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you don't shower at two in the morning for nothing
Happy Birthday @pinkglitterpuke
let's pretend you and riki are the same age here
The first time Nishimura Riki told you he loved you, you were sixteen, high in the bathroom at a house party, knees tucked to your chest beside the bathtub while people screamed lyrics outside the door, as if the world were ending beautifully.
You remember laughing at him.
Because who the hell looked at a girl like you and saw something worth loving?
Your mascara was running down your face. Your hands shook so hard you could barely hold the lighter. Youād disappeared for three days before that, phone dead, sleeping on random couches with people whose names you barely remembered. Your mother had cried when you came home. Your father stopped speaking to you altogether.
But Ni-ki crouched in front of you anyway.
Not disgusted.
Not angry.
Justā¦ worried.
āYou look cold,ā he whispered.
And you hated him immediately for being kind.
Because kindness made people stay long enough to leave.
Back then, loving you was ugly.
You screamed when you got scared.
You pushed when people got close.
You vanished whenever things felt too real.
There were nights your mind became static, thick, black storm clouds swallowing every logical thought whole, and you would tear through him like a hurricane. Accusing him of abandoning you before he even had the chance. Calling him names. Crying so hard youād throw up into his sink while he held your hair back with trembling hands because he was just a teenage boy too.
A teenage boy who shouldāve left.
But he never did.
Not once.
Even when your own parents gave up on understanding you.
Even when you scratched your nails down his arm during an argument and burst into tears five seconds later because you didnāt know why you were so angry all the time.
Even when you relapsed.
Even when you lied.
Even when you disappeared.
He stayed.
And maybe thatās what ruined you in the end.
Because he taught you what being loved felt like before teaching you what losing it felt like.
Years later, you got better.
That was the cruel part.
You got better.
You stopped running away.
Stopped needing chaos to feel alive.
Started going to work. Paying bills. Studying for exams. Answering texts. Sleeping normal hours.
You became the kind of woman people could build futures with.
The kind of woman he used to dream about marrying.
A beach wedding in Japan.
Black tuxedo.
Red flowers.
Two kids, exactly two years later, because he said he wanted your daughter to have your smile and giggles.
You built entire lifetimes together over late-night calls.
And now?
Now you sat alone in your apartment staring at your ceiling at 3:12 a.m., wondering why he could love you at your absolute worst but not at your best.
That was the part nobody understood.
If he had left when you were a mess, maybe this wouldāve made sense.
But he didnāt.
He loved the broken version of you so completely that you began to believe love meant permanence.
And maybe thatās why this felt like dying.
The distance started quietly.
Thatās how grief always begins.
Quietly.
Missed calls.
Shorter replies.
āIām tired.ā
āSorry, baby.ā
āWorkās been insane.ā
You told yourself adulthood was hard.
You were both busy now.
Life wasnāt a teenage romance anymore.
There were responsibilities, time zones, exhaustion, and loneliness.
Stillā¦
Something felt wrong.
Not dramatically wrong.
Not movie wrong.
Just tiny wrongs piling up like bodies.
Then came that night.
He got home from some party while you were on FaceTime with him.
1:47 a.m.
Hair is damp with sweat.
Breathing uneven.
Eyes avoiding the camera.
āDid you drink?ā you asked softly.
āLittle bit.ā
Then he laughed nervously and disappeared into the bathroom.
You listened to him brushing his teeth aggressively through the speaker. So hard it sounded violent. Then the shower started immediately after.
At nearly two in the morning.
Your stomach dropped so fast it physically hurt.
Because girls know.
Girls always know.
And suddenly every delayed text, every weird silence, every I fell asleep came back like shards of glass rearranging themselves into a horrible picture.
You stared at your own reflection in the dark phone screen while the shower water ran.
What could be worse than what you used to put him through?
What changed?
You wanted to ask him:
Was long distance harder than loving a mentally unstable fifteen-year-old who disappeared for days?
Harder than holding her together while she bled grief onto everything she touched?
Because he survived that.
He survived you.
So why not this?
The worst part was that he still sounded like himself.
Still called you baby.
I still remember your coffee order.
Still told you to eat when you forgot.
Still said I love you in that sleepy voice that used to make your chest ache with happiness.
Thatās what destroyed you.
Because cheaters in movies become monsters.
But real life?
Real life lets them stay soft.
And you hated him for that.
Hated how gentle he still was.
Hated how you still melted at the sound of his voice.
Hated how your heart refused to villainize the boy who practically raised you emotionally.
Sometimes you wondered if maybe he didnāt cheat at all.
Maybe you were spiralling.
Maybe your fear poisoned everything beautiful again.
But then why did he look guilty?
Why did he start showering after parties?
Why did he suddenly protect his phone screen when, years ago, he used to hand it to you carelessly?
Why did love suddenly feel like something fragile instead of something certain?
āI wouldāve told you,ā he said once during an argument.
And you believed him.
That was the tragedy.
You believed him because he had always been honest before.
So now you live trapped between two unbearable possibilities:
Either he cheated;
Or the love between you had decayed so badly that you no longer recognized each other.
Both felt fatal.
People kept telling you:
āYouāre young.ā
āPeople change.ā
āYouāll find someone else.ā
But they didnāt understand.
You didnāt want someone else.
You wanted the boy who sat on dirty bathroom tiles, telling a broken girl she deserved to stay alive.
You wanted the teenager who loved you through violence and fear and addiction and ugly crying and panic attacks.
You wanted the boy who promised you Japan.
And maybe that was pathetic.
Maybe adulthood was realizing promises are pretty lies people mean at the time.
Still...
Some nights, you lie in bed imagining him next to another girl and physically curl into yourself from the pain of it.
Because you knew how he loved.
Tenderly.
Patiently.
Like devotion was instinctive.
And the thought of someone else receiving that version of him made you feel sick.
At 4 a.m., your phone buzzed.
Ni-ki:
you awake?
You stared at the message so long your vision blurred.
Then another text appeared.
Ni-ki:
I miss you
Your chest cracked open.
Because that was the problem, wasnāt it?
He could miss you.
Love you.
Maybe even still choose you.
And still betray you anyway.
Love apparently wasn't the same as loyalty.
Nobody tells you that when youāre sixteen.
At sixteen, love feels red and black and poetic and forever.
Nobody warns you that sometimes forever ends quietly through a phone screen while you sit alone in an apartment meant for a future that never arrived.
Iām seeing all the Heeseung requests in my inbox and I just want to say something quickly.
To be honest, itās giving me a lot of anxiety right now. I know everyone is hurting and confused, and I am too. I literally just woke up, Iāve been crying nonstop, and my heart genuinely feels like itās tearing apart trying to process everything.
I promise I will do my best to get to your requests when I can. It might take me a little time because Iām really emotional about this situation, but I see you and I appreciate you being here.
And to answer one of the most common questions in my inbox:Ā no, I will never erase Heeseung from my list.Ā He means too much to me and to this space.
Please be patient with me while I try to process everything. Thank you for understandingš§”
She wasnāt supposed to be here.
New office. New therapist. New attempt at pretending he still needed help. He didnāt. Not really. Not in the way they thought.
But thenāthere she was.
Just passing by. Clipboard in hand, eyes flicking toward the hallway like she wasnāt searching. Like she wasnāt hoping heād already disappeared into the cracks of her past.
But her eyes found him. Of course they did. They always would.
Jungwon paused mid-step. Watched her breath hitch, her spine go rigid, like sheād been jolted back into a nightmare sheād tried to rewrite as something professional. Clean. Harmless.
