#jongdae angst

And that was how it went for over six months. You didn’t know how you and Jongdae managed to make the process of the cabinet building so difficult. The instructions were found, only for the bag of screws to be misplaced. A few weeks later they appeared in the bathroom cupboard and there was a half-hearted attempt to get the piece finished. Only then, you had unexpected guests turn up at your shared apartment and it slipped off the back end of the priority list as work picked up for you both.

There were always a million reasons why you hadn’t gotten it done.

And now, there wasn’t much time left.

“I’ll finish that cabinet before I move out,” Jongdae announced and you smiled wistfully, rather wishing to leave it untouched in the spare room if it meant your best friend would stay on. All you had known was your life here with Jongdae. You had been neighbours as kids and best friends before you could even talk. Moving in together when you shifted out of home had made the best sense to you and you hadn’t realised just how accustomed you were to having him around every day.

It wasn’t as if he was moving cities and you’d never see him again. But you could already feel the emptiness of your home whenever you found items missing from their usual spots. It was going to be a new chapter for the pair of you.

And whilst you were incredibly happy for Jongdae moving on to the next chapter in his life, you couldn’t help the bitter feeling that came with being left behind.

You were finally going to be on different levels in life and that scared you.

“Y/N, have you seen the legs for the cabinet? They’re missing!”

You cleared your throat and called back in response. “Nope, haven’t seen them.”

“God, when will we ever finish this thing?!” he replied and you sighed heavily as you looked towards the wardrobe you had hidden them within.

Still, Jongdae was determined to get it done.

“Isn’t it heavy?”

He grunted. “Hold the other end.”

You did as he requested, though your heart wasn’t in it. “Have you – got – OW!”

“Are you okay?!” Jumping to his aide as he hopped around on one foot, you cringed at causing an injury. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s like this cabinet doesn’t even want to be finished!”

Chuckling softly, you turned to look away from him, blinking back your emotions quickly. You knew when the project was completed, he would leave.

“I found the legs!” Jongdae chimed the next day, holding the packet up victoriously. “How they ended up in the laundry room all this time, I don’t know.”

“Is that where they were?” you bluffed, sipping on your tea all too quickly. “Funny that.”

“Not long now!” he told you as he strode by you and your stomach dropped with each further step away.

You woke with a start, taking in your surroundings before you felt your heart ease. When you were certain you could breathe comfortably, you slipped out of bed, padding into the living room and over to the kitchen to retrieve some water. It was then when you saw the light on in the spare room.

Confused, you headed in to find Jongdae bending over the cabinet. “What are you doing?”

He jumped at your voice and then smiled grimly before turning back to the cabinet. He hadn’t made much progress on his own and you sighed. “Want a hand?”

“You don’t want it made, do you?” he mentioned softly as you crouched across from him, your gaze moving up to his. Jongdae smiled knowingly. “You never change, Y/N.”

“And you really want it finished.”

He nodded. “It’s stupid really. But I feel like I can’t leave you behind with anything unfinished. Even though I can drop by whenever, I feel this need to have everything in order for you since I won’t…”

“I hid the legs and kept moving them around the house,” you confessed and Jongdae let out a small laugh. You joined him, shaking your head, your tears splattering onto your pyjamas. “I guess it was the same for me. If you didn’t finish it, I had an immature thought that it meant you couldn’t leave.”

“We’re being foolish for a pair of adults, huh?”

You nodded. “It’s just a cabinet for goodness sake.”

“No, it’s something we started together,” he countered, sharing a sombre look with you. “It’s our project.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” you asked, wiping your hands on your pants and reached for the instruction manual. You then grinned over at Jongdae. “We’ll finish it the same way we started – together.”

The cabinet ended up in its final resting spot in the entryway to your home. You smiled at it when you opened the front door and Jongdae stepped inside, his hand immediately smoothing over the top of the furniture.

You laughed. “Do you come to visit me or that cabinet?”

“The cabinet, of course! I can’t see that when I come to meet you at the office.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to look at the simple decoration you had on top of the piece of furniture. Your favourite photo of you and Jongdae sat in the middle of the other photos, the pair of you building blocks together as children. It seemed fitting to place it on top of the cabinet and you could tell Jongdae appreciated it too.

With him no longer here, you found yourself using that cabinet for everything. From leaning on it when you put on and took off your shoes each day and night, to storing all your key essentials and your extra goods in case of an emergency, it felt as if you still had a bit of Jongdae looking out for you with the cabinet.

