112 — Little Wolf Wearing Red

You could always count on Dae Hee to materialize out of thin air, seemingly bypassing all the standard obstacles such as a police escort, a phalanx of stadium staff, and the sheer laws of physics.

My boots echoed, slow, heavy, each fatigued step carrying the 6-2 score with them, but with a sense of euphoria hidden beneath. Who didn't love it when things worked out swimmingly in football?

A winning team usually walks, at least, a tad prouder.

She was leaning against a far wall, the place as private and as secluded as we would've found anywhere within the stadium. But she'd found the perfect nook. And I just so happened to stumble upon it as if guided by an internal compass. I wasn't really looking for it, or for her, not when I left the field.

But again... I just so happened to happen upon it. Just so happened to take this route as compared to the alternate ways, perhaps to avoid my teammates, or the journalists, or perhaps to simply try to avoid being seen. Maybe it was the stars aligning right at that very moment, guiding one soul to another.

So, seeing her there—knee cocked, sneaker flat to the wall, red jersey half-lit by a green exit sign overhead—didn't jolt me the way it normally would've normally.

Once you see the wolf in your kitchen, tearing into the turkey your mother brought in, you somehow always expect to find it at times.

I knew what kind of woman she was, what to expect, in a way.

Her eyes looked a ghastly pitch-black in the shadows, her hair wild in an alluring tumble across the sides of her face. A light touch of make-up. Lips glossy and puffy.

She was beautiful, if a little scary.

Like a Halloween decoration or something. One of those dolls where the pupils followed your movement, something you wouldn't want staring back at you from a locked wardrobe, but still objectively pretty and perfect.

She cocked her head a few degrees, then straightened up from the wall. I watched her shuffle forward, the angle of the light now slashing across her chest, neck, and face. "Beautiful game, Oppa." Her lips stretched into a dazzling little smirk. "Many were chanting your name too."

"I didn't even hear it. Were you clapping the loudest?"

"Sure was." She chirped. "My hands are sore."

"Let me see." I raised a brow. She didn't hesitate to bring them up, presenting her palms. I took them. My palms were rough, calloused, and heavy with sweat. Hers were small, cool, and soft. I inspected them. A little red from the forceful smacking, but otherwise fine. "All good."

"See? I was cheering so hard for my Wall-E. You put on a good show for your Eve." Dae Hee looked me in the eye, with that little, unidentifiable twinkle.

I paused, a little taken aback. I didn't think she'd actually bring that up again, nor that she'd bluntly insinuate herself into that role. I dropped her hands. "That's a little bit forward."

"Is it?" She said, the grin still plastered on her face. "I thought it was a good reference. And I'm always there to watch you, Jae-il Oppa."

Sweet words, if only I didn't know how literal they were. Still, I smiled. "And I appreciate that, Dae Hee. I hope you enjoyed the game."

"Very much." Dae Hee nodded, taking a small step closer. Her sneakers squeaked faintly on the polished floor. She eyed my shirt, soaked in sweat and clinging to me, a faint, almost wistful smile gracing her features. "You must be exhausted."

"It's a requirement of the job." I replied, and before I could excuse myself and make a beeline for the locker room, she was already pulling something out of her pocket. A small, white towel, folded into a neat square. It was a cute, hand-sown thing. And then she proceeded to dab it against my forehead, my cheeks, the edges of my lips, and neck. Her movements were efficient, but also gentle, and impossibly intimate.

"I can't imagine what my fans would say if they saw you doing that." I chuckled, letting her have her way. It was a strange, but not unwelcome, feeling.

"They would say that I'm lucky." She responded, softly. "And they would be right."

The handkerchief was soft, and it carried a faint, clean scent.

"You spoil me." I murmured.

"Is that so bad?" She slowly pulled away. "I like to take care of the things I value."

"......"

I stared at her.

"You say that like I'm a thing." I said.

"You are." She answered, that smirk coming back. "My favourite thing."

