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It should be simple to drop the person who makes you feel like shit right? Unfortunately, when push comes to shove, these things are much easier said than done.
I don’t doubt there was a time where Haechan did love me. Everyone who knows him begs to differ but they don’t see the way he treats me, hear the words he whispers into my skin when he holds me close after not seeing me for months at a time.
To be completely honest I can’t blame them for not liking him, he’s really easy to hate. So lively and confident to the world but the complete opposite once we’d close the doors to our shared apartment.
The ball of sunshine I’d come to love would dim out and he’d droop, hesitantly draw back the curtain and show me the parts of himself he hides from the rest of the world. It’s an act of intimacy that requires so much trust, an undeniable amount of vulnerability that could make someone feel so special.
At least, that’s how it made me feel.
He’d lose his protective veil of silly around me, tell tales of his childhood and the broken home he was determined to flourish in. Most of his memories were sad, but every now and then he’d sprinkle in a good one, almost always of the time he spent with his grandparents.
I love hearing about kid Haechan. Kid me would’ve loved him. We could’ve spent our time in his grandmother’s yard making mud pies, laughing, running away hand in hand when she’d find us plucking from the plants she went above and beyond to tend to.
Most of the time I hate the world for letting that possibility slip through our fingers but every now and then the resentment isn’t entirely there, it’ll fizzle away and only leave me with enough energy to lay in bed and wonder how we both would’ve turned out if we met sooner.
Could I have helped him? I know our families were a mess but at least we could’ve had each other. Would that have been enough?
When you combine both of our baggage our nights would drag on, we’d fall asleep to the sound of our own voices as we dissected our lives. Naturally, the conversation would lull and we’d be left to silently theorize our reunion that never was.
Looking at it now, I might have some regrets regarding my decision to share all that with him. I unintentionally gave Haechan insight, handed him a roadmap of my inner workings and taught him exactly what to say or do to keep me on his leash.
He’s developed a sixth sense for knowing when I’m pulling away. He’ll start to find gaps in his tight schedule, drop in unannounced to cook me dinner and actually spend the night instead of having me wake up alone.
Haechan claims to miss me and while I do think some part of that is true, I think it’s my attention he actually covets. He wants to make sure I don’t forget about him, deprive me of that window of time that will allow me to move on.
When things get like this we barter, he gives me a memory and I keep that crevice in my heart that’s dedicated to him.
What’s sad is that it actually works.
I’m sitting on the countertop in my kitchen watching him chop vegetables, dicing them up to toss into the pan he’s got on the stove before he slithers his way between my legs, caging me between his arms while I patiently wait for him to speak.
We’re silent, face to face when he cocks his head to the side. There’s no glint of playfulness that shines in his eyes when he looks at me and speaks so quietly that I would’ve missed it if I wasn't right in front of him, “I don’t deserve you.”
I fight the bitter lump forming in my throat, hold back the tears that are beginning to well up as I look down and mimic his hushed tone, “I know.”
Haechan laughs but it’s not cocky or smug, moreso an admission of guilt—his version of saying I’m sorry without needing to utter the words. I feel his thumbs smooth over my hands before he brings one of them to his mouth, kissing it gently as he studies my face, “Thank you for loving me anyways.”
He’s not big on this vague mix of sincerity and honesty, only bringing it out when he’s truly desperate. While I do feel his genuineness, some part of my body knows to reject it, building up that frail wall of self defense as I look at the pan he’s kept on the fire for way too long, “Your veggies are smoking.”
“Shit.”
—
We ate our remade dinner in silence, cleared the table and tidied up the kitchen before heading to my bedroom.
I beeline to the shower and leave the door unlocked but he doesn’t join me like he usually does. The action was probably mindless but it's enough to plant seeds of insecurity in my psyche, they take root in the deepest parts of me as I take my time, bloom in the steam swarmed the room as I scrub my skin to leave it silky smooth.
Sooner or later I move to dry myself and slather on the lotion he likes because it gets him to burrow his nose into my skin and breathe me in.
