the money project | 10
↳ pairing seokjin, you
↳ genre melodrama, angst, friends-to-lover, fake marriage, intense pining on each other
↳ words 13k
↳ notes happy birthday seokjin! please read the end notes :)
↳ warning some of it is: this ain’t no… rated motherfucking pg shit, this shit rated PORN— and that’s the warning, people. But most of it is about pining and unrequited shit but read till the last words; it will not fail you I promise
↳ song ‘last kiss’ by taylor swift, ‘last chance’ by chpters, ‘the last time’ by taylor swift, ‘you that i want’ by divine, ‘tiptoeing’ by hope tala, ‘this is how you fall in love’ by jeremy zucker, ‘salvation’ by gabrielle aplin, ‘if you love her’ by forest blakk, ‘fall into me’ by forest black
↳ playlist http://open.spotify.com/playlist/2pzUgk1qMt1E13UnOb9CXa?si=ae6f0294c58649f0
↳ ao3 link (if you find it difficult to read 13k fic on tumblr, here’s an ao3 link)
↳ chapters one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten .fin
Last Chapter of The Money Project. . . . . . You make poor choices. You made poor choices all the time. You have ached for some semblance of permanence in your life, some safety— that you seek it in everyone you know. You knew that if you fought the feeling, it would come back twice as hard, twice as thick, twice as deep. If only you hadn’t fallen for Ian before you met Seokjin, maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult. You thought to yourself as you take the first sip of drink of the day and it is not practically healthy to take this amount of caffeine on an empty stomach but a part of you had died the day Seokjin released you from his embrace. You must have been insane to think that you would be able to live in this house after the divorce knowing just how many memories you’ve made with him here.
The living room where he stumbled drunkenly on the sofa, faced down, declaring his love for you cowardly. The bathroom you both shared when you’re running late for work. The office where you both spent times bickering over little things, fighting over coffees and wifi strengths— it was all too unbecoming of you to watch his space empty. He couldn’t even leave behind a speck of dust to remind you he was there, right there, just within your grasp but too far for you to touch. What’s left is for you to build new memories on top of any remnants he left. But he was too cruel, he took everything with him. Is he too cruel? Or were you too definitive, too stubborn to admit that you were in fact, in love? What was it about love that made you feel so flawed? Are scientists not allowed to fall in love? Are strong independent, well-defined women abstained from love? And if yes, whose rules? And why?
It was not enough to nullify your rights towards affection, you trampled all over his heart knowing fully well, fully aware that it was hurting him. And what for exactly? What is it about loneliness that makes you feel complete? No one was supposed to like being alone.
Under the predicament of a strung out soul, you were an infant when it comes to affection and yet you acted so highly, almost convincingly so, that it scared you. To your misconstrued judgment, in your defense, Ian did everything Seokjin did, and still didn’t love you. Funny how a single misinterpretation of one's' act could ruin a genuine act of love by another. You almost convinced yourself that Seokjin didn’t love you, he was just acting. Until you saw him in the hospital one day, wiping down your mother’s face and arms with the tenderness of a birth child— unwarranted, uninformed. He came without notice, by himself after he saw your Instagram, wallowing how busy you were.
You hid behind the door to the ward, holding your breath as if you were under water. At the time you didn’t quite understand why you felt the way you did. Hand over your heart, beating violently of something it’s trying to tell your brain. Given your scientific, matter-of-factly brain, you rationalised the whole situation, pretending you never saw it, erasing the memory entirely. As if it never existed. But now in this concrete empty home, it was the only memory you find of him. Grazing your fingers over the spine of the library books he had built for you, you find a little bit more. You closed your eyes trying to remember how he smells, the sound of his laughter, trying not to forget how he looked when he is angry, happy, confused, sad and in pain. What if these memories fade as well, what’s left of him to you? Why does it matter?
He didn’t look back. Not even once.
He just left you there at the family court, walking away with unstaggering steps. Just fading away. One lunge after the other. The sways of his shoulder. The view of the back of his head. You remembered the hesitance when he placed down the tip of the pen to sign the divorce paper, but you were also well reminded about the strike of the pen so swiftly drawn over typed writings. When the lawyers of both sides left the room to you two, it was the longest, loudest silence you have ever heard in your entire life. You were aching to sputter a word, any word to liven up the situation so you said,
“It wouldn’t be right if I kept the ring, now would it?” you chuckled awkwardly, twisted the sapphire ring from your ring finger and planned to lay it down on the table next to the paper. You didn’t dare to look up to his face, because you’re afraid that you would react strangely emotional and blow your cover of a cool ex-wife. Funny how you took off that ring several times every time you met Namjoon and had no difficulty in doing so but this time, it felt like you were shedding a part of your own skin— your identity. You’ve lived the days as his wife long enough that it has become you. This time, you twisted the ring harder but like it had a life of its own, it wouldn’t come off. The skin around in reddens with your assault and just then, Seokjin took your hand into his own, towering over you. His shadows casted over you entirely as he stood in the way of the only ceiling light in the small room. His long fingers loom over your little hands, his massive figure casting a shadow over you.
You couldn’t look past his chin.
Gentle. Tenderly, he eases the wedding ring out. The ring itself was rebellious. Would not be taken out by anyone else but the person who put it there. The ring slid out effortlessly and before it came off completely, you leaned your forehead on his hard chest. Thud. It took everything in you to not flood the room with tears, your breathing shallows and your throat constricted. You felt him take a deep breath in and his ribs expanded. Was it resistance? Regret? Anguish? Why did you lean your head on him? Is it begging him to stay? Or is it a recollection of the memories of what used to be and what is no longer? The scent of the fabric he wore, the thinning desire to continue with the masquerade. Was it relief he felt? What is this agonizing feeling of uncertainties? This typhoon you have tied down to a fragile chair by a house that’s been swept away?
You felt his hand crept up your ribs, his arms around your small frame. He pressed his body on you, with you standing under his chin. The world continues to spin madly on. He shrinks himself in order to be closer, it felt. Standing on tiptoes isn’t enough for you, your arms circled around his neck pressing up into him like your existence depends on it. Memories play like a montage in the back of your mind— the night on the ship, the fights, the hand holding in the car, the shoving, the video calls, the cooking, putting on his tie, the bouquet on the kitchen counter, the kiss. How he had been the main source of your strength and your anger. How the world is silenced when he is around. He was your comfort and you know, this was the last time you would ever feel this safe. How will you bury the mountain now?
He was your daydream. The battle you chose was incomprehensible. Blame it on your ego.
He didn’t say a word. He peeled your arms from him, turned around just as quick as his hand, captured the ring from the table and headed for the door. You couldn't even catch a glimpse of his face. The last of him you saw, was the side of his face and knuckles grabbing the door open and closed. Your heels glued themselves on the ground, unable to move. Helplessly, you watched your typhoon go, the noose loosens, vanishing in your wake. With your left hand covering the right elbow you watch as the door completely shuts. Sliding the hand down over your left knuckle and you feel no ring, and it all becomes too real. You were breathing underwater it seems. No amount of oxygen was enough to fill your lungs. Seokjin sent Yoongi to drive you home. You were just a vessel of nothingness in the back of his BMW. With glazed thought and empty eyes, you stare out the window wordlessly.
A soft call of your name reeled you out of your trance. His eyes filled with concern, reflected from the rearview mirror at you.
“I just felt like…” you paused, “I made a huge mistake.” Yoongi nodded but didn’t offer any comfort word after. Maybe because he didn’t know what else to say.
