"Just one date."
"Why are you so insistent?"
"Come on! One date isn't going to kill you."
"I think it just might."
"Stop being dramatic. I'll take you out for a movie and dinner, no funny business. Sound good?"
"If I say yes will you stop bugging me?"
"Yes."
"...Fine."
"Great! Pick you up at 2."
Why had I agreed to such a ludicrous idea? Sure, Yoongi was a cool guy I guess. He's reserved but sometimes spontaneous, quiet but sometimes loud, serious but sometimes funny. Yoongi really is good guy, despite his seemingly rough outer exterior. To others, his epidermis may have looked as rough as cacti, it's prickly spines jutting out as a warning to those who dared to challenge it, but in reality Yoongi's skin was more like a soft teddy bear's, warm and fresh as a mother pulls it out of a dryer and gives it back to her young child, who waited patiently and eagerly for his little companion to emerge from his bath and be revived from the days of being dragged around the sandbox and getting unidentifiable sludge in its fur.
It wasn't a weird thing to go on a date, to be pampered by the possibly one person who would ever treat your body like the temple it was. It wasn't a weird thing to love and desire to be loved, to be engulfed in a passion so fiery anyone who tried to interfere would get third-degree burns.
It was all so normal; nothing was out of the ordinary in any of this. Despite it, I couldn't find myself feeling okay with it, distancing myself more at the thought of anyone ever loving me. Why me? I wasn't necessarily pretty, talented, charismatic. Was it all just a hoax? Was he just fulfilling a dare? That made more sense. Why would he be into me anyway?
I told myself this over and over again, reiterating these words until they became a part of me and gave me the excuse to ignore his advances. I used anything it took to convince me of this notion, and unfortunately it worked a little too well.
Still, when Yoongi asked again and again, I finally caved in and let him fulfill his dare or whatever it was, just so he could collect his reward of getting me out of the house and into a dark room where he could try and make an advance on me, though I wouldn't let him.
But he never tried to do anything like that.
He was a gentleman, never stretching his arm or legs farther than my invisible shields allowed. There was no mischievous smiles or glanes, just genuine gummy smiles of happiness and gratitude. No side glances in hopes to get a view of the forbidden fruits of my body as I bent over to tie my shoe, just a polite offer to tie it to save me the burden of my knees touching the rough carpet of the cinema.
What was he up to?
There had to be a hidden agenda. He was being too nice to me, too kind and gentle and caring. Did he slip something in my drink? He did pay for it after all, and carried it. His excuse was that he didn't my hands to get the clammy sweat condensating on the cup to get onto my hands, making them feel sticky and gross, almost making you want to rip your skin off in an effort to escape the sensation. Still, I watched carefully when he stopped to grab straws and napkins, and I never saw him do anything suspicious.
Just what was this man up to?
In the shadows of the theatre, where eyes were glued to the silver screen playing an eventful action film, as I wasn't one for cheesy romance films (and apparently neither was he), he had every chance to test the waters, stretch his arm over my shoulder in one of those cliche moves in an effort to bring the date closer to their chest. He could've watched my movements in his peripheral, planning the perfect moment to "accidentally" reach into the popcorn bag at the same moment as me, where our fingers could have gotten tangled up and his excuse could've been "Sorry, I thought I was grabbing the popcorn", though he wouldn't try to untangle our digits, now clasped in a tight embrace as they settled from their tango and reveled in their success to become one.
He had to be up to something even more devious.
Even after the movie, in the dim-lit restaurant he picked for us to enjoy an evening meal together, I was expecting something. Perhaps he would challenge me to a match of footsies, rubbing his his foot up my leg as far as he could reach from his seat across from me, looking around innocently as if he was not up to something underneath the table cloth. He could've tried to loosen my stiff demeanor with a little wine, watching as my guard went down as my logic and reasoning drowned in the alcohol, now easily detectable on my breath, as well as the sweet taste of the grapes fermented for years to bring out their taste and also the hearty and savory taste of veal and the starchy yet buttery taste of a baked potato.
Why wasn't he trying anything?
