“Absolutely not,” he retorted, tempted to roll his eyes.

“How many ing times will this happen before you get the ing idea, Jongin?” he asked, voice breaking mid-sentence.

Jongin looked at him with a bittersweet expression; eyes lit with a small shred of hope he must’ve made up all on his own.

“Come on, we’ll marry, and put all this behind us. I swear I won’t do this again. I swear it, this time. You can count on me. I love you, Lu…” He murmured, trailing off as if he still had something to prove.

Raising his palm to strike his cheek, the boy forced himself to drop his arm to his side, clenching his fist, knowing that no matter how many slaps he'd ration out, or how many nights he'd spend with his own tears, or however much time has passed by, his lover would not change. He’s a playboy, that’s just how he has always been, and how he will always be. People simply can’t change so easily, and Luhan admitted he should have faced that reality, long ago. He was a little late to the game.

“Enough is enough, Nini. I can’t do this anymore,” he snapped back with as much resolve as he could gather (which wasn’t much, if we’re being brutally honest).

 “Suit yourself”, Jongin spat out, the venomous tone ringing in his ears. His glare stiffened Luhan. He didn’t care anymore. He couldn’t even pretend.

He bit his quivering bottom lip, and stormed out, just in time before his swelling tears began to escape, out of Jongin's sight.

It was all too perfect to start with. He was such a good man, he had never given it a second thought when Jongin asked him for a second chance for the first time. Or the second time. Or the third. Until now, he had accepted all this as fairly normal. The pain was tolerable. He did love Luhan, after all, didn’t he?

But the façade had been broken. His perfect love had shattered before his eyes. It had taken long enough. He couldn’t believe it had taken him so damn long to realize it. It only takes a moment looking through the eyes of someone else, to realize just how wrong you really are.

He had caught him with another girl, again. She wasn’t exactly sorry, either.

“Are you calling me a homewrecker? It’s your ing fault you can’t give him what he wants,” she told him, completely unashamedly.

What about what I want? It’s been a long time since I’ve examined my own, real happiness, he thought quietly to himself.

"since feeling is first

who pays any attention

to the syntax of things...

 

my blood approves

and kisses are a better fate

than wisdom" ( ee s)