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It’s not until several seconds after the bathroom stall door closes that Neung realizes the mistake she’s made—although she should have expected it, because it’s Aneung, and the college freshman is reckless and wild when it comes to their relationship. She’s heady and impulsive and intoxicated by the excitement of these new sensations and emotions. But also…every time Neung grabs Aneung by the wrist and drags her somewhere, the outcome tends to be the same, no matter her original intention.
“Why are you bringing me here?” Aneung asks.
The question is mostly rhetorical, her confusion feigned. With Neung’s face this close to hers, it’s clear what Neung means. Neung has brought her here, not Doctor Wan. And Neung knows her presence can be…distracting to Aneung. Which is exactly what she wants. She needs Aneung to stop thinking about the other woman and focus on her instead.
Neung leans in and kisses Aneung gently, their lips barely brushing. It’s a gesture of love, of caring. It’s meant to reassure her. She can feel Aneung smile against her, the tightening of skin against skin. “To do this.” To do what she can’t do in public. Not with Neung being who she is and Aneung who she is. The scandal…
“How many times do I have to tell you that I love you? Will you stop being sulky with me? Hm?”
Sometimes it’s cute when Aneung is jealous. This is one of those times. Even though she knows it’s immature, nevertheless it gives Neung a warm feeling to know that someone loves her this much. After all, her grandmother never showed her love. But she wants that jealous face to turn back to a loving face. She’d rather see Anueng happy than mad.
“Will you promise never to see her again?”
And this is where things go off the rails. Neung becomes aware of Aneung’s hands at her waist, slipping just inside the hem of her loose black shirt, before her mind processes the question. “Aneung.” The gentle rebuke is for both the hands and for the request. “Doctor Wan is just a friend.” A friend whose connections she might need as the gallery launches. Neung can be strategic like Sam when she chooses to be. Aneung needs to learn to see the world the same way. Life is like chess—sometimes, you have to move the pieces. And Doctor Wan is merely a pawn.
Aneung’s hands run up her sides until they hit the band of her black bra. Her thumbs trace inward, fingers still pressed against her ribs. Neung blinks, trying to keep her face blank as her skin breaks out in goosebumps. The small smile that appears on Aneung’s round face is self-satisfied. It doesn’t matter how good Neung is at wearing a mask, Aneung always sees the micro-expressions beneath it. It’s both wonderful to be that well understood and maddening.
“Not a friend like me. No friends like me.” Aneung stands on her tiptoes to kiss a trail of kisses down Neung’s neck. Neung clenches her teeth a little, fighting the shiver that runs through her body. She breathes a little too hard out her nose. Neung is used to being the one in control. But it turns out that control is much more unstable than she thought when Aneung is this close.
“Aneung.” She wriggles a little, trying to gently break contact. She says it in her most authoritative but gentle voice. This is neither the time nor place to get cute. Her grandmother would roll in her grave, come back to life, and then die again of shame if her granddaughter was caught like this in the bathroom stall of a shopping mall. “Unbecoming” is an understatement for this kind of activity.
But Aneung, who has never had this kind of reputational baggage to carry and doesn’t particularly care about the resurrection and second death of Neung’s grandmother, doesn’t stop. Instead, she tucks her forehead against Neung’s jawline as her left hand slips up under Neung’s bra, thumb tracing over her nipple. Neung sucks in a sharp breath as a tingling shock explodes out from this new contact. The muscles in her back twitch. Somewhere in the ground, grandma roils.
Aneung’s mouth finds Neung’s neck again and starts to suck, wontonly. Her hand caresses the gentle swell of Neung’s breast. Neung’s mind goes blank for a few seconds, short-circuited by these two sensations. Is this the same Aneung who used to follow her around like a lost puppy? It must be the books she’s been reading…
It takes far too much effort for Neung to re-compose herself, and when she does, her voice is much more breathless than she would like. So much for the suave, mature woman she’s been playing at. She avoids Aneung's eyes. “Not here.” They’re in a bathroom stall. It’s not a clean place, for one thing, and for another, it’s a public place. This is not—
Aneung pinches her nipple, and she has to swallow the resulting whimper. Her body squirms, but Aneung still hasn’t released her neck. She’s trying to leave a hickey, and Neung knows it. She’s marking her territory, staking a claim. Just in case Doctor Wan gets close enough to see it. Neung should stop her, should push her away before the mark is guaranteed, but she’s starting to feel a little dizzy. Her left hand, which she once casually pressed against the wall next to Aneung’s head, is now more of a support pillar than her weakening legs.
