#....and i can't...defend myself...it's.. ..not worth it

Ningning shot you a triumphant grin, placing the green soju bottles down on your coffee table, creating a series of loud 'thud' satisfying sounds. "Hell yeah! This calls for a celebration and what better way to celebrate by getting ourselves drunk."

You blinked, bemused. "Celebration?" You repeated, "But I just broke up with my ex and you're calling it a celebration?"

Soobin scoffed, already making himself comfortable on your couch, treating it like your home is his home now. He leaned back into it, resting his legs on the coffee table while opening a packet of potato chips.

"I still can't believed you dated a crypto guy. Out of everyone else, you chose a crypto guy. No words can describe my disappointment."

You glared at him, marching over to sit on the single couch with your legs crossed, accepting the opened soju bottle that Ningning handed to you.

"Hey! I didn't know he's into crypto until we're two months into our relationship."

At this, Ningning raised her head. "He tried to explain Bitcon to us over dinner."

Soobin nodded, shivering at the horrible and awkward memory. "Yeah, he even brought a Powerpoint presentation too."

You spluttered, opening and closing your mouth but you couldn't say anything. Not when they were right, leaving you no choice but to take a few sips from the bottle. Your action earned a loud cheering noise from Ningning, like the supportive best friend she is. Soobin, on the other hand, nodded with approval written all over his face, like the true old man he is.

You sighed, placing the bottle down on the coffee table. "Maybe I'm just destined to die alone. This is my, what? Fifth relationship."

"Don't say that. There's other fishes in the sea. Love isn't as straightforward as one think it is," he pointed out.

Ningning nodded in agreement, leaning forward to take a few sips from the bottle you just drank from. "Soobin's right. And besides, all the guys you've dated before were walking red flags. So it's a good thing that you didn't end up marrying one of them."

"They aren't red flags," you defended, only to shrink into the couch at the unimpressed look your friends gave you.

"I guess it's time to put the evidence I've been collecting to good use," Soobin declared.

Your eyes widened in horror as he whipped out his phone. "Wait, what are you doing?"

He ignored you. "First up, we have Seojun."

You groaned, already knowing where this was going.

"That guy spent more time taking pictures of his watch than talking to you."

"He liked fashion!"

"He liked himself," Ningning corrected you.

"Next is Minho," Soobin continued, unfazed. Your other friend burst out laughing, hands wrapped around the sides of her stomach.

"Oh, that guy. He disappeared for three days because he needed to 'find himself'," she said, doing a quotation action at the last two words.

Soobin nodded grimly. "And he came back with a buzz cut and a podcast. Such is the way of life."

You buried your face in your hands. "Fine, that was bad."

"Bad?" Ningning wheezed. "You cried over him for two weeks."

"He was nice!"

"He had commitment issues. You literally caught him cheating on you."

"Yup, that's a walking red flag right there," Soobin muttered, earning a rough kick to his shins.

"Ow!"

You threw your hands up. "Alright, fine! I get it! My dating history isn't good at all! What am I supposed to do!?"

Ningning, who had been quiet for a suspicious good amount of time, finally spoke up. "I have an idea."

"No," you immediately said, knowing where this was going.

She shot you an offended look. "But I haven't said anything yet!"

"You're gonna say something stupid," you retorted.

She huffed. "Fine, whatever. You should give dating apps a try."

"Yup, no way in hell I'm doing that," you replied.

Soobin looked curious. "Wait, why not? I don't see anything wrong with that."

You slouched further back into the couch, absentmindedly tracing your finger along the armrest while whatever's playing on the television acted as white noise, humming in the background.

"I hate the concept. Judging people based on a few pictures and a short bio? Swiping left and right like you're shopping online? It's weird."

"But it works. Some people end up dating or even get married," he pointed out.

"Yeah. Keyword being some," you repeated.

Ningning sighed, exasperated. "(Name), you're being dramatic. There's nothing wrong in giving it a try. Who knows, you might end up finding your soulmate on Tinder. Whoever he is, he's better than every other guys you've dated before."

You scoffed. "My soulmate isn't on Tinder."

Ningning arched an brow. "I wouldn't be so sure about that. After all, life's full of surprises."

002 | series masterlist

Bora was standing in the doorway, staring. Her expression was a mixture of shock and hurt until it finally morphed into something much, much worse.

Fury.

“Oh,” she said, a hollow, disbelieving laugh slipping out. “Oh, I get it now.”

Your stomach dropped.

“It’s not—” you started, but the words felt useless the second they left your mouth.

“Not what?” she snapped, stepping forward. “Not exactly what it looks like? Because it looks pretty clear to me.”

“It’s not like that,” you tried again, even though you didn’t even know what that meant anymore.

“Really?” she shot back. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like my best friend is making out with the guy she pushed me towards herself!”

Every word hit like a slap.

“I didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” she demanded. “Didn’t think I’d find out? Didn’t think I’d notice how weird things got? How he suddenly pulled away from me?”

Silence.

Because she wasn’t wrong.

“I told you everything,” she continued, her voice shaking now—not with uncertainty, but anger. “I trusted you. I thought you were on my side. You were meant to be my best friend.”

“I am,” you said quickly. “I am—”

“No,” she cut in sharply. “You’re not.”

That cut deeper than anything else.

“You had feelings for him,” she said, her eyes locking onto yours. “Didn’t you?”

You couldn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Because your silence said everything.

Her expression twisted. “Wow,” she whispered. “That’s… that’s actually pathetic.”

“Hey-” Lee Know tried to interject. Tried to defend you when you couldn’t even defend yourself, because part of you thought maybe you deserved it.

