everything was blurry,

the place we’re at was in fact

a dream that’s about to break someday.

—

Seven years ago, they had sat down on one of those benches. He was holding onto the pairs of shoes she had spent hours on, while she was fighting back tears. They had reassured one another that this was not the end. 

Like all beginnings worked though, it was indeed the end, or so everyone and himself included, thought almost bitterly as he glanced at that one bench they used to sit on.

In his defence, he hadn’t actually planned on coming here, or stopped by those very familiar bench, but sometimes a man’s heart worked in a strange way when hit by nostalgia. He blamed it on Brian’s preference in the small café by that same Public Library, and he blamed it on Brian’s typical tardiness that always allowed him just enough time to wander around the area by himself for until his younger brother would arrived.

Sometimes, Eric found himself by that same bench; some other times, he would find himself back in that familiar flower shop where he had gotten her the last bouquet: he wondered briefly, every times, if she still kept them for the flowers were fake and were to be kept for as long as one wanted to. Each time he had that same thought, he’d just chuckled bitterly, mentally reprimanding himself for such a ridiculous thought. It had been seven years, why the hell would she still want to keep it?

In retrospect, not everyone would agreed that seven years were a long time, yet they would agreed that seven years were enough to forget, to move on, and to continue on living their respective lives. In fact, he might have been doing those exact things. He didn’t dare to hope, for all he knew, hope was a useless thing for ones to hold onto. For all the happiness it could bring, hope could crashed and burned and had you wrecked into pieces beyond what you had even wished for. For hope was a cruel thing that he was never brave enough to even attempt with.

So he did the one thing that he was best at — pretend that all was alright, and let the hours ticked by as he lived through each day. He would went about his days, initially pretending that it didn’t hurt to pretend that what they had wasn’t at least real at one point. They said if you faked it for long enough, perhaps one day it could be real. Maybe if he faked it for long enough, perhaps one day, it really wouldn’t hurt for real.

To be very fair, neither of them were to be blamed. They had tried; hell, they had definitely tried, but sometimes wounds of the past were never ones to heal instantly when finally attempted to be treat. And sometimes, maybe wounds of the past were meant to be left alone and forgotten at where it was rather than trying to fix it. 

He could count on one hand the numbers of time they had tried, or even the people who had tried to help them. When they had lost contact for the first time, he had believed it was destined to be that way: they weren’t meant to be, and this was the sign for him to move on. But by some sheer absurd twist of fate, he bumped into the one person who just had to be the closest to her — Moonbyul. The other woman was a blessing in disguise. Eric thought she didn’t even have to, but she made it a point that he needed to have Yongsun’s new phone number for whatever reason it was that she had. 

But sometimes things were always too good to last. They had tried tackling on the matters personally by themselves, they had tried to address the whole thing as simple as they possibly could; yet it had only backfired even much worse than the initial hatred they had received for just being in the same room. Now, Eric thought bitterly as he took a sip of his coffee, they didn’t even need to be in the same room for all hell to break loose, all would be damned with just a mere mention of one another’s name as if they were plague to one another’s existence. 

Thus, it was back to square one: they were once again strangers with a little too many fond memories of one another that followed them like the ghosts of their pasts. 

Still, he appreciated her efforts and the person she had grown into. He vividly remembered how hesitant she used to be, or how cautious she used to be; yet to see and hear her trying to set the record straight, to illustrated that no, they are not one another’s plague and they are perfectly fine and well (it was a lie, but he didn’t need to point that out) in front of the whole world, he was proud. She was not the same Yongsun he had known anymore: she was stronger, braver, and she made it clear on whatever she wanted it to be.

When they were confronted with an overlapping schedule that one time at Kcon, he had tried to avoid it all, to pretend that they were two strangers who had unfortunately drifted apart with times. But she had been the first one to walk into his waiting room, handing him an entire lunchbox instead of her new album and sat with him until he finished eating because she knew his tendency to forget, or rather skip meals. She had then insisted that they acted as they used to be: ‘You know that I don’t hate you, and I would not sit any longer for other people to put words in my mouth that I hate you or I hate what we had in the past, because that is far from the actual truth.’ 

To say he was stunned would be an understatement, but then when was he ever not surprised by her?

While he was scared out of his wits for the inevitable approaching rage from both sides of their fandoms at this sudden display of close contacts, she had went out of her way to include him in every of her conversation, joked with him like they were once again filming that one show that had started all these mess in the first place. Eric had thought he had really moved on, but she had came in like an unforeseeable storm and messed him up all over again. He realised he was far, far away from moving on: he was in fact, even deeper in love. He had never wanted to runaway so bad that night. Not by himself from the fear of the incoming hates from the public, but with her. But a wish was merely a wish, so he had resorted to putting his own song with the same uncanny title on repeat that entire night.

Yongsun had tried though, and bless her members for trying to help, Eric acknowledged that, but sometimes courage and strength alone weren’t always enough. He had seen how disappointed and upset she was at the end of the day even after those efforts she had given.   

So he had resolved to the one thing that he did the best once again.

He would put on a mask every times someone would ever mentioned about her again, pretended that he hadn’t seen the numerous of times she had mentioned him on her own accord (inviting him to join her on her channel — yes, he had definitely seen those; no, he would definitely not acknowledge that invitation); watched as the Internet either rejoiced or became dejected as he came up with the most neutral response he could possibly think of: ‘Nothing happened between us, it was just a show, something I did a few years ago,’ and then it was all good once again. Soon enough, he would watched as time had indeed made the whole world forgot that they once had found solace and comfort in one another’s company. 

It was better that way. Nobody was hurt anymore, or so he would liked to believe. It probably worked better that way… right?