koko

you wake up before the alarm, the room still half-dark, winter light barely touching the edges of the curtains.

sophia is asleep beside you.

she’s curled toward you, one leg tangled with yours, her arm resting across your stomach like it’s always been there. her breathing is even, soft. you stay still for a moment, afraid that if you move, you’ll wake her and break the quiet.

you study her face.

sleep smooths out all her sharp edges. no confidence, no sarcasm, no teasing smile. just sophia, relaxed and unguarded. it makes something warm settle in your chest.

you think about how long it took to get here.

how you started as friends. how she flirted like it was a joke until it wasn’t. how one night turned into many. how eventually your toothbrush ended up beside hers, and she stopped pretending she didn’t care.

your phone buzzes faintly on the nightstand.

you glance at it.

february 14.

valentine’s day.

you smile to yourself.

carefully, you slip out of bed, replacing the warmth with a pillow so she doesn’t wake up. the floor is cold, but you don’t mind. you pull on a hoodie and head to the kitchen.

the apartment still smells like last night’s coffee and her perfume.

you make breakfast quietly. toast, eggs, fruit. nothing fancy, just something that says you thought about her. you’re pouring coffee when you hear soft footsteps behind you.

“morning,” she murmurs, voice low and sleepy.

you turn. “morning.”

she leans against the counter, watching you with half lidded eyes. “you’re in a good mood.”

“am i?”

“yeah,” she says. “i can tell.”

she comes closer, wraps her arms around you from behind, resting her chin on your shoulder. you feel her smile more than you see it.

“happy valentine’s day,” she says quietly.

“happy valentine’s day.”

she kisses your cheek, then steals a strawberry off the plate before you can stop her.

you eat together at the small table. she talks about work, about a client who annoyed her, about something she wants to do later in the week. you listen, nodding, memorizing the way she gestures with her hands, the way her eyes light up when she gets carried away.

at one point, she reaches for your hand without looking.

you don’t let go.

“what are you doing today?” she asks.

“babysitting my nephew,” you say easily.

she groans. “again?”

you laugh. “just for a bit.”

she squeezes your hand. “you’re too nice.”

you don’t tell her it’s a cover. you don’t tell her you already have plans that involve flowers and gifts and a night you’ve been quietly looking forward to for weeks.

she gets dressed, moving through the apartment like it’s hers too. before she leaves, she pauses at the door.

“don’t be late,” she says, smiling.

you smile back. “i’ll try.”

she kisses you, quick and familiar, then disappears down the hallway.

the apartment feels emptier after.

the afternoon stretches out slowly.

you go out alone, bundled against the cold. the city feels different today—softer, louder, full of couples and pink decorations and heart-shaped signs in store windows.

you stop at the flower shop first.

you know exactly what to get. you remember her ranting about how roses are boring, how she prefers something with personality. you choose carefully, adjusting the bouquet until it feels right.

you carry them like something fragile.

next come the gifts.

you pick out the sketchbook without hesitation. thick pages, clean edges. you imagine her sitting on the couch, drawing while pretending she’s not thinking too hard about it. you add it to the bag.

the fragrance takes longer. you test, compare, make sure it’s the exact one she loves—the one she wears when she wants to feel confident.

you add a few smaller things too. things she didn’t ask for. things that say you notice her.

your phone buzzes while you’re checking out.

fifi : you still babysitting? you : yeah fifi : you'd do anything for that lil guy 😭 fifi : i miss you though

you smile at the screen longer than you need to.

you : i miss you too

you : i might be a little late, okay?

fifi : that’s fine, take your time baby

fifi : see you tonight <3

you tuck the phone away, heart feeling light.

evening comes quietly. the sky darkens earlier than you expect, streetlights flickering on one by one. you walk slower now, arms full, mind busy with how she’ll react. you rehearse it in your head—where you’ll put the flowers, how you’ll hand her the gifts, the look on her face.

you check the time.