He watched her freeze the way people do when they see something they tried to forgetābut failed to bury deep enough.
Good.
Let her remember.
He didnāt stop walking. Not completely. Just slowed enough to make it deliberate. Controlled. His gaze never left hers as he passed her office, not even for a second. Her lips parted like she was about to speak, but nothing came out.
And then his eyes dragged over herāmethodically. She was dressed sharp, polished, clinical. But he could still see itāthe small crack in her armor. The tremble in her fingers. The way she clutched her pen too tightly, like it could anchor her to something real.
She was unraveling.
He tilted his head, just slightly. A flicker of a smirk ghosted across his lips. How could she be so beautiful?
So still, yet so undone.
Like she was holding herself together just long enough to make it through the next breath.
He drank in every detailāher clenched jaw, the soft crease between her brows, the way her heels didnāt click the floor because she wasnāt moving. Couldnāt.
He had that effect on her.
She looked like she wanted to run.
She looked like she wanted to stay.
He walked past her door like he had every right to be there. Like he was still hers. And as he turned the corner, he didnāt look back.
He didnāt need to.
He knew she was still watching.
[Y/N]
You werenāt supposed to stop.
But your feet rooted themselves to the ground the second you saw him.
Jungwon.
The name you swore you'd never let echo in your head again. And yet, there it wasāsharp, intimate, and dangerously alive in your bloodstream the moment your eyes met his.
He looked the same. Noāworse. He looked better. Sharper around the edges, like time had carved him into something more precise. More deliberate. He walked slower now, too, like every step was measured. Like he wanted you to watch.
And you did.
God, you did.
Your breath caught in your throat, chest locked like a cage. The hallway fadedāthe noise, the lights, the low murmur of another therapist talking to their patient. None of it mattered.
Just him.
He passed your office like he owned it. Like he still belonged inside these walls. Inside you.
And when his gaze slid over youāslow, unblinkingāyou felt it.
That thing inside you. That dark, forbidden thing you thought youād buried the moment he said I love you. The moment you told him to leave.
It flinched awake.
You clenched your pen like it could protect you from yourself. Your fingers tingled. Your jaw ached. You told your body to relax, to breathe, but it was no longer yours to command.
Because he was looking at you like heād never stopped.
Like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
You hated that you noticed the way his shirt fit a little tighter. That his smirk was slower, deeper, more dangerous than you remembered. You hated how your eyes followed the line of his jaw, down to the soft movement of his lips when he whispered somethingāsomething you couldnāt hear but felt anyway.
Your heart thudded against your ribs like it wanted out. Like it wanted him.
When he disappeared around the corner, you didnāt move.
You stared at the space where heād been, your skin buzzing, your mind spinning, your rulesāyour precious, clinical rulesācrumbling into ash at your feet.
Youād told yourself it was over.
But standing there, body humming with electricity, all you could think was:
He came back.
And worseā
You wanted him to.
[Jungwon]
āāHe knows he shouldnāt.
He tells himself that more than once.
As he signs out at the front desk with that same smooth smile, as he takes the stairs instead of the elevator just in case she might be leaving early, as he steps out into the dusky evening and blends into the hum of the city.
He knows he shouldnāt.
But he does.
He follows her.
Not right awayāheās too careful for that. He waits. Watches. Blends into the crowd across the street like a shadow stitched to the sidewalk. When she finally steps out of the building, her stride is brisk, practiced. Purposeful.
But he knows her well enough to see through it.
The way her shoulders are too tight. The way she keeps her eyes forward, like she can feel him without needing to see. Like she knows heās near.
Good.
He trails behind her at a distance thatās just short of criminal. Not close enough to be seenājust close enough to study.
She doesnāt drive. Walks three blocks before ducking into a side street. Her bag tucked tight under her arm, her coat drawn around her like armor.
Jungwon memorizes the rhythm of her steps. Counts how many times she glances over her shoulder. Once. Twice. Three times. Her paranoia tastes like foreplay.
He wonders if she knows itās him. If part of her hopes it is.
The thought makes his throat go dry.
When she reaches her apartment building, she hesitates at the door. Fumbles briefly with her keys. Thatās new. She used to move with confidence, always polished, always precise. Now thereās a tremble. A crack in her seamless exterior.
He likes that.
She disappears inside. A soft click of the door, a muted glow of the hallway light. He lingers across the street, half-sheltered by the overgrown ivy of a fence. Watches the third floor. Waits.
It takes two minutes. Maybe three.
Then her light flicks on.
His chest tightens.
Thereās her shadow, moving across the window. Her silhouette shedding the coat. Her hand brushing back her hair. Her body unwinding in that quiet, intimate way people do when they think theyāre alone.
But she isnāt. Not really.
Heās there. With her. Watching.
He should leave. He should walk away. Burn this before it becomes something he canāt put out.
But then she walks past the window again, and she pausesājust barely. Her head turns slightly, as if she feels him.
As if she knows heās still out there.
And for a moment, the ache in his chest blooms. Violent. Vicious.
Because if she knows heās hereā
And doesnāt close the blindsā
Rule Number Ten: Donāt feed the obsession.
But what if you already have?
[Jungwon]
He started leaving gifts.
Not obvious onesāhe wasnāt stupid.
A coffee on the bench outside her building. Her favorite.
A book she once mentioned liking, tucked into the mailbox.
Little things.
Intimate things.
She didnāt throw them away.
She never would.
He saw her once, holding the book in her hands, staring like it meant something more than it should. Her fingers brushed the pages like they were skin.
She missed him.
So he started writing again. Not lettersājournal entries. For her.
Every thought, every look, every flicker of emotion she gave him. He documented everything. Because she was still his therapist in a way. Just... reversed.
She was the one unraveling now.
[Y/n]
You started dreaming about him again.
Not soft, romantic dreamsāraw ones. Ugly ones. His fingers around your wrist. His breath on your neck. The way he said your name like it was a curse and a prayer all at once.
You told yourself it was just your subconscious processing trauma.
You were lying.
You started looking out your window at night. Started checking behind you in the dark. But not because you were scared.
Because you were hoping.
He was inside you again. Not physically, not yet. But his presence curled in your lungs, nested behind your ribs. And you missed him.
You missed feeling seen.
You missed being someone worth watching.
Rule Eleven: Never chase the monster.
What if you already are one?
[y/n]
You told yourself it was just curiosity.
That was the first lie.
You remembered the name of the new therapist he sat across from. A passing glance at the sign-in sheet. You werenāt looking, not exactly. But your eyes had always been trained to notice patterns. Details. Schedules.
Him.
You knew his sessions were on Thursdays. Late afternoon. You lingered onceāaccidentally, you claimedābut that wasnāt the last time. No, the last time was today. The day you followed him.
He didnāt see you. He never looked back.
But you watched as he stepped out of the office building, hood drawn over his hair, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. There was a stiffness in his frame you hadnāt seen before. A different kind of tension.
You waited two heartbeats before you followed.
Your coat was long enough to blend in. Your footsteps quiet enough to be ghosts. You told yourself you were just making sure. Just observing.
Another lie.
He walked with purpose. Through the quiet edges of the city, down streets most people passed by without thought. You imagined asking him why here? and knew heād smirk and say something maddening. Something true.
He stopped at a corner store. Bought nothing. Just stood for a moment, fingers curled around the doorframe like he was waiting for a sign. And then he kept walking. Down a narrow alley. Up rusted steps. Into a small building that looked like it hadnāt seen a fresh coat of paint in years.
There.
That was where he lived now.
You hovered across the street, heart pounding, ears straining for sound. You shouldnāt be here. You knew that. This wasnāt what professionals did. This wasnāt what sane people did.