Stopping at the house, Yoongi pulled the brakes up and walked you to the front porch. He hands you a worn looking postcard. Pinching the ends of it, you sighed shakily.
“Thank you, Yoongi,” you rushed to say and entered your home. Leaning your back to the door, your tears fall uncontrollably. You folded yourself at the base of the door, hugging your knees with the last bits of strength you mustered and cried like a child.
“I thought this was what you wanted,” you said to yourself.
Like a scientist, you decided to understand the rationales behind these reactions. You were shut off emotionally, hiding everything in a box. You recollected the incidents that happened, and see why you could have mistook Seokjin’s gestures as a friendly manner when it wasn’t. As you were reassessing the situation, you realised that you had been comparing Seokjin’s actions to that of Ian’s. Ian was also this, or that, Ian helped you financially, accepted you against societal norms. And he did this all with a platonic love in mind. And you misread that. Someone like Ian doesn't fall in love with someone like you. Why would Seokjin be any different?
He looks frail but his smile had that twinkle in them, still. In his grey hoodie and worn out jeans, he stretched one arm to collect you into a brief meaningful hug. He presses up against you and releases you promptly. The rehab centre has an open air balcony for visitors and it was surrounded by the forest, tall shrubs of trees, shielding the wild sun. They served milk tea that was a little bland for your liking with some home baked biscuits on the sides. Ian’s eyes dropped to your ring finger and noticed that the ring was no longer there. His smile fades. It didn’t look like it was what he wanted. You were unsure of what his stand was with the fake marriage. You knew about their brawl, about Seokjin throwing a harrowing punch across Ian’s face for talking bad about you. But you don’t really know what Ian really thinks.
“We divorced,” you declared, “But I’m not here to talk about that.”
At this, Ian’s eyes lifted in wonder. Now he really cannot predict what made you visit him.
“I was sitting alone on the kitchen table after the divorce and started to think why it was so difficult to accept the love that was given to me,” the pad of your finger traces the brims of the saucer, as you spoke in trance-like voice, “I realise that I didn’t want to be wrong. I was wrong the first time,” you looked up at him. Ian chewed the insides of his cheek, as he sat there, held hostage by your words. He leans forward, on his elbows, lacing his fingers together. His mouth opened and closed several times but no words escaped. “I set the bar so low for myself, that I would fall for anyone that gives me an ounce of attention and to this day I don’t know if you knew how I felt,” you shrugged.
“I was guilty, I led you on,” Ian said in a hurry as if you would run before you could hear him, “I knew. And for that I’m sorry. I am an asshole.” “Calling yourself an asshole doesn’t make everything okay. The consequences of your actions is I lost the ability to know what love is and what isn’t,” you slightly raised your voice and Ian responded by collecting your tiny hands in his but you weren’t about to give him the pleasure of holding you. “You do not want to be associated with a low-class working girl, but you don’t want to act right and leave her be. I didn’t come here to collect your apology, I came here to tell you what you’ve done to my psyche. I also come here to see how you’re coping with your addictions. I felt like I needed closure with you before I could move on.”
“I don’t know how to correct this, I’ll be real with you,” he said in his Australian accent, “It was unbecoming of me to show you love and hide cowardly under the facade of a close friend. I did have feelings for you so it was easy to show concerns. I genuinely cared. I just let my ego run my life and settled for the one I should rather than the one I want.”
“When I saw how Seokjin loved you, I realised that I was never the man for you,” Ian added, “The damage is done. You couldn’t love Seokjin because of what I did to you and you coming here to tell me all about it is generous of you. You and Seokjin never left my mind since the wedding night happened. Suri, Suri knew about it but I guess a part of her still treasures you. I coped with coke for the longest time, confident that I’m only at peace with it inside my system. Suri has gone through a lot. That’s why I’m trying hard to become sober… She’s pregnant now you see.”
Your eyes fluttered in hope. Here you are, in your ruins and him building a life with the remnants of you. Could you have hated him more than you already are? Of course not. Suri deserves a good life with the man she chose to love. Especially the little soul she is carrying inside her.
“I am happy for you, I hope you hold on to that. She needs you more than ever now,” You beamed, “Don’t you see, Christian?” you stretched your arm and enveloped his tattooed knuckles with both of your hands, “You never needed all that shit. You’re present here, more than ever, with a child that will soon see you as their hero… no matter how imperfect you think you are…” You gave his knuckle a little squeeze before retracting back into your seat. You caught his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he turned to the side, unsure if he truly believed what you said, but the glimmer in his eyes right after, shows you that he was willing to try. And that was enough.
Flinging an arm gently over his neck, you rested your chin over his shoulder, tiptoeing at his monstrous build, you whispered, “You don’t need it to feel happy. You never need it, don’t you forget that…” You nuzzled your cheeks against his and held onto him a few seconds longer.
“Goodbye, big boy,” you huffed as you pulled and lunged away from the hug, cheeks and smiles and Ian called out your name once more. This time, it didn’t feel like yours but the way he said them was familiar enough to strike a chord from within you that it made you respond.
“Hm?” you turned. “You sure?” Ian asked, crinkles in his eyes as he smiled.
“About what?” “Him.”
Then it dawned on you that he was speaking about Seokjin and how you came to realise that it was indeed Seokjin that you wanted.
“Spent too much time on my own and figured out something” you explained, as you walked sideways to the exit.
That was a summarised response. Living in the house Seokjin had built for you felt selfish.
It was mine. Then why does it feel so empty?
It was your idea. But it was his making. He had ensured that every part of this house was littered with pieces of him. It was impossible to erase that. Every time you sit on the kitchen counter, you remember how he sat here solving a crossword in a newspaper. And in the living room, where he would make commotions while playing Mario Kart. And the massage chair in the corner of the room where you would watch him sleep peacefully as if he hadn’t just picked a fight about pickles in your burgers and how it made its way to his. The bickerings were a daily thing, if not an hourly activity in this house. With the pandemic running at full course and the lockdowns becoming an everyday occurrence, you see more and more of him and at the time, you would do anything to not see him. Even if it means sitting in the bathroom with the door locked and your phone. This large bungalow wasn't large enough at the time.
Now it feels hollow. Can’t believe you would say this, but you really missed the fighting. You missed coming home to his car blocking the driveway, and walking into him trying to get a glass of water from the water dispenser. Fighting over the space on the bed. Now you leave his side empty. Just in case.
Admittedly it would be selfish to want him because you missed him, correct? If anything, he should know why you want him here. If you miss him because of the bickering, the annoyance he brings, what difference does he make from the dust that piles on your desk every now and then. Seokjin is no furniture. You have to finally acknowledge your feelings towards him and Lord knows it wasn’t easy for you to admit ‘love’, provided that you came from a family that had everything but that and money. That was what drew you to Seokjin. His family and yours had that in common. The fact that you both understood that love on the screens of a television isn’t realistic at a young age. Seokjin was betrayed by his own perception of love with Rachel and even though, bravely tried to love you despite knowing he would get hurt.
Coddled in bed alone, you imagined if he was here and he loved you and everything was okay. He would have that peaceful look on his face, he lays his head on his hand with those big doe eyes and gentle whispering voice asking you, “Are you okay?” You would answer, “Now I am.” Now you have this duvet draped over your body instead of his arms and warmth. The feeling of his skin against yours. His supple lips— oh, what you would do to taste them again. Seokjin would come visit you at night like this, metaphorically speaking— where you pretend your fingers were his and the sounds you make were for him to hear. His fingers, yours. Sleek, slippery. But oh, they’re not big enough, are they?
