We used to love each other so much.

Kris and I. I thought we were meant to be.

We aren't.

But we used to be in the best of relationships. I was the more outgoing one in public, unafraid to flaunt around the fact that we were together. I would always grab his hand while we walked side by side, looping his arm around my shoulders. I hugged him tight when he looked self-conscious, telling him, it doesn't matter what other people think. It only matters what WE feel.

And he would smile a little and lean into me.

We would walk down the street despite some disapproving stares from strangers. Girls would check him out and I would flip them off. Vendors on the streets would yell for our attention, waving in our faces couple rings for girlfriends, and I would tell them that I didn't have a girlfriend. Kris was my boyfriend. They would fall silent, and Kris always chuckled at their dumbfounded expressions.

Kris. My Kris.

But, I think, no longer.

I shuffle through the light covering of snow on the sidewalk, the white powder crunching underneath my feet. I shrink my neck into my parka and squint up at the sky, where snowflakes flutter down from a dull yet blinding gray sky. I attempt to catch one on my tongue and smile. And then I stop smiling.

Why does everything I do make me think of him?

I look around. On this very street in the afternoons, Kris and I used to walk after lunch. He liked it when it snowed. The little shops lining the streets are all closed now, dark and abandoned, but I remember the times walking with him that they were always bright and welcoming.

Maybe it was just him.

We would try catching snowflakes on our tongues. I often started a snowball fight from what little snow there was, collecting the white dust and waiting for when he turned to slam it in his face. I would usually succeed, and he would feign a growl of anger and charge me into the small snowbank that was always behind me.

We would kiss. He would taste of ice and Kris. And then I would roll from under him and we would make snow angels, side by side. The snow angels' wings would touch.

I find myself staring at a smooth, white snowbank next to a small coffee shop. It is so lonely and quiet out here. My ears have turned numb and my nose red. I pull down my beanie even tighter and hurry home.

 

 

When I return to the apartment, dusting snow off my jacket and my boots, I fight the hope that bursts in my heart. The hope is there, everyday when I come home from work.

But the person I hope for is never there.

He's been gone for three months. At least I know where he is now; a business trip to China, or so he says. He used to disappear for weeks on end without word of where he went.

I always knew with whom, though.

I strip myself of my many winter layers, sticking my feet into my house slippers and moving into the bedroom. It smells stale, and of loneliness. I go to sit on the bed we used to share. It is such a big space for one person. It, too, screams of isolation.

You need to get out, Lay, it seems to say. You need to find someone else.

But I can never. Not while Kris is still mine.

I take out the ties from the drawer on his side of the bed. Kris has so many ties, and I know where he puts every single one of them. Every month, I took his ties out and organized them: by color, textile, and pattern. It used to be a game, where he would have to find the one tie he needed once I was through with the organizing. 

He hasn't come home for a while. I still organize his ties when it's time. Today's the day for December.

I sit on the massive bed, cross legged, numb. Taking one tie and laying it carefully with its group. Just me, a nobody. I prefer to live in my memories, my memories with Kris, than in this lonely, agonizing hell of a life.

Kris was an amazing man; a helpful, stylish, respectful worker of the Gucci flagship store in Seoul. He was the tall, strong, mysterious guy that turned heads and had girls drooling over him as he sold Gucci watches and suits. So amazingly y, and I would feel incredible when I knew I was the lucky one he rejected them for.

I was fortunate enough to see the other side of him, the side of him at home where he puffed out his cheeks and acted cute, or when he was on the verge of tears as we watched angsty joseon dramas, or when he looked at me in that lustful way that always led us into our room.

This room.

He was always so kind and polite both at work and at home. I was an accountant for the East bank directly across the street of the Gucci store, but he often would stand near the entrance and greet customers. I had, after months of hard work and begging my manager, gained a cubicle right next to a floor-to-ceiling window with a perfect view of the Gucci store. He would wave to me cheerily and wink, and my heart would flutter. We could see each other perfectly from where we were.

Our relationship was kept mostly secret at the time—he rejected all the hopeful females without an explanation—but I didn't care. We shared the same house, had lunch breaks together, and we could do whatever we wanted after work.

I was so madly in love with him. I was blind.

I still am.

On most days, right as we entered the house he would grab me and walk me to the bedroom while we kissed. Or sometimes we would just sit in front of the television, laughing and eating leftovers in each other's arms. His smile would light up my world and my heart. His laughter was angel's music. His lips and his smooth skin were my heaven.

We were so happy then. I was so happy.

We had been going steady for about half a year. I began to take him for granted, seeing that dazzling face and irresistible body and knowing it was all mine. I was infatuated with him.

For Kris, however, the initial excitement of the relationship had died down. After he had been set on gaining the head manager position at Gucci, he became a lot busier and had less time for me. He kissed less, talked less, and grunted more when I tried to discuss things. He preferred to stay home and watch his dramas instead of grocery shopping with me, something he used to love doing. He had no issue at all to watch TV by himself when TV used to be our together thing.

At work, he often went to lunch meetings. We didn't meet as often to have lunch, but when we did Kris seemed distracted and aloof. It turned into a routine for him. Sometimes he would stay after hours to help in the store, and since he was the one that drove I took the bus home myself.

I tried not to think much about it.

Until I noticed the other boy.

A sudden rip sound pulls me out of my thoughts. I look down and realize the purple silk tie I had in my hands had been wrinkled and torn halfway. I set it aside gingerly. I couldn't feel anything inside of me, as if my feelings were as frozen as the December snow outside. 

Yet. The thought of him.

This boy was merely a teenager who'd landed a job at Gucci and had been placed under Kris's supervision. In return, Kris would be promoted.

Kris had told  me this animatedly that night at dinner, after he'd met the boy. "He's young, but full of potential!" He'd said excitedly. "He seems to love Gucci very much, he has a great sense of humor and I haven't seen someone as tall as him in ages—you're tall too, Lay, don't take that to heart. He can rap and he's from China, so we can speak in Mandarin!"

I smiled and nodded, wanting to be happy that he'd found a new friend he could relate with, but it was hard when I'd just been demoted that day at work. I wasn't feeling too well either, but I didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to ruin his mood. I tried not to think about the fact that Kris hadn't been this happy since the day Gucci hired him. Not even on his birthday, when I'd booked a beautiful seaside resort.

