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Iâm seeing all the Heeseung requests in my inbox and I just want to say something quickly.
To be honest, itâs giving me a lot of anxiety right now. I know everyone is hurting and confused, and I am too. I literally just woke up, Iâve been crying nonstop, and my heart genuinely feels like itâs 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 Iâm 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: no, I will never erase Heeseung from my list. He means too much to me and to this space.
Please be patient with me while I try to process everything. Thank you for understandingđ§Ą
She wasnât supposed to be here.
New office. New therapist. New attempt at pretending he still needed help. He didnât. Not really. Not in the way they thought.
But thenâthere she was.
Just passing by. Clipboard in hand, eyes flicking toward the hallway like she wasnât searching. Like she wasnât hoping heâd 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 sheâd been jolted back into a nightmare sheâd tried to rewrite as something professional. Clean. Harmless.
He watched her freeze the way people do when they see something they tried to forgetâbut failed to bury deep enough.
Good.
Let her remember.
He didnât 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 herâmethodically. She was dressed sharp, polished, clinical. But he could still see itâthe 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 detailâher clenched jaw, the soft crease between her brows, the way her heels didnât click the floor because she wasnât moving. Couldnât.
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 didnât look back.
He didnât need to.
He knew she was still watching.
[Y/N]
You werenât 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 wasâsharp, intimate, and dangerously alive in your bloodstream the moment your eyes met his.
He looked the same. Noâworse. 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 fadedâthe 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 youâslow, unblinkingâyou felt it.
That thing inside you. That dark, forbidden thing you thought youâd 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 heâd 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 somethingâsomething you couldnât 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 didnât move.
You stared at the space where heâd been, your skin buzzing, your mind spinning, your rulesâyour precious, clinical rulesâcrumbling into ash at your feet.
Youâd told yourself it was over.
But standing there, body humming with electricity, all you could think was:
He came back.
And worseâ
You wanted him to.
[Jungwon]
ââHe knows he shouldnât.
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 shouldnât.
But he does.
He follows her.
Not right awayâheâs 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 heâs near.
Good.
He trails behind her at a distance thatâs just short of criminal. Not close enough to be seenâjust close enough to study.
She doesnât 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 itâs 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. Thatâs new. She used to move with confidence, always polished, always precise. Now thereâs 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.
Thereâs 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 theyâre alone.
But she isnât. Not really.
Heâs there. With her. Watching.
He should leave. He should walk away. Burn this before it becomes something he canât put out.
But then she walks past the window again, and she pausesâjust barely. Her head turns slightly, as if she feels him.
As if she knows heâs still out there.
And for a moment, the ache in his chest blooms. Violent. Vicious.
Because if she knows heâs hereâ
And doesnât close the blindsâ
Rule Number Ten: Donât feed the obsession.
But what if you already have?
[Jungwon]
He started leaving gifts.
Not obvious onesâhe wasnât 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 didnât 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 lettersâjournal 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 dreamsâraw 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 werenât 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 onceâaccidentally, you claimedâbut that wasnât the last time. No, the last time was today. The day you followed him.
He didnât 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 hadnât 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 heâd 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 hadnât 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 shouldnât be here. You knew that. This wasnât what professionals did. This wasnât 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 didnât draw his blinds. He never had. The arrogance of it made your pulse stutter. Or maybe it wasnât 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 outâtoward the street. Toward you.
And for one terrifying, electrifying second, you swore he saw you.
You didnât 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 nightâsoft, selfish, and aching:
âMiss me, Jungwon?â
And in your bones, you knew.
[Jungwon]
He did.
She wanted him to see.
She didnât say it. She didnât need to. He knew.
Sometimes, sheâd 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 wasnât 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 wasnât.
He could read her body like a second language nowâevery 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 wasnât.
You look lonely tonight.
He watched her read it through the binocular lens, her fingers freezing mid-scroll. She didnât block him. She didnât scream.
Instead, she typed.
Then deleted.
Typed again. Paused.
A breathless kind of war behind her eyes.
She was already his. She just hadnât 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 heâd always been there. Like heâd 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 shouldâve screamed.
You shouldâve run.
You kissed him instead.
It wasnât soft. It wasnât safe.
It was desperate, consumingâteeth clashing, hands grasping, breath stolen between broken gasps. Your back hit the brick wall, his fingers threading into your hair like heâd 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 didnât want to.
[Jungwon]
She let him in.
Not just into her homeâinto 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 thisâhe made sure she knew:
This was never just therapy.
This wasnât about healing.
This was hunger. Feral and precise.
Fate, twisted into flesh.
He didnât catch her when she fell.
He fell tooâarms 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 donât remember when the guilt stopped whispering.
Maybe it didnât. 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 aloneâthough 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, wasnât it?
Because every time he touched youâsoft or brutal, desperate or deliberateâyou saw it in his eyes. That deep, wrecking knowing.
And when he cupped your jaw and whispered, âYouâre mine,â you didnât flinch.
You exhaled like youâd been waiting your whole life to hear it.
You werenât 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 didnât mourn her.
You buried her with a kiss.
Final Rule: You canât 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 â 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/Nâs residence, including a figure matching Jungwonâs description seen entering the building late at night.
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 himâSunghoonâwarm 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 nightâyour shaky âIâm starting to care about youâ and his even shakier, âI donât trust you⊠But I donât want you to go,ââyou 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 didnât.
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 werenât 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 toxicânot out of maliceâbut out of fear.
Breaking up wouldâve meant a phone call, a text, a real ending.
You couldnât.
He wouldnât.
So the summer just⊠ended.
And silence took over.
Seven months of it.
Seven months of him pretending he didnât replay the sound of your laugh.
Seven months of you pretending you didnât 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 fountainâolder, 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 didnât move away.
For a moment, you believed youâd finally gotten timing right.
Until the promise.
That stupid promise from the first summerâ
âIf we canât make it work now, we'll try again at 25. Maybe actually get married or something.â
You joked.
Sunghoon didnât.
He asked quietly, âDo you still think we could do that?â
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 heâd made the wrong choice again.
Silence.
Again.
This time for almost a year.
Sunghoon stared at your name on his phone last week.
Heâd 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 didnât realize heâd been holding for months.
You hated the way your breath caught as you read it.
You hated that you didnât hate him.
Then the messages kept comingâ
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 youâre trying to fall again
He wrote: I already did. not telling you when. thatâs cheating
Your heart stuttered.
Sunghoon knew it did.
He always knew.
You will meet him next week.
The place he chose is quietâa park near the river, sunlight scattered across the water, like he picked a setting soft enough not to overwhelm either of you.
Heâs already there when you arrive.
Sunghoon stands when he sees you, hands shoved in his pockets like heâs trying to hold himself together.
His eyes flicker over youâyour hair, your face, the way your shoulders tenseâlike heâs memorizing you again, carefully, reverently.
âYou look good,â he says, voice lower than you remember.
âYou look the same,â you answer.
âGood same or bad same?â
âTrouble same.â
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.
âYou really came,â Sunghoon says quietly.
âYou asked.â
He nods, swallowing. âDo you still think about it?â
âSometimes.â
âMe too,â he admits. âI think⊠I never stopped.â
He shifts closerânot touching you, just leaning into the space you left open.
âYou know,â he says, voice soft and raw, âthis time I donât want a game. Or a timer. Or a promise for years from now.â
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.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
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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 isnât just a fic idea itâs a literary duel disguised as heartbreak đ 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 đ youâre insane for keeping that ending secret, Iâm 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.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch âą No registration required âą HD streaming
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 couldnât. Not anymore.
She flipped the lid open slowly, hands trembling as she stared at the remnants of their shared dreamsâpictures, notes, memoriesâthings sheâd 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. Heâd been gone for so long, yet she couldnât let go of him.
There was a scrapbook of their first anniversary, the first night theyâd stayed together, and their first kiss that still felt like it had just happened yesterday. Y/Nâs fingers ran over the edges of the pages, tracing the corners of the photos.
The most painful part, though, was the Pinterest board. Sheâd never shown him, not in the way she wanted to. But it was carefully pinned thereâa lifetime of dreams made for them. The Wedding, The Honeymoon, Our First House. Sheâd 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. Donât wait for me."
Her heart broke as those words returned to her, sharper now, as she looked at their old photo.
Three Years Ago...
âI donât want to tie you down,â Ni-ki had said, his voice low and careful, eyes avoiding hers. âI have to go. You deserve better than this...â
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 couldâve 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 boardâthose dreamsâalive 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 wasnât enough.
âYou deserve someone ready.â
And maybe that was the truth she hadnât wanted to hear. Perhaps she hadnât been enough.
But tonight, she wasnât sure she could hold onto any of it anymore.
Y/Nâs fingers hovered over the screen of her phone, the message thread with him staring back at her. The words were simple. âIâll always come back, Y/N. Iâll always find my way back to you.â
She closed her eyes and let out a bitter and hollow laugh. He hadnât come back. Not the way she needed.
The doorbell rang, cutting through her quiet misery. She didnât 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 hadnât seen that look in a long time.
âNi-ki,â she whispered, her breath catching in her throat.
He offered her a small, uncertain smile. âCan we talk?â
Present Time...
He sat across from her, his gaze flicking around the apartment like he was searching for somethingâmaybe 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 hadnât stayed. To demand the answer that would have healed her wounds long ago. But instead, the silence filled the space between them.
âWhy did you leave?â Y/Nâs 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. âI waited. I waited for you.â
Ni-ki ran a hand through his hair, his jaw tight, eyes flickering to the floor. âI wasnât ready for you. I wasnât ready for any of this. I still... Iâm not sure I am.â
Y/N looked down at the floor, biting her cheek to hold back tears. She felt stupid, foolish, for thinking that maybeâjust maybeâheâd come back and apologize for all the pain he caused.
She pulled the box closer, holding it out in front of him. âI kept this. All these things. For us. I thought...â She let out a choked laugh. âIf I kept them, youâd come back, and we could... build that future together.â
He didnât reach for the box. He didnât touch anything in it.
âI never wanted to be someone you waited for,â he said, his voice softer now but still distant. âI wanted to be the person you needed. But I couldnât be that for you.â
Y/Nâs heart clenched painfully. The hurt was so raw. He was right, though. He couldnât be the person she needed because he wasnât the person who was ready for her. And that wasnât her fault.
And it wasnât her choice.
âYou donât get to come back now and be the man I needed then.â
Her voice trembled as the words left her lips, their finality settling in her chest. She had truly loved him, but sometimes, love wasnât enough to make someone stay. Sometimes, it wasnât 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 didnât move and didnât reach out.
âI think we both know,â she whispered, âthat this isnât how it was supposed to end. But itâs over.â
She walked past him, not looking back, not even knowing if she could ever forgive himâor herselfâfor holding onto something that was never hers to keep.
And as he left, the weight of the unspoken truth was clear: you canât make someone stay. No matter how much you love them.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY @pinkglitterpuke!! What was I thinking?! UH YOU LIKE ANGST SO THIS IS MY BDAY GIFT TO YOU! HERE'S SOME TISSUES IN CASE YOU ACTUALLY CRIED!
She wasnât supposed to be here.
New office. New therapist. New attempt at pretending he still needed help. He didnât. Not really. Not in the way they thought.
But thenâthere she was.
Just passing by. Clipboard in hand, eyes flicking toward the hallway like she wasnât searching. Like she wasnât hoping heâd 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 sheâd been jolted back into a nightmare sheâd tried to rewrite as something professional. Clean. Harmless.
