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Something about this bar always made everything feel cramped. There were too many people in one place, drunk and overly-enamored with one another. Torn up booths lined the walls, illuminated by dingy light bulbs that flicked every time they shook. There was a dance floor in the far corner, but it generally went unused, patrons congregating at the bar in the center of the building instead.
You couldn't even remember the name, it was something innocuous and bland that could've been attributed to a bar, a nightclub, or even a restaurant if the right person was in charge.
Not that you really cared, Yunho was the one who brought you here. Dragged you out of your apartment by force, stealing your phone and forcing you to stop this pathetic cycle of pitying yourself.
"No more of this," he'd dangled the phone in front of your face before slipping it into the back pocket of his jeans, "you are wasting away your twenties moping about some girl who only gives you the time of day once a quarter." He'd yanked you out of bed and pushed you toward your closet, "I love you, but this is pathetic. Now change. Wooyoung is waiting downstairs, and I fear she might rip our heads off if we're not in the queue by ten."
You admired his efforts, he'd been watching you pine helplessly for the better part of two years now. Most friends would've given up, let you lay around and feel sorry for yourself, but he never did. Even when sometimes you wish he would.
He had half a mind not to bring his boyfriend. You asked him on the way over, trying to drown out Wooyoung bickering with her girlfriend over the phone in the backseat, "Where's Yeosang?"
Yunho chuckled, "He was offended I even asked him to leave the apartment after nine-thirty."
You smiled softly, "Well, maybe we can come over to your place one of these days. I haven't seen him in a while."
"Sure," Yunho nodded, pulling into the nearly-full parking lot a few blocks from the bar, "he'd love to see you guys."
Wooyoung huffed in the backseat, shoving her phone into her black sequin purse, "Are we there yet?"
"Yes, princess," Yunho rolled his eyes, "we just need to walk two blocks."
You eyed her cautiously, "I'm assuming Jun is not coming…?"
Wooyoung grumbled, "Of course not." She slid out of the backseat as you opened the door for her, "She's probably fucking that fucking clingy coworker of hers."
"Alright you two," Yunho pressed his hands to both of your backs, "no girlfriends. No situationships." You and Wooyoung let him nudge you out of the parking lot and towards the bar.
You sat at the booth Yunho snagged, twirling your straw in your drink. Yunho sat across from you, watching as Wooyoung flirted with the bartender. "What are we gonna do with her?" You muttered with a chuckle.
"What are we gonna do with you?" He takes a sip of his beer, "Have you heard from her?"
A soft sigh escapes your lips, "No, not since the last time we hung out."
Last you heard, she'd returned to Seoul just a couple weeks ago after a two month long modeling gig in Tokyo back in September without even saying goodbye. She'd kissed you gently with a soft farewell and was in Japan the next week without a word—you'd found out through an Instagram repost by the shoe brand she was working for.
It always hurt when she ghosted you out of the blue, each time worse than the last. You learned more about her every time—about her love for ambient farming sims, her disdain for love triangles, even her little magnet collection. Each night unlocked a new thing to love, but it all eventually ended without a word. Every time.
It's just casual. That's all it is.
It was a lie you could hardly ever bring yourself to believe.
Yunho sighed, "I just can't fathom what you see in her."
You opened your mouth, a defense on the tip of your tongue. But it never came.
His words came first. "Sure, I'm sure the sex is great, but I hope…well I hope you know you're worth hell of a lot more than being treated like that's all your good for."
You stared down into your drink, humming in acknowledgement. But the truth was, he was wrong.
She had told you this from the beginning. She was a busy woman with a hectic career. There was never going to be a relationship between you that was any more than sex, the intimacy was simply foreplay. And you both knew that.
But you couldn't help it. The deep jealousy that simmered in your gut when you saw her online posting with the same friends— people who got to know her on a level you never would.
"We don't have to talk about it," Yunho comforted, "but if you want to, just know I'm here."
You smiled a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, "Thanks, Yuyu."
—
"Isn't he beautiful?" Wooyoung leaned against you, admiring the man behind the bar.
You had to admit, he was beautiful. Dark, cropped hair, strong eyebrows to match, broad, tanned shoulders that filled out his black tee. Very much her type— you'd seen dozens of them before.
Yunho peered down at her, a skeptical look on his face, "And your girlfriend?"
Wooyoung shrugged, flashing her screen in your faces. An unopened message was her only notification. From JUNIE🖤. "I'm tired. I don't want to do this with you anymore."
"Seems…vague," you muttered.
But it didn't matter. Any amount of brain power you dedicated to their eternally dysfunctional relationship felt futile. They'd probably be out for a romantic dinner by the end of the month for Wooyoung's birthday— you learned to stop questioning it.
The bartender came around with another round of shots—all on Yunho. You grabbed one, immediately tossing it back. It stung going down the back of your throat.
