Happy Birthday. It's been long, hasn't it?

It was a mistake. If Yongguk had even any sense left in him, he would not have sent that message to her. But yet, he did. He sent that message after eight months of not contacting her, and if anything, he was being a jerk. If he had even thought about the amount of pain that that two sentences could give her, he probably wouldn't have sent it. He probably would have restraint himself even if it meant that he had to suffer the loneliness by himself, because he still loved her, even after eight months.

His phone never left his hands that day as he constantly checked the messenger application just waiting for her to come online to reply him. Even whilst teaching, he would sneak a peek at his phone to check if she was online, and that was the second mistake he made that day. She checked the message and she went offline without a reply. To say that it affected Yongguk would be an understatement – he couldn't go on teaching as much as he tried. In that very moment, he felt like the world had crashed upon him and it felt like the weight of a few thousand stones were pressing against his chest not so much in a painful manner, but more so of an uncomfortable pressure.

His breath felt unsteady no matter how deeply or shallowly he breathed,  and for a man that rarely shed a tear, he really wanted to cry there and then. He could not teach. His mind and thoughts were scattered and fuzzy and his palms felt like marshmallows that had been left unattended in a heated oven. Yongguk made his way over to his desk, the sudden wave of frustration and guilt overwhelming his other senses as he rubbed his face roughly with his hands. His students were staring at him in confusion but they didn't matter, at least not then.

“I’m sorry but I don’t feel well, so if you could carry out your own self-study.” 

His third mistake happened as he drove away from school, to her house. If what he’d done before was stupid, he was being a total brainless moron when he made the decision to go to her. He knew he was being selfish, that he managed to guess, but at that moment, he could not really care less. He was dying of guilt, of loneliness and whether she wanted to see him or not was a matter to worry later, he just had to see her then and there.

So, there he was, 20 minutes later, standing in front of the house that he had watched her enter whenever he drove behind her on her sad days. The days in which he would drive carefully behind her after spotting her crying in a secluded corner around school, just to make sure she made her way home safely without attempting anything stupid. The days in which he was her secret guardian angel.

His hands hovered hesitantly before the doorbell as logic slowly began to enter his brain. Was what he was about to do really right? Before he could convince himself otherwise, Yongguk pressed down onto the doorbell, his mind anxiously thinking of ways to react before she could open the door.

"What are you doing here?"

Whatever he had thought up in his mind was gone like it was never there. His mind went blank as she appeared before h