"WHY WAS I SO SAD ABOUT YOU?"

MARCH 13, 2021 — 18:12 PM

My roommate pulls me along, the barbeque restaurant bustling with people. I stumble across the cracks in the concrete, both of us entering to the sound of unwanted laughter. I stop her for a second—and she looks back at me. "Do I really have to socialize with guys and socialites? I'm really not in the mood to—"

"I'm trying to get you outside, at least, with me," She rolls her eyes, both of us right near the entrance. It had a strong scent—not from the meat being cooked, not from the perfumed aura growing off of my friend, but a scent that almost made me throw up. A gut feeling caused by a strong scent of mistake and regret. "I don't want to go alone—and you're already dressed up, so..."

I press my lips in a thin line, fixating my gaze to the floor as she decides to fix my hair. "Don't worry, Yang Yihwa, I'll protect you from any drugs and any offered cigars."

"I can handle that, but I can't handle talking with bastards," I grumble before moving past her, and into the section where her friends were. They see us, waving as we take a seat.

"Who's this, Soo-Won?"

"This is my friend, Yihwa," Soo-Won smiles awkwardly, beckoning to my stiff look. I can't even smile, all the men here look like they haven't showered in months. "Please treat her well." I really fucking hate her kind smile—they're all booming with delight seeing another female besides her to hit on. I knew it from that sharp glint in their eyes—they were going to try something on me.

"Ah okay..." One of the men trails off, pouring a tall glass of soju for me. "Then, Yihwa here's a welcome drink—"

"I don't drink," I interrupt, glaring at him. He flinches, blinking slightly before retracting his hand.

"I... see..." He awkwardly laughs, drinking it instead. "Well, whatever you need, you name it—we'll all keep you company."

I don't say anything, and instead, I just drink the water placed in front of me. They continue to grill meat and laugh like maniacs, disregarding the spring ambiance that almost causes me to sneeze. I hated pollen, and while I wasn't allergic, I had a stronger scent of it nowadays. Why would they be here so late, all alone in this restaurant? It seems a little off.

Someone nudges me, causing me to slowly turn their way. There's my roommate, eyeing me closely. She leans in, making me lean slightly as well. "Can you stop being a bitch and just drink?"

I blink, unphased by her angry blow-out. Leaning closer, I wrap my hair behind my ear. "I told you loud and clear... I don't drink."

"You're just scared they're going to drug you," She rolls her eyes, disbelief wrapping around her head. "Not all men are like your ex, Yihwa. Suck it up and move on."

People act as if I haven't heard that statement before. In fact, I've heard it over a hundred times—one hundred and eight to be exact. It's not that I'm scared to move on, nor do I believe that all men would be like him. It's because I don't want to date any men. I don't want to think of the past as a chance to find someone else, only because everyone tells me to.

People must think I'm some kind of sociopath. I know well my differences, but there's one thing alike that grows in the room—the men's temptation of women. I know damn well they're going to drug someone.

"So," I hear, causing me to pull away from my roommate, she clears her throat, chugging her beer as if it would be the last thing she drank in a long time. I should've snapped her neck then and there—then it definitely would've been her last drink. "What do you plan on doing in the future, Yihwa? Technology? Medical services? Law?"

"I plan on being an architect, with either being a therapist or an English teacher aside from it," I say stiffly, looking him in the eye. "And it's medicine, for god's sake. For someone in the medical field, I'd think you'd at least know that."

My roommate grabs my hand, tightly squeezing it in an attempt to shut me up. Hell, the boy doesn't even take the hint—instead, he leans forward, raising an eyebrow in interest. "How'd you know I majored in medicine? Do you know me?"

"Not at all," I say, glaring at him. "You still have your student name tag on—and I see the white lab coat in your lap. Any imbecile besides yourself could've immediately made the inference."

Finally, he shuts up, leaning back as he sighs in frustration. I stand up, yanking away my hand from my roommate. She looks at me with a warning—which I decide to ignore. "I'll be using the restroom, excuse me."

