the thing with old habits is that they return — wholly or partially. sometimes they come in the forms of fragments, of a forgotten song, of that turn down a street to the cafe they used to frequent, of that particular mix of perfume and shampoo. sometimes they come in the form of bright eyes and a tone void of all things familiar.
what greets him is the smile he remembers, that gentle curve of rosy lips — the one that fades gradually at the sight of him across the hallway, the one no longer meant for him. the realisation comes a tad slower than eye contact does — much like a steady burn that lines bitterness along his veins, breathing life into everything ( memories of her ) he’s left behind. it’s a split-second fight or flight decision; perhaps he wants an answer to the question that holds his gaze several steps away, perhaps he wants a compromise in which neither of them loses anything more than they already have ( or more than what he thinks he’s already taken from her ); or perhaps he just wants to hear her voice.
aroma of ground coffee beans wafts in the air, filling what little space there is within the moving vehicle, and all of a sudden it feels all too constricting — like facing an old fear.
( he’s back where he feared, every shared memory threatened to be set on fire. exactly how much of him will she still remember? )
the distance in her voice dislodges something in his heart, knuckles paling from the tightened grip before he remembers to loosen them.
the truth is paper thin, her words piercing through the obvious that has remained unspoken till this day. yet it does little in easing the fear that stirs at the pit of his gut. ( don’t let him be right ).
“ business partners, for the most of it. ” a vague answer is a safe answer, and he treads with caution, slowly. a brief pause that follows by a subtle admittance, “ it’s been a while. i have a better hand at business. ”
lips rolled taut into a thin line, he runs an almost-red light, gaze then habitually checking for potential signs of trouble from his side mirrors just in case. at the next one, he remembers to slow down. “ that isn’t a place to be. ”
she places the coffee in the cup holder - and how lonely it looks. singular. odd. no longer accompanied by his coffee. but what a foolish thought it was; it’s been this way for a long time now.
she’s suddenly reminded of how many things she had forgotten - like the exact shade of his eyes, the way his arms felt around her, the way her name sounded in his mouth. she desperately grasped onto those memories but they slipped through her fingers like water. and now she tries not to obsess over this moment and each little detail, but god... the sound of his voice could tear her apart.
he nearly runs a red light, but she doesn’t need to look at him to see the tightness in his expression. her gaze is steadily fixed on the scenery outside, watching the cars blur past her - from silvers to reds to blues. she says nothing in reply, slowly processing his words. there’s only the sound of their breathing and the steady hum of the engine.
she knows the truth; she feels it in her gut like an age old instinct impossible to ignore. why else would he be at yuripa and being introduced to her as one of the executors? there were no other logical explanations and the rage comes slowly after the hurt.
( to think she had thought it was her fault he had left! )
“and this is a place to be? being business partners with the yuripa?” she replies, words sharp. she still doesn’t dare to say his name - it’s dead and almost foreign on her tongue; it’s the bullet in her heart, the knife in her throat. “they call you the mad dog. i imagine you’re more than just a business partner.”
she’s tense, arms crossed over her chest, still avoiding his initial question. “have you forgotten that our team leader died because of them?” and she remembers her last phone call with taewook - and her breath trembles in her chest. “i suppose i shouldn’t be surprised, but why can’t you just tell me now?” he hasn’t lied entirely, but that was neither comforting nor distressing. the next words come out quieter, vowels softer. “i don’t want half truths from you.”
vaporwave
jacobvanloon
kaledo-art
tangentwithtanner
turnnoffyourmind
izzy806
areudirty
2087
pixelskylines
