Am I being overly dramatic?

The thought flashed through my head several times that morning as I tossed and turned in bed. Mimi was walking all over my bed, making herself comfortable by my pillow and rubbing her cheek against mine in an attempt to get up. I sighed and pulled the cat close, rising from my covers and giving the cat a on the ears, which she happily indulged in. I let her wander out of the door as I showered and got dressed, pressing my ear to my mother’s door to gauge if she was at home. Nothing but the silent thrum of the wooden door greeted me; she had left for work.

I found a can of cat food for Mimi and proceeded to empty its contents into a bowl, watching as she happily bounced over for her breakfast. My brain was still in shock. I curled my fingers around the counter and leaned heavily against it, my legs suddenly too wobbly to support my weight.

I was hoping that yesterday was nothing but a dream, that everything that happened were merely a figment of my imagination, borne out of the desperation of my heart. But my phone still beeped, and the small scrap of paper with Joonmyun’s handwriting on it still remained tucked in the pocket of my skirt; it was as real as it was ever going to get.

I started mentally cataloguing the letters I had thus far sent, skimming through its contents. I knew that I had divulged a huge part of my life to Joonmyun when I sent those letters, and quite a large portion of it, especially those recently written, had largely involved him. I remembered the last letter he sent me, the one before he told me that he knew who I was, and scrambled to retrieve it from my room.

With shaking fingers, I unfolded it, my eyes skimming through the familiar words easily, rereading what I already knew.  Back then, he told me to let go, to accept fate and face the truth that he and I were not meant to be. What he said in the letter was contradictory to what he was doing to me now. If he wanted me to let go, why did it seem like he was desperately trying to pull me back?

I tried not to be buoyed by any thoughts suggesting that it was with a romantic intent, but every part seemed to lead to that conclusion. But still, I felt that the situation left me in tenterhooks, and despite his hints, Joonmyun had yet to verbally express his feelings. It was just as possible that he might have done it out of guilt too. If you had a best friend who was in love with you, wouldn’t you feel guilty that you hadn’t noticed all this while?

The sound of a horn blasting outside my window had me shrieking.

I scrambled towards the curtains, tugging it slightly to peek through the crack. My eyes widened when I realised who the car belonged to and I shoved the curtains aside to push open the panes.

However, it wasn’t Joonmyun who was standing at my gate but rather, his rebellious cousin, Kim Jongin.

“Hey,” he yelled when I poked my head out. “Want to spend the day out?”

“I don’t think it’s a good time, Jongin,” I said to him. The cold morning mist floated over my bare skin, settling onto the glass. It seeped into my fingertips, tingling down my bones and washing the colour out of my fingers. The bite of coldness, however sharp, was somewhat comforting.

“It’s Saturday. I think it’s a good time as any.” He was wearing a plain, smoky grey shirt today, paired with jeans and a stylish jacket. His hair looked half combed, as if he had styled it hastily, but it still complimented his smooth jaw line and sculpted cheekbones.

“But Jongin –”

“We haven’t talked for days,” he said, cutting me off.  “I missed you.”

I was slightly taken aback. I was used to Jongin’s teasing, but the look in his eyes now implicated that he was anything but. His fingers were curled around the bars of gate, and I noticed how tightly they were wound, as if he was channelling his anxiety into it instead of letting it show in his eyes. “Jongin –” I began.

“Come on. Do this for me as a favour. I promise: I’ll turn that frown into a smile.” He attempted one of his own, but even I noticed that it looked half-hearted. There was something wrong with him, I noticed, but the hopefulness of his eyes, the conviction in his voice, tugged at my conscience and told me to humour him.

“Alright,” I said after a minute of silence. And this time, Jongin’s smile looked genuine.

“We’re forgoing the car?” I asked in between breaths. A puddle splattered underneath my speakers, throwing rivulets of water onto my shoes and into the morning air. The dampness of the morning clung onto my arms, hung down my lashes and dripped onto my cheeks. I could feel my face pink from the steady stream of air blowing past us, pushing our hair back and slowing down our pace.

“Yup!” Jongin said cheerily, his fingers clasped around mine. His voice seemed to float with the wind, carrying into my ears, and strangely void of the helplessness he had expressed before. I could only hear exhilaration, underlined with excitement and a sense of imminent freedom. It coursed through his veins; I could sense it through his hands, in the tight hold he kept on mine. 

“Is your driver going to be okay with this?”

Jongin’s laughter rumbled with the sound of our pattering footsteps. “He’s going to kill me,” he stated, unnaturally optimistic.

