There are hopeless romantics, and there are cynics; and then, there is Amber.
 
"You're neither." Is what Sunyoung comments, in between sips of her Budweiser. "You're a cynic who is hopelessly in love. Maybe I'll call you a hopeless cynic. Or a cynical romantic. Or maybe just stupid." 
 
Amber retorts by blowing smoke into her face. Less because drunk Sunyoung is annoying Sunyoung, and more because she has a point. This is why no one likes bassists.
 
It's not like Amber has much of a choice. You don't wake up one day, stroll into a college dorm, and decide to have a one-way abusive relationship with your roommate slash keyboardist slash best friend of six years, however big of a dork he is. 

Sometimes, he will do something really stupid, like maybe drink vodka straight with a straw and end up crouched on the bar counter shouting 'It burns, Amber, it burns!', and it doesn't have to take one snarky Kibum whispering to her ear to actually ask herself why she likes this person. 
 
I mean, just look at him. He's Henry freaking Lau for God's sake. How cliché can one person be?
 
"He's a broke- twenty-something, with no direction in life whatsoever, the fashion sense of a toddler, no probable skillset, and has probably hit on every girl in this planet, including Song Qian who is the scariest Chinese lady I know." Quoted, aforementioned one snarky Kibum. Granted, he may not be the most reliable person to ever give an honest description, but Amber can't deny that it was true.
 
"He writes good songs though, and he's a pretty good musician." Amy retorts, in an attempt to save Amber's dignity.
 
"But his lyrics are cheesy." Soojung quips. "Like oil-in-meat greasy." They all nod their heads in agreement. Even Kim Jongin, who hasn't said a single word since he has been introduced to Amber as Soojung's 'boy toy' (Soojung's words, exactly), gave his sign of agreement.
 
"But any of this doesn't matter, right, Amber?" Sunyoung hugs her from the side, words slightly muffled. "There are no reasons for loving someone. You just do."
 
God freaking damn it, Amber needs new friends. Maybe less honest ones.
 
So anyway, the one-way abusive relationship.
 
It wasn't always like this. There was a time, she remembers, in a vague part of her memory, when Henry and Amber have been honest to god, platonic friends. They were college freshmen at that time, and there has been a mishap with room assignments and they ended up sharing a bunk bed in the male side of the dorm. By the time the dorm officials have arranged for her rightful room though, they've already become fast friends.
 
Henry and Amber, ready to take over the world.
 
Translation: assemble a band. Which resulted in this rag-tag group of friends who occasionally play songs at the local bar, and consume alcohol and pity stories on a daily basis.
 
Henry was a music major, so there's that. Amber decided that the coolest member would be the drummer (or so she thought, until she's actually the drummer and all she got to see the whole time are the other member's butts). So she borrowed a pair of drumsticks from the goth next door, and got to work. They found the other members pretty quickly after that: Amy and Eric, vocals and rhythm respectively, from Henry's composing class. Soojung, lead guitarist, Amber knew from high school back in the U.S., who came bursting into the studio bearing Sunyoung: bassist. And then there's Kibum, who was Amber's classmate in History 101 and overheard her talking to Henry over the phone. All he said was "You're in a band? Oh, cool." and oddly enough, stuck with them ever since.
 
So yeah. The first few years were really the best parts of the Henry-Amber friendship. They were busy making plans, arranging songs, actually practicing, and finding this bar to play at every Thursday at 9 pm. Worry-free, stress-free, feelings-free. (Except maybe, they should have attended more classes. But this was college, come on.)
 
Until that one fateful December night. It was the end of semester party that Kibum and his on again off again boyfriend religiously held every year, and needless to say by the end of it, the whole band was already drunk on the unlimited cheap beer. They've played a few sets for the crowd, and have descended into a blur of alcohol and smoke and giggles, slumped on Kibum's couch. 
 
Henry was beside her, that she could recall. They were playing a game of drunken Blind man's Bluff with the sticky playing cards, slapping each other's forehead and laughing the whole time. She could remember Henry being uncharacteristically close, giggling at her cheek, his hot breath fanning over the strand of her hair that was stuck there. His right hand was gripping her wrist, and the other was sticking an ace unto her sweaty forehead.
 
That was all she could remember, for the most part.
 
The next day, she woke up in Henry's room, head pounding inside her cranium. She was bundled up in his Doraemon comforter, in nothing but last night's jeans and sports bra. Her band shirt and jacket were nowhere in sight. 
 
, , ; was all she could think.
 
There are a few mistakes that Amber had done after that, now that she could recall. Mistake number one was calling Kibum first.
 