7:58 pm.

almost.

you stand outside for a moment, letting the cold air settle your nerves. you adjust your grip on the flowers, take a deep breath.

just a few more minutes.

the hallway outside your apartment feels strangely still. the overhead light hums softly above you, flickering just enough to be noticeable. your keys sit heavy in your hand, metal cold against your skin. the bouquet is pressed against your chest, petals brushing your chin every time you breathe, and you’re careful with it, like it matters. because it does.

you pause in front of the door. not long, just a second too long. something sits wrong in your chest, tight and uneasy, but you push it down. you tell yourself you’re overthinking. it’s been a long day. you’re tired. nothing more than that.

you unlock the door and step inside.

warm air greets you immediately. warmer than it usually is at this hour. the lights are on too, brighter than sophia normally leaves them. it’s subtle, but enough to register. there’s sound as well—soft laughter drifting from somewhere deeper in the apartment.

you freeze for half a second, then move again.

the smell reaches you before you get far. her perfume, fresh and unmistakable, stronger than it was this morning. your brain scrambles for explanations. maybe she reapplied. maybe she went out and just got back. maybe she wanted to look nice for you.

you slip off your shoes and set them by the door like you always do. the plastic around the flowers crinkles in the quiet, and the sound feels too loud. your grip tightens slightly as you move down the hallway, every step slower than the last.

then you hear it.

a breathy laugh. close. intimate.

your stomach drops.

when you reach the end of the hall, the bedroom door is open. you stop without meaning to, your body reacting before your mind can catch up.

you see them.

sophia is standing near the bed, her back half-turned toward the door. someone else’s hands are resting on her waist, familiar and comfortable. their mouths are pressed together, slow and unhurried, like this is something they know how to do.

it isn’t rushed. it isn’t awkward. it looks practiced.

your fingers go numb.

the bouquet slips from your hands and hits the floor. petals scatter across the wood, stems rolling in different directions. the sound isn’t loud, but it’s enough.

sophia pulls away instantly. her head snaps toward you, eyes wide, face draining of color so fast it almost scares you.

“oh my gosh,” she whispers.

you don’t move. your chest feels hollow, like all the air has been sucked out of it. your hands are shaking, but you barely register it. everything feels distant, muted, like you’re watching this happen to someone else.

“so,” you say quietly, your voice flatter than you expect, “this is what you’ve been doing.”

she steps toward you immediately, panic written all over her face. “wait— please— let me explain.”

“how long,” you ask. your voice doesn’t rise. it doesn’t fall apart. it just exists.

she swallows hard. “it’s not what it looks like.”

a soft, broken laugh slips out of you. “i’m standing here watching you make out with someone in our bedroom.”

the other person shifts awkwardly, clearing their throat. “i should probably go.”

sophia turns toward them, then back to you, torn. “just— don’t—”

“go,” you say, finally looking at them directly. your voice is still quiet, but there’s something final in it. “please.”

they hesitate, then grab their jacket and leave quickly. the door clicks shut behind them, the sound echoing through the apartment.

the silence afterward feels heavy.

sophia turns back to you, tears already spilling over. “i didn’t mean for this to happen,” she says. “i thought you’d be later.”

that lands harder than anything else so far.

“i told you i’d be home tonight,” you say. “i told you it was valentine’s day.”

she reaches for you, hands trembling. “it didn’t mean anything. i was lonely. you’ve been busy and i didn’t think—”

“i bought you flowers,” you interrupt softly.

she freezes.

“i spent all day thinking about you,” you continue, your voice finally shaking. “i lied to you so i could surprise you.”

her shoulders slump, guilt written all over her face. “i love you,” she says desperately. “please don’t leave.”

you look at her for a long moment. really look at her. the woman you woke up next to this morning. the woman who kissed you goodbye like nothing was wrong.

“you don’t do this to someone you love,” you say quietly.

your eyes drop to the flowers on the floor. crushed. scattered. forgotten.

your chest tightens.

and you know—deep down—that the worst part hasn’t even happened yet.

you don’t say anything else.

the apartment feels too quiet now, like it’s holding its breath. sophia is still standing a few feet away from you, arms half-raised like she doesn’t know whether to reach for you or stop herself. her face is red, eyes glassy, mouth trembling like she’s waiting for you to tell her what to do next.

you don’t.

you bend down slowly and pick up your jacket from the back of the chair. your movements feel distant, mechanical, like your body is acting on instructions your mind hasn’t caught up to yet. the flowers are still on the floor, bright against the wood, and for a second you consider picking them up too.

you don’t.

