"I'm thirsty," he quickly asserts instead of answering my question, evading my curious gaze. "Are you thirsty?"
I pull my lips to the side with a bit of an irked pout, shaking my head in response.
His response does not come as a surprise. It isn't uncommon for him to be secretive about his personal life and disclosing details about himself to others does not come easy to him, but I did think we were past that. Unlike last time, I decide not to press him for an answer.
However, if he does not tell me about his first kiss, he can forget about me divulging mine. I can bet my left butt cheek my story is far more intriguing than his. In fact, it is so gripping that he will regret not sharing his own experience with me. The thought of it will undoubtedly haunt him, consuming his every thought. Surely...
"Well, I don't any have water." I balance myself to the side to fist my phone out of my pocket to check the time. It hasn't even been ten minutes yet. "You have to take a sip of the drink for not answering my question by the way."
"I'm underage," he mutters dismissively, turning away from me.
With an annoyed scowl, I demand, "And I'm not?"
"It's not my fault it took nothing to convince you to drink alcohol," he replies, his voice dripping with a hint of condescension.
I feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I glare at him, the rules of the game which he came up with and we both agreed on, playing out in my mind.
Then a sudden thought strikes me and a wicked grin spreads across my face. The sort of smile which could put the Cheshire cat to shame. Leaning forward slightly, I purr, "It almost sounds like you're too much of a coward to take a little sip of alcohol, Domi."
His head turns around to face me again and the bored expression on my face has my playful grin wavering the slightest bit. "I know what you're doing and you're doing a shit job at it. You're going to have to do a little better than that to convince me, because whatever that was, it's not going to work on me, Starr."
Unwilling to back down so easily, I squint at him silently and challenge him with my voice dropping an octave, "A man of his word, he said. It seems as though your word means fuck all actually."
His eyes narrow and my smile almost widens when I see the muscles in his jaw tightening. He opens his mouth, no doubt to retort, but I quickly cut him off with a raised hand.
"How am I supposed to trust someone who backs out of a gentleman's agreement?"
The tension between us grows thick in the air, too thick for a scissor to even be able to cut through it, as we stare at each other, neither of us willing to back down from this challenge. But eventually, after rolling his eyes irritably, he reaches for the bottle sitting between us.
My eyebrows flick up in surprise and I turn to look at him curiously, wondering if he's actually going to drink it anyway.
And he does.
Tentatively, he takes a swig of the drink, gulping a few sips down his throat. With a triumphant grin, I watch him and after a while, he pulls it away. His face contorts into a grimace with his eyes pinched shut as if the liquid is burning its way down his throat. He groans softly, wiping a hand across his mouth as if trying to rid himself of the terrible aftertaste.
I can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as he slams the glass bottle back down on the counter, his eyes watering slightly.
"There," he growls, his voice horse. "Are you satisfied?"
Pocketing my phone, I lean back against the wall, an amused gleam in my eyes. "Your turn."
"Pet peeve?"
I glance at me momentarily, thinking his words over in my mind. "I don't think I have any, to be honest with you."
"There must be something which annoys you."
"No, not really." When I see him glancing down at the wine, I quickly make up, "My pet peeve is aimed at insects. The creepy crawlers to be specific. It is so annoying when spiders crawl into a vagina to lay their eggs in there. Then later on the eggs hatch and a bunch of baby arthropods crawl out."
A loud silence follows my statement as Dominic stares at me like I'm an alien from up above. "That's disturbing," he deadpans.
"And annoying," I add, nodding.
"No, it's disturbing that you have such thoughts. Now, I see why you and Taylor are best friends. You are just as pathologically psychotic as she is."
I frown at him in offence, crossing my arms over my chest. Nobody can be as pathologically psychotic as Taylor. With a glower thrown at him, I ask, "Have you ever had or have a pet?"
With a nonchalance, he reaches for the bottle of alcoholic beverage and takes another big swig.
I frown at him in confusion but decide to maintain my composure and refrain from questioning him about his actions. My thoughts drift and I try to figure out if he has ever opened up about a pet, if he has any. Despite his casual façade, I sense a deeper layer of complexity beneath the surface. I wonder what the story is behind his decision to withhold this information from me.
