I back up a few steps, then run and leap. For a second, I’m airborne, the ground far below. Then my hands catch the railing of the fire escape. The impact jars my shoulders, but I hold on. I swing my legs up and over, landing on the metal grating with a clang that echoes through the courtyard.
Below, the remaining thugs burst into the courtyard. They look up, spotting me. One of them starts climbing the dumpster, trying to follow.
I’m already climbing the fire escape, taking the stairs two at a time. My lungs are burning, my ribs feel like they’re being stabbed with every breath, but I don’t stop. I can’t.
I reach the top of the fire escape and haul myself onto the roof. It’s flat, covered in gravel and dotted with old air conditioning units. I sprint across it, heading for the far edge. There’s another building close by, maybe a three-foot gap. I jump it without thinking, landing hard on the other side.
I keep running, crossing two more rooftops before I finally stop. I press myself against an air conditioning unit, my chest heaving, and peer over the edge of the building.
Below, in the street, I can see the thugs. They’re scattered, pointing in different directions, arguing. Taewoo is in the middle of them, gesturing wildly. Even from up here, I can tell he’s furious.
They split up, running off in different directions to search. None of them think to look up.
Idiots.
I wait until they’re out of sight, then I let myself slide down to sit with my back against the air conditioning unit. My whole body is shaking, adrenaline and exhaustion mixing into a jitterycocktail. I reach into my jacket pocket and pull out my cigarettes. The pack is a little crushed from the fight, but they’re intact.
I light one, my hands surprisingly steady, and take a long drag. The smoke fills my lungs, harsh and familiar. I exhale slowly, watching it drift up into the night sky.
Damn.
I was only at that apartment for a month. Barely had time to unpack properly. And now I’m going to have to move again. Clear out my stuff, find a new place, start the whole process over. It’s exhausting just thinking about it.
I’ll have to go back in the morning, once they give up the search for the night. Sneak in, grab my things, and get out before they stake the place out again. Though knowing Taewoo, he’ll probably have someone watching the building by dawn.
I take another drag, then switch positions, lying down flat on the gravel. The stones dig into my back through my jacket, uncomfortable and grounding. I stare up at the sky. The city’s light pollution washes out most of the stars, leaving just a hazy orange glow.
My ribs throb. My jaw aches where that thug hit me. My shoulders are sore from all the climbing. And underneath it all, that familiar restless buzz is still there, unsatisfied and gnawing.
Sexually frustrated. Bruised. Tired. And now I’m going to have to sleep outside tonight.
Perfect. Just fucking perfect.
The bell above the door lets out a cheerful chime as I stroll into Wooil’s pawn shop, and I’m barely two steps inside before he pops up from behind the counter like a jack-in-the-box.
“Where the fuck did you disappear to last night?” Wooil demands, coming around the counter to whack me on the arm. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but the indignation in the gesture is clear.
I shrug, sidestepping him to walk around the counter and help myself to the mini-fridge he keeps back there. “It stopped being interesting.”
The cool glass of the cider bottle feels good against my palm as I crack it open. I took a few more hits than usual last night between the fight and the chase, and everything aches in that satisfying way that tells me I’m alive. The cider is crisp and sweet on my tongue.
Wooil plants his hands on his hips, frowning as he eyes me up and down. His reading glasses dangle from the chain around his neck, catching the fluorescent light. “We were barely there an hour. What happened? Did you get rejected or something?”
“Hardly,” I grumble, taking another swig.
I drop onto the stool behind his counter with a sigh, letting my head fall back against the wall. The shop is quiet this morning. Shelves packed with everything from vintage watches to old gaming consoles line the walls.
“I struck out again,” I admit, rolling the cold bottle against my forehead. “Found an alpha, decent looking guy, seemed promising. But he folded like paper as soon as he caught a hint of my pheromones.”
Wooil tuts, shaking his head as he leans against the counter. “Still on that ill-fated mission to get your ass drilled, are you?”
I flip him off without heat.
“Why don’t you save yourself the time and just accept your position in life?” Wooil continues, warming to his lecture. “You’re a dominant alpha, Yujeong. Who the fuck is going to be crazy enough to top you?” He spreads his hands wide, as if presenting an obvious truth. “I don’t know what your problem is anyway. Who mopes over having too many holes to fill?”
“Born to top, cursed to desire being on bottom,” I mutter into my bottle.
Wooil snorts, but there’s sympathy in his eyes even as he shakes his head. “Maybe you need to put out an ad or something. ‘Wanted: Alpha strong enough to rail another alpha. Must be comfortable with psychological warfare and the constant threat of being dominated instead.’“