He watched her freeze the way people do when they see something they tried to forgetâbut failed to bury deep enough.
Good.
Let her remember.
He didnât 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 herâmethodically. She was dressed sharp, polished, clinical. But he could still see itâthe 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 detailâher clenched jaw, the soft crease between her brows, the way her heels didnât click the floor because she wasnât moving. Couldnât.
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 didnât look back.
He didnât need to.
He knew she was still watching.
[Y/N]
You werenât 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 wasâsharp, intimate, and dangerously alive in your bloodstream the moment your eyes met his.
He looked the same. Noâworse. 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 fadedâthe 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 youâslow, unblinkingâyou felt it.
That thing inside you. That dark, forbidden thing you thought youâd 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 heâd 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 somethingâsomething you couldnât 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 didnât move.
You stared at the space where heâd been, your skin buzzing, your mind spinning, your rulesâyour precious, clinical rulesâcrumbling into ash at your feet.
Youâd told yourself it was over.
But standing there, body humming with electricity, all you could think was:
He came back.
And worseâ
You wanted him to.
[Jungwon]
ââHe knows he shouldnât.
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 shouldnât.
But he does.
He follows her.
Not right awayâheâs 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 heâs near.
Good.
He trails behind her at a distance thatâs just short of criminal. Not close enough to be seenâjust close enough to study.
She doesnât 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 itâs 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. Thatâs new. She used to move with confidence, always polished, always precise. Now thereâs 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.
Thereâs 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 theyâre alone.
But she isnât. Not really.
Heâs there. With her. Watching.
He should leave. He should walk away. Burn this before it becomes something he canât put out.
But then she walks past the window again, and she pausesâjust barely. Her head turns slightly, as if she feels him.
As if she knows heâs still out there.
And for a moment, the ache in his chest blooms. Violent. Vicious.
Because if she knows heâs hereâ
And doesnât close the blindsâ
Rule Number Ten: Donât feed the obsession.
But what if you already have?
[Jungwon]
He started leaving gifts.
Not obvious onesâhe wasnât 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 didnât 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 lettersâjournal 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 dreamsâraw 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 werenât 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 onceâaccidentally, you claimedâbut that wasnât the last time. No, the last time was today. The day you followed him.
He didnât 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 hadnât 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 heâd 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 hadnât 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 shouldnât be here. You knew that. This wasnât what professionals did. This wasnât 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 didnât draw his blinds. He never had. The arrogance of it made your pulse stutter. Or maybe it wasnât 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 outâtoward the street. Toward you.
And for one terrifying, electrifying second, you swore he saw you.
You didnât 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 nightâsoft, selfish, and aching:
âMiss me, Jungwon?â
And in your bones, you knew.
[Jungwon]
He did.
She wanted him to see.
She didnât say it. She didnât need to. He knew.
Sometimes, sheâd 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 wasnât 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 wasnât.
He could read her body like a second language nowâevery 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 wasnât.
You look lonely tonight.
He watched her read it through the binocular lens, her fingers freezing mid-scroll. She didnât block him. She didnât scream.
Instead, she typed.
Then deleted.
Typed again. Paused.
A breathless kind of war behind her eyes.
She was already his. She just hadnât 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 heâd always been there. Like heâd 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 shouldâve screamed.
You shouldâve run.
You kissed him instead.
It wasnât soft. It wasnât safe.
It was desperate, consumingâteeth clashing, hands grasping, breath stolen between broken gasps. Your back hit the brick wall, his fingers threading into your hair like heâd 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 didnât want to.
[Jungwon]
She let him in.
Not just into her homeâinto 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 thisâhe made sure she knew:
This was never just therapy.
This wasnât about healing.
This was hunger. Feral and precise.
Fate, twisted into flesh.
He didnât catch her when she fell.
He fell tooâarms 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 donât remember when the guilt stopped whispering.
Maybe it didnât. 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 aloneâthough 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, wasnât it?
Because every time he touched youâsoft or brutal, desperate or deliberateâyou saw it in his eyes. That deep, wrecking knowing.
And when he cupped your jaw and whispered, âYouâre mine,â you didnât flinch.
You exhaled like youâd been waiting your whole life to hear it.
You werenât 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 didnât mourn her.
You buried her with a kiss.
Final Rule: You canât 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 â 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/Nâs residence, including a figure matching Jungwonâs description seen entering the building late at night.
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 â 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 â 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 carâs engine hummed softly, the only sound that kept you company as you sat there, parked in front of Jakeâs 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 nightâtwo years since everything started to unravelâbut 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 nightâan 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 heâs 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 couldnât ignore it anymore. He wasnât coming.
Again.
Two hours had gone by, and you still hadnât 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 couldnât 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. Canât make it tonight.
That was all. That was all he ever said when this happened. It was as if his absence didnât matter, like the hours you spent waiting didnât count for anything.
You felt the sting of itâthe hurt, the anger, the betrayalâall 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 didnât 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 couldnât 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 hadnât 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. âJake, what the hell is going on? Youâve been doing this for months. I waited for youâfor hours.â
His response had been flat, like he was trying to shrug it off, like it was no big deal. âI didnât mean to make you wait,â he said, his voice empty. âI got caught up.â
Caught up. Those words stung. It was always the same excuse.
And you remember the moment it hit youâthe 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 couldnât bear it anymore.
âYouâre overreacting,â 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. âItâs not about your stupid job, Jake! Itâs about respect. You donât even care enough to show up anymore.â
The silence stretched between you two like a chasm. And you remembered how his face had faltered for a secondâlike 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.
âIâm sorry I couldnât be here,â he muttered, his voice thin, his gaze finally meeting yours. âItâs not like I wanted to make you wait.â
You had to fight to keep the tears from spilling out, but you didnât let him see that. You didnât let him see how much it hurt. âThen why did you? Why do you keep doing this, Jake? Why do you keep letting me down?â
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.
âIâm done,â you said, your voice soft but steady, the finality of it sinking into your chest. âI canât keep doing this. Iâm not waiting for you anymore. I deserve more than this.â
You had walked away, feeling like you were leaving a piece of yourself behind, but knowing that if you stayed, youâd lose everything.
And you had.
That was the night you let go. The night you finally understood that you couldnât keep chasing someone who didnât 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 â 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.
Heâd always been so full of life. Now, he was weakâbarely 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 wasnât enough to drown out the ache that swelled in your chest. He didnât deserve you. Not anymore.
âPlease,â 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. âYouâre the only one who can.â
You swallowed hard, your throat tight with the force of everything you wanted to say, but couldnât. 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.
âJakeâŠâ Your voice came out strained, the words heavy, like they were weighed down by years of unspoken truth. âYou donât get it.â You clenched your fists, the tremor in your fingers betraying the walls you had carefully built around yourself. âI already gave you everything I had. Everything.â
His grip on your hand tightened, his breath shallow as he tried to pull you closer, his eyes pleading.
âIâI know,â he said, his voice breaking. âI know Iâve screwed up. But this... this is different. I need you, please.â His eyes glistened with desperation, the sincerity in his gaze raw and painful. âI need you to do this for me.â
A lump formed in your throat, choking you. It was cruel, wasnât 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 selfishnessâthe thoughtlessnessâof it all.
You pulled your hand away slowly, the cold space between you now growing unbearable. âNo, Jake,â you said, voice barely above a whisper, but the words felt like a final surrender. âYou donât get to ask that of me.â
He frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes nowârecognition, maybe? A faint understanding of what you were saying.
âI gave you my heart, Jake,â you continued, each word coming with a weight you hadnât been prepared for. âI gave you everything I hadâeverythingâand 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 shouldâve been here, beside me, making things right. But you didnât, did you? You couldnât even do that.â
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.
âIâm not asking you to love me again, Iâm not asking for forgiveness,â he said, his voice raw with emotion. âI just need you to help me. Please. I donât want to die, not like this. IâI canât do it without you.â
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 couldnât pour anything more into someone who had drained you dry and kept taking. You couldnât keep giving when you had nothing left.
âI donât know if I can, Jake,â you said, your voice breaking despite your best efforts. The tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free, trailing down your cheeks. âI want to help you. God, I want to, but I canât. Not like this.â You paused, trying to steady yourself, but the emotion swelled, so much of it that you couldnât hold it in anymore. âI canât give you any more of me. Youâve already taken it all.â
Jakeâs face crumpled, his eyes wide with hurt, like he couldnât understand how this could be happening. Like he hadnât already broken everything you had, piece by piece.
âI donât want to lose you,â 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.
âI lost you a long time ago,â 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. âIâll help you find someone else, Jake. Someone who can do this. Someone who can save you the way you need. Iâll do everything I can to help you. But I canât... I canât give you any more of me. Not after everything youâve taken.â
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.
âIâm sorry,â you whispered, even though you werenât sure if you were sorry for him, or for yourself. Or for the both of you.
Jakeâs hand dropped weakly to the side, the faintest sob escaping his lips. You didnât turn back. You couldnât. You couldnât face him, couldnât watch him fall apart like thatâbecause 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 couldnât. Nothing could.
âI gave you my heart,â you whispered one last time, the words echoing in the silence. âAnd you took it all. So donât ask for more.â
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 couldnât shake off. Even though you had made the decisionâhad chosen to leave that part of you behindâit didnât make the ache go away. The silence between your heartbeats felt louder than anything else, reminding you that even after everything, you still couldnât 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. Jakeâs 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 didnât make sense. You had done what you had to do. Youâd 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 couldnât 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 himâhis 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 wasnât your fault. That you couldnât keep sacrificing yourself for someone who wasnât 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 Jakeâs old friends- Sunghoon, his face just as weary as yours. He stopped a few feet away, hesitant, as if unsure whether to speak.
âAre you... okay?â he asked quietly, his voice carrying the weight of a question no one had an answer to.
You nodded, even though you werenât sure you were. âIâm fine,â you said, but the words tasted hollow. âI just... I didnât think it would hit like this.â You paused, your gaze flickering back to the small group surrounding Jakeâs casket, the weight of their grief still too much to bear. âI didnât think Iâd still feel like this.â
Sunghoon was quiet for a long moment before he spoke again. âYou were good to him. More than he deserved sometimes.â
Your chest tightened at the words. You swallowed, the pain in your throat too much to bear. âI just... I didnât want him to go like that. Not like he did.â
âI donât think anyone really wants that,â he said softly. âBut sometimes, people make choices, and... the ones left behind are the ones who feel the weight of them.â
You nodded slowly, feeling like you were sinking deeper into the pit of regret. It wasnât 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 hadnât been able to mend them.
âI just... I wish I could have been enough for him,â you whispered, your voice cracking. âI wanted to be.â
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 onâeven 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 couldnât 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 wasnât supposed to destroy you.
And you had to find a way to live again, even if it meant doing it without him.
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The morning light streamed in through the thin curtains, painting the room in gold. You couldnât see it, of course.
But you could feel it â 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 â hand hitting the bed clumsily â 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 â how something so simple felt like a war you were losing. You hated needing help for things that other people didnât 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 â 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 canât evenâ" you started, voice breaking.
You felt his forehead press lightly to your knee, a small, desperate anchor.
"I donât 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 didnât 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 â the way he looked at you like you were still his whole world when you felt like a burden dragging him down.
âYou shouldn't be with meâ
Riki froze.
For a long second, he didnât say anything. Just stared, his breathing uneven.