You sighed, chest deflated at the high you were chasing, now turning into a fatamorgana— a mirage of a rush that escapes your grasp. Your drenched fingers lay defeatedly by your side as you struggle to regain composure and the impending shame that swallowed you afterwards. You can’t even please yourself. Is this the first sign of codependency?
Where is he? Where could he be? Is he suffering like you are?
A Google search wouldn’t hurt, now would it? It’s free and fast and you can clear your search afterwards. Not that it matters if anyone finds out. Isn’t it natural to want to know how your ex husband was doing?
He was… He magically disappeared. You know how CEOs are quite mysterious because they are busy spending money and working on new projects? Guess Seokjin took the role quite literally. The Kim Holdings had grown over the years with minor to no setbacks. The stocks had been steady despite the divorce news being released last 3 months. No one really cares about it. Hardly any words about it, which you could probably thank Seokjin for.
But wait. What’s this?
You scrolled down to see several lecture videos on Kim Seokjin. It looks like he is giving out lectures to university students at several universities in many countries. He even wrote a book about investments. Seems like he had grown to trust his instincts more. You always mentioned that he had a killer, spider-sense when a stock is about to crash and he is 99.9999% right. Your heart swelled with pride with the achievements he had— strange because it had nothing to do with you. He was being his amazing self and you, well you… are still figuring out what it is about yourself.
They say, if you strip someone of their name, status and richest, you’ll know why you love them. You mauled over the thought of Kim Seokjin without the Kim, the CEO and the billions. What is it about Seokjin that you love?
You like that he doesn’t interfere with your work. You like that he has common sense and makes coffee since he is the morning person. You like that he drives well and you don't have to worry about sleeping in the car. But that was all you love about him that centers around you. Try better. What is it that you love about Seokjin that isn’t about you?
He is a hardworking, steadfast, and thoughtful person. He was not afraid to trust even when he had been betrayed countless of times, even by the individuals that were close to him. He does what he wants, when he wants to. He is playful and doesn’t think much when he gets to his childish side. He loves animals, gentle and always tender with them. And above all… He acknowledges his mistakes and tries to be a better person even when you hold his past against him. Which was a dick move, you admit. Shallow and unprecedented one at that. Now you know you only did it to justify your feigning distaste toward him. He made countless attempts to show you how guilty he felt and you had moved past the whole incident within the first two attempts, but alas, and blame it on the ego you had— he never knew that his attempts were acknowledged.
_____
Ninety-seven days. Ninety-seven days after the divorce.
The number resonated in your head as you walked into a full auditorium with your Birkin bag and the students bowing in respect while they stayed seated in their chairs as you climbed down the stairs. Namjoon lifts his hip in order for you to walk in the row where he was. He fetches his leather bag from the chair next to him and he grumbles, “Didn’t think the head of the viva presentation would be late today…”
“The head of the viva presentation had some issues with a certain file that was corrupted,” you said through a soulless smile thrown at your colleague.
“Still?” Namjoon swiveled his head at you, “You know, if files keep getting corrupted, it's probably because of PornHub,” he lowered his voice at the end. And you gave him a squinted eyes and replied, “Speaking from personal experience?” You clicked your tongue at him and he retorted, “Well played, well played.”
“Since it came from your students, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was,” you arched an eyebrow and took out the forms for you to jot down marks for the students presenting today.
“I’ll email you the PDF copy right now,” he fishes out his phone and starts tapping at lighting speed, “There,” it made a swish sound, “Now, if the peer review is released within a week, that would be superb.”
You audibly gasped as you opened the file he sent from your phone, “435 pages, within a week? Namjoon, you want the moon? I can get you the moon instead.”
He chuckles handsomely, “Always know what to say… maybe next month is long enough?”
You puffed your cheeks and gave it a thought, “I have a vacation next month. It’s New Year and I want to see the snow, not some badly jumbled up words of a thesis in an attempt to not plagiarise,” you paused, “A pretentious scientific report if you ask me. I’d rather watch fireworks.”
At this, Namjoon’s smile faltered a bit. Because it means you’ve made a choice. One that isn’t him. Sometimes he regrets ever deciphering the words on the postcard Seokjin sent you— you know, the one Yoongi handed over to you on the day the divorce was finalised? If he knew it was from him, he wouldn’t have. But then he would have played God and you were already in turmoil with the fate you had. He wouldn’t like that either. He’s bitter, but he’s not a jerk. The postcard had a picture of an Apple Blossom flower in a mild hue of pink with a cryptic sentence that reads,
“Astilbe, in Verbier when the earth circles the sun once more.” - KSJ.
The latter part of the sentence was clearly new year. So you thought, he might be wishing that you have a good new year. A trip around the sun takes 365 days, which indicates the sentence refers to the time before the end of the year. In the Victorian language of flowers, something that Namjoon was obsessed with since he was a plant-dad since his senior high years, the sentence made perfect sense to him that he was surprised that you didn’t know it when it was meant for you.
Then it dawned on him that it was a test. Of his love. Of his sincerity. The words made sense to him and the messages were transferred from him to you. Seokjin trusted Namjoon to relay the message to you. How did he know Namjoon was going to be there and look at this postcard at your home? Seokjin knows that when he is out of the picture, Namjoon will try his luck. From the way you spoke about Namjoon in the phone call with him, he knew that this man is going to jump in his place when he is out of the way. It is safe to say that Seokjin had zero confidence in getting you to stay with him, especially after sending a cryptic love note that Namjoon would understand, but if he was a good person, which Seokjin knew he was, he would. He hoped.
Taken back to the present time, Namjoon tutted his tongue and hung his head low as the students began their viva presentation. His focus should be on assessing the research presented, but all he could think of is you and how fleeting he was, in the State of you. Making sense of the world where he will lose you, is losing you, and eventually loses you.
“I have you to thank for it,” you leaned to his ear and he closed the distance just to feel your warmth, “For making me understand the words.”
____
Two-hundred and thirty-two days. Since the divorce.
The glares from the screen illuminates his delectable face. His jawline was made prominent from this light. His side profile, down the slope of his nose, the beginning of his lips and the last of his chin. The snow is falling violently outside the French window of his residence. It was his own voice in the laptop, playing. He was monitoring his previous lecture.
“High risk, high return,” he outlined, ”It’s the most famous, most known theory when it comes to investments, correct?” Seokjin watched himself switch to the view of his back as he wrote the theory and illustrated a simple graph to explain this theory. Through his round glasses, the green reflection of the screen moved when he moved, folding his leg underneath him trying to spot any mistakes he had made in his explanation. What would she think of it? Would she have enjoyed the lecture? With that thought, Seokjin’s eyes drifted to the view of the opened curtain to where the snowy outsides were. His eyelids fluttered close. To the night where everything changed. Before the divorce finalised.
“I didn’t take my time the first time… I was brash, rough and in a hurry,” he said with a soft voice, “It won’t be like that.” Seokjin’s eyes glinted a gentle gaze. His thumb on your neck, on your pulse, rubbing up and down— mindlessly.
“And you left in the morning without a word too,” you replied with a sad undertone in your voice, “Really made me feel used.” Unwanted and discarded.
“And I beat myself up everyday for it.”
It was drizzling outside. You are both inside in his Lamborghini, underneath a street lamp overlooking the empty beach and no one is around because it was almost 2AM. Soft music playing in the background. That familiar fig undertones from his cologne you always seem to catch whenever he is around. You suggested this. And he didn’t disagree. The light chardonnay from the party is now clouding your thoughts. Your senses are heightened and you have this overwhelming need to touch him. One side of his face in the shadows, it’s hard to make up the expression he wore. You turned to face him.
