You came running to me that night with no semblance of feeling on your face. I knew what the problem was, there was always only one, but I still asked regardless. You opened your mouth and I could see the gears turning in that pretty head, but no words came out – just a sob, a sigh, and then a glisten in your eyes. I pulled you in and realized how I’ve always dreamt of holding you this way, but it was never how I imagined it – it just didn’t feel that way. I allowed you to purge, misery and heartbreak dissolved with salt in water, neglecting the pool of moisture collecting at my shoulder. My thumb almost lost sensation as I kept caressing circles on your spine, but as I felt your breathing even out and your heart beat uniform, I thought I didn’t mind as long as you were consoled.

You pulled away from my embrace and mouthed a silent “Thank you, Junmyeon,” and I assured you it was nothing, but inside I wished you’d said a different three words.

God knows how much I want to fix you.

But I can’t.

Because I’m just an anesthetic.

I’m not the cure.

---

I proffered my bed for you to rest on and I settled on the couch. Not that my mattress wasn’t large enough for two, but I knew this time you wanted to be left alone – this time you wanted to shed unseen tears.

I still heard you cry from the living room and it was only after that I could sleep.

Morning came with sore limbs and an empty apartment. It’s as if you were never there; you didn’t even bother leaving a note. Things were crappy that day at work, but you made all that irrelevant when you went and texted “Hi ^_^.” I made myself believe that was how you felt: that that emoji wasn’t just a façade you’d constructed with the press of a key.

I came home the next day to see you huddled at my doorstep like a child forlorn and left behind by his parents. But then you heard my footsteps and plastered as genuine a grin as you could on your face. I chose to overlook it and take notice of the box of donuts in your hands instead.

I wish your eyes waned into crescents when you smile at me.

But they don’t.

Because it’s artificial.

Still I convince myself it’s real.

---

We saw each other almost every day and called on the days we couldn’t. We reverted to our friendly setup before Jongin came into the picture. You’d take me out to lunch and we would alternately vent about our bosses; we’d make them out as exaggeratedly horrid s so that we loathed each other’s superiors before we even met them. It wasn’t the most appropriate of conversations but was always the most entertaining.

We’d fall into silence for a while as I take a bite of my sandwich and you a sip of your tea. I would continue chuckling with my mouth full but then look up and catch you staring blankly at the window. And then quickly as it came, you would snap out of your reverie and acknowledge the person sitting across you.

“You were saying?” you would ask with wide eyes in mock attention. You were too out of it to even notice that I wasn’t in fact saying anything.

“Nothing,” I would shrug noncommittally and laugh it off.

I wish you would press further until I give you an answer.

But you don’t.                                                                                                                   

You didn’t care what I was thinking.

You just used me to pass the time.

---

It had been over a year since you stumbled gloomily to my apartment and I thought it was enough time for you to heal. Since you first captured my heart all those years ago, I have constantly imagined confessing to you, going so far as to even practice what to say. Of course I never got the chance because the next thing I knew you were introducing me to a gorgeous dancer with sunkissed skin, lithe, long limbs, and the most defined jawline. I could never compete with that. But now, now I could finally release the heaviness that’s settled in my chest and begging to be relieved.

I avoided the glaringly obvious, almost cliché date at a fancy restaurant and opted to cook for you at home instead. You had always been an excellent cook, and I knew you’d appreciate the effort. And I guess, subconsciously, I settled for this option so that in the event you rejected me, I wouldn’t have to deal with the embarrassment of having eyes trained on me in either grim amusement or pity.

Both of us were surprised at how pleasantly the food turned out, and it tugged at my heart that you noticed how I knew the way you liked your steak or what dessert you adored most. Deciding it the best time as any to make my move, I asked you to be my boyfriend. I held back my tongue as “I love you” was about to roll off of it, not because I didn’t mean it, my God not a single soul can say I haven’t loved you for so long, but because I didn’t want to startle you with such a profound admission.

My palms were clammy from profuse perspiration and getting more so with each second of stifling silence that hung in the air. When you had said yes, I released the breath I wasn’t even aware I was holding. I was infinitely exuberant that I could not care less for the dazed, almost hesitant expression you bore when you’d mouthed your acceptance. Like I always have I guess.

I hope that when you looked at me, you really look at me.

But you don’t.

Because my face only registers in your eyes.

Someone else’s face lingers on your mind.

---

I remember that first night we were intimate. I was a little tipsy but you were smashed. I guess I knew where this was heading, so I didn’t take that third bottle of soju out of your hands although you so obviously had had enough. I was selfish; I wanted you, and I knew you could never desire me in that way without the haze of alcohol. I convinced myself that I wasn’t doing something wrong; that I wasn’t the one making you drunk. But I let our friends coax you into gulping shot after shot anyway.

Even though you were never one to hold your alcohol.

Because I was selfish.