"Yunho?" You heard a voice call from behind you.
You watched as a large smile spread across Yunho's face, "Mingi!" He reached an arm out toward a man who was only just barely familiar to you. He was just as tall as Yunho and dressed in what you could only describe as "vaguely emo boyfriend attire."
You smiled up at the stranger when he pulled away from Yunho, who introduced you as his friend.
"What're you doing here?" Yunho asked his friend, "I thought you were still in the States until next year."
Mingi chuckled, "That was the plan, yeah, but my partner wanted to be back in Seoul for December. Plus my work is pretty mobile, so I figured we might as well come home for a bit." He looked around the bar, eyes locking with someone walking toward you, "Ah speak of the devil." He reached his hand out toward you more than recognized, "Baby, come here."
Hongjoong was shorter in person than in photos, but the black and white split dye and scattered ear piercings were more than recognizable. You had never seen them in person, but from your more than frequent stalking of Seonghwa's Instagram stories, it felt like meeting an old friend.
Mingi introduced them to you and Yunho, eliciting nothing more than a small nod. Not even a glimpse of recognition flashed across their face.
It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did, but you couldn't help it. The person you had assumed to be one of Seonghwa's closest friends didn't recognize you at all.
They had no idea who you were.
—
You could still hear the loud music of the bar from inside the too-small bathroom. The thin walls did little to nothing to stop the sounds of a loud Saturday night happening outside them.
You could tell that Yunho knew what was going on when you told him you were going to the bathroom, how his eyes flitted from Hongjoong to you and then back to Hongjoong.
It felt pathetic to be upset over something so minuscule. So what if Seonghwa never talked about you to her friends? So what if they had no clue about the long nights you'd spent together? The nights that often crossed the line of what it meant to be simply friends with somebody.
For how much of your day you spent thinking about her, you couldn't help but yearn for it to go both ways.
You pulled a lip liner from the front pocket of your purse, leaning over the sink to reapply it in the mirror. Something about the simple motion was grounding, a reminder that you could exist in a space that was your own, one that didn't revolve around a woman who hardly allowed you to cross her mind. As you slid a bit of gloss overtop it, you heard one of the stall doors creek behind you.
You recognized her by her perfume alone, the sweet vanilla, notes of warm rose that seemed to haunt you. It took everything in you not to look up at her as she washed her hands beside you, you simply focused on your lips in the mirror, reapplying the gloss as if she wasn't even there.
"I like that color on you," her voice was just as soft as ever. The gentle warmth of her maturity never failed to make your stomach flutter.
"Thank you," you muttered, attempting the screw the top of your lip gloss back on with shaky hands.
Seonghwa chuckled, "Let me help." Her perfect burgundy gel manicure came into view, plucking the gloss from your hands.
With a stuttering breath, you finally looked up at her.
She was just as beautiful as always. The same soft tan across her face had only just barely faded from the summer, her long lashes fluttered against her cheeks every time she blinked. And her lips, God, they looked just as soft and kissable as they did every time you saw her.
"H-how have you been?" You shouldn't be talking to her. You tried to reel yourself in. Every alarm in your head told you to snatch your lip gloss back and leave her here alone like she'd done to you countless times before.
But that Seonghwa-shaped devil on your shoulder was never going to lose. This might be the last time you see her for months. Maybe ever. No one makes you feel the way she does. How could you pass this up? Especially when she looks so stunning in the low light of the bathroom.
She laughed softly, grasping your hand and sliding your lip gloss into your palm, "I've been good. Busy." She folded your fingers over the gloss, but her hand never left yours. "I missed you, though," her voice lowered just slightly as she stepped closer to you, her body leaning on the counter top. Her nails trailed up your forearm, thumb gently stroking the skin of your arm, "How have you been?"
Good. Wonderful. So productive and fulfilled. Any number of responses you could have used to lift yourself, to give her less power.
"Lonely."
God. How could she be so beautiful frowning down at you with pity cast over her eyes?
"Baby…" she muttered, hand coming up to your face, thumb brushing over your cheek softly. The concern that pinched between her brows made your stomach churn. "Why didn't you call? You could've come to visit me, I wouldn't have minded the company."
You scoffed, "Right, because there was no one there to keep you company."
Seonghwa was a bit taken aback by the comment, but her gentle movements never faltered, "I mean…there were a couple, but you know I always love to see you."
"Hwa," you mumbled, placing your hand over the one stroking your face, "why do you insist on making me feel special? When I know I'm not?"
"Wha—"
You cut her off before she could continue, "Come on, we do this every time. You hold me, kiss me, fuck me like I'm the only one, like I'm the only girl. Special. And then you turn around and pretend I don't exist for months." You take a deep breath, "I only ever see you again when we wind up like this. in some twist-of-fate moment that brings us back together."
