His name was Kim Taeyeon.

And he was looking at me with serious eyes, his gaze sharp, almost piercing in its intensity.

I didn’t know what to say.

The situation was too tense, too solemn, for me to say anything to him.

Even if I did, it would’ve been inappropriate. He was baring his soul to me. Telling me things that I shouldn't have been told. I couldn’t do the same for him. It was too hard for me; I could come up with a million excuses as to why I couldn't say anything about myself to him.

But in the end, my excuses wouldn't have mattered; I couldn't bare my own soul to him.

The moment passed.

"Everyone’s been a disappointment to me." He finally murmured into the broken silence. His voice – normally a deep, mellow sound; almost as dulcet as cappuccino – was resigned, cracked as if his spirit was broken.

Thanks to me.

He raised his hand to his lips and took a long drag on the cigarette clasped between his fingers, black eyes glinting in the pale sunlight when he looked out of the window.

He was thinking to himself, and I suddenly felt so very awkward, so very unsure of myself, and so very confused as to how to act around him.

Taeyeon was a private man.

He'd broken his silent rule by telling me his every secret. I'd disappointed him by rejecting them.

But he was a walking contradiction.

Everything I knew about him was based upon lies, one after the other. He said he hated the sunlight, yet was tanned as if he spent hours labouring beneath the sun’s touch. He said he was poor, yet wore a diamond-studded necklace around his wrist wrapped around numerous times so that it wouldn’t fall off. He loved to eat seafood, yet hated fish. He had family at home—wherever that was—yet never talked about them, as if they were gone.

I wanted to know more about him, already did know everything about him but it just didn't seem enough, yet the glint in his eye, the feverish light that sparked within those onyx orbs, scared me.

He was not a man that would stop at your behest.

He had his own agenda, and I had suspicions that he would never let anyone stop him. He could happily pretend to go along with you, only to end up stabbing you in the back in order for his dreams to survive.

I could only imagine what he was thinking, and what he dreamt of.

“I… I’m sorry.” I stammered finally, knowing that he had been referring to me, even if only partially, when he’d mentioned his disappointment.

A sardonic smile appeared on his face.

“Don’t be. You aren’t the one who ended up leaving his family for nothing more than a fantasy.”

He threw his cigarette onto the ground.

I couldn’t even be