(Yijeong POV)

You’re standing outside of his apartment building and you’re not sure how you got here or if he’s here or exactly what you’re going to say if he is, but you put all of that aside as you press the buzzer and wait for the door to unlock. It does a moment later, even though his voice never echoed through the intercom to find out who you are. You should tell him that could be dangerous. (You should tell yourself that this is dangerous.)

You thought he’d be surprised to see you, but he doesn’t seem surprised at all when he opens the door and steps aside to let you in. You slide your shoes from your feet and follow him into the living room where he finally speaks. “How did you know I’d be home?” You shake your head. “I didn’t.” 

“Well, if you came all the way here, it must be important.” You take a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you that I think we have to stop this, but not yet.” Now the confusion sets in and he wrinkles his forehead. “What do you mean? Stop what?” Your heart seems like it’s beating a billion times a second and your courage is fading the longer you look into his eyes, you have to do something now, you came all the way here, you have to go through with this. You reach him in three steps, pull him down to you with two hands, try to move close enough to become one before you pull back slightly to give him an answer. “We have to stop this. But not quite yet.” Recognition finally flickers in his eyes and he starts to say something, but you cut him off before he can get a word out, distract him the only way you know how. “No talking rule,” you whisper, already feeling short of breath. He nods before lifting you into his arms and carrying you to his bedroom. (If this was a different night, you might even think this was special.)

Time passes slowly, but not nearly as slowly as you were hoping, and later on he lays next to you silently, resting on his side and staring at the side of your face. He’s letting you do all the talking, he hasn’t said much since you left the living room and he doesn’t seem like he’ll start now, he’s respecting your rules for some reason and he won’t break the silence until you let him. “Now I think it’s time for this to stop,” you say finally, replacing the former tension in the room with a newer, less friendly kind. “Why?” he says, and his voice is rough enough to make it sound like he cares. (It’s enough to make you feel like you’re making a mistake.)

“I don’t think this should happen anymore,” you rephrase yourself. “That doesn’t answer my question.” You sigh, sit up near the middle of his bed, pull your knees close to your chest, stare at the wall across from you without blinking. “We’re both busy, we have lots of other things going on, more important things to focus on than this.” He rolls onto his back, sighs slowly, formulates his response quickly. “You said you’d wait. Did you get sick of that?” If only you were sick enough to stop. (You must be sick if you’re still not ready to stop.) “No. That’s as true now as it was when it said it.” Truer, even. “Then why are you giving up all of a sudden?” 

“It’s not all of a sudden, I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I just... don’t think I can do this anymore. Always be around when you want me to, always do what you want me to, and I don’t want you to say it’ll change or that you’ll try harder or anything like that. I just think this needs to stop.” Before I lose everything, again. He’s not looking at you anymore and you know he’s trying to scheme, or come up with an empty promise that will change your mind, but you’re not going to let him get to you this time. You can’t. (You shouldn’t.) 

“Why do you think it’ll be any different this time? Don’t you remember how many times we put on the brakes? We never actually stop for long.” He’s not wrong but it’s still frustrating, especially because you know you’ll never be the one to stop things for good. You just have to keep trying. “I’m not saying we need to stop forever, but I can’t keep this up. I can’t pretend I can handle everything anymore. Something has to stop. This has to stop.” Now the tears begin to fall and you try to stop them, but you fail quickly and lower your head, rest it on top of your knees, try to keep your sobs from escaping by holding your breath. “What happened? Why are you saying this of a sudden?” He rests his hand on your back, but you shake it off because it’ll only make you cry even harder and you’re trying so, so hard to stop. “If this doesn’t end now, I don’t think I’ll be okay when it happens later.” At this point, you’re not even sure that there will anything left of you when this finally ends. “Then we just won’t end it,” he says, and you honestly wish you could believe him, but you know you can’t. “You can’t promise that. Neither can I.”

“Then we won’t make promises, we’ll just...” he trails off because he knows it’s not a solution. “Just doing this anyway is why we’re here right now.” You’re not saying it to blame him, but you’ve never said it before and you feel like he deserves the truth. “I’m not ready to lose you,” he says and your heart continues breaking, because you want to believe he’s not ready because he cares about you, because he wants you, but you know that’s not his motivation. You’ve always wanted to believe him, when he says he wants you, when he says he’ll change, when he tells you he loves you reflexively, but you know people are usually lying when they say those kinds of things to you and he hasn’t really ever proven otherwise. “Is this really what you want or is it just what you think you should do?” he asks after a pause and you know he’ll see through you if you lie but if you tell the truth, that will be the end of your valiant attempt to end things with him. (This has got to be your last chance to save yourself from any more fallout.)

