He had expected her to say no. He had even expected her to push him away and slam the door closed right in front of his face. He was ready for all of it. He knew this effort of enclosing the distant – a bit too hasty, he admitted – would risk everything he had mended for the past two weeks. He was ready for it to break apart, leaving him to pick up the puzzle pieces and work hard to put it back – as he always do. But he never expected her to throw tantrums.

And it hurt.

He took a single step forward. Yes, it was a giant risky leap. And all it bought him was giant steps backward. He wasn’t pushed back to square one, but farther beyond it. He didn’t know her anymore and she wouldn’t let him in. On longer nights, she’d lock her door from inside. On sleepless evening, she’d push him away.

So did he regret it?

No. If he didn’t ask, he’d be doomed.

She needed a change. She has lived enough in her own darkness and he had let her wander long enough in her comfort. She had wander too long that it sickened him. This was a mistake. Everything was a mistake: letting her stay in such a place and succumb to the daily nightmares. So, he’d do what he needed to do. He needed to do this as much as she needed a change. She was sick enough.

There was something about broken people and their briskness, especially her. She lived in two separated worlds, one who shine too brightly and another so dark and blinded; both utterly sick as the other. He also realized, he lived in two separated worlds, one utterly too bright, another too normal. On nights, where she finally broke to pieces and he’d hear the cracks in her heart, she was nothing but tiny pieces of someone broken. On daylights, she’d be smiling as brightly as the sun, eyes sparkled in excitement and purity – she was innocent. And between the nights and days, between the sun and the moon, at dusks and twilights, she always had her hand full. She’d be so busy, either cracking herself apart, or picking the pieces she broke and sticking them together – all of them done in haste.

She’d pick some random pieces she broke earlier and stuck them at random places in her chest. At least, to lighten the burden so she’d be a fit in in the shiny-too-bright world. Because, as irony stated, one has no choice but to be a fit in. She’d have to be a fit in or else she’d be trashed away. When the puzzle pieces finally forced to fit together, she hid her cracks under her sleeves and smiled. She shine too brightly, his stomach would churn and flip at her flashy grins and contagious laugh. Yet, she put all the pieces too wrongly, too hasty. By dusks, she broke apart twice as bad, maybe thrice. She’d be lost in her own puzzle pieces; of who she truly was; of what she truly wants; of her dreams and her ambitions and her reality.

A sad life she lived.

So maybe to save someone means to break them apart and dirty your own hand, soaked in their blood, and heal them all over again. So maybe all this time, he needed to break the cracks in her heart so she’d truly break. When she break and her cracked heart finally shatters, he’d pick up the puzzle pieces and be the one to stick it back together. He’d know where each piece belongs. After all, he had broken it. She’d need to take it slow and let him mend what he broke. Cracking her heart and breaking them means he’d crack his own too. On each occasion her heart cracked, he silently cracked for her too. But that’s okay. That’s okay. He was willing.

If only… if only, it’s that simple.

He speculated too much lately. Him and his sick speculation. He’d have to blame her for throwing him to the edge, he couldn’t think so straightly anymore and it started to take its toll on his body. His mind always sluggish and his vision always blurred and his body always heavy. She pushed him to the edge with wariness. He’d always want to be there for her, even when he was nothing of a comfort. So, for once, he’d do something a true lover would do. No, he wasn’t any lover, but he loved her. He settled on taking her away from this sick-disgusting place.

He still remembered her every words, her shrieks, her trashing around, and accusing eyes.

“Move in with me, Jieun-ssi.” It took him every breath to blurt them out without stuttering, and every breathless moment to stare at her without shaking.

She stared. Her almond brown eyes dazzled. His mind playing an illusion of it sparkles, because it was late at nights, and her eyes never sparkled at nights. It’d lost it sparks and he wasn’t even her knights in shining armor. He’d wait until morning for the sparks to return. Fake sparks.

“You’re drunk and sluggish,” she accused.

