Lifetime

Honor Beat

It was easy to get caught up in the romance of it all, a certain allure in imagining something that felt forbidden and in his willingness to give up everything for the chance at it. The glow of light in the restaurant made him look golden, the second drink I had leading my eyes to focus on the way his arms looked with the sleeves of his sweater pushed up and how his mouth curled around a spoon when he took the first bite of chocolate cake.

"What about you? What are you like outside of all this?" He asked after settling the bill. It was cooler out with the couple of hours that passed but I was always one to enjoy the wind in my hair, twirling around drunkenly as we followed the same sidewalk toward the hotel.

I giggled when my foot rolled over the edge of the concrete, nearly stumbling into the parking lot. His hand caught my arm just in time, keeping me from what I would have recalled as a mortifying moment and pulling me back to my feet with both hands holding onto me.

He was so close and I wondered what it would be like to kiss him, how the drumming would change, if it'd somehow strengthen from the deep rhythm it already kept or if maybe, it would completely still, like that moment in a song where every instrument drops away to repeat the chorus acapella. Just when he leaned down, nearly closing the space between our mouths, his phone chimed from his pocket, his face contorting with the unique tone in a way that let me know it was her.

"Just a minute." He sighed, his hands dropping as he turned his attention to answer the call.

In that second lied a piece of clarity. Even if the phone hadn't rang, I think he would have pulled away. He was an honorable man and I feared that if I chose to try stopping the gift, if he left her and went against his family's wishes, the guilt would take a toll or he'd come to resent me.

Cold and sobered, I tucked my hands into my pockets, my shoes clicking against the pavement as I walked away from him to the hotel. The drumming quieted the further I got, the feeling it brought shifting from one of excitement for what could be to the dull ache of what confirmedly couldn't.

A courtesy call from the front desk woke me the following morning, reminding me of my checkout time. I dressed comfortably, packing away the few items I'd used from my bag and leaving behind some cash for the cleaning staff.

Upon seeing the door to Namjoon's room already open, a housekeeper's cart sitting outside, I assumed he was waiting for me in the lobby or by the breakfast bar. My brow furrowed when I found the area empty, the concierge who manned the front desk the only person in the lobby.

"Can I help you, miss?" The middle-aged man asked.

"Maybe, I'm checking out under Namjoon Kim." I pressed my hands against the tall desk.

He smiled with recognition and a nosy curiosity. "Yes, he already checked out this morning and asked that I give these to you." He held out two envelopes, one smaller than the other.

I took them, settling on one of the stiff couches to see what he left behind. The larger envelope held a printed plane ticket back to Chicago, the flight set to leave in three hours. The smaller one had been folded by hand, fashioned with a piece of paper from the small notepads in the hotel room, Namjoon's neat, slanted handwriting rushed across the enclosed page.

I will always remember the way I felt last night and during this trip with you. Maybe in another universe I'd be the guy who could break his commitment or be unfaithful, but you got stuck with me.

It was so hard to be mad at him, a mix of disappointment that this seemed to be goodbye and gratitude that he kept me from a tense twenty-hour drive back.

The hotel attendant called my name a few minutes later, just after a call to let him know my scheduled cab had arrived. He helped me with my bag, the driver starting on the route to the airport, Valeria and my time with Namjoon more distant with every mile to the airport and into the sky.