Aneung emits a small moan of pleasure, enjoying the tactile sensation under her palm. Neung's eyes try to roll back in her head as the sound echoes through her body, setting off fireworks. Aneung must be doing this on purpose. She knows how sensitive to sound Neung is."Aneung..."
Aneung’s hand slips mercifully out from beneath the bra at the same time her mouth releases. Neung is relieved for a moment that Aneung has finally come to her senses about their location, but immediately realizes her error as she feels Aneung’s right hand pop the button of her pants. Panic competes with arousal, the two emotions clouding her mind. Not here, stop. No, don’t stop. Please don’t stop.
Aneung watches her with sparkling, dancing eyes, taking in the heave of Neung’s shoulders, the flare of her nostrils. The internal struggle to resist her that Neung is losing. A smile twitches at the corners of her mouth as she moves the zipper down. Neung starts to regret these lessons she’s been giving her. Aneung might have been a mediocre high school student, but she’s a fast learner. And while her fingers may not be as long and adept as Neung’s, she makes up for it in other ways. Mostly enthusiasm.
“Aneung.” It’s supposed to be an admonition. A command to stop. What if they're caught and Aneung's parents find out? The name comes out more like a plea instead. Neung’s body is starting to come alive. Her hips feel heavy. Her breath is thick. She swallows, but the feelings don’t change.
Aneung has a small mouth. When she smiles, it’s a small, happy smile. But the smile that stares back at Neung now is filled with wicked amusement. She tips her chin up proudly. “Mine.”
Ninety percent of Neung’s focus is on Aneung's right hand and what it’s going to do next. “Okay.” Okay, you’ve had your fun. Okay, you’ve made your point.
Aneung’s hand slips into her pants. Despite herself, Neung releases a quiet hiss as Aneung’s palm brushes against the sensitive skin of her stomach. It turns into a sharp intake of breath as Aneung’s left hand wraps around the back of her neck and pulls her into an aggressive kiss. It takes everything Neung has not to make a sound as Aneung kisses her with reckless, naked desire. Someone could walk into the bathroom at any time, and then what? There’s no other interpretation of what’s happening in their bathroom stall. She would have no excuse. But she doesn't pull away.
As their lips press together, Aneung’s finger traces the inside crease of Neung’s left thigh. Neung makes a soft, involuntary groaning sound into Aneung’s mouth. Her entire body has turned to fire, every nerve hypersensitive. She should be pushing away, taking control of the situation and getting them out of the bathroom and back home, but her body has taken a leave of absence from answering commands from her brain. Her treacherous body, in fact, is leaning into the contact, looking for more. It wants to press tightly against Aneung, feeling every inch of her.
Aneung ghosts her palm beneath Neung, brushing gently against her underwear. Neung’s hips automatically buck toward her, trying to force more contact. Aneung breaks the kiss and watches her with intense, studious eyes. Gone is the playfulness. Now it’s intoxication and interest. Neung, for her part, feels like her own eyes are crossing. She swallows hard, trying to find the will to end this situation. She is an adult. She knows this is wrong. The scandal—
Aneung’s fingers tickle over her, and her thoughts scatter like dandelion seeds. She huffs out a breath and leans more heavily on her hand, feeling the cool tile beneath it. Her eyelids flutter for a moment as a flush of arousal floods through her. Aneung has never been like…this. She has never been manipulative, using Neung's own body against her. But now she has all the control. Neung has turned to putty in her hands. Or rather, at this point, she’s more like soap, because she’s all over Aneung’s fingertips, even through her black silk underwear. Even if a herd of women trampled into the bathroom, Neung might not be able to pull herself away.
As if reading her mind, Aneung leans into her ear and asks, “Do you want me to stop?” It’s a cruel, wicked question, delivered in a way that makes Neung’s knees even less reliable. With a sharp tongue, Aneung licks the edge of Neung’s ear. Neung definitely didn’t teach her that.
