My face felt hot. Running out of the room with my head down seemed like the most sensible thing to do. Eargh. Why did he have to say that?
                The run to the bathroom seems long and winding. Everyone has their heads out of their bedroom doors, having heard my loud outburst. They all have their eyes staring at me for lashing out at that kid, looks of disgust, disapproval and fear linger in their gaze. I don’t have the guts to lift my head up and tell them off. They might see my red face.
                The second I enter the bathroom I slam the door and lock it. The bathroom is spacious. Three sinks, a toilet, a huge glass shower and a bathtub. This is a really fancy place. It’s dimly lit, only having the sunlight that filtered in through the thick overcast. I leave the lights off for a while and lean my back on the door. The hell is that guy thinking, saying stupid stuff like that? Sounding so damn stupid. Stupid kids. Stupid hair. Stupid cheeks. My heart feels like its sinking. It hurts, but it means no harm. It’s inviting. It gives me warmth. But I don’t allow it. I push it down. Suppress it. It’s gone. I’m cold.

                I turn the lights on. The brightness stings my eyes like salt water. Just how long was I in the dark for? I look in the mirror. My hair is still a brown mess. But my face isn’t red anymore. I hope he didn’t see my face. Screw these rosy cheeks.
                You see, I don’t blush easily. My face barely has any colour in it, besides the occasional dark circles around the eyes from a lack of sleep and a red nose from the winter wind. I didn’t know it was even possible for me to blush. Damn kid.

                I look down on the floor at the heap clothes laid on the floor. I didn’t even notice I chucked all my things down when I entered the bathroom. I guess I was preoccupied my thoughts of… No. Stop it.
                I scavenge the mess for my journal. Yes. A journal. I keep a journal. Why? Because it helps me deal with like this. I try to write in it every day, writing fragmented paragraphs every moment I’m alone. This seemed to be a more than suitable time for me to write. So I sit down on the bathroom tiles, flip out a pen and write:

16/02/11

5:43pm

                So far, today has been great. Wonderful, in fact. I arrived late to a meeting, met my band mates for the first time, got on their badside, found out they see me as a mega-, told a kid off, swung higher than I ever have before and met a kid who bugs the crap out of me…

                I didn’t know what to write next. I couldn’t write how damn honest he sounded when he told me how he liked my hair.

   “I like your hair… I like it messy”

                Blood surges to my face so fast, I become slightly dizzy. Please don’t tell me I’m red. I stretch up to see myself in the mirror. With my face just above the sink, I can see red reflected on the mirror. I plump back on the floor, hands smacking my cheeks in a vain attempt to decolourise them. It doesn’t work. Sighing, I continue:

                …So, here I am. On the floor of a bathroom I’ve never showered in before writing this, because my cheeks have too much colour. I don’t want to step outside…

                I don’t even have the guts to write about what he said. I feel as though if I write it down in my journal, it means it’s real. Like it’s happened for real. That sounds so stupid. I throw my journal onto the other side of the bathroom in frustration. I can’t deal with this mess at the moment.

~

                After stepping out of the shower, I feel clean. Clean from dirt and from red coloured thoughts. I hate the colour red.
                I stare at my ness in the mirror. I hadn’t bothered using my towel. Water drips from my hair by the bucketful, the limp strands covering a large portion of my face. I can barely recognise myself.
                I wasn’t so embarrassed because of what he said. Many people compliment me for my hair. It’s just...”I like it messy”. Heat rushed to my cheeks again. Without even having looking in the mirror, I know what happened. Rushing over to the sink, I turn the cold water on high and splash water on my face. The way he said was so honest and heartfelt. And there’s something about him. Something about him irks me to the point where my blood boils. I’m y, but I don’t have fits.
                I look in the mirror. I’m still red.

~

                After towel drying, I leave the bathroom silently. As I open the door, the cool air refreshes me and momentarily makes me forget my ordeal. I tip-toe into my shared room. Peeking in, I find the room empty. Jong-In must be with the others. I quickly dump my dirty clothing on my bed and tuck my journal underneath my pillow. I sigh, relieved that he’s nowhere to be seen. I don’t I’ll be able to handle seeing him again today. 
                Exhausted from doing absolutely nothing today, I lay on my bed and stare at the white ceiling. I can’t believe this is all happening. I’m actually going to debut soon. Four years ago I dreamt of being in this position, but it all doesn’t seem real. It’s almost as if this is a very realistic dream and I’ll be pulled back to reality. I’ve trained long and hard for this. I’m not going to back down, no matter how red I get. My eyes begin to feel like heavy lead and I fall into a deep sleep.

~

                I wake up to silence and darkness. The moon, barely filtering through the cloudy night sky provides no illumination. My stomach rumbles. I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day. I wonder if anyone bothered to fill in the kitchen.
                I get out of bed. The floorboards are cold against my bare feet. I look over to his bed. I can’t see if it’s occupied or empty. It’s too dark. I check my phone. The bright screen hurt my eyes. I check the time. It’s past midnight. Everyone should be sleeping. Open the door a crack and listen for any sounds. Nothing. It’s quiet. I sneak out.

