Oblivious // Reader x Kim Namjoon

17) Shot

There was a comfortable silence in your room. You had assured that there would be so. You wanted nothing to do with the world and the mess you had made of it. The whiteness of your wall was all that you needed to keep you occupied. The stale tears that slipped out of your eyes on occasion kept you present.

You were past the point of fixing things. The only thing you could do now was hurt Namjoon more. That's all telling the truth would do. It would shatter him and make him hate you more than he already did.

It had been days since the last incident with Namjoon. It had also been days since you went back to the cafe.

You couldn't face him again. You couldn't. You didn't deserve to.

Right as you were cycling through another unhealthy round of thoughts, you were startled by the sudden slamming open of your bedroom door.

"Get up!" Yuna shouted, with obvious intent in her voice.

You knew that if you didn't pick yourself up from the bed, she would do it for you. Begrudgingly, stealing all the energy you had left in your body, you managed to pull yourself up to a seated position and avoid eye contact with your best friend, afraid for what she might have planned.

"You know who just called?"

Your eyes shot up. Your immediate thought—of course—was Namjoon. You moved your lips to speak but she cut you off before you could even make a peep.

"No—not that boy of yours. Your boss! Your boss just called our apartment phone, that literal piece of junk phone that no one thought actually worked. She called looking for you! You haven't shown up to work in days. Days! This isn't like you..."

Her voice had quickly shifted from it's boldened state to something softer as she plopped down on the bed next to you.

"What's wrong? Why aren't you going into work?" she asked, wrapping an arm around you.

"I can't," was all you could manage to say, the tears already welling in your eyes.

"What do you mean you can't? You've gone to work so many times, an uncountable amount of times. You're a pro at going to work. There's nothing saying that you—"

"I just can't, okay! I can't go back," You cut her off. You also felt inclined to cut off the body contact that she had initiated, an unforeseen coldness overtaking you entirely.

"Why? Y/N, I don't understand. It hurts me to see you hurt this much. To be so lost. I can't help you get found unless you let me know what's wrong. Did something happen?"

You sighed, knowing all too well that she would never leave you alone until some sort of resolution was achieved.

"He sat at the counter. He talked to me. Showed me a song. I guess I was Hayoung though? But this Hayoung persona I've put on, she's a real bitch. She had to go and hurt his feelings. He left. I can't see his face again... How hurt I've made him in so many ways. I can't face that again... Especially now that I realize the Hayoung "persona" I claim to have is just me. I'm the bitch. I need to take ownership of it."

"Are you serious?"

"What?"

"You're doing this again? Y/N, you need to give yourself some grace."

"I—"

"Get up. You're going. No—we're going. I'm going with you and I'll keep you company and it's going to be okay. I'll punch this guy in the dick if—"

"That's not going to be necessary. I'll go in. I'll be okay. Don't worry," you interrupted, wanting nothing more at the moment than to shut your best friend up.

You needed to get away from her. She was making it seem like you weren't the awful person that you were being. That somehow this was his fault. You couldn't hear it. You needed to leave. Going to work was the simplest solution

Yuna seemed pretty surprised that you were so compliant. She watched you as you slipped into your work clothes in silence. She didn't say another word as you slipped out the door.

Your walk to the cafe was nonexistent in your mind. You were on overdrive. You couldn't think but you also couldn't stop thinking.

Could you make the situation better? Could you fix this now?

You set your mind on it. You'd see him. You'd come clean. That'd be it. Whatever happened would happen. You could no longer handle the what if's. You could not take it anymore.

You owed this to him. He deserved your honesty.

You slipped in the backdoor of the cafe and pinned on your nametag—yes, the one with your given name on it—and walked right out behind the counter. Fairly uncharacteristic of you, to be so bold and fearless. But that wasn't it exactly. You were so afraid of the damage you'd do if you kept your mouth shut. Fear was driving you forward for once instead of leaving you utterly paralyzed.

Your eyes darted to the table at the center of the room. Empty. Bounced from each seat at the counter. Empty. Empty. Stranger. Empty. You scoured the room.

He wasn't there.