“You could’ve told me,” she went on as if he hadn’t even spoken. “At any point. But instead, you let me embarrass myself. Let me believe something was happening—while you were—” She gestured sharply between you and him. “—doing this behind my back?”

“It wasn’t like that,” you said again, weaker this time.

“Then what was it like, Y/N?” she demanded.

You opened your mouth but nothing came out because there was no version of this that didn’t hurt her. No explanation that made it okay.

She let out a bitter laugh. “Unbelievable,” she scoffed before looking at him. “And you,” she said, her voice cold now. “You just went along with it?”

His expression tightened slightly, but he didn’t look away. “I told you,” he said evenly. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Yeah?” she shot back. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Silence fell again. Thick. Heavy. Suffocating. Broken only by the sound of her stepping back toward the door.

“I don’t even want to look at you right now,” she said, her voice quieter, but no less sharp.

The words weren’t just aimed at him. They were aimed at you. You didn't know how to process the idea of your best friend not wanting to see you... You'd never, ever experienced this before. It felt like your heart was splitting in two in your chest.

The door slammed behind her as she stormed out, and just like that, everything you had been trying to prevent finally fell apart.

The silence after the door slammed felt louder than anything that had come before it. It rang in your ears. It pressed in on your chest. It made it impossible to breathe.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then reality hit all at once. You stepped back—harder this time—your hands coming up between you and Lee Know like a barrier.

“No.” Your voice shook. You hated that it shook. “This is exactly what I didn’t want,” you said, more to yourself than to him. “This is—this is why I stayed away. Why I said no.”

He frowned slightly, still close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, still close enough that your thoughts blurred. “You think pushing me away now fixes that?” he asked.

“It’s the only thing that might,” you shot back.

“It won’t.”

“Maybe not,” you said, your throat tight. “But staying won’t either.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re just going to run again?”

“Yes,” you said, before you could stop yourself. Because at least this time, you weren’t pretending otherwise.

“That’s not a solution.”

“It is for me.”

“And what about everything you just said?” he pressed. “About how you feel?”

You swallowed hard. “I’ll deal with it.”

His expression hardened. “That’s not dealing with it. That’s burying it.”

“Good,” you snapped. “That’s what I’ve been doing this whole time, and it worked until you didn’t let it.”

Something flickered in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or frustration. “Don’t put that on me.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I’m putting it on myself. This is my fault. I should’ve never—” Your voice broke. You forced it to steady before forcing out, “I shouldn’t have let this happen.”

A long silence followed. Then, quieter—

“So you regret it.”

You closed your eyes. Because that wasn’t the truth, but it was the only version of it you could live with. “Yes,” you whispered.

The word landed like a final blow. You saw it in the way his expression shut down—not dramatic, not explosive. Just… closed. Like a door locking.

“Fine,” he said.

Just that. Nothing more.

And somehow that hurt worse than if he’d argued.

The next morning, you called in sick. Your voice sounded convincing enough over the phone. You’d barely slept anyway, so it wasn’t entirely a lie.

“Take a couple of days,” they told you. “We’ll manage.”

You almost laughed at that. We’ll manage. Of course they would. The world didn’t stop because you made a mess of things.

Your flatmate didn’t speak to you. Not the first day. Not the second. Not even a glance when you passed each other in the flat, the air between you thick with everything unsaid.

You tried, once. “Can we talk?”

She didn’t even look up. “No.”

Just one word.

Final.

So you stopped trying because you weren’t sure what you could say without making it worse.

Word spread faster than you expected. Not the full story—just enough.

The other dancers noticed the shift immediately. The way your flatmate kept her distance from you, the way you weren’t there, the way something felt off. When you did go in briefly to drop off some paperwork, you felt it. The looks – quiet, judging. It wasn’t an outright confrontation, but it was enough to make a point. You heard whispers cut off when you walked past, felt eyes on your back. It settled heavy in your chest, because even without the full truth…

You knew how it looked.

And they weren’t wrong to think poorly of you.

The members didn’t know what to do. You heard that from a third party—someone in management, speaking in hushed tones you weren’t meant to overhear.

“They’re distracted,” one of them said. “Especially lately.”

“Because of the comeback?”

“…not just that.”

There was a pause.

“And Han?”

A longer pause this time.

“He’s staying out of it.”

That didn’t surprise you. Han hated conflict. And this? This was a mess he couldn’t fix with jokes or late-night snacks or quiet understanding. So he avoided it. Avoided you, avoided Lee Know, avoided your flatmate. Somehow, that made everything feel even more broken.

Your phone buzzed. Again.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was. You had memorised the pattern by now. First a message, then another, then a call. Then silence. Then it would start again hours later.

You hadn’t answered any of them. Not once. Not the texts nor the calls. You didn’t trust yourself to. Didn’t trust that if you heard his voice, you wouldn’t unravel everything you’d just barely managed to hold together.

The screen lit up again, and you stared at it. You let it ring.

And ring.

And ring.

Until it stopped.

The silence afterwards felt louder than the sound of the phone call had.

By the third day, you had made your decision.

It wasn’t sudden, it wasn’t impulsive. It was quiet, slow, like something settling into place.

You couldn’t stay.

Not like this, not in the same space, not where every hallway felt like a memory waiting to happen.

You started looking into transfers- other groups, other teams. Somewhere far enough that it wouldn’t overlap. Far enough that you could disappear without making it obvious that you were running. Again.

You didn’t tell anyone about your plans. Not your flatmate, not Han, not even management themselves… not yet. Because once you said it out loud, it would become real and a small, fragile part of you still wasn’t ready for that.

You packed a small bag that night, nothing major. Just… enough. Enough to feel like you had control over something.

