One of two things will happen when I face Young-gi. The first is the most likely thing; he’ll toss me out, shout at me, maybe hurt me. Tell me I’ve ruined everything, take back whatevermoney he gave me, and get rid of me. That’s what I expect, that’s what I’ve expected all this time. Some kind of rational reaction to my behavior.
Or…
Less likely but somehow... the option I’m…nothoping for, definitely not. But…
He might not do those things at all.
I don’t let myself think seriously about what else he might do. I can’t handle real shit, vulnerable shit, so I keep it light. Maybe he fucks me, takes his anger out on me, makes me pay him for the trouble I caused that way–yeah, that’s something I know how to do, and I’d love to take his dick. I wouldn’t even care about coming, he’s just hot as fuck.
And that’s all it has to be. Nothing serious. Nothing permanent. Nothing I rely on.
Nothing I need.
****************
Tommy
Young-gi’s place is a two story loft-style penthouse not far from his office. I almost give myself whiplash looking around in the lobby; it was made to inspire awe in anyone who walks in, and it basically asks me what the hell I think I’m doing, bringing my poor ass in here. I squirm uncomfortably in the elevator because holy shit I’m almost there, and then I’m inside his penthouse and Yosef pats me once on the back with a solemn nod, and leaves, locking the door behind him.
Was that his version of wishing me good luck?
Somehow, that makes me even more nervous.
I creep deeper inside the house, breathing shallowly like Young-gi is about to jump-scare me. It’s dimly lit in here, mostly just the ambient city lighting outside the large windows castingthe place in a pale moon-like hue, so I can’t see details but I can tell this place is nice. Different from Kira’s apartment, though. More industrial in style, with masculine architecture and exposed cement walls.
I swallow hard and peer around corners, my stomach watery, but soon enough I see a light spilling from an open door down the hallway, guiding me to my destination.
“Uh–” I choke and clear my throat before trying again, this time without the quaver. “Young-gi? Uh…” I call down the dark hall.
“Come here, Tommy.” His voice emanates from the lit room and I gulp. He isn’t shouting or running out here to beat the shit out of me, but he sounded scary as fuuuuck.
But I’m not scared of him, because he doesn’t fucking matter to me, none of this matters. So I straighten my spine and storm inside like a hurricane. He’s sitting in a huge chair near a writing desk, but not behind it, choosing instead to have his chair be in the center of the room, clearly waiting for me.
This seems to be a study or office, but he’s not dressed for work. He’s wearing a plain white shirt, loose and comfortable, and soft-looking navy blue pants, like he’d been asleep when all this went down and is still in pajamas. He’s even got soft, loafer-style house shoes on, and let me tell you, seeing him in slippers is like seeing something I’m not supposed to. Bookshelves line one wall, and a fireplace hologram built into a false brick fireplace gives the illusion of old-timey charm despite the bright lights and modern-day fixtures.
“What do you want?” I demand, aggressive right out the gate.
He runs his eyes down my body and I instinctively follow his gaze, wincing when I see the dirt and blood on the neon pink tank top I’m still wearing, and the scrapes on my arms and knuckles, the tear near the ankle of my pants. I look like I’ve been pulled here straight from a bar brawl, which is pretty muchwhat happened. I can feel a bruise on my jaw from one of Oscar’s flailing lucky hits. I probably look like the gutter trash I am.
He doesn’t answer me right away, choosing instead to focus on his thorough inspection. I can barely hold still under the weight of it.
“Talk,” he finally demands, and I flinch. His face is as impassive as ever, but his body language is coiled and waiting, leaning back like he’s relaxed, but I can tell it’s an act.
I wet my lips, trying to get rid of my nerves. “Got in a fight. It’s nothing.”
We both stare at each other. As soon as I realize he’s waiting me out again, I stiffen up and scowl, but he’s always had more patience than me. It’s fucking annoying how fast I’m getting used to it, and how fast I cave.
“A friend of mine was getting assaulted,” I defend myself against the rising ire I can sense in him. “I put a stop to it. Oscar got what he deserved.”
“Oscar’s in the hospital and is considering pressing charges,” Young-gi informs me coldly.
How does he–never mind, I’m not surprised he already knows everything.
“He started it!”
“Don’t.” He stops me before I can keep arguing, and I grit my teeth, wondering why I’m listening to him. But maybe it’s because he hasn’t tossed me out yet, and if he hasn’t done that…
Don’t bother hoping for anything.Experience has taught me it’s better not to hope.