But watching that door close behind him felt like pulling air into your lungs for the first time in weeks.
You stepped back into the shadows, eyes trained on the third-floor window until a light flicked on.
There he was.
Moving through the small apartment, unguarded, unaware. He didnāt draw his blinds. He never had. The arrogance of it made your pulse stutter. Or maybe it wasnāt arrogance. Maybe it was... hope.
Because when he sat by the window, slouched in that way he did when he was tired or pretending to be, his gaze drifted outātoward the street. Toward you.
And for one terrifying, electrifying second, you swore he saw you.
You didnāt move.
Neither did he.
The distance between you felt thin. Fragile. One wrong breath and it would shatter.
Your fingers curled around the edge of your coat. Your mouth was dry. You should have turned around, run, screamed at yourself for letting it come to this. For becoming what you feared.
But instead, you whispered into the nightāsoft, selfish, and aching:
āMiss me, Jungwon?ā
And in your bones, you knew.
[Jungwon]
He did.
She wanted him to see.
She didnāt say it. She didnāt need to. He knew.
Sometimes, sheād linger by the window, framed in soft golden light like a painting only he was meant to witness. Pretending to read, fingers ghosting over the pages of a book she wasnāt absorbing. Other nights, she'd undress slowly, deliberately, her silhouette slipping from one shape to another, shadows curling along her body like hands.
Facing outward.
Facing him.
She thought she was subtle. She wasnāt.
He could read her body like a second language nowāevery flick of her eyes, every tense tilt of her spine, every breath that stalled like she was waiting for something.
For him.
He bought a burner phone. Something cheap. Disposable. Untraceable. But what he said wasnāt.
You look lonely tonight.
He watched her read it through the binocular lens, her fingers freezing mid-scroll. She didnāt block him. She didnāt scream.
Instead, she typed.
Then deleted.
Typed again. Paused.
A breathless kind of war behind her eyes.
She was already his. She just hadnāt said it out loud yet.
[You]
You met him again.
Not by coincidence. Not in the sterile, professional way that used to keep you clean.
You found him.
He was waiting in the alley near your building, half-swallowed by shadow, half-lit by the hum of the streetlamp. Like heād always been there. Like heād carved himself into the city just to be closer to you.
Your heart lurched, traitorous. Your feet moved before your mind caught up.
"You shouldn't be here," you whispered, words crumbling against the cold night air.
"I was always here," he said, quiet and certain, like the truth had always lived on his tongue.
He stepped forward. His hands were cold when they cupped your face, trembling and reverent. But your skin burned beneath them, like every cell remembered him before your mouth did.
You shouldāve screamed.
You shouldāve run.
You kissed him instead.
It wasnāt soft. It wasnāt safe.
It was desperate, consumingāteeth clashing, hands grasping, breath stolen between broken gasps. Your back hit the brick wall, his fingers threading into your hair like heād done it a thousand times in his head.
Every rule you ever believed in shattered against the heat of his mouth.
Rule Twelve: Obsession consumes.
But maybe you were never meant to survive it.
Maybe you didnāt want to.
[Jungwon]
She let him in.
Not just into her homeāinto the quiet, forgotten corners of herself. Into the soft places no one else had been allowed to touch.
He stepped through her door like it belonged to him. Like she belonged to him. And when her eyes flickered down, her breath hitching like she was ashamed of how badly she needed thisāhe made sure she knew:
This was never just therapy.
This wasnāt about healing.
This was hunger. Feral and precise.
Fate, twisted into flesh.
He didnāt catch her when she fell.
He fell tooāarms wide, eyes open, smiling.
He buried himself in her days, her sheets, her skin.
Watching her break every rule she used to wield like armor.
Watched her unravel and loved her more with every thread that came loose.
[You]
You donāt remember when the guilt stopped whispering.
Maybe it didnāt. Maybe it just got quieter the longer Jungwon stayed.
He lived inside you now. Not just in your bed, but in the marrow of your bones. His voice laced between your thoughts. His touch, a phantom across your thighs when you were aloneāthough you never were for long.
You stopped going to work.
Stopped answering calls.
Stopped pretending you wanted a life outside of him.
You told yourself it was temporary. A lapse. An indulgence.
But that was another lie, wasnāt it?
Because every time he touched youāsoft or brutal, desperate or deliberateāyou saw it in his eyes. That deep, wrecking knowing.
And when he cupped your jaw and whispered, āYouāre mine,ā you didnāt flinch.
You exhaled like youād been waiting your whole life to hear it.
You werenāt going back.
Not to the clinic. Not to the rules. Not to the quiet, measured version of yourself who used to sleep alone.
That person died the night you let Jungwon back in.
And you didnāt mourn her.
You buried her with a kiss.
Final Rule: You canāt save each other.
But maybe, just maybe, you can burn together instead.
BREAKING NEWS
Local Therapist Reported Missing; Former Patient Named as Person of Interest
April 21, 2025 ā In a developing story, Dr.L/N , a licensed therapist at the Elmwood Mental Health Center, has been reported missing after failing to appear for multiple appointments and being unreachable for days. Authorities have identified Yang Jungwon, a former patient, as a potential person of interest in the case. Surveillance footage shows the two in close proximity days before the disappearance. Neighbors report strange activity near Dr.L/Nās residence, including a figure matching Jungwonās description seen entering the building late at night.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Even when the leaves changed and school swallowed you again, even when you blocked his number and told your friends you were done, some part of you stayed stuck on that lake dock with himāSunghoonāwarm air on your skin, moonlight in the water, his voice low and careful like he was afraid to break you or himself.
You were too young.
He was too old.
And both of you were too reckless to care.
He looked at you like you were trouble.
You looked at him like a dare.
And when the confession slipped out that nightāyour shaky āIām starting to care about youā and his even shakier, āI donāt trust youā¦ But I donāt want you to go,āāyou felt the summer tilt.
So you made a game.
One summer.
First one to fall loses.
No rules.
No promises.
But games only work when you keep your distance.
And Sunghoon didnāt.
He leaned in too close when he talked.
Your laugh came too easily.
His hand brushed yours too much to be an accident.
You looked at his mouth too long to pretend you werenāt curious.
Somewhere between talking at 2AM and driving nowhere with his windows down, the game stopped being a game.
You fell first.
Sunghoon cared first.
Neither of you admitted it.
So instead of loving each other, you tried to out-hide each other.
He tried to be perfect for you.
You tried to be trustworthy for him.
Neither of you knew how to hold something fragile without pressing too hard.
It went toxicānot out of maliceābut out of fear.
Breaking up wouldāve meant a phone call, a text, a real ending.
You couldnāt.
He wouldnāt.
So the summer justā¦ ended.
And silence took over.
Seven months of it.
Seven months of him pretending he didnāt replay the sound of your laugh.
Seven months of you pretending you didnāt keep his old sweatshirt under your bed.
Seven months of both of you growing up in opposite directions and somehow toward the same wound.
The following summer, you saw him again.
Sunghoon stood there by the campus fountaināolder, softer, tired in a way you recognized too well.
Your stomach dropped so hard you turned around.
He smiled liurt him.
You walked toward him anyway.
It was good at first.
Too good.
Talking felt natural again.
He remembered your tells.
You remembered his habits.
He touched your arm when he laughed.
You didnāt move away.
For a moment, you believed youād finally gotten timing right.
Until the promise.
That stupid promise from the first summerā
āIf we canāt make it work now, we'll try again at 25. Maybe actually get married or something.ā
You joked.
Sunghoon didnāt.
