I thought about Googling it then immediately dismissed the idea because I knew I was being idiotic. What would a search engine know about the inner most secrets of my heart that I didn’t know myself? Looking up the definition would only confirm that I was ed. There was no other way to put it. I knew I was ed because I’ve resorted to asking Google what’s wrong with my life.

Let’s meet at 8 at the usual place.

Friendship is a strange thing, one of the strangest things that can happen to you. It’s strange because it treads a fine line between so many other things; hate, jealousy, adoration and most importantly, love.

By the usual place, he meant one of Seoul’s many hidden, tiny cafes where we had come to an agreement with the two people that worked there, that they said nothing about us ever coming in exchange for us paying a little more than the average customer. We had a private room upstairs that’s usually only open on Saturdays when they’re busy - it was nothing short of romantic; softly lit by tea light candles and stings of dim, outdoor lights that hung from the ceiling.
I don’t think he saw it as romantic, he saw it as convenient; he’d lean against the wall and stare out of the window and I would stare into his eyes and wonder: what do you know?
I ask myself that every time I look into those eyes; light, bright and b with excitement as he tells me about his latest acting role or where his next photoshoot location is or tired and sad, as he tells me that he doesn’t like this any more, he can’t take the invasion of privacy where screaming girls chase him and grab him like a designer skirt in a sale, he can’t take the fast pace and he’s tired, so tired.

And all the while, I’m looking at him, wondering: what do you know? Do you tell me these things because you know I care - I care more than many, if not any, other person you know? Or do you tell me because I’m the only one; celebrity is lonely and I know you’re lonely. Sometimes I wish you were even more lonely so that one day, you’d reach out to me, reach out further than you ever have before and discover that there’s a willing hand, waiting to hold yours, waiting to hold onto you and never let go. I wish that you’d see that I’ve always been here and I’ve been waiting for you.

“No wonder you’re so tired.” Joongki said to me after we had ordered. The way the soft lighting danced on his angelic features was almost unbearable. “You should be yourself - didn’t I always say that?”
I sighed. He was talking about the latest broadcast of Running Man; I’d complained that I thought that playing a character instead of myself was becoming jaded. At first it had been funny but now I worry about whether it holds any long term implications for me and my career.

“It’s too late for that though, isn’t it?” I said.

“Is it?” He replied, his eyes seemed darker than usual today and his skin looked even more pale, even more perfect. “Is it ever too late for the truth?”
He’d done it again - made an offhand comment that meant nothing to him but meant a thousand things to me. He raised his mug to his plush lips to drink, leaving one of those awful moments where his words resonated, leaving me with a nauseous sensation.
It was one of those moments where it felt like he had dropped a rock from a great height into the ocean and all he could see were the insignificant ripples of the aftermath so he didn’t understand. But I had felt it, deep below the ocean’s surface, I had felt the rock plummet and seen all the fish swim away, desperately trying to avoid being hit by it.

It can never be me that reaches out to him. Never. The only way that happens is when things get desperate, when you’re forced to confess in case you never see that person again. But in his case, it’s different. I can’t tell him because if I do, I never will see him again. He likes girls and that’s all there is too it - in such matters you have to be black and white about things even if your opinions and views fall into areas of grey.

His fingers delicately traced the handle of the mug and he smiled to himself while looking out of the window again. I could just about hear the music from downstairs, drifting into our little room like smoke:

Your two eyes look at me and smile sweetly

Even on the day we parted

You looked and smiled at me

I desperately wanted to know why he was smiling but even more desperately, I wanted to be the one that caused the smile.
It’s far fetched and it’s cliched that it’s me, the one whose popularity didn’t skyrocket, doesn’t have his face in every CF and isn’t a heartthrob is in love with the one who is. His best friend. But when is friendship more than friendship? When does loving your friend mean more than empathy when they’re upset? When does it turn from wanting to hug them and crack a joke to make the smile again and become wanting to hold them so close that they can almost feel your heart hurting for them? When does it turn into wanting it to be just you that’s enough to make them smile again?

And all of a sudden, he was talking about how tired he is these days because of his schedule. He’s right, I hardly see him any more - he calls me though. When I think about it, it’s always him that calls me, maybe I’m afraid that he won’t pick up if it’s the other way around. For the same reason I can’t confess, I can’t be the one to initiate even a phone call. I realised that he was hinting that he wanted to leave now, he wanted to go home. He was slipping his coat back on subtly while still talking, perhaps to protect my feelings. He continued to smile at me but tonight, his eyes seemed so different - insincere almost.
So we left, I watched him drive away and I stood on the pavement like a statue, staring at that same spot as if he was still there - as if by doing so he would come back to me.
I spent the rest of the evening in my apartment wondering why he wanted to go all of a sudden; was he really tired or had I bored him or offended him..? Maybe there was someone else he has to see; he was always so secretive if he was dating, even to me. Or was there another reason..?

Sometimes, I think he knows. Sometimes I think those little things he says are on purpose but how can he know? How can he understand something about myself that, for all the years I’ve known him, even I’ve never understood?