dance-partner, or for someone to have harmless fun with for a night.

The link is deeper. That’s why he keeps trying.

“Dance with me.” he yells over the music that commands: “Tell me now, now, now…” He wants an answer as well. She’s uncertain, and he makes the choice for her. He comes closer, and dances with her, in a forceful way that he has never used on any girl before. Why is he so desperate for her?

“It’s our last dance” she whispers in his ear as she approaches him even more. She begins to dance again, and he can’t help but wonder how is it that they connect so naturally, as if they’ve known each other forever. No movement us forced, no intimate touching is awkward.

It’s as if… He can’t put it into words, but their bodies just fit, and so do their lips, he decides, as he leans in to kiss her once more. Yes, his lips, that one characteristic that he’s distinguished for… They were meant to kiss hers.

They kiss, and the lyrics make him press himself to her, and she reacts, embracing him in a desperate way. “Come to me now, tell me, to us there is no tomorrow…” It’s true.

If this is their last dance, if this is their last kiss… Then this night is the only thing he can hold onto.

When their lips separate, he looks into her eyes, silently pleading her to stay. “Don’t be uncertain. ” he says, using some words from the song that is playing.

“I just… I can’t. I want to, but… it’s difficult. How can I trust you?” she replies with a question he has no answer to.

“…You can’t.”

She says no more, and continues to dance with him.

It’s funny, he thinks, it’s funny how much they can convey through a dance, how much they can express through it. Their dancing is very close to despair now, with their movements and heartbeats and breaths erratic.

He can feel her give her everything to the beat, he watches her dance as if there’s no tomorrow.

And, in a way, it’s true.

There is no tomorrow for them.

Once again, the tune, the lyrics, the song matches their story. But it’s the first time that he wishes it wouldn’t match. He can’t bear the thought that the spell will be broken, when the song ends.

“While being unsure, the clock is ticking again…”

Her movements still drive him crazy, and so does her body pressed against his. Yet, there’s something more to it now. There’s more than lust in their movements, more than desire in their eyes.

How, how can he make her see that this is so right that it couldn’t be different?

She has to be in his arms. He has to be able to kiss her every day, whenever he wants to, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. They have to be, just be… together.

…It’s him that stops dancing this time, and his partner stops as well, looking hesitantly at him.

“Are you okay?” she asks, the same question he had asked her a while ago, when they were dancing to Miss A’s “Lips”.

“No” he replies, giving her the same answer she gave him that time.

He leaves her, making his way towards the exit. He’s pretty sure that s’ gazes follow him – at least Thunder and G.O’s, because Mir and Joon have decided to hit the dance floor. He doesn’t look back, focused at the door that leads out of the club. He wants some fresh air, and, more importantly…

“If she stops me, I’ll keep on trying. If not, I’ll give up.” he thinks to himself, but nobody stops him.

…That is, until he touches the doorknob.

Just before all hope vanishes, a hand touches his shoulder. He turns towards its owner, praying that it’s not G.O pulling some prank on him. It’s not G.O.

It’s her.

“Smoky Girl.” he acknowledges her, trying to form a smile, just to hide that he had bet everything on that moment.

She rolls her eyes playfully, saying: “I already told you, I’m not ‘Smoky Girl’. She’s strong, and alone. In the end, I can’t be any of those.” There’s sadness in her eyes as she tries to be heard over the song that reaches its .

“In this maze we are in together, Only you that I can trust… Close your eyes, trust me.”

“How much strength does someone have, when the only thing he does is running away from whatever might hurt him?” he tells her, and continues: “I told you: you may not know if you can trust me, but you can try to.”

She sighs and looks at him. He knows that she tries weighting the ups and downs of giving in, and that’s why he stays silent, not adding anything to influence her opinion. He is always the one to push things, but not this time. This choice will be hers, and hers only.

“A girl that is free, like smoke… That’s what I was aiming for.” she says, almost to herself. “But, choosing what you want, even if it probably won’t be right, isn’t that freedom as well?”

To her rhetoric question, he can give no answer.

Because she doesn’t need one.

She made her decision, he realizes, as she gently grabs his neck and kisses him. There is no doubt in this kiss. There is no regret in this kiss. She made her choice.

He responds, but then, a sudden thought crosses his mind, and he abruptly pulls away.

“Wait…” he says. “What’s your name?”

And then, she laughs, with that laugh that looks so unique because it’s him that made her laugh, because it’s him who has the privilege of witnessing it, because it’s a laugh that it’s simply… hers.

She tells him her name, but he fails to catch it over the loud music. Before he can ask her again, she kisses him once more, and the kiss becomes too heated to be controlled, now that they both know exactly what they want.

They decide to leave. A swift look at his best friend, who understands everything, is enough to explain what the rest of the night beholds.

They make their way out of the club, the music fading, making the lyrics “we don’t have a tomorrow…” vanish completely.

As he watches her hand intertwined with his, he knows that it doesn’t matter if he heard her name correctly or not: he will ask her tomorrow.

Because, even though the sun will rise in a few hours, there is a small chance –but still a chance- that the spell will not break after this night has ended…

~~~

A/N: So, this is the end of Smoky Girl's journey... Are you disappointed? I hope I didn't let you down...

I really felt that this had to end here. After all, this was supposed to be a mini-fic, and Smoky Girl must remain mysterious and unknown, to us at least, because I'm pretty sure that Seungho, being the talented man he is, will even manage to catch smoke by his bare hands.

I know that this story was a hell of a ride for me, and I honestly hope you enjoyed it as well. Feel free to share your thoughts about it! You can comment, subscribe, message me etc... It's always nice to hear your opinions! 

Once again, thank you for reading "Smoky Girl"!