"What's his name?" I asked, trying to act interested.

"Huang Zitao, a clumsy moron from China." He said the name affectionately, laughing his y laugh that I hadn't heard in ages. His eyes sparkled. It stung to know that when he finally found the reason to laugh like that, it was because of another man. "I can eventually get promoted to head manager if I train him well, Laylay! Aren't you excited for me?"

I looked up from my food. He hadn't called me Laylay in a long time.

I cracked a smile. "Yes."

"Aw Lay, you gotta be more enthusiastic for me to believe that!" Kris laughed again and leaned back in his seat, sighing contentedly. He continued to ramble about this Huang Zitao, ignoring the chicken that I had fried for him on his plate.

And then, Kris's phone rang. "Oh!" He said, his eyes twinkling as he pulled out the device. "It's the Panda. Can you excuse me while I take this?"

Panda? He already has a nickname for his assistant? He took forever to call me Laylay! I looked up as he stood, walking happily away from the dining table without a glance back at me, his phone already to his ear.

"What about your food, Kris?" I called after him. I don't remember how I felt then; I think I was desperate to have some of his attention on me.

He turned around with a ferocious glare, his finger to his lips. "Sh! This might be important, just wrap that up for me." He waved his hand dismissively and walked into the study, shutting the door. I was left sitting stunned and alone at the dinner table.

So many things had happened with Kris that night that both bewildered and stung me. He never answered his phone calls that eagerly when I was the one calling him; even though he always had his phone with him, it took him a few rings before he picked up. He never grew irritated or raised his voice like that to me. And I had fried chicken for him, one of his favorite dishes, in hopes that seeing him enjoy my food would brighten our moods.

His mood had definitely brightened that night, but it wasn't because of me.

I stare at the ripped silk tie carelessly tossed next to me on the vast bedspread. I glance numbly at another tie in my hand. A Gucci tie. I place it with the other Gucci ties. A corner flips up. My finger reaches to pull it down straight. But it freezes there.

I'm suddenly fighting for breath when I read the small Chinese character on the corner of the underside of the tie. Huang.

It isn't Kris's handwriting.

---

 

I don't know what I did or how I ended up to be outside in the cold far away from home, without a coat.

But I had been running. I shiver now and rub my hands together repeatedly, urgently, but they feel frozen. I tremble as the snowflakes, once welcoming and beautiful, become vicious when they bite into my skin and dig into my hair.

I look around. I am in the city now. Only a few cars are around, many which are just hurriedly passing by. The drivers inside look emotionless. They glance at me too quickly, almost sympathetically. I'm standing out here in the snow with only two thin shirts and a small jacket. Fuzzy sweatpants that I wear at home are becoming soaked with wet snow, and my feet are simply in house slippers. My ankles are bare, and the cold is relentless. 

They look at me like a freak.

Because I am one. Since Kris left me, I have transformed into a crazy lunatic that stands out in the cold in his nightclothes.

No. Not just since Kris left me. Much earlier than that.

Since Tao appeared in our lives.

I can't blame him for taking my Kris. I can't blame Kris either. I can only blame myself, for believing that Kris had wanted to be with me.

I shiver a little more. My muscles have become numb in a painful way. I begin the long trudge home, shoving my hands in my jacket pockets to prevent them from frostbite. I look in a dark shop window. They have been closed for the holidays, I notice. In the reflection, my lips are blue.

Merry Christmas, a banner on a different shop announces.

Merry ing Christmas to you too.

I don't want to think about it. But I do. Just like my memories of him and me together, of us, were so beautiful yet painful.

So I think about it. About the infinite reasons why Kris could have Huang Zitao's tie.

Maybe he was borrowing it? But Kris isn't like that, he doesn't borrow clothing; he buys it.

Maybe because my boyfriend is secretly a serial killer or a stalker or some sort of creep, and he wants to take things of Tao's? No, Kris is the most gentlemanly person I've ever met; he wouldn't do that. Would he?

What if they had ?

I shake my head rapidly until it hurts, squeezing my eyes shut. I taste blood on my tongue and I realize I've nearly bit it right in half. With the cold, I can't feel anything.

Without Kris, I can't feel anything anyways.

I don't want to think about it. So I don't. I just think about how it all went wrong.

Since that night with the fried chicken, we changed. Or, more so, he did. I just changed because of him.

More often than not, Kris would excuse himself from our lunches together, cutting it off early and saying he had to get back to work. It was the only time I could really talk with him, our lunch breaks, but he was always distracted and didn't seem to be listening anyway, so I would let him go. I would watch him as he walked outside whatever cafe we sat in and straight to someone else.

The Huang Zitao boy.

A smile would always be on his face. His eyes would always sparkle in a way that I'd hardly ever seen before.

Sometimes, Kris would apologize emotionlessly outside the Gucci store, saying he had things to discuss with his assistant during lunch. That's an awful lot to discuss then, considering you find any chance you can to talk with him, I would always think sourly, but I never said it. Tao was always there when Kris explained such things, looking boyish and embarrassed. I didn't want to embarrass Kris, so I never said anything, I just nodded in reply.

One time, as they walked away I remember hearing Tao whisper, "Gosh, gege, he doesn't ever say anything! He's a bit weird. Why do you hang out with him at lunch anyways?"

It was in Chinese, our native tongue. I didn't know if Tao knew that I could speak it too.

Come to think of it, I didn't even know if Tao knew anything about me.

"Shh! Be nice," Kris chided in a gentle, almost motherly tone. "And keep your voice down." Without another word of explanation about me knowing what they said or of what I meant to him, they crossed the street to a small cafe. The cafe was one of our favorite destinations—Kris's and mine—back when we enjoyed our lunch breaks together.

I tried to ignore the sound of their footsteps as they walked away. I tried to ignore the sound of my shattering heart.

And, I think, now as I stumble through the cold, shivering and walking aimlessly in the snow, the pieces of my heart have truly frozen over.

---

 

I feel so stupid now.

Not for dating Kris.