"Why are you saying that?" he asked, sounding smaller than youâd ever heard him.
"Because you deserve someone easy," you choked out. "Someone who doesnât need help getting through breakfast. Someone whoâs not...."
Your voice trailed off, the silence between you sharp and painful.
âI donât want someone easy. I want you." Riki said, voice shaking with anger â 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.
"Iâm not letting you go," he said. "Not because you think youâre a burden. Not because itâs hard. Not even if you tell me to. Iâm here. Iâm 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 â solid, stubborn, real.
19-year-old y/n is drowning in a sea of self-doubt, desperately trying to escape everythingâespecially her alcoholic mother, whom her "friends" cruelly call a "crackwhore." Struggling with self-expression, she turns to shoplifting and drinking to numb herself. In the midst of her chaos, she meets Nishimura Riki, a magnetic boy who could be the distraction sheâs been craving. But as they grow closer, she can't help but wonderâwill she mess everything up?
masterlist
intro to the characters - PART ONE
Pairing: teenage dirtbag!Nishimura Riki x teenage dirtbag!reader
Genre: angst
wc :14.2k
Warnings: smut, self harm, y/n has habits like picking her skin, verbal abuse, drugs and alcohol- cocaine, weed, smoking, lean, hints at death, almost all characters are over the age of 18, but legally cannot drink or consume any substances
Notes: English isn't my first language, so If the grammar is off, please dont mind it.
this fic is not meant to shine any negative light on ni-ki.
"I didn't think I'd find you like this."
The voice cuts through the static in your head. It's low, familiar â but you can't place it. Not yet. Your fingers curl against your thighs, nails biting into your skin. You don't respond. Maybe if you stay quiet enough, they'll just disappear. Maybe none of this is really happening.
"You don't even know who I am, do you?"
Your chest tightens. You blink hard, forcing your gaze toward the figure. And there he is â
Your father.
Fuck.
It's been years â so many years that you'd barely let yourself remember what he even looked like. Faint, blurred memories of cigarette smoke and cheap cologne, of him storming out the front door without ever looking back. You'd always told yourself you'd forget him completely â that if he wanted to disappear, you'd let him. But now he's here. Older, gaunter, eyes sunken like he's spent every night since he left trying to drink himself into oblivion.
"You gotta be kidding me," you mutter, voice cracked and shaky.
"I didn't want to come here," he says flatly. "Your mother called me. Said she didn't know what else to do."
That hits you harder than anything else.
Your mother. Calling him. After everything.
Your heart clenches in your chest â because if she had to reach out to him, things must really be that bad. But the anger bubbles up quicker than the hurt.
"She always did have a knack for asking the wrong people for help."
He exhales slowly through his nose, like he's trying not to let the comment get to him.
"I know I messed up," he says, voice softer. "I know I left. But I'm here now."
You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes. The tears just keep coming, hot and endless.
"Yeah? Well, congratulations. You're only about ten years too late."
He doesn't reply, and just sits beside you in the grass, something he would have scoffed at
The silence stretches out between you, thick and suffocating. And for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel so small. Like you're nine years old again, standing on the front porch watching his taillights disappear down the street.
The ache in your chest twists deeper. You want to hate him. You want to scream at him, tell him to fuck off and never come back â but there's something about this moment, about the way he's sitting there quietly taking everything you throw at him, that makes you wonder if maybe he's just as broken as you are.
The truth hits you like a gut punch.
Everything that's happened â everything you've done â you've been seeing it through a tunnel. Like the whole world revolved around your pain, your chaos. But maybe you weren't the only one falling apart.
Maybe everybody's just doing their best to survive.
You press your forehead back against the window, swallowing the lump in your throat.
Maybe it's not too late to put the pieces back together.
Maybe you need to try.
"Take me home," you whisper.
Your father glances at you â surprised, almost â but he doesn't say anything.
As the sun rises, you realize, maybe growing up wasn't a waste after all.
And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself hope.
Your father drops you off, muttering about how he has to take care of work, you smile at yourself, knowing he's still afraid of seeing your mother.
You step into your house, the sun gleaming in as you take it in- you havent been at home in the daytime for a while now
Your mother steps out from the hallway â hair messy, face drawn. There's something different about her now. The sharp edges you've always seen in her are dulled, softened by exhaustion. For the first time, you see how much the years have worn her down â how much of a toll you've taken on her these past few years.
You've always seen her as haughty and cruel â just a drunken mess with a sharp tongue. But now, as her tired eyes flick over you â scanning for signs you're still alive â you realize maybe she's been drowning too. Maybe she's been trying in her own broken way. And maybe... you've been so caught up in your own wreckage that you never noticed.
Neither of you say anything. The air between you is thick with everything you've never talked about.
She opens her mouth like she's about to speak â then closes it again, biting back whatever words were about to spill out.
You don't know what to say either.
So you just stand there â two ghosts in the same house, trying to find a way back to each other.
You don't know what to say either.
So you just stand there â two ghosts in the same house, trying to find a way back to each other.
The clock ticks faintly in the background. The sun shifts through the blinds, casting slanted lines across the floor.
Finally, she lights a cigarette with shaky fingers. The flame flickers, and she exhales slow, the smoke curling in the space between you.
"You look like shit," she mutters â but there's no bite to it. Just tired honesty.
You almost laugh â almost â but the lump in your throat holds it down.
"I know," you murmur back.
Another long silence stretches out. Then, softer this time â like she's scared of the answer â she asks, "You staying?"
You don't know if she means for the night or forever. Maybe she doesn't know either.
You nod anyway.
She flicks ash into the tray, her eyes glassy as she stares at the wall. "Good."
It's not an apology. It's not forgiveness. But it's something.
Maybe it's enough â for now.
You drop your bag by the couch, the weight of everything you've been carrying slipping from your shoulders. The silence between you stretches, but it doesn't feel as suffocating as before.
She glances at you, cigarette trembling between her fingers. "Coffee?"
You nod, throat too tight to speak.
The clinking of mugs, the hiss of the kettle â it's the closest thing to peace this house has seen in years. You watch her hands â lined and shaking â as she pours, and for the first time, you wonder what her life looked like before everything fell apart.
What she could've been.
What the two of you could've been.
The coffee tastes bitter, but you drink it anyway â letting the heat settle deep in your chest.
"You hungry?" she asks, her back facing you in the kitchen, almost like she doesn't expect an answer.
You shake your head.
She nods once, like she understands, like she's not really asking if you're hungry â she's asking if you're still here.
You're not sure if you'll ever be able to forgive her. You're not sure if she'll ever be able to forgive you either.
But you're both still here â two broken people trying to figure out how to keep going.
You step out the door, letting the sunlight hit your face for the first time in what feels like forever. The park ahead is bright, different from how you remember it â the grass green and vibrant under the sun, the trees alive with the sounds of birds and squirrels, kids running around. Itâs like everythingâs been going on without you, and youâve just now decided to rejoin the world.
As you drag your feet along the cracked pavement, the afternoon sun casts long, sleepy shadows across the sidewalk.Â
From the corner of your eye, you see a familiar figure leaning against the brick wall of the convenience storeâRiki, half-slouched, a can of soda in one hand, the other tugging at the frayed edge of his hoodie sleeve. Your eyes meet for a second, and the world stops.
You quickly avert your eyes, pretending to check your phone, thumb swiping across the screen like a message just came in. The sunlight glares off the screen, and you squint, heart skipping. Without missing a beat, you pivot slightly, steering your steps toward the park instead, leaving Riki behind, who had somehow managed to spill his soda on his hoodie.
There, the world softens. A line of bicycles is parked beside the iron fence, and a few kids are gathered near the swings, their laughter drifting through the air. The grass glows golden in the sunlight, dotted with dandelions. Itâs the kind of day that feels caught between nostalgia and uneaseâsomething about it tugs at your chest, like a memory you canât quite place. Thirteen vibes. Everything is a little too bright, a little too quiet, and you can't help but feel like you're walking through the edges of a dream.
"Yo!"
You donât have to look up to know who it is. You hear the laugh before you see her â that airy, almost clueless sound thatâs so familiar, itâs like a warning bell.
Itâs Liz.
Sheâs standing by the swings, waving her arms like sheâs trying to land a plane, her blonde hair bouncing with every movement. Her smile is wide and all teeth, the kind of smile that doesnât know how to hide the fact that sheâs spent too many nights with a bottle in hand, too many days with nothing to do.
"Y/n!" She jogs over, those clunky sneakers hitting the ground too loudly, but she doesn't care. "Look at you, all... alive and shit."
You try not to roll your eyes. Liz is always like this â loud, too cheerful, like nothingâs ever really wrong in her world. You donât know how she does it.
"You look like shit, too," you mutter, glancing her up and down. Her outfitâs just as ridiculous as ever: scuffed jeans a little too long dragging along the dirt, a tank top thatâs a little too small for her, and a hoodie that's seen better days. She smells like cheap perfume and weed, just like you remembered.
Liz giggles, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "I know, right? Like, Iâve been living off candy and Red Bull. Been too busy to sleep, you know?" She takes a drag from the joint between her fingers and hands it over to you. "But, like, I met this guy. Heâs so cute. I think he might be, like, a little obsessed with me."
You raise an eyebrow but take the joint anyway. Youâre not here to judge her â not today. You bring it to your lips, inhaling the smoke deeply, and hand it back.
"So, who is this dude?" you ask, leaning back against the park bench. The sun feels good on your skin, but youâre not sure why it feels like youâre pretending to enjoy it.
Her eyes get wide, and she clutches her chest dramatically. "Okay, so like, his name is wooyoung, right? But get this â heâs, like, way older than me. Like, not, like, creepy old, but, like, older than any of the guys I usually go for. He has a car and everything." She grins, her eyes flickering with something that looks like excitement, or maybe just desperation.
You canât help but laugh at how seriously she takes everything. "How old are we talkin' here?" you ask, leaning forward to take another hit, the smoke filling your lungs.
Liz pauses for a second, eyes darting around like she's trying to figure out how to phrase it. "Uhh... like, heâs gotta be at least... twenty-two? Maybe twenty-three? But, like, heâs so fine, I donât care. He took me to this, like, super cute diner, and I swear to god, he knew exactly what to say." Sheâs practically swooning, and you canât stop yourself from rolling your eyes.
"Yeah, because thatâs what makes a guy cool, huh?" you murmur, fiddling with your sleeves as you try not to cough. You almost feel bad for her, but then again, itâs Liz. Sheâs always been like this.
"You donât get it!" she says, pouting, "He was so sweet, though. Like, he didnât even care that I was, like, so fucking high, and I told him I was... like, I was super into astrology, and he just nodded and pretended to care. It was so cute."
You laugh. Itâs one of those sounds thatâs a little sadder than you want it to be, but itâs too easy not to laugh at her.
"Yeah, well, Iâm sure he pretended to care. Heâs got a car, doesnât he?" you say, passing the blunt back to her. "Maybe thatâs what he really wanted."
Liz scoffs, not offended, just... oblivious. "Nah, heâs just a little shy. But like, I can totally see us, like, hanging out more. He could be my boyfriend or whatever. Iâd be okay with that. He said I was, like, different from all the other girls."
You snicker, taking the blunt back and exhaling the smoke slowly. "Right. Sure. Iâm sure heâs got a list of girls just like you."
She shrugs, unfazed. "Maybe. But, like, I think he really likes me. He said my hair was cute."
