”don’t move.” yuna warned, her voice still laced with sleep as deft fingers continued the sketch. it’s almost finished by now, she woke up earlier than planned and hadn’t been able to fall back asleep. he had become her favourite person to draw but she’s never going to tell him that. “you look almost like an angel when you’ve got your mouth shut, do you know that?” she chuckled when he groaned a muffled complaint, a hand thrown over drowsy eyes to block the prying flares of the autumn sun.
it has been eight months since she’s last seen him. three towns, one city and two dye jobs away from when she left him with nothing but a note scribbled i’m sorry. she didn’t write i love you. didn’t have to — she thought he knew and that’s the problem.
there are times when she thought she caught sight of him. the same pitch-black hair, the same mischief gleaming in midnight eyes. her first instinct is to reach out before the urge comes back, the urge to run. still ludicrous, still inexplicable, the things that she does when she thinks she’s in love. but was she — is she? and was he? or was it all a lucid dream meant to be relinquished and forgotten the next morning and the only mistake they made was trying to hold onto it for far too long?
here she sits at the end of the near-end of a lounge, softly humming a tune inaudible to anyone else. another extravagant gala in a different city, the same lavish champagne sipped from her glass as she watches the socialites and billionaires swarm all over the place. if it was easy before, it’s become effortless by now, to make connections as needed and get out once she has her hands on the lucre. lately she’s been itching for more, the notion of partaking in a heist a tempting lull at the back of her mind. her zealous reveries are cut short when she spots him in the crowd but it can easily be another oversight, a second glance confirms that she’s right.
only that this time, she doesn’t want to be. it is risible, how quickly the sight of him fills her with guilt, almost heavy enough to bring the liar to her knees. it’s still the same, he’s still the antithesis to everything she wants her life to lead.
( but was it truly so terrible — being happy? )
“fuck.” she mutters under her breath, clutches her purse and flees the scene as nonchalantly as she can. having made her way through the crowd in the opposing direction, she enters the balcony and finally lets out a breath when her eyes trail and find the stairs. the sky is in a beautiful blur of rosé and violet, almost a splitting picture of how it was when they’re slow dancing in his living room, almost reminds her of how warm it felt in his arms.
“all my demons run wild, all my demons have your smile.” — la la lost you by niki.
from this, accepting — ft. park seojun @cvvalier.