", Kibum. I just woke up in Henry's dorm and I can't find my shirt. What happened last night? I can't remember ." she frantically said over the phone, shuffling all over the clothes on the floor to find hers.
 
There was a high-pitched, Kibummie-like scream, and then an answer of "Get the hell out of there!" 
 
Mistake number two was following Kibum. If only she had known that he was still drunk off last night's party, she would've taken a minute and really thought about it. Maybe stayed, waited for Henry. But she didn't. Instead, she rummaged through the closet and wore the first thing she got her hands on, picked up her phone, and bolted through the door.
 
That afternoon, Henry texted her saying he'll be gone for the semester break, his usual 'See you next year, bro!' with multiple spelling errors. "Also, you puked all over your clothes last night so I blew it with a torch" he added. 
 
So, that settles it, right? She dirtied her shirt, and Henry was just being a good friend. No matter how much they give to each other, he's not going to let her wake up caked with her own vomit. 
 
That should've been it, actually, if not for a few days after. 
 
Which brings us to mistake number three; and this is the clincher.
 
Amber does remember, in the midst of sipping on her bubble tea. A vague image suddenly comes to mind, blurred and fickle, but still clear enough to render her choking on her drink. There was a street lamp, the one from the corner of their building. There was Henry, there was a coat, there were fumbling, there were his lips, and then-
 
Her words, far away and muffled; "Look at me, do I look like someone any guy would want to kiss?"
 
She slams her hands on the table.
 
From across her, Amy jumped with a start at the sudden movement, phone almost slipping out of her grip. "What the hell was that?" she asks. Amber looks up.
 
"I think." there was a drop of tea on the corner of , her eyes wide in shock. "I think I kissed Henry."
 
Mistake number three was falling in love with Henry freaking Lau.
 
"."
 
And so it goes, that that was how Amber started smoking.
--------------------------
 
The thing you need to know about Amber Liu is that she's an extremely passive person. Lazy, could be the more appropriate word, but lazy implies a lack of effort; and boy, did she try.
 
It wasn't as if she fell in love with her best friend the moment that she realized she kissed him (or he kissed her, she doesn't know!!). It was a slow-burning, torturous process, involving a lot of her brain cells and her friends' sanity.
 
Innocently, it started with curiosity. She'll stare at Henry and wonder, if he ever did remember what happened and was just letting it go to not make things awkward between them, or if the memory just got erased from him. Sometimes she’ll stare at his face, wonder if beneath that chubby cheeks is the vague vision of them making out on a street corner, her hand gripping his hair- 

. 
 
Things escalated after that. One night, she saw Henry take off his sweater, causing the shirt underneath to ride up a little. She got a peak of his abdomen and realized that he is no longer the freshman that she has known him to be. Henry Lau has developed into a physically mature, mate-able man.
 
The flush down her chest stayed for weeks after that. Amber's pretty sure you're not supposed to think about Homonidae mating rituals with your best friend.

There were also a lot of times when she could've left, given up. But here she was, four years in; as stupid as she was the day she realized that she's in love with him. Every time that she was ready to pack her emotional baggage and step out the monumental door to freedom; Henry was there, ready to jump on the first corner that she takes.
 
The funny thing is she can't really blame him. Contrary to what she said (a few paragraphs up, see it?), she did have a choice. Multiple times.
 
"My favorite was when she was ready to leave for L.A." Soojung, with all her airiness, said through the music of the acoustic duo. It was Thursday night, close to 9 PM, and anytime soon their band is about to play. The girls (and Kim Jongin, why do we always forget Kim Jongin?) have gathered a little bit earlier than the agreed-upon call-time to get a few drinks in before their stage.
 
Sunyoung gulps on her beer to add, "I was there," she proudly says. "I was chilling in her apartment when she was about to buy the ticket. All she had to do was enter her credit card number, bu-"
 
"Yes, yes. We all know how this goes." Amber interrupts before Sunyoung could continue, cigarette stick tight between her index and middle fingers. Kibum quips from the end of the counter. "Are we talking about the time Henry got food poisoning?"
 
Amy laughs. "Yeah, and how our ever-the-martyr Amber Liu nursed him back to health for three ing weeks."
 
"If that's not love I don't know what is. If that happens to this one-" Soojung points to Kim Jongin, who was leaning against the bar counter. "I would've broken up with him the moment he vomits all over my Chanel bag."
 
"That's your boyfriend right there, huh?"
 
"Don't worry, he doesn't mind. You don't, right babe?" 
 
Kim Jongin just nods and kisses Soojung's cheeks. Dude is freaking weird.
 