You canât stop yourself from laughing now, the sound echoing around the park. Lizâs innocence, her complete obliviousness to anything real, is like a breath of fresh air in a place youâve been stuck in too long.
"I swear, Liz, youâre gonna be the death of me," you say, finally relaxing into the conversation. You canât help but enjoy this, even if itâs stupid. Even if Lizâs life is a whirlwind of stupid mistakes, itâs kind of nice to be reminded that someoneâs out here living without the weight of everything.
She grins, tossing her hair again. "Hey, itâs all about having fun, right? Weâre young! Who cares if itâs dumb, as long as it feels good?" Sheâs too high to notice how empty her words sound.
You donât reply. Instead, you just lean back, eyes closed, letting the moment settle into something quieter. Maybe itâs not too late to start over. Maybe thereâs still time to figure out where youâre going next.
For now, you sit there with Liz, sharing a blunt and talking about boys who donât know shit. And for the first time in a while, it feels like things might just be okay.
Itâs been a few days since you came back.
At first, it was quiet. Not peacefulâjust quiet, in that heavy way, like something waiting to collapse. You and your mother moving around each other like ghosts, existing in the same space but never really looking at each other. Like neither of you knew how to start.
The house still smells like cigarette smoke and cheap wine, but thereâs something else now, tooâsomething tired. Like the walls have finally given up on holding everything in.
The kitchen light flickers. A slow, dragging kind of flicker, like it's struggling to stay alive. It casts shadows that jump and stretch against the walls, disappearing and reappearing with every sputter. You sit at the table, watching the way the glow stutters over the scratched-up wood. Thereâs a deep groove near the edge, from when you stabbed a pencil into it years ago, frustrated over some dumb math homework she was supposed to help with but never did. The mark is still there. The light catches on it, making it look deeper than it really is.
"You gonna keep looking at that table like it owes you something, or you gonna eat?"
You blink up at her. Sheâs standing by the stove, a cigarette balanced between her fingers, the ash too long at the tip. The light overhead flickers again, making her face strobe between shadow and dull yellow. She looks older like this. More worn.
She hasnât looked at you yet. Just gestures at the plate she set down a few minutes ago. Scrambled eggs and toast. Dry. Plain.
Something in you clenches.
That was her thing, wasnât it? The offhanded comments. The sharp little digs disguised as nothing. The kind of words that made you feel stupid for reacting, for thinking there was something deeper when there wasnât. It was just how she talked. She wasnât trying to hurt you. She wasnât trying at all.
But thenâshe made you food.
And you know she doesnât do things for people.
So maybe she is trying.
But she didnât ask if you were hungry. She just put it down in front of you, like feeding a stray cat. Like expecting you to take it without question.
So maybe she isnât.
The light flickers. It almost goes out completely before buzzing back to life.
She notices you hesitating.
"Jesus, kid, I ainât poisoning you."
You snort. "Wouldnât be the worst thing youâve done."
Her jaw tightens, but she doesnât take the bait. Just exhales smoke, the cherry of her cigarette flaring bright in the dim light before she stubs it out in the overflowing ashtray by the sink.
The silence drags. The only sound is the hum of the fridge and the occasional buzz from the light.
Then, softerâlike she doesnât want to say it, but canât help herselfâ"You eatin' at all?"
You shrug. "Here and there."
She sighs through her nose, rubbing at her temple. "You always were dramatic."
Your fingers curl against your knee.
There it is. That same old bite. Like she never got tired of digging in, of making your feelings sound ridiculous. Like everything had to be exaggerated with you, like you didnât know how to just be normal. Like you werenât starving yourself half the time without realizing it.
Butâshe asked.
She noticed.
And that doesnât make sense, because she never noticed before.
She doesnât care, you remind yourself. She just wants to make sure you donât pass out in her house.
Thatâs all it is.
The wind outside picks up, rattling the window above the sink. The streetlight outside throws shadows across the walls, moving like shifting ghosts every time a car passes. She finally sits down across from you, the chair creaking under her weight. For a moment, neither of you say anything.
Then, she asks, "So⊠how bad did it get?"
You know what she means.
Your fingers twitch. You think about the nights you donât remember, the mornings that started with shaking hands and a dry throat. You think about Riki, pressing a lollipop into your palm like it was supposed to fix something. About the way you used to dig your nails into your skin just to feel something solid underneath.
You shrug. "Does it matter?"
She exhales, looking down at the table. The overhead light flickers again, and for a split second, she looks lost.
"Guess not."
Another silence. This one heavier.
Thenâsofter, like sheâs scared of the answerâ"Why'd you come back?"
You donât know. Maybe you just got tired. Maybe you realized the world out there wasnât any kinder than the one in here. Maybe you saw your fatherâs face and realized running didnât make him any less pathetic.
Or maybe, deep down, you just wanted to see if sheâd even care.
But you donât say any of that. You just pick up the toast, take a bite. Itâs cold. Dry. But you swallow it down anyway.
"Didnât have anywhere else to go."
She watches you. Not like she used to, with that sharp-edged disappointment. This time, itâs something else. Something you canât place.
The light flickers.
"You always had somewhere to go," she mutters, almost to herself.
You donât know what that means. And you donât think sheâs gonna explain.
Outside, a carâs headlights sweep through the kitchen, casting long shadows across the floor.
Then, without looking at you, she pulls out another cigarette, rolling it between her fingers. Her nails are chipped. The skin around them is raw, like sheâs been picking at it again.
She hesitatesâjust for a secondâthen slides the pack across the table toward you.
You blink at it.
"You tryna kill me or something?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.
She lets out a short, breathy laugh. "Figure you already done worse to yourself."
The words land somewhere deep, sharp enough to sting, but not in the way they used to. Not a weaponâjust the truth.
She doesnât take the cigarette back. Just leaves it there, watching the smoke curl from the tip of hers, waiting to see what you do.
You stare at it for a long moment. You donât take the cigarette. You donât push it away, either. Just let it sit there between you and her, a quiet offering, an unspoken question.
Youâre not ready to answer it yet.
Instead, you shift in your seat, clearing your throat. âIâm going out.â
Your mother exhales, smoke curling around her face. âWhere?â
You shrug. âJust out.â
She taps the ash from her cigarette, watching it fall into an old coffee mug sheâs been using as an ashtray. âYou cominâ back?â
The way she says itâlow, cautiousâmakes something in your chest twist.
You hesitate, then nod. âYeah.â
She doesnât say anything else, just takes another drag, staring at you through the smoke like sheâs trying to figure out if she believes you.
And then, just as you reach the doorâ
âYou need money?â
You almost laugh. Not because itâs funny, but because itâs so absurd, her asking now, after everything. After all the times youâve gone without.
âNah,â you say, stepping outside. âIâm good.â
And this time, she doesnât argue.
The night air is thick with grease and city fumes, the kind of smell that clings to your clothes long after youâve left. You stand in the alley behind some fast-food joint, the buzz of a neon sign overhead casting a sickly green glow against the damp pavement. A trash bagâs split open near the dumpster, fries spilled out onto the concrete like someone dumped a whole meal just to watch it rot.
Yujinâs already there, leaning against the brick wall, picking at the label of her soda cup.
Itâs weird seeing her again. You hadnât planned on it, but she texted, and maybe some part of you was curious. Maybe you wanted to see if sheâd changed, or if sheâd still look at you the same way.
She glances up when you step closer. "Hey."
"Hey."
Thereâs a beat of silence. Itâs awkward. You donât remember the last time it was awkward between you two. It used to be easyâlate-night drives, whispered secrets, laughter that could cut through anything. But now? Now itâs this. The empty space where all the things you havenât said hang between you like ghosts.
You shove your hands into your hoodie pockets, shifting your weight. She looks away, twisting the straw in her drink.
Thenâlike slipping into an old habitâshe grins. "You look like shit."
You snort. "So do you."
And just like that, youâre pretending nothing happened. She kicks at the ground. "You still got that fake ID?"
"You tryna get me arrested?"
"Relax, I was just gonna get some beer."
"That's all you ever think about?"
She smirks, taking a sip of her drink. "Nah. Sometimes I think about food, too."
Itâs easy, this part. The banter. The bullshit. But underneath it, you feel itâthat thin, wavering thread of something heavier, something neither of you are really touching.
Then, almost like she canât hold it in anymore, she speaks up. "You kinda disappeared."
You donât answer right away. Just look at the neon reflection in the puddle by your foot, the way it shivers with every gust of wind.
"You didnât exactly come looking," you say, finally.
She exhales through her nose, pressing the cup against her lips without drinking. "Yeah," she admits. "Guess I didnât."
Another pause.
Then, quieterâlike it costs her something to say itâ"Iâm sorry."
You glance at her. Sheâs not looking at you, just staring down at her soda like it has all the answers.
You donât know what to do with that. Yujin never apologizes. And maybe that should mean something. Maybe it should make this easier, make you feel better, but all it does is leave a strange ache in your chest.
"Yeah," you mutter. "Me too."
She finally looks up, meeting your gaze. Something unspoken passes between you, something that doesnât need words. Itâs not forgiveness, not yet. Maybe not ever. But itâs something.
You sit in silence, letting the weight of everything hang there.
Then, without warning, she adds, "Look, I know things are... messed between us. But you gotta know, Riki's not okay."
You blink, caught off guard. "What do you mean?â
Yujin shakes her head, her eyes darting away like sheâs not sure if she should be telling you this. "Heâs been going through somethingâheâs... not the same, okay? And I get that youâre all caught up in your own stuff, but I need you to understand, heâs not just some guy to play with. Heâs not gonna sit around waiting for you to figure it out."
You swallow hard, confusion and something elseâsomething sharper, like fearâsweeping through you in a sudden rush. The air feels heavier now, like the warmth of the day has thickened into something oppressive.
"What are you saying? Whatâs he going through?" you ask, your voice cracking. Your fingers instinctively tug at the ends of your sleeves, trying to anchor yourself, to hold back the rising unease. You bite your lip, eyes flicking to the ground, watching as a trail of ants winds its way across a crack in the concrete.
Yujin hesitates, chewing on the inside of her cheek for a moment. "I donât know everything," she admits. "But heâs been different lately. Pulling away. And maybe youâve noticed that too."
You try to speak, but your throat feels tight, like the words are stuck in your chest. You donât want to admit itâdonât want to even think itâbut part of you already knows. Somethingâs off.Â
Yujinâs eyes soften, but only for a moment, before they harden again. "Iâm not saying you have to fix him, y/n. But maybe... maybe you shouldnât ignore it."
Her words hang in the air, like a warning youâre not sure youâre ready to hear. But deep down, you know. Itâs not just about him anymore. Itâs about everythingâyou, him, herâeverything thatâs gotten lost in the mess of it all.
The bed feels too big, too empty, even with the weight of the covers pressing down on you. You stare at the ceiling, the shadows from the fanâs lazy spin stretching across the room like something alive, creeping. The soft hum of the fan is a low lullaby, but it does nothing to drown out the thoughtsâthose constant whispers swirling in your head. Tomorrow. School. Year 12. Again.
Itâs been over a year since you stepped foot on that campus. A year since you let yourself get swallowed by the mess of everything. A year since youâd lost the routine, the noise, the mundane heartbeat of school life. And now, here you were, on the edge of it all again. You hadnât meant to go back. You thought you were done with it, done with pretending that it all mattered, that you could still be part of that world..
You were supposed to repeat with Yujin - It wasnât supposed to feel this heavy, this overwhelming, but somehow it did. You werenât sure if you were going because you had to, or because maybe, just maybe, it was the only thing left to do.
