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Muted colours blur into endless fractures of time, falling in hours and crashing among long buried memories. Time drags on for centuries within the pass of a single second (or minutes?). Up above, stars twinkle as neon glimmering lights as the amber glow of traffic lights reflect through the café window. Light scatters into tiny diamonds as it bounces off the raindrops running down the glass window pane. The air reeks of coffee, perfume, and permanent marker – the scents mingling together to create an overbearing headache.
A woman laughs exaggeratedly a few tables over, flipping her long hair with her perfectly manicured hands as her table partner talks. The café is what some would describe as ‘quaint’, or cosy even. Jaebum would describe it as a typical setting for an overrated romance film in which love is compacted into a tiny little box labelled ‘happiness and good memories’, with the scent of roses and saturated overtones of heterosexual bliss. Which is – of course – bullshit. In that perfect film world everything is clean-cut and pure, and even the most broken of relationships is magically fixed by a simple kiss.
Jaebum doesn’t believe in simplicity anymore.
Not when everything is so grey. Anything that can be fixed with a kiss is built on weak foundations of frailty and wishes. Hopes and shallow dreams bridged by selfish mistakes and the quiet tug of lust. If you can fix it with a kiss, you don’t love yourself enough.
At least, that’s what Jinyoung had told him. Whispered it somewhere between cups of cold tea and loose sheets of papers long overdue. Or maybe somewhere among the gentle laziness of morning kisses and the searing heat of the afternoon sun. Or was it on a Thursday morning, whispered somewhere among the chaos of the rain and the rush of passing trains? Or maybe Jaebum had simply heard it somewhere. Heard it somewhere unimportant and thought of Jinyoung. Always, of Jinyoung.
His thoughts seem to habitually stray to the curve of Jinyoung’s lips, or the low hum of his laughter. On Jaebum’s worst nights it’s always the sound of his voice, warm and sweet as the memory sings in his ear. His thoughts are ghosts that refuse to lay to rest. Memories that he has told himself over and over to erase but could never bring himself to fully vanquish. They live in every tiny recess of his being, the image of Jinyoung’s smile projected like a home-movie every time Jaebum closes his eyes.
Or in this case, opens them.
It’s a coincidence, Jaebum assures himself, purely coincidental. Not some kind of twisted fate or sign from the melodramatic heavens that can’t seem to give him a break. Jaebum is sitting here, in this stupid café, by chance – not destiny – even though he knows that both Jinyoung and himself live at least half an hour away, and are thus at a 0.00005% chance of meeting here.
Even though its utterly coincidental, the knowledge that Jinyoung, his Jinyoung, is sitting only a few tables away on a date (a date!) with another man makes Jaebum want to lift his middle fingers high and send a big ‘fuck you!’ to the universe. And while he’s at it, a big ‘fuck you!’ to Jackson too for bringing him out here in the first place – to this stupid café at 11pm just so Jackson motherfucking Wang can cry wax-poetic about his insanely obvious crush on Mark Tuan, who Jaebum just happens to know because of Jinyoung.
Always, because of Jinyoung.
(“I spoke to him again today – well actually he spoke to me – and it was like a dream came true. He can even make ‘Jackson, you’re standing on my foot’ sound like the song of angels. Honestly Jaebum, he’s so beautiful. He smiled at me before as well – teeth and everything – and his eyes actually sparkled. Like, Disney prince sparkled. Seriously man, you wouldn’t understand.”
Except Jaebum does understand, he understands all too well.)
The universe, the galaxy, and all the stars are against him. It’s bucketing outside with rain as the wind picks up, so it’s not like Jaebum can leave and forget all about seeing Jinyoung. He’d actually styled his hair this morning as well – that’s his reason for staying, he tells himself.
(Reason or excuse?)
Watching his ex-boyfriend on a date with a new boyfriend doesn’t make him petty, just curious. A little bitter maybe, but not petty. Even with the mix of the night’s darkness and the cheesy dim lighting of the café, Jinyoung’s eyes are bright. Honestly, Jaebum can’t even see them clearly from where he’s hiding behind his fifth latte (he doesn’t even like lattes), but he remembers them. Eyes that are warm and imploring, never shallow but always guarded. Eyes that seemed to speak more than he ever did.
Jaebum can’t remember enough course content to pass the semester, but he can remember Jinyoung’s eyes.
It takes all of his self-control to not pull his hair out when he squints forward to take a good look at Jinyoung’s new boyfriend. Of course it’s Wonpil. It’s not that Jaebum has anything against the man, he knows he’s probably a great guy, it just seems so unnatural. Wonpil clasps Jinyoung’s hands across the table, caressing his knuckles with his thumb. For any other observer it’s nothing out of the ordinary. But for Jaebum, it all seems completely foreign.
Jinyoung’s hands are tense in Wonpil’s grip, firm albeit slightly awkward. His eyes are cast downwards, observing their clasped hands. Jaebum hates the sight of it. For so long, those hands had only known his own. He’d held them tenderly at first, just the cautious slip of their entwined fingers as they danced across the line separating friendship and love. He knows every freckle, every knuckle, on those hands. He knows the feeling of those nails digging into his back, can remember the careful glide of Jinyoung’s fingers running though his hair.
Jaebum doesn’t like this, he just don’t like it.
Suddenly Wonpil laughs and Jinyoung is blushing, the tips of his ears turning pink as he smiles. He looks up at Wonpil and counters something back inaudibly; in the artificial light his eyes shine.
