Hyukjae has his own fair share of relationship failures. In fact, he’s had too much of them that he couldn’t even be bothered anymore. He’s had more than enough experience to last him for a lifetime—enough knowledge to be able to predict how any relationship would turn out once some conflict starts to brew.

The one thing Hyukjae can say about all of his past relationships is the fact that they were all complicated.

And he was damn proud of himself for going through all those complications because they turned him into the wise person he is right now.

However, as he faces his current predicament, Hyukjae realizes that all of the experience he prided himself on are actually rather useless.

It doesn’t matter that he knows what exactly to do when a buddy starts falling in love, or that he knows how to charm and seduce pretty much anyone with a simple smirk or a bat of an eyelash. It doesn’t matter that he can easily detect when someone’s lying to him, or worse, cheating on him, or if they are actually having some other ulterior motive in the relationship. His ability to detect it when his partner is falling out of love with him, and his one-two-three steps to moving on from such relationships—none of these matter.

None of these can actually help him in the dire circumstances he’s currently stuck in.

None of his knowledge, experiences, and abilities can help him find Donghae again.

Exhaling harshly, he slams down the nth travel magazine on his desk, feeling a strong yet familiar urge to rip out the pages in utter frustration.

It’s been a month.

A month since he came back to Seoul from his business trip—tired, confused, worried, and hurt.

Donghae never called him.

He waited—he’s never done that for someone since his university days (what makes it worse is that the person he waited for back then is still the same person who made him wait now, three years and a few months later). He freaking waited that first night, sacrificing the time he had for sleep, dark circles growing more prominent and weariness tugging at his nerves as he stared unblinkingly at his phone, wondering and worrying.

The next day, he was distracted as hell during the meetings and even got reprimanded by a superior, and yet he was still waiting, constantly checking on his phone and getting scolded time and again.

He had decided to call Donghae himself but he got a flat line.

What was Hyukjae supposed to think?

What could have possibly happened? Did Donghae get into trouble? Did he lose his phone? Did he not get any signal in Brazil? Or was he simply bored out of his wits during that flight and decided to play with Hyukjae only to ditch him in the end? Because he said he worked for a travel magazine and yet now, Hyukjae couldn’t even find his name on any of them.

Was this his punishment for playing with people’s hearts in the past?

Shaking his head and letting out a small growl, Hyukjae shoves the various travel magazines off his desk in frustration, sending them to rustle mid-air and land on a messy pile on the carpeted floor of his personal office.

He buries his face into his palms and sighs wearily.

It has been a month.

And still, no Donghae.

-

Writer’s block.

It truly is a terrible thing.

It eats at your mind—constantly telling you that everything is worthless, that your work is inferior. It drains out your motivation and feeds you negativities, makes you stare at empty pages while the clock ticks away and precious time is wasted on unproductivity.

There are so many things that can cause a writer’s block.

Donghae is rather familiar with it, as he has experienced pretty much all kinds of block in his years as an amateur fiction writer. He has also learned how to deal with them and eventually, get over them, because it is a given in his career. A magazine columnist could not afford any kind of writer’s block. He needs to create something good every month. After all, he’s being paid for it.

But for the first time, Donghae finds himself getting scolded by his editor for submitting a crappy, half-assed, piece of  (his editor’s words, not his) article on Brazil.

He has revised his work a million times already, and yet his boss is still not satisfied.

Truthfully, he couldn’t blame her for it.

He agrees wholeheartedly with her, in fact.

“This isn’t you, Donghae,” Boa says, the moment she finished reading simply the first paragraph of the revised article, her high heels clicking ruthlessly against the spotless white tiles of their office. “You know it as well as I do. This thing deserves the words I said earlier. It’s crappy. Half-assed. And a piece of . It isn’t your usual excellent, high-quality work. When have I ever asked you to revise? For the two-something years you’ve been working here, I never had you revise anything. You left for Brazil all jolly and excited, and you came back a zombie. What the hell happened to you in there?”

My heart broke, that’s what happened, Donghae wants to say.

But it would require so much explanation—about Hyukjae and the flight and three years ago, and Donghae just didn’t have the strength to bother talking about it (as much as he knows how his superior can give him good advice, as she always have).

He’s heartbroken.

Not a big ing deal.

He shouldn’t be unable to submit a good article just because of it.

It’s all his fault anyway. For being careless. For choosing to go outside before calling Hyukjae. For not asking about his other contact details. For being classic, stupid Donghae.

Boa sighs wearily and puts the article back on the desk before stepping towards Donghae and placing her hands on his shoulders.

“Donghae,” she says in that gentle voice he knows too well. “You know you can talk to me right?”

He glances up at her through his now shorter bangs (the heartbreak made him want to shave his entire head but he still had enough brain not to do it), biting his lower lip in remorse. He never liked getting his friends worried about him.

“What happened?” Boa asks, eyes tender and understanding, and it reminds Donghae of why he could never imagine himself from leaving this job. Because he had the best boss ever.

