Summary: Soojung is very different, but in Chanyeol’s eyes, she’s always going to be someone very special.

Prompt: “I just want you to know that you’re very special and the only reason I’m telling you is that I don’t know if everyone else has.” – The Perks of Being A Wallflower

The club reeks of cigarettes, beer, and sweat and I wonder why I even let Jongin coax me into coming. He said it would be a nice idea, and that I should loosen up because I get too intense about life. He even said I have no idea what fun means. I scowl in disagreement. I do know how to have fun.

But going to underground clubs isn’t my idea of fun. Jongin just doesn’t understand, and if Baekhyun hears that, he will ask me why I haven’t left the kid. I try to come up with a good answer, but sometimes, I keep quiet because honestly, I don’t.

Jongin excuses himself five minutes later. He says he’s going to be busy for a while, and he shoots me this knowing look. Two girls are on the dance floor. They are not dancing, but their eyes are inviting us, too. I immediately recoil when Jongin asks me if I want to join.

I’d rather not. I shake my head and offer a grim smile. I don’t like the idea of ending up somewhere unfamiliar when I wake up the next day.

So I decide to wander around the place, bumping into people and witnessing two souls that are too busy with each other’s lips. I scowl at the smell of smoke and other drugs I am unfamiliar with, and wonder why people like to drown themselves with these pathetic things.

I shouldn’t even care.

When the room begins to suffocate me, I seek for fresh air and the pure velvet sky. I don’t even look up so I don’t have to meet anyone’s disapproving eyes – who even wears such thick clothes in an underground party? Everyone is competing on who’s got the lesser clothes.

I find a better place, just by the tall lamp post by the side road, and where silence is the best company I have. I scrape the sole of my foot against the ground, wishing I was at home instead of being somewhere I don’t fit in the first place. I should have known better, but what’s past is past, and it’s my fault I brought myself here.

My nose begins to itch, and in the most unfashionable way, I scratch it shambolically. Besides, no one could be – oh .

I pause abruptly when I realized I’m not alone. Standing under the ominous light of the lamp post is a girl with dark hair and pale skin. is slightly open, and her eyes look a little clouded. She’s holding a cigarette in her finger.

My eyes don’t leave her.

“Did you want anything?” she asks, maybe because she notices my lingering stare, and I immediately turn away. My cheeks give away my emotions. My ears are hot.

I only wish she didn’t see me earlier.

“Or not,” she adds, and I see her brushing her shirt out of the corner of my eye, “but you should know. It’s unappealing to scratch your nose that way.”

I will kill Jongin later.

I hope I don’t see the dark-haired girl anytime soon, but I am aware that it’s highly impossible for that to happen. Jongin will never again persuade me to show up in any of his friends’ parties. Just last night, though something eventful barely happened, is a horrid proof to my memory.

“You’re just embarrassed, hyung,” Jongin teases me during dinner when the three – Baekhyun, Jongin and me – of us are present, “because a girl caught you fiddling with your nose.”

“I wasn’t doing that!” I roar, but then I know it’s of no use. Jongin will be the death of me. “My nose was just itchy and I had to scratch it.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Jongin singsongs, and he smiles roguishly. He stands up and waves his hand. “Make sure you bring home coffee for Baekhyun hyung and me when you get back from school.”

I snort, not in a million years, Jongin.

Later, I receive a text message from Jongin and I try not to roll my eyes, so while my employers aren’t around, I duck my head and tap on the screen. Five seconds later, my co-worker – I think his name was Key or Keen or something – asks me if I was because my cheeks are beet red.

From: disgusting jjong

Found ur stash ;) Coffee or I’ll tell on U.

I try to remind myself on why I haven’t left this kid yet.

The coffee shop is only three blocks away from the dormitory the three of us shared, situated between a clothing store and a book shop. I am left with no choice but to comply with the maknae’s request. Sometimes though, I question myself many things.

I take in the familiar sweet aroma of coffee and pastries as soon as I step inside the four walls. At this time of hour, I am not surprised to see numerous customers who must have stopped by from work or from school. The shop is famous for its soothing and unique blend of coffee.

Their pastries are scrumptious, too.

I try to rest my eyes around the shop while I stand in line, waiting patiently for my turn. The line is pretty long and I expect to stay here a little longer than five minutes. Maybe I should bury myself in a magazine or something.

