#wonbin angst

𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚

the evening rain battered relentlessly against the thin glass of your street-facing windows, each droplet striking the pane with the restless insistence of fingernails scraping for entry, until the outside world dissolved into a blurred watercolor of streetlights bleeding across slick pavement and shadows pooling thickly in the corners of the empty road. beyond the glass the storm swallowed every familiar detail of the neighborhood, bending the light and distorting the quiet street into something unrecognizable, while inside your small house the air remained unnervingly still, stagnant in a way that felt wrong, heavy with the damp scent of old wood and the lingering warmth of someone who had only just left. the space had never seemed large, but tonight it felt suffocatingly intimate, the walls pressing inward with quiet patience. the house had always been too open, too exposed, a fragile shell of thin walls and narrow rooms where every sound traveled too easily and every shadow lingered just a little too long.

for the past hour the curtains had stayed drawn, thick fabric pulled tight across the windows as if cloth alone could preserve the fragile illusion of safety you had been clinging to ever since sungchan had stepped out into the rain with that apologetic half-smile still lingering on his lips. you had watched the taillights of his car dissolve into the downpour, waited until the sound of the engine disappeared entirely before locking the door behind him, telling yourself you would give it a few minutes before opening the curtains again. just a few minutes. long enough for the street to return to the quiet anonymity it had always held before tonight, long enough to convince yourself that whatever uneasy tension had crept into your chest when he left was nothing more than nerves.

but the minutes stretched into something heavier than expected, the silence settling too thickly inside the house, until the absence of sound began to feel unnatural. you stood there for a while with your hand hovering near the curtain, staring at the dark folds of fabric while the storm outside continued to hammer at the windows, and it was only when the weight of your own thoughts became unbearable that you finally drew the cloth aside.

you felt it before you saw anything.

the sensation arrived slowly at first, a faint prickle along the nape of your neck that crept downward with cold, deliberate fingers until it settled somewhere deep between your shoulder blades, that bone-deep awareness your body had learned to recognize long before your mind could name it. there was a particular weight to being watched by him, something heavier than ordinary attention, something that sank beneath your skin and rooted itself in the marrow of your spine, and the moment it touched you the air in the room seemed to tighten. the quiet stretched thin, the hum of the storm outside suddenly distant and muffled beneath the growing pressure inside your chest, because some primitive part of your instincts had already reached the conclusion your thoughts were still trying desperately to avoid. you stood there for a moment longer than necessary, your breathing shallow and uneven, your eyes tracing the rain-streaked window without quite daring to focus beyond the glass, as though the simple act of confirming what you already knew would somehow make it more real.

but the longer you waited the heavier that unseen gaze became, pressing through the pane with suffocating certainty, until the fragile illusion of safety collapsed under the weight of it and your eyes lifted toward the streetlight outside.

wonbin stood beneath the trembling halo of pale yellow light, drenched so thoroughly by the storm that the rain seemed to have soaked straight through to the marrow of him. dark raven strands clung to the sharp angles of his face in damp, curling lines, plastered against the smooth warmth of his honey-toned skin like ink bleeding slowly across parchment, framing the delicate constellation of moles scattered across his cheeks and jaw in a way that felt almost indecent in its beauty. water slid lazily along the curve of his temple and down the slope of his nose before collecting at the edge of his lips, and he caught the droplet with a slow parting of those soft pink lips before biting down on the lower one with deliberate patience, his gaze never leaving you for even the smallest fraction of a second. through the distorted veil of rain and glass his pupils looked impossibly wide, dark wells with no visible bottom, and the intensity of that stare stretched across the distance between you like something tangible, something invasive and endless that drained the oxygen from the room despite the ten feet of rain-slick pavement separating you.

there was something deeply wrong in the way he watched you. it was not simply anger or longing or even jealousy, but something colder and far more consuming, a quiet certainty of ownership that lived beneath the surface of his expression like rot beneath polished marble. the pane of glass between you felt suddenly fragile, absurdly thin in the face of the relentless focus of his gaze, because he did not look like a man observing from outside. he looked like a man patiently waiting for something that already belonged to him.

then his smile began to form.

it spread slowly across his mouth like the blooming of a bruise beneath skin, dark and deliberate and far too knowing, the kind of smile that had once made strangers turn their heads in admiration while it made your stomach twist violently with the sick familiarity of what lay behind it. it was a beautiful smile, unmistakably so, the kind that softened the sharp edges of his features and lit his face with an almost angelic warmth, yet the longer it lingered the more something about it felt wrong, stretched just slightly too wide and held just a little too long. because beneath the soaked elegance of his appearance, beneath the effortless magnetism that clung to him even while rainwater streamed down his face and darkened the fabric of his clothes, lurked the suffocating truth you had spent so long trying to outrun.

the man who had never once allowed you the simple mercy of breathing without his presence shadowing the air around you, his obsession tightening invisibly with every passing second like a living noose drawn slowly around your throat, each imagined rival another brutal tug on the rope, each moment you existed beyond his reach another offense he would eventually correct. there was something monstrous in the patience of it, in the meticulous way his darkness spread through your life like rot working its way through the beams of a house long before the collapse became visible. because loving him had never meant devotion in the ordinary sense of the word. it meant ownership, surveillance, the quiet understanding that every fragment of your freedom existed only until he decided it did not.

it was the kind of obsession that crept out beneath the cover of night with a blade in hand and the calm focus of a man performing necessary maintenance, slashing through the rubber of your tires while the street lay silent around him. where the morning would arrive with the cruel, quiet realization that the world outside your driveway had suddenly become unreachable. it was the kind that treated other men not as rivals but as intrusions to be removed, leaving behind the sickening aftermath of shattered faces and broken bodies gasping helplessly on rain-slick pavement, their features reduced to swollen ruin beneath fists that struck with the cold certainty of someone convinced he was merely restoring order.

but the true horror of him had never lived in those visible eruptions of violence; it lived in the quiet architecture of control he had built around you piece by piece, the slow invasion of every space you had once believed belonged only to you. cameras hidden in the shadowed corners of your own home, their glass eyes silently drinking in the small, private moments of your life without your knowledge, watching you move from room to room beneath the illusion of safety while somewhere miles away his phone glowed softly with the evidence of your existence. doors that had always been locked suddenly meant nothing when he carried a key you never knew had been copied, slipping inside while you slept so he could stand in the dim silence of your bedroom and watch the rise and fall of your breathing, studying your face with the reverent stillness of someone admiring a possession they refused to risk losing.

and then there were your shoes, the small, almost invisible cruelty of that detail revealing just how far the sickness inside him had spread. tiny airtags hidden deep within the soles of every pair you owned so that each step you took pulsed quietly across the screen of his phone like the rhythm of a second heartbeat, your movements mapped out in perfect, obedient lines across the city as though your body itself had become an extension of his will.

because that was the truth of loving someone like him, the slow, suffocating realization that you had never simply been part of his life. you had become the center of it, the fixed point around which everything else revolved, and the deeper the obsession rooted itself inside him the clearer it became that the world itself had begun to shrink, narrowing gradually until the distance between you and him was the only space left that mattered.

you tried to tear your gaze away from the window, to drag the curtain closed and bury the street behind a wall of fabric and denial, to convince yourself that the empty stretch of pavement outside held nothing but rain and darkness and the distant glow of streetlamps dissolving into the wet asphalt. yet your body betrayed you in the same way it always did when it came to him, locking you in place with a terrible, instinctive stillness, as though some deeper part of your mind already understood the futility of pretending he was not there. outside, the rain cascaded relentlessly down his frame, sluicing along the sharp lines of his shoulders and soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt until it clung to him like a second skin, outlining the rigid tension coiled through his body, the same dangerous power that had pinned you beneath him so many times before, that terrifying strength that lived quietly beneath his calm exterior until something inside him snapped.

