Worn out from carrying dozens of boxes and dealing with the moving crew for the past three days, Donghae plops down on the sofa, wiping the sweat off his forehead with the hem of his shirt. Feeling the stress finally leave his body, he blinks a few times and looks around the living room.

I wonder if you’re still living with your parents.

He turns on the TV and lets the anchorman say two sentences before turning it off and reaching for his phone. The call gets picked up in seconds.

“Hi, mom. Yeah, all done. No, it’s not lonely at all. But you can drop by anytime. Probably pizza. But just today! Celebratory pizza. I’ll manage. No, really. Promise me you won’t cry. And you know I love you, too.”

He feels his eyes prickle with tears as he puts the phone down and turns the news back on. It’s still annoying. Donghae hates background noise, but he leaves it playing.

Of course you don’t. Not for a while. Was it this hard for you, too?

He gets off the sofa and walks over to the suitcase lying by the front door in search of a fresh shirt. It takes him way too long to find one, and most of the clothes end up outside of the thing. Donghae eyes the mess on the floor for a few long seconds before tossing the used shirt over it and changing into the other one. It’s loose. It’s comfortable. It’s what you wear at home.

Probably not. You were always stronger than me.

He decides it’s time to try out the new coffee maker. The sun is already setting, but that’s what feels right at the moment. He pretends he doesn’t get startled when his nostrils get hit with a smell of newness once he enters the kitchen. The rest goes as planned. He doesn’t know why he thought the coffee maker would work any different; it’s the exact same model they’ve been using for years at his parents’ house. Donghae’s always been excellent at making coffee.

Have you changed?

The coffee cup in his hand looks ridiculously tiny compared to the house. The space seems empty, sterile even. He still has plants to buy and photos to hang. With the thought in mind, he moves to the boxes piled up next to the suitcase, careful not to get his feet tangled in the bundle of clothes he left there earlier. Still holding the drink in one hand, he clumsily picks up the box sitting on top before going back to the sofa. The clink of the porcelain cup hitting a glass surface makes him wince. Perhaps the glass table wasn’t a good idea.

Do I want to know?

He opens the box and starts taking the items out one by one: his bronze medal in the long jump, his father’s fishing hat, the lucky pen that got him into law school. There are two framed photos: one of his grandmas sunbathing on the balcony, the other of his brother carrying their first dog. Donghae thinks he took them both.

The next picture isn’t framed; it’s not meant to be exhibited. He closes his eyes as soon as Hyukjae’s bright smile comes into view.

I do. I’d love you just as much.