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Just like the seasons pass before our eyes with no way to stop time, the grip of his hands seemed to fade a little more with each passing day. As if separation were an inevitable outcome—something Ren couldn’t prevent, no matter how much he wanted to.
Had he grown too complacent? Maybe it was that bad habit of thinking that after every fight, a kiss would be enough to fix everything. That making Dan Heng laugh, wrapping him in his arms, or promising that this time would be different would somehow erase the hurt. As if love were an unbreakable thread, always strong enough to endure any tension. Had that been his mistake all along? Maybe he’d been too blind to see the changes… and the more he thought about it, the more foolish he felt.
It hadn’t just been a fight or two. It had been weeks of silent tension, stretched out moments that neither of them dared to name. Ren had started to notice the signs—how Dan Heng no longer asked for his opinion when decorating the apartment, how he didn’t wake him up with soft kisses anymore, and how his laughter had grown scarce, like dried leaves falling one by one from an autumn tree. He told himself it was normal, that routine wore everyone down, that his boyfriend was just tired from work or university… but since when had they started sleeping with their backs turned?
Seated at their usual café, this time joined by Kafka and Silver Wolf, Ren stared at his phone, reading over the last message he had received from Dan Heng. “I’ve got more work than usual. Don’t wait up.” That was it—along with the little checkmarks confirming his own reply had been seen but left unanswered. It was… strange. Somehow, the uncertainty gnawed at him, a silent anxiety he could no longer hide. He felt Kafka’s gaze on him when his brow furrowed deeper than he realized, and when he looked up to meet her eyes, the concern in them took him by surprise.
“Something wrong, A-Ren? You look anxious,” she asked, sipping from the cup of hot coffee she’d ordered. Silver Wolf, pretending to stay absorbed in her latest obsession—a new gacha game—kept one ear tuned to the conversation nonetheless.
“No. At least… not that I know of. It’s just Dan Heng. He says he’s got a lot of work today,” Ren replied plainly, because that was the truth. But the scoffs from both girls only added to his confusion.
“Uh-huh… that’s how it starts,” the youngest of them muttered. “Suddenly there’s too much work, no time, no energy, and then—” She raised her hand, mimicking a crashing airplane that exploded as it hit the table. Was she seriously implying that he and Dan Heng were about to—?
“No, everything’s fine. He’s always been hardworking, and they usually ask him to stay late when there’s a heavier workload. That’s all.”
Kafka and Silver exchanged a look. They knew more than Ren did—far more. And although the conversation drifted elsewhere and the afternoon passed pleasantly enough, something inside him remained unsettled, even after he returned home.
Everywhere he looked, there were traces of them… or at least, there should have been. But what remained were little things—too little to call it a home. Wilted, dry flowers sat in a vase that hadn’t held life in a long time. Photos of the two of them still hung on the walls, but the most recent one looked like a poorly drawn portrait of strangers. And that was… it. Hadn’t he given Dan Heng stuffed animals years ago? Where were the handwritten notes he used to write back when they’d just started dating? Something was wrong—very wrong. Because the truth was… he never gave him anything like that. And the worst part? He knew it.
He had forgotten the important dates—Dan Heng’s birthday, their anniversary, even the day Dan Heng presented his final project. Always with the same excuse: bad memory. Always minimizing everything, telling himself they’d celebrate it “another day.” Always postponing what should have been sacred. The day Dan Heng came home holding tickets to a play he’d been wanting to see for months, Ren had simply said, “I’m too tired, I’ve got a terrible headache,” and promised they’d go some other time.
They never did.
He stopped noticing when Dan Heng got a haircut, or when he wore a new shirt. He didn’t realize when the younger started spending more time alone in his room, headphones on, disappearing into music. He’d stopped asking him how he felt. Stopped really listening. But it was fine, right? They were still together, and actions spoke louder than words. That’s why, every evening—or whenever he could—he’d go pick him up from campus or work, open the passenger door for him, carry his bag when he looked tired. He cooked for him when they spent the night together, and every time they made love, he made sure to clean him up and tuck him into bed so he could rest comfortably. That was dedication… wasn’t it?
