ii. crushed - cocteau twins. ii. sing - blur. iii. heroes - david bowie. iv. crazy for you - slowdive. v. temptation - new order. vi. playground love - air. vii. love will tear us apart - joy division. viii. sea swallow me - cocteau twins.
there’s that familiar taste of alcohol tickling at your throat again: you’d grown accustomed, and more daring, since the first time last year when the lot of you were fourteen and too young and too stupid to differentiate between vodka and soju (which is exactly why you made the conscious effort of plucking a champagne from the ice bucket-- the sparkles were beckoning you, the rose colour a welcoming contrast to the hard amber of the whiskey).
you remember it being sweet. later in life you will grow to appreciate the burn of hard liquor, but for now you wonder if this even has any alcohol content in it because it tastes like liquid candy. (later in life, you learn, that this kind of alcohol is the most dangerous, and to stay away from it: you still get dizzy spells thinking about rose champagne).
the party is in full swing, you think you recognize coltrane flowing through the gangnam condominium; it’s ra ra’s favourite. the kids have gone off somewhere-- probably to go fuck around in your mother’s closet and your father’s the study. your fingers drag along the corridor walls, tapping along to the jazz notes that are getting farther and farther behind you as you take a swig of the bottle (ra ra would be offended at the lack of crystal being used, but there was something so simply rebellious about sullying the rim of the dom perignon with your bare lips). your room is right down the hall-- you’re not interested in mingling with the congregation of CEOs in the dining area (frankly, you’re far too tipsy for that, having chugged half the bottle in record time) and the only thing on your mind is sinking in your 600 thread count and calling it a night-- but nothing ever really seems to go the way you plan it, does it?
“뭐야”
you’re startled, the moment you open your door to find him sitting on the foot of your bed, glass tumbler (of course) of whiskey in his hand; lights off.“what the fuck are you doing in the dark?” you shuffle into the bedroom tipsily, plopping down beside him on your bed. he’s staring out the balcony window.
“it’s snowing.”
“huh?” you’re distracting by the dom, pulling your face forward to stare out the window at the snowflakes falling in the black sky, eyebrows knitted in confusion. he’s quiet for a moment until he turns his head to look at you, and your breath hitches in your throat.
his face is inches from yours, you can smell the whiskey on his breath. you gulp, adam’s apple bobbing. his eyes are dark; brooding, but there’s a smirk curled up at the end of his cerise lips and it sends you reeling into a manic state of panic-- your heart is thumping so hard against your ribcage that you swear even he can hear it. the space between you is dwindling, and you’re pretty sure that your cheeks are glowing in the moonlight.
he’s slow; cautious. your eyes are fluttering to a close despite your best effort not to: this is a dream. but then nam jaebum presses his lips on yours and somewhere in your reeling mind you’re sure that it’s a dream because you don’t want to wake up from it.
when he pulls back, you slowly peel your eyelids from their dreamy state; in a daze.
“what was that for?” are the only words that you can combine in a cohesive string of speech; it’s the only appropriate response in your confused mind.
“it’s the first snowfall”
you’re too drunk to even begin to try to understand the meaning behind his words, but you also don’t care because all you’re thinking about is the surprisingly soft touch of his lips on yours. are boy’s lips supposed to be that soft?
without a word your hand flutters up to your mouth; your eyes widen and you don’t know if it’s a sigh or a groan but you fall back into the 600 thread count you had longed for just moments before and stared up at the moonlight casting shadows on the ceiling.
you’re not sure when he leaves, or if he even does. you just lightly trace your lips with your finger, hovering over where your first kiss still burned.
