Outside the dingy apartment complex, Yohan stands against his car, hands inside his coat pockets. His face is slightly flushed, from the coldness of the night, and just as Camila appears he sucks in a breath. She takes small steps toward him, and when she reaches him, she stands there an awkward cloud circling her.

“Would you like to have a drink…back at my place?” Yohan’s lips are curled at the end and despite his cold demeanor, Camila can hear his heart frantically beating. The question is unexpected, sending a shock down Camila's spine.

Her lips part, and she looks around then back at Yohan. “I…okay. Yeah.”

Yohan steps away from the car, opening the door for her. She passes by him then she’s in the passenger seat, watching Yohan circle the car through the windshield. When Yohan gets in, there’s a pregnant pause before he starts the car and drives off.

It’s Yohan who speaks out first, “Why’d you leave?”

Camila takes a long glance at him and then back at the road, “Marie and I aren’t in…good terms right now.”

“How so?”

She lets her body relax, hitting the leather seat. “We have a lot of differences in our lives that…sometimes make it hard for us to agree or see eye to eye. Are you and Nico like that?”

Yohan chuckles at her comment, “Sometimes. He’s very hotheaded and likes to do things his way.”

“Are you like that?” Camila's tone is soft, and she earns a quick glance from Yohan, who wears a wide smile.

“No.” He laughs, “I think I’m a calm and collected person.”

Camila hums, but she turns her body towards him, allowing her head to fall on the seat. “Does that apply when you get angry?”

Yohan nods. “Yes. Why?”

“You work in a club. It has a reputation. I’m sure dealing with certain people could lead to being hotheaded...”

Yohan laughs, his head falling back, “Not all places are like that but maybe that’s why Nico is so hotheaded.”

“Why that profession?”

Yohan takes a pause, then a quick glance at her, “I’ll tell you…if you tell me why you started painting.”

The car comes to a halt in front of the white house. Camila gets out of the car, sliding behind Yohan as he walks in front of her. She watches his movements, imagining his muscles moving under the thick coat. She walks behind, stopping next to him as he opens the front door. She follows him inside and silently watches him drop his keys and slowly shed off his coat.

“I started painting four years ago,” Camila says, her voice ringing behind Yohan. They walk towards the kitchen, and Yohan directs her to a seat on the kitchen island.

“Why?”

Camila stays silent, watching him in the kitchen. He pulls out two green bottles from the black fridge and two small clear shot glasses from the wall cabinet. “It helped me work out some…issues and then it turned into a hobby.”

Nico hums and sets the bottles and glasses on the island while he takes a seat next to her. He’s close enough that one of his knees touches her, and she revels in the small intimacy behind the feeling.

Almost as if he’s inviting her to touch him. “Why a club?”

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Nico pours the transparent liquid onto the small shot glasses. He drinks from the glass, then clears his throat once the liquid disappears. He never pushes the drink to Camila, only keeps them in front of her. “My father owned one in Korea for a long time. He shut the business down because of some bad business, and then came over to the States with us.”

“Us?”

He nods, pouring more liquid onto the clear glass. “Nico and I.”

Camila hums and questions the border of appropriate. “What about…your mother?”

The question lingers in the air, and after a pregnant pause, Yohan takes a swing out of the glass. “She passed away in Korea.”

“Is your father alive?”

“Dead too.”

His words linger in the air, and Camila nods. At that moment she drinks from the glass, letting the cold alcohol punch her throat as it goes down. Camila slowly nods. “Mines are too.”

They settle into an odd calmness and keep pouring soju. It’s not excessive, but enough for Camila's system to lower its worries, and lean into a sense of comfort and ease. They don’t mention their parents anymore and settle for ordinary topics.

“Love at first sight was what he called it.”

Camila laughs, throwing her head back. “I think Marie felt the same.”

They have moved from the kitchen to the couch, sitting at each end, a tantalizing gap between them. On the black table coffee sits an empty bottle of soju and one filled halfway. Yohan talks about Nico and his first reaction to Marie and Camila reiterates.

“What were you like as a teenager?” Camila asks. Her head lolls on the soft leather couch. Her knees are propped to her chest, while her socked feet sink into the couch. Yohan is looking at her with slightly flushed cheeks and lidded eyes. His leg is propped to the couch while his sleeves are rolled, exposing his forearm.

“I was rebellious. I didn’t like school, so I took up skipping class, fighting, and smoking. I could do the work; I just didn’t enjoy being around others.”

“That’s such a cliché, besides your antisocial antiques.”

Yohan scoffs, and a fake offended look passes his face before he laughs along, “Okay, so what were you like?”

“I was a shy kid,” Camila takes a shot from the clear glass. Her throat burns as she downs the liquor, “Even after my parents passed, I couldn't make friends, not even pity ones. But it wasn’t like I needed them, I had Marie.”

“She’s your sister, I imagine she’d feel the same as you.”

Camila shakes her head, “Marie became my sister a year after my parents died. During those days, she was awkward, never looked me in the eyes, and often ate inside her room.”

Yohan tilts his head at Camila’s words, “Became?” he questions.

“My grandmother adopted her a year before my parents died. Her parents were friends with our grandmother and after their death, she ran the risk of going into foster care.”

Yohan hums. There’s a moment of silence between them before Camila smiles and laughs, “I did take up smoking, though. Virginia Slims.”

“Marlboro Red.” He quickly nods, “Cliché, again I know. I’m trying to quit.”

Camila sniffs the air. “It’s not working.”

He laughs, “How would you know?”

“I have a… good sense of smell.”

“What do I smell like?”

Musk. Sweat. Spice. Pinewood with a hint of smoke. It’s an alluring smell that she can describe perfectly like a repeating memory in her frontal lobe. She can smell him when she’s sleeping and when she’s awake, somehow his scent is always lingering around her. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t believe you”, Yohan opens his arms and uses his finger to signal her to him. “Want to give it a try?”

Camila hears his heart stutter, almost like his words were erratic and without a thought. She doesn’t move, rolling decisions in her brain at a fast pace. She could politely refuse and miss her chance to touch or give in and allow her nose to touch his neck.

Camila gradually shifts her body, placing the palm of her hands flat on the couch. Her knees sink into the sofa, as do her palms with each gradual movement. She watches Yohan’s face, observing how his throat bobs and his breathing shallows. His eyes are lidded, and when she makes it between his legs, Camila leans in on his neck.

Her nose reaches behind his ear and steadily lowers, nosing at the veins. Yohan smells sweet even with the alcohol stench on his clothing. Camila can tell her hands are shaking, her fingertips itching to touch Yohan just for a second.

“Sweat, skin, and wood”, Camila whispers on his neck. “You smell…pleasant.”

In the midst of the moment, her nose touches cool skin eliciting a small husky gasp on her left ear. Yohan’s neck vein beats fast enough that Camila’s tongue darts out of her mouth, yet it never touches his skin.

Camila backs away until a hand grabs her waist. Yohan is looking up at her through lidded eyes, a deep red blush on his cheeks resembling that of a pale cherub. “Stay. Please.”

She does stay, even though after a while her eyes begin to hurt from the light. Even after her senses perk up and they turn sensitive enough that she can smell what Yohan had for lunch and dinner, and the particles of the laundry detergent he used for his clothing. And even after she can feel her sharp teeth and white eyes crawl to the surface. “Okay.”