“Let’s compare hands,” you suggested in a low voice. Seokjin gave you a confused look.
“I saw couples talk about it online,” you innocently beamed, “Thought we’d try…” Seokjin scoffs lightly looking out the window then back to you, “Do you know why?” “Isn’t it what lovers do? To be romantic?” you answered confidently.
Seokjin’s lips parted a little. Unlike earlier, his eyes turned slightly dark and mischievous. Like he’s holding the secret of the universe. You took his wrist nonetheless, taking his silence as an excuse to ridicule your harmless request. You gasped. Scooting closer to him.
“They’re quite big… they’re twice bigger than mine,” you were in legit shock. “You act like you’ve never seen them before,” he grins, “It’s been inside you…” “Really?” you feigned, “Must be too fast I hardly felt it.” He hollowed his cheeks, taking the burns in like a man.
“This doesn’t feel romantic, why do they do it?” you released his wrist and propped your elbows on the divider between the passenger and driver seat before Seokjin took your wrists and demonstrated, “I can hold both of your wrists in one hand.”
“Okay and?” He immediately lifts them over your head, his face inches away from you, “Either this,” his nose ghosts over yours, his cologne once again all you could smell and taste, “Or this,” he separates them apart, just to place them behind you. Holding both your wrists in one hand like he said. Then it daunted to you that those were restraints during sex. Your breathing becomes heavier and your iris is blown. With his free hand, he brushes away the baby hair from your face and tucks it behind your ear.
“You like that?” he murmurs softly and you let out a gentle gasp. It didn’t sound like you at all. But with his face so close to yours, you could hardly think straight. The ‘restraints’ made you arched your back obscenely. Deep looks in your eyes, perched at the edge of the leather seat. The callused pads of Seokjin’s finger gliding one side of your face stirs something inside you. Your lips parted slightly in response to him getting closer. Seokjin leans over the divider easily, given his bigger and sturdier build. He traces your bottom lip with his thumb, his eyes never the sight of it. Fixation. He inches closer, closing his eyes and touching your cheek with his— he moves painstakingly slowly, lightly and tenderly touching your lips with his own. A proper first kiss. Not driven by lust or blind desire. He is not kissing you because he wants to bed you. He kissed you to show you how he feels. Because when all words are exhausted, actions speak the loudest.
Warm and full. Enticing. Seokjin tries to memorise it— how they feel, how they taste. He lingers, taking his time to pull away when you escape his weak restraints to grab him by his neck and devour him. He moaned into your mouth as you lifted yourself onto the seat and he bracketed your hip and hoisted you to sit over his lap, very well on top of the tent in his pants he no longer wanted to hide. Straddling him, and exploring his mouth with your tongue, Seokjin tilts his head back so you could gain more access to him. This was precisely why you wore a pastel skirt today.
Parting a bit to grin devilishly at him, “I’ve always wanted to make out in the Lambo,” you panted and Seokjin responded with a grunt, pulling your hip down his clothed erection just so he could get some friction going. He knows it will feel good for both of you. Escaping his lips, you tipped your head back. His teeth grazed your neck, latching on your skin like his life depends on it.
“I’ve been thinking about fucking you in this car ever since I got in,” you breathlessly say. He was so far gone that he couldn’t speak, intoxicated with the feeling of your buttcheeks in his hand. His fingers hook on the brims of your panties but decided that slipping his hand under the fabrics would be quicker. You elicited sinful sounds directly in his ear, mewling his name like prayers. The things those voices do to a man. Grinding against his chest, his face buried in your nape, his tongue lapping up every skin he had access to— the whole thing just equates madness. Incredible unwarranted madness that it ignited the demon in you. Seokjin had a taste of it when your fingernails scraped his scalp and yanked the root of his hair, forcing him to look up at you.
“Let me see that pretty face, how does it taste?” you growled sexily in his face before licking one long stripe of your tongue on one side of his face. It was Seokjin’s turn to let out a moan. His eyes glazed to the view ahead as he felt— for the first time— the disarming, the ruins of him in your hand. He was unprepared with your bold side and he is loving every bit of it, albeit, weakened by your raunchy persona. All this time he thought he was the adventurous one, the one that engaged in dirty talking but you’re topping him by the minute. Your dominant side shone through and it made him shiver in his seat. He forgets how to form words, quivering, whimpering mess underneath you as you suck his earlobe, nip and bite them.
He mustered a string of mewling, communicating with you with his dilated eyes.
“Use your words baby,” you unbuttoned his dress shirt, biting your smile as you catch his lewd expression— eyes wide, lips wet and glistening with want— all the while grinding on him in circles.
“W-want more,” he stifles like a child, “P-please…”
“Does the baby want more?” you cooed, “Of what, exactly, sweetheart?” you scooted farther back in his back sitting on his knee where he audibly whined at the loss of the heat on his erection. But you only did that to unbuckle his belt so you could slip your hand into his boxer. You noticed that a wet patch began to form where the tent was. Seokjin leans back into the seat in a quiet protest, and his hand scrambles to claw the apples of your butt so you could return to grind on him where he needed you.
“Want to be inside you,” he pants, chest heaving, “Please please please let me be inside you… Can’t- can’t take it anymore,” he clamps his lower lip in a sinful mixture of agony and ecstasy.
You tapped his hip so he could lift them, and slide down his boxers. His erection sprung free, painfully red, hot and weeping pre-cums. You gasped delightfully, “So pretty… you’ve been hiding this from me all this time… how selfish!” you stroked him gently and he peeks at you through his hooded eyes. You caught the tears forming at the corners, he was on the verge of crying. It was adorable that he could very well have his way with you like he did in that cabin that night in the ship, but he didn’t. He is submissive and a willing participant to your own version of torture. You take your time with your hands over his rod; fast, slow and fast then slow again. Edging him. You want to see him struggle with wanting release but also wanting to be a good toy for you. He makes wonderful sounds.
Just as he was about to cum, he begged for you to stop. And you do this repeatedly. “Please!” he yelled, “I’ll do anything you want, please let me cum inside you…”
“Watching you struggle is what I want,” you replied, wickedly. He lets out a deep groan, squirming in his seat. With all his remaining strength, he sat up and linked his forehead on yours and delivered a searing kiss. Your hand slows down from stroking him, and he unravels them from him. He pushed the seats back so you have more room from the steering wheel.
“Fuck you real deep okay? Hm?” he whispered hotly against your smile, “Want you so bad…” he slipped his tongue in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip desperately. Your heart constricted when he said those words. His right hand travelled underneath you to push your panties aside. His fingers easily slipped into your core— they were drenched and leaving a string of sticky translucent liquid on the leather of his car seat but he didn’t care. He wanted to take it slow, but your arousals were making it hard for him to be patient. He parted his lips from you just for you to lift your skirts and let him see his fingers disappear in your pussy.
“Making me hard turned you on this much? You’re wet because you were grinding on me?” his voice was sharp and he continued to ravish the feeling of your soft cave with the pad of his fingers. Strange that you hadn’t made a sound. It was as if you weren’t affected. But the clenching muscles inside you claim otherwise.
“Asking the obvious,” seductively you breathed. You rolled your head back, smiling like a villainess. You have merged your smartmouth persona in sex and Seokjin turned into a putty with such confidence on display for him. His fingers are inside the most brilliant women in STEM, wanted by many who played the role of his wife so well, the world was bought. Ian had made a number of mistakes in his life, but leaving you wanting— was his greatest. Seokjin felt how powerful you were and he was wondering how you kept this inside you for so long. He was almost convinced that you shapeshifted midway. He witnessed your chest rise and fall rapidly, and he could sense that you’re going to come undone soon and so he continued his ministration only for you to grab his wrist and glared at him to stop.