He asked quietly, āDo you still think we could do that?ā
You hesitated.
He noticed.
One small argument became five.
Five became the one that finally collapsed the whole thing.
Before the summer could end, so did you.
You walked away crying.
Sunghoon let you go, then sat in his car gripping the wheel until his knuckles blanched, realizing too late that heād made the wrong choice again.
Silence.
Again.
This time for almost a year.
Sunghoon stared at your name on his phone last week.
Heād grown so much, and somehow not at all.
He wanted to reach out.
He hated himself for wanting it.
He hated himself more for being afraid.
He typed: hey. You remember that promise?
He hovered.
He sent it.
When you replied, Sunghoon felt something loosen in his chest; he didnāt realize heād been holding for months.
You hated the way your breath caught as you read it.
You hated that you didnāt hate him.
Then the messages kept comingā
soft, familiar, casually intimate in the way only two people who once ruined each other can be.
And suddenly, the game was back.
A different game.
A quieter one.
You wrote: feels like youāre trying to fall again
He wrote: I already did. not telling you when. thatās cheating
Your heart stuttered.
Sunghoon knew it did.
He always knew.
You will meet him next week.
The place he chose is quietāa park near the river, sunlight scattered across the water, like he picked a setting soft enough not to overwhelm either of you.
Heās already there when you arrive.
Sunghoon stands when he sees you, hands shoved in his pockets like heās trying to hold himself together.
His eyes flicker over youāyour hair, your face, the way your shoulders tenseālike heās memorizing you again, carefully, reverently.
āYou look good,ā he says, voice lower than you remember.
āYou look the same,ā you answer.
āGood same or bad same?ā
āTrouble same.ā
He laughs, and the sound is so familiar it almost knocks the air out of you.
You sit beside him.
Close enough that your knees brush.
Far enough that neither of you has to acknowledge it.
āYou really came,ā Sunghoon says quietly.
āYou asked.ā
He nods, swallowing. āDo you still think about it?ā
āSometimes.ā
āMe too,ā he admits. āI thinkā¦ I never stopped.ā
He shifts closerānot touching you, just leaning into the space you left open.
āYou know,ā he says, voice soft and raw, āthis time I donāt want a game. Or a timer. Or a promise for years from now.ā
another fic idea based on something that happened when I was in high school
a lover girl disguised as a player- DISGUISED AS A LOVER GIRL x a loverboy who's really a player meet.
there's so many things wrong with their relationship
she's too young, hes wayyy older.
they have 1 summer together and they begin "falling" for each other, but in reality the lover girl is really plotting and the guy never trusted her.
so they confess one night- because they really started caring for each other- for a strange reason.
and so they begin a game. because they're both not able to trust, they decide to use that one summer to see who can fall in love with each other first.
fai- the ending to this is crazy but im not gonna say it here cuz it is WAYYYY new private
love u bitch
mwah
oh this isnāt just a fic idea itās aĀ literary duel disguised as heartbreakĀ š the mutual plotting?? the trust issues?? the irony of falling for someone you were supposed to outplay??? absolutely diabolical. I can already smell the angst and sunburn from that one summer š youāre insane for keeping that ending secret, Iām obsessed. love u my chaotic muse mwah <3
this will be released on November 12, 2025 around 4pm est
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Y/N sat on her living room floor, surrounded by pieces of a life that once belonged to them. Once tucked away in the back of her closet, a box had finally come to light. Dust clung to the edges of the cardboard as if time was telling her to leave it alone. But she couldnāt. Not anymore.
She flipped the lid open slowly, hands trembling as she stared at the remnants of their shared dreamsāpictures, notes, memoriesāthings sheād kept, locked away like a secret heart. Her heart.
A photo of them smiling at a park on a sunny afternoon was pinned at the top. Her favorite picture. It was from years ago, from before he left. The memories that followed were quieter and less colourful. Heād been gone for so long, yet she couldnāt let go of him.
There was a scrapbook of their first anniversary, the first night theyād stayed together, and their first kiss that still felt like it had just happened yesterday. Y/Nās fingers ran over the edges of the pages, tracing the corners of the photos.
The most painful part, though, was the Pinterest board. Sheād never shown him, not in the way she wanted to. But it was carefully pinned thereāa lifetime of dreams made for them. The Wedding, The Honeymoon, Our First House. Sheād imagined it all: the dresses, the flowers, the vows she promised herself she would say.
But that was before he told her the words that shattered the future she thought they were building together.
"You deserve someone ready. I'm not. Donāt wait for me."
Her heart broke as those words returned to her, sharper now, as she looked at their old photo.
Three Years Ago...
āI donāt want to tie you down,ā Ni-ki had said, his voice low and careful, eyes avoiding hers. āI have to go. You deserve better than this...ā
She remembered how hard she fought against the tears. She wanted to say anything that could make him stay, but in the end, she had done nothing but nod, broken, and watch him walk away. He left with the silence between them louder than any argument couldāve been.
She had waited. Of course, she waited. And in the meantime, she built the life she thought he would return to. She kept that boardāthose dreamsāalive in her heart, even when everything around her felt like it was falling apart. She loved him, him, not just the idea of him. She loved how his eyes softened when he smiled, how his laugh felt like home, and how they fit together like puzzle pieces.
But that wasnāt enough.
āYou deserve someone ready.ā
And maybe that was the truth she hadnāt wanted to hear. Perhaps she hadnāt been enough.
But tonight, she wasnāt sure she could hold onto any of it anymore.
Y/Nās fingers hovered over the screen of her phone, the message thread with him staring back at her. The words were simple. āIāll always come back, Y/N. Iāll always find my way back to you.ā
She closed her eyes and let out a bitter and hollow laugh. He hadnāt come back. Not the way she needed.
The doorbell rang, cutting through her quiet misery. She didnāt want to answer it. Not tonight. Not with the memories of him still fresh and painful.
But there he was, standing on the other side, older. The years had been kind to him, but something was heavy in his eyes. She hadnāt seen that look in a long time.
āNi-ki,ā she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
He offered her a small, uncertain smile. āCan we talk?ā
Present Time...
He sat across from her, his gaze flicking around the apartment like he was searching for somethingāmaybe for the Y/N he used to know or something he could hold onto.
She wanted to say so many things. To ask why he hadnāt stayed. To demand the answer that would have healed her wounds long ago. But instead, the silence filled the space between them.
āWhy did you leave?ā Y/Nās voice was barely a whisper, but the pain was sharp enough to cut through the years that had passed. She swallowed hard, her heart cracking. āI waited. I waited for you.ā
Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, eyes flickering to the floor. āI wasnāt ready for you. I wasnāt ready for any of this. I still... Iām not sure I am.ā
Y/N looked down at the floor, biting her cheek to hold back tears. She felt stupid, foolish, for thinking that maybeājust maybeāheād come back and apologize for all the pain he caused.
She pulled the box closer, holding it out in front of him. āI kept this. All these things. For us. I thought...ā She let out a choked laugh. āIf I kept them, youād come back, and we could... build that future together.ā
He didnāt reach for the box. He didnāt touch anything in it.
āI never wanted to be someone you waited for,ā he said, his voice softer now but still distant. āI wanted to be the person you needed. But I couldnāt be that for you.ā
Y/Nās heart clenched painfully. The hurt was so raw. He was right, though. He couldnāt be the person she needed because he wasnāt the person who was ready for her. And that wasnāt her fault.
And it wasnāt her choice.
āYou donāt get to come back now and be the man I needed then.ā
Her voice trembled as the words left her lips, their finality settling in her chest. She had truly loved him, but sometimes, love wasnāt enough to make someone stay. Sometimes, it wasnāt even about how much you loved them. It was about whether or not they could love you the same way.
