Chapter Text
Dear Jaehyun,
I never told you this, but the day you said you loved me was one of the happiest days of my life. I was so happy that I never said it back. Maybe that’s why we didn’t last.
Love,
Doyoung
Jung Jaehyun is an expert at two things. One of them is art. As an art critic, he can differentiate the individual strokes of a painting and describe a form a thousand different ways. The other is Kim Doyoung.
Kim Doyoung is a writer who lives in apartment 32B in a small building right next to the train station. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and he loves Queen. He classifies his moods by color. When Jaehyun shows up at his door with dinner, he says he’s “yellow.” When Jaehyun and he have an argument, he’s “grey.” When they spend long evenings talking over glasses of wine, he’s “purple.” When they broke up, he was “black.”
“Have you heard from him?”
Jaehyun sighs, “no,” he lights a cigarette, ignoring the curious look Yuta sends him. “He hasn’t reached out to me since we broke up three months ago. I doubt he ever will.”
“I thought you quit,” Yuta says. The two of them were leaning against the thin metal railing of Jaehyun’s balcony, the sounds of the city and the acrid smell of smoke filling their lungs.
“I did,” Jaehyun says, blowing out a plume of light grey smoke, “and then I started again.”
Yuta shrugs, grabbing a cigarette from the pack between them and pulling out a lighter. “To a short life,” he says, slipping the thin stick between his own lips.
Jaehyun nods in agreement. “This is the most art critic thing we’ve ever done.”
“There was the time I described Sicheng’s collection as ‘illogically ugly, like a poodle in flight,’ and then he didn’t talk to me for weeks,” Yuta says, “ironic since we live together.”
“Have you heard anything about him?”
“What? About Doyoung?” Yuta’s brows furrow, “not a lot, but I don’t think he’s doing well.”
Jaehyun sighs, “I figured.”
“What happened between you two, anyways?”
“Don’t really know,” Jaehyun mutters. “He just ended it.”
Yuta inhales sharply, shaking his head. “That sucks,” he pats Jaehyun’s shoulder, “I always thought he seemed unstable, you’re better off without him.”
Jaehyun nods, blowing out another puff of smoke. The smoke fills his lungs and wisps in the air as Jaehyun’s eyes trail the grey patterns, Yuta’s voice fading into the background. “Maybe.”
Dear Jaehyun,
Everything in my apartment reminds me of you, it’s maddening. I don’t know why I kicked you out, but I pray it was still the best decision for both of us.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun’s dress shoes tap against the hardwood flooring of the art gallery, interrupting the quiet atmosphere. The grey wool of his turtleneck sweater stands out starkly from the white plaster walls. He pauses in front of an abstract piece, a series of small purple dots on a white canvas staring back at him.
“I call it Eternal Love. It’s my favorite piece,” Chittaphon, says. “What do you think?” The artist looks up at Jaehyun.
“It’s very,” Jaehyun pauses, “refined.”
Chittaphon rolls his eyes, “be honest.”
“I’ve seen it before,” Jaehyun says simply. “It isn’t as good as your last collection.”
“I know,” he snorts, “I think I’m losing my spark.”
“Oh?”
“But who cares? No one gives a damn about the art. They just care about the name behind it. I’ve already sold a majority of my pieces. This one, in fact,” Chittaphon gestures up at the painting, “is about to be shipped off to Chicago for some rich businessman who knows shit about art.”
Jaehyun laughs, “you’re right.”
Chittaphon nods in agreement before launching into a rant about how fake and vapid the art world can be. Jaehyun nods at the right times while staring at the painting in front of him idly, suddenly reminded of a loose sweater, the same shade of purple, hanging off an elegant shoulder.
Eternal Love.
If only it were real.
Dear Jaehyun,
This letter is going out to everyone in my life.
I’m thinking about going away for a while. If and when I do, don’t look for me, don’t try to get me to come back.
I don’t know when I’ll be back, if at all.