Your phone buzzed again, lighting up the dark room. You glanced at it this time, just for a second. His name stared back at you, and you hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. Over the accept button. For a moment, just a moment, you almost answered. Almost gave in to the pull to hear his voice again, hear his reasoning.

But then you thought about your flatmate. About the look on her face, about everything you had already broken. You couldn’t do that to her. She was already hurt enough.

You turned your phone face down instead, letting it ring out until it finally stopped.

Management didn’t call you in right away when they got the reference requests. That would’ve been easier, cleaner.

Instead, it happened quietly—as everything else had. A message sent through internal channels, a request to “drop by when you’re available.” Neutral. Professional. Almost harmless.

It wasn’t.

You knew exactly what it was about the second you read it.

The office felt too bright when you stepped inside, too still.

You stood across from the desk, hands loosely clasped in front of you, posture perfect out of habit.

“Is it true?” the manager, your uncle, asked, skipping any pleasantries.

You didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes.”

He paused, eyes roaming your face in search of answers that your words wouldn’t provide. “You’ve submitted a transfer request.”

“Yes.”

Another pause, longer this time.

“Without discussing it first.”

There it was.

You exhaled slowly. “I was planning to.”

“When?”

You didn’t answer because there was no answer that you could provide that would satisfy him.

Your uncle leaned back slightly, studying you. Not unkindly—but not gently either. “You’re a valuable part of this team,” he said. “We don’t just… move people around without conversation.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?” There was a faint edge to the question now. “Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you’re trying to disappear.”

Your chest tightened, but you held their gaze anyway. “I think it would be better for everyone.”

“That’s not your call to make alone.”

“No,” you agreed quietly. “But it’s my responsibility to recognise when I’m… affecting things negatively.”

Your uncle was silent now – no denial, no real defence for what you were saying. He sighed, rubbing a hand across their temple. “This is about the team.”

You didn’t confirm it, but you didn’t deny it, either. You didn’t need to.

You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to find a solution to work for everyone. “You’re aware of the timing.”

“Yes.”

“The comeback is in a matter of days.”

“I know.”

“And you think leaving now is appropriate?”

“No,” you said honestly. “Which is why I won’t.” That caught his attention, so you continued, steady despite the way your heart pounded. “I’ll stay until the comeback stage is complete. Everything will run smoothly. There won’t be any disruptions from me.”

“And after?”

You swallowed.

“After… I go.”

The words felt heavier spoken out loud, final in a way they hadn’t been before.

Your uncle watched you carefully, weighing something. “You’ve already made up your mind.

It wasn’t a question, but you answered anyway. “Yes.”

He let out a long sigh before asking, “Does anyone else know?”

Your throat tightened as you thought of the people you’d be leaving behind. “No.”

“And you intend to keep it that way?”

“If possible.”

Your uncle frowned slightly as he considered your response. “That’s not how we usually handle transitions.”

“I know,” you said. “But this isn’t… a usual situation.”

That was an understatement.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze. “Please,” you added, quieter now. “Let me finish this properly. Let me see it through, and then I’ll step away. No scenes. No disruptions. No… complications.” You didn’t say names but you didn’t have to. Understanding settled in the space between you.

He exhaled slowly. “This puts us in a difficult position.”

“I know.”

“You’re asking us to keep something from the team.”

“Yes.”

“And from the members.”

Your chest tightened at that. How would they react, knowing you’d just left them? Would they care? Or would they feel better knowing that you wouldn’t be there to cause any more trouble for them?

Would Lee Know miss you?

You shook the thought from your head. “Yes.”

There was a long silence, and your palms started to sweat. What would you do if he said-

“Fine.”

The word came with reluctance, but it came, and relief hit you harder than you expected.

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“This is temporary,” he added firmly. “We’ll formalise things after the comeback.”

“Of course.”

“And if anything—anything—interferes with preparations—”

“It won’t,” you said immediately. You would make sure of that.

Even if it costs you everything else.

The days that followed felt… unreal. Like you were moving through something that no longer fully belonged to you.

You returned to work and kept your head down. You did everything exactly as expected—no mistakes, no hesitation, no sign that anything had changed.

Except everything had.

Your flatmate still didn’t speak to you. Not a word, not even when you stood inches apart during rehearsals. The absence of her voice hurt more than anything she could have said. The dancers still watched you differently. The air around you felt colder, quieter.

Like you were already gone.

You saw Lee Know again. Of course you did. There was no avoiding him completely—not now. Not with everything so close to the finish line. But something had shifted. He had stopped reaching out. There were no more messages, no more calls. No more attempts to corner you in quiet hallways or empty rooms.

At first, you told yourself it was what you wanted, that this made things easier. Cleaner. But every time your phone stayed silent?

It felt heavier.

Like something final had settled between you without either of you saying it out loud.

When you did cross paths, it was brief. Professional. Distant. Like strangers who knew too much about each other. And somehow that hurt more than the tension ever had.

The night before the comeback stage, you stood at the edge of the rehearsal space, watching everything come together.

Lights. Music. Movement. Precision.

It was perfect, or as close to perfect as it could be.

You felt it then—that quiet sense of completion. Like something was ending exactly the way it was supposed to. You didn’t belong here anymore, maybe you never really had. Maybe you had, inevitably, ridden your family’s name and prestige to your position here.

The day of the performance came faster than expected.

Backstage buzzed with energy—nervous, electric, alive. Everyone moved with purpose. There were the usual final checks, final adjustments, and final moments before everything went live.

You stayed in the background like always. Quiet, unnoticed. Exactly how you needed it to be, how it should have always been. Your flatmate stood with the other dancers, focused, determined. She didn’t look at you, and you didn’t expect her to. And Han—

You caught a glimpse of him across the room.

