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leo isn't sure when it goes wrong. he's not even sure if it was his fault or if he could have prevented it. he could have, his mind yells and screams at him but he knows better than to believe his own gullible, sorrowful mind. sangwon isn't someone who would change his mind so easily just because leo had changed something so minuscule in his actions or he'd said something differently— sangwon mulls it over in his brain for days, weeks, even months until his anxiety riddled brained is leaking with weakness. leo can always tell when sangwon has something stuck in his brain, his mind always strays away from the conversation at hand, his anxieties pulling him away from what is right in front of him. it happens so often that leo can't even be all that shocked when the moment sangwon lets go of the bundle of nerves in front of him, revealing it all.
the wind blows against and past leo, the cool chilling air of the winter reminding leo how aggressive it could be. sangwon sits next to him on the same park bench, his hands fiddling with the loose threads of his scarf that hangs around his neck and drops near his shoulders. it's quiet between the two of them. there aren't any words to be said in this very moment. of course, until sangwon opens his own chapped lips to breathe an air out full of anxiety. sangwon's voice shakes as he had spoken, his eyes unable to meet leo's as he messes with the edge of his fingernail, his eyes straight ahead at the cold, dead grass: "i don't think i can do this anymore."
there was no question in leo's mind to what he was referring to. leo thinks he had secretly known all along, it was just hidden in the back of his mind as if it were a secret to his own self.
it's been a few months since then. leo doesn't like to count exactly how many months, he likes to keep it vague. it hurts too much to remember exactly how many days sangwon has been gone. leo'd be lying if he said he didn't go to places just to see sangwon in them. the small café that leo had admitted his love for sangwon there— leo can't count the amount of times he'd gone just to people watch, hoping and praying that sangwon would walk through the door. leo doesn't know what'd he do if sangwon had walked in during any of his so-called people watching sessions. maybe he'd talk to sangwon, it doesn't have to be very long. it could be for five minutes or even thirty seconds. leo wouldn't care, it'd be a blessing just to hear sangwon's soft and gentle voice speak about nothing. leo wouldn't even say anything then. he could just listen. he'd be so thankful to just listen.
there are days where he wishes he would see sangwon in the supermarket. it's no different from his hopes of seeing sangwon at cafés that the other boy frequented— it just makes leo a little bit more hopeful. he's not sure why.
the fluorescent lights above him in the store buzz quietly as he stares at the various selection of packaged cheeses. he doesn't even remember what recipe he was attempting to recreate, his mind's a jumbled mess of words and annoyingly long introductions to a simple recipe. he listens to carts roll past him, mothers on the phone while they handle their crying children and still managing to shop. all that and leo cant even remember a recipe that he swore he's made a million times that it's practically tattooed in his brain.
soft footsteps step beside him and leo doesn't need to turn his head to know it's him. sangwon doesn't say anything for a while, he just stares straight ahead at the packaging while they stand in silence. it feels as if leo utters even a single word that sangwon will jump and scurry off like a frightened alley cat.
it feels like an eternity until sangwon speaks, "it's parmesan."
all leo can do is watch as sangwon pulls the packaging from the aisle and place it into his basket as if everything were so simple and easy again. leo gazes at sangwon— not much has changed since then. his hair is longer now, it reaches a little bit past his cheekbones. his hair is darker now, but other than that, everything about him is the same despite everything changing around him.
sangwon holds his gaze. it feels like another eternity until leo sputters out the only thought that takes hold of his mind.
"i miss you." his voice is quiet as he says it. as if he were scared to even say it aloud.
sangwon sucks in a sharp breath and leo doesn't care what comes after that. sangwon could be as mean as he wants about it, leo wouldn't mind. or maybe he could be sweet about it. either way, leo doesn't care as long as he can hear him speak so close to him again.
"i know." sangwon whispers, "i miss you too."
a beat passes.
leo isn't sure how to continue from there. he won't beg sangwon to take him back. it's not his decision to try and make him change his mind. it's done with, it's over.
"i hope you're happy." sangwon says, brushing one of his soft brown strands away from his eyes. those same bright, starry eyes that leo would dream about for months on end. the same eyes that would look at leo with such warmth that it felt like the sun looking down on him.
"happy enough." leo says. "and are you? you know, happy?"
sangwon huffs at his words, breathing out of his nose as if it were even the slightest bit funny. leo hopes he smiles and says he's so happy, he's never been so full of joy. maybe not even that— he hopes sangwon is just okay. he hopes he eats too much pasta and laughs down the streets of seoul full of joy, not even the slightest bit drunk. he hopes sangwon is happy and nothing like leo— full of quiet sorrow that settles deep into his bones that feels like it'll never go away. the kind of sadness that makes leo want to sit in silence with sangwon, knowing it wouldn't do anything for him but he'd lie to himself and say it cured a little bit of his heart.
instead, sangwon shrugs. his voice quiet as his round eyes look into leo's own eyes, and mutters, "not very."
it doesn't feel worth it to say anything else after that. it's not like leo can cure it so easily as he wishes and wants to. all they can do is stand beside each other, silent as they stand in the supermarket. they don't have to talk, it's not like it'd help the longing for their earlier lives, not so filled with sorrow like now.