Next to You

"Things will get better."

It would be impossible to count how many times someone had told me that on one hand alone, much less two. After the accident happened, it turned into a pestering reminder that I grew to despise—a phrase that I ended up always disbelieving. Because how could life turn up or ever be the same? The loneliness and the depression gradually eats you up, day-by-day, then consumes you altogether once night comes. Because once darkness falls, your mind doesn't stop reeling or concluding or convoluting or reminiscing. It's hell, truly, and it's always there to throw you into a pit of agony if you let it. Most of the time I do because I'm not strong enough to stop it on my own.

Yes, I'm still too weak; that's why I called Joohyun last night. The moment I heard her voice through the speaker, filled with relief yet a ton of worry, I couldn't contain the instant rejuvenation that reflowed through my veins, waking me altogether. Then again, I was nowhere near on the verge of sleep in the first place. I just needed something—anything—to shut down these intrusive, debilitating thoughts. It had almost swallowed me whole, but thanks to a brief exchange of words with her, every negative thought and emotion was swept by the remedy that was her. Or, should I say a perfect distraction? Perhaps that's why I was able to let out a natural laugh for the first time in days. No, cracking jokes and sputtering nothingness wasn't some sort of front to dissuade her from worrying about me. It was all genuine, only because she makes me feel okay for a while, like nothing else matters.

Even as I hung up the phone with the promise of tomorrow lingering in the air, something had refrained sleep from overtaking my senses. It wasn't a surprise that the cause was my best friend; such a thing tended to occur. I must've laid there for eternity, staring up at the ceiling, into a pitch-black void, while a small smile graced my lips. The thumping of my heart sped up at the thought of her, and for as long as eternity had lasted, it acted as a protective shield from anything else that could possibly take its place. For that, I was grateful, and unlike the few nights before, I did eventually drift into a deep, calming sleep. I figured my lingering thoughts of the night prior must've impacted the images I'd visualize during slumber. Oh, that sweet and vivid dream made me wish it had all come true by the time I woke up. And as the morning sun's rays sliced viciously through the crevices of my blinds, I had refused to hop out of bed and get ready for the final day of the week. Those kinds of dreams irritate me—yes, the too-good-to-be-true types of dreams. It not only leaves you feeling disappointed but also with a sense of yearning. Unnecessary yearning. No, I will not specify any details because frankly, my mind needs to take a break from dwelling on such topics. But somehow, I dragged myself to school carrying a neutral mindset, a major improvement compared to the first half of the week, and that was all thanks to Joohyun.

Today was different—a good different. I felt it as soon as I walked through those menacing double-doors of Kwang Academy. The day no longer appeared colorless, but instead more vibrant. While I maneuvered from class-to-class, it grew strikingly bearable to get through each one. Attempting to grapple my thoughts using different distractions had paid off upon suffering through Mr. Heechul's snooze-fest lecture and Mr. Cid's forty-five-minute essay exam. Once the first half of the day was out of the way, the rest of the lessons taught weren't putting me to sleep, nor entering one ear and out the other. On the contrary, the tip of my pencil danced across my notebook paper as if I enjoyed such a grueling task. Oh, what a stark difference it is to enter a class with a semi-positive attitude because in a blink of an eye, the day is over before it even started. Gone quicker than a flash of lightning, and I couldn't have been any happier.

After school at the central square, I had stood idly beside Sunset Plaza's spouting fountain, a designated wishing spot judging by the hundreds of glimmering pennies that masked the submerged marble surface. I scoffed out of amusement, unable to understand why people believe flicking coins into a small pool of water would grant any sort of wish of theirs. Must've been spiritual thinking. Upon realizing that each penny, nickel, and dime equated to one single wish, it made me wonder what kind of things were wished for. Then, I finalized that it didn't matter—it wouldn't come true anyways. Perhaps it had been something that most people do for the hell of it while others do it to satiate their inner beliefs.

After being hypnotized by the ripples and splashes for far too long, I had exhaled a long sigh, further obstructing my train of useless thought. I muttered, "Damnit, where is she?"

For the tenth time in the lengthiest fifteen minutes that I had experienced, I checked my phone to see if there was a text or call from my tardy best friend. There was nothing, of course. Maybe a huge part of me was being impatient while the other was itching to see her again; to spend time with her. Dangerous thoughts, indeed, but thoughts, nonetheless. All I had known was her detailing she'd be here as soon as she had spoken to Mrs. Asuna about something concerning Prom preparations.

