NINETEEN

I swear the clock’s ticking is getting louder and louder by the second.

There’s a heavy feeling inside my stomach; it’s telling me I shouldn’t feel at ease. I softly graze my fingers along the cup in front of me. It’s still full; the once scolding hot coffee inside turned ice cold hours ago. Before, it smelled like home, now it just smells like desolation and disappointment.

Anyone who’d see me at this moment would say I am an utter and complete fool for actually believing Daesung would decide to come home after our call, despite after hearing him angrily say he wouldn’t.

I know he’s with him, and I know I can’t blame him for trying to reconnect with Daesung. I would do so, too, if I were him. Having Daesung in your life is like having a reason to live. Still, I remember the time Daesung had been heart-broken, when he moved to Japan. Seungri had told me what happened in a drunken daze, and I had always pretended I didn’t remember the day after just so he wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

But I do know, and I can’t forget.

Just like Daesung can't.

The relationship Daesung and I have is a special one indeed. I want to say it’s a co-dependent relationship, but I’m afraid it no longer is. He used to need me, but I don’t think he does anymore. I can see it in the way he looks at me. I can feel it in the way he kisses me. I can hear it in the way he talks to me. I can taste it in those words he tells me, they are unfamiliar; they leave his lips carefully, like the first time stepping on ice. I can smell it in the air surrounding us; it’s no longer scented with happiness and safety, but it’s b with an obscure insecurity, clearly leaning over to the edge, ready to capsize.

I find myself being at a loss.

I don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to keep Daesung with me, and I’m not sure if I have enough confidence if it comes down to him choosing between the two of us. How can I win against the one person he’s truly been in love with, when I’m not even sure he’s ever felt even half as much love for me?

I wonder if –

The phone rings.

My eyes cast a cursory glance at the clock. It’s already past two in the morning. Who could be calling at this ungodly hour? My heart nearly skips a beat thinking it might be Daesung.

I jump up from my seat and immediately grab the phone without looking.

“Daesung!” I yell, more enthusiastically than I should considering he’s most likely mad at me, and I’m supposed to be mad at him.

“Ah…” The voice goes on the other side of the line.

There’s an instant feeling of disappointment running through my veins, but I try not to let it show in my voice.

“Youngbae.” It comes out softly, because if I’d speak any louder, he’s sure to catch on.

“He’s here,” he says, and remains silent right after.

It’s as if he’s waiting for me to say something, but I have no clue what I should tell him. For starters, I feel relieved he’s okay.

“He’s not feeling so good, though,” Youngbae adds in a mutter when he realises I’m not going to speak up.

His words immediately peak my interest.

He sighs. “Look, Hikari. I don’t know what happened between you guys, nor do I know who has started the argument – if it even is an argument – but you need to know he’s sorry.”

“Sorry?” I scoff, but I don’t know why.

“He’s been apologising for nearly an hour straight. I don’t think he fully comprehends it’s my house he’s at, and not yours. He’s called me Hikari like a million times already, and I’m very close to starting to believe that maybe I should cut my hair again.”

“He’s drunk, isn’t he?” I sound tired.

After all these hours of tensing up in my chair at the coffee table, I guess my fatigue is finally taking over now that I know he’s safe.

“He’s a mess, Hikari.”

There’s something about Youngbae’s voice that’s making me feel guilty.

“I…” I swallow twice before saying it. “I’ll come and get him.”

He sighs again. “It’s late. Go to bed. Let him sleep it off. I just wanted you to stop worrying.”

A soft smile tugs at my lips. Youngbae really is a good friend, I’m glad Daesung has him.

“Goodnight,” he ends the call.

*******

Never have I crossed the path from the driveway to the front door as slowly as I am doing right now. Each step is hesitant. Whenever my left foot hits the pavement, it screams ‘betrayal’, whereas the right yells ‘regret’. I know that officially, I haven’t done anything wrong just yet, but I wanted to, and I was so close to actually doing it, so very ready to give everything up, that it feels just like I have.

I stop upon reaching the front door, and then I do nothing.

Well, not nothing; I stare, but that’s it. I stare at the door, allow my eyes to glide towards the knob, but then they anxiously shift to the bell. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do right now. Do I simply unlock the door and enter? For some reason, it feels weird doing that, as if the house I’m about to enter is no longer my home, but a dear reminder of my almost slip-up.

I eye the bell again. The idea of ringing or knocking feels awkward, too. Won’t