The Calculation

"The desktop computer, his. The printer and that swivel chair, mine."

Title:  The Calculation

Pairing:  KrisNa

Genre:  angst

Rating:  G

Length:  oneshot, 

The sofa, mine. The television, mine. The table, mine. But the magazines and the gundam model scattered across it, his. That white shirt strewn haphazardly on the sofa, also his.

This list could go on and on forever: items that belong to me, and those that belong to him.

But that vintage chair he bought for me, is it mine or his? Those couple scarves I bought last Christmas, do I let him keep one and keep the other for myself? The pressure cooker we won at the raffle together, what do we do with it along with the other things that are so called "unofficially conjugal"?

The dvd player, mine. That countless pile of dvds and vcds, mostly his but we’ll have to sort it one by one since I’m pretty sure I bought a few of those movies we watched.

What’s so hard about calling it quits with someone you’ve been with for quite a while is the moving out part. You have to sort what belongs to whom, and who goes where. What makes it harder is that we haven’t even officially broken up yet.

The bed, his but those sheets are definitely mine.

Yet? So, am I really planning to tell him that I want us to be over? What do I tell him?

Kris, honey, let’s break up. I’m just not in love with you anymore.

How hard can it be to say that? Apparently, so hard that I have been trying to say it for the past four months with no success.

The stereo and the Venetian rug, his. Those manga books, his. But that plaque standing in for a bookend, mine. Im Jinah, best fashion designer of the year. As a girlfriend, however, how did I fare?

What would he tell me? Thank  goodness Nana, I have been wanting to tell you the same thing for the longest time.

Or would he look back at me with judging eyes? Silently telling me how good a boyfriend he has been. How there was no concrete reason for this breakup at all. No third party. No misunderstanding. No fights. Nothing at all.

But I could feel that he is already drifting away. Everyday, he grows more and more distant. We are just both too stubborn to admit that love has ran its course and it is time to go part ways. But how do you set off a bomb without a trigger? How do you break up without a proper reason?

The desktop computer, his. The printer and that swivel chair, mine.

He opens the door with a smile. Cold and weary, but still it was a smile. That smile belonged to me.

This apartment, ours. Me, still his. Him, still mine.