and still he did not move. the downpour hammered against the pavement and plastered dark strands of hair against his face, but he stood there unmoving, unmoved, as though the storm itself had been summoned merely to frame him more dramatically against the night. his stare never wavered, never softened, the intensity of it cutting through the glass between you with suffocating clarity, and there was something profoundly wrong in the way he watched you, something that went beyond jealousy or anger and settled somewhere deeper, somewhere feral. the possessive hunger radiating from him seemed almost physical, thick enough that you could nearly taste the metallic edge of it at the back of your throat, that sharp tang of danger that had long ago become inseparable from the sound of his voice, the weight of his hands, the terrible certainty that once his attention fixed itself on something it never truly let go.

there were moments now when it felt as though something inside his mind had begun to rot slowly from the inside out, the decay seeping through the careful mask of composure he once wore so easily. you saw it in the faint tremor that sometimes passed through his hands when he thought you were not looking, in the way his smile stretched just a little too wide and lingered a little too long, like a crack spreading across porcelain that had been dropped too many times. whatever fragile thread of reason had once anchored him to the ordinary world seemed to have snapped months ago, leaving behind something hollowed out and darker in its place, something that did not simply love you but fed on the fear flickering across your face, something that thrived on the knowledge that your heartbeat still responded to him even when every rational instinct told you to run.

because the most terrifying truth was that he owned you even from out there, even standing motionless in the rain with water dripping from his hair and pooling at his feet. the distance between you meant nothing to him; it never had. he had always spoken about it with that quiet, chilling certainty, promising that he would follow you to the ends of the earth if he had to, drag you back from any calm shore or safe harbor you tried to build without him, because no one else could possibly understand what you were, what you needed, what only he could give. the thought sent a traitorous shiver sliding through your body, the sensation as shameful as it was undeniable, because beneath the terror there lived another truth you hated yourself for recognizing.

the intensity of him was intoxicating in a way that stability could never replicate, the violent collision of fear and desire igniting something reckless in your blood, something that pulsed hotter the closer he came to losing control. calm affection, gentle devotion, the steady rhythm of ordinary love had always felt strangely hollow beside it, colorless and distant compared to the way he made every nerve in your body scream to life. because loving wonbin had never been safe or quiet or sane, but it was vivid, explosive, impossible to ignore, and even as you stood there trembling beneath his unblinking gaze, some treacherous part of you still chased the dizzying high of it, the dangerous electricity of a man whose darkness had learned exactly how to set your world on fire.

then he was moving. crossing the pavement in three liquid strides, his boots splashing through puddles without care. his fist rose to pound against your door.

once.

twice.

three times.

each impact vibrated through the thin wood straight into your ribs until the sound became indistinguishable from the thunder of your own pulse.

and then the countdown began, his voice carving through the rain like a blade drawn slowly across exposed bone, the sound of it slipping beneath the door and crawling through the cramped air of the room until it settled in your chest like something alive, something patient, something that had already decided how this night would end long before you ever reached the safety of the lock.

“ten.”

the first collision of his entire body slamming into the door detonated through the house with such brutal force that the frame convulsed violently against your palms as you pressed your trembling weight against it, the wood vibrating beneath your skin like a living thing in agony while the shock of it travelled straight through your ribs and into your spine, leaving you with the horrifying sensation that you were no longer holding a door closed but bracing yourself against the full, unstoppable gravity of him. the monstrous certainty of a man who had never once accepted the idea that anything in the world could be denied to him.

“nine.”

another savage impact exploded against the barrier, harder this time, the sound of splintering wood cracking somewhere above your head as thin fractures spiderwebbed across the surface beneath your hands. and with it came the sickening awareness that the door was beginning to give in the same slow, inevitable way your mind had learned to give, because there was something about the rhythm of his violence, the patient way he delivered it in measured blows, that made resistance feel less like survival and more like a temporary inconvenience he would eventually correct.

“you know what happens when i get down to one and this door is still closed, baby.”

his voice slid through the narrow seams of the wood like damp air leaking into a sealed coffin, thick with that same velvet softness that had fooled so many people before, that calm, charming tone he wore like a mask in public while the truth of him lived here, outside the door, soaked in rain and breathing slowly between each number as if he were savoring the moment, savoring the fragile illusion of safety you had tried so desperately to build between yourself and the reality waiting on the other side.

“eight.”

another crash followed, bone-jarring and violent enough to shake dust from the ceiling, and the tiny room around you seemed to shrink with it, the air growing stale and heavy as paranoia began to crawl along the edges of your vision, because you couldn’t conjure up an escape plan, couldn’t think of an exit. and suddenly every inch of the house felt contaminated with the quiet certainty of him, the lingering knowledge that even when he wasn’t standing in front of you he was always somewhere nearby, watching, listening, waiting with the kind of endless patience that turned every attempt at escape into a delayed surrender.

“seven. six.”

each number fell slowly now, deliberate, punctuated by another brutal collision that sent the hinges rattling and the wood groaning like bone under pressure, until it began to feel as though the door itself were absorbing the violence meant for you, trembling helplessly under the weight of his determination while the sound of it filled your mind with memories you had spent months trying to bury.

the night you had run for the back door, the slick pavement beneath your bare feet, the desperate pounding of your fists against a neighbor’s porch while rain streamed down your face like something close to hope.

“five.”

the memory twisted violently in your mind because you could still see the way his expression had changed the moment the door opened. the sudden warmth blooming across his face as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and laughed softly, apologizing for your behavior with the gentle patience of someone handling a fragile, unstable thing, telling them you had been under so much stress lately, that sometimes you just got confused, just got frightened. the humiliation of that moment had burned almost as deeply as the pain that came after, the moment the door closed behind you and the sweetness vanished from his voice like a mask slipping back into place.

“four.”

another impact slammed into the door with enough force to bow the wood inward, the frame whining in protest as if the house itself were begging you to stop pretending this was something that could be held back forever, because the truth had always been simple, brutally simple, in the way all nightmares eventually are: there was nowhere you could run that he could not reach, nowhere you could hide that he could not eventually find.

“three.”

the next crash splintered the wood with a sharp, splintering crack that echoed through the room like a gunshot, and your hands trembled violently against the lock, the cold metal slick beneath your fingers as your lungs struggled to draw breath against the suffocating pressure building in your chest, because terror had stopped being a feeling and become something physical, something with weight and shape and teeth, curling itself around your ribs and squeezing tighter with every passing second.

“two.”

the number slipped through the door with horrifying calm, and suddenly your body understood something your mind had been too afraid to name. because running would not end this, fighting would not end this, hiding would only delay the inevitable moment when he would find you again with that same gentle smile and those same patient hands, explaining to whoever happened to be watching that you were confused, frightened, unstable, before guiding you back into the quiet privacy of your own home where the truth of him could exist freely again.

so even though every nerve in your body screamed to flee, every instinct clawing desperately for some impossible escape from the suffocating gravity of him, your shaking fingers finally closed around the handle, twisting the lock with a slow, trembling motion before pulling the door open just enough for the rain-drenched silhouette on the other side to step forward as the word two finished leaving his lips. the cold wet night rushed in, carrying him with it. his scent of rain and cologne and something sharper, like the copper tang of old bruises.

his hand shot through the gap before you could slam it shut, fingers wrapping around your throat with bruising familiarity, not enough to cut off air yet, but enough to remind you who held the leash. his voice was low and velvet-smooth, dripping with that manipulative honey that always masked the venom.

“i saw him leave.”

the words slipped into your ear like a blade wrapped in silk, soft enough that for a moment they almost sounded gentle, even as cold rainwater dripped steadily from his lashes onto your cheek. his smirk widened slowly as he watched your expression fracture, that same cruelly beautiful curve of his lips blooming across his face like a bruise spreading beneath pale skin. his free hand lifted with deceptive tenderness, fingertips grazing the line of your jaw in a slow, almost affectionate gesture that would have looked loving to anyone else. you knew those fingers too well, knew the quiet violence hidden inside them, the same hands that had painted purple galaxies across your skin on so many nights you had tried desperately to forget.

