THE RHYTHM OF US: RYEJI

Chapter 26: Conversations (Not About Feelings)

Ryujin’s POV

The night unfolded in a tapestry of city lights and distant murmurs as I navigated through the streets, the hum of the engine providing a subtle noise to the silent symphony around me. The car, a sleek shadow in the dark, cut through the city's veins, carrying with it the weight of unspoken words.

The windows were down, inviting the cool winter breeze to dance through my hair, its chilly fingers brushing against my skin. The city's heartbeat echoed in the rhythmic thud of the tires against the asphalt, a familiar cadence that accompanied the quiet solitude of the night. The city was adorned with a soft blanket of snow, casting a serene glow on the familiar streets.

Yet, amidst the ambient sounds of the night, a tension lingered, casting a veil over the otherwise serene atmosphere. The car became a cocoon, sheltering us from the winter chill and the complexities of the emotions swirling within.

As I glanced to the side, my eyes briefly caught a glimpse of Yeji, a silent companion in the journey we embarked upon together. Her profile, framed by the city lights, bore the mark of contemplation, and her silence spoke volumes, intertwining with the melody of the night.

The air between us was thick with the echoes of our past, and the car became a vessel sailing through the currents of time.

And then, breaking the stillness, her voice—soft as a whisper—pierced the quiet air. "Can't we just go back to how we used to be?" 

The words lingered, carrying the weight of longing and a plea for reconnection. "I miss you," she added, her voice a fragile melody that seemed to hang in the air even after the words had dissipated.

I stole another glance at Yeji, her eyes reflecting the city lights like distant stars against the winter night's canvas. The streets, adorned with a light dusting of snow, glistened like a magical wonderland, framing the silent narrative of our journey through the cold embrace of the season.

As we entered my condo, its walls seemed to echo with the ghosts of our shared history. The air inside was familiar yet tinged with time.

"It's been so long since I've been in your condo; it looks...tragic," she remarked, a playful glint in her eyes.

"It needs you," I softly replied, the words carrying a weight of nostalgia. She settled onto the couch, her gaze wandering around the room, taking in the remnants of a past that lingered in the corners.

"Any drink?" she asked, breaking the silence that enveloped us.

I bit my cheeks, nodding in response. Determined to break the tension, I went in search of my bottle of tequila, a familiar companion that had witnessed countless moments between us.

With two glasses in hand, I approached cautiously, mindful of the delicate dance we were about to perform.

"Here you go," I said, pouring the amber liquid into her glass.

I took a seat on the couch, ensuring a reasonable distance between us—a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken words lingering in the air.

"Allow me to get straight to the point," I began, my voice bearing the weight of a confession long overdue.

I took a deep breath, trying to swallow the lump forming in my throat. The vulnerability in the room was palpable, and I could feel the weight of my own emotions pressing against my chest.

"I'm sorry for being a fucking asshole these past few days," I confessed, my gaze fixed on the swirling liquid in my glass.

The admission hung in the air, a raw and unfiltered truth laid bare.