Minhwan left him on a snowy day, and memories of him melted like snow.

The winter sky is a gloomy gray on that day, and the snow fell softly against the ground. It lays on top of the trees and buildings. It’s a beautiful sight, a sight that stirred memories within him. A sigh escapes his lips as he recalled the memories. Screaming, arguing, items thrown at each other, he remembers it all so vividly. They were memories he wanted to melt away like the rest, but it stayed imprinted in his mind. Seunghyun is a lonely man, a lonely man that’s fallen, but at this point, he’s stopped caring.

He spends most of his time these days lying under layers and layers of blankets, staring at the white, white ceiling. He reminisces in the memories he can’t remember. He wants to remember them, but at the same time, he doesn’t. They are treasured pictures within an album. They are the cause of the constant throbbing he felt.

What did he do to deserve such a fate? What did he do to live such a life? He doesn’t know, and he wants to know.

But maybe not knowing is best for him.

It’s a habit for him to call Minhwan every night, even if they live in the same apartment or sleep in the same room. He always calls him, talks to him until he falls asleep. His voice is a sweet lullaby that lulls him into deep slumber, but tonight, he’s wide awake without the comforts of Minhwan’s voice.

Seunghyun misses him; Seunghyun misses Minhwan. He misses everything about him. He misses his warmth, his touch, his voice, his everything.

Everything about Minhwan is engraved into his being; he wishes he were here.

He curls up in his bed, his phone in his hands and a finger hovering over Minhwan’s name. He wants to hear his voice a last time. He wants to hear him breathe out his name, say his name even if it sounds exasperated or filled with bitter hatred.

He presses on the name, the phone rings, he waits for Minhwan to pick up, and surprisingly, he does.

“Minhwan—“

The call ends with a click; no words are spoken.

A small part of his heart breaks off, and he’s left vulnerable to insomnia’s clutches.

The next morning, he jolts out of bed with little to no sleep. He grabs his phone, clutching it close to him, staring at the screen with an intense gaze. Seunghyun is sure that Minhwan is going to call him back; he always does. Even if he had hung up on him, Minhwan never fails to call him back. He lays unmoving on his bed, waiting for his phone to ring, waiting for him to call him back.

He recalls the day they first met.

They were naïve high school students without a care of the world. They were best of friends and then later, an item. When Seunghyun first met Minhwan, he didn’t like him. He was quiet, barely spoke to anyone, and never put effort to actually befriend anyone, spending most of his time in class asleep. He was sure that Minhwan didn’t like him either. They were polar opposites. Seunghyun was loud, talkative, the class clown, and he was pretty damn sure he annoyed the hell out of Minhwan. They didn’t become friends until their teacher had partnered them up for some project.

Their friendship bloomed, and he gained new friends. They became a close-knit group that never broke apart, well, not until now. They laughed together, they cried together, a variety of emotions were felt during their high school years that only strengthened their bond.

Then he fell in love with Minhwan.

He came to realize that he had fallen in deep. He had fallen in deep and hard for Minhwan. He came to love Minhwan, he came to love his entire existence, and he wants to experience it all over again. They’re happy memories. They’re memories that wouldn’t melt even if spring greets winter and melts everything within her sight.

His phone rings. He dives towards his bed only to be disappointed by the name displayed on it. He picks up, mumbling a hello.

“I thought you’d never pick up!”

“Hey, Jaejin,” he greets. “Why’re you calling me at—I don’t know, two in the morning?”

“Just calling to check on you,” Jaejin answers.

Seunghyun laughs. “There’s no need for that.”

“Not funny, I know how much Minhwan affects you,” Jaejin retorts. “For all I know, you’re drowning yourself in soju and ice-cream, even if it is winter.”

Seunghyun frowns. “You don’t know that.”

He hears a frustrated sigh, and he can picture Jaejin’s frustrated expression while he runs a hand through his hair. “We’ve been friends since high school, we’ve gone through , I know how you deal with these situations, so don’t give me that bull-crap.”

“I’m dealing with this pretty fine, no soju, no ice-cream.”