He was two steps away from hell when he saw your expression. It was as if you’re prepared to punish him should he continue.
“Dick,” you commanded. Seokjin almost busted his nut right there and then if you didn’t grab his rod and put them inside you, starting at the tip. You slide down slowly, taking your time with it— big, long, veiny and full. You held onto his shoulders, trying to keep you stable, straddling him. The metal buckle of his belt scratches the Lamborghini’s interior door at every move. You smiled down at him, like a death angel taking someone’s life. Your hand on his chest.
“You know cockwarming?” you asked him. He nods and then tilts his head as if he didn’t register that you would be the kind to know this.
“Stay still okay?” you told him, and lay your head on his chest, “Your heartbeat sounds nice…”
It took everything in him not to thrust in you. You kept on clenching over his length, it was difficult to keep a sane mind and hold a conversation but here you are. With shaky breaths and trembling fist, Seokjin balls and unballs his hand to keep his head together.
“I masturbated to the thought of you,” you hummed, “You already knew that… More frequently since the last few weeks. Because I know our time is short…”
“It doesn’t have to be,” Seokjin’s voice was low, sweet and gentle, “We can have this forever, we’ll figure it out.”
You giggled and Seokjin’s hand flew to your back to keep you still. The vibration from your giggles didn’t help the cockwarming go smoothly. You stifled a moan because it was affecting you as well. Nuzzling your face in his nape, you said, “Never trust a man’s word when he’s deep inside you… is what they say,” you inches closer to his lips, clashing his nose with yours before ghosting your lips over his eyelids. He flutters them shut and you plant a kiss on his forehead, his eyelids, his nose, both sides of his cheeks, along his jawline— relishing the beauty that is him. You paused at his lips and Seokjin peeks through his lashes at you before closing the distance, peppering swoon-worthy kisses. He moves his lips along your lip line. Your hand feels the sweat beading in the back of his unbuttoned dress shirt. You slipped your hand under his dress shirt to feel the skin on his back, slick with sweat.
Seokjin didn’t respond to your allegations. Instead, he switches positions with you. Let you lay on the driver seat, hips joined and made love to you the way he had always imagined. Both wrists in his hand above your head, his thrusts were languid, long and purposeful. Unlike the first time, Seokjin fragmentized the seconds into hours. Savouring the sounds you make, memorising the nook and crannies of your insides, the flushed colour of your skin, the goosebumps that arose. His left hand that wore the wedding band, twined with your right hand that wore the wedding ring— was a sight to remember. Dragging himself out slowly and pushing himself in, repeatedly— his name on your lips like a liquor, a mantra only he knows. His voice trembles like a worshipper in front of their God, nearing his end and asking for forgiveness his soul was beaten for.
It builds up and up and up and up… and then overflows. Cascading into millions of stars, new and old in all shapes and colors. You were in fragments of euphoria, pieces apart and became whole. He feels the warmth seeping out, unaware that he had released because he was invested in watching you lose yourself. You clawed his back, leaving red angry nailmarks down the expanse of his spine just like you did that night. You shuddered underneath him as you came down from your high. He bits his lips as he rides a few more times, taking in the image of his dick inside you, milked and sticky— he didn’t want it to end.
Light as a feather, free as a bird. Sweat evaporates and feels cold to your skin. Seokjin’s eyes bat slowly, drinking in the image of you.
Seokjin held a pensive gaze on the business proposal in his laptop. He was unsure how much time had passed since, but he guessed that it might be a considerable amount. “She might have forgotten about me by now, right?” he said to the sapphire ring you used to wear during the marriage. He fiddled with it, took it everywhere with him, left it near where he worked— it was always there. Always near. While he waits.
_____
Seoul.
“Just how exciting this theory could be for newbies and how frightening it is for the inexperienced. It’s easy to say, investments are risk-taking and good things happen to risk takers, but what are the risks and just how much can we afford to lose?” His voice resonated through the expansive living room. The coffee machine is running in the corner, dripping its coffee extract into the pink mug with lip stains on them.
“Risk-return tradeoff comes into play, and now what exactly are these factors? Allow me to give you a substantial situation, a simple one for you to access…” Seokjin faces the audience promptly, with his conjoined together, “Say you marry someone, you know this person for a long time,” he sits on the professor’s desk, with one leg hanging and the other holding him stable in place. The toaster sprung up and you smiled at the situation he had chosen to tell. He proceeds, “You imagine the high risk would have to be that you get the recognition you need from your family for marrying an incredible woman you would otherwise, had no chance with. As you go through with this pretentious marriage, you find the feeling you’ve been deceiving was actually the truth. But she hasn’t realised when you stopped pretending.”
The audience spoke in murmurs as they tried to figure the correlation between the situation and the theory.
“In this situation, it is important to note that the risk movements had shifted,” Seokjin adds in a somber tone, “And now you sit in this tumultuous situation, wanting to sell or keep the marriage. Analyzing the risk, over and over and over again. Knowing that the outcome is heavily reliant on the other party. What’s next? You confess. Risk,” he lifts his index fingers, and pauses dramatically before hoisting himself off the table to dash across the stage for the whiteboard, “Potential return rises with increased risk is what risk-return trade off means. In essence, invested money can render higher profits only if the investor will accept a higher possibility of losses.” You repeated the last sentence, mumbling to your chest. Having memorized them from the repetitive play of his lectures.
Slipping one cube of sugar into your black coffee, you fetch a teaspoon from the drawer and start stirring the coffee gently. You bring your mug of coffee on the coffee table in front of your large plasma screen TV, and sit folding your feet underneath you. Underneath the table was a box, full of the things Aunt Shuma sent to you. When you remove the lid of the box, you draw a small smile on the corner of your lips. How quaint. An old Kodak film camera and all the pictures he had taken of you. Pictures of you asleep, of you cleaning the ship, of you cooking, of you scooping rice for him. Pictures of your silhouette behind the setting orange sun. You didn’t know that he took them. Then there is this parchment paper. Scribbled in his handwriting. You recognised that it was the one he wrote on the boat that day.
“I am bad at expressing what I truly desire. You twinkle. I feel like a boy when I am around you. Maybe that’s why I like picking up fights and saying things that would annoy you. I found it fun at first, but as the time went by, I felt suffocated by having to choose what a boy would say rather than what a man should do. I’m losing grip. It’s really hard to keep it together now and I’m afraid of what will come next.”
This was when everything came apart at the seams, for him. The postcard he sent was also in the box, snug. It’s worn down from the multiple postage insignia it went through. Smiling at the view of it with your hand, you turned over the picture of Apple Blossoms and read his scraggly writing.
“Astilbe, in Verbier, when the earth circles the sun once more.” - KSJ
With your luggage bag by the door, and a familiar smile coming through the peephole, you yank the door open to Yoongi. He carries your luggage into the back of the car and helps you ensure you have everything locked. You’ll be away for a while. With the quarantine prior to the flight, you have collected your nerve— presenting your business model in front of the board members is terrifying. But you’ve come prepared and the materials you needed were all lined up in place. You just have to get through the departure and you’re set. Meanwhile, you sat back and watched whatever entertainment the airlines had decided to put on the screen. Recognising the male lead actor and the narration from the drama you used to watch, you smiled.