You were just as fond of it as Jongdae was.

“So, you asked me over for what?” he wondered and you grinned, leading him into the spare room where you had opened up a new box, the supplies carefully set out to begin working on.

“Want to help me make this crib up?”

Jongdae grinned. “What about your husband?”

“I figured since we’re old pros at this, we ought to try and make something else together.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

It had been a long time since Jongdae had been this hollow, a cavern carved out of his chest, the inflamed tissue now a home for despair rather than a heart. 

He had only himself to blame. Jongdae did not shy away from admitting his wrongs. The least he could do was admit them and leave behind any self-pity festering in his broken heart like an infection. 

Instead he did what he knew how to do best; he spilled all his sorrows and apologies as ink onto paper. 

Ironically, that ability, this dysfunctional coping mechanism, was the very reason he was in the predicament in the first place.

Your love for me was like an inkwell; never drying

And I, 

I was like a pen,

Which drew from you forever.

I did not notice,

How you dried up in silence,

Blinded by the illusion of your infinity.

Sometimes the best things in your life; the best people, leave. Sometimes you leave them. It is all a vicious cycle of life. A part of life he had recently became intimate with. Nothing lasts forever. All is finite. All good things must come to an end. 

Still Jongdae’s biggest regret of all, was the fact you didn’t have to be finite. 

If only he had paid more attention to you, instead of drowning in ink and pretty words, he could have continued on. With you by his side.

He had left the building of his publishing company, glancing up at the sky. The heavens were heavy this morning, overcast with clouds so dark and looming day had taken on the look of night. There was no rain yet, but Jongdae was sure that at some point the clouds would be unable to hold their weight, and the rain would come in a violent storm. Like any other summer.

The inkwell is empty and when the pen immerses

It comes back dry,

Leaving the words I wanted to write,

To remain a whim.

The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the sky still ominous, but Jongdae knew that the calmness, and the stillness were bad omens. The calm before the storm. The only question that bugged him was when the sky would open, pouring its tears onto the ground from the sky in a hail of bullets. 

He wondered how loud the heavens would roar as it happened. Would it feel as if the windows were shaking? Would he be able to feel it in his bones, despite tucking himself away in his apartment? 

Would it shake him the same way you leaving him did?

He doubted that- nature didn’t have the same kind of power. A storm was not a woman; although it was eerily similar in its magnitude.

He flicked through the anthology, finally taking the time to appreciate the work and effort put into its creation. The cream coloured pages stared at him with hundreds of ink eyes.  Their looks were accusing, and among the black letters, he saw you. Your eyes, clear and sparkling in the way they looked at you, your smile bright. He reminisced the adoration with which he looked at you those the last few years, eyes wide and sparkling at everything you did. The corners of his lips quirked upwards in a cat-like smile at the happy memories.

Finally, after the present settled over him again, pulling him out of the happy daydream, his smile fell, and the light feeling in his chest, and the way his heart beat a little faster at the memory of your soft lips against his left him too. It left him cold and aching despite being hidden away safely within his home, His heart nestled safely in in his chest, protected by the cage of his ribs.

Light brown eyes moved to look out the window, the world outside brightened by flashes of lightning. On the table before him, the vase of red tulips was wilting, the petals falling gracelessly against the windowsill, no longer their vibrant red, but rather a burgundy colour fading into brown.

Like flowers on the windowsill,

I forgot that unlike the ones growing wild in meadows,

The rain shall not come water you,

And that dew shall not condense on you like the pearls, 

Which I never gave you.

You sat in your old room, surveying its blank walls. When you moved out, your parents took down all the posters, and drawings you stuck on the pastel green paint. It was the decision you made at thirteen, and the decision you cursed all your Uni years. A decision you had accepted over time. Now you found the colour soothing and familiar, and in a world where you were always moving, you were glad for the little comfort it brought you. It was still your room. 

Now, with the turn of events, you moved back, and you were ready to reclaim your space; the tubes and frames at your feet were the beginning. 

One photo was staring at you, of you, a little younger, smiling along with the man beside you. You were in a meadow filled with wild flowers you had frequented with you mother when you were little. You remembered the raspberry bushes you used to pick fruit from, and you remember making flower crowns from the chamomile growing there. 

You had taken that man there. Showed him all your favourite things; the meadow, the raspberry bushes, the sketchbook filled with gouache paintings. He showed you the ink splattered notebooks and the small coffee shop at the end of the street. 

