Crawling Back To You ☆ 이희승
“exes to lovers,” - enha campus series
✮ You both swore it was over—again—but somehow, it’s always one of you at the other’s door, breathless and breaking. It’s toxic, it’s inevitable, and no matter how far you run, you both end up crawling back to each other. ✉️ wc. 11.3k - 이희승 x f reader
🏷️ @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @sheseung @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @sunghoon-cam @luvksnn @aaaaarmiiiiin @blckorchidd @marimariiisblog @pinknjm @starniras @dearestdreamies @bloomiize @doririsstuff @isagistar @rairaiblog @steddie-steddie @melodiessvy @starboy-library @deluluscenarios
Everyone at Seoul University knew your name—and not because you were loud or flashy. No, it was because you were his.
You and Heeseung were the couple people talked about in whispers behind lecture halls and in dorm stairwells. The kind of pair that made others stare, wondering how something so picture-perfect could exist outside of a drama.
He was the golden boy—top of his class in business, vocals that melted through the walls of the music building, and a face that made professors and students alike do a double-take. And then there was you. Quiet but sharp-tongued, fiercely independent, the one person who never swooned at his charm.
Maybe that’s why he chased you so hard.
It started with harmless teasing during your shared elective. Heeseung always had something to say, and you always had something sharper to throw back. People thought you hated each other. The truth was—you couldn’t stop looking at each other.
By the end of the semester, you were inseparable. Studying under cherry blossom trees, eating late-night tteokbokki by the Han River, sneaking into the music room just to hear him sing something only you got to hear.
“You’re it for me,” he whispered one night, arms around your waist, your head on his chest. “You know that, right?”
You did. You knew it.
But what no one saw—what even you ignored—was the fire underneath it all. The way love started to sound like accusations. The way you started counting the hours he took to reply. The way he noticed every guy who looked at you. The way you started to like when he got jealous.
And before anyone else could notice the cracks, you were already learning how to smile through the breaks.
The first real fight happened on a Thursday.
You’d forgotten about some lame mixer your mutual friend had invited you both to, and when you bailed last minute to cram for an econ exam, he didn’t take it well.
“You always have an excuse,” he snapped, arms crossed, his voice low but tight with frustration. “Do you even want to be with me, or is this just something you do when it’s convenient?”
You blinked, stunned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Heeseung ran a hand through his hair, pacing the small study room you’d claimed. “It means I’m always making time for you. Always showing up. And you? You don’t even try.”
You stood up, heat rising to your cheeks. “I’m not going to blow off my future for a night of watching you flirt with girls who laugh too hard at your jokes.”
The words hit their mark. His jaw clenched. “So that’s what this is? You don’t trust me now?”
You crossed your arms. “Should I?”
That night ended with slammed doors, unread texts, and a cold walk back to your dorm. But the next day? He was waiting by your class building with your favorite coffee and a half-hearted apology wrapped in a crooked smile. You took it. You always did.
Because no matter how bad it got, something about being with him felt impossible to let go of.
But fights like that kept happening—growing sharper, louder. You broke up once over a dumb Instagram comment. Got back together the next week after one too many drinks and a shared cab home. Then broke up again when he saw you talking to some guy from your lit class.
“You love the attention,” he said, venom laced behind the coolness in his tone.
“And you love being right,” you spat back.
Still, somehow, by sunrise, you’d be curled up in his bed again. Your clothes on the floor. His breath warm against your neck. His name a ghost on your lips.
It was toxic. It was exhausting. It was everything.
And you weren’t ready to let it go.
Neither was he.
Sunoo stormed into the café just off campus, eyes wide and expression dramatic as ever, practically vibrating with the need to spill. Jake, his girlfriend, and Sunghoon were already seated near the window, mid-conversation when Sunoo dropped his bag onto the chair beside Jake and huffed loud enough for the whole place to turn.
Jake raised a brow. “Let me guess. They fought again?”
Sunoo gave him a look. “Fought? Jake, it was like watching a K-drama unfold in real time—but with worse lighting and way more swearing.”
Sunghoon leaned back in his chair, arms folded, expression unreadable. “What happened now?”
Sunoo clutched his chest like the memory physically pained him. “Okay, so apparently Heeseung didn’t text Y/N back for like, five hours, even though she knows he saw her story, right? And she was already annoyed because she saw him walking around campus with that girl from his marketing group—what’s her name, Soojin? The one with the weird lip gloss?”
Jake’s girlfriend made a face. “Ew, her?”
“Exactly,” Sunoo said, pointing dramatically. “So Y/N confronts him outside the library, and he acts all confused, like ‘Why are you always accusing me?’ And she’s like, ‘Because you never take responsibility!’ and boom, they’re yelling in front of the vending machines like it’s their personal stage.”
Jake sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “How long did it last this time?”
“Long enough for me to finish my bubble tea and start a new playlist.”
Sunghoon glanced out the window, deadpan. “And they’re back together already?”
Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Give it twenty-four hours. Heeseung’s probably already typing a three-paragraph apology with a sad playlist link attached.”
Jake chuckled under his breath. “You’d think they’d get tired of the drama.”
Sunoo picked up Jake’s drink and took a sip without asking. “They won’t. You know why? Because they don’t know how to quit each other. And honestly? I’m sick of being the audience to their off-brand Romeo and Juliet sequel.”
Jake’s girlfriend grinned. “You say that now, but you’ll be the first one texting Y/N for updates.”
Sunoo didn’t even deny it. “Obviously. Someone’s gotta document this mess.”
What’s even crazier? Heeseung literally caught you making out with Jay in the janitor’s room—and somehow, you were back together in less than seventy-two hours.
You don’t even remember why it happened. Maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way Jay looked at you like he actually wanted to listen instead of win. Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way Heeseung had ignored you for two days straight after yet another stupid fight over a party you didn’t even want to go to.
You’d kissed Jay out of spite. Or desperation. Or both. It didn’t even last five minutes.
But then the door creaked open.
And there he was.
Heeseung, standing in the doorway like something out of a nightmare. His expression wasn’t anger at first—it was disbelief. Like he couldn’t even register what he was seeing. Then came the fury, slow and sharp, rising behind his eyes like a storm.
Jay had the decency to back off, muttering something about not knowing you were still together. Heeseung didn’t say a word. Not one. He just stared at you—like he didn’t know who you were anymore. Like maybe you didn’t, either.
You thought that was it. The end.
But it wasn’t.
Because three days later, he showed up at your door at 1:12 a.m., hoodie over his head, eyes red-rimmed, and voice barely a whisper.
“I hate that I still love you.”
