Arrange Devotion | SS

Chapter 30. The Language Of Us

A week.

Seven days since everything unraveled, since the world tilted and nothing felt the same.

Joshua's hands tremble slightly as he places the bottle back into the fridge, the cold air brushing his skin as if to snap him out of his thoughts. He reaches for the foiled sandwich, dropping it into his tiffin with less care than usual.

Normally, he loved eating outside, feeling the sunlight on his face, and the sounds of the city surrounding him. Today, though, it felt wrong. Off.

Everything was a constant reminder of Seokmin.

The simple act of eating? It only made him think of their dinner, Seokmin's smile, the quiet moments between bites.
 
Sleeping? Joshua couldn't forget how Seokmin had broken down the door that night, stayed until the sun bled through the curtains, just to hold him close when he thought the nightmares would swallow him whole.

Going out to eat? Joshua would be reminded of how Seokmin used to show up unannounced for breakfast, effortlessly slipping into his mornings like he belonged there.

The memories clung to him, dark and heavy, yet laced with a softness that hurts even more.

Seokmin was everywhere, inescapable, haunting, yet comforting in ways Joshua couldn’t put into words.

It was like Seokmin had been carved into his world, woven into every small moment, leaving his mark on everything Joshua did. Each act, no matter how trivial, led back to him.

And yet, Seokmin hasn’t called in seven days. Seven excruciating days. Was he upset? Did he not want to talk anymore? Was he angry at Joshua?

The questions gnawed at him, and Joshua had tried—so many times—to reach out. But each time, his hand would hover over the phone, and the courage would leave him.

The fear of hearing Seokmin's cold voice, telling him to stop, or worse, the silent rejection, loomed too large.

Joshua was terrified. Terrified that after everything, Seokmin had already let go.

And once again, Joshua was reminded of how cursed he felt when it came to love.

Every time he even thought about getting close to someone, something would go horribly wrong, unraveling everything before it even began.

It was as if—no, it was as if love itself was something he wasn’t meant to have.

The more he thought about it, the more it seemed true. Maybe he didn’t deserve love.

Maybe that was the cruel truth he was slowly starting to accept, sinking deeper into the emptiness it left behind.

That gnawing emptiness seemed to settle in his chest, heavy and suffocating. Every time Joshua thought of Seokmin, the weight grew heavier.

He tried to shake it off, to convince himself that this was just another failed connection, another crack in the pattern he was used to.

But with Seokmin, it felt different—more personal, more devastating.

Joshua stared at his phone again, thumb hovering over Seokmin’s contact. He should call. He should try.

But the thought of Seokmin not picking up, or worse, hearing that cold indifference in his voice, paralyzed him.

Love, or whatever had been between them, felt like a cruel game now. Every attempt to reach for it seemed to push it further away, leaving Joshua alone with his doubts.

Maybe this was his curse, a cycle of almosts and never-enoughs. And now, as the silence stretched on, Joshua could feel himself believing it more and more—that love wasn’t something meant for him, not something he could ever truly hold onto.