That was love… right?
He glanced at their chat again, rereading the old messages—just as short and distant as the last. They barely said hello, barely shared plans, barely said anything at all. Ren sighed and switched to checking his friends’ stories. He smiled at something dumb Caelus had posted, then paused at a melodramatic quote Jing Yuan had uploaded, as expected from the hopeless romantic… and finally, there it was: a story from Dan Heng. A perfect breakfast—his favorite—with a small caption that ended with a thank you and a heart.
That breakfast… had been sent to him.
No. No, it hadn’t.
But it could have been. It could’ve come from anyone. One of his clingy friends, always glued to Dan Heng like ticks with their cheesy little gifts, poking their noses where they didn’t belong, planting annoying ideas in his head every time they fought.
But getting worked up over something like this didn’t make sense. He’d learned to control his anger—he promised Dan Heng he would. So instead of snapping like he once might’ve, he chose to make one of those sweet teas his partner loved so much. Everything was fine. Nothing was wrong. He repeated it to himself, over and over, just like he knew he had to.
He reached for his favorite mug in the cupboard, taking a bit longer than usual to find it. One of them didn’t look familiar. Had Dan Heng bought a new one? Apparently, a pretty adorable one, actually—from that character he’d started decorating everything with lately. Cute, charming… but strange. Why hadn’t he shown it to him?
“That’s how it starts,” his mind whispered. “Suddenly, there’s too much work. No time. No energy. And then…”
And then...
That loop repeated itself in his head, even as the tea soothed him enough to fall asleep that night.
But the next morning—when he woke up to nothing but silence, cold and complete—a heaviness settled in his chest. Something unfamiliar. Something he couldn’t quite shake.
Dan Heng wasn’t there.
He was alone.
And a part of him screamed that this… this was how it was going to end.
Of course he tried to ignore it. Stubborn and proud like no other—well, maybe Dan Heng could rival him in that—but that was part of the charm. It was why he stayed, even after all the rough moments. Because, at the end of the day, after everything passed, he could fall into his arms again. A space where only the two of them existed, wrapped in the unconditional love they had sworn to each other on countless long, quiet nights.
He figured a change wouldn’t be bad. Not just a shift in routine—but in their lives. They had been together long enough for the thought to settle in and feel real. Ren walked with a soft smile tugging at his lips, already picturing the look on Dan Heng’s face. Wide eyes blinking in disbelief, lips curving into that pouty frown of his—just like a sulky kid—followed by a teary, joyful leap into his arms.
"Which one do you like, sir?" the vendor asked, gesturing toward the display of rings, each one glittering with a quiet kind of magic that made Ren’s heart flutter.
"I want something different," he replied. "He’s one of a kind. He deserves something as beautiful as he is."
He took his time—searching, weighing, imagining—until his eyes landed on one. He could see it already, resting perfectly on his boyfriend’s left hand.
"That one," he said with quiet certainty, pointing with no hesitation. He didn’t care if his bank account cried for the next few months. When he held the little velvet box in his palm and felt its weight, he knew—it was worth every cent.
“Feel like having dinner with me tonight?” he texted, smile never fading from his lips. He had never felt so exhilarated, so breathless with anticipation.
He was ready. Ready to share the rest of his life with the boy he loved.
But the day dragged on, slow and torturous, with no reply from Dan Heng. But that was fine. He was probably busy with some project all day, too caught up to see his message. That didn’t ruin the surprise—if anything, it made Ren even more determined to make it special. With a spark still in his eyes, he stopped by the supermarket, carefully selecting each ingredient with a sharper gaze than usual. He’d cook the most spectacular dinner Dan Heng had ever had, so that when he walked through the door, there would be warmth, comfort, and a quiet celebration waiting for him. What could be better?
He returned to the apartment with his arms full of groceries, and from that moment on, he spent the rest of the afternoon cooking and cooking. Years of practice came to life in every movement, every spice added with intent. He prepared all of Dan Heng’s favorite dishes, each with a personal touch—just like tonight would be.