Five minutes later (I reward myself with a mental pat on the back because of my accurate prediction), I offer my brightest smile, because I want to let the people behind the counter know that their hard work is worth it—but I stop short because of what greeted me.

I am face-to-face with the girl I’ve wished not to meet again.

Holding my breath, I try not to panic and think about how to escape – should I just walk away and not bring coffee for my roommates who basically asked me too or should I just stay—

“Hello, sir. How may I be of help?”

Our eyes meet, and I wait until she recognizes me as that embarrassing guy from last night because it seems to be the only thing that’s going to happen in five, four, three, two, one…

But nothing.

“Um, t-two orders of Caramel Macchiato p-please,” I stammer.

Later, I arrive with a bewildered look on my face, and Jongin asks whether I’ve seen a ghost. I merely ignore him and I immediately head straight to my room, trying to come up with one reason why she never recognized me.

At all.

(I wake up five minutes before ten, and outside, I hear Jongin and Baekhyun. To which Jongin asks his Baekhyun hyung if I was alright, and Baekhyun merely answered in nonchalance, “He’s short on crack.”)

There are two reasons why a girl doesn’t recognize a guy, and I came up with that last night while I unsuccessfully tried to succumb myself to sleep: one, she actually remembers me, but she acts like she doesn’t so she doesn’t have to say hi to him; or two, she just doesn’t remember you, at all.

Maybe I fall short on the first category, seeing as it’s most likely to happen to me.

Go jump in a lake, Jonghyun. The voices are distinct and guarded, both voices belonging to a male and female, and I wonder why the famel voice sounds quite familiar. It’s not a good idea to eavesdrop into a stranger’s conversation, but I can’t stop myself. Stop bothering me and go get a life, because you clearly don’t have one.

I can’t hear what the other is saying, and even though I’ve bent close enough, I feel so guilty. And then I hear her voice. I find myself wishing it isn’t the person I was thinking.

Oh, go yourself.

Leave me alone, Jonghyun. Hey-!

I know when and not to barge in into other’s discussion, but the female seems to be struggling, and when I finally expose myself, I try not to gasp. It’s her, and she looks so scared and circumspect. My eyes meet hers. There’s a look of disbelief on her face.

“I think the female clearly doesn’t want you around, mister,” I say in my best threatening voice. “Perhaps, you could do her a favor and just leave.”

The guy whose name is Jonghyun scoffs at me, his grip on the girl’s arm loosening. He possesses a dangerous face and spiky hair, and he doesn’t look really striking. He has tattoos all over his arms and I reckon he has all over his body. I try not to scrunch my nose in disgust when he approaches me – he smelled so horrible.

This is not over. It is a threat; I flinch slightly.

“You didn’t have to do that,” states the girl, and my eyes fly to her hand on her arm. She’s rubbing it.

“I believe a ‘thank you’ would suffice,” is my wittiest reply. I do not intend to argue with her moments after I’ve saved her from someone I barely know. I am still trying to figure out why I did that, too.

Her eyes roll, and I try my best to convince myself that her beauty can deceive hundreds of men. Even me. “Thank. You. Happy now?”

I start to wonder if she’s the same person from the other night. Clearly, she acts different.

“You don’t remember me,” I start to say before I could even stop myself.

She furrows her eyebrows, and I find myself lost on how beautiful she is despite her troubled expression. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” she declares coldly, and there’s something in her tone—something she’s too scared to tell. “Or maybe I have. I don’t have such great memory.”

“You don’t remember me from the other night? Party?” I wonder—again—to where I’ve gained such confidence in my words. I’ve always stammered in front of girls before, and that’s mainly the reason why I prefer not to involve in such things.

She looks away. “Sorry, no.” Her tone is much colder than before.

I smirk, “But I do remember you.” I don’t. I’m a liar; I am in sheer disbelief of how much confidence I’m gaining in this conversation. “I believe your surname was… Park.”

“I highly doubt your relationship to me,” she replies, and her smile is casual. It’s so pretty. “But my surname is Jung. Jung Soojung.”

Gotcha. “Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol.”

Things are okay and then things are not. I tell myself a thousand times that Soojung is merely a friend, and I always wonder why she asks me every morning—who are you again. Her reason is that she doesn’t have a good memory.

I think she’s joking.