You close your eyes, try to push away the sick feeling in your stomach. Youâd been here beforeâfeeling like you were standing on the edge of something, waiting to either fall or fly. But all you could hear was the weight of the past dragging you down. Every decision youâd made up until now felt like a chain, holding you back. School. Yujin. Riki. Everything tangled in one big mess.
Tomorrow would come, whether you were ready or not. And for the first time in a long time, you didnât feel like you were ready. But maybe thatâs just how life goesânothingâs ever clean, nothingâs ever certain. Youâd face it when you had to.
For now, all you could do was try to drown out the chaos in your mind and find a way to sleep.
The hallways feel tighter than you remember. The walls press in, the air thick with whispersâsoft, sharp, all of them curling around you like smoke.
You keep your head down, gripping the strap of your bag so tight your knuckles ache. Every step feels like walking into a spotlight. Theyâre staring. Of course, they are.
You werenât supposed to come back.
A group by the lockers goes quiet as you pass. Someone mutters your name like a ghost story, like youâre some urban legend they didnât think theyâd ever see again. Your skin prickles, but you keep walking.
Yujin is somewhere in this school. She said sheâd meet you, but you havenât seen her yet. You donât want to stand still long enough for someone to work up the courage to talk to you, to ask where youâve been, why youâre back, if youâre still the same person who disappeared last year.
Then, just as you turn the corner, you see him.
Riki.
Leaning against the lockers, head tilted down as he scrolls through his phone. Same uniform, same messy hair, same quiet pull that makes your stomach twist. He looks up just as you pass, and for a second, everything stops.
His eyes flicker with somethingâsurprise, maybe. Or something heavier. He doesnât say anything. Neither do you.
You should keep walking. Shouldnât make this a moment.
But the problem with Riki is that everything with him feels like a moment.
And now youâre standing there, waiting for him to say something, to acknowledge you, to give you something to hold onto.
But he just exhales, pushing off the locker.
"Youâre actually here," he says, voice unreadable.
"Guess so," you murmur.
Another pause. The weight of the past months hang between you, unspoken.
Then, he huffs out a laughânot amused, not really. Just⊠tired.
"Good luck," he mutters before walking past you.
And just like that, heâs gone.
You shouldâve known better than to expect anything more.
The day drags. Every second stretches, thick and unbearable, like wading through wet cement. The classrooms are too bright, too loud, too full of things you donât remember how to deal with. Teachers glance at you like theyâre trying to piece together a story they never got the ending to.
You donât talk. Donât raise your hand. Donât even pretend to take notes. You just sit there, feeling the weight of all those eyesânot always on you, but close enough that it doesnât matter.
Every bell makes your stomach twist. Every shift in the room feels like itâs aimed at you. The world had moved on without you, and now you were trying to wedge yourself back in, but everything felt off. The desks are smaller than you remember. The air, heavier. The clock, impossibly slow.
You hear your name whispered twice in the span of third period. You donât turn around.
By the time lunch rolls around, your hands are clammy, heart hammering in a way that has nothing to do with hunger. You donât even know where to go.Â
You hesitate in the hallway, stuck between choices that all feel wrong. The cafeteria? Too many people. The courtyard? Too open. The bathrooms? Too obvious.
You tighten your grip on the strap of your bag, trying to keep your breathing steady. You just have to get through today. Thatâs it. Just one day.
But even as you think it, you canât shake the feeling that you donât belong here. Not anymore.
Thenâjust as youâre about to give up and bolt, just as your ribs feel too tight around your lungsâYujin finds you.
She slides up beside you like she never left, like there isnât an ocean of time and silence between now and the last time you really spoke. "You look like you're about to pass out," she mutters, barely moving her lips.
You exhale, sharp and shaky. "Feel like it too."
She tilts her head toward the hallway. "Come on."
You donât ask where youâre going. You just follow.
The bathroom is empty when you slip inside, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly. Yujin locks the stall behind you, pulling a pack of cigarettes from her skirt pocket. The smell of cheap perfume and industrial cleaner clings to the air, but the moment she flicks the lighter, all of it gets swallowed up by the familiar burn of nicotine.
She takes the first drag, leaning against the wall like sheâs done this a million times. Probably has. She passes it to you, and you take it without thinking, pressing the filter between your lips, inhaling until the smoke curls warm in your lungs.
The silence sits between you, not uncomfortable, but not quite easy either.
"You surviving?" she asks finally.
You breathe out a slow stream of smoke, watching it twist up toward the ceiling. "Barely."
She snorts, flicking ash into the toilet. "Yeah, well. What else is new?"
You pass the cigarette back and let your head tip against the wall. For the first time all day, the tightness in your chest loosens just a little.
Maybe you can survive this. Maybe.
The peace doesnât last.
You hear the door creak open, the sharp click of heels against the tile, and thenâ
"What the hell do you think youâre doing?"
Yujin shoves the cigarette behind her back, but itâs useless. The smoke still lingers, thick and incriminating, curling in the air like a signature to your crime.
Ms. Lee stands in the doorway, arms crossed, expression tight with disappointment. She doesnât yell. Doesnât need to. The look she gives you is enough to make your stomach drop.
"Both of you. Principalâs office. Now."
The walk there is silent, the weight of your fate pressing against your shoulders with every step. You can feel the stares, the hushed whispers as you pass. They probably think itâs funny. The girl who disappeared, back for a day and already getting sent home.
You and Yujin donât talk while you sit outside the office. She just picks at her nail polish, smirking like she doesnât care, like this is just another Tuesday for her. Maybe it is.
But for you? It feels like the beginning of the end.
Your mom is waiting for you when you get home.
You barely step inside before she starts.
"Three day suspension."
Her voice is soft, but it slices through the stale air of the apartment. She stands in the kitchen, arms braced against the counter like she needs the support to keep herself from coming at you full force.
"One day. You couldnât even last one damn day before screwing up again?"
You donât say anything. Just toe off your shoes, jaw clenched so tight it aches.
She lets out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. "I shouldâve known. Shouldâve never let them convince me you could handle it."
Something in your chest twists, hot and humiliating. "Its not even a big deal.â you mutter, avoiding her sharp gaze.
She narrows her eyes. "Donât you start with that attitudeâ"
"What attitude?" You snap, dropping your bag onto the floor with a thud. "The one where I already know what youâre gonna say? Where I already know Iâm a disappointment? Save your breath, Iâve heard it all before."
Your mom exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose like sheâs tired of you, like youâre some burden she got stuck with. "Jesus Christ, y/n. Do you even care? About school, about your life? Or are you just gonna keep throwing it all away?"
You donât wait for her to say anything else. You just turn and walk away, your vision blurring at the edges, your throat so tight it feels like you might choke on all the things you want to say but canât.
The bathroom door slams behind you, the sound echoing off the tiles. You grip the edges of the sink, knuckles white, chest heaving. The mirror in front of you reflects back a version of yourself you barely recognizeâred-rimmed eyes, a face twisted with something you donât want to name.
You squeeze your eyes shut.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
It doesnât help.
The first sob rips through you before you can stop it, raw and sudden, and your shoulders start to shake as the weight of everythingâtoday, this house, yourselfâcomes crashing down all at once. Itâs like a wave hitting before you even see it coming, and youâre too tired to stand against it.
You press a trembling hand over your mouth, like that might somehow keep it all inside, but itâs useless. The sound escapes anywayâchoked and brokenâand your breath catches on the edges of it.
You crouch down where you are, knees to your chest, mind racing in frantic loops that go nowhere. The room feels too quiet now, too still. The hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. The tick of the clock on the wall. All of it feels like it's pressing in, reminding you you're here, you're stuck, and there's no one to stop the spiral.
when will it stop?
when will i be better?
Through the window, the dim streetlamp casts a cold, eerie blue across the floor, stretching long shadows across the room like fingers reaching toward you. It makes everything look unrealâlike you're watching yourself from outside your own body. The walls seem to pulse with memories you don't want to remember, and in that strange, flickering light, the silence feels alive.
You wake up in your bed, disoriented, your mind slow to catch up with your body. The sheets are tangled around your legs, and the pillow beneath your head is damp. Youâre not sure how you got here.
The sunlight streams through the curtains in soft, golden shafts, too bright, too gentle for the way you feel. You sit up slowly, your limbs heavy and uncooperative, like they belong to someone else. Your legs tremble slightly as you swing them over the side of the bedâjello.
You shuffle down the hall to the bathroom, dragging your feet along the wood floor, the air cool against your skin. Flicking on the light, you squint at your reflection. Your eyes are puffy and red-rimmed, shadowed by the night before. Mascara is smudged beneath them, like bruises blooming out of nowhere.
You sigh, quietly. The sound echoes too loud in the tiled room. Reaching for the concealer, you dab it on with practiced fingersâlike that might smooth everything over, like it might erase the cracks beneath your skin. You run a hand through your hair, trying to tame the knots and flyaways, but it feels pointless.
Your phone buzzes silently on the dresser, screen lighting up just enough to catch your eye as you shuffle back into your room. You grab it instinctively, not even checking the caller ID before pressing it to your ear.
âHello?â you mutter, voice hoarse, still thick with sleep and the remnants of everything you felt last night.
For a moment, there's only silenceâthen a low grunt, muffled like someone shifting the phone against their shoulder.
âWe need to talk. Iâll pick you up in 20,â Riki mumbles, voice low, like heâs half-distracted, half-determined. You hear the dull thump of footsteps, a door slamming shut, and then nothing.
âO-okay,â you whisper, trying to make sense of whatâs just happened. But before the word is even fully out of your mouth, the line goes dead.
You stand there for a second, phone still pressed to your ear, heartbeat beginning to pick up.
Then you move.
Rushing back into the bathroom, you scrub away the concealer you had just lazily patted on and start over. You even curl your lashes this time, trying not to poke yourself in the eye as your hands tremble slightly. You brush your hair more carefully now, pulling it back and then letting it fall again, unsure what feels more like you. Or at least, the version of you he might be expecting.
When you check the time again, you curse under your breathâyouâve only got five minutes left.
You yank open your closet and grab the first outfit that feels wrong for schoolâsomething youâd never dare to wear in the halls with all those eyes watching. But today? Who cares. You pull it on fast, not even bothering to second-guess yourself. Thereâs no time for that.
You grab your phone, your keys, and one last breath before stepping toward whateverâs waiting outside.
Your fingers fumble as you slip your phone into your pocket, pulse ticking fast under your skin. You catch your reflection in the mirror one last timeâeyes still a little tired, but sharper now, guarded. There's a part of you that wants to crawl back under the covers, pretend none of this is happening. But the louder partâthe one tugging at your ribs like a thread unravelingâneeds to know what Riki meant.
You rush downstairs, skipping the last two steps, landing with a soft thud. The house is quiet. No oneâs home. Itâs the kind of silence that feels like itâs watching you. You glance toward the kitchen, consider grabbing something to eat, then donât. Your stomach twists at the thought.
Outside, the sun is still bright, but the world feels dimmer than it should. You pull your jacket tighter around you even though itâs not cold. There's a faint breeze that carries the scent of pavement, fresh grass, and something warmerâexhaust, maybe, or summer.
A car pulls up.
Itâs Riki.
