"You're my only best friend." (I'm in love with you.)
Yeonjun has been in love with Beomgyu his whole life.
(...)
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Chapter 6: (Don't be in love with someone else.)
It was past five o'clock. Classes were done. The students have been dismissed. Beomgyu was nowhere to be found. Yeonjun stayed inside the classroom—eyes staring out the window, lips at a loss for words. Yeonjun didn't know what to do. Yeonjun didn't know what to become right now. To be broken? To be hopeless? To be in love?
To be a best friend?
Yeonjun didn't understand, didn't know, didn't bother to wonder.
Choi Beomgyu, ever since they were seven, had always been Choi Yeonjun's best friend. Since they were in a room filled with their golden childhood, with books on the walls, and a bunch of stuffed toys on the floor. Beomgyu had always been his best friend. When did he start falling in love? When did Beomgyu become more to him?
It was absurd—painful in Yeonjun's part of the story. Yeonjun, ever since he was young, had only ever known happiness. It was what his storybooks showed him. Happy moments, happy words, happy endings. There was joy. Endless of it. Despite how endlessly cruel this world was, his favorite characters also stayed endlessly warm and kind. Yeonjun couldn't wrap his fingers around the idea of heartbreak.
Was this what Rapunzel felt when she saw Flynn Rider falsely running away with her crown using the very same boat where they almost kissed?
Yeonjun didn't know what to do. He was agitated, frustrated, desperate—Yeonjun didn't know. Yeonjun couldn't bear to know any more details that involved Beomgyu and Kai. Yeonjun stayed seated. Yeonjun stayed unmoving. Yeonjun stayed thinking, and thinking, and thinking until his head hurt. Yeonjun laid his arms on his desk and propped his head atop his bones. Yeonjun stared out the window. At the curtains. At the specks of dust that danced in his vision. Yeonjun shut his eyes.
What would his favorite characters do if they were in his position?
It took a deep breath and a bit of force for Yeonjun to sit up once again. He looked at the ceiling. Eyes blinking slowly, heavily, and hopelessly.
Then his phone beeped. The sharp sound ricocheted off the walls of his classroom. Yeonjun groaned, hands grabbing the device on his wooden table.