And instead of slamming the door in his face like you swore you would… you let him in.
Because that’s what you two do.
You hurt each other. You leave.
And then you always—always—come back.
And then, of course, you made out.
It started slow—like neither of you were sure if this was a good idea or just another bad habit dressed up like comfort. His hands hovered over your waist like he didn’t know if he was allowed to touch you anymore, and you just stood there, heart thudding too loud for the silence.
But then he said your name. Soft. Shaky. Like it hurt to say.
That was all it took.
You grabbed the front of his hoodie and pulled him in, mouths crashing like everything you’d been holding back—anger, guilt, loneliness—was begging for a way out. His lips were warm, familiar, desperate. The way he kissed you was almost apologetic, like he was trying to undo everything with his mouth.
You let him. You kissed him like you hated him for making you feel this way. Like you needed him more than you wanted to admit.
And when you finally pulled back, breathless and wrecked, his forehead pressed against yours, he whispered, “I don’t want anyone else.”
And you hated that you still believed him.
You didn’t sleep that night—not really.
You laid tangled in his arms on your tiny dorm bed, the sheets kicked halfway to the floor, your thoughts louder than the silence between you. Heeseung had fallen asleep with his face buried in your neck, one arm slung over your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.
And maybe you would’ve, if you didn’t feel so tired of running.
The next morning, you woke up before him. The light from the window spilled across his face, softening all the sharp edges that came out during fights. For a second, you just stared—at his long lashes, his parted lips, the way his fingers twitched every few seconds like he was dreaming.
It would’ve been so easy to believe that nothing had happened. That Jay hadn’t happened. That all the fights and the screaming and the nights you cried yourself to sleep didn’t exist.
But the bruises under your ribs weren’t from fists—they were from words. From love turned weapon. From trying so hard to be enough for someone who was always halfway out the door.
Still… you didn’t move.
Because when Heeseung opened his eyes and looked at you like you were the only thing that ever made sense, it was enough to make you stay a little longer.
Even if you knew the next storm was already on its way.
You don’t even remember how it started—only how loud it got.
It was after midterms, late evening, the campus buzzing with people blowing off steam. You were supposed to meet him outside the library, but he was thirty minutes late and reeked of beer when he finally showed up.
“I said I’d be here,” he muttered when you confronted him. “What, you don’t trust me to show up now?”
You stared at him, arms folded, heat rising in your throat. “I don’t trust you. Not when you spend more time at parties than actually being present.”
He scoffed, running a hand through his hair like you were the one being difficult. “Right. Because you’re perfect. Always playing the victim. You ever think maybe you’re the problem?”
That hit harder than you expected.
You laughed—bitter, sharp. “You caught me making out with someone else and still took me back. Don’t talk to me about problems like you’re not the biggest one I’ve ever had.”
His jaw tightened. “You never even apologized.”
“Because you never stopped hurting me,” you snapped. “Every time I looked at you, I felt like I was begging to be chosen.”
He didn’t say anything for a second. Just stared at you with this cold, unreadable expression. Then he shook his head, stepped back like you’d burned him.
“You know what? I’m done. For real this time.”
You didn’t stop him.
Not when he turned around.
Not when he walked away.
Not when you realized he meant it.
And for the first time, you didn’t chase after him.
You just stood there, heart pounding, hands shaking, unsure if you’d ever see him again.
And maybe—maybe this time was really the end.
The days after felt unreal.
Campus kept moving—students cramming for finals, couples holding hands under trees you used to sit beneath, laughter echoing through courtyards like nothing had changed. But everything had.
Heeseung was gone.
Not physically. You still saw him sometimes, across the quad or in the distance at the convenience store. But it was different now. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t even flinch when your eyes met. Just kept walking like you were a stranger he used to know.
The silence was suffocating. Not just from him, but from everyone else too. Your friends stopped asking about him. Even Sunoo didn’t say much anymore—just gave you quiet looks that said I know you’re still hurting, but I won’t make you talk about it.
And maybe that was the worst part. The quiet.
Because you were used to chaos with him—used to yelling, slamming doors, passionate apologies, messy kisses and promises you both knew would be broken. You weren’t used to nothing.
You told yourself it was for the best. That you needed to breathe without him taking up all the air.
But at night, when the world slowed down and there was nothing left to distract you, you wondered if he still thought about you. If he still played the songs he used to sing for you. If he ever regretted walking away.
You didn’t cry. Not really. Maybe once—quiet and quick into your pillow, just enough to let it out before shoving it all back down.
Because this time, it didn’t feel like a break.
It felt like goodbye.
It was two months. Two months of space. Two months of silence. Two months of trying to forget the taste of each other’s names.
You kept expecting him to show up again. Maybe outside your dorm. Maybe in the practice room where he used to pull you into his lap between takes. Maybe drunk at 2 a.m. with slurred apologies and soft I miss yous.
But he didn’t.
And it wasn’t until you finally worked up the nerve to see him—really see him—that you realized why.
You found him outside the campus café, leaning against the wall, sipping on iced coffee like this was just another day. And maybe for him, it was. But for you? Your heart hadn’t beaten this fast in weeks.
“Heeseung.”
He looked up. His eyes softened for a split second, then settled into something unreadable. Calm. Controlled. Different.
You stepped closer. “Can we talk?”
He nodded, motioning for you to sit with him on the bench nearby. It was awkward at first—quiet. The air thick with everything unsaid.
“I’ve been thinking,” you finally said, fingers nervously picking at the seam of your jacket. “About us. About everything.”
Heeseung nodded slowly, gaze fixed on the pavement. “Me too.”
You turned to him, hopeful. “Maybe… maybe we just needed time, right? To figure ourselves out. Maybe we can try again. For real this time.”
He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at you—really looked at you—with that same sad tenderness that used to follow every fight.
“I love you,” he said, voice low. “You know that, right?”
Your throat tightened. “Then why—?”
“Because we’re not good for each other,” he interrupted gently. “We bring out the worst in each other. And I can’t keep doing this cycle where I love you and hurt you at the same time.”
You blinked, stunned. “But… we’ve been through so much.”
“I know,” he said. “That’s why I know it has to stop. I can’t keep being someone who makes you doubt yourself. And I don’t want you to keep being someone who breaks just to hold me together.”
Tears welled up, but you didn’t let them fall. Not this time.
“So that’s it?” you whispered. “You’re just walking away?”
Heeseung shook his head. “No. I’m letting go. So that one day… maybe we’ll find our way back when we’re better people. Not because we need each other. But because we choose each other.”
