"Take me home, to a place where I don't belong."

Untitled.

Drabble

She watches the sky grow dark outside her window. Her heart hurts, not the sharp pain of a million needles piercing her hopes and dreams, but a dull pang, an endless churning of confused emotions. It will get better, she tells herself. No regrets, right? Then why is she hurting so much?
 

Do you even know me anymore? Did you even know me in the first place? she asks him in vain, in her sleep. She never dreams of him, maybe twice in her whole life did she have the pleasure (or maybe pain?) of seeing him in the world of the unconscious. The first time, it is of them riding in the same car (backseat, she clearly remembers) - she looks at him, does nothing. (It is better this way after all.) The second and final time, she works up the courage to hold his hand, curious of how their hands might fit together. (If it fits perfectly, like puzzle pieces, then we must be meant to be.) She doesn't know if it was perfect or not. She wishes it was. She isn't sure, and it's killing her.

She passes by him as they get ready for a concert. He's busy - talking with his friends. (I should be over there, she thinks. I used to be.) Her eyes briefly flicker in his direction, and they catch each other's gazes. These special glances used to be burning, deep, the kind that sent shivers throughout her whole body. Getting lost in those dark eyes of his, searching for answers - and not getting any - it wasn't right. She had tried so hard to understand, but he was being so vague, so annoying with his various habits. So she reached the last straw and finally pushed him away.

He now raises an eyebrow up at her, his eyes slightly mischievous. She wonders what that is supposed to mean and gives up trying to decipher it. 

"Good luck on your performance!" she manages to utter, in a voice entirely not her own. 

He gives her a gracious smile, and glances back one last time before heading back down the hallway. A bitter smile settles upon her lips. Any other time before this, he would have at least patted her on the back, or poked her in some ticklish place (it was some inside joke, apparently). 

"Well, it seems as if you are getting along just fine," she murmurs to herself. (She knows and even hopes that this isn't the case. She realizes how cruel she sounds. Another self-deprecating slap to her face.)

It bothers her how he can just continue on without even seeming like anything was wrong (isn't that what she wanted in the first place?). Especially when they could not even hold a decent conversation anymore. (Hey, I like your new Japanese song - Oh, thanks, my lines were minimal...like usual..., an embarrassed laugh.)

Somehow, she pulls through the day, like she usually does.  (Yoona is always so resilient, everyone marvels. Oh, they have not the slightest idea what she is going through. She does not bother to explain any further.)

She goes home at night, sitting there in front of her laptop, contemplating. We're gone, she thinks. But how could you miss something you never even had? She never even gave him a proper chance. It was always running away - running, running, running... like the coward she was, and is, even now. Especially now. She can't bring herself to cry (who cries over a boy? her breathing becomes a little uneven - no, she can handle it). 

He thinks you've friend-zoned him forever, she remembers Tiffany telling her. Her cheeks grow slightly pink, words stuck in . (No, you don't understand! No one understands! she cries out in her mind.) Is there any hope for him at all?, the other girl continues, her voice concerned. She wants to say yes, but instead, she squeaks out a no. (She apologizes to him later, over and over again, I'm so, so terribly sorry that this happened. He forces a tight-lipped smile, eyes sunken and tired, gazing at her with a mixture of shock and sadness and - was that love? - she almost shrinks away at the prospect.)

She reminisces on all this, fingers poised on the laptop keyboard. She remembers that one hug that they shared together that one fateful day (their first true hug - probably the only one ever). It took a leap of courage, into his arms, just to give him something to hold onto after she's gone for good (she never realized that she might need it more than he would). The feeling of pressing her cheek lightly against his chest, patting his back amid more murmurs of apology, voice shaking, body trembling (he stabilizes her with his gentle arms; he doesn't say anything at all). She had been tearing up, asking repeatedly if he was going to be okay. She realizes what a stupid question that was - who could be okay after all this? Can't you see his despondent gaze? The way his shoulders sagged a little despite his best efforts at remaining strong? 

But she walked away nevertheless, leaving him to suffer on his own. You were my best friend, she had thought. Yet you don't even know me enough anymore.

It was definitely better this way.

(But it was with him that she felt most at ease, even when she couldn't ever envision a future together with him. It would never work, she knew.)

(The heart does things that the mind will never understand.)

She finally starts typing.

"let me write out a story

filled with memories -

what had been, what could've been, what should've been

almost, broken, intangible, fleeting

hopeless from the start

hanging by a thread

cut off, forever, gone, irreplaceable

if only we had known

if only."

(With him, it felt like home, and she didn't know why.)

pic credit

a/n: re-opened this collection as of February 2, 2013 :) This is a repost from my LJ, but I miss YoonHae so much that I had to just post this here too! I love this pairing so much  that it hurts ;_;