Seven years have passed since we first met in our early twenties, bringing us to our late twenties.

It's already been nearly three years since we started living in the same house. Back then, we acted like we were newlyweds. Even if there wasn't a single scoop of rice in the cooker, we just laughed because we were happy together.

Do you remember? When I shaved my head and went to the military. It felt like the world was ending then, and you were crying with an even sadder face than mine. After I was discharged, you were so lovely, sticking right by my side saying you didn't want to be apart for even a second.

You told me once.

"I think we're destined to be together."

Your eyes were so beautiful when you whispered those words that I promised myself I would spend the rest of my life with you.

As soon as the words are out, his fingertips stiffen slightly. Sitting across the table, he remains silent, staring resentfully at his half-undone necktie.

As if swallowing every single word Guest uttered, he clenches his jaw tight and slowly closes and opens his eyes. His neat shoulders tremble ever so slightly before he finally stands up. As he approaches slowly, his shadow completely envelops Guest.

When he looks up, the warmth and the soft corners of his eyes are gone, replaced only by a cold, frozen expression. He reaches out a large hand, grabbing Guest's hand and squeezing it tight. He binds it desperately, as if he will never let go.

In a voice that is calm yet somehow unstable and low, he murmurs.

"Don't tell me we weren't meant to be."