Luhan made her promised lots of things. He gathered her in his arms –she suddenly felt whole and different, he knew she wasn’t the same woman he met two weeks ago –and hug her tight. He squeezed her until she couldn’t breathe, even then she didn’t complain and he squeezed the breath out of her without care. She’s warm and she still smelled too much of hotel shampoo and soap. He ruffled her hair and kissed the top of her head. She hugged him back, buried into his chest and steadily breathing. The rise and fall of her chest felt good against him.

He didn’t ask where she was going, why she was leaving, or if she was running away again. He had many question running through his head, but it all remained as the lump he forced down his throat and lips sealed so tightly. It’s in her eyes: what she was going for, why she’s leaving. There was a different gleams in her eyes. It’s bold and strong and brave and healing. She’s going to come back and be different. She’s starting a new life. She’s going to be brave and bright and bold and healing. It’s in her eyes: the will to be okay again. Her eyes held the promise –more for herself than anyone else –I’m going to be okay again.

She said no goodbye or I’m sorry. He didn’t kneel and beg for her to stay. It’s a hug, so tight and heartbreaking. And he made her promised lots of things. He made her promised she’d be okay, she’d call, she’d never drink, and she’d heal. She said yes –yes, yes, yes –so positive and bold and sure. He never asked her to return, to come back. She never told him she’d either. She’s leaving for a better life, time didn’t matter. He could only take so much more before he broke apart too. So he thought this was the break. The break she and he and the world needed.

“I love you,” he said. It was probably the worst goodbye saying, the worst timing, and perhaps it’d bother her and him so much more. It could break all the point of her leaving and him having a break from all this love and ache, but he did not regret it. “I love you,” he said it once more.

“I know,” she kissed his cheek. Her lips were soft and pink and (damn) alluring. She didn’t say sorry, never did. She didn’t think it’s her fault. He didn’t want it either, not when they haven’t begun. And when he pulled away, she put her keys on the table and dragged her luggage out the front door.

The door clicked softly behind her. He couldn’t even drop her off at the airport and kissed her goodbye at last minutes. They’re both too famous for their own good. It took him three full seconds, until the world crashed apart, and he limped on the couch, sighing and cursing life. He’s alone again. He’s a little afraid, but he’s sure it’s for the best.

He thought of her as a disease. She’s dangerous and infectious. She ate him alive from inside-out. She got under your skin and once you noticed it’s all too late. If this is the way she made people for her, he needed to wonder no more. It’s so easy to fall for her, yet so hard to get her off his mind. He’s a little sick, for the first few weeks without her. And one day, he decided he’s okay and well without her. He didn’t need her. He’s okay living without her although he preferred not to.

It’s one day, when he’s finally okay with things being over, she called. She’s cruel — he believed — because she could rip heart open and crash hopes. And she’s deadly with a single hair flip or gentle smiles, often with only a flicker in her eyes. She never knew though—never realized, never aware—he kept being torn and ripped by her, but he cared no more. She’s still too much temptation.

It’s three in the morning and he was half-drunk. The constant ringing in his ears and he cursed life and the world. He picked it up, she’s still a nameless caller and he’s still drunk and angry.

“Hey,” her voice sounded raspy. She caught a cold. But he remembered she was elsewhere in the world he did not know, maybe she woke up early in the morning and she missed him a lot.

“Hey,” he slurred and she laughed. Hypocrites, he thought. She was supposed to be the one drinking and he should be the one to stop her. Instead, he’s a little drunk and her laugh sounded a little too cheery.

“You’re drunk,” she stated and laughed again. “You sound funny,” and laughed again.

It’s her laugh. It’s cheery and bright and ringing. A part of him wanted to snap because she had no right to be laughing so cheerfully in the elsewhere side of the world, when he was a mess by her in this stuck-up world of bright stars and swinging popularity. But he’s in love and he would laugh with her, even as his chest twisted in pain because he wanted to laugh that way. Then he realized, he had never heard her laugh so happily. He smiled.

“Yes, definitely,” he let his voice slurred a bit and she laughed at his antics.

“Not drunk enough, I guess,” he could hear her smile. “Should I call you back later when you’re not too drunk?” At this, he almost screamed don’t hang up!  In the back of his mind, it’s an endless chant of whereareyou whereareyou imissyou imissyou.

He imagined her to be beautiful — she’s wearing her yellow tank top and white short shorts, holding a cup of coffee while staring out the window. She held a romance novel on one hand and her skin glowed under the sun. She’s always beautiful.  — and bright. He smiled. He couldn’t stop smiling because she finally called and there’s something bubbling in his stomach. He asked if it was the alcohol or just him being in love, maybe a little of both.