"But what if something happened?" I couldn't help but mumble, then wonder and hypothesize all over again. I, then, considered, "Should I walk back?" After thinking she'd show up any time now, I shook my head drastically. "Maybe I should just give her a call instead."

It appears I was fated to be caught acting like a muttering fool, all lost in a riddled mind, as soon as I felt a light tap on my shoulder. I pinched my eyelids shut as an immediate surge of humiliation flooded my veins. At that, I had only hoped that once I turned around, it'd be someone else other than the one in-question. Still, despite my mental feud, I was startled by the interruption, and almost dropped my phone. It's a good thing my reaction time was quick enough. Spinning around on my heel, I made eye contact with (unfortunately) my dearest best friend. Upon absorbing every feature of her face, my sarcasm had clocked in as a quizzical thought crossed my mind: the circumstances couldn't have been more convenient, huh? It was followed by a, oh, please tell me she hadn't heard a thing. As she began to speak, that phrase had repeated itself inside my head, only hoping it'd come into fruition.

"Were you having fun talking to yourself?" She had teased, shoving me into a pit of dismay as the -eating smirk on her face grew. I ignored it, not bothering to reply with words because frankly, I felt somewhat embarrassed.

"Plenty," I said proudly, not that it was anything to be proud of. Met with an itching curiosity, I asked, "How long were you standing there anyways?"

"Long enough to have heard what you said." I frowned at her response. Surprisingly enough, she didn't persist on poking fun. Instead, she shifted the subject in another direction. "I'm sorry if I worried you—" I was not worried. "—and for taking longer than usual. It was initially a short conversation that turned lengthy. You know how it is with Mrs. Asuna."

"I do," I said, nodding. "No need to apologize though. Just thought something may have happened. Guess, I tend to jump to conclusions a little too quickly."

"I don't think so." She smiled reassuringly, continuing, "If the roles were reversed, I probably would've thought the same thing."

A few silent seconds had passed but it hadn't stayed that way for long.

"By the way, I thought we were going to walk home together," she said. "Why'd you suddenly ask to meet here? Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. Sorry for the short notice," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "Once I left gym class, I remembered that we needed to make one tiny pitstop at a very important place."

"What sort of important place are you talking about?"

"Well, there's a reason why I didn't specify."

As soon as I spoke those words, I swore every possible negative emotion flashed upon her features, at first separately then joining as one. Initially, it was a slight apprehensive look, which twisted into brief uncertainty. In the end, curiosity had been the most evident out of the bunch. The mere thought of her reaction makes me smile, not because it was expected of Joohyun to be so fearful of any sudden surprises but because it was downright adorable.

"At this point in our friendship, you should know that I highly dislike when you act vague." It's like I knew she'd say that next, and it made me smile like the sun.

"Don't I know it." I couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle. "But do understand that acting vague is a great tool to use whenever you want to surprise someone."

It all clicked in her mind as soon as she heard the word, "surprise". Her eyebrows twitched forward, bunching together, followed by her now bulging lower lip and crossed arms that portrayed slight objection.

"I don't like surprises either."

"You sure don't like a lot of things, huh?"

"Shut up."

I cracked another smile. "Listen, don't worry. It's not that crazy of a surprise, anyways."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Promise?"

"Promise!"

"Okay..." I remember wondering, why is she so hellbent on destroying my efforts towards doing something nice for her? I had practically ghosted her for days and I felt like a total about it, despite the reasons why, so taking her to a special place would put me on the road to forgiveness. That is, if I'm not already on it.

Before she could've asked another bothersome question, I told her to close her eyes and follow my lead. Then, after a sarcastic remark stating she couldn't see if she shut her eyes, I conjured up a quick solution; I'd guide her. Although that answer was a given, it was one that I didn't have to rack my brain for—one that came to me instantaneously—and I was unsure if that was a good thing. The thought of holding her hand, or merely getting a chance to, had sounded—dare I say it—pleasant. I had always known that her touch was comforting, that talking to her was good and easy, but the fact that I felt inclined to doing such a thing for the third or fourth or whatever-th time was... frightening. It's frightening not only because that underlying desire is horrible for my sanity, but also because holding one's hand is considered intimate—romantic, even.

You're overthinking it, Taehyung.