Not even in the cab drive home did he try anything, where he could've let the alcohol cloud his own logic as he brought his mouth dangerously close to my neck, whispering empty promises into my ear, slurred but condescending nonetheless. Instead, he asked me if I had a good time, which I replied to with plain "yes" before the taxi pulled up to my apartment complex. Yoongi insisted on walking me up to my door, walking in with me and following me up on the elevator as if he was my own personal bodyguard, his only mission in life to protect my body with his own in a state of panic.
I was expecting even then, however, for him to make an approach on me. Maybe corner me in the elevator once he felt we were truly alone, using his arms to block any way for me to escape him, though I would have no real place to run in the metal box.
But he didn't.
Even then, when I was my most vulnerable and susceptible to his strength, he didn't give me any reason to fear him, any reason for me to dig through my bag for anything I could use as a weapon against him. Instead, he calmly and happily escorted me to my front door. I had to ask him.
"Why didn't you try anything?"
Yoongi looked at me with a puzzled look on his face, replying "Why would I?"
The question infuriated it more than it should've, and in response I hastily opened my front door and stepped into my apartment, but Yoongi followed in, being sure to take off his shoes as courtesy to not dirtying my wooden floors and area rugs.
I turned on my heel when I heard his calling out my name, beckoning me to answer his question. So I did.
"Because there's no other reason for you to be this nice to me if you weren't in it for anything else."
Yoongi looked a little hurt by hearing me expose his true reasons for inviting me out today. Despite what was the truth, he answered differently.
"I had no intention of doing anything like that."
Liar. Why wouldn't he?
"Why wouldn't you? You were dared to do this weren't you? It was one of the boys wasn't it? Probably Jimin."
Yoongi shook his head, "No, this was completely my decision."
Liar.
"Okay, so then is your reason for taking me out tonight?"
"Because I like you."
"LIAR!" I screeched, the word escaping my lips quicker than I can even think about it, but I didn't back down from my accusation, tears brimming my eyes as the rage flowed through my body, "You were just hoping to get lucky."
"Never. I really like you Y/N-ah. I just wanted to take you out on a nice date, show you how much I really like you."
"Liar! You're such a liar!" I yelled, walking away from his smooth-talking voice, but it followed me, still trying to beckon me.
"I'm not lying! Why would I go through all this work to try to make you happy? Y/N-ah, why is it so hard for you to accept my love?"
"BECAUSE NO ONE WOULD EVER LOVE ME!"
Yoongi fell silent, watching as my body heaved as I breathed heavily, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill and remain stable on my feet, but both my emotions and my muscles betrayed me, and I collapsed into a puddle of tears in front of him, leaning on the coffee table to support me.
Yoongi could've left then, given up on me and never spoke to me again. He could've gotten mad and said I was "foolish" and "not worth his time", grabbed his shoes and slammed the door behind him. He could've ripped my heart out right then and there, crushing it and watching the blood stain his skin, symbolically of course.
Be he didn't.
Instead, he leaned next to my crumpled body, rubbed my back gently as he pulled me into a secure hug. He didn't whisper harsh words to tear me down more, but instead reassuring words like "it's okay" and "I'm here" as he waited for me to finish spilling out my heart onto the floor, soaking his shirt with my tears.
When I finally could breathe without feeling I would burst into another fit of wails, he lifted my head gently so that I was looking at him, and he smiled warmly as he wiped y cheeks dry with his thumbs.
"I love you Y/N-ah. Nothing will ever change that."
He could've taken back his words in that moment, stating it was "just a joke" before laughing in my face and teasing my weeping. He had another clear opportunity to crush me further into the dirt, confirming my thoughts of worthlessness.
But he didn't.
Instead, he slammed his lips onto mine, grasping my cheeks firmly. His lips were soft and supple, and his kiss explained his longing to have me understand what he was saying to me all this time, and believe it.
And I did.
For the first time in my life, I felt loved, and it didn't feel weird. I didn't want to recoil in disgust, more with the thought of someone loving me and wanting to commit themselves to me and only me. Instead, I welcomed the feeling of butterflies in my stomach, the tingling of my limbs as the electricity pulsed through my body, the course of this being Yoongi's soft lips.
He looked over my face, and in that moment I knew. I knew everything he said was the truth, and the real liar was me. And I knew then and there my days of lying to myself were over.
No one likes liars after all.