“Taeyoung, what are you doing?” Footsteps sounded against the wooden floor of the old house as I remained still, not even flinching at the voice of my friend. “Taeyoung?” The back door creaked open as I heard her high top sneaker touch the worn out wood of the patio, creaking her way towards me as I sat on the swing, my knees pulled up to my chest and my hair blowing with the wind. “What are you doing?” she repeated her question as she sat down in front of me, blocking my view of the dark blue ocean that sat behind of my house.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I replied, turning my vision away from her and focusing on the vastness of the water.

“Nothing,” she grinned at me, waving her manicured hand in front of my face, “which means you can hang out with me today?”

“If you’re looking for Kikwang,” I replied shortly, straightening out my legs and starting to stand up, “he’s not here.”

“I know where he is,” she replied, that grin still plastered on her face. “I came looking for you.”

“Likely story, Jaemin,” I nearly smirked at the thought of her being away from my younger brother. “But you can’t even go an hour without sending him a text, much less want to hang out with me all day.”

“But it’s not just going to be me and you!” she called after me as I walked towards the steps of my patio, “Songyi will be there as well.”

“That’s great,” I waved back at her without turning around as I stepped onto the white sand, “you guys have fun now.”

“Taeyoung!” I heard her call after me as I walked further and further away from her, until she only became a mere dot that stood out against the old, peeling white paint that was my house. A comforting silence began to fill the air as I sat down on the dry, soft white sand, closing my eyes as I did so. The warm ocean breeze blew my hair back away from my face as I tilted my neck back, inhaling the salty sweet scent of the ocean. The soothing sounds of the rushing waves entered my ears as I felt myself relaxing, feeling my muscles loosen up after staying tense for so long.

“Why do you like the beach so much?” I asked him as he held my hand in his comfortingly, shooting a half grin towards me.

“It’s quiet,” he shrugged as he sat down, pulling me with him, “it gives me a place to think.”

“What do you think about?” I sat down beside him as he wrapped his strong arms around me, allowing me to lean back onto his broad chest.

“A lot of things,” he shrugged, his half grin turning into a full one, “but you, mostly."

A tear slowly slid down my cheek as I opened my eyes again, the warm draft drying that single tear almost immediately. My heart began to pound, aching for his arms to be wrapped around me again. I wanted to hear his voice in my ears, laughing his gentle laugh, and telling me how beautiful I looked, even when I looked like I just rolled out of bed. I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them tightly, resting my chin on my kneecaps as I continued to blankly stare out at the ocean. I noticed nothing and no one as I began to become immersed in my own thoughts, a memory reel replaying over and over in my mind. Images of him flashed through like a broken record, the same ones over and over, and each time, leaving a deeper indention inside my already torn heart.

“Here,” a male voice suddenly spoke, causing me to jump slightly at the harsh contradiction to the silence I was used to, “I think you need this more than me.” He stuck his arm out, his hand holding an off-white handkerchief with a small stitching of what I assumed was his initials in a corner. I stared at the piece of cloth for a moment, then allowed my eyes to travel up his bare arm, up until my eyes rested on his face. “Are you going to take it?” he asked, his eyes completely unreadable. I nearly let out a chuckle at his gesture—a guy who wore basketball shorts that hung low on his small waist and a wife-beater that hugged his body in all the right sections should not have been carrying a handkerchief.

Anybody that lived in this century shouldn’t even own a handkerchief.

“Thank you,” I replied softly, both in confusion of this guy and amusement from his action. I took the silky cloth from his hand and lightly brushed my stray tears away from it, starting to hand it back to him.

“You keep it,” he waved it off nonchalantly, “I think you’ll be needing it a lot.” I let out a watery chuckle at his remark as he, to my surprise, sat down beside me, like we had been friends for a very long time. “I see you out here a lot,” he started to speak casually, stretching out his long legs, “what’s your name?” I studied him carefully, from his sharp jaw line to his reddish hair color—a certain confidence rose off of him, one that seemed very familiar to me.

“Taeyoung,” I replied, “what’s yours?”

“Junhyung,” he replied, sticking out his hand, “it’s nice to meet you.” I stared at his hand for a moment, as if I was confused on what to do with it. He let out a small, yet nice, chuckle as he looked up at me, locking his eyes with my own. “It’s a handshake,” he grinned a very nice grin, “usually, when you meet someone new, you offer them your hand to shake.”

“Right,” I nodded, raising my arm slowly and putting my small hand inside of his larger ones. “It’s nice to meet you too.” I broke his gaze as I dropped my hand back down onto the soft sand, turning my attention back onto the rushing waves of the ocean. He didn’t say another word as we sat together in a surprisingly comfortable silence, feeling absolutely no need to force any awkward conversations between us. I nearly smiled at his feat—for some reason, having someone sit here without asking me if I was okay, made everything seem so much better.

“So, Taeyoung,” he broke through the sounds of the rushing waves as I sat still, having practiced listening without looking the speaker in the eye, “if you’re not busy later, do you think you might want to grab like, a cup of coffee or something?” I froze at the sound of his offer, feeling suddenly torn in two.

Because the minute he asked, images of my past began to fly through my mind.

“I can’t,” I began to lie, “I’m busy tonight.”

“Oh?” I heard the disappointment in his voice, covered by his nonchalance, “some other time, maybe?” I heard the hope in his voice, despite him trying to disguise it with indifference, and I heard the sound of his heart breaking in the future.

“Yeah,” I lied to him again, “maybe some other time.” I knew I would regret turning him down. I knew that one day, I would look back and slap myself across the face for saying no. I knew that I’d wonder about what would happen if I did get that coffee with him, and then drive myself insane thinking up scenarios about it.

But I knew that if I went out with him, my heart would ache more than it already did.