"Help, I have done it again
I have been here many times before
Hurt myself again, today
And the worst is there's no one else to blame"

Breathe Me by Sia
 

Things were getting . . . easier – if you could call it that. Life was moving by a bit faster than I wanted it to, but the bouts of daily sadness were becoming less and less, and I think it was all because of Chansung. As much as I hated it, it was good that he knew my dirty little secret. I had another shoulder to lean on, one that cared about the things I cared about; one that cared about Taec the way I did. And every time I visited one of Nichkhun’s weekly meetings, I could feel the weights in my heart growing lighter and lighter. It was nice to laugh, it was even nice to cry. It felt empowering. Every time I left the honey blonde Thai’s office, I was in a good mood. It was because of him that I dared to imagine, that I dared to think about hope.

   “It’s only one o’clock, do you wanna grab a bite for lunch?” He asked while I was in his office one day, busy fishing my keys out of my jacket pockets and already bundled in my light jacket. I spun around, seeing Nichkhun pulling on a red knit hat that looked like something that had gone out of style ten or so years ago. At first I was surprised, since we had actually never done anything outside of the clinic or his support groups before, but just a glance at his attempt at making a puppy face and I couldn’t help nodding.

   We shared a laugh as we left the clinic.

   Part of me wondered why things were easy with him. But why wouldn’t they be?

   When I was near Taecyeon, or even Chansung, I was in a constant state of dread. Hidden behind every smile, was the fear of the inevitable outcome that was always just around the corner. But Nichkhun, he cleansed my soul like fresh water; gave me relief after being parched for what felt like so long. My love for him was something different. It had no fears, like he did. No chains, like him. No bitterness to tint the sweet taste of life. My friendship with Nichkhun brought me something that I had been longing to feel since . . . since the passing of my father.

   Freedom.

   “I have to say, MinJun,” Nickhun begun as we sat down in a small restaurant that he had sworn by on the short drive from the clinic. Now he looked at me, his chocolate eyes smiling as he brushed the fringe of honey hair from his eyes. “You look like you’ve come a long way.”

   I don’t know why, but I blushed, looking down at the table and tracing my finger along the pattern. “I’m not that different, really.”

   “But you feel different don’t you?” His smile widened when I nodded and he leaned himself back against the seat while he let out a contented sigh. “I’m proud of you.”

   “Yah!” I sighed with him, playfully swatting his hands away when he tried to reach across the table to me. “What do you have to be so proud of, huh? I’m older than you!” Again, we were laughing, so freely and effortlessly. “Let’s not talk about me . . . How’s Wooyoung doing?”

   I didn’t miss the way his eyes lit up at the mere mention of the nurse, but his face quickly sunk a little and he rested his chin in his palm. “Still sulking because of my transfer to fulltime at the clinic.” He mimicked a pout and then chuckled humorlessly.

   “Why don’t you ask him out?” I questioned him, finally sick of beating around the bush with him when it came to this subject. I had been watching the two go back and forth with each other for the last couple months, but neither made a move, it was becoming painful to even look at.

   “Tell me,” Khun was now the one to look away from me. “If you’d have gotten sick before you met Taecyeon . . . would you still have married him?” He looked up to see my frown and just smiled faintly, indicating that I didn’t even have to answer for him. We both knew I would never choose to do this to Taecyeon.

   “But I thought . . . you had your condition under control?”

   Nichkhun just nodded, mumbling something that I didn’t quite catch, before a silence fell over the both of us. I stared out the window, my mind reeling with questions that I was scared to ask him. Maybe I was completely transparent, because immediately after the waitress left from taking our order, Khun spoke up again.

   “Don’t go diving into a rut of depression, arasseo?” I snapped my head up to look at him, his smile was back and I questioned how he managed to do it.

   I shook my head at nothing at all. “You know all that advice you tell me, about living my life and letting those who care about me be by my side?” He nodded. “I’m just thinking that maybe you should try and do that too . . .”

   “You’re saying that you think I should pursue a relationship with Woo?”

   “I think you should be happy.”

   His hand reached up to his face. I looked away as he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, it felt out of place to see Nichkhun suffer; like I was watching something sacred, something that didn’t happen often. His thick and breathy exhale startled me into looking back at him and I knew immediately the reason for his trembling lip and sunken in shoulders. My hands instinctively reached for his, the warmth of his palms clenched around my fingers. I would have said something else had he not looked at me through ardent, glistening eyes.

   “You’re right.” He said in brittle whisper.