He laid out their finest tablecloth, lit a couple of scented candles that bathed the room in a soft, intimate glow, and changed into that black button-down shirt Dan Heng always seemed to admire. He even tied his hair up into a high ponytail, exposing more of his face, and wore the cologne his boyfriend had given him. He was ready. Everything was perfect.
But the hours passed.
The food went cold.
The candles burned low.
It was late. So late that Ren wondered if he should just go to bed. He sat at the edge of the dining room, his hand sweaty around the small box in his pocket. The ring inside felt heavier than it had all day. He was just about to head toward the bedroom when the front door finally opened.
There he was—his boyfriend—stepping in with a tired motion, tossing his keys aside, letting his bag slump to the floor without care.
"Hey… welcome back," Ren greeted softly, his voice tinged with drowsiness. He ran his fingers over his face to shake off the sleep that had started to creep in after so much waiting. "It's late... Busy day?"
He tried to keep it light, to keep the nerves at bay now that Dan Heng was standing right in front of him. He couldn’t back down now. He had planned this. He had to go through with it.
"Yeah. I’m exhausted. I’m gonna shower," Danheng muttered, barely sparing him a glance. He didn’t seem to notice the cold dinner laid out on the table, nor the effort that lingered in the air.
"Sure, go ahead. I made dinner, I can reheat it if you wa—"
"I’m not hungry. I’ll go straight to bed," he interrupted, pressing a fleeting kiss to Ren’s cheek before disappearing into the bedroom.
...
Silence.
The kind that sinks into your bones.
Only the soft murmur of water running in the shower dared to disturb it. Ren sat at the table, watching the last flickering glow of the candles as they slowly died, one by one.
He didn’t say anything the next day. Or the one after that. He told himself maybe he had just chosen the wrong moment, that Dan Heng had been overwhelmed with so much work. So, still holding onto hope, he began looking for new ideas. He didn’t want anything grand. Neither of them enjoyed extravagant gestures. Just something intimate. Something that captured the quiet kind of love they shared.
And yet, anxiety lingered—brushing against the back of his neck like an insect, buzzing cruel and relentless. Sometimes, walking down the street, seeing other couples holding hands, the sting returned. But just picturing Dan Jeng’s smile was enough to soothe the knot in his chest. Everything was fine. Everything would be fine. He just needed to find the right moment to ask him to stay—forever.
That afternoon, as the television buzzed in the background like white noise, he received a short message: “Spending the evening with A-Yuan and the guys. I’ll be late.”
Without thinking, he opened his socials. The photos showed up almost instantly. Dan Heng and Jing Yuan—laughing, sharing food, teasing each other… together.
The days that followed were hollow echoes.
The apartment felt bigger. Colder. As if the walls had forgotten they once held laughter and shared footsteps. The curtains stayed closed. The television remained off. The air smelled like absence.
Every night, Ren still made dinner for two. He left it on the table, like a withered offering. Days later, he would throw it out without looking.
He started talking to himself, a desperate attempt not to disappear into the silence. “It snowed more today,” he’d murmur as he stepped inside. “You would’ve liked this coffee,” he’d say while pouring a cup he knew would taste bitter, no matter how much sugar he added. He still set out two mugs. Still cooked for two. Even though no one else sat across from him.
Sometimes, habit was stronger than heartache.
And the worst moment came without warning. Like a storm.
Ren was returning from the supermarket, juggling a bag torn by the cold and the weight. It was at the corner by the bookstore that he saw them. Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. There was no kiss. No embrace. But there was laughter. That kind that blooms in familiarity, in a space carved by memory. The shared glances. The comfortable silences.
Ren didn’t call out. Not out of fear—but out of dignity.
He stood there, frozen, his body trembling like the bag in his hands. Something slipped—maybe a jar of jam—and shattered on the pavement. The sound of breaking glass didn’t distract them. They didn’t turn. And he crouched down in silence, gathering the shards with bare hands, cutting his fingers without even realizing it.
