twenty-one
My Best Friend's a Wingman
t w e n t y - o n e ; a room full of our safest sounds
When Sehun said, “Tonight was fun,” I smiled and agreed. When he said, “Let’s do something together next time,” I replied, “Yes, I’d love that.” In my head, all I could think about is how terrible of a friend I am for getting completely sidetracked all week, filling my head about the date and not sparing a single thought about something more important. . How could I forget this day out of all days? I haven’t talked to Kai since yesterday, and the need to check to see if he’s okay makes me jittery.
My mom brightens at my return asks me how the night went. All I have to tell her is that it’s March 17th and the look of comprehension dawns on her motherly features. “Do you want me to give you a ride to his house?”
“It’s okay. I can bike there. I’ll be home by curfew.”
“It’s not safe to bike home at night,” she cautions despite how it's barely seven in the afternoon. “Just give me or Dad a call when you need to get home. Wear your helmet, bring pepper spray, and turn on your bike light, okay?”
I do as instructed and before I leave, another thought crosses my mind. “Mom, if he’s…” My voice falters, “If he’s feeling really down, can I sleep over at his place?”
She frowns at the idea, reluctant that I’ve abruptly sprung the plan so last minute. Even though it’s been five years we’ve been best friends and her trust for Kai measures to having a third child, Mom can’t help but worry about me sleeping over at a guy’s place. A real disadvantage of having a guy as your closest friend. It’s nothing personal against Kai, more like a precautionary step my protectice parents want to take. It doesn't help that both of us got caught lying once by our parents. They thought we were at the other's house when in reality, we snuck out on a school day to go to a Coldplay's concert.
“Please?” I plead with her. She must have sense the way I’m nervously fidgeting with the pent-up desire to hop on my bike and rush to him.
My mom sighs and rubs her temples. “Tell Kayla to call me to confirm. Give him a hug for me.”
“Thanks mom. I will.” I give her a peck on her cheek before I go. Because she’s still here, alive and giving me strict rules for staying over at someone else’s house. Her existence is the best thing I could ever hope for.
• • • • • • •
My heart pounds heavily against my ribcage as I pedal the fastest though safest speed I could muster. The harsh wind nips at my cheeks. I don’t bother stacking the bike neatly and discard it in the middle of the grass after hopping off and flinging my helmet next to it. My pulses are so palpable that I could hear it from my eardrums. Rapping my knuckles on the wooden door, it remains unopened. A curse releases under my breath. I bang on the door with more strength on one hand while dialing Kai on the other.
“Pick up,” I urge in a hurried, desperate tone, as though saying it verbally would allow him to pick it up right away. It rings, yet there's no answer.
A couple years ago, on this same day, he confessed that existing could be so hard. The way his tone conveyed so much unexpected hollowness terrified me. I would never guessed to hear such a broken confession to slip out of his mouth. He was always good at pretending things were okay until that incident. Days later, he apologized for saying such an alarming thing for me to hear. He didn’t mean it, he swore on his life, but the reminder of his mother’s death made him to act unlike himself.
Worry transforms into fear, and worst case scenarios flash in my head, daunting me that it could be a reality. I have to calm down, he could just be sleeping or showering. Please be okay.
“If you missed me so badly, calling me would have been fine,” comes a voice I've been anxiously anticipating.
All of the air sags out of my body like a balloon rapidly deflating its life's source away. In the midst of my anxiousness, he had answered the door.
“Your pal here is still on crutches, remember? Cut me some slack for not getting the door quick enough.” He’s playful like usual, but his disheveled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and red nose are the tell-tale signs that he’s putting on a pretense.
Worry shortly becomes relief. Relief doesn’t stay for long, because it decides to become agitation. I stalk inside without uttering any reply. Kai must have sense the intensity underlying my behavior, ambles behind me on crutches to the living room, and finally opens his mouth to speak, “What’s wrong? Was the date that bad?”
I whirl around, my arms crossing in front of me. “Why didn’t you tell me it’s today?”
I can tell he knows what I’m referring to, yet evades the topic and attempts to make a jest out of it. “Don’t tell me you forgot about your own date?” He studies my appearance and tilts his head. “Doesn’t look like it though. You’re all dressed up.”
“Kai,” I emphasize his name in frustration.
His facade fades ever so slightly, the seriousness slowly creeping in his features. “What do you want me to say?” He offers as an answer, knitting his brows together. His frustration mirroring my own. “It was your first ever date, Skye. How could I take that away from you? I can’t always depend on you forever.”
This crushes me.
He hid his sadness away just so I could enjoy a date without fretting about him. And I’ve been so distracted by my own excitement, giddy over this little date with Sehun for the entire week without noticing his well-being. Upon seeing me again today, the first thing he wants to know is how my date went. Instead of begrudging me for forgetting, he prefers that I focus on the date itself. This boy in front of me is a selfless fool, always protecting my happiness over his own. The combination of appreciation and guilt wrecks me vulnerably.
“Hey hey don’t cry.” His hands instinctively wrap around my face, using his thumb to catch the overflowing tears on my cheeks. We sink down on the couch as it engulfs us. One of his arms envelopes around me, using his other hand to guide my head to rest on his shoulder. “Hey it’s not your fault. Don’t cry,” he coos. “You look ugly when you cry.”
“But I promised that I’ll always be there for you.” My words come stuttering out, the last syllables producing a crack in my voice.
“Shhh,” he hushes soothingly, rubbing circles down my back. “You’re here now. I’m sorry. Don’t feel bad.”
“I’m just sad.” I hiccup into his growingly damp shirt. “That you can’t count on me. And that you’re sad.”
He pulls me even closer. “Of course I can count on you. You’re the one I trust if I ever need somebody to bury a dead body after I commit the murder, remember?”
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