#jaemin.

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Jaemin hated Mondays. Aside from it being the start of another dreaded week, you’d constantly come home late on Mondays, complaints about Mark prolonging dance rehearsal on the tip of your tongue. He’d jump up from his place on the couch, the tv playing on as he rushed to your drooping figure leaning on the doorway. His arms would wrap almost instinctively around your waist, hauling you up in a warm embrace.

You’d exchange shy smiles, foreheads against one another’s, greeting each other with quiet mumbles of hellos and how are yous. Once his lips were pressed against yours, all your complaints vanished, his kiss more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever drunk. He never failed to take all your grumbles away, his tongue dancing with yours, constantly drowning you with all his love. Mondays were exhausting, no doubt, but Jaemin never ceased to find ways to keep you up.

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Tuesdays weren’t anything special. They were busy, the day filled with everything but a tiny break for you two to enjoy in each other’s company. Jaemin left early on Tuesdays, leaving you to the empty sight of his side of the bed. Maybe it was just you, but waking up on Tuesday always seemed so quiet.

Tuesdays weren’t anything special. But Jaemin made them special. The cute good morning texts he’d send when he knew you were finally awake always had your cheeks reddening, always sending a flood of warmth up your neck and into your face.  He’d leave you little notes – on the fridge, on your bedside table, on the bedroom door- reminding you to eat before you go, to bring a snack with you, wishing you good luck on that test you’ve been stressing about. His love poured out of every word etched on. Jaemin was always right beside you – even when he wasn’t.

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Both you and Jaemin looked forward to Wednesdays. Wednesdays were movie nights. Hand in hand, you’d come home with Jaemin, arguing about whose turn it was to pick the movie. You’d listen to the sound of the popcorn popping in the microwave, the smell of butter in the air as you and Jaemin fetched blankets and pillows for the night. Once settled, you’d still spend at least half an hour bickering over what movie you should put on. 

He’d be so stubborn, insisting on watching the same rom-com movie you’ve watched so many times, you swear you could quote it word for word. But when he starts acting cute, eyebrows all furrowed and eyes shimmering, you’d let him win so easily, always so soft for that pout he gives you when he wants something. He’d put the movie on and wrap his arms around you, and you’d both giggle like fools, not actually paying attention and staying up till god knows when.

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You loved Thursdays. The only day in the week where you both could sleep in. 

You adored Thursdays. You relished the fact that you‘d wake up to his serene and seraphic face, that only you were allowed to see him like this. You’d sit up lazily, arms stretching upwards as you let out a big yawn, only to yelp in surprise when he pulls you back down to the bed and into his warm embrace. He’d try to avoid your halfhearted swats at him, and you’d grin back at him before he slides his lips on yours again. If you didn’t push him away, protesting and whining about his morning breath, you two easily lost track of time, snuggling with each other for at least half an hour more. If one of you came late to class you’d blame the other and apologize, and with no evident remorse, you’d promise for it to be the last, knowing wholeheartedly it’ll most certainly and never would be the last. 

But oh, how you cherished Thursday mornings like they were the last one every time.

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It goes with no saying that Jaemin was a sweetheart; popular and smart, he was near perfect to all the other students, befriending almost everyone he meets. So on Fridays, if you didn’t manage to convince Jaemin to let you stay home, you’d find yourself at another house or club, music blasting loudly and desperately clinging onto Jaemin. You were never one for parties, but seeing Jaemin in those tight, black skinny jeans that hugged his thighs so well, white shirt loosely tucked in, leather jacket on – rather than those jogging pants he’d insist on wearing to class because, oh, but they’re so much more comfortable – affected you more than you let on. From the way he’d smirk at you and tilt his head, you don’t doubt he knew just how crazy he drove you.

When he’d keep his arm around your waist and stay beside you throughout the whole party, a silent claim, like he was afraid anyone would try and take his princess away – that made your heart race faster than you could ever describe. So, you decided Fridays and parties weren’t all that bad.