For a second, it looked like he might come over, like he might say something. But then someone called his name, and the moment passed. Just like everything else.

The performance was flawless. Every beat hit, every move sharp, every moment exactly as it should be. You watched from the wings, arms folded tightly across yourself, committing it all to memory. Because this would be the last time. The last time you stood here, the last time you watched them like this, the last time you let yourself feel like you were part of something bigger.

The final note rang out, and applause filled the space. The lights dimmed, and just like that—

It was over.

No one noticed when you slipped away. There was no one to stop you, no one to call your name. You moved quietly through the corridors, past the dressing rooms, past the noise and celebration, past everything that had once felt like home. Your bag was already packed, your decision already made. You paused only once, hand resting lightly against the wall of an empty hallway, letting yourself feel it—just for a second. You took a second to finally acknowledge everything you were leaving behind, everything you had lost. Everything you never allowed yourself to have. Then you exhaled, trying to release some of the crippling sadness and longing within you.

When it finally felt like you could breathe through all the emotions raging through you, you left quietly.

The noise backstage hadn’t even settled when the call came.

“Everyone to the conference room.”

It wasn’t unusual—post-performance briefings happened all the time. Still riding the high, still half in costume, the members filtered in one by one, energy lingering in their movements.

Han dropped into a chair with a sigh. “If this is about notes, I swear we nailed that.”

No one laughed. The atmosphere felt… off.

Lee Know stayed standing at the back, arms crossed loosely, expression unreadable—but his gaze flicked once toward the door. Like he was expecting someone. Like he had been all night.

The manager stepped in last, closing the door behind himself.

That was when the shift became undeniable.

“This won’t take long,” he said, voice measured.

Han straightened slightly, something in his expression sharpening. “What’s going on?”

There was a pause before their manager sighed and stated, “There’s been an internal change regarding staff assignments.”

Lee Know’s posture stilled. Just slightly.

But enough.

The manager continued. “One of your support staff has requested a transfer to a partnering company. The request has been approved.”

Silence.

It stretched for a second too long.

Han frowned. “Who?”

The manager hesitated, seemingly having to force the same out. “Y/N.”

Han’s reaction was immediate. “What? No—she didn’t say anything.”

“No,” the manager confirmed. “She intended to complete the comeback first.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Han said, shaking his head. “Why would she—”

He stopped. Because suddenly… It did make sense. Too much sense. His gaze flicked across the room, towards Lee Know, and Han froze. Because Lee Know hadn’t moved, hadn’t spoken. He hadn’t reacted the way anyone else had. He just stood there as the ground had shifted under him, and he hadn’t quite caught up yet.

“She’s leaving?” Han said again, quieter now.

“Yes.”

“When?”

Another pause. More hesitation.

“She’s already gone.”

That landed.

Hard.

The room shifted instantly—confusion turning into something heavier, something unsettled.

“Gone?” someone repeated. “Like—tonight?”

The manager nodded once. “She completed her responsibilities for the comeback. After that, she left the building.”

Lee Know’s jaw tightened. It was barely noticeable, but it was there.

Han stood up abruptly. “You’re telling me she just… walked out? Without saying anything to anyone?”

“That was her decision.”

“That’s not—” Han ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling up. “That’s not like her.”

No. It wasn’t. And that was the problem.

Because the only reason it would be like you was if something had gone very, very wrong.

Silence settled again. It was heavier this time. More aware. More pointed. The manager let it sit for a moment before his eyes shifted to where Lee Know was still standing in shock, staring at the floor.

“Some things,” he said carefully, “don’t resolve themselves if you leave them alone.”

Lee Know didn’t respond, didn’t even look up.

“She made her choice,” someone added quietly.

“Yes,” the manager agreed. “She did.” When Lee Know finally dragged his eyes away from the floor, the manager continued. “But not all choices are final. Not if someone is willing to challenge them.”

That was it.

That was the moment.

Because this time Lee Know moved.

His head lifted slightly, eyes sharpening—not confused anymore, not frozen. Focused. “When did she leave?” he asked.

“Not long ago.”

That was all he needed.

He turned immediately, heading for the door.

“Hyung—” Han started, stepping forward instinctively.

Lee Know didn’t stop. He didn’t slow down or look back when the younger called after him. The door opened and closed behind him.

And then he was gone.

Outside, the night air hit sharply and cold but he barely registered it. Because for the first time since hearing the news, everything was clear. You weren’t just avoiding him anymore. You weren’t just pulling away. You were leaving. For real this time. And he had let you. Every unanswered message, every moment he chose not to push, every second he told himself you needed space… It had led to this.

His pace quickened, eyes scanning instinctively, as he tried to think clearly. Where would you go? What would you do? You wouldn’t make a scene. You wouldn’t linger. You’d disappear quietly just like you always said you would.

His jaw clenched. “No,” he muttered under his breath. Not this time.

Somewhere ahead, just out of reach, you were walking away. You were under the impression that no one would notice, that no one would come after you. You thought that you could leave everything behind without consequence. For a moment, that might have been true. But not anymore. Not now that he knew. Not now that he understood exactly what you were trying to do.

He wasn’t going to let you disappear like this. Not without a fight.

Back at the venue, Han didn’t bother knocking. The door to the dancers’ dressing room swung open hard enough to echo, his breath uneven from running.

“Hey—have you seen—”

He stopped when he saw her.

Your flatmate stood near the mirror, stretching as if nothing in the world had shifted. Like everything was normal. Like the last few days hadn’t fractured something important.

She didn’t even turn around right away. “You’re late,” she said flatly. “The celebrations finished ages ago.”

