Page 63 of Hamartia
“I have someone joining me soon, I hope that is no problem?” I tell her as I flick through the items.
“Ah, of course not. No problem. I’ll just make a quick call down to advise the front. Please feel free to try on whatever you like. The dressing room is just there.” She points to a carpeted area behind the racks. “I’ll be right back.”
I pull out a long grey coat with vintage style buttons on the front and cuffs, checking the size before I drape it over my arm. Then I move along the rack. There’s a light shirt of blue silk with handcrafted yellow embroidery that would look perfect on Raphael. A pair of jeans and a pair of the high-tops he wears. His leather jacket. I think about buying it for him and then I laugh because the chances are I won’t even see him again. I shove it back on the rack.
“Ah, I love this,” the assistant says as she reappears behind me. “Such a great color. The poplin cotton means it’s an all-season item too. Coats aren’t just for winter.”
She smiles, sticking her hand out to take it from me. She moves to hang it carefully on an empty rack she’s set aside from the others.
“I watched the show online,” I tell her. “You have the monogram military jacket?” I’m scanning the row of outerwear but can’t see it. “And the padded blouson? In green?”
She looks a little off kilter.
“Of course! I didn’t select it because your team said you were keen on greys and neutrals.”
“It is not for me.”
She nods, gesturing toward a sharply dressed guy in a suit who looks to be around twenty standing off to the side.
I hadn’t even noticed him before. A silent sentinel. She asks him to bring both items from the stock room and he marches off to obey, not before blinking a kind of startled, dumbstruck look in my direction. He’s cute. Asian descent with nice hands and a full mouth. His ass looks good in the pants he’s wearing too. She points out a few more items before getting the message that if I need her help, I’ll ask for it. So, she steps away with her tablet and busies herself.
I’m wearing a navy trunk striped kimono jacket and admiring my reflection when Ji-hoon appears behind me in the dressing room. He’s dressed in what I’d call military casual. A style that I’m certain went out of fashion a decade ago but somehow still looks good on him. Oversized green bomber with a black Balenciaga hoodie beneath, Supreme cargo pants, and ridiculous colored (bright yellow) trainer boots. He’s wearing sunglasses and a ballcap which he takes off as he sits down. He runs a hand over his head and sits forward, legs spread, as he leans on his knees. Appraising me, there’s a familiar heat in his eye that I drink up greedily. It fills some of the cold inside my chest.
“I like it,” he says.
“Then I won’t buy it.”
He laughs quietly and sits back in the seat as I go inside to change out of it.
Of course, I’m buying it. It looks great. Everything I’ve tried on has looked great, has given me the familiar warm bubbly feeling from trying on nice things and looking good in them.
The feeling that disappears as soon as I take them off. Some jewelry will help too. Dressed in my own clothes, I wander outside to where the jewelry has been laid out in a wide but shallow display box, lights affixed to each corner.
Kai wanders over to stand beside me, scent of rich wood and citrus flooding my nose, warm body a comfort pressed next to my own. It calms my racing head. Slows my pulse. Eases the tightness in my chest. He’s always had that ability. Calm. Strong. Dependable. Like the Sobaek Mountains. It’s why he’s our leader. It’s why everyone turns to him when they’re lonely or sad, especially me.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
It doesn’t matter since the assistant and her…assistant do not speak Korean, but I appreciate the gentleness with which he says it. There’s no bitterness or resentment. No weight or expectation that I will return it. Just an apology. Genuine and warm. Like Ji-hoon.
“I am sorry too.”
He’s quiet for a moment, staring at the pretty silver jewelry in front of us. “I don’t want to lecture you, Jaehyun-ah, but sometimes I feel it is my job to.”
“It is not your job to lecture me about who I fuck.” I look at him. “Even when it was you I was fucking.”
He blanches at that as he lifts his head up. Whatever he sees in my eyes has him looking away again. Guilty. “I know that.”
“Do you?” I ask. “Because it has not always felt like you do. I never saw you as my leader when you were in my bed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No. You didn’t.”
My cheeks heat. “I don’t always need a leader, Hyung. Sometimes I need a friend.”
And outside of Ji-u, Ji-hoon is my best friend. It was what made our sleeping together so incredibly stupid. It was why we had had to be careful. In the end, Ji-hoon had been far more careful than me. I could not have survived without him. He was more than my band leader and friend—he was my confidante. The first person I told when I knew what I was. The person I called when I held those pills in my hand and thought about how easy it would be. The person who I clung to when my father told me no matter what I achieved I’d always be a disappointment to him. Because of what I was. What I wasn’t.
“And then as your friend, I am asking why would you do this?Him?” He’s wide-eyed now, cool demeanor cracked.
“You are sure you are asking this as my friend?” I give him a skeptical look.