You can’t believe you were actually forced into this. It’s not like your vision deteriorated, seeing as you don’t spend so much time in front of the TV or computer and actually get adequate lighting while reading or doing work, but this psychotic girl you call your friend has successfully dragged your to who she calls, “the hottest optometrist ever.”

You’ve seen the people who come out of optometry school. There are the ugly ones, the geeky ones, the nerdy ones, the drop-dead gorgeous ones, and then the lot of handsome men. Yes, they are handsome. Which is why you don’t understand your friend’s sudden infatuation for this “hottest optometrist.”

"Plus," she bubbles next to you in the waiting room. "You need an eye exam. Your last one was like when?"

You can’t even remember yourself.

"And then you’ll be forced to wear—" Your hands cover and you snarl, "Don’t mention those blasted things."

Contacts.

Shudder.

She your hand and you push her face away in disgust, looking around with contaminated hands before your eyes light up at the box of tissues and hand sanitizer. Once your 99.9% of germs are gone, you sit back down next to her. Your glasses aren’t even prescription glasses. They’re just the really thick frames and lenses to hide your face away from the likes of society.

A drop-dead gorgeous nurse comes out from the back and calls your name. Your friend snickers and lightly kicks you in the back of the knee in an ironically comforting gesture. You hate her sometimes.

"Follow me."

Well, no , you internally muse. What am I going to do? Stand here and watch you walk away like an idiot?

There’s a dim room around the corner with eye machines and the little chart on the opposite wall. A bronze sink is to the left and a matching trashcan to fit the dark atmosphere.

"No contacts in?"

Shake of the head.

"Do you have any problems seeing? Any blurry vision…"

Shake.

She gestures to the seat before typing in some data onto the computer and tells you to take off your glasses and to rest your chin in the indention of the machine, forehead touching. It passes over your right eye, the green picture of an empty road with cacti on the side going blurry then clear then blurry then clear and then the clicks of the keyboard enters your ear before the machine shifts to your left eye with the same process. It’s done and she tells you to lean back, using this thing you’ll never bother to know to blow air into the eye and take a picture of it at the same time before placing eye drops in your eyes.

Oh god.

Eye drops.

"Stand in the doorway for me."

"Now cover your right eye and say the letters of the smallest row you can read."

You do so and rattle off the last row before covering your left eye and rattling off the last row again. Anybody can tell she’s thoroughly impressed as she hands you what she calls “a little tissue” when it’s just a regular tissue and leaves to let you sit in another sort of waiting room in front of some exam rooms. “He’ll be with you shortly.” You nod your head once in slight gratitude and lean against the wall and close your eyes because now everything is blurry and it hits you that those eye drops dilate your eyes.

Somewhere in between waiting and thinking over your inorganic chemistry exam, you doze off and somebody decides that it’s okay to shake your shoulder. At first, you just want to push the person away, but then you remember you’re at the ing optometrist and your eyes snap open to see some guy all up in your face. His hair is black with red streaks, coming down neatly in a sort of bowl cut, and he’s got about four piercings in each ear. He has a pointy face and a strong but soft jawline with feline eyes and his skin is almost immaculate along with his nose. Just from his eyes, you can see hints of brashness and rudeness, but no judging a book by its cover.

"Hey there." You shake your head a little before groaning at the action because that was such a bad idea and get up to follow this chic to an exam room. Your watch blares five pm and the optometry closes at five thirty which means you’re probably the last patient.

"I’m Dr. Kim." You nod and sit in the big red seat with a hole in the curve that your doesn’t have enough fat to feel comfortable in.

"Your name would be nice," he sneers in an unprofessional fashion.

"My name’s on the computer," you snarl back in the same fashion, giving his back a death glare as he fills out more data on the computer. He turns, looks at you, then rolls his eyes before snatching your glasses off your face and chucking them into the trashcan. "You need to stop hiding behind those."

You’re speechless, really, because you’ve met this guy for about five minutes and he’s seen through you already. That’s not possible. No way in hell.

