cherryknct:
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?”
the single word rings around the 'o' of her lips, then dissipates into the air with the sweetness of smoke. alone. said like an afterthought, meant for the afterhours.
he's inching towards a line that he shouldn't cross; temptation, ever the devil, something that he doesn't fully register in this part-inebriated state. unaware, uncaring; the room has appeared to be darkening by each tick of the clock, what with the way his span of focus has narrowed to hold her and no one else but her in his eyes.
she poses the question and he has an answer and then some. "what if you don't get to act on it in the first place?" he'd learned the consequences of not acting fast enough months ago—letting a relationship stagnate, then have it return to be only the shadow of what it once was, in everything and anything, where it feels like an imitation of old pressed habits.
he untangles his grasp from bitna's, only to shift his hand up the small of her back, brings her close. barry leans in closer, enough to press his forehead against hers.
"nothing does, actually. you, this...what me and minseo are supposed to be—" were supposed to be. it's practically sighed against the corner of her pretty, pretty mouth, half a sound of heartbreak, full wanting. "it can't be changed, can it?"
