I tried not to look at him, but my resolve had been watered down by the soju on my tongue. I met his gaze and regretted it immediately; he was absolutely golden, blurring around the edges.
For the 780,506th time, he was The Sun, and I melted like the snow—gone before I even hit the ground. He smiled at me, and all the rules I’d so studiously written for myself crumbled away into dust. The person who was supposed to be me disappeared, replaced by the feeling of his hand in mine.
As I felt him erase me, as I felt him win, I formed my last coherent thought; I am never letting myself get drunk again.