Once again, the exam room is dim but there’s a soft glow to it. On the wall in front of the chair, there’s a mirror that reflects the computer screen on the opposite wall and more complicated machinery attached to the big red chair. The same color sink is there again and a higher counter where Dr. Kim stands with his computer and rifle through the cabinets underneath it to hand you some cheap sunglasses for when you go out later. He pulls up a wheely chair in front of you pushes the first device in front of your face with different lens, instructing you to read the letters in the mirror.

"Which one is clearer: one or two?"

"Two."

"Three or four?"

"Four."

"Five or six?"

"Five."

"Seven or eight?"

"Seven."

"Nine or ten?"

"Ten."

A flurry of lens roll in front of your right eye. “Clear there.” “Yep.” Another roll of lens. “Blurry there.” “Mhmm.” It’s the same with your left eye, the same numbers, the same lens, and then he takes the machine away from your face before rolling away from you and crossing his hands behind his head. “Your eyes are perfectly fine compared to the rest of the people that come in here.”

There’s a small pause and you raise an eyebrow at him because he looks like he wants to say something. “Was I right earlier about why you wore those hideous glasses?” His tone is slightly hesitant as if he’s treading on a bed of nails, careful to not step too hard without causing a disaster. He’s still rude and conceited and totally unprofessional but you can’t say much because he looks about your age and you’re still in med school, trudging with books about the heart and brain and nerves.

When you don’t say anything, he just sighs and scorches back towards you, taking another machine for him to lean on runs a strip of light over your eyes, signalling for you look at his right ear for the right eye first and vice verse. He does the same thing after pulling out some fancy eye-sized magnifying glass, unnecessarily repeating the same instructions and you just stare at the piece of metal that rips through his cartilage. Hm.

Maybe you should get regular ear piercings for now. You leave his exam room without bidding him goodbye and ignore your friend when she insists that you get his number. Your hand grabs a business card from the pristine countertop and shoves it into her hand.

-

-

After you hop into your car early Saturday morning to go grab some cheap no prescription glasses and rush back to class, your insane friend decides to walk by and yank them off before chucking them into the trashcan in a Dr. Kim-like fashion.

You paid twelve bucks for those.

And now some shy boy has asked you for your number and your professor did a double take before checking your name off for your presence in his lecture room.

People are insufferable.

You don’t look that different.

-

-

On a Friday night when drunk people are prone to show up in tattoo and piercing shops or do questionable acts behind closed doors or in alleys, you find your sober self along with your diabolical friend in a piercing shop to get your ears pierced.

Honestly, you’re scared less because piercings sound painful (cue the muffled yell next door) and what if it gets infected and causes your ears to close up and—

The door swings open then shut and you’re automatically shocked into a stupor because its ing Dr. Kim. Instead of a white coat and nice pants, he’s decked out in a black designer t-shirt and long jeans with holes in them, making him pass of with the cool look instead of the “I can’t sew my jeans look at all the holes I have” demeanor. Kim has his head turned towards you.

"It’s the wallflower," he comments and your eye twitches.

-

-

, this piercing hurts like a mother—

"Cartilage is a lot worse. Trust me," he boringly states. "I would know."

-

-

"I am never letting you take me anywhere ever again, you hear me?" You threaten your friend, swiping her card in the slot and paying for your piercings as a not-so-apologetic gesture.

"He’s hot."

"Who the cares?"

-

-

"Oh my god, hot guy at three o’clock!" Your fellow librarian squeals uncharacteristically, her hands flying to flatten down whatever non-messy hair is mussed and smoothing down non-existent crinkles in her shirt. You roll your eyes dramatically before shuffling off towards the back of the library to do some shelving and browsing through the new releases section.

The library is a wonderful place and also the open book to everybody. If you work as a librarian, you really shouldn’t judge people based on their covers, but look, if a guy is checking out an a, admit it. You’d be just slightly judgmental. Seriously.

There are the teenage girls that come with Sarah Dessen books or the ones that check out the paranormal romance genre. Then there are the people that go to the adult section and get decent books like Rebeccah or The Other Boleyn Girl or Pride and Prejudice. There are the parents that bring their small children to the children’s section where you smile a little more genuinely if they check out an old child’s favorite. You’ve always believed that someone is what they read.

