The click of the apartment door closing behind Joshua wasn't a sound of finality it was the start of a vacuum. He didn't slam it or linger; he simply walked away, the practiced ease of a man who had already mentally prepared for this exit months ago. Down four flights of stairs and out onto the street, the humid morning air hit him a shock of external reality that was almost grounding.
He realized he was still wearing yesterday's clothes a soft, slightly rumpled sweater and jeans. His belongings were still up there, locked in a room that was always temporary. But he had his wallet, his phone, and his keys. He had what mattered his choice.
He didn't know where he was going, only that the next destination couldn't be a place that required his smile or his performance. He walked for nearly an hour, past familiar cafes and busy intersections, until he found a small, anonymous park bench beneath a sprawling oak tree.
It was here, with the sound of distant traffic and children's laughter, that the numbness began to thaw. He didn't cry. Instead, he felt a frightening, overwhelming emptiness. The profound ache wasn't just the loss of two lovers it was the loss of the person he thought he was in their presence. He had believed he was peace, center, and gentle but he was just a placeholder.
He sat for three hours, watching the world move, until his phone vibrated, slicing through his quiet vigil.
SC: Shua, where are you? We need to talk. Don't do this.
JH: Please answer. We're worried. Let us explain.
SC: I'm going to come find you if you don't answer this text.
Joshua looked at the frantic string of texts. Worried. He felt a bitter, hollow laugh bubble up. They weren't worried about him they were worried about the exposed truth. They were worried about the inconvenience of his disappearance. He muted the conversation and dropped the phone into his jacket pocket. The power of that simple action ignoring them was intoxicating.
Meanwhile, back in the apartment, the forced normalcy had disintegrated into frantic chaos.
Seungcheol was pacing the living room, his jaw clenched, running a hand repeatedly through his hair. Jeonghan was standing by the window, the soft light betraying the tightness around his eyes. They had both assumed Joshua would return that the threat of leaving was just a desperate plea for reassurance.
"He'll be back," Seungcheol insisted, though the tremor in his voice betrayed his doubt. "He's emotional. He just needs a few hours to cool off."
"No, Cheol," Jeonghan whispered, turning from the window. His voice was ragged. "He said he was done being the friend we bring along. He finally saw what we were doing."
"What were we doing?" Seungcheol demanded, frustration boiling over into defensiveness. "We love him! We told him that every night! We slept with him, we cooked for him...."
"But did we hold his hand in front of the others?" Jeonghan cut in, his eyes blazing with a sudden, devastating clarity. "Did we introduce him as 'my partner' without immediately correcting ourselves to 'our friend'? Think, Cheol. When was the last time we kissed him outside of this apartment? He felt it. He felt the conditional contract, and we let him."
The admission hung in the air, heavy and poisonous. Seungcheol sank onto the couch, the memory of last night's kiss with Jeonghan, the exclusive one, flashing through his mind. The urgency he'd felt had been a relief a moment where they didn't have to dilute their feelings for public consumption. A moment of two, not three.
"We didn't mean to exclude him,"
Seungcheol muttered, the shame a bitter taste. "We just... it's easier. People don't ask questions about two. They always do about three."
"And he paid the price for our ease," Jeonghan said, a single tear tracking down his cheek. "We made him feel like an inconvenience. Like he was the secret, not the love."
