✔︎𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 || 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧

3. Art class

"You look a little sad," said a voice in front of me.

I stopped walking, my eyes still fixed on the ground as I processed the distant words that had just reached me.

I knew that voice all too well.

I pulled out my earphones and slowly looked up, only to find myself face to face with Yang Jeongin. My smiley friend was bending over, staring right into my soul, patiently waiting for my answer.

I met his dark eyes, unable to resist. I had always thought Jeongin was quite attractive—his eyes, his nose, his lips, his features. Everything about him used to make me weak. It was no wonder I felt butterflies in my stomach every time my eyes traveled from his gorgeous hair down to his chin.

I remember when I first realized it. We were in eighth grade, doing our homework together. I hated math more than anything, and that's why I felt my body tense and my brain ache as I realized I couldn't solve the problem in front of me.

I remember moving my eyes from my messy notebook to Jeongin's face, ready to tell him I was going to give up. But the words never came out. I was mesmerized by his focused expression, completely absorbed in his thoughts. I watched how his eyes moved across the page, how he bit his lip, and how he tilted his head while trying to remember the solution.

Then, his eyes met mine. That was the first time Yang Jeongin made me blush.

I missed those days.

"It's not sadness," I said as I walked past him, once again locking my eyes on the ground.

"Then what is it?" he asked, following behind me.

I hesitated. "I think it's... nostalgia."

He tilted his head. "And why's that?"

I shrugged.

He chuckled. "Sounds like someone misses Busan."

Wow. I really was an open book to him, wasn't I? No surprise there; he knew me too well.

"You got it."

"Do you miss them?" His voice slowly became quieter and more distant.

I stopped walking. Memories flooded my mind, and a feeling of emptiness washed over me. My mouth went dry, and I clenched my fists. I didn't like talking about it, but I couldn't keep running from it.

"Just like air," I whispered.

Jeongin nodded calmly "Why did you do that to them, then?"

I stayed silent. I used to ask myself that question every day, and yet I still didn't know why I did what I did. Maybe there was something wrong with me.

"I guess I was just tired of being hurt," I said.

But who knows if that was the real truth.

Jeongin nodded again. I wondered if he truly believed my words, or if deep down, he knew that even I didn't have the answer.

"Let's go, then," he said, starting to walk again.

I hesitated for a moment before following him, keeping two steps behind.

My eyes wandered to his hand—pale, soft, the same hand I used to hold when I was scared or sad. I wanted to reach for it, to hold it until I got home. That would have been enough for me.

But I didn't take it. I didn't even try.

Because I knew he wouldn't hold mine.

"Y/n?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you should really try to move on".

__☕︎__