She stood, her legs weak beneath her. Ni-ki didnāt move and didnāt reach out.
āI think we both know,ā she whispered, āthat this isnāt how it was supposed to end. But itās over.ā
She walked past him, not looking back, not even knowing if she could ever forgive himāor herselfāfor holding onto something that was never hers to keep.
And as he left, the weight of the unspoken truth was clear: you canāt make someone stay. No matter how much you love them.
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She wasnāt supposed to be here.
New office. New therapist. New attempt at pretending he still needed help. He didnāt. Not really. Not in the way they thought.
But thenāthere she was.
Just passing by. Clipboard in hand, eyes flicking toward the hallway like she wasnāt searching. Like she wasnāt hoping heād already disappeared into the cracks of her past.
But her eyes found him. Of course they did. They always would.
Jungwon paused mid-step. Watched her breath hitch, her spine go rigid, like sheād been jolted back into a nightmare sheād tried to rewrite as something professional. Clean. Harmless.
He watched her freeze the way people do when they see something they tried to forgetābut failed to bury deep enough.
Good.
Let her remember.
He didnāt stop walking. Not completely. Just slowed enough to make it deliberate. Controlled. His gaze never left hers as he passed her office, not even for a second. Her lips parted like she was about to speak, but nothing came out.
And then his eyes dragged over herāmethodically. She was dressed sharp, polished, clinical. But he could still see itāthe small crack in her armor. The tremble in her fingers. The way she clutched her pen too tightly, like it could anchor her to something real.
She was unraveling.
He tilted his head, just slightly. A flicker of a smirk ghosted across his lips. How could she be so beautiful?
So still, yet so undone.
Like she was holding herself together just long enough to make it through the next breath.
He drank in every detailāher clenched jaw, the soft crease between her brows, the way her heels didnāt click the floor because she wasnāt moving. Couldnāt.
He had that effect on her.
She looked like she wanted to run.
She looked like she wanted to stay.
He walked past her door like he had every right to be there. Like he was still hers. And as he turned the corner, he didnāt look back.
He didnāt need to.
He knew she was still watching.
[Y/N]
You werenāt supposed to stop.
But your feet rooted themselves to the ground the second you saw him.
Jungwon.
The name you swore you'd never let echo in your head again. And yet, there it wasāsharp, intimate, and dangerously alive in your bloodstream the moment your eyes met his.
He looked the same. Noāworse. He looked better. Sharper around the edges, like time had carved him into something more precise. More deliberate. He walked slower now, too, like every step was measured. Like he wanted you to watch.
And you did.
God, you did.
Your breath caught in your throat, chest locked like a cage. The hallway fadedāthe noise, the lights, the low murmur of another therapist talking to their patient. None of it mattered.
Just him.
He passed your office like he owned it. Like he still belonged inside these walls. Inside you.
And when his gaze slid over youāslow, unblinkingāyou felt it.
That thing inside you. That dark, forbidden thing you thought youād buried the moment he said I love you. The moment you told him to leave.
It flinched awake.
You clenched your pen like it could protect you from yourself. Your fingers tingled. Your jaw ached. You told your body to relax, to breathe, but it was no longer yours to command.
Because he was looking at you like heād never stopped.
Like he'd been waiting for this exact moment.
You hated that you noticed the way his shirt fit a little tighter. That his smirk was slower, deeper, more dangerous than you remembered. You hated how your eyes followed the line of his jaw, down to the soft movement of his lips when he whispered somethingāsomething you couldnāt hear but felt anyway.
Your heart thudded against your ribs like it wanted out. Like it wanted him.
When he disappeared around the corner, you didnāt move.
You stared at the space where heād been, your skin buzzing, your mind spinning, your rulesāyour precious, clinical rulesācrumbling into ash at your feet.
Youād told yourself it was over.
But standing there, body humming with electricity, all you could think was:
He came back.
And worseā
You wanted him to.
[Jungwon]
āāHe knows he shouldnāt.
He tells himself that more than once.
As he signs out at the front desk with that same smooth smile, as he takes the stairs instead of the elevator just in case she might be leaving early, as he steps out into the dusky evening and blends into the hum of the city.
He knows he shouldnāt.
But he does.
He follows her.
Not right awayāheās too careful for that. He waits. Watches. Blends into the crowd across the street like a shadow stitched to the sidewalk. When she finally steps out of the building, her stride is brisk, practiced. Purposeful.
But he knows her well enough to see through it.
The way her shoulders are too tight. The way she keeps her eyes forward, like she can feel him without needing to see. Like she knows heās near.
Good.
He trails behind her at a distance thatās just short of criminal. Not close enough to be seenājust close enough to study.
She doesnāt drive. Walks three blocks before ducking into a side street. Her bag tucked tight under her arm, her coat drawn around her like armor.
Jungwon memorizes the rhythm of her steps. Counts how many times she glances over her shoulder. Once. Twice. Three times. Her paranoia tastes like foreplay.
He wonders if she knows itās him. If part of her hopes it is.
The thought makes his throat go dry.
When she reaches her apartment building, she hesitates at the door. Fumbles briefly with her keys. Thatās new. She used to move with confidence, always polished, always precise. Now thereās a tremble. A crack in her seamless exterior.
He likes that.
She disappears inside. A soft click of the door, a muted glow of the hallway light. He lingers across the street, half-sheltered by the overgrown ivy of a fence. Watches the third floor. Waits.
It takes two minutes. Maybe three.
Then her light flicks on.
His chest tightens.
Thereās her shadow, moving across the window. Her silhouette shedding the coat. Her hand brushing back her hair. Her body unwinding in that quiet, intimate way people do when they think theyāre alone.
But she isnāt. Not really.
Heās there. With her. Watching.
He should leave. He should walk away. Burn this before it becomes something he canāt put out.
But then she walks past the window again, and she pausesājust barely. Her head turns slightly, as if she feels him.
As if she knows heās still out there.
And for a moment, the ache in his chest blooms. Violent. Vicious.
Because if she knows heās hereā
And doesnāt close the blindsā
Rule Number Ten: Donāt feed the obsession.
But what if you already have?
[Jungwon]
He started leaving gifts.
Not obvious onesāhe wasnāt stupid.
A coffee on the bench outside her building. Her favorite.
A book she once mentioned liking, tucked into the mailbox.
Little things.
Intimate things.
She didnāt throw them away.
She never would.
He saw her once, holding the book in her hands, staring like it meant something more than it should. Her fingers brushed the pages like they were skin.
She missed him.
So he started writing again. Not lettersājournal entries. For her.
Every thought, every look, every flicker of emotion she gave him. He documented everything. Because she was still his therapist in a way. Just... reversed.
She was the one unraveling now.
[Y/n]
You started dreaming about him again.
Not soft, romantic dreamsāraw ones. Ugly ones. His fingers around your wrist. His breath on your neck. The way he said your name like it was a curse and a prayer all at once.
You told yourself it was just your subconscious processing trauma.
You were lying.
You started looking out your window at night. Started checking behind you in the dark. But not because you were scared.
Because you were hoping.
He was inside you again. Not physically, not yet. But his presence curled in your lungs, nested behind your ribs. And you missed him.
You missed feeling seen.
You missed being someone worth watching.
Rule Eleven: Never chase the monster.
What if you already are one?
[y/n]
You told yourself it was just curiosity.
That was the first lie.
You remembered the name of the new therapist he sat across from. A passing glance at the sign-in sheet. You werenāt looking, not exactly. But your eyes had always been trained to notice patterns. Details. Schedules.