So, Amber did try getting rid of Henry Lau. She has tried every trick in the book: Not answering his calls and ignoring him, to which Henry brought his guitar and caused her whole dorm building to file a noise complaint. She tried going back to her hometown, to no avail; and even flirting with other guys. None of them worked out though, no matter how much bubble tea they treated her to.
 
"Because they're not Henry." an inner voice that eerily sounded like Kibum and snarky Soojung combined, would whisper to her ear. At times like that, she just sighs and lights up another cigarette.
 
This was one of those times.
 
"You should really stop smoking, Amber. I don't want you dying on me." 
 
Speak of the ing devil.
 
Amber sighed, and turned to look at him. He sauntered to the counter and hooked his arms around her shoulders with a smile on his face. "How am I going to live without you?" he pinched her cheeks, his fingers stretching her skin taut as she glared at him.
 
"Yes, yes. Just what would Henry Lau do without someone to torture."
 
"That's right. Can't you see it, Amber? I need you in my life." 
 
Amber grips her nicotine stick tighter. She doesn't have to look back to know that the rest of the gang was glaring at her, daggers into her sweaty back. And anyway, Henry's too close for her to care. He's smiling at her too.
 
"The world would just fall apart." She half-whispered, possibly doe-eyed. If this were a movie, this is the part where the frame zeroes in on the both of them, looking at each other through the strobe lights. The shadows will emphasize his smile and her eyes, and the background noise will be nothing but the last chords of the song being played.
 
She could almost hear Soojung's eyes roll.
 
"Hate to break this-" Eric interrupts, making wiggly shapes with his hands between Henry and Amber "-whatever this is, but we're up in 5."
 
Just like that, her movie-like moment is gone. She puts out her Camel on the ash tray in front of her, and follows Eric suit. They joined the rest of the band as they climb up the stage and took their positions in place. The guitarists were strapping in their instruments, and Amy was already hyping up the crowd. Amber took a seat in front of the drum set and gripped her sticks. 
 
She looked at Henry, who was standing in front of the keyboard and warming up by playing a few random chords. Anytime now, Amy will be starting her 'Good evening everyone, we are Blurred' speech and thus Amber's cue to start counting. But something will happen, she was sure of it.
 
And then, it does. Henry turned his head to her place at the back of the stage, small eyes quickly finding hers. He flashed her a quick smile and reached out for a fist bump, their knuckles knocking together. It was their thing, just a little gesture that they do before every start of a performance to remind them. 
 
Henry and Amber, ready to take over the world.
 
She sighs and clacks her drumsticks together, 1, 2, 3. 
 
1,2,3; her heartbeat goes.
---------------------
 
Her name is Dasom.
 
Almost too sweet, rolling down her tongue like that. Kim Dasom. And true to her name, she really is a saccharine looking thing. Amber gets cavities just by looking at her.
 
And a little bit of heartache, but that's beside the point. 
 
"She's great Amber, I think you'll like her." Henry, who was on the other line, gushed. She stayed there lying on her bed, unmoving with the phone pressed to her right ear. It was the morning after a gig, and before she could even open her eyes, Henry was already calling her to tell her about sweet little Kim Dasom, who came into his life with rainbows and butterflies in her trail.
 
Not to be bitter bu- oh, who was she kidding?
 
"Yeah, maybe I will. So when will we get to meet her?" She could hear her best friend smiling through the electronic waves. "Soon."
 
Soon turned out to be the Tuesday after, in a group lunch at their favorite Mexican restaurant. Kim Dasom did turn out to be a great gal, with her long black hair, snow white complexion, and tiny pink lips.
 
Eric stared at her for a good 30 minutes before Amy shoved a napkin to his face.
 
"So, I must ask. How did you two meet?"Sunyoung suddenly blurts out. The couple did that couple-y thing that couples do, where they look to each other and giggle before answering. 
 
"At the cafe, you know, where I work." Henry answers. "I ordered a latte and he gave me his number." Her voice tinkled like chimes as she talked. 
 
They all fell silent as the couple continued to laugh inside their own little love-struck world. Kibum was the only one who could answer, with a fake smile plastered in his face. "Nice." He said through gritted teeth, his left hand gripping Amber's wrist.
 
Her fingers twitched for the Camels in her pocket.
 
Then there's that. Kim Dasom is part of their lives now.
 
It's not that Henry's new girlfriend is unlikable. In fact, Dasom is nothing but nice to them. It's just that, when the person you've been in love with for years finally gets a girlfriend (who smells like strawberry milk shake, like, all the time) you are bound to hate her. She and her uber shiny hair that makes you squint your eyes when it so much as hits the light. ("I should ask her what shampoo she uses." Sunyoung even went as far as saying.)
 