“I’m tired and sluggish but I’m not drunk.” And again, the mere sight of her always left him breathless as always. “I’m serious.” He stared. “Move in with me.”

She snorted and rage burnt in her eyes, “get out.”

“Move in with me,”

“Get out, Xi Luhan!” She trashed, glared at him with much horror and anger. She’d kill with that look. But he persisted. He knew she’d do this. “Get out!”

“No. No, not until you agree to move in with me.” He persisted and insisted and it wore him out so much. When she persisted on disagreeing, he insisted even more. “Tell me why you can’t.”

“You just don’t understand, do you?” Her accusing voice was so sad and he’d heard her crack once more. She was weird and sick and ill-fated, but alluring and so sensual and addicting.

“No, I understand. But Jieun-ssi, this place…” And he wondered how to put this place in words, either mildly or strongly and he went for the latter. He’d break her apart and be hated if it meant healing her. “is utterly sick and disgusting and too dark. It’s a place where the lowest lived. It’s just so… inhuman and bloody.”

“You just… don’t understand. No one has ever understands… so why are you so persistent?” She was shaking, either in sadness or anger and suddenly it was the latter. She threw a vase next to him and it shattered. Was it the sound she heard daily? And all he’d remember next was her screaming at him to leave and to get out, to never return, and how sick he was and foolish.

“I know you feel like you belong here, but the thing is… you don’t. You’re not the lowest of the lowest, you’re not even low. You need to leave. This place is bad for you.”

“GET OUT!”

Two things Lee Ji Eun suddenly found constant in her life: him and their arguments.

***

He didn’t see her for a long time and he didn’t persist either. He’d give her the space she needed, so she’d clear her head and pulled him closer instead of pushing him away. They both knew this was for the better. How long was she going to live in denial? She was sick – her and her sick torture. He found no point in her self-torture. She could have break free and smile and lead a normal life.

She was mad, he knew. She didn’t call or text (she never did), she didn’t open the door for him, she ignored him. A typical girlish reaction of an angered woman: ignore, ignore. Three days, four days… five days… and then a week passed by, he hesitated. If he had been the old Xi Luhan, he’d have run to her from day one. But he wasn’t a boy with silly crush, he’d admit this aloud: he loved her. So, he’d do what a lover would do. He’d save her.

If only… only it was that simple.

He’d never forget that day, all the horrifying feelings that fed him up. He was filled with so much panic and frantic, his body going numb and his brain shut down for a second. He wholly shut down for a whole second, his eyes blurred in flashes of black and white, heart pounding against his ear, and how painful it was to move. That day… he almost gave up on loving her. She was broken and he wasn’t a knight in shining armor, loving her wasn’t easy at all.

He was glad it was only a daily practice when she suddenly called that day. Over a week, he hadn’t made any move to enclose their distance. He’d let her calm down for a bit before he came running back to her, like he always would. In the end, if she truly resisted, he’d let her resist. How long could someone stay angry, actually? She wasn’t the typical one to hold grudge against someone, yet he knew he touched too deeply and too hastily. This was her being defensive. She was afraid and he knew it.

He’d never forget the horror in her voice, the fear. He could feel how frightened she was. He’d never forget how many times his phone rang before he picked it up – four times and another five seconds. He’d never forget the regret that filled him. He’d never forget all those frantic and wild feelings that washed through him in matter of seconds; how his body went numb and his brain shut down.

“Luhan-ssi…” she had sounded so helpless and weak. He could picture her being so pale and afraid. “Luhan-ssi…” He had wondered if it was her nightmare. He’d never head her so afraid and helpless before. She’d always fought in some ways. “Help me… Help me…”

“Jieun, where are you?!” He’d screamed her name aloud. He’d remembered the twelve pairs of eyes staring at him in horror. First, they had their instructor around. Secondly, Lee Ji Eun rarely sought help. Third, Jongin was not over her. “Damn it! Where are you?!”