“you think you can hide from me, baby?” he murmured, his voice dropping lower as he leaned closer, the damp ends of his raven-dark hair brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. the touch sent an involuntary shiver down your spine despite the dread tightening inside your chest, because even now your body reacted to him with that same traitorous familiarity, the muscle memory of a hundred nights tangled together in ways that had long since blurred the line between tenderness and fear. his pupils swallowed the streetlight behind you as he studied your face, dark and endless, devouring every flicker of your panic.

“you’re mine. every inch. every thought. every pathetic attempt at freedom belongs to me.”

the sentence curled around your mind like barbed wire, tightening with every second you remained standing there beneath his gaze, because the terrifying thing was not the anger in his voice but the calm conviction underneath it. he believed what he was saying with absolute sincerity, the same belief that had followed you through every blocked number, every new lock installed on your doors, every whispered conversation with friends where you insisted this time it was really over. he had stood in the rain for hours just to watch the silhouette of another man leave your door, patient as a predator crouched in tall grass, waiting for the exact moment his prey would look up and realize it had never truly escaped.

“are you crazy? stop fucking stalking me,” the words tore from your throat, raw and jagged, scraping against the pressure of his palm. the accusation seemed to settle into the air between you like a live wire, humming faintly with danger the moment it left your mouth.

yet even as they left your lips, you felt the traitorous heat bloom low in your belly. the helpless rush of adrenaline and arousal that came only from him. only from the toxic gravity of his presence. the way his beauty and his brutality twisted together into something you could not quit. no matter how many times he had shoved you against walls, or screamed until your ears rang, or manipulated your tears into admissions of love that were never love at all.

his hand was still resting lightly along your jaw, his thumb grazing the edge of your skin in slow circles that might have looked tender to someone watching from a distance, yet the muscles beneath his fingers had gone strangely rigid, the subtle tension gathering there with a quiet inevitability you recognized far too well. you had spent months learning the language of his moods, memorizing the tiny shifts that preceded his anger the way sailors study the first tremors of a storm, and the moment you felt that stiffness in his grip a cold awareness slid through your chest.

but you forced the words out anyway, because the fragile defiance pushing them forward felt like the last piece of yourself you still owned.

“we’re done,” you said, your voice trembling despite the anger sharpening it. “i broke up with you last month. you don’t get to do this anymore.”

the smile on his face did not vanish immediately, which somehow made the silence worse. instead it lingered there in a slow, unnatural way, the corners of his lips twitching faintly as though the muscles themselves were confused by the sentence they had just heard. you watched the expression begin to falter piece by piece, the charming curve stretching wider for half a second before collapsing into something far more unsettling.

his brows drew together first, a slow knitting of confusion passing across his features like a shadow moving through water. the look might have seemed almost thoughtful to someone who did not know him, yet you recognized it for what it truly was—the first crack spreading across the carefully constructed illusion that had always lived inside his mind.

the smile twitched again. this time it did not come back.

his jaw tightened slowly, the muscle jumping beneath the smooth line of his cheekbone as the tension climbed upward through his face, draining the last traces of warmth from his expression. the beauty that had once made strangers stare now hardened into something sharper and colder, the symmetry of his features turning predatory in a way that made your stomach twist violently.

“done,” he repeated.

his grip tightened then, vicious and unrelenting, squeezing until stars exploded behind your eyelids and your vision blurred at the edges, your lungs burning as you scratched at his wrists with desperate nails, thrashing in his arms like a trapped animal while he watched your struggle with those black voids for eyes, drinking in every gasp, every tear, every second of your lightheaded surrender. his other fist slammed into your ribs with a sickening crack that sent white-hot agony blooming through your chest, the kind of blow that spoke of a man who had long crossed the line into something irredeemably cruel, sickly drawing soft circles on the stricken flesh as if to soothe you.

he released you only when the strength drained abruptly from your legs and your knees threatened to fold beneath you, your balance collapsing under the violent rush of oxygen returning to your lungs. the moment your body faltered he seized the opportunity with brutal efficiency, shoving you backward with such savage force that your spine collided with the wall behind you in a jarring impact that rattled through your skull, the brittle plaster cracking faintly where the back of your head struck it while his other hand lashed out behind him to slam the door shut with a final, echoing bang that sealed the room like a coffin lid sliding into place.

the sound reverberated through the cramped space with horrifying finality, the small room instantly transforming into something airless and oppressive, a sealed box thick with the damp scent of rain and the charged electricity of his presence. his fingers were already knotting violently into the roots of your hair, wrenching your head backward with such merciless force that pain flared across your scalp like fire racing along exposed nerves, the sharp burn of it making your eyes sting as your neck strained at an unnatural angle, exposing the fragile column of your throat where your pulse throbbed wildly beneath the thin surface of your skin.

he leaned in close enough that the damp strands of his raven-dark hair brushed against your cheek like cold fingers dragging slowly across your face, the faint scent of rainwater and sweat clinging to him as his breath ghosted hot and uneven against the shell of your ear. there was something profoundly wrong in the way he hovered there, something rotten and fractured beneath the surface calm of his breathing, the subtle metallic edge of a mind that had long since slipped past the fragile boundaries separating obsession from madness.

his other hand slid down to your hip and clamped there with bruising force, fingers digging hard into the soft flesh as though he meant to anchor you permanently in place, the pressure cruel enough to drive fresh pain through the fading yellow shadows of older bruises already scattered across your skin like a quiet map of every night you had tried to pretend was the last. with a sharp, possessive tug he shoved your lower body forward until you were crushed flush against him, your soaked clothes clinging together as every hard line of his frame pressed into yours with suffocating intimacy, leaving no space between you for air, for movement, for anything that might resemble escape.

in that suspended moment, with your breath caught somewhere between fear and the dizzying familiarity of him, his voice slipped out low against your ear, venomous and intimate all at once, the quiet tone far more terrifying than shouting could ever be, because it carried the unmistakable weight of something that had grown beyond reason, beyond restraint, something ancient and biblical in its jealousy, as though the simple fact of another man existing within reach of you had become an offense worthy of catastrophe.

“you still smell like him,” he murmured softly, his grip tightening in your hair until your scalp burned beneath his fingers.

the words slithered across your skin like poison, each syllable soaked in quiet fury as his nose brushed the curve of your jaw, drawing in a slow breath as though the scent itself were an insult he intended to punish.

“the filthy trace of another man’s touch clinging to your skin like a disease,” he continued, the calm menace of his voice somehow more chilling than the violence that had preceded it.

“i’ll rip it out of you. i’ll erase every second he existed inside your pathetic little world until the only scent left on you is mine, until the only name you can choke out between screams is mine, until even your bones remember who the fuck you belong to.”

his lips crashed against yours before you could answer, the kiss brutal and consuming, tasting of rain and fury and the salt of tears that had not yet fallen, his teeth catching your lip hard enough to draw the sharp bloom of copper across your tongue. still your body betrayed you in that horrifying, familiar way, arching toward him even as every rational part of your mind screamed in protest, because the terrible truth had already woven itself too deeply through the fragile wiring of your thoughts.

the cycle had become something instinctive, something older than logic. the ugly, intoxicating dance of passion and punishment that he had carved into the foundations of your life piece by piece, until the lines between fear and longing blurred into something unrecognizable, something that left your pulse racing not only with terror but with the twisted, electric thrill of being claimed so completely.

his breath brushed across your skin when he finally pulled back, chest rising and falling as though even he had to fight to contain the storm inside him, his dark eyes searching your face with a frightening intensity that made it feel as though he were peeling apart your thoughts one fragile layer at a time.

“you’ll never escape me,” he said quietly, the promise settling in the room like a curse etched into stone. “not in this life. not in the next.”

his thumb dragged slowly along the side of your throat as he spoke, the gesture almost gentle, almost affectionate, and yet the threat beneath it was unmistakable.