It's true: I'm digging too deep into the what-if's and what-could-be's that tortured my mind. Plus, like I said, it's not like it was the first time we've held hands.

Plenty of practice formed a comfortable atmosphere.

Right?

The thing is, even as I outstretched my hand and waited patiently for her to take it, I couldn't nudge away this newfound surge of nervousness that shook through me. Once her doe-like eyes had slightly widened, I expected her to be taken aback, to hesitate, to stumble over her words, or to jokingly shove my hand away because she thought it was foolish, but she did neither of those things. Don't ask why I had predetermined every outcome; it's as if I was hyperaware, or cautious, of everything that would come next—every action I carried out and every word I spoke. Guess, that's just what happens when internal (unconfirmed) feelings come into the picture, barging in to ruin the idea that platonic feelings was all that took refuge within.

So, once she had plastered on a small smile, eyes sparkling and features glowing, she slipped her fingers between mine. It was an extra step that I hadn't anticipated, mainly because I figured she'd clasp her hand against mine, no finger intertwining involved, and we'd continue towards the ice cream parlor as casual as can be. But, no, she had done much more—something so minute but so significant—and it sent my insides into a sickening spiral. Which, in turn, made me lose my mind as I began to stress about sweating too many bullets—to the point that my hand would grow clammy and unwanted, so much so she would point it out and withdraw from my touch. I didn't want that, so I tried to keep calm, fending off any sudden thoughts, but amid the distracting process, I hadn't realized that I held her hand tighter, and in a sense, closer.

I never thought it to be a significant form of intimacy the past few times we had done so, but now that was all I could think about.

For once, I didn't let my negative, self-deprecating thoughts get ahold of me. You know, the ones that'd remind me of how pathetic I was acting. I just lived in the moment, relishing the warmth and the internal shockwaves and the thrill that derived from said shockwaves. Especially so once we entered the shop several steps later, her glistening eyes reopening to the sight of our special place, and then the corners of her lips curling upwardly to form the prettiest smile.

"I told you it wasn't much of a surprise," I said to her, our hands remained interlocked. "Do you remember that bet we made against each other at Mystic Land? You know, to see who would win that rigged- basketball mini-game at the Arcade?"

"Oh, yeah, on Halloween. The loser would buy the winner ice cream." I thought she paused for my confirmation, which I gave, but it turned out to be something totally different. "Hold on a second. Rigged?"

"I said what I said." I smiled. "Something wrong?"

"There is. You know you're only saying that because I beat you."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever, you got me." I laughed, and she followed suit. "But although it pains me to say it, a bet is a bet and a deal is a deal, so just, you know, get anything you want."

"So, it's anything I want now? What happened to ice cream being my only reward?"

I shrugged. "Maybe I'm feeling generous?"

"Throwing me another surprise, I see."

"Unintentionally."

She huffed out a light laugh, shaking her head in amusement. A pocket of quiet arose between us, causing me to breathe in the calm atmosphere. I spectated the workers assemble the most flawless-looking cones I've ever seen, toppled with sugary assortments and chocolatey toppings.

"You know, I totally forgot about our little competition. Hell, I'm surprised you even remembered," she said after a while, just before we ordered. "But bet or not, thank you."

When it came to Bae Joohyun, I remembered a lot of things.

A vital part of me wanted to say that instead of letting silence consume us, but I refused.

We had waited in the short line for what felt like centuries. She was engrossed in choosing an ice cream flavor—one to be multi-scooped and stacked on a waffle cone. Because Bogum wasn't here to complete the trio ritual, she didn't want a popsicle—more so, the Mystery Delight. From the moment she ordered and received her mid-day dessert, I couldn't stop staring at her, nor could I avoid the sensation of her hand pressed against mine. It stayed that way until I had to pay at the register. Julia, the cashier who knew us decently well by now, had teased us about our subsequent handholding and asked if new "emotional developments" have transpired between us. In more specific terms, she asked if we were together, and it was as if that single spoken question bounded us to reality, triggering our senses. Imitating the snap of someone's fingertips, it had drilled the realization into our heads that we sure as hell look like a couple with our joined hands, fingers wrapped around the other. Of course, that awareness also drew us apart. Pretty sure we looked foolish with our reddened cheeks and stuttered speech, acting like two childhood preschoolers who secretly have massive crushes on each other. It's not the smartest comparison to make, given my circumstances, but it's a comparison just the same.

