In which Achlys, always one for overthinking, realises her mistake while Junhui isn't prepared.
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August 18, 2019
AUGUST ROLLED OVER and yawned.
The month woke slowly, that year, from his long lethargy, stretching like a cat cocooned in fresh linen and newly cut grass. Still, the month's eyes were swollen and tired. It passed slowly, it's days; they fell with meagre precision, slowly, elongating with time and morphing into new shapes. Their resemblance laid in the fact they were all completely different from each other. The note from July in the nightstand — make her grow — was a constant reminder to do this, to make each day a pyrrhic fight towards growth.
That day, weeks after her conversation with Junhui, the battle was to hate herself for leaving — why couldn't she be the kind of person that stays?
She could even compromise not being the person that stays; she would've wanted to be the person that can hold to their principles and decisions no matter what.
The only thing that she had done since leaving Junhui alone in the balcony that night was wonder whether she had taken the right decision (again, the tangible against the intangible). She wanted to think that she did — she had tried to ensure that their (here, 'their' stands for the whole of the group) career as idols wouldn't be affected, along with their image, by infatuation.
Infatuation of all things, which her father had advised her so vehemently against having! She had been taught that it was infatuation that ruined purity; aren't sins results of it? Infatuation was a temptation towards acceptance and resignation, not growth. There isn't any proof in infatuation, no tangible endurance, no security. In infatuation there was only a feeling (intangible, perhaps passing, subjective), and she had swore to pursue the opposite.
And, it wasn't only them in the line, but the other Seventeen members, their staff and, quite literally, the integrity of the company. The decision didn't only affect the both of them (by far too many as it was), and Achlys could only repeat to herself that, in sacrificing that feeling, she had secured many other things. Admittedly, the justification rang hollow in her mind.
Still, pursuing the tangible or not, and protecting others or not, she had been terribly selfish — it was fine if she was the one hurt, ultimately she was a side-causality, but it was Junhui whom she had hurt. She wanted anything but to hurt him, but there she was, reflecting on how she did it.
What she had really intended to say that day had been left unsaid.
How weak, August bellowed in her ear. The days that August were all like that: the air was thin and sharp, with something sad, nostalgic and disappointing in it. Disappointing, like the gaze of July upon her form, knowing fairly well her promises had once again been proved shallow.
She stared at the door of the room, waiting for an epiphany (or better, for Junhui), with the knowledge that it should remain closed (it was vengeful August punishing the lack of growth) and that it would remain closed (Junhui was too loyal to go against what she had attempted to portray as her wishes, despite his own), but still wanted to find the best way to pick the lock.
It was when she started chanting that everything ends, everything ends, everything ends in her head, like a mantra, a chant, a promise, that she realised she had taken the wrong decision.
But, it had been done — Junhui had already been hurt, and nothing would bring back the days of looking at each other with regret.
At least, Junhui had prepared himself.
Even if he hadn't planned to finally fathom hinting at his feelings, he had prepared himself for Achlys to walk away. He had prepared himself for her to leave. He had prepared himself for heartbreak. He had prepared himself for what it would feel like seeing pity in her eyes, knowing he had fallen. He had prepared himself for being ashamed. He had prepared himself for the feeling of watching her be with someone else. He had prepared himself to fake a smile when anyone asked him how he was doing. He had prepared himself to pick up the pieces of his broken heart to fix them alone. He had prepared himself, to exhaustion, to a fault, vehemently, without shame, behind close doors, consistently.
But, he hadn't prepared himself to know she felt like he did, that his feelings were returned, and it was instead something out of his power that held her back. He hadn't prepared himself for the frustration, the desperation, of knowing his preparation hadn't accounted for something else to burden him. He had prepared himself tirelessly, yet, there he was, curled up on his bed, wondering what else he could have done.
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