But the sunny days were over. The storm raged outside, thunder clashing in the darkness. And the raspberry bushes were gone too, and concrete blocks had taken their place. 

And the man no longer showed you the world with ink stained fingers either.

But he had not showed you anything for a long time now, even before you left your shared apartment. So you left him. It had felt like he had left you a long time before you did. 

Your mother’s voice broke you from your musings, and you left your room surprised to see her standing in the corridor with a brown package. She handed it to you wordlessly and disappeared into the kitchen. The look she gave you was piercing, and there was a certain amount of concern floating behind her soft eyes. You tightened the grip on the flimsy paper that wrapped around the object, and you could already feel that it was book.

For a moment you didn’t understand why it came; you certainly didn’t order one, but the look in your mothers eyes was enough to tell you who it was from.

“So he did finish.” You murmured, hands tearing at the paper in desperation, giving way to the soft green of the cover.

 Flowers in April

The golden lettering was delicate and beautiful, and you wondered why he mailed it to you. You were no longer together. You walked out months ago. You were moving on.

Opening the book, your attention was caught by the handwritten note on the front page, the black pen standing in stark contrast against the off-white paper.

 “To my muse.

I thought it would only be fair to give this to you, after all you had suffered because of it. You should at least know why you were suffering.

I’m sorry for all my shortcomings.

-      Jongdae”

 Your eyes followed the trail of the pen, his handwriting familiar from the little notes he used to leave for you, and the shopping lists that were stuck to your fridge.

The ache of your heart was familiar too, familiar from all the nights he ignored you, and every time you sat at the dinner table alone with only the tv to keep you company. The heart in your chest ached for your loneliness, but it also ached for the home that was long gone, the home you did not wish to return to and the man who occupied it now. This time, he was the one eating dinner at the empty table, sleeping in bed alone and you had no pity for him left.

But you are not a flower, 

You were a woman.

You are a woman.

And I, 

was not a pen,

But a man.

Jongdae listened to the thunder raging outside, shaking his windows, turning his day into night with anger. 

That was one of the ways You and the storm were different. You did not shout, you were not like the storm, shaking the windows in their frames and destroying things in the wake of your rage. You had left quietly, given back the keys to your shared home, and before he could protest, make an excuse for his absence, you had left without a word, leaving no trace behind but the cracks in his heart. 

7 months ago

You came back from work, ready to order takeaway and watch films with your boyfriend. The weariness in your bones weighed you down as you made your way up the stairs, wanting nothing more than to climb under a blanket in the living room, wrapped in Jongdae’s arms. 

The door opened, and you caught the sight of him at the kitchen counter, his phone in hand, calling someone. 

“Jongdae, do you want pizza?” You asked, looking up at the leaflet you had stuck on the fridge. You turned to face him, weariness leaving your bones at the hope of spending the evening in peace. The lightness does not last long, and he crushes it in his hands, unknowingly, without a thought.

“I’m busy.” The words leave you heavy. You know them too well now it seems. Jongdae had been like this for a while, more preoccupied with phone calls and writing than sparing you a moment. Just like you, he seems tired, but for a different reason. One you do not know, and one is not willing to share. 

“What about watching a film later?” You try again, hoping. Being foolish. Deep down you know the answer already, feel the rejection before it comes. Your heart has been breaking recently. The cracks started growing deeper, and you don’t know how to mend them.

“I don’t know.” He tells you, his soft voice cold and indifferent, eyes not looking at you when he speaks, and with another crack, you realise he hadn’t looked at you since you arrived.

PRESENT 

You had walked out of your office, your hands now empty as you left your portfolio and necessary documents with the client. You had finalised the designs this week and everything was ready for editing. 

You were given the task of illustrating a reprint of a popular book series recently, and you had been very proud of your work. So far it was one of the biggest projects you have done. It seemed you were riding the lucky wave. Your boss had given you a slight raise as you moved to a better position at the company. This project had been a success, and the company was contracted for another project, and the clients had requested you. 

It was time to celebrate. 

You had invited your friends out for a few drinks later that night. 

The bar had a chic vibe to it. Everything was made of sleek wood and toned down colours, coupled with the dim lighting and pretty chandeliers, it was a perfect place for you to unwind and gloat your success. You didn’t get to do it every day. 

