A string that's unseen,
In that space between,
Just like the moon on tides,
Gravity pulls 'til our worlds collide.
--- J., 2008
Attraction was a dangerous thing. Like a killer lurking in the dark, it attacked the unwitting. Today's victim: Hu Yingyue, a hermit in her early thirties. On the day of the crime, she was at home, as usual, watching the Lunar New Year gala on television. Then, just as she was about to swallow a piece of vegetable, the unexpected blow came.
The assailant's weapon? A megawatt smile.
Soon after, Yingyue was gasping for breath. Tears squeezed out of her eyes while questions swirled her mind. What had she done to deserve this? Why her? Why now? Right at the brink, when her lungs wailed at the increasing lack of oxygen, she was revived by the very person who vanquished her: Kang Jihoon.
Leaving his spot at the far corner of her L-shaped couch, he ran and started tapping her back.
"Have some water," he said, taking the chopsticks away from her hand and replacing it with a glass. Hands guiding hers, Jihoon brought the drink to her lips.
Yingyue swallowed as much as she could and when she regained her capacity to breathe, she put the glass down and inhaled. His scent intoxicated her senses. "Thank you," she rasped, a little lightheaded.
"Miss Hu..." He grabbed a tissue and offered it to her. "What am I to do with you?"
Taking it from him, she wiped the moisture off her eyes. "What do you mean?"
"You need to be more careful while eating. Are you even allowed to eat these?" He eyed the selection of dishes she prepared from whatever ingredient she found in her fridge.
"I already told you. The doctor said it's okay to eat normal food as long as it's not too spicy. Also, it's not my fault the food went down the wrong way."
The fault was his and his alone.
In the first place, this whole fiasco began because Jihoon started imitating the way the performers in the program were singing. Except, he did it in an exaggerated Beijing opera-style, needlessly prolonging the last syllable of each word. She was doing her best to ignore his antics, but then he started laughing at himself. It was so silly because who laughed at their own jokes? Regardless, the impact of his boyish grin, fuzzy cream sweater, and fluffier-than-usual hair proved to be her undoing.
And so, she choked on that cursed piece of cabbage.
"Aww, don't pout. You're right. It wasn't your fault. I'm to blame. I should take better care of you."
Now, what was she supposed to say to that? Yes? No?
She settled on, "It's no one's fault."
"Hmm..." Using another sheet of tissue, he dabbed her forehead. When she made a little sound, he stopped and explained, "You're sweating."
"I guess it's hard work coughing," she attempted to joke.
Instead of cracking a smile, he sighed and used a magazine he grabbed from the pile underneath her coffee table to fan her. While he did so, sections of his fringe moved up and down as well.
Yingyue's heart squeezed even more.
God, he's so cute!
She wished she could cup his face and pull him closer, but that was crazy. So, she grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it instead. Jihoon's nearness was messing with her head. Hoping he'd go back to his spot a few feet away, she said, "I'm okay now so... so we can go back to watching TV."
"Are you sure?" he asked, putting the magazine away.
When she nodded, he smiled and settled next to her. From the looks of it, he was content to stay where he was.
Now what?
Maybe pretend he wasn't there? As best as she could, Yingyue kept her eyes glued to the group of comedians on TV doing a skit. Yet, despite her efforts to focus, their jokes kept flying over her head. All her senses were attuned to Jihoon. Every time he shifted in his seat, she held her breath. When he reached for his beer and started drinking, her ears picked up every sound. The longer she sat next to him, the more she became a bundle of highly sensitive nerves. Eventually, his slightest movements sparked corresponding tremors in her body. If this went on any longer, she'd cause an earthquake.
"Are you cold?"
She started at his question. "Huh?"
"Are you cold?" he repeated.
Far from it. She was inexplicably warm. So warm. "A--a little, but it's okay."
"Hang on."
Before she could say a word, he was bouncing off the couch and bounding up the stairs. As soon as he disappeared, she took the opportunity to hyperventilate in peace. When she finally managed to recover, Jihoon returned with a comforter in his arms. And... she was back to square one.
"What are you---"
The rest of her words were smothered by the heavy material as it brushed against her face. Worse, a heady masculine scent still clung to the fabric. It transported her back to that morning when she was in his arms. Torture. Pure torture. The more she tried to escape him, the more she got entangled in his web. Was there even a point in fighting?
