Expectation: On Tae Hyeon

Hyeon’s apartment

Seattle, WA

August 2015
2:32 AM

Hyeon tries not to expect too much from people. 

He’s been disappointed one too many times. Friends failed to pull through sometimes. Past partners didn’t really live up to certain promises or commitments. Family’s let him down here and there. Hyeon hasn’t gone through anything particularly traumatizing, no, but after many disappointments lowering his expectations only seemed to make the most sense. After all, doing so seemed like the best way to prevent further hurt from coming his way. 

It seemed like a bandaid solution, but it was the best one he had. 

(And frankly, Hyeon was tired of the wounds.)

The only time he expects is when they let him help. Hyeon’s happy to help; he’s happy to advise, to assist, to manage. He’s more than glad to steer people in the right direction when he notices that something’s gone awry. He knows best, after all. He knows best and wants the best for others, wants them to do no wrong, wants to keep them from disappointing themselves (and him). 

Things worked better when he stepped in. Hyeon often looked at things from a cooler and logical perspective; he had always been the calm one, the rational one, the one with the most objective point of view. He tries not to pride himself too much. 


And it helped. It really did. He couldn’t count on his fingers how many times his quick-thinking and sensible words had worked. They were a better solution than Jae-won’s proposed ones, anyway; Jae-won always spoke without thinking and thought with his heart. Hyeon thought that his best friend was sweet for that; he meant well. 

But if they were to think about it, then it wasn’t the best thing to do. When feelings got in the way, they often led to unmet expectations. 

He tries to remember that, especially now. 

“You can’t.” Hyeon’s voice is firm, stable, controlled at best. He’s pacing the room and running his fingers through his hair. Hyeon knows that the black roots are showing, but that isn’t the priority at the moment. He focuses his eyes on Jae-won, “No. You can’t go back, Jae. You can manage here. Of course you can—you’ve always managed, so why now of all times do you want to go back—”

“You saw me in the car.” 

Hyeon stops pacing when his best friend speaks up. The tears have long stopped, but there’s a shakiness to his voice that Hyeon hasn’t heard in a long, long time. It makes him worry almost immediately. The last time Jae-won’s voice had sounded like that…

He tries not to think about the last time. 

“I did, but—but that’s just now, that’s just the painful part of recovering,” he tries. “What you two had was special, of course it’s going to hurt. Of course you’re not going to get over it that quickly. Hey,” Hyeon walks in front of the other and crouches down, tries to meet his swollen eyes. “come on, Jae. You can stay here. You can stay with me, you can move in with me for a while and I’ll help.” 

Helping’s what he does best, after all. Hyeon expects a defeated smile to land on Jae-won’s features, but it doesn’t happen. 

“…Jae?” 

“I can’t stay here.” Hyeon’s about to refute that thought when Jae’s shoulders tremble, and his best friend manages to continue speaking. “I can’t, Hyeon, I fucking can’t—the apartment reminds me of her and so does the route to her campus, the route to her workplace—all the fucking restaurants and cafes keep bringing me back and I keep…I can’t.” His voice is a faint, weak whisper. “I can’t stay.” 

“Of course you can. Seattle’s a big city. Seattle’s big, I’m telling you that you can stay here, stay with me—we can distract you, you can stay here for as long as you want until you feel ready.” Hyeon’s blabbering at this point and spouting ideas, but he can’t help it. He’s running low on suggestions, running low on anything that can convince Jae-won to stay there, stay in Seattle where Hyeon can keep an eye on him and make sure that he doesn’t get in trouble— 

Hyeon doesn’t realize it, but each idea only convinces Jae-won to leave. Jae-won manages a short laugh and finally looks at him. He meets Hyeon’s frantic eyes. 

“You don’t want me to go.” 

“Of course I don’t! Listen,” he tries to regain his composure, “going back home to Seoul is—it’s a big move, at least consider your parents—what are you going to do there? You have a job here, you have everything here, and…me. You have me.” 

Jae-won doesn’t say anything. He pulls his gaze away and Hyeon presses his lips together. 

“At least give it some thought.” 

“I will.” 

“And stay here. Just…stay here.” 

“Okay.” 

Hyeon stands up. Jae-won buries his face into his hands again, takes calming breaths. Hyeon rushes off to fetch some spare blankets and pillows. He’ll take the couch again. It’s okay. Jae-won needed the bed more than he did. 

He could convince him to stay. Jae-won’s just being emotional. His heart’s not in the right place. He keeps telling himself this as he gathers the essentials, fetches up a shirt that Jae-won had left behind months ago. When he gets back to his living room, his best friend stares at his phone. Hyeon almost wants to snatch it away and lock it up for the night. 

He’d get him a new one if he could; a clean one. A clean slate to work on. But Jae-won wouldn’t accept it. He’s too sentimental, too attached, too stubborn. Jae-won rips open his wounds too much, too often, and barely heals as a result. 

The night passes a little too quickly. In the morning, Hyeon greets Jae-won with a warm mug of coffee. He dances around the topic and tip toes around it delicately in hopes of delaying the conversation and quieting the voice that urges him to leave.

Hyeon tries to exercise control one last time, but ends up disappointed anyway.