You and Howon became friends during your first week in high school, when you were a freshman. You met Howon for the first time in the art club. When you walked towards your seat after the teacher introduced you and some other freshmen to the club, he didn’t even glance at you even as you sat in your seat that just happened to be next to him. Howon kept his gaze on Ms. Go, the young art club teacher who was probably just a few years older than them, a college student, who was explaining the activities of the art club for the first club meeting of the semester. You did the same thing, ignoring everyone else and focusing on Ms. Go’s instructions.

However, halfway through the club meeting, you felt someone staring at you as you tried to focus on your drawing on your sketchbook, the tip of your pencil drawing lines on the paper with gentle . You looked to your side and caught Howon’s eyes. Instead of being surprised, he glanced at your drawing and looked back at you with a small smile. “That’s beautiful.”

You glanced at your drawing. It was a drawing of a stag standing gracefully in the middle of a forest. You thanked him for the compliment before diverting your attention back to the sketchbook.

“It’s nice to see another person joining the art club because they’re actually interested in art,” Howon remarked, and you looked at him. He was leaning back in his seat, his sketchbook resting on his lap, long fingers twirling a pencil. Once he got your attention, he continued, “Most people just joined this club because they have nowhere else to go or because they’re kicked out of other clubs."

The two of you exchanged words occasionally for the rest of the meeting, while perfecting your drawings. And that was how the two of you became friends.

After hanging out for a few months, the two of you got closer and eventually became best friends. As you got to know him, though, your love for him as a friend gradually bloomed into something more. You tried to deny it at first, but at the end you ended up admitting to yourself that yes, you had a crush on him.

You also noticed that something about him changed.

During the art club meetings, you would catch him staring at Ms. Go, his eyes lingering a little longer than necessary. He could even stare at her when you were talking to him, unconsciously ignoring you in the process. You would try to get his attention, and when you finally succeeded he would smile sheepishly, apologizing for not paying attention to whatever it was you were saying.

He would spend most of the time texting on his phone. He would check his phone more often than usual and when he smiled as he looked at it, he would immediately began to type a reply. He didn’t even notice you staring at him.

He just started doing all those things, and stupidly,  you felt sad and… well, neglected.

And the worse part of it was that he didn’t even seem to notice that he was doing it.

One afternoon, you saw something that confirmed your suspicions.

That afternoon, you were planning to go to the bookstore after school and Howon insisted to go with you, saying that he also wanted to buy some books himself.

That was why you thought it was weird when you walked out of your class room to find Howon leaning on the wall, waiting for you, looking unusually anxious. He told you that he couldn't go with you to the bookstore, apologized and made up some excuse about how ‘something came up’. He didn’t explain it to you what that ‘something’ was and you didn’t ask him to elaborate. You just nodded saying that it was fine. He smiled, thanking you for understanding before he ran off with a wide grin on his face, clutching his backpack straps, looking excited. You had a hunch about where he was running to.

You told yourself not to go there, not to go check, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your feet brought you to the art club room and you halted when you saw the slightly ajar door. Then you heard an oh-so-familiar laugh, sending a warm feeling in your chest. You quietly peeked through the gap and saw Howon and… Ms. Go.

The two figures sitting on chairs across each other were illuminated by the sunlight streaming through the windows in the classroom. There were two teacups on Ms. Go’s table. Ms. Go was smiling as she tucked a strand of her long brown hair behind her ear. Howon had a small, shy smile on his face as he explained something to Ms. Go, gesturing to a beautifully painted canvas resting on an easel standing nearby.

Your eyes lingered on the canvas. And, oh. You recognized that painting.

Howon showed you that painting a few days ago with a proud smile on his face. He said he had worked hard on said painting for the past week. What do you think? he asked, Beautiful, you had replied. But it was just now that it hit you who the woman in the painting was.

The woman in the painting had long straight brown hair, like Ms. Go’s. Long and pretty eyelashes cascading downwards, like Ms. Go’s. Small, pink lips like Ms. Go’s.  

And in that precise moment when Howon leaned forward to press his lips against those small, pink lips, you forced yourself to look away.

As you walked away from the class room, you felt like crying, but no tears came out. You felt raw and broken inside, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.