You didn’t know what to say. You just sat there, stunned, as he stood up and gave you one last look—the kind that said I still love you, even if I can’t stay.
Then he walked away.
And this time…
You let him.
The glow from the fairy lights strung across your ceiling cast a warm haze over the room. You were laying belly-down on your bed, face half-buried in your pillow, while Yeon sat cross-legged beside you, painting her nails some muted sage green. A tub of melting ice cream sat between you, half-forgotten.
“I just don’t get it,” you mumbled, voice muffled. “He said he loved me. Like, what was the point of that speech if he was just gonna disappear off the face of the earth?”
Yeon raised a brow without looking up. “Girl, he literally said it was because you two were toxic for each other.”
You rolled onto your side, scowling. “Yeah, but he could’ve at least tried again. After all this time, nothing? No message, no check-in, not even a story view. It’s like I never existed.”
Yeon let out a sigh, blowing on her nails. “Do you even think he’s over you?”
You blinked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She finally looked at you, eyes sharp, tone flat. “You think he just flipped a switch and stopped caring? Come on. You guys were obsessed with each other. You still are.”
You groaned, flopping onto your back. “Then why isn’t he doing anything about it?”
Yeon shrugged. “Maybe he’s trying to prove a point. Maybe he’s hurting too. Maybe he thinks you’re the one who should come crawling back this time.”
You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip.
Then Yeon sat up straighter, the corners of her mouth twitching. “Or… hear me out… you could make him care.”
You turned your head slowly. “Yeon.”
She raised her hands innocently. “Not like anything dramatic. Just… see someone else. Post a cute pic. Let him know you’re moving on. If he reacts, there’s your answer. If he doesn’t… maybe it’s time to actually move on.”
You hated that the idea made your stomach flip. Hated that a part of you wanted him to care enough to spiral. To break. To fight for you.
You also hated that Yeon was probably right.
“Heeseung’s not the only one who can play games,” she added, reaching for her phone. “Now. Who’s single, hot, and dumb enough to fake date you for a week?”
And just like that, something in your chest—spite, maybe—snapped into place.
“Fine,” you said, sitting up. “Let’s see if golden boy really let me go.”
Jay was just the right guy to do it.
Handsome, charming, dangerously calm under pressure—and most importantly? Lee Heeseung’s best friend. Or, well… former best friend, maybe. The line had blurred ever since that night in the janitor’s room.
You weren’t exactly close, but you knew Jay. He was the type of guy everyone liked but no one could really read. And when you texted him out of nowhere with a simple, “Can we talk?”, he responded quicker than expected.
You met up behind the arts building, tucked away where no one really bothered to go. He stood there with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable, like he already knew what you were going to ask.
“No,” he said before you could even finish the sentence.
“Jay—”
“I’m not getting involved in whatever mess you and Heeseung have going on again,” he cut in, eyes sharp. “It’s not my thing.”
You took a step closer, lowering your voice. “Please. I just need him to feel something. Anything.”
He exhaled hard, glancing away like he was trying to stay detached. “And what happens when he finds out it’s fake? Or worse, what if he doesn’t react at all?”
“Then I’ll know,” you said, quieter now. “I just… I need to know if he’s really done.”
Jay didn’t say anything at first. He just stared at you for a long moment, like he was trying to figure out what kind of mess he was about to walk into. Again.
Then he sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and muttered under his breath, “This is a bad idea.”
You smiled—just a little. “So that’s a yes?”
Jay shook his head, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “You owe me for this.”
And just like that, the plan was in motion.
A fake relationship. A test. A game.
All to see if the boy you still loved would finally come crawling back—
Or watch you walk away.
It started small.
Just a simple story.
Nothing dramatic. Nothing that screamed revenge.
Just a quiet photo of you and Jay’s hands—intertwined, resting on the café table between two half-empty iced americanos.
No faces. No captions. Just the tag.
@jaypark.
You hesitated before posting it, thumb hovering over the “Your Story” button for a second too long. But then you tapped it. Sent it out into the world like bait.
And waited.
Within minutes, the views started stacking. Yeon replied with a row of screaming emojis. Sunoo sent you the skull. And then, like clockwork, his name appeared at the bottom of the viewers list.
Lee Heeseung.
No message. No reaction. Just a silent little view. But that was enough.
He saw it.
He saw you—your hand in someone else’s.
His best friend’s.
Your heart beat just a little faster. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was victory. Maybe it was that part of you that still wondered if he’d come running.
And across campus, not even an hour later, Heeseung was already plotting his move.
Because if you wanted a war, he’d give you one.
And this time, he wouldn’t be the one left watching.
Heeseung didn’t sleep much that night.
The image of your hand in Jay’s—Jay’s—looped through his mind like a broken record. He couldn’t tell if he was more furious or just sick. Like something was lodged deep in his chest and no amount of pacing or punching his pillow would get it out.
By morning, he wasn’t even mad. Just numb. Tired. But there was still something buzzing under his skin, and he knew exactly where to take it.
He found Jay in the gym locker room after class, slipping his duffel onto the bench like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just posted up with you on Instagram like it was no big deal.
Heeseung walked up behind him, quiet but sharp, voice low and flat. “You serious?”
Jay turned, eyebrows lifting slightly. “About what?”
Heeseung scoffed. “Don’t play dumb. You and Y/N.”
Jay paused—just a beat too long—and that was all Heeseung needed.
“So it’s real,” Heeseung muttered, stepping forward. “You’re actually dating her now?”
Jay looked at him. Steady. Cool. Just like you asked him to be.
“…Yeah.”
Heeseung clenched his jaw. “Right after everything. You think that’s not messed up?”
Jay shrugged once, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he should keep going or drop the act. “Things change, Heeseung.”
And somewhere in that moment—somewhere in Jay’s calm delivery and blank stare—Heeseung believed it.
You moved on.
With him.
And you didn’t even flinch.
Heeseung didn’t say anything else. Just let out a bitter laugh and shook his head before walking off, fists tight at his sides.
Jay sat down once he was gone, letting out a slow breath as he stared at the locker in front of him.
He texted you two minutes later:
he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?
And all you replied was:
yeah. keep going.
Because if he wanted to believe you’d moved on,
You’d make sure he felt every second of it.
Sunoo wasn’t snooping.
Okay—maybe a little.
He’d just been passing through the locker room looking for his water bottle (which he definitely left on the bench last night, thank you very much) when he caught a glimpse of Jay hunched over his phone.
Nothing suspicious. Until he saw the name at the top of the screen.
Y/N.
And then he saw the text:
“he thinks it’s real. you sure about this?”
