The Flowers He Gave Me |Kim Namjoon|

06. crashing down

– crashing down –

I'VE NEVER FELT AS COMFORTABLE  in my clothes as I do now. My dark jeans fit well as I turn before my mirror, taking note of which top fits my upper half best.

For hours have I been yearning to take my reserved spot on the podium. My fingers tingle, as do my legs. Even my guitar's been polished extra well. It shines notably, and I will too when I hold it on the stage.

Mom strokes the back of my head caringly, her eyes sparkling as she looks down at me. There's a proud smile brightening up the dimness of the lights in my bedroom. "You look incredibly beautiful, sweetheart," she tells me. I feel my own lips curling up. A grin comes upon my face.

I even feel beautiful. What's gotten into my head?

"I've noticed you look happier to leave the house," Mom remarks. "What's that about?"

The skating ring. The visit to the library. Spending hours next to the fountain. I realize I've asked myself the wrong question. It was never 'What has gotten in my head?'. It was: 'Who's gotten into my head?'.

Kim Namjoon's the only reason. Even tonight, he's the only one I truly want to play for.

"I have no idea," I mumble shyly, my irises right upon the guitar. A chuckle sounds behind me, and I already know my mother sees right through my lie, even without showing my facial expressions. She knows me better than anyone.

"Fine." I sigh before turning to face her. She's watching me with wide eyes, and a joyous grin is spread on her face. "He's... kind. He understands me." He makes me forget.

Maybe he's the best one I could ever find.

"And you're friends, or...." She trails off slowly, awaiting an immediate response.

I give her one. "Friends."

She cocks her head the side, watching my closeness to the mirror. She purses her lips. "You pose for the mirror like that for a friend?"

My shoulders remain straight, but I do take a step away closer to the other side of my small bedroom. "Regardless of him being a friend, I like to dress myself up."

Now, Mom does let out a loud snort. Her eyebrows rise as she says, "Jup, your closet mainly exists out of thick sweaters. You've never stood this long doubting what to wear."

"He's someone I like the company of." I shrug my shoulders. Debating with such a woman is simply impossible. "That's all."

I'm surprised when she goes to squeal in the most dramatic way. My eyes widen. "I do get a name, right?"

An awkward cough escapes my dry throat.

"Right?" she presses almost instantly.

The ringtone of my phone saves me from answering. I reach for it, and in response, my mother groans out loud. Even though I fully ignore the childlike sound, I know her personality is the only part of her that remains intact after many years of a rocky marriage.

A name comes onto my screen. Reading it transforms my face entirely. "Binna?" I respond to the call with a wide smile. "Are you already waiting for me outside?" Clumsily, I reach for a pair of sneakers underneath my bed that my mom's currently sitting on.

"About that." I hear a deep sigh on the other side of the call.

"Is something wrong?" I've frozen already and am desperately hoping Binna's going to prove my predictions wrong.