From,
Doyoung
Jaehyun stares down at the piece of cream colored paper, eyes burning into the familiar handwriting as if by looking at it long enough, the words would change. The letter drops out of his shaking hands as he scrambles to grab his phone, dialing a familiar number.
“Yuta?”
“Yeah Jae, what’s up?”
“Did you,” Jaehyun looks down, “did you get a letter from Doyoung?”
“Hold up, let me check.” The sound of someone rummaging through mail in the background fills Jaehyun’s ears. “Yeah I got one.”
“It’s the first time he’s contacted me in three months,” Jaehyun says quietly, “what does this mean?” There was a pause as the sound of paper unfolding filled Jaehyun’s ear.
“I think,” Yuta eventually mumbles, “I think it’s nothing to worry about.”
“What do you mean?” Jaehyun’s brows furrow.
“Doyoung’s a writer; they’re always melodramatic. I mean, look at Sehun,” Yuta says calmly. “He’s just trying to get some attention. Ignore it. Besides, you guys aren’t even together anymore so why does it even matter?”
Jaehyun stares down at the letter on the floor before picking it up. “You’re right.” He says eventually, and he throws the letter in the trash.
Dear Jaehyun,
I’ve already left. Goodbye, and thank you for all the memories.
Don’t look for me.
From,
Doyoung
Jaehyun had forgotten about the letter that was sitting at the bottom of his trash bin, but the moment another one arrives, his stomach drops. The thick paper crumples in his fingertips, and then he’s grabbing his keys, pulling on shoes haphazardly, and running out of his apartment.
In a small building right next to the train station, Jaehyun stands outside of the door to apartment 32B. He still has the keys.
The door opens, and armed only with Doyoung’s note, Jaehyun is faced with an apartment that just a quarter of a year ago he called his own. Everything feels terrifyingly familiar, like a snapshot of Jaehyun’s former life. The same coffee cup Doyoung always used is on the dish drying rack, and a newspaper folded the way it always was on top of the kitchen counter. He pauses, suddenly not really knowing what he’s doing here.
“Doyoung?” Jaehyun asks tentatively, stepping cautiously into the apartment. No one answers and he slowly steps into the apartment, sliding off his shoes near the door. “Are you here?”
Silence answers him, and Jaehyun wanders around the apartment, only to be greeted only by thin air and faded memories. He turns into Doyoung’s bedroom, and he notices something different when he opens the closet and sees that half of the clothes are gone. Jaehyun recognizes empty spaces where Doyoung’s favorite sweaters used to hang, and his eyes pointedly ignore Jaehyun’s old college sweatshirt thrown into a ball in the corner. The closet door closes with a heavy thud and Jaehyun sits down on the bed, the old box spring creaking under his weight.
The letter is crumpled, and Jaehyun gingerly flattens it against his thigh before letting the note fall onto the soft blankets. His eyelids flutter and Jaehyun lifts a hand to his face, staring blankly at his fingertips when they come back wet. His eyes land on a chestnut desk across from him and he slowly stands up, furiously pressing his palms against his eyes to stop the flow of water.
The desk is the only part of Doyoung’s apartment that’s not neat, and Jaehyun laughs bitterly when he remembers how Doyoung had always refused to let Jaehyun touch the workspace. Jaehyun rummag es through the drawers before his hands wrap around a familiar leather bound book. He picks it up and cracks open the heavy paper.
Monday
This morning I had oatmeal and it was gross. Also, remember to call Sicheng about driving me to the store later.
-Doyoung
Jaehyun sighs, tucking the journal back into the desk before bending down to close the drawer. He’s about to stand up again when a large cardboard box shoved into the corner catches his eye. He grunts, pulling out the surprisingly heavy box. Inside are stacks of paper, each filled with Doyoung’s familiar scrawl. He picks one up, a sinking feeling in his stomach when he sees what’s written.
Dear Jaehyun,
He quickly stuffs the paper back into the box, eyes scanning over the papers and the feeling in his stomach grows when he sees they’re all titled the same thing.