Now that I thought about it, it may have been the first time we were flustered by someone else's teasing nature. We've always been so unbothered by things like that, which ultimately led us to scoff or laugh it off as we walked away but it was different this time, wasn't it? I can't put my finger on it—what's changed? Why couldn't we look each other in the eyes during the walk home? It's possible that I overanalyzed every detail, and the actual reason lied in Joohyun being too preoccupied with gobbling down her ice cream. That must've been it, right? Plus, I was pretty focused on drinking a cup of coffee, all the while mentally preparing myself for the lengthy explanation that I'd give to Joohyun once we arrived at Aunt Kim's.

Wondering about it hadn't mattered in the end. Because before we arrived at my house and entered the seemingly secluded environment, the bothersome subject had flown into the chilly outdoor breeze. Inside, after Joohyun placed what was left of her ice cream in the freezer, and I threw out my empty cup of coffee, we climbed up the stairs. It was confirmed that thankfully neither Jimin nor Aunt Kim was home, which meant that I could talk to Joohyun as freely as I can and be able to get through it without any sudden interruptions. Besides that, and another well-deserved apology, there was something I needed to ask her—a favor, more so. She's the only one that can help me.

Now at the top of the staircase, my best friend and I walk across the hallway, passing Jimin's room and halting before mine. I pry open the wooden barrier and we both stroll inside. I momentarily consider shutting it closed like all the other times we've studied or hung out together but since there wasn't a soul around besides us, I decided against it and left it cracked.

Like I said, Joohyun comes over often, so it wasn't the first time she's seen the plain contents of my room. For some reason, she always eyes the shelves of novels, drawing manuals, poetry books, and Japanese manga that stretched from wall-to-wall. Either that, or she makes her way to the other side of the room to examine my beautifully framed, mural-like Final Fantasy X painting that hovered over my work-desk. Ever since I've bought it off some random website a few weeks ago, I couldn't help but ogle at it from time-to-time.

"When do you think your aunt will get home?" Joohyun removes her gaze from what I consider is the artwork of pure mastery, then meets my own—those of which were fixed upon her all along.

I stuff my hands into my pockets and shrug my shoulders, since the answer is unknown. "She could arrive now, in an hour, or at ten o'clock at night. Her work schedule is something I could never figure out."

"True that," she says, smiling a little. "Where's Jimin?"

"Hanging out with Chaeyoung—I heard they went to the Arcade, again. He's basically never home nowadays." He's been too busy under her irresistible love-spell to think about anything or anyone else in his life (not that I'm complaining or anything). "Gotta' admit; sometimes, it gets kind of lonely without him chewing my ear off every five seconds."

She laughs. "You can't say you miss him without insulting him, can you?"

"Oh, please. I don't miss him." Maybe, a little but that's about it. Guess, it derives from the fact that we hung out frequently when he used to always be home in the afternoons.

"Sure." The syllables were prolonged, meaning she was unconvinced.

I let out a small sigh before taking a seat at the edge of my bed. I don't think I prepared myself enough to say such things but it's now or never to make things right.

"So, uh, Joohyun," I begin. Words were difficult to utter, it seems. Nonetheless, I swallow down my nervousness. "Look, I really owe you an apology."

"I told you it's okay," she replies, a small smile beginning to touch her lips. "You already apologized on the phone last night, remember?"

"Yeah, but you deserve to hear a better one." That mediocre apology didn't count. "Frankly, I still feel like an for being distant and unresponsive for the past couple of days. After I absorbed all the things you said last night, I continued to have this gnawing feeling that it wasn't right for me to leave you in the unknown for so long."

"I know. Seriously, it's okay. I understand why you distanced yourself." She takes a seat beside me and tries to look me in the eyes. I would've evaded the attempt, but her soothing words struck me. "Just don't beat yourself up anymore. I'm not upset at you."

Confusion overwhelms me. "I know it's to be expected of me—to go silent on everyone—but how are you able to understand my actions and not be upset because of it?"

She sighs, hesitating like she always does. When she speaks, it's like she's walking on eggshells: "Since I was terribly worried about you, I asked Jimin if he knew what happened. He told me about your aunt finding the detention slip and that made me wonder if an argument ensued. He didn't tell me any details but that was all I needed to understand, at least to a degree. I'm sorry if it bothers you that I went to your cousin to scour for information, but I just didn't care at that point."

