she’s silent as he weaves his fingers into her hair and forces her chin up, tilted to glare at him through wet and tear filled eyes, still bleary from crying just a little moments ago. “well..keep telling yourself that.” her fingers grip onto his wrist, prying it away from the base of her skull. “if you think that’s enough to chase me away, think again.” she knows implicitly that he needs her–its never something too far from her mind ever since she had made hanjae’s acquaintance and they’ve struck up some strange sort of a relationship that lingered between then as fighting friends. “and why do you keep thinking that being friends with you isn’t healthy for me?” There’s deep derision in her tone at how low hanjae thought of himself, the stubbornness that she was so well known for finally settling into her jaw as it clicked together firmly, her chin sticking out like a mule as she side-eyed him sceptically through tears. its inconceivable to her–for someone like him to lack so much in acknowledging his own worth to others and to himself when he was so much more. there was nothing in his life that made him that way as it did for her, and alyssia blatantly decided–that she didn’t like hearing it fall from his lips.
“you know what, you need me. even if you don’t want to admit it.” she’s snuggled comfortably into his side once more, hair rustling against the fabric of his shirt. “and besides, touche. i’m not healthy as a friend for you either. so don’t try that excuse with me.”
he massages and preens her like it were his job, looking down at his hands to watch his occupation carefully. if this is all he can do, he should do it well. why she’s so tender with him, so willing to forgive and forget, to chase back after him when everything is so close to crumbling like a cliff side– that’s beyond him. he doesn’t lack the comprehension, he lacks the logistics. so she cares about him, so what? so it’s a form of love, so what? does it change the way the ground is shaking beneath them, so to speak? no. he brushes her hair with his hand gently, as if to soothe that jagged ground. “good, because i won’t.” he repeats it to her firmly. he says it. he said it. but he holds her close, and he pets her hair and it has the opposite effect.
maybe he’s right. maybe he won’t chase after her. but if she chases after him.... he’ll be there to catch her, won’t he? with his fingers at her chin from tilting her to face him, he thinks the tears in her wide eyes are a shame. his fault, of course. it’s always his fault. “i don’t think it’s enough to keep you away.” that much is so true it’s frustrating. “because our friendship isn’t right,” he smiles when he says it and he almost laughs, “there’s nothing good about the way we fight and the way i always make you cry. it doesn’t matter if we’re friends or not.” he mimics the weight she said it with. “why the fuck would you keep it up when things end up like this every single time.” he shakes his head, “sometimes, i have friendships that are easy, sometimes people stay and it’s easier for me to justify. but someone like you, i’m always saying and doing the wrong thing.” for a heart wrenching moment, he thinks of his mother, of her tears and the way her life towards the end was a rock slide. he remembers more than he lets on, he doesn’t even tell his sister, nor his grandparents, just how well his childhood memories linger. he was old enough, more than old enough, to understand the pain he saw.
hanjae closes his eyes and tilts his head back until it hits the wall, no longer comfortable looking to alyssia’s tears. he feels inexplicably dirty in this moment, his fingers grow still in her hair. there’s no more calming down his heartbeat, or the guilt that festers inside. why does he always do this? why does he always create pain? because he doesn’t believe in love? because he doesn’t understand why people put themselves through it? hanjae looks down at her against his chest again and his eyes have grown sharp and his frown twists in disgust. it’s himself he’s angry at, he knows. he knows. he knows. he knows it’s himself he’s angry at, and he’s just doing more of the same. he’s perpetuating the guilt as he sneers and agrees, “you say that like i consider you my friend. or like you have any idea how i feel or what i want.” he shakes his head, his voice grows louder and more passionate, “you just keep coming back over and over, i throw you out like a dog and you come back, like a dog. does that seem like i want you around, alyssia?” he aches, in a way he quickly goes numb to. his tender touch falls away as he plants his palms to the ground. touching her wasn’t helping his point, he knows, it’s better this way. “why don’t you catch a hint? when i tell you to get the fuck out and you just keep coming back. how can that be a friendship?” it’s better this way. if their friendship ends for good this time, he can wallow in his guilt alone and eventually, get rid of it all, lock it away without worrying about the love he lost, the respect, the way he made her feel.
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