I sat there next to Haru, awkward and unsure of how to act. The room felt stifling, not because of the atmosphere but because I didn't belong there. Two guys and a girl sat cross-legged on the carpet across from the wooden coffee table, chatting and laughing as they sipped on beer. The girl I had seen earlier was seated on Haru's left on the gray sofa, while another guy, perched in an armchair near the sofa, was engrossed in texting on his phone.

The coffee table was cluttered—a half-eaten strawberry cake sat in the middle alongside several empty beer cans. A mellow tune played softly from the soundbar beneath the TV mounted on the wall, filling the silence between their lively conversation. My eyes flickered to see the paper box sitting alone on the small round dining table in the kitchen area. They already had a cake... I thought, feeling a pang of foolishness for bringing mine.

I turned my attention to Haru, who was effortlessly engaged in their conversation. His natural charm and ease made him the center of attention. It's not like Haru should only have one friend, I told myself, trying to quell the sting of something I couldn't name. My earlier outburst now felt childish and unnecessary. Of course, a friendly person like Haru wouldn't be alone on his birthday. He's a social butterfly, unlike me...

My gaze shifted to the girl beside him. She watched Haru with a soft blush coloring her cheeks, her admiration clear. And of course, he'd found a new girlfriend... It had been months since his last relationship.

A strange sensation clawed at my chest—an ache I couldn't quite place. I clenched my fists on my lap as if trying to squeeze the emotion out. I think I'm just being possessive... It's because I've had a hard time for so long and Haru is the only friend I can spend time with these days, forgetting my worries. My thoughts wandered to Taemin. Maybe I should reach out to Taemin occasionally. It's not healthy to rely only on Haru this much...

"Which university do you study at, Haru's old friend?" one of the guys asked, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the coffee table, his curiosity palpable.

"I'm not a student," I replied, keeping my voice calm.

"Oh..." The girl beside him tilted her head, her tone curious as she followed up. "What do you do then?"

Here it comes. I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of their attention. Their gazes, though perhaps not intentionally judgmental, bore into me, leaving my skin prickling with discomfort. What am I supposed to say? That I work dead-end part-time jobs just to pay off debt? That I'm a failure?

"I..." My voice faltered.

Haru's hand slid over my clenched fist, his fingers intertwining with mine in a gentle, reassuring gesture. "Myung is a talented artist," Haru said smoothly, looking at the group. "He's working part-time to save up so he can open his own art gallery one day."

"Uhhh..." Their collective reaction was one of admiration, nods of approval all around.

I stared at Haru, stunned. He smiled warmly at me before taking a sip of his beer, his expression casual as if what he had just said wasn't a blatant fabrication. He remembered my childhood dream—one I had abandoned long ago. He had taken that wistful fantasy and spun it into something they could admire.

Relief washed over me at being spared the humiliation, but it was tinged with bitterness. Was it my inferiority complex, or was it something deeper? I wish... I wish what he said was true.

~

I got up from the sofa and headed straight for the bathroom. Closing the door behind me, I leaned forward, placing my palms firmly on the edge of the sink. My reflection stared back at me, pale and shaken, as I tried to steady my breathing. It had been a long time since I'd felt this uncomfortable, this out of place. I sighed deeply.

After a few minutes of struggling to calm my nerves, I finally composed myself and stepped out of the bathroom. That's when I heard it—words that hit me like a punch to the gut.

"We're gonna miss you, Haru Sunbae*," one of the girls said near the doorway as she slipped on her shoes. The sound of their chatter filled the apartment.

Miss him? I froze mid-step in the narrow corridor leading to the bathroom and the bedroom, my mind racing.

"Yeah," the guy who had asked about my studies earlier chimed in, huffing. "I still can't believe you're joining the army before me. I'm older than you and haven't even received my notice yet."

"Come on, it's not like I'm dying..." Haru's voice followed casually. "You'll see me again."

The army? My chest tightened as their words sank in. Why didn't he tell me?

The sound of the door clicking shut pulled me out of my daze. The room fell silent, save for the muffled hum of the fridge. Haru turned around, his eyes widening slightly when he saw me standing there.

"Since when were you—" he started.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I interrupted sharply, my voice betraying my frustration.

Haru walked straight into the kitchen, his steps measured. He spoke calmly, almost dismissively. "I was going to tell you."

"When?" I scoffed, following him. "The day you left?"

He opened the box containing the cake I had brought, his expression unreadable. "What's gotten into you today?" he muttered, glancing at me with a hint of annoyance.

"I should ask you the same." I stopped near the round table, my gaze fixed on the cake. Its layers had slid, smearing the frosting, likely from all the shaking when Haru chased after me earlier. The sight of it made my stomach churn. "It's ruined," I whispered, more to myself than to him. "Let's just throw it away."

I reached out for the plate, but Haru grabbed my wrists firmly, stopping me.

"It's edible even if it doesn't look good," he said, his voice calm but firm.

I stared at the cake without responding. I couldn't shake all the negative feelings that were rushing into my mind.

"Myung, look at me," Haru said, his tone demanding.

I kept my eyes on the cake, refusing to meet his gaze. "I... I can't understand you sometimes," I began, my voice trembling slightly. "One day, you're willing to throw our friendship away over a simple apology, and the next, you're asking me to rely on you." My chest tightened as I fought back the emotions threatening to spill out. "Then, just when I think things are normal, you avoid me completely. You don't tell me anything—not about yourself or your plans. It's like..." I trailed off, swallowing the lump in my throat. "It's like I can turn into nothing for you in the blink of an eye."

Haru's grip tightened slightly. "Don't bring up the past. You're overthinking this."

I finally lifted my head, meeting his gaze. "I'm not!" I said, my voice laced with hurt. "I convinced myself you were just busy with your internship or school, but now I see... you just..."

I trailed off, unable to finish. Haru's expression was hard to read—conflicted, distant.

"I needed to sort out my thoughts," he said after a moment, his voice low. "It's not about you. It's about me struggling with my own feelings."

I frowned, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Then why not share them with me? Or am I not a reliable friend?" I snapped, the last word laced with bitterness.

Haru's jaw tightened as his gaze darkened. "Would you stop being sarcastic?" His voice rose slightly, tinged with irritation. "I'm telling you—I needed time alone to deal with the shit in my head!"

I exhaled sharply, stepping back and breaking free from his grasp. "Fine," I said quietly, my voice devoid of emotion. "If that's what you want, I'll leave you alone. Take care in the army, Haru."

I turned and walked toward the door; my steps hurried as my heart pounded in my chest. His gaze burned into my back, heavy and filled with something I couldn't decipher, but I didn't stop. I didn't dare look back.

The door clicked shut behind me, and the sound echoed in the silence of the hallway. Each step I took away from his apartment felt like it added another weight to my chest. My hands trembled as I clenched them into fists, my emotions swirling in a storm I couldn't contain.

Jackass...

Now I understand why psychologists always say that communication is the key.

When two people hide their feelings, burying them beneath silence or vague words, nothing can ever truly go well.

Perhaps if we had been honest—if we had shared what was in our hearts from the start—we wouldn't have hurt each other the way we did.

Honesty may not erase the pain, but maybe, just maybe, it would have spared us from creating it in the first place.

PS: *Sunbae means Senior*