You were sipping on you third cocktail, your three friends laughing at some work gossip. It had been a pleasant night so far. That is, until you caught the eyes of Jongdae’s publisher. The woman had averted her eyes when she saw you looking, but you could still make out the displeased look on her face, and the sour curl of her red lips. 

The black dress she was wearing was fancy. Fancier than what you wore, but it did not bother you. not until your eyes found the one person you hoped not to see that night. 

It was not that you hated him. It was not that you loathed him. It was that you resented him. For how he had treated you; spent the last months of your relationship ignoring you. As if you didn’t live right there with him. As if you didn’t share his bed. As if you were not irrevocably in love with him. 

Your heart broke all over again, seeing him here, with the beautiful woman opposite him, when he had said he was too busy to come here with you. 

His eyes caught yours. Their soft brown drawing you in with their warmth. He was still familiar, he still looked too much like home to you. And in your slightly intoxicated state, you saw the regret and remorse bubbling behind the kaleidoscope of browns in his irises. Or maybe you just wished to see it. 

You didn’t want to find out. 

“He’s here.” You turned to your friends, and the moment they realised who you were talking about, they had made their way to the bar.

“Can we get a tequila?” Your friend asked, bringing over a whole bottle of the alcohol, along with four shot glasses.

“What’s that for?” You asked, surveying the glass wearily.

“For the fun of it.” She told you, the cheeky smile that formed on her lips matched the flame in her eyes.

“You are beautiful. Never forget that.” She told you as you took your first shot.

Only when I had lost you, I realised 

That you, like an inkwell

Needed to be filled.

And like a flower,

Needed to be watered;

With words of love,

Looks of awe,

With warmth.

6 months ago

“I’m eating with the editors.” Jongdae told you as he fixed his tie in the hallway mirror, barely sparing you a glance into the kitchen. You had spent the last hour making his favourite, hoping against hope he would stay for dinner. Turned out you were trying in vain.

“I thought we could eat together.” You told him, your voice small, barely above a whisper as the hope fuelled elation left your body.

“Not today.” Jongdae said, his voice softer, sounding resigned as his shoulders hunched a little. He had been feeling tired lately, bored. For now, he wanted to leave. Get out of the familiar four walls, breathe in some fresh air.

Dinner with the editors was a good reason to leave. Besides, he was in the process of writing his third anthology, and it was an important meeting he had to attend. Jongdae needed everything to go smoothly.

His hands fell to his sides when he stopped fixing his tie, and you barely heard the quiet goodbye that left his lips. Or maybe you just imagined he said it. Lately, you couldn’t figure out which it was.

Tears burned the back of your eyes, but you didn’t let any spill. Outside, Jongdae had put his head in his hands breathing deeply, before getting in the car and driving away.

You felt him climb into bed late in the night, but he never moved closer. He used to brush your hair back and kiss your forehead before falling asleep, but now he stayed far away, and you had been colder in your bed with him than you would feel with a stranger. 

And your heart broke.

PRESENT

Jongdae found your form in between the tables, eyes glued to the side of your face, feeling more like a spectre than a man. His heart roared in his chest, beating against his ribs the way an animal beat at the bars of their cage. The way it had not done in months. For a moment, the moment that lasted a split second when your eyes met, he felt more alive than the last few months. 

His anthology had been a success, and he had come in to celebrate that. Still, the biggest celebration, better than wine and better than gin, was the sight of you. 

His publisher had seen it, the way his eyes fell on you, again and again. Jongdae, for the life of him, could not understand the way her lips curled when she caught your eyes. He was too preoccupied with stealing glances your way to pay attention to her. 

Everything about you called to him, reminding him of his love for you. Reviving the passion you had shared, setting his whole body aflame. The sight of you flowed over him like water, cold and refreshing. He was awake. For the first time in forever he felt lucid. 

“Well done Jongdae. Your anthology had just become a bestseller.” His publisher told him, reaching over the table to hold his hand. He brought it back instantly as if it burned. 

Over the course of the last months he had figured out what he done wrong. He had admitted his shortcomings. And he had promised himself to be better, for you. He was not going to ruin it tonight. 

Sitting among your friends, you were glowing. Dressed in your best dress, eyes sparkling as laughter bubbled from your chest. It was a warming sight, like watching flowers unravelling in the spring. And his heart wretched when he realised, he wasn’t the reason for your joy any longer.

Now, you, like a wildflower,

Are experiencing spring again,

After a harsh winter.

You are spreading your petals,

And green leaves.

And I, like a fool,

Stare at the empty windowsill,

Not seeing you.

