Jongin

We need to talk.

My mother said it’s the scariest four words any person can say. She would know, because that’s what my father told her before he presented her the divorce papers. In the few relationships I have been involved in, I’m always the one who would say this, putting worry into any woman’s face. They always seem to falter when they hear me say this. These words, they’re words I say when I am about to end a relationship and more often that not, I had no idea what these words could do and how this would affect one’s heart. But now, standing across her—the only woman I love enough to silently promise she’ll never hear this from me—after hearing her expel these four word, I understand it all now. I now know how those girls felt. I now know why their faces fell, why they faltered, why they were worried. For once, I am on the other side. Not saying these words, but hearing them instead.

I don’t say anything. I stand aside and let her in. She passes by me to enter my house and I take a breath before my heart explodes from rapidly beating. I watch her walk to the living room, look at the way her hair falls on her back, how she’s clutching on her purse. I hope she isn’t here for what I think it is. I hope she’s here because we haven’t talked in a while and she misses good company. I hope she’s here to tell me about her and her husband. I will sit down and listen carefully. I will listen to every detail no matter how many times it will hurt. I would rather have her here for that reason, than for something else.

“Sorry for turning up so suddenly.” She says, turning to look at me as I close the front door behind me.

I force out a chuckle even though my heart wants to beat out of my chest, “Didn’t hear you apologize when you turned up at two o’clock in the morning,” I tease, stopping myself from looking back to that time she showed up on my doorstep at an odd hour.

She smiles wryly at me and I hate it, “I went to the office but Kyungsoo said you didn’t come in,”

I tell myself she’s concerned and convince myself it’s concern that I see in her face, “Yeah, I’m not in the mood to face human beings today. I barely slept trying to finish that stupid print ad last night,” I want to blab about work. I want to tell her all the I did all month, just so she won’t get a chance to talk. But even though I want these stories to flood out of my mouth, I can’t. Instead I ask the question I don’t want to hear the answer to, “So, what brings you here?”

“I…” She lowers her head and looks on the ground. My heart starts to beat even more rapid this time. I hope I’m masking the worried look on my face. I hope my physical appearance tells her I’m not one bit worried. I’m not one bit shaken. I’m not one bit scared of what she might say. But as I worry about how she might see me, I worry more for the fact that she seems to be having a hard time constructing a sentence. She isn’t usually like this. She can tell anything to my face. She has never held back. Never. And now, I can feel that she is doing exactly that—holding back and sparing my feelings.

I swallow the big lump on my dry throat, “Do you want a drink? You like pineapple, don’t you?” I ask and walk towards the kitchen area. I get her a glass from the cupboard and take out the carton of fruit drink she likes. I hear her footsteps nearing and I focus on the liquid flowing out of the carton into the filling glass.

She’s here but she isn’t talking. All I hear is the thud from my chest and the pouring drink. I hope the silence consumes us instead. I hope she won’t say anything. I hope I won’t pry further and hurt myself.

“Jongin.” She finally says and everything stops; the liquid pouring down to the glass, the silence, the world, my breathing…my heart. Everything. I close my eyes and pray she won’t talk any further. I want her to say my name like how she had always verbalized it. She never calls my name that way. That…that sad tone, like she’s carefully saying my name before she drops the bomb on me.

“I keep pineapple juice in my fridge and I don’t even drink them,” I say, looking down at the glass of juice I poured for her. I take it and turn to her. I carefully bring my eyes to look at her face. Her sad face. I manage a smile and put the drink on the counter where she’s slightly leaning, “But you like it and I’m glad I have it whenever you want to drink them,” I continue lifting the corners of my mouth.

She tears her gaze away from me and looks at the glass of pineapple juice, “Even my favorite drink, you acknowledged,” I force out a scoff and I want to say something witty, but instead I just keep my lips into a curve which I hope looks like a goddamn smile because I’m ing trying.

“Sehun told me about the fight you had last week.” I want to cover my ears and no longer hear where this conversation is headed. But I can’t move. All I can do is look at her with a smile on my face, “He told me everything. All of it, Jongin,”

“If you’re here to confirm everything, I can tell you that I have been enduring all this while and I can go further. I won’t hurt if you don’t acknowledge my feelings,” She shoots me a look, her eyes forming into two large circles, shocked. I still can’t move.

“Are you saying I should overlook this?” The disbelief in her face cannot be missed. I don’t say anything and she frowns at me. Her eyes glisten and for the first time, I have put tears in her precious eyes. I start to hate myself, “I tried to, but I can’t anymore.”

“What?” My eyes widen and my voice is barely audible.

“I have overlooked your feelings for a long, long time. I kept convincing myself you just care too much and that you treasure our friendship, but deep down, I’ve always known you…you…” She trails off, her eyes still on the ground and I frown. I want her to look at me when we’re talking about my goddamn feelings. I want to see her eyes when she’s telling me these things. Her eyes will always hold the truth and not . It’s easy to say things. What’s never easy is for the eyes to lie.

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