Sasha chuckled, clearly amused by Beom's reaction, but Beom had had enough. Turning away, he muttered under his breath, "One of these days, I swear, I'm going to make it through a conversation with you without wanting to strangle someone. Probably myself."
He finished dressing, deliberately ignoring Sasha's lingering gaze, and mentally braced himself for whatever irritating comment Sasha would throw at him next.
Beom kept his eyes glued to the laptop screen, trying his best to ignore Sasha's loud humming as the man strolled into the room with an unmistakable swagger. The Russian song he was humming had a folksy rhythm to it, drifting into the room in a tune that was somehow haunting yet oddly playful. Sasha clutched two glasses and a bottle of what looked like particularly strong alcohol, his smirk broadening as he caught Beom's annoyed glance.
"You're always so serious," Sasha remarked, and without warning, he stretched out his foot and flipped Beom's laptop shut. Beom blinked, irritation flashing in his eyes as he looked up. But before he could protest, Sasha had already moved to one of the stools, tapping on the empty one in front of him. His intent was clear—he wanted Beom to join him.
With a sigh, Beom reluctantly got up, knowing full well there was no escaping Sasha's insistence when he was in this kind of mood. Fine, he thought, maybe if I sit there for five minutes, he'll get bored and let me get back to work. He sat down across from Sasha, who was already pouring himself a glass of the drink with a mischievous gleam in his eye.
Sasha reached into his pocket, pulling out a bit of tobacco. He mixed it with the alcohol, then lit it up, taking a slow drag before holding it out toward Beom. "It's very good, you should try it," he said, extending the smoke-filled glass toward him.
Beom hesitated, eyeing the mix suspiciously. He could smell the sharp aroma of tobacco mingling with the strong scent of alcohol, and, for a moment, he wondered if this was one of Sasha's tricks to get him to let his guard down. But then curiosity got the better of him, and he took the glass, bringing it to his lips for a cautious drag.
The smoky flavor hit his senses, a deep, almost earthy richness that he wasn't expecting. It had a warmth to it that was surprisingly… pleasant. He took another drag, his initial hesitation giving way as he let the taste settle on his tongue.
"Not bad," Beom muttered, a hint of surprise in his tone. Sasha's eyes sparkled with amusement as he handed Beom a glass filled with the same alcohol.
Sasha poured himself another, raising his glass to toast before taking a generous sip. Beom followed suit, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a small, cautious sip. The liquor was sharp, stronger than anything he'd had recently, and he barely managed to keep a straight face as the burn traveled down his throat.
"Oof… strong," he muttered, his expression momentarily scrunched up in reaction.
Sasha chuckled, clearly amused by Beom's reaction, taking a hearty sip himself without even flinching. "You're not used to this, are you?" he teased, leaning back as he observed Beom with that knowing grin.
Great, Beom thought, now he's going to act like I can't handle my liquor. But instead of letting Sasha get the best of him, he raised an eyebrow, giving Sasha a sarcastic smirk. "Oh, please," he said, taking another sip and managing to keep his expression neutral this time. "I've had stronger than this. Just don't get used to thinking you're going to out-drink me."
Sasha gave a low chuckle, obviously enjoying the challenge. "Well, let's see about that," he said, pouring another round for both of them. Beom took the glass, his competitive side kicking in as he matched Sasha's sip, this time feeling more prepared for the strong flavor. He could feel the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his chest, the buzz settling in as he started to relax, almost in spite of himself.
For a few moments, they sat in silence, the soft glow of the room casting a mellow light around them. Beom glanced at Sasha, watching as he savored his drink, his expression calm yet strangely intense. There was a part of him, deep down, that appreciated this rare moment of quiet between them. The hostility, the sarcasm—it was all still there, but in this moment, it felt like they were sharing something beyond words, a silent truce.
And as he sat there, Beom couldn't help but wonder what lay behind Sasha's smirk, behind the endless teasing and confidence.
Sasha poured another glass for Beom, the sound of the liquid swirling into the glass filling the quiet air between them. Beom was clearly feeling the effects of the alcohol—his usually composed demeanor was unraveling, giving way to a looser, more carefree side of him. He chuckled lightly, the sound almost boyish, as he leaned back and exhaled a cloud of smoke from the tobacco Sasha had handed him earlier.
"When I first saw you," Beom began, his voice slightly slurred but still carrying that signature sharpness, "I thought you were a model." He gestured vaguely toward Sasha, his lips curling into a lopsided grin.
Sasha raised an eyebrow, amused. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he sipped his drink. "I get that a lot," he replied with a small chuckle, his tone as smooth and casual as always. But there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes as he watched Beom, whose flushed face betrayed just how far gone he was.
After a beat, Sasha's smirk widened. "Let's play a game," he said, his voice playful, but his gaze had a certain intensity to it. "We'll ask each other questions. No skipping. No lying."