But for not realizing that he had never shown his true love to me. Not until he met Tao.

I can't blame him for that either, really. I'm sure he didn't know what true love for him was either. He thought he was expressing his all to me, but he wasn't. It became blatantly obvious, once he met Tao, that he hadn't been. 

But my boyfriend talked nonstop about Tao. Whether it was the driving home or during dinner, Kris would always recall excitedly how his assistant had screwed up that day. From all the stories I heard, the "Panda" was just about the last person I would hire for such a high-class store like Gucci.

So clumsy. But also so y.

He wasn't y because I thought he was. He was y because he was enough to capture Kris's attention 25 hours a day, eight days a week.

I tried to listen to Kris. I really did. But I had to be honest with myself: how much can a man really take when his lover seems to be falling for someone else?

My resentment for Tao was growing. It felt wrong to me, since I'd hardly gotten a chance to know the boy at all. The only times we met face-to-face were for a few seconds before Kris dragged him away to their lunch rendezvous. He always stared at me the same way I assumed I stared at him; with curiosity, like I was an alien from another planet, but also with a hint of jealousy.

And that little hint of jealousy often made me satisfied enough to continue loving Kris and continue loathing Tao.

In a short amount of time after knowing Tao (because everything happened either B.T. or A.T.—Before Tao or After Tao), Kris bought me a car.

It might sound like a good thing. Before it we owned only one car; not because we couldn't afford it, but because that was the only one we needed. I was an awful driver and our workplaces were literally right across the street from each other. We left for work and returned home at the same times, and it was easier to find spaces in the underground parking lot below the bank I worked at anyway.

So when my boyfriend pulled off the sheets with a flourish, I wasn't ecstatic to see the new, gleaming Mercedes that was to be mine.

I was heartbroken.

Not only was it more expensive than the last car we had, it was also something I didn't think we needed but what Kris definitely thought we did.

When he looked at my crestfallen face, he tried to explain. "Lay, this is for our own good! You won't have to take the bus anymore and we can come and go as we please. I have more working hours as a manager, anyway."

I stared at him. Is this how you're going to continue? Spending all your time with Tao, but in the same instant, buying me expensive and precious things I don't need as if to satiate my need for you? Expensive and precious things are not the reason why I love you, Kris. I want you, not the petty things you give me.

So many things to say. No voice to say it.

So I just my heel and entered the apartment complex, with Kris yelling incredulously after me, "How could you not be happy? I spent a fortune on this!"

I don't want it. I don't want it.

 

 

Eventually, Kris was promoted to assistant manager. After the whole car incident, we had been a little chilly to each other. It was a strange feeling to be in with my boyfriend because whenever we fought, we always made up almost immediately with a hug and a kiss.

This time, it seemed he didn't want to touch me.

He kept the car but drove the one we already had. I refused to drive it. He was promoted two weeks later, about when we had just somewhat cooled down enough to talk to each other. So he told me.

I was happy for him, genuinely happy, but when he told me about his promotion his smile and his laugh seemed fake. I tried to hug him, feeling somewhat awkward, but I could feel him backing away. Instinctively, not just because he wanted to.

My crushed heart seemed to deflate even more at the action. His body was now reacting against mine, instead of with it like they used to.

I offered to treat him to dinner, but he brushed off the suggestion with a laugh. "We already share the same bank accounts," he snorted. "Did you forget, Lay?"

How could I forget about that goddamn car?

"Anyway, I have some, um, work to do. I'll be here after hours." He pulled away, his hands on my shoulders. It felt more like a friendly gesture than a romantic one. His dark eyes, which I could once read like an open book, were emotionless.

"Right after your promotion?" I said, a bit incredulously. "You can't celebrate?" He shook his head.

Without thinking, I blurted out, "Is Tao going to be with you?"

Kris's eyebrows furrowed immediately and his expression darkened. "Jesus, Lay, no need to be overprotective! He's just my assistant, okay? He's a business partner, of course he's going to be with me! Here: this should be enough for your bus fare, considering you didn't drive your car today." He ed some money into my hand and gave me a long stare. We stood there on the streets a little while longer. "Lay; don't worry about it. Just go home."

He turned around and walked away.

I clenched the money in my fists tighter.

 

The blizzard is getting worse. It's terrifyingly cold, and what with my thin layers of clothing, I'm sure I'll freeze to death. I look up, barely noticing the metal post that sticks up in a white and grey world. The sign on the post is covered with snow and frost, but I recognize it as the bus stop. Bus Stop 53. The exact same bus stop where I waited on the day of Kris's promotion to assistant manager, being sent home—again—by myself.

And also where I met another man.

He sat alone, his hands in his jacket pockets. He didn't look much older than me, but there was something in his eyes that just told of life experience beyond his years. 

When I sat down on the bus bench next to him, he gave me a brief smile and nodded.

I realized just how pathetic my life was when a small smile and a nod from a complete stranger were the highlights of my day.

He said he was going on a different bus than mine. He lived on the other side of Seoul, and with brutal traffic it'd take him half the night to get to his apartment. I sympathized with him and we chatted. He was a manager at the Seoul Bank. He had white teeth, stable yet handsome facial features, and a heartwarming eye smile. He had the air of sadness, slightly lifted when we started to talk.

When he departed for his bus, I only realized later that we hadn't even exchanged names. I just hoped he would be okay.

It felt strange to be finally caring about someone other than Kris. But it also felt good.

---

 

I must keep walking. I'll freeze here. I had just been standing next to the bus stop, coated over with snow and frost. Staring at the cold metal like a mentally deranged, suicidal freak. At least, no one sane would be here. People in their warm, toasty cars stare at me as they pass; the bus doesn't run in harsh weather like this. I lower my head against the flurry of snow and walk on, my house slippers crunching when I step.

Back to the memories, Lay.

That fateful day, a day that really showed the sudden split in our relationship.

I still cared about him. The more he drew away from me, the more I wanted him. It was a special day; our anniversary. Our three-year anniversary. Even though the last three months had been a rickety time in our relationship, I was still sure we would be back to normal in no time.

Of course, I had no experience to back up my high hopes, as this had never happened between us. But I still hoped.