Sunoo’s entire body froze. He ducked out of sight just as Jay hit send, his heart thumping with secondhand guilt.
So it’s fake.
She’s faking it. She’s really faking it.
He waited until Jay left, then took off in a straight sprint across campus. He found Heeseung behind the rec center, leaning against the fence with his hoodie pulled low over his face and that same blank stare he’d been wearing since the Instagram story dropped.
Sunoo didn’t even catch his breath.
“Heeseung.”
Heeseung looked up, annoyed. “What now?”
“She’s not really with Jay.”
Silence.
“What?”
Sunoo took a step closer. “I saw Jay texting her. He said you think it’s real and asked if they should keep going. Y/N told him yes. It’s all for show.”
Heeseung just stared at him, lips parting slightly. “You’re sure?”
“I read it, Heeseung. She’s trying to mess with your head. And you’re letting her.”
Heeseung didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked down, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on every terrible thought in his head.
“She really went that far?” he muttered. “Dragged Jay into it?”
Sunoo nodded. “And you’re gonna let her win?”
A beat of silence. Then—
“No,” Heeseung said, standing up straighter. “I’m not.”
And just like that, the idea clicked.
If she wanted to play pretend, he’d give her something to choke on.
The very next day, Y/N’s feed lit up with his story this time.
Heeseung, smirking at the camera, with a girl beside him—leaning into his shoulder, her fingers brushing his.
Your ex-best friend.
Ina.
Tagged. Smiling. And just sweet enough to sting.
You almost dropped your phone.
Because if this was a game— He’d just made his next move.
You didn’t even knock before you barged into Yeon’s dorm, practically throwing open the door like a hurricane. Your phone was still in your hand, and the red notification bubble next to Instagram made your heart race in ways you didn’t want to admit.
“Y/N—what the hell?” Yeon jumped up from the couch, startled, and then her eyes caught the expression on your face—the tension in your shoulders. The way your jaw clenched.
Without saying a word, you shoved your phone in her face. “Look.”
Yeon blinked, frowning at first, then slowly scrolled through the story that had just gone up. Heeseung, arms draped casually around a girl who definitely wasn’t you, smiling like nothing had happened between the two of you. It only took a second for her to piece it all together—Heeseung’s signature smirk, his usual cocky posture, and the way he was looking down at her as if she belonged there.
Yeon froze, eyes wide.
“What the hell?” she whispered. “Is he serious?”
You exhaled sharply, slumping into the nearest chair. “Apparently. He’s really doing this.”
Yeon scrolled back to the top of the post, trying to find something—anything—that would prove it wasn’t real. But the more she looked, the more it felt like it was. Ina. The same Ina who’d been your best friend just months ago, the same one who knew exactly what buttons to push to get under your skin.
“Wait,” Yeon said, voice sinking low. “You really think he’s doing this to get back at you?”
You looked away, blinking back the sharp sting of embarrassment. “He’s trying to make me jealous. It’s the same thing he’s done every time. But this time, he’s not even pretending to care. He’s moved on—for real—and he’s showing it.”
You stood up suddenly, pacing the small space. “I can’t believe he would post this. Just like that.”
The door clicked open just then, and you froze, expecting it to be Sunoo, or maybe someone else coming to check on you. Instead, it was Jay.
“Y/N, what’s going on?” he asked, walking in with that casual, easy smile he usually wore.
Without saying anything, you just shoved your phone at him again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate to look at it. The silence between you two stretched long as his gaze scanned over Heeseung’s post. Then his brows furrowed, and he rubbed the back of his neck, visibly unsettled.
“That’s… that’s your ex-best friend.” Jay shook his head like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. “What’s he even trying to do?”
You watched his face closely, waiting for some kind of reaction, something that would show you if maybe he had a plan too. Maybe he could fix this. But instead, Jay’s face grew darker, and he let out a small laugh—almost nervously.
“Wait,” he said, eyes narrowing. “Sunoo… he was looking over my shoulder yesterday when I texted you.”
You paused. “What do you mean?”
Jay groaned, running a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated now. “I didn’t think about it, but now it makes sense. He must’ve seen what I was texting you, and then told Heeseung. The timing is too weird, Y/N. He must’ve told him to post that.”
Your stomach twisted at the thought. “You think Sunoo told Heeseung to do this?”
Jay nodded, a frown pulling at his lips. “Yeah. He’s been getting weirdly involved in this. He’s been watching us both too closely.” He paused, gaze drifting away like he was trying to piece things together in his head. “And now Heeseung is doing this. This is… this is his way of pushing us both into a corner. I can feel it.”
The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t just a post. It wasn’t just about Heeseung and his attempt to make you jealous. This was a game—a game that everyone had already been sucked into, whether they liked it or not.
“You think he’s manipulating all of us?” you whispered, barely able to comprehend how deep this had gone.
Jay gave you a look—half amused, half exasperated. “You know Heeseung. He’s not gonna sit back and let someone mess with him. He always plays dirty. This was probably his idea all along.”
Your mind raced. This was all too much. Too tangled. And the worst part? You felt like you were losing control of something that used to be yours.
You stared at the phone in your hand, the weight of Heeseung’s smirk on the screen staring back at you, daring you to react. You wanted to lash out, to post something in return, to prove that you could move on too. But the truth was, you felt like you were already too deep into a game neither of you should have ever started.
But you couldn’t stop now.
“I guess,” you said, voice colder than you meant it to be, “we’ll just see how far he’s willing to go.”
You were mad.
No—mad mad.
Heeseung thought he was slick? Using Ina of all people?
Fine. Two could play this game. And you were about to flip the entire board.
You had just gotten your nails done earlier that day—clean white French tips with tiny pink bows delicately painted on each ring finger. Cute. Sweet. Deadly.
And it just so happened to be Valentine’s Day.
The most petty, perfect, painfully strategic day of the year.
You texted Jay:
come over. wear black. don’t ask why.
He didn’t question it. By now, he knew better.
An hour later, you were leaning over him in the soft pink glow of your dorm, red lipstick in your hand, and vengeance in your veins. You tilted his face toward yours, studying him like a blank canvas.
“Hold still,” you whispered, then planted a soft, slow kiss on his cheek.
Then another.
Then one near his jaw.
And one by his temple.
Six lipstick marks—perfectly placed.
Jay just sat there, relaxed, one brow slightly raised. “This is for him, huh?”
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t have to.
You straddled his lap, hands gently cupping his cheeks. Your fresh nails—those glossy white tips and innocent pink bows—rested right under his eyes, framing his face with just the right amount of threat disguised as sweetness.