What else is he hiding from me?
The more I think about it, the more curious I become.
Swiftly moving on from that, I question, "Do you have any pet peeves?"
"I've got several actually."
"Oh, yeah?"
"Mm-hmm."
"What are they?"
"When people chew too loudly and with their mouths open, unknown bodily fluids. I'm also very sensitive to smell so I get pissed off when people don't do the bare minimum and maintain basic hygiene."
"Oh, yeah, I hear that."
Before we can move on to the next question, he purposefully adds, "I recently learned that I get irritated when people endlessly sing, when people invade my personal space and unbutton my cufflinks, and when people try to talk to me because they just want to be the first to have broken down my walls. People in general annoy me."
Why do I have a little feeling that he just described me? Well, except for the first two. I don't chew loudly or with an open mouth, because my mother always taught me to eat like I have a secret around people. I believe I have maintained that to a certain degree.
I mean, honestly, I am not going to exert proper etiquette around Taylor. She and I are homies, since our diaper days. She has seen my baby poop and I have seen her baby vomit. Okay, no we have only been friends from reception school, but that is not the point. The length of our relationship has opened it up so much that eating like one has a secret isn't necessary.
I don't spit unless I'm giving head. I'm kidding. I don't spit… or give anyone head.
Truthfully speaking if I do spit then it's not on purpose. It's normally unintentionally done. Everyone has had that one or two or thirty five awkward moments when one is talking to someone quite animatedly and one's salivary glands decide at that very moment to go haywire. A drop of spittle then flies out of one's mouth and it almost seems like the world is slowing down as horror-filled music thumps in the background. One will fearfully watch that saliva touch the other person's face.
That has to be the most humiliating thing ever. Especially when both parties try to act like it didn't happen.
"Wow," I murmur, bobbing my head up and down as I take in his words. "Those are a lot of people pet peeves. The last three feel kind of familiar."
"Yes, because they're aimed at you," he clears that up bluntly. "What? Was that not obvious?"
"Mate, why you gotta be such a dickhead?"
"Because I have a penis stapled to my forehead, remember?"
Wait, what?
"I don't remember saying that to you," I murmur out in confusion.
"Oh, yeah. That was Dinah James," he recalls and then gives me a little bro-nod as if to silently say, "You're alright, kid".
I blink myself out of my bemused stupor and stupidly wait for him to apologise for wrongfully accusing me. Clearly, I haven't learned anything over the past few months, because Dominic Lachowski will never apologise to me. Like I've said, he's unapologetic and doesn't care about my opinion of him at all.
I clear my throat awkwardly and cautiously shift away from him so that I don't invade any more of his personal space. He might just bite my head off.
"What is your favourite childhood memory?" he asks me, and I notice a bit of a slur in his voice.
I pause for a moment, a memory flooding back like a gentle wave washing over me. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I think back to those simpler times.
"Well," I begin, with my voice soft and contemplative, "There's one tradition from my childhood that always stands out to me."
I can picture it so vividly, my older brother and I with Appa, kneeling on the living room floor as the warm glow of the lights danced across our faces. It was Chuseok, the Korean harvest festival, and we were carefully unwrapping the colourful rice cakes my mum had previously prepared.
"What is it?"
"Every Chuseok, my dad and I would make songpyeon together." When he squints at me in bemusement, I explain, "They're these little half moon shaped rice cakes, and we would carefully fill them with sweet sesame or bean paste before steaming them."
I can almost smell the slightly nutty aroma and feel the warmth of the freshly cooked cakes in my palms.
"My dad would teach me all the proper techniques. How to knead the dough, how to shape the cakes just so." A fond chuckle escapes me. "I remember getting so frustrated when mine didn't turn out as perfect as his. But he was always so patient, guiding my clumsy little hands."
It was a ritual we repeated year after year, one that connected me to my cultural heritage. Until we just stopped after he... My gaze drifts downwards, the smile on my face tinged with a hint of sadness.
