The night winds down without incident, the guests have long gone, and the cleaning crew are busy doing their thing. I am still holed up in the office, intensely overseeing the demolition. From her seat on the couch, my friend comments, "Everything went great, you know. It's over now, so you can relax."
I just hum in acknowledgement and continue to watch everything through the windows for the next 20 minutes. Suddenly, a light series of knocks raps on the door, and I turn to my friend, "Are we expecting someone?" She shrugs and walks to the door before opening it slowly.

"Oh!" she squeaks in surprise, "Miya, it's Joonmyun. Hey, Joonmyun." There he is, Jongin's long-time manager and our mutual childhood friend, standing in the doorway. He greets my assistant briefly, but his eyes are focused past her shoulder, locked on me. I can't say that I am shocked, exactly, to see him; I figured that at some point tonight he would drop by to talk to the event coordinator, but somehow my body still locks up and roots me to the spot.

"Would you mind giving us a moment?" I request, eyes not leaving my old friend. Jaerin steps aside wordlessly to let Joonmyun in, and then steps out, closing the door behind her. "You look well, oppa," is the lamest thing I could've possibly said, but that's all I can manage for conversation anyway.

He scoffs, "Thanks. You look cowardly." Ouch. Already throwing punches. Joonmyun...he has always been a straight shooter, not afraid to initiate those difficult conversations when he thinks you are being a . He is a neighborhood oppa who befriended (i.e. protected) Jongin and me since we were young, and I have looked up to him as a real brother ever since. I had heard that Jongin had insisted that his label allow Joonmyun to be his personal manager all those years ago, but I am still surprised that they have managed not to kill each other in the past decade. Joonmyun and I have kept in touch periodically; my primary motive being to stay updated on Jongin's well-being when the cameras are off, and his motive being to stay updated on my well-being to report back to Jongin. It must've been difficult being the middle man for us; but true to Joonmyun's disposition, he has never complained. It was only recently that we've gotten a chance to work together professionally, planning tonight's event.

Ignoring his statement, I ask him if he found the evening enjoyable. "Jongin thought you did a great job," he responds. "That's what you really wanted to ask, right?"

"You know," I retort, "sometimes I actually care about your opinion about things." I was foolish to think even for a second that Joonmyun would want to have a normal conversation about tonight's festivities. He is only here to push my buttons and make sure that I don't leave without seeing Jongin.

Joonmyun paces forward with hands in his pockets, stopping beside me and pretending to look out over the club. My back is to the window, looking the other way. "Ah, yes, you very much value my opinion," he chuckles, "that must be why you chose navy over black for the table cloths and chose to stay away for the last 10 years, even though I advised against it."

I reach out to punch his arm and protest, "Oppa! Those issues are of totally different magnitudes, and I made the executive decision to use navy over black because Jong-" He cuts me off. "Yes, yes, Jongin would've liked the navy more; you would know better than I would." Not appreciating being interrupted, I can't help but to cross my arms and pout.

"Why haven't you tried to see him yet, Miya?" he asks me, softly this time. "Don't you want to?"

The weight of the question settles over us; just thinking about it, I feel as if I can't even breathe. "How can you even suggest that I don't want to?" I respond. "God knows how much I want to see him, but there's something stopping me, something holding me back."

With a light arm on my shoulders, Joonmyun steers us to sit side by side on the couch. "You remember that promise you made to him on that day, that you needed to stay out of his way, but you two would meet again when you've both made it? Well that place is here and that time is now! Look at everything that you both have been able to accomplish in this time, the growth and progress you have been able to make. But now, when you are both at the summit, at the cusp of this moment that you've been working so hard for, you are hesitating. Why is that?"

Instinctively, I curl myself into a ball and rest my chin on my knees. Talking to Joonmyun like this makes me feel 16 years old again. "I don't know if I am worthy of standing beside him..." I whisper.

Joonmyun's eyes about pop out of their sockets, "Miya, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Don't say that like I'm being ridiculous!" I complain loudly. "He's not only our Kim Jongin anymore--he's the world's Kai. Everyone is watching and expecting more great things from him, including in his personal life, and I don't think I exactly live up to what people are expecting for him in the close friends department. What would people think?" I don't often like to show this unconfident side of myself, but Joonmyun has been around me long enough to see far worse, particularly when it comes to Jongin.

He looks like he is about to rip his hair out or slap some sense into me, if the gigantic breath he takes in before speaking again is any indication. "Miya. Are you trying to tell me that you have pushed him away all of these years in order to help him fulfill his potential to be the best in the world and now the he is, you think that he is too good for you?"

"I don't know, oppa! I don't know what I think!" I cry out. "Does he even want to see me anymore, after what I have put him through?"

Laughter, maniacal laughter is Joonmyun's automatic response. He firmly plants two hands on my shoulders and pierces me with his gaze. "If you think that any second of the past God knows how many years has been spent on anything other than trying to find his way back to you, you are delusional. He never could stay mad at you back then, and not a thing has changed about that now. You are the only one he has ever truly wanted to have in his life, and his mind has never wavered from that. Even after all these years, he is so stubborn about it. Honestly, if I were him, I probably would've given up on you by now," he adds for good measure.

"Oppaaaaaaaaaa," I whine, hitting his arm again. Having this talk with Joonmyun was much needed and long overdue, and admittedly, if it had been anyone else, I wouldn't have listened to a word that was said. But this is Joonmyun, the only person who has kept me connected to my first love. 