So, she knows half of it.

"Don't worry, it doesn't bother me." Thanks to Jimin himself, I already knew she went to him for answers. I could've already determined she would, though. It's simply Joohyun's nature to go to strenuous lengths just to attain details about me, especially after I, her best friend, had suddenly ghosted her. "If you wanted confirmation, all of it is true. We got into an argument, but it wasn't because of her finding the detention slip. It's what she suggested after learning about the reason behind the slip."

"What did she suggest?" She no longer seems afraid to ask, to pry, and a huge part of me was grateful for it.

A long beat passes as I search my hands for the will to respond. I encounter nothing, and it's left all up to me.

"Before I answer that," I say, "do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Not at all. Ask away."

"We've talked about it before, but I never understood why you always had trouble sleeping." I don't desire a response to my prying question, but it is something that's been on my mind as of late. "I remember you would say it's because you have a lot of work to do by the end of the day, but is that all it is? Or, is there more to it than that?"

"Having a job and studying surely helps in preventing me from getting a good night's sleep, but no, it's not all." So, my suspicions were right, after all. But what could the main cause be? "Since I was around thirteen, I've been suffering from insomnia. Without medication, it's hard to get more than a couple of hours of sleep per night. A lot of it depends on my stress levels, and well, lately it's been rough. Is that all you wanted to know?"

"Yeah, I just—Well, I never knew; I always wondered." For a while now, I often thought about her sleeping situation and conducted possibilities but then I'd shrug them off. In the end, the truth had to come from her, not beliefs based off assumptions. "But it all makes sense now."

She shifts slightly. "I thought you may have figured it out by the time I ended up telling you."

"It would've been an assumption until you confirmed it, and I don't like assuming, so I never mulled over the possibility for too long."

She nods, the movement gradual and slow. "Do you have insomnia, too? Is that actually why you asked?"

"No, it's..." I pause, gnawing nervously at my lower lip. Hesitance threatened my ability to continue, but I managed. "On most nights, I can fall and stay asleep. But then I'd get startled awake by nightmares. Horrible, graphic nightmares. Because of them, I'm unable to go back to sleep. It forces me to stay awake for hours on-end, afraid of seeing those images, again. Though, it doesn't matter because it somehow replays itself in my mind like a broken record. For some reason, I can only sleep okay at school."

"How many times do you think it happens per week?" This would've been the perfect moment to ask what I'd see during those nightmares, but I could tell that she'd never utter such a question. And honestly, I couldn't answer.

"The nightmares happen at least two nights a week. Some weeks are worse than others, obviously."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I get nightmares, too."

"Are they really bad?"

"They can be, but most are just bizarre and uncomfortable."

Mine are uncomfortable, too. But the things I see are worse than anything I can imagine. It's like a flashback almost every night; a haunting reminder. And nothing is more dreadful than your nightmares constantly mirroring real-life experiences. More so, disastrous ones that carry on like sickening memories. Those vivid images will never leave my mind because I'm tormented every single night. But I can't do anything about it, can I?

I frown deeply, heart-wrenchingly so. "I wish I could get rid of it."

"How long has it been going on?"

"For over six months." (At the least but I didn't want to specify).

"Six months?" Bafflement and concern bleeds from her tone, which also heightened in pitch as each syllable was uttered. "And you never spoke to someone about it? Or, you know, tried to get help?"

"Why do you think Aunt Kim and I argued?" I bluntly admit. bobs as she watches and listens. "I refused to talk to anyone about this. You know that I...I don't like talking about things that bring me pain, nor do I have any desire to tell a goddamn therapist about how I feel inside. I want to run away from it all, not confront it head-on. I'm too weak."

"Don't say that; you're not weak," she says it like it's a fact but it's one I'll never believe. "The truth is, no matter how much you run away from whatever it is that's haunting you, you won't forget."

"You're right, I can't forget. But if I can be temporarily happy for a while then I'd much rather run away."

"Is a temporary happiness all you want? You don't want to feel liberated, set-free?"

"Talking to someone about my problems won't do any of those things."

"How would you know if you don't try?"