"Hey, they need you up front. Someone’s getting a card." You nod and begrudgingly trudge away from the new releases, lusting after David Levithan’s latest, and grab a pen on your away out because the ones at the counter seem to have disappeared over the past few years.

"He needs a card," the librarian from earlier too cheerfully states, walking away to let you occupy her original spot. You grab a slip from underneath the counter and a card and tape, silently putting a piece of tape on each edge and the long box for signature and asking the customer to fill out the card. The scratching of pen stops when you finish placing tape on the designated areas of the cards and you read the slip with a pursed mouth before snapping your head up in horror.

"If I didn’t know, I’d say you were stalking me."

"Don’t flatter yourself."

"Someone’s getting defensive."

You ignore his scoff and script in “Adult” on one side of the tape and the expiration date on the other, then handing the pen and card to him to tell him to sign.

"You can check out up to ninety-nine books if you wish and and up to five movies. If you lose your card, make sure to notify us if you don’t find it within 24 hours and we can get you a new one. Other than that, everything’s pretty self-explanatory. Any questions?"

"No."

"You’re good to go," you wave him off before turning back around to continue your lust towards the books that just came in. Oh, look, somebody just turned in the latest Cassandra Clare book. They’re not great, but decent and you’re not entirely excited for the movie because Clary could be prettier, but it’s your sadistic opinion all over again and you shake your head before pushing the shelf towards the outside to put them back in their designated places.

The children’s section is the closest so you lazily push it in that direction, placing the numerous copies of Harry Potter books with the other large number of Rowling’s works and take back The Casual Vacancy, saving that because that book goes into the adult section. You’re surprised to see that Howl’s Moving Castle needs to be put back because most people watch the anime, not read the book, and that makes you smile.

A small child tugs on your pants and pouts before asking if he can take a ride in the cart. Your lips curve a little and open to let him wait so he has enough space to sit in while you put the books up. The boy just about squeals when he makes himself comfortable in the metal shelf and gets pushed towards the young adult section, patiently sitting there and waiting for you to put the books back. You’ve read almost very book, good and bad, and wonder when was the last time somebody checked out An Imperial Affliction and ponder over why paranormal romance is as popular as it is now. It’s never hit you as y to make out with a werewolf or vampire, although if there was a werewolf that looked like Taylor Lautner, you wouldn’t be saying anything.

The little boy squeaks again in an indoor voice when the cart moves towards the adult section, occasionally moving because the adult section is stretched across one half of the library’s main area, causing you to move the cart for your ease. Of course when you’re putting in Charmed Thirds, the little boy decides it’s funny to push your cart as a signal to start the regular quiet hide-and-seek game.

You tip toe and smirk when you see the boy next to the Na’s of the shelf and run behind him to pick him up before dragging the light boy out and spin him around with a smile on your face.

His name is Dongshin. Despite the number of times you’ve offered his parents a ride, this child walks from the elementary school next to the library to here and then hang until his parents can pick him up. He’s on good terms with every worker here, but he’s most comfortable with you and likes to call you “mom” instead of “older sister” because he says you remind him of his mom and you suddenly feel older than you should be feeling at twenty-one. He zooms back to the children’s section and starts reading a book because he knows he can’t follow to you the back. Once the cart is put away, you head over to the returned bin, taking out videos and DVD’s and other books to be put back.

You’re so caught up in your thoughts and job that you don’t even feel the pair of eyes following your every move.

-

-

"Grande vanilla frappucino."

You truly enjoy coffee, which is why you work at Starbucks on the weekends, some of the busiest days of the week and the occasional weekday when somebody’s sick. Surprisingly on a Saturday afternoon when teenagers are likely to hang out here, the store just has a quiet buzz and whirs of machines, no loud voices and obnoxious laughs filling the silence Instead, there are just light chuckles and low voices, quickly entering and leaving and you ring the guy’s order up before swiping his card and handing it back to him. Somebody takes over as you prepare his drink with the receipt clipped on the board in front of you.

You call out the order and nearly puke because you seem to be seeing this child everywhere.

"You work here?" He questions, stupefied.

"No, I’m the evil twin. Yes, I work here." He takes a sip of his drink while smirking.

