When Kyung was younger, he used to wonder what will happen when he meets Woo Jiho. He never really had any doubt that he’ll eventually meet someone (or even someones, plural) with that name, though for what reason, he didn’t know. That blind faith had been so innocently naïve, and so hopeful, Kyung recalls. And so was the excitement over meeting Jiho in high school when he was eighteen, heart racing, and breathing just a bit too fast at finally meeting the person he had been waiting for as long as he can remember.

Now, standing outside the door to the apartment he had shared with Jiho, Kyung feels the racing of his heart, and hears the uneven breaths he’s taking, but the reason for these physical signs have changed.

Kyung had seen Jiho’s message while in tutorial, so he hadn’t opened them immediately. Only after the lesson had ended did he read Jiho’s text, asking Kyung to come over because they need to talk. There’s no emojis, no punctuation, just words spelled in full, the way Jiho always texts, making even the most innocent of message sound ominous. Though, this one in particular was probably already ominous to begin with.

He knows, realistically, that they need to talk. That Jiho had managed to not send him any messages asking him to meet up for a few days is already something of a miracle, but Kyung had been hoping he could put it off longer. But he supposed maybe he should just go ahead and get this over with, so he can sever his ties with Jiho, and stop thinking about the guy he thought he’ll be with forever since he was a child.

(Forever had been such a naïve notion anyway.)

In front of the door, Kyung’s debating whether he should key in the passcode and let himself in, or knock so Jiho can open the door for him. After a while, having raised his hand, poised to knock, but never actually letting his knuckles come to contact with the door, Kyung finds his fingers instead automatically reaching for the number lock, pressing the buttons with the ease of habit. 0-9-1-4, Jiho’s birthday.

Since he had spent way too long trying to open the door, his body had ended up deciding the choice to take in the end (which, isn’t it poetic, how the body remembers even if the mind wishes to forget, Kyung thinks with a bitter smile). Kyung expects the door to finally open after his little silly inner conflict, but instead, there’s a loud beep, as the lock rejects his password, and Kyung’s stunned.

(Did Jiho change the passcode?)

He’s still wondering if he should key the passcode again (maybe he had keyed it wrongly), or try a new one, when the door clicks, and is pulled open to reveal Jiho, tired with day-old stubble on his face (Kyung definitely remembers that Jiho had been clean shaven when he had ran into him yesterday).

“Come in,” Jiho says, without explanation for the changed passcode. Kyung stares at him, unmoving, until Jiho has to gently wrap his fingers around Kyung’s forearm to guide him into the house. Only when the door closes again, does Kyung snap out of his reverie, his lips moving to say, “You changed the passcode.”

“Yeah, I did.”

Jiho’s walking into the living room, so Kyung follows, mind reeling as he lists the possible reasons for the changed door code. He sits down on the couch, noting that it’s hard and lumpy compared to the one he’d been sleeping on at Jaehyo’s, and part of his mind drifts off to wonder what he and Jiho had been thinking when they bought this terrible piece of furniture (they probably hadn’t been thinking, too engrossed in each other as they walked around the furniture store, trying not to gross people out with their PDA). The other part is still listing possible reasons for the changed code, so Kyung doesn’t realize Jiho had been talking to him, until Jiho’s holding him by the shoulder, shaking him slightly.

“Kyung? Kyungie?”

The nickname throws him off-guard. (It’s not fair, how Jiho still calls him that, when they’re over now.) Kyung blinks slowly before he says, “Yeah, I’m listening now.”

“Okay. I didn’t think you heard what I said just now, so I’ll repeat myself. If, if we’re really breaking up now, we need to do something about this apartment, and all the things we share.” Jiho’s having his full attention on him, and Kyung wonders how long it has been since the two of them have looked at each other face to face, sincerely like Jiho’s doing right now. (Too long.)

“If?” Kyung asks, having picked up Jiho’s emphasis of the word, “What do you mean if we are breaking up? Haven’t I already said that we’ll be breaking up? Aren’t we already broken up –”

“I said if, because you know this is not the first time you’ve said you wanted to break up, Kyungie,” Jiho glances away for the first time during the conversation, and that gesture raises the hair on Kyung’s skin.

“Why aren’t you looking at me, Jiho?” he asks, fingers lightly grazing Jiho’s cheek as he turns Jiho’s face towards him.

“Because, I-I, I don’t know.” Even though Jiho’s face in his hand is facing him, his eyes are lowered and avoiding Kyung’s gaze, long lashes fanning over his skin which has an oily sheen that’s probably from staying in the house the whole day (that’ll explain the stubble too).

“What don’t you know?” Kyung asks, thinking his own voice sounds way too calm for how hard his heart is beating right now.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” Jiho finally says, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, and Kyung feels his fingers grow damp fr