Snap.
One picture.
No caption.
Just @jaypark.
Posted to your story.
You stared at it once, twice. Smirked.
This wasn’t a game anymore.
It was war.
And you had just set the next fire.
Heeseung saw it within minutes.
He wasn’t even on his phone—Jungwon was. The two of them were mid-conversation in the common room, some half-hearted banter about classes and who was buying dinner, when Jungwon suddenly froze, eyes locked on his screen like he’d just witnessed something unholy.
“Dude…” he said slowly, cautiously. “You might wanna see this.”
Heeseung reached over without thinking, grabbed the phone, and there it was.
Your story.
His chest tightened immediately.
Jay.
His best friend—or what was left of that friendship—smiling, relaxed, and covered in your kiss marks like a walking Valentine’s card. Your hands—those cute little nails with the pink bows—framing his face so gently it looked like a scene from a damn K-drama.
Tag: @jaypark.
No caption.
Didn’t need one.
You knew exactly what you were doing.
Heeseung leaned back against the couch slowly, staring at the screen like it might change if he blinked hard enough. But it didn’t. It stayed burned in his vision, red and soft and sweet in the most infuriating way.
Jungwon raised an eyebrow. “You good?”
Heeseung let out a cold laugh—short, humorless. “She really went there.”
“You gonna ignore it?”
Heeseung didn’t answer right away. He stood up, hands in his pockets, jaw tense. “She wants a reaction,” he muttered. “She wants me to do something.”
Jungwon tilted his head. “So… are you going to?”
Heeseung paused in the doorway, eyes flicking back toward the screen one last time. He could still see the imprint of your lips on Jay’s skin, your nails against his jaw, like a photo burned into film.
“She wants war?” he muttered under his breath.
“Fine.”
And just like that, he pulled out his phone.
Because if this was how you wanted to play—
He was done holding back.
Heeseung’s fingers were already flying across his screen.
u still down to help? he texted her.
Ina replied in less than a minute.
always. what’s the move?
I need a story. Your place. You post it first. Tag me. Make it obvious.
obvious like…? she replied, with a winking emoji.
He smirked.
red lips. hands on me. I’ll handle the rest.
Within thirty minutes, he was at her apartment. The lights were low, her place smelled like overpriced perfume, and she was already waiting in a cropped sweater and glossed lips that matched your exact shade of red.
She moved fast—placed a kiss at the corner of his jaw, just below his ear, then added a second one right under his cheekbone. Two bold red prints. Then she sat sideways across his lap, her long nails trailing down the side of his neck, and pulled out her phone.
“Smile,” she whispered, grinning.
Click.
The photo was even worse—better—than yours.
More skin.
More closeness.
More everything.
She posted it right away. No caption. Just a tag.
@lee.heedeung
Within ten seconds, his notification lit up.
He tapped it, viewed the story once, and then hit “Add to Story” like it was muscle memory.
You’d started this round, but he was going to finish it.
And when his story refreshed—Ina draped over him like she was exactly where she belonged, her kiss stains darker, bolder, more deliberate—he didn’t even hesitate to add the final touch:
“She’s not the only one who moved on.”
Just words.
But he knew you’d see it.
He wanted you to.
You couldn’t think straight anymore. The war was on, and it felt like everything—every move, every word—was just pushing you deeper into a place you didn’t recognize. But you were determined. You were done playing games with Heeseung. You wanted to make sure Jay knew you weren’t trying to replace anything. This wasn’t a rebound. It couldn’t be.
You couldn’t let him see you fall apart again. You just couldn’t.
So you showed up at Jay’s dorm, heart racing, fingers trembling as you knocked on his door.
When he opened it, you didn’t hesitate. You barely even processed the look of surprise in his eyes before your lips were on his. It was desperate. It was reckless. Your hands were already pulling him closer, feeling the weight of the day’s chaos pressing against your chest. His lips tasted like mint, like the cold air outside, and for a second—just a second—it felt real. It felt like something could finally be simple.
But when you reached for his shirt, tugging it off over his head, he froze. His hands gripped your wrists, pulling them gently away from his chest, and pushed you back just enough to meet your eyes.
“Wait—wait,” he said, his voice tight, his breath shaky but controlled. “I don’t want to be your rebound, Y/N.”
You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”
Jay shook his head, stepping back just a little. “I’m not like that. You don’t need to use me to get back at Heeseung.”
His words felt like ice water, but you weren’t ready to let go yet. You grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward you, and for the first time, you felt yourself getting lost in the desperation. You didn’t want to feel like this anymore.
“I’m not trying to get back at him,” you whispered, voice pleading. “I swear, Jay. I don’t want him. I want you.” You paused, searching his face for any sign that he believed you. “Please… I need this. I need you right now.”
Jay looked down at you, his expression torn. “Y/N, think about it. You’re not in the right place right now. You’re hurting, and this is just… this is just—”
“I’m not,” you cut him off, grabbing his face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. “I’m not trying to replace anything. I swear.”
He hesitated for a moment, his eyes softening just a little. “Then what do you want? What are we doing here, Y/N?”
You took a shaky breath, your voice softer now. “I want to be with you. Not because of Heeseung. Not because of anyone else. Just because I… I want this with you. Please.”
Jay didn’t answer right away, his eyes drifting down to your hands still on his chest. He looked conflicted, like he was weighing your words against something inside himself.
“You’re sure?” he asked quietly, as if he needed reassurance more than you did.
You nodded, eyes locked on his. “I’m sure.”
But even as the words left your lips, you could see the hesitation in his eyes, the doubt still lingering in the way he held you—like he wasn’t sure if he should trust you or himself. You could feel the weight of everything that had happened, everything you were running from. And for a second, you thought he might pull away again.
But he didn’t.
He stayed.
“I just don’t want you to regret this,” he said, his voice a little softer now, but the distance in his gaze still clear.
You swallowed hard, fighting the emotions that rushed up. “I won’t.”
And for the first time in a long time, you were trying to believe that.
You could feel it, deep down. The gnawing ache in your chest. You told Jay you weren’t trying to use him, that you weren’t replacing anyone, that you wanted this—wanted him—but the truth was, you weren’t over Heeseung. Not by a long shot.
And you knew Jay could probably feel it too, even if you didn’t say it out loud. You could see it in his eyes as he pulled away slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders like he wasn’t sure whether to hold you or let you go.
“Y/N,” Jay whispered, voice steady but soft, like he was giving you space to breathe. “Are you sure about this? You say you’re not using me, but I don’t want to be a… a distraction while you’re still caught up with someone else.”
