For a few moment silence reigns in the small kitchen, the only sound Hanbin’s heart pounding in his own ears and the gentle hum of traffic from the street below. They are all frozen, like painted figures in a strange tragic tableau. Jinhwan is the first to move, setting down the cup he was holding on the counter beside him with a clatter that rings through the room. He glances at his watch, and then back at Hanbin and Jiwon.

“I told Yunhyeong I’d meet him at 4:30 and I’m already late, I should get going.”

He pushes himself out the counter and walks towards Hanbin, as he passes him on his way out he leans in and whispers softly in Hanbin’s ear.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to trap you like this but it’s the only way to get you two to talk. Please don’t be too angry.”

Then he’s gone, and it’s just Jiwon and Hanbin alone.  For what feels a long while Hanbin just stands there in shock, words still frozen in his mouth. Jiwon is the first one too move. He gestures awkwardly towards the discarded sack of pastries on the floor.

“You, uh, you dropped your bag.”

It takes a second for it to register and then Hanbin feels his face go red and he hurriedly leans down to pick up the bag and walks over to the counter, trying his best to avoid eye contact as he goes. He sets the pastries down and busies himself with getting out a Tupperware bin and carefully fitting them in. He doesn’t look at Jiwon because he’s not sure he can hold it together if he does so he keeps his back to him and fiddles and tries to stop his hands from shaking. He can hear Jiwon moving around behind him, hear the rustle of the fabric of his jacket as he shifts in his chair, the nervous tapping of his fingers on the ceramic of his mug, the rasp of his breath. He can see him too, a dark blur in the corners of his eye just visible in peripheral vision. In this moment he is intensely, painfully aware of Jiwon’s presence in the room, of his every movement. It feels like he’s suffocating, it feels like he’s learning how to breath again. Once more it’s Jiwon who breaks the silence and it nearly makes Hanbin jump.

“I can leave if you want me to.”

Hanbin doesn’t turn, just grips the counter and stares down at his neatly packed Tupperware.

“You don’t have to leave.”

Please don’t leave.

The words hang in the air, heavy and leaden and Hanbin almost wishes he could take them back. Jiwon doesn’t reply and quiet falls over the room again like a blanket. Sometimes it seems like his conversations with Jiwon are just long stretches of silence with words thrown in between. It wasn’t always like that, Jiwon used to talk too much and Hanbin was happy to listen to him but somewhere in between then and now that changed and now the quiet fills the moments between them.

“Please, Hanbin, look at me.”

And Jiwon sounds so broken, so resigned, so different from the bitter anger in his apartment that Hanbin finds himself turning around with out even thinking about it. Jiwon is standing now, hands loose and limp by his sides staring at Hanbin with wistful eyes and a look of hope and hurt on his face and Hanbin’s breath catches in his throat because Jiwon is still beautiful with the afternoon light filtering through the curtains and dancing across the lines of his face. And Hanbin thinks that Jiwon is beautiful in the way that winter storms and broken glass and tragic plays are beautiful. They are beautiful yes, but they are dangerous. And to love broken glass and winter storms and everything in between is to bleed. Jiwon is a tragedy wrapped up in a human skin and it’s hard to love a tragedy without becoming one yourself.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry, for how I acted before. I was hurt and I lashed out and it was wrong.”

Hanbin shrugs, rubs at a callus on his palm.

“I’m sorry too.”

Jiwon lets out a little laugh and there’s no humor in it.

“I guess we both have a lot to be sorry for.”

He sits downs again, letting out a sigh. There’s something boneless about the movement, like all of his strings have been cut and all he can do is fall. Hanbin follows him, sits down in the chair across from him.

“Why are you here, Jiwon?”

Jiwon looks down at the now cool cup of tea in front of him, looks out the window, at the ceiling, looks everywhere but Hanbin. Finally he swallows, and his voice is so quiet that even though he’s sitting just across the table he has to strain to hear him.

“Because I’m not ready to let you go yet.”

Hanbin’s mouth goes dry, because this is what he was afraid of (this is maybe what he wanted to hear all along)

“Jiwon- I can’t-“

Jiwon doesn’t let him finish though, eyes wide and desperate.

“What we had, we had something good. And a year apart can’t change that, you… do you still love me?”

Hanbin wants so badly to run, from this room and this conversation and Jiwon’s wild eyes. It’s strange, when they were together it always felt like a fight for Jiwon’s love. Felt like a struggle to hold them together but now Jiwon is the desperate one and he’s the one who’s falling away and Hanbin doesn’t know what to do.  

“It’s not about whether I still love you or not, Jiwon. It's not about love at all. You hurt me, and I know I hurt you too. You really want to risk all that pain again? For something that might fail all over again? Sometimes...sometimes just love isn't enough."

He doesn’t answer Jiwon’s question though, because he doesn’t want to say the words. And the truth is their relationship did hurt him. He bared the deepest parts of himself, the most intimate moments he could offer and he was never quite sure they were reciprocated.

