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Wonwoo hurried into the cobblestone street, watching as the taillights faded into the distance.
I should go home to my boyfriend. I should cut Mingyu out of my life completely, tell Hansol the truth about us, and insist he should be kicked out of the house. For once rational thoughts were spinning around in his head. I no longer needed Mingyu.. he hurt me.
But Wowoo was angry. And he was jealous. So very jealous. And he felt entitled to Mingyu. "How fucking dare he—"
A car honked behind me, and Wonwoo whirled on it, not even realizing he'd been marching in the middle of the street in the direction Mark had driven off in. Wonwoo held his hand up to protect his eyes from the bright headlights, whispering an apology only he could hear before maneuvering between two parked cars, a puddle and an empty beer bottle to get back onto the sidewalk.
Because of the weather, hailing a cab proved to be impossible as they were all occupied, and using the app on his phone wasn't any better, which was why he'd taken the train there from the boarding house.
His socks were damp and his fingers numb, but so was the rest of him now. He hoofed it back to the subway station, rushing down the platform steps to catch the waiting train, the only other occupant a sleeping homeless man. He skirted past his trash bags full of empty soda cans, and took up a seat at the other end of the car. His leg shook uncontrollably as he sat there fuming and terrified of what he'd find once he got to Mingyu's place.
What felt like an eternity later, the conductor announced his stop, and he'd slipped sideways through the parting doors before they'd fully opened, ascending the platform steps two at a time and charging through the turnstile at breakneck speed.
Pushing through the hotel revolving doors like a madman, he banged Mingyu's code into his elevator keypad, his breaths sawing in and out of his flared nostrils as he imagined the worst.
The elevator dinged, announcing its arrival to the lobby, and he backed away from the opening doors, suddenly too afraid to face what potentially awaited him upstairs.
The doorman and front desk concierge eyed him cautiously, so it was either get inside, or be escorted off the premises.
Once inside, Wonwoo shoved the flaps of his coat aside to brace his hands on his hips as he paced a tight circle, squeezing his eyes tight, trying to shut out the dread.
Heartbreak, rage, and guilt trampled his insides. he should've been in his own bed, in his boyfriend's arms, not concerning himself with who Mingyu could be fucking. But he was concerned, and he didn't know what he would do, what he was capable of doing, or who he'd become once these elevator doors opened.
And through it all, through the trembling in Wonwoo's limbs, the imaginings of what he would find, flashes of the ecstasy they both were experiencing right then and maybe not for the first time... Through it all Wonwoo wanted him anyway. Wanted him, still. With a need so hot and melting his veins erupted with it.
One step onto the marbled foyer and the soles of wonwoo's wet shoes squeaked. He removed them slowly along with his coat to buy time, but also not wanting to make any presence known. he needed to see them in all their glory. He needed to see the look in Mingyu's eyes as he had someone who wasn't him. As sad as it was, Wonwoo needed to know if someone else could make him feel the way he once had, because if he was going to break, he needed to break completely. Wonwoo couldn't take the in-between any longer.
Romantic music streamed through the penthouse surround system. Low and sensual. The kind of music that lacked words, the kind you made love to, the kind that turned the scene into something unsettling, macabre even, once that lovemaking escalated to uninhibited, unadulterated fucking. It was the kind of music he'd loved to take Wonwoo to. The kind he'd orchestrated with his bare hands and eyes closed, imagining how their bodies moved together with every strike of the chord he played. It was a symphony put together of their lovemaking. He knew every note by heart. And he was playing it for someone else.
A scent that wasn't his stained the air, and the turtleneck and shoes he'd worn created a trail toward the living room archway, like he was too worked up to wait any longer or go any further. But other than the sounds of music, the palatial suite was serene.
Mingyu sat behind his piano in only his dress pants, bare shoulders and head slumped forward, an empty tumbler and a bottle of whiskey—still mostly full, perched on the closed lid. The flames from the fireplace turned the amber liquid gold.
Out of nowhere his hand shot up, smacking the tumbler away, sending it skidding across the shiny black top to crash at the feet of the fireplace.
Wonwoo flinched, sharply intaking air and drawing his attention. Mingyu wheeled his upper body around, grabbing the edge of his bench to keep from falling. His lip curled. He wasn't happy to see him.
Whatever this was. Whatever had happened here in the time it took Wonwoo to get to him, he blamed him for it. And he had every right to. All the bad things they'd faced had started with Wonwoo.
"Are we alone?"
"What are you doing here?" he finally asked, his icy rage slicing against Wonwoo's skin.
The coffee table had been upended. Hopefully a result of his current bad temper, and not a consequence of unrestrained sex.
Two unopened foil packets lay on the white, shaggy rug, and a tube of lubrication rested on its side up against the sofa leg as if it'd rolled there.
"Did you fuck him?" Wonwoo asked.
"Why. Are. You. Here?" he repeated, each word spoken clearly, threateningly even.
"How many people have you fucked since you showed back up here?" Wonwoo had no right to ask, given the stipulations he'd made him promise to in this very room. But right then, his heart didn't care about anyone's rights. It wanted answers, and his anger rose to the occasion. "Answer me! Did you fuck him? And how many others?"
He laughed bitterly and mockingly. "How many times have you fucked your boyfriend since we broke up?" he countered, spitting out the word boyfriend. He wore his cruelness on his sleeve tonight. "How many times have you fucked your boyfriend wishing it were me?" He stood now, kicking the bench aside. It flipped and screeched across the floor, one of the legs cracking when it made impact with the back wall.