I hesitantly glance back up, meeting his eyes and I'm almost surprised to see the sympathy in his browns.
The air between us grows heavily charged with an unspoken emotion I cannot quite place. His brow furrows slightly, his lips pursing into a thin line as he considers me. There is a softness there that has never been there before, a vulnerability that catches me off guard. I hold his gaze, searching for answers to the ample questions running through my mind.
Quickly, I avert my gaze and try to change the subject by asking, "What is the worst thing you have ever done?"
For a second, he does not respond. He is still looking at me fervently.
I squirm under his gaze and he must see my discomfort because he blinks himself out of some kind of daze and then his gaze wavers, eyes glazing over like he is deep in thought.
"The worst thing I've ever done," he murmurs his words which echo in the small box and thoughtlessly reaches for the bottle of wine, tossing back a large gulp of liquor again, his lips wet with the wine once he's finished.
When I assume that he just dodged my question, I open my mouth to ask him something else, but he starts speaking, cutting me off before I can utter a single word.
"At first, it was back in reception school, I was quite the moody child who preferred to play crossword puzzles alone instead of swinging on the swings like all the other children would. Looking back, I realise what an absolute neek I was and I don't blame the teachers for treating me as such. One day, this girl asked me to be her boyfriend and I panicked so I humiliated her in front of everyone."
I cannot, for the life of me, be shocked at the information I am hearing, because ladies and gentlemen, this is Dominic Lachowski we're talking about. Detached, stubborn, lonely Dominic Lachowski to be specific and he doesn't care about what he does to whom. He just does it with no regrets. I should know.
"What did you do?" I ask curiously.
"I called her too fat for me and even made a song which all the kids would sing for her. I think I may have potentially screwed up her reception school experience. As a six year old, you really don't want to spend every single day of a year listening to a song about you being fat."
"Was she? Fat, I mean."
"No," he replies monotonously. "I mean, she had that baby fat, but it was the cute kind that most kids have."
I puff some air out of my chest, blinking a couple of times. "Mate, that is harsh. Did she cry?"
"Yeah." Again, monotonous.
"Did you feel bad?"
"Take a guess."
"I'm going to go with yes."
He groans at my response.
"Hear me out, hear me out. I just think that younger Dominic was more conscious of people's feelings and actually had a heart."
"I called the kid fat, Starr. How conscious is that?"
"Okay, I see your point. You were born evil and might turn out to be the anti-Christ. I rest my case." I take a bow in front of my applauding, invisible audience.
Again, he wets his whistle with another sip of alcohol, and I feel an innate need to grab the bottle out of his hand out of concern, but all I can do is watch him.
"So, what is it now?"
"What?" He furrows his brows in confusion.
"You said that at first, that was the worst thing you've ever done. So, what is it now?"
He holds my stare for a couple of seconds and then says, "Finding a certain someone's personal belongings and then blackmailing him into helping me to get a girl to like me."
What?
Holy hell which has frozen over and converted all its demons into angels, is the infamous, emotionless, unapologetic Dominic Lachowski feeling some kind of remorse for taking my sketchbook and then blackmailing me with it?
Could it be that the icy walls protecting his heart from showing anyone any compassionate feelings are melting away and proving that underneath all that gloom and glum he's actually quite the softy? Could it be that he's finally feeling something and conveying it to someone he despises and is annoyed by most of the time?
"Is that an apology?"
"No," he replies quickly and bluntly.
"I'll take it," I instantly decide with a large grin spreading across my face when he scowls at me in a way that says that I'm his biggest nuisance. "It's the closest thing to an apology I'll ever be getting from you."
"Biggest fear?" Dominic muses, trying to change the subject and he licks his lips.
I inhale deeply and pucker my bottom lip over the top one. After releasing them with a loud pop, I answer, "My biggest fear was initially… getting rejected."
His brows flick up in surprise.
"The thought of just being dismissed thoughtlessly freaked the hell out of me. Both Taylor and Jodie had to really talk me into telling you that I liked you and I thought it would send me into some kind of depression, but it wasn't so bad. So, I guess that fear was conquered thanks to you."
