Page 41 of Hamartia
I wonder how weird it would be to kiss his hair, but the two orgasms and expensive whiskey decide for me that I don’t care, and so I press my lips gently to the soft hair on the top of his head. Not like a garden in summer, like the ocean at midnight.
SIDE TWO
(FEAT. JAEHYUN)
NEW YORK
WHISKEYKISSED
SEOUL
DAL
DEATH OF A POET
HER
I’d passed out cold with Jae in my arms. But I’d woken later, the room dark and the music off, when he’d climbed off me and wandered into the bathroom. He’d come back with a warm wet cloth and gently run it over my chest and around my sleeping cock. I’d been still mainly asleep, but I remembered him whispering something in Korean—words I told myself I’d remember but which had disintegrated as sleep pulled me back under.
Now, he’s asleep on the other side of the bed. On his back with one hand over his chest and the other by his side, legs sprawled almost diagonally so that his head is furthest away from me and the tips of his toes are pushed against my calf. The covers are kicked off and the grey New York sunlight streams in through the window. He looks peaceful. Deeply asleep and utterly calm. His mouth is a full pink pout, lips pushed out and kissable.
I expected that when I woke up today, I’d feel something like shame. Like guilt. But I don’t. There is something in there though, in the deepest part of my gut, or higher—in my chest. Something that when I look at him only tightens and squeezes, the breath in my body turning hot and quick.
It’s terrifying. It’s not a new feeling. I’d felt it before, or a precursor to it at least. The moment in the men’s bathroom in Paris. The first time I saw him. That time he doesn’t even remember. What did it mean that the first moment I saw him everything inside me changed color and flavor, while he didn’t even remember it? It meant I was insane for thinking that this was anything more than us messing around. It meant I couldn’t ever be to him what that deep place in my gut wanted to be to him. We’re from completely different worlds. Our cultures intrinsically opposite. It would never work.
I know this and yet I still want it more and more each moment I spend with him? Why am I fully prepared to move to another continent and learn a language that may as well be spoken with a different body part. It’s ridiculous. We hadn’t even fucked. A blowjob and a hand job and I’m ready to change citizenship.
With a soft huff of a laugh, I slip out of bed. I need to piss and brush my teeth. Then I need some water and a coffee. Then I need to check my phone and find out how many times my fiancée rang me last night and hope that maybe she’s had enough and I won’t have to be the one to end it.Fucking coward.
I piss, splash my face with water and check his bathroom cabinet for a spare toothbrush. I hit the jackpot when I find a small basket under the sink stuffed with necessities like floss, brushes, and toothpaste. After brushing, I wander back into the bedroom to find he’s not moved an inch. He told me the night at Frida’s that he doesn’t sleep great, and so seeing him like this is comforting. I’ve no desire to wake him. I lift my jeans and t-shirt from the foot of the bed and pad quietly out of the room and close the door.
In the daylight, the apartment looks bigger. Tall ceilings and large windows that flood the place with light. The kitchen is spotless, all dark cabinets and light marble with gold accents. After three glasses of water my head and mouth start to feel normal again and I gravitate towards the coffee machine next to the stove. It’s not difficult to work, and after a second I’ve got it brewing away while I switch my phone on and check the damage.
There’s nothing. Not a single message from Camille, or the guys, or my mom. Nothing. It’s eerie. Like I imagined turning my phone on and finding accusations and insults, but it’s like no one even cares. I just spent the night with Lee Jaehyun from K:OS’s cock in my mouth and literally no one cares. I flick open the Instagram app and open his page. It’s automatic now and though I know he can’t have posted anything because he was with me all night—fuck me, that’s wild—I still look.
His last post was 19 hours ago and it was the one from the concert. It’s just him and his bandmates smiling at a packed-out MetLife Stadium and the words ‘Thank you. I was happy’ and a white heart.
I register a dull beeping somewhere in the apartment but I don’t think about it. I hit like on his post. Again, nothing happens. Raphael Scott liked another Instagram post of Lee Jaehyun and no one fucking cares. Haven Williams would, but then she’s the only one. Feeling wild, I like a few others too. One of him on a bike. Another of him at the gym. Then the last, a still of him from a video mid dance move. He’s drenched in the spotlight, the room behind him totally dark.
“Who the fuck are you?” I hear a voice from behind me.
I startle so much my phone slips from my hand and clatters loudly to the floor.
The guy is big, wearing an oversized hoodie, a ballcap and a white facemask. He’s holding a takeout bag and two coffee cups as he glares at me.
“Who the fuck areyou?” I reply.
“Where’s Jaehyun?” he asks, ignoring me.
He’s Korean, but his English is better than Jae’s. The edges smoothed out to something approaching American. It’s how I recognize him. Kai. Kim Ji-hoon. Their band leader. He’s the one they speculate about with regards to Jae. I’ve read some of the analysis articles, fallen down the Reddit holes, the Twitter threads, the YouTube videos. All of it I’d passed off as the product of bored teenage minds. Minds who think about celebrities far too much, it’s not normal. But now, here, with him looking at me like he is…well, I’m not too fucking sure. He looks furious. Dark eyes gleaming with violence. He’s about my height and wider. Could probably take me to be honest, but I’m not about to let him know that. I square my shoulders off and give him a small smile. I’m glad that I decided not to put my t-shirt on. I like that I’m standing in Jae’s kitchen topless and barefoot. I want this fucker to know.
“He’s still in bed,” I say, bending down to pick up my phone. The screen is cracked. Fucking great. I make a show of locking it before sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans. “You’re Kai, right?”
He says nothing. Just continues to glare at me. I give him a nod and turn towards the coffee machine, taking my time to pour. I can feel his eyes on me as I do, and he hasn’t moved an inch when I turn back around. We stare at each other as I sip my coffee and I realize then that he’s studying me, trying to place me, figure out where it is he recognizes me from. Well, I’m not about to help him out.
It’s Jae’s voice that cuts through the malevolent silence growing between us. He says something in Korean as he wanders up behind Kai that has him turning, wide eyed.
“Neo jejeongsin-iya?” Kai says harshly.