Seven months and eleven days, Song Minho had this etched mentally unsure as to why he continues to do so. He came into terms that the number of days would carry on increasing and maybe, “… just maybe, I would eventually forget.” He confesses. “Yeah, probably on your death bed, buddy.” Seunghoon mutters apologetically, swinging an arm over his shoulder. Which is why he came to a sudden halt, took a few steps backwards, convinced that he’s seeing things. Am I seeing this right? Staring into the coffee shop, wide eyed.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Oh god, yes she’s moved out of town for good, will you please.”

You craned your neck focusing on the menu as you waited in line. Squinting, your hair fell over your ears as you pulled down your glasses that rested on top of your head. You forgot you had glasses on didn’t you? He smiles to himself. He sees you mindlessly tucking the excess of your blouse into the back of your skirt, his smile faltered as this highlights your shrinking waist. Minho notes that you must have been from work considering the pair of sneakers you have on looked far from smart compared to the rest of your attire, thinking that you must have changed your heels somewhere in a cab. You fumbled through your bag looking for spare change then mouthed a small thank you as you took the tray away. He chuckles as he realize that of course you just had to order shaved ice in a coffee shop. His heart skipped a beat, realizing that something must have happened knowing well that you only get those when you needed comforting, especially when it’s this late. He sees you take that usual seat by the corner next to the window, thankful it’s the opposite the one he’s looking through. He had a lot of questions, alot he wanted to ask you, more than anything he wanted to go through that door and take that seat infront of you. He felt a pang in his chest knowing that you were upset, but he knows he can never pin exactly what it was, he never could.

“How the was I suppose to know that? You tell me!” He spat out. He paced the apartment as you sat infront of him with a straight face.

“It’s been months, Minho… You were busy with work-”

“Don’t you dare start with my work.” He cuts off, your heart stung thinking does he stand up for you like he does for his work?

“You could have just said that you wanted some of my time, instead of blowing me off when I try to reach you!” He points at you angrily, eyes never leaving yours. His words tasted bitter, once upon a time his time was yours.

“Oh get a hint! We’ve been through this so many times, you should know how this ing goes!” You finally snapped, your eyes burn with tears you try to hold back.

“That’s the ing problem right there, you expect me to read your mind?” His voice deep, impatient.

“You know me most, Minho! You should just know!” Your voice cracked as you tried to hold it in.

“I thought you understood how this would be like, you knew that work-”

“Comes before me. I know.” You cut him off, you didn’t need to hear it from him. You looked down onto your hands, tears rolling down your cheeks.

“Work is important to me, that I can’t guarantee you the whens or the hows.” You hear him finish.

“You’re unbelievable…” You breathe, refusing to look at him.

“I knew perfectly well what I got my self into that night you asked me out. I knew the good and the bad, everything, Song Minho. Yet, you don’t even consider the fact that I went for it anyway? I know better, more than anything, to ask for your god damn time.” You spat back, struggling to find the words. You hear silence and no response.

“All I ask of you is to actually pick up my calls, answer my messages for once in a while.“ You sighed,resting your forehead on one palm. It’s been one too many times where you hear yourself go into his voicemail rather than hearing his actual voice. It hurt you knowing that there was no way he hadn’t seen them, how else was he suppose to keep in contact with those he works with?

“Tell me how you do it. Tell me how you can go through days, weeks, of not hearing from me? It’s like I live to worry about you!” You finally looked at him, he had his back against the wall, fingers through his hair.

“Then don’t.” He replies, staring off into empty space. You both stayed in silence, his harsh words echoed through your mind.

“I’m going.” You finally said, picking up your belongings. He breaks away from his focus, his eyes following your movement.

“Where- it’s snowing badly-” You hear worry in his tone as he scrambles to find the right words and much to your own surprise you didn’t care. Your mind was all over the place and you couldn’t think straight.

“I’m hurt and you’re hurt. I’m sorry, I truly am. Let’s just forget this, hm?” You stand to face him, your coat in one hand, a bag in the other.

