Her hometown is filled with simple things.

The language, for one. It’s more melodic, familiar. Expressive. Haru can say things without having to agonize over every little word or turn of phrase, without having their meaning getting skewered like meat over a grill.

The people here are simple too. There’s no fumbling over what greetings to use, to bow or not to bow. Snack stall ajummas are overbearingly friendly, ajeossis will treat you like their granddaughters, and the children’s cries of “eonni, eonni” are heartwarming. Hierarchies are clear, structured, easy to navigate.

She knows where the best tteokbokki stalls are, when the convenience stores are least crowded. She knows the shortcuts; the narrow, nondescript little alleyways in between buildings where the sunlight seldom reaches.

This place is, in many ways, freeing in its simplicity. But simple doesn't always mean easy.

Haru zipped up her coat and buried her nose deeper into the scarf wrapped around her neck. It coiled so tightly that she felt she might suffocate, but the damned, bitter cold air was not letting up any time soon, so neither would her. Haru always felt this place is way too cold for her liking.

“Are you alright?” Haru’s mother asked her.

“It’s freezing,” Haru said, pulling her coat tighter to her body. She rammed the keys into her in the lock and opened the door quite feverishly. She shrugged out of her long coat, and walked to the living room.

“Haru,” her mother called out her name. “Is something wrong?” she asked again, this time, her eyes carefully accessing her daughter. “You can talk to me,”

Haru gulped. 

It was hard not to be noticed by someone as observant as her mother. She was being too obvious, didn’t she?

“No, mother. I’m alright,” she lied through her teeth. “Just tired,”

She prayed that her mom wouldn’t ask her any more questions. It’s always been hard for her to lie to her mother.

Her mom looked at her long and hard. 

“Go and get some rest,” she said, as if she’s taken the hint.

In the end, there are only the unspoken words on her lips.

Maybe it's all that time she has spent in the quiet with her mother reminds her more of him.

 Sehun, with all his smirks and laughs - and the jokes he tells to change the subject, to lighten a mood that is so deep and dark no light can penetrate, but still he will try - because he understands the silence the way she does.

Maybe he understands more about her silences than she understands about his, but that's not important. Because she doesn’t matter to him anymore.

//

“Bring me all the files,” Sehun ordered the female staff, who looked very puzzled upon his request.

“There isn’t any files at the moment. You’ve gone through almost everthing,” she said, her voice timid and soft.

“If there’s any, bring them immediately,” he said. The woman froze in her place, her eyes unconsciously staring at him for a few seconds in mere confusion. Sehun lifted up his eyes from his laptop, and raised his eyebrows at her. “What?”

She shook her head furiously. "I'm sorry," she apologized, then bowed lightly at him before walking hastily out of the door.

“Sorry,” she apologized again upon bumping over someone on her way out.

Mr Han nodded at her, and entered the cabin. He was surprised and looked at Sehun quizzically, “Why are you here?” he asked, genuinely curious, his eyes never leaving him.

Sehun glared at him, “Why? What is so surprising about me being at office?”

“Well, I thought, you might want to take some time off,”

"I've taken all the time I need,"

"Sehun," 

“Well I can’t be trapped in my room all day, thinking about someone who don’t even care to stay now, can I?” Sehun stood up from his chair, being suddenly angry and walked towards the window. “People change, feelings fade. I need to move on,” he said, his tone went icy and cold, with a pint of fury. “Hearts break. Sometimes I think it would be better if we died when they did, but we don't. You let people in, and they destroy you. It is what it is,”

Despite sounding emotionless, Mr Han could detect the hurt in his voice. He knew deep down Sehun isn’t taking it well.

So maybe Sehun, with his loneliness and his anger - and the way Haru makes him sway from the darkness, longing to hit and scratch and fight when normally she would bow and survive another day, but his anger is infectious and he hates her for leaving him.

"There is something you need to know," Mr Han searched his pocket and placed a key and a small box on the table. “She’s not there anymore. The apartment's empty,” he said slowly.  “And she left these behind,”

Sehun turned his head to his table briefly. “Where is she?” he asked, his voice leaving little to imagination. 

“We can trace her if you want,”

“No,” he turned his head back to the window, and let out a short sigh. “You don't have to do that." He put both of his hands in his pocket, "Leave,”

Mr Han nodded curtly before leaving.

Sehun shed the uncomfortable tie from his neck. He clenched his jaw and walked towards the table. He touched the key without lifting it and his eyes then diverted to the small black velvet box beside it.  

Sehun wished so hard it wasn’t the thing he thought it would be. She wouldn't do that, he said to himself repeatedly.

He opened the box slowly and closed his eyes tightly once he saw the ring he gave to her.

Soon, the lamp next to the table went flying across the room before it shattered against the wall.

\\

A month later he is just wandering, the bitter bite of liquor not quite keeping the memory of her from his mind, but doing a much better job of it than trying to recklessly hunt. He’s tired of hunting. He’s tired, he’s not a reckless young boy anymore. He’s heartbroken and bruised. With supreme effort, his mind blanked, as he embraced detachment, and then he felt nothing at all. Whether a blessing or a curse, he could not tell which, the tears that had so often flooded his eyes in the past year seemed strangely evasive.

Only on the days when the strain became unbearable, and the pain in his chest mounted to such a substantial level- feeling as though it could actually crush him- would he let the tears fall. Cut-off, lonely, and lost, Sehun spent those days held up in the most private places he could find as the hot tears cut down his cheeks and the sobs he could not withhold materialized from somewhere deep within, racking his body numb. He would use the piece of himself that so yearned for grandeur in desperate attempt to calm the hysteria that rose as if to choke the very breath out of him. Each time it betrayed him, giving way to his deep myriad of anguish easily. It was a hopeless attempt, much like trying to quench a forest fire with a teacup of water. Deep down, he knew that he was not meant to have gone so far down the road to destruction.

“I don’t understand, Chanyeol,” Sehun said drunkenly, opening the cork of the new Smirnoff Vodhka with his teeth, “I don’t get it. Why some people come into our lives and why some people go. Why they become a part of you. Why some relationship feel like they’ll last forever but end far too soon. Why does the pain last even when that person is gone?”

“Stop it.” Chanyeol said, taking the alcohol bottle away from Sehun’s hand. “You’ve drink enough. You're going to be sick if you continue drinking,”

Sehun shakes his head, snatching the bottle back, “My father once said to me after my mom left, that men like us can never be loved.” He takes a sip from the bottle. “But she loves me. She told me. Haru loves me.” A tear dropped from his eyes, and he wiped it away harshly. “I thought I’ll forget her. I tried to distract myself. I spend hours in the office. You know how much I hate being there, right?" He asked, "I tried everything. But I can’t. I’m running out of things to keep me numb.” He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, “They say nothing lasts forever. Wrong. You know what is the only thing that will stay with you? Sadness, Chanyeol. The sadness will last forever,”

//