Miran is sprawled on her bed, her eyes boring into the starch white ceiling of her bedroom. Because the shutters are down and the curtains drawn, the space is dark, and it stifles her senses, to the point that it is difficult to breathe. Memories have been resurfacing in her mind for a good part of three nights, and the concept of sleep eludes her.
Turning to her side, she studies the posters festooning every inch of space in her room, colourful images of Beyond The Scene plastered on the walls. Their happy smiles are a complete contrast to the emotions unfurling within her, and she feels a strange kinship with Esther Greenwood, the protagonist of her favourite novel.
Beside the vial of anti-depressants she has been consuming lies Miran’s phone, dead and forgotten on her bedside table; she cannot remember the last time she has plugged the charger into the socket embedded over it. On the far side of the room, innumerable objects are cluttered on her desk, her laptop buried underneath the mountain of books and notes strewn over the carved wood. Or is it jammed into the burrows of her bed? Miran cannot remember.
After Hong Chanbaek’s demise, Miran’s thoughts are plagued by the horrors she has faced as a fourteen year old. The pattern is repeating, people around her dying in a fashion similar to the serial killings eight years ago. But the killer is gone now. Why am I so scared?
She knows the answer to this, but Miran is terrified to acknowledge it. Her bleak thoughts follow the tangent, rolling towards everything that has happened two years ago. Lee Joonhyung’s face flashes before her eyes, and she squeezes them shut. My friends deserve to know the truth. Yoongi deserves to know the truth. But she doesn’t know how to tell him.
Her family is worried about her health, both mental and physical, and when her mother suggests that she spend a few days within the comfort and safety of home, Miran gladly accepts.
Burying her head deeper under the woollen quilt, she tries to stave off the November chill which seems to have permeated her very bones. The sheets of her bed rustle beneath her weight, and her eyes continue their roving over the semi-dark contours of her room.
The large bookcase which is positioned beside her wardrobe is stacked with paperbacks she has yet to touch, all her motivation subdued by the eternal temptation of lying around in bed and doing nothing. For a minute, she considers turning on the flat-screen tv implanted into the alcove between the shelf and cabinet. But the thought is extinguished by the chime of the doorbell.
Miran doesn’t stir; she knows Hongjoo will answer the door. It is probably her twin, who seems to have way too much free time on his hands, and has already visited her four times in the span of a single day. Or is it night now? Miran cannot remember.
But the bell keeps ringing incessantly, and when the door displays no signs of being answered, Miran groans, flinging the covers off of her and barrelling out of her room. She hops down the staircase, all the while wanting to return to the luxury of her bed even though it does not allow her any semblance of a reprieve. Judging by the soft, lilac hues streaking the living room as she passes it, dusk appears to have descended over the city of Seoul.
“I swear to god, Tae. If it’s you coming for the millionth time,” she yells, their plump and friendly housekeeper nowhere to be seen, leaving Miran to greet whoever has decided to disturb her non-existent repose, “I’m going to-” She yanks the door open, but her jaw drops instantly. Min Yoongi stands there, a sheepish grin on his face as he holds up a DVD of The Poltergeist. “-kill you,” she finishes dazedly.
Yoongi is clad in his trademark jacket, a beanie concealing most of his hair. He waves the DVD in her face. “Not feeling very social, are we?”
Miran tries her best to keep her fluttering heart under control as she huffs. “Look who’s talking.” Yoongi laughs, shifting on his feet. His eyebrows twitch, and he looks nervous. Miran studies him curiously. “How did you know where I lived?”
“Taehyung gave me your address,” he confesses, holding his phone up with his free hand. Miran isn’t sure she has heard him right. “Though I didn’t know if you’d want to see me,” he finishes softly, averting his gaze and fixing it on the railing ensconcing the porch.
All her doubts instantly vanish at the vulnerability which flickers across Yoongi’s features. “I’m glad you’re here.” He looks relieved by her assurance, and his answering smile makes Miran’s heart perform somersaults in her chest.
“Young miss, are you going to make your guest stand outside on the porch all evening?” a chirpy voice calls out from behind her. Yoongi angles his head as Miran swivels her own, a small smile breaking out over her face.
Nam Hongjoo, their housekeeper of almost ten years, stands in the hallway, a stern expression on her usually jovial face. She is a stout, pretty woman, an experienced veteran in cooking, and on the side, managing Taehyung. Her arms are folded over her blue apron, and she ambles towards them, shooting Yoongi a warm smile.
Miran clears her throat and turns to him. “I guess you should come in,” she says softly, and she can swear his eyes twinkle.
Hongjoo pats Yoongi’s cheek and he awkwardly bows, surprise limning his face at the affectionate gesture. Miran raises an eyebrow; Hongjoo is usually very wary of guests, especially if they are young and male. But it almost looks as if she expected Yoongi. And then she inwardly groans when realization strikes her as she connects the dots. “Tae called you, didn’t he?”
Hongjoo beams, while Yoongi’s eyes flit between them in confusion. “The young master said you were expecting a handsome young man, and that I should make myself scarce.” She winks at them, and the reactions her words elicit are vastly different for the pair. Yoongi flushes, while Miran scowls.
“It’s not like that,” Yoongi tries to explain to Hongjoo, but she waves him away. Miran simply shakes her head, motioning for Yoongi to follow her upstairs. Her room is the only place protected from their housekeeper’s vigilant watch.
Without a word, he follows her, chancing a glance at Hongjoo. She is all smiles as she watches them ascend, but there is something about her posture that suggests he will be in a whole lot of trouble should he even look in the wrong direction. Not that he is planning to.
The first floor of the mansion stretches around Yoongi on both sides, and Miran halts before the room which is second to last. Pushing open the door, she switches on the lights and raises the shutters, though Yoongi doesn’t mind. He likes the darkness.
