Wasted Love

CHAPTER ONE

The air is thick with the smell of sizzling meat and exotic spices. From where I sit upon my stool I can see the chef hard at work, flipping my noddles again and again as if he's done it a million times. And he probably has. This street-side noodle shop is probably my favorite place in the whole city to eat, and I come here so often that even the owner's wife knows me by name. 

Often, the two of them will pack up scraps and extras, and demand that I take it home for later.

"You too skinny," his wife tells me every time. "No one feeding you. We feed you, okay? You take this home and eat later."

And with bony, shriveled fingers she always pushes the packaged food into my hands, never with a care for money or thanks. But her soft, age worn hands have a way of telling you everything you need to know. She cares, and that's why she does it.

It's just fact. Mr. and Mrs. Fuyumi are good people. Even their son, who does all of the actual cooking, is a decent guy. When I'd arrived in the big apple without a single idea as to what I was truly getting into, he'd been a huge help. I suppose his parents taught him to be kind to others, and maybe that's why he helped me all those months ago. Or maybe it's just Yuuki's nature. Regardless, Yuuki has become a fast friend and an able confident. 

If only he wasn't a huge pervert.

And Jimin, well, he's not much better. Get the two together and all conversation becomes a thing of nightmares. It's almost as if they entirely forget my presence, even while using me as a prop for their awful and indecent sense of humor. 

Which is why I keep side eying Jimin. Once the food is done Yuuki always sits down with us, and I just know that the two of them are going to embarrass me. Right in front of the new guy, no less. 

I study him for a moment, wondering how he'll take the guys' behavior. He's been chattering excitedly the whole way here, and even now he continues to fire every syllable with rather impressive speed and agility, especially given his rather thick Korean accent. Every now and then Jimin throws out an English word that our guest doesn't understand, causing him to blink owlishly, kohl colored eyelashes fluttering softly against his impressively smooth cheeks. His eyes, which normally appear to be rather emotive, become dull and glossy for a few moments before he shakes his head, ebony hair bouncing back into place almost immediately.

"In another life he could have been a rapper," I muse.

He seems like a pretty animated fellow too, so maybe he'll be able to keep up with Jimin's antics in the future. It'll probably do Jimin some good to have a new friend, or more accurately, it'll do me some good. It might give Jimin someone else to coddle for a bit, therefore increasing my ability to breathe. If his insistence to hook me up with blind date after blind date persists, I might actually have an aneurysm. 

I know that I'm stressing harder than I should be, and I know that I need to carve out some downtime, but I don't share Jimin's romantic leanings. I swear, that man was created for romance. It's no wonder that his studio is a constant revolving door of women desperate to breathe the same air as him, he's gorgeous. And he knows it too.

Jimin's idea of stress relief is a different body every night, any ideas of true passion fled his system years ago when his first love screwed him over. Literally. She still hovers from time to time. Just out of sight enough that Jimin is able to ignore her, but frequently enough that it is clear she is scoping out her competition.  She obviously still wants Jimin, but he's been more than happy to move on.

The night that he'd decided to end things with her he'd been awful close to doing something foolish and terrible. That's actually how we met. It was New Years Eve, and I was hammered and alone, again. My family and I never saw eye to eye on my love for dance, and we'd just had another fight about my choices in regards to my future. Only seconds after I'd stormed out of the family home, I'd received a call from my long time boyfriend stating that he'd knocked up Shelly Ferguson, the local gold digger, and that he was going to marry her.

It really had not been my night.

I'd stepped onto the balcony of the hotel room I'd rented for the night, eager for fresh air after a full bottle of Tequila and a good cry, only to find a man hanging from the balcony above me. That night I sprained my wrist twice trying to pull him back up and onto solid ground. 

To this day he swears that he merely slipped, that he'd been goofing around while equally sluiced, but I know better. I remember the way he cried for hours afterwards, refusing to allow me to leave once I'd escorted him back to his own room. Truly, we'd been strangers. But there was a connection made that night as a result of two hearts mired in the same hurt in the same place and at the same time. 

As a result Jimin has been my best friend for almost two years, and the two of us have been like peas in a pod for the majority of that time. I know that Jimin means well, and I'm sure that Jimin's new friend is a decent guy, but I'm just not on the market. I've never been a one night stand kind of gal. I honestly don't think I ever will be either. And lately, with all the added expectations that my troupe is facing, it just isn't the time to be focusing on anything other than my career.

"Hoseok!" Jimin exclaims, suddenly turning his attention to me despite the warning death glare that I send his way. "Meet Avelyn! She's from Washington, like me."

Jimin's chest puffs up with pride, eyes slightly glossed over by the soju. 

"We're best friends!" He explains, slinging an arm around my neck carelessly. "She's a good girl, even if she did stand you up. Just give her some time, I think the two of you will get along real well!"

I blush in response to his drunken praise and shove him out of my personal space angrily. Clearly Jimin has had more than enough to drink. Trying to haul him home is going to be an absolute nightmare for my already sore and aching body. 

"No more for you," I tell him as I remove the bottle firmly grasped in his hand. "You are way too drunk to be in public right now." 

"Aww!" Jimin exclaims. If he pouts any further his eyes might actually fall out of his sockets, and I know that he knows I'm immune to that. "You're such a spoil sport!"

He turns, fixing his attention upon Hoseok once more. "Isn't she such a spoil sport?" He whines pitifully. "I might have lied. Maybe you two won't get along so well after all!"

But Hoseok beams, brilliantly captivating the both of us with the sheer joy displayed in his smile. "Oh, I don't know," he says warmly, watching for my reaction with suddenly mischievous eyes. 

For a moment he worries his own bottom lip gently between his dramatically white teeth. And then, after leaning forward just ever so slightly, he croons.

"After all, I live for a good challenge."