"Haa..." The sound slipped out of me, half-laugh, half-surrender. I'd forgotten her attitude was a double-edged sword. Still, I've willingly put myself in that position, even as the blade threatened to sink into my gut at any given point. But even that prospect wasn't entirely dissuading. For as long as I held onto the hilt, the situation might not turn fatal. "Thank you, but you shouldn't waste your favourites like that."

Dae Hee scoffed. "Nothing wasted on you, Oppa."

"Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Is it flattery if it's true?" She leaned in again, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Besides, I'm not trying to get anywhere. I'm already here."

The wolf wore make-up and pouty lips. Sure, you can't mask a monster's true nature with eyeliner and lip gloss, but it can certainly distract you from it. The world would be a terrifying place if every monster looked like one. Some are beautiful. Some are alluring. Some are your own sisters.

"When did you become such a... hooligan?" I chuckled, referencing a previous accusation she had made against me.

"Hey, we don't talk about that." She shrunk a little, making a shushing gesture with her finger. "And I'm not a hooligan. I'm a dedicated supporter. There's a difference."

"Idiot." I couldn't help but poke her forehead gently with my finger. She swatted it away with a playful pout.

"Hey!" She whined. "That's my thinking spot. Don't poke it."

"Someone has to keep you humble."

She stuck her tongue out at me, a surprisingly childish gesture. Then, once a comfortable silence settled over us. "Alright, I'll let you go. I know you need to shower and all that. Let's not make the rest of the team wonder what their captain is up to."

I glanced down the empty corridor. Somewhere far off, a door slammed. Voices. Korean. Getting louder. I didn't know if they were forming a search party, or if it was the press. Or fans. Or staff. Or all of the above, forming a single, monstrous entity.

"Yeah, I should go." I confirmed.

"Okay." She said, but she didn't move.

She just stood there, looking at me.

And I just stood there, looking back at her.

"Then..."

"Then..." She repeated, tilting her head.

I turned around. "See you?"

She smiled. "See you~"

Her expression was unreadable, and I wasn't too keen on trying to read it.

I barely managed to take two steps away before soft fingers wrapped around my wrist. "Wait." Dae Hee stumbled forward, as if her sudden boldness had surprised even herself. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

I turned towards her, my eyebrows raised in a silent question.

She stared at me in silence for a few moments, her dark eyes wide and earnest. Then, she blurted out. "Gift."

I blinked. "Gift?"

"Gift." Dae Hee nodded. She tapped the centre of my chest, right where my shirt clung like a second, disgusting skin. "That. I want it."

"I don't have a spare one."

"Not a spare one. That one." She insisted. Her fingers traced the hem, a small, almost imperceptible tremor in her touch. "The one you wore to win."

"You want my sweaty shirt?" I asked, a mixture of disbelief and amusement in my tone.

"Yes." She said, as if it were the most normal request in the world.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am. I am very serious."

"Are you going to frame it? Hang it on your wall? A little shrine dedicated to me?"

She briefly looked away, scrunching up her lips in a pouty, thoughtful way. It looked cute. "Something like that."

I stared at her.

She stared back.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Looked left, right, like security might pop out and save me from myself.

This is insane, the rational part of my brain hissed. You're about to hand a stalker the clothes off your back.

The other part of my brain, instead, just found it... amusing. Flattering, perhaps. Quite like a cat bringing you a dead bird. A bit morbid, and a lot unsanitary, but the intention was there. The intention, I suppose, was love. Or something close to it, because I didn't know what in the loving fuck 'love' had to do with wanting to wear a sweat-drenched jersey, but, for her, perhaps, it did.

She was not asking for a lock of hair, or a piece of my skin. Just a shirt. Something that could be easily explained away. Perhaps. If I'm a good liar.

The game had been grueling, but dealing with Dae Hee's particular brand of intensity was equally, if not more, exhausting.

"You're unbelievable."

"......" She shrunk a little, giggling. "Not unbeliavable, just unapologetically shameless... sometimes."

I caught her wrist. "Wait."

She froze, eyes wide, obedient. Waiting.