“i’ll burn down every safe place you try to build until you remember who you belong to.”

standing there with the rain still dripping from the dark strands framing his face, his honeyed skin glistening faintly in the dim light while those endless black eyes devoured every flicker of fear and hunger warring across your expression, you felt something inside your chest finally give way, the last fragile thread of resistance snapping quietly somewhere deep within the labyrinth of your mind.

because the truth was far more terrifying than anything he had said aloud.

the suffocating gravity of him had already rooted itself too deeply in the fragile architecture of your thoughts, dragging you back again and again into the same brutal orbit, where every bruising kiss and whispered threat wrapped around your throat like the most exquisite noose, tightening slowly until the only sensation left was the dizzying rush of being alive inside the destruction.

and no matter how many nights you swore would be the last, no matter how many doors you locked or promises you made to yourself beneath trembling breath, the pattern always circled back to this moment. to him standing impossibly close with that knowing look in his eyes.

because the high of wonbin, the terrifying, intoxicating intensity of his devotion twisted into something poisonous and obsessive, had long since become the only drug your fractured soul still craved.

and he knew it. he had always known it.

on another note, the riize members have also dubbed anton as the most sensitive member and/or the member who gets upset the most, which in addition to his age, has me wondering about his maturity level / ability to handle conflict. I think he could be someone that has a tendency of saying hurtful things when he’s upset and shrugging off any of the responsibility for it. there was a moment in a riize vlog where anton called sungchan and eunseok lazy for not coming with the rest of the members to eat in chicago (HERE at 22:04). shotaro had brought up that sungchan would probably be upset at him for saying that, but anton doubled down on it anyway. very innocuous moment that shouldn’t be read into too deeply, especially because they were all smiling and laughing + i doubt sungchan would be upset if he even saw it, but still, one might interpret that as an example of anton being unapologetically snide towards others when he feels justified in his convictions. 

SOHEE

i’m gonna bring a little bit of astrology analysis into this one. sohee is technically a scorpio but i personally consider him on the cusp of scorpio and sagittarius since his birthday is on the 21st. a big sagittarius trait in my opinion is being brutally honest to others in a way that comes across as mean, and not really caring about how others react to your honesty because “they should be able to handle the truth,” and/or “they should appreciate that i’m being honest with them.” a big scorpio trait in my opinion is being petty / holding things against people for unreasonable amounts of time. i sometimes see these traits in sohee, especially the brutally honest piece. in a previous post i also discussed how he suffers from the neat freak + picky eater combo, which tells me that he can be very particular when it comes to what he wants. in a relationship, he may expect you to be a manic pixie dream girl who fits all of his standards which may feel like a lot of pressure / limiting. i can also see him being nitpicky and causing small issues to snowball into irrationally big ones. at times, he can be quite stubborn and expect a lot from others because he feels like “if i can easily do this, why can’t you do it too?” this tends to be a trait of super talented people as well because since talent comes so inherently to them, they can’t comprehend why others may struggle with the things they easily excel at. for these reasons, sohee may also have trouble compromising and handling conflict. he may have some growing to do in terms of his openness to other ways of living / behaving / thinking.

WONBIN

wonbin can at times come off as someone with a low self-esteem, particularly if you notice the way he completely talks down on himself whenever he makes minor mistakes on stage. he has that perfectionist, “i'm never good enough,” kind of attitude, which i think could have several repercussions in a romantic relationship. for one, he might always assume that those around him hate him, and therefore be self-sabotaging in that he’ll presume an issue is there even when it isn’t. he seems like he’d be a very skittish partner; the moment he senses a conflict arising, rather than handle it maturely, he’d find some excuse to leave the relationship in order to protect himself from potential rejection and hurt. the mindset is almost like, “i’m going to hurt you before you can hurt me.” wonbin’s ability to truly enjoy romantic connection may often be dampered by his constant thoughts and worries about his partner’s perception of him. he’s the type of friend to leave a hangout and spend the rest of the night hyperfixating over all the embarrassing things he said and the jokes he made that no one laughed at. and again, with the fear of rejection in mind, he might hide his true emotions from his partner with the thought that he’d be judged for having them. so all in all, he could be an emotionally unavailable sort of guy who comes across as a fuckboy but really just has a lot of feelings that he doesn’t know how to healthily deal with.

SUNGCHAN

sungchan seems like someone who could demand a lot from his partner in order to feel loved by them. it's almost like in his eyes, he’s either your number one person or he’s nothing at all. he’s either the center of your attention or just another stranger to be ignored. he views nearly all things within a relationship in this same black and white way (a mindset which, in itself, is kind of a red flag). to bring up astrology once again, his virgo sun may cause him to feel this competitive urge to be the most important person amongst all the people in your life, and his leo venus could make him sort of self-centered in desiring to be constantly praised and pampered. as his partner, you may find yourself on the receiving end of several "tests" from him, questions like, "am I the best person you've ever been with?" or "are you sure you want to be with me for the rest of your life?" that he poses in order to confirm your continued interest in him. it's very possible that there is no right way to respond in these situations because even if you answer him affirmatively, he may believe you in the moment, and yet, he's never going to stop wondering whether you truly love him or not, even after years of being together and plenty evidence. sungchan can also be very sensitive towards anything he perceives as you sidelining him. to that end, i see him as someone who could be very jealous and possessive. something as simple as you engaging in a long conversation with another man could be considered a betrayal in his eyes. he'd even be so upset as to go and flirt with another girl in a manner 10x worse than you did just so that he can make you understand even a fraction of the same disregard and pain he felt. all it all, i could see it being exhausting trying to please sungchan and remain in compliance with his impossible standards. but what's sort of fair about him is that he will never hold you that a standard that he isn't willing to hold himself. everything he expects from you is what he already does himself.

EUNSEOK

i mention this in literally everything i write about eunseok, and so it is at the risk of sounding like a broken record that i assert, once again, that this man is painfully nonchalant. as his girlfriend, it would be easy to assume that he doesn't care about you because he's seemingly incapable of expressing love in overt or loud ways. he’s like a school child in that his method of flirting is being mean. in his mind, it should be obvious that by giving you any form of attention, he’s showing you how much he likes you, because when he dislikes or is ambivalent towards something, he won’t engage with it at all. he doesn’t realize that it is a rather unique thing to be a person who is very boundaried when it comes to what he likes and doesn’t like. so it will not even come across his mind that he is not being a sufficiently affectionate or loving boyfriend because just the fact that he chooses to still see you everyday should be proof enough. he justifies himself with remarks like, “if i didn’t like you, why would i still be with you?” and “if i didn’t want to be with you, i’d just say that.” he approaches all forms conflict like this: logically without consideration of the messy, emotional parts of love, which may be frustrating to deal with. furthermore, he wouldn’t have a lot of patience for a partner who has non-verbal ways of showing that they’re upset. he has the attitude of, “if you don’t tell me, i’m not going to try to read your mind,” which again, may come off as disinterest. you could literally throw the most obvious tantrum and he still won’t acknowledge it at all until you put your issues into words. stubbornness, then, could be said as another red flag of his.

