she nods at his words, like this isnât something sheâs heard too many times, acquainted with the nooks and crannies of hajoonâs homeâand when did that happen? so she asks, even though she knows the answers, swipes a clean cotton shirt from his closet like she always does and calls that normal. itâs a balancing act, dancing around invisible lines, not too familiar beyond the wanting, but not too distant, either, avoiding the stiffness to their interactions thatâll be just as much a red flag as genuine intimacy.
hajoon leaves and she makes her way to his bathroom, finding everything where she expects them to be. itâd be nice if heâd stay that way, too, she thinks wryly. danbi washes away the sweat and ache under the blissfully heated shower, gets dressed with borrowed clothes and brushes her teeth, minty and fresh for the morning. the morning routine lies on the wrong side of established, but maybe sheâd just woken up on the wrong side of ( his ) bed. her phone displays a way too early 5:48 when sheâs done, time aplenty for fooling around if she so wishes, but her bedmate is off in the kitchen. or not, danbi finding the kitchen empty but for a fresh cup of coffee on the table. she wanders out, taking sips of her coffee as she fluffs out freshly dried hair, looking for the owner of the apartment. her favourite mugâwhy does she have a favourite mug?âis in the sink, and she frowns a little to see it there. she hadnât had the time to drink anything before theyâd been preoccupied, it shouldnât be in the sinkâbut she supposes itâs not actually her mug, so it shouldnât matter either.
she finds him tending to his plants so she drapes herself across, something warm and yielding against clean skin. this sheâs comfortable with, the solid ground their relationshipâs been built on; none of this friendship, feelings stuff. â morning, â she teases against his ear, the hem of his shirt shifting to bare soft thighs. â âs not even six yet, wanna mess around? â
Whiplash. Thatâs the only description for the way his emotions rush through him the second he feels her warmth against his back. Like everything else this is nothing new, theyâve done it a hundred times but he just canât. The mug was his tipping point no matter how much he tries to ignore it and now everything feels to intimate, to permanent. Everything he knows for a fact he doesnât want and to top it off sheâs against him bare thighs exposed wanting more. He just canât settle, sheâs riling him up. Â
For a moment he doesnât say anything pretending to be far more interested in his monstera than the beautiful woman against him. Hoping to gather his fight or flight before he does something stupid. Checking the clock on the wall at her suggestion he clicks his tongue in disapproval âIf I get you on that couch, might as well call in sickâ he says slightly annoyed with himself for his undying interest while also offended at the mere suggestion of having 11 minutes like some horny teenagers.Â
Setting the watering can down a little rougher than intended he sighs, turning himself in her hold in order to face her, noticing her eyes glimmering with the blues of the morning sky. Gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear heâs captivated like the first time all over again. Considers taking those 11 minutes after all and just letting it go so he forget why theyâre here in the first place, why heâs irritated. Â
Trying for a gentle smile, he pauses when he catches sight of the familiar shirt she decided to wear. His shirt. Enough.
âAre you fucking kidding me bibi?â he says pulling away from her exasperated, gesturing to the shirt as if the other would understand right away.Â