āF---fiv---ā she canāt even properly finish her first word that sheās already choking on her own voice, unable to keep a decent composure despite the innocence of the question. Totally out of nowhere she has to list five reasons why she likes Blair---and just as suddenly, completely unexpected to her, both anxiety and fluster pounce on her back with vicious and voracious intents. Itās weird because she likes thinking about Blair; she likes being with him, she enjoys his presence, and so, so much more. Still at the same time this task includes doing something sheās terrible at, and always unwilling to walk through: that is, talking about her feelings. Itās not because of him---itās her. Sheās the problem, here. Incompetent and inept at anything, discerning and analyzing her emotions included. āAh... eh...āĀ Ā Ā Ā Inhale, exhale. Min-Seo tries to calm down, despite the fact that lessening her anxiety has always been a titanic task. Her hand stiffly and shakily wraps itself around her neck, index and middle fingers conveniently placed: shit. Hearing her own heartbeat run this fast isnāt at all useful. Contrarily, it makes her guts sink even deeper. Why is she overreacting like this?Ā Ā Ā Ā She would like to run away, actually. Thatās what her prey-like instinct tells her to do. But she canāt just do that, she canāt grab her things and go for it---itās a question. A simple, fair question. How harmful can it be? How difficult is it, to selectively spill here and there what she thinks and feels? Min-Seo squeezes her eyes closed, fingers around the neck tightening their grip as well, to quickly release both holds right after. A gulp.
āWell, heās... heās---ā her throat closes up again, a wheezing sound taking place of words before dissolving, once again, into silence. Min-Seo perseveres, however---let it be absolute crap, but she will say something. Anything. A cough,Ā āBlair is... I-I donāt think...ā cough, āThere is anything that I donāt, um. Like. H-how---how can I explain myself...ā (think about him, think about him, think about him.) Min-Seo frowns. (Just say the first things that come to you when you think about him.)Ā Ā Ā Ā āNice... heās... so, so incredibly nice,ā finally, she mutters something coherent and complex, āI really mean it when I say I donāt know, I donāt know what I can say---itās just... heās good. Altogether. I canāt think of s-something that I donāt like.ā handsome, charming, energetic, determined, strong-willed, kind---all things considers ideal. In general, sheās baffled he sticks around her out of his own volition: what can she, of all people, give to him? How can she repay him? How can she pay off this debt that feels more and more crushing with each time he smiles at her? Teeth bite down on her lower lip in uncertainty, fingers fidgeting with each other in nervousness. Itās too late to turn back now---she started talking, she ought to finish. No matter how much her chest and stomach hurt.Ā Ā Ā Ā (The more she thinks about him, though, the more she tries to cradle those warm moments, those little things. They feel safe. They feel right.)Ā Ā Ā Ā āIām... Iām sorry.ā it had to happen, at some point. Compulsory apologizing. āI just feel that... heās giving me so much. That I canāt give back. Iām always moping around, and, and... I like how gentle he is... itās odd. Iāve never---you know, Iām not... used to it.ā a sigh follows as she forcefully represses awful memories, ones still so recent and fresh that even so barely mentioning them feels like pouring salt on a wound, āI canāt describe it. Just... whatās there not to like? Have you met him...?ā a rare sight follows as she continues---Min-Seo actually smiles, endeared by her current thoughts,Ā Ā Ā Ā āHe learned some Korean... and I donāt really know why,ā surely not because of her: it wouldnāt make sense. There ought to be some other reason, a way more worthy motivation. With that her lips are pulled down once again, almost grimacing, āBut heās so---so. So simply nice. I...ā without thinking, her hands reach her face to conceal it; her shoulders stiffen, tighten, and there is such a mess in her head, in her chest, that she doesnāt know what to do. What a fucking wreck, is the first clear thought that slashes through her confused mind.
She isnāt crying, she desperately wants to. Yet she is also thinking about him---Ā Ā Ā Ā ā... I really donāt deserve him, uh...ā a muffled mutter follows as she subsides into dead silence. Just what is going on? Whatās making her usual self-deprecating spiel so difficult?
