There's something different in the way he smiles; the way he talks; the way he touches your skin.

His laughs are strained, never reaching his eyes; smiles stretched across his face like a scar, as if it physically pains him to be breathing the same oxygen as you. His touches -- they don't linger like they used to. They're not loving or tender. You can still feel them on your skin, but this time they're a thousand mouths each saying the same thing:

"Get away from me."

His eyes don't meet your own and his heart beats erratically.

"What?"

"You heard me. Leave."

His gaze travels towards your own and suddenly his eyes glaze over, tears threatening to spill.

"What did I do?" he asks. There's a small crease between his brows and his lips are parted slightly, allowing you to hear his shaky breathing.

You take a sharp breath, throat stinging.

"I don't know. I don't know, maybe you didn't do anything. Maybe it was me," you say, staring at your feet. Your face is flushed now, and you can feel a weight behind your eyes as they begin to sting. You're about to cry.

"I don't know what I did for you to stop loving me--"  but you know that you haven't necessarily done anything. Sometimes love's just like that, seemingly constant and never ending, only to wilt and shrivel up and die at such a slow pace you don't even see it coming.

"-- but you don't. And now," you pause, attempting to swallow the lump in your throat that just wouldn't die, "and now I think it's time for you to leave."

There's a pause between the two of you; a moment of silence. 

He blinks (perhaps to prevent tears), suddenly straightening and clearing his throat. His lips look dry, drained of moisture. He looks at you, eyes locked with yours as he abruptly offers his hand. You take it, although you really don't want to -- it probably wasn't even yours to hold now. Jongin's always been one to attract attention. His slender fingers probably intertwine much better with one of the pretty girls' in his dance class.

"y/n," it holds a sort of finality within it, as if he would never say your name again.

"Jongin," you manage to force out, although it's shaky and too raw with emotion for your liking.

Your hands move slightly, slowly and unsurely until they settle into a rhythm that's too excited, too friendly for the situation. 

And then his hand drops, and yours is left to hang alone in the air as he makes his way forward, around your small figure and through the door of your one bedroom apartment.

And you stand there, fingers now clutching at your shirt as you realise that you might be as empty as your hand has become.
 

I hope you guys enjoyed this! This is part one of (probably) two, though it is too short to be considered a proper chapter T.T this one's just been in my drafts for so long that i wanted to go ahead and post it anyways lmao. Also i'm not exactly satisfied with some of my grammar and sentence structure in this (especially in the second paragraph where it talks about his touches) so if you guys have any idea how i could fix that i'd really appreciate it!! also does the chapter title make sense?? its a reference to when they were shaking hands but im not sure if everyone will get it hahaha

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