Chapter Text
I’ve always been emotional. I don’t know why. But whenever I see someone in pain, I’m hurting for them. When others are happy, I feel for them. And when people around me are uncomfortable, I try to understand and help them. I guess I was too naive to expect the same from others. So when I found myself in the center of attention, I thought someone would help me.
Today could’ve been any other day. I spent my hours sleeping. Just waking up whenever my phone vibrates and I hear the familiar ping of my boss’ message. Always thankful when the message isn’t addressed to me. And then browsing through twitter and dying over my boys. And by my boys, I mean kpop idols who I love and support. More than my own needs to be honest. But hey, they’re the ones who’re keeping me alive. Not a healthy mindset, I know, but what can I do? They make me FEEL ALIVE. So, as I was saying, this day is supposed to be a normal one. Except that today’s the day after Christmas and people still expect you to be all smiles, and happy, and giddy, and, well, social. But I am so not.
People expect me to be like them. And when I don’t, they make me feel guilty about it. So of course, in the “spirit of Christmas”, I did. I talked, played, ate and socialized all night with them. But as the night is drawing to a close, I feel drained. I didn’t want to do it anymore. I guess my disinterest was evident in my face and tone so they shifted the subject to something I’m more familiar with. No wait, not familiar. It’s something that I’m passionate about. Kpop. I was so happy, I perked up and socialized with them, yet again. They know they got me hooked when I started telling stories on my own. But, the joke’s on me. I thought they understand me. Until they started laughing. Telling me these groups are just a bunch of research-based, factory-made and well-trained boys that I worship and spend all my money and efforts on. Even laughing about the way I talk animatedly about them. As if telling me I don’t have anything on my brain except for kpop. Making me feel ridiculous.
I don’t know what I was thinking but I just feel hot. I’m on the verge of tears. And my body is shaking. So I ran. Away from all of them. My tears hitting the floor as they fall down from my face. I ran until I can’t feel my legs anymore. Until I can’t hear their voices anymore. Until I’m alone.
My heart is racing. I don’t even know where I am but I was crying my heart out. I feel hurt, embarrassed, stupid, horrible, guilty… I feel angry. Why were they like that? They could’ve just left me alone all by myself and I’d be perfectly fine. Hot tears keep on streaming down my face as I let myself drown with these feelings. But then, I saw a handkerchief. Followed by the hand holding it. A man’s hand. I know for a fact that it is, because of the way the veins are popping out and how bony it is. Not that I’m experienced with a man’s hand. I just see them in pictures whenever I zoom fansites’ shots in. I look at the hand, a very pale one, and snaked my gaze to it’s owner. And gasped.
If Eros became a man and Venus bestowed all the beauty in the world in his son, he’d definitely look the part.
“Are you okay? You look like you need this…” He looks so fine, I didn’t respond to his question. After a few seconds, he tilted his head to the side and smiled unsurely. Oh, he has well-defined dimples.
“I’m sorry for intruding, I just thought… well… maybe…” He didn’t finish his sentence and instead scratched his head. “Don’t worry, I’m not a maniac or something… I guess I’ll just leave it here…” He puts the handkerchief down beside me and smiled once again before leaving.
“Oh and by the way… I don’t know what happened but whoever it is that you’re crying about, maybe isn’t even worthy of your tears anyway…” And then he’s gone.
“Hey!” I can’t help it. Like Icarus, drawn to the sun, I chased after him. I couldn’t care less if he’s a maniac or even a serial killer. I just feel this need, deep in me, to talk to him. Or even be with him. Thank god he’s still around the corner when I ran directly into him.
“Sorry!” We both say at the same time.
“It’s okay,” he immediately follows. “Are you okay, though?” His eyes meet mine and smiles again, recognizing me.
“Yes,” I start, “thank you…” as I give his handkerchief back.
“Okay…” But then he looks puzzled, a frown forming in his face while looking at it. “You didn’t use it?”
“I can’t,” I shake my head while forcing a smile, “My eyes are too dried up anyways to even shed a tear.” I don’t know if I’m only imagining it but he looks pained from what I just said.
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“The feeling is mutual.” I can only answer him with a sad smile.
It’s almost 3 o’clock in the morning when I finished telling him everything that has happened earlier. For someone who belongs to a testosterone-filled, group of species called men, he is quite a listener. I don’t think I ever talked this long ever in my entire life. But he made it so easy for me. Maybe that’s the way it is. Words and feelings just pour out of you when you’re with someone who doesn’t make you feel judged. Someone who you feel comfortable with.
“Isn’t it funny that I just shared all my woes and deepest feelings with you?”
“It’s not. I mean, don’t you feel terrified at all?” He asks. “I’m a stranger, I could kidnap you and sell your organs to some black market anytime. I could be someone who’s dangerous.”
“Are you?”
“What if I am?”
“Then what are you still waiting for?”
He stares at me. As if deciding if I’m crazy or just a suicidal bitch on the run. Or both.
“For all you know… I could be the one who’s dangerous.” I test him.
But then he starts laughing. Whole heartedly at that and with tears in his eyes.
“Okay, okay you got me…” He says while wiping his tears away. “I’m just worried about you, you know. You’re a girl and you’re all alone.”
“I’m not alone. You’re with me.”
“You got a point. But you don’t even know me.”
“You don’t know me either.”
He didn’t respond at that. Instead, he animatedly looks up above, as if thinking, then smiles with his dimples showing, yet again.
“Okay,” he says as he returns his eyes to me, “why don’t we fix that? I’m Chris, by the way…”
Chris. His name's so simple and basic. Yet he isn’t any of those adjectives. And just like that, I found myself wondering why someone like him has been sent to my life.