“I promise I’ll change Hanbin, I promise it won’t be the same as last year. We can make it something good.”

Hanbin just smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“It’s not the first time you’ve said that. I just don’t know… I just don’t know if we can ever work out Jiwon. I don't know if we're right for each other.”

For a second it looks like Jiwon’s going to say something, a fire sparking in his eyes and face tense but then the moment passes and he deflates back into his chair and Hanbin let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He looks so defeated, shoulders slumped and hair falling like a messy curtain in front of his face and something in Hanbin’s heart aches. Jiwon’s hand is sitting on the table, curled into a loose fist. Hanbin reaches out, slow and careful and gentle and just lets his fingers graze the top of Jiwon’s knuckles. Jiwon looks up, just as careful, both of them moving like any sudden action could shatter this moment beyond all repair. Hanbin speaks, and the words are barely carried on his exhale.

“Maybe…Maybe we can try to start over? Start fresh? Not together…just learning each other again.”

Hanbin still has his hand on Jiwon’s knuckles and his skin is hot against his fingertips. Jiwon nods, just a little, just enough.

“This isn’t a promise, Jiwon.”

Jiwon nods again and something settles in the air like electricity and sitting there with his hand on Jiwon’s Hanbin wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

When Jinhwan gets home it’s late and Hanbin is sitting on the couch with the TV on in the background, but he’s not really paying attention to it. He doesn’t even realize Jinhwan’s back until he calls his name out making Hanbin jump a little. He looks concerned,

“Did it go okay?”

For a long time Hanbin doesn’t reply. There’s the muted mutter of the news in the background and even though Jiwon left hours ago he can still feel him in the space he left behind. Can still feel the hum of something in the air, lingering like expensive cologne.

“I don’t know.”

Jinhwan gives him a long searching look and seems satisfied with whatever he finds in Hanbin’s face.

“Alright. I’m glad.”

That night it takes Hanbin a long time to fall asleep and when he does sleep he dreams of white hands and slender fingers and the look in Jiwon’s eyes.

After he asks Jinhwan if it’s alright he invites Hayi over to sit for a painting. He sets up a space carefully in the kitchen, laying his paints and brushes out carefully on the kitchen table like a surgeon arranges his tools. Setting up the easel he feels his stomach tingle with anticipation and more then a little bit of nerves, it’s been a while since he’s painted with a real person as a model and his fingers jump with excitement.

He’s just pulling a chair out from the kitchen table for her to sit on when he hears a knock on the door. He opens it to find Hayi, immaculate in dark jeans and a flowing white blouse with her hair pulled back into an elegantly messy bun.

“Come on in.”

The hallway in front of the door is small and as she brushes past him he can smell the scent of floral perfume waft after her. He follows her into the apartment, gesturing toward the kitchen. She plops into the chair, gently tossing her bag on to the kitchen table. He follows her in, uncertain even though she’s the guest and he’s the host. He clears his throat, tries not to sound nervous when he speaks.

“Want anything to drink? There’s water, tea, I could make coffee.”

She smiles prettily,

“I’d love some tea.”

He’s glad she asked for something, it gives him something to do other then stand there awkwardly. As he busies himself with his task he hears her stand up and move around the kitchen. Once he has the kettle on the stove he turns around to see her standing by the table one examining the paintbrushes he’d laid out, running her fingers gently over the worn handles. She doesn’t turn to face him just asks,

“How long have you been painting?”

Hanbin shrugs,

“For as long as I can remember. I’ve just always loved it.”

She turns now, looks at him carefully in a way that makes him feel exposed and a little uncomfortable. She doesn’t say anything, just nods and even though there are no words Hanbin feels as though he’s passed some unspoken test. He can’t help but feel relieved as he turns back to take the water off the heat.

Finally after they drink their tea and chat it’s time. Hayi settles into the chair in front of the canvas and he grabs a pencil from his case. He gestures awkwardly towards her bun.

“Would you mind letting that down? I think it might work better for the painting.”

She nods, reaching up and pulls out the elastic band keeping her hair in place. Once freed it cascades down her neck and shoulders in a mass of dark curls. She shakes it out, letting it settle gently into place.

“What kind of expression do you want?”

“Just resting is fine, whatever face you’d normally have.”

She nods again, and lets her features settle into a neutral expression. Hanbin’s taken again with how striking she is. She’s not necessarily classically beautiful by Korean standards, her cheeks a little round and her nose a little wide, but there’s something about her eyes that stands out even in a room full of people, something that can make you shiver. She’s a good model, as Hanbin starts to pencil in the lines of her face she doesn’t fidget or shift, just stays perfectly still and calm. The afternoon fades away into a blur of soft light and the smell of paint. Hayi stays silent for most of the session, content to sit but at one point she speaks up. Hanbin is working on a particularly difficult lock of hair and he’s only half paying attention.

“Why did you sketch me in that coffee shop?”

Hanbin shrugs, not looking up from his canvas tongue pressed to the back of his teeth in concentration.

“I like to draw beautiful things.”

He misses the blush that stains her cheeks.