Dear Jaehyun,
Jaehyun doesn’t know what to think as he grabs the box before heading out of Doyoung’s abandoned apartment, leaving behind hundreds of bittersweet memories.
Dear Jaehyun,
Jaehyun arrives back into his own apartment and dumps the box over, countless letters spilling over his hardwood flooring.
Love,
Doyoung
Dear Jaehyun,
Yuta and Sicheng came over again. It’s always so awkward seeing them, especially when I know Yuta dislikes me. Sometimes I wish things could be how they used to be, when we could all just sit and laugh over a dumb movie.
Sicheng invited me to his next gallery but I knew you’d be there so I passed.
Love,
Doyoung
“You knew?!” Jaehyun slams his hand against his kitchen countertop, glaring at the man who was sitting across from him.
Yuta avoids looking at Jaehyun, eyes flitting over the messy state of the apartment and the piles of letters on the living room coffee table. “Sicheng knew,” he corrects.
“You two fucking drove him to the airport,” Jaehyun says wildly, running his hands through his already messy hair. “You told me to ignore that letter!”
“Yes,” Yuta says tentatively, “to be fair, I didn’t know Doyoung was serious until he showed up at our door with a suitcase.”
Jaehyun narrows his eyes, “and you didn’t even tell me?”
“I didn’t think I had to!” Yuta says, “I mean, c’mon Jae, you guys haven’t even talked to each other in three months! You seemed like you moved on.”
“I,” Jaehyun starts, “I hadn’t.”
“Well, I see that now,” Yuta sighs. Silence blankets the air between them.
“How was he?” Jaehyun asks quietly.
“Honestly?” Yuta looks out the window, “he looked like a mess, but god , Jaehyun he was so happy.”
Jaehyun feels his heart tug. “He was happy?”
Yuta’s mouth twists. “I don’t know. He just seemed like he was relieved.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Did he tell you where he was going?” Jaehyun asks.
“He didn’t tell me but Sicheng told me on the way back. Apparently, he’s going back home.”
Jaehyun is suddenly thrown back into a memory of a happier time, in a small town meeting Doyoung’s parents in their cozy home. The summer cottage was beautiful, and so was Doyoung. Jaehyun remembers being unable to keep his eyes off of Doyoung while Doyoung smiled gleefully up at the sky. Jaehyun had never been so in love. “Okay,” Jaehyun exhales, “you’re going to drive me to the airport tonight.”
Yuta jerks up, staring into Jaehyun’s eyes for the first time that day. “What?”
“I’m going after him.”
“Are you insane?”
“No,” Jaehyun says calmly.
“What the fuck Jae-”
“Listen,” Jaehyun sets his palms down against the cold marble countertop, “I don’t mean to brag, but I’m kind of rich as fuck. I’m a world famous art critic at 22. I can do whatever the fuck I want, and right now, I want to purchase a plane ticket. And you’re going to drive me there.”
Yuta blinks, “you’re really doing this?”
Jaehyun nods.
“Do you have a plan on what you’re going to do if you find him?”
“No,” Jaehyun pauses, “but I’ll find a way to bring him home.”
Dear Jaehyun,
Do you remember the time we went back to my hometown? It was so amazing, I never wanted it to end. Sometimes I think about that trip and smile because I remember how perfect that trip was. Remember we stayed in a hotel because my parent’s apartment was too small? It had a garden that we spent hours in. I hope you think of that trip too, but I know you’re probably too busy. I bet you’ve forgotten all about it.
I bet you’ve forgotten all about us.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun lands in the small airport, a suitcase filled with necessities and a backpack filled with letters on his person. The terminal is bustling and filled with voices that Jaehyun doesn’t recognize, and Jaehyun feels awkward, like everyone is staring at him.
He has only one idea of where Doyoung could go, and by the time he walks out of the airport and into a cab, the adrenaline has worn off and Jaehyun’s knees bounce as he nervously thinks about what he would do if he can’t find Doyoung. “Oh god, what did I do,” Jaehyun mutters, ignoring the way the cab driver looks at him like he’s crazy.
