Waiting for Jongin was agony. She learned that that Saturday morning, when she was trying to force herself to sit still.

Her trembling hands she kept busy with a comb, which she pulled and tuged and wrested through her hair, hoping to coax it into perfect waves of ocean froth and spider silk. She wondered if she was walking through a dream built on the sweetness of Jongin’s smile and the persistence of hope. Her hair caught in the brush and her scalp screamed; she affirmed it was no dream.

Trepidation welled in her. She’d spent many hours in Jongin’s sole company but never in a situation of this gravity. Her outings with Jongin had thus far been pleasant, carefree affairs, all in the guise and name of friendship.

In retrospect, maybe they had never used the term ‘date’ specifically, but in essence, they fell into its general idea: trips to the ice cream store downtown; recruiting him as an to what had been the most torturous social event that broke hearts one too many; and then there was the question of him taking her to his Academy, the music and the dancing and a little secret studio, where she found herself studying the colour of his eyes.

Maybe she’d be able to keep her wits for this one.

 So, it was much to her chagrin that she found herself breathless at the sight of Jongin at the door of the bakery in a black button-down, tone and hue a match to his eyes. His smile was equal parts nervous and delighted, but it was gentle when he came to greet her.

“Am I overdressed?” he asked as they were walking side by side, frowning a little, tugging at his sleeves.

“On a hot summer’s day, you’d be roasting.” She was proud that her wit had survived the worst of the damage in her addled brain, and found way to leak humour into her words.

His lips pulled in a smirk “Good thing it’s not summer then. Really though,” he looked genuinely apprehensive. “I don’t look weird, right?”

She tried to reply as honestly as possible, without hinting the extent to which she disagreed with him. “Of course not. You look fine.” Something struck her. “It’s not yours, is it?”

He shook his head. “Sehun’s. He was surprisingly quite chipper about the idea.”

She thought that the boy with the marble skin, chivalrous of manner and kind of heart, maybe had had more wit to him that he let on.

“So anyway… movies! Right. I promised you movies.” His ramblings appeared more to himself than for her to hear, but she caught how he kept moving his hands, into his pockets and out, smooth slides and tugs. He was… more nervous than she was.

And so she laughed and shyly took his hand into hers. Jongin was surprised, but his fingers found the nooks and curves to mould his into and he held on, tight.

“How exactly did you know that I’d like this movie?” she whispered to him an hour later. The theatre was dark, the screen alight, and the movie alive before them.

“Lucky guess?” came his low baritone. “I suppose it was mostly instinct.”

“You have very good instincts,” she muttered through a mouthful of popcorn. “This is exactly what I’d drag Kyungsoo to watch with me, with much reluctance on his part, might I add.”

“Have you ever not dragged him into anything?”

She paused to think, well aware of the amusement dancing on his smile. “Well… he’s always accommodative. And someone needs to get him out of his house.”

Jongin chuckled and snatched more popcorn.

“Maybe I should have brought him with us,” she said slyly. “There’s a chance he might actually like this.”

Jongin choked and she hid a smile. “But this –we –don’t you think –” He sighed. “I suppose he’d make good company.”

“A good third wheel you mean,” she teased. “Where Kyungsoo’s accommodative, you’re too gallant.”

He laughed. A light flush crept up his neck. “It was inbred. I can’t really help it.”

“Is that the reason why you keep being kind to everybody? Even when they don’t deserve it.”

“I’ll be honest, Yoon. I’m not really the angel you think. I have my bad sides.”

“No one’s an angel, Jongin. But,” she touched him lightly on the arm, the one he draped on the armrest between them, “the things you do are borderline ridiculous sometimes.”

“Well,” Jongin replied, leaning back. “I don’t really do outrageous things for everyone. Only the people I care about. You, I care about a lot.”

She turned her head and found him looking at her. The movie reflected against his pitch black eyes; its scenes played against moonlit glass, on shards of shattered obsidian.

He smirked. “You’re hoarding the popcorn,” he said, and snatched a fistful.

She broke away from her trance and fought him for it, much to the chagrin of the people behind them.

Half a dozen previous outings and several hours spent in together amidst storms of orders and whirlwinds of flour made it easy fall into comfort of his company. Through most of the movie, she didn’t even remember it was a date, save for the few times when he leaned in too close, shoulders brushing, voice dropping to whisper.  

 They staggered out playfully shoving at each other, hands deep in their pockets, hunching. The spring air was brisk, its grasp the freeze of cold fingers. When it smacked her on the face she squinted and Jongin suppressed a shudder. He coughed, and his voice came out hoarse.