We met at the front of the East bank where I worked, as usual. He looked bored and his hand kept on scratching at his neck agitatedly. I had a bouquet of roses waiting at my cubicle, where I had hidden them to give him after work. Hidden among the flowers was a small note shaped in a heart, marking our favorite memories. I did this every time, from our 100 days to our annual celebrations.

"Why'd you insist I come out here today?" Kris asked, not bothering to stifle a yawn.

I tried to hide my crestfallen frown. No. He couldn't have forgotten. He seemed genuinely confused. "I—uh—did you forget?"

He shrugged and gave me a weird look. "Forget what? I brought everything I needed to work today..."

I shook my head. "We've been dating for three years! Today is our three year anniversary! How could you have forgotten, three is your lucky number!" My voice was rising.

He held up his hands, his expression more defensive and annoyed than apologetic. "Oh geez, I forgot. But Lay, you're overreacting. Sorry if I didn't remember we've lived under the same roof for three entire years, okay? Jesus, you know I have terrible memory."

I bit my lip angrily at him and looked away. He paused, and I could feel one warm hand on my shoulder.

I looked up, slowly. Usually when we bickered and he paused, I would look up to see his gaze on me, softening. And he would apologize for being too harsh or inconsiderate, and we would kiss and make up. Our fights never lasted long.

Excuse me—they used to never last long.

On that day, his eyebrows were furrowed as if he were the one to be angry with me, rather than the other way around. He looked awkward and uncomfortable. His eyes continually darted toward his hand on my shoulder and me, as if he were almost afraid to be touching me. "Hey, look Lay, I'm really sorry. I'll get you something on the way home, okay?"

"...Are we not going home together?" I glared up at him.

His glance darted uncomfortably away. "Business. Being a manager is hard work. I would've canceled all my plans so I could take you to dinner. Honest. But I really forgot—forgive me?" He gave me the puppy eyes that I used to always fall for, but on that day they just made me feel creepy.

"Yeah, whatever," I mumbled, shrugging off his hand. I couldn't believe it. He had really forgotten. And he had told me off right after for complaining. And he couldn't even celebrate. He didn't seem as sorry as he should've been. "Don't bother buying me a present; 'we share the same bank account' anyway." I did mocking air quotes. He didn't seem to note the sarcasm and laughed nervously, as if he wasn't sure if it was a joke.

It wasn't. The B.T. (Before Tao) Kris would've known that. This Kris didn't seem to really even care.

"If you say so," he said nonchalantly. I looked up at him in shock. Really? I didn't want a present, but I had merely said that out of politeness!

My expression changed from shock to, I assume, horror.

He was already turning away, his smile brightening as he waved to a tall, handsome young man in a similar suit across the street. The man had a shock of blond hair that greatly contrasted his pale skin and silkworm eye circles. He was grinning too.

"I, uh, gotta run," Kris said with a quick glance at me.

"You can't even spend lunch with me?"

"Lay, calm down. I'm really busy, I need some reports done and I have to eat with my assistant. Sorry." He was already walking away, throwing the comment over his shoulder.

And he left me standing alone on the sidewalk in front of the bank, stunned and so hurt I was numb.

I went back to my cubicle and ate lunch in front of the outdated computer, barely able to contain my tears. I stared at the flowers on my desk the entire time.

When I was about to leave to catch an evening bus, I grabbed the still-fresh bouquet and tossed it in a nearby trash can as I walked out the door.

With it went my heart.

 

 

I look up. Before I know it, I'm back home. It's not until I enter the apartment lobby, shivering and creeping out the front-desk guard, that I notice just how cold I am. The heat is not welcoming; it burns my skin. I nod numbly to the guard and trudge up the stairs.

I avoid the elevator. I always do. Kris preferred to take the elevator because he thought it made him seem dignified and classy.

Right after Kris disappeared, the elevator broke down while running, and a couple was stuck in there for half an hour before they got out. They were definitely traumatized and I notice they never use the elevator again, even after it was fixed.

I don't avoid the elevator not just because of that, but also because of Kris. I can't go in it. I just can't.

He has traumatized me too.

I get to my apartment and unlock the door with shaky discolored hands. I shuffle into the bathroom, undress out of my freezing, soaked clothes and turn on the bath.

The heat steams up the mirror, but I stare at my self. I used to love checking myself out, making sure I looked perfect. Whether it was for Kris, I don't know. I haven't looked in the mirror for a long time—at least after he left I haven't.

The long slashes of scars run along my wrist, forever an ugly mark of my pain and loneliness. The ones closer to my palm are fading, but some fresher cuts range from a pale pink to an angry red. They have reopened old wounds and made new ones in my skin. Both my arms are filled with the lines, some in neat rows and some in messy crisscrosses. I have started again, even though in the beginning I had promised Kris to stop.

I don't think he would care I have broken this promise now.

But the pain from self-infliction is the only thing that keeps me alive. It's the only pain that distracts me from the pain I can't reach.

Because I can't move on. Other men are tempting—the man from the bus stop pops into my head—but I can't think of anyone when Kris crowds my mind. 

Like an idiot, I'm still waiting for him.

It's my fault. It really is. 

I step into the shower. The droplets seem to sizzle against my cold skin. I raise my cut arms into the line of water, and it hurts like hell. I wince and clench my teeth, but nothing hurts more than what's inside of me.

Even if he comes back, I don't think that would completely heal that hurt.

But I can't let go. I just can't.

I close my eyes and let the water beat down on me.

---

 

I saw them across the street.

Everyday. I had pleaded and begged and sacrificed my job in the beginning just to have this window cubicle. With the perfect view of the Gucci store, I had done everything to be able to see my boyfriend work while I worked. It had given me peace of mind to glance up and see him, smiling handomely and attracting customers and winking when there were no cars on the street between us.

Some people might think I was overprotective and a little on the creepy side; not only did I see him after work and during lunch, but I had to keep an eye on him during work too?

And I would have retaliated, Yes. I love him that much. I need to see him with every breath I take.

I still believe that is true. And that is why every breath I have now grows shallower and more lifeless.

The more I saw of them, Kris leaning against the main door and chatting animatedly with Tao or them walking out for lunch together, the more I wanted to trade my cubicle for any other workspace, as long as it was away from those cursed windows.