It was only a matter of time before you were nuzzling at my neck, and I swear I melted when I felt your soft strands of hair tickling at my skin. You turned to me with clouded eyes and peppered kisses down my jaw. I let you palm my  from under the jeans that were now so excruciatingly tight against my legs, and only then did we take our leave and hastily made our way to my apartment.

The next moments were a blur of bodies pressed against the wall, sloppy kisses running down exposed skin, greedy fingers groping at delicate areas and tearing clothes off each other’s backs. We managed to transport ourselves to the bedroom, albeit bumping into each piece of furniture lining the path, and I thought this went to show how badly you wanted this as well; how hungry you were for me. I didn’t mind that your mouth had been wrapped around someone else’s member an uncountable number of times before, because the way you took me sent electricity buzzing through my entire being and it honestly felt as if the heavens were parting for me; even though it wasn’t there I’d be taken because of how wrong, how sinful this was that I was doing. I let myself zone out all thoughts and inhibitions and be entirely consumed, enraptured, by you. I scratched and straddled and pounded your body to claim it for my own…

But when you’d reached your , you moaned his name, and I didn’t even after.

Because with that sudden, frigid slap of reality saying “You’re fooling yourself Junmyeon, Kyungsoo will never be yours,” all previous adrenaline seeped away leaving just a bunch of tired muscles in its wake.

I wish I could hold your heart the way I do your body.

I wish I could imprint on your soul the way I rake my nails across your skin.

But I can’t.

Because we’re only having .

This isn’t making love.

---

You fell asleep on my chest but I woke up with your back against me. And for the first time, I cried. Because even your body knew it didn’t belong with mine. I climbed off the bed and kneeled in front of you, and I know it was pathetic but I prayed, “Please make him love me. Please make him love me” over and over like a chant. As if God would answer our wishes if we reached the quota. I trailed a hand down your supple cheeks and relished in the way you looked so angelic in slumber, memorizing every mole that flecked your ear and neck.

I realized that when you’d risen you probably would want to leave, and it’d be easier if I didn’t have to witness that. So I tucked myself again in those sheets and willed myself to sleep. It wasn’t hard to do, because no matter that it was only first thing in the morning, I was already so very exhausted.

Exhausted of crying.

Exhausted of this.

I wish that in your sleepless hours, you card your fingers through my hair.

I wish that when you wake up in the morning, just after you turn off your alarm, you spend even a meager minute watching me sleep.

But you don’t.

Because I’m just another warm body occupying space on the bed.

I’m not an extension of yours.

---

We went on with our relationship pretending, as if held by an unspoken agreement, to push the events of that night to the back of our minds. Although I wanted so badly to know if you knew you screamed his name when it was me who was inside you.

We were sitting close (close but not together) to each other one languid afternoon on a park bench. Kids were energetically running around and chasing one another with not a care in the world, and with no regard for their parents worriedly looking on from their picnic mats. It reminded me just how much I’d always wanted to have that.

Growing up, it was clear to me that I was going to be a father someday. Of course it didn’t thrill me that I might have to marry a woman who for the life of me I could not fall in love with, but if that was what it took so be it. And then when I was ten, while we were at the supermarket shopping for a trip, I saw a pair of smart-looking men plucking at cereal from the shelf and waving it in front of a girl, just a little younger than I was, who was sitting excitedly inside the push cart. My mom raised an eyebrow and muttered a sound of disapproval from behind me, but I was too glad to care. Because right in front of my eyes and permanently ingrained in my brain, which was then still trying to grasp at the complexities of the world, was proof that I could have the family of my dreams.

I looked at you then and saw the way your lips curled up at the corners as well. You’ve never mentioned it before, but I was sure that you also felt the way I did about a family and having kids. I didn’t bother, couldn’t bear, thinking about with who you envisioned yourself raising children. It wasn’t really a question. And I’d rather not ask. The sight laid out before us was too adorable, too innocent and simple, that I couldn’t help but beam and release a nice, throaty laugh. I turned to you hoping to see my own bliss mirrored on your face, but no you were still wistful, with a faraway look in those eyes.

I wish I could make you laugh just by laughing myself.

But I don’t.

Because I’m ever the only one happy in this relationship.

I think you no longer know what that feels.

---

I don’t remember what finally did it for me, but I realized I was only wasting my time. You were still, you never stopped, pining for Jongin. And I was still, but had to stop, pining for you. I had no concrete plans for the future; I didn’t know where I was headed, I just knew I had to leave. For my sanity. For my heart. And for yours.

Because when you look at it, it was pretty simple actually.

I love you.

And you don’t.

---

A/N: My first angst! Although I don’t ship them, I just knew I wanted this to be about Junmyeon and Kyungsoo. And I’m not being cocky here but I actually am really excited about this one, so I hope you guys feel the same!

I dedicate this fic to my EXO godmothers: Regina, the ever staunch sudi shipper, and Lazzie, who loves Junmyeon as much as I do Kyungsoo. *wink wink I made a pun there lol*