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Just like your heart and thoughts, your week was full of him. His wonderful smile. His bright eyes full of gentleness, with a hint of mischief lingering behind. His long, slender fingers that interlock with yours and weave themselves into your hair. His rosy lips that shower you with the sweetest of kisses. The way he perked up whenever you came into sight. The cute sounds he’d make- the way his breath would hitch, become shallow and rapid, heart pounding loudly. The way praises and compliments spill out of his mouth so effortlessly. Everything about him.

You loved every single trait and quirk, every wink, every stupid joke he’d make. There was no one like Na Jaemin. As beautiful as a flurry of glittering snowflakes drifting and swirling down from the sky with grace and tenderness, always an overwhelming kindness and compassion flooding out of his actions like water bursting out of a broken dam.

Now, your relationship with Jaemin wasn’t perfect. Like every other couple, you two fought. You had your ups and downs, twists and turns, ceaselessly going back and forth with each other. You’d argue about the little things you realize now were unimportant. You’d refuse to talk, just as he, and you’d glare at him furiously, while he’d look at you just as infuriated, head slightly tilted down, his gaze drilling holes into you from under his eyelashes. But the glares and fights and silent treatments never last.

Like him, you craved attention, you needed his love and affection. You wanted nothing more than to make up and melt in his arms. Swallowing your pride, you’d approach him, head down, apology and excuses at hand.

Occasionally he’d beat you to it. Sometimes, he’d walk up to you and shimmy himself into your arms, mumbling almost incoherent apologies- hasty and hollow apologies- and you’d echo those same promises back, albeit knowing it wouldn’t be the last time this would happen. Still, you two would be so relieved, so thankful, so sorry, that all that mattered was you were with each other again.

Just as much as you loved him – everything about him – you thought he felt the same.

So when he broke up with you on a Sunday, you didn’t cry. When he uttered those words that were now like lead and acid, your heart stilled and like glass, it took a blow, a crack slowly spreading as you took it in. But still, you didn’t cry. Instead, like it was one big joke, you chuckled breathlessly, eyes wide, telling him how bad of a joke that was. But he wouldn’t meet your eyes, his gaze zipping from one place to another – like everything else was suddenly so interesting. He said nothing else, gave you no explanation, no apology, no excuses, leaving you to wonder what reasons could he have- why the happy ever after you both envisioned, was ending here.

When did it start? Where were the signs? Why was it ending just like this?

It was like a jolt back to reality, awoken from a dream now lost. You nodded, smile long gone, eyes having had lost their sparkle and looked down. You didn’t cry – but you didn’t feel anything either. Body and mind numb, you let out a soft noise of understanding and nodded again.

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The low hum of Jaemin’s laptop greets you as you come home late the next day. There are no kisses, no hugs – no Jaemin throwing his whole weight on top of yours. All your remaining energy evaporates, your legs ready to give out. You feel weak, vulnerable, but you can’t stand letting it show, so you stand there, waiting for him to finally look at you. When he finally looks up he gives you a smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Nothing like the loving smiles and shining eyes he’d give you before.

“How was practice?” He asks, his usual enthusiasm reduced to a hushed murmur.

You shrug, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “It was okay. Like always, I guess.”

He nods, avoiding your gaze once more and pressing his lips together.

“I – uhm – there’s food on the table if you’re hungry.” His voice is so unbelievably hesitant. “Also, I’ll sleep here. So uh – you don’t have to wait up for me.”

He throws you another smile, the kind you’ve figured he does when he doesn’t know what to say. A sob threatens its way up at the back of your throat. It all seems too easy for him. Does it not affect him? Does it not hurt? Does he really not care anymore? Eyes burning and chest tight, you look away, shaking your head frantically in understanding.

“Okay.”

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The apartment is eerily quiet on Tuesday.

This Tuesday there are no notes. Not on the table, not on the fridge, not on the door where he’d usually stick one to wish you a day as bright as the smile you’d give him. Or, used to give him.

There are no texts. At least, none that matter. None from him. You feel pathetic, clinging onto your phone, jumping at every notification you see.