When I finally step out in my robe he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, waiting patiently even as I sit on my vanity to follow up with my skincare. All he does is watch, not in the way predators eye their next meal but this gaze is mild, a murky cross between admiration and sympathy as I pat on the vials of expensive products he always gifts without me having to ask.
He gets up and walks to the bathroom, coming out with a towel and a small bottle in arms. Haechan doesn’t say anything as he stands behind me, I just feel him begin to pat my hair dry, picking up the dripping strands that cling to my neck to dab away the droplets that settled on my skin before he shifts to untangle the hair with his fingers.
Goosebumps ripple over my arms when he accidentally pulls with a little force because it's enough for me to recall the times he does so without mercy. I’m too weak for this and a part of me thinks he knows. My eyes roll shut, half in pleasure and half in shame for what I’m about to ask next, “Why didn’t you join me?”
Haechan doesn’t stop running his hands through my hair, focusing on the strands as he begins to work some serum through them, “It felt like you needed some space.”
“I need you, Haechan.” I sigh out, too exhausted to hold back the tremble in my voice.
Pathetic, I know, but it's true and he eats it up. The voice that had once sounded so wounded drops to a velvety murmur as he speaks into the slope of my neck, “In what way?” His eyes connect with mine in the mirror as he peppers kisses there, they quickly morph into sucks the longer I stay quiet, “Tell me, hm? I’m right here.”
I reach for his hands and place one of them firmly over my tit and the other against my bare cunt. His fingers find my clit with no trouble and through the reflection I watch his eyes flutter shut when he dips lower and feels how wet I am.
In the seat of my vanity I roll against the small circles he sets, let my head rest against his shoulder as I look up at him, “You know what way.”
He moans, grumbling against my ear as his voice gains a stress, “Fuck, I love it when you get like this.”
Does he think I don’t know that?
Haechan tugs on my nipple over the thin cloth of my robe and I shamelessly arch into his touch for more, “So do something about it.”
Not seeing him for months at a time makes me a little more demanding. I’m normally not like this but like Haechan, I also know how to get what I want. Riling him up gets him rough, gives him the strength to close all the gaps between us when he fucks me.
“Is that really what you want?”
I nod against his chest and prepare for what comes next. A light shove, his hands impatiently digging into my skin to make up for lost time but none of it ever comes, only a soft hum as his eyes direct me to my bed.
This restraint is new.
Haechan waits for me to settle on the foot of my bed, watching intently as he comes to stand between my legs. I feel him cup my cheek, swiping his thumb along the skin before he tilts my head up. He’s done nothing and I’m already breathless.
The attention I’ve been longing for has me feeling shy for some reason and he picks up on it, quells my anxiousness with a peck to the crown of my head that calms me more than I’m willing to admit.
I pull the string of my robe in hopes that he’ll pay attention to my body rather than my vulnerability. It has the opposite of my desired effect. His gaze only manages to strip me down further.
Delicate fingers skim over the tips of my shoulders, smoothly sliding off what’s left of my robe. I wish it was cold here, at least then I’d be able to say that was the source of my shiver and not the modicum of contact. I’m attempting to calm the pound in my chest when I feel his lips warm the shell of my ear, “I’ve been gone for too long, haven’t I?”
My head begins to nod on its own because I’m helpless against the tickle of his breath, “Way too long.”
That must’ve been the exact answer he was looking for. I don’t make any protests when he pulls away from me because I watch him sink to his knees, feel his hands play with the skin of my thighs as he pries my legs open, “Let me make it up to you?”
Between sparking an argument that would lead us nowhere and letting him have his way with me, the latter is always more enticing. A remorseful boy kneeling at the apex of your thighs who’s willing to do anything to make amends? You’d say yes to him too, don’t lie.
From the tips of my knees he kisses his way to my clit and takes a second to coo at the throbbing nub before letting his tongue lave over it, pink muscle so deliciously warm that it pushes my hips up to chase more of the feel. I only get so far before I feel his hand push me back into the mattress, “You miss me too?”