That nervous feeling follows him as he steps into a small but familiar inn, the sounds of the street outside muffled as soon as the door closes behind him. “Hello sir, how can I help you?” the concierge asks.
Jaehyun fumbles through a response, “I’d like a room.”
The concierge nods, typing something into the computer. “Can I have a name?”
“Jung Jaehyun.”
“Have you been here before?”
Jaehyun pauses before his lips curl around the syllables. “Yes, once.”
“Then I trust that you remember all of our complementary services?”
He doesn’t, but Jaehyun nods anyways. “Yes.”
“Alright sir. Here’s your roomkey. I hope you have a nice stay!”
“Thank you,” Jaehyun looks at the nametag the concierge is wearing, “Kun.”
“You’re welcome.”
Jaehyun almost falls asleep in the quiet elevator, but he somehow finds himself swiping the roomkey through the scanner, opening up to a small hotel room. Jaehyun flops back onto the bed, the room almost exactly the same as the last time he stayed there. His eyes close, exhausted from the travel and he falls into a dreamless sleep in a bed that could fit two.
Dear Jaehyun,
I miss you so much it’s stupid. I was walking around the apartment today and saw one of your old college sweatshirts. Sicheng walked in to check up on me and found me staring at the wall with it in my hands. He threw it into the back of my closet. I hate this, I hate you, I hate how weak you make me.
God, I think I need to go away.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun has taken to reading one letter from Doyoung each day, and just because he wasn’t home didn’t mean the habit had to stop. He sighs, setting down the paper and running his fingers through his hair, greasy from the long day of travel. Ugh, he needs a shower.
The inn has a complimentary breakfast, and Jaehyun’s hair is still wet by the time he makes it to the small room. There was a weak light filtering in through the windows as the smell of the hotel’s continental breakfast fills the air. He absentmindedly grabs a ceramic plate, piling it high with various pastries and yawns, walking over to a small table. The chair is missing a foot, and Jaehyun leans awkwardly to one side while biting into a stale danish. His eyes wander across the room before his body freezes, a dark-haired figure yanking all of Jaehyun’s attention towards him.
Kim Doyoung.
The pastry almost drops out of Jaehyun’s dropped jaw, and he blinks in shock. Doyoung was staring back at him, his face aghast with horror. A tense silence engulfs the two of them, and the sounds of the other patrons eating and chatting fade into the background. Jaehyun moves to stand up, but the harsh sound of a chair scraping against tile stops him. Doyoung winces before he throws his napkin down on the plate, quickly rushing out of the room.
Jaehyun’s fingers clench around the edge of the table, Doyoung’s name stuck in the back of his throat as his narrow frame escapes Jaehyun’s gaze.
“Shit,” Jaehyun grunts, his own chair creating the same jarring sound as he follows after Doyoung.
Dear Jaehyun,
You keep calling and texting me. Stop.
It’s better that we never see each other again.
Love,
Doyoung
“What the fuck? Why are you here?”
Jaehyun flinches at Doyoung’s hiss, the writer glaring daggers at Jaehyun in the empty hallway. Jaehyun’s fingers tighten around Doyoung’s forearm. “I-”
“This is insane,” Doyoung growls.
Jaehyun gulps, avoiding Doyoung’s harsh gaze, “I’m here for,”— god dammit Jaehyun, think of something —“for work.”
Doyoung rolls his eyes, “that’s bullshit.”
“It’s not,” Jaehyun shuffles his feet.
“Oh, so you just so happened to stay at the same hotel we did two years ago in the town I grew up in? Is this about the letters I sent you? God dammit, I knew I shouldn’t have said anything to Sicheng,” Doyoung yanks his arm out of Jaehyun’s grasp. “Go back home Jaehyun, I’m serious. There’s nothing left here for us,” he spits out before leaving Jaehyun, alone in the hallway.