It’s only small baby steps but it’s a start. He hoped, although he knew how dangerous it was to hope. She’s still deadly; she crashed hope without meaning to and ripped hearts open without realizing, but he’s patient and ready and loving. And today, he’s selfish enough to say, “I deserve you the most.”

“I love you,” he’s suddenly a little too drunk and dizzy. Again, he didn’t regret it. He’s a little afraid of loving her, but he no longer regretted it. There are no more what-ifs.

“I know.”

***

She never called again for a long time. He’s okay with that. It’s a promise they made after all, she’d call and he’d wait, once the time is right. She missed out many things: how the public was suddenly aware of her lack of appearances, especially after she quitted Inkigayo or how the entertainment industry was suddenly flooded by dating rumors and new couple or how Kim Jongin and Bae Suzy become the greatest trend after their wedding. It’s the wedding of the century, they said, and he remembered how Suho sat at the corner and rolled his eyes. Really, it’s not.

She called again when the street was finally covered in thick layer of snow. Maybe because it’s snowing in elsewhere and she suddenly missed home, but her ever-growing laughter reminded him so much of spring. She sounded happy and a little different, he’s already afraid he couldn’t keep up, but it’s baby steps they’re taking. She wasn’t an opened-book to him — probably never would — but she let him read the tiny parts of her and hid her secrets well.

It always ended up with an “I deserved you most,” echoed in his head. But he kept it, because he knew it’s still far too scary for her. Instead, he opted for something he hadn’t regretted for so long. “I love you.”

“I know.”

Even then, he’s patient and caring and loving. He’s never tired of loving her.

She missed out even more things later on, even after her calls become an often occasion. It was once in a long while, then once in a while, the once a month with an I love you and an I know at the end. It’s not sad, really, his heart didn’t break and she wasn’t engulfed in deep guilt. Loving her wasn’t a tragedy.

Jongin’s baby was born two months prior to the due date. They were out of the country at the time, an event in China, and Luhan was glad to be home again. It’s a call at midnight and a frantic Jongin pacing around the hotel room that woke almost all of them. He’s screaming and yelling at the phone because there’s so much blood and they’re unsure and they’re trying but they’re not trying hard enough.

They lost the baby and everyone mourned.

Kim Jongin, the man whose life had been okay — unhappy but okay — for the past seven months finally crashed down. He drank and drank and drank until his stomach could take no more and he spilled all the contents all over the place. He’s angry and mad and upset at everyone at every time. He didn’t care about a thing anymore. They put him under hiatus for weeks and the magazines thankfully kept their mouth shut about it. It’s worse then, because he couldn’t stay home and faced his wife and wondering about what-ifs. Then, they settled for the next best thing, worked him to the bones until he could think no more. It worked.

Her calls become a regular thing once a month, then once a week, then every other day. He’s a ticking bomb ready to explode — he felt — because Jongin lost the baby and she’s still elsewhere oblivious. He thought she did it on purpose — being oblivious — so everything could be easier and simpler. But maybe she’s just desperate to forget about him and their world. In the end, she never asked. In the end, it still ended with an l love you and an I know.

It’s later one — when she realized she’d been gone for one and a half year because he let it slipped how much he missed her — that she asked about the baby. He’s honestly a little afraid because he’s growing selfish. He’s afraid whatever they had right now would go back to nothingness and she’d fly back to his arms. That’s why he never said anything; because he’s a little selfish and she’s still a little broken. When it still ended with an I love you and an I know, he knew they’re okay. She didn’t call the next three days, but he didn’t push her. They’re okay, he just knew.

It’s always one day too, once upon a time — when he finally came to term this baby steps they’re taking. It’s slow and unsteady, but it’s sweet and romantic and moving. So it’s okay and it’s perfect. —something changed. It’s a call around midnight but he knew it’s evening in her elsewhere world. She’s laughing over the typical trivial they talked about, there’s voices in the background, and he could vision her sitting in a coffee shop or standing by the bridge somewhere. Again, yellow summer-dress and silky locks against the wind. He wanted to say it again and again: I miss you, I miss you (missyou missyou missyou), but he opted for another verse of I-love-yous. But today, it didn’t end with an I know, and her reply came two seconds later than usual.

“I think I might be too,” it’s soft and shy and feminine. It’s pink and red and blushing cheeks.

