Thirst (3)
The machine starts running again. Heat that had gone cold begins to rise, and the familiar noise of the cafe slowly spreads through the space.
The silence from moments before vanishes as if it had never been, and the place settles back into something ordinary, no different from any other day.
I stand in front of it.
A cup rests in my hand, my gaze naturally drawn toward the work counter, yet somehow nothing seems to catch hold. My head knows exactly what needs doing, but my body refuses to follow.
What happened just a little while ago still hangs there, unfinished. Not resolved—frozen right on the edge of exploding.
“Why are you just standing there like that?”
The voice from behind sounds no different from usual. Low, short, completely casual. The moment I hear it, though, my body reacts before my mind does.
“…Ah, no, it’s nothing.”
The answer comes out naturally enough, but my hands lag a beat behind. The timing of setting the cup down goes off, and I fuss with its position one more time for no reason—an empty little adjustment of something already fine.
In the middle of that, something brushes against me from the side.
Near my waist. The lightest graze, yet the heat of it burns through the apron as if it means to scorch my skin.
Before, my body would have flinched at once. I would have jerked away on reflex, or at least gone rigid with tension…
This time the reaction doesn’t come right away. Instead, a strange little hope seeps in through that brief gap—hope that the hand might brush me once more.
“Time to focus on work, yeah?”
The low words make the back of my neck flush hot.
I can’t say a thing. I ought to deny it, but my mouth won’t open.
Instead my hands grow busier for no good reason. I tidy an already-tidy cup again, repeating useless motions as if stalling for time.
Then a presence draws closer behind me.
Almost no footsteps. Just, at some point, he is inside my space.
“Not there.”
A hand settles on my shoulder. It touches me naturally under the excuse of correcting my position, then lingers a moment.
Before, even that brief contact would have locked my body solid.
Now… it doesn’t.
“…Okay.”
Only my voice answers. My body stays where it is.
No—not completely still.
I lean, ever so slightly, toward the hand. Not pulling away—more like adjusting so it can press deeper.
…What am I doing?
Reason catches up late, but control has already slipped over to instinct.
Breath draws near behind me. His scent, close enough almost to touch, brushes the tip of my nose, and a heavy weight settles low in my belly.
The instant I become aware of it, my hands stop. Cup still set down, I simply stand there, doing nothing.
And for the briefest second, my center of gravity tips backward. Not on purpose.
Leaning into that solid chest just feels more comfortable.
In that moment I understand it myself.
This isn’t endurance. It isn’t even holding back. Right now I am waiting to be taken by him.
“Good enough.”
He murmurs it low and lifts his hand away.
I still can’t answer. I just start moving my hands again.
Trying to act normal, to carry on as if nothing happened.
But it’s already too late. Until a moment ago I had been managing somehow to hold on; now my body is the first to wait for what comes next.
A thirst sweeps down through me—wanting him to touch me again, wanting him to pick up the heat that got cut short in the warehouse.
Time crawls by with cruel slowness.
As the flow of customers coming and going repeats, my body seems to settle into mechanical familiarity, yet nothing inside me is sorted out.
If anything, every nerve sharpens toward one single point.
Even the slightest approach, the most trivial brush of fabric, and the sensation that had been cut off earlier surges back like a tidal wave.
Because of that, my movements begin to change in strange ways. Distances I once would have fled from in panic, I no longer avoid.
Reason flashes warning lights that I ought to run, but my body only laughs at the alarms and refuses to react.
No—worse. I step closer to him than I need to.
I stop in a narrow passage where there is no reason to linger, and as I pass I let my shoulder graze his solid arm even though there is no need to touch.
I feel the shiver run down the back of my neck the moment we connect, yet I don’t pull away at once.
“….”
I notice it myself. The compass inside me is completely broken.
In the short gaps with no customers, every time the space behind the counter empties, my movements slow for no reason.
I wipe an already clean holder once more, check the finished POS terminal again, dragging out the minutes.
For no reason at all—only the instinctive thirst to stay inside his line of sight.
Even then, every nerve stays locked on the space behind me.
I don’t need to check where he is or how close he has come; I feel it in the heat against my skin. That is the real problem.