"Still as rude as ever."

"Please," you scoff. "We’ve only seen each other a few times. I’m sure you see your patients everywhere."

"Actually, I don’t."

”________!” Someone calls your name from the back.

"Gotta head back."

When you turn, he asks hesitantly in that same tone and speed when he asked if he was right about your glasses. “When is your shift over?”

You peek at the digital numbers above you.

"An hour. Why?"

"I’ll be back. We’re going out."

You whip around in bewilderment and he just smirks again before turning on his heel and lifting his hand up in a casual goodbye.

-

-

"So where to?" You question while slipping on your light jacket, following him out the door.

"Just a walk. Trust me, this isn’t a date."

"Then why the walk?"

He shrugs defiantly, avoiding your gaze before opening your car’s driver door, closing it before he walks to his. You back out of the parking spot and head towards your apartment, glancing in your rear view mirror to see him following you.

Somehow he still manages to stay behind you through all the maddening traffic, waiting for you to step out of your parked car and into his passenger door before he heads in the direction of the park.

There’s a mile long track behind a small parking lot where he parks his car, not able to open your door like a gentleman and you laugh at his childish pout, a slip of the character you were first introduced with. He slips his arm around your shoulders and leads you towards the cement track, walking at a slow pace so you can avoid a crash with the runner.

"20 questions? It’s the only icebreaker I can think of," he admits sheepishly after a few minutes of heavy silence.

"Are you usually this comfortable with people you don’t really know?" You ask, shrugging your left shoulder where his forearm rests.

"Depends. What’s with the glasses you had? They were hideous," he accuses, scrunching his nose in distaste.

"I’ll let you know when we’re on better terms. Ask another one."

"When’s your birthday?" You rattle off the date and he nods and takes note of it before you ask him for his. "September 23." It’s your turn to nod this time.

The questions bounce back and forth, hobbies, interests, family, what would you do in this situation, choose between, and it doesn’t really matter that it totals up to more than twenty questions. He’s comfortable to be around with, even more so than your psychotic friend, but you’ll never admit that you’re just slightly thankful you made a friend out of that appointment.

Kibum is twenty-two, had this nickname back then called Key, which is just half his name, but he’d rather pursue the arts rather than take over his father’s optometry firm where you visited for your appointment. Like you, he attended this program (a different school from yours.) in his junior year, graduated, then started college as a junior instead of a freshman, then got forced to get into optometry school (medical school for you) which is why he is what he is today.

"You should be my model. You have the figure," he casually throws out as if he’s stating his favorite color.

"I’m as flat as a board on both ends. Are you kidding me?"

-

-

The meetings become more frequent, whether it be the park or your apartment or Starbucks after your shift or the library where you like to pluck out books for him to read.

The same psychotic friend of yours keeps telling you to stop denying your “obvious hots for him”, her exact words, and you just keep reminding her that you don’t have any feelings.

But then her words have your mind reeling because you can’t possibly like him; you’ve never had a playground or middle school crush, just bogged down by books and life and loneliness, and every time you see Kibum, your stomach clenches and it’s a little hard to breathe properly, but you just pass it off as his suffocating attitude that’s ironically become considerably lighter since the park meeting.

You quickly muster a fake smile when Kibum waves his hand in front of your face, but it quickly falls when he presses his palm to your forehead to check for an above-normal temperature. You raise your eyebrows to shift his hand off as a way of saying you’re fine and listen to him talk about different ways of asking a girl out. Your stomach and heart burns and clenches painfully.

Maybe you do have the stomach bug.

It drives you down and you’re so tired, just nodding at all the small but grand plans that Kibum’s enthusiastically listing off.

"I’ll drive back with you."

"No need," you brokenly sigh and shrug on your jacket before pushing your chair in.

"What if you fall asleep?" He reasons futility.

"You of all people should know I wouldn’t." The chair slides against the tile floor as you push it in.

"Well—"

"Kibum." You interrupt in the sternest voice you can muster in your current condition. It’s not everyday you use this tone with him and he automatically shuts up.

"Okay."

And when you back out of the parking lot and turn right, you don’t dare to look in the rearview mirror, afraid that he’s really going to be behind you.