“This isn’t about celebrating,” he said quickly.

That got her attention. She glanced at him through the mirror, expression guarded. “Then what?”

Han stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him. “She’s gone.”

Bora regarded him with the same guarded expression, but Han could see something flicker in her eyes.

“So?”

It was quiet. Too quiet.

Han blinked. “What do you mean so?”

She shrugged, turning back to her stretch like it didn’t matter. “I mean… she made her choice, didn’t she?”

“That’s it?” he asked, disbelief creeping into his voice. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“What do you want me to say?” she shot back, finally facing him fully now. “That I’m devastated? That I’m heartbroken? Because I’m not.”

Han stared at her. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t,” he insisted, stepping closer. “You’re just angry.”

“Yeah,” she snapped. “I am angry. I think I have every right to be.”

“You do,” he said immediately. “No one’s saying you don’t.”

“Good,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Then leave it alone.”

“I can’t.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“Because she didn’t just leave the group,” he said, voice tightening slightly. “She left you, too.”

That same flicker of emotion passed through her eyes before she locked it away again.

“She made that pretty clear already,” she said, looking away.

“No,” Han shook his head. “She didn’t. She thought she was doing the right thing.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to make her the victim in this.”

“I’m not,” he said firmly. “I’m just saying it’s not as simple as you’re making it.”

“It is that simple,” she insisted. “She lied to me. She went behind my back. She—” Her voice wavered slightly before she forced it steady again. “She chose him over me.”

Han exhaled slowly. “That’s not what happened.”

“It is from where I’m standing.”

“You’re standing in the middle of it,” he countered. “Of course it looks like that.”

“Then enlighten me,” she shot back. “What am I missing?”

He hesitated, because this wasn’t his place. None of this was his place, but you weren’t here, and someone had to say it.

“She didn’t choose him over you,” Han said carefully. “She tried to choose you from the beginning.”

Her expression faltered—just slightly. “What?”

“She turned down the audition for you,” he continued. “Pushed you forward instead. Stayed out of it even when she didn’t have to.”

“That doesn’t excuse—”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “I know it doesn’t fix what happened. But it matters.” Bora looked away again, jaw tightening. “She didn’t want to hurt you,” he added.

“Well, she did.”

“I know.”

Silence settled between them, and Han let it sit for a moment whilst Bora gathered her thoughts. Then—

“She’s transferring,” he said.

That got her attention again.

“What?”

“To another company,” Han clarified. “She’s not just… taking a break. She’s leaving. For good.”

The words landed differently this time. He could see it- the cracks in her guarded expression.

“She… what?” she asked, slower now.

“She waited until the comeback was done,” he said. “Did everything properly. And then she left. Without telling anyone.”

Her arms slowly dropped from where they’d been crossed. “That’s—” She stopped, frowning. “That’s stupid.”

Han huffed out a quiet, humourless laugh. “Yeah. It is.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Because she thinks it’s the only way to fix things,” he said. “Or at least stop making them worse.”

Her expression twisted slightly. “That’s not fixing anything,” she muttered.

“I know.”

A silence fell between them again, and Han watched her carefully. Watched the way her anger didn’t disappear—but shifted. It softened at the edges. Became complicated.

“You really don’t care?” he asked quietly.

She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned back to the mirror and stared at her reflection.

“…she didn’t even say goodbye,” she said, her voice quieter now. Not sharp. Not angry. Just… hurt.

Han’s chest tightened.

“No,” he admitted. “She didn’t.”

“That’s worse,” she added.

“I know.”

She let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her hair. “She always does this,” she muttered. “Acts like she can just carry everything on her own. Like she doesn’t need anyone.”

“She thought she was protecting you.”

“Well, she wasn’t,” she snapped, though there was less bite to it now. “She just made it worse.”

Han nodded. “Yeah. She did.”

“Where is she?”

There it was.

Han exhaled slowly. “I don’t know exactly,” he admitted. “But she left not long ago. She won’t go far—not yet.”

Her eyes flicked to his. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

“Because someone already went after her,” he said.

Understanding clicked.

“Lee Know.”

Han nodded.

She scoffed lightly, but it lacked conviction. “Of course he did.”

“Yeah.”

Han hesitated before he stepped closer, voice softer now.

“But this isn’t just about him.”

She didn’t respond.

“Whatever you’re feeling—anger, hurt, all of it—you’re allowed to feel it,” he continued. “But if you let her leave like this… without saying anything…”

He let the sentence trail off, not needing to finish it.

Her expression shifted again, more uncertain now. More conflicted.

“You don’t have to forgive her,” Han added. “Not right now. Maybe not for a while.” She swallowed. “But you should at least talk to her,” he finished. “Before she’s gone for real.”

The room went quiet. Completely still. Your flatmate looked at the door, then back at the mirror, then down at her hands. For the first time since he walked in, she didn’t look angry. She looked… torn.

“…I hate her right now,” she said quietly.

Han gave a small nod. “I figured.”

“…but I don’t think I want her to disappear either.”

“That’s enough,” he said gently. “That’s all you need right now.”

She exhaled slowly, unsteadily, then grabbed her jacket. Han stepped aside as she moved toward the door.

“Where are you going?” he asked, though he already knew.

She hesitated briefly at the threshold.

“…to stop her from being an idiot,” she muttered.

Han let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. “Good.”

The night air felt colder the further you got from the building. Or maybe it was just you. Your steps were quick, uneven—like if you slowed down even a little, everything would catch up to you at once. You didn’t look back, didn’t stop, didn’t think.

Because thinking would mean feeling, and feeling.. Feeling would break you.

“Stop.”

Your breath hitched, and you froze.

