Yugyeom is quite mesmerized by the fact that he’s still staying up late in the practicing room when all of s have already left the building since hours ago. Despite being the youngest, there’s always another reason why he wants to work hard. He practices singing almost every day, repeats the same songs all over again and tries to sing, but ends up muttering to himself due to hesitation.

As he’s getting into the rhythm and about to try singing again, the music abruptly stops. Yugyeom looks up to find a girl standing in front of the audio controller. Those sharp little eyes, well set apart, weary and tired, are staring at him just expressionless. To describe her facial expression would be like describing a blank sheet of paper.

“If you’re practicing singing, try to actually sing.” she says.

He’s not sure whether it’s because he hasn’t meet Yerin for a while, or that girl has actually become a stranger to him. He watches her on televisions and how she indirectly refuses his duet proposal which somehow turns him down, but he never once thinks that it will soon be a big deal.

But in reality, it is.

“Yeah not cool turning it off when someone is clearly still practicing.”

“Because you don’t really sing.” Yerin crosses her arms in habit.

“You’re not even my coach.”

“You are acting weird, Kim Yugyeom.”

Yugyeom himself is also surprised at how bitter their conversation can be, at how he suddenly becomes a douchebag and how Yerin speaks so cold. They were fine before all those things happened; before he confessed and before she rejected; before the fans said that they look good together as a couple because at the same time, it also hurts to know that they are not and it hurts much more to realize that their friendship will never be the same. At least to Yugyeom.

“I’m done,” he puts his bag on his shoulder and walks towards the door, “You can use the room now.”

“Isn’t it frustrating?”

Yerin’s soft spoken words prevent Yugyeom’s hand from shutting the door. He looks up, gazing right through her brownish eyes as the girl leans her back against a mirror wall across the room.

“What is?” he asked.

“That we’ve become so awkward like this.”

“That’s not my fault.”

“Neither mine.”

Silence gnaws at their insides. The tranquility is somehow comforting and peaceful in a way where you know that no matter what is happening, it’s still better than talking at all.

“We still can be friends, can’t we?”

And she ruins the whole thing.

Yugyeom can’t help but looks away and stares blankly at the floor, wondering why a simple question can weaken him so much. It doesn't hurt as bruise would, really. It's just this heavy feeling. He feels stupid for the need to wipe away imaginary tears that he wants to form but they won’t.

“No. No we can’t,” he answers, “We can’t be friends because you know what, it's so hard to pretend to be friends with someone when everytime you look at her, all you see is everything you wanna have. I just feel like, you know, like giving you up. Well, I’m just saying you should give me a chance.”

And at that moment, right that instant, regret washes over Yerin like a tsunami. Her lips are twitching, but her eyes look blurred as if with tears. She longs to go back and take a different path but there is no way back and she finally chooses to say, “I did. I did, Gyeom. It just didn’t work. But isn’t it better to remain friends than force something that isn’t going to work?”

“That's it, right? To be happy is your choice.” And he left.

As her eyelids fluttering shut, Yerin allows herself a quick sob. Her heart breaks into million little pieces that forms the basis for a million regrets.

It ends.