SINCERELY YOURS. ᵏᵖᵒᵖ

4 o'clock [jeon jeongguk]

—the heart wants what it wants, even that which is worst for it.

word count: 884

----

"You're going to kill yourself with those."

His soft voice halts your movements—a cigarette is poised at your lips. You don't turn to face him and instead stare up at the night sky. It's dark and the moon is almost completely gone—only a sliver remains. The stars are bright white, flickering and twinkling.

You exhale slowly and watch as the swirling cloud rises and dissipates. You've gotten used to the acrid smell. It's tantalising, being so close to that lethargic, mind-numbing state. It's oddly comforting. "What are you doing up?" you ask. You're seated on the railing of the balcony on the fourth floor of the apartment building.

"I couldn't sleep."

You feel him walk up behind you, just to your right, and you stare down at your legs dangling off the balcony. They're slightly difficult to see since you're wearing dark jeans, but the skin of your knees are there, visible through the rips in the material. "It's cold," you reply eventually, "you should go back to bed."

"Not without you."

You feel bad for him—he's the sweetest thing to have ever accidentally tripped into your life. He is the sun in your dark and decrepit wasteland. He is the hope for you that is always a constant reminder that you can be better.

You know you're awful for him. While he hasn't picked up any bad habits from you—thank the heavens—you know he would be far happier anywhere else other than near you.

You swing your legs over the other other side and finally turn to look at him. "Sleep," you say firmly. "Jeongguk, it's not healthy to skip out on rest."

When you go to walk past him, he grabs your arm. "And it's not healthy to go through packets of cigarettes like you do," he fires back. His free hand fists the hem of his long white shirt before he releases it. The cloth is crinkled at his side but he makes no move to smooth it out. 

He breathes out quietly and drops his gaze. "Please. Just drop the thing for tonight and come back to bed with me."

You feel a twinge of guilt whenever you see his sweet baby face cringe at each swig of alcohol you take, or each puff of smoke you breathe out.

But at the same time, you're selfish. You don't really want to get better. You want to stay in the same place as always, content with knowing that you're chipping away at your life with each bad decision you make. You want to stay a mess.

Staying where you are right now is all you want to do.

Maybe it's because you're afraid of change. Maybe it's because you don't want to face the fact that you're slowly killing yourself.

Maybe it's because you're scared Jeongguk will leave you once you get better.

Deep down you know he won't—he tells you to stop smoking, stop drinking, stop doing all these things that are killing you.

But another part of you knows that what got Jeongguk hooked on you was your 'bad boy' image. That was the only reason why he even looked your way in the first place. What if you lose it? Will he leave?

Or perhaps that was just an excuse for you to continue.

You nod, sighing, and crush the stick under your boot. "Alright."

You tug your arm from him gently and head inside into your dim bedroom, waiting for him to follow before closing and locking the glass door. Last night's clothes are still strewn about your room and you make a mental note—one that you'd forget about—to wash them.

Unhurriedly, you toss off your shirt and jeans and kick off your shoes, switching them for a fresh grey tee and black boxers.

Jeongguk's seated cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching silently, but his eyes drift across the room.

He knows his relationship with you is not one to brag about—some messy version of a friends-with-benefits thing—but despite it, despite the heavy ache that settles on his chest when he whispers I love you into the darkness and against your lips and you don't return it, instead murmuring I know, he likes it.

There's a collection of golden bracelets that spreads across your class assignments on your desk—they aren't yours. There's a pair of fishnet stockings. Hair ties. They're all remnants of past nights—nights that Jeongguk didn't spend with you because you already had someone else.

You join him on the bed and pull the sheets over the both of you, unresisting as he shuffles closer and buries his nose into your neck.

You smell like smoke, as always, and it makes his eyes water. He doesn't know if it's because of the bitter smell or if it's because it's a constant reminder of his failure to stop your self-destructive behaviour.

He closes his eyes and focusses on the slow, steady beating of your heart and the warmth of your arms that snake around him.

"I love you," he mumbles at four o'clock.

At four-thirty, you tighten your hold on him and he curls into you subconsciously, his breaths deep and even. You stare at the ceiling. The fan cuts through the air, barely making a noise, and you match its volume.

"I know."