SHOTARO

i'm having such a hard time thinking of a moment in which shotaro did or said something that triggered my red flag alarm lol, but what i will say is that in my IRL interactions with people like shotaro, it is almost always the most cheerful and kind people who are the WORST to get upset, because they will go off on you with the same intensity as their kindness usually is. in his everyday efforts to be a good person, he likely suppresses a lot of his negative feelings, and so when they're provoked to finally come out, it's in a volcano-like manner. almost like a switch going off, he could become a totally different person in his rare moments of genuine anger. he may find himself saying cruel, nasty, and out-of-character things. i see him as being especially sensitive to situations where he feels like his kindness has been taken for weakness. another potential red flag is that he may come off as clingy or hyper-dependent. he's almost the opposite of eunseok in that he expresses his love in nearly every way possible; it literally oozes from his being, and at times that could feel overwhelming. if you're sick, he'll insist on getting in bed with you and cuddling anyway. if you're out of town, he'll want to spend the whole day on the phone with you. if you're upset, he wants to know what's wrong and fix it immediately. he views his capacity for love as his best trait, so it may be hard for him to understand why a person would be hesitant to receive such overflowing love.

thank you for asking!

boyfriend!wonbin who acts cool but gets soft when you’re soft with him. if you randomly cup his face or tell him you’re proud of him, he’ll blink for a second like he short circuited. then he laughs it off… but later that night he’ll replay it in his head.

boyfriend!wonbin who protects your peace without making it dramatic. if you’re overwhelmed in a crowd, he subtly moves you to the side, hand firm around yours. if you’re upset, he doesn’t force you to talk, he just sits next to you until you do.

boyfriend!wonbin who fixes your hair without thinking about it. if a piece of your hair falls into your face, he’ll quietly reach over and tuck it behind your ear. no big comment, just a soft “there,” like it’s the most normal thing.

boyfriend!wonbin automatically pulls you closer in crowds. his hand finds the small of your back and gently guides you through people. sometimes he just keeps his hand there even after the crowd is gone.

boyfriend!wonbin lets you play with his hands. you’ll start tracing the lines on his palm or comparing hand sizes and he just lets you, watching quietly with that small smile because he thinks it’s cute.

boyfriend!wonbin who loves quiet dates. walking together at night, sharing earphones, sitting side by side watching videos on his phone. sometimes he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder absentmindedly, just basking in your presence.

boyfriend!wonbin who always walks a little slower so you can keep up. the way he quietly takes your hand so you can walk side by side.

You tapped the screen to read the message. When you saw who it was from, you sat up. 

Wonbin cracked one eye open at the sound of your phone. He watched you through his messy fringe as you typed. The blue light of your screen made your face glow. 

You looked up from your phone and caught Wonbin staring at you. His eyes darted away as soon as you met his gaze. 

Wonbin stretched a muscled arm over his face and covered his eyes. He started to snore lightly. But his breaths were far too shallow for him to actually be asleep. 

"You want to know who's texting me, don't you?" 

"Didn't ask." Wonbin mumbled, keeping his face covered with his arm. His body was all hard lines and flat surfaces - no room for softness. 

"But you wanted to."

Wonbin shuffled around in the sheets, keeping quiet. 

You pressed send. "If you must know, it was my friend asking if she could set me up with a colleague of hers."

Wonbin pulled his arm away from his face. You caught a wild expression in his eyes. It was there just for a second, then his face smoothed over. His dark eyes glistened blankly in the dim light of the room. 

"What did you reply?" Wonbin picked up the room service menu and flicked through the pages. Though face was now perfectly expressionless, the tips of his ears were bright red. 

"I said yes. You and I... this is just sex. That's what you said when we got together, right?"

Wonbin sat up. He pulled a hand through his hair. He paused, as if he was choosing his words carefully. "Yes, I did say that." 

You felt your heart in your throat. 

Wonbin stood up and walked to the window. He faced away from you, so all you could see was the expanse of his back. There were dark scratch marks over his shoulder blades. His whole body was tense. From this angle, he looked more animal than human. 

"If you want to us be together, Wonbin, you're going to have to ask me properly."

Wonbin turned to face you. He held your gaze with a soft intensity. He was so comfortable in his absolute nakedness, it took all of your strength not to look away. 

He scowled. "Text your friend and tell her you're not interested."

"That's no confession."

Wonbin grunted. He pulled you off the bed in one swift motion. Then he turned you around so your back was pressed up against the cool glass window. He leaned towards your neck, so that when he spoke, his lips brushed your skin. Tingles ran across your body. 

"Don't date other men," he whispered. You could feel his erection on your thigh.

You gulped. "Why shouldn't I?"

Wonbin pulled you into a rough hug. He groaned into your shoulder. "You're making this so hard for me."

You looked down at where your bodies were pressed together. 

"I can tell."

Wonbin laughed suddenly. The tension between you fizzed and popped, then slowly melted away. When Wonbin smiled, he did so with his whole face. You realised that he was holding your hand. 

"Well?" you asked, staring at your joined fingers. 

Wonbin brought your hand up to his face and pressed your palm into his cheek. He stared at you with wide black eyes. Even though you were the one wearing clothes, you felt as naked as you were the first time you slept with him. 

"Be mine," Wonbin whispered. "For real."

Your heart pounded. That was no speech full of longing called up onto a balcony, but when it came to Wonbin, that was all you were going to get. And surprisingly, it was enough. 

You stoop up onto your toes and kissed him on the mouth. Wonbin wrapped his hand around your waist and kissed you back. When his tongue brushed against yours, you shivered. Wonbin smiled into the kiss. 

He lifted you into his arms, and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He turned around and carried you back to the bed. 

"I'll take that as a yes," he said, before leaning in to kiss you again. 

—

MAIN MASTERLIST

The room lights are off.

Only the blue flicker of the router enters, dancing pale across the wall.

Wonbin is lying next to you, his back turned. His breathing is steady, calm, as if he's at peace.

You can't sleep.

It's been weeks like this.

Words no longer flow.

Caresses no longer seek each other.

And yet... you don't let go. Not yet.

You close your eyes. Force yourself to remember.

A winter ago.

Your fingers were frozen and your coat wasn't enough. You were waiting at the subway exit, kicking at melted snow with the tip of your boots, when you saw him running toward you.

"Sorry I'm late..." he said, breathless, handing you something.

Gloves. Ivory colored, knitted. With a tag still hanging.

"Wonbin..."

"You said you always lose yours. I remembered."

He was so red. Nervous. Smiling without being able to look at you for long.

You put them on right there, and his eyes stayed glued to your hands.

"Thank you..." you whispered, feeling how your heart burned under your sweater.

He just nodded.

And then... he asked if he could hold your hand.

You open your eyes.

It's not cold this time, but your fingers tremble just the same.

You look at his back, the folds of the blanket that barely covers him.

And you think:

How did we go from that... to this?

You've tried so hard. You've given so much. You've waited so long.

And yet... you don't know if he's still there.

You don't know if you're still there.

You wake to the sound of running water in the bathroom.

Wonbin is showering.

Your first thought isn't "good morning," or "what time is it."

It's: Did he look at me this morning? Did he touch my hair like before? Or did he just get up silently and go into the bathroom without saying anything?

You stare at the ceiling.

Light enters gray through the curtain, filtering through the slats as if it too was unsure whether to stay or not.

And you feel the same way.

You turn over. His side of the bed is messy, but cold.

You don't even know when was the last time you slept embracing.

The water stops.

And just seconds later, you hear him come out.

You see him from the bed: black t-shirt, towel around his neck, wet hair falling over his eyes.

"Good morning," he murmurs, without really looking at you.

You force a smile.

"Good morning..."

And that's it.

That's the entire morning dialogue.

A summer ago.

They had gone out to ride bikes along the riverbank. He had a camera hanging from his neck, you wore a light dress.

During the break, they lay on the grass and he took a photo of you without warning.

"Don't delete that," you said, covering your face.

"Never."

"I look messy, and..."

"You look beautiful."

Like that, with that soft accent, without raising his voice much. But with a conviction that made your chest burn.

He leaned in and kissed you. Caressed your cheek with his thumb.

He told you that you were his favorite person.

And now?

Now, sometimes, he only texts you "did you eat already."

"don't forget the key."

"going to sleep, rest well."

And you're dying to ask him:

When was the last time you thought of me with affection, and not out of habit?

Did you notice that I'm breaking apart next to you, without making a sound?

But you don't.

Because somewhere along this path you learned to stay quiet so as not to lose what little remains.

He finishes getting dressed and leaves. Only leaves you a kiss on the head.

A brush. A mechanical act.

He doesn't even ask how you slept.

And you stay there, tangled in the sheets, feeling lonelier than ever while being accompanied.

Your chest hurts.

And still... you force yourself to remember. Again.

You force yourself to search through memories, like someone rummaging through an old box looking for air.

Spring, two years ago.

He waited for you with a flower he stole from some public garden.

You asked if he could teach you to dance, even though you were clumsy.

He fell asleep on your legs listening to how you read him something you wrote just for him.

And he whispered in his sleep:

"I love you."

So quietly you barely heard it.

