At this time of year, New York was usually gloomy and while I normally actually enjoyed just that, now it made it hard to get out of bed. I would usually lie there for at least 20 minutes, really trying to not think about that things didn't feel right. Of course, I had always known that coming back from this little vacation would be hard, really hard actually, and still I just couldn't shake this rut. At least that was what Lauren called it. In a matter of five days after having returned I got into a fight with my producer over nonsense, set the fire alarm off in our apartment while burning toast and had ruined basically all the clothes I had washed after coming back from North Carolina because I had put a red towel in with it the other laundry. Also, Namjoon had no idea.
It wasn't like we weren't talking. We had told each other when we had gotten home and checked in from time to time and still it wasn't the same. We kept our distance and by the time he called the following weekend I almost got scared when his name popped up. Seeing him on my screen helped a little because it all felt more real again, but when I told him that I had missed him, he smiled at me but didn't say it back. He was wearing the hood of his sweater over his head and that in combination with the lighting made it hard to properly see his facial expressions.
Maybe it was in my head. Maybe it was all in my head. Maybe I misremembered that when I had told him that night in the hammock that I would miss him he had not replied it either. Maybe the drive to the airport had not been uncomfortable but simply a little tense. Maybe he wasn't only texting me replies instead of reaching out himself. Maybe he just looked exhausted right now, not indifferent. Maybe.
We told each other what we had been up to and the conversation got a bit lighter when he said he had finished the book he had started while in the house in the woods. I had read the first couple of chapters as well, in his arms, and even though I had dozed off a few times, I knew enough, so he could talk to me about how much the ending surprised him. It sounded funny and when he started laughing, his nose wrinkled up - THOSE DIMPLES! - my heart jumped a little, I couldn't help but smile as well. And for what felt like the first time during the whole conversation he looked at me. Well, technically the screen. And then the camera, then back to the screen and then his wide smile faded and it was so sudden that I couldn't pretend I didn't see it. So then I stopped smiling as well and we both sat there, him fidgeting on his phone and me trying to find a comfortable position, where I could hold mine, so he could see me but my arm wouldn't go numb. I had just found one, sitting on the floor, leaning my back against the bed when he started moving. "I think I have to head out..." My eyes flickered over to the numbers telling me that we had been on this call for only a little more than 12 minutes. "Ehm... okay, that's..." "yeah, sorry, forgot about a practice." "Sure..."
I couldn't help it, it didn't sound understanding or fine or anything, it sounded a bit bitchy and by the way his jaw moved I could tell he had registered that. But instead of saying anything, he relaxed his face again while I felt so frustrated that I wanted to throw my phone at the wall. "Good. Great talk..." I said after he was still silent and he just looked down, which actually made me want to growl. "I really have to run." He said and I could see him moving his hand to his mouse, ready to end the call. "Namjoon, the fuck." My words startled him a little so at least he stopped his movements. I sat there, my mouth open a little and wishing there was a virtual version of shaking someone's shoulders. He finally looked at me again, waiting for what I had to say. And there were many things I wanted to say! That if he had changed his mind, it would be nice to know. That if he had experienced the week differently than me, that would be fine. That he should take his hood off so I could see his face properly. That I missed him. That I liked him. That I was still in if he was.
But what I really wanted was for him to say something. Anything. But he just sat there, blank expression, his dark eyes a shield of self-control. "Okay, whatever, bye then. " I snapped, ended the call, threw my phone on my bed and then stood there, hands clenched to fists, head full of better things to say. And a heart so heavy, I just sat right back down on the floor and rested my head in my hands. Fuck.
He texted about an hour later. Apologizing. Saying he was exhausted and overwhelmed and generally not in the best place. I stared down at my phone while preparing notes for the following day. My anger hadn't completely gone, so I didn't want to write back while I knew I might regret it later. Especially if it was still hard to verbalize WHY exactly I was angry. In theory... he really didn't owe me a thing. After a while, I got so frustrated by my own thoughts that I just rolled my eyes at myself and then wrote back. He probably wouldn't be awake anymore anyways, but at least maybe I would feel a bit better after being honest.
Me (12:01 PM): I am sorry as well. I didn't want to snap, that was childish. It's hard to tell what is going on in your head these days but I know everyone deals differently with these things. I was just so happy to finally talk to you properly. Maybe we can find time later this week when you are less busy?
I sighed, okay. Civil? But there was more. And it felt wrong to share it after he had just ignored all of that but... I felt it. And I wanted him to know.
Me (12:04 PM): I do really miss you. But if you don't miss me, that is fine... It was a test run and just because I now seem to know what I want doesn't mean you necessarily came to the same conclusion. It just would be nice to actually talk about it. I can take it, promise.
What? Was I now asking him to break up with me? "Not breaking up, you are not together." I reminded myself. Maybe a little part of me was still hoping that it would wake him up and he would text me back when he woke up. About how this was all a misunderstanding and he just... whatever, I thought about every possible explanation that would turn this around again, but none was as good as that he had maybe enjoyed himself during that week. But not enough to deal with reality.
I noticed I had accidentally gotten ink all over my face while playing with a pen in my hand... that wasn't closed properly. When I looked over into a full-length mirror resting against the wall on the other side of the room, my reflection looked pathetic. Sweats, old band shirt, curls a mess, cheeks and eyes red from trying really hard not to cry for too long, and fucking ink all over my lips and parts of my chin. I really didn't like myself right now, just as much as this stupid situation I had gotten myself info.
I went back to work and only allowed myself only once to check whether he had gotten my message. He had. He had still been awake. But there was no response. My thoughts were bouncing back and forth between "He probably read it half asleep" and "He needs time to think." and "He doesn't give a shit." But it didn't matter, because no matter what I decided that he had to be the one to reply or call or whatever, I would not sit here and stare at my phone. I had done my fair share of waiting.