He watches me and I have to admit that the intensity of his stare unsettles me a little. "What is it now?"
"Now?" I muse, biting into the inside of my cheek.
He nods.
"I think now my biggest fear has to be losing anyone close to me. The void that I felt in my life, because of my dad's death is something I never want to go through again. Just thinking about my mum, Franklin, my siblings or any of my friends not being a part of my life anymore genuinely scares me because I don't see my life without them being part of the picture. It's like once they're gone, the pen writing my story just stops writing. I don't want to lose anyone I care about."
This openness embarrasses me a little since I prefer to hide the emotional side of my being away from anyone really.
Taylor and I have forever sworn to never be mushy around each other. Honestly, it's not even a choice. The slightest bit of feelings or emotions between us sets us off and discomfort pursues after that. That is why we barely hug or hold hands. We've only hugged twice. The first time was when I got rejected by Dominic and was a little despondent and the second time was a few days after my father's funeral when I eventually broke down and cried into her shoulder.
"Now you." I quickly mutter, trying to push the focus onto anything, but my burning cheeks.
He presses his lips into a grim, nervous line, averting his gaze from my curious one to the broken door, as if silently begging someone to walk in and divert the focus from him now.
I'm not even shocked to see him being so reluctant about this kind of information. He is Dominic Lachowski. The name should be self-explanatory by now. He is not someone who just shows and tells. He's not someone who merely shares. He's not someone who lets himself be an open book.
Releasing a deep breath from his chest as if to chase away the monster which is causing him to hesitate, he opens his mouth and responds, "My biggest fear is," he pauses for a long while, regarding me under his still reluctant gaze until he finally finishes with, "it's being trapped in confined spaces or crowded places. That is why I prefer not to go to the cafeteria."
My eyes widen from his confession, but he doesn't keep his eyes locked on mine anymore.
"You're claustrophobic?"
A crimson colour taints his neck as he clears his throat and he doesn't even have a hoodie to hide his embarrassed emotion from me anymore. Hesitantly, he bobs his head up and down in confirmation.
"Is that why you… ran away so abruptly the other day?" I ask him softly.
He just nods stiffly.
"Wait," I exclaim worriedly when I realise something. "Do you realise that we're stuck in a restroom? Isn't your claustrophobia kicking in or something?"
"It will if you keep reminding me of it," he answers, tugging his tie off and unbuttoning the first button on his shirt which he pulls away from his neck like it is strangling him.
"Oh, I'm… sorry. I, Seong Jin, solemnly swear to hereby distract you from your irrational fear of confined spaces from here on out." He throws daggers at me at the way I directly word the meaning of claustrophobia. "What is your secret talent?"
He places his hand down and lets out a huge puff of air. "I play the piano. I play the guitar. I play the violin. I play the drums."
My mind falters at all the things he has listed, and I wonder if I misheard him. When he just stares at me, my eyes widen and my mouth gapes at him in apparent shock. "Really?"
Dominic nods once. "As a kid, my father always pushed me into music. It wasn't something I wanted to do, but I found myself enjoying it as time went on and I began to push myself into playing every kind of instrument. The only things I cannot play are wind instruments because they require a lot of breath control which makes me feel suffocated."
"Which goes back to your claustrophobia," I end his unsaid words, realising that I'm not even asking him a question.
He nods.
"Well, my secret talent is that I can do this with my tongue." I proceed to stick my tongue out and then I curl it. In intrigue, Dominic stares down at my tongue and I move my tongue around my mouth skilfully. With a large grin on my face, I excitedly muse, "Cool right?"
He blinks himself out of what seems to be a daze before he glances up at me. "Uh… yeah. That's pretty cool."
"Better than your musical talents, yeah?" I smirk at him smugly.
He doesn't show any signs of disagreement.
"Also, you cannot tell anyone about this because there was a rumour that I was giving the guys on the football team… certain sexual acts which I did not but if they learn about my tongue skills, people will assume that rumour was true."
"That's a long-winded way of saying you gave a bunch of guys blowjobs," he emphasises in a patronising tone.
"No, I didn't actually give them blowjobs."