When Kris was promoted to head manager, as was his dream come true, he had decided to celebrate it with Tao.

It was one of the many nights that he would not be home on time. I had waited for him for hours, watching TV or doing chores and afraid to fall asleep, in case I might miss him. I stayed up until 4 in the morning, rubbing my eyes and forcing myself to stay awake. I was worried about him.

He came home and was irritable and snappish from lack of sleep when I asked him why.

"Why not?" he growled, pushing me aside to enter the bedroom. "A guy can't party?"

I stifled a yawn. "What do you mean, 'party'? It's almost 5!"

"Yes, I was out celebrating late. Give me a break, Yixing." Kris groaned and loosened his tie. "I was promoted to head manager. Can you please just be happy for me and drop the subject?"

I stared at him. He never called me Yixing, always Lay, his pet name for me.

And he'd celebrated without me. We used to always celebrate when one of us was promoted at work. We would party, just the two of us.

He entered the shower before I could demand him more answers.

As I lay in bed reading my book, feeling exhausted but still wanting to stay awake to question my boyfriend some more, he walked out of the steamy bathroom with nothing but a towel around his hips. His chest was well defined and toned and his hair stood up in wet spikes. 

I was very , to say the least. And very hopeful. I shuffled to sit up a little straighter, struggling to keep my eyes on his face and not on his body.

But Kris wasn't looking at me. He stared at his hands awkwardly, grumbling a little. "And, uh. I...I think I'm going to sleep in the guest room tonight."

My book lay forgotten in my lap as my heart seemed to stop. Eveny my hard-on couldn't distract me from his words.

"...W-What? Why?" I managed to croak.

"I just..." he paused, looking up with dark, expressionless eyes. "I need some space. Good night, Yixing." He shuffled away.

My mouth was still open long after he left.

No matter how severe our fights had been in the past, we never slept apart. Now this...we hadn't even been in a fight.

But for once, I wish we had.

 

I wince as I step out of the shower. The humid, steamed-up bathroom reminds me of that memory with Kris. I sure had a lot of firsts with him after Tao.

There are blisters covering my feet, from my brainless trek out through the snow in only slippers. My legs still feel frozen. I look up in the mirror and note that my lips are only just fading from the abnormal shade of blue.

And that my cheeks are sharply chiseled from the last time I checked. And that my eyes were more like two emotionless pebbles than human eyes. 

I have now become a statue. Kris Wu has made me into a statue.

I run the towel across my skin, rubbing it raw before I feel the pain. I scrub it through my hair and tie it at my hips, biting my lip as the scene looks an awful lot like how Kris looked that night.

I stare at the thin long cuts along my wrist, imagining the sick enjoyment of pain as the knife reopened those wounds.

I clench my pale fists and stare as the veins underneath my slashed wrists pop out. No. I promised Kris would stop.

And I'm such an idiot. Because I still hang on to the belief that when Kris comes back, he'll come back alone. Without Tao. And yearning only for me. After all, we haven't broken up yet. Not officially, although I'm sure the bonds of our relationship have long been severed by an Wu Shu panda.

I want to yell at you, to stamp my feet in frustration and ask you: why won't you understand how much I love you? Why are you spending so much time with Tao? Do you even notice me? I want to scream with anger, grief, and cry like you were already leaving me. And yet. I still want to kiss you, to hug you and hold you tight and squeeze your body against mine, and know that you are mine.

But you aren't. 

Not anymore. 

On days like these where I've already ditched work and am particularly depressed, I do one of two things: take out the knife and cut, or go to the dingy bar a block away and see how much I can handle before I've drunk myself unconscious.

Seeing the scars on my arms disgust me. I throw on a thick thermal undershirt and pull my head through a white hoodie, grabbing skinny jeans and long socks as I head towards the door. I take my beanie and boots; there's no need to wear much when I'm going to be in a stinking heated joint, pouring liquid fire down my throat.

My fingers close around a pair of fine leather gloves, but I hesitate to take it. Gucci gloves, a Christmas present from Kris during the second year of our relationship. Kris paid extra to have my initials, ZY, embroidered with fine gold thread, on the back of the hands. I wore them as often as I could when I received them. I haven't touched them in a long while.

No. Not today. I leave the gloves lying on the counter and head out.

---

 

"Ayo, Lay." The tall curly-haired bartender greets me with a wink. I stiffen. It's something Kris would say.

He looks me up and down quick. My fingers automatically flit over my arms, checking to make sure they're covered by the sleeves of the hoodie. His gaze softens.

"No, he hasn't dropped by. Sorry." Chanyeol shakes his head and looks down. He continues to rub at a glass with an oily rag that looks like it used to be some shade of white. "Really, Lay, you should just—"

"Don't tell me to stop thinking about him, Yeol. It doesn't work like that." My voice sounds strangled and hoarse with disuse. I kick the snow off my boots and hang my beanie on a small dingy hook near the door. The bar is dim and littered with junk, but I've been here often enough to navigate around blindfolded.

I'd never been to this place until Kris left. He strongly disapproved of trashy joints like these. But after he left, I practically reside here. I've even gotten to know the bartender Chanyeol. He whips up some pretty good cocktails if you know him or if you tip him well enough. 

I slouch into my usual seat at the bar and raise a finger, my head slumped down as if I were already drunk. "The usual."

Chanyeol sighed. "I ain't a bartender for no reason, man, but even for me you're a heavy drinker to an unhealthy level."

"I don't want to ask again," I growl harshly. He mumbles something and turns away to prepare the shot glasses. My chest caves in as I recognize how much I sound like Kris.

"Get yourself the same. I'm feeling generous today," I add. I'm not feeling generous. I'm not feeling anything at all. Maybe drinking with someone can help me pretend I have a friend, at least for a little moment.

Chanyeol grimaces. "Thanks, hyung. But I know my alcoholic limits, and I definitely can't take all that." His tone is pointed, as if recalling the dozen times the bar manager had him carry me to my apartment. He obviously didn't enjoy it.

