Purple Is Just A Color|| vkook

12.5~ Awkward

Purple POV

My mind keeps playing that night over and over like a broken record and I try to tell myself I would have acted differently if I could go back.

But the truth is that I wouldn't.

I would at least try to take that step again even if I knew about the consequences which are Tae and me not talking, not walking together, no, not even looking at each other.

I sigh deeply and ignore my friend's concerned look as she notices that I am not even taking notes as our Arithmancy teacher keeps talking about a formula I have known about for months now.

Still.

I rather think about how devastatingly soft Tae's lips had felt on mine for that one precious moment.

I recall the way he had looked at me with a galaxy glittering in his eyes as he had mocked me, the way that his skin was glowing in the mesmerizing moonlight and the way his body perfectly molded against mine when I had pulled him close for that one kiss that has destroyed it all.

I hold back tears again, tears I have already shed way too often when thinking about what happened after that second that we were pressed together and the memory does not spare me the desperate and devastated look in Tae's face, the pained expression with which he pulled back.

I should have known. Should have known better than to hope that I was finally good enough for someone, lovable enough to be treasured by somebody and not too much of a disappointment to be rejected without a second thought.

Over all this time Tae and I had spent together, I opened up so much to him, showed him so much of myself that nobody else ever found out and he did so as well.

I worked hard on giving him the safety and comfort I could feel he needed and slowly, he let his walls down for me... only me, and I, desperate for affection, thought that he actually loved me the way I wanted him to.

But turns out I fooled myself into thinking that he felt the same way about me as I did and the joke is all on me.

I start shaking as I remember the way I stumbled down the endless staircase, tears rolling down my cheeks endlessly, blurring my vision while my body turned numb from the pain washing over me.

He doesn't want me.

He just doesn't and I should get over it but I can't.

Not when I see him in class and in the hallways, a cigarette between his lips more often than ever and the scowl I had always managed to chase away constantly pulling down his lips.

Not when I have to hold back the constant urge to mock him about black lungs and how he is going to get erectile dysfunctions if he keeps being a stupid addict.

And not when our cheerful memories start bubbling up in my mind when I read, study or see one of the many places that connect me to him.

It is like a flesh wound ripping open over and over again as soon as I try to bury my grief about this unique friendship that meant the world to me.

He meant the world to me.

But as always, my ego and mind that come to conclusions too fast for anybody's good got in the way and made me take this fatal step that led to this terrible silence between my former best friend and myself.

If I could, I would drown in memories and what-if situations forever, but the loud sound of the bell which is dismissing class rips me out of the shadows luring in my mind and I monotonously shove my things into my bag and head for the door, not a single look cast to my friends.