Heâs behind the wheel of Sunghoonâs beat-up sedan, one hand draped over the wheel, the other flicking ash from a half-burnt cigarette out the window. His hoodie is pulled over messy dark hair, his face half-hidden by the shadow of the visor. The setting sun bleeds through the windshield, tinting everything in a hazy, burnt orange.Â
You hesitate, tongue running over your teeth, fingers tightening around the hem of your hoodie. Then, without thinking too hard, you walk over. The gravel crunches under your sneakers. You yank open the passenger door, slide in.
Riki doesnât look at you. Just keeps his gaze on the road, jaw tight. The air inside smells like old fast food, cheap cologne, the sharp sting of cigarette smoke.
Neither of you speak. The silence sits heavy, pressing down on your ribs.
It takes you a second to process the words. You blink, staring at the dashboard.
âFor what?â Your voice is flat, but you already know the answer.
 For leaving you to drown.
For disappearing.
For acting like it never happened.
âFor not being there like you were for me.â
You suck in a sharp breath, pressing your nails into your palms. You should say something, scream at him, hit him, do something, but you just sit there.
The silence stretches, thick as smoke.
You inhale sharply, then - "Why didnât you call?â
Your voice cracks. Pathetic. You hate it.
Riki shifts, fingers tightening around the wheel. He sucks in a breath. âI donât know.â His voice is quieter now, barely there. âI wanted to. So many times. I justâŠâ He trails off.
âBut you didnât.â
His grip on the wheel tightens. âNo.â
You press your knuckles against your lips, trying to stop the burning behind your eyes. âI hated you for that.â
Riki flinches. His jaw clenches like he wants to argue, but he doesnât. He just nods. âI know.â
The car slows at a red light, the glow staining his skin blood-red. Outside, people exist in a different worldâlaughing, walking, breathing, living. You watch them, your pulse pounding in your throat.
You swallow hard. âIt doesnât change anything.â
Riki nods again, his fingers twitching against the wheel. âI know.â
The light turns green.
The car moves forward, but you donât. You stay right there, stuck in the wreckage of everything unsaid.
âWhat?â you cut him off, voice rising sharp and broken. âSeriously? Thereâs nothing else to explain. Itâs been months, Riki. You left me fucking alone.â The tears are hot now, falling fast, burning down your cheeks like acid. âDo you know how frustrating that was? Do you even care?â
He flinches, but says nothing.
âI lost everyone, and I needed youââ Your voice catches, the sob hitting before you can stop it. You press your sleeve to your face, shaking now, the tears soaking through the fabric.
Riki stares straight ahead, jaw clenched.
âWe barely knew each otherââ he blurts suddenly, too loud, too fast. His grip tightens around the steering wheel, knuckles going pale.
Your head snaps up, eyes wide. âThree weeks,â you hiss, voice raw. âThree fucking weeks I lived with you. I told you everythingâeverythingâabout my life. And yeah, maybe that was stupid. Maybe I trusted you too much. But you know what?â You point at him, finger trembling. âThatâs on you. Thatâs your fault for letting me.â
Rikiâs eyes narrow. âI never fucking asked you to tell me that shit.â His voice is harsh now, like gravel. âYou were just there. Lounging around my house, following me and my friends like you belonged. And then you tried to crawl into my businessââ
âYou mean care about you?â you shoot back. âI cared, and you made me feel like shit for it.â
âI donât let people tell me what the fuck to do with my life,â he snaps. âYou think just because you were hurting, I was supposed to fix it? You dumped your problems on me and then got pissed when I didnât save you.â
The words hit you like a slap. Youâre breathing hard now, heart in your throat.
Let me out.â
Your voice trembles, quieter than before, almost hollow. The tears have stopped, but the aftermath clings to your skinâtight and cold.
Rikiâs eyes flick over to you, softer now, desperate. âY/nâcâmonâŠâ
âLet me out.â The words hit harder this time, sharp like glass. Youâve picked the wound raw, and now itâs bleedingâmetaphorically, maybe literally. You pull your sleeves down over your hands, trying to hide the shaking, the damage.
âPlease⊠we can talk this out. Iâm sorry, okay? I mean it,â he says, his voice cracking around the edges.
Your hand curls into a fist. âLet me the fuck out before I make you crash this fucking car.â
That does it. He sighsâthis broken, bitter thingâand pulls over, tires crunching against the shoulder gravel. The car jerks slightly as it slows to a stop.
You fumble with the seatbelt, fingers trembling, breath uneven. His voice is still reaching for you, pleading behind you, but itâs all muffled, like your ears are underwater. You push the door open and stumble out, the rush of fresh air hitting you like a slap.
Leaning back in, you grab your stuffâyour bag, your hoodie, whatever you came with. He watches, silent now, like he knows there's nothing left to say.
âIâm sorry, Y/n,â he murmurs.
You donât even flinch. You just slam the door shut.
Then you're walking, fast, like you can outrun all of itâthe words, the pain, him. The sunlight is blinding, almost cruel in how bright it is, like the world is still spinning when yours has cracked open and caved in.
Tears pool again, stinging behind your eyes. You blink them away. Youâre done crying.
You just keep walking.
She found you by a bridge.
It wasnât what she thoughtâit never was. You were just trying to clear your head, though even that felt like a lie lately.
The first thing Yujin noticed were the pillsâhalf-crushed, scattered like confessions you never meant to speakâand the beer cans, some still rolling lazily on the concrete as if they hadnât decided whether to stay or leave. The air was heavy with something unspoken, sharp and metallic, like the tail end of a storm.
You didnât move when she approached. Just glanced up, the dim streetlight above flickering like it couldnât quite stay awake. It cast long shadows across your face, turning your features hollow, your eyes unreadable. You looked⊠off. Not sad, not angryâjust far away. Like youâd already left and left your body behind.
âWeâve grown apart,â Yujin said softly, sitting beside you with a careful space in between. She didnât reach for you. Maybe she didnât know how anymore.
There was a silence thick enough to drown in. Then, finally: âI miss you, Y/N.â
You didnât say anything at first. Maybe because you were trying to find the right words. Maybe because there werenât any. Or maybe because you didnât know if you missed her, or if you just missed feeling something at all.
Did you really grow apart from Yujin?
Or did you just grow apart from the world?
But she didnât leave. She stayedâquiet, still. Not just in that moment, but in all the moments before it too. You realized, in some strange way, that sheâd never left at all.
Maybe being a teenager isnât about figuring everything out. Maybe itâs just about learning how to stay. Or maybe itâs about accepting that some people do.
So sometime in those minutesâor maybe it was hoursâyou let your shoulders soften, the knot in your chest loosen just a little. You didnât say a word. Just leaned your head against her shoulder as the sun melted into the horizon, painting the world in amber and rust.
And she let you.Â
You donât remember who stood up first. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was you. But at some point, your legs carried you both homeâslowly, like you were trying not to scare the moment away.
The streets were almost empty. The kind of quiet that only exists between dusk and full nightfall, when everything holds its breath and waits. Yujin didnât say much, but she didnât need to. Her presence was enough. It always had been. Somewhere along the way, her hand brushed yoursânot by accident, but not quite on purpose either. Just⊠there.
Yujin slept over that night. She laid on one side, and you on the other, both staring up at the ceiling like it might tell you something important if you looked long enough.
Then, slowly, without a word, you turned toward her. Her eyes were already on you.
âItâs weird,â you whispered, voice rough. âI didnât think I could still feel this okay.â
Yujin smiledânot a big one, just a soft, sleepy curve of her lips. âThatâs not weird. Thatâs what Iâm here for.â
You laughed under your breath. A real one. Small, but real.
Eventually, you shifted closer, tucked yourself into the space between her arm and her shoulder. Her warmth bled into yours, and it didnât feel forced or awkward. It felt right. Like breathing. Like something you forgot you needed.
No one said anything else after that. There was no need to. The TV played something in the backgroundâsome dumb romcom youâd both already seenâbut your eyes were already closing. For the first time in a long while, your chest didnât feel like it was caving in. The sadness was still there, sure, but quieter now. Dull around the edges.
And as sleep pulled you under, all you could think was:
I feel okay.
I feel okay, and Iâm not alone.
And that was enough.
It was sometime after midnight when your phone buzzed against the nightstand. One sharp vibration, then nothing.
You stirred, barely awake, the soft hum of the TV still playing in the background. Yujin was asleep beside you, her breathing slow and steady. Her presence wrapped around you like a blanketâcomforting, grounding. For a second, you considered ignoring it. Whatever it was could wait.
But something tugged at you.
You reached over, screen lighting up the dark room.
Riki [12:12am] come outside.
Just two words. No explanation, no emojis, not even a period. Typical.
You stared at the message, heart ticking a little faster. You hadnât heard from him in a while. Not really. There were periods of silence, vague Instagram likes, the occasional hallway glance that lingered just a second too long. But this felt different. Immediate. Like something was waiting.
You glanced at Yujin.
She didnât stir.
Quietly, carefully, you slipped out from the warmth of the blankets, grabbing your hoodie off the floor. The night air hit you the moment you opened the front doorâcool and sharp, like it knew a secret you didnât.
He was there. Leaning under the streetlamp at the corner, hoodie pulled low, a hand tucked into his pocket. His head lifted as you approached, face shadowed but familiar.
"Hey," you said, voice barely above a whisper.
He didnât answer right away. Just looked at you for a secondâlong enough to make your stomach twist with something you couldnât quite name. Then he nodded toward the sidewalk.
âWalk with me?â
You hesitated, just a second. But then your feet were already moving.
Maybe it was the way the night felt like it belonged to just the two of you.
Maybe it was the way he didnât explain, and you didnât ask.
Maybe it was because some people, no matter how far you drift, always find their way back to you.
Or maybe it was just Riki.
You walked in silence for what felt like hoursâfeet moving instinctively, hands buried deep in your sleeves. The streets were quiet, the world wrapped in that strange kind of stillness that only existed when it was too late to be early and too early to be late.
Riki stayed just a step ahead of you, never too far, but never quite close enough either. You could hear the scuff of his shoes on the pavement, the rhythm of his breathing. You hated how familiar it still was.
And you hated even more how much you missed it.
The words burned your throat before you let them out.
âWhat did you need to say to me?â
It came out softer than you'd meant. He had hurt you, after all. Not just once. Not in loud, dramatic waysâbut in the slow, silent ones that linger long after the doorâs closed.
He stopped walking. You nearly bumped into him.
âY/Nââ he said, voice thick as he turned toward you. âIâm sorry.â
Two words. Nothing poetic. Nothing rehearsed.
But they hit you like a sucker punch.
Even in the dim, flickering light of the lamppost above, you could see the weight he carried in his eyes. The way they glassed over like he wasnât just saying it for your forgivenessâhe was saying it because it had been rotting in his chest, waiting to be said.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. The silence rushed back in, louder this time.
âI didnât know how to fix it,â he continued, voice lower now. âSo I did nothing. Which was worse. I know that.â
You stood there, frozen under the dull glow of the streetlight. The wind stirred gently around you, catching the loose strands of your hair and brushing them across your face like the night itself was holding its breath.
Riki looked at you like he was afraid you might vanish. Like if he blinked, youâd dissolve into the guilt heâd been carrying since everything fell apart.
âI meant it,â he said again, quieter this time. âIâm sorry, Y/N.â
You didnât say anything. Not at first.
But then your feet were moving. Not awayâtoward him. And before your head could catch up, before your fears could pull you backâyou reached for him. Your hands curled into the front of his hoodie, and his breath hitched.
Then you kissed him.