He readies the drinks and turns, lining up the four whiskey shot glasses, one glass of a vodka cocktail, and two glasses of brandy. "Those are yours," he mutters. "Here's mine." He places two shots in front of himself and we clink the first glass.

The door opens again, letting in a blast of biting cold air and snow before it is hurriedly closed. My eyes tilt sideways as I pour the whiskey down my throat, and I nearly choke.

It is the man from the bus stop, so many months ago.

And by his startled face, he seems to have recognized me, too.

---

 

"Hyung!" Chanyeol says anxiously as I nearly cough up a lung. I raise a finger to signify I'm okay, but his eyebrows, already furrowed from the strong whiskey, scrunches up even more.

The man stands at the doorway for a couple seconds, looking on as if not knowing what to do. He scratches at his neck and shoulders off his coat after a few more seconds, looking awkward. He gives me a warm, almost nervous smile as he slides into the bar stool next to me. I grimace back and down the second shot.

"I know you," I say in a hoarse voice thick with alcohol. I wipe my mouth across my sleeve. "Months ago."

He nods gravely. "Yes, it was a long time." It's refreshing to hear his clear, soft voice. "I'm assuming we both were in a crisis at that moment?" 

I nod. His eyes dart down to my arm, widening a little. I follow his gaze and realize my sleeve has rolled up, the long slashes of a painful past exposed. I shake my hand to cover them up and he looks away, too quickly to be natural.

"I still am in one," I reply grimly and tell Chanyeol, "Give this good man a drink. What would you like?"

The man is about to open his mouth, but the young bartender has already turned away. "You're not the only regular in these parts, y'know," he says sarcastically.

"And I don't even know your name," I say, turning back to the man next to me. I don't know why I'm talking so much all of a sudden, and Chanyeol seems to be thinking the same thing with the weird looks he gives me. This man is a complete stranger, but I feel like we have something in common. Maybe it's because I can relate to him. Besides, there's just something about him that makes me open up.

He smiles. It's a nice, innocent smile that has none of the cold falseness Kris's smiles always have. "Kim Joonmyeon. And you?"

"Call me Lay."

"Lay," he muses, ducking his head. For half a second, I panic. What if this guy knows Kris? Kris has a lot of connections.

And then I think, why the hell should I care? He abandoned me and ran off to who-knows-where without telling me. And we're still officially together!

Joonmyeon smiles at me, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Well, it's nice to meet the man that has haunted my dreams ever since our meeting that day."

I stare at him. What?

"I—uh—I mean, you've just been on my mind ever since. A man of mystery, because we talked and I never knew your name. You know?" His smile turns into a cute, awkward contortion of an embarrassed frown, and I just have to laugh.

I haven't laughed in ages. It feels like a lot of weight is being lifted off my chest.

He laughs uncomfortably. I notice he is quite handsome, with his tall nose, smooth forehead, defined jaw and full plump lips. He doesn't seem to smile often, but when he does it lights up his cheeks and touches his eyes. He turns to accept the drink from Chanyeol, and I notice his smooth neck and creamy pale skin.

Kris.

Why must everything return back to him? All these wonderful traits of Joonmyeon's, I notice only because they are similar to the wonderful traits of Kris. Why can't they be just Joonmyeon's? Why must I be stuck on Kris for so long?

"Are—are you okay?" The man from the bus stop asks awkwardly, tilting his head at my expression.

"I—uh. Yeah." I grab my vodka cocktail and take a swallow, feeling the strong liquor burn my throat and enjoying it. "So what brings you here?"

"A lot of things. I come here when I'm lonely." He looks down and plays with his glass.

"Because I'm so enjoyable." Chanyeol grins goofily. I roll my eyes. Pfft. Self-proclaimed "happy virus."

Joonmyeon laughs, and my frozen heart leaps when I hear the lighthearted sound. And then I think about Kris's deeper, ier laugh and my heart shatters like a piece of fragile ice. 

"And you?" He looks up at me with bright, wise eyes.

"Same reason." I remain nonchalant, but my insides twist. I come here to try to forget about my boyfriend. It never works.

Joonmyeon sighs. "I know I've just met you, but can I tell you something?"

"Yeah." I stare at my empty cocktail glass. The alcohol has started to make me feel fuzzy and sluggish, but I grab my brandy and shake my head. We sit side by side, drinking for a while before Joonmyeon slams down his glass.

"I don't know you, and I don't know your problems, but it looks like you're having a hard time." He clears his throat, but I notice his expression glazing over. He's getting loopy from the liquor, swaying a little in his seat. "Well, I am too. I broke up with my girlfriend the day we met. I realized I was gay." He coughs and his head seems a bit too heavy for his shoulders.

Chanyeol shakes his head. I open my mouth but I don't know what to say.

"I liked this one guy...but he didn't like me back. We were at work...he kissed me because he wanted to figure out himself whether he was gay or straight." He leaned over a little, his eyelids fluttering. I jerked away instinctively. "He was straight, apparently. And I was gay."

"No, stop," I hear myself say, but I don't feel entirely in the moment. I'm lightheaded and my mind is whirling.

"And...he left me there, sitting by the water cooler. The water cooler. Can you believe it? My first kiss with a guy was by a water cooler at twenty-two years old. And I've been gay my entire life, I just didn't know it because I always dated girls. I never loved them, I just dated them."

"Stop!" My voice is hoarse, but this time it is louder and more clear. A few customers turn to me. Chanyeol glances over from serving another customer.

Joonmyeon glances up fuzzily. "Lay?"

But I'm already stumbling off my bar stool, and out the door. I need to throw up.

 

 

 

I crash through the door of my apartment, swaying on my feet, but the pain in my head is too much. I head for the bathroom but it's too far away, so I spill the contents of my stomach on the carpet instead. It reeks of loneliness and alcohol and the acid burns my throat. I collapse onto my knees, tears falling and mixing into the stinking greenish vomit.

This is too much. This is too much.

I've waited three months for Kris already. Three months too many. I don't think I can stand it anymore.

I crawl on my hands and knees to the telephone, clutching it with shaky fingers covered in puke and blood and snot. I'm a ing mess. This is what you have done to me, Kris.

