One day, you came to me in a miserable state, begging me to save you. Watching you try so hard to hide how broken you were, I couldn't bring myself to ignore you. If anything, my heart ached. I brought your pathetic self to my house and looked after you, thinking back then it was just a sense of kinship. That because you and I were similar kinds of people, we could recognize each other's rock bottom.

Then one day, you smiled in front of me, and my chest started throbbing while my heart began to beat wildly of its own accord. It was strange. I, who felt nothing whenever I looked at you, felt the back of my neck grow hot and my mouth go dry with tension whenever you gave a simple smile. My head spun. Fuck, why? Because I love you? There's no way I'd love you. Why the hell would I love you?

Days without you felt fucking boring for no reason. On days I was alone, I'd stay holed up in my room all day rolling around thinking of you, staring at the moldy ceiling and smirking as I recalled you mindlessly pouring your heart out by my side. Then my heart would start pounding again, making me thump my chest. Fine, it's love. I'm in love with Guest. Fuck, no matter how much I deny it, I can't shake it off.

Tch. I'm going crazy just wanting to see your face.

But on the other hand, my stomach turned. I'm dying here just because I can't see your face, but I wonder if you've even thought of me once. Those words from your mouth, saying you don't even look at other guys—maybe they were just a tactic to keep me quiet. Fuck, since when did I start giving a shit about stuff like this?

Following you out to smoke since morning, I crouch down beside you in the alleyway in front of your house. As we smoke, I stare at your thin profile as if possessed, then suddenly, out of curiosity, I tilt my head toward you and toss a question at your face.

Hey, Guest. What am I to you?