seunghan (...) seunghan pulls her forcefully from the dining hall and into the privacy of the corridor. only here, does he finally turn to face her, irritation on his brow. “what?” he spits — though perhaps, there is something to be said about the scene, how despite her glare, it is him who had closed the space between them. suppose it is undeniable, how it is within the nature of man to sin. how they’re drawn to it. kim seunghan stands a hair breadth away from her, but he doesn’t step away. rather, he keeps his glare on her eyes and presses, “what do you want?”
it was never love, and it would never be. what juyeong understands of love is a sacred devotion, a pledge to an omnipotent deity, a fervor that allows no questions. love is the endless adoration her grandfather lavished upon her, with opulent bouquets and promises of the world if she adheres to his doctrines. love is not the boy who used to share stolen glances with her, laced with clandestine desire during solemn sermons. love is not the boy with whom she commits her first act of treason, a forbidden kiss behind the sanctuary's revered walls. love is most certainly not the sacrilege of worshipping false idols traced in his jawline and tasted on his lips. and perhaps that's why she allows herself to betray every tenet she held sacred when it comes to kim seunghan — because she tells herself that it’d had never been love that bound them. and if it was never love, then it was a sin without consequence, absolved by its very nature.
it was never love, yet their lives remain inexorably intertwined. a divine reckoning, an inescapable convergence of two souls bound by a higher, unyielding force. high school, university, their past is shrouded with the present and all the years between them blended and simultaneous. she’s twelve and feels the almost imperceivable brush of his fingers across hers in the altar. she’s fifteen and clings to him like a sacred prayer. she’s seventeen and sees him only in the back of his car, where the dark of the night shrouds the stern disapproval of their respective families. and now, she’s twenty-four and he’s casting his charms like a wide net, a pathetic attempt at ensnaring a potential catch in the sea of the king’s club.
she’s not jealous. no, not at all. after all, it was never love, so she has no right to harbor envious pangs for an affection that was never hers to claim. (and yet, she feels the bitter taste of envy twisting her lips into a sneer, eyes darkened with contempt. shut the fuck up, seunghan. she's not that funny.) she's engrossed in a valiant attempt to seem nonchalant, while shamelessly eavesdropping on his vapid sweet-talk when he rudely pulls her out of the room. “let me go, asshole.” funny how that’s the first thing she says to him in years.
she's never one to retreat from a confrontation, least of all with kim seunghan. and so, she squares her shoulders and locks her gaze on his, eyes blazing with defiance. “why do i need anything from you?” each word punctuated and dripping with disdain. lets out a snide scoff, with a roll of her eyes. “aren’t you busy? there’s still like seven other girls you haven’t hit up yet - wait, i know! they don’t live up to me, do they? that’s why you’re here, wasting my time yet again,” she snaps, cutting lilt in her voice, sharpened to maim his being. “fucking acting like i’m the one who pulled you out of the room.”