In the end, you sneak a peak and he’s not.

Even though you told him not to, there’s a part of you that wishes he did anyways.

-

-

Your professors never forget to remind you that finals are just right around the corner. You study so much that you forget there’s a quiz in your advanced mathematics class, not that it’s much of a problem, but your pride crumbles when you have to do the question five times over instead of twice just to get the correct answer. Your phone has never stopped ringing or buzzing in the past week and they’re all from Kibum and your diabolical friend and family with you only picking up calls from family and ignoring all other calls and texts because family comes first.

Even Dongshin has picked up on your busy and saddened mood and made it his life’s mission to make you happy again, helping you shelve the lower books in the library so you don’t have to bend down and eventually “look like a hunchback!” and push the cart with you while leaving chocolate or other candies in your purse when he’s allowed to go to the back with you. (He was granted permission after a thorough check. Well, it was more of, “If you do anything, you won’t be able to visit _______-noona, again, arasso?” To which he automatically promised while clinging to your waist like a koala.)

Today, you’re in the middle of the adult section with Dongshin. He’s more quiet than usual and just as you’re about to question it, he asks, “Noona? Where’s Kibum-hyung?”

You pause in the action of putting a book on the shelf and think. There’s only one Kibum-hyung to him but you don’t want to assume. “Do you mean the man with the black and red hair?”

When there’s no response, you look down at him and he’s nodding his head while looking really why. “Why do you ask?”

"Is he why you’re sad?"

Since when were seven year olds so perceptive?

You purse your lips into a straight line and put the book up before you forget and tell him to push the cart to the next section.

"If hyung makes you sad, I’ll punch him to make noona happy!" He says determinedly and you smile at his antics.

"Kibum doesn’t make me sad. Noona’s just tired," which is half the truth. "Noona has a lot of tests next week, so she’s studying really hard." He still looks unconvinced and you sigh before bending your knees down to his height and look him in the eyes.

"If he ever makes me sad, then I’ll tell you, okay? And then you can punch him to your heart’s content."

"What does ‘content’ mean?"

Pause.

"If you are content, then you are happy with what you have. If it’s your heart’s content, then it’s your heart’s happiness."

He silently mouths the word for a few seconds before asking you, “Then, noona, are you content?” His tongue fumbles over the word and you restrain from smiling at his child-like manner.

"Yes," you lie before standing back up and putting more books on the shelves. Dongshin is quiet and starts shelving the lower books for you.

You bite your lower lip to stop it from trembling and wipe your eyes to rid it of any dampness before Dongshin starts to ask of you’re crying because if he does, you won’t be able to stop yourself.

-

-

Kibum’s in optometry school so that means he’s also studying for finals, which is why he hasn’t come by for Starbucks like usual and your co-barista asks where your boyfriend is.

You swat her arm and return to making a pumpkin spice latte and reject the fact that you have a boyfriend because you don’t.

At this rate, you probably won’t either.

-

-

“Can you come by the office with my usual order?”

The text message reads and you sigh before making a detour to Starbucks and get the grande vanilla frappucino and make your way to the office.

Of course, that text was about an hour ago, so when you walk into his clinic and past the receptionist with a smile directed to her and up to his office door, you knock three times before entering. Kibum has a girl latched onto him, more like the nurse that did your preliminary eye exam the day you first met Kibum, kissing him like no tomorrow and when you find it extremely difficult to breathe and your heart breaking as if somebody has stomped on it with absolute brute force, you know that you can’t deny your feelings for him tomorrow.

You swallow with difficulty and clear your throat, causing the two of them to jump apart and the nurse fixes her skirt in embarrassment. But Kibum takes her hand with the happiest expression you’ve ever seen on him, except his eye aren’t sparkling with its usual glint, and introduces her.

"This is my girlfriend," he states, as if the make out you just witnessed wasn’t enough evidence. You nod and slightly how in her direction before putting his drink in his hands and spinning on your heel to quickly leave the suffocating air.

Even when you’re outside, everything’s still suffocating and you quickly drive to the library, already thirty minutes late for your shift.