He didn’t cry in the street.
That would come later...
The seasons passed, indifferent. They waited for no one. They moved forward, dragging along those who could keep pace and leaving behind the stragglers—those lost among snow and fallen leaves, doomed to become memories.
Ren watched the snowflakes slide down the glass. It had been over a month since he bought the ring. Every attempt—frustrated. Every plan—interrupted. Even Silver Wolf’s jokes, once a welcome relief, had gone quiet.
And little by little, the apartment began to change. Things disappeared without warning. New things arrived without asking. Each week, another piece of their routine vanished. The messages became fewer. The joy too. And Ren was exhausted—sinking into a fog of doubt, feeling as if their love was no longer something shared.
The door opened with the familiar sound of Dan Heng’s keys. But there was no greeting. No kiss. Just footsteps heading straight to the bedroom. Ren stayed by the window, watching the glass fog with his breath.
He felt a shiver. Not from the cold.
“What’s for dinner?” Dan Heng asked later, towel-drying his hair, rummaging through the fridge without looking at him.
“I don’t know,” Ren replied, not moving from his spot. The snow had begun to cover the street completely, but it didn’t matter anymore. What did it matter if it snowed or not?
“It’s fine. I’m heading out anyway. Just came by to change clothes.”
The wind shook the trees. Branches creaked against the windowpane.
“Where are you going?” Ren turned slowly to look at him. Dan Heng was already dressed again, munching on a cookie in a hurry.
“With the guys. We need to finish a new rehearsal.”
As if it were obvious. But for Ren, it had long ceased to be. And that casualness began to hurt him more than he wanted to admit.
"Again..." he murmured, letting the accumulated poison slide off his tongue like a thorn.
"Ren, don't start."
"Don't start? Really? Are you going to say that after weeks of coming and going as if I don’t exist?"
"I'm busy. You know that. I have performances, rehearsals, projects... I don't have time to be here all day. It's none of your business," Dan Heng replied, frowning—the same expression he'd used so many times before, in arguments that now felt like they belonged to another life.
"Yes, it is!" Ren raised his voice, unable to hold back. "You spend more time there than here. We barely see each other."
Dan Heng looked at him, offended. Hurt. As if he didn’t understand why his routine, his choice, could hurt someone who waited for him every day.
"I told you I'm busy. Is that so hard to understand?"
"But you have time for everyone else, right? You're always with Jing Yuan, with the guys, with everyone but me! What am I now, Dan Heng? A ghost? A footnote in your agenda?"
The silence fell like a knife. Dan Heng slammed the fridge shut, crossing his arms.
"Again with this? I told you I'm tired. You can’t expect me to divide my time as if everything revolves around you!"
"I’m not asking that! The only thing I’m asking is that you don’t treat me like a stranger! I’m the one who stays waiting for you to come back every night like an idiot! Damn it, I’m supposed to be your boyfriend!"
Ren stood up. He didn’t want to shout. Not like this. Not now. He had promised himself in therapy not to lose control. He breathed. He counted. One... two... but with each number came the memories: nights alone, dinners untouched, avoided kisses, unanswered hugs. By the time he reached ten, a knot had closed in his throat.
"What’s going on, Dan Heng? I just... I just want to know the truth."
A lie.
The truth terrified him more than anything. Because deep down, he already knew it. And it hurt.
"Do you... not love me anymore?"
Dan Heng hesitated. Then he approached. He took his hands with a gentleness Ren hadn’t felt in months. So gentle... like when they used to sleep side by side, not knowing where one ended and the other began.
"I think... we should break up, Ren," he whispered.
The voice was sweet. Like a sad song. Like a goodbye that had been sung for months, only now he was hearing it for the first time.
"I don’t feel the same anymore. I’m sorry..."
After that, everything was blurry. Maybe there was a gesture, a caress on the cheek. Maybe something was said. He didn’t remember. The only clear thing was the sound of the door closing, the engine of a car driving away. And the snow falling in silence, covering everything, as if the world wanted to bury that night beneath a white blanket.
