Maybe

A/N: Try to listen to the song Maybe by Jensen Gomez and Reese Lansangan as you read through this.

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She poured the unfinished coffee down the sink with her mind running in circles and asking herself Is this how it's supposed to be? Throwing away what you wanted at first just because you can't seem to find yourself to finish it?

She entered their room. Memories came flashing in like a playback of a movie. The worst part is she can't seem to find the button to stop it all.

The way his mouth would be pressed into hers as if telling her that this is not my lips- this is a passage way to my soul. I want you to see through me. I want you to learn everything about me. And that's what she did. She traced him perfectly like a ruled line. She learned everything about him more than what she did in her whole entire career. And when he lacked, she filled every space for him. She put her best effort to understand him. And understanding him costs her too much.

She opened their closet and his monochromatic wardrobe greeted her. She removed his shirts from the hanger. She brushed her fingers on the hem of his favorite shirt as if she wants to leave traces of her in his things. Despite what's bound to happen, she wants him to remember her.

The fall of the water from the bathroom stopped. A few minutes later, a beautiful man came out with only his pants on revealing his chiseled chest.

"You didn't have to pack my remaining clothes. I can do it on my own." He muttered, oblivious of his annoyed tone.

"I-I just wanna help." She stuttered with the fear that she made him angry. He was caught off guard. It wasn't his intention to scare her. It's just that they are over. They should be minding their own business from now on. He'll leave the house and they would continue living. Independently. Separately.

"You didn't have to." He whispered, softer this time.

A deafening silence enveloped them. No one bothered to let a word slip out of their mouths.

He went down the stairs with his luggage while she is on his tail. Upon reaching the front door, he turned to her.

"Sooyoung, I-"

"Don't. Save your parting words. Just please leave, Sungjae." She doesn't need another reminder of why it hurts. Her chest has constantly been the target of the bow and arrows that he holds. She doesn't know how she endured it for the past couple of months. Eleven to be exact.

She can't even look at him. How is she supposed to? He is wearing his goodbye like a newly pressed tee -proud and unregretful. She wants to hate him. But she can't. She can't meet his eyes because that meant she's willing to forget. She can't meet his eyes because that meant she's never seeing him again. She can't meet his eyes because that meant the last time she's going to tuck in her mind every part of him.

And she doesn't want any of it. She loves him so damn much that even if it hurts, she'll be here, letting him go but silently wishing from afar that he would come back.

Sungjae was about to protest but he decided not to. He has hurt her too much. He played the role of an asshole so well. So well he could get a fucking Grammy award for it. But who was he kidding, his heart ached so much seeing the girl he once adored, cherished, and loved being in a bucket of pain. And what kills him more is that he is the reason behind it.

He turned his heel and walked away from the house. When the door clicked, Sooyoung rested her frame on the door. The storm in her came rushing. The wind blowing two hundred fifty kilometers per hour tried to lift her walls, her walls that became the home of every piece of him. The rain falls on her seeping through every wound he perfectly installed in her chest.