Dear Jaehyun,
It’s move-out day, you’ve just left our apartment. Sorry, my apartment.
I think I have to get used to that.
The only thing I want to do is run back to you and invite you back into my life but I can’t, you’ve hurt me too much. I hate you so fucking much.
I hate that I’m still in love with you.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun isn’t sure what to do, so he decides to take a walk. He’s been to Doyoung’s hometown multiple times over the years, so Jaehyun easily finds his way around the small town. He’s currently walking down a small line of shops, shoulders hunched as he stuffs his hands into his expensive leather jacket. His eyes wearily glance into the passing windows before catching on a small painting displayed in an unassuming storefront. Jaehyun pauses, his breath hitching as he looks at the canvas.
It’s a deceptively simple scene of a small cafe, but Jaehyun can’t look away. The colors are elementary, but the juxtaposition of deep crimson walls and a muted cadmium green ceiling simultaneously balances the image while also throwing a sense of dread throughout the piece. The rest of the painting is dominated by a sulfur yellow, washing everything in a sickly glow. The customers feature bleak expressions and the entire piece seems to mock Jaehyun, stirring up real feelings of uneasiness in his stomach. It reminds Jaehyun of how he felt watching Doyoung walk away. Had Jaehyun not been the man he was, he would have overlooked the painting, but Jaehyun quickly walks into the building, a small gallery opening up before him.
“Hello sir,” a short but regal looking man says, sitting behind the front desk. “Welcome to Moon’s Gallery.”
“Who painted the piece outfront?”
The man raises an eyebrow, “which one?”
“The cafe scene.”
“Ah,” a look of recognition crosses the man’s face, and he hops off of his chair, walking deeper into the gallery and gesturing for Jaehyun to follow. “That’s by Lee Donghyuck. We’re hosting an exhibit from the local university right now. He’s a third year art student there.”
Jaehyun nods in response.
“My name is Taeil, by the way. I own this gallery,” Taeil says, “and pardon me for being rude, but I don’t think I know your name. Which is odd, considering how small this town is.”
“Jung Jaehyun,” he replies, smiling awkwardly when Taeil stops, looking at the art critic in shock.
“Mr. Jung, what brings you here?” Taeil asks, his eyes wide.
“Call me Jaehyun. And,” Jaehyun pauses, “I don’t know, just a feeling.”
“Well, it’s an honor,” Taeil says, before gesturing towards a small section of pieces against the wall. “That’s Donghyuck’s section.”
Jaehyun turns and slowly walks by each of the paintings, nodding softly. “He’s good.”
“I know,” Taeil agrees.
“They’re a bit,” Jaehyun hums, “primitive in composition, but that’s to be expected of a someone so young. Students tend to either oversimplify or overexaggerate. But still,” Jaehyun pauses in front of a portrait, feeling the painting’s eyes bore into him, “there’s something about them that speaks to me. They’re interesting.” Jaehyun turns, digging into his pocket to place a small business card into Taeil’s hand. “Tell him to call me, I’d like to speak to him.” Jaehyun looks back at a portrait of two males, hands entangled.
My Love, the title declares. Jaehyun’s face twists, the hands almost mocking him. Very interesting indeed.
Maybe his lie to Doyoung was about to come true.
Dear Jaehyun,
I found some of your notes under the couch today. It had all the details from the latest exhibit you saw. God, you’re so meticulous. You examined every piece you could to the utmost detail, it was excruciating.
I remember when you used to look at me the same way.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun flips past photos of various paintings, his eyes flitting over Lee Donghyuck’s portfolio as the artist fidgeted nervously in the seat across from him. Eventually, Jaehyun sighs, pushing Donghyuck’s abandoned cup of coffee towards him. “Drink something. You’re an anxious mess.”
“Sorry!” Donghyuck blurts out, almost knocking over the cup in his haste to follow through with Jaehyun’s suggestion.
