TRY AGAIN
Characters : Bangchan x You
Genre : Angst, Marriage, Hurt.
Summary : "Do you even still love me?" It was the desperate question that almost ended your marriage and the only one that could finally save it.
"Are we really going to do this again?" you asked.
You didn't turn around. You kept your hands in the soapy water, staring blankly at the kitchen window. Outside, it was pitch black. The clock on the microwave read 11:45 PM.
"Do what?" Bangchan replied. He was sitting at the dining table behind you. He didn't look up from his laptop.
"Fight about nothing until two in the morning," you said. You turned off the tap. The sudden silence in the kitchen was loud.
Bangchan stopped typing. He closed the laptop slowly. "I'm not fighting with you. I just asked why the car wasn't taken to the shop today. That is a normal question."
"And I told you I didn't have time. But you asked it three times in the last hour," you said, drying your hands on a towel. You finally turned to look at him. "You don't ask to get an answer, Chris. You ask to make me feel incompetent."
Bangchan sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck. He looked incredibly tired, but right now, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You were tired, too.
"You're overthinking it," he said, his voice flat. "I just wanted to know."
"Right." You threw the towel onto the counter. "I'm going to bed."
"Are you just going to walk away again?" Bangchan's voice rose slightly.
You stopped at the hallway. You looked back at him. "Yes. Because if I stay here, we will just go in circles. You will point out what I did wrong. I will point out what you did wrong. Neither of us will apologize. I have to wake up at six tomorrow to get Minjun ready for school. Goodnight."
You walked into your bedroom and closed the door. You didn't lock it, but it felt like a wall anyway.
Six years. You had been married for six years. When you first moved into this house, you two used to sit at that exact same dining table and talk until the sun came up. Now, you could barely be in the same room for ten minutes without someone getting annoyed.
You got into bed and pulled the blanket up to your chin. You lay on the far right side of the mattress, leaving a wide, empty gap in the middle. Half an hour later, the door opened. Bangchan walked in quietly. He went to the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and changed into his sleepwear. He got into bed on the far left side. He turned his back to you. You kept your back to him.
Neither of you said a word.
The next morning was the same routine.
You woke up at 6:00 AM. Bangchan was already in the shower. You went straight to Minjun’s room. Your five year old son was still fast asleep, clutching a small toy dinosaur. You sat on the edge of the bed and stroked his hair.
"Minjun, wake up. Time for school," you whispered.
Minjun groaned and rubbed his eyes. "Mommy, Five more minutes."
"No more five minutes, Come on."
By the time you got Minjun dressed and out to the kitchen, Bangchan was already dressed for work. He was standing by the coffee maker. He had poured himself a mug. There was a second mug sitting on the counter, filled with black coffee, just the way you liked it.
He didn't say he made it for you. He just left it there.
"Morning, buddy," Bangchan said, ruffling Minjun's hair.
"Morning, Dad," Minjun said, climbing into his chair. He looked at Bangchan, then at you. Even at five years old, kids notice things. "Are you mad at Mommy?"
Bangchan froze with his coffee mug halfway to his mouth. You stopped pouring cereal into Minjun’s bowl.
"No," Bangchan said quickly. "Why would you say that?"
"You didn't kiss her good morning," Minjun pointed out, stuffing a dry piece of cereal into his mouth. "You always kiss her."
"I did earlier," Bangchan lied. He cleared his throat and looked at his watch. "I have an early meeting. I need to go."
He grabbed his keys from the bowl by the door. "Bye, Minjun. Have a good day at school."
"Bye, Dad."
Bangchan looked at you for a brief second. "I'll be home around seven."
"Okay," you said. You didn't look at him. You just kept pouring milk into the bowl.
The front door clicked shut. You let out a long breath you didn't realize you were holding. You looked at the second mug of coffee on the counter. You picked it up. It was warm. You took a sip, but it tasted bitter.
The weeks passed like this. You were living like two strangers sharing a house. You paid the bills, you cleaned the rooms, you took turns picking up Minjun from kindergarten, but you didn't really talk.
It was emotional exhaustion. You knew what it was. It wasn't that you hated each other. It was just that you expected too much and communicated too little. Bangchan wanted a perfectly managed home and a wife who understood his work stress without him having to explain it. You wanted a partner who helped without being asked and a husband who still looked at you like a woman, not just a housemate.
Neither of you said these things out loud. Instead, you just got angry when the other person failed to read your mind.
On a Friday evening, things finally hit a breaking point.