"Because I already did." I slowly lift my gaze to meet hers. In her eyes, there are traces of sadness, sympathy, and, for some reason, regret. They all combined into one, making it difficult for anyone else to pinpoint, but not me. "I don't hold anything against her for it, but Aunt Kim made an appointment without my knowledge. It's not like I talked about my problems so I can see why she forced me to do such a thing. It was scheduled for yesterday, so I reluctantly went, and the events that followed was just like I envisioned it. I could barely speak for half of the session, feeling too suffocated and too panicky."

Just thinking about it now causes my heart to race uncomfortably in my chest. The sole reminder of the overbearing invasiveness nearly drove me over the edge. I want to forget it all, and although it's impossible, a certain person is indeed helping me to, even if it is just for a second.

Joohyun takes notice of my emotional pause and grabs ahold of my hand, pulling it on to her lap to rest over her thigh. She gently squeezes it, comforting me. It was as if to assure me that she's here by my side, ready to listen to anything I had to say, and that she'll never leave. And I was able to confirm that by looking back into her eyes. For that moment, I felt safe, so I vowed to no longer look away. 

I part my lips to continue, "I wanted to leave the second I stepped in that room, you know. Even as I started talking because I loathed the silence and the pestering note-taker sitting across from me, I felt every negative emotion combine and consume me. From the depression, the anxiety, and the terrible memories of my past that I've tried so hard to run away from, it was all too much for me to handle. And I don't want to go back but what if I have no choice again?" I clench my jaw, frustrated by it all. "Joohyun, I...I ing hated it."

"I know." No matter how soothing or sympathetic she had sounded, I felt myself continue to drown. "I know you did." Like a representative blanket of double reassurance, she places her free hand over the back of my own, her thumb grazing across my skin.

"You don't understand."

"Yeah, I do, okay? I do understand." Maybe, she does—just not in the way I'm referring to. "I understand because I've been there. In the past, I've had to talk to a therapist about — I haven't even told you yet. Do you think I wanted to do that? No. I thought it was stupid. Because how could talking to some random person about my problems ever make things better, right?"

Her words jab me right in the chest before regret permeates. It wasn't because the intensity in her tone caught me off guard, but because I feel so inconsiderate. How could I speak as if I'm the only one going through things? She, too, isn't telling me things about her past life—the part of her life that I was absent for—yet I assumed that it was all sunshine and roses. That's an issue that seems to cloud my mind and judgment. I despise it, and I need to get rid of it.

I exhale through my nose, feeling disappointed in my self and choice of words. "You're right. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. It was inconsiderate of me." More than inconsiderate. "I just...I feel so alone, so I end up being aware of only my issues and disregard the fact that other people go through things, too. Do you know what I'm trying to say?"

"I think so," she mutters, "but Taehyung, you feel alone because you want it that way."

Because I want it that way? That sounds so far-off from the truth that all I could say was, "What?"

"You're not alone. You've never been alone. You just force yourself to be that way because you're afraid of reaching out to others around you." She never fails to make sense of the most eyebrow-lifting things. "We've talked about this before."

"Maybe," I say. "But I don't think I'm afraid to open up. At least, not fully."

"Okay, then what is it?" She removes her comforting grasp from my hand and looks, without a doubt, irritated by response. "Do you want to keep it locked inside until it ruins you?"

I raise my voice a little, matching the volume of hers, "Of course not. But no matter how many times you tell me that I'm alone on my own accord, that's just how I'll always feel deep-down, even if I were to tell someone every bit of my problems." There's still piles and piles of hurt settled inside of me—none of which I can get rid of at this time. At least, not yet. But like I've said time-and-time again, I'm progressing. I'm ing getting there. "And as long as that's still there, even if I try to mask it all, those true feelings will always exist inside me."

She bites her bottom lip, not saying another word or making another sound. All she does is shift her body, facing forward and towards the wall, away from me and away from this conversation, seeming immersed in her own mind. Either she's speechless or doesn't know what to say but even so, I don't let her verbalize her next response.

"But I'm trying so hard," I say in a calmer, gentler tone. "It's like everything you told me at the top of the Skylight Tower on Halloween. I've progressed so much since I've returned, and I'll only get better, right?"

She nods dejectedly.

"Because you're right, after all. Truthfully, I'm not alone. I have you, Bogum, and everyone else. One day, I'll wake up and finally be reminded of that. Everything that's disturbing me internally—mentally—It will wash away in time."

"Do you believe that?" She fiddles her thumbs, doing a splendid job of avoiding my gaze. "Or, are you just saying all that because you don't want me to worry about you?"