Dongshin sees you hurriedly walking into the back and skips up to you to give you a hug. You weakly hug him back, compared to your firmer hugs, and when he pulls back to look in your eyes, he asks, “Noona, are you going to cry?”

You plop down in the beanbag chair he was occupying earlier with him in your lap, facing you, and nod before the dam breaks and your arms grip Dongshin tightly to you, his small arms trying to hug you back with just as much force with his minuscule strength and telling you it’s going to be okay in your right ear, causing you to shake even more and tremble because its not going to be okay. Not for a very long time.

-

-

In the past times when Kibum went to the library, he got on good terms with Dongshin, so after finals were over, he came to visit again.

Dongshin, being a little too smart for his age, eventually got you to tell him that Kibum made you sad and cry and now ignores Kibum when he comes to visit, blatantly ignoring his eyes and open arms for a hug.

Except for that one time he went up to Kibum, who thought he was finally getting his hug, and ended up strongly punching the latter in the non-existant stomach.

Kibum’s perched against the counter with his chin in his hand, tapping his fingers in the area between his nose and top lip in contemplation. “I still don’t know why Donggie punched me.”

You shrug defiantly, something you learned from him.

"Are you mute?"

You shake your head.

"You’re mute."

"Shut up."

"And she speaks!" He exclaims loudly and ignores the disapproving stares. Dongshin sticks his head out behind the counter and frowns at him before ducking back down. He tugs on your pant leg and you tilt your head down to see what’s wrong, but Dongshin is making gestures for you to bend down and listen to what he has to say. He whispers dramatically, "Can I tell him that I’m mad at him because he made you sad?"

You frantically wave your hands to strongly signal, “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” and gently lay a finger to his lips. “You cannot tell anyone, understand?” You quietly breathe to him. He nods. “Pinky promise?” He sticks out his pinky for yours and you cross your right pinky with his right pinky to seal the deal.

Then, you proceed to hop back up and return to the world above the countertop and return bin.

Kibum is giving you his raised eyebrow and you turn your back on him to place the DVDs back to where they belong: an alphabetized drawer containing all the discs.

-

-

Ramen is a gift sent from above.

Ramen. Is. Amazing.

Just as you’re about to enjoy said ramen, literally right in front of your mouth, your phone rings and you groan, nearly slamming down the spicy goodness onto the table to fish your phone out of your pocket.

Kim Kibum

You slide the answer button across the screen and activate the speakerphone option before placing it on the table and picking up your bowl of steaming ramen.

"Hello?"

"I’m outside your door."

Click.

You cross the room to the door with the ramen bowl in one hand and open the door with the other to reveal an extremely red-eyed eyeliner-less Kim Kibum. He sniffs pitifully and hiccups, “C-can I come I-in?”

You step back to let him in and close the door behind him and join him on the couch. Kibum’s eyes stare at your ramen as a notion to either say he’s hungry or you shouldn’t be eating such unhealthy food, but you give the bow to him and tap his chin two times and tell him to dig in. The chopsticks are in the bowl, too, and first you think he’s going to stare at it forever but then he digs in like he hasn’t eaten for days.

You go into your kitchen and make yourself another bowl, rejoining Kibum who’s drinking the spicy soup so it’s easier to fish the small noodles from the bottom of the bowl. Your bowl is half-empty when he completely finishes his, soup and all, and stops hiccuping, probably preparing himself as to why he was crying in the first place.

"I thought she was the one, you know," he says under his breath. You don’t need to say anything; he’ll continue.

"She was pretty and smart and it wasn’t that wrong that she was a nurse at the center, but I loved her personality, too. She kept me happy, kept me afloat whenever times were hard."

Haven’t I done the same for you?

"But then she broke it off, saying that it was a bucket list thing. Date your boss," he scoffs sardonically. As his best friend, you’ll fall with him.

"Can I stay tonight?" His eyes are puffy and swollen when he looks up at you and it makes you want to break, too, because this is your best friend and love. By this time, you’re done with the ramen.