"There we go," he said, once he was done tucking her in. "Now you won't be cold."
What if she simply gave in?
She dared to meet his eyes. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
If only she had the courage to take a step...
"Aren't you cold, too?"
Jihoon sat and tugged on his sleeves. "I'm fine."
"You can have this. I'll go get mine." When she started peeling the comforter off her body, he held her hands still. Their eyes met again. This time, for a moment longer.
"It's okay," he said when he let go. "You don't have to do that. It's not that cold."
"But---"
"No buts." Taking the edges of the comforter, he pulled it up to her neck. "I'll be fine."
Jihoon ended the discussion by turning back to the TV. While he spent the next few minutes engrossed in the show, Yingyue continued to sneak glances at him. When she saw him shiver, she made up her mind.
"What's up?" he asked.
Without saying a word, she rearranged the comforter and covered him with half of it. Jihoon's mouth dropped open. He stared at her as if she grew another head.
"Yingyue..."
What was he thinking? Had she been too forward?
"Wh--what?"
Grinning, he shook his head. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Yingyue scanned his face.
"It's..."
Seeing him hesitate, she prompted, "It's...?"
"Thank you for sharing," he said, shifting to get into a more comfortable position.
That's it?
Well, what did she expect? That he'd be so moved by the gesture he'd pull her in for a cuddle session? Feeling heat rush to her face, she looked away. "No problem."
After that, they both sat in silence. Her heart, however, continued to race. Worried he could hear, Yingyue held the pillow tighter hoping it would muffle the sound. She felt like a diabetic stuck in a candy store. Jihoon was now so close, she could feel the heat emanating from his body. If she shifted just a bit, she'd be leaning against his arm. If he turned, it would only take their lips half an arm's length to meet. She wondered what he would taste like. Maybe bittersweet like the cups of coffee he often imbibed? Or refreshing like the dark ale he had with dinner. Maybe there'd still be traces of flavorful spices on his tongue.
The desire to know consumed her, but she knew she shouldn't do anything more. A coworker once told her dating should be like the kind of investment where one gave little but earned a lot. Don't invest too much when the returns are uncertain. She already took one step forward. Shouldn't the next one be his? Having come up with a conclusion, she straightened her spine. Mustering every ounce of self-control she possessed, she did her best to empty her mind, making sure to regulate her breathing.
Don't dwell on the past.
Don't think about the present.
Don't worry about the future.
Don't analyze your thoughts.
Don't create scenarios in your head.
Don't let your mind wander---
Ah, why was Jihoon so handsome? If she was asked to build an AI of her ideal man, it would probably look exactly like him. And now, he was right next to her. Wouldn't it be a crime if she didn't do anything about it?
Never mind all that talk about bad investments, then. She was going to risk it all.
"Jihoon?"
A soft snore was her answer.
Turning, she found the man fast asleep. He had his head propped against the back of the couch and angled towards her. How much time had passed? Looking at the TV, she found the comedians long gone and replaced by a large group of martial artists dancing in sync.
Yingyue sighed.
This was what happened to people who were indecisive. They missed opportunities. Carefully, she leaned sideways against the couch, too, and used her arm as a cushion. Because a single lamp lit the room, it was dim enough to see the fascinating play of lights as it beamed from the LED screen and traveled across the landscape of his face. Unlike before when she thought he was part of her dream, this was reality, a chance to look all she wanted. First, she committed to memory how his thick lashes transformed into shadowy, flickering crescent moons. Again, she noticed the dark smudges of fatigue under his eyes. Considering how little sleep he had last night, he must have been exhausted. Why was he up so late? With a finger, she traced the air above his tall nose ridge, then let it linger next to his lips, which were tinted with the soft blush of apricots in early summer.
"Mmm..." he groaned.
Startled, she pulled her arm back, but he caught it and drew her close. Yingyue fell against him with a soft thud. She whimpered at the impact, but his arms wrapped around her waist, locking her in place.
"Ji--Jihoon?"
His steady breathing tickled her ears.
"What are you doing?"
She squirmed, but his arms were iron. Immovable. There was no way she could force her way out without aggravating her injury.
"Are you awake?"
No answer, only the soft whistle of air as he exhaled.