Him.
You knew his sessions were on Thursdays. Late afternoon. You lingered onceāaccidentally, you claimedābut that wasnāt the last time. No, the last time was today. The day you followed him.
He didnāt see you. He never looked back.
But you watched as he stepped out of the office building, hood drawn over his hair, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. There was a stiffness in his frame you hadnāt seen before. A different kind of tension.
You waited two heartbeats before you followed.
Your coat was long enough to blend in. Your footsteps quiet enough to be ghosts. You told yourself you were just making sure. Just observing.
Another lie.
He walked with purpose. Through the quiet edges of the city, down streets most people passed by without thought. You imagined asking him why here? and knew heād smirk and say something maddening. Something true.
He stopped at a corner store. Bought nothing. Just stood for a moment, fingers curled around the doorframe like he was waiting for a sign. And then he kept walking. Down a narrow alley. Up rusted steps. Into a small building that looked like it hadnāt seen a fresh coat of paint in years.
There.
That was where he lived now.
You hovered across the street, heart pounding, ears straining for sound. You shouldnāt be here. You knew that. This wasnāt what professionals did. This wasnāt what sane people did.
But watching that door close behind him felt like pulling air into your lungs for the first time in weeks.
You stepped back into the shadows, eyes trained on the third-floor window until a light flicked on.
There he was.
Moving through the small apartment, unguarded, unaware. He didnāt draw his blinds. He never had. The arrogance of it made your pulse stutter. Or maybe it wasnāt arrogance. Maybe it was... hope.
Because when he sat by the window, slouched in that way he did when he was tired or pretending to be, his gaze drifted outātoward the street. Toward you.
And for one terrifying, electrifying second, you swore he saw you.
You didnāt move.
Neither did he.
The distance between you felt thin. Fragile. One wrong breath and it would shatter.
Your fingers curled around the edge of your coat. Your mouth was dry. You should have turned around, run, screamed at yourself for letting it come to this. For becoming what you feared.
But instead, you whispered into the nightāsoft, selfish, and aching:
āMiss me, Jungwon?ā
And in your bones, you knew.
[Jungwon]
He did.
She wanted him to see.
She didnāt say it. She didnāt need to. He knew.
Sometimes, sheād linger by the window, framed in soft golden light like a painting only he was meant to witness. Pretending to read, fingers ghosting over the pages of a book she wasnāt absorbing. Other nights, she'd undress slowly, deliberately, her silhouette slipping from one shape to another, shadows curling along her body like hands.
Facing outward.
Facing him.
She thought she was subtle. She wasnāt.
He could read her body like a second language nowāevery flick of her eyes, every tense tilt of her spine, every breath that stalled like she was waiting for something.
For him.
He bought a burner phone. Something cheap. Disposable. Untraceable. But what he said wasnāt.
You look lonely tonight.
He watched her read it through the binocular lens, her fingers freezing mid-scroll. She didnāt block him. She didnāt scream.
Instead, she typed.
Then deleted.
Typed again. Paused.
A breathless kind of war behind her eyes.
She was already his. She just hadnāt said it out loud yet.
[You]
You met him again.
Not by coincidence. Not in the sterile, professional way that used to keep you clean.
You found him.
He was waiting in the alley near your building, half-swallowed by shadow, half-lit by the hum of the streetlamp. Like heād always been there. Like heād carved himself into the city just to be closer to you.
Your heart lurched, traitorous. Your feet moved before your mind caught up.
"You shouldn't be here," you whispered, words crumbling against the cold night air.
"I was always here," he said, quiet and certain, like the truth had always lived on his tongue.
He stepped forward. His hands were cold when they cupped your face, trembling and reverent. But your skin burned beneath them, like every cell remembered him before your mouth did.
You shouldāve screamed.
You shouldāve run.
You kissed him instead.
It wasnāt soft. It wasnāt safe.
It was desperate, consumingāteeth clashing, hands grasping, breath stolen between broken gasps. Your back hit the brick wall, his fingers threading into your hair like heād done it a thousand times in his head.
Every rule you ever believed in shattered against the heat of his mouth.
Rule Twelve: Obsession consumes.
But maybe you were never meant to survive it.
Maybe you didnāt want to.
[Jungwon]
She let him in.
Not just into her homeāinto the quiet, forgotten corners of herself. Into the soft places no one else had been allowed to touch.
He stepped through her door like it belonged to him. Like she belonged to him. And when her eyes flickered down, her breath hitching like she was ashamed of how badly she needed thisāhe made sure she knew:
This was never just therapy.
This wasnāt about healing.
This was hunger. Feral and precise.
Fate, twisted into flesh.
He didnāt catch her when she fell.
He fell tooāarms wide, eyes open, smiling.
He buried himself in her days, her sheets, her skin.
Watching her break every rule she used to wield like armor.
Watched her unravel and loved her more with every thread that came loose.
[You]
You donāt remember when the guilt stopped whispering.
Maybe it didnāt. Maybe it just got quieter the longer Jungwon stayed.
He lived inside you now. Not just in your bed, but in the marrow of your bones. His voice laced between your thoughts. His touch, a phantom across your thighs when you were aloneāthough you never were for long.
You stopped going to work.
Stopped answering calls.
Stopped pretending you wanted a life outside of him.
You told yourself it was temporary. A lapse. An indulgence.
But that was another lie, wasnāt it?
Because every time he touched youāsoft or brutal, desperate or deliberateāyou saw it in his eyes. That deep, wrecking knowing.
And when he cupped your jaw and whispered, āYouāre mine,ā you didnāt flinch.
You exhaled like youād been waiting your whole life to hear it.
You werenāt going back.
Not to the clinic. Not to the rules. Not to the quiet, measured version of yourself who used to sleep alone.
That person died the night you let Jungwon back in.
And you didnāt mourn her.
You buried her with a kiss.
Final Rule: You canāt save each other.
But maybe, just maybe, you can burn together instead.
BREAKING NEWS
Local Therapist Reported Missing; Former Patient Named as Person of Interest
April 21, 2025 ā In a developing story, Dr.L/N , a licensed therapist at the Elmwood Mental Health Center, has been reported missing after failing to appear for multiple appointments and being unreachable for days. Authorities have identified Yang Jungwon, a former patient, as a potential person of interest in the case. Surveillance footage shows the two in close proximity days before the disappearance. Neighbors report strange activity near Dr.L/Nās residence, including a figure matching Jungwonās description seen entering the building late at night.
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You sat on the edge of the hospital bed, the sterile smell clinging to your clothes, to your skin, to the inside of your lungs. Jake looked smaller somehow, tucked into the sheets, an IV snaking from his arm, his skin pale in a way you'd never seen before.
It hadn't always been like this.
Two years ago, Jake had been everything ā loud laughter in your ears, kisses against your forehead, whispered promises pressed to your skin late at night. You loved him the way the ocean loves the shore ā endlessly, no matter how often he pulled away.
But somewhere along the way, Jake forgot to be soft.
Forgot to answer calls.
Forgot dates.
Started picking fights over things he used to love about you.
Stopped apologizing.
[flashback]
The carās engine hummed softly, the only sound that kept you company as you sat there, parked in front of Jakeās apartment. Your fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly, the leather smooth under your palms, but your mind was anything but calm. It had been two years since that nightātwo years since everything started to unravelābut sometimes, the memories felt like they had happened just yesterday.
You had arrived early, like always, prepared to spend the evening with him, to forget about everything else in the world, even for just a few hours. It was supposed to be a date nightāan attempt to bring some normalcy back to the wreckage that had become your relationship. He had promised. He always promised. But as you waited for him to show up, the seconds stretched, turning into minutes, then hours.
