When you leave the building, you take out your phone to find three missed calls from Bambam. Your heart starts aching, filled to the brim with guilt. Quickly, you tap your phone, desperate to call him back.

“Juyeon,” is the first thing he says, sounding like he has been waiting for a thousand years and longer. “I'm sorry I didn't get to see you earlier.”

“It's alright,” you say, trying to put him at ease. How typical of Bambam to apologize. To apologize even though he is clueless about the things that happened after your unannounced visit to his campus. For a second, you want to tell him. Almost need to tell him.

But what good would it do?

The thoughts you had surrounding Yugyeom that were searing your heart, eating you up from the inside out. Confessing them to Bambam like a sinner hoping to atone. Would it not seem ridiculous? Igniting a fire unnecessarily that could hardly be extinguished?

“After you texted me I had to hear your voice”, Bambam says and you blush at his words. Blush all pink and red with your cheeks feeling warm and you can only imagine him on the other side of the line, looking the same way you do right now.

You blankly glance around the street and then cross it distractedly while Bambam starts talking about Thailand.He sounds so happy, so excited, wholly anticipating the trip that you can't help but feel even more guilty.

Do you even deserve Bambam? His sweetness? His kind words?

After a conversation that mostly consists of you barely speaking, he excuses himself having to go to his next lecture.

“Is it alright if I take you out on a date this weekend?”, he asks before hanging up. He sounds soft and unsure as if having picked up how distracted you've been the entire time.

“Y- yes”, you mutter, swallowing lightly after. “That's fine.”

**

You're maybe five minutes away from your home when you bump into him. You're not crushing into him head first, realization second. No, it's just that you look up at the wrong or maybe the right time and see Mark just a few meters away. He's heading in the opposite direction, so your ways are meant to cross, as if destiny had decided, feeling particularly smug, to make you run into each other.

His brown hair is covering his forehead again and he looks tired. Tired in that his eyes lack a lively gleam like someone turned off a light inside of him. But as your eyes meet his tired face, you realize that you don't want to live with the knowledge that it might be your doing.

Quickly, and before he can pass by, acting like a big stranger in an even bigger city, you stop him. Surprise yourself and him by opening your mouth.

“Mark!”

It's awkward. Awkward because he freezes in his tracks, stops before turning to you. His gaze is still avoiding you.

It is silent for a moment and you rack your brain for any more words, unwilling to let this encounter come to a standstill. Unwilling to let Mark go before clarifying the things you've wanted to tell him. Have been wanting to tell him all along.

But Mark looks ready to leave and when he twitches under your eyes, as if his body is commanding him to leave, it bursts out of you.

“I- I was wrong. I wanted to play matchmaker”, you cry out. “It was wrong of me to try to get you to together without asking. And I'm sorry for it.”

Mark is standing still. Everything turns into a white noise. The people walking by, the cars driving in the background, the music coming out of a store. It's just you. You and him.

Your voice turns quiet, softly, as you downcast your eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

For a second, Mark doesn't answer. Lets you suffer in this silence you've created yourself. And then, for the first time in almost forever, you can feel his eyes on you. His glance is burning your skin and you don't dare look up as he starts to speak.

“I don't care about the matchmaking anymore. I just hated it because I liked you but after talking to Bambam it became obvious that I had false hopes.” You freeze at his words. He sounds tense, short and precise, like he's not talking about himself but someone else, yet when you lift your gaze you can see his stare. The brown of his pupils, the feverish look he's giving you.

It's a look that confirms your worst anxiety, your biggest fear. You want to pinch yourself to wake up from this nightmare, but you are unable to do so.

What are you supposed to do?

What are you supposed to say?

“I- I'm sorry”, you stutter, forcing the words out like you would a door open. It's hard, straining as you push against the tension in your throat. “I'm really sorry Mark.”

And that's the only thing you can say. Because despite running into him. Despite feeling apologetic. Despite wanting him to be happy. There is one thing you cannot do. And that is loving Mark.

**

When you get home, your heart is still beating like crazy. Amplified by the adrenaline that is pumping through your veins, you are still slightly panting when you close the door behind you.

The emotions you had felt during the brief but intense encounter are still swirling inside of you like a tropical storm and you couldn't help but feel bad.

Bad for yourself.

Bad for Mark.

And as you hear the sound of your sister singing along to a pop song in the kitchen, the feeling intensified tenfold. You put away your shoes and step into the room with unsure steps. Your sister ist standing in front of the microwave, her back turned towards you, swinging her body to the rhythm of the song.

Mark's revelation replays in your mind, making you bite your lip as you stare at Suyeon who doesn't know. Doesn't know anything. Ignorance isn't bliss. Ignorance will only hurt her.

You want to cry out, yell out loudly what you have done, but you aren't able to.

The microwave beeps and Suyeon opens it to retrieve a pop tart with her bare hands. She curses slightly, dropping it on the counter quickly.

“Have you had a proper meal yet?”, you suddenly ask. Your voice sounds loud in the kitchen and your sister turns around at the sound of it. She gives you a slight smile, cautiously lifting the corners of . Her gaze is laced with suspicion. Then she looks at her pop tart.

“No.” Her answer is short but paired with her stifled chuckled it makes for an improvement for the way you treated each other before, which was walking around barefoot on egg shells. Your heart aches at the thought of hurting her more. Hurting her again.

“I'll make spaghetti then”, you suggest and her eyes lighten up at the mention of her favourite staple from the Italian cuisine. “I'll be quick.”

A/N: Sorry for the long wait and sorry for any plot holes that slipped my tired brain. Lol