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Autumn always reminded Doyoung of Johnny. The cold air, the scattering of brown-yellow leaves crunching under his boots as he trudged down the familiar stone path. The cabin looked the same as it had all those years ago, since the last time he laid eyes on it. He opened the door and was greeted by warm sunlight filtering into the room through the windows. The inside of the cabin was the same as the outside, unchanging, as if frozen in time. Dust particles floated in the air, and Doyoung could picture the first time Johnny took him there, how young he was with his wide-eyed gaze, enraptured with this hyung, this very cool hyung who somehow would give him the time of day. He walked to the kitchen, and he could recall, as if it had happened yesterday, when Johnny took him dancing around the kitchen under the refrigerator lights, how he yelped when Johnny swept him off his feet, how he laughed when Johnny spun him around, how happy both of them were, how in love he was.
Now, two years later, the memory still left an ache in his chest. Maybe Doyoung really was a masochist for taking a trip to this cabin, walking down this memory lane. But autumn always reminded him of Johnny, of falling in love in a warmth-filled cabin, of Thanksgiving at Johnny’s parents’ house where Johnny’s mother showed him pictures of Johnny’s childhood, how Johnny’s cheeks went red when Doyoung cooed over how cute he looked, with his round glasses perched on his nose as he sat on a twin-sized bed grinning widely at the camera. Of Johnny’s groan of embarrassment as his mom regaled Doyoung with stories of him on the tee-ball team. Doyoung thought that maybe Johnny told him about his past because he thought Doyoung would be his future.
But Johnny never wanted to spell out what they were, even when they were skipping town, and Doyoung kept thinking on the drive down that any moment now Johnny was going to call this love, but he never did, never called what was between them what it was. Instead, it was keychain on the ground as he stormed out of the car mid-fight. It was shouting after dinner with Johnny’s friends, where Doyoung demanded, why did Johnny ignore him all night? Why did he drop Doyoung’s hand when Doyoung reached out to him? Why did he take Doyoung to places where nobody knew who they were? Why did Johnny keep him like a secret when Doyoung kept him like an oath?
The signs were all there, but Doyoung couldn’t pinpoint any specific thing or moment that propelled them to ruin. Maybe Doyoung was too demanding. Maybe he asked for too much, or maybe somewhere along the line they got lost in translation, and maybe Johnny didn’t think what they had was a masterpiece worth preserving until Johnny tore it apart when he left Doyoung curled up on that bathroom floor, his heart in pieces around him.
Upstairs, the bedroom door was closed. The room was neat, untouched except for the memories playing behind Doyoung’s eyelids. He sat on the bed, running his hand over the smooth blue sheets, the same color as when he laid there with Johnny, facing each other, his heart so full it almost burst as Johnny brushed his hair off his face, calloused hand stroking his cheek. The look in his eyes had been so soft, the corner of his mouth curling at the beginning of a smile. Doyoung remembered feeling like the luckiest guy in the world as he leaned in and whispered, “are you real?” He remembered how Johnny’s eyes turned adoring and fond, remembered Johnny kissing him softly with a murmured “yes” upon his lips. Sunlight filtered through the windows, Doyoung was there. He remembered it all too well.
Sometimes Doyoung wondered if Johnny still had the red scarf Doyoung left at his parents’ house. Wondered if Johnny kept it because it reminded him of Doyoung, of a simpler time when everything was filled with joy and bliss. Wondered if he kept it because it smelled like Doyoung. Wondered if Johnny couldn’t get rid of it because maybe Johnny, too, remembered everything all too well. Doyoung loved to fantasize that if he ever met Johnny again, maybe passing by each other in their favorite café,where Doyoung would accidentally look up and find Johnny already looking at him. Maybe Doyoung would walk over and they would talk just a little, and maybe Doyoung would have the courage to ask, just between them, did their love affair maim him too? Did Johnny remember everything all too well, just like Doyoung did? And maybe Johnny would sit there with eyes full of regret, Doyoung’s red scarf wrapped around his neck, and maybe Doyoung would finally receive the closure he deserved. But even if he didn’t, Doyoung was fine with it, and if he had to convince himself of that every day, he was sure one day it might be true.
Doyoung knew that the magic of their love had long dissipated before what they had was gone, dead and buried, and that there was nothing he could do. But Doyoung was stubborn, clinging to the memory of Johnny charming his dad with self-effacing jokes, of Johnny almost running a red light on that little town street because he was too busy looking at Doyoung laughing at one of his stupid jokes. And Johnny was stubborn too, for a while at least, swearing it was the same, that nothing had changed, despite their relationship already being three months in the grave, despite checking for a pulse that wasn’t there, despite holding the tatters of their lifeless frame of their relationship between his hands. And Doyoung desperately hoped it would be enough, despite the shame trying to choke him when he realized maybe he was a stain Johnny was trying to cover up. Wind in his hair, Doyoung remembered it all too well.
In the end, Doyoung was a crumpled piece of paper lying on the floor, curled up on his bed with tears streaming down his face after Johnny called him again just to break him like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest. And for a while, time was frozen, and it felt like Doyoung was paralyzed bu it. No matter how much he yearned to return to his old self, to rewind the time to before Johnny ever entered his life, or maybe back when they were happy, back when they were in love, back before Doyoung lost the one real thing he had ever known. But everything had ended. Johnny had mailed back his things, and Doyoung was walking home by himself, cold air blowing through his hair, snow glistening as it fell. Doyoung remembered it all too well.
Doyoung watched as the sun set low on the horizon, cold air fogging his breath. He looked down at Johnny’s letters, the witnesses that encapsulated both their beginning and their end, the flames of the bonfire licking upward as if enticing Doyoung to feed them. Doyoung stroked his name written on the front of the envelope one last time, then tossed everything into the fire, watching as the flame swallowed it all until only ashes remained. Then he turned and walked back to the cabin.