#wordplay.

“you’re going to break him hun.” minhee wouldn’t mind if she did.

ahyeon is all fire and no forgiveness. minhee is all talk and all bite. they’re both all consuming one carefully destroying and one recklessly. they don’t match, they shouldn’t complement but when they get together the blaze is too beautiful to ignore. ahyeon burns and sears and minhee can’t help but smile. 

she plays at boredom if only briefly. what was supposed to be a good night has taken a turn for the better. they simply cannot have a normal night, they cannot get along without something being trampled under their path. they don’t live like queens because they live to destroy kings. it’s a necessity and when ahyeon’s hands curled in anticipation minhee couldn’t fight the desire curling in her chest. she admits she doesn’t know playfulness unless it’s malicious and her expressions says such. black lips curled in a smile, black boots posted up against concrete, and black nails crawling across skin, minhee carves a promise into his skin.

he trembles. she smiles.

“he didn’t mean to snap at you,” he did. he’s spotted minhee. it’s always late in the night when men got a little too bold, a little too confident. it’s under cover of moonlight that minhee is most deadly as they come to find out. a stroll down hongdae, her arm around the younger and her boots digging into the ground, minhee radiates freedom and he has a problem with it. he associates money with ownership and yanks them apart under the pretense of control and the haze of alcohol. minhee had been calm, ahyeon not so much.

ahyeon’s a true testament to her reputation, always lit and never dormant. she’s got his arm twisted behind him and minhee’s hand pressing his cheek into the wall. crushing, snuffing, under the cover of moonlight they come alive.

This was new.

Her eyes travel to the array placed before her. Truthfully speaking it’d been a while since she’d had a proper girl’s night out, though none of her girl’s night outs didn’t involve alcohol so the wine bottles comfort her significantly. briefly she wonders if that kind of comfort is dangerous but she can only think about the taste and reveling in the competition before the thought gets pushed aside. “darling, if you’re trying to get into a wine-drinking contest with me, you’re going to lose.” she admires the spunk too. the alcohol shouldn’t seal the deal but it does. she’s still in her uniform from her shift so changing into the comfortable attire on the table is nothing but welcome.

she didn’t mind slipping out of her dress shirt right then and there, the scent of cologne and vices slipping easily off her skin. that’s what she liked to think anyway. she still had to take her makeup off, properly as well but the first thing she wanted to do was slip into that incredibly comfortable set of clothes before her. dress shirt, skirt and stockings tossed to the side she’s quick to reach for the t-shirt first. shamelessly when it slips over her head she pulls out her phone to snap a few pictures clad in only the shirt and underwear. for reference of course. then the sweats are next and god how long has it been since she’s been in a pair?

“what are you the witch doctor?” she needed this and she tries to hide the smile by glancing at the bottles. she can attribute it to that and so she leans forward, “i’m popping this baby open now and you’re not stopping me.”

“you’re so full of shit.” she says it with a laugh. not because she doesn’t mean it but because she needs vulgarity to slip past her lips to feel like herself again, she needs it to slip peacefully and easy and with no intention. she doesn’t know why she asked about his dream, doesn’t know why the automatic questions comes out around him and she feels her fingers grip into her skin at the thought. truth be told she uses this line at least four times every night and she’s sick of it. they tell her they dream of her, tell her she’s the embodiment of their desires and the tell-tale sign that they should sin and she has to smile and take it. it’s never been exhausting just routine but last night spiraled a little out of hand.

whispers and responses fill her brain even when she wakes up, head heavy and stomach crying that she get something to eat. normally this isn’t an easy but given the night before she thinks paying for something will help her regain control, so they’re here. she likes the stuffiness of the air, like they don’t bother cleaning it or that they shouldn’t because they hold their customers captive that way. she only breathes in heavy places, likes clogging her throat with things that are anything but her.

“or maybe stop putting yourself in situations so I wouldn’t have to nurse you. Like------ scaring the shit out of me when you show up for food and nearly getting a face full of the head of my bass.” so that had been an accident. she wouldn’t want to bring it up because it would lead towards vulnerability but she does to get it out, she does to accept it and hopes it’ll pass easily. even getting the revelation is out she’s a little exhausted, resting her hands on her arms while glancing around for the food. “if dreams became reality some of us would be thoroughly fucked.” the plate comes right on time because the last thing she wants to talk about is the topic he brings up.

“I could, I’m on the clock.”

words slip. they slip and sometimes she wished they slipped a little easier, a little.....gentler. she takes back the wish as soon as it too slips. she looks at the time and it’s way past eleven this hardly the time to be making wishes on broken boys and reckless lips. that’s what she thinks and it’s what she tries to tell herself but his appearance before her is both an alarm and a question. she composes her responses, filters through them. she’s a girl, she’s human but in times like this she decides humanity in a girl is so much less than a fraction of what they are.

she is challenging, contorting, molding herself into what she wants to present. she’s folding and tucking, her hands under her arms, her air behind her air, her frown into a smile. she’s cordial and welcoming and her lips cut and pierce and she doesn’t even search for a target she sees him and knows she’ll strike. a female is unsuspecting rather than slimy and she only allows herself to slip when she knows she can catch herself.

why is he here? does it matter. why isn’t he welcome. that matters more. her teeth don’t grit, her frown doesn’t stay and her lips only part to welcome his defeat.

“Wanting you to leave and telling you you need to leave are two different things.” except that they don’t. her lips instead invite and she’s not slipping anymore. she has rationalized, bringing herself to play a game she knows would be best left untouched, filed away in some cabinet of adolescence and a minhee that knows better, learned better. her nails tap against the counter and she looks for an excuse to keep where she is, an excuse other than his presence challenging her. her shift ends soon, she's still on the clock with her last one for the night, touches fading her skin in favor of the chilly wind. her boss would call her back in she knows, everyone seems to be testing waters tonight.

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