Caught On Camera (bxb)

Why did nobody warn me that rejection felt like a sucker punch straight to the gut?

So out of nowhere as well, because the feeling leaves you wheezing and choking on thin air, unable to even breathe. One minute, I was sitting across from the love of my life with a lovestruck smile on my face, bearing my soul to him. And then he opened his mouth and immediately wiped the lovesick expression completely off my face.

Three. Whole. Months.

Three whole months of subtly pining over him. Three whole months of perfectly timed “accidental” encounters with him. Three whole months rehearsing that final confession. All that effort, for it to amount to him walking away, leaving me hunched over, alone in the music classroom, looking like some blubbering fool.

Rejected.

By the fucking school loner.

I tried to hold back the flood of tears threatening to spill over, but the world around me blurred. Despite the weight of sadness pressing down on my chest, I pinched my eyes to shield the world from the emotional storm brewing within. I don’t want to cry over this. Honestly, that would be pretty pathetic and also take a lot of energy, and right now even blinking feels like a chore.

My hand tightens around my jumbo slushy cup. I shift around on the pavement, the ice slowly leaking through my jeans. I know I should drag myself out of this puddle before I wake up with a cold tomorrow, but I honestly don’t have it in me.

I’ll get up eventually… probably.

Anyway, where the hell is Taylor with my ice cream?

She’s been gone far too long. It usually doesn’t take ten minutes to order two scoops of chocolate therapy.

I whip my head around, squinting through the frosted shop windows.

She should be easy to find with her reinvention haircut for the month. This time she went for a short and choppy look, bleached blue at the tips.

I immediately spot her. Perched at the counter, giggling at something the tall guy in a puffer jacket standing near her just said. An irritated scowl slowly spreads across my face before unrolling into something unimpressed.

Of course, why wouldn’t she be flirting with someone in my time of need?

I hurriedly fish my phone out of my pocket, my fingers stiff from the cold. My thumbs fly over the screen, punching out a text with fury. Why is she delaying my chocolate therapy?

Mate, can you please come out here with my ice cream?

I hit send and watch the screen blink.

Message delivered.

Still scowling, I shift awkwardly on my damp backside and peer through the window again.

Her eyes visibly drop to her phone.

She sees my message.

I see her see my message.

And then I watch, mouth falling open in disbelief, as she powers her phone down without even flinching and returns her attention to the guy in the puffer jacket as if I don’t even exist.

Her smile is pure sugar, eyes wide and guileless.

My jaw is still somewhere near my collarbone as I blink slowly.

Wow.

Unreal.

Thumb hovering over the send button longer than it should, I roll my eyes skyward and kiss my teeth in frustration. Why am I not even surprised? Of course she ignored my message because why wouldn’t she? Who would she be without her selfish nature?

With a huff, I shove the phone back into my pocket and instead reach for my camera. My fingers know the weight of it instinctively now. I flip open the viewfinder, causing the screen to blink back at me monotonously. Just waiting.

I press record.

For a second, nothing happens. Just the soft whir of the lens.

Somewhere in that silence, my thoughts rewind to the first time I did this. The first time I looked into the camera and tried talking to it as though it were a friend. It was awkward as hell, like speaking to a wall and expecting a response. I kept tripping over words, unsure what to share and what to hide. But with time, the blank look of the lens stopped feeling like glass. Now, I share everything like it’s second nature.

My lips curve into a practised smile.

I picture myself as mirthful, and when I see the crinkle at the edge of my eyes and the bright reflection in my hazel irises, I almost buy the illusion.

Almost.

Even though I want to, I try not to break my mirthful smile. Because this is what people expect from me. When they point at me, they usually refer to me as the bubbly one. The guy who sees the glass half full. That version of me gets remembered. That version of me is loved. And that version doesn’t get forgotten like I did that one fateful day.

I still remember it clear as crystal.

Taylor, planning her first date with Mateo.

Me, hidden behind a vending machine, occasionally peeking out at them.

And the nerves in my throat as she asked if she could bring me along on their date.

To third wheel.

And then his voice when he asked, “Who the hell is Seong Jin?”

He wasn’t even trying to be malicious when he asked that question. The poor guy genuinely looked and sounded confused. Even though I did share two classes with him at the time.

And it was at that moment I realised that I didn’t exist.

I mean, do any of us actually exist if nobody around us acknowledges our presence?

So, it was at that moment I decided to ensure that I wouldn’t fade into the background anymore. From my deliberately weird clothing all the way to my perfectly curated smile. I have become as unavoidable as a bloodstain, even if the only one who knows the difference is me.