I cannot water you anymore,

And pearls, like dew

I cannot give you.

He watched you stand up and make your way to the exit, and without a moment of hesitation, he was out of his chair too, making a bee line to you, heart pounding at the idea of you. 

He caught you by the elbow as you turned away from the bar.

“Jongdae.” You warned him, voice low as you stared right into his eyes. Jongdae’s eyes were soft when he looked at you, and you could make out their glassy sheen of tears in the darkness.

“I know what I did wrong.” He told you, sincerity lacing his voice, thick with remorse and deeper than usual. You could feel the desperation rolling off of him like waves.

He was wearing a nice suit today. A deep grey with a bluish tinge, and a white button up underneath. His fringe was parted, exposing his forehead and the straight brows that furrowed as he looked into your eyes, searching for something. Whatever it was; forgiveness or hate, he didn’t find it.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered.

“That is how I find out?” You spat. He knew you were talking about the anthology. 

“You didn’t call.” You accuse him, poking a finger against his chest, and he lets you.

“I wrote it.” He tells you, silently begging for you to understand. But you won’t. Not this time. You had told him already; tell me what happened, tell me why you didn’t talk to me. 

Instead, he wrote an anthology, spilling all of it on paper. Just like he always did. Just like you suspected he always would. And you had grown tired of that. He spilled all his emotions onto paper, dressed hem up in pretty words and rhymes. Devoted his time into doing so. By doing that he left you alone, and as he spilled all the love he had for you somewhere else, you were left to give him your love. Over the last months of yoir relationship, all the little acts of love had ceased to exist. There was no notes left on the fridge, there was no flowers on the vase on the table.

“You did.” You tell him, disappointment rolling off your tongue, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. 

The whole world now knew you broke his heart. The whole world knew you left him without a word. But did the world know how he had left you, months before you left him? How you had sat at dinner alone and slept alone. Did they know that? Did Jongdae tell them that? Did he write about his faults? 

You didn’t know, and you didn’t know if you wanted to find out.

“Y/N.” He starts, but there is nothing that comes out of his mouth, and you shake your head. Desperately wanting him to understand. Because despite everything, you still love him, but you cannot live like this, like a stranger that shares his bed at night.

“I don’t think you figured it out quite yet.” You tell him when he stays silent, not knowing what to say. You find it amusing. A poet lost for words.

“I didn’t pay attention.” He confesses, looking defeated.

“I locked myself away and tried to run from you.” He tells you, walking closer, his wide eyes looking straight into your own.

“I was too proud to say something was wrong. Too proud to admit that I was doing something wrong.” He admitted, hands balled into fists. For a moment he averts his gaze, looking everywhere but you, before bringing it back to you, eyes red with unshed tears, shoulders shaking with frustration.

“I wasn’t sincere. I should have told you then, that I love you, instead of keeping it to myself. I thought you knew, but no one can read minds.”

“I’m sorry.” He tells you, and you know he is apologising for his actions. All but the writing. You could see the ink stains on his fingers even now. You had accepted him writing, locking himself up for a week and coming out a dying man. You have accepted that. But you have not accepted the way he treated you then, and you were not going to accept ever again.

“I’m not ready to accept your apology.” You tell him, voice even, and you seem calm as he looks at you with the hopeful spark fading from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you just,” You begin, searching for the right words, “Why didn’t you tell me then?” You finally ask, referring to the poems in the anthology. Love poems- all directed at you, written from the very beginning of your relationship.

“I didn’t know how.” He admits, wrapping his arms around you, burying his nose in your hair.

“You should have done this earlier.” You tell him, hugging him back, feeling like you have come back home for the first time in months.

“I know.” He whispers, caressing your hair, bringing you closer by the shoulders, until he envelops you.

“I know.” He mumbles again, and you listen to his heart beating out of his chest.

You move away, letting him go, before giving him one last look.

“I’m glad you know. Goodbye Jongdae.” You tell him, your voice soft, without any hint of malice. You seem content. You feel content. This was you leaving on your own terms. You loved him. of course you loved him. Sometimes though, you think, love is not enough. It does not keep you warm at night, or less lonely. Sometimes love is not given equally as it should. So you leave, walk away without turning back, knowing now where it was that he had spilled all his love- into words. You thought, that maybe, just maybe- Jongdae loved his words more than he loved you.

Jongdae followed your retreating figure walking back to your friends, glowing like the sun. As he was left in the dark night outside the bar, alone.