And then there's the fact that 70% of Henry's time is spent with Dasom.
 
"Did he stood you up again?" The cellphone crackles with Amy's voice, as she spoke to Amber on loudspeaker. Amber grips the game console tighter.
 
"Yes, so now I have tons of junk food and beer. Wanna hang?" She replied as nonchalantly as she could. The lump at the base of is not helping.
 
She could hear Amy sigh as she pushed the buttons that pummeled her character's computerized enemy to its death. "I have plans Amber, I'm sorry. If I could get out of this I would, but Eric's parents are flying out tonight, I have to be there. Are you going to be fine?"
 
Amber grunts a yes, barely processing Amy's ‘Hey Amber’ before she could hit the end button. “Just know this, okay? You and Henry are solid, that much I know. Don’t worry.”

Amber just grunts goodbye and drops the call.
 
Video game nights were her and Henry's thing, where they crash on each other's places and stay up until dawn, stuffing their faces with junk food and beer. When they are buzzed enough from the cheap alcohol, they set up their instruments, and write songs for the band, Amber flicking Henry's forehead whenever he decides to include one of his greasy lyrics. He will have this habit of scrapping perfectly good songs, and she will stay up all night to finish and salvage it. A little bit of him, a little bit of her.
 
Just the two of them, up until their visions are floating with colorful graphics and musical notes.
 
Now she's all alone in the midst of unopen bottles and chips, while her so-called best friend is doing god knows what with his ing girlfriend.
 
"Nothing you could do about it, Amber." She whispered into the darkness. And just like she expected, no one answered. 
 
So she just lights another cigarette.
---------------------------
 
It's Thursday night, 9 PM. Blurred is playing.
 
She looked at Henry, who was standing in front of the keyboard and warming up by playing a few random chords. Anytime now, Amy will be starting her 'Good evening everyone, we are Blurred' speech and thus Amber's cue to start counting. But something will happen, she was sure of it.
 
And then, it does. Henry does not turn his head to her place at the back of the stage, does not flash her a smile, or extend his hand for a fist bump. Instead, his small eyes quickly find Dasom's, there in the middle of the crowd. 
 
She sighs and clacks her drumsticks together, 1, 2, 3. 
 
1,2-
--
 
If this were a movie, this is the part where she breaks down. And in a way, she did.
 
The cool air blew at Amber's short tresses, sticky from the sweat that it produced from staying inside the bar. She held a Camel, slowly bringing it up to her lips, inhaling nicotine and exhaling it to the atmosphere. Watching the white wisps dissipate into nothing. She shivered.
 
After their whole set (that Amber spent dazed and confused, looking at the blinding spotlight), all it took was Dasom Henry's face for her to run out of the bar in a hurry, leaving the rest of the band to call after her with confused faces.
 
"Amber, are you fine?"
 
.
 
"You just ran out, I saw you and got worried. What happened?"
 
Amber stayed glued to the ground, back leaning against the brick wall.  She couldn't even bear to look at him, so she just lifts up her head to stare at the dark sky instead.
 
"In my mind it goes like this," she starts. "What?" Henry asked. 
 
"One day, in a distant future. We will be standing with each other, maybe kind of like this, side by side. It doesn't matter where, or how, or even when. All I know is that it's going to happen. Like this: I'll take your hand between mine, and I'll look into your eyes. The universe will stand still, the earth will stop turning, and the lights will stop blinking. You'll be looking back at me, and you will smile. Like the ones you give me before every performance. And then, I'll say it; maybe whisper it into your ears. Henry Lau-"
 
She took a deep breath.
 
"I love you."
 
The air was cold at her nape, sending a shiver down her spine. She lets it sink in, in between the space that occupied them, let it mark her skin and bones and mar her soul.
 
"I have, for the last four ing years since that night that we kissed. Which apparently, either you don't remember or you chose to forget. But I can't, and now I'm here. And I know you only see me as a friend, but I can no longer pretend that I'm okay with being just that.  So, no; Henry. I'm not fine. And I won't be, not until-" she shifted her gaze to her fingers, watching as the ashes fall to her sneakers. The fire burned bright orange at the tips, lighting up her vision with a glimmer. She finally looked at him.
 
"I'm not fine, Henry. What are you going to do about it?"
 
The silence that answered her is deafening. She nods her head yes, shrugs herself into her jacket.
 
"I thought so. How does that poem go?" Reaching out, she gave Henry the cancer stick in her hand. He took it with nimble fingers, cold as it made contact with hers, while she pushed herself out of the wall, out of his life.
 
This is it.
 
"'I'm quitting my worst habit. I'm quitting you.'"
--