The camera blinks red to confirm it was recording. I keep my eyes trained on the viewfinder, the pink glow from the neon froyo sign above washing one side of my face in a cotton candy light. I almost look poised even.

“Hey,” I murmur, voice a little soft. “So Taylor is a terrible friend. Please direct your attention to this betrayal in progress.”

I spin the camera and slowly zoom in dramatically.

There she is inside, laughing as if she were in a romcom with a guy I’ve never seen in my life. They’re both leaning awfully close, all smiles and coy hand gestures.

“That right there,” I say, slowly panning for dramatic effect, “is the face of a traitor.”

I spin the camera back around to myself.

“I mean, she’s supposed to be out here mourning with me.” I pause. “Actually no, she doesn’t even have to sit out here with me. She can stay in there with that random neek. What really vexes me is the fact she chose him over delivering the chocolate ice cream she owes me.”

I sip my slushy, teeth freezing in protest.

“Why does she owe me ice cream, you ask?” I lift a brow. “Because we made a bet. When I told her I was going to finally confess to Dominic about how I feel about him, she said I would definitely chicken out. I said I wouldn’t. This confession was three months in the making.”

I pause.

“Spoiler alert? I did not, in fact, chicken out.”

I chew lightly on my straw, trying to look casual even as my heartbeat reminds me I was on the verge of crying an hour ago.

“Earlier today at school, I courageously sat across from Dominic in the music class and said those three magic words. No, not ‘I love you’. I just told him I liked him. I did the terrifying thing and confessed my feelings to my crush. All for the reward of chocolate ice cream.”

I set the slushy down and adjust the camera to show more of my face, trying to look heroic over my accomplishment.

“It was also to face my biggest fear, sure, but the ice cream was the push I imagine I needed.”

My hand sifts through my hair, pushing the strands away from my forehead.

“Okay, pop quiz,” I say, clapping my hands with faux excitement. “What do you think Dominic did when I told him that I liked him?”

I pause for a moment for dramatic effect.

“Did he, option one, tell me he feels the same and then proceed to ride off into the sunset with me? Or did he, option two, gently break my heart with a polite ‘no thanks’ like a decent fucking human being?”

I hold up my finger.

“Trick question. It was neither. He did neither of those things.”

I lean in closer, voice flat but simmering.

“You know what Dominic did instead?”

I let the silence sit heavy.

“He looked me dead in the eye and then, after telling me to ‘just stop’, got up from his chair and rushed out of the room. He didn’t even have the decency to at least look remorseful for rejecting me. He actually just turned around and walked away as if I was a small glitch in the Matrix, but a glitch that didn’t matter to him.”

My bleak gaze drops to my feet, shoulders curling inward as the memory crashes back in waves. I mean, I wasn’t expecting him to like me back, not really. I had braced for rejection after running all possible scenarios. But still some stupid part of me had hoped that maybe…

“Look,” I mumble under my breath, “I could’ve dealt with him just letting me down easy with an explanation like a normal human being. I didn’t expect him to lie to me and tell me how much he likes me too. He definitely doesn’t. But to simply cut me off as I was still explaining myself and then just fuck off….”

The sting deepens behind my eyes, and I blink fast so the tears will get the hint and retreat.

Clearing my throat, I inhale to steady myself.

It’s okay.

My hand fumbles across the pavement until it finds my slushy cup, feeling the perspiration melting down its side between my frozen fingers. I take a long sip as if that might cool the lump gathering in my throat. Then I lift my eyes to the camera lens again, watching myself on the viewfinder, and I catch the detached look in my eyes.

“Whatever,” I mutter flatly. “I don’t care anymore. I just want my fucking ice cream.”

I shoot another look toward the window, jaw tightening.

Taylor is still in there, twirling her hair coyly instead of comforting her emotionally frozen best friend on the footpath.

Who even is that guy?

He looks old as hell, like he pays taxes and owns a vinyl record collection.

Just as I turn back to the camera with a sigh, I summon a smile so forced it practically squeaks. “Anyway, happy birthday to—”

A jarring shove to my back forces my body to lurch forward, and I shriek as a tsunami of blue slushy cascades down the front of my shirt and splatters across my lap. Icy liquid soaks through the fabric in an instant.

Holy fuck, that’s freezing!

I scramble to my feet in a panic, yanking at the front of my shirt and shaking it like that might magically undo the chaos. No such luck. The dark blue stain is already blooming across the fabric.

I stare at it in horror.

Of course this would happen to this particular shirt. The one I just bought and was starting to fall in love with. I even planned to make it part of my favourite new outfit. A frustrated growl claws its way out of my throat as I flail dramatically, throwing air punches like some animé protagonist in the midst of a battle.