He didn’t know what to say or what to think. This was what he had been waiting for so long. He was gaping and muttering inaudible sounds (and grunts) and the line went dead before he could gather his thoughts because she always hung up after an I know. It’s no longer baby steps. It’s giant hesitant leaps she’s risking with him. He’s afraid but he knew she’s risking with him. He’s afraid but he knew she’s terrified and that’s okay because they’re just adults with baby hearts.

She called the next day and the day after and always. It ended with an I love you and an I think I might be too. It’s shy and pink and still blushing cheeks, but it’s sweet and sincere and hearty.

***

She didn’t know when she started loving him. It’s a slow progress. She didn’t think they do have a starting point; such a thing didn’t exist for them. It’s now and this present and nothing else. There’s no future and no past, just now and present, because she’s not fully ready yet, but she’s ready for now, for the present.

She fell in love the way you fell asleep: in a blink. She didn’t know how or when or why. It’s a comfortable love: the warm feeling when you snuggled under warm comforters on cool spring nights, the light breezes against your skin, and the pool of warmth bubbling in your stomach and everything was just warm and warm and warm and so — so nice.

It’s a comfortable love. It’s a different love. It’s warm — always warm and only warm — and cozy. A border between sweet friendship and lazy romances and it baffled her. There’s no broken or thundering heartbeats. Only pure shyness and blushes and pink cheeks, only sincere smile and outgoing laughs and casual conversation. No pick-up lines or romances or texts or cheesy gifts, just nonsense conversation at midnights. No insecurity or jealousy. Just warmth. This was not the love she had felt before. This was brand new.

It’s beautiful in a different way.

(This wasn’t anything like her and Jongin story: a bumpy roller coaster but still beautiful and journey. It’s different but as beautiful and she liked it.)

This was the love where she felt warm and safe and secure. She’s only half-healed and probably half-afraid, but this feeling wasn’t fluttering heartbeats and butterflies stomach — it’s reassuring — and she felt okay. She’s only grateful and warm right now.

(She’s grateful because he was subtle and understanding and there. She was reciprocated.)

She still thought it’s too early to be bound to love again. She’s only half-mended and it’s only hesitant promises and half-wounded hearts and it would take them nowhere. She had little faith in love. She still remembered how it felt to have her heart broken. She still remembered Jongin as clear as day, when her world just crashed down in second. She used to trust him only, love him only, and open the doors for him only. And she had no one else to run to and it… god, it hurt.

But it’s different because she’s independent now and it’s a love with different colors and feels and she had a friend now. Her new friend had short hair and bright optimism and shiny smiles and carefree attitude. She’s everything Lee Jieun hated with the happy-go-lucky acts she carried but they connected, silly. She’s taking her time to love — herself, her life, her world — and to be in love again.

It’s day 437 — she never counted her days but one day, Luhan sounded so gloomy and he let it slip: “it’s day 437.” And she heard the unsaid why aren’t you back yet? But she pretended because she’s the best at it. It’s another day when she stood in front of the mirror and finally saw a different person. She didn’t see someone broken who needed to be fixed. She saw a person, wounded and bruised, but okay. She realized this was all perspective only.

It was a day after day 437 when she received the call. “I want to quit,” he said and this time he called her first at one a.m. His voice sounded weary and tired and so close to giving up.

She booked the first flight home, because it was all it took her (he sounded so not okay, and she knew how it felt). Her hands trembled as she handed the ticket over to the flight attendant and the 10 hours flight felt like forever. She couldn’t sleep. It’s just endless thought and a fact that hit: I’ve been running away.

***

He never knew where she was or what she was doing or who she was with. She never told him and he never asked, it used to be enough that she always called and she let him called too. But lately, it wasn’t enough because he’s getting so tired and he stopped believing she’d come back (it was past day 437 and it was day 439). He never came home anymore because it’s not home when there were so many unused glasses in the kitchen cabinets and only one coffee cup each morning. It’s only right when it’s a pair.

Yet he came home one day, because everything was sickening him. He just wanted to throw up at them and let this nauseous feeling out of his stomach. He wanted to yell and scream and tell everyone he’s tired and please please please leave him alone. So he came home, knowing it would probably worsen everything.

And it only took him one swing at the door to notice the presence inside his house, strangely familiar with a little difference. He swept her off her feet and gathered her in his arms. He embraced her as if she’s a dream and he’s having a fantasy. It’s tight and warm and she wriggled constantly. He buried his face in her hair and she realized she missed him too. 

Author Note

Leave me a comment please? I'm struggling badly with writer block and lack of comments. Anyway, off to read my subcription. I can't believe I haven't read any IU fics for half a year!