I don't know what Joonmyeon said that set me off. It just hurts too much already. The cage I have kept the pain locked in has finally burst, and I don't know what to do.

As the cliched line from Korean dramas, eeottokae?

I smile grimly despite myself, tasting the gunk spread around me. Korean dramas. The ones Kris and I used to watch together.

No. Stop it, Lay.

I need the phone. I need to call him. Why was I so stupid as to not have even wondered where he was before?

I feel like I need to vomit again. I hold it in and turn the phone around with my trembling fingers, ready to dial his number. And then I pause.

What if he changed his number so he couldn't find me? What if he didn't bring his cell phone with him? He never answered his phone the first week I was frantic to find him. What if he turned it off? Whatifwhatifwhatif

Shut the up Lay, and just dial.

But before I could summon up the courage to press the first number, the phone rang in my hands.

I shriek and drop it, letting it land in the pile of stinking puke with a squelching sound. I grimace, but I'm already covered up in the stuff anyway.

My heart pounds. It feels alive again.

What if...it's him?

No one ever called our house for me. It was always for him. 

It can only be him.

But now, I'm too afraid to pick up the phone.

I stand there, stunned, like a statue, like an idiot, and listen to the last ring sound. The beep goes to voicemail. There's a short pause, and then a breath.

I gasp. It's Kris.

He never goes to voicemail. But now, he speaks. In Chinese. His rich, oh-so-familiar voice resonates in the room and I tremble. Tears streak down my face.

"Yixing. I  know you're there. Don't—don't pick up. I'd rather say this now than later." He takes another deep breath. 

"It's been a while hasn't it? But I'm not calling to check up on you. Unfortunately not. I haven't told you where I am, right? Well, don't bother checking the caller ID, because I'm contacting you from a payphone." Short pause. "Uh, Yixing? Yeah. Um. Real reason is...sorry I haven't told you. But I'm in China. And we're over. Um. Goodbye."

There's another short pause, and then his phone clicks as he hangs up. The beep beep beep beep beep of the hangup tone blares in this empty bedroom.

Reeking of puke, loneliness, and heartbreak.

Numbly, I reach over to hang up the phone. My body feels stiff, as if it's already dead.

I might as well be.

He ended it. He ended it. Kris had said it.

We're over. Goodbye.

---

 

Am I hurt?

I don't think so. I don't think I feel at all.

My hands tremble. They are pale. My lips are slightly parted, but I can't close my mouth. I need the oxygen.

As with all breakups, I run the questions through my head. Why? How? What? Whywhywhywhy

Why did he do it?

How long has he been thinking about it? How could he?

What did I do wrong?

Because Kris is reasonable. He's a rational, reasonable person. He wouldn't break up with me, only if I did something wrong. My hand reaches over to where the phone is, fluttering in the air, but I can't reach it from where I sit, slumping at the edge of the bed in my own puke and blood and stink. 

This is why. He broke up with me because of the mess I've become. I wasn't the old Lay, I suppose.

This is why.

I drop my arm uselessly beside me. It's no longer attached to me; it's just an object, animate and inanimate, on and off.

But this is too strange. I need to do something about this. My not feeling. My nonfeels.

I need to feel. Why don't I feel heartbroken? Why aren't I crushed?

Maybe it's because I've already hurt far longer before this. Maybe, I've already gotten used to the pain that the final thud of it won't have any impact.

I've already lost my heart to Kris. I've lost my heart, my blood, every vital organ and everything else, my breath and my soul, to him. There's nothing left to lose. There's nothing left for him to tear out of my body and claim as his. I'm just a hollow, empty shell of a human.

This is why.

I get up. I don't know why I can move my legs, but I stumble to the sink. My vision swims. I'm drunker than I thought.

I collapse at the edge of my sink. I look up, slowly, into the mirror, to reveal to me my hideous self. The hideous self Kris broke up with.

And here he is. His light brown hair, gone dry and brittle and dead without care. Skin that is just as dry and dead, flaking even. Cheekbones greatly emphasized with the meals alone, stinging with countless dried tears. Eyes that are sunken in, smaller, with the large impact of the bulging bags and dark circles underneath. 

This person's circles can give Tao a run for his money.

And I don't blame Tao. I hate his name, but I don't hate him. Because he has done nothing wrong to me. Yet, neither has Kris. It was all me and my selfish ways.

Me.

I dip my head down so I don't have to see myself, and I remember.

 

After Kris got me a car and started to make the guest room his own, everything changed.

Kris often spent more time with Tao than with me. I had almost gotten used to it, except it still hurt to see them together. Because Kris hadn't broken up with me, he was still my boyfriend. And gradually I just let the flow of things happen.

We drifted apart.

I almost never saw him anymore. When I was getting ready for bed, he would just arrive from work. His room was his safe haven; he hardly ever visited mine, except maybe to borrow a pair of underwear. 

Kris would sometimes spend the night at Tao's apartment in the city. It's to finalize some work, he would always say as his excuse. He would come home after his so-called work was done, but with his growing lack of enthusiasm and dullness around me, I always wondered whether or not they were really working.

Finally, one day I exploded.

I stormed up to him at lunch break just as he and Tao were going off to their favorite sandwich place, formerly mine and Kris's favorite sandwich place.

"Why aren't you answering any of my calls? What have you been doing out so late, every single day? And why the is 5 million won drawn out of our bank account?"

Kris cast a furtive glance at me and then at Tao. The boy was looking uncomfortable; we rarely saw each other. Kris spoke a few words in Tao's ear, painstakingly close, and I tried not to punch them both.

Tao was ushered off and Kris turned to me, his eyebrows knit together. I clenched my fists. It was as if he was the one who was supposed to be angry.

"What?" he growled, annoyed. "I have to go to an important lunch meeting with Tao as my assistant representative and I'll be late!" He checked his Gucci watch, as if to make a point.

"I don't care! Answer my questions!" I insisted. I just wanted one thing from him. I tried to hold back my tears. "Or is your little meeting more important than us?"

He looked away, clenching his jaw, but he didn't answer. I tried not to let that small reaction hurt. But it did.

