Burying his face in his hands, Jongin lets out a drawn-out sigh out of his mouth. He doesn’t know what happened, but the little songbird had managed to completely and utterly Kim Jongin.

           The Kim Jongin.

           The Jongin who was incapable of having an attraction towards someone that extended further into an emotion one would call love – an emotion that can devour you whole.

           Jongin was unfamiliar with this feeling. It had been so new to him that Jongin now no longer found it utterly perplexing, but rather pleasurable. He finds pleasure in catching Kyungsoo’s cheeks blushing bright red from whatever compliment that Jongin had intendedly said to see him become flustered with embarrassment. He finds pleasure in being near Kyungsoo. Hearing him. Seeing him.

           He groans again as the frustration consumes Jongin’s state of mind. After he left Kyungsoo’s apartment to take the bus home, the doe-eyed, small-framed singer remains in his head.

           He hates thinking of him.

             He hates knowing that he had been wrong all along.

           You see, Jongin was once grateful that he had never felt love, consequentially causing him to think that he couldn’t feel love. He had never met that one person who was had the sole power of turning him into a lovelorn teenager, completely consumed with deep infatuation.

           Alas, Kyungsoo had decided to change all that.

           Another groan leaves Jongin’s mouth as his body falls on to his couch, body curling into a fetal position as he gradually drifts off to sleep – dreaming of the songbird he wishes could be his, and his only.