hideaki mao is not one to believe in true love, but tries hard not to fall for the charismatic, erotica writer xu minghao.
"I know that you would die
and kill for me,"
...
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cigarettes.after.sex.jpg “Is that another way of saying that we belong to each other?”
SHE takes another draw of her cigarette.
Club music was defeaning and obnoxious; that was how she likes to describe it. So far, she hasn't found anyone who seems to agree with that opinion of hers. It drives her mad, most of the time. Which explains why she was outside of the club, having a smoke, just like she always does. It seems more peaceful that way, although nothing's actually been that peaceful her whole life. Sure, Mao could be your typical problematic girl, but it wasn't like she asked for that label. It somehow descended upon her out of the blue, without even asking for permission. People who really know Mao would understand why she couldn't be bothered to not go with it.
A few more men stepped inside, stealing cheeky glances at Mao. she doesn't even bat an eyelash - not like she's ashamed of people looking at her body. It does get annoying sometimes, but only sometimes. Mao loved attention, and- shit now I sound like a slut.
A boy appears next, disheveled and breathless after three slow draws of her cigarette. She briefly glances at him, then turns away, blowing smoke out of her mouth. The only thing that stood out about him was his bleeding fist, but it wasn't surprising at all, since fights happen all the time around the area. She ignores him, turning her attention towards the two girls that were eating each other's faces as they passed by in front of her. Mao thinks she'd love to hit on the girl with brown hair, but snapped out of her thoughts immediately now that she realized that the boy was still standing there, following her gaze.
He finally leaves, swinging the door to the club open, the sound of the thundering music flooding from the small entrance, and returns muffled by walls. Mao tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear.
"Mao," sooner or later a voice calls, letting the music from the inside boom in her ears again as she leans against the open door, "Someone's asking for you."
"Better not be old." Mao says half-jokingly, takes a last draw of her cigarette, this time, inhaling deep and slow, letting the smoke wrap the insides of her lungs.
"I've never seen him around here before," Hanbyeol says, cocking her head inside, "Go." Mao drops the cigarette to the floor and crushes it with the sole of her worn out sneakers, following Hanbyeol inside. She tries her best to swim through a sea of partying people, letting the flow of the music run through their veins and move their body.
Mao stops at room 64, knocking before she twists the knob and enters the dimly lit room. The music could still be heard from the entrance; maybe they switched to a new song.
The same boy was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding his bloody fist. Mao wondered why he seemed like he didn't care, for blood was dripping out of his knuckles like water from a tap. Maybe he wasn't the same as the people who have asked for her before.
"How'd you like your service?" Mao doesn't waste time and questions, ignoring his bloody fist. A bloody fist isn't the worst Mao's tried to ignore; once a guy with his whole head bandaged except his mouth asked for her; and trust me that was the creepiest shit Mao's had to go through before. She remembers hating the fact that Hanbyeol just had to say the guy might have a blindfolded kink. Not that it was that bad of a kink, anyway.
Minghao raises his head, a mop of raven black hair covering his eyes, "Nothing."
"Yes?"
"I want nothing. Just keep me company."
They sat in still silence for a second. Mao stops leaning against the door and walks past him to sit on the other corner of the bed, back facing him. This was surely a waste of time; she could've sat outside to have another smoke if only he didn't ask for her, to do absolutely nothing for him.
"Since you're not asking for anything, I'll leave." Mao stands up and walks to the door.
"I'll pay you, so just stay with me for the night." Minghao says, and Mao freezes. She lets go of the knob, eyeing Minghao from the top of his head.
He was still doing nothing about his fist. It was pissing her off.
Mao takes off her white tank top and throws it onto his right bleeding hand. She returns to sit onto the other edge of the bed, letting the cold pierce through her unclothed skin.
"I'll stain it," Minghao tells her, putting her white top away.
"Better than nothing, aren't I right?" Mao replies half-heartedly, taking out her box of babies (or at least that was what she liked to call her cigarettes) from her denim shorts, placing it on the bed, "Just do something with your bloody fist - literally."
Minghao lets his blood stain the fabric, wrapping it around his knuckles. He observes the fabric that turned red, wondering how much her top costed.
"Mind if I smoke?" Mao asks, taking out one of her babies from the box. Minghao shakes his head, "Got a lighter?"
"I don't smoke." Minghao replies, making Mao shrug.
"Too bad then." Mao lies down and closes her eyes. She places the cigarette to her lips and visualizes a lit cigarette, inhaling, feeling the smoke of chemicals dance in her throat. She puts the cigarette between her fingers.
She exhales, and when she opens her eyes, amidst the haze of the fantasized smoke she sees Minghao staring at her.
Mao tucks her strands of purple away from her face, staring back at the boy. She had dyed her hair purple when Hanbyeol had said dark purple would look amazing on her short hair, and Mao couldn't help but agree that it really did.
"The things you do for money," Minghao speaks, tightening the red stained cloth around his knuckles, "you'd do anything for it, won't you?"
"I guess I could say the same for you, I assume." Mao gets up to lie on her stomach. Minghao gets a peep of her cleavage, although she was still wearing a bra. He turns away and laughs.
"You're not wrong." He replies.
"We live in a corrupted world," Mao places her chin onto one of her hands, letting the unlit cigarette hang between her lips, "Wealth is everything, now. Wealth is happiness. Wealth is what you need for a long life."
Minghao laughs, "Smoking is going to ruin that last principle of yours."
Mao rolls her eyes. Minghao takes something out of his pocket; the same box of her babies and a lighter - he places one between his lips, and lights one up.
"You said you didn't smoke." Mao states.
"I like your way of thinking," Minghao leans in and tilts her chin up to him, letting the ends of their cigarette touch, lighting hers up. Mao giggles.
"They say great minds think alike." Minghao utters, exhaling smoke from his mouth, the scent of it filling the room.
"Is that another way of saying that we belong to each other?"
"Take it however you want baby," Minghao pulls the cigarette from her lips and replaced it with lips of his own, and when they pull away, Mao threw her head back as puffs of smoke emitted from her plump lips, looking fucking gorgeous than ever in Minghao's eyes.
"This is even better than sex." Mao comments, wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Want to try that again?"
"Fuck yes."
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Hi guys im new and this is my first book ew this is cliché