“I’m sorry too, let’s forget this fight-”

“No, I meant this.“ His face tenses as you utter these words, realizing what you actually meant. You were too exhausted, too worn out, too much of everything you wonder how it’s possible to feel this many things. You stood there for a moment then walked towards the door when you grasped the fact that he didn’t ask you to stay. You shook your head at how pathetic you were to wish of such things.

Minho continued to stand there, unaware that his face had gone numb from the winter chill. He played countless scenarios in his head, if he actually went up to you and said hi. You can’t be ing serious, Minho, he laughed at himself mentally. It’s been seven months and eleven days, surely you’d refrain yourself from wanting to murder him. He was sure he could hear his heart beating as he walked towards the main entrance.

You scraped the ice, digging into the center of the desert, where are you red beans, where art thou?

“Is this seat taken?” Immersed, you must have jumped in your seat when you heard this voice you knew too well. You looked up unsure if you had mistaken someone else’s conversation. You blinked at the person before you and you swore you had forgotten your vocabulary. Hiding his smile, he bit the inside of his cheeks as he saw you staring, your gaze engulfing his every being he wonders how you still have that effect on him.

“Uh.. yeah- sure, I mean- no it’s not.” You snapped back to reality. Your head hurt trying to make sense of things. Minho pulled the chair out and sat down, he felt your eyes burning into him as he shifted himself. He looks up to see you staring with your lips slightly parted, clearly baffled at the situation.

“You’ve gone blue, no purple… Shaved ice when it’s so cold?” He gave you a small smile as he tried to break the ice, literally.

“It’s been a while since I had some.” Your voice barely audible. He was relieved to hear this, so you’ve been okay for a while.

“How are you?” He breaks the silence, he asks to make sure. He was no longer blonde, dark hair peaking through his bright beanie. He looked happy you note, soothed at the thought.

“Okay… I guess?” You looked down, horrified to find you had been digging the coaster all this time. Embarrassed, you set the spoon on the table, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your coat.

“I heard you moved out of town?” He decided to not comment on how you looked smaller, wondering if you’ve been eating well. You paused to look at him, surprised at his question.

“How did you know?”

“I just do.” He looks at you, serious this time as he pressed his neck against his palm. You whispered a soft oh and sighed quietly unsure of what to say next.

“It’s been a while, how long has it been?” He pretends like he doesn’t know as he looks at your eyes that were everywhere but him. 

“Two days?” You laughed softly at his reaction. Still as clueless as ever.

“Your broadcast aired on TV two days ago. You guys have been working hard.” You smiled at him. His eyes smiles as he grins at you realizing what you had meant, mumbling a soft thank you. You’ve been seeing him on TV, his stomach buzzed at the thought.

“Seven months.” He decides not be too specific, Lord, I am doing this right… right? You eye him, confused on what he just said.

“For me. It’s been that long since I saw you.” He placed his fingers on top of his lips, his eyes on the table. And eleven days you continued to yourself. You sensed the longing in his voice and your heart still does that thing it does when he acts this way. You sat down on your hands when you wanted to reach over the table and hold his.

Seeing him this way, just seeing him, made you realize the effort you had force onto yourself to move on from this boy in front of you was completely useless. During the first few months, you were angry, angry at him, angry at yourself mostly for the fact that you could’ve handled the situation better. Then you fell into, what seemed like implausible sadness to point where you buried yourself  in work, spending late nights at the office. You even went through a phase of empowerment, waking up each day reciting that you don’t need no man, there are plenty of other fish in the ocean, right? You felt like hitting yourself over the head, when he’s the only idiot fish you want. It has been almost a year since, and you had come into terms that you may never see him again. When you were requested to be relocated, you took the offer deciding that it was for the best. Everything in this town reminds you of him, and some days you felt suffocated with the thoughts and memories of him. He had tried to get a hold of you a few months after things had ended but you refused, confident that you’ll come running back. You felt like you held him back with what he wanted to do when you wanted nothing more than for him to thrive with the potential that he has.

At lost for words, you picked up the spoon and offered him the desert that sat between the both of you. A laugh escaped his lips at your sudden move, it was something that you did so often he took it for granted.