The therapist asked him what he was feeling.
"I don’t know," Ren replied, his voice like wet paper, crumbling at the edges. "Sometimes, nothing. Sometimes, everything. It's like... I had a very long dream, and now I’m awake in an empty bed."
He stayed silent for a few more seconds, looking at some invisible point between the carpet and his poorly tied shoes. The therapist didn’t interrupt. She just wrote something in her notebook with those silences he had already learned to hate. Silences that forced him to think, to fill them with words he wasn’t sure should be said.
"There are days when I wake up and feel good. I make myself coffee, open the curtains, even go for a walk. But… then this idea hits me. This certainty. That all of that has no purpose. Like everything is a cheap simulation of a life that no longer belongs to me. Like I’m rehearsing to be someone who no longer exists."
He looked at his hands. They were the same as always, but they seemed foreign to him. The back marked by a thin blue vein. An old scar. Calluses from poorly made crafts he no longer dared to throw away. Horrible.
And he no longer wore the ring he never gave. He had put it in a little blue box, the same one where he kept small things for Dan Heng: a note written at three in the morning after their first fight; an earring Dan Heng had forgotten in his bathroom, still with the faint scent of his perfume; the crumpled ticket from their first date, when they had laughed so much Ren had, naïvely, thought he would never be sad again.
The box was still there. Closed. Intact. Hidden in the bottom drawer of the furniture, between winter clothes and things he no longer used. He couldn’t bring himself to open it. Not even to throw it away.
"Have you hurt yourself?" the therapist asked in a calm tone, as if it weren’t a lethal question.
Ren took a while to respond.
"No..." he said, though it wasn’t entirely true. "Only sometimes. When I can’t sleep. When I wake up thinking he’s still with me. When I hear a song he liked and I have to turn it off immediately because it makes me nauseous. Or when I see someone with his laugh."
He laughed, but it was a dry, hollow sound.
"They told me the best thing was to cut contact, you know? Disconnect. Delete him from social media. Not ask about him. But it’s not that easy. It’s not a button. He’s everywhere and that’s okay. As friends, we’re getting along better, much better than before, and that’s rewarding."
His eyes were dry, but his face spoke of a constant sadness. He hadn’t cried since the breakup. It was as if his body denied him the right to vent. As if even tears had abandoned him.
"And you know?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his head down. "I get up, I go to therapy, I take sleeping pills, I reply to those who still write to me, and I’m starting to feel like this... is me now. It’s okay."
The therapist placed the notebook on the table. She didn’t say anything right away.
In that quiet room, where even the ticking of the clock seemed to mock the time Ren couldn’t make use of, he thought that maybe grief wasn’t a phase. Maybe it was a new permanent state. Maybe it wasn’t about surviving a loss, but learning to live with the shadow of someone who is still breathing.
And in some corner of his mind, he wondered if Dan Heng also dreamed of him. If he ever woke up in the middle of the night with his heart racing and his name on his lips. Or if, simply, he had left him behind like a blurry memory of youth.
That thought was the sharpest of them all.
More than the absence.
More than the closed box.
More than the ring he never gave.
The idea that maybe, to Dan Heng, he no longer existed.
And Ren... Ren didn’t know if he wanted to keep existing like this.
But despite everything, this time he didn’t wait for a new conversation or a miraculous agreement that would fix things and make them return to that comfortable routine. Not anymore. He didn’t do it when Dan Heng left without looking back, leaving only a soft promise: that their friendship would remain intact, that it wasn’t worth losing contact when, as friends, they seemed to work better. Ren wanted to believe it. He convinced himself that it was enough, that it was okay like this.
And, in part... it was.
As time went by, he was glad to see the younger one happy in his posts, receiving his calmer messages, and having replies that, this time, didn’t get lost in silence. Now they could talk as friends. He could celebrate his academic achievements, cheer him on when he told him, exhausted, how his day had been. Everything as it should have been from the start, as if that bond had never needed to hurt.
