Jjong is sitting there on my bed, engrossed in reading a small book which lies open on his lap.
“Key!” His voice is but a small squeak, eyes wide in shock.
Oh god, this feels too much like catching him red-handed with a women; with the only difference being that this woman is my diary.
I wish I’d never even touched a pen to write in this thing with. But even if I take the diary this moment and burn it, it won’t change anything. He has read it; the decisive thought has been instilled into his mind. Once the tiniest bit of knowledge is acquired, it can never be taken back. And in my case that piece of knowledge isn’t particularly small…
We both haven’t moved an inch when Jjong suddenly stammers, “I… Key, this is… I don’t know how to explain this…”
This is probably the most clichéd statement to make in this situation. Only one thought is crossing my mind: How in the world could I have fallen for that pathetic idiot?
Suddenly my frozen jaw is able to move again, so I growl,
“There is nothing to explain. I see perfectly well what you’re doing here! How can you, Jjong?”
His puppy eyes are so big as I slowly move towards him. I want to get a look at the diary because maybe he still hasn’t reached those fatal pages, maybe – please, please, please – he hasn’t read it—
The little red heart at the side of the page gives it all away.
Tears crawl into my eyes. I should have never written into that diary.
By now Jjong has gotten up and stands facing me. He begins to stammer again, but I easily shut him off with a quick slap across the cheek. I hope his skin burns as much as my anger and pain.
“Do you feel good now? Now that you know that not only the girls are head over heels for you but also boys? That your best friend,” – it becomes a fight to blink the tears away – “who is so popular and admired by everyone falls for you of all people? I hope you at least had your fun with me, Jjong, because I really hate wasting your time…”
He’s standing there, the diary still clutched in his hands. I feel betrayed. Not only because of the obvious breach of trust, but also because he has acquired the knowledge of my feelings without my permission. He has robbed me of the possibility to offer them to him by my own free will, at the time it feels right. Like sneaking into the parents’ bedroom and searching for one’s presents to open them before it‘s Christmas. He should have had more patience.
“Give the diary to me.” I hiss. Although he seems reluctant at first he then hands it over.
Since he‘s already peeked inside the wrapping paper, I want to grant him a look at the whole thing.
So I tear each and every page filled with words over words about him out of it.
“Wait, what are you doing? Don’t—” he tries to stop me. The ripping of the paper produces a sound so familiar to me (it’s my heart) and I let what’s left of the diary clank to the floor.
I look into Jonghyun’s eyes and try to smile, but it feels like I’ve forgotten which muscles to use for that.
Then I push the loose pages against his chest and tell him, almost choking, “You can have them. It’s all yours anyway.”
He doesn’t lift his hands to catch them, so they sail down all around us, so calmly that it’s almost offending my inner turmoil. It takes only a short moment for them to settle down, yet that instant is almost dream-like; time stands still.  I stare at him, wishing I didn’t have to see my own pathetic reflection in his eyes, wishing I could ask him what he is thinking right now. Is he disgusted by having touched a boy who is actually in love with him? Does he feel like he should have never taken my hand to lead me up that staircase?
As the last page has sunk to the floor, time picks up its normal speed again and I lose the courage to ask all that.
“Get out.” I tell him, voice dangerously low. He doesn’t react, so this time I scream at him, “Just get the hell out of here!” and he snaps to attention, hastily leaving the room.
When the door closes I just stand in front of the bed for a few moments. I stand and let the piercing feeling of the aftermath penetrate my brain. Only at the sight of the scattered pages all over the floor, I finally pull myself together. I collect all of them and right when I’ve stuffed them into my back pocket to later throw them away, I hear a knock on the door.  
Please, let this not be Jjong once again.