They had nothing to say to each other.

What were words supposed to explain anyway? Their lack of love for one another? The evidence, that no feelings bonded them together any more?

The reality was that neither knew how their lives had ended up like this. How, the years spent together, had been able, not to bring them closer, but to drive them apart.

A mile each day.

Yet, their memories were there, banging at the closed doors of their hearts, screaming, begging for a minute of attention. But neither would listen.

Neither cared.

It was almost unbelievable that a love like theirs, had so easily faded, been washed away like a vulgar piece of dirt on their way.

Taemin could remember clearly, how his heart would race insanely at each and every time Minho's eyes would look at his direction. How his breath would hitch and how he would instinctively inhale the man's scent. That unexplainably addicting fragrance of the exiquisite mix of mint and testosterone, that never failed to take him to heaven.

He remembered the joy of the shared moments before and after the start of their relationship. The pleasure of the intimate moments that used to consume them. The taste of the older man's lips.

He could also recall the anger, disppointment and sadness felt, the bitter after-taste left by the arguments they had had; the tears he had shed and the sweetness of each reconciliation.

He remembered it all, yet, none of these memories had the same value any more.

Honestly, Minho regretted these moments. He wished time hadn't flown by so fast, that it hadn't taken their once cherished feelings to a ride so far away from them.

He didn't know how it had happened or when it had started. He could just remember that one day, his life depended on Taemin's, on the younger's smile and presence; and that the other, he felt completely indifferent to wether the man was there or not.

He used to do everything in his power to make the younger happy, to please him. He used to wake up in the morning already longing to see Taemin's face, to hear his voice. His days always went on with the certainty of having the other waiting for him with his arms open. And though they occasionally had their moments of discordance, of serious arguments, neither had ever gone as far as to mention break up.

These were the words that had never crossed their minds, the heavy words neither felt the right to utter. Not even when their relationship hit the seven years mark and they slowly started drifting apart.

From then, the routing they had fell into after their third anniversary had started eating them up. No matter what they did to try to solve the problem, to spike up their relationship: dates, trips, role-plays; nothing worked for too long. Everything seemed to quickly lose their interest.

Before they knew it, the mornings together weren't as expected as before. Their talks were progressively reduced. The goodnight kisses lost their meaning, became dull. And the long days away from each other started being appreciated.

And so, both started collecting business trips, each longer than the previous one. The more time away, the less they thought about the other.

The less they felt sick of each other.

And, just like the business trips, they collected love affairs. Anyone that wouldn't remind them of the one they had once loved, worked. All both wanted, was to relieve the stress of the lost cause that had to deal with daily.

Though none would admit it, both knew about the other's adventures. But, because they felt too ashamed and guilty, neither ever dared to speak up.

What was there to say anyway, when they were both in the wrong?

The seven years crisis was what they had forced themselves to believe in. Weren't all couples victims of this strange phenomenon? Why would they be any different?

But then, their eighth anniversary came by faster than imagined, closely followed by the nineth, and they were still together victims of the silence that replaced the laughter that once filled the apartment they shared.

When they caught up wih their tenth anniversary, the two of them already knew things couldn't go farther from there. Yet, neither had the guts to say it, both hoping that somehow they could still patch up the remaing torn pieces of their relationship.

They clang to each other, not because of love, but because they were afraid. Afraid of letting go of the only thing they had known for the past years. Giving up on the security of having someone to run to if needed.

Just like a mentally troubled person subconsciously holds onto their symptoms, for fear of losing a part of their identity, they held onto each other, for fear of getting lost.

But there's this saying, that nothing lasts forever, and it surely was the case for their patience. At some point, they found themselves actually having a real talk for the first time in months. The two of them trying to say the things they had bottled up for the three past years without hurting the other, before silence installed itself again.

Now, Taemin just sat on their bed, observing quietly as the clothes were neatly folded and put inside Minho's suitcase. Not making a movement to help, but not one to prevent him either.

The calm both were sporting could be extremely disconcerting to whoever witnessed the scene. Yet, for them, it was more than natural.

Break up.

This had never been considerated before. Who would even think of that ever reaching a long running relationship like theirs? People would be surprised, shocked even, to discover such thing was happening, but the truth was: there was no more relationship for a long time now.

There were just two stangers, living together, sharing a past and a bed.

As the last piece of clothe found its way to the suitcase, and Minho closed the lid of it, Taemin swallowed in thickly.

The way to the entrance door was made in complete silence, and as Minho pushed the luggage out of the door, and turned to look at him, their eyes locked for the last time.

Taemin opened his mouth, wishing he could say something, anything, just so things wouldn't end this way; but what could he possibly say, when the man standing in front of him had become just one more of the millions out there?

Minho let out a small sigh, shaking his head, signaling his understanding. He too, wished there was something to be said: an “I'm sorry” maybe, but these would be just one more lie, so he decided not to talk.

And just like that, the eye contact was broken, and one more door was closed.

When two strangers knew each others so well, words were useless. 

A/N: So... there it is. Me, breaking 2min up again... I'm so sorry T_T it's not my fault if my fingers type such words (eh....) Anyway. I hope you guys enjoyed (if possible). This is actually my second story starting with "They had nothing to say to each other" (sentence found on creativewritingprompts.com) and man, they're such opposites... You can check it here, it's a Jongkey.

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With love, Soo <3