Ace sits in one of the booths, nursing a half full pint of bitter. It's his fourth this night and he knows he should stop, but he just can't draw the strength to leave and go scuttling back to his apartment where his two guests, Sarah and Matthew, await him.

 

It's Naomi and the young man perched upon one of the few overstuffed bar stools that have kept him here.

 

Jealousy is a rare emotion for him, as he's always gotten whatever he wanted, whether it be through the vast funds his family have, or the intelligence he'd just been gifted with. But it's this: Naomi laughing over this guy's crummy jokes, that has unexpectedly brought the upwelling of this emotion.

 

The young man tells another joke, and Naomi lets out another bark of laughter. Ace grits his teeth, waiting for the guy to just slip up and issue some inappropriate remark that will give him the excuse to personally chuck him out.

 

Downing the remnant of his pint in one, he gets up, and goes to ask for another.

 

And slamming his empty glass beside the young man, Ace asks, without even meeting Naomi's eyes, "Can I have another?"

 

When he fails to hear her reply, or see a newly pulled pint in front of him, he casts his gaze upward. And when Naomi's dark, accusing eyes meet his, they leave a stab of guilt. But instead of relenting and walking away like he knows he should, he persists, throwing the money on to the bar. He demands, "Another pint, please."

 

"No," Naomi says, her voice quiet, and just barely audible over the loud chitter chatter of customers.

 

"What?" he asks, frowning.

 

"No," she repeats, her expression blank. "I'm not serving you another. Go home."

 

Ace lets out a strangled laugh, barely believing what he's hearing. How can she refuse to serve him? It's partly her fault, after all, that he's been stuck in such a rut lately. Her rejection is still fresh in his mind: the wound her words had inflicted so deep that waves of dejection would still wash over him whenever his eyes would meet hers. The fact that she always finds excuses to extricate herself from his presence just intensified those feelings, also.

 

"Why?" he asks. "I've got more than enough money." Or had, he remembers, thinking of the inheritance he'd lost because of the dispute he'd had with his father over Sarah.

 

"You've had enough," Naomi states.

 

Shaking his head, Ace pushes the money forward once again.

 

He's now captured the attention of the young man, however, who shifts on his stool to fix Ace with a futile glare.

 

"She said no, mate," the young man growls, rolling up the sleeves of his black shirt.

 

"I'm not your mate," Ace spits out, taking a threatening step towards him.

 

"Ace," Naomi cries out, alarmed. "Don't."

 

But he's not listening, his attention solely focused on the opposition, who slicks back his blond hair, and stands up. He takes a step towards Ace, measuring about an inch or so taller, and snarls, "Walk away, mate."

 

Ace juts out his chin, his fists clenched.

 

"Do as he says, Ace," Naomi encourages, walking around to the other side of the bar, beside him. "Please."

 

Her feeble request causes him to start, sending a bolt of realization to jolt him back to sobriety. What the hell am I doing? he thinks.

 

Stumbling back, forgetting the money left on the bar, he staggers out of the pub.

 

"Wait," a voice calls.

 

But he doesn't.

 

"Just stop," the voice demands, once again. And he does, but not out of choice, as Naomi has clamped a firm hand on his shoulder, grabbing his arm in the process, also, and holding it prisoner.

 

"Let me call you a taxi," she insists.

 

Ace turns round slowly, yanking his arm from out of her grip. "No, it's fine." He runs a hand through his hair, tired: of the feelings he has whenever she's near; of feeling like such a failure.

 

He's never felt more ashamed of himself before.

 

"Just go," he continues, and laughs, bitter. "Your boyfriend will be wondering where you are."

 

"Boyfriend?" she exclaims.

 

When he fails to add any more, she continues, "You thought that I was with him."

 

He grits his teeth, berating himself for the accusation. "You guys looked close," he explains.

 

Naomi folds her arms and fixes him with a hard look. "Like you and Sarah, you mean. Won't she be wondering where you are?"

 

Ace rolls his eyes, leaning his back against the wall, suddenly feeling a little dizzy. "She's not my mom."

