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Way back during the times, I could still remember us. Your arms tossed hesitantly around my shoulders as we strode slowly towards the glimering dance floor, a faint reminder of the love we once promised each other.  You weren’t much of a dancer and neither was I, but our feet swayed from left to the right, somehow keeping up with the dulcet music and the time that we thought stopped for us.

“Byul, I think we should go ba–”

“Relax,” you told me, tone affirmative yet your hands trembled at the back of my neck, just as my hands slowly slithered round your waist, oh how cautious they were.  I could just laugh at how proud you were, how seemingly strong you forced yourself to be around me because you wanted me to believe we were in that dance together. You wanted me to believe that you wouldn’t give up on me.

I guess we weren't great actresses either.

A warm breath tickled the side of my neck, and by the glow in your eyes, I could see forever waiting ahead, calling for our hands to be entwined together in the midst of pain and desperation.  Letting go had never been a thought that settled within me, there was no turning back, only moving forward, together.

“I love you.”

Each syllable masked behind a false sincerity.I hated how you found the courage to say those words because I’d really wanted you to just keep it to yourself. Perhaps the words took you no courage; perhaps it was a mere thought deemed appropriate as you closed the space between our torsos. One simple smile was all I could return, restrained by the fear that things would become more real, and eventually, volatile.

Disco lights faded away, and my grip on your body tightened, thinking it would be the last.  Even so, you let go of me first, in the same way you uttered love to me, and there I was, moving to weave my fingers between your dainty ones.  Our actions would have been part of another sitcom, but in a way, I found it sweet chasing after you.

Was I hurt? Not quite. At the denouement, I knew you’d still come back to me.

—

“I’m leaving.”

“I know.”

We were on the dance floor again, the last time I remembered you being actually there with me.  Bizarrely, our feet familiarly kept their pace and movement on the monotone floor, as if they were struggling to catch up with the time left.  We weren’t good at dancing, but I think the way you move with me under the disco ball became a habit over time, even though it was only the second time we’ve been to the bar.

Whatever happened to the thought that time stopped for us?

It was funny, how I didn’t even ask about where you were going or for how long you’d be gone.  I think it was safe for me to say that you’d leave me for good because you’d always tell me that as if it was too easy for you to let me go again and again.  That night was the third night you spent with me since you came back out of nowhere, and by the size of your luggage; I knew you would leave again and that you never had intensions.

“Okay,” you mumbled mechanically.  But we weren’t.  Your arms didn’t tremble around my neck, and my hands weren’t any more a vice around your waist. I wondered if we had become strong, or if we had just become better at pretending that everything was going fine, no longer needing to hide behind any sort of smile, I’d like to think we were being truthful.

“Byul, I–”

“Quiet.”

Our feet moved like we had some kind of rhythm, but we nonetheless couldn’t fi