“Then what do I do?”

I was asking sincerely because I genuinely did not know what to do next. I was mentally scolding myself because I lost control over my tears, and I wasn’t really intending to let my guard down too much.

Jongin was looking at me with the utmost concern – like I was some little kid sobbing for a dropped cone of ice cream. He’d only known me for a couple of months yet he let a mess like me into his house, more than ready to console, even if I’d turned up out of the blue.

Even if I’d just shamelessly broken his heart.

The fact that I’d been much too selfish hit home and it sent me bawling even more. It was ridiculous.

I was ridiculous.

“It’s okay, Hyemi, let it out,” he hushed, reaching out to lightly rub my shoulder. The last thing I deserved was his consolation and comforting caress. In the short span of time we’d spent with each other, he’d always been by me.

“I’m so sorry, Jongin.”

The apology was applicable for many, many things – for leaving him hanging without a response, for ditching him in the snow, for barging in his house out of nowhere, and for not having the ability to… alter my feelings.

“You know,” he chuckled, “you really have nothing to be sorry for.”

“What?” I sniffed. If anything, I had every right in the world to apologise for my selfish acts.

Jongin smiled.

I was confused.

Just as I was about to make another befuddled remark, he stood up and sauntered into their kitchen, leaving me behind in bewilderment. I’d stopped snivelling, but soon realised that I must not have looked the most aesthetically pleasing young woman after the uncontrollable weeping. Using one of Kyungsoo’s sleeves, I wiped my face bare in an attempt to get my face and act together.

With sonorous footsteps, Jongin came back and sat down right next to me. He was carrying two large bowls and what looked like a generous tub of ice cream. He placed the items on the coffee table and picked up the TV remote control.

“You were just in time for this,” he beamed and switched the television on.

Caught in curiosity, my attention simply veered to the screen. Heavy-momentum, exaggerated music played and an energetic preview of screaming adults acting like hyped up children emerged.

Jongin was in hysterics.

“So you like Running Man, huh?” I asked, quite amused at how happy he looked as The Commander ripped Lee Gwangsoo’s name tag mercilessly.

“Who doesn’t?” he answered back without taking his eyes off of the fun pandemonium.

Then before I knew it, I was slapping my thighs because I couldn’t get over the fact that Kim Jongkook’s name tag had just been thrashed by a woman.

“Oh my goodness, that was so funny!” I squealed in between stifled giggles.

“It always makes my day,” Jongin smiled, “and even if they’re all such dorks, I love all of them.”

We found ourselves talking about the show, who our favourite characters were, our favourite moments. I told him all about Park Chanyeol and his love for the programme and the time when Kyungsoo, he and I watched an episode; how we never did it again because Channie had kept stealing skin contact with my bestfriend, pretending to be dying from hilarity by slapping him playfully, but was actually just trying to get some ins. Jongin laughed heartily, and I made him swear not to bring the subject up with Kyungsoo ever. I laughed with him.

I wasn’t expecting to get this close to Kyungsoo’s Busan friend. I wasn’t expecting to get this comfortable with him in such a short amount of time. My first impressions still lingered in my mind, but ultimately Jongin was a gentleman, a good person, and probably just about every other girl’s ideal man. He was rare, someone who was hard to come across to.

And yet I didn’t – couldn’t – feel anything more than pure admiration.

“You’re really madly in love with that coward, aren’t you?”

Jongin met my eyes, half-smiling. It was as if he had been reading my thoughts all of a sudden.

“What?”

I was confused yet again.

“I mean, you still talk about him… and the way you do it,” he chuckled, “like right now.”

“Why? What do I do?”

He looked up, posing as if he were stuck in a daydream, and breathed in deeply. “Whenever you mention his name,” he mused, “it’s like there’s no other name worth mentioning.”

“Wow,” I gasped in sarcasm, “I didn’t know a Kim Jongin had a knack for stuff like that.”

“But the look on your face when you say it is priceless,” he continued in all seriousness, “and a Kim Jongin can’t… beat that.”

I needed someone to teach me how to respond to something like that.

I stayed silent.

Because I wasn’t expecting that either.

“Hyemi?” Jongin waved a hand in front of me, hauling me back to my senses.

“I- uh-”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to say anything,” he smiled.

How many smiles did I deserve from this boy? I simply wasn’t worthy.

“How do you do that?”

“Do what?” he creased his eyebrows.

“How do you put feelings, put truth into… words?”

“Wow, what a question,” he exclaimed in bewilderment.

I could understand, because even I surprised myself with myself.

“Well,” Jongin breathed in deep once more, “I guess it takes a brave heart to do brave things.”

“Even if you know there’s a huge chance you’ll end up hurt?”

Jongin shifted from his fetal position, shuffling to face me. He took my right hand, squeezing it gently before letting it go.

“That’s the point, Hyemi.”

Every word he was saying hit me right in the core and it almost stung, because he was telling the truth.

The one thing Kyungsoo and I couldn’t do.

“You know,” he sniggered playfully, “now that I think about it, two cowards in love with each other has to be the most complicated love story in history.”

I could only nod thoughtfully, because I couldn’t agree more.

Rrrrrrrrrrring.

My phone broke the silence. My mother was calling.

“Did you tell them you were coming here?” Jongin asked anxiously.

“I didn’t, I just ran here… yeoboseyo?”

“Hyemi?”

It wasn’t my mother’s voice.

“Kyungsoo?”

Jongin raised his eyebrows at me. I shrugged.

“Your Dad was rushed to the hospital.”