A/N: Inspired by a post I saw online. nn

What’s Left

I can’t look you in the eye when I get home. You’re sprawled on the couch again, eyes trained on the flashing colors of the television. Your expression is dull and nothing of the color I saw in it before. Maybe it wasn’t there, maybe I just thought I saw it.

For a moment, you spot me standing behind the couch and smile slightly before turning back to the TV. I wait for the butterflies in my stomach. They flutter, but not for the right reasons.

We eat dinner in silence, the clinking of silverware and the shrill voice of our son floating. You chew slowly, head bowed at your plate—I see it, from the corner of my eye.

When our son leaves the table, I look at you for the first time and your hair isn’t as shiny and your eyes aren’t as deep.

“We need to talk.”

I see you tremble and panic a bit then reach for my plate. I grab your wrist, forcing you to look me in the eye as well. “It’s my turn to wash them...” you say.

 I shake my head firmly and you hesitantly give up and sit back down. I see your eyes start to water, like you already know what I’m about to say. I search my heart for regret and find nothing but pity for my lover for more than decade—but I don’t want to think about that.

You don’t take it well. You shout and shout, and the chair falls over but you stop with the fork in the air aimed at me. Then your tears start falling and you cry into your hands, asking me if I was sure this was what I wanted.

I was.

Our son comes out in his pajamas, asking what all the noise was about. You look up from your hands and smile so kindly at him through your tears, telling him it was nothing and that he should go back to bed. I could only look away.

The kid was persistent though and demanded to know what was wrong, so I stood up and coaxed him to bed myself. I tried to lie as little as possible, he may be adopted but I loved him like my own and lying is not something I prefer, amongst other things.

I left you in the kitchen and wondered how you manage to smile so sincerely. Especially after I’ve told you about the divorce.

I admired you a bit for that.

When I wake up the next day, you’re still at the kitchen table. You’re hunched over something, scribbling on what I thought was your journal. You look up and never had I seen you so broken, your eyes so anguished. It saddened me, but I’ve decided and I’m not taking anything back.

You ask if it was because of her.

I turn around and throw my coat over my shoulder, saying I was off to work. I don’t want to lie.

But you stop me with your next words. I turn back at you, eyes wide and ask you to repeat.

“I agree.” You say again. “But on one condition.”

It isn’t a difficult request, simple enough. In all honesty, I thought it would be worse. But it wasn’t, and I found myself nodding at the easy exchange.

You smile sadly and wave me goodbye, saying you’ll be waiting for me when I get back home.

“I’m sorry.” I say as I face the door, “and thank you.”

I feel you nod wordlessly and I go out the door, closing it tightly so I don’t hear your soft sobs. I smile, thinking about how carrying you to bed every night for the next month was such a small price to pay.

I threw off my coat before entering our door in an attempt to get rid of the faintest smell of her perfume on me. I ruffle our son’s hair before he zooms off again with some new toy you’d probably bought for him. I see you standing ways from our door, you arms outstretched and waiting for me.

I walk over to you and easily lift you off your feet. Your arms snake around my neck and your nose buries into my collar but I don’t feel the way I did before. Even your hair that slightly tickles my cheek has lost its effect and I wonder briefly how we went wrong.

I start to remember how I carried you to bed every night when we’d just newly married, we laughed a lot back then. There was the chemistry we thought we’d always had and all I could think of were crinkled sheets, bright smiles and the way the moon shone so beautifully, outlining your back. But they are just memories now, images in my head. Even as I carry you and your warm breath fans my neck, I feel nothing.

You look over my shoulder at our son’s bedroom door. “Please, don’t tell him about the divorce.” You whisper.

I nod and lay you on our bed. We sleep with our backs facing each other.

As the days go by, we fall into routine. You’re in my arms every night after dinner and our son whoops and giggles every time he sees us finish our food. As soon as I set down my spoon and fork, he tugs my sleeve towards you and I laugh painfully because he’s taking this the wrong way.

I carry you anyway and even though your smile is as painful as my laugh, I feel in the way your arms tighten around my neck and your eyes close so slowly that you’re savoring every second of this. I realize how much we’ve lost physical contact these past months and how I’ve forgotten every nook, cranny and contour of your body that I used to memorize in detail.

You’re getting lighter and lighter, your arms frail around my neck. Your weight feels something of a feather, but I don’t pay mind. Perhaps I was just getting stronger, more muscle.

Slowly, your scent becomes more familiar than her sickeningly sweet perfume and I find myself looking forward to it at night.

The month was almost up. I hurriedly stacked my papers on my desk, stacking them so impatiently I hadn’t even noticed until they slipped from my fingers, scattering all over the floor. She said it was odd for me to be in such a hurry to return home; and true enough, ever since you and I have lost that spark, I stay out at least an hour out before going back. She asked me what was wrong, and I honestly really didn’t know.

All I could think about was your frail wrists around my neck.

When I get home, I find you at the doorstep instead of the living room, looking fragile with your arms outstretched.

“How about dinner?” I ask, but you only shake your head and open your arms wider.

“You have to carry him!” our son shouts happily, “You should know by now!”

I look in your eyes and see sadness again. Today is the last day, I didn’t mind to carry you a few extra feet.

Frowning, I lift you up one last time. You’re so light; I think I can do it with one arm now. But I don’t and embrace you tight. I bury my nose in your hair and suddenly, the sounds of my own footsteps send knives to my heart. Why is this so painful?

When we reach the bed, I take a moment before gently laying you down.

You look up at me and smile a smile so peaceful. “Thank you.”

I lay in bed that night as tears silently rolled down my cheeks. I turn around and face your back, the slight heaving of your chest lulling me to sleep.

The next day, I woke up with a resolve. I rushed out of the house with one glance at you tangled up in our sheets and quickly drove to where I would meet her and my lawyer.

When the elevator dinged and I threw the double doors open, she looked at me with bright eyes.

“You’re here!” She ran up to me and tiptoed to give me a peck on the lips. I didn’t respond. Feeling something off, she leaned back and looked me in the eye. “What’s wrong, Hyukjae?”

“I’m calling it off.”

Of course, she protested. But I paid her no mind and walked straight up to my lawyer. He smiled at me, looking as if he’d succeeded in finally knocking some sense into my thick skull.

“Sorry for the short notice, Leeteuk hyung.”

He waved it off, of course, and simply laughed that special laugh of his. With that, I walked out and could hear her screeching about how much of a cowardly bastard I was behind the closed doors. How she was right for me and you weren’t.

I really didn’t care.

But the thing about life is that it loves to with you, and it never never waits for idiots like me to get a grip. So when I got home and found out that you had cancer, it all finally made sense and all I could do was watch your eyes slowly lose the light I should have appreciated before and , I love you, Donghae.

I heard our son sob loudly beside me and held him close. Because even though you and I were never perfect, to him, we always were.

So I held what was left of us and cried, and cried, and cried. – ♦

Uhm. Happy Valentines?