“…Haa.”
A short sigh slips out. The harder I try to concentrate, the more my thoughts scatter.
The lukewarm, unfinished state left from the warehouse sits like sediment, leaving everything I do feeling like a thorn stuck in my throat.
Especially the strange pressure rising from deep in my lower belly, pulled so tight it feels ready to burst at any second.
Before long the sun sets and closing time draws near.
As the noise inside the cafe dies down and silence settles, my movements begin to speed up in an odd way.
The final cup cleaning I would normally take slow and careful is finished in the blink of an eye.
Even while I needlessly recheck the finished POS, my hands never stop.
Fear of what might happen and the thirst to end that lukewarm warehouse state as soon as possible tangle together and drive me on.
If I just finish a little faster, maybe he will look at me. Maybe he will snatch me up before I have to throw myself at him. That empty hope only makes my actions more restless.
Even after the cleaning is done I can’t leave right away. I scrub mindlessly with the rag over and over, fussing with supplies that don’t need touching.
Through it all Choi Deok-hun moves. He is as calm as ever.
Whether he knows how worked up I am and pretends not to, or whether he truly doesn’t care, that indifference feels heavier and more awkward than anything.
“We’re done.”
He says it shortly and picks up his coat. The back of a man casually waving and heading home. I stare blankly at that retreating figure.
……That’s it? Just like that?
Bewilderment hits first.
My body feels ready to burn up from the heat that has been building since earlier, yet the very person who drove me to this state is turning away as if nothing happened.
This irresponsible ending feels strangely unfair, almost unbearable.
The moment he steps toward the door, my body moves before my head does.
“Excuse me!”
My voice cuts sharply through the quiet of the cafe. Choi Deok-hun stops and tilts his head a little.
“What.”
Short, simple. The second our eyes meet, the words stick. I called him because I had something to say, yet the words that have risen all the way to the tip of my tongue refuse to come out easily.
He doesn’t hurry me. He simply watches my fluster with dry eyes.
Not waiting—more like leisurely savoring the sight of me crumbling on my own. That predator’s gaze gnaws at the last of my pride.
“…Are you just… going home today?”
The awkward words that tumble out shock even me. Choi Deok-hun gives a light shrug.
“Shift’s over, so yeah. You go home and rest too.”
Such an ordinary tone. No implication, no temptation. My chest drops hard.
My body is still the same… the sensations that have been building since yesterday haven’t eased even a little. He shoved me to the edge of this cliff and now he’s just going to walk off in peace?
Unbearable resentment and thirst swallow my reason whole. Toward his retreating back I spit out something raw, almost a scream.
“Wait!”
This time I don’t hesitate. If I stop here it’s really over. The terror hits me that if he opens that door and leaves, I might dry up and die all weekend from the phantom ache he left behind.
It’s already too late. Dignity and common sense were thrown out long ago.
“…That.”
The words break. I swallow once and force my burning voice to continue.
“The thing we usually do… why are you just leaving?”
I don’t have to finish it. He already knows. Anyone looking at me right now would see something wrong…
Choi Deok-hun says nothing for a while. His expression doesn’t change; he simply stares straight through me. A cruel silence, as if he means to force the surrender out of my own mouth.
“So? What do you want me to do for you?”
The low voice squeezes my heart. I drop my gaze to the floor and draw a trembling breath. Then I speak the words that hand my entire life over to him.
“…Let’s go. To your place.”
Quiet, but clear.
“…I want to go with you. Please.”
Only after the words leave me does the tight strain in my hands finally loosen.
I am certain I have crossed a line I can never return from. Now my weekend—no, my everyday life—has fallen completely into Choi Deok-hun’s grasp.
And already my body shivers at the pleasure that miserable subjugation promises.
Choi Deok-hun still doesn’t move. But the moment he hears me, a faint smile rises on his previously blank face.
He steps closer and roughly tips my chin up.
“Alright. If that’s your answer.”
He leans in close to my face and murmurs low. His hot breath feels like a brand searing into me.
“Then let’s go.”
I follow behind Choi Deok-hun as he walks away, carrying both tension and an expectation I can’t explain…