You were exhausted. You had a terrible day at work, your boss had yelled at you, and you got stuck in traffic for an hour in the rain. When you walked through the front door, all you wanted was to take off your shoes, take a hot shower, and sleep.
You walked into the living room. Minjun was sitting on the floor, watching cartoons. Toys were scattered everywhere. Bangchan was on the couch, typing on his phone.
"I'm home," you said, dropping your bag on the chair.
"Hey," Bangchan said, not looking up. "Did you pick up the dry cleaning?"
You stopped walking. You closed your eyes for a second. "No. I forgot."
Bangchan sighed. It was a short, sharp sigh, but it was enough to light a match in your chest.
"I have the company dinner tomorrow," he said, finally putting his phone down. "I told you yesterday I needed that suit."
"I said I forgot, Chris. I had a long day. Traffic was terrible. I just walked through the door."
"I had a long day too," he replied, standing up. "I'm just asking for one simple thing. It was on your way home."
"It's not on my way home, it's three blocks away in the opposite direction," you said, your voice getting louder. "If it's so important, why didn't you pick it up yourself?"
"Because I asked you to do it!" Bangchan raised his voice too.
"Mommy? Daddy?"
You both stopped. Minjun was looking at you from the floor. His eyes were wide and anxious. He had his hands clamped over his toy car.
You looked at your son, and suddenly, all the anger drained out of you. It was replaced by a heavy, suffocating sadness. You realized what you two were doing. You were ruining this house. You were ruining Minjun’s childhood.
"I'm sorry, baby," you said softly to Minjun. "Mommy and Daddy are just talking."
You looked back at Bangchan. He looked annoyed, his jaw clenched, still waiting for you to defend yourself. But you didn't want to fight anymore. You didn't want to win the argument. You just wanted it to end.
"I'll go get it right now," you said quietly. You picked up your bag and walked back to the front door.
"Look, the place closes in ten minutes, just forget it," Bangchan said, frustrated.
"I said I'll get it," you repeated, opening the door and walking out into the rain.
When you got back an hour later with the suit, the house was quiet. Minjun was already in bed. Bangchan was in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water.
You hung the suit on the back of the dining chair. You didn't say anything. You walked to the fridge and poured yourself a glass of cold water. Your hands were shaking slightly.
"I put Minjun to bed," Bangchan said.
"Thank you."
Silence fell over the kitchen again. It was that heavy, suffocating silence you had gotten so used to.
"Look," Bangchan started, leaning against the counter. "I didn't mean to yell in front of him. But you have to admit, you've been really careless lately. It's like you don't even listen when I talk to you."
You put your glass down on the counter. The glass made a sharp clack against the marble. You gripped the edges of the counter, looking down at your hands.
"Is that what you think?" you asked quietly.
"What else am I supposed to think?" Bangchan crossed his arms. "You forget things. You're always in a bad mood. You don't talk to me unless it's about bills or Minjun. I'm just trying to keep things running around here."
You looked up. Your eyes were red, but you weren't crying. You were completely, utterly empty.
"I think we should get a divorce."
The words came out simply. They weren't yelled. They weren't dramatic. You said it the same way you would say you were out of milk.
Bangchan's arms slowly dropped to his sides. His face went blank. He stared at you for a long time, as if he didn't understand the English language.
"What?" he whispered.
"I can't do this anymore, Chris," you said. Your voice broke slightly, but you kept going. "I am so tired. You are so tired. All we do is argue. We are just two angry people living in the same house, trying to prove who is right and who is wrong."
"Please, stop." Bangchan took a step forward, panic flashing in his eyes.
"No, let me finish," you said, stepping back. "I saw Minjun's face today when we were yelling. He is five years old. He shouldn't be scared in his own home. He shouldn't have to guess if his parents are mad at each other every single day. It's not fair to him."
"We just had a fight. Normal couples fight," Bangchan said quickly. His voice was shaking now.
"Normal couples resolve things. We don't. We just bury it until the next day, and then we fight again. It's been like this for two years." You looked at him. You looked at his face, the face you used to love more than anything in the world. "I just want peace. I want you to be happy, and I want to be happy. And we are not happy together anymore."
Bangchan stared at you. His chest was rising and falling rapidly. He opened his mouth to argue, to point out why you were wrong, to defend his actions. It was his instinct. He was a smart man, he always knew how to win an argument.
But then you asked one last question.
"Chris," you said, a single tear finally falling down your cheek. "Do you even still love me?"
Bangchan stopped breathing.
"Or are you just staying because of pride? Because you don't want a failed marriage?" you asked, your voice cracking. "Because if you don't love me anymore, just tell me. Please. Let me go."