“You know I can’t answer that,” you whisper and he sits up next to you. “Well, now I know your answer anyway. Look,” he begins, reaching over to touch your hair gently. “I can’t change your mind if you want to stop. But if that’s not what you want... can’t we just skip the part where we break up and have to make up again?” He touches your cheek and smirks. “Not that I don’t like making up, but...” He’s right, but the way he’s phrasing it makes it sound like you’re in a relationship and that’s something you’ve always known this will never be. “I had to try,” you tell him weakly before he wraps you in his arms and you let him even though you know it’s the final nail in your coffin. “I know you don’t want promises, so I won’t make any. But, you know... just because I come over when I want you, it doesn’t mean that you can’t tell me when you want me to.” 

“You’re too busy for that,” you say, and even though it’s true, the real reason is that you’ve rarely been brave enough to want him openly and you feel less brave than ever these days. “I’m not too busy for you.” You shake your head weakly because you shouldn’t believe him anymore, but you’ve already given up. “So, what about you?” you mumble quietly. “Hmm? What about me?” You lean back so you can look at him and he looks so calm and at peace that it’s almost upsetting to you because, once again, you’re a complete and total mess and he’s unscathed. “Are you saying this because you want to or because you think you should?” He doesn’t even blink as he looks at you, as he reaches up to swipe at a stray tear on your cheek before he responds to you. “I’m saying it because it’s true,” he says after a moment, and you think the two of you must each have a different definition of truth. 

“So, are you staying?” he says, almost hesitantly, and you think it’s an unnecessary question. “You’re not getting rid of me tonight,” you whisper, and you hope he doesn’t want to get rid of you at all. “Have you eaten anything recently?” he asks and you shrug. “What sounds good?” You shrug again. “If I order something, will you eat it?” You nod because you know he’ll be disappointed if you refuse to eat. “Okay, give me a minute,” he says as he reaches for his phone. 

Half an hour later, you’re eating delivery food in his bed and watching a movie and didn’t you come here to end this? Didn’t you come here to stop yourself from getting hurt again? You’ve tried to stop this before and it never goes according to plan, so this time you’re not going to try anymore. If it’s going to end, he’ll have to be the one to end it. Anything else is a waste of effort. (You don’t have any energy to waste these days.)

“This movie’s kind of dumb,” you remark softly, reaching out to grab another dumpling with your chopsticks. “It’s a classic,” he says, “you have to respect a classic.” You nod and chew slowly. “I’ll respect it, but I don’t have to think it’s good just because it’s a classic.” He sighs. “Our tastes really don’t match well...” You feel like you need to disagree with him, like that’s what he wants, but he’s not exactly wrong either. Most of the time, you don’t want the same things. Most of the time, your interests don’t match up. Most of the time, you’re not sure you have anything in common besides your jobs. “We match sometimes,” you say quietly, after a thoughtful pause, “when it comes to things that actually matter.” Like when he needs you as much as you need him. (Almost.)

“Like dumplings?” he suggests before plopping another one into his mouth. “Sure, like dumplings.” It doesn’t take long to finish the food he ordered and he moves the empty containers to the bedside table. “Are you cold?” he says, suddenly noticing your obvious lack of clothes. “A little,” you admit softly. “Well, let’s do something about that, hmm?” He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back down on his bed. “Better?” he asks, and you feel tears welling up again. “Yeah,” you whisper almost soundlessly. “I’ll change the movie if you really hate it that much.” You shake your head because the only thing you hate in this moment is yourself. (But that’s not really anything new.)

“I’m tired, it doesn’t matter what we watch,” you say softly, relax into his arms, close your eyes tightly, shut out reality and the world and all the thoughts in your head other than his skin and the way it feels against yours. Or, at least, you try. You try harder than you’ve tried in a long, long time. “I’ll probably be gone when you wake up. Just... I’m not leaving because I want to. Okay?” You hear him, but you don’t respond because your eyelids are so, so heavy and you haven’t felt this calm in a long time. You relax your muscles and let sleep take you away, but not before you feel his lips against your forehead and hear him whisper your name. 

He’s not there when you wake up and you have a meeting in the afternoon, but you let yourself explore his apartment for a while, raid the cupboards trying to find a snack before deciding you should go. His place is nice, but you’re suddenly reminded of a conversation the two of you had months and months ago and you know this isn’t his dream house, it isn’t where he wants to end up, but you also remember that his dream life only exists in the world where you don’t, and those are the kinds of things you’re trying not to think about these days. You know there’s no point in thinking about the future anymore, but you can’t help it. Sometimes you inevitably wonder where you’re going to end up, even though you know it probably won’t be good and it definitely won’t be with him. Before you leave, you find a note he left on the counter, a few numbers and words scrawled out in black ink, and you read it quickly before folding it up and putting it in your pocket. 

(He’d written, “Now we’re even,” above the four digit passcode to his apartment and you know you shouldn’t feel like this means something but somehow it seems like he’s letting you in more that he has before and it gives you a little bit of something that always lets you down in the end... hope.)