But you felt it as if the world was shouting it.

You return to the present.

And you wonder:

Where did all of that go?

Where is the boy who blushed just from looking at you?

Where is that Wonbin who used to listen to you even when you talked about your silliest dreams?

Could it be that he's still there... hidden underneath all this silence?

Or could it be that you were the only one who didn't want to accept that he's no longer the same?

Your chest tightens. Your eyes too.

But you don't cry.

Not this time.

Because today you're just going to keep pretending that you're not fading away alongside him.

That night, in your work kitchen, they ask about him.

"And your boyfriend? Didn't he come today either?"

You smile.

You say he had a meeting.

You say he's busy, as always.

You don't mention that the last time you went out together was to the supermarket.

That you barely talk at night.

That you can't remember when was the last time he looked at you as if you were his home.

In your phone's calendar, you have marked in red:

Fertile days.

And next to it, a small reminder you wrote when you still believed in everything:

"Try for baby 💛"

And the worst part...

is that you still look at it.

You still wonder if this time he'll want to try.

If he'll take your hand, like before, and say: "let's build our family."

That night, after dinner in silence, you approach him.

His neck smells like lavender and coffee.

You lean in. Brush his neck with your lips.

Your hands tremble when you touch him.

He sighs.

Responds halfway.

Lets your body get close, but doesn't seek it.

As if he simply lets it happen.

You end up in bed.

Without long kisses. Without sweet words.

His hands travel over you, but don't feel you.

Your moans are emptier than anything else.

Your body wants to reach climax, but can't. Because he's not there.

Because it no longer feels like love, but like obligation.

Like the last thread keeping everything from falling apart.

He finishes.

You don't.

And all he says afterward is:

"I'm tired."

He turns over. Falls asleep.

And you stay on your back, feeling the burn in your throat, your chest closed.

You feel used without intention.

Sad without apparent reason.

Empty with a heart full of memories.

Two years ago, he cried talking about the future with you.

He took your hand in front of the ocean and said:

"When we both have stable jobs, we'll get married. Yes? And then..."

"And then?" you asked, laughing.

"A baby. A girl. I want her to look like you."

You cried.

Now... he doesn't even ask how your day was.

That night you lock yourself in the bathroom.

You sit on the cold floor.

Read his old messages.

Hug your legs.

And you wonder:

How do you get to this point?

If you were never disloyal.

If you always waited for him.

If you never made him feel alone.

Then... why do you feel alone now?

You look at yourself in the bathroom mirror.

Eyes a little more sunken. Cheeks paler.

When did you start looking like this?

Like a faded version of yourself.

As if he had taken your brightness without realizing it.

Or maybe... he had realized.

"You look tired lately," a coworker tells you at the office, while serving you coffee.

"Do I?" you fake a smile. "I hadn't noticed."

"And sad, a little. You used to talk more."

You laugh, nervous. You say something like "must be the weather" or "didn't sleep well," but inside...

inside you start to think.

Do I look that worn out?

That different?

What if that's... what made him change?

That night you put on makeup.

Not to go out, but so he notices something.

You line your eyes, put on your favorite lipstick, the one he once said tasted like cherry.

The same one that stained his shirt when he couldn't pull away from your mouth.

You put on that simple, short dress he liked, the one he said he didn't like you wearing because he didn't want others to see you so pretty.

And when he comes home from work, you're there. In the kitchen.

Preparing something simple, but with your heart beating fast.

"Hi..." you say, without turning around.

He responds with a tired hello.

Passes by you.

Serves himself water.

He looks at you, yes. But like someone looking at a plant that's been unwatered for days.

As if you were part of the background.

He doesn't say anything. Not even "you look pretty."

Not a smile.

You swallow. Keep cooking.

And with each movement, you feel the wound opening more.

Saturdays used to be theirs.

Movies. Ramen. Walks. Caresses in the park.

Long kisses in the living room.

Songs sung in the car, loudly.

Now...

He goes out alone.

Says he's going to see a friend. That he has to help with something.

He doesn't seem to be doing anything wrong. There are no obvious lies.

He still unlocks his phone in front of you. Or did he... when was the last time you saw it?

Did he change the password?

Or did you simply stop paying attention?

Saturday passes and he doesn't ask if you want to go out.

You stay home, with the dress on, and smeared eyeliner.

Waiting for him to come back.

For him to look at you.

But all you get is:

"I'm back. Did you eat already?"

And that... that's not love.

That's routine.

That's living with a breathing ghost.

You go to sleep before him.

Because it hurts less.

Because you don't want to keep waiting for a kiss that doesn't come.

Because you're afraid to try to touch him and have him say "I'm tired" again.

But the worst part is that you're tired too.

Just not of him.

But of trying alone.

THE ACCIDENTAL TRUTH

On some random Tuesday you decide to call Sohee, his best friend since college.

It's not that you want to spy. Just... you need to know if he's okay. If he's going through something difficult that he's not telling you.

"Wonbin?" says Sohee on the phone. "Yeah, we talked yesterday."

Your heart speeds up.

"Ah, how did he seem?"

"Good, like always. Telling me about his work plans, laughing at the usual silly things... " a pause. "Although..."

"Although what?"

"I don't know, lately when he talks about you two he sounds like... distant. Like the topic bores him."

The world stops.

"What do you mean?"

"It's nothing bad, it's just that before he wouldn't stop talking about you. Every conversation ended in something you two had done together or how proud he was of you. And now... when I ask about you, he changes the subject quickly."

You hang up.

You sit on the floor.

And you understand: the problem isn't that he's going through something.

The problem is you.

He simply... doesn't want to talk about you anymore.

He doesn't get excited about you anymore.

You're no longer his favorite topic.

That night, when he arrives, you receive him as always.

But inside, every gesture of his feels like confirmation.

The distracted kiss on your forehead.

The "how was your day?" without really waiting for an answer.

The way he avoids your eyes when you speak.

And when you ask about his day, he says:

"Normal. Work. Nothing interesting."

But you know he was laughing with Sohee.

That he talked about his plans.

That he was animated.

Just not with you.

"What's happening with us?"

The question has been burning on your tongue for weeks.

But today, you simply can't take it anymore.

You throw it into the air like a plea disguised as casual conversation.

He looks up from his phone.

Blinks slowly.

"What do you mean?"

"This. You, me. What we are now."

What we no longer are.

He sighs.

Not from sadness.

From annoyance.

"Nothing's happening. Just... things change, you know? Love transforms."

You look at him.

And inside, your world falls apart.

"Do you love me?"

Silence.

Or, worse, another sigh.

He gets up from the sofa, stretches as if the conversation tires him more than a whole day of work.

"Of course. If not, I wouldn't be with you."

And with that, he goes to his room.

Closes the door.

You stay in the living room, feeling like an idiot.

Feeling like he told you that the way someone says "of course, otherwise I wouldn't be wearing this shirt."

Your heart hurts.

But your memory is treacherous, and throws you to the past:

To that night.

The first time you slept together.

Your room.

Your nervousness.

His red cheeks.

He couldn't stop looking at you, as if you were a miracle.

He removed your lipstick with slow kisses, caressed you as if you were fragile.

He told you he had never felt anything like this.

"I don't want to sleep, just to be able to keep looking at you."

Now... he barely says goodnight.

Your anniversary is approaching.

Five years.

An eternity.

Your heart clings: Maybe then he'll remember. Maybe then he'll be himself again.

That day you prepare everything.

Dinner. A dessert he loves. A letter written with trembling hands.

You put on makeup, get ready.

You wait.

And when he arrives...

"What's for dinner? Oh, are you going out somewhere?"

You shake your head.

He doesn't remember.

And you don't tell him anything.

Not because it doesn't matter.

But because it breaks you into a thousand pieces having to remind him.

THE INVESTIGATION

That night, when he sleeps, you can't take it anymore.

The phone is on the nightstand.

Face down.

You tremble. You hesitate.

But you take it.

Press the button.

Start entering his password.

The one it always was: doesn't work.

A new one.