Then—oh God, my camera.

My heart skids as I snatch it up and inspect every inch, praying for mercy from the laws of physics. It better be okay, or I will actually break down crying this time. I cannot afford to lose the one thing I have left of him.

A shaky sigh of relief passes my lips.

A few droplets cling to the corners, but otherwise there are no glitches.

“I am… so sorry.” The introduction of a new deep voice.

I turn around curiously, still clutching my camera like a mother hen that nearly lost its baby chick, and lock eyes with the source of the chaos. The guy looks about my age. Tall and awkward in a way that borders on charming, but these aren’t the features commanding my attention.

His eyes.

Heterochromatic, one brown and the other jade.

Without hesitation, he fumbles into his coat pocket and yanks out the most eccentric handkerchief I have ever seen, splashed with dizzying swirls of pinks, greens and oranges. Before I can ask him what on earth he’s planning to do with it, he scrubs at my soaked shirt urgently.

I blink in confusion. “Uh… what are you—?”

His brows are furrowed in dead serious focus, mouth pressed in a determined line as if this is a life-or-death operation involving my shirt. He doesn’t even look at me. His entire being is locked in on the stain.

I look down at the sticky blue mess on my tee, then back at his oddly gentle hands and up at his face. Just as I’m about to say something, his eyes flick up briefly, and in that split second glance, I notice the panic brewing in his gaze.

Does he think I’m going to explode on him?

“It’s okay,” I stutter nervously, my voice barely the same octave it was a couple of seconds ago. “You don’t have to…”

But he keeps dabbing, like maybe if he works fast enough this whole awkward scene will magically vanish.

So I calmly reach out and rest my hand over his, stilling him in his movements.

“I was trying to clean my lenses,” he stammers apologetically, eyes wide. “It’s my fault. I was barely focusing on where I was going.”

He fumbles to hold up the smudged glasses in his other hand as if to attest to his words. When he slides them back onto his face and lifts his head to look at me, it’s like a curtain parting. The effect is immediate and oddly intimate. His eyes snap into perfect clarity and with them, I am once again speechless. Caught in the sharpness of his mismatched gaze.

“Without these, I’m basically blind as a bat.”

I don’t know what to say.

So I just nod, my brain still catching up to what was happening here.

His left jade eye sparkles with a vibrant intensity akin to the depths of a murky lagoon. Juxtaposed with the cerulean underwater, his right eye boasts an earthy brown tone, a warm colour reminding me of a million acorns scattered around an oak tree on an autumn day.

He’s beautiful.

When I realise that I have been staring at him for far too long to be normal, I blink myself out of my dazed state.

In assurance, I whisper, “It’s okay.”

Silence resumes from there and awkwardly, I avert my gaze to the side.

He finally breaks the thick silence that had settled between us, his brow furrowed in thought. “Do you want me to maybe buy you another shirt? No, wait, it’s already deep into the night. I doubt any clothing stores are still open at this hour. Shit.”

“No, it’s okay,” I reply with a light chuckle, masking the truth. “I didn’t really like this shirt anyway.”

With a wistful sigh, I bow my chin toward my chest, my gaze drawn to the dark stain that had marred the fabric. My lips involuntarily purse in disappointment as I take in the unsightly blotch on my vintage shirt. I did really like this shirt. I take a slow blink before shaking my head dismissively. After all is said and done, it is only a shirt.

“What about your camera? Is it okay? I didn’t accidentally spill the slushy all over it, did I?”

I respond by shaking my head softly, a wave of relief washing over me as I lift the camera to show him. When I realise it’s still recording, I quickly press the stop button.

I can’t help but be grateful that the slushy didn’t meet its fate on my precious device. The thought of how I might have reacted creeps into my mind. An image of myself, curled up in a tight ball on the floor, tears streaming down my cheeks in a desperate lament for the loss. The mental picture makes me shudder.

Through my eyelashes, I notice the tension finally leaving his body and he expels a deep sigh from his chest.

“You a photographer?”

“No?”

Without responding, he looks down at the ground.

When I follow his gaze, I realise that he’s looking at the empty jumbo cup that once held my blueberry slushy.

“Can I,” he nervously starts and questioningly, I stare up at him. “Can I buy you another slushy?”

His request, for some reason, makes my mouth dry up. I swallow a gulp down my throat. In my stunned state, I slowly blink up at his openly soft face. That’s when his lips tilt up and a genuine grin breaks across his face, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he does.

My gaze travels down his lean form with interest and I notice the shirt that he’s wearing looks like a uniform. Is he coming back from a job? How old is he? He doesn’t look that much older than me. Maybe a year or two at most.