Jongin asks me Monday night, right after I sent Soojung to her home because it’s on the way, why I seem to come home late these days. I tell him about Soojung. Baekhyun arrives five minutes later, and he sits with us, carefully listening to every word I’m saying.

Later, the three of us agree to hit the bed early—and surprisingly, we agreed on one thing now. It feels nice.

Before I close the door, Jongin softly calls out my name, and I suddenly remember why I haven’t left him. He’s a brother, a friend… a family.

“Hyung, your eyes crinkle when you mention her name.”

I wait.

“You’re in love, hyung, and it’s really nice to see you so happy.”

I slept well that night.

Days turn to weeks. Weeks turn to months. Months… don’t seem to turn to a year. I find myself beside Soojung every single day, and I find out many things—basic stuff—about her. She likes black. She likes her coffee black, and sometimes, sweet when it’s rainy days.

She eats so much, but she doesn’t gain weight.

I ask her about her parents, and if she ever introduces me to them one day. It’s intended to be a joke, but her eyes turn clouded. She merely grins, fully realizing that it was a joke, and that’s when I realize something.

I’ve never known who she really is.

There are days when I find her talking or engaging to faces I hardly recognize. The jealousy gets the best of me. I get angry; I get sad. I tell myself that I’m a friend, a friend who seems to be in a one-sided love, my subconscious adds unnecessarily.

A friend who questions why she has that quizzical look on her face every morning I visit her.

But maybe… enough is just ing enough.

It’s almost eleven, and the skies are darker and the city is quieter. Two or three cars pass by the streets every thirty seconds. People are barely seen. The silence falls short between Soojung and I, my heart in my mouth. I want to know. I crave to know.

We arrive in front of her house. My eyes rest on the broken, rustic walls that surround the tiny house, and it’s only now that I realize how dark it is even inside. It seems like I’m too beguiled to Soojung’s eyes to even notice the smallest things around me.

This is what she does to me.

“Thanks for sending me home, Yeol,” she says robotically, waving a hand. “You can go now. And please, take care of yourself.” She sounds so sincere.

I don’t wane.

“Are you not going?”

I press my lips in a thin line. “I’ll go as soon as you’re inside the house. I need to know you’re safe.”

She looks surprised, and I swear that for a moment there, panic crosses her face. There’s something she’s not telling me and I’m determined to know what. Her fingers fiddle with each other. “I’m f-fine! You should-you should go now.”

“What are you keeping from me, Soojung?” I blurt out.

She blinks, frowning. “What-what do you mean? I’m not keeping anything from you.”

“You play with your fingers and you bite your lip,” I tell her matter-of-factly, grabbing her chin and pulling it so she’d stop. “You only do that when you’re keeping something from me, Soojung. I know you well enough now.”

She glares. “No, you don’t.”

“Well, I guess that’s the problem. You don’t talk to me.”

“Because I can’t.”

“Why not?” I am shouting now.

She scowls. “Because. I can’t.”

“I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

Tears prick in her eyes. “Why are you being like this, Yeol?”

“Being what?” I prompt her. “Being what, Soojung? Caring? Is that it?” She doesn’t answer; it only frustrates me more. “You don’t want me to care? You don’t want me to be there for you? Is that it?”

She stays quiet.

“I’m going to come clean.” I heave a deep sigh. Taking her hands in mine, I am surprised at how cold yet soft it is. “I really like you. I really do, and I really wish I didn’t but I can’t help it.”

She draws a sharp intake of breath. “You…” Her voice is breaking, and I begin to wonder if it’s something I said. I don’t like to see girls cry, especially Soojung, because it breaks my heart to know that I’m the reason.

I cup her face between my hands, pull her close and flush her body against mine. She feels so small and delicate under my arms, and I gather every ounce of my strength to be able to hold her. To love her completely.

“Talk to me, Soojung. Please.”

“I have Prosopamnesia.”

She shivers at the cold gush of wind, and I pull her even closer—and tighter. I try to hold onto her so she can’t get away. If she does, it’ll only break my heart. Just few months ago, I tell myself I don’t involve in such things. In love.

If I take a good look at myself now, I could laugh.

Her disease—I’m uncertain if it’s really a disease—seems serious. I don’t know what Pro-something meant, but I do, however, note at the fact that it has the word amnesia in it. I gulp nervously.

