Saturday morning.

Jongdae had liked to make a big breakfast on the weekends because it had reminded him of home, so Junmyeon had always awoken to the savory smell of sizzling bacon and buttermilk pancakes. He would waltz into the kitchen, bedhead, pajamas, and all, and Jongdae would give him the softest smile in the world.

“Good morning, Junmyeon. Sleep well?” he would say.

And Junmyeon would reply, “I did,” even if he hadn’t because seeing Jongdae under the serene glow of morning and donned in a pink apron had made up for any nighttime hours spent tossing and turning.

The pink apron with a kitty pattern had actually been a present from Junmyeon’s mother intended for Bomi, but everyone knew Bomi couldn’t even cook rice without burning it, so the gift had gone to someone a little bit more suitable. Junmyeon had been pleasantly surprised by how well Jongdae pulled it off, but then again, Junmyeon couldn’t remember an outfit where Jongdae hadn’t looked good. Jongdae always looked good.

The best part of waking up to a big breakfast was having someone Junmyeon liked to eat it with, and Jongdae definitely fit that criterion. Jongdae and he could talk about everything and anything. They could talk about the weather, and the conversation would still be lively, full of jokes and laughter, discovery and wonder.

Junmyeon could never have that with Bomi. Their topics had been limited to work, politics, gossip over her friends’ lives, or pretty much anything related to her own life. Whenever Junmyeon had talked about his interests, there was a lot more mhmm’s , a lot more yawning, a lot more well, anyway’s . Junmyeon’s life had never been intriguing enough for her—deep down somewhere he had known that—and yet; for almost two years, he had continued to see her. Junmyeon couldn’t even remember what he had seen in her each time they met for dinner, or for functions, or for drinks. Her form-fitting dresses never awed him like the simple yet nifty ‘fits Jongdae could throw together.

“Do you want to go shopping today?”

After breakfast, Junmyeon and Jongdae got dressed and went out to run any errands that needed to be taken care of, and once those were complete, they were free to hit the town.

Jongdae, despite having Junmyeon and his wallet at his beck and call, never did much shopping than the average buyer. He would pick out maybe a shirt that stood out to him, but he made sure they never left a store unless Junmyeon had bought something, too. (Bomi had always shopped till she dropped and Junmyeon was the designated “bag man”.)

“Is there anything else you want to do?”

The two competed to be the first ones to ask. If there was something either of them wanted to do, they would do it. If there wasn’t, they would go back home. As long as they could keep each other company, no matter what they did, they would be fine. Their Saturdays spent together were what Junmyeon looked forward to most.

It was a shame he couldn’t say the same about this Saturday.

Junmyeon spends his Saturday morning and afternoon in bed, just thinking. Thinking about the past. The events of the previous night. Everything.

He would rather have his hangover again than the muggy feeling he has in chest.

His phone buzzes on his chest. Had it been a few hours earlier, he would have checked it like his life depended on it. Jongdae had ignored all nineteen of his calls from last night and all eleven of his long-paragraph text messages from this morning, and none of that had made any sense to Junmyeon.

Surely there was something Jongdae needed from his room, Junmyeon had thought, but his anticipation for Jongdae’s response had only resulted in too many letdowns for his heart to handle in the short span of time. Instead of what he hoped for, Junmyeon’s notifications were littered with pointless emails and reminders for apps he had only opened once.

By the time Junmyeon raises his phone to his face, twenty minutes have passed.

“!”

He shoots up way too quickly for his brain to handle. He reads the text again after wiping the crust from his eyes.

I’m sorry about the other night, Junmyeon. We need to talk. I’m coming over.

Junmyeon trips out bed after untangling himself from his sheets and runs to his bathroom.

It’s already been twenty-minutes, he could be here any second, Junmyeon thinks frantically. He combines some cleanup steps, skips some others, and is just getting out of the shower when he hears three knocks on the door.

Junmyeon is overwhelmed with happiness (so much so that he forgets Jongdae has his own key). He gives himself a quick once-over in the mirror before making sure the towel wrapped around his waist is secure. He clears his throat, relaxes his face, and opens the door to-

“Took you long enough.”

Junmyeon flinches and his towel undoes itself a bit. He scrambles to cover himself, but the woman that walks past him rolls her eyes, unbothered.

“It isn’t anything I haven’t seen before, Junmyeon, please.”