“please,” sophia says again, softer this time. “don’t walk away like this.”

you pause by the door, hand resting on the knob. not because you’re unsure, but because everything inside you feels heavy all at once.

“what do you want me to do?” you ask quietly. “pretend i didn’t see it?”

she shakes her head quickly. “no— i just— i want to fix this.”

you let out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “you can’t.”

her face crumples. she takes a step closer, then another, until she’s right in front of you. her hand closes around your sleeve, desperate, familiar.

“i’ll do anything,” she says. “i swear. just don’t leave.”

you gently pull your arm free.

that seems to hurt her more than anything else.

you open the door.

cold air rushes in immediately, sharp and biting. rain is already falling outside, heavy and relentless, droplets splashing against the concrete. you hadn’t noticed it before. you don’t know how long it’s been raining.

sophia follows you to the doorway. “it’s pouring,” she says weakly. “at least wait.”

you shake your head. “i can’t stay here.”

the door closes behind you with a dull thud.

the sound feels final.

the rain soaks through your clothes almost instantly. your hair sticks to your face, your jacket growing heavy on your shoulders. you don’t put the hood up. you don’t rush. you just walk.

the streetlights blur as you move, reflections stretching across the pavement. couples hurry past under shared umbrellas, laughing, pressed close together. pink and red decorations glow faintly through shop windows.

valentine’s day keeps going.

your chest tightens, and then it breaks.

you stop under a streetlight, rain dripping down your face, mixing with tears you didn’t even realize were falling. your hands curl into fists at your sides. your shoulders shake once, then again.

you stare ahead, unfocused, breathing uneven.

you think about this morning. about breakfast. about the way she kissed you goodbye like nothing was wrong. about the flowers still lying on the floor, never given.

the rain keeps falling.

the first thing you remember about jimin is her hands.

warm, careful, always hovering like she was afraid the world would steal you away if she let go for even a second. she used to lace her fingers with yours when the nights got too loud, when your thoughts stacked on top of each other until breathing felt like work. she never asked what hurt. she just stayed.

you met her in a quiet season of your life, when numbness felt safer than feeling anything at all. people mistook your silence for strength. jimin never did. she noticed the way your eyes unfocused when conversations dragged on, the way you flinched at sudden laughter, the way your smile never quite reached your heart.

she loved you softly at first.

shared earbuds on late walks, her shoulder brushing yours like an accident that kept happening. midnight convenience store runs. her voice low and gentle, telling you stories that didn’t need endings. you didn’t realize when she became home. maybe it was the way she learned your silences, or how she squeezed your hand twice when words failed you.

you never told her you were numb.

you didn’t ask for help. you didn’t know how. you thought if you stayed quiet long enough, the heaviness would get tired of you and leave.

but jimin noticed anyway.

she noticed the way you stared at nothing for too long. the way your replies grew slower. the way your laughter faded into echoes. she noticed because she loved you. because loving you meant paying attention even when it hurt.

the night she leaves is quiet.

too quiet.

the air feels wrong, like it knows something you don’t want to hear. jimin sits across from you, knees drawn in, hands clasped tight like she’s holding herself together. her eyes are hollow in a way that scares you. you’ve seen that look before—in mirrors, late at night, when the numbness gets too loud.

“come here,” she says softly.

you do.

she takes your hand in both of hers, thumbs brushing over your knuckles like she’s memorizing them. like this moment is something she’ll have to survive without later. her touch trembles, just a little.

she stares at you for a long time.

too long.

her eyes search your face, like she’s trying to find proof that you’ll be okay. you don’t know what she sees, but whatever it is makes her lips press together, holding back words that ache to escape.

“i have to go,” she finally whispers.

the words don’t register at first. they float between you, weightless, unreal.

“go where?” you ask, but your voice sounds far away. distant. like it belongs to someone else.

she swallows.