Jaehyun nods before closing the thick leather binder and placing it heavily on the table. Donghyuck looks terrified. “You’re very good,” Jaehyun says, and the artist’s shoulders immediately relax, “you really have something there.”
“Thank you,” Donghyuck smiles tentatively.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” Jaehyun sips on his own coffee, “I’d like to recommend you to a few of my friends.”
Donghyuck’s jaw drops. “Really? Oh my god, are you kidding me right now?”
“I’m being serious. I know Lee Taeyong, the curator of the National Museum. I’ll show him your work with high recommendations.”
“Holy shit,” Donghyuck breaths out before flushing red at his mistake, “sorry for swearing. Oh my god I just can’t believe this is happening.”
Jaehyun laughs, “that’s fine. Would it be okay if Taeyong dropped by in the next few weeks or so to look through your work?”
Donghyuck nods quickly. “Of course! That’s perfectly fine,” he looks up at Jaehyun with wide eyes, “why me?” he asks, voice suddenly soft.
Jaehyun stirs his coffee absentmindedly, looking out into the small cafe. “You’re new talent Donghyuck. Honestly, I’ve felt a sort of detachment to art lately. I don’t know why,” Jaehyun is lying, he knows exactly why art started becoming splotches of color and lines after he stopped seeing Doyoung, “but your pieces, they make me love art again.”
“Thank you,” Donghyuck says softly. “I won’t let you down.”
“Of course,” Jaehyun says, eyes absentmindedly straying around the cafe before they rest upon a tall, familiar figure, staring at him. “I’m sorry, but I have to go now,” Jaehyun stands up quickly and Donghyuck looks at him, confused.
“Uh, okay? It was nice meeting you-”
“Nice meeting you too,” Jaehyun is already pulling on his coat, eyes frantically following the figure that is pushing through the tables towards the door. He pushes open the heavy door, feet landing heavily on concrete. “Doyoung!”
Doyoung pauses from up ahead before he turns back, face turned down in a grimace. “Yes?”
Jaehyun’s fingers itch to reach out to him, but they stay steadfast at his side, “I just want to talk,” he says weakly.
Doyoung rolls his eyes. “Who’s that?” he asks, head jerking towards Donghyuck, who flushes bright red when he realizes he was caught spying on them.
“New artist,” Jaehyun breathes out, “I wasn’t lying, when I said I was here for work.”
Doyoung frowns, “maybe. But that doesn’t matter.”
“Why not?” Jaehyun asks.
“I don’t know,” Doyoung sighs, a breeze ruffling through his hair, and Jaehyun wishes he was a photographer, so he could capture the way the windswept strands frame Doyoung’s face.“Just stay away, okay?” Doyoung says as he turns to leave.
“I can’t,” Jaehyun says quietly, but Doyoung’s flinching shoulders make it clear that he heard him. He pauses next to the street corner and glances back.
“Just try, okay? It’s best for both of us.” And with that, Kim Doyoung is gone.
Dear Jaehyun,
Things are looking up, they’re thinking of publishing my novel next November. I wish I could tell you in person. I know you’d freak out with me, and we’d probably be crying messes. Despite that, I didn’t think of you nearly as much as I usually do today.
Am I moving on? Or am I just forgetting?
I don’t know which I want more.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun finds himself in a daze. He spends his time commuting between Donghyuck’s cramped studio, where they select pieces for Taeyong to examine, and aimlessly wandering the small inn and streets. He still sees glimpses of Doyoung, but the writer does his best to fervently ignore the other, often running past on his way to meet a tall stranger in the lobby. Jaehyun does his best to prevent the pain his heart, but he can’t help but glare at the man whenever he shows up. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.”
“Finally,” Yuta’s voice crackles through the phone, “I was wondering when you’d give up.”
Jaehyun rolls his eyes, leaning back against a stone bench in the hotel’s courtyard. “Shut up.”
“Listen Jae, you’re my best friend, but I need you to hear this. What you’re doing? It’s creepy. Insane. Crazy.”
“Asshole.”