Jaemin leaves early on Tuesdays. But this Tuesday is different. This time, he left with another piece of your heart. And deep down you know, this time, he won’t come back into your arms again.

(Jaemin doesn’t come home that Tuesday.)

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You don’t see Jaemin on Wednesday. Not in the morning, not at lunch, not in the courtyards where he usually waits for you with his friends while you’re in class. 

You go home alone on Wednesday. And yet, you still hold hope. You know the chances are less than slim, but you hope Jaemin is home. You hope he’s waiting, a bowl of popcorn in his hands, grumbling about how you’re making him wait. You can’t help the small, bitter smile that emerges on your face. He’s always been so impatient.

The apartment is still empty when you arrive. There is no Jaemin waiting, no popcorn in his hands, no complaints, nothing. Instead, you come home to a note. Lying on the kitchen counter is a bright pink note, very much like the ones he’d always leave you with.

A million thoughts race through your brain, so many reasons, so many scenarios. Maybe it’s an apology. Maybe he wants you to meet him somewhere. Maybe he wants you to get ready, to get dressed in that pink dress and white heels he adored on you, that you two were going somewhere once he came home. Your breath quivers as your hope rises, a nervous feeling spreading throughout your chest as you rush to the counter.

Hopefulness bubbled inside you, lips pressed together tightly. You gulp, whispering – pleading under your breath, for an explanation, for something – for anything to quench the questions and put out the fire of pain burning inside you.

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Hey Y/N,

I’m staying at Jeno’s for a while. This seems the best for us. I know I didn’t- I never- You probably don’t wa-

I’m sorry.

Jaemin

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At first, you feel nothing. Then, it comes in trickles and drops, until it grows stronger, faster, the hopefulness in your chest rotting away, replaced by all the pain you’ve kept locked away in your chest - an overflowing flood of hate, guilt, and bitterness.

For him. For leaving you like this. For abandoning you with no explanation. Did you not deserve one? What happened? Is it something you did? Did he fall out of love? Was that it? You wonder at all the possibilities and you feel the burning desire to hate him, for leaving you in the dark like this. Alone and lost in a maze you were supposed to find your way out together. You want to hate him and you struggle to think of all the reasons why you could, but you can’t. Because he’s Na Jaemin. Because he’s that person who can make you smile even in the most horrid of times. Because he’ll always be that person you hold closest to your heart.

“God Jaemin, god, god, god, I fucking hate you so much.” Stifling back a sob, you pull at your hair, a wail of anguish reverberating throughout the room. To say your heart feels like it’s being twisted and wrenched would be an understatement. Your fingers press the note tightly, wrinkles spreading around the edges.

You swallow back the lump in your throat and wipe your eyes, trying to blink back any tears that threatened to escape. “Jaemin, you absolute asshole.”

Tears stream down your face, eyes stinging and rimmed red. You slam your hand down on the table and you flinch, the impact feeling like a thousand needles prickling your palm. A string of profanities aimed at Jaemin leaves your mouth with no remorse and you heave, fighting for air.

You stumble miserably through the hallway, exhausted, your only source of energy and motivation your anger. You force yourself to change into a pair of clean clothes and lay down on your once shared bed. Your cries turn into quiet sobs when you decide to reach for your laptop, hoping to distract yourself with a movie. But your tears don’t stop. And you aren’t sure if they ever would.

It’s still early when you fall asleep, that stupid rom-com movie still running in the background.

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It’s late when you wake up on Thursday morning, with only three minutes left till class begins. You turn to face Jaemin, a frown placed on your lips, to ask him why he didn’t wake you up. When your eyes meet the empty sight of his side of the bed, apart from the small space the laptop took up, your breath catches, throat tightening and your eyes start, despite your trying not to, tearing up.

You close the laptop before turning away, wanting to get up but feeling too tired to do so, regardless of the whole night’s sleep you got. You wonder if you could sleep all the pain away, to lose yourself in another dream where Jaemin never left, and he’s right there lying beside you.