“away.”

your heart sinks, but your face stays blank. numbness wraps around your chest like a shield, familiar and cruel. you don’t ask her to stay. you don’t beg. you don’t know how. you just stare at her, eyes wide, empty, hoping she’ll hear the quiet plea you don’t let yourself voice.

she does.

that’s the worst part.

jimin’s grip tightens. her eyes shine, glassy, breaking. she leans forward, forehead pressing against yours.

“i love you,” she says, voice cracking. “i love you so much it hurts.”

your breath catches.

she brushes her thumb under your eye, like she’s trying to wake you up. like she’s begging you to feel something, anything, before she leaves.

“but i can’t stay and watch you disappear,” she whispers. “and i can’t save you if you won’t let me.”

you want to tell her you don’t know how to ask for help. that you didn’t mean to fade. that you never wanted to be heavy. the words get stuck somewhere deep in your chest, buried under years of silence.

she kisses your forehead.

soft. lingering.

when she pulls away, it feels like something is ripped out of you. the room feels colder. emptier. wrong.

“please notice yourself,” she says quietly. “even if no one else does.”

then she stands.

you stay seated.

you don’t move. you don’t stop her. your body feels glued to the moment, frozen in the space she’s leaving behind. you watch her walk to the door, every step echoing like a countdown.

she pauses.

just for a second.

her hand hovers over the handle, shaking. you can feel her hesitation like a bruise. you almost think she’ll turn around.

she doesn’t.

the door closes with a soft click.

and something inside you breaks.

the numbness shatters all at once, spilling into something raw and ugly and loud. your chest tightens. your breath stutters. tears come without permission, heavy and hot, blurring everything until the world becomes a smear of pain.

you cry.

you sob until your throat burns, until your body curls in on itself like it’s trying to disappear. your hands clutch at nothing, reaching for warmth that’s already gone. your heart aches, eyes stinging, vision swimming, wishing—desperately—that someone would notice you now.

but the room stays empty.

• minjeong is naturally quiet. she’s always been like that, so dating her doesn’t change her personality—it just means you get to exist closer to her than everyone else

• she shows affection by choosing to be with you. if she could be alone but decides to spend that time with you instead, that’s her version of “i like you”

• she’s not very expressive with words, so she uses actions. standing next to you. waiting for you. walking at your pace

• she follows you everywhere without thinking about it. if you get up, she gets up too, quietly asking “where are you going?” even though she’s already coming with you and ends up sitting right beside you again.

• she likes sitting side by side more than facing you. shoulders touching. knees brushing. that kind of closeness feels safest to her

• she doesn’t initiate affection often, but when she does it’s small and very cute. lightly tugging your sleeve. resting her head on your shoulder for a moment, then staying there

• she’s bad at compliments. if you say something sweet to her, she won’t know how to reply. she might just say “stop” softly and look away

• minjeong listens carefully when you talk. she doesn’t react much, but she remembers everything later

• she doesn’t usually say she misses you out loud, but she can’t help checking in, quietly asking things like “are you coming soon?” or “when will i see you again?” she just wants to be near you.

• her texts are short and simple, usually without emojis, but she replies fast and often keeps the conversation going a little longer than she needs to, just to stay connected to you.

• when she’s tired, she gets more affectionate without realizing it. leaning into you. resting against you. letting you hold her longer than usual

• she likes calm dates. staying in. walking quietly. sitting somewhere peaceful. she doesn’t need constant activity to feel close

• she doesn't get loud when she's jealous, but if something bothers her, she'll let out a small huff and shuffle closer to you, brushing against your shoulder or leaning into you, quietly remind herself that you're hers.

• she notices when your mood changes immediately. she won’t ask why, but she’ll adjust—be quieter, stay closer, give you space if you need it

• she likes routine with you. same places. same times. familiar habits. it makes the relationship feel safe

• she doesn’t need constant reassurance. if she’s dating you, she trusts you

• she’s subtly affectionate in public. standing close. fingers brushing yours. never doing too much, but never pulling away either

• she doesn’t say “i love you” often, but when she does, it’s calm and sincere, like she’s stating a fact