And, honestly, it seemed like they were better this way. Ren was part of his days again. They shared outings, games, laughter over silly things; they talked openly, and sometimes Dan Heng opened up so much that Ren felt like, under this new normality, they were building something deeper. Maybe they weren’t a couple, but at least now, Ren could call him his best friend. And that was something. Right?
It was spring when they returned to the café they used to visit, now that Dan Heng had vacation. As if it were a ritual, every Saturday they met there, at the same usual table, trying new desserts or drinks. The boy ordered an overly decorated frappé, while Ren went straight for a chocolate cake, one with extra filling and more frosting than necessary. They laughed as they ate, careful not to get messy, failing miserably.
"Ah, you’re a lost cause. Can’t you eat like a normal person?" Ren teased with a smirking smile, watching how the jet-black-haired one tried to clean his face. "Stay still, I’ll help you."
With a napkin in hand, he leaned toward him to clean him off. His fingers barely grazed the other’s skin, and when their eyes met for more than a few seconds, Ren’s heart skipped a beat. So simple. So devastating.
"You’re worse, idiot" Danheng muttered, puffing out his cheeks. Adorable. Ren burst into laughter, lost, absolutely lost in him, just as he had always been.
"Oh? Did you get mad?" he asked through his laughter, moving his chair closer just to tease him, touching the now-blushing cheek of the younger one with his finger. "You got mad!" he exclaimed, laughing hard as he watched Dan Heng frown.
He didn’t care if people were staring at them for making so much noise. In that moment, for Ren, there was no one else in the world but the two of them.
"So what if I got mad, hmm?" Dan Heng protested, crossing his arms like a child, offended.
And Ren couldn’t help it. He couldn’t hold back the words that came rushing straight from his chest, hungry for hope.
"It just makes you look even cuter" he confessed with a sigh that stole his breath away, just like Dan Heng had always done to him.
His heart pounded wildly as he watched the other’s cheeks turn red. He felt victorious. For a moment, he imagined that he hadn’t just been wishing to return. For a second, he believed that yes, the raven-haired one had missed him, just as he had missed him.
"Ren… there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while. I…" Dan Heng started, his gaze falling.
Ren stayed still. Smiling. Waiting. Dreaming.
"I’m seeing someone."
"Oh" was all he could manage to say. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. But he didn’t. Instead, he smiled, as if nothing had happened.
"How’s it going? Who is it?" he asked, not understanding how his voice could sound so calm when inside, he was breaking into a thousand pieces.
"It’s Jing Yuan" Dan Heng replied with a shy smile–. "He’s been there all this time, and… I was foolish not to notice before. I was scared, you know? But he makes me happy. We’re taking it slow."
Ren stopped listening. He looked at him, nodded, asked questions. But it was all automatic. Nothing was reaching him. Not a single word.
Until night came. And it was time to say goodbye.
"Thanks for today. I’m glad to have you as a friend, A-Ren."
"It’s nothing, that’s what friends are for. What matters is that you’re okay" he responded, smiling as he hugged him tightly.
With so much force that a part of him broke inside. But it was okay. Because that was his role now and always, wasn’t it?
Months passed. Spring took with it the last remnants of hope left in his chest, and with the warmth of summer, a letter arrived... no, an invitation. It was Dan Heng who handed it to him personally, with a radiant smile that seemed to light up everything in its path.
"I’m getting married, A-Ren. I want you to come to my wedding" he said with that same hope intact, as if there were no doubt in his mind that his truest friend, his lifelong confidant, would be there to support him.
And Ren accepted.
Not because he wanted to.
But because he couldn’t say no. Saying “no” would have been admitting everything. It would have been ripping his heart out in front of him and leaving it on the table, beating, vulnerable, pathetic. He hugged him, smiled. He celebrated with him for this new chapter. He swallowed the poison with the conviction of a martyr. Meanwhile, something inside him began to crack irreparably.