An hour passes by, then two and three, before you steel yourself enough to get up and brush your teeth. You stare at the mirror for what seems like hours, questioning what’s changed, searching for flaws that could have helped him make up his mind and leave. With every minute you spend, your confidence shrivels, growing smaller and smaller as you debase yourself, looking for anything, everything that could have made him leave. You stutter out a heavy breath as your hands grip the sink.

Trying to reason with yourself, you shake your head, whispers of denial going through your head. Drowning in self loath, you waste your afternoon away, only moving to and from the couch and bed.

You’re lost in your thoughts when you hear the sound of a key being turned, opening the front door. You look up, expecting Jaemin, only to be greeted by the sight of Jeno, holding an empty bag and Jaemin’s keys. He stands stiffly, so unlike his usually relaxed posture, not knowing how to go on. The pity on his face is evident and you hate every bit of it. You waste no time in letting him know. “Get out.”

“Y/N,” he tries softly. “Jaemin sent –”

“Get out!” you scream, hurling the nearest thing you could grab at him when he makes no move to leave. “I don’t care whatever the fuck he said – get out!”

You don’t stop, repeating it over and over again, “Get out, get out, get out!!”

His eyes plead for understanding, wanting at least a chance to explain. You feel angry – you wanted no explanation. Not from him. All you could think of is how cowardly, how low, and how weak it was of Jaemin, to send someone else, instead of facing you himself. Your screams for him to go turn into broken sobs, into a beg for him to leave you wallowing in your sorrow.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” he sighs, trailing off. “I – I’ll come back – another time…” 

The door closes behind his retreating figure loudly. 

Hours after he’s gone you continue to shed tears, because what else could you do but cry?

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There’s a loud banging on your door on Friday afternoon. You struggle to get up from the couch and feel as though you’d just been run over by a truck. When you open the door to a frowning Renjun and a concerned Donghyuck, you know you’re in for a dreadful lecture.

Renjun’s frown deepens when he sees your terrible state, quickly letting himself in and closing the door after Donghyuck. Donghyuck doesn’t hesitate to pull you into his arms, his hand rubbing your back in an attempt to comfort you. For the third time that week, you weep, shedding hot and bitter tears, arms wrapping around his torso while you bury your face into his chest. You stay like that for a while before Donghyuck whispers, “Maybe it’d be better if we go sit down, Y/N…”

As you take a seat on the couch, Renjun and Donghyuck exchange uneasy looks with each other. Donghyuck wraps his arm around you comfortingly, not knowing how to ask and worried he might say the wrong thing. Renjun, however, is clear and straight to the point.

“Professor Jung’s prolonging the deadline by an additional week,” he starts, his frown still apparent. “So there shouldn’t be a problem with the project. But you still should’ve told us you weren’t coming today- and yesterday.”

He huffs, grabbing his bag and rummaging through it. He pulls out a folder and places it on the table, and before you could hiccup out an apology, he waves his hand dismissively and clicks his tongue.

“We took notes for you – but if you don’t understand, just know that’s all your fault and I’m not lending you shit.”

A short, breathy laugh slips out of you, genuinely finding great delight in his words. You hiccup and give the two your best try for a smile.

“Thank you.”

“I did most of it, of course.” Donghyuck pipes in. “You know how bad this loser’s handwriting is.”

Renjun shoots him a withering look, his fists raised in a threat, but Donghyuck only responds by sticking his tongue out at him.

You laugh breathily, appreciating the company in what seemed like months in a void of loneliness. The three of you aren’t particularly close; you share classes together, but you mostly know Donghyuck from practice, friendly enough with each other, while Renjun had the luck of being paired up with you two for this semester project. Although you’ve never met up with them for anything other than schoolwork, you hesitantly ask, “Would you guys like to stay for a while?”

Renjun is reluctant, but Donghyuck is all for it, beaming with his enthusiastic nods. You rush to reassure them that they don’t need to but Renjun only shrugs, claiming to have nothing better to do. Donghyuck wastes no time making himself at home, rushing off to your kitchen to go look for food while Renjun calls him out. You manage a grin, knowing for at least a little while, your mind could think of other things, like how to break it to Donghyuck that you ran out of ramen three days ago.

