Jiyong frowned, averting his gaze to the side as he refrained from answering. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all. He thought he was hiding his emotions well; no one, for the entire day, had stopped him to ask if he was all right. He thought he was doing okay. Everyone thought he was doing okay. The smile he put on his tired face was supposed to mask his newly re-discovered melancholy.
But of course, he should have known that Jennie, of all people, would be able to see past this vain attempt. The source of his recent sadness dealt with a mutual friend of theirs, after all. He had previously confined in the younger girl about his private affairs involving this person, knowing well that she had every right to know–no, that she should know. Otherwise, Jiyong would have felt weird, unnatural, like he was participating in something that was ludicrous and against Jennie. And now, given that this mutual friend was no longer mutual, she should know of that too. But did he have to spill the truth so quickly after everything ended?
Another handful of minutes passed before the male decided to bring his gaze back to his friend. He sat there, staring, contemplating the best way to go about telling her. Maybe he could ease it into the current conversation. Or maybe he could just wait until she asked what was up, that way he wouldn’t have to admit to anything first. Yet, he couldn’t keep her waiting for much longer with an answer of course, as he knew it would only further heighten her suspicion against his happy facade. And so, to stall for time (and so he could decide his next choice of action), he spoke out, however his voice was softer than usual.
“Hey, I don’t pout, Jennieyah. Not when I’m sad, at least. Tsk. But– aaaah. I mean.. I don’t wanna lie to you, so. I guess I’ll say I’ve seen better days, though this ain’t the saddest day I’ve ever had. Y’know.. like those in-between days? Where you’re not quite happy, but you aren’t entirely down in the dumps– dumps. Huuu.. What a fitting word. But– yeah. In-between, I guess. No pouting, though. That answer you?”
She understood it before, she understood it now. It used to sound like permission, albeit retroactive, to hurt someone. While people argued only a lover could wound so deep, an exhaustion of a friendship’s pleasant memory could equally cut to the very core. A tarnished image of a person once greatly valued left her as much of a broken heart. The level of agony has to be an inside job. Which was why his denial makes her laugh with a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Because of how classic and expected it was. She doesn’t fault him for doing so initially. She would have done just the same if the roles were switched. There was no easy way of telling.
Though they shared the subject of both losses, the difference of their pain were poles apart. The gravity of all this had put her in a solemn state of mind. It wasn’t about her. The kind of grief that came in waves isn’t simply hidden under a smile. What once was whole is shattered; where once was peace became emptiness with echoes of a love that had all meaning — meaning, that now was lost. Jennie recognizes it; transparent like a glass figurine so perfect to the eye, so fragile underneath. This wasn’t the face of a man tired from the daily grind. It was the desolation vying for dominance through his feigned expression. The same one that wells up when bottled in.
For his sake, she plays along. “Sure, you don’t pout.” She teases at first to keep it lighthearted yet she didn’t need much else to do or say before he had allowed words to come spilling. Not unchecked enough, though. It was as if he was punching, but holding them back at the same time. “That’s only one part of it, though, right?” She says it like it’s not rhetorical. This is how she pulls back in return, and it says a lot with how persuasive she is in nature. She knew what it was, or had an idea at the least. If she was right with her hunches, there was no use in dragging it around.
“That makes us two, though. And I don’t wanna lie to you about it either… so,” Just as she pauses, a chair is pulled along with a straight face and the atmosphere suddenly fills with tension alike to an interrogation room. Then she breaks it with a bluffing smile or else he wouldn’t talk and if done to her, she wouldn’t either. Soon her expressions turn amiable contrary to her arms folded on top of her chest. “Can we agree to share, whatever it is that we’re distressed about, to each other?” Cue the puppy eyes. “Hmmm?”