“You know I’m right,” Yuta sighs, “come home, Jaehyun.”
“Not without him.”
“What’s so great about him anyways? Do you even love him anymore?”
Jaehyun taps his fingers against his knee, “I don’t know.”
Yuta snorts, “are you kidding me? You followed him all the way to his hometown and you don’t even know why?”
“There’s just something about him. It’s like he completes me.”
“God, that’s cheesy.”
“You should understand, it’s how you feel about Sicheng.”
“Yeah, but at least Sicheng reciprocates. Sometimes. Have you even spoken to Doyoung since getting there? Or is he just avoiding you like how he always did?”
Jaehyun doesn’t answer.
“Fucking knew it. What’s the point?”
“I found some new talent,” Jaehyun says, trying to switch the subject.
“That Lee kid, right? I showed the pictures you sent me to Taeyong. He’s interested,” Yuta says, “at least there’s one reason for you to stay in that good-for-nothing town.”
“Yeah,” Jaehyun says, “Donghyuck really has something.”
Jaehyun hears shuffling and a door opening on the other side of the phone.
“Jaehyun?” A new voice asks, “it’s Sicheng. I just got back home.”
“Hey Sicheng,” Jaehyun smiles.
Yuta takes the phone again, “we’re going to have lunch soon, so I have to go. But promise me one thing before we leave.”
“Anything.”
“Give yourself a deadline. Taeyong arrives in two weeks, if you haven’t talked to Doyoung by then and made some form of progress, you’re coming home with Taeyong.”
“You can’t-”
“Jesus Christ, I’ll drag you out of there myself,” Yuta says.
Jaehyun rolls his eyes, “fine. I’ll figure something out.”
“You better.”
Dear Jaehyun,
You called again today. Just as I thought I was getting over you, I saw your number flash across my screen. I don’t know what you wanted, and I’m too scared to listen to the voicemail.
Love,
Doyoung
Jaehyun doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to track down Doyoung in a place he honestly should have searched before. Doyoung glares at him, his eyes darting around trying to find an escape but Jaehyun’s body blocks the exit from the narrow aisle. Books surround them, the musty scent of old paper tickling the back of his throat. “What are you doing here?” Doyoung hisses, a pale green book in his hands.
A Guide to Indoor Greenery, the faded text on the spine reads. Doyoung’s delicate fingers wrap around the edge of the book, his knuckles white. “I’m allowed to be here,” Jaehyun replies tentatively, “it’s a public library.”
“Stop following me,” Doyoung says, looking away from Jaehyun’s stare.
“I’m not-”
“Then what exactly do you call this?” Doyoung snaps. “You’re standing in a town where you barely know anyone, with the dumb excuse that you’ve found talent in an unknown art student. Yeah, right. Stop lying Jaehyun. You’re good at it, but I’m not an idiot.”
Jaehyun’s eyes narrow. “I’ve never lied to you.”
Doyoung frowns, “there’s another one.”
Jaehyun sighs, stepping closer to Doyoung and wincing when Doyoung presses himself further into the books. “Fine, maybe I did come here for you.”
“Why?” Doyoung asks, pain written across his face, “we’re over. We have been, for a long time.”
“I need to talk to you,” Jaehyun says.
“And you couldn’t for the six months we happened to live in the same city?”
Jaehyun scowls. “You avoided me for half a year! That’s why I’m here, because you wouldn’t talk to me!”
“Fine,” Doyoung glares, “then talk to me.”
Jaehyun blinks. He didn’t think he’d get this far. “I guess, uh-”
“I don’t have all day.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you break up with me?”
“Shit,” Doyoung says, paper crinkling under his fingertips, “it’s funny,” he laughs bitterly. “I’m an author, and yet I can’t figure out how to say this.” Doyoung slumps back against the shelves. “Oh god, what’s the word to describe this?” he mutters.
“Tragic?” Jaehyun offers with a sad smile.
“No,” Doyoung says, “it’s weird. You—you treated me like art.”