For a second, you considered pretending you hadn’t heard. If you just kept walking… But you knew that voice. Knew it too well.

Slowly, reluctantly, you turned. And there he was. Lee Know stood a few steps behind you, chest rising slightly from having rushed, eyes locked onto yours with a focus that made your stomach drop.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Neither should you.”

You shook your head immediately, taking a step back. “No. Don’t—don’t do this.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“You have to,” you insisted. “You shouldn’t have even come after me.”

“And let you disappear?” he shot back. “No.”

“I’m not disappearing,” you argued weakly.

He let out a short, disbelieving breath. “You requested a transfer. You left without telling anyone. You’re ignoring my calls.” Each point landed heavier than the last. “That’s not disappearing?” he pressed.

You swallowed. “It’s what’s best.”

“For who?”

“For everyone.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” you snapped. “You just don’t like it.”

He stepped closer, and you stepped back.

Again.

And again—

Until there was nowhere left to go but standing your ground.

“You don’t get to decide that on your own,” he said.

“Yes, I do,” you fired back. “This is my job. My life.”

“And what about me?”

The question hit harder than it should have.

“You’ll be fine,” you said quickly. “You are fine. This—” you gestured between you, your voice tightening “—this was a mistake. One we should’ve never let happen.”

His expression darkened. “Stop saying that.”

“It’s true.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It is!” you insisted, your voice cracking now. “Look at what it’s done. My best friend hates me. The team’s a mess. Everything is worse because I didn’t stay in my place.”

“Your place?” he repeated, disbelief creeping in. “Is that how you see it?”

“That’s how it is.”

“No,” he said firmly. “That’s how you’ve convinced yourself it is, so you don’t have to deal with this.”

“And what is this?” you demanded.

“This,” he said, stepping closer again, not stopping this time. “Us.”

Your breath caught. “There is no ‘us,’” you said quickly.

“There is,” he replied, unwavering. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“I did admit it,” you shot back. “And look what happened.”

“That doesn’t mean it was wrong.”

“It does when it hurts people!”

The silence that fell between you was charged.

“You’re not wrong for how you feel,” he said, quieter now.

“I am if I act on it.”

“You already did.”

Your chest tightened painfully. “Exactly,” you whispered. “And I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You think leaving fixes that?” he asked.

“It stops it from getting worse.”

“It doesn’t stop anything,” he said. “It just means you’re running away from it.”

“Yes,” you said, voice breaking. “Because staying means hurting her more, and I won’t do that.”

“And what about you?”

“I don’t matter in this.”

“You do to me.”

“Stop,” you said immediately, shaking your head. “Don’t say things like that. Not now.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes it harder,” you admitted, your voice barely holding together, eyes filling. “It makes me want things I can’t have.”

“Why can’t you have them?”

“Because they’re not just mine to take!” you snapped. “Because she’s part of this. Because I chose her before any of this even started, and I’m not going to undo that just because I—”

You stopped.

But it was too late.

“Because you what?” he pushed.

You closed your eyes briefly. Then, quietly—

“Because I love her too.”

The words shifted everything. They weren’t romantic, weren’t the same as the feelings you were trying so desperately to push away.

But they were just as strong.

Just as binding.

“She’s my best friend,” you continued, your voice trembling. “She trusted me. And I broke that. I already did enough damage—I’m not going to stay and make it worse just because I—”

“Because you like me,” he finished.

You didn’t deny it, but you didn’t confirm it either.

But your silence said enough.

He exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. “And you think leaving is the only way to fix that.”

“Yes.”

“It’s not.”

“It is for me.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Maybe,” you said, tears finally slipping free despite your effort to hold them back. “But it’s the only thing I can do that doesn’t make me hate myself more than I already do.”

The confession made him pause. Just for a second. But it wasn’t enough, because when he stepped forward again, he wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t uncertain.

It was decided.

“I’m not letting you go like this,” he said.

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I do.”

“No, you don’t,” you insisted, backing up again, your voice shaking. “This isn’t something you can fix.”

“I’m not trying to fix it.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“I’m choosing not to walk away from it.”

“Then you’re choosing wrong,” you said, almost pleading now. “Please—just let me go. Let this end here before it gets worse.”

“It already got worse,” he replied. “And you leaving isn’t going to undo that.”

“It might stop more damage.”

“Or it might just leave everything broken.”

You shook your head. “I can live with that.”

“Can you?”

“Yes.”

He studied you for a long moment, like he was trying to see past everything you were saying. Everything you were hiding. Everything you were trying to convince both him and yourself was true.

“No,” he said finally. The certainty in his voice made your chest tighten. “You can’t.”

You laughed weakly through your tears. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“I don’t,” he agreed. “But I can decide not to let you do this alone.”

“I have to do this alone.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the one who caused it!”

“And you think punishing yourself fixes it?”

“I’m not punishing myself,” you said, even though it didn’t sound convincing.

He didn’t call you out on it. He just stepped closer again, close enough that you couldn’t ignore him. Close enough that you had to look at him.

“Running away doesn’t make you selfless,” he said quietly. “It just means you’re scared.”

“I am scared,” you admitted. “Of hurting her again. Of hurting you. Of ruining everything even more than I already have.”

“Then stay,” he said. “And face it.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

“No,” you whispered. “I can’t… if you’re here.”

“Then don’t stay for me,” he said. Your heart twisted at the words. “Stay for her.”

That hit harder than anything else he’d said because that? That was the one thing you couldn’t argue against. And he knew it.

“Stay for both of us.”

The words didn’t come from him. They came from behind you.

Your breath caught so sharply it hurt. You spun in the direction of her voice, and there she was.

Bora.

