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The sound of the bustling city fades as you near your neighborhood; white smoke puffing out of your mouth as you trudge up a hill, convenience store ramen tossed around in a plastic bag in your grasp. Earlier, you had requested the cashier to heat up the kimbap roll and for a pack of cigarettes behind him, though the former has gone cold due to the cold air. You listen to it waft against you.
In front of your apartment is a playground, and you argue with yourself on whether or not you should stay out a little longer, despite the cold getting to your nose as you sneeze every few seconds. You walk up to the swing set and plop onto the wet seat, wincing at the contact with the thin layer of frost beneath you. The cigarette you pull sits softly on your lips while you fumble through your pockets; cursing at the lighter’s stutter. Eventually though, it starts, as the smoke from the vice and the cool of your mouth mix in the air.
“I thought you quit smoking?” A voice cuts through your grumbling, and you look up to see a boy, hair fanning the sides of his face and the back of his nape. ‘He looks pretty’, you think, while you probably look haggard and tired. His eyelashes bat delicately across his skin, cheeks plump and lips glistening with balm, way better than when you last saw him. Your lips part as a strained voice echoes through the both of you “That was before we—” you stutter, “before we broke up?” He continues, and you nod. He sits down on the adjacent swing, mirroring your reaction as his bottom hits the metal. The boy sets down a plastic bag in front of him, and even though you know what it is, you still feel compelled to ask. “What’re you doing out this late, Beomgyu?”
To call him a pet name, a nickname, his last name, an honorific; everything just sounded wrong. He points at the garbage and hums, pulling his own pack of vices from his coat pocket. The case is customized, you know it very well as the person who decorated it. The glittery plastic shimmers under the lamp post, and he closes it to ask you for a light. You know he carries his own lighter; a traditional spark-wheel you gave him for his birthday, but you wouldn’t be surprised if he threw that away with the rest of your gifts.
With that said, he still had your cigarette box. You’d assume he kept the lighter he begged for years ago. He disrupts your thoughts with a tilt of a head as he calls out your name. You look back up at him for a moment, before tossing him the lighter.
You’d be damned if you did something as cheesy as the thing you were about to do; imagining your bodies lean into each other as you aid him light a mere cigarette. Of course you were bound to run into each other again.
Though your apartments were close, you’ve made it a point to select a new route, a new time to leave—all to avoid him. In no means did you end on bad terms, though the thought leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. It was your first and longest relationship after all, from the end of high school up until a few months ago. The amount of sheer will it took for you to look at his face now, stoic and without a tear shed, took all your strength.
You’ve grown together, and now you’ve grown apart without each other.
A damp point kisses your cheek, and you look up to see snow swirling around in the air. Your breathing slows as you stare into the night sky, white speckles illuminated by the street lights. You dumbly find your mouth agape when the other speaks up. “This would be the first snow.” Your eyes land on his as you nod; both your gazes written with melancholy. You’re the first to break eye contact in a rough attempt to hide your watering eyes, laughing lightly. Beomgyu’s eyebrows knit in confusion, asking “What’s so funny?” You shake your head with a smile, still not facing him. “You confessed to me, senior year, first snow.” You say in nearly a whisper, kicking the rubble under your feet. “I did.” He breathes out, eyes fixed on the side of your face. “And you’d listen to the weather reports for it every year after.” You muttered. The silence is numbing, though interrupted by the cars occupying the main road and the wind. You don’t do anything to stop the clot of tears that now stream down your face. The other hears you sniffle and gulps rather loudly.
A thousand words race through his mind, and none of them are perfect for you. So he settles on ‘I’m sorry.’ You scoff inwardly, keeping a small smile on your face as you finally face him. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.” You say. He looks down at his shoes and bites the insides of his cheek. “I could have—I shouldn’t have broken up with you… Like that.” “Then how do you think you should have?” You counter. Beomgyu sighs and shrugs, “I don’t know… I should have explained—I shouldn’t have left you in the dark and lashed out at you. Not like that.” “What’s done is done.” You hum, throwing the cigarette onto the gravel. He looks at the stick; not even halfway done, and that’s how he knows all you wanted to do was get away from him. However, Beomgyu is selfish, and he can’t let you go without speaking his mind.
Still, he beats around the bush. “Do you still believe in love during the first snow?” He inquires, and with a sad smile, you reply. “I’ve spent most of them with you, haven't I?” The dejected look on the boy’s face almost makes you pity him, but you remember it was he who had pitied you initially. ‘It’s a bit pathetic’, you muse, even in a new part of my life, a new winter, you were still here next to him. With the same blank stare, your eyes decide to take him all in for the final time. This time, you take back your earlier comment about how well he was doing. He was as pretty as a doll, yet just as fragile looking. His cheeks are plump, yet swollen as the rest of his face; eyebags a stark contrast to his pale skin, and he had grown his hair out due to negligence. You’re conflicted. Obviously you yearn for him to talk about himself. His day, how he’s been, why he looks so worn out—For a split second you think: ‘What if he’s miserable because of me?’ A bit presumptuous, and corny. So as he does, you dance around the subject. “Find anyone new?” He grimaces at the question, as do you.
Beomgyu is a hopeless romantic, and no matter how codependent and immature it may seem, he likes to take care of others, likes to dote on them, loves to spread warmth to those dear to him, and loves being taken care of in return. His lips part to say ‘there’s someone’, and you hold a long breath. The world is quiet, and the snowflakes drop at rates further and further apart. “Good, that’s—great for you. I hope you find what you’re looking for this time.” You nod, scrambling to pack up your non-existent items and be on your own way.
‘Never should have stayed out.’
The boy grabs your wrists when you stand up to leave, shock present on both of your faces. his eyes grow wide as he retracts his hands, apologizing again. You turn your headway from him and sigh. Beomgyu’s done taking chances, done taking your judgemental look, done with how you look at and away from him with worry, pity, and contempt. So he cups your face in between the heels of his palm, staring at you. His mouth opens and closes as he tries to find the words, and eventually he finds them, though he’s too much of a coward to say it to your face. His hands slide your sides and rest on your arms, resting his face in your collar. “I think I still love you.” He whispers, and in contrast to how the movies would portray it, everything speeds up. The wind picks up in sound, the snow falls like heavy rain, and your heart rate shoots up. He’s still buried in between your neck and shoulder, and you can feel the heat of his breathing as it shoots tingles throughout your body. Maybe you were glad he wasn’t facing you, because the redness on your face had spread to your ears and nape, lips shaking slightly. “I’ve tried, you know I would try, to find someone new; but I always find myself comparing things that resemble you.” He continues, pushing his face into you, and you almost fall backwards. “I miss you, I miss your smile and your pout, I miss how pretty you look when you’re focused, how pretty you look when you cry. I miss your coffee, I miss your nagging, I miss our meaningless fights. Every moment I have of us is ingrained in me, and I don’t even want to try to forget it.” His tears soak through your coat, and you rest your head on his; hesitant, before rubbing your hands through his head and back.
“That’s a bit cliche don’t you think?” Beomgyu groans and fake punches your arm, “I miss your sarcasm.” Giggling softly, you take his head in your hands to face you. “Choi Beomgyu, I still love you.” His grin is drowsy, as if high on emotion; he mirrors your action. “And I have never stopped loving you.”