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Jay's across the room.

He’s not far. Just enough that he won’t have to interact directly with you unless you give him a reason to.

You don’t.

You sit on the floor, back pressed to the couch, hands clutching a plastic cup of something that you can barely even stomach, the taste of Sunghoon’s horrendous mixed drink burning your throat with every sip you take. You nod along to whatever conversation’s happening around you, laugh when someone makes a joke you half-heard, and pretend like your stomach doesn’t feel like it’s sinking into the floor every time he speaks or laughs at something.

The sound doesn’t make you smile anymore. It lands wrong. It’s like a bruise you keep pressing down on just to see if it still hurts.

You’re wearing your favorite shirt tonight. The one you wore the first time he kissed you. The one he’d unbuttoned that night, slow and careful, like he wanted to remember it. You remember the way his breath caught when his hands touched your skin, the way he had looked at you, like you were the only thing in the world that made sense to him.

You thought maybe he’d still look at you like that. But tonight, his eyes are elsewhere.

You force yourself to take a sip of your drink, letting the bitter taste fill your mouth so you don’t have to think. So you don’t have to watch the way he leans closer to Minseo, or Jiwon, or whatever her name is. You pretend you’re above it, as if ignoring the pain will make it go away.

Of course, it doesn’t go away, and you feel it, all of it. And yet you say nothing, because saying something would mean asking for more. And you already know how that conversation ends.

“Hey,” Jake says from beside you, tugging on your sleeve. “You okay?”

You smile and nod, giving some half-assed excuse about being tired from work.

Jay doesn’t even look at you.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

You still remember how it happened.

The room was dark, with the glow of the tv casting a soft glow over your faces. You hadn’t planned on staying late. You hadn’t planned on staying at all. But the group had thinned out, the music was still playing low, and Jay had looked at you like he didn’t want the night to end.

You were sitting on the floor. The same spot you’d always claimed. His thigh brushing against yours, constant and warm.

You don’t remember what he said that made you laugh, only that it came so easily, like it always did with him. You’d always liked that about him, he made things simple.

“Do you wanna stay for a bit?” he asked, voice casual, as if he hadn’t just asked you the question you’d been waiting to hear for months.

You said sure.

At that point of the night, everyone else had gone home, yelling dramatic goodbyes and promising to have another get-together soon. 

The two of you were alone, and you felt nervous, but anticipation for what was to come. A glance that held too long. The slight shift of weight as he leaned closer. His fingers brushed against yours and didn’t pull away. You could’ve stopped it. Maybe. You didn’t want to.

So when he kissed you, you let him. You kissed him back.

It wasn’t rushed, or clumsy, or drunk. It was soft. Careful. Like it meant something to him. Like he cared. And when his hands found the buttons of your top, you didn’t flinch. You let him open you up, one layer at a time, and you let yourself believe it was more than just simply getting both of your needs met.

Because he was gentle. Because he held your face after. Because he whispered, “You’re beautiful.” Because he said, “Stay.”

Because when he looked at you, it felt like he saw you.

So you stayed. You fell asleep with your head on his chest and your hand curled over his heart, hoping maybe there was a place for you like this in his life.

And in the morning, when the sun was barely peeking through the blinds, you finally gathered the courage to ask,

“Do you like me?”

It came out soft. Barely a whisper. A small part of you hoped he hadn’t heard.

But he did.

He blinked. His mouth opened a little. “What?”

Your stomach dropped. You looked away.

“Nothing,” you said quickly. Too quickly. You pulled the blanket tighter around you like it could shield you from the shame already rising in your throat. “Forget it.”

And he did.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

A few days after your "encounter", you'd asked him to meet at a café off campus.

Somewhere quiet, somewhere you know you won’t run into any of your mutual friends. You got there early, of course. Sitting at a table by the window, and ordering an iced americano you won’t even touch.

Jay arrived 20 minutes late. A painful foreshadowing of how this would go, you would care too much, and he wouldn’t care at all.

He walked in like nothing’s wrong.

As he slid into the seat across from you, you forced yourself to meet his eyes.

“Thanks for coming,” you said, voice tight.

“Yeah, of course. What’s up?”

You remember hesitating. You hadn’t rehearsed what you wanted to say, you’d wanted it to sound normal, like you hadn’t been obsessively thinking about what happened. But now, sitting in front of him, it felt pathetic. 

“I just…” You bit the inside of your cheek. “I wanted to talk about the other night.”

His face barely changed. Just a blink. A pause. “What about it?”

You blinked back at him. “I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to understand. Where your head’s at.”

He leaned back in his chair. His mouth twisting like he was uncomfortable. Or annoyed.

“There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N.”

You felt a weight settle firmly on your chest.

“It just happened,” he said, like that was supposed to explain it. “We hooked up. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeated, “Okay.”

He sighed, clearly irritated but not wanting to upset you. “I’m not in a place for anything serious right now. I thought that was obvious.”

You nodded slowly. Your throat tight. “Right.”

“Didn’t mean to lead you on or anything.”

You’d wanted to laugh. Not because it was anything particularly funny, but because it was so absurd. The way he was talking like this was all some silly misunderstanding, as if he hadn’t looked at you like he meant it, as if you hadn’t fallen asleep in his arms.

“No, yeah. Totally,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s fine.”

Jay looked relieved, clearly glad to be done discussing it. He offered you a small, apologetic smile. 

You don’t finish your coffee, and you left before he can offer to walk you home.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

Breaking you out of your thoughts of the past few weeks, Jay lets out a loud laugh at something that girl said, his head tilted back, hand brushing her arm, eyes soft and bright in a way you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever.

And you stood there, in the kitchen you’d all been in a hundred times before, suddenly feeling like a stranger.

It wasn't jealousy. Not exactly. It was more like a quiet recognition that it didn’t matter.

He hadn’t even looked your way. Not once the entire night.

You placed your half-full drink on the counter, and walked past the couch, past your friends, past Jay, who didn’t even notice you were leaving.

You didn’t say goodbye.

The cold outside had you shivering, as you’d left your jacket behind in your rush to escape the crushing weight of his presence, but you didn’t stop. You just kept walking, the night settling heavy in your bones.

The idea that you'd meant nothing to him hurts to fully process, but at least you know where you stand.