He Left Me Breathless

A Strange Lunch and A Gasping Confession?

BAEKHYUN'S POV

To blatantly suppose that the water fiasco was long forgotten and swept under the rug would be the biggest lie I had fabricated and concocted out of thin fucking air.

The small LED screen is tuned in to a random channel and a frigid reporter recites the news monotonously in Chinese. Sullen silence lingers in the expansive sedan and I reckon it could make a Grim Reaper feel welcomed. Occupying the farthest edge of the seat I put as much distance between Mr. Oh and I, as is humanly possible. The fight was still fresh in my memory and the awkwardness inescapable.

From time to time I peek at him, quietly gauging his changing temperament or any trace of the person who seemed to think caressing my hair was nice or remotely acceptable. Doing this had become my routine from the past few weeks such that I was accustomed enough to gaze without abandon while he made important phone calls and issued explicit instructions to his faithful minions.

The smooth planes of his chest glint past the undone buttons of his opulent, navy blue shirt at whose price tag I had keeled over. "Debts must be returned with interest Mr. Byun, let this be lesson for you" he had imparted while I wept tears of peasant blood upon seeing my hollow bank balance.

My mind drifts to what had occurred within the confines of Mr. Oh’s private suite and unconsciously my fingers nuzzled the base of my willow throat, where the skin throbbed in reminiscence of the teasing encounter.

An ember had gradually begun to burn, whether it was my curiosity regarding Mr. Oh’s actions or the reaction it had provoked in me was something I couldn't ascertain. This was strange. I believed the typical emotions Mr. Oh was capable of stirring in me were intense dislike and weariness, not confusion or this segue from mild attraction to yearning for a second by second replay of that scene.

I struggle to accomplish the impossible- pretend that Mr. Oh hadn't been breathing in every inch of my personal space without recoiling in disgust or flashing his trademark scowl, that equaled to millions of his insults, only an hour ago. It is perturbing how transfixed I am by him, to the point where I was considering forgiveness for the absolutely asinine stunt he had pulled earlier.

“Mr. Byun I must confess, you can be extraordinarily slow witted and tactless. I do appreciate your interest in my torso but I doubt it deserves five minutes of your undivided attention” he observes solemnly and all the sirens inside my head wail in unison. I had a nagging feeling that someday my brain would shut down from the sheer embarrassment I would inadvertently expose myself to.

“Mr. Oh it is really surprising how a gentleman of your stature could be this delusional” I retort not reining the sarcasm.

“Lying is an art mastered by the seemingly naïve and the subtly cunning kind of humans. You are neither Mr. Byun and therefore not allowed to use it as your defense” he remarks and I am flailing for the simplest retaliation. 

“Who do I remind you of Mr. Oh?” I blurt, settling for distraction instead of a clever response.

“Say Mr. Byun, have you found yourself wandering inside a Restricted Zone?” he wonders casually.

“No Mr. Oh, I haven’t” I admit baffled by the irrelevant question.

“And why haven't you Mr. Byun?” he repeats shifting his focus.

“Because it is prohibited to do so and I don’t know what is inside there” I state blindly missing the point he was clearly trying to convey.

“Exactly. Consider my position in your life as that restricted sign and the fact that you don’t know what is inside as your warning to avoid swimming in unfamiliar depths” he suggests, smiling serenely while exiting the vehicle. One could mistake it for cordiality when in truth it was the closest he would ever come to telling me to fuck off.