His words hit you harder than you expected. Caught up with someone else. You wanted to shake your head and tell him that he was wrong, that Heeseung was nothing but a memory now. But the truth was staring you right in the face, and you couldn’t lie to him—or to yourself.
You stepped back, taking in a shaky breath, trying to fight the rising tide of emotions in your chest. You had pushed yourself so hard to move on, to fight back against Heeseung’s hold on you, but deep down, it wasn’t working. You could tell yourself you were done with him. You could kiss Jay. You could hold his hand and pretend like you were over it. But you weren’t.
“I… I don’t know,” you finally admitted, voice small, almost fragile. “I’m not really over him, Jay.”
The words felt like poison on your tongue, but there was a strange relief in saying them aloud. You couldn’t keep pretending. Not to him. Not to yourself.
Jay’s face softened, but there was a hint of disappointment in his eyes—something that cut deeper than you expected. He took a step back, hands still resting at his sides like he wasn’t sure what to do next.
“You need time, Y/N,” he said, his voice gentle but firm. “And I’m not gonna be the guy who waits around while you’re still stuck on someone else. You deserve more than that.”
The finality in his voice made your stomach twist. You wanted to argue, to beg him to stay, but you knew it wouldn’t be fair. Jay deserved someone who could give him their whole heart.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, feeling the tears you’d been holding back threaten to spill.
Jay nodded, giving you a sad, understanding smile. “You don’t have to apologize. But you need to figure things out—before you drag anyone else into your mess.”
And just like that, the moment was over. He stepped away from you, and you were left standing there, feeling more lost than ever. Because no matter how much you wanted to move on, the truth was clear.
You weren’t over Heeseung.
And you didn’t know if you ever would be.
You stormed back into your dorm, slamming the door behind you with a force that rattled the walls. Your mind was a whirlwind of frustration and guilt. Jay had been right. You weren’t over Heeseung. No matter how hard you tried to convince yourself, you just couldn’t shake the hold he still had on you.
You flopped onto your bed, grabbing your phone without thinking. Your fingers scrolled through your feed like it was a reflex, your heart pounding in your chest.
Then, it happened.
You saw it.
Heeseung’s story.
The notification flashed, and your breath hitched. You had been trying to avoid him, trying to move on, but there he was, like a goddamn magnet pulling your attention. You tapped it without a second thought.
And then you saw it.
Heeseung. Smiling.
But it wasn’t just a simple smile. No, this time he was holding hands with Ina, and she was pressed so close to him you could see the way they were looking at each other—soft, intimate, like they belonged in each other’s space.
The red lipstick marks weren’t just on his cheek anymore. Now, it looked like she had kissed the side of his neck, and he was almost wearing it like a badge. Proud, like he was showing the world that he was finally moving on. Finally free.
You stared at the story, unable to tear your eyes away. You wanted to swipe up and type something—anything—that would prove you weren’t bothered, that you didn’t care. But deep down, it stung. It stung in a way you couldn’t describe.
Was this still a game to him? Or did Heeseung move on.
And you were left sitting in your dorm, with the weight of everything crashing down on you.
You forced yourself to swipe past his story, ignoring the way your chest tightened, but it didn’t help. It never did.
What was worse?
You realized you were still checking his story as if you were waiting for a sign that he cared.
For the next few hours, Heeseung’s stories kept coming.
One after the other.
It was almost like a countdown, each post more intimate than the last. Him and Ina laughing in a cafe. Him and Ina walking side by side in the park. Her hand resting on his chest, his arm draped around her waist. Each photo, each story, carefully curated—designed to show you what you could’ve had, what you didn’t have anymore.
But here’s the thing: Heeseung expected you to do the same.
He was waiting for you to upload something—anything—with Jay, to prove to him that you weren’t bothered. To make a statement, to show that you were moving on too.
He thought you’d retaliate, maybe post a cute picture of you and Jay in the same way. Maybe make it obvious—show him you didn’t care, that you were fine.
But there was silence.
Your phone was quiet. No stories. No tagged photos. Nothing.
He checked again. And again. Still nothing.
He frowned. He refreshed your profile, then your stories. It was the same as it had been hours ago. Nothing.
What the hell?
Heeseung was confused. He had expected you to fire back—he had expected this whole thing to be like the rest of your relationship: a series of petty back-and-forths that always led you both back into each other’s arms.
But this time, there was no response. No tag. No post. No picture of you with Jay.
Why wasn’t she reacting?
His mind was buzzing. Was it a game? Was she waiting for him to respond first? Was she trying to play it cool?
He couldn’t understand it.
The silence was louder than anything.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Heeseung wasn’t sure what you were thinking. And that scared him more than anything.
It was past 2 AM when Heeseung heard the knock.
At first, he thought he imagined it. The sound was soft, hesitant, like whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure if they even wanted to be there. He lay still for a second, blinking at the ceiling, unsure if he should even get up—until it came again, this time louder. More frantic.
He rolled out of bed, threw on a hoodie, and padded to the door with a tired sigh. The hallway was dark, quiet. Everyone else in the dorms was either asleep or gone for the weekend.
But when he opened the door—his heart sank.
You were standing there, mascara smudged under your eyes, hair messily pulled to the side, a half-empty bottle of soju dangling from your hand. Your lips were red, like you’d been biting them too hard. And your eyes… they were glassy. Teary.
You looked broken.
“Y/N—” he started, stepping forward instinctively.
But you shoved him—hard.
Or at least, you tried. You punched at his chest with your tiny, shaky fists, but it wasn’t forceful. It was clumsy, uneven, and as soon as your hands hit him, your strength gave out.
“You—You asshole,” you slurred, fists still pressing weakly against his chest. “You don’t get to be over me—like that. Like it was nothing.”
Heeseung didn’t move. He let you hit him. Let you press against him like you were trying to beat the heartbreak out of your own body.
“Why didn’t you come back?” you cried, voice cracking. “You always come back.”
His hands hovered for a second—unsure if he should hold you or not—but then you collapsed. Right into him. Your knees buckled, your bottle clattered to the ground, and your face crumpled against his chest as the sobs started coming, hard and fast.
“I hate you,” you whispered, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie. “I hate you so much, Heeseung.”
He finally wrapped his arms around you, slowly, gently, like you were made of glass.
“I know,” he whispered. “I know, baby.”
The moment the word slipped out—baby—you just shattered.
You pulled back, looking up at him, your face streaked with tears. “Don’t—Don’t call me that,” you whispered, though your hands were still clinging to him. “You don’t get to call me that if you don’t want me anymore.”