Hair slightly dishevelled from running, chest rising unevenly, eyes locked on you like she’d been holding everything in for too long and finally couldn’t anymore.

For a second, no one moved. No one spoke. Even the night around you felt like it had gone still. Then her gaze flicked—not away from you—but past you. To him. Lee Know stood a few steps behind, frozen in place, like he hadn’t expected her either.

“Of course,” she said quietly, almost to herself. “Of course, you found her first.”

“Wait,” you said quickly, stepping forward. “This isn’t—this isn’t what you think.”

She laughed once. It wasn’t amused. It wasn’t kind. It was tired. “Isn’t it?”

The question hung between you. You opened your mouth. Closed it again. Anything you said would sound wrong, would be too late, too hollow.

She looked at you properly now, really looked, and for the first time since everything broke, there wasn’t just anger there. There was hurt. Deep, exhausted hurt.

“You left,” she said.

“I know.”

“No,” she shook her head. “You don’t get to say it like that. You don’t get to say it like it’s just a fact.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t know how else to fix it.”

“You didn’t fix anything,” she replied, voice cracking slightly now. “You just disappeared.”

Silence.

Behind you, Lee Know didn’t interrupt. Didn’t step in. He just stayed – present, waiting. She looked at him again briefly, then back at you.

“And you,” she said, quieter now, “I told you everything. Everything I felt. Everything I thought was happening.”

“I know,” you whispered.

“And you let me believe it.”

Your chest tightened painfully. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You did,” she cut in softly. Not angry now. Just… honest. “Even if you didn’t plan it, you did.”

You swallowed hard around the lump in your throat. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” she said.

You blinked at her, surprised, and she exhaled shakily, running a hand over her face like she was trying to hold herself together.

“I know that’s the worst part,” she admitted. “You didn’t mean it. That’s what makes it harder.”

Your eyes stung. “I should’ve told you sooner,” you said. “I should’ve told you I was—” You stopped because you couldn’t say it cleanly. Because even now, it felt too complicated.

She nodded slightly. “You should’ve,” she agreed.

Silence fell again, longer this time. You were thinking of what to say, how to save this, when Bora spoke again.

“But I get it.”

Your head snapped up. “What?”

She looked away for a moment, swallowing hard. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t forgive it yet. I’m still angry. I probably will be for a while.” Your chest tightened again. “But I get it,” she repeated, quieter now. “Because I saw the way you looked at him before I even realised what I was looking at.” That made your breath hitch. “And I saw the way he looked at you,” she added, glancing briefly at him again.

Lee Know didn’t move, didn’t interrupt. Just listened.

“I didn’t want to see it,” she admitted. “Because I wanted it to be simple. I wanted to be right.” Her voice wavered slightly. “But I wasn’t.”

You felt something break inside of you because she wasn’t absolving you. She wasn’t pretending it didn’t hurt. She was just… being honest. Somehow, it made it both better and worse.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

She nodded once. “I know.”

She stepped forward—not toward him, not away from him—but toward you. You stiffened instinctively, not knowing what to expect. But she didn’t hit you, didn’t shove you. She didn’t shout. She just stopped close enough that you could see her properly. Close enough that you couldn’t avoid this anymore.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she said quietly.

Your breath stuttered. “I don’t want to lose you either.”

A shaky laugh escaped her. “Yeah,” she said softly. “Then maybe don’t run away again.”

Her words hit home and landed in your chest. Fresh tears slipped down your face before you could stop them.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” you admitted.

“I know,” she said again. “But next time… talk to me. Even if it’s messy. Even if it’s stupid. Just—don’t decide for both of us.”

You nodded quickly, unable to speak.

Behind her, Lee Know finally stepped forward – careful, measured. Not interrupting. Just… present. “I didn’t mean to be the reason this happened,” he said quietly.

She looked at him, holding eye contact as she thought of how to reply. “You weren’t the reason,” she said after a moment. “Not entirely.” She paused as she considered her next words before adding, reluctantly, “But you weren’t not the reason either.”

He nodded once, accepting her words. He didn’t try to defend himself, just showed that he understood her meaning. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “I know,” she said again. “That’s also the worst part.”

The silence that followed was different to the others. New. It wasn’t heavy anymore; it was raw. The kind of silence that follows an emotional outpour.

Your flatmate looked between you both, exhaling slowly. “I’m still mad,” she said bluntly.

You gave a tearful nod. “Fair.”

“But I’m not done with you,” she added, pointing at you. “So don’t think you get to disappear again.”

A weak laugh slipped out of you. “I won’t.”

“And you,” she said, glancing at Lee Know again. “Don’t make this weird.”

He blinked once, then, very slightly—

“I won’t try.”

That earned the faintest, almost-smile from her. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet, but something softer than before.

She looked back at you. “You’re an idiot,” she said.

“I know.”

“And you’re still my best friend,” she added, voice quieter now.

You stepped forward and hugged her before you could think better of it. She hesitated for half a second before hugging you back. It was tighter than you expected, probably angrier than necessary.

But real.

Behind you, you felt Lee Know exhale—slow, almost relieved.

The silence after the hug didn’t feel like an ending anymore. It felt like something was finally settling. Not solved. Not perfect. But no longer breaking.

Your flatmate pulled back first, wiping at her face quickly like she was annoyed at herself for crying. “I need time,” she said bluntly.

You nodded immediately. “You can have all the time you need.”

She huffed a quiet laugh. “Don’t sound so dramatic.”

“I’m not trying to be dramatic,” you said weakly.

“That’s exactly what someone being dramatic would say,” she retorted, smiling softly at you. She stepped back, glancing between you and him once more, then pointed at you again. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I still think you’re an idiot.”