Neung takes a shaky breath, then licks her lips and tries to find her strength. She should say yes. That's what a responsible adult would do. What Khun Neung should do. But she can’t force the word out of her mouth. She can’t do anything so long as her attention is on the fingers currently tracing some sort of a circling pattern on her underwear. It’s a spell, and she’s bound tight by it.
Aneung’s eyes are mischievous as she pulls back and looks in Neung’s eyes again. When Neung doesn’t answer, she kisses a line down Neung’s neck. Neung’s body is like a plucked guitar string, tense and quivering. And it hurts. All the blood has rushed to her pelvis, and the dull ache cries out for relief. Aneung is torturing her, and what’s worse, she’s enjoying it.
Neung grabs Aneung’s face and pulls it to her own, venting her frustration with this situation on Aneung’s mouth. Trying to take control again. She presses Aneung's back into the wall, kissing her as if she could swallow her whole. She tries to attack Aneung’s neck the way Aneung has been assaulting hers, but Aneung turns her face to her instead, denying her access. Aneung’s breath, too, is shaky. Her left hand runs feverishly over Neung’s shoulder, although whether she’s pulling Neung closer or pushing her away, Neung can't tell.
A second later, her hand slips inside Neung’s underwear. Neung freezes immediately and makes a gargled whimper that, if she could have heard it over the pounding in her ears, she would have found embarrassing. As it is, the world is a sort of static buzz. She can't hear anything else.
Despite what feels like a whirlwind of chaos and emotion, Aneung’s finger moves slowly, playfully, as it glides over her. The amount of control she’s exercising is phenomenal. If the roles were reversed, Neung would hardly be so restrained. Neung shivers and bites her bottom lip, remembering the consequences of someone suddenly walking into the bathroom. At the same time, she wants—needs that finger to move faster. To push harder. She holds in a groan; she doesn’t want Aneung to see the effect she’s having. She doesn’t want to give her that victory.
But when Aneung proves to be in no hurry, she takes matters into her own hand. Reaching down, she presses against the back of Aneung’s hand, trying not to pant and failing. She’s not impatient, she’s bordering on desperate. Their eyes meet. Whatever Aneung sees turns her eyes temporarily vacant as she, too, is affected by a wave of arousal. Then her finger starts to move in earnest.
Neung’s mouth falls a little open, her cheeks slack, as her consciousness is consumed by what’s happening below her waist. She breathes raspily, eyes unfocused. All she can do is grip the wall and try to stay on her feet. Sensations ripple out from where Aneung is touching her like warm, crackling shockwaves. Her hips start to rock, joining the rhythm Aneung has created.
Her eyes close. Doctor Wan. The mall. Everything disappears. All the exists is those fingers and the feeling of Aneung moving against her. The sound of Aneung breathing in front of her.
She wants....she wants...
Aneung’s mouth fastens on her neck again, and the feeling pushes her over the cliff. Ocean waves envelop her, each wave larger than the first. Then a supernova explodes within her, the shockwaves reaching all the way to the tips of her toes to the top of her head. At least, that’s what it feels like. Every muscle in her back and stomach tightens. Her legs tremble. She clamps her mouth shut, determined not to open the door to the sound that wants to burst out of her. Not here. Not here. Don't let them know.
Then the star collapses. Quickly, the sea becomes calm again. Aneung uses her left hand to pull Neung’s lightly sweating forehead to her lips and kisses it, then gently removes her right hand. Neung feels a sense of loss for a moment, before she recovers. Her heart is still racing.
Aneung wraps her arms around her, and somehow, they’ve become the same height. Neung’s body must have sagged, unable to carry her anymore. Aneung strokes her hair. Her lips find Neung’s ear. “Mine.”
Neung nods, exhausted. “Yours.”
At that moment, the door to the bathroom opens. Neung jerks out of Aneung’s arms, eyes wide and full of panic. They're about to be discovered and there's nothing she can do about it. Aneung smiles, unexpectedly cheeky, and puts a finger to her lips. Then carefully stands on the toilet so that anyone looking under the stall door would only see one set of feet.