 I was thankful that my lack of exercise within the last few weeks hadn’t dampened my stamina; I was able to keep a fair pace with Jongin’s ridiculously long strides. He glanced back at me sometimes to see how I was doing, and every time he managed to catch my eye, he’d flash me an encouraging smile. It spread across his face, soft at the edges and unusually gentle, and I could see why people never thought to question about him and Joonmyun being blood relatives.

I didn’t realise that we were heading for the subway until our path became congested with bustling people. Briefcases bumped against thighs; five-inch heels danced hurriedly over stone and concrete to make up for lost time. Despite it being a Saturday, every person had a place to be, creased brows marking their irritation at time’s refusal to wait.

Jongin dug two tickets out of his pockets and led me to the platform. Nostalgia came in merciless waves. My eyes were dimming, my vision shattering before merging once again. The coach was white, thick, uneven blue lines slashing its length, broken by the doors sliding open to allow admittance to the passengers. The ground was a mixture of different shades of grey, dark at the edges and smeared with ageing footprints. The hand that held mine was warm, the fingers strong, and the wrist that peeked out of the sleeve as pale as snow.

Then my head cleared, and I realised that hand holding mine wasn’t pale but dark, the healthy bronze of a person who had spent too much of his childhood underneath the sun. Jongin’s head was barely discernible as he pulled me into the rush of people. There was a sharp tug, and I slid into a small crack and collided into his chest.

“Such a barbaric way to spend your morning, shoving other people,” he said, rolling his eyes at a couple of burly boys whom I vaguely remembered had bumped into his shoulder. “But it’s all good,” he said, smiling down at me. His expression changed when he saw my face. “Aeri, are you alright?” He stared at me worriedly.

I realised that I had been standing there, frozen, my eyes wide and my chest heaving. This situation was too familiar, and it was making my chest hurt... because Joonmyun wasn’t here.

“I’m fine,” I managed, and pulled my hand out of his to curl it over the metal holders dangling over our heads, trying to swallow down the bitter feeling hanging at the back of my throat.

“Could you do me a favour?” Jongin asked later that evening, while we were dangling a few hundred feet from the ground in the passenger car of a ferris wheel.

I turned my head, which had been resolutely pressed to the window, and gave him a questioning look. Underneath his bangs, his eyes were shaded, a glimmering pair of crystals that seemed to project its own light. There was something wistful about them, something sad. It spread throughout his entire face, erasing that rakish grin off of his mouth.

“Just for once, I want you to smile. I want you to look at me like how you did at the park when we were perched on the tree. I want you to look at me as you laugh.”

I stared at him, contemplating his request. I knew it wasn’t fair of me to act so unresponsive despite his endeavours to make me happy, but I couldn’t help the feeling that kept gnawing at my gut. Although my intention when I consented to go out with him had been to humour a good friend, I couldn’t help the rush of yesterday’s events from flashing through my head. I kept seeing myself at the library, with a highly discomforted Joonmyun facing me, quietly confessing that it had been he who had received my letters.

I willed myself to smile, forcing the corners of my lips up, curving my mouth so that Jongin didn’t feel that he was entirely unappreciated. He stared at me for a while, his face expressionless, before leaning back and looking away.

“When we get down, can you come with me for a while to.. talk? I promise it will be the last thing that I ask of you.”

Apparently, Jongin didn’t find the amusement park we were at an adequate enough setting for a conversation, and steered me away by the hand towards gates, chucking his used ticket into the trash can nearby the coloured balloons and urging me to do the same. I did as I was told, figuring that Jongin didn’t intend on coming back.

He told me that our destination was a short walk downtown, mostly void of traffic and didn’t require any crossing of streets. He said nothing as he led me down the sidewalk, lips pressed together thoughtfully. Sunlight threw colours in his ashen hair, drawing thin streaks of gold when it touched the crown of his head. It seemed to highlight his cheekbones as well, adding shadows to the contours of his face, the bottom of his eyes. I tried to peek at his face, trying to gauge his expression, hoping that it could give some light as to the seriousness of the matter that he wanted to discuss with me. His face was a drawn blank.

I decided to pay attention to my surroundings instead. I recognised the streetlights that dotted the sidewalks at precise intervals. I knew the fire hydrant to my left was chipped of its paint without looking at it, and I didn’t have to read the signs to know where Jongin was taking me.