Heeseung swallowed hard, eyes scanning your face, jaw tight. “You think I don’t want you?”
You nodded, quickly, like you were afraid he’d deny it. “You’re with her now. Ina. And you smiled in those pictures like—like I didn’t even matter.”
“You do matter,” he said instantly, voice firmer this time. “You always mattered. I just—” He exhaled, dragging a hand through his hair. “I thought I was doing the right thing. For both of us.”
You stared at him for a long time, lip trembling. “Then why does it hurt so much?”
Heeseung’s chest twisted. He’d seen you angry, jealous, wild. But this—this version of you—crushed him. You were soft and raw and honest in a way that stripped all his defenses.
“I don’t know,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “I thought letting go would fix us. I thought giving us space would help us come back better.”
You sniffled, wiping your nose against your sleeve like a child. “Then why does it feel like I’m dying?”
He didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because if he did, he’d tell you the truth—that every night he saw your stories, every time he thought about you and Jay, it felt like a blade twisting in his chest. That no matter how many kisses Ina planted on his neck, none of them felt like yours.
Heeseung looked down at you again. You were staring up at him with so much sadness in your eyes, and it physically hurt.
“Do you still love me?” you asked, voice just a whisper.
He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
You blinked, like you didn’t expect that answer.
“I love you,” he repeated, holding your face now. “I never stopped. But yn, we’re… we’re so fucked up. We keep tearing each other apart.”
“I know,” you whispered. “I know.”
You leaned in again, forehead pressed against his chest, breathing ragged and broken. He kissed the top of your head gently, just once.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered.
“So am I.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. You just stood there—his arms around you, your body limp against him, your tears soaking into his hoodie.
Maybe it didn’t fix anything.
Maybe it didn’t change what came next.
But for that moment, it was just the two of you. No stories. No games. No pretending.
Just two broken people—still in love, still hurting—clinging to whatever was left.
Heeseung didn’t let go. Not right away.
You stayed like that—collapsed against him, your sobs slowing to soft, hiccupy breaths, his arms wound tight around your waist like if he let go, you’d vanish entirely.
“Come inside,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, one hand sliding to the back of your head as he pulled you in a little closer. “You’re freezing.”
You nodded weakly against his chest, your legs still wobbly, and he hooked an arm under yours, guiding you carefully inside. The dorm was dim, a faint orange glow spilling from his desk lamp, soft music humming low from a speaker that had been playing long after he forgot to turn it off.
He shut the door behind you and helped you sit on the edge of his bed. You looked around like the room felt unfamiliar—like it wasn’t the same one you used to sneak into at 3AM or sleep in when your dorm felt too suffocating.
You watched him move—quietly, naturally. He brought you a water bottle, then a hoodie you used to steal all the time, dropping it gently onto your lap before crouching in front of you.
“Drink,” he said softly.
You obeyed without a word, sipping just enough to wash the taste of liquor off your lips. Your hands shook slightly, and he noticed, his eyes flickering to your fingers before slowly moving up to your face.
Heeseung exhaled like the weight of everything that had happened tonight was finally settling in. “You shouldn’t have come here like this.”
You looked at him, eyes still puffy and red. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
He nodded slowly, like he understood more than he let on. “You always come here when you don’t.”
You laughed under your breath, but it was hollow. “And you always let me crawl back to you.”
Silence.
Heeseung rested his forearms on his knees, fingers laced, eyes locked with yours. “Why tonight, Y/N?”
You looked down at your lap, the hoodie untouched, your hands knotted in your skirt.
“I kept waiting,” you whispered. “For you to come back. For this to be just another fight we’d crawl back from. I thought if I held out long enough, you’d text, or call, or show up at my door again like you always do.”
You glanced up at him. “But you didn’t.”
Heeseung’s jaw flexed. He stayed quiet.
“And I know I messed everything up,” you went on, voice gaining a little more strength. “I dragged Jay into it, I made it worse, I was petty and bitter and angry. But I was hurt, Heeseung. I didn’t know how else to make you feel what I was feeling.”
“I was feeling it,” he said, voice low. “Every fucking second.”
Your throat tightened, and you blinked fast, but the tears still came. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”
Heeseung stood up slowly and sat beside you instead, his shoulder brushing yours. He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
“Because I didn’t want to love you halfway again,” he said. “We kept breaking each other. I thought… if we took time apart, maybe we’d figure our shit out. Maybe we’d finally get it right.”
“And did you?” you asked, eyes burning into him.
He didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he turned his head, looking at you—really looking.
Your eyeliner was smudged, your lipstick faded, your cheeks still flushed from the crying and alcohol. But to him, you were still you. The same girl who used to fall asleep mid-conversation in his bed. The same girl who used to wear his shirts like they were hers. The same girl who knew how to ruin him and love him in the same breath.
“I don’t know,” he admitted, voice softer than before. “All I know is that seeing you tonight, standing at my door like that—I’ve never felt more like I still belong to you.”
The silence wrapped around you again, this time a little warmer, a little heavier.
You leaned your head on his shoulder, the alcohol finally wearing off and leaving behind nothing but exhaustion and a dull ache in your chest.
“I’m scared we’re never gonna get it right,” you murmured.
Heeseung turned his head, pressed his lips into your hair. “Me too, yn.”
You didn’t say anything else. You didn’t have to.
Because even if everything between you was a mess—even if you were toxic and chaotic and completely wrong for each other—right now, you were here.
And for tonight, that was enough.
The morning came too quickly.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, only the way Heeseung’s heartbeat felt under your cheek as you curled up beside him on the bed. You must’ve passed out mid-sentence, tears drying on your skin, the room spinning just enough to blur the shame, the ache, the regret.
When you opened your eyes, you were still in his hoodie. His room was quiet except for the hum of the heater, and sunlight slipped through the blinds in pale, thin lines. You didn’t dare move—not yet.
Heeseung was already awake. You could tell from the way his breathing had changed, slower, more deliberate. He was lying beside you, one arm resting behind his head, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
You swallowed hard. “You didn’t kick me out.”
He turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Did you think I would?”
You hesitated. “Maybe.”
He didn’t respond to that—just watched you. His eyes flicked to your lips, your cheeks, your fingers tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. His gaze softened for a moment, like he was trying to memorize the way you looked in this exact second.
You sat up slowly, head pounding, throat dry.
“I should go,” you said, not meeting his eyes.
Heeseung sat up too, but he didn’t stop you. Didn’t say stay. And that silence said more than if he had.
You moved to the door, grabbing your phone off his desk. Notifications flooded the screen—messages from Yeon, Jay, a missed call from Sunoo. The real world was already waiting for you, and you weren’t ready.