I walk away, hearing footsteps that quickly follow me. As I enter the women's bathroom, someone slams the door closed, locking it. From the mirror is an upset roommate, the girl tapping her foot impatiently as I soap my hands.

Gross. Gross people, gross drinks, gross aura.

Wash your hands. Wash, wash, WASH!

"You really don't have to act like a fucking-know-it-all," She scoffs in disbelief, her hand rounding the doorknob to avoid her urge to hit me. I turn on the water, placing my hands under the scalding hot water. It was relieving—relieving to hurt myself before someone else was to hurt me. "They're my friends, for fucks sake, Yihwa!"

"That's correct," I instantly say within a heartbeat, turning off the hot water as I ring my hands dry. Turning around slowly to grab the paper napkin, I don't even look her in the eye. If I did, what would she have done? Flinch? Look away? Every person who looks me in the eye always hates it. It's as if they read me like an open book—and if that were the truth, then go ahead and stare. I couldn't give less of a fuck.

I'll tell you everything about him but his name.

I hate him, but it's better than to cry—something I find myself doing whenever people cross me about him.

"They're your friends, not mine. I don't need to please them to have them keep me around."

She scoffs—because even she will admit the truth. However, I guess her pride flies higher than her ego. So, she unlocks the door and leaves the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. No reaction is made from her outburst because it's completely normal to act like this. To act like you knew what you were talking back—only for you to realize it wasn't what you thought it would be.

I don't take shit from others anymore, I really don't.

And if I didn't get out of here in five minutes top, I'd probably break down in front of this group of her's. They weren't my type of people.

So, I exit as well, attracting attention as I sit down. "Here—" Someone says, a smirk playing on the male's face. He hands me my newly-refilled water, my hands shaking as I take it. It was almost as if water was blue, and also was foggy looking—I knew something was up. "We got you a refill on water. Did you have a nice bathroom break?"

I don't say anything, and instead, I stand up. His chin follows my stance, his pride higher if it wasn't already skyrocketing. However, as I throw the drugged water on him, he frowned with the audible cuss words that came with it—your pride isn't as high anymore, right?

"What the fuck?!" He scoffs, everyone gasping as the female next to him was probably kissing up to his ass. She tries to wipe him off, but he pushes her away. "Don't you have boundaries, you bitch—"

"I do," I say, slamming the cup down. My roommate was ready to kill me at this point, but maybe my next words shocked her. "Thanks for spiking my drink. The one thing I expected from you bastard was just that—so I didn't expect anything better. As a medical major who is good at this type of stuff, it's a shame you're trying to graduate in one of the top majors of our school, only to be someone who drugs women. A shame."

He scoffs as I exhale shakily, feeling the breakdown coming. "Now, if you excuse me—I don't think you'd like me to stick around. I appreciate your welcoming, but not your gathering. Goodbye."

I bow, grabbing my crossbody as I slung it around my waist—I was ready to cry.

"Yihwa, you bitch!" My roommate yells from afar just as I open the door. "If you're so scared of men, you should've never dated Be—"

I slam the door closed, unable to hear his full name. I was already crying, but with the sound of his name, I'm laughing in disbelief, speed walking around the corner. The streetlights are already turning on at the dark ambiance of the night sky—and just when I'm ready to smoke, I realize I forgot my cigarettes in my coat pocket at the dorms.

So, more tears fall out of stress, my knees buckling from the scene as I lean against the wall. Falling slowly to the floor, I sit on the curb, hugging my knees to avoid speculation. I still play with his lighter in my pocket, my throat getting dry as I hiccup from the overwhelming scene.

I hate your name. One day, I'd be able to talk about it. One day, I'll be able to say it—and when that day comes, it's because I've admitted to moving on. It'll be because I'm not scared of my memories and my past anymore and that I'm ready to take chances—not because of you, but because I've matured.

But for now, I'll sulk in my misery.

