Mochi

CHAPTER TEN

Jimin's POV

"What were you talking with her about?" I demand.

Despite the fact that this man is taller than me, I have him by the collar of his shirt. My fist hurts from must how tightly I am grabbing the fabric, and I scowl, anger and jealousy colliding with one another violently.

But if my reaction is an explosion, then Kim Seokjin's responding chuckle is the trigger, the hand behind it's detonation.

"Do I need to give you another black eye?" I snarl. "I already warned you to stay away from her."

I grasp his collar even more tightly, only to viciously shove him away. His back collides heavily against the wall behind him, and I grit my teeth as I fight the urge to plant my fist in his skull.

His laughter becomes full blown and obnoxious, and I am bewildered by his audacity. Everyone knows that Oli is off limits. I am astounded because it is the first time in nearly three years since I had to scare anyone off.

I must have grown complacent.

"I'm sorry, " he wheezes mirthfully. Despite how hard I am struggling to restrain myself, he seems intent on signing his own death warrant. "It's just too funny!"

"Wow," I seethe, "you just want me to hurt you, don't you?"

He raises his hands up, flashing a disarmingly genuine smile. I am beyond confused.

"Consider me your fairy godmother, " he jests, but there is a gleam of seriousness in his eyes, and I stay my hand.

"Explain yourself, " I demand, arms crossing against my chest petulantly.

"Let's just say that I want to help you, " he reveals. "You do like Olivia, don't you?"

"And so what if I do?" I retort, feeling ire beginning to creep it's way back into my mood.

"What if I were to tell you she likes you too?"

My heart stops for a moment. For an infinitesimal moment, I believe that I may even have stopped breathing. The idea that Olivia wants me, the same way that I want her...

It's almost too much to hope for.

And then I realize what a cruel joke it is that he's telling.

"Hey, " he amends, most likely noticing my suddenly gloomy presence. "I swear, I'm not mocking you, and I wouldn't dare pick fun."

I hadn't even realized I'd balled my hands into fists until I feel them relax, hanging limply at my side.

"If she felt the same way, I would have known by now." I confess sadly. "She treats me like a little brother."

"Be that as it may, " he interjects, "I happen to know for a fact that she has deep seated feelings for you. Ironically, she believes the same thing you do."

I frown, contemplating the validity of his statement.

It isn't as if I've given her any reason to believe that I might feel the same, actually, I've tried my hardest to avoid revealing my feelings for her.

I still remember our promise.

I can even still recall the way she'd smiled, so unsure and vulnerable, as the flowers in my mom's garden bloomed around us.

Tiny pinkies, linked, with tiny matching grins and giggles. And I'll never forget how brightly her golden hair had shone in the evening sun when my childhood self had promised that someday, I'd marry her.

"Does she remember it too?" I question silently, allowing hope to fill me despite how frightening it is. "After all this time, have we both been thinking and feeling the same things?"

"W-what-" I stammer, suddenly nervous, "what should I do?"

Jin smiles, plush lips pulling back to reveal brightly white teeth, each and every one of them perfectly straight and in line.

Suddenly, I feel self conscious about my own crooked teeth, and I feel the pangs of jealousy once more.

"Well, " Seokjin answers vaguely, "that's going to depend on what she chooses to do."

I gulp visibly, swallowing a thick wad of what feels like solidified emotion. And then, I wince as he straightens up, fixing his collar in such a blasé matter, you'd think I'd never been seconds away from beating him to a pulp.

And as he walks away, I feel unsure, emotionally floundering.

"Yeah right, " I chastise myself. "Don't get your hopes up."

I gather my book bag, and instead of heading to the next class, I dip.

The path home at this time of day is sunny, and well lit.

"The flowers are in bloom again, " I realize.

But I don't feel happy to see them. And the sunlight? It hurts my eyes, irritated as they already are by all the crying I've been doing lately. I don't feel chipper, instead, I feel lost and afraid.

Olivia's been my best friend since we were in diapers. To me, she's more precious than anything, and I struggle to envision a world without her in it.

In middle school, I'd tried desperately to hint at her that I liked her, even going so far as to take what might now be considered rotten advice, and asking Oli for advice in talking to the girl I liked.

It was stupid, and juvenile, but then she'd pulled away from me. Not knowing why, but too desperate to keep her by my side in any capacity, I'd settled for what I could get.

At least, that's what I'd thought and felt at the time.

But what if I'd really been wrong all this time?

By the time I reach my mothers small cottage, I am exhausted and nearly nauseous with unease. I bound the stairs three at a time to my bedroom, and throw my bag off and into the corner somewhere.

Shedding my uniform, I then dive into my sheets, burying myself beneath my covers.

The sheets are cool against my bare skin, my boxers the only barrier between the cold and my skin. That, and my socks, which I am far too gone to care about at this point.

Pushing my bangs away from my brow, I sink into myself.

And, willing or not, the tears come.