Your heart races like a gunshot.

You take advantage that he's deeply asleep.

Take his hand carefully.

Put his finger on the sensor.

Unlocked.

You check cautiously.

Chats. Photos. Email.

And then you see it.

A conversation with Seunghan, another friend.

"How are things going with her?"

"Complicated. I don't know what to do."

"Do you still feel the same?"

"Honestly... no. But I don't know how to end something that's five years."

"That's tough, bro."

"The worst part is that she keeps trying. And that makes me feel guilty, but also... annoyed? I don't know how to explain it."

"Do you not love her anymore?"

A minute without response.

"Not like before. Maybe not at all."

You put the phone back in its place.

You lie down next to him again.

He sleeps.

You cry silently.

And you wonder if it's worse to lose someone suddenly...

or to read exactly how they stopped feeling love for you.

THE FALSE HOPE

Days after the silence.

The shared emptiness between spoons and lit screens.

The "goodnight" that no longer sounds like before.

Wonbin approaches you while you're in the kitchen, stirring coffee as if you could stir the knot in your chest.

"I've been thinking about what you told me," he says with that tone that makes your heart stop for half a second. "How would you feel about next month... traveling to Greece?"

You look at him, as if you hadn't heard correctly.

But there he is. That look of his, that slight sideways smile you loved so much. As if, finally, he had remembered you.

You don't think. You throw yourself at his neck, hug him as if your life depended on it.

You tell him yes, yes, yes.

That night you kiss him without fear. He responds. And for a moment, everything is like before. Like when your world revolved around his and he made sure to revolve with you.

You fall asleep hugged to his chest, with a smile as soft as it is foolish.

You don't know that will be the last time you feel this way.

Three days pass.

You notice him cold again. Isolated. As if that promise had been just a lapse in his routine.

While washing dishes, you show him your phone.

"Look, I found this beautiful place in Santorini. Do you like it?"

He doesn't even turn around.

"Ah, we can't go. I have training that exact week. I forgot."

He doesn't apologize. Doesn't look at you. Just says that. Like taking your breath away without realizing.

Your head starts to hurt and so does your soul.

But this time it's different.

This time you feel something worse than sadness.

You feel anger.

Anger that he had given you hope only to take it away.

Anger that he can't even pretend that hurting you matters.

"Why did you tell me we were going?" you ask, with a broken voice.

He shrugs.

"It occurred to me in the moment. I didn't think you'd take it so seriously."

I didn't think you'd take it so seriously.

As if you were stupid for believing his words.

As if you were naive for clinging to a promise he made.

"How am I not going to take it seriously? You're my boyfriend!"

"Exactly. Your boyfriend. Not your husband. I don't have to plan every detail of our future."

You freeze.

Because there's the truth.

For him, you're not future.

You're present. Comfortable. Habit.

But not future.

THE MIRROR'S REVELATION

You stop him before he enters the room.

Your voice trembles.

"I can't anymore, Wonbin. I don't understand what's wrong. Am I doing something wrong?"

He sighs. Sits down. Looks at the floor.

"Nothing's wrong. You're the one making things up. You're always being dramatic."

"I'm not being dramatic!" you scream without meaning to. "You don't talk to me! You don't touch me! You don't see me! We're no longer us. You're no longer you."

Wonbin gets up abruptly.

"You know what? You're right. I'm no longer the same. Because I don't want to be the same. I was tired of being that guy who melted for you, who couldn't spend a day without you, who saw you as if you were perfect."

The words hit you like slaps.

"What?"

"I grew up. I matured. And I realized that obsession wasn't healthy love. It was dependency."

You look at him, unable to process it.

"Obsession? Dependency? You loved me!"

"I idealized you. There's a difference."

The floor opens beneath your feet.

"So... you never loved me? Really?"

He looks at you for the first time in weeks. With those cold eyes you no longer recognize.

"I loved you. But not anymore. And I can't pretend I do just to not hurt you."

And there you are.

In the middle of the room.

With your heart in pieces in your hands.

He continues:

"Do you really want to talk about this now?"

"When, then? After another five years of pretending?"

He runs a hand through his hair. Gets up. Goes toward the door.

You follow him.

"Answer me! Why did everything change? I'm still here! I've always been here!"

"You're the one making a drama," he says without turning around. "Everything's fine for me."

"Nothing's fine!"

He turns around. Raises his voice.

"And what do you expect me to do?! To pretend I'm crazy about you like before when I don't feel it the same way anymore? To lie just so you feel better?"

"I expect you to tell me the truth! To be honest! To not make me feel like I'm crazy for missing what we had!"

"The truth?" he laughs bitterly. "Do you really want it?"

Your heart stops.

"Yes."

"The truth is I got tired. Of your constant needs, of your questions, of feeling like I have to be your source of happiness all the time. The truth is that when I come home and see you, all I think about is how exhausting it's going to be to pretend I'm okay."

Every word is a dagger.

"The truth is I'm no longer excited by the idea of touching you. That when we have sex, I think about finishing quickly. That when you hug me, I feel suffocated."

You can't breathe.

"The truth is that yes, there was a moment when I thought about leaving you. But it's comfortable. It's easy. And it's not like you've done anything specifically wrong to end things dramatically."

"Comfortable?" you whisper.

"Yes. Comfortable. I don't have to look for an apartment. I don't have to explain to anyone why we broke up. I don't have to start over."

You feel as if they had ripped your soul from your body.

"Is that what I am to you? Comfort?"

He doesn't answer.

And his silence is the clearest answer of all.

THE CRUEL END

You hear him leave the room. A door slam. Silence.

And you stay there.

This time you do cry.

You cry like you hadn't cried in years.

As if all the days of silent sadness had accumulated in this moment.

You look at yourself in the room's mirror.

And there she is: a woman you don't recognize.

Swollen eyes, not just from today's crying, but from sleepless nights.

Sunken cheeks because you've lost weight without realizing.

An expression of defeat you had never seen on your face.

When did I become this version of myself?

When did I stop being the girl he loved to become the one who bores him?

Or was I always like this and he just got tired of pretending?

You touch your face with trembling hands.

And for the first time in a long time, you realize something:

He's right about one thing.

You're no longer the same.

But not because you've grown or matured.

But because you lost yourself in the process of trying to hold onto him.

You became a small, needy, desperate version of yourself.

And maybe... maybe that's not the woman he fell in love with.

And definitely not the woman you want to be.

THE LAST HOPE DESTROYED

Two days later, he comes home with flowers.

Tulips. Your favorites.

For a moment, your foolish heart races.

Did he regret it? Did he reflect? Did he realize what he said?

"Sorry about the other day," he says, offering you the flowers. "I was stressed about work. I shouldn't have talked to you like that."

You take them, with trembling hands.

"Really?"

"Really. And... " he sighs. "I talked to my mom about us."

Your heart stops.

"What did you tell her?"

"That we're going through a rough patch. And she made me reflect on how important you are to me."

How important I am to him?

A spark of hope ignites in your chest.

"Wonbin..."

"I want us to try. Really. I want us to go to couple's therapy. I want us to be ourselves again."

And there he is.

The Wonbin you know. The one who looks you in the eyes. The one who speaks with that sincerity that always disarms you.

You throw yourself into his arms.

You cry, but this time from relief.

"I knew you were there. I knew you hadn't disappeared."

He hugs you. Kisses your head.

"Forgive me. For everything."

That night you make love like you hadn't in months.

He looks into your eyes. Tells you he loves you. Caresses you tenderly.

You fall asleep feeling that finally, finally, everything is going to be okay.

The next morning you wake up alone.

Wonbin had already left for work.

You wake up with a smile, make coffee, and when you pick up the computer you share to send some work emails, you see that he forgot to close a conversation.

With Seunghan.

"How did yesterday go?"

"Good. I bought her flowers and told her everything she wanted to hear."

"Are you really going to try?"

"No. But I need time to organize everything. I can't end it so suddenly, she'll go crazy. And if we break up badly, it'll be drama with our friends."

"So... the therapy?"

