It’s a habit I can break. I’ll admit, it’s a habit I should’ve broken from the very end.

For months, every morning had been the same. He would wake and rise like the gentle sun over the blue hills on icy mornings, brushing my hair from my face before getting up to open the blinds. The natural light would flow into the small white space, and I stirred, stretching noisily only to roll onto his side of the bed. It always felt warmer there and he let me curl up under the pale gray sheets for another five minutes before calling my name. His deep voice echoed from inside the bathroom, signaling my turn to get up. I would inhale a last breath of his lingering scent and finally slide my legs from under the covers and set my feet onto the wood floor. I would join him for our morning routine in front of the sink and ample mirror, but not before wrapping my arms around his bare waist and kissing his cheek, then resting the side of my face on his shoulder blade. I stayed there, feeling the quick movement of his muscles under his tan skin as he finished brushing his teeth. I would press my ear to his body and smile upon picking up on the beat of his heart. He once asked me why I did that. Put simply, it was comforting. He would turn in my embrace, return the smile and place a hand on my hip. I loved the feeling of his sure fingers on my chin and the sensation of overwhelming weakness in the moments he would look into my eyes and then glance at his favorite part of me. Inches disappeared between us and so did the world. His hold tightened slightly and then his full lips were on mine. It would be timid at first, like a gentle autumn breeze that just encourages the fallen leaves to start tip-toeing across the sidewalk. Soon enough, the wind would pick up and the amber leaves were sent dancing into the air.

I withdraw from these recollections as I take my next step on this familiar street. The leaves, once vivid, are now drained of their color, wrinkled and plastered against the wet asphalt. I don’t quite know why I still take this route to school. I should go back to the less scenic walk I accustomed before he took my hand that day.

"Let me show you another way," he’d said, striking me with one of his enthusiastic smiles as he laced his cold fingers with mine.

It felt so right then. Now, the effects of the short trip are reflected on the spider veins of the weathered sidewalk. My feet land on them, making them disappear momentarily, but too many are still visible. It’s silly to pretend to clear them anyway.

I keep my head down as the guilt stirs in my stomach and invades my mind. A block remains before I’ll see him again. Him and his boyfriend. There was no doubt in my mind that Minho had shown this very street to this older, better man.

The first time I spotted them, I was so hurt I nearly burst into tears. I was trudging up to the east side of the university, the sun struggling to break from behind heavy fog. My fingers were beginning to feel numb. I remember because they wouldn’t have been had I not forgotten to take my gloves from his apartment, along with everything else that was mine.

The jacket I wore had no pockets, and my breath could only do so much to warm my reddening hands. It had been a week since Minho left me, so I thought I’d wiped away enough tears to bear entering the cafe we had once called ‘ours’.

I walked briskly to the pine green door and pulled on it’s old brass handle. I cursed under my breath as ice itself couldn’t have stung my fingers as badly.

It didn’t matter though. The next thing I saw overpowered everything I was feeling. The numbness of my fingers, the stiffness of my exposed skin, the soreness of my legs, and the strength I thought I had; all gone.

The sweet sound of Minho’s boyish laughter filled the small shop. The other man was feeding him his favorite morning pastry in bits that were delivered with bare fingers. Minho eagerly accepted every bite and then took careful sips of his black coffee. Two cubes of sugar, no cream.

They were in the corner under the ambient yellow light, sharing the same cushioned bench we were so fond of because we could sit closer together.

The man looked up at me as he pushed his rimless glasses into place. He had been smiling rather warmly, until he gauged my overall appearance.

Did he know? He must’ve known.

He turned to tell Minho something. Probably to ask if he knew who I was, since in the next second our eyes met.

There was a brief pause, and my breath caught in my throat so thickly I might’ve choked. For a moment, his stare was deeply troubled, but his posture did not betray whatever thoughts had crossed his mind. He quickly looked away to face the man who was keeping him company. His eyebrows were raised as he shook his head and went back to pinching off more bites of his poppyseed muffin.

I had accepted being someone he used to know, but right then he had turned me into a complete stranger. Not any more important or relevant than the people walking the streets outside.

I swallowed the knot in my throat and it fell right through me, getting heavier until it settled in my stomach like an anchor.

I fled the shop feeling colder and number than before with tears threatening to spill from the corners of my eyes. I hadn’t meant to slam the door behind me, but I hoped it shook the frame hard enough to let Minho know that he was wrong.

I didn’t cry. Not while I was that vulnerable. I went on with my day, but I don’t remember much about it. It’s probably for the best.

Since then, I’ve continued to walk up this street, and every time I’ve been able to see them and they’ve been able to see me. Whether or not the other man had learned about us is still a mystery to me, but Minho knew all too well and that’s all that mattered. Making sure he didn’t catch a break was all that mattered.

Walking past this place after the incident began that way. Now it’s been so long, I only do it out of habit. They say those are hard to break.

A chattering group of girls emerges from the cafe, and I stand beside the flower boxes, which contain nothing but damp dirt, to let them pass. I take my cue and peer through the window.

The corner bench is unoccupied. They aren’t there. I search the rest of the shop, but again, they aren’t there.

I step away from the window and stand in place, feeling a fresh breeze wash over my body. I don’t know what I should be feeling, but I don’t feel the least bit confused. The bitterness and hurt have been long gone, leaving me an empty shell of what used to be.

The huddled clouds float on and allow the sun some space to peek from behind them. I cast my eyes downward and find my shadow. It’s not very visible, still rather ghostly.

As I part with steps of the cafe, I wonder how many others before me have shared his bed, how many others haunt this quaint area off campus, and whether he is one of them.

A/N: Hey there :) I worked on this over a span of about two weeks. The first half came quickly and easily, but there was so much I had to include, even just hint at, and writing can get complex lol I'm finally satisfied with it.

I hope you liked it and can give me your toughts on this piece. It really means the world when you share your comments/reactions/questions/concerns! lol

Thank you for reading; take care~ ❀