The question hit him physically. It felt like someone had punched him in the chest. All the anger, the frustration, the stress from work, the annoyance about the dry cleaning, it all vanished.
He looked at you. Really looked at you. He saw the dark circles under your eyes. He saw how thin you had gotten. He saw how defeated you looked standing in your kitchen, begging him to let you go because you thought he didn't care about you.
What was he doing? What the hell was he doing?
He had spent the last two years fighting to be right, that he hadn't realized he was destroying the only thing he actually cared about. He was about to lose you. He was about to break his family apart over dry cleaning, unspoken chores, and his own stupid ego.
Winning didn't matter. None of it mattered if you weren't here.
Bangchan didn't say a word. He walked across the kitchen, closing the distance between you two. You flinched slightly, expecting him to yell.
Instead, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into his chest.
He held you tightly. His hand pressed against the back of your head, hiding your face in his shoulder. He closed his eyes and buried his face in your hair.
You froze. Your arms stayed stiff at your sides. You tried to pull away. "Chris, don't—"
"I love you," he said. His voice was thick and desperate. He tightened his grip, refusing to let you step back. "I love you. I never stopped loving you. Not for a single second."
You stopped struggling. Your breath hitched.
"I'm so sorry," Bangchan whispered against your hair. His own eyes were wet now. "I am so stupid. I am so sorry."
You slowly raised your hands and grabbed the fabric of his shirt. You didn't hug him back, you just held onto him to keep from falling. You started to cry. It wasn't a loud cry, but quiet, heavy sobs that shook your entire body.
Bangchan just held you. He rubbed your back slowly, letting you cry out all the exhaustion and sadness you had been holding in for months.
"I don't want a divorce," Bangchan said quietly. "Please don't say that again. Please."
You stood there in the kitchen for a long time. Eventually, your crying slowed down. You rested your forehead against his chest.
Bangchan slowly pulled back, just enough to look at your face. He wiped a tear from your cheek with his thumb.
"I have been a terrible husband," he said honestly. "I let my stress turn me into a jerk. I stopped listening to you. I expected you to just do everything and I got mad when you couldn't. It wasn't fair."
You looked up at him. "I haven't been fair either. I shut you out. I stopped trying to talk to you because I assumed you wouldn't listen. I kept all my anger inside and just used it against you."
"We both messed up," Bangchan said. He took your hands in his. His hands were warm. "But listen, you are the only woman I have ever loved. You are the mother of my son. I don't want to win arguments anymore. I just want you."
You looked at your intertwined hands. "I'm just so tired, Chris. I don't know how to fix this."
"We start over," he said firmly. He looked you directly in the eyes. There was no pride left in his face. No ego. Just a man begging for his marriage. "We throw away the last two years. We drop the pride. If you are tired, tell me. If I am stressed, I will talk to you instead of getting angry. We start from zero."
You hesitated. "Can we really do that? Just forget it?"
"We don't forget it. We learn from it," Bangchan said. "But we don't use it as ammunition anymore. I promise you, I will change. Give me a chance to be the husband you married six years ago. Please."
You looked at him. You saw the sincerity in his eyes. You remembered the man he used to be, the man who used to make you laugh until your stomach hurt, the man who held your hand during Minjun's birth. That man was still there, buried under layers of stress and pride.
You took a deep breath. "Okay."
Bangchan let out a shaky breath and smiled. A real, relieved smile. He pulled you into another hug, burying his face in your neck. "Thank you. I love you so much."
"I love you too," you whispered back.
The next morning, you woke up at 6:00 AM.
The bed was warm. You turned around. Bangchan was still in bed. He was lying on his side, watching you.
"Morning," he said softly.
"You're not up," you said, confused.
"It's Saturday. I don't have work," he said. He reached out and brushed a piece of hair out of your face. "I'll go wake up Minjun and make breakfast. You sleep a little more."
You looked at him. It was a small thing. Just making breakfast. But it was something he hadn't offered to do in a very long time.
"Are you sure?" you asked.
"Yes," Bangchan smiled. He leaned in and kissed your forehead. Then, he kissed your lips gently. It felt a little awkward, a little new, like you were dating again. "Sleep."
He got out of bed and quietly left the room.
You lay in bed for a few minutes. You could hear the faint sound of Bangchan talking to Minjun in the hallway. You heard Minjun laugh. Then you heard the clinking of pans in the kitchen.
You turned over and closed your eyes. It wasn't a magic fix. You would probably still argue in the future. You still had a lot to work on.
But for the first time in six years, the house didn't feel heavy. It felt like home again.
