I pace around the living room for a while, from the dark, night-sky windows and back to the couch, working myself up. Trying to smother anxiety with irritation and defensive apathy.
Until finally, Young-gi comes back out. I turn on him, ready to start a fight, only to be brought up short. His dark hair is still damp, clinging in strands that look even more jagged and effortless than usual, highlighting his pale skin, which is glowing from the warm water. His white shirt is sticking to him, like he wasn’t completely dry when he pulled it on, and I can’t keep my eyes from tracing the way his body just goes on and on, tall and fine as hell. Fuck. And those sweatpants should be illegal.
He stares at me, taking me in; my aggressive posture, the way I was clearly pacing around, the way I whirled with one finger up, already accusatory. I drop my hand, and clear my throat awkwardly. “Uh, hey.”
Hey??I almost facepalm. Yeah, don’t mind me, I’m just trotting out my nonexistent charm and flirting skills with ‘hey’.
“What’s the problem now?” he asks, getting right to the point.
Which I resent. “Why does there have to be a problem?” I snap.
He just raises an eyebrow at me, and pads over to the kitchen. I watch him pull out some glasses, pour some water from a pitcher in the fridge. “Thirsty?”
“Hell yeah,” I mutter, eyes on his ass. “I mean, yeah thanks.”
I think he’s going to call me out on that one, but he doesn’t. I might be wrong, but it feels like I almost made him laugh. Not sure why I think that, he doesn’t change his posture or his expression very much, but it’s just a hunch I have.
God, if he laughed, I think I might fall in love.
I’m joking, of course. That’s, like… way too much emotion for me. Yeah, not really a love kind of guy.
“Thanks,” I hesitantly take the glass, cool against my skin. He sips his, leaning against the counter on the other side of me, and we start a staring contest. I get a restless buzz from my head to my feet, tingling along my nerves. “Um. So. Kira called.”
“Oh?” Bastard, he could kill me in poker. He’s a fucking brick wall.
“Yep.” I pop the ‘p’ sound. If he’s going to be nonchalant, well, so am I. “Told me I wasn’t going back to her place, which is news to me.”
“Hm. I see.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was deliberately trying to annoy me. He sips his water, that stare sparking over the rim of his glass. “So you’re pacing in the living room because…?”
“Because I don’t appreciate not being consulted on plans you’re making aboutmyliving situation. Where are you sending me?” The question slips out before I can stop it and I put the glass down with a little too much force, getting watereverywhere. I cuss, a little more viciously than the small spill calls for.
“I was going to talk to you about it tonight.”
“Well, that’s a little late, don’t you think? If you’ve already made up your mind,” I snap, stomping to the napkins. “I don’t fucking know anything about what you want from me anymore. Just spit it out already. If I’m not going to Kira’s, where are you sending me?”
“You’re staying here, with me.”
Record scratch, cue the audience gasps, the car wreck sound effect. I squeeze the napkins in my fist and glare. I glare because now my heart is pounding and I guess my fucked up brain doesn’t know how to process feeling good and excited about something. I scowl when what I really feel like doing is just, like, maybe going to lie down and hug a pillow or something, so I can think.
“You don’t want to?” he asks, daring me to lie. His eyes drift to the soap on the counter by the sink, and I swallow hard.
“I didn’t say that,” I mutter, wiping up my small spill carefully, slowly, with more focus than necessary. “But I don’t like not being given a choice. I don’t like being held here without any say-so. It’s fucked up, and you should’ve asked me. I should get the choice to stay somewhere else. I want options.”
He tilts his head. “You want options?” he repeats, like that’s an insane ask.
“Yes.” I say it firmly, but I lean heavily against the counter, regret and acid bitterness twisting around inside me. I don’t want the choice. I like the idea of staying here, so why the fuck am I fighting it? Fuck me for always doing this.
“Alright,” he agrees after a moment, sounding so placid and calm. “I’ll bring you a map of the city, with my properties marked, and you can choose the one you want to stay in.”
“Just like that?” I counter acerbically, then throw the napkins across the counter, and abruptly pace away to the windows. “Whatever. Fine. Bring me a map then.”
Silence. Tense, loaded silence. I stiffen up, angry and ashamed for some reason, just embarrassed and feeling stupid, feeling helpless. I peek over my shoulder at him, and he’s looking at the napkins on the counter like they hold some answers for him.
Abruptly, his face clears, like he’s figured it out, and when our eyes meet, I think he’s amused. Annoying, smug, sexy fucking bastard.
“What’s so funny?” I bite out.
“Tommy.” He rounds the kitchen island and stalks me, sending a shot of adrenaline right through my core. I back up until I’m pressed against the window, just a pane of glass between me and a long way down. I shiver when he stops entirely too close to me, and puts a hand flat on the glass beside my head. Not trapping me entirely, but making me feel the size difference between us acutely.
