& i know when that hotline bling @taejoonmm
she sways in her seat, moving in time with the electric beat that bounced from wall to wall; a heavy rhythm with which her heart matched. tilting her head back, choa polishes off her fifth beer in a row. sliding the empty glass towards the bartender for another bottle, the woman manning the front looks at her skeptically before giving her another, which choa greedily accepts and sips at. as she finishes her refill, a familiar song comes on—one that she’s sung at the top of her lungs, hairbrush in hand, while jumping on her bed. a song that never fails to send, a song full of nostalgia. sliding off the barstool, choa runs into the belly of the beast, shouldering past other dancers until she’s in the very thick of it. the energy around her pulses in tandem with the music, and as the track reaches its peak, a cacophony of voices sing back the lyrics of the song that’s wrapped them all around its finger. pressed between bodies, choa swings her head wildly, side to side, up and down, feeling the music that thrums heavenly in her veins; like adrenaline. when she peels back her eyelids, she’s dazzled by the lights glinting technicolor overhead, and as her gaze focuses to those dancing around her, she spies a familiar face through writhing bodies and wayward limbs. it’s the face of a man she hasn’t seen in years, and one she hoped to never see again. ( i need to leave, i need to get out, i can’t be here, i can’t, i can’t, i can’t— ) so she flees; absconding the dance floor, and out past the glass double doors caging patrons within. the chilly breeze is sobering, and it gives choa the moment of clarity she needs. ( walk away, just walk away. don’t go back there. don’t go where he is ) but she remains, back pressed against stucco, sliding down until her ass touches cold concrete. with trembling hands, she pulls her phone from her front pocket, fingers swiping endlessly, eyes blearily searching for the name she had once tattooed on her heart.
she holds her phone against her ear, gnawing on her bottom lip as her call goes straight through to his voicemail. it shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, especially considering how they owe each other nothing, but she had hoped. ending the call, she foolishly attempts again, hoping that she could reach him, to give him a piece of her mind. much to her surprise, he picks up on the second ring, and before he could get a word in edgewise, choa speaks her mind, words spilling from her lips like a waterfall. “do you ever regret it—” she starts, lips trembling, eyes misting over “—leaving, i mean. when you left, i thought that nothing could get any worse. but i was so wrong. after you left, everything went down hill from there. everything that could have gone wrong did. whenever i look back to that part of my life, i always wonder what i could have done to change what happened, and every logical argument i came up with always led back to you. you ruined my life. i wish i never fucking met you.”
He misses it the first time, eyes elsewhere because that’s what being knee-deep in grading papers for DADA 203 on a Saturday night gets you. With enough drink in his system and the living room light set to a comfortable dim, it’s admittedly not that bad, but that can be used to describe just about anything that requires a glass of wine for starters.
It’s only when Taejoon gets up from the couch moments later does the phone finally grab his attention. The name that lights up the screen doesn't allow for much pause—after all, Hwang Choa is nothing more but a friendly face in passing, as most acquaintances who find their way back in Yosul's halls tend to be.
The greeting he’s got prepared keeps that in mind, along the lines of hey, how are you, the whole nine yards because knowing someone only vaguely leaves for all sorts of possibilities that he’s about to be subject to. Most times it’s a favor, and most times when it’s asked politely, it’s agreed upon in the same fashion.
But the second he picks up the call, it’s nothing, nothing of the sort. Gone are the chances for niceties, or even a second to breathe because Choa is slurring a mile a minute, volatile and weepy and talking way too fucking loud for this to be a casual conversation.
Regret? Leaving? Ruined her life? That’s a train of thought he hadn’t seen coming. So much so that for a good second he’s rendered speechless from the shock.
“Um...what?” Is all Taejoon can come up with when he finds his voice. “I mean,” he chuckles nervously. As far as leaving anything (or anyone) goes, the only thing that comes to mind is the dueling club after a couple semesters. “I know you lost pretty bad in a duel that one time but gee, you really hold a grudge...”
dailybridgerton
romaincrisis
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
2087
amandla
snowghoul
discoholicmusic
turnnoffyourmind
