Page 101 of The Way Back Home

His tail goes faster. He army-crawls forward and puts his chin on my knee.

And I think, god damn it. I think of the way Seyeon looked at me this morning in the bathroom, water running down his face, his hand reaching back to touch my jaw. I think of the way he kissed me.

Every day it gets worse. Every hour. He doesn’t have to do anything. He just has to exist in the same space as me, breathing, thinking, running his hand through his stupid fluffy hair and chewing on his pen cap and padding around in my clothes with bare feet on the cold tile, and I can feel another layer of the wall I spent years building crumble away.

Even the dog. Even Seyeon’s damn dog has figured out that I’m the soft target, the weak link, has identified me as the one who’ll slip him extra treats and scratch behind his ears and talk to him in the voice I used to save for Nuri. Yuro looks up at me with those trusting brown eyes that are so much like his owner’s and I think, of course. Seyeon’s dog would be an extension of Seyeon himself, warm and persistent and impossible to refuse. An ambassador of affection sent ahead to soften me before Seyeon moves in to finish the job.

The rain doesn’t let up.

I watch Seyeon from behind the counter as the light bleeds out of the sky. He stands at the open front of the shop with his hands shoved in his pockets, looking out at the flooded street like he’s weighing his options. The water runs off the awning in a thick curtain that smudges the shapes of the buildings across the road. His shoulders are set in a line. He doesn’t want to walk home in this. But he’s not going to ask.

I wipe my hands on the rag draped over my shoulder, toss it onto the counter.

“Just stay the night. It’s not a big deal.”

His head turns slightly. His brown eyes flick to me, hold for a beat, searching. I keep my face neutral.

Seyeon says nothing. But he doesn’t leave.

He turns away from the rain and walks to the back of the store, Yuro padding at his heels, and that’s answer enough.

I cook dinner. It’s nothing fancy, just the rest of the rice and some doenjang jjigae thrown together from what’s left in the fridge, tofu and zucchini and a handful of dried anchovies I found in a tin in the pantry that are probably older than both of us combined but still smell fine. Seyeon sits at the table in the kitchen and eats what I put in front of him without comment, chopsticks moving, bowl after bowl of rice scooped clean.

When we’re done I wash the dishes while he dries and puts them away, the two of us moving around Mrs. Nam’s tiny kitchen. Neither of us speaks. The rain fills the gaps.

I go into the bedroom and strip the sleeping mat down to the pad. Yank off the blankets we messed up last night and fold them into a pile for washing, pull fresh ones from the cabinet. As I smooth the last one over the mat I hear the back door open and close, the rain getting louder for a second before it muffles again. Seyeon heading out to the bathroom to shower.

I sit on the edge of the mat and stare at my hands. This room felt bigger five minutes ago. With Seyeon in it the walls contract, the air gets close and warm, everything narrows to the few feet of space between where he is and where I am.

I pull on a clean pair of sweats and reach for the lamp as the back door opens again.

He comes through the kitchen in bare feet, shoulders slightly hunched against the chill from the dash through the rain, scrubbing at his wet hair with one of my towels. My borrowed t-shirt is spotted at the shoulders with raindrops. Water clings to his eyelashes. His cheeks are flushed from the heat of the shower and his lips are pink and slightly parted and his hair is pushed back from his forehead, dripping.

I stop what I was doing with my hands, the thought that was half-formed in my head, the plan I had for making it through this night in one piece is gone. I’m staring at him and I can’t fucking stop. The ache behind my ribs flares, my breath catches and my fingers tremble where they’re resting on the lamp switch.

I want him. I want him so badly my hands shake and my lungs feels like someone’s stepping on my chest. I want to cross the room and pull that wet shirt over his head and put my mouth on every inch of damp skin underneath. I want to press him into the bedding and feel his body open for me again. I want to fall asleep with my face in his neck and wake up to the smell of his skin and I want it so viciously that I can’t breathe.

I look down. Force my hand to turn the lamp switch.

“We should just sleep,” I say roughly. I clear my throat. “Long day tomorrow.”

The mat dips beside me as Seyeon drops down. I can feel the warmth off his shower-heated skin, smell soap and the clean mineral scent of rain on him.

Fingers close around my wrist.

I freeze. My pulse hammers under Seyeon’s grip, his thumb pressing into the soft underside where the veins run close to the surface. I know he can feel the way my heart is going like a jackhammer against his fingertips.

“Are you going to keep being like this?” he asks in a low, quiet tone.

I turn my head. His face is closer than I expected, his wet hair dripping onto the pillow between us. His eyes find mine from beneath his lashes and then they drop to my mouth.

“Going to pretend you haven’t been staring at me all day?”

My jaw tightens. I pull back just enough to get his hand off my wrist. I catch his wrist instead, my grip loose, and carefully hold it between us like a barrier.

“Seyeon.” I keep my voice quiet and calm, It takes everything I’ve got. “We can’t do this. Last night we shouldn’t have … I shouldn’t have done that.”

His expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look hurt, I see no flicker of wounded pride. He just looks at me, calm and clear-eyed, and says, “Why? Because you want to keep lying? Think if you don’t touch me, you can keep me away?”