Kang Minhyuk never knew how he came to love Shin Micha. He just does, ever since the time she’d first looked at him, those beautiful small eyes dancing with laughter, and then gradually disappearing as the most beautiful sound tumbled out of her lips, even as her cheeks turned red from embarrassment. He couldn’t help but laugh too as he stood up and brushed himself off, ignoring the pain from the fall and then offering her a hand to help her up.

It had to be fate that brought them together. They clicked instantly, laughing off the accident, and suddenly they were inseparable. He told her everything about him, and he knew everything about her.

So much that he knew she loved Choi Minho even before she knew it herself. He noticed how her cheeks turned a shade of pretty pink whenever he happened to pass by their class, and that sparkle in her eyes when Choi Minho spoke to her. The way her smile widened so much that her face was glowing whenever he smiled at her.

He knew, he saw, he noticed every single moment of Shin Micha’s falling for Choi Minho, but he couldn’t understand it. He didn’t know what she saw in Choi Minho that made him so attractive to her. Of course, she denied it when he first asked her about it, and he wished it stayed that way.

He had to realize it was inevitable. The day came when she realized she loved Choi Minho, and he only wanted to know how. Did she wake up one day, his name appearing first thing in her mind, her heart beating faster when his face started to from in her mind?

That was what happened to him, and he couldn’t fathom it either. He didn’t mind not knowing how he came to love her. It wasn’t important— he just does. The question was, how did he fall in love with Shin Micha?

He’d woken up with a jolt, like how you do when you get a bad dream.

“Micha.”

He’d whispered her name even when his mind was blank, even as his eyes stared blindly into the darkness of his room. Even as it hurt. It hurt so, so much he couldn’t even speak. His heart clenched and unclenched painfully, and the only thing he could hear was his own heartbeat. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing the pain to go away, and the suddenly her face appeared in his mind, and he knew he had to see her. He had to see her, and everything would be okay. It wouldn’t hurt anymore. He’d fumbled around and found his phone, and the sadness he’d felt when he squinted at the time was so profound he’d wanted to cry. It was two in the morning, seven whole hours away from being able to see her.

That night was the worst— he couldn’t go back to sleep, and he didn’t understand why his heart was beating so fast as he walked to her house as soon as dawn broke, and why it was still hurting. It got better when he saw her house, and he sat on the rusty swing, patiently waiting. And when she stepped out of the house, smiling at him like she always did, all the pain disappeared, and his lips were automatically pulled up in a smile. He stepped up immediately, meeting her halfway down the walkway, and his arms moved on his own, circling around her small frame, pulling him close to her until he could feel her own heart beating against his chest, and words tumbled out of his lips.

“I miss you.”

He understood then, understood that the pain he’d felt was because he missed her. He knew what the pain was. He knew who caused the pain. What he didn’t know was how, or why, or when. He still didn’t. He’d known what it was then, though. He knew immediately.

It was love. He had loved her, but suddenly he was in love with her. He didn’t know why it hurt so much.

Now he wondered if she was hurting too. If her heart beat painfully when she couldn’t see him, if she feels that profound sadness he’d once felt, and had been feeling much too often lately. If she understood that the love she felt was going to cause her pain.

But maybe it doesn’t hurt. Maybe it doesn’t hurt when the person loves you back. When the person looks at you with the same sparkle in his eyes, when he smiles just as brightly when he sees you. When the person you love confesses he loves to you, in front of your best friend, because he knows how much he means to you.

How did she feel? How were they feeling? How did it feel like, he wondered, being loved just as you love?

He knew she was happy, it showed in her smile, in that bounce in her step, hell, even in her texts. He knew he should be happy for her, that he was supposed to be happy that she was happy, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the fact that everything that made her smile had to do with him.

He could still tolerate that. Only barely, but he could. What he absolutely loathed with all his being was how he was taking his place. Kang Minhyuk’s place in her heart. In her life, and he loathed himself more for only realizing that when he saw him already in her house on that fateful day, the day he always came.

9th of January.

It was his routine, Kang Minhyuk’s ingenuity, coming over to see her mother, handing her the bouquet of white roses he’d bought, thanking her for going through the pain to bring Shin Micha to the world, and into his life, and asking for her permission to take her out for the day.

Her mother adored him for that. Choi Minho had no business taking even that away from him. His feet were steeping closer to the door, and Mrs. Song saw him first, her eyes lighting up. At least someone didn’t forget me.

“Minhyuk-ah. I’m so grateful you’re here too.”

His smile faltered at her words, but he forced it to stay in place and handed her the bouquet stiffly. It looked drab next to Minho’s elaborate arrangement. He couldn’t even open his mouth to thank her as he always did— Minho had probably done that for him anyway.

His eyes travelled up to the stairs behind her instead, watching as Micha descended the stairs, all dressed up, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. All these years, she’d never once looked forward to her birthday. What’s so special about it? My mother suffered that day— she’d say. So why…?

Why does everything change when it’s Minho? What exactly is so special about him?

Minhyuk couldn’t stand this anymore. The smile on his face was starting to crack, and all he wanted was to be miles away from here— from him. He’d never thought anything would hurt more than missing her, but this, this, was a tenfold more. It hurt so much that he wanted to kill Minho, and he might just have, with his bare hands if he didn’t know it was cause her much more pain than he was feeling right now.

So he did the only thing he could.

He wished her a Happy Birthday, and happiness.

Then he walked away.