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Taerae is honestly tired of waiting for Gyuvin.
They’ve been in the art store for almost an hour now and the man still hasn’t decided on which paint set to get Ricky for his birthday.
Apparently there’s different types of paint, which Taerae understands. But then Gyuvin started comparing their colors depending on which season he thought Ricky may use them, then what Ricky might paint, then what Ricky already has, and it was just an excruciating forty minutes of listening to Ricky, Ricky, Ricky .
He was used to Gyuvin gushing about his boyfriend, but now it was starting to hit a different nerve that had dejection spilling nauseous in his gut. It’s been almost a year now but he still feels that sadness creep up on him, empty and aching.
“Ah, Gyuvin, I’m gonna get something at that cafe.” He says, though he’s never liked mall food.
Gyuvin hums though he clearly isn’t listening.
Taerae sighs and walks out.
As soon as the smell of coffee hits his nose he gags and quickly redirects to a nearby clothing store. He pretends to look through a rack and takes in deep breaths until the nausea subsides.
He blinks a few times, shakes his head, and looks through a few graphic shirts.
Some phrase in English, a nature scene, a poorly drawn tiger. He cards through a few more before giving up. Looking around, he glances at the various displays, searching for another thing to boredly sift through when something catches his eye.
Someone.
Matthew.
He looks different—dyed blond hair, new clothes, some stranger accompanying him. Which is wrong , Taerae thinks, then he reconsiders just how long it's been. What’s ‘wrong’ is that Taerae hasn’t changed. He’s been stagnant in this ugly, self-deprecating aftermath that won’t go away, but really, he’s made no effort to get rid of it.
And so that feeling resurges, and those memories flood back in, and reality drags itself backwards.
They’re in Matthew’s house again—never Taerae’s because he always finds a way to keep the other out. He’s not afraid of what his apartment looks like. It’s something else.
It felt like any other day. They were on the couch, each their own side. When Matthew got too close he would move the other way—keep the two of them a safe distance apart.
Everything was calculated—how often he’d glance at the other, how many comments he’d make. Taerae was doing what he usually did. Keeping their relationship from becoming something he’d regret.
Matthew huffed and grabbed the remote, smothering the pause button with his thumb. He turned to him and just stared, looking unable to believe something Taerae couldn’t figure out.
“We’ve been dating for, what, two months?”
Two months and four days, but Taerae just nodded.
“I could’ve sworn you said you liked me.”
“I do.”
Matthew sighed. “Did I do something wrong then?”
“What do you mean?”
“What do I—what do I mean?” Matthew paused to laugh incredulously, running a hand across his face. “Taerae, you’ve been nothing but distant since we got together.”
“What?” Taerae thought back on every deliberate conversation and action he’d made with Matthew, everything he’d coordinated to keep what they had safe.
“Look. Right now.” He said, gesturing to the space between them. “Couples don’t sit this far apart from each other. They—they cuddle! And fuck and shit. We—we’re like two friends with the title of boyfriends. I feel like we were closer when we were just that. Friends.”
Taerae didn't really understand, but he did understand the last word, its implications. The slowly cracking line between two entities. The ability to form a permanent rift.
“Matthew—” He started, but the other barreled on, so many pent up thoughts streaming out with no end.
“Then are you tired of me? I just—I don’t fucking get it!”
Taerae didn’t either.
He does now, though. And watching the back of Matthew’s head he wants to yell all the things he misunderstood, all the situations he would’ve gone about differently, all the worries he held inside that pushed them apart.
Matthew and the stranger move onto a display of jackets, still unaware of Taerae’s presence while he is utterly and painfully aware of theirs.
He wonders if that’s how Matthew felt back then. Pitifully conscious to someone’s oblivion.
The pain worsens.
Not far into the beginning of their relationship, a train of thought sprouted fast and wrapped its strong tendrils around Taerae’s mind. Fear delivered the seed.
It got into his brain that he would get too attached to Matthew. That when that happened, Matthew wouldn’t return the severity of his deep-rooted affection and he would leave. That Taerae would lose the other.
So he began to squash that overwhelming feeling and pushed Matthew away. He calculated each interaction to make sure the two of them never got too close. He thought it was the right decision. He thought it meant he would never lose Matthew.
That’s the problem, he thought . While he thinks differently now, Matthew only knows him from back then. He only knows Taerae in the past tense.
But now he’s here, and Taerae can explain everything, even if it’s in this stupid fucking mall, and there’s some stupid fucking stranger beside him. Taerae can still bring everything they have to the present and rewrite it. He can redo this. He can make it better. He can—
Matthew turns. He looks around the store, eyes meeting Taerae’s. But they don’t stop or hesitate. They drift right over him.
Then it hits. Bullseye, right in the heart.
Taerae will only ever be Matthew’s past.
And for that, he supposes, Matthew will only ever be his past.
Someone taps him on the shoulder and he jerks around to meet Gyuvin’s curious face, a bag from the art store in his grip.
“Do you know that person?”
Taerae looks back, and feels his own eyes move past a stranger without pause.
“No. Not anymore.”