It wasnât perfect. It wasnât practiced or clean or anything youâd seen in the movies. It was messy, like the way youâd both fallen apart. Hesitant, like you were still learning each other again. But it was real.
His hands hovered at first, like he wasnât sure if he was allowed. Then they found your waist, gently, almost reverent. He kissed you like he was afraid this would be the last time. You kissed him like you needed it to be a beginning.
When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested against his, both of you still catching your breath.
You didnât know what came nextâif this would last, or if youâd both fall apart all over again. But in that moment, none of it mattered.
Because for the first time in a long time, the past wasnât choking you. The future wasnât terrifying.
There was only now.
And now felt like enough.
He walked you home, your hands brushing now and then, your steps slow and a little uneven, like neither of you really wanted to say goodbye just yet. The streets were quiet, but your heart wasnâtâit was loud, still thudding with everything you hadnât fully processed yet. The kiss, his apology, the way it all felt like something you could finally breathe inside of.
When you finally reached your front door, Riki gave you one last soft smile, eyes lingering like he wanted to say something moreâbut didnât need to.
You slipped inside, shut the door behind you, and thenâ
âYujin!!!â you burst into your room, voice high and wild with joy.
She stirred in bed, blinking blearily as you jumped beside her like a kid hopped up on sugar and adrenaline.
âHe kissed me! He kissed me!â
You flopped back onto the bed dramatically, a goofy grin stretched across your face, giggling in that dizzy, breathless kind of way you hadnât felt in so long it almost startled you.
Yujin groaned, rolling over with one eye open. âWaitâwhat? Who kissed you? What time is it?â Her voice was raspy with sleep, but she was already sitting up halfway, her brain doing the math. Then her jaw dropped. âRiki?!â
You nodded so fast your hair whipped your face. âYes! Yes yes yes!â
Yujin blinked again, then let out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. âOh my godâyouâre glowing. Youâre literally glowing right now.â
âI know,â you squealed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to your chest. âIt was just⊠perfect. Not in a movie-perfect way but⊠like, real.â
Yujin smiled, fully awake now, her eyes softening as she watched you. âYou look the happiest youâve been in forever.â
You paused, biting your lip. âI think I am.â
And maybe you didnât know what came next. But in that momentâwith your best friend beside you, and your heart still racing with something that felt like hopeâyou didnât need to.
You donât quite remember how you ended up here.
In his bed.
On his lap.
The smoke from the blunt swirled up, weaving through the stillness of the room, mixing with the soft moonlight spilling in through the window. Thereâs something slow about the way the world feels right now, like time is stretching and snapping back in pieces. You can almost taste the airâthick with that sweet, hazy scent.
Riki takes a hit, his chest rising and falling in slow rhythm, the faint glow of the blunt casting shadows over his face. His eyesâhalf-closed, heavy with something you canât quite nameâfall to your lips. He leans in, just barely, his breath warm against your skin. The exhale comes soft, a whisper of smoke that touches your lips just as lightly as his fingers might.
Everything feels slowâbut itâs not a bad kind of slow. Itâs the kind of slow that makes you lean in, that pulls the edge of your consciousness just a little closer to something that might break. His face is close now, just enough to make your heart skip a beat. That space between you both is charged, electric, and the words seem to hover, waiting for permission.
âCan I kiss you?â
His voice is rough, like itâs been waiting for that question to leave his mouth. It feels like a dare. A quiet challenge. But itâs also something moreâsomething tender, hidden behind the boldness. You can see it in the way his eyes flicker to yours, then back to your lips, the way his fingers twitch just below your waist like heâs waiting for you to decide.
And for a moment, you donât know what to say. You donât know what youâre supposed to feel. Everything is blurredâyour thoughts, your emotions, the space between you. But then his hand moves just a little closer, his thumb brushing against the skin of your side, and you realize, you do know.
You nod, just once, so small, but enough for him to catch. Itâs all you need to say, and everything in the room shifts when you do. You can feel the tension snapping between you like a wire pulled too tight. He doesnât wait any longer.
His lips are gentle at first, brushing against yours with the care of someone whoâs afraid to break something precious. The kiss is soft, almost too soft, like heâs testing if youâll pull away. But you donât. Instead, you let him inâhis breath mixing with yours, his lips warm and just a little too hesitant.
But then it deepens. Itâs slow. Itâs real. The world outside his room doesnât matter anymore. All that exists is the way his fingers press into your skin, the heat of his body beneath yours, and the way he holds you like youâre the most fragile thing in the world. The kiss speaks louder than words, louder than anything youâve said to each other all night.
He sat back against the headboard, one hand holding the blunt to his lips, the other tangling in your hair as you knelt between his legs. The room was filled with the scent of weed, making your head spin
You looked up at him through your lashes, your eyes dark with desire. He took another drag of the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours as you pulled down his boxers. You didn't hesitate. You leaned forward, running your tongue along the length of him, from base to tip. He groaned, his grip on your hair tightening. You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, until he hit the back of your throat.
You bobbed your head up and down, taking him deeper each time. Your hand came up to stroke what you couldn't fit in your mouth, twisting and turning as you worked him over. His soft groans filled the room, your eyes watered, your mascara running down your face
"Fuck, I'm going to cum," he warned, his voice strained
You didn't pull away. Instead, you took him as deep as you could, wanting to taste him, to feel him pulse in your throat. He let out a guttural groan as he came, his cum spilling down your throat. You swallowed every drop, licking him clean as he shuddered through his orgasm.
He reached for you, pulling you up on his lap. "Fuck youâre so beautiful" he murmured, his thumb brushing along your cheek, wiping off the mascara streaking down.
He took another hit, the smoke passing into your mouth before the kiss â slow and reckless, like the world could end right there and you'd still go back for more. His lips were ash and apologies heâd never say, and yours were cracked from all the things you couldnât swallow.
"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your forehead.
The morning is soft â not golden, not loud with birdsong or sunbeams slicing through the curtains â just soft, like the world remembered to breathe for once. You wake to warmth before awareness, to the quiet sound of his breathing steady against your back. His arm is draped over your waist, his fingers twitching slightly like heâs still dreaming, still reaching.
The sheets smell like him â laundry detergent, faint smoke, something citrusy heâd deny wearing if you asked. You shift slightly and feel him stir, his grip tightening just a little, like he thought you might vanish if he let go.
"Morning," comes his voice, rasped and barely awake, pressed into your hair. It's the kind of sound that makes your ribs ache in the best way.
You donât turn around yet. You just hum, let your hand trace lazy lines over the back of his, tangled with yours. His thumb brushes over your skin in return, like itâs saying what he canât.
"You drool," he mutters, teasing, but the grin you can hear in his voice is laced with something softer, something almost shy.
You finally twist in his arms, nose to nose, and he blinks at you â messy-haired and sleepy-eyed, that boy who never lets anyone see past his walls. But here he is. Bare. Honest.
"I only drool when Iâm comfortable," you murmur.
"So... youâre comfortable?"
"Yeah," you say, voice quieter now. "With you."
The morning spills into noon like honey â slow, golden, and just a little bit sticky.
Eventually, your stomach grumbles loud enough to make Riki laugh against your neck, muffled and amused. He pulls away from the cocoon of warmth, hair a mess and throws on a shirt that was draped over a chair, stretching like a cat before tossing you one of his hoodies without a word. Itâs huge, draping over your thighs, swallowing you whole â and you swear he smirks just a little too long when he sees you in it.
"Come on," he says, tugging your hand. "Letâs feed that monster in your stomach before it starts talking in tongues."
The floor creaks beneath your feet as you follow Riki into the kitchen, hoodie swallowing your frame, socks collecting dust and God-knows-what from the cold tile. Thereâs a busted speaker still whispering someoneâs playlist from last night, all chopped and screwed, the bass low like a heartbeat under the floorboards. The air tastes like leftover smoke, burnt edges, and cheap liquor no one finished.
The kitchenâs barely a kitchen â cracked counters, and dishes piled high like a sculpture of regret. Still, Riki moves like he owns it, like heâs memorized every broken drawer and flickering lightbulb. He grabs a pan with one hand, nudges a beer can off the stove with the other.
You sit on the counter beside an old ashtray and somebodyâs leftover blunt. "You sure itâs safe to cook in here?"
Riki smirks, already lighting the burner. "Safe? No. But you trust me, right?"
You roll your eyes, but you donât move. The gas hisses to life and the pan heats with a vengeance. He starts cracking eggs into a pot like itâs therapy, tossing in cold rice and whateverâs not expired. He finds some spam and a half-empty bottle of soy sauce, mixing it all together like this was the plan all along.
"Aight, stir this," he tells you, passing over the spatula, his fingers brushing yours. The moment stretches, then snaps like a rubber band when you hear the front door slam open.
In stumbles Sunghoon, shirt wrinkled, pants halfway zipped, and a girl clinging to his arm like she doesn't even remember how she got here. Her lashes are smudged, heels in hand, and she gives the room a once-over like sheâs seen better and worse all in the same night.
"Why is it always smellinâ like regret in here?" Riki mutters without looking up.
"Because you live here," Sunghoon fires back, slumping into a kitchen chair like gravity personally hates him. "And because Iâm Godâs favorite mistake."
Riki snorts. "Youâre not even in His top five."
The girl disappears into the bathroom, and Sunghoon finally notices you â his eyes narrow, then widen, like heâs tryna solve a riddle without all the clues.
"Yo," he says, smirking. "You stayed?"
You nod slowly, tossing the rice mixture in the pan. "I guess I did."
He whistles low, glancing at Riki. "Damn. You let her see the kitchen? Thatâs basically a marriage proposal in this house."
"Shut the fuck up," Riki grumbles, but thereâs no bite in it. Just a twitch at the corner of his mouth like heâs tryna hide something warm behind his usual sharp edges.
Sunghoon leans back, stretching. "You makinâ enough for three?"
"Nah," Riki says. "You can starve."
You slide a plate toward Sunghoon anyway. "Donât be dramatic. We got enough for a last meal."
He grins. "Thatâs sweet. Hope I die by lunch."
âDoes your girlfriend want some?â
âNah. she's boutta leave anywayâ
You all eat out of chipped bowls, legs tucked up on busted chairs, the sunlight leaking through grime-smeared blinds like itâs trying to purify the place and failing gloriously. Riki sits beside you, knees brushing, his thigh warm against yours, eyes low and calm. His hoodie still hangs off your frame like it belongs there.
And even though the house is falling apart around the edges, even though every surface tells a story you probably shouldnât hear â right here, right now?
It feels a little like home.
âWe should probably get to school,â Riki mutters, like itâs an afterthought, like realityâs something he keeps trying to forget but it keeps knocking anyway. He chucks his bowl into the sink â not rinsed, just tossed, landing with a hollow clank against a tower of dishes no oneâs gonna touch anytime soon.
You blink. School? That word feel foreign in your mouth now. Like a language you havenât spoken in days.
Sunghoon groans from the floor where heâs now sprawled out dramatically, a dish towel over his face like itâs a funeral shroud. âWhat is school, even? Is that a drug? Can I snort it?â
âYou snorted school spirit once,â Riki deadpans, grabbing a half-dead pack of gum off the counter and stuffing two pieces in his mouth. He offers you one with a nudge.
You take it, chewing slow as the weight of his words catches up. School. That hallway hellscape of fluorescent lights, fake smiles, and teachers who donât ask if youâre okay â just why your assignments are late.