"I do believe it." It comes from me and my own belief, not my therapist or whatever she had to say about healing and mental stability. "But it's also to reassure you."

"It's working." She looks back up at me, our eyes clashing once more. A faint smile touches her lips, but it portrays such uncertainty and sadness. The same could be said for the emotions found in her gaze. It's like she wants to trust me and my words, as if they were a promise, but something's still missing. "I just want you to be happy, you know. Genuinely."

"You make me happy," I blurt out. The way those words had escaped my lips was careless—almost too careless. So, I wince, pinching my eyelids shut, and look away, not wanting to see her reaction to that random- fact. As I foolishly inspect the lines on the palms of my hands, I begin to wonder: What caused me to reveal that bit so suddenly? Oh, hell, if I know. "That sounded weird, sorry. I meant that you're my best friend, so it's obvious that you'd be a primary source of happiness in my life and—"

"You always tend to ruin it whenever you say something nice."

"What do you mean?" I look up, surprised. "I—"

"Just say it without reason." Does she actually enjoy hearing things like that?

"Okay, well, do you want me to say it, again?"

"I mean, you don't have to—" It's my turn to interrupt her.

I rebuild my courage and ignore my subconscious' verbalizations of how pathetic I'm about to sound. Ah, but does liking someone push all those thoughts away and lure in the cheesiest, cliché way of words to mind? It appears so, because here I go: "You really do make me happy—happier than a lot of people make me. Hell, maybe, more than everyone I've re-met, and, you know, met, since I've been back here. The days are better with you around. Not only does your presence make things easier to get through, but it has also...made me better." I palm the back of my neck, evading the amount of nervousness that dares to eat me whole.

"Oh, come on, you're flattering me." She nudges my bicep, just like a best friend would. "Bogum must've played a crucial part, too."

"He did. But not in the same way." Oh, no. Damnit, Taehyung. You've said too much, idiot! Now, it obviously seems like you've got this huge ing crush on her, and she's not dense. She'll surely figure that one out. That is, if I try to change the subject before—

"Wait, what do you mean?" —she catches onto it.

Why do I always think that would work?

"It's just...different." Wow, what a great way to cover up the truth! "I don't know how to explain it." Yeah, that's what someone says whenever they don't want to explain said topic.

I try to look elsewhere, anywhere but at her, because she'll detect the lies and the blasphemies. But before I could even succeed, she suddenly catches my face with both of her hands and turns my head towards her, sporting the most teasing smile she's had in a while.

She, then, asks: "Are you lying?" Geez, is this her playful yet menacing way of getting the truth out of me? Of course, I was shriveling up from the inside-out, and I didn't know if it was the shocking cold from the palms of her hands against my cheeks or if it was the overwhelming, pestering thought she'd read my feelings for her from the fear etched all over my features. Even so, she stares deeply at me, seeping into the depths of my eyes and what they foretold. It's just like she did at the Skylight Tower, giving me that same look that convinced me I was so stupidly bewitched by her beauty and all the various ways she managed to exceed my expectations.

My next thought makes me wonder. Ever since we reunited, she's been special to me—different from everyone else. Could it be that I always felt this way about her? And every interaction—every touch—had built up to this scary realization?

"I'm telling the truth, okay?" My voice sounds small and muffled from the pouty shape of my lips. Good thing it obscures the shakiness in my tone. "Now, do you mind? You're squishing my cheeks a little too hard."

Her devious smile blooms into small giggles. "I'll let go, only if you promise me." Why is she so relentless about this? It's like she wants me to say that she likes her, and the thought of that is laughable; she'd never like me.

"I promise." I scrunch my eyebrows, a part of me growing frustrated. Oh, how childish this must look from an outside point of view. "Now, let me go." Or, don't.

"But you look so funny." She pesters with a grin.

"You're not letting me go because I look funny? That's it?"

"Pretty cute, too."

"Are you flirting with me?" Don't ask how I was able to ask that so smoothly.

"In your dreams." She was so close to letting go, too.

Oh, let's face it: she's just torturing me at this point. Without a doubt, she can read the broken promise I spewed! And you know what? I won't be harassed any longer. Two can play at this game.

Now, what is a perfect ploy that'll ultimately succeed and drive her to stop what she's doing? Blackmail? No, that's overkill. A truce? But, there's nothing to call a truce over.