"What am I supposed to wear back?" I asked, voice low.

Her smile turned slow, wicked, delighted.

She let go of my shirt, stepped back, and in one smooth motion peeled off her own red jersey. No hesitation.

She turned it inside out. Held it up. And stood there, completely exposed and bare and...

The fluorescent light overhead glinted off her smooth skin. A lacy, black bra supported the ample swell of her breasts, the gentle curve of her stomach, the faint indent of her navel. Her nipples pebbled against the lace. She was all smooth lines and lean muscle. The faint sheen of sweat on her collarbones. The delicate curve of her ribcage as she inhaled.

This was getting out of control. Way, way out of control.

"Don't be shy, Jae-il Oppa." She teased, her voice a little breathless.

The massive blush on her face did not match the confidence of her actions.

I didn't have a lot of options, did I? Or I could have just left her there, half-naked in a hallway, and just say 'deal with it'.

But would that affect the way she interacted with me in the future? Maybe, for Dae Hee, this was a turning point of sorts, an attempt to see how far she could push my boundaries. A test, even. A test to see how much she could get away with.

So, I took the shirt from her. It was still warm, and smelled of... her. A faint, sweet, and clean scent.

I decided to match her energy.

The best way to understand how dangerous the wolf was, was to walk into the forest and see it for myself. Nah, that's a lie. You should never walk into a forest and seek out wolves, but I was hellbent on seeing this 'thing' with Dae Hee to the end.

In one swift movement, I pulled my own shirt over my head. The fabric clung, damp and heavy, before it finally came free. The cool air of the corridor was a shock against my overheated skin.

I heard a gasp. A tiny, almost inaudible intake of breath.

I looked at Dae Hee. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her gaze fixed on my chest, my stomach, the scratches Mia had left behind. The faint, red welts stood out against my skin. I could see the cogs turning in her head, the questions forming behind her eyes.

Oh.

I completely forgot Mia had left parts of herself on me the other day. They weren't hurting anymore so it had slipped out of my mind.

Still...

Dae Hee didn't have a pleasant reaction.

"What—" She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. "What... are those?"

"Scratches from a cat." I answered, casually.

She flinched.

Then I balled up my sweaty shirt and tossed it to her. She fumbled, her hands suddenly clumsy, but she caught it, clutching it to her chest like a holy relic.

I put her hoodie on. It was... my exact size. I didn't question why, knowing her. Maybe she had bought it because she liked oversized things, or maybe she had planned this all along. Ah, Dae Hee, you crazy bitch.

Dae Hee didn't waste time putting it on either, almost as if she waited too long, the dampness would somehow vanish. She quickly pulled the damp fabric over her head, her movements a little stiff.

It hung loosely on her frame, the hem reaching her mid-thigh.

She looked...

She looked smaller in my shirt. Softer. The aggressive, predatory energy from a moment ago had been replaced by a strange, vulnerable innocence. She looked like a girlfriend wearing her boyfriend's shirt after a night together. And she trembled.

She quivered like a little leaf in the wind, her face so red I thought she might catch on fire.

"I should go." I reminded her.

"......."

She didn't say anything. She just stood there, in a daze of sorts.

She'd snap out of it, eventually.

I briskly made my way to the locker room.

The voices were getting louder. Jong-su's booming laughter echoed down the corridor.

I thought Dae Hee would stop me once more, but a quick glance back at the woman in question, and she—

Was nowhere to be found.

"......"

I shook my head, squirming a little in the shirt that still carried her body warmth and scent.

I couldn't believe that my first ever shirt swap wasn't with someone I defeated and recognized, but with a girl who was probably thinking up how to get a lock of my hair for a voodoo doll.

Still, I found myself smiling. It's not that I didn't recognize the danger, but having lived a whole life in the shittiest place of Brazil, dealing with all kinds of terrorists and insane drug lords, Dae Hee's own brand of crazy was almost like a breath of fresh air in contrast, and perhaps it did scratch that itch I still had about violence in general.