"You can take the bed. You know where the spare toothbrushes and towels are and extra blankets if you need it." You take both of your empty bowls and carry it to the sink, but not before there’s a slight resistant pulling at your shirt. Your head turns and eyes take in how broken and vulnerable Kibum looks now and you nod because he doesn’t need to say anything to express his gratitude.

Kibum makes you sleep with him with your back to his chest and his arm around your waist. It’s impossible to fall asleep with your heart racing as fast as it is and when your ears take in his even breathing, you slip out and grab an extra blanket from the linen closet before falling asleep on the couch.

-

-

Morning strikes through the window, quite literally, and blinds you when your eye peeks open, causing you to groan and sit up before trying to calm your hair. Last night’s events hit you like a brick wall and you scramble off the couch to go and make breakfast because Kibum’s still here, if the presence of his shoes next to yours says anything.

But you’re on a mission, so you scribble a quick letter on the notepad on the counter and rush out the door and lock it behind you with a waffle in between your teeth.

-

The receptionist seems a little frightened by your strong gait and force by slamming the door open, making the handle hit the window pane, possibly cracking it, but you smile and reassure her that it’s not her you’re mad at. “Ah, he told you, didn’t he?” She frowns. “That girl,” she sneers, “is in the back. You can find her. Can I come though? I want to witness this.”

You grin brightly in a sadistic manner and enter the back room with her following you like a loyal dog.

Ah, there’s your victim.

"Hey," you greet, leaning your left shoulder against the wall.

The nurse turns around and smiles at you.

"Hello. You’re the one that brought the frappucino a few weeks ago, right?"

"There’s no other."

There’s a bit of silence before you cut to the chase.

"You’re a , you know that?" You casually comment.

"Excuse me?" She asks in a snappy attitude.

"He really loved you. He really did. But instead," your voice starts to rise and you can’t lean against the wall without being taken seriously, "You think it’s a good idea to go mess with your boss because it’s on your ing bucket list?! Is that fun to you, to go stomp on a person’s heart that was given to you?! You’re nothing but a !” You scream, completely immersed in your fury.

"Why does it matter to you?!"

"Because Kibum is my best friend!" You holler. "Nobody, no or bastard, treats my best friend like that!"

She stands with her hips cocked to the side, both hands on it, and pointedly glares at you.

"Are you jealous that I had a chance with him and you didn’t?"

You scoff.

"You can’t seriously go to such lengths for a best friend."

"Yes, I can," you retaliate. "Because not only is he my best friend,"

Why are tears coming?

"I love him."

Your tears have come into full swing now and you don’t bother to wipe them from staining your cheeks, ignoring the tissue that’s being handed to you by the receptionist. All the other workers came out the minute the nurse asked if you really called her a and they gaze at the scene.

"Did you know," you start brokenly, "that he came to my apartment last night because he was so broken? Did you know that his favorite relative is his grandmother? Did you know that he would talk about all the time? Did you know that he has mannequins in his apartment and does fashion in his spare time in the wee hours of the night?" You sniff unattractively, almost like a snort with all the snot in your nose.

"Do you know how hard it is to keep my feelings in? To restrain myself from breaking and telling him? To not crumble whenever he talks about you because he’s so damn happy? To give him a fake smile because I’m happy for him but I’m sobbing on the inside?"

You punch the wall with the side of your fist and scream in frustration.

"You don’t know how hard it is, especially when I’ve never been in love before! You don’t know how hard it is to pretend that everything’s okay! Every day, every minute that I’m with him, I have to put a wall around my true feelings. I’m happy to hang out with him. I’m happy to be his best friend. But it hurts, knowing that his heart belongs to someone else; to you!"

Your shoulders heave and you shake your head.

"He has such a beautiful heart. At first, he’s rude and brash, but if he likes you and you get to know him, he’s sweet, lost, and clueless at times, like a child forced into adulthood too early. Everything about him is beautiful. You could’ve taken him and make both of yourselves happy. But you made yourself happy and ruined him. And that is why you’re a ."

You thought you would at least dramatically turn and leave with the tissue being offered, but the receptionist isn’t there. Instead, she’s trying to stop a flabbergasted Kibum from getting any closer to you.

His eyes are glued to yours and your heart stops because everything is ruined if he just heard everything: your pain, your false smiles, your love for him, your thoughts.