From the way her hand stills on your face, you can tell she's taking a moment to let it sink in, allowing your words to wash over her. But her eyes never waver.
She takes a deep breath, "I'm sorry that I've made you feel like this." You can feel the but hanging off the end of her sentence. Her hand falls from your face, reaching to grasp your hand instead, "But I thought that was our agreement. This is casual. We have fun while we can, while we have the time. I don't…I didn't mean for this to hurt you." She lifts a hand to her mouth, lips just barely brushing your middle and ring finger. She pulls you just a bit closer, your hips nearly touching. Her lips kiss your palm once, gently, before she runs her nose along the curve of your wrist.
"Hwa…" You let her fully step into your space now. Every part of you knows you should push her away, tell her that you can't do this anymore. You can't live on the edge of your seat, jumping at every notification on your phone and praying to see her name across the screen.
But you can never push her away.
"Can I make it up to you?" The warmth of her beautiful brown eyes is shrouded in thinly veiled lust. "Can I make you feel less lonely?"
She takes both of your hands in hers, placing them on her waist, the rich velvet of her skirt wrinkles under your touch. You feel her fingers trail back up your arms, nails softly scraping your skin, giving you goosebumps. She braces one of her hands on the side of your neck, lips just hovering over the other side. Your eyes flutter closed, pausing in anticipation— but she doesn't move. She's waiting for you.
"Please," your voice comes out cracked, tired, your resolve completely crumbling to the ground. You let her pick up the pieces of the heart she's broken with her own hands, her lips the glue to hold it all together.
You let her guide you across the small bathroom and into one of the cramped stalls. It's gross, unsanitary, but with the gentle caress of her lips against your neck, you can't find it in yourself to care. Every alarm bell fades under her whispers in your ear.
"I missed you so much," her breath is hot on your neck, hands fiddling with the button on your jeans. She pops the button open as easy as she always does, fingers expertly pulling the zipper down. She smiles at the sight of the black lace of your panties, "Pretty."
Her finger picks at the waistband, letting the elastic snap back against your skin. It sends a shiver down your spine, "Hwa…" It's the only word you can mutter, it's all you can think when she slides a hand down the front of your panties, swiping her finger across the wet patch forming.
"Princess," her free hand cups your chin, bringing your eyes to hers— your faces so close that your eyelashes are nearly touching, "you dressed up so pretty for me." Your eyes float down to her lips, cherry red and just as fucking kissable as they always are. She smirks, "I'll kiss you, baby, but you have to promise me one thing." You nod mindlessly, anything to feel her lips on yours for the first time in months. "Let me come home with you tonight."
The request makes you pause. Mind clearing up just a bit, you ask, "My place?" Seonghwa nods, her smile ever soft and encouraging.
Why? The question floats through your mind. She's never wanted to come to your place before, every time you met it was either at her house or at a random five-star hotel near one of her shoots. You never really questioned it, but now that she's brought up your place specifically, you can't help but feel odd about the specification.
"What's wrong with your place?"
She shrugs, playing with a piece of your hair and you try to ignore the feeling of her hand in your pants. "I just wanna see your place," she runs a nail down your neck, "and I know you live closer to this bar than I do."
You nod, thoughts straying further and further from any more questions rising in your brain, alarm bells dulled once again by the feeling of her finger pulling down the elastic band of your underwear. "Okay," you breathe, "you can come over."
A soft smile spreads across her face, "Perfect." It's a small whisper, but in the next instant her lips are on yours, just as sweet and perfect as you remember.
Every thought, every reservation leaves your mind completely. All you can feel is the brushes of her fingers and the caress of her lips— even when her hand dips down into the front of your panties, the feelings all meld into one.
It all just feels like her.
Her touch. Her experience. Her perfect body. Her coaxing words. Just cogs in a machine to keep you dragging behind her, even when she's gone.
"You're so wet, Princess," she breathes, two fingers sliding across your clit. Circling. Teasing.
All words are lost on you. Except for one. "Mommy—" It's a strangled, weak little moan. She giggles, kissing your cheek.
She sinks two fingers inside of you, groaning at the feeling of you wrapping around her, "Always so tight for Mommy, aren't you?" The low whine in the back of your throat coaxes her on. She presses her lips to your ear, "Once you cum on my fingers, we can go home, okay?"
You nod, "Please…"
"Always so loud," her voice is low. "You don't care if anyone hears, do you? Want everyone to hear how you fall apart on your Mommy's fingers."
You don't care. You'd let anyone hear just how good she made you feel if it encourages her to keep going, to keep her fingers moving inside you.
Her thumb circles your clit, pushing you closer and closer. "Please—" your voice split, "I'm so close."
"Good girl," she pressed her lips back to your neck, feeling the vibrations of your moans.
