stallicn:
he exhales, and for a second he looks like he’s seriously contemplating what that could possibly entail. "maybe this. hard to say.” their words pull with an aggravating pace, a slow circling waltz around the rim. the haze in his head builds.
“you say that like it’s a bad thing.” in a suddenly playful gesture, the warm hold on her wrist turns to a hand running smooth up her forearm, then down, until bitna takes it and lets their fingers entwine. it’s funnier now than anything, how a good seven years ago she’d been the girl running through his mind, all that to come to a halt upon circumstances of disinterest, or just plain shitty timing on his end. and the fact that he remembers it, remembers it now so vividly says everything and nothing.
but on second thought: why not now? when he’d been wallowing in limbo for the past few months of questions, questioning. “it doesn’t feel real.” as a sensation, as the film of memories that run through, minseo there, then not, his parents there, then not. he gives her hand a squeeze. “dunno why."
but oh, he does know. it’s all him at the root of it all. has to be.
she’s silent in her observation, even with devil’s liquors pumping through her veins, there is still a fair amount of clarity that breaks through. notes the implications in his words; every twitch on his face is a tell. pulls back the curtains bit by bit on what he’s hidden from the rest of them. “this?” her brow arches, head tilted, expression coy. “i understand having me around bit, but is sweaty crowds and cheap beer really your idea of a good night?” she hums. “maybe if we were somewhere alone...”
the coquettish lilt in her voice is evident; deliberately placed, even. well aware of the tone the conversation has taken to—or rather, the particular mood that seemed to have plagued her companion—and keen on uplifting things, if possible. “isn’t it?” her gaze lowers to his touch, teeth sinking into the flesh of her inner cheek. there’s a significant amount of wrong that comes with the feeling—the way her heart both skips and twinges, tightens with the prospect of what feels right and yet is not hers to have.
“what are you going to do if i act on it?” she words her question cautiously, eyes locking with his. there’s a notable something in the air bitna can’t pinpoint, one that geared toward pushing her to sin. but she’s never cared. end of the day—no matter how much she’d like to be a better person, how much she’d like to put the people in her life before her—bitna simply doesn’t.
barry’s word are cryptic, very much so the drunken babble of a troubled boy. bitna contemplates pressing further, but she isn’t too sure as to her rights. as to the specifics of lines that a “friend” can cross. not his girlfriend. not his closest confidant. simply a girl he’s known for years. what right does bitna have to demand anything? “huh.” her brow arches, tongue flicking over her lower lip absently. “why?” she shifts, pressing her foot on the toe of his shoe playfully.
"i don’t feel real to you?”