“For this to work, a part of him needed to break. And a part of me needed to build,” the main actress’s voice echoed on the screen, “So we stayed in our caste, staring at the differences of our little two worlds. Helplessly in love, and in immense pain. Tolerating the separation.”
The irony.
Seokjin had disappeared into thin-air. There was no means to reach him the usual way. You would thought his apparent disinterest in you would meant he didn’t want anything to do with you anymore, and although apart of it is true, you cling to the hope that he might wander around on the other side of the fence— of which he wants you, but is too afraid to fool himself again, like he did before. So you did whatever lovesick girls would. Find a way to reconnect. All the while singing Taylor Swift’s song, Enchanted— the part where she sang, ‘please don’t be in love with someone else, please don’t have anyone waiting on you’ in your head. Your fingertips are cold, unsure if it was the weather or the giddiness.
Trying to win back the man you love— with a pinch of luck and tinge of faith. High risk, high return. Through a business model that was attractive enough to pique his interest, you aspired to gain his attention. And it was working.
It only felt real when you walked into the cabin and put your seatbelts on. The mechanical click of it conjoined together and the smiling eyes from the stewardess did it for you.
Chewing your lips, eyes wide from the anticipation; you had fussed over your profiles a million times, it seems.. And no matter what you do and how many times you did them, it never felt enough. Your half eaten in-flight meals glaring at you accusatively as you play the words you needed to say in the presentation repeatedly. But in your heart you knew, the moment you saw him in the same room, you would forget all the words. Before you entered the flight, you did two major things. You left a voicemail on Namjoon’s phone. You had to be clear about yourself and where he stands in your life. There were certain things you had to address. He deserves the closure he was hungry for. And two, you texted Yoongi asking the obvious.
“He won’t be there, will he?”
It was all Yoongi’s idea. After the divorce, Seokjin disappeared. He no longer uses the old phone number, he sold the penthouse to a fashion designer and the artworks he hung were donated to a museum curated by his mother. Senior Kim was busy moving the branch to Belgium and you were told by himself that his son was not actively involved in the moving. Even at your dead end, Yoongi had told you nothing about Seokjin’s whereabouts. You were positive he knew something. He didn’t. He confessed that Seokjin is still in contact with him but not as much as he did before. Yoongi told you under the roof of a balcony by the hill cafe. He wore a grey turtleneck with hot breaths exhaled heavily. He swirls the coffee cup in his hand and you could feel how reluctant he was, as he was unable to tell you more.
Reclining in your seat of your plane, you rested the back of your head on the head rest. Your shoulders freezes at the heaviness of it all. There was so much at stake. The image of Yoongi clouded your mind. Sitting here with the portfolio of the business model you’ve created, your mind travels to how it all began before it got here. Before it got so real.
“There is one way you could reach him,” he pauses, straightening up in his seat, clasping his hand around the mug for warmth, “I wouldn’t guarantee it but… you could try.”
“Seokjin is definitely still on the board members of the company, he is still in-charge of the important decision making for the direction of the company and would be heavily invested in, say, new ventures. In business, there’s a thing called angel investors. You come with a business proposal attractive enough to grab investors attention. And after you get the attention, it will be pushed up to board members for evaluation. From there, you will be invited on a fully funded flight to where they chose you to present your profiles. This year, it’s going to be in Switzerland. Verbier to be exact,” Yoongi explains in a serious tone, his hooded eyes glinting up to you with passion, “This might be your only chance. Although, I have to tell you that I’ve been notified that Seokjin would be virtually present.”
Your heart sank the same way it did when you heard the word, “Virtually,” from Yoongi’s own mouth, even as you sat in the flight heading there. Yoongi forbids you from using your own name on the portfolio for fear that Seojin might flee before you got there. He had voluntarily removed your name and put you under an alias. He passed your application by hand and distracted the person in-charge enough to not be suspicious. He knows that the application is just formalities. When it gets to the investors, it will be anonymous and will only be subjected to the content of the business, not the name of the person. Yoongi had done this, and also helped you write the proposals enough to get to the board members tables.
It was your declaration of love in the guise of a business proposal. Because how else will you catch the attention of a busy businessman who is now AWOL to heal himself. There was no guarantee that he was still in love with you, but he wouldn’t have left that postcard to Yoongi if he didn’t, right? Right?
The plane had landed when you stirred awake. Days of staying up to ensure every point gets delivered was draining you. It was moving to its lodge, several people on the ground directing its motion. The pilot adhered to all on-ground instructions and the plane smoothly parked. Unfastening your belt, you put on your winter jacket and caps, facemasks and collected your portfolios. Looking out the plane window, the view fogs up at your warm breaths. You underestimated how cold it was. It was freezing.
But the view was, the view was, breath-taking.
“Luggage, where do I collect my luggage?” you asked one of the staff in-charged. They directed you to it and you waited. And waited. And waited. Bags after bags get collected by their respective owners. But for some reason, the strikingly purple luggage bag you came with was nowhere to be seen. Blood pooled to your feet as your throat ran dry at the realisation that the staff had finished unloading every luggage that was on the plane. The room is spinning. Copies of budget, financial plans, concept, the whole proposal for the board members to be handed to their office prior to the presentation was all in there. Your phone’s charger, your laptop, your clothes for the rest of the trip— everything is in there.
Dragging your heavy feet, airily empty arms without your luggage through the arrivals, you found your way at a bus ticket booth heading up Verbier ski resort. You brushed the shoulder of a tall, unassuming man with his backpack who you couldn’t get a glimpse of as you rushed through the dispersing crowd of strangers. You have been emailed the itinerary of the event while you wait for the staff to entertain you. She sprung from below to grab a new set of anti-bacterial wipes to wipe her desk. You pointed to her that you were to head over at a temporary inn for quarantine by showing her the list of inns that you could go to. She crumpled her face in concentration and revealed to you that the inns listed were all occupied and at full-capacity. She recommends a homestay quite nearby and new. Having cornered without any viable options, you agreed to take the taxi to the said homestay.
“Also, do you happen to know where to report a missing luggage? My luggage never turned up from the conveyor belt when I arrived,” you asked the lady. You were then directed to the Lost & Found office, nearby the luggage claim area in Arrival 1. Feeling at loss, your vice grip on your phone turned your knuckles white.
“Excuse me, miss,” you heard as you were standing at the door of the office, gathering yourself to the far right to make way for the large trolley of found luggages to enter. You saw massive ski backpacks and snowboards, sandwiched in between. None of them were yours.
“I would like to report a missing luggage?” you asked. You were handed a form to be filled in, and you were told that they will try to find your luggage as soon as possible.
“I have to turn myself in for a 3-day quarantine at a homestay, I’m wondering if you can deliver them to me when you find them? There’s really important things in there, like really, really important,” you stressed. They nodded, understanding how crucial the situation is to you.
“Most luggage is found within 24 hours, we have notified the on-ground staffers and they told us that they have unloaded the bag you described today. Must have been a case of a mix up I believe, but don’t worry too much, we are positive we can find them.”
