They’re not there to fill the void anymore.

Hongbin and Jaehwan sit on the couch. Dim orange light pours through the bare living room's single window, the sliding door that led out to the porch. Whispy dust motes float about the room, far too many to count, but Jaehwan tries anyway, if not to keep busy and distracted.

Their thighs are inches away from touching and their hands are even closer. Hongbin can feel Jaehwan's body heat and maybe he wants nothing more than to curl into it, close his eyes and pretend that it's okay. That it's always been okay and that it's going to always be okay.

Jaehwan laces his pinky with Hongbin's. Hongbin doesn't pull away.

Silence wasn't a good replacement, Jaehwan decided. It was too loud, too constant, and it made his bones ache. It made everything cold.

They were cold. Maybe it was just that they wanted different things. Their arrangement, as Hongbin had seethingly labeled it one dreary night, just wasn't working out anymore. Even though they both liked it, even though they had both tried to save it, there was nothing of them to be salvaged. It was like everything had gone from hot to cold in a finger snap — the silence had done that.

If only there was still chirping. The chirping had made everything better. When neither of them were saying anything and barely breathing, the chirping was there to take away the anxiety and chill that silence caused. They had both been able to keep going like that, curling into each other and simply listening to the chirping.

And then Hongbin found Jaehwan outside one night, stomping around. He didn't think much of it at first, and then he heard the crunches. When Jaehwan came back in that night, he had pretended to have heard nothing.

The chirping was quieter.

Jaehwan had known Hongbin saw him. He wanted Hongbin to stop him. He wanted to stop. Why didn't Hongbin stop him? Didn't he think it was worth stopping him? Jaehwan just kept going. He kept leaving the malnourished apartment at night to stomp around and feel the shocks up his legs and the crunches under his feet. Hongbin never stopped him.

Now here they were, rickety, torn couch molding to their bodies, in silence. Not even their breathing could be heard, like they were a couple of corpses eternally staring at the off-white wall and linked by their pinkies just barely forever.

"Are you sorry?" Jaehwan whispers.

Hongbin hums. "I'm not sure. I think I am. Are you?"

Jaehwan drops his eyes for just a moment but then looks back at the wall. "I am."

Hongbin gets up from the couch, making it squeal in protest. His pinky slides away from Jaehwan's but he turns around, leans down and presses his lips to the other's for a short, sour moment. "Then I'm sorry too." he murmurs back.

Jaehwan left Hongbin standing in the middle of the living room to be on the porch. Hongbin didn't follow. The shabby apartment door opened, closed, and then it was screamingly silent again.

The crickets were all dead, and so were they.