Junmyeon’s eyes follow her to the kitchen. The white, long-sleeved dress that hugs her body had probably been purchased on Junmyeon’s dime. Overall, she still looks the same, aside from her new cut—an angled bob, but of course, most people don’t change drastically in the span of two days.

“B-Bomi?”

The woman in question pauses and looks around.

“Where’s that Jongdae kid?”

“What are you doing here, Bomi?”

She quirks a brow. “Did you not get my message, Junmyeon?”

Junmyeon fixes tightening his towel and prays it actually sticks this time.

“What message?”

Then it hits him. In the wake of his eagerness, Junmyeon hadn’t realized to check who the sender of the message was from, and seeing as Bomi was standing in front of him instead of the “kid” he had wanted to see, her “sudden, unexpected” appearance had made a little bit more sense. Damn.

Bomi laughs at Junmyeon’s sigh. “Oh, don’t tell me you’re disappointed, now.”

Junmyeon gives one last look into the hall before closing the door with a frown. “Of course not. What are you doing here, Bomi?”

Bomi sets her purse down and sits on the stool Jongdae always sits in.

“To talk. Like I said in the text I sent you.”

“About?” Junmyeon crosses his arms and Bomi is shameless in her staring.

“Whew.” She giggles and fans herself. “Care to put on some clothes?”

Junmyeon blinks. “No.”

her lips and nodding, knowingly, she says, “I see. I’ll make this quick then.”

Junmyeon stands his ground, even as she invades his personal space and touches his arm lightly. “I’m willing to give you a second chance. I think I at least owe you that. Let’s try this again, what do you say?”

Junmyeon already had his answer. He had known the moment he realized the person standing outside of his door wasn’t the one he wanted to see. He should have known yesterday morning when he realized he hadn’t thought about Bomi at all, despite having broken up the previous night. He should have known every Saturday before today, when he smiled, laughed, and looked forward to the most with the person he wasn’t dating.

“No.”

“Maybe this will change your mind.”

Bomi leans in, but Junmyeon stops her, his hands on her shoulders gently holding her back.

“Please don’t do this, Bomi. You said so yourself, we’re over. Let’s stay how we are now.”

The sound of the doorknob rattling catches Junmyeon off guard, and as it opens revealing Jongdae, he accidentally pushes Bomi away from him too roughly. Bomi stumbles over her heels and falls.

“Hey!” Jongdae shouts, shoving Junmyeon back. “What the hell are you doing? Putting your hands on a woman, you should be ashamed!”

Junmyeon raises his hands in defense. “No, I-”

“Stay the back, or I swear to God,” Jongdae hisses.

Jongdae helps Bomi to her feet, and she thanks him.

“Are you okay?”

Bomi bobs her head, unable to form words, still being in shock herself at falling rather than Junmyeon pushing her.

“You sure?” Jongdae lifts her chin and makes sure she doesn’t have any scratches or bruises on her face.

Junmyeon is annoyed seeing them that close, but more so annoyed that Jongdae would assume he would hit another person.

“I-I’m fine, Jongdae, it was just a little push, is all,” Bomi says.

“ Just a little ?” Jongdae turns to Junmyeon, glowering. “--What the hell were you thinking, Junmyeon?” He then notices his apparel, or rather lack of apparel. Junmyeon can see the horrific speculations building up in Jongdae’s head through the way his face morphs into pure contempt. “ Were you --”

“No! Jongdae, that isn’t it all!” Bomi screams, nails digging into his arm as she holds him back. She is appalled herself by the insinuation.

Junmyeon knows how he must look when he says it, but he doesn’t care. He takes a deep breath and says it again, ignoring the way his throat makes him sound all choked up and weak.

“ GET OUT! ”

Bomi grabs her purse and struggles to pull a startled Jongdae away. “Come on. Let’s go. Just leave him alone.”

Even before the door shuts, Junmyeon is sinking to the floor, sobbing.

Outside the door, the two can hear him clear as day. Bomi is flustered—nearly distraught—at the swift turn of events, and Jongdae, after she shoots off a quick explanation, feels like he’s going to be sick on the spot. Jongdae slides down the wall, beating himself up in his head over and over. Bomi sits quietly for only half-an-hour before she gets sick and tired of the hall’s flickering fluorescent lighting. She hauls Jongdae’s up and drags him down to the elevator.

“There’s no point in wallowing,” Bomi says on the descend down. “Are you hungry, Jongdae? Let’s grab something to eat.”