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The smoking area is never crowded. And Jiung likes it better this way.
Actually there’s a lot of things Jiung likes better than the crowded space of a club. Like going on morning hikes, eating by himself with soft music playing in the background, writing his thoughts on a notebook (he will forever refuse to call it journaling).
But his girlfriend likes clubs, so every other weekend he finds himself escaping to the smoking area while she dances with her single friends. And it doesn’t matter that he quit smoking over a year ago, all he wants is a place where his body won’t be constantly exposed to the touch of random strangers.
He tries to not resent her for it—she deserves to have fun, to smile, carefree and wild under the neon lights. But the truth is Jiung has always been more of an observer than a participant, even in the best of times. The thumping bass, the sticky floors, the smell of sweat mingling with cheap perfume—it all feels like too much, too fast.
Out here the night is slower, the faint chatter of other clubgoers barely registers over the distant hum of the music, and for a moment, he can hear his own thoughts again.
He leans back against the cold brick wall, staring up at the sky. The city lights drown out the stars, but he imagines them anyway. He wishes he could be somewhere else—somewhere even quieter. A cabin in the mountains, maybe, or a small town by the coast, where mornings are spent with the sound of waves instead of alarm clocks.
“Excuse me, do you have a light?”
Jiung blinks, pulled out of his daydream. A guy, maybe around the same age as him, stands in front of him with a cigarette dangling from his lips. The guy has that familiar club look—disheveled, a little sweaty, the scent of alcohol clinging to him.
“Yeah, sure.”
After many times of being asked this same question, Jiung just opted for buying a lighter to keep in his pocket. He fishes for it and hands it to the guy without a second thought, ready to be alone once again.
“You want one?”
Jiung shakes his head, waving the offer away. “Nah, I quit.”
The guy raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips as he lights his cigarette. “You’re in the smoking area, though.”
“Right,” Jiung then shrugs, guessing one cigarette won’t be what ends all of his progress. “I’ll have it then.”
The guy pulls a cigarette from his pack and hands it to Jiung, their fingers brushing for a split second. Jiung holds it with his lips, watches the flicker of the lighter as the flame sparks to life, as the guy lights the cigarette for him. It’s weird, that’s his lighter, but Jiung doesn’t acknowledge it out loud, instead he takes a drag, feeling the burn in his throat, the familiar taste lingering on his tongue. It’s a bit harsher than he remembers, but somehow grounding in the haze of the night.
“Thought you said you quit?” The guy teases, blowing out a cloud of smoke that dissipates into the air.
Jiung exhales slowly, watching the smoke curl up and fade into the night. “Old habits die hard, I guess.” he says with a half-smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
~~~
Taeyang—he knows the name of the guy now—has very pretty features. Jiung had noticed it back when they were smoking outside and he notices it now as they breathe against each other’s mouth inside the cramped bathroom stall.
Jiung isn’t entirely sure how it happened, how he ended up here with Taeyang, pressed together in the tight space. Maybe it was the shared cigarette, or the way Taeyang had looked at him like he could see right through everything. Maybe he just needed an excuse.
The air in the stall is thick with the residue smell of smoke clinging to their clothes. Taeyang’s lips are soft but insistent, his hands gripping Jiung’s waist with a desperation that Jiung mirrors without fully understanding. He’s not sure what he’s doing, or if he even wants to be doing it.
There’s a part of Jiung that feels guilty, but there’s also a strange, intoxicating thrill in the way Taeyang moves against him, the way his breath hitches when Jiung kisses him back, warm tongues moving together.
They pull apart for a moment, both of them breathing heavily. Taeyang’s eyes search Jiung’s, and there’s a flicker of something there—curiosity, maybe. Jiung swallows hard, the silence stretching between them, heavy and charged, until Taeyang breaks it.
“You okay?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, but it feels like it cuts through the noise of the club and everything else Jiung’s been drowning in.
Jiung nods, even though he’s not entirely sure of the answer. “Yeah. I think so.”
Taeyang studies him for a moment longer, then smirks. His lips are so red and plump, glistening where they are covered in spit.
A second later they’re still the same, but this time stretched around the head of Jiung’s cock.
Taeyang’s hands grip his thighs, firm and steady. Jiung’s hands find their way into Taeyang’s hair, clutching as the rhythm intensifies, his head tilting back, eyes squeezed shut as he gives in, as his mind swims in shame and exhilaration.
The more Taeyang’s mouth works him, the more Jiung pushes the thoughts away, feeling himself getting closer, losing control. His breath hitches, and Taeyang looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, a silent exchange passing between them, unspoken but understood. It’s fast, too fast, and when it’s over, Jiung feels something strange pooling in his chest.
They untangle from each other, the small space suddenly too loud with their heavy breathing. Jiung pulls up his pants quietly and Taeyang wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, standing up slowly as the awkwardness of the aftermath settles between them.
“So,” Taeyang starts, leaning against the wall, the casual smirk from earlier gone, replaced by something more neutral, unreadable. “See you around, I guess.”
Jiung doesn’t respond. He just slips out of the stall and into the dimly lit hallway, his mind racing as he heads back toward the main part of the club.
The music is louder now, the lights brighter, and for a moment, he’s disoriented, like he’s re-entering a world that doesn’t quite fit him anymore.
He spots his girlfriend on the dance floor, her carefree laughter cutting through the noise, her body moving effortlessly with the rhythm of the music. She looks so happy, so alive.
When he reaches her, he wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer into his embrace, trying to anchor himself in her presence, hoping it will steady him, that it will erase what just happened.
She turns her head, her smile wide as she shouts over the music, her voice full of laughter. "What is it with you?" She tilts her head, narrowing her eyes playfully. “You smell weird.”
“Huh?” Jiung’s heart stutters in his chest.
She leans in, burying her face in the crook of his neck, her nose brushing against his skin. She stays there longer than he expects, inhaling deeply, and for a second, Jiung’s breath catches, his body going rigid.
When she pulls back, there’s a teasing glint in her eyes, but her words carry an edge. “Don’t tell me you smoked.”
“Oh yeah, that. Sorry. Old habits die hard, I guess.”
Jiung wonders what guilt means—if it means anything at all. If it’s something he should be worried about, or if it’s just a one-time thing that doesn’t have to change anything. But even as he thinks that, he knows it’s a lie. Something shifted tonight. He’s not sure what, but he can feel it under his skin, buzzing, uncomfortable.
There’s a crack now, and he’s not sure how long he can keep it from breaking open.