Given that the sun was still up, slanting against the city sky and painting streaks of red on the bobbing clouds, there were still people milling about. A day’s worth of work had dwindled what was left of their enthusiasm, and the sidewalks constituted mostly of lethargic bodies shuffling dazedly off towards their homes. Sweat glistened on their foreheads; briefcases dangled limply between half-heartedly interlinked fingers. The weariness of their expressions contrasted gravely with the faraway look of Jongin’s eyes.

When we arrived at the park, Jongin led me towards a series of turns. I knew by instinct where he was going to lead me, and I wondered why he was being awfully particular about the location, when had time to tell what he needed to say throughout the whole span of our walk.

“Looks just as how we left it,” he said. For a brief instant, I could hear a twinge of amusement in his voice. He scuffed the toe of his sneakers over the blades of grass, which, I realised, was right below the branch we sat on during our previous date. He dropped onto the ground and patted the space next to him.

I was thankful that I didn’t choose to wear a skirt, and quietly sat down next to him. Jongin rested his palms behind him, tilting his head skywards to stare at the canopy of green leaves above us.

“Thanks,” he said. I raised my brows and looked at him, but he still had his head tilted back, observing some kind of pattern he traced with gold lines snaking between the cracks of green.

“For?” I asked.

“For being here.”

“Just that?”

Jongin chuckled. “Yeah. Just that.”

The silence stretched as I fiddled with my fingers. I waited for him to say something else; surely his insistence to have our conversation at this particular location hadn’t merely been driven by a need to express his gratitude.  

“I had always been slightly jealous of Joonmyun-hyung,” he began, startling me out of my thoughts. Automatically, I turned to look at him again, but he had his face turned resolutely upwards. “He had everything: the looks, the grades, the charms. I was just the delinquent; girls liked me because they thought I was trouble. But sometimes, I didn’t mean to cause the trouble. It just happened. He always found a way to help me out, especially when we were kids. He knew I hated piano, so he’d sit in my room and played while I climbed down the balcony and played under the trees. Mom never suspected anything; she just thought I just got better.” His eyes were glazed, his expression wistful. He tugged on one of the blades of grass and examined it between long, thin fingers.

“I guess in the end, I realise that I owe a lot to him. He wasn’t my brother, but he acted as if he was. He was my playmate as a child and my best friend now, and I just can’t bring myself to hate him. Even though broke his promise, and fell for the girl I liked.”

He met my eyes and held my gaze. There was fire shifting between his eyes: resolution, flickering and glimmering like twin embers, amplified by the golden light of the evening sun. He cocked his head and smiled softly.

“I know you’re in love with Joonmyun-hyung.” He shook his head at my half formulated reply. “I knew since the very beginning, and I knew that, likewise, you’re very special to him, and he keeps a special spot in his heart for you.”

I ducked my head, letting my hair fall down my cheeks. I hoped that it would have an effect at hiding my blush.

“I know it’s stupid for me to do this, but Joonmyun told me what happened yesterday, and I realise that today’s my last chance. I told him I won’t back down. I would at least try.”

He pulled his legs in, falling into a half crouch as he reached an arm behind the tree. When he withdrew, he was holding a bouquet of red roses, and I couldn’t help my eyes widening from surprise.

“You know what this means,” he said quietly, shifting in his seat so that he faced me with the bouquet between us. “All you have to do is say yes or no. X,” –he held up an empty hand –“or O.” The bouquet.

I stared at my choices, at the beautiful roses that seemed to fit perfectly in his hand, and the bare palm that faced me, smooth and soft, calloused at the fingers from years of engaging in rough activity. The flowers were exquisite, and I could just imagine the time and care Jongin took to select them, perusing the blooms, denying those that he felt bore imperfections. I knew that he put his heart into it, perhaps into each of these blooms, hoping that they would signify the depth of his feelings.

I chose the hand. I didn’t have a choice; I couldn’t lie to him when he already knew the truth.

Jongin stared at it. A small amused chuckle escaped his lips, and his fingers curled around mine. I didn’t pull away, but watched as he bowed his head, shielding the world from his expression –and his eyes. To say that guilt gnawed at me would be a blatant lie. It sliced through my heart, burnt my insides –like acid.

“That’s alright,” Jongin said, his voice still soft. Slowly, he looked up, revealing a gentle smile that I never knew that he was capable of. “Just promise me... that we’ll still be friends.” He dropped the bouquet, and fished out a single yellow rose from behind him, seemingly drawn out of thin air. He smiled as he held it up.

I took it. “Always, Jongin.”