âDo we have to?â you ask, your voice quiet like a dare. âWe could stay here. Watch the ceiling peel. Count the cracks in the walls. Kiss again.â
Riki stops, gum halfway chewed, eyes flicking up to yours like you just reached into his chest and rearranged something.
A beat. Then a breath.
He leans in, thumb brushing your jaw, voice low. âIf you ask me like that again, I swear to God Iâll skip the whole week.â
"Then skip."
But he doesnât. Not yet. Instead, he pulls back, rubbing at his neck with that familiar nervous energy, that boy-always-on-the-edge energy.
âI got a quiz in second period,â he mumbles.
âSince when do you care about quizzes?â
He shrugs. âSince you started sittinâ next to me in class.â
You blink at him, heart doing that annoying skip-step, and Sunghoon groans again from the floor like heâs physically ill from the tension.
âJesus Christ, get a room. Not this one, though. I live here.â
Riki throws a dishrag at his face, then looks back at you, softer now. âCome with me?â
You look up at him, groaning. âFine!!â The word stretches into a giggle before you can swallow it, breathless and sweet, and thatâs all the permission he needs.
Riki grins â wide, wolfish, like a dare â then scoops you up with no warning. Your arms fly around his neck on instinct, laughter tumbling out as your legs dangle, the hallway a blur of peeling paint and flickering light as he carries you like itâs the most natural thing in the world.
"You're insane," you mutter into his shoulder.
"And you stayed the night," he fires back, kicking open his bedroom door with the heel of his foot. "So what does that make you?"
"Hopeless," you say, not even trying to deny it.
His roomâs a war zone â hoodies draped over speakers, socks that may or may not be alive, a mattress barely clinging to its frame. The sheets are still twisted from where you both crashed last night, the echo of shared warmth still lingering in the folds.
He drops you on the bed like a sack of sin and chaos, and you bounce with a yelp, grinning as you scramble to throw on the sweatpants you abandoned somewhere around midnight. You swipe at the mascara smudged beneath your eyes, using the corner of your sleeve as a mirror substitute, while Rikiâs zipping around the room like a storm with a deadline â shoving notebooks, chargers, probably a lighter, into his half-broken school bag.
"Whereâs myâ" he mumbles, digging under a hoodie.
"In your shoe," you call out, already knowing what heâs looking for.
He blinks. "How do you know that?"
You shrug. "I watch you. Youâre a mess."
"And yet..." He tosses you a hoodie that smells like yesterdayâs cologne and cigarettes. "You like me anyway."
You tug it over your head, the collar still warm from him. "Donât push it, Nishimura."
He smirks, slinging the bag over his shoulder, watching you fix your hair in his cracked mirror, like he's committing this version of you to memory â barefaced, wrapped in his clothes, unfiltered by the world outside.
Days later, you were on Yujinâs bed, legs tangled in a mess of her throw blankets and cigarette-scented sweaters, half-scrolling through your phone like you were waiting for somethingâmaybe a reason to leave, maybe a reason to stay.
Then her phone lit up. She tapped it once, twice. Eyes skimming the screen, lips curling like she was trying not to smile too hard.
âJay just texted,â she said, tossing her phone toward you like it was no big deal, like her heart didnât just skip.
âHe wants us to come out. Downtown. Says Rikiâs gonna be there.â
You tried to act normal, but your breath caught like it always did when his name slid into the room.
âAre we going?â you asked, already knowing the answer.
Yujin giggled. âObviously!!â she shrieked
The city hit different at night â smelled like gasoline and cheap perfume and something almost holy. The kind of holy that donât forgive.
You and Yujin found them leaning outside a liquor store, lit under a flickering sign that read OPEN in dying red. Jay spotted you first, lifting two fingers in a lazy wave.
Riki didnât say anything at first. You couldnât read his face â not in the half-light, not ever, really â but something in your chest tugged like a thread being pulled loose.
âYou showed,â he said finally, voice low, a small smile on his face, as you stepped in front of him.
Jay was crouching on the pavement, cough syrup in one hand, a bottle of sprite in another. You glanced down at him giggling, before turning back to riki.Â
âOf course I came.â you smiled up at him, your body dangerously close to his.Â
Your words curled in the air between you, soft and slow, like honey dripping off the edge of a spoon â sticky, sweet, impossible to ignore.
Rikiâs eyes flicked down to your mouth for a fraction of a second too long. The kind of look that said he noticed everything, even the things you didnât mean to give away.
âDidnât think you would,â he murmured, like it was some quiet confession he hadnât meant to say out loud. But it hung there anyway, thick with something unspoken.
Jay popped up between you like a devil on your shoulder, eyes glazed, smile all teeth.
âYâall done eye-fucking or what?â he said, laughing like he knew exactly what kind of fire he was throwing gasoline on.
He shoved the bottle toward Riki. âHere. Pass it around. Letâs get lit.â
Riki took the lean without looking at Jay â eyes still locked on you, like you were the only one here that mattered.
He tilted the bottle back, took a sip, tongue darting out after like he was tasting it, weighing it. Then another.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Eyes dragging down your face like he was looking for a crack to slip into.
He handed it to you next.
âYour turn,â he said, voice just above the hum of passing cars.
You drank, one sip, then two â the syrup clinging to your lips like violet honey, sweet and dangerous.
You didnât break eye contact either. Wouldnât give him that power.
Riki reached for it again, fingers brushing yours when he took it back. The touch was brief, but your skin sparked like static beneath it.
He drank again, and thenâ
âCâmere,â he murmured, stepping closer, bottle in one hand, the other brushing your waist like an afterthought that wasnât.
You tilted your head back without asking.
He poured it slow, a thin stream of purple slipping past your lips. You swallowed, throat working around the warmth of it, the burn. His eyes dropped, watching you like you were something divine and destructive all at once.
âAnother?â he asked, voice low, breath catching somewhere between curiosity and challenge.
You nodded.
He poured again. Slower this time. Lazier.
And when it slipped down your throat, his gaze followed like he could feel it too.
âDamn,â Jay muttered somewhere behind yâall, but it felt like the city had gone quiet. Like it was just you and Riki, tethered by syrup and silence.
He finally leaned in, breath brushing your ear. âYou keep drinkinâ like that, Iâma start thinkinâ you like me.â
You smiled, wiping the corner of your mouth with your thumb, tongue catching the last of the flavor.
âMaybe I do.â
He laughed â low, surprised, like he didnât expect you to say it out loud.
But he didnât pull away.
And neither did you.
Downtown spread out in front of you like a playground built for the damned. Streetlights flickered like dying stars, and everything buzzed â the pavement, the power lines, the blood in your veins.
Yujin hooked her arm through yours, giggling so hard she almost tripped on the curb. âI swear to God, the sidewalk just moved.â
Jay was ahead, dancing in the middle of the street like he was performing for a crowd that wasnât there, hoodie hanging off one shoulder, still sipping from the half-empty bottle like it was his baby. âThis city loves us!â he shouted, spinning with his arms wide open. âWeâre the fuckinâ main characters, bro!â
âMain characters with liver damage,â Riki muttered beside you, but there was a smirk on his lips â lazy and crooked, eyes soft and heavy under the streetlight glow.
You were all high as hell.
Everything felt slow and fast at once â like running underwater, like laughing mid-fall.
Yujin pulled you into a corner store with the OPEN sign blinking erratically, grabbing a bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos and a pair of $3 sunglasses shaped like stars. She put them on backwards, looked in the security mirror and gasped.
âIâm God.â
You both collapsed into laughter, nearly knocking over a rack of off-brand energy drinks. The cashier didnât even blink â just waved you all out with a deadpan âyâall be safeâ as Jay tried to buy a single gumdrop with pocket lint and two paper clips.
Outside, Riki kicked an empty can down the sidewalk like it wronged him personally.
âBet I can hit that trash can before you,â he challenged, slurring just a bit.
âYou got baby legs,â you shot back, snatching the can before he could, winding up like it mattered.
You missed.
Terribly.
Jay wheezed. âMain character arc just collapsed, bruh.â
âShut up,â you laughed, flipping him off while Riki jogged up behind you and ruffled your hair, grinning like you were the funniest thing heâd seen all year.
âLetâs climb something,â Yujin suddenly said, pointing at the sketchy scaffolding behind a pawn shop. âI wanna be above the world.â
âNo,â Riki said.
âYes,â you said at the same time.
So of course, you climbed.
The four of you ended up on a low rooftop, cheap tarpaper under your sneakers and the city yawning wide in front of you. The air smelled like grease and summer rain, and someone was blasting old Frank Ocean from a cracked car stereo down the block.
Jay lay back with his hands behind his head. âIf I die tonight, bury me in my slides.â
Yujin tossed a Cheeto at him. âAinât nobody coming to your funeral dressed like that.â
You and Riki sat on the ledge, your legs dangling over the edge.
His shoulder brushed yours, heavy and warm, and neither of you moved.
He glanced over at you, eyes slow and syrup-sweet.
âThis nightâs fucked,â he whispered.
You nodded. âKinda perfect though.â
He didnât answer â just smiled, barely, and looked back out at the city like he was scared to look at you too long.
You don't know how you ended up on a roof.
The city hummed beneath you, its pulse steady, like a heartbeat you could almost feel through your bones. The skyline stretched out, dark and jagged, and the stars barely showed themselves behind the haze of light pollution. It was all so alive, so loud in the quietest way.
Jay, still sprawled out with his arms behind his head, was in his own world, making jokes to no one in particular. Yujin, perched beside him, threw another Cheeto in his direction â this time, a direct hit.
"You really gonna die like that?" she asked, half-smirking, half-concerned. "You're gonna slip on your slides, and we're all gonna watch your face meet concrete."
Jay's laugh echoed, too loud in the open air, and then he shot up like a lightning bolt. "I'm immortal, bitch! Ain't no roof gonna take me down."
You couldn't help but laugh, but there was something in the back of your mind, some gnawing feeling that this moment was too perfect, too full of nothing, and nothing ever stayed perfect.
Riki, still leaning against the ledge, cocked an eyebrow. "Bet I could take you in a race to the edge."
âBet I could take you in a race to my death,â Jay grinned, standing up now and balancing dangerously close to the roof's edge, arms wide like he was going to fly. "Catch me if you can!"
And just like that, in the blink of an eye, he was flying â or at least, it felt like it. You could hear the air rip past his body, a sound so sharp it almost made your ears bleed, but it wasnât until you saw him really falling, limbs scrambling like a ragdoll tossed by the wind, that your heart took a leap into your throat.
âJay!â Yujin screamed, scrambling to her feet. But the words were too late. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, like a bag of bones dropped from too high.
Everything froze.
The city held its breath, as did the four of you, as your feet numbed to the rooftop beneath you. The world felt wrong in that instant â like it was shifting too quickly, like it was bending in on itself and it couldnât quite hold the weight of the moment.
Riki was the first to move, jumping down from the roof with a grace that made it look like he belonged in the air. Yujin followed, her feet stumbling, but her eyes locked in terror.
You were left there, knees shaking, your heart rattling in your chest like a bird trying to escape its cage. The laughter, the warmth, the haze of your high... all of it gone in an instant, replaced by the sharp, chilling reality of what you just witnessed.
You thought youâd known reckless. Thought you understood the weight of the night, the edge of your own life. But thatâthat was something else entirely.
"Shit," you whispered, but there was no one left to hear. The city, the stars, the worldâeverything had shifted. Everything had broken.
And you didn't know if you'd ever be able to pick up the pieces.