The clock on your dashboard blinked red, and you glanced at it, frustration gnawing at your stomach. He was late.
No big deal, right? Maybe heās stuck in traffic, you told yourself, pushing aside the growing sense of unease. It happens.
But as the minutes continued to pass, that quiet voice in your head grew louder. You couldnāt ignore it anymore. He wasnāt coming.
Again.
Two hours had gone by, and you still hadnāt heard a word from him. No texts. No calls. Just the silence of the empty seat beside you, the constant reminder that Jake, the person you once thought you couldnāt live without, was slipping further and further away.
You looked at your phone one more time, as if expecting it to magically light up with a message from him, an apology, some excuse.
Sorry babe, something came up. Canāt make it tonight.
That was all. That was all he ever said when this happened. It was as if his absence didnāt matter, like the hours you spent waiting didnāt count for anything.
You felt the sting of itāthe hurt, the anger, the betrayalāall at once, like a slap across your face. Your heart pounded in your chest, the bitterness rising in your throat.
The sound of the car door shutting pulled you from the memory, and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the images from your mind. But it was hard. Because that night, you had done what you always did: you tried to convince yourself it didnāt matter, that maybe it was something out of his control, that maybe you were overreacting.
But deep down, you knew the truth.
And in the midst of that truth, you had driven to his apartment, your heart pounding with a mix of hurt and anger. You had to confront him, had to hear him say something, anything, to explain the distance he had been creating between you for months. You couldnāt let it slide anymore.
It felt like a lifetime ago, but it was so vivid, so real. The way you stood outside his door, knocking hard enough to make your knuckles ache. And then there he was, Jake, looking disheveled and tired, like he hadnāt even bothered to put on the mask of charm he used to wear around you. He just stood there, his eyes avoiding yours, as if he had no idea what was coming.
You remember the words spilling out of your mouth in a rush, your voice shaking with frustration, but the anger in your chest growing too loud to ignore. āJake, what the hell is going on? Youāve been doing this for months. I waited for youāfor hours.ā
His response had been flat, like he was trying to shrug it off, like it was no big deal. āI didnāt mean to make you wait,ā he said, his voice empty. āI got caught up.ā
Caught up. Those words stung. It was always the same excuse.
And you remember the moment it hit youāthe realization that he was never going to change, that his priorities were somewhere else, that you were no longer on that list. His indifference made the space between you grow even wider, more palpable. You couldnāt bear it anymore.
āYouāre overreacting,ā he had said dismissively, his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes avoiding you.
Overreacting. It was the phrase that shattered something inside you. You had given him so much, and all you ever got in return was dismissal.
But you kept going, because the words had to be said. āItās not about your stupid job, Jake! Itās about respect. You donāt even care enough to show up anymore.ā
The silence stretched between you two like a chasm. And you remembered how his face had faltered for a secondālike something deep inside him had cracked. You saw it, the flicker of guilt, of regret. But it was gone in an instant, buried under layers of pride and distance.
āIām sorry I couldnāt be here,ā he muttered, his voice thin, his gaze finally meeting yours. āItās not like I wanted to make you wait.ā
You had to fight to keep the tears from spilling out, but you didnāt let him see that. You didnāt let him see how much it hurt. āThen why did you? Why do you keep doing this, Jake? Why do you keep letting me down?ā
He had nothing to say. And that was the moment you realized you had been holding onto someone who had already let go. The weight of it hit you like a wave, and you could barely breathe under the crushing pressure of the truth.
āIām done,ā you said, your voice soft but steady, the finality of it sinking into your chest. āI canāt keep doing this. Iām not waiting for you anymore. I deserve more than this.ā
You had walked away, feeling like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind, but knowing that if you stayed, youād lose everything.
And you had.
That was the night you let go. The night you finally understood that you couldnāt keep chasing someone who didnāt care enough to show up for you when you needed him most. The night you stopped waiting for a person who would never be there.
Yet you still stayed.
Now, he was sick.
Really sick.
The doctors said he needed a kidney.
Yours was a match ā a miracle, they'd called it.
But they also said the surgery for you would be dangerous. Life-threatening. Something about complications, rare anomalies in your anatomy, risks stacking higher than you could bear.
Heād always been so full of life. Now, he was weakābarely more than a shadow of the person you once knew, the person you once loved. The person you had given everything to.
His hand reached out weakly, fingers trembling as he grasped yours. The desperation in his eyes cut deep, but it wasnāt enough to drown out the ache that swelled in your chest. He didnāt deserve you. Not anymore.
āPlease,ā Jake whispered, his voice cracking like fragile glass. His face was pale, drained of color, but there was something about the way he looked at you that made your heart twist, even after everything. āYouāre the only one who can.ā
You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the force of everything you wanted to say, but couldnāt. Tears stung the back of your eyes, and you blinked them away, focusing on the white sheets beneath your hands, willing yourself not to break. Not here. Not now.
āJakeā¦ā Your voice came out strained, the words heavy, like they were weighed down by years of unspoken truth. āYou donāt get it.ā You clenched your fists, the tremor in your fingers betraying the walls you had carefully built around yourself. āI already gave you everything I had. Everything.ā
His grip on your hand tightened, his breath shallow as he tried to pull you closer, his eyes pleading.
āIāI know,ā he said, his voice breaking. āI know Iāve screwed up. But this... this is different. I need you, please.ā His eyes glistened with desperation, the sincerity in his gaze raw and painful. āI need you to do this for me.ā
A lump formed in your throat, choking you. It was cruel, wasnāt it? The way he asked, the way he still expected you to save him, to give him more when he had already drained you dry. The selfishnessāthe thoughtlessnessāof it all.
You pulled your hand away slowly, the cold space between you now growing unbearable. āNo, Jake,ā you said, voice barely above a whisper, but the words felt like a final surrender. āYou donāt get to ask that of me.ā
He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes nowārecognition, maybe? A faint understanding of what you were saying.
āI gave you my heart, Jake,ā you continued, each word coming with a weight you hadnāt been prepared for. āI gave you everything I hadāeverythingāand you took it all. You took all of me, and then you walked away without even caring enough to fix it. You left me waiting for you when you shouldāve been here, beside me, making things right. But you didnāt, did you? You couldnāt even do that.ā
His face faltered, the guilt flickering across his features, but it was only for a moment before he masked it again with his need. His desperation.
āIām not asking you to love me again, Iām not asking for forgiveness,ā he said, his voice raw with emotion. āI just need you to help me. Please. I donāt want to die, not like this. IāI canāt do it without you.ā
You could feel his grip tightening again, pulling you back in. It was suffocating, the pressure to give him what he wanted, what he needed. But you were already hollow, and you couldnāt pour anything more into someone who had drained you dry and kept taking. You couldnāt keep giving when you had nothing left.
āI donāt know if I can, Jake,ā you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, trailing down your cheeks. āI want to help you. God, I want to, but I canāt. Not like this.ā You paused, trying to steady yourself, but the emotion swelled, so much of it that you couldnāt hold it in anymore. āI canāt give you any more of me. Youāve already taken it all.ā
Jakeās face crumpled, his eyes wide with hurt, like he couldnāt understand how this could be happening. Like he hadnāt already broken everything you had, piece by piece.
āI donāt want to lose you,ā he whispered, as if that was the solution, as if that simple plea would somehow make you forget everything.
But you were beyond that point. You had been for so long.
