“Jaehyung-ah,”

 

I call, although he is sitting right next to me. He has been stuck with his paper and pen now, writing lines of lyrics only to cross them out again and again. He’ll take his guitar and strum some chords or melodies, but will put it back later and pick up his paper and pen over again. He has been like this for a while now, and I notice how he forces himself to work even when his mind isn’t even there. His mind is somewhere else, somewhere… I’m not able to reach.

 

I want him to take a rest, but the idea doesn’t even cross his mind, or rather, the idea is something he hated.

 

I remember him saying he couldn't stop doing something, or else he would feel like he wasn't enough, or that his mind would get so noisy. Just like today, he was always running.

 

“You can take a rest every now and then too,” I suggested, which he didn’t argue, but didn’t listen either. So I gave him time to figure himself out, but he took it so seriously that we stopped talking altogether for a good one month.

 

And while I spent my time getting anxious about him, he was getting more productive, or so he said.

 

“I think I’m being bad for saying this, but it got better when I’m away.” He said then. "From.. you. It's like an all or none."

 

He told me he got at least five new lyrics he had made in two weeks away from me, which was a significant improvement for his writer’s block.

 

So that was how I knew: it wasn’t his writer’s block that made him go nowhere, it was me.

 

So I went back off to give him the space he needed, which he took it seriously for another month.

 

I don't remember which started first: his writer’s block, or us stumbling upon ourselves. I couldn’t seem to point out when his writer’s block started. When did it start? I tried recalling where things went wrong by reading his lyrics – he was really honest with his lyrics that some were actually telling about his own experience or his feelings – but I couldn't figure it out. Looking back, I realize it has been a while that our conversation went like a forced conversation, or rather a template, a soulless message. Struggling with the things we wanted to say and we kept inside, we ended up throwing basic daily questions and answers without meaning anything. We we're curious. It wasn't out of concern. We just kept doing it for the sake of keeping the conversation going. If there was nothing else to say, I’d send him a sticker, and he’d send me another. An okay would be replied to by another okay. It was as if no one wanted to be the person who ended the chat.

 

But after a month, when I reached out to him to ask if he was getting better, he said yes, so I insisted that I needed to talk to him, which brought us here.

 

It's funny how we've never ran out of conversations but now, we struggle with day to day conversation that I feel helpless.

 

Jaehyung looks up from his paper, smiling at me, and I flinch, knowing he puts so much effort just to put up a smile although his eyes can never lie - they're empty. His eyes are the most beautiful thing I've seen; they glitter - and you won't forget once you see his eyes shine for the things he loves. And his smile too. But they're empty now.

 

“I’m sorry. You end up stuck with me, hm?” He puts his pen on the table, turning his chair so that he is facing me. “Shall we have some ice cream? Do you want some ice cream?”

 

I take a deep breath as I pull his hand and hold it in both of my hands. “Shall we?”

 

He quickly puts all his belongings in his bag and put his guitar on the stand, and we walk out of the building hand in hand.

 

I look up at him, watching as the sun ray falls upon his blonde hair and eyes, learning the details of his face again, and tighten my grip on his hand.

 

Although he said he got better, I know he hasn’t got any better. He is still the same: hurt, broken, stuck. His mind is not going anywhere. His eyes when he looks at me are just as empty as his words sound to me, and his smile doesn’t even cover the hurt he has inside his heart.

 

He hasn’t got any better. Or at least, not while I’m here.

 

And it hurts me seeing him like this, knowing it is because of me.

 

He is a star. Why should a star be dimmed?

 

Before we reach our destination – the ice cream shop we usually come to – I pull his hand to stop him on his track. I look up at him, taking a deep breath.

 

It feels like yesterday when he confessed, while getting drunk after finishing one of his lyrics. "I'm a guy with a lot of fears," He said, "Why won't you notice me? I've poured everything to my lyrics and you keep your ear shut..."

 

It feels like yesterday when I took the initiative to take his hand as we walked, something I had never done before.

 

It feels like yesterday when he said, "Take your time understanding yourself. I'll be waiting on the other side."