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A week passes. Jaemin still does not come home. Two weeks. You get used to the silence, but you do your best to avoid it – voluntarily staying later to practice with Mark and Donghyuck, leaving the apartment as soon as you’re ready, cooping yourself up in the library and letting yourself be dragged into the occasional party.

Three weeks have passed when you come home and see Jaemin’s keys on the table. He’s finally collected everything he left; there’s no need for him to have it anymore. You don’t know why it affects you so much. You knew he seldom came to get his stuff when you were gone. You don’t even know if he actually came himself or if he’d send Jeno. But you knew one day, he’d have nothing else to get and he’d have no use for it anymore. You knew, and you expected it. But it hit hard; harder than you thought it would.

Donghyuck rushes to your place as soon as you text him, finding you seated on the floor in front of the couch, just staring at the wall like it has all the answers to your questions.

Jaemin’s gone, and he took along with him all his traces.

Jaemin’s gone and so are his things, why do you care so much?

“Y/N…”

“Hyuck, be honest with me,” you laugh out mirthlessly, “this is getting a bit too pathetic isn’t it?”

He purses his lips, taking a seat next to you. He gives you a sad smile. “Well, to be honest, you looked worse the first time we went out drinking.”

You snort, smiling at him wearily, “Really?”

“Oh yeah. Absolutely.”

“So you wanna stay and drink the night away with me?”

“It’s not healthy to bottle all your feelings up and expect them all to go away with a drink, Y/N,” he sighs. “But – you know, I’m never opposed to a drink. But, let’s wait till Renjun arrives.”

He opens his arms and you settle in them comfortably, nesting your face in his chest. He strokes your hair and you burst, tears flowing freely once more.

And so you two wait for Renjun in each other’s arms, quietly talking and an occasional sob ripping out of you. When Renjun arrives, he holds a bag full of alcohol and junk food, along with a stack of DVDs in his backpack and you think perhaps this night could still be salvaged.

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Four weeks pass. Five. Six. You think you’re getting better. You’re proud of yourself. Proud that you don’t spend every waking moment thinking of him anymore. But Donghyuck still makes sure to remind you to eat and Renjun makes sure you do. They see right through the facade you put on for everyone. They know your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes anymore. But the sparkle in your eyes is returning, you think, slowly but surely. You think you’re getting better – and for a while, you were.

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It’s been almost eight weeks when you see Jaemin in the park in front of the public library. Two months. It’s been almost two months when you see him again, his head on another girl’s lap, eyes closed and that serene smile on his face.

Renjun looks back at you, not knowing why you’ve stopped in your tracks. His eyes follow your gaze, wondering what could have you so stupefied.

Jaemin’s opened his eyes, laughing at whatever the girl’s said, not hesitating to intertwine their hands together. They don’t see you, lost in their own little world, like you and Jaemin used to be. She pecks him on the forehead and he sits up, returning it with a quick and happy kiss to the lips. Renjun’s furious, even more than you are, and you grab his hand when he tries to approach them.

“It’s not worth it,” you say. “Let’s just go, Renjun. Please.”

You don’t let yourself break until you get to the safe confines of your apartment.

Two months.

Two months, for him to forget about you and your two-year relationship. Two months, and yet, he’s already holding another girl, laughing and kissing, while you still sobbed over his stupid smile every damn time you came across a photo of him in your gallery. It took him two months – two months to move on and find someone else.

Was that all it had to take? Two measly months? Was that how important you were? Was that how much impact you’ve made in his life? So little that it only took two fucking months for him to push you out of his life?

You thought you’ve already hit rock bottom, but you realize there was still no end to be seen. You could fool yourself all you want, but you were still falling – spiraling down a bottomless pit of hurt. Every inch of you aches, and even in Renjun’s hold, you feel broken, like nothing could ever fix you and bring back that light in your heart.