It’s the strangest times that I find myself thinking about him – when I’m washing my hair, when I swallow a sip of coffee, when I’m stuck in traffic. I think about his fingers against my cheek, his groggy voice when he said my name at six in the morning, the way he hushed me as I made my way out of the window to the fire escape. Despite the sneaking around, I believed Suho loved me. I believed in his love notes and his midday phone calls. I believed in his promises of ‘tomorrow’ and ‘next year’ and ‘forever’. I believed in him, even if no one else was to know what was going on between us, even if we had to hide our happiness. It was our little secret.
But there was a secret that even he didn’t know - that I decided to keep all to myself, something that I refused to admit even as I watched him walk away for the last time – that I, Luhan, had loved him too. Sometimes I think about calling him, but then I get too scared in the possibilities. He might have changed numbers. His wife might pick up the phone – or maybe it’ll be the little girl who whispers ‘hello’ into the receiver. Or maybe he would just see my number and not answer at all. I think that would be the worst. So instead I choose to just ignore that urge and allow myself to get lost in the hot water hitting my skin, the taste of my coffee, the song on the car radio – and I try to forget about him once more.
drabble by duizhangsoo