Kris sighed, turning back to me. "If it makes you happy, Yixing, I've been really busy lately, alright? I'm sorry I can't go home on time, Gucci is hugely involved in the Beijing fashion show this year and as the manager of a huge Gucci branch in Korea, I've been prepping a lot. Trust me when I say that I camp out at Tao's place simply to get work-related things done. Really. I'm sorry and I miss your cooking." He took a deep breath and smiled a little, gazing into my eyes. For a split second, he reminded me why I fell for him in the first place.

I clenched my jaw instead. "You never answered my question about the 5 million won."

"Oh...that. Uh..." Kris scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "Gucci limited edition bag. Tao's birthday present."

The .

"From our joint account?!?!" I shouted, turning a few heads. "AND YOU NEVER TOLD ME?"

Kris frowned at me. "Calm down, Yixing! Look, I really need to go, I'm sorry, but I'll be late and it won't look good as a manager. You don't want me to lose face, right? Really, we can talk about this later if you want, I'll draw money out of my own account, anything. Just let me go." He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, but it wasn't even a real kiss. It was an air kiss that barely brushed my skin. He strode away, but stopped before he crossed the street. He looked almost guilty to say what he said next.

"Oh and—can we just not meet in public anymore? It's nothing personal, I just—as head manager and you being an accountant, it—oh God. I didn't mean it to sound like that. I'll explain later, bye."

Without another word, he left.

I had not felt more crushed and pained in my life.

 

Since that day, it's been three months. One more month of arguing and cold shoulders, of dull nights sitting together in front of the TV but on opposite sides of the couch—considering that he had been home. I made a friend as Kris had made a friend of Tao, Lu Han. And then, Joonmyeon. But they just weren't the same as Kris. He couldn't fill the spot that Kris had hollowed out.

And then, the more we drifted, the more numb I felt. It was like a deep abyss that swallowed me, an abyss of pain and sadness that froze my whole body into numbness.

That must explain why I am so numb now.

I look up again, but not into the mirror. That's too painful. My eyes groggily scan the countertop and spot something shiny. My robot fingers reach over, slowly, to inspect it.

They clasp around something hard and round and bring it back to my eyes. A small silver band with intricate carvings and an elegant K engraved in the middle.

Kris's couple ring.

He hadn't even brought it with him when he disappeared, which I assumed was to the Beijing fashion show.

My slow mind can only utter, but...but...Butbutbut we were still together then.

I can only think now, For him, we ended long before that.

A teardrop splashes onto the K of the ring. My face is so numb, I didn't even notice I was crying.

---

 

There is nothing left. Nothing for me.

I'm at the beach now. It was my favorite beach to go to with Kris, when we were still intimate lovers. It was also my sanctuary, a peaceful place for me to cool down alone when I needed to.

Now I consider drowning myself here.

The weather is dark and gloomy. Patches of dirty snow lie across the sand. The waves, before beautiful and calming, are now angry torrenting monsters that scream coldness and death. There is nothing left for me, even at this beach.

I walk away from the ocean waves, so tempting and yet so repulsive, and I go home.

The fresh air has done no good for me, as I hoped it would. It has not cleared my head, except to convince me that killing myself here would be cowardly.

I head straight to my room when I arrive at the apartment. It still reeks. Of loneliness and stale breath, but also of tears and puke and blood. It's a horrible place.

But I return to my spot on the bed. I pick up where I left off with sorting the ties, to the precision of fabric to color to pattern. It seems so out of place with the stinking vomit on the floor just below—to sort silky, expensive ties in an environment that would make a sober person's head spin. But I still do what I do every month, leaving the ripped purple tie and the Gucci tie signed Tao aside.

Even when we started drifting apart I would still sort his ties for him. I guess I should do it one last time.

And then I grab a seafoam-colored tie with a wintergreen-colored tie and knot them together.

I take another of similar color and pattern and tie that in with the others, to form a long silky rope. Dried tear stains sting my face and the cuts in my wrists.

Kris did not know of the pain I went through. He was oblivious with Tao around. And I cannot blame Tao for anything. I still want to blame him for entering my man's life and making my man fall in love with him. I want to blame him for my constant thoughts of suicide, of my cutting and becoming of an alcoholic and smoking.

It's surprising how much you can change for the worse in three months.

Kris doesn't know about this. About any of this. He never bothered to check on me.

It's like I never existed.

I take one last tie and knot it on the end of the strong rope I've made. I pull on my new rope to test it's strength, and then wrap the length of the rope around my neck to measure.

And now I understand. What Kris had been trying to say that day, when he didn't want us to meet in public.

I was just an accountant at East bank, while he was a high class head manager of the Gucci store. Just because we worked across the street from each other didn't mean our jobs were of the same league—the amount he earned made my salary look like a weekly grocery allowance. He was too good for me. He was classy, in the world of fashion and marketing sales. I was a nobody.

I was just a geek.

I am just a geek.

A geek. A little nerd who sits in front of the computer, typing away all day.

A nobody.

I wonder if real boyfriends look at their partners like that. I wonder if that has been in Kris's mind all along.

I'm not good enough for him.

Obviously not. He found someone else.

But it doesn't mean I didn't suffer.

I tie one end of the rope into itself to form a loop. I hook the other end around a small hook in the ceiling. It used to hold the ceiling fan before I took it off and smashed it in one of my drunk rages.

This should be good enough. The ties are of good quality and very strong. The hook shouldn't rip out until after I am done.

I grab a chair and scoot it under the rope. I still feel effortlessly numb. And yet this—this feels like revenge.

No more cutting. I never had guts to end my life that way anyway. No more reminiscing. No more pain.

I haven't seen Kris in a long time. But I still love him. I cannot get over him.

Why is life so cruel? Why is love such a ?

But I can end this all. All of it. I cannot control that Kris is with Tao. I cannot control who Kris loves. But I can control my own fate.

I climb up on the chair. I fit the noose around my neck and take a deep breath.

I note that the tie that will choke me to death, the tie that the noose is made out of, is the Gucci tie signed by Tao. How fitting.

I still love Kris. I still love him.

Would he think of me after this?

Never mind. After all, I am just a geek.

I kick the chair away. I feel my throat constricting immediately, but this time I don't pull at the rope in desperation.

This time.

I let go.

---

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