xlviii. Birthday Confessions & Regret Recessions II

“Happy birthday, Hyunjoo.”

Hoya announced, holding his hand out in front of you. Fist closed tightly by unmoving fingers. Smile smugly spreading from one ear to the next. A secret hidden behind two rows of teeth unwilling to give it away so easily.

“Happy birthday, me!”

You exclaimed right back at him, giving your new — short — ponytail a tightening before throwing your hands into the air in excitement. The pizza had just arrived, after all, and the fact that there was some left when you came to the kitchen was worth celebration in and of itself. And Hoya, sparing the use of words in exchange for action, loosened his grip in the face of your happiness, the small twinkling of metal ringing in your ears before you caught sight of it. 

Of the necklace that dangled off his forefinger, a sparkling infinity symbol swaying back and forth. 

“Happy birthday, me.” You said again, entranced as you reached out and he let the trinket wind itself into your palm. 

Many questions came to mind then. 

When had he? Why would he? Why was he?

When had he had the time to buy you something? Why would he buy this of all things? Why was he the most considerate person you had the pleasure of having show up on your doorstep? 

The one you asked was, “Can I put this charm on my bracelet?” 

His eyes drew to where a shining silver revolver and shinier rose dangled from an otherwise empty chain around your wrist. And Hoya felt like you’d unconsciously delivered him a compliment, the desire to fill the space with his gift touching him as though it were his own birthday.

“Do you really have to ask?” Hoya rose an eyebrow, judging as always.

With a free hand, you lifted the pizza you’d just gotten for yourself, “Pizza?”

“Are you becoming a fan of obvious questions now?” He shot back before taking the offered plate, retreating back into the living room with a grin so large he was sure it’d be illegal to feel this good in at least seven different countries. 

Feeling anything but good, though Hoya wouldn’t notice it in the least, too blinded by his own happiness, Woohyun moved past him as he went, entering the kitchen with a purpose. 

He was mad. At himself, mostly. Frustrated would be a better word. Dissatisfied would be the best word. 

He wanted to take action. He wanted to have it happen naturally. He wanted to change things up a bit. He wanted to keep things comfortable. He wanted what he didn’t want, he didn’t want what he wanted. He was dissatisfied with the lack of progress he was making with his thoughts. 

It seemed he was a “waffler” by default. 

But then there was you with your hair up. Noticing him. Understanding him more than he’d like you to. Knowing exactly what to do to make him feel better and yet, at the same time, feel so awful it was awe-full. 

“Pretty, isn’t it?” You rose Hoya’s gift in front of him, dangling it before his eyes. With a smile, you despite his sour expression, “Are you jealous?”

Not rushing him. Naturally initiating playful conversation. Not changing your behavior. Making him comfortable. Everything he wanted, and yet he wanted more. 

“Extremely.” He answered, expression not matching his tone.

He wanted more than this. Than endless back and forth banter. Than the constant tugging of his smile forcing its way onto his face. But who was he to ask for it?

“Am I wrong to expect something from you?” Your eyes locked with his eagerly. 

“No.” You weren’t. But, “But, unfortunately, I fail to deliver today.”

“I wouldn’t say as much.” You shrugged, nudging him in his side, sneaking past his defenses with ease, poking him right in his soft spot between his second and third rib. Landing critical strikes like it was second-nature, as usual, you said as though it were the most obvious question in the world, “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Woohyun wanted more. 

And while he wasn’t getting said noun in all its ambiguous connotations, he was getting something else.

A girl who smiled at the very fact that he was there.

“True.” He nudged you back, landing a hit on your forearm, “We’re here, aren’t we?” 

“What kind of obvious question is that?” 

A battle of nudges ensued as he watched you pick out three separate slices of pizza — only one of which were for him. Your short ponytail swaying back and forth, his heartstrings tugging him this way and that. More could wait for now.

To you, there existed no better combination then pizza, a Godzilla movie, and a group of friends to share it with. Squished between U-kwon and Jaehyo, either’s legs tangling over your own on the couch, you were beginning to feel your lower extremities go numb. But, you could care less. U-kwon’s laughter and Jaehyo’s constant victorious munching down onto the last pieces of pizza he’d won over a game of rock, paper, scissors were worth witnessing up close. 

Besides, you had the prime spot for spectating exactly what the others were up to.

The duo of Kyung and Sungjong were whispering to each other where they sat on the carpet to your left. They had become engrossed in an argument over who could beat who if they themselves were bonafide half-gorilla, half-whale creatures that measured meter upon meter of feet tall. Sungjong wasn’t into it at first, but after all the trash-talking Kyung was doing, he had “no choice” — as he said then — but to set the record straight. Obviously, Sungjong would win because of his advantageous youthful, inexperienced, and thus unpredictable, combat capabilities — age seeming to matter to him on this one occasion.

Woohyun and Dongwoo laid knocked out at the foot of the television, their position picture worthy. A picture Hoya was taking with Taeil’s assistance, the glasses-wearing used-to-be-hunter posing with a victory “V” beside Dongwoo’s mouth that hung open wide. Hoya would later photoshop it to look like he was yodeling with the utmost enthusiasm.

