"So, will I see you tomorrow?" She asked. He nodded.

Kim Jonghyun watched as his girlfriend of two months walked into her house before he made his way down the dark street. He could see the light of the lamp down the street, but it seemed so far away. Its glow gave off a warm feeling as his breath puffed out in a swirl of white smoke. He felt the chill tingled down his body and wished he had listened to Key about wearing a thicker jacket on the outside. That had always been the problem: he knew good advice when he heard it, but he never followed it. 

He smiled when the he caught the sight of his apartment, one that he shared with Kim Kibum (a.k.a the Almighty Key, as he referred to be called, something that pleased him because it fed his narcissistic ego). Carefully Jonghyun twisted the doorknob and tiptoed into the shared living space. It was tiny but clustered free, thanks to Key's excessive nagging and little toleration for even a hint of dust, Jonghyun thought as he smiled at his luck. But his smile was soon replaced by a curse when he saw a familiar figure emerged from the kitchen.

"You were out late," Key said sternly, hands on hips, lips pursed, eyebrows drew together to form a frown. He reminded Jonghyun of his mom - Key was the perfect image. "And on a school night no less, Kim Jonghyun! Have you lost your mind"

"You're up late..." Jonghyun pointed out, and pouted slightly - it was an involuntary reaction to Key's "mom moment."

"And whose fault do you think that is?" The Almighty sneered and crossed his arms together. "I was going to send out a search party. How are you going to take notes if you are drooling on your notebook?"

Jonghyun shrugged, "I don't want notes anyways - less to read."

"YAH KIM JONGHYUN!"

Oh damn. He really shouldn't have opened his mouth. Jonghyun ran into his room as fast as his legs could take him and slammed the door shut before the diva king could whacked him over the head with the giant spatula - wait, Key was carrying a cooking utensil, he groaned mentally; he knew that despite whatever delicious things Key was cooking, he, the insolent idiot who dared to argue back to the Almighty Kim Kibum, would not be fed tomorrow. Jonghyun shrugged off his jacket which landed on the floor with a muffled thud, then striped off his jeans. He scanned around his room and winced when he came across the picture he dreaded. 

She was smiling up at the camera, at him, with a bright expression that could rival the sun rays. In the picture, she was so happy, contented. Her eyes shone like a jewel. All for him. Jonghyun lowered himself to the floor and buried his head in his arms to let the guilt consume him. In the privacy of his bedroom, he could face them ? the emotions that battered at him like constant waves beating against a rocky shore. Jonghyun didn't know what to do with them, nor did he know how to face them - no, that was not true. He was too cowardly to do something with them. 

Jonghyun rummaged through his jacket when he heard the sound of his beeping cell phone and read the message that he knew would come - she always texted him before she went to bed.

"I had fun today, thank you. Give me a call tomorrow? I'll miss you - thinking of you!" 

He didn't ask for it, Jonghyun thought bitterly. Though he wasn't prepared for the initial attraction, he knew he was in trouble the moment Kim Kibum waltzed through the door, announcing that he needed a place to stay and that he saw Jonghyun's "roommate wanted ad." He should have kicked the younger boy out of the door the moment he felt his body tingled in a way that was entirely too pleasant and left him a lot too warm. Jonghyun was an idiot to let the boy stayed, to gave into the need to get to know him better, to allow himself to become so dependent upon a single being...to...Jonghyun choked, to fall in love with his best friend. That was his mistake, and he was paying for it every day. 

"I'll be over tomorrow... I need to talk to you." 

Jonghyun hit the "reply" button and sighed.He should have listened to Minho's advice, no matter how ill-sounding it was at first. 

"Don't go out with her," Minho had said; his voice deep and slurred, half-asleep. "You know she's not Key and you don't want to be with her. No girl - no matter how many - is going to change how you feel. You'll just end up hurting yourself."

Yes, that was always the problem with him: he knew good advice when he heard it, but he never followed it.