“Well, it’s great knowing you’re still alive.” Jaejin pauses. “No, seriously.”

“You going to let me sleep now?”

“Yeah, bye, Seunghyun—oh by the way, Jonghun is going over there to check on you tomorrow.”

“There isn—“

“Just deal with it.”

The call ends, and he stares at the phone in his hand. He doesn’t know what to think about his friends checking up on him. He doesn’t want their pity; he doesn’t want them to think he’ll never get over this god damn breakup and move on. He’ll never move on, that’s the issue. He’ll never move on, and he’ll be left with a slowly breaking heart. He’ll have to watch Minhwan move on and date other people who aren’t him. The thought of it brings him pain, but he’ll endure it.

It’s all for Minhwan after all.

…

He’s woken up the next morning by the constant ringing of his doorbell, loud knocking on wood and someone calling out his name. He slides out of his bed, head hurting from the lack of sleep, and heads towards his front entrance. He opens the door, ready to scowl and scare whoever is interrupting his chance of catching some more shut-eye, but he’s greeted by someone with eyebrows knitted together in a worried expression.

He rubs his eyes and squints at the figure. “Jonghun?”

The man smiles. “The one and only, Jaejin told you I was coming in to check on you, right?”

Seunghyun nods. “Yeah, last night at like—, two in the morning?”

Jonghun lets himself in and looks around at the apartment. It’s still left in its torn state the night Seunghyun and Minhwan broke up. “This place looks terrible,” he comments. He looks over at Seunghyun. “You look terrible.”

“Thanks for pointing that out.”

“No problem. “ Jonghun bends down and begins to pick up the ripped pieces of paper. “You guys tore through this place bad.” He picks up the guitar from the floor, giving it a pitying look. “This poor baby, her strings were torn off.”

Seunghyun sheepishly laughs and rubs the back of his head. “You know Minhwan and his temper.”

“, was it that—“ Jonghun pauses, giving Seunghyun an apologetic look. “I should just shut up.”

Seunghyun waves it off. “It’s fine, I got over it,” he says, putting on a cheerful smile. He wants Jonghun to go away, he doesn’t want to see Jonghun, he doesn’t want to see his concern over him. He wants him to leave now, to leave the pieces of their broken relationship on the floor.

He just wants to be alone.

“Like hell you’re over it.” Jonghun scans over the area once more. “You haven’t removed anything from that night you guys—“

“Jonghun.” His voice comes out smaller than he wants it to be; his smile is faltering. “Just leave me alone.”

Jonghun sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fine, but let me get all the alcohol you have.”

His eyes widen. “Wait, why?”

“So you don’t get -faced drunk,” he answers. “Jaejin told me to do it.”

He’s gotten over his drunken habit. He’s gotten over it long ago. He doesn’t understand why they insist on bringing it up and try to prevent it from happening when it won’t.

“Jaejin doesn’t know .”

“Jaejin knows . Now let me get to your stash.”

They spend the next hour ridding his apartment of any alcoholic beverage he has. All of it is gone, even the cough medicine he has in his cabinet. Then he proceeds to clean up the rest of the apartment, placing all the pieces of papers within a box. The drum set is taken apart and stored in his closet, and he takes the guitar to fix, himself. Any signs of the argument that night are gone, and Seunghyun’s left with fading memories. Jonghun leaves with a small wave and worried eyes.

He’s finally left alone, but now he craves company.

…

His nights of insomnia have grown. There isn’t a night where he doesn’t spend half the time twisting and turning under his covers, attempting to allow sleep to take over. Sleep never overcomes him, and when it does, his dreams are filled with white thick snow. There’s nothing but white; he can’t see anything but white. Sometimes he’ll see a flicker of light, but as soon as it appears, it vanishes.

His friends routinely check on him, making sure he hasn’t fallen for the temptations of alcohol or drugs, making sure that he’s still alive and functioning. He’s surprised himself that he’s still alive, that he’s still a walking, functioning human being.

But everything soon spirals downward. Everything has fallen into a deep hole never to be retrieved.