You turned the doorknob, then paused. “Heeseung.”
He looked up.
You bit your lip. “Last night… was that a mistake?”
He looked like he wanted to say yes. Like maybe the mature thing—the right thing—was to draw the line here and now. End it before the cycle started all over again.
But instead, he just said, “I don’t know.”
You gave him a small nod, like that answer was enough. Like it had to be.
Then you left.
And the thing that gutted you most wasn’t that he didn’t stop you.
It was that you didn’t expect him to.
You didn’t go back to your dorm right away.
Your head was still spinning—half from the hangover, half from everything that had happened the night before. The streets were cold, quiet, students still asleep or buried in weekend study sessions. You walked aimlessly through campus, hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands, trying to breathe through the fog sitting heavy in your chest.
You replayed the night like a scene on loop—your fists on Heeseung’s chest, the broken way you sobbed into him, the way he held you like you were fragile and still his. How he called you baby without even thinking about it.
And how in the morning, he let you leave.
By the time you got to Yeon’s dorm, your fingers were numb and your heart felt heavier than ever.
She opened the door in an oversized tee and one sock, blinking in confusion. “Y/N?”
You stepped inside without a word, letting the door swing closed behind you. Yeon just stared for a moment, then crossed her arms and said, “Okay. What happened?”
You collapsed onto her bed face-first, groaning into the blanket.
“Was it Jay again?” she asked carefully.
You shook your head.
“Then… Heeseung?”
You let out a broken sound that could’ve been a laugh or a cry. “I slept over.”
Yeon’s eyes widened. “You what?”
“I was drunk,” you mumbled into the blanket. “Showed up at his dorm. Cried like an idiot. Told him everything. Begged him to love me back, basically.”
“Oh my god.” She sat down beside you. “Okay, and?”
“He held me. Let me stay. Called me baby.”
Yeon raised a brow. “And then?”
You turned your head, eyes glassy again. “And then he let me go.”
She didn’t say anything for a second. Just reached over and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Y/N…”
“It hurts,” you whispered. “I thought—when I woke up, I thought maybe this time it meant something. That we could start over. But he just let me leave.”
Yeon looked at you like she didn’t know whether to hug you or shake you. “Because he’s trying, Y/N. He’s trying to be better. For you. For himself. And you’re out here getting drunk and showing up at his door like it’s still the same toxic game.”
You blinked at her, stunned.
“I’m not saying he’s innocent,” she added quickly. “He’s just as bad. You guys were fire and gasoline. But this? What you did last night? You weren’t trying to fix anything. You were trying to set it on fire again just to see if he’d still run through it for you.”
That one stung. Because she wasn’t wrong.
You curled deeper into the blanket, the ache in your chest flaring again. “So what now?”
Yeon sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Now? You stop playing games. You take a real break. Not the kind where you post bait on Instagram and wait for him to bite. A real one. Because if there’s even a chance you two have something worth saving, you need to come back to each other as different people.”
You stayed quiet.
Then, softly, you asked, “Do you think he still loves me?”
Yeon didn’t even hesitate. “God, yes. But I think he’s scared loving you will destroy him again.”
You shut your eyes. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel angry. Just… empty. Because if you were being honest with yourself?
You were scared of the same thing.
You weren’t good at listening. Especially when it came to Heeseung.
Yeon had begged you to take it seriously this time. To actually give yourself space, to heal, to breathe without him in your orbit. She told you to block his number for a while, to stop checking his Instagram stories, to quit looking for his face in every hallway like he was some phantom that couldn’t let you move on.
You nodded. You agreed. You told her you were going to try.
But you didn’t mean it.
Because it was impossible to “take a break” from someone who lived under your skin. Who you still dreamed about even when you hated him. Who you still saw in every goddamn song, every place on campus that still echoed with the ghosts of the two of you.
So three nights later, you were standing outside his apartment again.
This time, it wasn’t out of drunken impulse or heartbreak-fueled rage. It was worse.
It was loneliness.
It was craving.
It was addiction.
You hadn’t texted him. You didn’t warn him. You stood in front of the door, heart slamming against your ribs, hands shoved into the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You stared at the door like it owed you something.
You almost walked away. Twice.
But then it opened.
Heeseung was standing there in gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt, barefoot, hair tousled like he’d just rolled out of bed. The expression on his face flickered from confusion to disbelief to… that familiar ache you always saw in his eyes when he looked at you.
You swallowed hard.
“I—I know I’m not supposed to be here,” you said, voice small. “But I needed to see you.”
He didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside, and that alone said everything.
You walked in slowly, like you were walking back into a dream you didn’t want to wake up from. The apartment was dim again, warm, smelling faintly of laundry detergent and the faint citrus cologne you knew he wore too much of.
He closed the door behind you, leaned against it, and crossed his arms. “Y/N…”
“I know,” you said, holding up a hand. “Don’t say it. Yeon already gave me the whole speech.”
“So why are you here?”
You turned to look at him, eyes heavy, lips parted. “Because I’m not over you.”
Heeseung’s jaw tightened. He didn’t move.
“And I don’t think you’re over me either,” you said. “You don’t get to look at me like that—like that—and pretend we’re done.”
He was silent for a long beat.
Then, “That’s not fair.”
“I don’t care.”
You stepped closer, just one step, but it felt like ten.
“I know we’re a mess,” you continued. “I know we’re both too much and not enough and every time we try again it ends in fire—but Heeseung, I don’t know how to not come back to you. I don’t know how to let you go.”
His eyes searched yours. Slowly, carefully. And God, the way he looked at you—like you were the same secret he’d never stopped keeping—hurt more than anything.
“Y/N…” he said softly, but he didn’t finish.
You took another step, now close enough to feel the heat of him. “You said it yourself—we belong to each other. No matter how bad we break, no matter who we try to replace each other with. It always comes back to us.”
Heeseung reached up, ran a hand down his face. He looked exhausted. Like he was carrying the weight of every fight, every kiss, every night you spent in his bed just to disappear in the morning.
“I can’t do this again,” he murmured. “I can’t keep letting you back in just to lose you again.”
Your voice cracked. “Then don’t lose me.”
You closed the last bit of space between you and pressed your hands against his chest.
“Let me be selfish just this once,” you whispered. “Let me come back to you.”
He stared down at you, torn, his hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know whether to touch you or throw up a wall.
“I don’t care how many times we fall apart,” you said, voice trembling. “I’ll always come crawling back to you.”
enhypen campus series | writing jays trope next. Let me know if you would like to be tagged.