 

I flinch. My mind wandered to the first time I met him, sitting on the park bench playing guitar, only to be stopped by a call from his parents, to him with teary eyes in the library, to him eating three bowls of jajangmyeon, to him throwing questions to our professor despite sleeping throughout the class.

 

I wonder where love began.

 

Did it start at the very first time I saw you, reading a book titled The Little Prince, and smiled ever so broadly as you reached the ending - enjoying yourself as if nothing around you existed? Was it when I learned how hard you worked to be a singer, although it meant going so far away from your home? Could it be because of your smile, shining as you talked about a new song you made (although it sounded weird), or your honey dipped voice, accompanying me whenever I couldn't sleep? Was it when I saw you cried silently, or was it when you won your very first award? How did love begin, again? Did I choose to grow love and nurture it, or did I find it along the way and keep it close?

 

“Jaehyung-ah,” I say while making my way to stand in front of him. I hold his right hand with my left hand, and his left hand with my right hand, shaking it softly. I look right at his eyes behind those glases.

 

But when did love stop? Did it stop when I saw you reading a book and enjoying yourself as if I didn't exist? Was it because you missed your home and parents so bad and yet you kept going because you had a dream to achieve and responsibility to keep, although I knew you were hurting? Could it be because of your sheepish smile, or your now honey dipped voice? Was it when I saw you achieving so many things or was it when I saw you cry silently? How did love stop, again? Did I choose to stop and go on, or did I drop it somewhere and let go?

 

He has been bruised, and I have done nothing but watched as he got hurt over and over. He is bruised, but no matter how much I try to get in, he has built his wall so high I can't even break. His heart is trapped somewhere I am not able to touch, and although he is always there, everyone knows he is pulling away silently.

 

“Let’s break up,” I say, then.

 

There is a long silence as he only stares at me, blinking, his grip on my hands loosens but I keep them.

 

He looks down. Our feet touch. Our hands touch. But that’s just it.

 

“Let’s break up,” I repeat, and it’s just then that I hear him sobbing.

 

He's crying.

 

In fact, I’ve been crying too, because I know what his answer will be once I bring the topic.

 

One of us needs to say it, nevertheless, even if it means she/he needs to be the bad one.

 

Everyone knows he’s too nice of a person to be the bad one. He's always blunt with his words as if nothing matters, but in fact, his heart is so soft, and he dares not to hurt anyone.

 

“You’ve endured enough,” I say, and I mean it. He’s always been the one giving in – it must’ve been tiring him out.

 

We stay like that for a couple of minutes before he pulls back and quickly wipes his tears. I let out a chuckle because he looks like a kid whenever he cries, and he knows it too. I deny the fact that my heart aches each second I realize he agrees to the whole break-up thing no matter how prepared I suppose I have been.

 

“I’m sorry,” He says after a while, his eyes look so painful that I feel my eyes getting warm too.

 

“Hey, I’m the one who’s sorry,”

 

He my head before wiping the tears I don’t realize streaming down my face. “I’m sorry.”

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

We decide to eat our ice cream on the shop’s rooftop. It’s always empty and a perfect hideout whenever we’re bored, or when we have things to ponder, or when we just want to hang out without people around. As always, he’s having strawberry ice cream and I’m having chocolate.

 

For the last time, I lean my head on his shoulder.

 

“I’m going to miss you,” I say, in all honesty. It’s something I used to hate to say, but right now, it just feels right to say because it’s the truth and I don’t want to regret it later. Although I was the one saying it, the thought of me not spending most of my time with him is daunting me and suffocates me, and I realize I’m going to miss him dearly.

 

“I’m going to miss you too.”

 

We sit there until the sky turns to deep orange, and we watch the sky together before going back. We have a habit of counting down the sunset, but today we don’t, because it feels like counting the seconds to the end of our relationship.

 

After the sun sets, we walks me to my house, where he put me in his embrace once again before asking me to go inside. I wish time could be stopped there.

 

Of course it couldn’t, so we go on.

 

 

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