“I hope I didn’t startle you,” he says, closing the door behind him. Miran turns around, shaking her head.
She quickly shoves the bottle of pills into a drawer before striding towards the couch. It is pushed against the wall beneath the windows, and Miran pats the space next to her. “Yoongi, I’m happy you’re here.” An uncertain pause, and then, “I missed you.”
“Then why wouldn’t you answer my calls?” he asks quietly, hating that he sounds so needy. Gingerly seating himself on the sofa, he faces her, the scent of lavender and cherry blossoms wafting in the room. He wants to find out if the scent is reminiscent of Miran.
She purses her lips, sinking into the plush leather. “I…I guess I just wanted to be alone for a while. I didn’t mean to avoid you, Yoongi.” Miran fiddles with her fingers, her gaze trained downward. “With everything that has been happening, it’s no surprise that I can’t sleep, and that’s tiring me out.” She wonders if she should tell him the real reason, if she should just bare her soul and confess everything. But something in Yoongi’s soft gaze mutes the words. Another time.
“I understand that,” he says, reaching out to hold her hand. It is a natural action now, one which Miran has begun to crave without realizing it. “And I came to see you because I…you know-”
Miran finds his bashfulness intriguing. How can a person have so many sides to them? “Aww, Min Yoongi, were you worried about me?” she teases, grinning at the blush which creeps into Yoongi’s cheeks as he turns away.
“No way. I just wanted to watch The Poltergeist with you and make you realize that Chucky is superior,” he attempts to clarify, holding up the DVD for emphasis.
The lie only makes Miran laugh, but she decides to spare him for now. “You do realize watching horror movies isn’t exactly conducive to sleeping,” she points out and Yoongi sighs, placing the DVD on the windowsill. “There is, however, something else we can do.”
“And what might that be?” he asks slowly, their eyes fixed on each other. Suddenly, the air in the room feels too hot, the space too confined, and Yoongi is distinctly aware of their proximity. The scent of lavender is indeed imbued in her skin, and he wants to reach out and thread his fingers through her soft hair.
And Miran doesn’t know if it’s the fleeting nature of life, or the events of the past couple of months, but she can no longer deny her attraction to Yoongi. And maybe it is the way he looks at her, like she is the only person who exists in the magnanimous universe, or maybe the way his eyes wander to her lips, that she closes the distance between them.
Yoongi doesn’t have the time to react as Miran slides into his lap, her legs straddling him as she leans downwards, pressing her lips against his startled ones.
All at once, his world of black and white regains its colour, stars exploding in Yoongi’s vision as their mouths connect, her fingers raking his hair, his fingers roaming over her skin. Relieving his head of his beanie, he pulls her closer; Yoongi has imagined this moment a million times, has fantasized about what it would feel like to hold Miran in his arms, to touch her, to kiss her. It is everything he has wanted, and all rational thought evades him as his grip around her waist tightens.
Probing her lips apart, Miran doesn’t complain when Yoongi slides his tongue in, exploring every crevice of her soft mouth, revelling in every sensation gliding through his flesh. She doesn’t stop him when he unbuttons the cardigan she is wearing, slipping it off her shoulders and leaving her in only a thin, sleeveless tunic. He doesn’t complain when she rips the jacket off of him, their lips melded together all the while. He also doesn’t protest when she begins to grind her hips, the friction a relief to his growing erection. Yoongi wants more, and he knows that Miran does, too.
But when Miran begins to take off his shirt, reality comes crashing down on him. This is not why Yoongi has come here, even though the taste of her lips is an alluring enticement. He knows that Miran’s reaction is a way of combating her stress and frustration, and he is tempted to take her then and there. But it is definitely not what she needs right now, not what he needs right now, even though the feel of her body against his is more intoxicating than any drug can ever be.
“Miran-” But she cuts him off, crashing her lips onto his with a renewed fervour as she struggles with his shirt. Yoongi sidles his head, grabbing her wrists. “Miran, stop.”
The curt words jolt her out of her haze, and she blinks, the clarity beginning to return to her eyes. “Why?”
“Because I’d like to know what this-”-he motions between them- “is before I decide to take off all of your clothes.”
Miran looks at him, baffled by the sudden statement. Her lips are swollen, her face flushed, and her chest rises and falls rapidly. And then she sighs, rolling out of his lap. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” She runs her fingers through her mussed hair, her head lowered. “I shouldn’t have-”
“I’m glad you did, Miran.” He smiles at her, reaching out to intertwine their fingers, and Miran wants to enfold herself in his embrace. “But you need to recover from what you’re going through right now, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything until you do. We can take our time to figure this out.” Yoongi looks unsure then, biting his lips. What if he is just a distraction? What if he is the only one tossing and turning in bed, imagining what it would feel like to have Miran lying beside him? “Unless I’m just assuming that you’d want to-”
She places a finger against his lips. And he knows he is not the only one. “I do. I do want to, Yoongi.” His breathing stills as she traces his cheeks. “You have no idea how much. And I know you think I’m confused, but I’ve never been surer about anything.”
Yoongi exhales a breath. “So, I’m not just a rebound, then?” The thought haunts him, that whatever Miran thinks she feels for him may be a result of her residual emotions from her previous relationship. But the honesty in her eyes makes him rethink.
“Not one fucking bit.” She presses her forehead against his, their heartbeats attuned to each other, and loud in their ears. “I know this could be something.”
And Yoongi believes her.
***
About time I think XD What do y'all think about the development between Miran and Yoongi? It's honestly a challenge exploring their relationship since they're both such complex characters, but I'm enjoying every second of it. I'm just sorry I can't update more often :( Anyway, let me know your thoughts!
And please do comment and vote!
Thank you :D