Of Fake Smiles and Broken Hearts

seventeen

His steps are light as he walks out of his car, closing the door and locking the car momentarily before putting his keys back to his pocket. The neighborhood is quiet like the usual. Some people are jogging around the block, even throwing him a friendly wave that Kyungsoo barely had the time to return. It feels odd somehow. He feels as if he's a stranger walking inside someone else's house.

When he had asked Jongdae where Jongin was, the answer was something unexpected. Jongdae's eyes were conflicted as if he wasn't supposed to tell him. He had released a feeble sigh and ran his pale hand across the shaved sides of his head. It became a habit. "Jongin is where he usually is nowadays, standing by your porch, waiting for you to come home."

So, here he is, walking up to his house feeling like he isn't supposed to be there in the first place. Kyungsoo didn't even answer his calls since the accident, too busy thinking about the fact that Jongin didn't come to their date that night. It isn't the fact that he didn't come—or maybe it is. But more importantly, he shouldn't have made him feel like he had a chance. Maybe it would be better if he didn't. Maybe it would be better if it they get back to the usual drill because it hurts even more now.

It hurts a lot more than it used to.

Maybe the Krystal thing is bad. But this was even worse because Jongin made him think that he had a chance to make everything between them better. He made him feel the familiar fluttering in his chest, the lightheaded feeling that he gets when he's too close or when he flashes one of those smiles that could compete to how bright the sun shine. It hurts because he found himself falling even though it's impossible and wrong. It's wrong to think that way.

Maybe that was Kyungsoo's mistake—to think Jongin actually had feelings for him too.

He's walking faster, mind barely even registering that he's getting closer to the house. Kyungsoo opens the gate and his heart beats erratically when he sees two cars lined up in the driveway. He's familiar with the first one. It's Jongin's car. Kyungsoo focused on the sound of his foot walking down the pavement, not even bothering to look up as he passes by the small garden. He didn't even grow those flowers. Their parents hired a gardener who comes by every day to check on the plants and to mow the lawn. Maybe it was to make the house look like it was lived in. But Kyungsoo knows better.

There is a small round table with little white stools placed around it on their lawn underneath a tree. It's a typical style for a house in a fictional story where everything and everyone is perfect—except that Kyungsoo's story was far from it. Sometimes when things go well, he thinks that it's just temporarily. It's like Kyungsoo was chasing good luck all his life but whenever he thinks that he's close to getting it, it moves faster, further away from him and making things go from bad to worse. As he passes by it, he sees a couple of empty bottles of soju toppled over one another. A few cups of coffee sits beside them, some empty and others half full. One of it is still warm. It seems like it was freshly brewed and poured on the cup just a few minutes ago.