I was thoroughly surprised to see Taecyeon’s car in the driveway when I pulled up. A slight excitement washed over me and I got out of the car more enthusiastically than what was really necessary, but I was eager. I needed comfort. I needed the strong arms and voice of reason that only my husband could give me.

   But the house was empty, or so it seemed.

   I walked past Chansung’s wallet and house keys lying on the dining room table, my curiosity already peaked and suspicion setting in the deeper I stepped into the house. There was a sound, coming from down the hallway and I closed my eyes, trying my hardest not to think about the possibilities. “Taec?” I called out softly, with little to no actual effort, since I wasn’t really looking for him, I figured.

   The muffled sound rang through the house again, only louder. For some unknown and god forsaken reason, I decided to check the bedroom, making my way down the hall with the most eerie feeling crawling down my spine like melting ice. I shivered.

   I wasn’t looking for them . . . but I found them.

   The muscles in my shoulders tightened as I stood in front of the closed door to the laundry room. I could hear, underneath the low rumbling of the washing machine, the rhythmic sound of my heart breaking.

   This is what I wanted. I told myself that, over and over in my head, I screamed out and forced myself to feel the most false sense of happiness that my plan was working. I told myself that it would be alright. That everything would be okay now. I told myself anything, in order to drown out the sound of soft from behind that door. This is what I wanted.

   This is . . . what I wanted myself to want.

   So why did it feel like my lungs were void of air?

   I didn’t even notice that I was crying until I choked, quickly covering my mouth with both my hands. Before long, my legs were giving in, giving up. No longer having a will to stand on their own, I leaned against the wall and slid down to the cold floorboards.

   I cried silently against the wall as I continued to listen to them.



I couldn’t tell you how long I sat there, on the floor in the hallway. Long enough that when all the sounds from the laundry room halted, I jolted out of my zombified trance and stared at the door with wide, wet eyes. Not a sound could be heard, save the washing machine on its final spin cycle, and I pushed myself off the floor, not even daring to breathe too loudly as I made my way out the front door.

   My car was still slightly warm inside, so I sat down and gripped the steering wheel, staring before me in a sullen daze. This is what I wanted. I wiped the tears from my eyes again, taking deep breaths and forcing myself to calm down before I could even think of stepping foot in that house again.

   I felt pathetic.

   I knew that none of this was my husband’s fault, it was all my own. My doing. But despite knowing that my own scheming and plotting was the cause behind this, there was still that bladelike pain in my chest, my own murder weapon. No matter how much I tried to convince myself that I was okay with this, a part of me – one that I had thought I buried deep down inside – was always hoping, wishing foolishly, that Taecyeon would resist.

   But could I really blame him?

   With a weak sigh, I lifted my forehead from where it rested on the steering wheel, checked my reflection in the visor mirror. Even to myself, I looked like a mess. I ran my fingers through my bangs a few times and then grabbed my keys.

   This time, there was sound in the house when I opened the front door. I could hear the sound of water running in the kitchen, along with the clink of dishes. I took slow steps into the kitchen, seeing the two tall men standing next to each other, fully clothed and washing dishes in the sink. It was . . . normal. Everything about the scene between them was normal, from the way Taecyeon splashed Chansung’s arm with soapy water, to the way Chansung retaliated by smearing suds all over the other giant’s face. It was so incredibly sweet and normal.

   Taec had noticed me when he turned to grab a dish towel, his jaw set but he smiled brightly, wiping his hands and face off. “Jun, what are you doing home so early?” Chansung too looked back at us as Taecyeon walked over and kissed my forehead.

   Part of me wondered whether or not I could answer, doubt filled my throat and made my chest tight, but I just put on a soft smile. “I should ask you that . . . You’re never home this early.”

   “Seulong gave me the afternoon off.” Taecyeon scratched the back of his head and looked down. “I didn’t get home that long ago, I was gonna make lunch for me and Channie . . . are you hungry?”

   I glanced to Chansung, who smiled and I could tell just from the way he looked away, that he was feeling guiltier by the second. I shook my head. “I ate with Nichkhun.” My eyes widened slightly when I realized what I had just said and before I could blurt out an excuse, Taecyeon raised an eyebrow.

   “Who?”

   “He’s . . .” For the first time, I wanted to tell the truth to him. But then this all would have been a waste of time. “He’s a new friend, you have to meet him sometime.” I smiled only briefly. “I’m gonna go shower, I might steal some noodles later, if you make them.”

   And with that, I left them in the kitchen, closing my eyes as I shut the bathroom door and locked it. “Nothing has changed.” I told myself as I ed my shirt. “Taecyeon loves me.”