 

"That's right," Naomi says. "So who is she, huh? An ex-girlfriend? Because that might make that little boy your kid, right?" She shakes her head. "She got knocked up quite young, didn't she? She can't be any older than…"

 

"Shut up!"

 

Ace had all but shouted at her, startling her, plunging them into an emotional sea of tension and angst.

 

He hangs his head low, his chin resting on his chest. He mumbles, "You don't know anything." He takes a deep breath. "I was going to tell you. I was going to tell you everything. But things just came up, and then…"

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Could you help Jiyong set up those music stands, Dara?" Daesung asked, frowning over his cello bow. "I've got problems with my bow. The little bugger won't tighten."

 

I wrung my hands together, looking around the hall for some other pressing matter that must be seen to. Streamers and tinsel were decked here and there, sporadically clad in Christmas decorations, too. A tree stood erect in the hall's corner, reaching the great height of seven foot. Colored lights revolved around it, with crackers snuggled deep within its branches.

 

And there looks to be nothing left to do. Damn.

 

"Jiyong won't bite," Daesung encouraged.

 

I'm still hesitant, however, and go to set up a stand as far from Jiyong as I can, without it being blatantly obvious that I'm treating him like the plague.

 

Unfortunately, the stand I'd picked is stiff and uncooperative. Damn. And it won't pull out or pull up. Double damn.

 

A large hand covered mine then, causing me to jump back, startled, into a firm chest.

 

"Just me," a deep voice said, his breath tickling my ear.

 

I ripped my hand out from under his, using my elbows to shove him back. "Get off," I demanded.

 

And he did, albeit with a few curse words that featured my name. "Only trying to help," Jiyong explained.

 

"I don't need your help."

 

"Yeah, you did," he disagreed. "You're supposed to twist it, not pull it. That's how these things get broken."

 

"Guys," Daesung shouted, "stop flirting. I'm trying to concentrate."

 

Rolling my eyes, I remarked, "Well, good luck with that, because the schools are beginning to enter the hall. And we're supposed to be playing in the next five minutes."

 

My eyes took in the students from both the middle school and high school: just like the sports field, both academies shared the same performance hall, which would supply us with a full house.

 

Nerves suddenly fluttered inside me as I realized just how many will soon be here to hear us play. But then my eyes noted the group of dancers hiding behind the curtain, and I remembered that we would not be the only anxious performers today: the Christmas concert contained numerous acts, and we were just one of the dozen that would be seen this afternoon.

 

"," Daesung mumbled, his cursing barely discernible above the cacophony of shouting teachers and rowdy students. "Could one of you get Bom and Seunghyun? They're still practicing in that spare classroom."

 

"I'll go," I volunteered, and quickly make my way to the door.

 

I'm in the hall when I heard the running footsteps behind me.

 

"I'll come with you," Jiyong said, adopting my slower pace once he's by my side. "I left the music in there, and that box is rather heavy to carry."

 

I grinded my teeth, biting back a cutting remark. "I'm sure I can manage on my own. I'm not weak."

 

He shrugged. "I know. But it's still heavy, and I am in charge of the music."

 

I rolled my eyes at the lame excuse and pick up my pace, increasing the length of my strides. "Go back and help Daesung," I shouted over my shoulder. "I don't need you."

 

And when the sound of Jiyong's footfalls halt behind me, I know I've won.

 

That is, until he said, "You can't keep avoiding me, Dara."

 

I shook my head, disagreeing and disbelieving, because I could.

 

And I would.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"What should you have told me, Ace?" Naomi asks.

 

She comes to rest against the wall beside him, gently touching his shoulder, trying to gain his attention.

 

He wipes a sweaty palm across his face, trying to pull the myriad of thoughts jumbling through his mind in to some order.

 

"Sarah's my younger sister," he explains, "and Matthew, her son, is my nephew."

 

He slides down the wall and crouches on the floor. "I saw her for the first time in five years just three weeks ago," he explains.

