twenty-one: we are never ever getting back together

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On Monday, Gregory doesn't show up to class

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On Monday, Gregory doesn't show up to class.

And like a fool, Jeong-Soon waits for him. He zones out in every class and gets kicked out again by Ms Eliza for not paying attention---alone, this time. He knows he shouldn't, that he should focus instead of worrying over a boy who'd dumped him just two days before. But Gregory's empty seat is evident among the whirling throng of students, stark against the backdrop of a crowded room, and Jeong-Soon can't help the glances he sneaks back at the unoccupied chair, almost expecting Gregory and his scarlet jacket to materialise in the corner like a rose blooming from the shadows.

What if he---

He can't bring himself to think that way, can't bear to even entertain the thought. Gregory's alive. Gregory's okay. But no matter how hard he tries, Jeong-Soon can't convince himself that Gregory Gan is alright, because he had definitely not been okay on Saturday.

Every time he looks back at the deserted corner, so empty without Gregory's crimson vibrance, something sour squeezes his heart in a fist. His chest feels tight, too tight, stitched up with golden-gloss thread from all the words he'd never say, the feelings he yearns to tell. And although he tries not to worry too much, the eternity of waiting bruises the creatures behind his ribs until he can hardly breathe. Waiting, waiting, waiting.

During English, the last lesson of the day, Jeong-Soon reaches for his phone again. It's become a habit, his fingers eagerly creeping for the device every other minute---in Maths, in Physics, in the long lines streaking the cafeteria. All to see whether Gregory has replied to the sixty-nine messages Jeong-Soon has sent him since Saturday.

Gregory's phone is still off. The sixty-nine messages are still undelivered.

Jeong-Soon can't help it---the imprint of Gregory's eager mouth on his suddenly feels like gasoline on his lips, dripping to the floor in a vengeful cadence, fuelled by every second that passes on the clock. And he'd be lying if he claimed he doesn't feel the ache, doesn't feel the pain pooling over his feet, doesn't feel like he's about to burst into flames.

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