Chapter Text
Martin puts on his best mask, the one he uses to show that he’s fine. Steady eyes, a clipped smile, his chin held slightly high, so no vulnerability will peek through.
He only ever puts this on when he faces new people, work clients, his family sometimes. But never at him. And never once in his life did he ever think of putting it to him. There’s always a first in everything, he supposes.
Choosing to stay in the small town he grew up in has its own disadvantages. The same old building, same faces, same everything. But at least, he’s not here. Some years ago, he decided to pack up and leave a town that had no future. And to Martin, leaving town means Martin’s never a part of his future. Martin has no place in it.
Martin learns how to deal with the pain he left, the heart he broke to pieces, the realisation that Martin’s nothing but a temporary phase. Martin picked himself up, patched what could be fixed, and moved on.
Or so, at least that’s what he thought.
Staying in the small town Martin grew up in was supposed to have no surprises. It was supposed to be plain and ordinary.
So when he showed up, sitting on the bench by the lake, the bench they had spent hours laughing and talking on, the bench that became the sole witness of the start and end of their love, something ached in the deepest part of Martin’s chest.
He had asked Martin to stay, wanting to catch up on the years he missed. And what can Martin do besides obey? Because deep inside, that love still resides. Not strong, wild, and reckless like it used to be, but present and quiet, as if waiting for someone to tap it.
“Since when are you smoking now?” He asks, eyeing the half-burnt stick of nicotine between Martin’s index and middle fingers.
“Two years ago,” Martin muttered, mask still secured as he took a drag of his cigarette.
He hummed in acknowledgement.
“Did you end up moving out?” He continued.
“Still at my mom’s,” Martin took his final drag and stubbed out his cigarette on the wilted green.
“She’s doing okay?” His voice sounded genuine, but Martin didn’t want to dwell on it.
“For someone who eats her skincare, I suppose you could say that.”
What Martin didn’t expect was his laughter. As sweet as the day Martin made the same joke when they first met, as soft as the breeze against his hair as Martin tucked the stray strands behind his ear when they confessed their love, as heartbreaking as the day he left Martin.
“Your mum’s always such a sweet person, Mars.”
Mars.
He had called Martin that name when they stayed at Martin’s room once on a hot summer night. Martin was in his astronomy phase, plastering solar systems and planet posters all over his wall. And after Martin told him that Mars is his favourite planet, he started calling him that.
‘Because Mars isn’t technically Earth. But it has almost every component that Earth has. So Mars is a choice, an option, if all things went crazy on Earth, I’ll choose you to be the one I run to.’
Exchanged between innocent kisses, those words had seemed flattering, had seemed like their love may be the easiest thing to come home to. But Martin realised after he left. Martin was simply an option that he didn’t choose.
“On my sleepless nights, my mind always drifts back to here. This bench. This… town. So little, yet held so many,” he prompted, tilting his head to look at the mask Martin presented.
“Did you regret it?” Martin asked, heartbeat racing as he braced for the answer. Martin didn’t know why he felt that way, but deep down, there was a part of him that feared the possibility of it being a yes. Martin couldn’t live on thinking about the what-ifs.
“No.”
Something eased in Martin’s chest.
Then, the look on his face softened when Martin let out a breathy, almost forced chuckle.
“I miss you,” he dared confess.
The mask cracked—just a little. Such innocent three words, but Martin’s smile faltered slightly. Martin quickly schooled his expression back.
“Why are you here?” Martin asked after a while, braving himself to look at his face.
Martin just started to notice how much the face he once loved had changed. His teenage features were gone; all that’s left of what Martin remembers is his deep brown eyes. Many would say they held calmness, but Martin knows there’s more to it. Things that Martin wants to seek deeper, wants to understand.
But it’s no longer Martin’s place to do that.
“I just… wanna know if you’re doing okay,” his voice was low, almost as if he was afraid of saying the actual answer.
“I am.”
“Glad to hear you’re doing well, then.”
He stopped, hands coming up to fidget with his lower lip, as if contemplating what to say next. As if the next words that would come out from his plush lips would change the empty years between them.
“Mars, there has never been one single day that I haven’t thought of you. I wish I could take you with me out of this hellhole.”
Martin snickered, shaking his head in disbelief. “It’s okay, Juhoon. I don’t need you to save me. You made your choice. And it’s not me.”
“I still care for you,” his hand twitched, as if dying to reach out for Martin’s.
“And so do I,” Martin muttered lowly. “I never stopped caring.”
Straightening himself, Martin took a deep breath. Martin can practically feel the knife twisting in his carefully patched heart, trying to unravel its seam. Martin’s eyes sting, tears threaten to fall.
“And I know I never will. This,” Martin points his finger to the left of his chest, hovering above Martin’s tightening heart. “You will always have a space there.”
“And I know,” Martin continued, finger now moving to hover above his chest. “...that I will also be there.”
“I’m sorry, Mars.”
Fingers trembling, like he’s worried that he’s not allowed, found Martin’s, as he gently wrapped his palm around Martin’s index finger.
“We had a great run, didn’t we?” He asked hopefully, as a wet chuckle followed.
“Yeah,” Martin couldn’t help but mirror his chuckle as he agreed. Martin sniffed, a way to hold back his tears from falling. “Yeah, we did.”
“Don’t stay here too long. You still have a long way to go,” Martin murmured, voice cracking, mask completely off as he struggled to compose himself. Martin was on the brink of completely relapsing, but he knew he had it in him not let himself fall back.
“And so do you, Mars,” his brows furrowed, still holding Martin’s finger like a lifeline.
“I’ll be fine. Maybe the town will award me as the mayor because of my devotion to this town.”
They chuckled in ridicule, but underneath that shared sound, longing seeped in.
To Martin, this all sounds odd. This meeting, this conversation, his hand around Martin’s finger, the confession. But it also felt like the correct closure.
It’s not like Martin hasn't moved on, but this was the talk both of them needed. Like writing the final sentence of a book left unfinished for years. Longed to be concluded, and now the book finally comes to an end.
They only had a couple of minutes on that bench. The breeze is still cold against their faces as they properly close their story. Not everything needed to be said. Despite years of nothing, the understanding that was built stood still. Unoccupied, but it exists.
Martin parts his way. He does too. With a light mind and an even lighter heart, they went back. To small town, to leaving, to grow, to learn. To real life.