“I… Luhan-ssi, I don’t know… I don’t know…” She’d cried and her words were shaky. “I don’t know… what do I do? What do I do?” He’d thought he was being ripped apart. “I just want it to stop. I don’t know how… I just want it to stop. I don’t want this. Help me…” She was sobbing aloud. She’d sounded so confused and lost. “Help me… I’m… I’m scared.”

“Calm down, Jieun. Calm down,” He whispered softly, more likely for him rather than her. He’d need to calm down. He was frantic. “Where are you?”

“I’m….” He’d asked her to calm down over and over again until she snapped out of it for a little and drown back lost in her world. “I’m… I think I’m at home…” She’d cried again and her words were so hard to make with her constant sobs and shakes. “Can you come for me? I’m… Luhan-ssi… I’m so… so… so… afraid.”

All senses in him, about preserving Kim Jongin’s healing heart or protecting his secret – of silently being with Lee Ji Eun on his little free time – went out of the window. He grabbed his car key, ignored the loud yells behind him, and caught a cap Sehun tossed her, as he rushed outside.

That day, he almost gave up loving her.

***

When he stepped in, it was dark as always. She rarely flicked the lights, especially during the day. His instinct was telling him to flick it on, but he knew better. She was panic, probably frantic and lost. She’d panic even more once he flicked it on. Somehow, she wasn’t so fond of the lights. She had always felt she was bound to the dark. He’d notice this horrifying smell and his body went numb without notice. The smell of iron and salt: the smell of blood.

It was a mess. Pills and tablets were everywhere, traces of medicines being tossed aside. Her kitchen was a mess, her medicines being tossed here and there. Anti-depressant, he’d figure she was having a panic attack earlier. But what could cause it so badly? Three bottles of alcohol sat near her windows and he was so disappointed. She had started drinking again.

“Luhan-ssi…” she softly called; her voice throaty and weak. He shifted her gaze to the corner of her kitchen. She sat there, on the cold floor, her medicines surrounding her and much to his horror… blood were splattered almost everywhere. “I’m scared.”

And he knew how foolish he was. Why hadn’t he run back to her?

She’d tried to kill herself.

“Damn it!” He cursed and she had crushed him. “What were you thinking?!” He took her bandage wrist and pressed some more pressure. It hadn’t stopped bleeding. Her sink was a mixture of blood and water.

“I just want the pain to stop! I just want it to stop and I was so confuse. I just want the pain to stop, Luhan-ssi.” She cried and he tried so hard not to break. “Luhan-ssi… I’m scared… I don’t want to die, yet.”

She didn’t want to die.

For someone who had her dying wish wrote early, she didn’t want to die.

***

For a long time, he sat there, waiting, waiting, and waiting. Which was slower, the ticking clock or his heartbeat? Everything was agonizingly slow and it killed. Waiting never felt longer. His palm sweated so much, fist clench-unclenched, and his heart thumped slowly. He leaned against the wall, nose ached, stung by the smell of antiseptics and drugs. He waited for a long time.

He’d never felt so helpless before. He’d always known what to do next, or at least a clue of what he needed to feel, of what he needed to expect. But he was afraid. He was afraid he’d lost something he held dear. Ironic, how a one-sided silly crush turned to such a love. This – the heavy feeling in his chest – was eating him alive. He didn’t know how much longer he could stand it.

The hallways never looked so empty. Rows of chairs against the white wall and the deafening silence pictured his perfect helplessness. It should have soothed him just a little, so his adrenaline rush of pure panic could calm down for a bit. Yet this silence was purely obnoxious. He’d this urge to punch something in this white walls and demand answers. He wanted to know if she’d be okay.

When he tried to press this adrenaline rush, flashes of blood and darkness and tossed medicine haunted him; the striking and sick scent of blood and how her kitchen sink was a mixture of blood and water. He was foolish. He knew she wasn’t one to value her life so greatly. In her wildest dreams, she’d died. In her sweetest dream, she’d died and the pain stopped. And so, all that spun her world was her death-wish. So why? This guilt was eating him alive.

