✓ TOO REAL TO DENY | SUNGHOON

1 - Delusion At It's Finest

Y/N'S POV

I sit next to my roommate while fidgeting with my fingers and picking on my nails. The people sitting across from us stare at me as if I'm some kind of alien. I don't like this. I don't like how they make me even more self-conscious. My roommate, Sarah, nudges me gently and gives me an encouraging smile. "This is my roommate, Y/N. She's also my best friend." 

"Nice to meet you, Y/N." I hear them say but I'm too focused on the way I'm stressing right now. I've always hated social gatherings and having to talk to new people. My palms start to sweat, and I can feel my heartbeat quicken. I told her this was a bad idea, but I also wanted to make her a little happy and join her party. She's celebrating her new job offer, and I couldn't turn down the chance to support her. Yet, as the unfamiliar faces surround me, I can't shake the discomfort that clings to me like a second skin.

I force a small smile and try to engage in the conversation. "Nice to meet you all... too," I manage to say, my voice a bit shaky. The group seems friendly, and they continue chatting about various topics. I don't really join in, I simply listen. After all, I'm very good at listening. 

I tell myself the discomfort won't last too long and I'll just have to sit and smile for the next hour or two before I can go back to my room and curl on my bed and just breathe in solitude. 

The conversation swirls around me, a blend of laughter and snippets of different lives, but I struggle to find my place in it. I could never quite understand the ease with which others effortlessly talk to other new people and just, socialize with them. My mind yearns for the comfort of solitude, where the only conversations are the silent ones with the characters in the books lining my shelves.

"So, Y/N, what do you do?" The mention of my name makes me freeze and I don't dare raise my head to meet the curious gaze directed at me. What do I do? What am I supposed to say that would make me sound interesting or relatable? My mind races, searching for a response that won't make me feel even more exposed. It's a question I've been asked countless times before, yet the answer always feels like it's stuck somewhere between the words I can't quite express.

"I, uh, well, I'm an... intern at a tech company," I stammer, finally managing to lift my gaze but keeping it focused on the table in front of me. 

"Oh, that's awesome." Someone responds, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Which company?" 

I fidget with the edge of my sleeve, feeling a bead of sweat forming on my forehead. "It's, uh, it's a small startup," I reply, my words coming out in a rushed and uncertain manner. By now, I'm pretty sure they think I'm the most boring person in the room. I can almost hear the mental sighs as they exchange glances, and it only adds to my growing unease. 

"I see." One of them mutters but I don't look at him. I cannot do that much. All I can focus on is the pattern of the tablecloth beneath my fingers, tracing the threads as if they hold the secret to making this interaction less daunting.

My life had always been like this—living with the constant fear of socializing with people, humans like me, and the dread of not meeting some unspoken societal standard. I don't know how I managed to get the opportunity to be an intern at a tech startup. No, I know. I spent a whole week preparing for the interview, practicing responses to potential questions, rehearsing the firm handshake that would hopefully be enough to hide the tremble in my fingers.

"Would you like to come to an event this weekend? There's this party where people go as couples but I guess you don't have a boyfriend, right?" The words make me swallow a lump that forms in my throat and the same feeling of inadequacy washes over me. The assumption that not having a boyfriend somehow makes me less eligible or interesting stings and I have to take a deep breath to compose myself. Shit, now I'm getting angry and I'm not sure if it's at the assumption itself or at my own inability to be like the others. 

"I do have a boyfriend." The words slip out of my tongue before I can fully process them. These are the types of words that you'd spend the rest of your life regretting, but in this moment, it feels like a shield. A shield against the judgment and the assumptions, even if it's a lie. The group looks at me with surprise, and I can almost hear the mental gears turning as they try to reconcile this unexpected piece of information with the image they had formed of me in their minds.

Even Sarah looks at me like I've betrayed her with a secret she didn't know existed. I catch a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but then I look away. "How did you two meet?" Someone asks, and I find myself crafting details on the spot, constructing a person who exists only in this conversation. My fictional boyfriend is someone who loves reading like me. He's gentle, good with cats and kids, and we met at a quaint bookstore where we both reached for the last copy of a rare, out-of-print novel. He loves classics, especially 'Pride and Prejudice' and his eyes light up when he talks about me.  

"At a coffee shop," I keep the details to myself and give them a polite nod. The lie tastes bitter on my tongue, but it's the only way I can fit in and avoid the prying questions that threaten to expose my insecurities.

"That sounds nice. Well, you should come to the event along with him. Sarah will come too. I'll be looking forward to meeting this charming boyfriend of yours," one of the guests says with a smile and I offer a hesitant smile, all while thinking and over-thinking about how I'm going to find a boyfriend in three days. Or maybe make up another lie about how he unexpectedly had to cancel at the last minute.

When the gathering comes to an end and I'm left alone with Sarah, she folds her arms over her chest and raises her eyebrow. I know this look. She's about to ask me a thousand questions about the mysterious boyfriend I just invented on the spot. I take a deep breath, trying to steady the anxiety bubbling within me.

"Since when do you have a boyfriend? And why didn't you tell me?" Her question makes me force a laugh, the sound feeling hollow even to my own ears.

"I didn't really get to tell you about him." Another nervous chuckle escapes my lips as I start lying again. "It's all so new, you know? We met at a coffee shop, like, a few weeks ago. It's been... interesting."

"Really? A few weeks, and you never mentioned him?" I know what I'm doing is wrong and I would never pride myself on being a dishonest person, but the words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them. The imaginary boyfriend is starting to feel more real, and with each lie, and I'm starting to actually believe the fiction I'm creating. Delusion at its finest. 

I shrug, feigning nonchalance. "We wanted to keep it private, you know? Take things slow." I'm not sure if she's buying it, but I can see the curiosity in her eyes warring with her respect for my privacy.

"Well, I'm happy for you. But you better introduce him soon. I want to meet this guy who swept my best friend off her feet." 

"Of course, Sarah. Soon," I promise, a knot tightening in my stomach. I hate lying to her, but this is what I have to do for now. I'm not sure how I can find a boyfriend in three days when I can't even find the courage to be honest with my best friend. Maybe I can just pay a random guy to play the role for an evening, or maybe I can convince someone I know to pretend for a night. 

The thought of fabricating more details about this fictional boyfriend weighs on me, but for the sake of fitting in, I convince myself it's a small sacrifice.