SWEET TALKER

06

I am holding onto my phone for dear life, grappling to stifle a grimace before it splits my face in quarters and my eyes instinctively flit away from his obscure ones. The air in my lungs deprives me of my license to breathe, and I'm ogling at his feet in utter bewilderment. One part of me wants to giggle, scream, and cry at the same time - anything to ease the absurd spike in the temperature around us and the other is begging me not to accidentally peek at his fly.

I train my eyes on a certain spot on the wall, just over his shoulder and I'm drilling holes into it as I wait for him to speak. We don't say anything for about a minute, and it's the longest I've spent in agony.

I'm glad it's on him, now. I almost release a hushed sigh at how Jimin's text from earlier is now a thing of the past and I'm not held accountable for asking Taehyung for inappropriate content. My pride elevates a little at the thought of being released from that liability to an extent - I'm sure Taehyung is in a dire shackle now, with how awkward he's made the situation by walking back into the room.

My phone chimes again and my shoulders fall slack at the sound of Baby Shark as it echoes off the walls in a bothersome way. I'm forced to slide it shut when Taehyung clears his throat roughly.

"How long were you in here?" His voice is mellow, and it rumbles out of his throat in an unbridled way. 

He doesn't sound too angry, but his tongue gives his ego away. And I'm one to notice a flicker of shame cross his perplexed gaze.

I inhale sharply, moving over a little when I realize that he's standing at a locus of myself and his own picture that's hanging off the line with the ink still dripping off its edges. It's not like his eyes don't make it out under the dim light anyway, owing to his height. Taehyung is about a foot and a half taller, and his eyes make a shortcut to the photo latched behind, over my head and his expression imbues smug authority as I squirm.

"I-I was, uh -" I'm a stuttering mess, my hands move illustratively and his eyebrows grow taut, "I wasn't e-eavesdropping or anything - I was on a call, too -"

Taehyung stares.

"I was listening to a podcast." I spit out stupidly, "a-about drag race and drag queens, d-do you listen to RuPaul's podcasts, too?"

I'm mumbling to myself when his grimace grows stony, and I can clearly see the dawn of a sickened scowl splintering his face apart. The cringe begins to claw at my insides and I'm thankful we have a red light instead of normal ones - at least the tips of my earlobes can use it as camouflage.

Taehyung knows I'm lying. He knows I've listened through his call - maybe, a girlfriend or a friend with benefits and thinking about it now makes me want to spill my guts out until I'm allowed to sneak out of his prison. He knows that I know what we're going to talk about, and what he is going to achieve after bouts of triumph and pride marring his otherwise stoic bearing.