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“Will you wait for me?”
Kim had asked in a low voice. His expression looked hopeful as he twisted his fingers anxiously. His carry on was off to the side, waiting beside the chair he stood from.
A bite of pastry was in his mouth—some bread Kenta had bought him from a vending machine near by.
Kenta can only smile in response. It’s bitter and that almost seems to enrage Kim—but he never looks mad. Kim never looks angry. He is the only person Kenta knows that has ever expressed himself in this way.
Deeply disappointed. Deeply sad.
“Do you find this funny?” Kim asked. He was serious about this—about them. He wanted to try long distance. Wanted to try anything but this. Kim tried to swallow, but it felt like his throat had swelled to the point where he can no longer can.
Kenta smiles again. “Let’s not ask questions I won’t be able to answer.”
Red rims his eyes as Kim forces down his emotions. He looks away for a moment. Then back at Kenta.
Almost hesitant, he quietly asks. “Will you be alright without me?”
Kenta’s jaw clenches, the smile wanting to drop but he holds it up. He doesn’t know if it’s for Kim’s sake or his.
Kenta doesn’t answer this time. He’s not sure if it’s because he won’t or because he can’t. Kenta isn’t sure of anything in this very moment.
Cycles of moments seem to rush by him in a matter of seconds. Times they’ve spent arguing and silently making up. Times they’ve spent hating each other and kissing. Times they’ve spent with silent resentment and loneliness despite being together these past few months.
None of it seems to matter anymore. All of it seems to be a waste of time. Time they could have spent happy, forgiving. Understanding of each other’s flaws and using them to love each other harder. Deeper.
Kenta’s silence cuts deep. Kim stands abruptly, and Kenta follows his every action. For the first time, Kenta can see how easily expressive his face seems.
He cannot tell if he’s mad or angry. But he can tell that Kim’s upset. Kim slams the letter he has—the one he’s written to Kenta—into his lap. The unfinished pastry in his hands follow. Kim’s eyes welled with moisture and he spins around, wanting to stomp away.
A voice stops him.
“You said you’d always have my back,” Kenta said. He tried to come off as unbothered, but his voice broke by the end of that sentence. “You said you wouldn’t leave my side. You said you’d stay.”
Kim felt his gut wrench, his heart aching in that painful way. He wanted to reply. Wanted to say something that would soothe Kenta’s heart. But every time he opened his mouth, he came up with nothing.
He turns around, tries to reach a hand out to set on Kenta’s arm but Kenta flinches back, turning his head away.
“You won’t even look at me.” Kim whispered. “You won’t even try.”
“I’m tired.” Is all Kenta could say.
Kenta kept his head down. His eyes were filling with moisture and he no longer wanted to hold onto someone who no longer wanted him around.
Kenta was used to it. Used to this treatment.
“I’ve only ever had two people in my life,” Kenta remembered telling Kim. It was an offhand thing to say. His beer was in between his fingers and with the growing silence between them, he desperately wanted to fill it.
“And neither of them gave a fuck about me.”
If Kenta were someone else someplace other than here, sitting in this chair at this very moment, he would have laughed at the situation.
Not because it was funny but because of the comical way things were playing out. It felt like two toddlers throwing a tantrum.
But he wasn’t someone else. He was Kenta. And he was holding back tears as he was about to watch his boyfriend…lover….ex…leave for Korea for two years.
“I don’t want to leave it like this. Us…like this.”
“Then stay.” Kenta said. It was simple in his eyes. Everything could have been simple in his eyes.
Kim sighed. He stared down at the floor for a few seconds, the voice in his head screaming at him to do something. So he did. “You know I can’t do that, Kenta.” He whispered.
“So then I guess we know how we’re leaving this.”
The almost nonchalantness of Kenta’s voice had Kim growing hot. “You won’t even try to come up with different solutions?”
“Why?” Kenta rasped. “Why should I? You barged into my life. You made it worth something. Why should I stay and fight for someone who clearly doesn’t want to do the same for me?”
A tear traced down Kim’s cheek. “Is that really how you think I feel?”
Kenta hesitated. No, he thought to himself. He didn’t. But he needed to hurt first before he was burned. He needed to fight back before he was hit down.
Kim nodded at the lack of response. He swallowed hard, using the back of his hand to wipe away the fallen tear. It was as if it never existed.
Plastering a smile on his face, he stared at Kenta with a wistful expression.
“I hope you find everything you need,” He told Kenta with sincerity, voice soft. “And I hope I hear nothing about it.”
Because it would hurt Kim if he knew. If he knew Kenta had moved on without him.
Kim grabbed his carry on, fixing his jacket and walking over to the line to start boarding. As soon as Kim passed the flight attendant, Kenta’s expression seemed to drop.
He slowly lowered his head, gazing hard at the letter in his hands. The envelope was thick, the writing on the cover pretty. To: Kenta it said in nice writing.
And while he stared, all Kenta could think was:
I should have said something. I should have replied. I should have told him, “No, I can’t do this without you. I can’t be without you. I can’t live life properly without you by my side. I love you…I…love…you.”
His own silence seemed to suffocate him too.
Kenta couldn’t tell how long he stayed seated there, silent, a blur of time and memories going by his head.
He couldn’t tell how he got on the train ride home—the hour long journey choking him more than he could ever imagine.
His phone was half dead, so he was left with quietness on the train surrounded by strangers who all seemed to have somewhere to be. Somewhere to go. Someone to go home to.
Looking at the unfinished pastry in his hands, Kenta slowly lifted it to his lips and took a bite. Right where Kim had once eaten from earlier.
Chewing—slow and soft and unable to swallow—Kenta rested his head against the window and breathed in deep the air leading him back to Bangkok.
And the tears began to pour.