What A Lovely Way To Burn

Your body still burned, it burnedwith a red hot flame, inextinguishable and persistent. But unlike other times it wasn't between your hips. No, it was trapped in a place way harder to reach. Your hands couldn't put it out, only his' could, but only for a moment. Only for a moment because once it was done, and you laid side by side with smoke filling the grey room, it was back, and it was back stronger than before. It was trapped, raging inside of you and spilling out onto the sheets of white, oozing to the floor and saturating your clothes and even though each raindrop that graced your skin after you left his apartment building knocked a minty relaxation within your veins it was still there. It was there when you studied, it poked at your brain matter when you worked and it made you cry warm tears at the loundromat while you waited for your clothes to dry. Washing and drying, washing and drying... the process repeated into infinity but no amount of fabric softener could soften the sharp edges of the sweater he gave you each time you put it on.

Your feet started to hurt from wearing heels for so long and you leaned on the tiled wall, shifting your weight ever so often while looking at your laundry tumbling in the washing machine, the speed increasing and then decreasing. One of the neon lights made the whole place glow in a gentle torquoise tone, the other broken and flickering in a steady rhythm, complimenting the vibrating in your pocket, the spamming of a chatroom you thought you put on mute.

Noone was around except for you, the sound of rain melting in a sweet harmony with the humming of the drum which turned out to be a good addition to your smooth ringtone as you took your phone out of your pocket to check the caller ID.

Kim Namjoon was spelled out in deathly familiar letters and for a moment the Decline button that glowed in red seemed more appealing. Nontheless you picked up.

''Yes, Namjoon?''

''(Y/N)! Where are you?''

''At the laundromat, you?''

''Ah, I'm just heading home from a concert.''

''You're calling me because...?''

''I thought we could meet up today?''

''Sure, I'll be there in an hour.''

''Okay... See you then.''

---

There was no feeling, your legs felt numb, like they just gave out underneath you as you knelt infront of a sitting form, your shoes still on your feet from before, when you stumbled into his apartment, semi-intoxicated and... lonely. His hands slid like silk along your neck and up to hold your face, bringing it closer to his and gazing into your eyes with an empty lustful look. His hot breath hit your face and he smelled like a mix of cigarettes, mint and alcohol.

You knew him forever, since kindergarten and even though you were always together you never felt a certain sexual or romantic attraction for him, you loved him, yes, but as a brother. A sibling. A friend. Never a lover. He was too careful, too cautious, too good. But he changed. He realised that studying wasn't everything and that the night held a special charm, a charm that could convince you into taking a shot, taking a hit, taking a chance, taking it and holding on to it, or not. More often not. He realised that passion was something not necesarilly tied to a relationship, not necesarilly tied to a feeling, he realised that want was something even stronger than love and that living a life that temporary was better, easier.

He took it as far as it'd go, all of the smoke he inhaled fogging his mind and eventually he'd stop talking with you about his feelings and his ambitions and eventually the he you knew was gone.

It was a cold october night when you lied in bed with him at a party, both of you a bit closer to each other than usual, looking at the white wall and then at eachother.