 

Naomi's breath hitches.

 

"I was still at Harvard when she got pregnant," he declares, resting his head on his elbows.

 

She slips down slowly beside him, and his head snaps to look at her, his eyes wide with panic. "You have to understand," he says, "Sarah was never the kind of girl to ever do that. She still isn't. It was a one night thing…"

 

"It's okay," Naomi assures, gently patting his hand. "She doesn't seem the type, anyway."

 

He nods, relaxing somewhat at her words.

 

"Sarah's intelligent," he continues. "She's brilliant, really, and would have surely excelled in anything she chose to pursue." He gives a bitter laugh. "And our father just loved her for that. He had her whole future planned out: what she would study and where she would study. He controlled everything about her life, much as he did for me, but just never to the Jaee extent. She was his protégé."

 

Ace tilts his head to the side, his eyes firmly fixed on her now, instead of the ground.

 

"Sarah and I had always been close, and I knew she hadn't always been happy with our father's strict regimes. She didn't really have any friends, beside me, I suppose. Because as I said, she was bright, so a lot of her peers saw her as some freaky-genius-type."

 

He closes his eyes, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. "When I moved out to go to college, we drifted apart. I just got too caught up in my own life, reveling in the freedom of being away from home." He purses his lips. "I was so selfish, because I just left her there, alone. I should have called home more; I should have done more. But I didn't, and she grew so unhappy. I never knew this until she told me three weeks ago, because like you, Naomi, she locks everything up, and tries to shut everyone out."

 

Naomi doesn't know how to respond to such a comment, so she doesn't, and just waits with abated breath for him to continue.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Our applause was loud, with several people whistling and standing up. I spotted Durami amongst the crowd, just beside the striking figure of Seungri. And standing on her seat, pointing over at me, she declared, "That's my sister, Dara, up there."

 

I felt my cheeks burning bright with embarrassment, and dangerously narrowed my eyes at her. She just winked in response.

 

As we file out of the hall, I noticed the small smile on Jiyong's lips. And I can't help the corners of my own mouth from turning upwards, because I know the cause for his buoyant mood. The audience had been going wild in response to his quintet arrangement of bands like Nickelback, Paramore, and Linkin Park. He'd believed those songs would be the most effective way of capturing our teenage audience, and he'd been right.

 

"Your arrangements were just brilliant, Jiyong," Bom told him.

 

He nodded, and issued a small smile in response.

 

"You rock, man," Daesung declared, clapping him on the back. "I wish you weren't leaving us, I really do. I just don't see why we can't add an extra player." He snapped his fingers, struck by an innovative idea, and beamed. "We could be a tet instead!"

 

Jiyong shook his head, however, and said, "Thanks, I really do appreciate your offer. But I have to put my college work first, and I've just gained a few more shifts at this restaurant I work at." He smiled. "The fuel for my new car is eating away at a large sum of my income, also, so I really need those shifts."

 

Daesung grinned. "So you finally got those wheels you've been pining after." He nodded approvingly. "Nice."

 

All my string buddies begin to pack away our instruments, while I methodically placed our sheet music back in their respective folders.

 

Seunghyun's the first to slot his violin and bow in place, and casted an apologetic look at us all, having noticed the message on his phone. "Would it be alright if I left you guys to finish the packing away? It's just my ride is already here, and they're kind of impatient to get out of here."

 

"No worries," Bom said, fastening the straps on her own case. "There's nothing left to do, is there?"

 

"Nope," Daesung responded, shifting his cello case on to his back. "I'm gonna head off now as well." He smiled broadly at Jiyong, and held out his hand, "It was nice playing with you, Jiyong. You're an amazing violinist, so don't be stranger to the music center, ok?" Their handshake developed into an awkward one-armed hug, in which I can tell Jiyong felt particularly awkward about. But Daesung's just too enthusiastic and will miss Jiyong, I'm sure, as they'd become particularly close.