He’d heard her cry. He’d seen her hurt. He’d seen her broke and clumsily sticking the pieces together. He’d seen her crack and each time it still hurt. When he’d held her close and feel her tremble, he’d feel her chaotic self, of all feelings crush against one another. He’d seen her lost and confused. And each time she’d break a cry, something inside him would crack twice harder. He never knew he’d suffer this much just to be next to her. He thought, he had understood Kai just a little better. This hurt so much.

For hours and hours he waited helplessly. For hours and hours he was hung in agony and uncertainty. For days and days he waited.

God, if this is love, take it away from him.

***

For three days she was drifting in her comatose. No, she wasn’t in a comatose; she was conscious but so… tired. She didn’t want to be awake just yet. So she closed her eyes and slept and drowned in her own darkness. No body woke her up, so she had continued to sleep until she realized she’d wanted to stop sleeping.

She was dying. When she cut herself, it never came to her she’d be dying. For all her life, she hasn’t been afraid of dying. She always thought it’d put an end to all her suffering and pain. She wanted it to stop. Yet, when it came sweeping past her and almost pulled her in, fear rushed through her. She wasn’t expecting it to be so scary. She thought it was her human instinct working, fearing death. But… she hadn’t expected to resist it so strongly.

Suddenly, she found the will to live.

When death almost took her away, her life didn’t flash before her own eyes. Her brain wasn’t even thinking of her regrets: what she had done or what she hadn’t done. Her body was going numb. When death almost took her away, her brain went frantic. All that flashes before her eyes were how she was going to die and how she’d miss the feel of the sun against her skin and how she didn’t want to give in. When death almost took her away, she resisted.

There was no clear points when it started or where it begun, but she knew it was at some point after her break up. Amongst the darkest hour of her life, where she wanted to give in to this pain and die quickly, she’d found this new will to live. She didn’t know why or how; she refused to know. All she knew, suddenly, she didn’t want to die. It was more than enough.

She used to hate the way the sun feels against her skin, yet she longed for it now. When death almost took her away, she’d thought about the sun, the clouds, the blue sky, spinning wheels and passerby, about coffee and breakfast, about glimmers and shimmers, the moon and stars, the noise of life, about laughing, crying, and smiling. She thought about how good it feels to bask in warm sunshine in the morning. She’d thought about the pleasing smell of coffee in the morning and toast for breakfast. She’d thought about lying on field of green grasses and stared at the baby blue sky as she watched the clouds move. She’d thought about standing in the city, watching passerby and vehicles. She’d thought about going to the park, seeing children laugh and cry. She’d thought about them all and how she’d missed them.

She wanted to feel them just a little bit longer.

She felt alive.

Oh, how she hadn’t lived at all. She had never thought about basking in warm sunshine, about enjoying morning coffee and over-baked toast, about the noise of life and laughing and crying, about watching the clouds over baby blue sky. She didn’t think she’d enjoy them and drown in her own world. But this… this was life and how she would salvage the little she had left.

She enjoyed living.

So, when she woke up, she found him sleeping by the couch. She wasn’t attached to much machine, just an IV drop connected to her left hand and bandages over her sliced wrist. She’d been awake and alive and well. All of it – perhaps – on her own account. Oh, how scared he must have been. If she hadn’t known how it felt to bask her skin in the warm sun, she’d have been dead. She’d have not fought to live.

She brushed her hand over his messy mushroom hair and marveled at how similar their hair color was. His wasn’t soft at all, somehow rigid and dry from all the styling and blowing. A small smile grazed over the corner of her lips as she watched him sleep. She had been thankful and silently touched, also comforted by his constant presence. He was constant and she was forever grateful.

He’d been sincere, she noted.

“Luhan-ssi, I’ll move in with you.”