Something stings sharply in Jaebum’s chest. Heartache? Jealousy? Well, it can’t be jealousy now that Jinyoung isn’t his anymore. Envy, maybe? He half wishes Jinyoung would notice him sitting a few tables away, look at him with those dark eyes. Not with those eyes, he doesn’t want Jinyoung to look at someone else.
They were always together. Every memory is stitched with the thought of Jinyoung, embroidered with the warmth of a constant presence, an unconscious fondness, an inevitable attachment. He was always by his side. But Jinyoung’s so far away from him now. Distant, removed. Jaebum’s not by his side, not anymore. There’s somebody else there. Again, he feels that stinging in his chest, as if a tiny needle is pricking at his heart every time it beats.
Jaebum sighs audibly and leans back in his chair, head tipping back as he absentmindedly counts the recessed lights in the ceiling. His phone vibrates in his pocket but he ignores it – he’s had enough of Jackson’s help-me-date-Mark-Tuan-texts to last for the rest of his life. He closes his eyes slowly, letting the brightness of the overhead lights dissipate into patches of vivid colour on the back of his eyelids. His phone vibrates again and he grimaces, cracking his eyes open into slits. No matter how long he observes the ceiling, it remains the same.
He groans as his phone vibrates again, bracing himself for Jackson’s daily reminder that Mark Tuan is not human but actually a gift bestowed from Heaven itself, much to Jackson’s delight and Jaebum’s disdain. He flicks the screen on and almost falls out of his chair.
From: [Jinyoungie] received 11:27pm
What the hell are you doing here??
From: [Jinyoungie] received 11:29pm
Don’t think I can’t fucking see you
From: [Jinyoungie] received 11:30pm
Stop staring at the ceiling you look like an idiot
His heart leaps in his chest, from fear or excitement he doesn’t know. He glances across at Jinyoung’s table and meets his irritated glare. All the while, Wonpil chats away oblivious to the tension building across the room. It’s quite endearing actually. Jaebum quickly types a reply, hesitating for a minute with his finger hovering over the ‘send’ button, before wincing as his finger meets the screen and the tiny ‘sent!’ notification seems to scream ‘sent! Im Jaebum has sent himself to his own death!’.
To: [Jinyoungie] sent 11:36pm
Can we talk?
From: [Jinyoungie] received 11:37pm
No
From: [Jinyoungie] received 11:37pm
You need to let go
With that Jaebum looks up as Wonpil helps Jinyoung out of his seat and into his coat. Wonpil leans forward as if to kiss him, but Jinyoung shies away, pretending to pull at a thread on his sleeve. Jaebum counts that as a small victory for himself – obviously Wonpil doesn’t know that Jinyoung doesn’t like to be kissed in public. But Jaebum does. (Bitter, not petty.)
Wonpil pays the bill with a good-natured smile to the tired waitress and opens the door for Jinyoung, gesturing for him to go first.
“You go ahead,” Jinyoung insists, “I think I left something on the table.”
Jaebum watches as Wonpil nods and then exits, letting the glass door slam with a scuffed thud. His gaze shifts to Jinyoung who pulls his scarf that had fallen onto the base of his chair up and around his neck, nudging the chair back into place politely. He makes haste to stride past Jaebum but Jaebum stands and catches his wrist, pulling them face to face.
Jinyoung seems angry, but he doesn’t lash out, instead sighing as if scolding a child.
“I just wanted to speak to you,” Jaebum croaks, voice slightly faltering (because of the cold weather, of course), “just once.”
Jinyoung lets his hands fall over Jaebum’s hold on his wrist, squeezing with vague warning. He watches the way their hands meet for the first time in a long time, not by holding but by grabbing. It’s cautiously possessive and serves as lament as well as a warning. Don’t get too close.
“Jaebum, I’m moving on. And you should be too.”
“But you’re not happy with Wonpil like you were with me.”
Jinyoung doesn’t reply at first, his hands still clasped over Jaebum’s grip on his wrist.
For what seems like hours his eyes look anywhere but to Jaebum’s face. And then, for a split second, their eyes meet – Jinyoung’s brows drawn into the smallest suggestion of a frown, as if searching for something lost in Jaebum’s eyes.
“Not yet.”
He yanks his wrist out of Jaebum’s hold and strides towards the door, eyes downcast. His movements are determined and tense, as if he can focus on nothing but leaving the building. Leaving Jaebum behind. He almost makes it out the door, pace faltering in hesitation as Jaebum calls out softly behind him.
“What?”
“I still love you, Jinyoung. I don’t think I ever stopped.”
Jinyoung turns around slowly, industrial lights from the street framing his face with a neon glow.
“Say what you want, but please don’t say that.”
“It’s the truth. I tried to ignore it, but I can’t anymore. You’re still breaking my heart, over and over again.”
And then Jinyoung’s striding towards him, hands meeting Jaebum’s own as he brings their faces close, eyelashes fluttering, leaning towards Jaebum’s lips to say –
“– I don’t love you anymore, not like that. You need to stop.”
“I don’t know if I can.” Jaebums whispers this, a murmur that passes between just the two of them.
Jinyoung’s lips are trembling, not morosely but angrily.
“Please stop it. It’s over.”
Jaebum wants to scream at him, yell in his face, “it’s not that simple!”.
But he doesn’t.
He stares blankly at Jinyoung instead, nodding absently in acquiesce. For a moment Jinyoung’s eyes flicker with something Jaebum just can’t put his finger on, but as quickly as it appears it’s gone. The younger’s eyes soften and he hesitates for a second before gently running the back of his hand down Jaebum’s face.
“Take care of yourself, if not for you then for me.”
And this time, when Jinyoung pulls his hand away and exits into the cold street, Jaebum lets him go.