Every time I think that the world has certainly run out of ways to torture my insignificant existence, it always comes back to bite me in the .

I had been having an okay year, so far. The year started with the opening of a new store for my clothing line in Busan, and I’d found myself an assistant that can actually do their job. Minseok had gotten promoted as his company’s Vice President—oh, did I not tell you? He ended up not getting a job in engineering, too, because his father had insisted him to continue the family business as the rightful heir he is supposed to be. There’s something about SNU students being heirs and heiresses.

Minseok ended up getting a Ph.D. in Business Entrepreneurship after graduation before finally joining Kim Motors.

We had celebrated his promotion with a five-course meal made by a private chef Minseok had hired for the special day in his bachelor’s pad, getting faced with Kyungsoo and Jongin after the said dinner because they were the only ones who didn’t have to get up early for work the next day. I remember Minseok and I decorating his condo together before the others arrived, me swiping the floor and him taking apart his sad Christmas tree (that was two months too old) with our Spotify playlist blasting in the background, singing our hearts out to Michael Bublé’s Crazy Love—one our favorite songs together. I’ll never forget the spring in his steps and the wide smile on his face as he opened the door for me that day, and the way he had danced to our favorite songs. He was happy. I’m always happy, too, whenever he is.

I remember Minhwa and Baekhyun arriving first with an $800 wine as a gift and Kyungsoo followed suit with a home-made chocolate cake, my personal favorite. It had been a great, great day.

After Minseok’s promotion, my family and I went on a week-long holiday in Hawaii sponsored by yours truly, and things have been smooth sailing ever since, especially with my two closest girlfriends getting proposed back to back. I’m genuinely happy for them, especially when I get to take part in designing their wedding dresses and all that.

But all good things have to come to an end.

Standing in front of me is Oh Sehun in the flesh, looking like a fish out of water in the middle of my boutique, his white blouse and track pants a drastic comparison to the rows and rows of mannequins dressed in my couture summer collection surrounding him. He’s wearing a red cap backwards like the teenager he’s not supposed to be, and he’s wearing the same expression I’m wearing on my face—a look of shock and confusion.

“You’re… Luhan’s best man?” is the first thing I say as soon as I regain my grip on reality, immediately busying myself with whatever I can look and hold onto aside from his face.

It’s not that meeting Sehun is the end of the world—it definitely doesn’t overpower all the good things I’ve gotten this year, but it comes really close. To the rest of the world, the Cold War happened only once. To me, it had happened twice. First, the one that started somewhere in Europe in the 1940s, and the second, the one that Sehun started two years ago in my apartment. At approximately four in the morning.

A beat of silence passes by both of us, then Sehun clears his throat.

“Yeah,” he answers me awkwardly, and I think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard Sehun address me with honorifics. I don’t know what else to say. It’s my turn to clear my throat.

“So, uh, okay.” There are questions I want to ask. How come I never saw you with Luhan? Why do you still think that a blouse and some track pants look good together? Where did you go, Sehun? Why did you delete me from your life? But instead, I settle with an idiotic, “What size is your suit size?”

Sehun looks at me funny. He must think that I’m dumb now, too.

“I thought that that’s what I’m supposed to be here for—to get my measurements. My suit’s supposed to be tailored, right?” he answers calmly, voice void of any emotion, a stark contrast to the Sehun I remember vividly in my mind. His indifference prickles something on my chest.

“Oh yeah, of course. Let me just get my measuring tape and—”

“You know what? I actually have to go,” he cuts me short, looking at the time on his wrist watch. Before my mouth can open to argue, he adds, “I’ll come by another day. I’ll have Luhan hyung contact you.”

Just like that, he leaves me standing in the middle of my own store with my hands hovering mid-air and mouth parted—unable to react or say anything to anybody.

Huh. Not much different than what he did to me two years ago.

***

If you had asked me how I would picture my future with Sehun three years ago, I would’ve pictured a wedding. Me and him, living together quietly in an expensive house somewhere on the outskirts of Seoul, probably with three kids and a pet for each one of them. If you asked me the same question two years ago, I would either cry or punch you. It’s usually the latter.

With Minseok, I learned about falling in love. With Sehun, I learned about staying in love.

Minseok taught me how to live with the constant butterflies in my stomach, to live with the erratic heartbeat I get every time he sends me his infamous smile—to get used to the tingling sensation I feel even on the tips of my toes just by looking at him simply exist. Sehun taught me about the comfort and stability in routine, how it’s okay to let go of our intertwined hands when our palms get sweaty and still feel the warmth. These are some of the best qualities these two men have brought into my life that I will always thank them for. There’s no denying that they’re both very different people. What draws the harshest line between these two, though, is the fact that Minseok never left me.

It’s true that my one-sided love towards Minseok hurt. But at the very least he never left me to wake up in the morning to an empty bed and an empty apartment.

The only thing Sehun had left me after he disappeared from my life was a post-it taped onto my fridge that said: “Sorry. It’s just that I’m tired of being second-best.”

I almost laughed when I’d read the note. He must’ve thought that it was poetic, but all I could think about at that moment was how dumb it was. A ing sticky note? How cliché. It’s like I didn’t deserve any kind of closure, even after being in a relationship together for almost two years. After that fateful day, I’ve never met Sehun again. I don’t know how he managed to disappear—we have work in the same district, have tons of mutual friends together, and many more things in common. At one point, I thoug