she nods at his words, like this isn’t something she’s heard too many times, acquainted with the nooks and crannies of hajoon’s home—and 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. it’s a balancing act, dancing around invisible lines, not too familiar beyond the wanting, but not too distant, either, avoiding the stiffness to their interactions that’ll 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. it’d be nice if he’d 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 she’d just woken up on the wrong side of ( his ) bed. her phone displays a way too early 5:48 when she’s 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 mug—why does she have a favourite mug?—is in the sink, and she frowns a little to see it there. she hadn’t had the time to drink anything before they’d been preoccupied, it shouldn’t be in the sink—but she supposes it’s not actually her mug, so it shouldn’t matter either.
she finds him tending to his plants so she drapes herself across, something warm and yielding against clean skin. this she’s comfortable with, the solid ground their relationship’s been built on; none of this friendship, feelings stuff. “ morning, ” she teases against his ear, the hem of his shirt shifting to bare soft thighs. “ ‘s not even six yet, wanna mess around? ”
Whiplash. That’s 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, they’ve done it a hundred times but he just can’t. 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 doesn’t want and to top it off she’s against him bare thighs exposed wanting more. He just can’t settle, she’s riling him up.
For a moment he doesn’t 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 “If I get you on that couch, might as well call in sick” 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.
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 he’s captivated like the first time all over again. Considers taking those 11 minutes after all and just letting it go so he forget why they’re here in the first place, why he’s irritated.
Trying for a gentle smile, he pauses when he catches sight of the familiar shirt she decided to wear. His shirt. Enough.
“Are you fucking kidding me bibi?” he says pulling away from her exasperated, gesturing to the shirt as if the other would understand right away.
