— Dilemma
( — @247xbora )
His life has undergone several changes lately, it could’ve seemed it changed out of all recognition, but the elation and general blithe he’s been embraced by in the past days withered quickly as he was leaping back into the habits he successfully abandoned for a mere week or so. The overflow of work and new duties was keeping him busy non-stop, yet at some point it wasn’t enough to keep his mind occupied also. Jiyong started feeling lethargic, vexed and unstrung, as though the blindfold of pure bliss was brutally teared away and now he was meant to look the ferocious reality in the eye again and pick out the unsolved problems he temporarily ditched. As always, he hoped it would pass but the emotional numbness was dragging on for too long that it only irritated him more and stubbornly knocked him off his stride. Especially today.
Plenty of phone calls from journalists who were more interested in discussing his not fully spotless reputation than his recent achievements and multiplying paperwork combined weren’t as draining as the thoughts which were piling up at the back of his head at a faster pace than documents on his desk. And he wasn’t relieved to call it a day because going home felt like jumping into another lake of fire.
Inside the empty elevator he leans back against the wall and fetches a tired sigh, glancing over the buttons and when he heavily lifts his hand to press the one with his floor’s number, there comes a passing moment of doubt. Saying he has already forgotten about Bora and the whole summer ordeal would be an arrant lie. He still hasn’t left it behind and tormenting his own self with mulling it over mercilessly might’ve become a questionable pastime. But he shakes his head suddenly, trying to dispel the eerily returning thoughts and eventually pushes the right button. Though as he finds himself in front of his apartment, once more he hesitates. What if he paid her a visit and said what’s been on his mind for prolonging months? His fingers curl around the doorknob, however, and he steps into the frigid atmosphere of his place.
Sluggishly taking off the tweed coat, Jiyong’s gaze superficially scans the living room and the coffee table he briefly catches a glimpse of reminds him about the previous night he drank away. Noticing a sip or two remaining at the bottom of the bottle almost urges him to drain it — maybe that way he would gain the needed courage. Loosening his tie before getting rid of it, the aggravation nesting within him gradually heightens and he knows he’s closer and closer to doing something impulsive instead of being patient enough to let the raising stroppiness pass. He’s a ticking bomb. So he dashes out and slams the door shut, rapidly enter the elevator to go to the upper floor.
The dullness seems to be gone, as if an inexplicable and malicious energy has gotten into him out of the blue. It’s too late to search for composure; he doesn’t even want to tone down the flaming feeling which is somewhere in between fury and heartache. Jiyong knocks thunderously and the second the door crack open, a deviously sweet smile crawls onto his lips and contrasts with his lightly reddened eyes. “We need to talk, I’m afraid.” Marginally inching towards her as he stares unblinkingly, his voice is rough. “You have a while for me, don’t you?”