I’m mindless under him, a mess of desperate nods as wet kisses begin to brand my cunt, sloppy splotches of saliva that serve as my reward for being so subservient. It’d feel patronizing if it didn’t feel so fucking good.
I forget each of his wrongdoings with every lash to my clit, wipe the slate clean with every meager hint of pressure he grants me. He’s thorough like he always is, leaves no part of me untouched as he begins to spread me apart with two fingers to assess his damage.
There’s no resistance on my end when he slides a finger in to work me open, if anything I spread wider on my own, force my hips down into him till his knuckles stop me from going further and even then I make the balls of the joints enough. I have to take pleasure where I can get it.
Haechan takes note of my desperation. At least that’s what I tell myself as I watch him stumble onto his feet, feel the weight of his clothed body on mine as he presses himself against me. Now that he’s this close I don’t plan on letting him leave. My fingers drift into his wavy locks and I give them the softest of tugs so he can look me in my eyes, see the sincerity in my face as I beg him to fuck me.
No back talk, no smart ass remark, not even a jab at the tone in my voice. Haechan does the unimaginable and just lets me win, pushes his pants down just enough for his hard cock to slap against my pussy. My mouth falls open at the sensation and he takes that as his opening to shove his tongue into my mouth.
Usually I’m the one making up for lost time but today Haechan takes the reins, fixes my legs over his waist before burrowing in one fell swoop. I can’t fight the way my teeth sink into his lower lip but judging from the way his cock stirs inside me I don’t think he minds the sting.
Hands maneuver my legs over his shoulders and he barrels deeper, nudging the tip of his cock against me in a way that reminds me why I’m always so forgiving. He knows me from the inside out, in ways that I don’t think any other man will ever be able to replicate—or even come close to for that matter.
I feel his nose dig into my cheek and the breath I’ve been praying for takes place. His touch earns that fervor I always expect as he holds me close, never stopping the perfectly angled thrusts that punch the air out of my lungs, “God, I missed you so much.”
He’s doing it again, buttering me up with syrupy sweet words that ensure I never learn my lesson. My heartbeat doubles as Haechan settles more of his weight onto me. I should be complaining about the way he’s shoving my knees into my chest, yet my arms sling around his neck, pull him impossibly close as his rhythm begins to falter into something more unrestrained—brutal, if he wasn’t fucking me in the way I love so much.
We’re recycling each other’s breaths, hazily swimming in this fog of pleasure as I look into his eyes. I make sure they’re as glazed over as mine before I whine into his lips, “Need you baby, all of you.”
My truth is easier said when we're both delirious. It’s the perfect cop out. If by any chance he brings it up afterwards I can blame it on the heat of the moment and continue to lie to myself a little longer, convince my conscious that these hours I spend under him are enough, that I don’t need more from him.
The sound Haechan makes in response is almost as helpless as mine but his persist, airy little whimpers that mix in with the lewd smack of our bodies meeting as he groans into my skin, “Out or in?”
I dig the foot of my heels into the small of his back and I hope that my dazed gaze is enough of an answer. He only gets a few more sloppy plunges before he buries himself into the hilt. I feel his entire body tenses as he anchors onto me, holding me in place to give me a few more half hearted rolls as he floods my insides white.
He pecks my sweat coated skin in thanks, takes two fingers to swirl his cum over my clit before bringing them up to his lips, “Hmmmm. Sweet like always.”
I push him off me but he doesn’t let the separation last because soon enough he's nuzzling into my side. We lay like this for a while, enjoy the silence that’s usually never there after we fuck.
After a couple minutes of him drawing into my skin he whispers into the room, “I’m gonna get better.” When I look at him all he does is press his lips against the tip of my shoulder, “For you.” He travels higher up to the shell of my ear where he knows I’m sensitive, “For us.”
The quiver in his voice is convincing, and, you see, I’d believe him—if it wasn’t the sixth time he’s said it to me this year.