Unmatched

Part 6

"The truth has a way of catching up with us, in the end."

The oppressive heat of the cloak cupboard runs under your skin, stifles your clamouring breaths.

Caged in between lean, strong arms, under the scrutinising glare of a less than sober Hyunjin, you run too flustered. His proximity is suffocating, the gathering of thick coats and jackets inside the cupboard insulates everything, exacerbates the stale air.

"This is the truth catching up with you," he murmurs low. "I know I'm the best fuck you've ever had."

"You're high," you shake your head, regretting the movement when your head spins, "and drunk. I was telling the truth back there."

"You weren't," he backs up, gives you a measure of space. "I saw it all over your face, you weren't being truthful."

"Hyunjin, please, I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to be honest."

"I was," you exclaim, exasperated. "I am."

He falls silent, you find the will to examine his face as he stands before you. His plush lips part on a breath, his feline eyes are dark, pupils blown out. The curve to his jaw is smooth, accentuated by the dark strands of hair that fall free, and it strikes you that it's a terrible fate, for someone so beautiful to be utterly caught up in their delusions.

Because that's all they are. Delusions.

"Do you think about that night?" he eventually asks.

You shrug, finding it moot.

"Do you?" he presses.

"Yes, of course I do, Hyunjin, but—"

"What do you feel, when you think about it?"

"I'm not doing this with you right now, you're not even sober," you sigh, shoving off the wall to leave, only for Hyunjin to crowd you again, hands either side of your head.

"Tell me. Please."

Holding his unfocused gaze, a spark of warmth flits up your spine, the blooming of inappropriate want that's almost definitely nothing more than a physical response to his closeness, his person. Because Hyunjin is nothing if not inherently sexually appealing; even when he's playing the fool.

"I feel... nothing," you lie.

He cocks his head, brows pulled together in doubt. You know he's about to call you on your bullshit.

"F— Fine," you pre-empt him. "I don't feel nothing. I just... I feel like I'm recalling someone else's memory. Like what we did, didn't happen to me."

Hyunjin nods, wets his bottom lip.

"I guess that doesn't make any sense," you mutter.

"It does," he drops his hand from the wall beside you, brings his knuckles to skim your cheek. "Sometimes it feels like a dream to me, too."

"That's not quite what I—"

"Don't you ever want to relive it?" he asks suddenly.

"Hyunjin, I'm married."

"Why is that always your go-to excuse?" he laughs softly. "It's not a get-out-of-jail-free card, you know."

"It's not an excuse," you protest, albeit weakly. You know well enough that your marriage is too fragmented to justify any kind of loyalty to it. Yet your loyalty to Minho is another thing entirely.

"I don't know. Maybe if things were different, we'd... I don't know," you sigh.

"You think we'd be together? If it weren't for him?"