You take the other way out of the back room and make a dash for your car because Kibum is struggling against the receptionist because he’s torn between pushing her down unmorally and chasing after you or trying to get through in a polite yet hurried manner. Even through the carved glass, you can see Kibum fighting between his choices right before your car zooms out of the parking lot and to wherever your ride might take you.

-

-

Hey, I’m not here right now so leave a message.

-

-

"You skipped class?!" The same friends shrieks into the the speaker and you have to hold the phone away from your ear to save your hearing.

-

-

Suitcases and clothes are strewn everywhere, a backpack looking lost and broken and everything in the apartment looks just about like hell. It’s been a week since that incident and you’ve successfully avoided Kibum for the past week because of your leave from the two jobs.

"Hey, do you have those notes?" You speak into the phone to your friend. Your phone beeps a low tone, signaling that a call is coming in and you don’t have to look because it’s Kibum. He’s been calling and texting you constantly whenever he doesn’t have an appointment to fulfill and your phone is about to die.

"Yes, please send me a copy of the notes. I can catch up." She hangs up and you throw your phone onto the other end of your bed, groaning and burying your head into the feather mound before screaming into it out of stress.

You’re glad you didn’t decide to give Kibum a spare key. Really glad.

For once, you made the right decision. Not only that, you’re glad you never told him that you are leaving for Italy tomorrow for a research program.

-

Someone is breathing on your face.

"Oh my god!"

Kibum sits upright in the chair that’s supposed to go in front of your desk. His hand is holding yours and instinctively holds it tighter to prevent you from possibly escaping.

"Stop—fighting!" He struggles, squeezing your hand too tightly. In the end, he grabs your wrists and pins them to the pillow and you to the bed with his body. You’re suddenly out of breath and strength and avoiding his piercing gaze.

"Look at me," he growls. You screw your eyes shut in fear, fighting once again.

"Open your eyes, _______-ah," he demands a little more gently. You sneak one eye open and look at him.

"Please, with both eyes," he pleads.

When have you ever been able to not give in?

"Listen carefully. You have to be truthful with me, okay?" You nod.

"Good, now why did Dongshin punch me that day?"

Your teeth sink into your lower lip. You can’t say why. You can’t you can’t you just can’t—

”_______,” he scowls.

"Because you made me sad and he’s been mad at you since."

You wish you could escape right now. Is this how he’s going to get all your answers from you?

"Do you like me?"

"As a best friend—"

"I mean more than a best friend."

"Well, like a brother—"

"More than a brother."

Pause.

"Yes," you breathe under your breath. You can’t do this.

"Was everything you said at the clinic true?" You nod and avert your gaze to the plain ivory walls of your bedroom. He doesn’t speak for a long time and you understand; you get it.

"I know you don’t feel the same way. It’s okay. It was destined like that and I’m sorry that you had to be burdened with my feelings. I… I think it’s better if we stop being friends. It’ll be awkward for you."

"Listen."

He opens his mouth and closes it before opening it again.

"You cannot run because I can find you. And I will."

"I need to get up. I’m going to be late for class."

He complies and leaves after giving your kiss on the cheek. “I’m coming back tonight at seven.” You’ll be gone by then.

The door shuts and you let out a held breath and ignore the guilt that claws at your heart and brain. You can’t bring yourself to tell him. Your mind is in a daze when the apartment looks emptier after you pack and you shove the other cellphone into your pocket to let it serve its use. Italy is starting to get warm around this time of year, hence the light spring and summer clothing in your suitcase.

Security is seemingly quicker than the last time you went through and you have about ten minutes to kill before they start calling to start boarding the plane. There’s no dramatic movie scene or loud departures, just buzzes and muffled roars of planes arriving and departing and you’re glad there’s no commotion. It’s a difficult position to sit on the plane to Italy. You’ll miss Seoul very much, but the exchange program called for intern researchers through a world-wide screening and you applied, ending up as one of the few selected.

You don’t know how long it will be. It could be weeks, months, maybe years. And in that time, maybe Kibum will forget you existed and move on to find someone better than you.

Maybe Kibum will start flying again.