                The corridor is deathly silent. I’m not scared of it, though. Even when I was a kid, the darkness never scared me. Horror movies never scared me either. I wonder why.
                I turn the lights on in the kitchen. It’s bright. The light really seems to hate me today. I check the fridge and see nothing. I check the pantry and see nothing. Frustrated, I decide to leave the penthouse bare foot, bringing only a phone, keys and my wallet with me.

~

                I walk to the park behind the apartment complex. It’s nicely lit up with the yellow glow the street lights. It’s empty, just as I had hoped. The soles of my feet soak in the dewiness of the grass. It feels so nice. I sit on the swings and start creating momentum. Soon, I create a wind of my own. It’s a pity there are too many clouds to see the stars. I close my eyes and concentrate on the feeling of the wind dancing in my hair. I relax. I’m so relaxed I barely hear the footsteps approaching from behind me.

                “Hyung?” It’s that voice again. That deep baritone that caused my downfall. It’s him. “What are you doing?”

                Without turning back to look at him, I coldly replied: “I’m swinging. Can’t you see?”

                “Ohh…”

                Feel my face become hot again. I swing faster and harder so the wind can cool me down. My armpits begin to sweat. My grip on the swings becomes moist. He caught me by surprise.
                I continue to swing for a while. I couldn’t see, but I guess he’s still standing there. Is he staring at me again? My hair is all bed-ridden again having fallen asleep with my hair still wet. I wonder if he thinks it still looks good. I immediately purge the thought out of embarrassment. My face gets hot. It’s funny, the only reason I’m not feeling the cold winter is because of this kid. He’s too much.

                “So, what about you?”

                “…huh?” It sounded as if I broke his concentration. Concentration on what? Me?

                “I said, what are you doing out here?”

                “Oh, I bought food. There’s a convenience store down the street. There’s no food in the house.”

                Did he say food? I slowly stop swinging and turn around. There he is, standing there covered in layers of clothing, holding a plastic bag with drinks and some take out. He smiles. He has a really nice smile.

                “Wh-what  did you buy?” I asked looking away, face becoming hot for the umpteenth time.

                “Just a sandwich and some tea. Wanna share?”

                Share? Oh god. What is this kid thinking?

                “No. I’m fine.” I replied rather coldly. I couldn’t let him know how stupid I feel right now.

                “Oh… Well, do you wanna…” He pauses, gulps and looks nervous. Seriously, this kid has some serious speech issues.

                “Just say –“

                “Do you wanna keep me company?”

                I stop breathing. All the air seems to have escaped from my lungs. Time stops. I freeze. He’s looking at me. Looking at my eyes this time and not my hair. My mouth is dry. My palms become sweaty.

                “…Uh… su-sure,” I stammer. Maybe, I’ve got the speech impediment.

                He smiles. His pearly white teeth gleam in the dimly lit park. He looks away and sits on the park bench. He pats the space next to him, motioning me to join him. I do exactly what he wants.

                “You sure you don’t want anything? You haven’t eaten anything since we got here.”

                “Yes. I-I’m sure.” Smooth, Lu Han. Real smooth.

                As he begins to take out his food, he looks down at my feet and raises an eyebrow.

                “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

                . He probably thinks I’m a crazy person, walking around at night with no shoes or socks on.

                “I like being bare foot. It makes me feel grounded, but at the same time free. I’m comfortable.” All of what I just said is true, every bit of it. I’ve always had a habit walking around barefoot, even in public. I get weird stares all the time. I stare at them back of course, sometimes asking the occasional ‘What are you looking at, huh!?’

                He giggles as he takes the first bite of his sandwich. I blush and look down at my feet. For the first time, my bare feet make me feel self-conscious and vulnerable. I tuck my feet underneath the bench in a vain attempt to hide it from sight.

                “Do- do you have a prob-problem?” Raising my voice a fraction louder. It sounded so weak.

                He laughs. “No, no. I don’t. Trust me.”

                “Then, what the hell were you laughing at?” I demanded, anger obviously overpowering my shyness.

                “Nothing. Nothing. I promise.” Hands rose in the air in defence, he’s still smiling.

                “Bull. Tell me.”

                His smile fades. He lowers his hands and looks away. He beings to fidget with the wrapping of the unfinished sandwich.

                “Are you ignoring me!?”

                “N-no…”

                “Then why aren’t you answering?! Why did you laugh? Is it because you think I’m –“

                “I think you’re cute.”

                He looks straight into my eyes, into my insides.

                He says it again.

                “I think you’re kinda cute.”

__________________________

SORRY FOR THE LATE-ish UPDATE. School work was a bugger. Not to mention school drama is just as worse. Not a very good week.

I hope you enjoy this chapter! I'm scared that this story going at a very slow pace. Please tell if i should quicken the pace? Or do you like the atmosphere?

Next chapter will be up sometime by the end of next week

REMEMBER: crisitism will win you my heart. So tell me the stuff you don't like about my writing, and i'll do my very bestest to fix it up!

PS: I'm changing the description, slightly. Hope ya'll don't mind.