The Talking Stage Is Too Frustrating
Injae and Riyeon burned through roughly two and a half hours doing laundry. Only just shy of four in the morning did Injae finally collapse under a freshly dried comforter and pass out cold.
From the moment the blankets had started tumbling in the drum washer, the two of them had taken turns dozing, leaning into each other for brief stretches of sleep. But while Injae needed at least six hours or he was useless, Riyeon was a thorough night owl. She clung to his arm, pressed flush against him, breathing in his scent.
More precisely, she was trying to think while breathing him in.
She was trying very hard to think.
Arms wrapped around Injae’s, she gave a sly little rub against his crotch, and the dopamine that released combined with the adrenaline his scent kicked up made organizing her thoughts nearly impossible. Right as she was about to surrender completely to temptation, Riyeon called to him in a low voice.
“Oppa, you asleep?”
It was the tiniest whisper. Somehow he still heard it. Eyes closed, Injae pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
Electricity crackled from that spot and raced through her entire body. It swept every corner of her, slammed into the soles of her feet, then surged back up to her scalp. Riyeon shivered hard and exhaled a heated sigh, refreshed.
Eyes adjusted to the dark, she gazed quietly at the sleeping Injae.
He’s handsome.
Objectively speaking, of course, Injae’s looks were ordinary. If he’d truly been that good-looking, people at the office would have treated him with a little more cooperation and kindness. Appearance, separate from personality, always left its mark on others. But for Riyeon, Injae had become the very standard of beauty itself. Just looking at him loosened her eyes and the corners of her mouth. Hearing his voice or feeling his touch made the space between her legs itch and grow wet. Her heart hammered at dangerous rates, and her body heat—especially her palms—ran hot; she was perfectly aware of all of it.
He was the perfect man.
She kept insisting otherwise and dodging the subject, but anyone who listened would call her upbringing miserable. He wrapped those years of hers in acceptance while still looking straight at the person she was now, ready to walk forward and adjust alongside her. She hadn’t chosen him on pure gut instinct alone.
Injae kept asking why she liked him so much, and though she could have answered, she always circled as close to the truth as she could manage. She had not the slightest wish to hide anything from him until the end. The problem was that explaining how she had come to feel this strongly about him meant dumping out every secret of her past and present. In other words, she would have to tell him why she had been a complete loner since middle school.
She knew that if Injae heard it, he would act like it was nothing while still treating her with careful consideration—and yet the moment the thought of actually saying it rose up, her breath locked in her throat and her tongue went stiff and refused to move. And all the while, she was the one forcing him to be completely honest with her.
Riyeon was aware that her attachment and her behavior toward Injae were far too heavy. She was aware; she simply could not control it. When Injae looked at her, the world brightened. When he looked at her even a little less, everything in front of her eyes turned blood-red. The pain of abandonment, the way even criticism had eventually cut off into total silence, the old wounds—all of it had made Riyeon into something neither fully abnormal nor fully normal, a half-finished mess either way.
The man who would look only at her as she balanced precariously on that line. She was certain there was no one else but Injae. The only master who could take hold of her reins was him.
Praise for a guy you were only in the talking stage with could never be too much or too little—but it was time for Riyeon to actually think. Before she had to show up at the office, she needed a policy for what to do with this current stage between them.
The talking stage?
She was overflowing with the urge to smash it to pieces right now, call him “honey-oppa,” and roll around in bed with him every single day. The only reason she held back was the instinctive warning that charging straight ahead without first laying out every wound each of them carried was dangerous.
The talking stage was safest. They hadn’t even been in it for long. And yet—
The talking stage was pure, frustrating torture.
Just like earlier. She had been so worked up she wanted to lick every inch of him and fountain between her legs, and Injae had endured it with superhuman patience, even stopping her impulses—and doing it in a way that trained her.
“Oppa, you asleep?”
The memory of his gaze looking down at her made her heat up all over again. She cast the magic spell, and this time Injae kissed her forehead. Perfect. Even half-asleep, this man soothed her whenever she called. Her chest trembled.
See? I was right. Let’s end the talking stage right now and start dating. Absolutely.