Jaehyun is confused. “What?”
“Like I was perfect, like a masterpiece.”
“...isn’t that good?” Jaehyun asks.
“It’s a fairytale romance. We were a fairytale romance,” Doyoung says, his eyes downcast, “but it wasn’t real.”
Jaehyun’s glares. “It was all real. Don’t you ever say it wasn’t-”
“It was a lie, Jaehyun,” Doyoung looks up, “you thought I had no flaws.”
“That’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re in love!”
“No,” Doyoung frowns, “you’re supposed to accept each other’s flaws.”
“Our flaws are what make us perfect.”
“Our flaws are what make us imperfect.”
“What are you talking about?” Jaehyun says, his eyebrows furrowing, “you don’t make any sense-”
“Doyoung, you ready to go?” Jaehyun turns around to see Doyoung’s tall stranger standing amid the shelves, looking over Jaehyun’s shoulder to meet Doyoung’s eyes.
Doyoung shoves past Jaehyun, his elegant shoulder pushing him back, “yeah Johnny, let’s go.”
Johnny nods, throwing an apprehensive glance back at Jaehyun before following Doyoung out of the library.
Dear Jaehyun,
My brother came by to visit today. Remember him? You guys used to be so close. He didn’t say much about you, but I could tell that he missed you.
Love,
Doyoung
“Jaehyun, are you alright?”
“Huh?” Jaehyun looks up from the drying oil paint. “Sorry, Donghyuck. I’m fine.”
“Okay,” Donghyuck says, eyeing Jaehyun with suspicion. “Are you sure?”
Jaehyun feels a bit like an idiot, getting pity from a broke college sophomore. “Yes. Let’s just go over your portfolio again.”
“We’ve been doing that for two hours, I think it’s ready.”
Jaehyun smiles. “Who’s the world-famous art critic here?”
“Who’s the ‘amazingly talented and innovative’ artist here?” Donghyuck asks, using Jaehyun’s own words against him.
“Touché.”
“C’mon, just tell me what’s wrong.” Donghyuck says, sitting down on a cheap futon and patting an area next to him. Jaehyun laughs under his breath, unsure of when he became friends with someone years younger than him.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Jaehyun sits down next to him.
Donghyuck snorts. “Yeah right. Just tell me!” he whines.
Jaehyun rolls his eyes. “Fine, there’s this guy,” God, he feels like a teenage girl.
Apparently, so does Donghyuck, because the boy immediately squeals. “Really? Oh, who? Do I know them?”
“We used to date, for a long time. And then we broke up around six months ago.”
Donghyuck’s face falls. “Oof.”
“And he sent me a letter one day, after months of not talking to me, telling me that he was going back home-”
“Wait, what’s this guy’s name?”
“So I followed him here to bring him back home but-”
“Hold up,” Donghyuck says, “is this about Kim Doyoung? Also, you followed a guy you hadn’t talked to in months to his hometown? That’s kind of-”
“Creepy? I’ve been told,” Jaehyun says, embarrassed, “to be fair, it was a spur of the moment kind of thing, but now since I discovered you, I have to stay here longer. And yes,” he hesitates, “this is about Kim Doyoung.”
“Oh.”
“Oh?”
“It’s just,” Donghyuck laughs, “I’m best friends with his little brother, Jeno.”
Jaehyun blinks. “Oh? I remember him, I liked him.”
“Small world,” Donghyuck says, “but anyways, have you talked to him?”
“Yes,” Jaehyun sighs, “and it didn’t go well.”
Donghyuck hisses, “I’m sorry.”
“He said our entire relationship wasn’t real. What does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” Donghyuck says, “but maybe you should ask him.”
Jaehyun looks at Donghyuck thoughtfully. “Maybe I will.”
Dear Jaehyun,
I think you never understood what a relationship was supposed to be. Everything you did was right, but it never felt right.
I love you, so much. But I don’t know if what you feel for me is the same.
Love,
Doyoung