“Noona, I—”

All of a sudden, he couldn’t contain himself anymore. And for the first time since that fateful night where he lost the only connection he had to the person he believed to be his soulmate, Donghae cries again.

-

Donghae should have told his boss earlier.

He couldn’t hate himself more at the moment.

A month.

He wasted an entire ing month moping like an idiot and infuriating his editor for his inability to submit a worthy article. He wasted his time being a sad, pitiful, unfortunate little thing who couldn’t do and, really, had he been working in another company where the boss isn’t as fond of him as Boa is, he would’ve gotten fired.

What an idiot he is.

Boa’s voice echoes repeatedly in his mind.

You know what, I’ll let you off the pen name if you give me a good article within this week. That’s right. For once, you are publishing this as Lee Donghae. So your soulmate can go and find you.

He shakes his head in disbelief over his own actions before plopping on his seat and hurriedly opening his laptop.

He has an article to write.

-

Two months.

Hyukjae has given up.

Truthfully, there is only so much that he can take. There is a limit to his patience—a limit to how much he intends to let himself suffer over something that probably isn’t even worth it. A limit to how much heartache he can actually endure.

Whatever it is that happened to Donghae, it should not be any of his concern anymore.

Clearly, they aren’t meant to be as Hyukjae would have liked to think.

They met once, but were separated for three years. They met again, and now this? He’s had enough. He isn’t up for playing stupid games like this with fate or whatever cruel little is doing this to him.

Huffing in mild irritation, he places the last of the travel magazines inside the recycle box. The box that would soon be taken away by his assistant Kyuhyun, and after that, he would never see it again.

It’s a part of his one-two-three steps to moving on.

Step one: getting rid of everything that reminds you of that person.

It’s not like he has a lot of things to remind him of that guy. They’ve met twice, for goodness’ sake, they haven’t been in each other’s lives long enough for them to leave so much traces and big, memorable imprints.

Or so he’d like to think.

If Hyukjae would be completely honest, no one in his life has ever left such a huge feeling of loss and emptiness the way Donghae did.

A knock on his door echoes and effectively jolts him out of his daze, and he looks up as Kyuhyun pokes his head between the small gap between the door and the frame. “So… is your recycle box ready?”

Hyukjae gives a noncommittal grunt and gestures towards the box sitting next to his desk.

The younger male furrows his brows at the stacks of glossy, new magazines but does not say anything, knowing better than to give another offhanded, rude remark when his boss is clearly not in a good mood.

Shrugging, Kyuhyun walks inside and takes the box into his arms. He leaves without a word.

And just like that, Hyukjae has completed step one.

Sighing, he casts his gaze to the window on the right side of the room, the yellow afternoon sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

It’s bright.

And it reminds him of a certain smile—of thin lips and crooked teeth and perfection.

Groaning, Hyukjae palms his face before looking at the door where his assistant had just gone through.

“Kyuhyun-ah? Can you get rid of the window too?”

He doesn’t hear the younger male’s incredulous cursing.

-

“Nothing yet?”

Donghae peeks into his boss’ office for the nth time that day, causing Boa to roll her eyes in mild exasperation.

“Hae, honey, the issue was released hours ago,” Boa says flatly, dimples appearing on her cheeks as she smiles at the younger boy’s defeated expression. “Give it some time, Donghae-yah. Maybe your soulmate hasn’t bought a copy yet.”

Pouting, the brunette male makes his way inside the room, eyes glimmering in a mix of hope and uncertainty. “What if he doesn’t buy a copy at all? What if he’s given up on me?”

“Then maybe he isn’t your soulmate.”

“Noona!”

“I kid, I kid,” Boa laughs, melodious voice filling the air. “Say, Donghae, have you tried going back to that café where you two first met? Who knows, he could have come back there and maybe he’s also waiting for you in there.”

“I did but,” Donghae frowns, taking the empty seat in front of his editor’s desk. “I’ve never seen him there. I mean, before we met on the plane, we both went back to that place numerous times and still never met. How would it be any different now?”

“Well then, I have a proposition,” Boa says, a familiar glint in her eyes that tells Donghae she’s just had a genius idea. “Hear me out, will you?”

Donghae props his elbows on her desk and listens.

-

When the third month comes, Donghae knows he has no other alternative.

Initially, he had been very much against Boa’s proposal. After all, he is a very private and shy introvert. It’s the reason why he hides behind a pen name. He does not like getting too much attention, does not like people turning to look at him or greatly acknowledging him for something—even his writings.

He’s the observer, after all. To be on the receiving end of other people’s gazes and observations simply unnerves him.

But it’s been three months, and he knows that at this point, if he truly does not want to lose Hyukjae, he does not have any other choice.

Exhaling harshly, he storms into his editor’s office, eyes shining with multitudes of emotions—fear, desperation, determination.

Boa takes one look at him and understands. She gives him a knowing smile and a nod.

-

When Hyukjae enters his office that fateful Thursday morning, his head throbbing in his hands due to the hangover h