The unlikely pair of Zico and Myungsoo sat at your feet, backs leaning against your bare legs. Zico’s arm wrapped around Myungsoo’s shoulders, the latter not protesting in the least. You could only briefly wonder what kind of conversations the two of them could have as a flash of white drew your attention away from the new couple. 

Sunggyu, who'd taken refuge in the one-seater adjacent to the three-seater you now occupied, fished for his phone in his pocket, hand fumbling in the darkness — a cave scene the last thing that could have helped him at this point. 

He glanced at it only for a moment before shutting it off, ignoring it. 

Pretending he’d hadn’t seen it at all for a few hours after that.

Just a few.

“You’re leaving.”

Sunggyu turned around, jacket slipping down slouched shoulders, caught phone in hand in his attempt to sneak out ten minutes past two in the morning. Everyone else was asleep. No one else, even if awake, would have stopped him right there at the entryway as you did. 

“The issue back home’s more complicated than I thought.” 

His voice was an octave lower than usual, hoarse from the sleep he’d woken himself up from. 

“No need to explain yourself.” 

You shook your head, shaking off your own restlessness. 

“I was going to let you know before I did.” He insisted, taking a step closer to you.

“Sure you were.” 

You were being unnecessarily difficult. You were going to laugh it off a single second after your sarcastic musing rolled off your tongue. You were more than willing to put his departure behind the both of you again. You were, but he didn’t let you.

In a single breath, he asked, “Don’t you trust me?”

You felt your toes curling into the wooden flooring beneath you. A dull pain washed over you, drenching you feet first as your muscles tensed under his half-lidded gaze. Hair disheveled. Tired legs teetering him back and forth. His common sense only just slightly there, threatening to slip away with each slow, almost painful, blink.

“Now you’re just being unfair.” 

You mumbled beneath bated breath.

Because this and that were different things. 

“What do you want, Hyunjoo?” He took a step forward, and you retreated back twice that. Despite his slightly clouded mind, he noticed. He noticed a lot of things he’d rather not. “I didn’t prepare a gift, so ask and you shall receive.” 

You stood rooted in place, venturing not a single inch closer towards him.

Smiling lazily, with an infinite amount of effort, yanking more and more from the last hole he’d dug for you, he asked again.

“What do you want from me?” 

Everything was too much to ask for. Anything was too much to even begin to want. But when he asked you so straightforwardly like that, like this, nothing came to mind. You entertained the thought that maybe it was because you didn’t feel like you deserved to answer. Like you hadn’t the right to demand anything. To even request anything. 

No matter what he said, after all the things he’d gone through, Kim Sunggyu was the who should’ve been right here and now. 

Not you, who’d already gotten everything and more you could ever ask, wish, or dream for. Your father’s love. Your mother’s support. A group of friends worth fighting for. So far, this entire arc of your life had centered around you. And, honestly, it was a bit tiring constantly trying to figure out exactly what it was that you wanted. It was all so much more complicated and you wanted it to be.

So, what did you want from him? 

The real question was, what did Kim Sunggyu want from you?

“I’ll call you later.” You decided on that phrase with a smile, his own slipping off his face. 

You weren’t brave enough, not shameless enough, to ask. To yell to the world over. To claim anything just yet.

And apparently, silent and complacent as he was, neither was he.

The promise of “later” never felt heavier. Louder than his steps as he walked down the porch, your stride echoing his with each creak. Sadder than the wave you gave as he started Jaehyo’s truck and drove off, your legs giving out as soon as it disappeared around the corner. 

The movement of something black beside you had you glancing to the left, finding a sleeping Kim Myungsoo leaning against the wooden railing of the porch steps — having given into his drooping eyelids request for rest as he waited for B-bomb to return. The bubble that had stuck itself in your throat popped, a cough erupting from your lips that failed to stir him in his blissful slumber. You quickly covered your mouth, freezing cautiously in case he was just faking it.

Pretending.

But he didn’t do that anymore. The two of you didn’t do that anymore. 

Scooting closer to him tentatively, you nudged his limp shoulder with yours, “Myungsoo?”

Nothing.

You hit his knee with yours — the shockwave of pain causing you to have to bite back a yelp for the second time.

“Myungsoo?” You whispered.

Anything. 

Anything you could have done wouldn’t have done anything. Wouldn’t have changed anything. And yet you felt like you still could. Like you had a right to. No matter who deserved it, the act of wanting wasn’t a crime.

“Myungsoo?” Your voice got louder, shamelessly.

There was just something about a defenseless Myungsoo, an unresponsive Myungsoo, an everything Myungsoo, that had you breathing a sigh of relief. 

That had you confessing, not caring if someone else heard you or not, if everyone thought you were selfish or not, the world’s opinion be damned, “I like you.”

And as you heard the words echo into the night sky, as you felt the words sinking deep into your eardrums, they penetrated downwards until they hit that door. That door Sungjong broke the lock off of so long ago. And it was reduced to nothing, that door. It blew open, a rush of feelings hitting you all at once. 

It was your “ah-ha” moment. 

It was the moment the bullet found its target. 

So then, it was Kim Myungsoo. 

And you stifled a laugh as you stared on at his unmoving figure, the stars of his facade that reflected the light of his true self captivating you for the umpteenth time, “It was always you, wasn’t it?”