Bogotá, Colombia. 2009.
She could feel the scalding sun piercing through her soft skin, and overheating her loins. Her hips swayed side to side―from left to right―as she walked down those unknown streets, making numerous gazes fall upon the outstanding silhouette. However, little did she know that, among those people, some eyes were far from admiring her beauty.
With the corner of her eyes, she captured a small chaos coming to life: people running away from men dressed in black. The first question that popped into her mind was how they were able to bear those heavy, dark layers of clothing when it felt like the place had been swallowed by hell. But, a few seconds later, when her dark eyes noticed the guns they wielded guns, she knew exactly what was going on and who she was dealing with. The steps that previously were graceful became almost desperate, and before she could even realize, her body was guiding itself back to the hotel.
A warm breeze caused the lobby doors to open, and what she thought that it could have been a shelter ended up being one more trap. Now, she had officers both following and surrounding her.
"Señora, su pasaporte, por favor...Papeles."
The slim fingers reached out for the knife that had been strategically hidden under her dress, with the only purpose to check if it was still there―oh, of course it was! She had been feeling its cold, metallic surface all along.
At that point, there wasn't much she could do. Her Spanish was still very poor; no more than 5 words were part of her dictionary. However, as much as she could still understand the situation, she could think of something to do. All she needed was a small boost, something to encourage her. And all she needed was found when their eyes met.
The connection happened almost instantly; perhaps, it was the need to be helped that made fate bring them together. Or, perhaps, they were just destined to meet, like soul mates. Either way, it was simple to read each other's body language. As already expected, his eyes became mesmerized by her beauty, which resulted in a slight shiver of lips. Heads did the same movement, only choosing opposite angles to cock at.
It'd be a lie if she said she didn't feel not even one single drop of attraction playing with her veins once she laid eyes on him. He was very handsome, too, but there was something stronger, teasing her, about the way he carried himself. The way that the first two buttons of his shirt hung open, and exposed his chest made her gaze flicker for one moment or two, and finally return to his face.
“¿Estás sola?”
Hesitation strangled her heart, but he seemed to be as willing to do it as her. Her head shook slowly, her gaze still focused on him, not revealing any embarrassment at all.
"No."
Steps were taken towards her, and she could only reciprocate the act. The hands that seemed so frail pushed away the foreign bodies, making sure to add the correct amount of delicacy into the touch. As if her life depended on that―and it kind of did, at some point―she allowed their skins to meet, fondly intertwining fingers with him. In a matter of seconds, she found the two of them locked inside a random room, her ear being pressed again the door. She was still able to look at that hypnotizing figure, curiosity destroying her bowels. "I'm Eunji." Her voice slipped out of her lips as a soft whisper soon followed by a small smile.
"Chanyeol."
"Nice to meet you." The smile painted on her lips grew wider as her hand played with his again, only to shake it this time.
Trusting a complete stranger wasn't the best thing to do, but it turned out to be the best mistake she has ever done.
But, of course, what is born out of hurry crumbles down way too fast, too. They have been closing their eyes to the problem itself, pretending it's not there; but they can feel it, poking their ribs as they try to sleep on the same bed. They are not the same from before. There is not that flame, that burning desire for each other. She's never thought it would happen to them, but it eventually did: they have fallen into the common routine. But, apparently, that is what they call marriage.
Eager eyes checked the clock that is neatly attached to the wall: 6:58PM. One of her eyebrows arches impatiently, but she soon captures the sound of garage doors going down, and slamming doors. The knife scratches the cutting board, and she wears the same weary smile from everyday. The deep voice echoes in the kitchen, and she glances at him, trying to find any interest at all.