“I hope you can still stomach food after all that popcorn.”

“Even if I can’t, I’d love a good café, with heaters. And maybe coffee. Something hot enough to combat this freezing assault.”

Jongin laughed and nudged her lightly on the shoulder. “I know just the place.”

He took her to a restaurant that was nowhere near Baekhyun’s calibre, but a welcoming sight all the same, and far more appealing. She found a bit of warmth and charm in the simplistic menus and cheap plates. Their orders were made with smiles and banters, the servers young, friendly and glib of tongue. Jongin’s enchanting smile earned them two frothy smoothies free of charge. And it was as she had her straw bent, smiling around the thin tube of plastic, that her phone rang in earnest.

Jongin gestured amiably, encouraging her to take the call. She pulled out a rather enthusiastic greeting for Kyungsoo, miles distant on the other end of the line. Her smile didn’t last long though, and soon it collapsed into broken shock. Then came indignation, and through its ashes angry helplessness.

“What do you mean, you’re leaving?” she asked in a quivering voice. For Jongin’s sake, she tried not to scream.

His answer was muffled and quiet.

“Soo, how can you not tell me?”

She felt warmth on her hand. Jongin was holding it, in his eyes fear and anxiousness. She pulled it away, grabbed her coat, and wheeled out of he door. She heard his shout, the tumult of confusion, and through her tears dripping onto the sidewalk she listened to Kyungsoo’s soft explanation.

“My application got through. I have the scholarship.” He released a breath that shook and shuddered. “I talked to my parents, and they thought it best if I adapt myself to America before pursuing my degree. A relative of mine who lives there agreed to take me in. I’m to finish high school there.”

“And you didn’t tell me this, why?” She was shaking with anger.

“Because I want you happy,” he said, voice tight, controlled. “Because you crying is the worst of memories to take with me.”

“That excuses nothing.”

Kyungsoo grew silent. His answer was sad. “You know I hate to see you cry. Even more so if it’s because of me.” There was a bit of static on the line, a rustle. Then he said, “I think we best end this conversation before it all gets harder.”

“Don’t you hang up on me, Kyungsoo –”

“Gayoon, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice bearing so much pain that she doubtlessly believed he truly meant it. Then he hung up.

She was crying when Jongin found her, confused and stumbling. He took one look at her and pulled her close, murmuring assurances, shock as plain as thunderstorms in his eyes. He tried to lift her chin, to make her look at him. “Gayoon, what’s wrong? Tell me, please.”

“Kyungsoo’s leaving,” she said through shaky breaths. “For America. His flight leaves today and he’s on his way to the airport now.”

His surprise was written plainly, but Jongin was reasonable where she wasn’t, and instead of bawling on the sidewalk, he stepped onto its edge and hailed a cab.

“Then we’ll get there before he leaves,” he said, holding the door open for her.

Traffic was ghastly, and Kyungsoo was wrought with guilt.

He looked up, and found dark, roiling clouds ornamenting an already terrible day. Kyungsoo sighed and smacked his forehead against the glass. A horn blasted somewhere near his ear and he jumped, cursing. He was bitter he had to leave and miserable at the loss of a friend. He was alone in his anguish, and guilt was a beastly, cruel thing that favoured solitude when it ate you whole.

That pitiful excuse of a goodbye hardly did their friendship justice. In his heart of hearts, Kyungsoo wasn’t happy with it, but it had to be done, and although others might perceive it as inconsiderate, Kyungsoo really believed this was the more palatable of his solutions. It meant lesser pain, a mask to hide grief.

She would be furious at him, but Kyungsoo saw no cheery end to the reception and acceptance of his goodbye in any situation. He saw a lot of tears though, copiously shed, but what he couldn’t do, Jongin could do in his place. Jongin deserved an apology for Kyungsoo’s cowardice, but Gayoon crying was when his heart rent and bent and broke. Her sadness was his undoing.

And so Kyungsoo gritted his teeth and hoped he’d be forgiven, that he wouldn’t be missed. For her sudden loss, he hoped Jongin would grow to become a suitable substitute to take his place. Hell, Jongin could even be something more, because he felt for Gayoon what Kyungsoo didn’t, what he never dared to allow himself to feel for anyone.

 Another honk blared and Kyungsoo gritted his teeth. The day started as simply gloomy, transfigured into an ugly beast of fury, and would end in misery. He knew that much.