She added another finger, pulling a desperate moan from you. Your legs shake, whole body shivering under her touch. Everything felt so raw. So heated. The way she pressed up against you, her hair tickling your jaw as she sucked hickeys onto your neck, her fingers burrowed deep inside you. It was everything you had dreamed of in the months she was gone.
"Cum for me," she whispered against your skin when she felt you tighten around her. And you did, with your legs shaking and breathy moans escaping you. She held her fingers inside you as you ground your orgasm out on her palm.
—
The ride back to your place was quiet. You gave her quick little directions here and there, but she simply nodded in acknowledgment, hand softly stroking your thigh. Her quietness unsettled you, but you tried to calm your nerves, sinking into the black leather seat of her Mercedes. It was nearly winter, but she had the top down anyways, wind rustling both of your hair.
You glanced over toward her, but you couldn't read her face. She always made a good show out of not showing you what she was feeling unless she wanted you to know. The wind blew her hair away from her face, showing her soft cheekbones, sharp jaw, and how she swallowed harshly every time you looked at her.
When would this end? You repeated it to yourself constantly, begging yourself to have even an ounce of self preservation. But then you looked at her, and you remembered why you put yourself through it all.
The thought of not being with her shot you straight through the heart. Just the prospect of seeing her in the arms of someone else was enough to make you do anything to keep her right beside you.
It was like she switched on when she pulled into the parking garage of your complex. "C'mon, baby," she grasped your hand, walking with you to the elevator, "let's go upstairs."
She placed an arm around your waist, letting you lean against her side as the elevator climbed floor after floor. It all felt so… domestic.
Seonghwa had never held you in public before. That's what always made you're relationship so thrilling— the secrecy of it all. The knowledge that you were her dirty little secret, her sweet, hidden plaything that was always so good for her in the dark.
She hung her coat on the coat rack, slipping your jacket off of your shoulders and folding it over her forearm.
"Hwa…" you muttered as you watched her walk through your apartment. She slipped her heels off right next to your sneakers, the maroon velvet pristine despite the wet pavement outside, the grime of the bar she'd just fingered you in.
Her arms stretched over her head as she headed toward your bedroom like she'd been here a thousand times before,"Will you make me some tea, baby? I'm gonna hop in the shower."
Your eyebrows pinched together, but she was gone before you could question it. For Seonghwa, a shower meant she was done for the night. So why was she here, if you weren't gonna have sex? Why your place? Why even bother making the trip here?
You messed around in the kitchen, stalling. The uncertainty of it all is paralyzing. Maybe she was for real this time, maybe tonight was the night she was going to confess her love to you, hold you close and tell you she was ready to be with you. You'd cry in her arms, tell her that she was the most beautiful thing in the world— the fantasy played out in your head like a movie as you poured hot water over the tea bag, watching as the water swirled the tea leaves.
A shrill ring broke you out of your trance. It was a phone, not the one in your pocket, but coming from your door. She must've left it in her coat, you thought, quickly reaching for the device in her hanging pocket. You didn't even think about it, a good girlfriend would want her partner to know she was missing a call, after all.
But every possibility came crashing down the moment you looked at the call vibrating in your hand.
Baby ❤️
It was plastered over the top of her screen. Over a photo of Seonghwa. With an arm around her. You couldn't see his face, but you could tell it was a man, his tattooed arm tight around her waist. She looked so comfortable. You couldn't ignore it, the elephant staring you right back in the face.
The ring.
The massive gold banded diamond sitting on her forth finger.
One that was noticeably absent when that finger was inside of you an hour ago.
And suddenly it all made sense. The insistence on your place, the soft touches, the stoic drive home. All the product of a closeted girl dragging you through her game, just as she'd done for so long.
You wondered as you walked back to your bedroom, how long have they been together? Did she love him? Did she let him fuck her? Did she hold him like she held you?
She was sitting in your bed, hair damp, your pajamas draped over her body. You slid her phone into her hand— tea abandoned in the kitchen. "You missed a call," you mumbled, sliding into bed beside her, still in your denim shorts and club top.
A stiffness ran down her spine. You could feel it when you wrapped your arms around her, tears forming in your stinging eyes.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered, voice shaking. It was the only time you'd ever seen her not sure of herself, the only time she's ever shown any sign of doubt. Of pity. Of remorse.
No words came out of either of your mouths after that. But in your mind, you pleaded with her to stay.
You cried into her chest for hours, letting her stroke your hair, comforting you for a plague that was all of her own making. You hugged her tighter than you ever had before, begging for her to stay, to give you the chance that she gave him. The chance to treat her right. You fell asleep like that, wrapped in her arms.
And when you woke up, she was gone. The pajamas she borrowed folded neatly at the end of the bed.
Just like you knew she'd be.
Because in the end, it was never really mixed feelings.
You were never the end game.
Just the girl she dragged along.