Drowning myself with work and more work had always been my specialty. Usually, in times of love-life crisis like these, I’d have Minhwa’s shoulder to cry on, or at least Baekhyun’s ears to talk off. They are the only two people in this whole world who knows my situation with Minseok. But they’re getting married next weekend, and I don’t have the heart to burden them with my stupid teenage-like problems when they already have so much on their plates with the wedding and the pregnancy.

So, I sew. I pour all of my time into perfecting Minhwa’s wedding dresses all on my own, declining help from all my other staffs, locking myself in my office with Ed Sheeran blasting as the background music to my sorrowful state. I prick my fingers a couple of times with my needles, but I don’t feel it. I don’t cry, because I can’t.

I thought that I’d be prepared for the worst when Minseok had pretended to be Minhwa’s boyfriend. But I was wrong. This time around, I’m fully aware of my feelings for him, and I’m fully aware that this might be the real deal. We’re older now—we all want to settle. It’s always nice having someone to come home to, and I’m sure even Minseok would love that too.

I should have seen this coming. I have always known that Minseok is a hopeless romantic, despite everyone else saying he isn’t. I’ve always took pride in being the person that knows him best. I guess I—

“,” I hiss, quickly pulling my injured hand away from Minhwa’s dress to avoid getting blood stains on the beautiful white fabric. I jog to my desk to look for my band-aids, only to find my drawer void of them, even the cute ones with the heart patterns that I used to keep for collecting purposes. I groan. This means I have to get out of my office and run to the nearest minimarket to buy some—meaning that I have to meet other people. I don’t exactly look presentable to meet anyone today.

I steal a glance at my reflection on my office’s mirror before bolting out the door, only to register the fact that I look like a poor excuse of a human being a second too late. Kibum is already running from the other end of the hall towards me—and I’ve only had one foot outside of the door.

“You finally opened the door,” Kibum—one of my staffs in this branch—greets me, breathless, placing both of his palms onto his knees to catch his breath. “I bought you breakfast and lunch and it’s on my table right now. I’ll heat it up in the microwave, okay?”

“Sure, I’m starving,” I lie, smiling. I pat his back. “Sorry I locked you out of my office today. I’d been super motivated and didn’t want anyone to bother me today. I’m going to run to the nearest minimarket, though, do you have anything you want me to get?”

Kibum looks worried. His eyebrows are pinched together, and he sends a look at Yeri who is standing at the other end of the hall, before his eyes look up at me with concern. It makes me feel bad that I’m making him worry.

“No,” he replies softly.

“Okay then,” I walk out of the shop before he can make me feel worse with his sad, puppy eyes. I walk by Yeri who also shoots me a concerned look, so I hasten my pace.

A gust of light breeze blows right into my face as soon as I step out of the door, and I almost laugh at the sheer absurdity of the weather. I had always been the first person to complain about how irrationally hot Seoul has been ever since July started, yet the day the weather is finally to my liking is the day when I’ve just got my heart ripped out of my chest.

Life really has the worst timing.

***

I end up getting myself some aspirin alongside with the band-aids—the only wise decision I’ve made today. I’d woken up with a killer headache because I might’ve drank a little bit too much yesterday. My drinking had been a rest of my unwillingness to be alone with my thoughts sober on a Sunday night, and I didn’t even acknowledge the headache because everything else hurts worse.

The shop has a couple of customers sifting around my last-season collection by the time I return, and thankfully Kibum is already tending them with a pretty smile on his face, because I don’t have it in me to charm these people into buying my designs. When Yeri’s eyes meet mine from behind the cashier, though, she immediately tries to call for me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I lie as I speed down the hall, not wanting to be involved in any kind of talking in any kind of form. I can vaguely hear Yeri’s voice calling out for my name, but I reach for the door handle to my office anyway because I’m childish like that.

A little breathless, I find myself giggling at the thought of Yeri being lost on how to deal with a customer, resting my hands against my knees as soon as I step into the room. The giggle turns into laughter, for some reason, but it only lasts for so long because suddenly someone inside the office who I didn’t see when I first walked in clears his throat, and it makes me jump in shock.

“Oh my god, you scared the out of me,” flies right out of my mouth the moment my eyes lie upon Sehun’s face. Had it been any other customer I’d apologize for making them wait, but it’s Sehun and it annoys me that he’s inside my office without any prior announcement.

Sehun stares at me blankly. “Swearing at your client’s best man isn’t exactly professional.”

“Oh, so that’s how you’re going to play this today. Okay, my apologies for making you wait, Mr. Oh,” I reply, walking towards my desk with newfound anger burning inside of me. I’ve had a ty weekend and an even tier morning with all the accidental pricks on my fingers, yet Sehun just waltzes into my office acting like we’re complete strangers, like he knows that he’s going to be the cherry on top of my awful, awful day. “Though I’d prefer it if you had contacted me like you said you would prior to coming into my office unannounced, let’s start taking your measurements, shall we?”

“I’m sorry?” Sehun frowns, standing up from where he’s sitting, hands folded under his chest.

“Yeah, you should be,” I deadpan, shuffling roughly through my messy drawer so I can find my measuring tape. It’s not there. First, the goddamn band-aid, and now, the measuring tape. I feel livid.

“Do you have something you want to say to me?” Sehun asks, and he has the audacity to sound offended like he has the right to be.

“Of course I do.” I look at him, eyes unblinking, trying to contain my anger. Sehun looks bored.

“Go on, then,” he says calmly, eyes never leaving mine. It’s like he’s challenging me. My thoughts run wild with all the things I want to say to him, all the bottled emotions I have inside of me already sitting at the tip of my tongue. I even remember every single word out of the text I’ve sent to him over and over again for a straight week after he left—the texts I only stopped sending the moment I realized that I couldn’t possibly find someone who didn’t want to be found.

I want to tell him how much he’s hurt me, how much pain he’s left me to deal with on my own, how he should’ve at least left me with a better explanation instead of a stupid ing vague sticky-note that had made me question myself for two whole years.

Two whole years of questioning the meaning behind the horrible words he’d written on that yellow paper that on top of all the horrible things it had made me feel—also made me feel like I was to blame. Like it’s my fault that he’d walked away from my life, and that I’d deserve it.

But I don’t. Not because I don’t want to look like an idiot—I burned that bridge the moment I begged him to come back for me—but because maybe deep down inside of me I don’t want to know the answer to those questions. So, I sc