Jing Yuan —of course, it was him— had chosen a place that seemed stolen from a dream. Immaculate, floral, heavenly. As if trying to erase any trace of imperfection, any human error. Ren, from his seat in the second row, wondered if Dan Heng had really wanted something like this. He always imagined theirs would be intimate, discreet, something just for the two of them. Silence, glances, unspoken promises. Maybe he didn’t know him as well as he thought. He had always imagined he would wear a black suit, sober, just the way he liked things. But the white made him look like an angel descending with soft steps toward the altar, where someone else —not him— was waiting.
The dinner was delicious, though the speeches from so many strangers seemed empty, as if they were pretending well wishes just out of protocol. When it was his turn to speak, he wished he had a bottle of whiskey in his hand, if only to quiet the tremble in his voice.
"Dan Heng, Jing Yuan... congratulations on your marriage" he began, raising his champagne glass—. "You’ve been great friends to me, and nothing makes me happier than seeing you together, uniting your paths like the lovebirds you are. You are the definition of love, of complicity... of destiny. A toast! To you, to love."
The words came out effortlessly. He had rehearsed them so many times in his head, on nights when insomnia twisted him like a wet rag. He knew exactly how to sound happy. How to be the perfect friend. How to pretend that his world hadn't ended in silence, in loneliness, months ago.
The hall erupted in applause. Dan Heng wiped away tears that threatened to ruin his makeup while Jing Yuan kissed his cheek tenderly. And Ren, with smiles that never reached his eyes, stepped down from the stage with a broken laugh, barely distinguishable amidst the excitement.
The music was still too loud to hold a real conversation. Kafka and Silver Wolf were chatting with other guests or stealing snacks between laughs. Ren, on the other hand, gave the newlyweds one last look before walking away.
From the outer hallway, he could hear that they would soon begin the waltz. The first dance as husband and husband, the moment everyone had been waiting for. But he wasn’t going to be there.
As the first chords of the melody filled the hall, his Dan Heng and Jing Yuan swirled gracefully, holding hands, getting lost in each other's eyes.
He left without anyone noticing. He quickened his pace toward his car as if a shadow was chasing him. He got in, started the engine. The air conditioning brushed against his face, but didn’t cool him down. He wanted to feel something. Anything.
He drove aimlessly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He ran red lights, swerved around cars, ignored honking horns. The world was a distant murmur. His thoughts, however, were loud.
The newlyweds danced gracefully, their movements harmonious and their love evident. The audience watched them, enchanted, wishing to someday experience something so pure. And Ren... Ren parked next to the bridge, with a small velvet box in his hands.
The end of the song was drawing near. Jing Yuan whispered something cheesy in Dan Heng’s ear, and his Dan Heng laughed, blushing, as he wrapped his arms around his husband’s shoulders. They had to stand and bend slightly to seal their promise of eternal love with a kiss.
Ren opened the box carefully. There, shining under the flickering reflection of passing cars, was the ring he had once chosen for him. He held it between his fingers, lifting it slightly, and in his mind, he imagined his Dan Heng's lips saying “yes” through tears. He imagined that future that never was.
He didn’t know when the tears started to run down his cheeks. The night wind stirred his clothes and hair as he walked to the bridge’s railing. He threw the ring into the water. It took a while to fall. He didn’t hear the impact, but it didn’t matter anymore.
He looked up at the sky one last time, acknowledging that it was a beautiful night, perfect for celebration.
"You won’t miss me."
"You won’t know it was for you."
"I’ll just be a blurry memory in the photos from your wedding."
He placed one foot on the railing. Then the other.
The metal was cold beneath his shoes. The wind caressed his face like a mother who knows her child is about to leave.
And he smiled. Finally. A broken, genuine smile, one that no one could appreciate.
"Long live to the newlyweds," he murmured, and took the step.
The fall was quick. Shorter than he had expected. But in those seconds, he knew he had loved him. That he still loved him. And that, in his world, that had never been enough.
While the hall vibrated with laughter and eternal promises, Ren sank into absolute silence. Into the oblivion he had longed for. Into the peace that, in the end, no one could take from him as the air left his lungs, and he slowly sank until he disappeared.