It was twice more expensive than the inns and was not covered by the company, but it will have to do. You weren’t expecting much when you arrived at the taxi stand. You probably felt less heavy if you had your luggages with you but you were not in control of the situation so this will have to do. You just wanted to get through the day and finally have a place to rest your head before you start again. The Lost & Found staff notified you that they have found your luggage and it was mixed up with another passenger from the business class who came in after a transit flight. The snowboard and ski backpacks you saw earlier belonged to him while his escorts took a purple bag. Your purple bag. It was unclear how a seasoned traveller would confuse a mediocre bag for something obviously Swiss. The drive to the homestay was brisk and very pleasant. At the door of the homestay, you successfully registered yourself and was provided a Covid-19 Self-Test Kit. Food will be sent to your room during the quarantine period of three days and when the results appear negative for 3 consecutive days, you will be transported to The Lodge, a 5-star hotel the company paid for. The plan was simple, it was to rest up, eat well and be at your 100% on the day of the presentation. Throwing your backpack and leaving your luggage bag to roll across the room, you heard a strange thud from next door that made you stop breathing for a bit. Followed by some dragging of a heavy sack.
“Should I be concerned?” you spoke to yourself, placing your hand over your heart.
This is the thing about travelling alone in a foreign country where you know no one. You keep your guards up at all times. Not only you have to worry about the presentation, you now have to worry if you would be potentially killed in a town you just came in. What if the food served has poison in it, and you ate them and then, you fell unconscious that they chop you off and throw you in a mincer and no one will ever know what happened to you? Is your neighbour Joe Goldberg from YOU? Can he potentially be? What are those heavy sacks he is dragging? You heard his footsteps going to the side where the balcony was. He opened the sliding glass door, and was on the phone it seems. Eavesdropping to a conversation not meant for you is a crime. You can be charged.
Then your phone shrills loudly. It was Yoongi.
“Yeah, I got here safe. I have to stay in an inn for 3-day quarantine before I’m allowed in the 5-star hotel, they say… and I lost my luggage, they’ve been mixed up,” you sat on the edge of the bed before laying down and left your leg hanging, “I’ve reported it and they say they will contact me when they found it. There will be a transport for me to go to the hotel? I have to bring the negative results right? Got it…” you hummed.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, genuinely concerned.
“Terrified, on edge, distraught and incompetent,” you listed, “For the presentation and the reason behind this trip. Not to mention my laptop, charger and literally the business plans are in the missing bag, I might not even be able to present.”
“Let’s keep it positive for now. You said they’ve located it, and will hand it over to you once they’ve found it right? Let’s have faith. Also… I have news on his whereabouts, that’s why I called,” Yoongi blurted monotonously, “He attended the Berlin Automotive Convention and he might stay there for a week, just in time for the commemoration of the new HQ,” Yoongi mauls over.
“So that’s saying…” that he won’t be there during the presentation.
“I’m afraid so,” Yoongi sighed, “Sorry for giving you false hope.”
“What? No. You didn’t give me false hope. I chose to believe that I might have a chance to meet him here…” you stared at the ceiling above you, “But damn it hurts. He’s like a slippery eel, always slipping through my hands…” you chuckled bitterly, “Should have caught him back then, huh?”
Yoongi let out a soft dismissive groan, “You were slippery too, remember?”
Touche. Your phone beeps at 10% battery. You tried calling the room service but there was no answer. Neither was the housekeeping, the operators, front desk— no one answered. Hearing your next door neighbor unzipping their bags, you decided to brazen up and ask if they have a charger and let’s hope it’s Android.
“Excuse me?” you greeted in Korean, “Sorry, I overheard you speaking in Korean on the phone awhile ago, so I was assuming you might be Korean? I… um, my luggage was missing and I put my charger in them, are you possibly using an Android, a Samsung charger? Can I borrow them? If that’s not too much? The airport staff says they’d call me if they find my bag, so if I don’t charge my phone they might not reach me,” You tiptoed by the balcony, speaking to the opened sliding door of his. But he himself was nowhere to be seen.
He replied from the inside, “Sure, I’ll leave them at your door? I’m still using them.”
Maybe he was just shy. A few minutes after you’ve washed up, you hear the doorbell ring. You rushed to open them in hopes to find your neighbor and properly thank him but, by the time you opened the door, his door was shut. He placed them in a small bakery bag, cords coiled neatly and you said thank you through the balcony.
Your phone lights up to live. No missed calls. Looking around the foreign land, you realise how Seokjin must have felt when he left his homeland. The first few hours were okay, and then you felt lonely, only comfort being Yoongi’s voice for now. You remembered how Seokjin would call you just to talk about random things, about his day, how you watch him fall asleep— you missed that. He was more than a memory you found pleasant, it was the way he hugged you, the gentle way he called your name and the soft gazes he tried to hide from you. You don’t want to hide yourself anymore. At least not to him. Because he deserved how you really felt about him. It was a little over midnight when you returned the charger to your neighbor’s door. You didn’t want to ring the bell, afraid that he might be sleeping. It’s far too quiet to sleep. You lay in your bed wide awake, staring at the ceiling despite feeling like your limbs are going to roll off from the fatigue. Fetching your phone, you traced the keychain, the phone charm from the trip to the dog park you went to with Seokjin. The time seized to a snail pace. Even the snow outside hesitated to fall. Winter baby Seokjin would be sleeping silently, would he? Hope it is warm where he is.
“I’ve broken your heart, please let me try to fix it…” you thumbed the coddling cat phone charm lovingly, knowing that she might miss her other half too.
—————
Your luggage has returned to you. Playing with your own fingers as you wait for your turn to present. The panel of investors arrive in person and on screens, eager to watch you put your ideas to life. The emcee reveals that Kim Seokjin will not be present but he has left a video for the winner. Your laptop is set up neatly, you were dressed in nude blazers and grey fitted singlet on top of black slack and white block heels. Your hair is up in a chignon bun. With the other two presenters wrapping up theirs, you casted your head down making final checks and trying on your pointers. Closing your eyes to feel any hint of peace, you pictured Seokjin— on that specific day where you had to present your viva, he was sitting there in the office you shared, wearing a round glasses and he was clapping encouragingly with a sweet smile— seeming to be so proud of you.
That very specific Seokjin had become your strength when you had to present before an audience. Time and time again. Funny how it’s almost a year since he last spoke to you and you’re still finding refuge in him, even in delusions like this.
You almost thought you saw him today. He was standing in black coats, handsome and alone, mufflers around his neck. He was leaning his back against the glass wall of the elevator with his eyes closed. He looked tired. But of course, before it could even register in your head, the door flaps closed in slow motion. And you see him vividly. The shape of his face, his prominent jawline, his crooked hands dug in his coat. If only he could just turn in this direction right where you stood, he would recognise you. You sprinted to the lift although you knew it was already too late. Stabbing the elevator button desperately, you hope that the lift would stop and reunite you with the lover you lost. But the guard stopped you. Their mouths were moving but you couldn’t hear a word. Was it really him? Were you seeing things? You were definitely seeing things. It would not be the first time because every time you were under a great deal of stress, you would see him. Even if you know in your head he won’t be there. He isn’t there.
“Miss? Miss?”
You snapped into reality after sitting idly, staring at your slides.
“We’re ready for you.”
You nodded, and gripped tighter on the edge of your seat before you stood up. They handed you a microphone you would be using. Now, you hold your life in this tiny voice amplifier hoping that the reason why you came here, would finally reveal himself.
“This project has been a very intimate one for me,” you begin, “It derived from someone who, despite seeing all my flaws, believed in me. And it was not because of him that I stood here; brave and collected. But he was the reason for me to start being brave and collected.”
The audience didn’t react. Cold.