After enough time spent thinking, I speedily muster up a proper threat and respond with, "Fine, if you won't let go, then I'll tickle you." Yup, that'll work!

"You're out of luck 'cause I'm not ticklish whatsoever." I don't fully believe her. Come on, that's what everyone says when they don't want to be tickled. Then again, that supposed "façade" of hers never cracked.

"Are you serious? How are you not ticklish?"

"I'm just not. So, don't try. You won't get a reaction out of me."

"Well, then—uh—I'll do something else." What the hell am I going to do? A tickle war is the only option that would've worked.

"Like, what?" That sounds like a challenge she was up for.

I scan the area, hoping to think of something—anything. That is, before I look back into her eyes and smirk at the ultimate (and very much unexpected) idea. I mimic the placements of her hands that were still irritatingly squishing my cheeks and my lips. She hadn't reacted as I did so. But once my cold hands touched the warmth of her cheeks, she let out a slight shriek and withdrew the obnoxious hold she had on me. Because her dramatic reaction caused her to jump backwards, my hands dropped and returned to my lap.

"Ha, it worked!" I cheer, standing up from the edge of my bed and pumping a fist in the air.

"God, why are your hands so unusually cold?" Because she leaned away as if I carried some sort of contagious disease, Joohyun now lays back on a propped elbow, the other hand resting against one of her cheeks. Again, she can be so dramatic.

"How should I know?" I cross my arms, transferring my weight onto one leg. "Also, has anyone ever told you that you get extremely crabby when you get one-upped in a challenge? Like, God forbid anyone beats you!"

She glares, now standing before me. Her arms, now like mine, were folded over her chest. "I'm not crabby." Her mood shifts are too unexpected. Wasn't she giggling over my "adorable-looking", smushed face like two minutes ago?

"Think you are."

"Shut up." She frowns.

"Hey, you started it, didn't you?"

"And you ruined it."

"And there's the truth coming out. Bottom line is you like making me suffer."

"What can I say? It was a source of enjoyment," she admits. "And hilarity."

"And adorability." I had to add that bit.

She rolls her eyes, convincingly stating: "I was not flirting with you." Of course, not without lightly punching my shoulder at the audacity of my reminder.

"Just messing with you." I shrug, then I begin to test the waters: "I mean, if you're the one saying it, there's no way in hell I'd call that flirting."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"You seriously don't know?" I drone. "You're my best friend, Joohyun. Obviously when you say I'm cute, you mean that in some sort of weird and contorted friendly way. You know, like with Bogum."

She snorts, almost on the verge of bursting out into laughter. I raise a brow. "Yeah, exactly."

"Squishing someone's cheeks does make someone look adorable, though. Before you jumped away earlier, I did get a glimpse of how you looked." I laugh at the mere reminder, the image of her and her features coming to mind. "Dare I say it, now I understand why you tortured me for so long."

"That, and because you're a liar; the worst one I know."

Oh, I've been caught, after all. Knew she could see through my lies. At that, a small, insinuative smile tugs at the corners of my mouth. She replicates it without either of us uttering another word. We offer a welcoming to the silence that came, a comfortable one that allows us to look into each other's eyes and not give a care in the world about why. All I could think about is her minute compliment and the affect it's having on me—someone who carries enough feelings for her to ruminate over such a stupid thing. Simply thinking that she'd look at me and consider that I'm borderline cute makes me warm; inside-and-out. It's corny to think so, isn't it? But that's what feelings do. It turns your mind into mush. The probability of my hands being cold is unlikely now. Frankly, whenever she stares at me for so long and so critically, it unnerves me, making me all panicky and self-conscious. It makes me wonder if she feels the same thing. And it's not like I believed she was flirting with me in the first place, nor do I think so now.

A friendly compliment—that's all it was. It's one you could give to anyone.

But the one I just gave her wasn't.

A/N: Hey, guys! Sorry for the wait; I've recently gotten a new job and am busy with school so it's been extra tough. Besides that, here's another chapter published for you, and this one's half fluff/half plot. I kind of wanted this to be mostly fluff anyways. Next chapter will be more plot about Tae's "favor" that he asks of Joohyun. It could turn out a little emotional and fluffy at times but I got it all planned out. Lastly, hope you enjoyed this chapter and be ready for more! I'm dedicated to finishing this story, no matter how hard it gets.

Love you guys! I really appreciate those that have read, voted, and commented.