“It’s nothing bad,” she assures me, squeezing my hand. My heart breaks at how much she’s trying to be strong. For herself, mostly. She explains that Pro-something is a type of amnesia that impairs her ability to learn new faces. It is why she always looked confused the first time they meet for the day.

The accident happened when she was nearly five, and they—her family and kid Soojung—were on their way to celebrate her sister Sooyeon’s birthday. They drove through a divided highway, his father speeding in an unsafe momentum, and it was too late for him to stop or even turn back. The collision was fatal; Soojung was the only one who survived.

Bad things happened after that. Parties, drugs, … Soojung got lost. There are permanent scars on her back, and I assure her that it’s okay to let me see, and she whimpers at first. She tells me that she looks ugly, and the scars remind her of how horrible a person she was. I don’t say anything.

I kiss her scars, hoping it’ll wash away everything bad.

 And now, she found herself wishing things didn’t have to turn out the way they did.

“But you remember me?” I ask her, kissing her fingers one by one.

I can feel her smile when she says, “I try to.”

“Good.”

“Every morning, I try to remember the people I’ve met,” she adds, sighing softly, “but I’m always unsuccessful. When you came, and when I see every morning, I feel like I should remember you. That this condition I have won’t stop me from remembering the people I love.”

“You have loved me… even before?”

“I did but because of my condition, I forgot that I did,” she reasons, “but I tried to remember. My heart can’t forget what my mind can.”

“Now you know,” she murmurs softly, her eyes anywhere but him. “I shut everybody out, Yeol. Don’t take it personally. It’s just easier.” She shrugs noncommittally. “You can run away now, if you want. I’m ugly. Horrendous.”

I bury my nose in her hair. “Why do you think I let myself have feelings for you despite not knowing how this would end?”

She looks up. “I don’t deserve you, Chanyeol.”

“It doesn’t matter if you deserve me or not,” I reasoned, taking her hand and placing a sweet kiss on the back of it. “I don’t care. I love you, Soojung. I do. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“I don’t know if I can love you back the way you love me.”

“It doesn’t matter.” I kiss her eyelids.

“Please, Yeol.”

I kiss her forehead.

“I’m not anywhere near special.”

I kiss her cheeks. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

I can taste her salty tears and she buries her face in my chest. I respond quite openly. And when the clock strikes twelve, a new day begins and I know it’s going to be okay. I kiss her on the lips, passionately and sweetly, as I try to fill the gaps between empty words and hollow wounds.

Soojung confesses to getting nightmares every night.

I scoot closer to her, take her in my arms and gently assure her to sleep. She looks so sweet and flimsy, but I love her even more for that.

“But they’re gone now,” Soojung whispers, leaving light kisses on the corners of my lips. “Ever since you came, they’re gone. They’re gone.”

It’s Soojung’s first Christmas celebration since fourteen years ago. I am both excited and nervous when I decide to invite her to visit the place I once shared with Baekhyun and Jongin—that was before I moved in with her in a new apartment downtown.

Baekhyun and Jongin are hysterical, and they’re both happy to have met her. The welcome is warm, very, very, very warm, and I catch her smiling so heartily every now and then. We enjoy a cheap Turkey chicken and some delicious, cheap takeout to fill in the blanks of our Christmas.

It’s not so much, but it’s all worth it.

She takes my hand and smiles; I smile back.

“Stay,” Soojung blurts out as I lie in the couch with her, a blanket for one, hovering over our bodies pressed together. My hand is on her and the other is intertwined with hers. The night is perfect.

“Hmm?” I nuzzle her hair.

“Do you know what you do to me?” she asks. I smile.

“When you look at me and smile, it’s like for a split second everything stops and your smile pierces through all of the bad in my life and all is well again.” Her cheeks are red, and I kiss them, chuckling.

She takes my hand and presses it on her lips.

“No matter how hard it is to be with me,” her voice breaks, “just stay. I need you. I love you, Chanyeol.”

People are beautiful.

Sometimes, in the way they talk or smile, or the way they bite their lip or look angry, when they really just want a hug, or the way they roll their eyes or even suppress a smile, when all they really want is a good laugh and a good friend.

I kiss her lips fervently—a habit of which I found an addiction for. “I just want you to know that you’re very special,” I tell her.

Soojung sighs blithely.

“And the only reason I’m telling you,” I add, “is that I don’t know if everyone else has.”

Sometimes, people are beautiful.

(And everybody, but them, sees it.)