[1] Gone Groom | Seonghwa ✓

two | we have got to have flashbacks

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SEONGHWA STOOD ME UP.

I still don't want to believe it's true, that no one can be that heartless, yet the painful churning in my chest alerts me the reality of everything. And mind you, he proposed. The one who thought about falling on one knee, popping the question, looking like my decision was a matter of life and death to him.

   Now that I think of it, we were okay then. I had been the only K-constant in his life, the reason why it's now hard to pinpoint where it all started. And when I try hard to decipher all of it in my head, ignoring the gradually building headache—useless. I'm in dire need of some aspirin; any pain-reliever, and I frown when I realise I have to go get it myself because I sent everyone away.

   Not even my best friend is welcome. And the last person I hope—wish—to see is him. So, I returned back to my old apartment, the place I once called home, way back when independence was the only thing I could care for. Before I got all mushy-gushy with Seonghwa and just had to move in together.

   Stupidest. Mistake. Ever.

   Life lesson #1: Never trust a guy who cajoles you into moving in with him.

   'I'm looking at us now and I still can't figure out how I had done it,' Seonghwa's cheeks were tomato, his eyes refusing to meet mine entirely as he fiddled nervously with my fingers intertwined with his. I reveled the sensation—riveting. One of the times I'd been obligated to tame my heart's disarray before things spiralled out of control. 'I can't live without you, Sonny. The thought of waking up next to you every morning is all I think of these days. Move in with me?'

   I swooned. It was late summer last year, the weather perfect and conducive enough for my idiotic act. He probably had everything planned. Seonghwa was that good.

   Perhaps he knew a trek by Han River would do the trick because I do have a vivid of my thoughts getting swayed along with those dark soft locks of his each time the cool breeze puffed softly through them.

   Or he knew buying me a cup of my favorite bubble tea before the walk would make me say 'yes' in a heartbeat. I remembered the cold liquid sending soothing signals to my brain. The kind that made one astute even the face of stupidity...

   Well, it just does.

   I bet Seonghwa was aware of what a stroll by a popular river—one of my favorite pastimes—would do to me: crumple any resolve I might have against playing house with him.

  Minus the kids.

  Let's not talk about the kids.

   He sure knew how to be an artful jerk. Seonghwa knew his way around his own game.

   The small apartment feels ridiculously cold and screams loneliness, creating a hedge of ominousness round about. At the thought, I wiggle further under the duvet until only my head peeks out. The sun peers at me, past the window, just about ready to close up shop, looking almost disinclined to make room for its smaller counterpart, dawdling against time as it gradually conceals itself behind a skyscraper in the busy parts of town. It should be beautifully enigmatic to watch, but considering I have decided that everything should look and feel the way I do at the moment, I refuse to see it.

   I scoff under my breath, my head trying to shuffle even deeper under the soft shield of woven cotton when my nose gets a whiff: Spicy wood. The expensive kind; the kind that intoxicates at first sniff. The kind I know only on him. And it reminds me of my current choice of clothing that isn't just any shirt. A faded blue band tee from a concert he claims to have attended back in college.

   The very first night he stayed over after a rigorously long day at work, he had it on underneath his outfit.

   'I should go, you need to sleep,' his voice sounded just as reluctant as I thought he felt and, in response, I had let out a dissonant whine. At that, his chest rumbled with laughter, rich and velvety: a combination I believed only him could pull off.

   'My bed's big enough for two,' I mumbled; my eyes remained close all through. Blissful images flashed behind shut heavy lids of how heavenly his chest felt beneath my head. And I need not forget that heartbeat: slightly unsteady, relaying to me just how nervous he was towards my suggestion. I couldn't begin to imagine why.

   'I'm well aware,' he paused. I wondered if he had second thoughts. That's when I willed my eyes open to look at him, landing first on a mop of onyx before meeting his gaze. 'The last thing I want is you uncomfortable.'

   'Nonsense. Besides, it's late.'

   'It's only nine...' he trailed off, glancing down at his watch-clad wrist. 'Approximately nine-thirty.'

   'Just shut up and stay,' I told him, releasing a content breath when he said nothing else afterwards. Seonghwa only laughed.

   Then I saw it. The unknown band's name already washed and chipped. I thought he should have gotten rid of it, but then he told me how much it meant to him. Needless to say, my interest became piqued.

   Too bad it never moved out with me because I always thought I needed something of him, aside from his lingering presence—something ... physical—in my home since I never fully left. Perhaps there'd been some unknown force that prognosticated this day.

   And upon returning home, as grief-stricken as I was, it's the first thing I grab from the dresser to put on. Not something I did unwillingly, my mind being half-awake, I can't deny that. Plus I knew when my fingers wrapped about the soft material, when my disheveled head pushed through it.

   No need to ask me why I chose it amidst everything. My reasons were my reasons: Completely unascertained to even myself.

   A quiet groan seeps through chapped lips when I see my phone screen light up on the coffee table. My eyes naturally turn to slits and I glare at the contraption. No doubt, it's him calling and I'm instantly reminded of my earlier resolve to turn off the device after the fifteenth missed call. That is precisely an hour ago.

   I forgot...

   Maybe.

   A minute draws near, the screen goes blank, the jitter that gradually builds a nest in my stomach dissipates. There's an unwanted desperation in me that longs to reach out, grab the phone, hit the first number on speed dial, which is his, and hear his voice.

   Hear him out; find out just where the hell everything went wrong.

   We were so good together. I thought that. Seonghwa thought that. Everyone thought that. Bae thought initially until early this year: the suspicions kicked in, Seonghwa lost a fan.

   It doesn't help matters upon finding out a major part of me still thinks we're good together, the perfect match. I could move on from this. Pretend none of it ever happened: I wasn't stood up on my wedding day, Seonghwa doesn't occasionally swap spit with some other woman (or women—whichever way he swings), who he's probably fibbed into thinking she's the most important thing in his life. The barely there smirch of rogue lipstick on his collar; the faint yet undeniable taste of cherry balm when we lock lips in greeting is merely a figment of my imagination.

   Seonghwa is loyal.

  Seonghwa loves me.

   Seonghwa is perfect.

   At the idea, one tear slides down a cheek. Who knew I still have emotional fluids left to waste.