1374 words

Minseok glances at the calendar, remembering the anniversary of his world falling apart, head swimming. He already knows the date, but seeing it written makes it so much more real. He breaks again, from mere numbers.

She left him that day, the day he was going to propose. The day he was going to ask her to be his, only his, forever. She was already his everything. She worried about his fans and how they would treat his relationship with her--the two still hadn't gone public--but he didn't care too much about what others thought.

He only cared about what she thought. He had always only cared about what she thought. Ever since he had seen her at his favorite coffee shop, working as a barista, with nimble fingers flying as they roasted coffee, ground it, brewed it, and served in rotation. They were artful, and every cup was a different painting.

Then, when he began taking lessons alone at the shop--as a relief from his hectic life--she was his teacher. He showed up to his appointment, waiting in the back of the shop, apron on, hands washed, and ready to start. She came in a few minutes later, a string of apologies for being late already flying out of . She bowed as she explained that the front had been busy, so she had been roped into helping out.

As she stood, she tucked a loose strand of hair back behind her ear, and he grinned when he saw who his teacher was. She blushed, and stammered her name, and "nice to meet you," taking his hand, surprised, when he held it out to her.

Her grip was hesitant at first, before becoming firm. There was unexpected strength in her slender fingers and arms.

The latter was proven when she went to pick up the bag of raw coffee beans. As he set up the various appliances as per her instructions, she lifted the twenty pound sack of beans as if it were nothing. He rushed over to help her, but she just shooed him away with a jut of her chin. Her own muscles were plenty for the task.

Countless lessons had made way for comfort around each other, and the fact there was only a one year between them helped too. Soon enough, they were having the lessons in his dorms, and eventually, she came to just hang out.

Then, four months after they met, they were on the couch, watching who knew what movie. The only thing he was able to pay attention to was her. Her minty scent, her rhythmic breathing, her squeal every time her favorite actor appeared on the screen. Her warm weight against him.

She was starting to get irritated with him. "Oppa," she mock whined, nudging his arm with her elbow.  "Are you for real?"

He tried not to let a smirk appear on his face as he turned to her. "What do you mean?" he asked, acting as if he didn't know what she was talking about.

She frowned. "You never notice. You never pay any attention to me. I've been here for an hour already and you haven't said anything about it."

He flicked her nose, bursting out in laughter. "I'm sorry, I was joking. I like your hair color. The light brown suits you."

It was a coffee brown, like her sparkling eyes, and it cascaded down her shoulders in soft, natural waves. Before, it had been dark brown, her natural color.

The day he was planning on confessing to her, telling her that he liked her as more than just a friend, he came home, surprised to find her there. He wondered if maybe she was waiting for him, so she could confess too. His heart blossomed at the thought.

Until he noticed the mischievous glint in her eyes and the absence of Jongdae weighing heavily in the air. He walked into the open doorway, wary, asking her, "what did you do?"

She simply laughed and pointed up, the lights in her eyes dancing with merriment. "That," she answered, snickering.

He looked up as the bucket of water poured down on him, soaking him to his underwear. Jongdae was flat against the wall, hand empty of the rope he had just let go of, his lips curled like the Cheshire Cat. Minseok smirked, knowing that he could easily get his revenge, especially since the shirt she was wearing seemed thin.

He rushed at her suddenly, grabbing her arm and pulling her towards him. She giggled as she tried to escape, but his embrace was iron.

His abdomen tensed as her body shook with laughter, nearly folding at her stomach. He remembered what he was going to do, and decided that it could wait--only until he was done tickling her.

But she beat him to it, turning her legs so she faced him, leaning on her tip toes to press a feather soft kiss against his lips. He let go in shock as she dance out of his arms and into one of the kitchen's island's tall chairs. She leaned to get some paper towels to dry herself off, still cackling.

Her back stiffened in shock as he leaned against her, hugging her from behind. He ignored Jongdae's snickers, and knew that his friend was probably going to try to blackmail him later.

He whispered against her ear, "I like you." And she whispered back,

"I know."

There was a small, comfortable pause. "I like you too."

Jongdae started clapping loudly, exclaiming, "Finally!! Now we can finally get some peace!"

Damn it, he thinks, hands curling into fists around the fabric of his sweatshirt. It hurts him too much to think about her. Yet he can't stop himself from doing it. He can't keep his brain off of her.

His band mates think that he doesn't notice the sad, pitying expressions they throw him.

He remembers how they used to steal dates whenever they could, the day before a concert, right after his practice. He remembers how she would run to the dorm after work when it thundered, too scared to go home alone. The dorm was closer to the coffee shop than her apartment was.

Remembers how he found a video on her best friend's phone of her jamming out to one of his songs as she brushed her teeth, dating from before they met. That, made him stare at her, confused as to why she didn't tell him that she was a fan herself.

The first time they told each other those three little words: I love you.

He feels a small trickle of blood pool on his lip, and it surprises him. He immediately releases the hold his teeth have. 

Her smile made anything better, her laughter enough to melt the ice he encased his heart with to endure particularly bad days 

In spite of all she meant to him, he didn't mean the same to her. She left him too easily.

They were so happy together, so it came as a total shock. He grasped her hand, wanting to hold onto it, trying to make her stay. But she wouldn't. He wasn't good enough for her.

Even a year later, he still believes he isn't good enough for her.

After all, she was able to disappear in the hands of another.

He sighs. She was able to disappear from his life. She was able to leave the world.

Her will wasn't strong enough, because he wasn't enough to keep her. Because he couldn't keep her from taking Death's hand. Because he wasn't what she was to him--a light that kept all the darkness away, and the love of his life. 

Because after getting hit by a drunk driver, she had been rushed to the hospital where she took her last breath, smiling, with him weeping at her side.

"She was happy when she went. Because you were with her. She physically couldn't hold on longer," he was told, by her best friend, and his own. To that, he let out a slew of resentful, angry, and extremely creative expletives.

But now, he supposes they were right. And it's finally time for him to let go.