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Jugyeong doesn’t know when she fell in love with Han Seojun.
It crept up behind her like a shadow withering in the darkness, drawn curtains flashing specks of bright light up ahead. Maybe it was when he held her hand on the bus back home from the airport the night Suho left. Maybe it was when he embraced her in the park, her hands shaking from the aftermath of Suho calling to break up with her. Maybe it was during one of their countless outings, ice cream smudging the corners of their lips and the moon as her slowly healing heart’s sole witness.
Three dates gave Jugyeong a taste of a life with Han Seojun. Spilling laughter and smiles and an ease she’d never find anywhere else. Because Han Seojun is many things: a comfort, a steady presence in her life, her best friend till the end of time. He was the one who held her hand and carried her through the hardest two years of her life. He was the one who took care of her, loved her like nobody else did.
But Suho’s return clouded everything. Lee Suho was Lim Jugyeong’s first love, and that much was irreplaceable.
So they get back together.
Suho sends flurries of butterflies coursing through her stomach. He reminds her of her high school days, of sneaking around their friends and stealing kisses in the dark school hallways. Being with Suho makes sense, simply said. He’s the only one she’s ever had eyes for.
So why does she feel so sad?
She finds herself sitting in front of her television, hugging her thighs to her chest and watching and rewatching Seojun’s stages. He’s been extremely busy since his debut six months ago, and even if he wasn’t, there’s no way Jugyeong would be able to see him. Suho wouldn’t be comfortable with that, especially now that Jugyeong knows he always knew about Seojun’s feelings for her.
(“You knew?” she asked one night as they sat side by side on his sofa.
Suho slurped noodles into his mouth and hummed noncommitedly. “You’re dating me. Does it matter now?”
Yes, Jugyeong wanted to say. “No, I guess not.”)
Seojun’s popularity skyrockets with each and every passing day. Every song he puts out stays on the top of the charts for weeks. Every selca he posts to his Instagram gets millions of likes within minutes. Jugyeong follows his social media, sees fans flooding his comments sections and smiles as she contributes a red heart of her own.
They exchange messages sometimes. But Seojun always leaves off with go to your bf now!!! i’m omw to an interview, and Jugyeong doesn’t know what the ache in her heart means.
They say distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Jugyeong thinks there’s truth in that. She also thinks that the sudden distance between her and Han Seojun made her heart burst and spill all over like a golden runny yolk.
Then Seojun’s band drops a new single, one that’s titled Yellow Tulips.
It’s a ballad. His voice has always been most suited for ballads, Jugyeong thinks. The melody is slow, soft in that distinct way of his. When Jugyeong hears it for the first time—in Suho’s living room while he’s cooking dinner for them—she bursts into tears.
There’s a clattering sound from somewhere behind her, and suddenly, there’s a weight pressing down onto her shoulders. It’s Suho, embracing her tightly as if it’ll help at all. As if it’ll do anything other than make Jugyeong cry even harder.
“I—I can’t—” she’s whispering, Seojun’s voice floating in through the speaker of her phone.
“Jugyeong-ah,” says Suho.
Jugyeong feels suffocated. She scrambles up and pushes him away. “Stop.”
Suho doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, “Jugyeong-ah, are you okay? Did something happen? Turn off the music.”
But Jugyeong isn’t listening to him anymore.
“You’re my world and all my moments,” Seojun is singing in the song, the lyrics serving as a cold slap to her cheek. “Do you know what these yellow tulips mean?”
She remembers Seojun handing her the bouquet of flowers—the yellow tulips. They were big and bold and unfairly beautiful. She took them home and potted them and placed them on the dining table.
“Jugyeong-ah,” says Suho.
“They mean unrequited love, they mean loving someone alone.”
“Jugyeong-ah!”
“Every time I see you, my heart stops like a broken watch.”
“Jugyeong—”
“Suho-yah,” Jugyeong interrupts him, barely trusting herself to speak but determined to do this correctly. “Let’s break up.”
The song comes dwindling to an end, and then, silence.
“What?”
“I think,” Jugyeong starts again, louder this time, “that we should break up.” She closes her eyes. “I’ll hurt you if we stay together any longer.”
She turns around, sees Suho’s expression breaking, crumbling to dust.
“I love him,” she whispers, and it sounds like a confession. A whisper in the wind. Her heart aches with the sudden revelation.
Dawn is breaking. It spills over the horizon and encases her entire being.
--
Hours later, she’s sitting at a bench in the park, the same bench she and Seojun sat on the night Suho broke up with her all those years ago. It’s ironic, she thinks, how time flipped everything around.
She takes out her phone and dials the first number in her favorites.
“Seojun-ah,” she says as soon as she hears the connecting click.
“Lim Jugyeong?” comes Seojun’s voice. Just the sound of it pricks at Jugyeong’s heart, encases her body in sticky shivers. “Are you crying?”
“What?” She stops and quickly reaches up to her face, swabbing her thumb across the bottom of her eye and inhaling when she feels the wetness on her skin. “Oh, haha. I am.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
She smiles. “I listened to your song.”
He’s quiet on the other end.
Jugyeong continues, “It’s very beautiful.”
“Jugyeong-ah,” says Seojun suddenly. His voice has grown hard within seconds, like he’s preparing the shield around his heart.
“Seojun-ah,” she says. “Han Seojun, I’m sorry.” The tears flow freely now, pooling at her jawline and steadily dripping down onto her jeans. “I hurt you a lot, didn’t I?”
“Idiot,” he whispers. “What are you sorry for?”
“Everything,” she says, sniffling and reaching up to pathetically wipe at her face. “I’m...ah. I’m going to hang up now. Will you spare an afternoon for me sometime?”
“Of course,” he says quietly. “Any day you want.”
“Then I’ll text you,” says Jugyeong, and before she can say anything else, she drops her hand and presses the end call button, her fingers curling around her phone.
The corners of the device dig into her skin, temporary marks grazing her features.
“I love you,” she says out loud, staring at the darkened screen. She’ll tell him with time, eventually. After she pieces herself together and earns back the gift of his trust.