Crying was a great passing time after almost getting assaulted or whatnot, and I didn't have to hear their drunken and funky laughter. Socializing meant getting along with people, and after all those years of not doing so, I consider doing the healthy version of distancing myself—being asocial.

I just wish I could become bubbly, the happy Yihwa everyone knew me as in high school—but I fucked up that personality so bad that there would be the harm in trying to be better at it. It's better to be yourself than be something you're not, anyways. I prefer to be distinct, straightforward with people who try to fuck with my head—because after all the shit I did fuck up, it's best not to victimize myself any longer.

I can't even say sorry anymore—almost as if I scare people too much. I mean, I'll say it out of sarcasm, out of genuine feeling if I needed to—but in university, there was never a time where I had to apologize to someone because of my own mistakes. (Maybe because I didn't talk to people nor make the same mistakes.)

However, I'm pushing myself at this moment. I'm trying to talk horrible yet somewhat positive of myself so I could stop crying and distract myself—but the overwhelming emotions cut me off way too easily. So, I'm back to stuffing my head in my arms, hugging my knees to look like a small ball nobody can touch.

"You should stop crying," Someone voices, causing me to sniffle. His voice was still velvet, a soft chuckle landing at the bottom of his lips. "Isn't it deja vu that we're in the same situation as before?"

I instantly look up—finally understanding who the fuck had the guts to talk to me like this. His hair color hasn't changed since freshmen year, but it seemed more comfortable than having it slicked back all the time. Maybe because he wasn't hanging out with anyone, but it was a surprise to see him in front of me, wearing a jean jacket that I recognized from over seven years ago.

He offers his hand, which I hesitate to take. "We're old friends, Yang Yihwa—don't doubt me because it's been four years."

With his words, he's correct,—so, I do take it. He helps me up, dusting off my trench coat. "Why the hell do people still wear long ass coats in the middle of spring? You're scary."

"Why are you here?" I inquire, ignoring his previous statement as I wipe the tears off my face. "Shouldn't you be at your job or something?"

"I still study, you know—taking your advice," He snickers, and with that playboy smile, it really was him. "Don't worry about it—aren't you happy to see me?"

"Surprisingly I am," I reply softly, my eyes fixating on his tall physique. "You really haven't changed at all... Choi Yeonjun."

His full name doesn't shock him, the boy starting to laugh at my reaction. "And you've changed as well, Yang Yihwa—do you mind giving me your number? I think besides tonight... we have lots to discuss."

To my own momentary shock, I do give it to him. Whether it be because I'm still a crying mess or whether it be because I genuinely missed this boy, I do give him my number.

He swings his phone back in his pocket, soon grinning at me. "Let me take you home."

"No need, I can walk myself now that you've told me to get my ass up," I reply, causing him to snicker. "Thanks for causing that moment of deja vu— I needed it."

I don't even want to hear his words, so I start strolling off. "Hey, Yang Yihwa!" He yells, causing me to stop in my tracks. "You don't have to pretend that crying is a weak man's hobby—I don't expect any less from the freshman who got hit with a bat."

His words strike an upcoming conversation—but I swallow them to avoid an argument. "I don't mean to walk you home—but I want to drive you home."

I face him soon after, seeing his shadow against the streetlight. He looks like a creep—but with his fashion choice, a good creep. "We don't have to talk, we don't have to chat about anything you don't want to talk about—" He pauses, swallowing as if he'd make a mistake. "But at least let me take you home before it rains."

I guess someone's using the weather to his will. So, to avoid my nicely done hair getting wet, I nod and agree to his proposal. He jogs up, wrapping his arm around me weirdly. I don't flinch, I'm used to his... social-butterfly actions.

"Let's go, then," He whispers, grinning happily. "I want to catch up with you."

Oh no, he tricked me. Even before his proposal, I knew he'd bring something up. Oh well, I guess it's fine. He's the only man who I find comfort with anyway.

"...Let's go."

Oh, and happy birthday to him—no, not Yeonjun, you.

I don't want to greet you, but I can't just forget. So, we'll just greet you in my mind.