"We'll go a few times. I'll blame the therapist when it 'doesn't work.' It's easier for her to think we tried."

"You're cruel, bro."

"It's the kindest thing I can do. Ending it suddenly would be worse."

The phone slips from your hands.

Falls to the floor with a dry sound.

Like your heart.

Like your hopes.

Like all the faith you had that people can change.

You sit on the kitchen floor.

And for the first time, you don't cry.

Because you have nothing left inside to cry.

There's only emptiness.

And a cold, cutting clarity you had never had.

THE DECISION

That night, when he arrives with that fake smile you now know is acted, you're waiting for him in the living room.

Serene. Calm.

With a suitcase at your feet.

"What's that?" he asks, feigning confusion.

"My things," you respond with a voice you don't recognize. Firm. Without tremors.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving."

"What? Why? I thought we had talked. That we were going to try."

You look him in the eyes.

And for the first time in months, you're the one who looks at him without love.

"I read your conversation with Seunghan."

The color drains from his face.

"I... I can explain..."

"You don't need to. I understood everything."

You get up. Take the suitcase.

"Where are you going to go?" he asks, and for the first time in a long time, there's something like panic in his voice.

Not because he loves you.

But because he lost control of the situation.

"That's no longer your concern."

"Of course it concerns me. We've been together for five years."

"No. YOU were with me for five years. I spent five years alone, pretending I was accompanied."

You leave the keys on the table.

"Wonbin..." he says your name as if it were a plea.

You stop at the door.

"What?"

"Are you really going to leave me like this? Without trying?"

You turn around.

And you smile. But it's not a sad smile.

It's a liberating smile.

"You already left me months ago. I just refused to see it."

"But I... I do love you. It's just that..."

"No. You can't use that word with me anymore. You spent it. You mistreated it. It doesn't mean anything coming from you anymore."

You open the door.

"Have a good life, Wonbin. And I hope you find someone who doesn't exhaust you to love."

You leave.

And when the door closes behind you, for the first time in a long time, you can breathe.

SIX MONTHS LATER

You're in a new café, reading a book you bought just because you liked the cover.

Your hair is shorter now. You cut it a week after leaving, because you needed to see yourself differently in the mirror.

You wear a new lipstick. Coral color. Nothing he had seen before.

Your phone vibrates.

A message.

From him.

"Hi. How are you?"

You read it. But don't open it.

You leave the phone aside and keep reading.

Because now you know something you didn't know before:

Not all loves that end deserve an answer.

Not all people who hurt you deserve your forgiveness.

And not all the "I love you"s you heard were true.

But that's okay.

Because you also learned that you can love yourself better than he ever did.

And that sometimes, letting someone go isn't a loss.

It's finding yourself.

You drink your coffee.

Turn the page.

And keep reading your story.

This time, one where you are the protagonist.

Not the supporting character in someone else's life.

Same room.

Five years ago.

He held you as if you were made of glass.

With trembling fingers, he combed your hair and said:

"I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm not going to ruin this."

And now...

Now you understand that some promises break.

That some people change.

And that's okay.

Because you can change too.

And choose not to stay where you're no longer valued.

A week after your departure, you packed the last of his things that remained in the apartment that is now only yours.

Among his books, you found a photo.

You two on that first date. He looks at you with those eyes full of adoration that were once real.

You observe it for a long moment.

And you put it in the trash.

Not with anger.

Not with sadness.

Simply because that story is over.

it’s valentine’s day in the city, and the air smells like sugar and perfume.

you’re curled up in the backseat of a cab, the windows fogged from the cold, the streetlights trailing like slow motion sparkles across wonbin’s face. he’s leaning against you, cheek pressed to your shoulder, silent in the way that only happens when he’s thinking too hard. you can feel it in the tension of his fingers, how he keeps curling them into your coat like he needs proof that you’re still there.

"you okay?" you murmur, voice low, thumb brushing lightly over his hand.

he nods, doesn’t look at you. "just tired."

but you know it’s not that. not really.

he’s been like this all week—subdued, sweet in that clingy way you secretly love, but distant in the places you can’t reach. like he’s afraid of something he doesn’t want to name. and you’ve seen it before. the way it crawls up his spine and sits behind his eyes. doubt, soft and ugly. too quiet to fight but too loud to ignore.

so you hold him tighter. let him rest his weight against you, fingers slipping into his hair. "we can go home," you say. "we don’t have to do anything. just lay down, listen to music."

he hums, nods again. his hand comes up to rest over yours, and you press a kiss to his temple just to feel him breathe again.

later, in your apartment, he’s curled up in the middle of your bed like a spoiled cat—hair a little messy from the shower, hoodie a size too big, sleeves falling past his hands. the room smells like your favorite candle and the leftover sugar from those macarons he made you buy earlier even though he pretended they were for you.

he looks beautiful. soft. like someone you’d write a thousand love letters to and still feel like you didn’t say enough.

you crawl in beside him, wrapping around him from behind, your hand slipping under the hem of his hoodie to touch warm skin.

"you’re really quiet today," you whisper into his shoulder.

he shifts. pauses. "...do you ever think about leaving me?"

the question is so quiet you almost miss it. it breaks something in your chest.

you sit up just enough to see him, your heart doing that slow, sinking thing it does when he gets like this. when his mind takes him to places you can’t follow.

"what?" you ask softly, brushing your fingers through his bangs. "where’s this coming from?"

he shrugs, avoiding your gaze. "i don’t know. just… sometimes i think i’m too much. and you’re… too good."

you let out a breath, gentle and sad. because this isn’t the first time he’s said something like that. and it won’t be the last. wonbin loves to be loved, but part of him still can’t believe he deserves it. not fully.

you lean down and kiss his cheek. then the corner of his mouth. then his jaw.

"if in the morning i’m with you, and in the evening i’m there," you whisper, each word a kiss. "and if it’s you that’s always waiting—then why would i ever want someone else?"

his eyes close. his throat works like he’s trying not to cry. "i don’t know," he says. "sometimes it just feels like… one day you’ll wake up and realize there’s someone better."

you shake your head, climbing over him gently until you’re nose to nose, both of you tangled in the warmth of your sheets.

"you’ve always been the one, wonbin. even before you knew it. even before i did." your fingers brush along his cheek. "there’s no one else. not even close."

he finally looks at you. and it’s that look again—the one that makes you feel like the only thing in the world. like you hung the stars and spelled his name in the constellations. but this time it’s laced with something tender. something tired.

he swallows hard.

"i get so scared sometimes," he admits, voice cracking. "like… like there’s this part of you i’ll never be able to reach. or that maybe you’ll get tired of how much i need you. how soft i get around you. it’s pathetic."

"it’s not pathetic," you say, sharper than you mean to. your hands cradle his face now, gentle but insistent. "don’t you ever call it that. you love harder than anyone i know. that isn’t weakness."

"but it feels like weakness." his voice splinters. "like i’m always waiting for something to go wrong. like i’m bracing for it."

your chest aches. the kind of ache that makes your breath catch, because you’ve seen him like this—late at night, when he thinks you’re asleep, curled in on himself like he's trying to disappear. always trying to prove something. to deserve something he already has.

"what would it take?" you ask quietly. "for you to believe you’re enough for me?"

he closes his eyes. a single tear escapes down his cheek.

"i don’t know," he says. "i want to believe it. i really do. but sometimes it’s like my head won’t let me."

you nod, pulling him in until your foreheads touch, your voice barely audible in the quiet of your room.

"then let me say it again. as many times as it takes."

his fingers tighten around your waist, desperate in a way that breaks your heart open. and he hides in your neck again, trembling just slightly, like the weight of all his unsaid fears has finally caught up to him.

"don’t run from me," you whisper, threading your fingers through his hair. "not when i’m right here."

"i won’t," he whispers back.

and for the rest of the night, he holds you like a lifeline. like he’s still learning how to believe in good things, and you let him. you hold him right back.

because loving him has never been hard—it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done. and someday, you hope he’ll understand just how much that means.