I’ve lost my privilege to love you

I can only apologize to you,

For being winter,

When I should have been endless spring;

How you were, 

My infinite happiness.

Jongdae looks at you from the distance and he freezes. You realize what probably shocked him and you want to laugh, but you just can’t. You can’t move actually. You want to run, to go away, to disappear. But your body isn’t responding.

It’s been two years. Two years since you broke up, and you haven’t talk to him. Not even once, not a text, not a phone call, not even a reaction in your Instagram stories. Anything. To be fair that was easy because he blocked you from every social media he could. It’s OK, you actually asked him to do it. You thought it would be easier that way.

Silly you.

You watch as he gets closer to you, hesitating at every step. You see everything in slow motion and you hear a shy “Hi” coming out of his lips, but you can’t think properly. You finally react when he speaks again, louder this time.

“Can I hug you?”

You raise your head to look at him. He looks handsome, his hair shorter and his eyes more tired that you were used to. But still so, so handsome.

You nod and try not to cry when his arms embrace you. It’s an awkward hug, you realize he’s tense around you, and you remember your first thought when you saw him freezing earlier.

Exactly. He’s looking at the baby sleeping in the pram in front of you.

He smiles as you know he does when he wants to be polite. But his eyes are something else. An expression you can’t totally read right now. Affection, but distance at the same time. He’s unsure of what to say and you see him shyer than before.

“Is- Is she your-”

“No, no… She’s my niece.” And you can’t keep talking because a nervous laughter escapes your mouth and you want to die.

“Oh” he sounds surprised. “Oh!” he lets out again, this time with a little chuckle of relieve. “She looks just like her mother.”

You know it’s true. And you know he feels like an idiot for not saying anything else. You want to tell him everything about her, how proud she makes you, and how much you love her. And you also want to tell him how much you miss him. But you feel so nervous that your mouth opens to say something even worse. You can’t help the words coming out of your mouth and you regret them instantly.

“My Sundays are not the same without you.”

You feel paralyzed, and yet he starts talking immediately. He answers you confidently, but with hurt clear in his voice.

“You know we both agreed on this. We knew it would be hard, and of course we miss each other. But you wanted this.”

You just hear him talk and it almost sounds like he had the speech prepared, and you wonder if he ever had this same debate with himself.

He probably did.

He keeps talking and you can’t think straight. He, on the other hand, seems more confident about what he’s saying and all the shyness is leaving his gaze. “You even made me block you from every social media platform!” 

You sigh. As if that would stop you from thinking about him. As if that would prevent you from asking your friends about his life. You really wish you could block your feelings. Stop missing him, stop wanting him so bad.

You wish you could say that. You wish you could say so many things. I thought it would be easier, for starter.

I wish you could understand me.

I still think about you every day.

I still love you.

But you know that won’t help. Even though he probably loves you too. Because what you had was so deep, so extreme, that you’re sure you both will never be able to love so much again. You’ll never feel as loved and wanted as you did when you were around him. 

You remember how everything felt perfect if you were together. 

The thing is, everything was extreme between you two.

“You are right” you pant, finally, and you wonder how long you were immerse in your own thoughts and memories. “We both agreed on this.” You try to sound as calmed as you can as you keep talking. “Things were not working out, Jongdae”

“We argued almost every day.” Is all he can answer. This time you know it’s not a speech. This time the feelings are real. And now, just like you, he looks unsure and upset. He’s looking at the floor and you think that he’s probably regretting so many things as well.

“We did. It was not healthy.” You stop talking because you really don’t want to remember all the arguments and fights. They still hurt you and it was obviously affecting him too.

His hand moves to the back of his head and he takes a deep breath while playing with his hair. At that moment you hear your niece starting to cry, and you take her in your arms.

“I know princess. It’s starting to get cold, we should take you home to mommy.” And just like that you smile at him, reaching over to give him one last awkward hug.

Jongdae doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you as you walk away, humming a soft song to the baby.

You knew he probably has doubts as well. And even if you try really hard not to think about it, even if you know you have to move on, deep inside you think you can’t do it. You know you miss him and you feel no one would ever love you the way he did.

You feel dizzy and stop your walk, trying to make your mind one last time.

One final decision.

You take a deep breath, and feeling brave, you turn your head to look behind you.

He’s not there.

Of course he’s not.

You grab your niece tighter, closer to you, as all the tears you’ve been holding finally come out.