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Youngjae has loved Dohoon more than he will ever know—and that’s the tragedy of it all. Not the break-up that ended with a wholehearted smile nor the packing up of things that ended with a halfhearted goodbye.
“So this is it.”
“This is it.”
The two of them stood tall in the living room that was once theirs. Now, just as stated in the lease, it is Youngjae’s.
“We had a good run, didn’t we?”
“Yeah.”
The tragedy is not the missed birthdays and anniversaries because one of them would be too busy with work nor the abandoned dinner reservations and friend reunions because one of them would forget that they had those.
“Aren’t you going to say anything to me?”
“No. What else is there left to say?”
“I don’t know. Shout at me, push me away.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
Dohoon has his hands closed into a fist, a rare sight even for Youngjae. He had never been the kind to hold back. On anger, on joy—Dohoon had always been loud and open. Now, Youngjae watches on in silence as Dohoon closes himself off.
“Because it’s over.”
“Us?”
“Yeah.”
The tragedy is not the half-eaten blueberry cheesecake growing mold in the refrigerator because one of them thought the other would want to eat it nor the aging cassette mixtape stored at the back of their shelf because one of them told the other they’d listen to it later.
“Well. It’s what we needed, right?”
“It’s what we both wanted.”
“Right.”
The silence stretches thin. It is heavy with the final weight of whatever it is between them. Love, they used to say. It was love. Now, both of them can’t name it. Resentment, grief, hope. Youngjae thinks that it might be everything except love.
“Don’t make this seem as if I was the only one dragging us down.”
“I’m not saying that. I’m just saying, it’s out of our hands.”
“Oh.”
“You know that. I know you know that.”
The tragedy, the whole landslide and avalanche, was in the fact that Youngjae wondered about what he could’ve done more. What he should’ve done less. What he should’ve done. What he shouldn’t have done. In the looking around the half-emptied room, thinking about what used to be there and what he could do to fix it. In the listening to the silence, to the absence of mellow hummings in the bathroom or the absentminded singing in the living room.
“Do you think we should just sit this one out?”
“We’ve tried that. For a year.”
“Maybe we just—”
“Dohoon-ah, stop.”
It was in the fact that Youngjae watched as Dohoon stared at his neck coldly as he said his piece, an obviously practiced speech that the other had probably written in his phone’s note. In the avoiding of eye contact because Youngjae knew Dohoon would cry if he saw what he was doing to Youngjae’s heart. In the soft and slow timbre of Dohoon’s voice as he tore his way out of Youngjae’s life, an attempt to make the violence less bloody—but violent, nonetheless.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Of course.”
One of them lies. A habit.
“We’ll be alright.”
“Right.”
The other lies back.
“You’ve done it before me.”
“And I could do it again after.”
“Yeah.”
It was in the fact that Dohoon had asked him what he would do next, now that he’s going. Now that he’s gone. In the possibility that Dohoon implied of moving on, of starting over, of finding some after. In the idea that Dohoon expected Youngjae to have some more love to spare for others when he had worn him down.
Because apparently, there would be a moving on for the other, a starting over. Youngjae knew that Dohoon could do it. He had always been the one who knew what he wanted, just like how he wanted them over. Dohoon is loud, and his love lasts for a long time. Just not enough for Youngjae. That is why Youngjae knows there would be an after Youngjae—and that, that didn’t sit right with him. But he would never let himself say that.
After all, he did say he’d be fine. He had done it before Dohoon, so he could do it for him.
“So, this is it?”
“Yeah.”
Dohoon sighs. Then, he smiles. He finally meets Youngjae’s eyes. Once upon a time, Youngjae could already tell what was going on in Dohoon’s mind just by looking into his eyes. Now, all he can see is himself looking back, holding onto the pieces in an effort to not make more mess. With a sigh, Youngjae hopes that Dohoon doesn’t recognize him anymore.
“Do you want to—”
“I’m tired.”
“Oh. Right.”
Not sad. Not heartbroken. Not hurt. Just tired. Youngjae knew that this could be the part where he fixes it, where he fixes them. An olive branch of some sort, a surrender and a plea for mercy. He could do it. He could let Dohoon know just how badly he didn’t want this. How badly he knows that he can do better.
But Youngjae loves Dohoon too much to do that to him. To keep him with him now that he knew that Dohoon wanted nothing to do with him from now on. To keep their house theirs, the door closed and windows shut just so that Youngjae could have Dohoon all to himself.
Youngjae loves Dohoon too much not to let him go.
“I guess I should go, then.”
“Yeah.”
“You’d let me know if you have anything to say.”
Youngjae forces a smile. Holds his breath as he swallows everything he should’ve said in the past hour.
“Sure.”
“Well.”
“You should go.”
There is only one pillow on the bed instead of four. There is no longer a gaming computer setup on his old work desk. There are no longer figurines littering around the apartment. The floral scent mixed with his own baby powder perfume will fade soon. Half of the closet had been emptied out. Half of the shoes occupying the shoe rack is no more to be seen. Even his toothbrush sits lonely by the bathroom sink, and his mug is missing its pair.
For all he knew, Dohoon would reconsider if Youngjae chose to be a little more selfish, loved a little louder. Except he knew that he’d be lying to himself. Youngjae would’ve wanted it, but not Dohoon. That is why Youngjae knows he had to be the one to hammer the final nail to their coffin.
“Lock the door behind you when you leave.”
Youngjae has loved Dohoon more than he will ever know—and he knew that it still wasn’t and would never be enough to keep him.