Silence hangs over our heads—a silence I can easily eliminate just by replying to his question.

Do I want him to buy me another slushy? Probably. Not because I want another slushy, but because he’s courteously asking me to let him buy me another slushy. Before I can open my mouth and answer, my phone starts vibrating in my pocket.

“Uh,” I dig in my pocket for the device, breaking our eye contact to check who the caller is and when I see who it is, a grimace escapes me. “One second, please.”

He nods, patiently folding his arms behind his back and almost subconsciously rocking back and forth.

I slide my finger across the screen to answer and then turn away from him slightly. “Amma.”

“Seong Jin, eodiya?” she muses, and her exasperation comes through the device clearly.

“Uh…”

“I thought I told you to be here at eight on the dot. This is why I didn’t want to let you go out so late with Taylor. Where is she right now? Put her on the phone. I want to scold her.”

“Uh,” I glance over the boy’s shoulder into the froyo shop that Taylor is still in, “Taylor’s not here with me right now. She’s in the shop buying some ice cream, but we’re on our way back. I promise. I’m sorry I stayed out late. I didn’t notice the time.”

She stays quiet for a second until she finally defeatedly says, “Joh-ayo. Jib-e seodulleo. I don’t want to keep worrying about you.”

“Okay. I will.”

“Saranghae,” she says affectionately.

I open my mouth to say it back until I realise that there’s someone here, watching me. With my cheeks heating up, I glance over at him through my periphery. Looking at his features, I realise he’s also Asian. Would he understand what I’m about to say to my mum?

“Why aren’t you saying it back?” my mum demands.

“Uh… nado saranghae,” I murmur quietly, under my breath.

“Okay. See you at home.”

“Bye.”

I hang up the call, burying my phone deep into my pocket again. Trying to calm my face from heating up, I don’t look at him just yet. Once I know that my face isn’t red anymore, that’s when I raise my chin from my chest and stare into his gaze.

“I have to go home,” I say to him, and his face drops slightly, “uhm… so I don’t think you need to buy me that slushy, but I appreciate the gesture.”

“Oh,” he murmurs and then he zones out thoughtfully. “Then let me compensate you.”

He rushes to reach into his pockets for what I’m assuming is money and when he pulls out five quid from his coat, I immediately start shaking my head in refusal.

“You don’t have to—”

“Please,” he begs, grabbing my hand and placing the money in my palm. “Take it.”

Reluctantly, I fist the five quid. “Okay. Thanks.”

Again, he smiles.

“I have to go now,” I say, my words coming out awkwardly.

He bobs his head up and down in agreement. “Okay.”

With another stiff grin, I walk around him to make it to the froyo shop. I resist the urge to look back at him and instead focus on getting my best friend before my mother decides to kill us both.

“Oh, hey!”

I halt in my tracks and slowly turn around, arching my eyebrows inquisitively.

“I didn’t catch your name.” Then he adds simply, “I’m Kai.”

“I’m… sticky,” I say in jest before scowling in disgust. “That wasn’t a good joke at all.”

He smirks in amusement. “I’m glad you said it.”

“Seong Jin,” I introduce with a friendly smile to distract him from that terrible joke. “Nice to meet you, Kai.”

After waving goodbye, he spins on his heels and makes his timely retreat into the bookstore next door. I stare after him, blueberry slushy slowly drying on my chest. Until I remember the conversation with my mother. I see my best friend through the glass window, sitting down in a booth with that random guy still, and squint in bewilderment.

What the hell is she doing?

Was she just going to leave me to sit out here all by myself this whole time? Did she decide to make this a casual day to abandon your friend on their emotional collapse day? Because I must have missed the memo.

She’s supposed to be holding my hand, giving me unsolicited advice about how time heals even the most shattered hearts. She’s supposed to be feeding me chocolate ice cream like a baby bird, rubbing my back and encouraging me to hold my tears back. Not playing footsie with someone she met ten minutes ago.

She left me.

For him.

On my birthday.

Honestly, this is treason.

Betrayal of the highest order.

I press my forehead against the cool, transparent pane of glass and give it a decisive knock with my knuckles to draw her attention. The sound reverberates through the presumably quiet shop, prompting her to startle and glance in my direction. When our eyes meet, I hold a completely expressionless face. My deadpan stare is unwavering.

In response, she bites her lip and glances downward sheepishly, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her features.

I narrow my eyes and silently mouth, Ice cream. Now.

After a while, Taylor eventually emerges from the froyo shop with a bright grin on her face. She quickly hands over a cone of the chocolate ice cream before it can melt all over her fingers.

I point to my soaked shirt. “You owe me laundry money too.”