“Allergies are common. It affects 4 millions adults and 5 millions children in the world. It is a constant fight. In 2012, Dr. Wing began research on the Atlantic Horseshoe Crab amoebocytes or blood cells. He had extracted them and they proved to have antibacterial activities. Fast forward after that, my faculty began extensively researching particularly amoebocytes for other pharmaceutical benefits such as anti-oxidative, anti-fungal, anticoagulant and so on,” you clicked on the slides and showed your colleagues investigating the said animal, “In 2018, a breakthrough. An Atlantic Horseshoe Crab’s blood cells showed anti-inflammatory activities commonly associated with allergy. The tricky part was to know which one.”
You clicked to the slide where a microscope footage showed the inhibitory activity that causes the inflammation to be completely eradicated at the injection of the blood cells.
“The research continues painstakingly over 2019, through the pandemic, where funds were cut off to plunge money into vaccine studies,” you explained, “But I continued this with the funds I was given and I managed to isolate the specific compound that was showing the anti-inflammatory activity. Then I formulate an inhaler that contains this compound. Why? Not everyone is a fan of needles that are common with anti-allergen pens. Inhaled particles act faster on inflammation. Easy to carry. Compact. Refillable. Pleasant taste.”
You took out the sample you’ve made. “Questions?”
A hand rises amongst the crowd.
“Why allergies?” “My husb— ex-husband — was allergic to garlic and I didn’t know about it until we divorced.”
“Had it not been your husband, ex-husband allergy, would you have created something like this?” “Yes, he was the ignition. The key was already there.”
“This formulation will have to go through pharmaceutical tests, and everyone knows it will not take a day or two. How will you arrange this to be released?” “We have started clinical trials this year and it is under FDA reviews as we speak, and investors will be reeling in once the news gets out.”
“So why did you choose Kim Holdings? Because it's family?” “Because it has potential to grow a pharmaceutical limb and the experts it needs are right here, ready to go. What we’re asking is funds. And since the common way does not work, we chose to go business-route. And it has served us well.”
“You are selling dreams… nothing more but a hearsay.” “All business begins with a dream.”
The judges who had been earnestly listening, turned sour at the questions thrown and how you answered. People begin to whisper incredulously and you feel like you are shrinking as the time ticks by. The longer you stood there on the stage, the louder the whispers became, the hazier your head was. Your thoughts become a thick fog and chills run down your spine as you finally realised; that maybe you’ve expected too much from this trip and it isn’t going your way at all. There was a blank screen on the side, for people who couldn’t attend physically. There were 8 individuals with their videos on, watching the convention, but one with their camera off. You casted your eyes to the side where the emcees booths are, asking for help. But apparently he had disappeared to the toilet. Your hand fell to your side with the mic.
Time slows. You lift your head up to see a raven-black hair with porcelain fair skin walking across the room, between the rows of the audience, heading to the exit and your heart was thumping, aching in the familiarity of the person. Your salvation. He walks gracefully with his entourage of suited, well-dressed men. Bowing slightly as he moves through the crowd, politely— like how you remembered him. He lifts his head to the side and meets your wide eyed gaze. Breath caught up in your throat as he made his way through the middle of the hall, bowing through the crowd of strangers. He removes his eyes from you as he lunges. You could feel the pricking in your eyes, the brims flooded with tears threatening to fall as you held a stare into his entire existence as you watched him leave. You tilted your head slightly at the sight of him, shuddered while your heart screamed for his name when your lips couldn’t.
“And with that, we’ve wrapped up our business convention for new aspiring entrepreneurs,” the emcee chirps awkwardly, through a grin. Seokjin disappears through the closing door. He tucks his hand into the dark long coat you saw him earlier with. It wasn’t your imagination, was it? You sprinted to the stairs, going down the stage and out the side door of the hall. You turned to the corners to where the exit leads to only for it to be filled with people who weren’t Seokjin. You were not ready to give up so you turned to the corners, walking past a few party people with cone hats and ridiculous Christmas outfits. There was a balcony party on the wooden patio. Seems like a celebration. There was a singer on the small stage with her own bands. She was singing Gabrielle Aplin’s Salvation. You pushed the glass door open and like a curtain, the people subsided, the crowd divided in the middle as they let you see him standing looking outward to the mountains when she sang “My salvation, my my...” You could see the back of his head, the shape of his shoulders under this dim light. You touched the fabric of his long coat like a ghost. He turns slowly and meets your eyes. He towers over you, the warmth emitting from his body wafting around your entire being. And you both stood there for what seemed forever. He didn’t quite know what to say or what to do. His eyes tell you everything his mouth couldn’t. The twinkle in his eyes, the small gap between his lips, the way his hot breaths come out like tiny puffs.
You whimpered, trying not to cry more than you already are.
“You’re severely under-dressed for the weather,” he broke the silence the only way Seokjin knew how. He sheds his long coat and as he does that he said, “It is definitely not your size but, it’ll have to do.” But you couldn’t look away from him. He wore a cream knitted wool turtleneck underneath. Your heart swells with all the words you wanted to say but you couldn’t; now that he is right in front of you. He collects your frozen hands into his and blows hot breaths on them. He did so without breaking eye contact with you. Now you can’t control the tears falling, or the sad smile you gave him. It was such a long wait to see him again. He thumbed your tears away.
“It’s cold outside,” he whispered, “Would you care for a coffee at midnight?”
You nodded and sniffled, giggling.
The mugs are warm and you clasped both hands on them as he did the same to his. Sitting on the tall chair by the French window where you could see the snow fall continuously, you studied Seokjin features. Wanting to know what he was thinking about but there was no easy way.
“I wished I read your postcards sooner,” you started with a shaky voice, “‘Astilbe, in Verbier, when the earth circles the sun once more’, I will wait for you in Verbier in the new year. That was smart. I wanted to say I’m sorry it took me so long. I had to fix everything I shove under the rug. I… I don’t want to be with you while I’m broken. My sharp edges will hurt you.” You swallowed a gulp of saliva. The waiter came to your table and gave a square shaped receipt that Seokjin took in a flash.
“After the divorce, I searched for everything I thought was hurting me. I slept in the house I wanted, arranged the furniture the way I wanted, and cooked what I wanted with a bunch of garlic. I worked in the office alone, went to work alone, and had breakfast, lunch and dinner alone. And it was great… Until it wasn’t. I listen to your voice notes every night before I go to sleep… I couldn’t touch your books because it feels like you might be home anytime. I cooked too much for 1 person. And my pasta never tastes like the ones you made… Sometimes I call your number to see if you’d answer but I usually hang up before the first ring. See, I’m not here to ask for your pity. I just want you to know what happened to me when you left.”
Seokjin carried the receipt into his lap and hung his head low.
“Not that you should care,” you giggled bitterly, “But I learned that this is how you fall in love.”
You blinked slowly to the view of the half-drunk coffee mug in front of you.
“I came here not knowing how else I could reach you and tell you how I feel. I hope I’m not making a complete fool of myself…” you paused. He didn't say a word and was still lowering his head, looking at whatever he was occupied with.
“Can you please say something, I’m starting to feel really embarrassed,” you said in one breath.
Seokjin finally lifted his shoulders and straightened in his seat before putting his closed hand on the table. When he opened them and slid his hand away, there was a paper ring he made from the receipt the waiter gave earlier.
“I left your ring in the hotel room so this will have to do for now…” .
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↳ author’s notes I would like to thank all readers for staying with me throughout this story, I hope you enjoyed soft Seokjin as much as I did and I hope my stories helped you go through your daily life a bit easier. Things had been bleak these days and I am not sure if next year is going to be any different. I hope you stay safe and keep yourself well hydrated and fed with good healthy food with the people you love and care about. Signing off for now, your author, Anissa <3. Happy Birthday to the December babies and Happy New Year.
Copyright © December 4th, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading :)