VHope: The OneShot Collection

VHope: His shoes

prompt: Let me know.

Taehyung knows.

Taehyung knows that Hoseok has found someone.

Park Jimin is smart, handsome, a professional dancer. He's good at conversations and easy on the eyes. He's got such a body and abs, he's all over Daegu and Busan. He's famous, he's climbing the social ladder forever. He's Hoseok's new fascination.

Taehyung isn't blind when he sees Hoseok smiling into his phone everytime it beeps. He's not stupid to notice their bedsheet lies cold on Hoseok's side all night, and in the wry hours of the morning does he hear the door open. He's not dense to notice how Hobi doesn't like to talk or spend time with him anymore, always trying to sneak to the academy or 'some important business'.

Taehyung knows, he knows.

But there's a difference between knowing and acting upon it, he thinks. He knows the strong walls of love he built over the five years of their relationship was crumbling down like a sandcastle under a bucket of water.

Worse of all, the sand has already washed far, far away, and Taehyung can only stare and wish to pick back the grains he made the castle with in the first place.

But he can't. His eyes are swollen everyday, his heart heavy. He's holding on to a tiny string of hope, that the old Hobi will return, smiling at him like he's the most precious thing on earth, kiss his lips like he's never kissed before, and tell him he loves him and only him.

Taehyung isn't delusional as well. He knows that there's another (much) possible scenario. Hobi sighing to him tiredly, his heart cleaching, sobs upto his throat when he hears three words can we talk?

But Taehyung hopes that even though Hobi no longer has feelings for him, he respects him or atleast their relationship to come and tell him. Just once. He's ready to accept whatever comes now, but dammit, say something.

Let me know what you're feeling.

Let me know what to do to myself now.

Taehyung's world is crumbled. Months have passed by, but nothing has changed. The gloomy silence hangs in their empty hallways, and the house feels like its breathing in the silence. It's killing Taehyung slowly, the silence. It's pierced his soul, his very depths, and he wonders if he'll ever make it out of the hellhole he's created himself.

He can't stand it anymore. He doesn't have the courage to scream at Hobi's face to call him a bloody cheater, tell him how's he's destroyed him piece by piece, and bestow upon him and Jimin such curses that they'll shudder all lifetime.

But Taehyung is tired. So, so tired. He can feels the tiredness in his bones, the tiredness in his heart and feelings. He's too numb to feel anything anymore.

He's lying one cold night alone. The windows are open, the cold wind is swaying into his (their?) room, their wind chime is fluttering, and Taehyung feels like he's dying.

He's rotting.

He's done for.

Let me know, Hobi, let me know.

But Taehyung thinks, Taehyung knows its time for Hobi to know.

His tears form a wet blotch on his suitcase cover, as he silently puts in his clothes. An owl is hooting outside, as he zips up the bag, and puts it outside.

He sets Hobi's clothes in the new space that has been created. He puts back all their cards, gifts, photographs into a tiny shoebox, and throws it into the fireplace in the dining room. Hobi doesn't need them anymore, as much as he doesn't need them, anyway.

He can't leave any trace of himself.

He's pulling up his hoodie, and tying his sneakers. He's done drinking a glass of water, and calling up a friend. He's done packing away his clothes, his photographs, his toiletries, his memories.

It'll be like he never existed, he thinks. Like Hobi had been pretending lately.

When he's finally done, he opens the door. A fresh cold wind smacks his face, just like the reality.

He's never going to come back.

Hobi is never going to love him back.

He's never going to kiss or hug Hobi for one last time.

He's never going to see Hobi again.

He's going to have to forget the last five happy years of his life.

He turns to the house for one last time. He can literally see Hobi and his silhouettes playing in the hallways, eating in the dining room, making food in the kitchen, making love in the bedroom, speaking to birds in the balcony. He can see the last five years of his life rewind in front of his eyes.

They're silhouettes, anyway.

He looks down to pick up his bag. He spots Hobi's shoes. Mismatched pairs put together.

Were they as mismatched as that?

He slowly picks them up, and arranges them. Tears fill his eyes again, and his heart grows heavy, his knees weak.

He cannot do this anymore.

He throws away the shoes. He picks each of them, and throws them at the house, at the silhouettes haunting him, at the memories that can never be revived and his love which will never be returned.

He picks up his bag, and closes the door.

Silence resonates in the house that was once lively and happy.

-X-X-X-

Meow.