"Seriously though, why do you think he begged his label to hire me as his personal manager? It sure wasn't cause he wanted to see his best big bro every day!" he says, causing me to throw him an apologetic look. I try to argue that they have always been close, regardless of my relationship with Jongin, but he shrugs it off. "Kid has kept me gainfully employed for my adult life so far, I really can't complain. And it's really not such a bad deal getting to be around one of your best friends all time. But...you should really do me a favor and go see him to make all of my years of putting up with him worth it." The smile playing on his lips is almost enough for me to rebel against his demands.

"Let's...let's say I am ready to see him. How would I go about doing that?" I ask timidly.

"Finally, our smart girl is asking the right questions!" Joonmyun remarks, earning himself another punch on the arm. "You would simply have to go up to the private VIP room, where your lover boy has been waiting for--" he glances at his wristwatch, "approximately 25 minutes now." I stand to rush upstairs, but he holds me back. I shoot him a questioning look and he shakes his head, "You aren't going looking like that."

I glance down at what I'm wearing. I don't get it. "What's wrong with how I look?"

Groaning, he runs his hands over his face. "Seriously? He has been waiting to see Miya, his old friend, not Miya the event planner slash head of security who is dressed like an assassin sent to kill him."

"Yeah, ok, these are the clothes I have on right now--what do you want me to do about it?" I retort.

Joonmyun squints his eyes as he looks at me before nodding to himself, suggesting, "Lose the suit jacket, and take your hair out of that severe looking samurai bun."
Obediently, I make the proposed modifications and shake out my lion's mane. "Better?" I ask. He gives me a double thumbs up and guides me to the door.

"Remember," he begins a final pep talk, "this is your dear old friend Kim Jongin that you are just meeting up with after a long while. He's still exactly the same guy that we grew up with and that you (don't try to deny it!) fell in love with. And he loves you too. Always has, still does. He's grown up a bit, but so have you. He's had a little bit to drink tonight so he will undoubtedly be a little emotional, and he is hurting. Has been hurting. But above anything else he loves you, and he misses you. Everything will be fine. You guys will be fine, ok?" He gives me a short squeeze before pushing me out into the hall, encouraging me with a final "Go get him, tiger!"

I laugh as I leave the office to walk towards the VIP room, but as soon as the feeling of being alone settles in, I take notice that my heart is racing and all limbs are trembling. Before too long, I stand facing the room that could soon be filled with either happiness or despair. On the other side of the door sits my first love, my forever love, that I haven't seen in over 10 years due to nobody's fault but my own. But like I told my wing woman earlier, I can't regret the decision I made back then. Because Jongin was meant to be a star with the whole world's eyes on him, and he has been able to do just that. No, I don't regret what Kai has become professionally, but I am scared of what I may have done to Kim Jongin the person, what I may have done to his pure heart.

Over the past 10 years, every time I have thought about this moment, the moment I would be reunited with my love once more, I always thought that I would be bursting with enthusiasm. That I would push through the doors, enter the room as if the barrier wasn’t even standing in my way, and throw myself into Jongin’s arms. Now that I am here, though, I feel nothing but hesitation. As I stand nose to nose with the door, one hand resting on the handle, I can’t bring myself to go inside. After what I have put him through, do I even deserve to have this moment? Before I can talk myself out of it, I pull the door open and enter the VIP room as silently as I can.

Jongin doesn’t notice my presence, which I am thankful for. It gives me a moment to soak in the vision before me; the vision of a man broken. He is sitting at the center of the U-shaped couch, straight through the aisle created by two long coffee tables. Elbows resting on his knees, he is holding his face in his hands, looking tired. Exhausted. Like he has given up hope that I would come to him. His hair, which was perfectly coifed just a few hours prior, is in disarray as though he has been running his hands through it countless times since sitting here. His suit jacket is abandoned next to him on the couch, and he has rolled the sleeves of his constricting shirt up to his elbows.

My heart aches as I soak in how different he looks here compared to the perfect image he projected to the cameras earlier. Whereas to the public he lies and makes everyone believe that everything is as everything should be, the man in front of me now is showing the wear and tear of a decade of sleepless nights and constant struggle. But somehow, to me, this side of Jongin is more precious and more beautiful than the image of perfection.

“Nini…” the whisper leaves my lips before I can stop it. Everything happens in slow motion after that. Jongin freezes at first, not sure if he is hearing a hallucination or reality. Unbeknownst to me, he hasn't allowed anyone to call him that since that day. He lifts his head, eyes trailing down the aisle until they stop at my feet. Then, seeming even slower than everything else, his eyes tiredly rake up my form until his eyes lock with mine. Then time stands still.

Neither of us say anything, we just stop and stare. Although there are so many things I want to say, that I want to ask, now that I am here, my mind blanks and my throat runs dry. Now that his head is no longer in his hands, I can clearly see just how exhausted he is, and it breaks me. “Nini…it's me,” I call him again.

It only takes four long strides for him to get to me. And less than a second after that, I am engulfed in him—his physical presence, his scent, everything that I have been longing for. After all these years, after everything that has happened, he still feels the same.  I wrap my arms tightly around his waist and squeeze my eyes shut, afraid that if my hold loosens at all, he will evaporate and this will all have been a dream. The first thing I feel is the hard press of chapped lips against my forehead, and then the wetness of rebel tears that managed to escape his eyes and are now dripping off his chin. Tears that were caused by me. Next is the feeling of his nose burying into the hair at my temple, breathing me in. Finally, his cracked, desperate voice sounding right next to my ear, begging me, “Mimi…don’t leave me alone anymore.”

“Never,” I tell him, because now that I am here, I don’t have the heart to say anything else.