The Flowers He Gave Me |Kim Namjoon|

09. traitor

– traitor –

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D SET FOOT here again. But here I am, at the Magnifica, my guitar in my hand, for one last time.

     For two whole weeks has the instrument remained lonely in the corner of my bedroom, bound to be there until I had the strength to pick it up once again. I can proudly say that I did it. And in memory of my best friend, Kim Binna, I'm going to play tonight, on our stage.

     I take a deep breath before entering the building. There are people, certainly. Strangely enough, that's not my biggest worry at the moment. My mind can't get off from the fact Binna's not going to be there, dancing for everyone to see.

     I attempt to shake the thought off. It has to go. Then, I move myself inside, between the crowd of dancing bodies. A massive warmth falls upon me, a huge difference from the hard rain just outside. My lungs begin having trouble getting enough oxygen inside of them. My body reacts to the sweat on others' skin. I feel the many people their presence.

     It's going to be all right.

     Now that I still can, I imagine Binna whispering those words in my ear, like she would do before. I fear that, with time, my weak human brain will forget the beautifulness of her soft, unique voice. That I'll forget all details of her that only I know.

     Stop, I order myself mentally. I can play a few songs. I can make sure these people enjoy their evening. So, smile. I force the corners of my mouth up, make myself look as decent as possible in a bar.

     I continue worming myself through the bodies. Right on time do I arrive at the side of the podium. Now with a true smile on my lips, I place my guitar case on the ground.

     A familiar voice's audible, though it isn't where I'd expect it.

     Namjoon–I haven't heard his voice in quite a while. Actually, I've only received several texts. He couldn't–or wouldn't–call. I've gotten over the disappointment, I think. Yes, I truly hoped he'd be someone I could go to when times got this tough, but I found myself not ready enough to tell him about recent events. I did not have the heart to tell him about the close future, either.

     But his voice–now that I hear it–it's not next to me. He didn't approach me to wish me luck.

     He isn't here for me.

     Instead, his voice is audible through the microphone. My head instantly turns so I can lay eyes on him. On the stage. He is right there–on my spot. The place where Binna and I should stand. The smile that occupied my lips falters. The melodies in the background that Namjoon's voice is leading fades away into nothingness when I realize what has been going on.

     For only two weeks have I been unable to perform. That was all it took for the competition to take my earned spot. My place. Binna's and mine–our stage. He's taken our stage just like that.

     And I let it happen. I let him in, welcomed him to the art of music. I showed him a path that lead to... this. To him taking what's Binna's and mine.

     Angrily, I grit my teeth, pull my guitar case over my shoulder. He took his chance–his shot at this bit of fame. He took what isn't his. He–

     Namjoon notices me practically storming through the dancing crowd. He realizes his exact actions then, too. His dimples make a sudden disappearance. His fingers uncurl from the microphone stand. Around me, I notice the people murmuring, wondering why the singer suddenly stopped.

     I continue getting out of this place.

     When my cheeks are already red from pure anger and betrayal, I'm already outside, in the rainfall, breathing in the fresh air. I need it to calm down, though it's not doing its best job. I feel myself on point of exploding–it's all so, so unbelievable.