Just like earlier. I should have just yanked his underwear off and stuffed his cock in my mouth. Sucked it until it stood up, then climbed on and put it inside myself. Invite it through my hole, along my pussy, all the way into my womb. I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt. Because of Injae, I change my panties at least once at the office. Because of Injae, I’ve bought so many flashy sets of lingerie lately—the slutty kind with almost no fabric, or the kind with holes where there shouldn’t be holes. Any time I’m apart from him, the first thing I do is masturbate. I’ve even done it secretly in the company bathroom. Because of Injae, a virgin who’s never had sex once has turned into a woman crazy for sex.
It’s all because of Injae.
Why did he have to work overtime that day and end up talking to her because of the Mizuki Drug Bulgogi Incident? Why, after that conversation started, did he listen to her with such interest and answer her so seriously? Why, even after that, did he keep trying so hard to reply to every one of her annoying messages?
They chatted about nothing, ate together, drank together. Even when she was right beside him he never hit her, never criticized her—he simply accepted her. The treatment, the respect, the simple regard she hadn’t received for ten years transformed Riyeon’s feelings from fondness into a crush, and from a crush into obsession and madness.
Is this what ordinary life is supposed to feel like?
Because of Injae, she could never go back to a life without him.
No.
No.
No.
Nonononononononononononono.
Thanks to Injae, she had been able to start living a life that included him.
Is this love? Is this a normal life? Is this happiness?
If all of it was thanks to Injae, then—then she wanted to keep every bit of it entirely in her hands, in her arms, and give it to no one else.
And yet another part of Riyeon was terrified. Terrified that if she did whatever she wanted, he would get sick of her and leave. The more he accepted her uncontrolled obsession, the more lovable he became, and the more she feared the moment she might cross his limit.
So Riyeon decided to hand him her reins. She believed that once Injae was ready, he would take hold of her leash. Just the way he had stopped her before sleep was already enough to make her hopeful. It suited her nature, too. She had always been the one who got hurt rather than the one who hurt others. That was more comfortable. As long as sweet compensation followed the pain afterward, she didn’t mind. No one had ever given her that compensation until now—but Injae was different.
For example: while Injae slept, she could send him messages and receive no reply. A stretch of serious agony followed. After she endured that hard time, the awakened Injae would message her back. An extremely, extremely, extremely sweet reward. The joy that he had sought her out again today instead of rejecting her filled her body and overflowed. Continuity of the relationship. Maintenance of everyday happiness. So the painful stretches were fine. She could endure them. Riyeon was a masochist, after all.
A masochist—but there was one thing she had to be careful about. She could not stand intentional neglect play. She never wanted to live ignored again. Especially not by Injae. She might even kill herself. Would Injae be sad for her then? Would he grieve the absence she created by killing herself over his absence? But if she did that, she would never see him again—not even the sight of him mourning her loss. That was only a what-if, of course.
Right now, Riyeon’s talking stage was going smoothly. Too smoothly—that was the problem. Now the very limits of the “talking stage” territory were what stood in her way.
“Oppa, you asleep?”
Injae pulled Riyeon tighter into his arms and kissed her. Sweet. Fragrant. She couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Oppa.”
Riyeon whispered in an even smaller voice than before.
“Want to go out with me?”
He must have heard. He definitely heard. She was blurring the line she herself had drawn and trying to redraw it. Don’t want to look easy? Fine if I look easy. I want to have you. Hand it over—your heart, your body. I’ve already decided to give you everything, so you just have to give me yours. Nod your head right now and say yes. If you do, I’ll devour Injae until the sun comes up. I’ll take his seed deep into my baby room, lots and lots of it, and get pregnant. I’ll bear the fruit of our love and bind him to me. He would make a domestic husband, a gentle father. He might be a little blunt, but compared to her useless wreck of a father, he would be far—
“Riyeon…”
Injae didn’t escalate the contact. He simply held her gently and patted her back. Words weren’t needed. Words couldn’t express it. Why had her fierce mood melted away, leaving only a fluttering thrill in its place? That didn’t mean a flood hadn’t broken out between Riyeon’s legs. This hug probably didn’t mean acceptance. And yet—
I want this man.
No.
I want this man to have me.
Riyeon decided. It was time to move past the talking stage. Even if full dating was still hard, she would grab Injae by the collar if she had to and drag him right up to the edge of it.
“Heh heh.”
She laughed alone in the dark, already looking forward to the day his seed would fill her womb. Riyeon painted a bright, sticky future for herself.