Beom blinked, then snorted softly. "You're such a child," he muttered, though there was no real bite in his words. He took another sip of his drink, the alcohol warming him from the inside out, loosening his usual guarded nature.
Sasha tilted his head, his smirk still in place as he stared at Beom. "Alright, let's start simple," he said, swirling the liquid in his glass. "What's your biggest secret?"
Beom froze for a split second, the question hanging heavy in the air. He chuckled nervously, glancing away as he took another drag from his tobacco. "Biggest secret, huh?" he echoed, his tone almost contemplative. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his thighs as he stared into the swirling smoke in front of him.
"Hmm…" he began, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. "Don't tell anyone…but I'm an intersex person."
Sasha's expression shifted, his smirk fading into something softer—curiosity mixed with surprise. He didn't interrupt, though, letting Beom continue.
"I used to have both male and female organs," Beom said, his words deliberate, though slightly slurred from the alcohol. "But…I closed the female part because I wanted to be male. It…functioned better that way." He let out a dry chuckle, though there was an underlying vulnerability in his tone that Sasha hadn't heard before. "That's why my body…looks like this. Kinda feminine, you know?"
Beom gestured vaguely to himself, his hand making a sweeping motion from his shoulders to his hips. His voice dropped even lower as he added, "It's not something I talk about. Ever. But you're drunk, I'm drunk, and…I don't know. Guess it doesn't matter."
For a moment, the room felt heavier, the air thick with the weight of Beom's confession. Sasha leaned back in his chair, his sharp features softening as he processed the information. He didn't laugh, didn't mock—he just studied Beom, who now looked a little more vulnerable than Sasha had ever seen him.
"You know," Sasha finally said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "that's…kinda badass."
Beom blinked, his gaze snapping to Sasha's face. "Badass?" he repeated, his tone skeptical.
"Yeah," Sasha said with a shrug, pouring another glass for himself. "Most people don't get a say in who they are. You did. That's badass."
Beom stared at him for a moment, his lips twitching as if he were trying to decide whether to smile or scoff. Finally, he muttered, "You're such a weirdo," before taking another sip of his drink.
But deep down, something about Sasha's response made him feel…lighter.
Beom tilted his head back slightly, letting the alcohol settle on his tongue before swallowing. His face was already flushed, a faint pink hue creeping up his neck to his cheeks. He leaned forward, resting his elbow on the table as he lazily swirled the liquid in his glass. The room was warm now, not from the temperature but from the quiet vulnerability and openness between them.
"What about you?" Beom asked, his voice laced with curiosity as he stared at Sasha. His tone wasn't as sharp as usual, softened by the alcohol's influence.
"Well, I got none, though," Sasha replied casually, lifting his glass for another sip. His gaze didn't waver, though; he was clearly studying Beom, intrigued by the man who, moments ago, had shared something deeply personal.
Beom raised an eyebrow at Sasha's nonchalant response, letting out a soft "tsk" as he leaned back in his chair. "Boring," he muttered, the word dripping with playful sarcasm. "Do you have any special talents, then? Or are you just walking around with nothing to offer except your stupid smirk?"
Sasha chuckled at the jab, shaking his head. "You tell me first," he said, gesturing lazily toward Beom with his glass. "What's your talent, Mr. I'm-Too-Good-For-Everyone?"
Beom paused for a moment, staring at his glass as if it held the answer. Then, with a crooked grin, he shrugged. "Yesshh…" he slurred slightly, the alcohol starting to take its toll. "I can pole dance."
Sasha blinked, caught off guard. "Pole dance?" he repeated, his voice laced with genuine surprise and curiosity.
"Yeah, you heard me," Beom said, a smug look crossing his face. "I've got a pole in my bedroom." He leaned forward, a conspiratorial glint in his eye. "And no, it's not for decoration. I'm actually good at it."
Sasha's lips curled into a smirk, but before he could make a snarky comment, Beom continued, his tone shifting slightly. "But…that's not all. I also play the violin."
That revelation made Sasha pause, his smirk fading into something softer. "Violin, huh?" he said, tilting his head slightly. "Didn't see that one coming."
Beom nodded, his grin fading into a more thoughtful expression. He poured himself another glass of alcohol, watching the liquid rise to the rim. "Yeah," he muttered, his voice quieter now. "I used to play all the time. It was my thing. But…I stopped."
Sasha frowned slightly, sensing the change in Beom's mood. "Why'd you stop?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Beom let out a soft sigh, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the ceiling. "After my papa died," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just…couldn't anymore. It didn't feel the same."
The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of Beom's words hanging in the air. Sasha didn't say anything right away, his usual playful demeanor subdued as he watched Beom.
"You know," Sasha finally said, breaking the silence, "I can't decide if you're the most interesting guy I've ever met or the weirdest."