āI lost you a long time ago,ā you said, your voice steadying, the finality of it biting into your own soul. You wiped away the tears, trying to compose yourself, but it felt like an impossible task. āIāll help you find someone else, Jake. Someone who can do this. Someone who can save you the way you need. Iāll do everything I can to help you. But I canāt... I canāt give you any more of me. Not after everything youāve taken.ā
You stood up slowly, wrapping your arms around yourself, as if you could protect the small, fragile part of you that still felt. Still cared.
āIām sorry,ā you whispered, even though you werenāt sure if you were sorry for him, or for yourself. Or for the both of you.
Jakeās hand dropped weakly to the side, the faintest sob escaping his lips. You didnāt turn back. You couldnāt. You couldnāt face him, couldnāt watch him fall apart like thatābecause you had already fallen apart in every way that mattered.
As you reached the doorway, you paused, taking a deep breath, as if this moment could be enough to erase everything that had led to it. But it couldnāt. Nothing could.
āI gave you my heart,ā you whispered one last time, the words echoing in the silence. āAnd you took it all. So donāt ask for more.ā
And then, with nothing left to say, you walked out the door. Not out of spite, not out of hate, but because you finally understood.
The funeral was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made the air heavy, suffocating. You had gone out of a sense of duty, not because you owed him anything anymore, but because that was the last thing you could do for him.
The guilt settled in your chest like a weight you couldnāt shake off. Even though you had made the decisionāhad chosen to leave that part of you behindāit didnāt make the ache go away. The silence between your heartbeats felt louder than anything else, reminding you that even after everything, you still couldnāt fully let him go.
You stood at the edge of the crowd, a spectator to a life that was no longer yours to be a part of. Jakeās family huddled together, their faces blurred by grief. His mother, the one person who had always tried to keep him grounded, was inconsolable, her cries echoing across the empty space. And in the midst of it all, you felt like an intruder.
You should have been here sooner.
The thought passed through your mind like a knife. It didnāt make sense. You had done what you had to do. Youād walked away because there was nothing left to give. You had nothing left in you. He had taken it all.
And yet, the pain of his death, the finality of it, was something you couldnāt ignore. You tried to breathe, to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a second skin.
As you stood there, frozen in place, you found yourself back in that hospital room. The last time you had seen himāhis weak, pleading eyes as he begged you for a kidney, for a piece of yourself you had already given too many times. He had looked so small, so fragile, and you had turned away. You had walked out because you had nothing left.
But now, standing here in the cold, empty silence of the graveyard, the weight of that decision felt unbearable.
I should have tried harder. I should have done more.
You had tried to tell yourself it wasnāt your fault. That you couldnāt keep sacrificing yourself for someone who wasnāt willing to fight for you. That you had done the right thing by choosing yourself.
But the reality was different. Jake was gone, and you were still here, haunted by the memory of him, of his face, of the way he had looked at you in those last moments.
The sound of footsteps behind you pulled you out of the fog of your thoughts. You turned to see one of Jakeās old friends- Sunghoon, his face just as weary as yours. He stopped a few feet away, hesitant, as if unsure whether to speak.
āAre you... okay?ā he asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a question no one had an answer to.
You nodded, even though you werenāt sure you were. āIām fine,ā you said, but the words tasted hollow. āI just... I didnāt think it would hit like this.ā You paused, your gaze flickering back to the small group surrounding Jakeās casket, the weight of their grief still too much to bear. āI didnāt think Iād still feel like this.ā
Sunghoon was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. āYou were good to him. More than he deserved sometimes.ā
Your chest tightened at the words. You swallowed, the pain in your throat too much to bear. āI just... I didnāt want him to go like that. Not like he did.ā
āI donāt think anyone really wants that,ā he said softly. āBut sometimes, people make choices, and... the ones left behind are the ones who feel the weight of them.ā
You nodded slowly, feeling like you were sinking deeper into the pit of regret. It wasnāt fair. None of it was fair. You had tried to love him. Tried to fix him, to hold on long enough for him to come back, but the pieces of him that were worth saving had long since broken, and you hadnāt been able to mend them.
āI just... I wish I could have been enough for him,ā you whispered, your voice cracking. āI wanted to be.ā
The pain in your chest felt sharper now, like it was cutting into your very soul. You had been enough. You had given everything.
But it was too late for that now. The air felt colder, like a reminder that time had moved on, that life had moved onāeven when your heart had stayed frozen in the past.
The funeral ended, but the emptiness lingered. The ache, the regret. The loss. You would never have answers to the questions you had asked yourself over and over again. But one thing was certain: you had to keep moving forward.
You couldnāt change what had happened. But maybe, just maybe, you could find a way to heal from it. Because you had learned one painful truth, even through all the heartbreak:
Love wasnāt supposed to destroy you.
And you had to find a way to live again, even if it meant doing it without him.
The morning light streamed in through the thin curtains, painting the room in gold. You couldnāt see it, of course.
But you could feel it ā the warmth brushing against your skin, the way Riki shifted beside you with a groan, pulling the blanket up higher.
"Five more minutes," he mumbled, voice rough with sleep.
You smiled faintly, reaching out for him. You missed at first ā hand hitting the bed clumsily ā and he laughed, quietly, before catching your fingers in his.
"Right here," he said, threading your fingers together.
You liked mornings like this. Before the day really started. Before the weight of everything settled in.
By the time you sat at the kitchen table, the struggles had already begun.
The coffee cup you almost knocked over. The way you fumbled with the toast, spreading butter all wrong, fingers slipping.
You hated it ā how something so simple felt like a war you were losing. You hated needing help for things that other people didnāt even have to think about.
Riki was there, though. Like always.
Moving the cup a little closer. Turning the toast so the butter wouldn't fall onto your lap. Quiet, gentle touches guiding you.
But you could hear it ā the heaviness he tried to hide. The way his breath would catch sometimes. The extra second he took before speaking.
He was tired, too.
You dropped the knife with a clatter, frustration burning up your throat.
"God, I canāt evenā" you started, voice breaking.
You felt his forehead press lightly to your knee, a small, desperate anchor.
"I donāt mind helping," he said, words muffled against your jeans. "I just... I hate that you feel like you have to be perfect."
You touched his hair, smoothing it back, finding the shape of him in the dark.
"You didnāt sign up for this," you whispered.
Riki lifted his head.
"I signed up for you," he said simply.
You bit your lip, fighting the tears rising up. It hurt too much ā the way he looked at you like you were still his whole world when you felt like a burden dragging him down.
āYou shouldn't be with meā
Riki froze.
For a long second, he didnāt say anything. Just stared, his breathing uneven.
"Why are you saying that?" he asked, sounding smaller than youād ever heard him.
"Because you deserve someone easy," you choked out. "Someone who doesnāt need help getting through breakfast. Someone whoās not...."
Your voice trailed off, the silence between you sharp and painful.
āI donāt want someone easy. I want you." Riki said, voice shaking with anger ā not at you, but at the world, at everything that made you feel like you were less.
You shook your head, tears slipping free now.
"I hate watching you hurt because of me," you whispered.
"I hate watching you hurt, period," Riki said fiercely. "If you think leaving would fix that, you're wrong. I'd just be hurting without you instead."
He reached for your hands again, his grip trembling but sure.
"Iām not letting you go," he said. "Not because you think youāre a burden. Not because itās hard. Not even if you tell me to. Iām here. Iām not scared of hard."
You swallowed thickly, feeling every word settle deep in your chest.
Maybe you would always be reaching in the dark.
Maybe there would always be struggle.
But Riki was the one thing you could hold onto ā solid, stubborn, real.
sugurugetos
stormborns
snowghoul
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