“I also know that.”

“And if you disappear again, I’ll actually kill you.”

That surprised a laugh out of you—small, broken, but real. “Noted.”

She exhaled, then hesitated. “Just… don’t take too long figuring your life out, okay?”

Your throat tightened. “I’ll try.”

She gave one last look at both of you before turning and walking away, slowly.

When she was out of sight, the space between you and Lee Know suddenly felt… louder. It wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Just full. Everything you hadn’t said in weeks pressed up against the surface at once.

You didn’t look at him immediately, and he didn’t speak for a while, until finally-

“You really were going to leave,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallowed around the guilt lodged in your windpipe before you turned to face him, shocked by the lack of space between you.

“…yes.”

He paused, eyes roaming your face, memorising every detail. “And not tell me.”

Your chest tightened.

“I didn’t think I was allowed to stay and want both things,” you admitted softly. “You and her. My job. My sanity. I thought if I picked anything else, I’d just make everything worse.”

“You still do that,” he said.

You let out a weak breath. “I know.”

There was a pause before he reached for your hand, squeezing slightly.

“You said it was a mistake,” he said.

Your stomach dropped slightly because you knew what he meant. The kiss. The moment you tried to bury.

You nodded slowly. “I said a lot of things I didn’t fully mean,” you admitted.

His gaze sharpened slightly. “Which ones did you mean?”

The question landed differently. He wasn’t pushing anymore, because he didn’t have to. He was asking. Waiting. You looked at him properly, still scared to share the depth of your feelings. But the longer you looked at him, the more something inside you gave me. It wasn’t loud or dramatic, just… quiet. Like a door you’d been holding shut, finally unlocking on its own.

“I meant that I was scared,” you said. He didn’t move as you thought about what to say. “I meant that I thought I’d ruin everything if I let myself feel anything for you,” you continued, voice shaking slightly. “And I meant that I didn’t know how to exist in a world where I wanted something I wasn’t supposed to have.”

His expression softened just a fraction, and you let out a shaky breath.

“But I didn’t mean…” You paused, swallowing hard, “I didn’t mean that it didn’t matter.”

That got his full attention.

Your hands curled slightly at your sides. “I didn’t mean that you didn’t matter.” You pause before adding, softly, “You matter. You matter too much. That’s the problem.”

His breath shifted slightly, like he’d been holding it in without realising. “You ran because of that?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And now?”

Your chest rose unevenly. Now? Now there was no hiding behind excuses, no distance left to build, no flatmate to blame, no work to bury yourself in.

Just this.

Just him and the truth you’d been circling for weeks.

Now, you didn’t move away. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it,” you said quietly. His eyes stayed on yours, waiting for you to finally admit it. “I really, really like you, and I’m tired of pretending I don’t.”

The words didn’t feel like a confession. They felt like a release. Something you’d been holding so tightly it hurt. His expression didn’t change immediately. It was like he was letting it land fully. Letting it become real.

“Do you think I don’t feel it, too?” he asked softly.

Your breath caught. “What?”

A faint, almost helpless exhale left him. “You think I’ve been following you around like this because it’s just convenient?”

Your heart stuttered. “I thought—”

“That I was just confused?” he interrupted gently.

You didn’t answer… Because you had thought that.

He stepped closer, closing the distance you’d been terrified of. “I told you before,” he said quietly. “I don’t walk away from things I want.”

Your pulse hammered.

“I tried to,” you whispered.

He smiled, exasperated. “Oh, I know.”

“I tried really hard.”

“Now you’re just stating the obvious,” he teased.

Silence again. But this one wasn’t painful; it was fragile, like something about to finally settle into place.

“You made it impossible,” you admitted softly.

That earned the faintest shift in his expression. Almost a smile.

“Good,” he said.

Your breath broke into something that wasn’t quite a laugh.

“You’re still leaving,” he said.

Your chest tightened again. Because that was still real. Still there.

“I was,” you corrected quietly. You paused before adding, “I don’t know if I am anymore.”

His gaze softened. “You don’t have to run,” he said.

“I don’t know how to stay without hurting people.”

“You already did the hardest part,” he said. “You told the truth.”

Something inside you ached at his words, because it was true… And terrifying.

“And now?” you whispered.

He looked at you for a long moment before lifting a hand—slowly, giving you every chance to step away. You didn’t, and his fingers brushed lightly against your wrist. It was grounding. Real.

“Now,” he said quietly, “you stop deciding alone.”

Your breath shook. “I’m bad at that,” you admitted.

“I noticed.”

That earned a small, genuine laugh from you this time. It cracked something open fully, and before you could think too much about it, you stepped forward, closing the final distance yourself, and kissed him.

This time, there was no shock, no hesitation. Just him meeting you immediately like he’d been waiting for it. Like it had always been inevitable. His hand slid gently to your waist, steadying you like you might still disappear if he didn’t hold you there. For once, you didn’t pull away. Not from fear, not from guilt. Not from anything.

When you finally broke apart, it was only because you needed air—not because you wanted distance. Your forehead rested lightly against his, breathing uneven.

“I’m still figuring this out,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said softly.

“And I’m probably still going to overthink everything.”

“I know.”

“And I might panic again.”

A faint hum of amusement in his voice. “I know.”

You let out a breath that almost sounded like relief.

“…but I’m not leaving,” you said.

His hand tightened slightly at your waist. “Good,” he said again.

And for the first time, staying didn’t feel like a mistake—it felt like the beginning of something worth fighting for.

a/n: WHAT DO WE THINK? WAS PART TWO OKAY GUYS? DID IT LIVE UP TO EXPECTATIONS? DID YOU HAVE ANY EXPECTATIONS?