…

He meets Minhwan again. They’re both in the same café; they both have the same drink cradled in their hands. Seunghyun gives him a smile. He knows it looks strained; he knows it looks fake, but he doesn’t care. Minhwan returns him with the same smile, small and fragile.

“I haven’t seen you in a long time,” Seunghyun starts.

Minhwan nods, “Yeah.”

“Jaejin refuses to tell me where you’re living now.”

He shrugs, “I live with him right now actually.” He brings up his cup of espresso macchiato up to his lips and takes a careful sip. “I told him not to tell you.”

“Oh, does that mean I can barge in at any moment now?” Seunghyun asks, nudging Minhwan’s side.

The short man bites his lips, hesitant to answer. “I—“

Seunghyun gives him a sad smile. “You’d rather not; it’s best if we don’t see each other. Is that what you want to say?”

“I—“ He looks away from Seunghyun. “I need to go. It was nice seeing you, Seunghyun.” He stands up and leaves, not giving Seunghyun a glance or giving him a chance to say bye.

Seunghyun looks over at the exit and then down to his untouched coffee.

“Bye,” he whispers.

…

There are things he wants to tell Minhwan. He wants to tell him how much he loves him, how much he misses him, how much happiness he brings into his life, but he especially wants to tell him how warm their memories are. He wants to tell him how he doesn’t want to leave the embraces of the memories. He wants to tell him how the memories melt him, how the memories are what shapes his life, but he never does. He never does tell him.

It’s all too late.

It’s all far too late.

He can never tell him. He can never tell Minhwan how much he’s affected his life.

He remembers the night where they argued, when Minhwan claimed that he didn’t love him enough. He, of course, stupidly enough, argues back. They both argue for hours. The argument doesn’t see any light, not wanting to end soon. The drum set within the corner of their living area has a drum stick stuck in the middle of it,and the strings on Seunghyun’s guitar are torn off. Music sheets are scattered on the floor, ripped and torn into pieces, and insults bounce off the walls.

It’s all his fault. It’s all his goddamn fault that the argument occurred, that Minhwan left him. Guilt gnaws on him as insomnia pulls him back further. He’s dead inside; he’s hollow inside.

The nights of insomnia have gotten worse. He hasn’t contacted any of his friends, Jonghun, Hongki, Jaejin. He hasn’t talked to any of them since their coincidental encounter at the café. He hasn’t left his own home since their coincidental encounter at the café. His sleepless nights are getting worse. When he actually sleeps, he only sees the white snow falling on him and the unreachable figure from afar.

His mind is heavy with falling snow. He can barely see through the thick, falling white. Nothing makes it to his vision but the blinding, cold white.

He wishes he told Minhwan, he wishes he told Minhwan all that before he left on that cold winter night.

He calls Minhwan again. He doesn’t pick up.

He leaves Minhwan a message.

“I love you.”

He leaves countless messages of “I love you.” He loved him; he still loves him. He wants to know what went wrong. He doesn’t want his love to fade away like the snow, like the countless memories they’ve slowly built.

He doesn’t want it to disappear. He doesn’t want to disappear.

He calls Minhwan one last time; all he needs to hear is his voice. He needs to hear his voice that sounds constantly drowsy, he needs to hear it.

Minhwan doesn’t pick up, so he leaves a last message.

“Minhwan, please listen to my wish before I hibernate. Just listen to my wish before spring comes.”

…

He finds himself falling at one point, he doesn’t know when, but he knows he’s falling. He’s lost track of time at this point; time has stopped for him. His mind is trapped before the time Minhwan had left him. His entire being is wrapped in a tight embrace of the thick snow of memories, threatening to melt away at any moment at this point. His body hits with a loud thud and everything starts to fade away.

The edge of his vision darkens, and he swears he can hear Minhwan’s voice.

He lies in the snow, red blooms around him, and he sees him. Minhwan appears in front of him with tear-filled eyes. It’s too late, it’s all too late, but finally, he can sleep. The nights of insomnia are gone, and the dull haze in his mind has disappeared.

He falls into eternal slumber, and his wish never reaches Minhwan’s ears.

He wants to wake up.