Realizing he was still asleep, Yingyue relaxed. All night, she kept thinking about being held in his embrace. Now she was here, maybe she should indulge. Besides, she had no other choice but to stay. She'd escape before he woke and he wouldn't know any better. With an ear against his chest, she listened to his heartbeat. Strong and steady, it provided a guiding rhythm that anchored every other sound. Everything else faded and her universe contracted then enclosed itself in that stolen pocket of time. Right there, she belonged.
Slowly, her body grew slack and her lids heavy. She'd stay for a minute longer. Just a few minutes more. The next thing she knew, she was awoken by the loud clanging of temple bells resounding from a distance. With effort, she opened her eyes and saw fireworks painting the night sky on television. The new year had come.
Yingyue tried to move but winced. The crook of her neck was sore having slept at an awkward position for who knows how long. Her wound ached, too. She was about to rise, but when the body beneath her also stirred, she froze.
Jihoon!
How was she going to explain this? Did she even have to? He was the one who hugged her and refused to let go. Ugh, why did she fall asleep? Now she was stuck in an embarrassing situation. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! His hands started moving up her back, abruptly ending her self-flagellation. Jihoon mumbled something in English she didn't quite catch.
Maybe it was best to pretend she was still asleep? Yes, that way she'd have time to come up with a plan. Yingyue shut her eyes tight and waited. One of his hands stopped at her nape, his fingers sinking into her scalp, repeatedly clenching then unclenching. It felt so good she had to press her lips together to prevent a moan from escaping. Meanwhile, his other hand swept up and down her back, sometimes dipping dangerously low to her buttocks. As time passed, his movements, which started out slow, became frenzied. He started groaning, too, not in pleasure, but more like in agony. Something was wrong. Yingyue snapped her eyes open and pulled back as much as he let her. Seeing his face contorted confirmed he was going through the throes of a nightmare.
"Jihoon, wake up!"
She brushed his cheek with the back of her hand.
He began mumbling unintelligible things. The only word she caught was 'sorry' spoken over and over again. Despite the coolness of the room, his sweat-dampened hair stuck to his forehead. Calling his name, Yingyue attempted to shake him, but he somehow rolled their bodies over so they lay side by side on the sofa. Her back was against the cushion, while his head burrowed against her neck.
"Please, please, please," Jihoon kept saying, agony heightening his pitch.
Cradling him close, she endured the sting of her stitches and rubbed comforting circles on his back. "Shhh... it's okay, Jihoon. It's okay."
Although she didn't know precisely what haunted him, she had her fair share of nightmares especially the year after her parent's death. As adults, what was more terrifying than monsters or ghosts was watching loved ones suffer and not being able to do anything about it. The crippling helplessness of it all was terrifying. All she could do for Jihoon was to let him know she was there. Eventually, there was a lull in his delirious ramblings, but another challenge faced Yingyue. Jihoon was now running his lips against her neck. When he started trailing tiny kisses against her jaw, she gasped his name.
Surely, he was still dreaming.
"Hey—"
He cut her off with his lips. Finally, the kiss she'd been fantasizing about, except there was no gentleness in this one, only a sense of urgency that railroaded any protest she might have. Still, she couldn't help but reciprocate. This was Jihoon after all.
He was brutal in the way he plundered her mouth. Instead of apricots, she tasted blood. Give and take. Push and pull. Pleasure and pain. Shock and delight. She was drowning in a multitude of conflicting emotions. When he finally paused for air, her head was whirling.
"Leila," he huffed, with his lips still against hers.
A punch in the gut. A stake through the heart. Bleeding from a thousand tiny cuts. None could equal what she felt after hearing him whisper a name that wasn't hers. Yet that was the price she had to pay. From the beginning, she knew although this was her reality, he was still trapped in the land of dreams. It was time for them both to wake up.
"Jihoon," she forced out. "It's me. Yingyue."
"Ying—Yingyue?"
In the span of a second, he was up and rolling off the sofa's edge. It should have been funny the way he scrambled then landed on his butt, but how was she supposed to laugh when he looked so horrified? Truly, death and salvation reigned at attraction's opposite poles; she was the thing caught in between yanked here and there upon their fickle whims. One moment she was in heaven. Now she's in hell.
☽ ☾ ☽ ☾ ☽ ☾ ☽ ☾ ☽ ☾ ☽ ☾
Author's Note:
I played with so many different possibilities for this chapter, but it ended at such a sad note. What are your thoughts? Did this go where you thought it would?