In Love With My Rival

Farah

Another long day at another event at another hotel. It can still be fun, but the frequency often makes it boring. I could have written something during this time. I have two deadlines coming up, each equally important.

The good thing, though, is that I can leave early. I'm not speaking today, so all I need to do is smile, talk to a few self-important people, maybe have a drink and run back. That was the plan until I saw him. Lee Jaewook. He is standing in the middle of the room, holding a glass of champagne almost reverently, chatting up two wide-eyed attendees. They are clearly fans, and he is clearly just as pleased to meet them as they are to see him, but he's trying to act chill. Men.

I still could have left. But his comments from last week's event are still rankling, so I walk past him to the bar, making sure he sees me. He does, but pretends he hasn't for about two minutes before walking up to me.

‘Oh, if it isn't Miss Clear-eyed,’ I hear him behind me. I pretend to be startled, tilting my glass towards him just enough. He steps back instinctively, and I try not to laugh.

‘Oh, hello. You're clearly into literature a lot these days.’

‘Quality literature,’ he retorts, and I notice his glance slipping down to my mouth. It is clear he didn't want to look but got distracted against his better instincts. I want to sigh. I'd hoped he would be different. Oh well.

‘What’s quality for you? Forty rules?’ I sneer. He rolls his eyes.

‘Is that your selling point? To rain down on popular genres? Because that's just lazy.’

‘I don't rain down on anything. My critique is based on merit.’ I'm well aware of how pompous I sound. His smirk widens, and his eyes glint as if he is about to pounce.

‘Sure. “Realism over abstract ideas”,’ he quotes a phrase from an article I wrote earlier this month. ‘Do you hate on crime thrillers for getting a stab wound wrong?’

‘Someone looked me up,’ I pivot.

‘I researched,’ he drawls, and I try not to look at his lips. It is hard not to, though.They are heart-shaped. If he noticed the distraction, he doesn't comment on it.

We continue to exchange barbs and somewhere along the line, I join him in downing drinks against my better judgement. His tolerance seems sky-high; he's had four shots and appears to get more clear-headed with every one he drinks. I'm on my second, and my head is already swirling like the contents in my glass. I can feel his eyes on me as I try to stand still, even as I taunt him about his script choices.

‘Let’s just sit somewhere. I'm tired of standing,’ I hear him murmur. He has taken my glass away, and one of his hands is on my elbow, supporting me. To an onlooker, it would probably look like he's escorting me.

‘I don't want to. I need to go home,’ I try to push him away, only to stumble. His grip on my elbow grows firm.

‘Take a walk, then you can call a cab. Do you know someone else here? Someone who can drop you home?’ His voice is surprisingly gentle. I shake my head and take my phone out.

‘I’ll just book a ride right now.’

He takes me near the balcony, and the air takes away some of the suffocation.

‘You suck, you know. You made me get drunk,’ I grumble, without knowing what I was saying. He laughs like he's surprised.

‘You hardly had two glasses. Small ones. I didn't know you were such a lightweight, it's disappointing to be honest.’

‘Why? Why is that disappointing?’ I slur.

‘I thought you'd be a fierce drinker too, but… It's a shame. We could have had fun drinking sessions.’

‘You talk like we're friends,’ I snort.

‘Enemies can sit together too.’

‘Forget it. It's exhausting. I feel better now, so I'll get going.’

‘Wait, give me your phone,’ he takes it away before I can ask why, and enters his number. I roll my eyes.

‘Tell me when you get home. How far is your place from here?’

‘About 30 minutes.’

Half an hour later, my screen lights up with his name, just as I'm getting out of the cab.

‘Jaewookie? Seriously? Why did you save your nickname in my phone?’

‘Are you home?’ He completely disregards my questions.

‘Just got out of the cab. This is such a stupid name. What did you save my number as?’

‘Goodnight, Romantic Voice.’ He disconnects and I scowl at my phone. It hits me when I crash into bed. That must be my contact name. I chuckle before passing out.