Epilogue

Minho sighed as his heavy heart became heavier by the time he needed to haul his sorry home. It was definitely nearing midnight but it has become a routine that he didn’t even realize the time anymore. Sometimes, he wished he could make himself follow his colleagues to the pub for a round of two like tonight but he just couldn’t. The smiling façade would be too much for him to continue after working hours, he thought. All he wanted to do was break down and the only place he could do that was home.

The clichéd saying, “Home is where the heart is” was an understatement to Minho. Every day when he leaves his house, he would leave his heart there because he knew he cannot function at work with a ing bleeding heart. Yeah! He’s sappy that way. He needed to tune off in order to finish his projects and plans in time so he could not afford becoming a blubbering piece of crap every time he realized that he was unconsciously waiting for a call asking for a lunch date or why he wasn’t home yet because dinner was getting cold. Calls that he took for granted and ignored countless of time in the past, as he, more often than not brushed off the cheerful voice on the other line curtly that the voice soon turned tired as the requests become more perfunctory in time due to bruising cold words.

Minho tried his best to keep up at least a schooled appearance in front of people outside of the confines of his home. He had to because he could not afford to give in to the urge of sobbing his pitiful heart out every time people asked him about his current love life. Nor, he could afford to slap the young intern, who was trying to charm his pants off, across his ty face since day one when he knew Minho swing the other way. All he could do was smile and laugh everything off like the fool he was in reality. The stupid fool who didn’t know he had a good thing going on until he screwed everything up royally.

Over time, he had learned to bury himself with work and perfected the art of being his own slave driver but no one knew the pain that he carries in his heart. The bags underneath his big eyes were evidence of his restless nights, contrary to popular belief that he was burning the midnight oil for work. He kept that side of his life for after work; his private lonesome empty life.

He hated going home but nevertheless he drove himself through the familiar streets heading towards his personal hell on earth. A punishment that he put himself day in, day out because he knew he deserved it. He was the bastard that broke the heart of someone that was so precious to him and was too stupid enough not to realize the situation until it was too late