 

Once disentangled from the embrace, another pair of arms immediately encircled Jiyong: Bom's. This time, however, the hug was more protracted. I frowned at this, the crease on my forehead becoming even more prominent when I realized she was whispering something in his ear. He showed no facial recognition to her words, save a quick nod of his head.

 

"Bye," Seunghyun said, as he walked out the door. "It was good playing with you, Jiyong," he called from over his shoulder, having neither one of them indulged the other in such a compassionate departure; they'd never particularly been 'best buddies'. "And have a good Christmas," he added.

 

That just left Jiyong and I, which I would have quickly remedied by bolting out the door, after the three, but was prevented from doing so by Jiyong's quick request, "I need your help. I need you to help me carry this box of music sheets to the car, please. I can't do it on my own with my violin in hand, as well."

 

Sighing loudly, just to let him know how agitated I am by this, I helped him heave the box off the table, with me supporting one end of the box, and him the other.

 

"How've you been?" he asked.

 

I frowned and opened the door, wondering whether I hadn't just imagined the quiet utterance. "What?"

 

"How are you?" he repeated, his eyes locking solely on mine. "Did everything work out with Jungmin? I've been trying to ask you that for the last four weeks, but you just keep avoiding me."

 

I shifted my gaze from his, grumbling, "And you wonder why."

 

He stopped moving suddenly, leaving us standing still in the hallway. Fixing him with a glare, intending to just drop the box and leave him to shift it on his own, I ordered, "Move."

 

"You haven't answered my question," he said coolly. "I'm waiting."

 

I gave a curt smile. "And why would you care, huh?"

 

"Because contrary to popular belief, Dara, I do have a heart. And I do care about people."

 

"Yeah," I agreed, struggling to keep my voice steady, "but just not about me."

 

He winced. "I never said that."

 

"You didn't have to. Actions tend to speak louder than words." My eyes caught his again, and for a moment, I worried he'd glimpsed the emotions I'd so desperately desired to conceal: heartache, despondency, and an overwhelming desire to just run.

 

He dropped his gaze. "You're not being fair."

 

"And neither were you," I shouted. I took a deep breath. "You need to stay away from me." I clenched the box tightly, mildly annoyed that I can't use my hands to wring out my nerves. "I don't know how to feel or act around you," I explained, "and it confuses the hell out of me."

 

He fixed his lips into a firm line, no doubt trying to contain himself. He dropped the box, causing me to jump back in surprise, and letting go of the box in the process. I erased every emotion then, erecting an impassive mask, and waited for him to snap.

 

"How can I 'stay away', Dara? We go to the same college!" He choked for a moment, running his hands furiously through his hair.

 

I've never seen him like this; so distraught and defeated. And yet it also illustrated how his words and actions confuse me, because they're just so conflicting and contradicting.

 

"What do you want from me?" I asked, taking a step towards him. I tilted my head upwards to look him squarely in the eyes.

 

He just shook his head dismissively, all previous anger erased in exchange for despair. "I don't know what to do anymore," he consoled.

 

Frowning, I folded my arms, waiting for him to elaborate.

 

He kept his gaze fixed to the ground, and agitatedly rubbed the back of his neck.

 

"I tried to do the right thing," he said. "But I'm not so sure it was now."

 

I took another step towards him, not following all this cryptic crap, and demanded he look at me.

 

"What the hell are you on about?" I asked.

 

He sighed. "I hurt you. And I'm sorry."

 

"So what do you want me to do about it?" I threw my arms up in the air, exasperated. "Tell you I forgive you and that we can go back to how things were? Because how exactly were things? Were we friends or archenemies?"

 

"Neither."

 

Oh, for GOD'S SAKE, Jiyong. Just cut all this elusive, secret .

 

I'm fuming now, with my hands curled into fists, shaking at my sides. I wanted to hit him, I wanted to cry, and I wanted him to leave me the hell alone.

 

He reached out to me with his outstretched hand. I jerked back, glaring. "Don't touch me," I snapped. And then I'm walking backwards, out the door, away from him.

 

"Just leave me alone, Jiyong."

 

 

 

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3 chapters left. T______T