deshita | y.ji

nine.

Jeongin's room was as empty as he has never seen it before. His parents moved into the apartment way before he was born, and his bedroom had always been occupied for other purposes before he was able to sleep by himself. It has never been vacant; the clear sight of those painted walls was unfamiliar to him.

He rubbed the tip of his nose after he cleared out all the comic books on his bookshelves. Stacking them on his hands, being extra careful not to trip and drop the books, moving over to one of the many open boxes in his room and dropping them no-so-carefully inside anyway. He had a mouthful—and an eyeful—of dust by the time he was done sealing the boxes with tape and labeling them with a marker that barely has any ink left.

"What else... what else... what else..." He mumbled to himself after he pushed the filled boxes to the side of his bedroom door.

There were still a few opened boxes left. His parents had left them there for him, a confrontational reminder to pack his things before they rummage through his room to do it for him. They also made sure that he knew he has to categorize everything in his room into boxes, meaning clothes belong together in one box while books belong together in another box. No dilly-dallying and definitely no disorganization!

Flicking his index finger toward the direction of the closet and the bookshelves, he looked around his room before he snapped his fingers. He almost forgot about the extra mattresses and blankets that have been sitting on the closet floor since Christmas week ended. The one exception he pulled those heavy things out and laid them on the floor was a few days ago when you came to stay the night.

You. Right.

He shook his thoughts away; if he didn't, his mind would linger back to yesterday evening when you kissed him at the front door, and he made the reckless choice to kiss you back. He has thought about it enough last night, shifting and turning on his bed and failing to bid his new friend insomnia goodbye. He need not go through the self-inflicted embarrassment again.

Rushing to his closet, he bent down and hastily picked up the extra fluffy blankets from on top of the mattresses. The window light shot a beam into the dark corner of his closet and he was able to finally catch sight of a heart-shaped present box after he got the blankets out of the way. He paused quickly, eyes narrowing in question, then he huffed as recognition hit him that the box contained all the birthday cards you drew him.

His heart tightened with the coming of the dilemma of whether he should pick it up. If he picked the box up and read it, he would be reminded of you. Heck, he was already thinking about you anyway, now that his eyes were set on the box. It was more of a dilemma of whether he wanted to spend his time letting you linger in him or not, and often he would mindlessly choose yes. But this wasn't oftentimes, this was the time after you kissed him and he kissed you back.

Jeongin took a deep breath. The feeling of your lips stained him like light flashes and he kept trying to grab onto it, not wanting it to fade away. Whether he liked it or not, whether it was sane or not, he was more whipped for you than ever after the mistake.

Dropping the blankets on the ground, he stretched his torso over to grab the box. Lazily roaming in his room, he threw the lid off to the side and shuffled with the cards inside. They were mostly wrinkled because he used to shove all the birthday cards inside just for them to fit. Even if he hadn't, though, your drawings and handwriting were so bad they looked wrinkled without his maltreatment of the cards anyway.

He nitpicked the ones he wanted to read; it seemed like he could recite verbatim what you wrote in each of them. Breathy chuckles left his lips at your silliness, and adoration filled his eyes at the antics of your younger self. There was still, and always, tenderness in his heart for the youth you two shared. These birthday cards you gifted him were physical proof of your childhood memories. The good ones, the precious ones, the ones he loved you through despite not being sure what love even is.