#obvs in their work related projects (and maybe even with decisions with their own dates and stuff)

[dystincts]

eunbi didn’t answer right away. instead, she looked down at the stem of her glass, fingers twisting it slowly between her thumb and index. it was such a tylio question — direct, impossible to answer cleanly, and yet she found herself grateful for it. because despite all the sleepless nights and press releases and bitter distance that followed their breakup, not once had either of them really asked that question out loud. ‘where did we go wrong’. as though they’d both been too proud to admit it ever had. now, sitting across from him with the weight of the city tucked behind glass, she could finally feel the question settling between them like dust on old furniture. something untouched until now. ❝ i think… ❞ she said slowly, choosing her words with uncharacteristic care, ❝ we made the mistake of thinking that loving each other meant we didn’t need anything else. ❞

she raised her eyes to him, expression unreadable for a moment, before softening into something almost apologetic. ❝ we didn’t really make space for the things that weren’t about work. or winning. or being the best. ❞ she let out a soft breath, leaning back in her seat, letting the wine blur the edges of her restraint. ❝ everything we built together was brilliant. efficient. clean. but our relationship became like that too. something scheduled. structured. contained. ❞ there was no resentment in her tone, only a deep, quiet tiredness. ❝ and the messier parts— the days when i was just tired, or needed affection for no reason, or wanted to talk about something stupid and unimportant… they started feeling like flaws in the system. ❞

her mouth twitched like she might smile, but it never quite happened. ❝ we optimized everything, tylio. except for the parts that made us human. ❞ it was a truth that had lived in her quietly for a long time, tucked between meeting agendas and investor decks. she had loved him — that wasn’t a question. and maybe she still did, in that old, stubborn way that had nothing to do with logic or strategy. but love had never been the problem. it had been everything else they’d refused to make room for. ❝ and i think we were both too proud to admit that we needed more. ❞ she looked at him again, this time without her usual armor. just two people who had once built an empire together and still remembered what it felt like to sit beside each other in the dark after the meetings ended.

❝ it’s not that i regret it… ❞ she added, her voice quieter now, as if something in her chest might shatter if she spoke too loud. ❝ we were good. so good, ty. we did things people dream about doing. and i don’t think any of it was fake. ❞ she finally reached for her wine, took a longer sip this time, and blinked once, slowly. ❝ but i think somewhere along the line, we forgot that relationships aren’t companies. they don’t scale. you can’t just pour in more hours and expect them to grow. ❞ she set the glass down, the clink of crystal against wood far too loud in the quiet. then, almost as an afterthought: ❝ but i still think about the candle. and the park. and the wine. ❞ she offered him a fragile smile. ❝ i think about that night a lot. ❞

eunbi let his compliment linger in the silence, like a note played too softly to echo but still heard. she didn’t smile, exactly, but the smallest shift in her expression gave her away — the way her eyes softened, the way her chin dipped ever so slightly before she caught herself. you did. two words, simple, but threaded with acknowledgment that came without bitterness. coming from him, it carried weight. tylio wasn’t the type to hand out praise without meaning it. and though she’d never say it aloud, hearing it from him now — in the quiet aftermath of everything they’d lost… stirred something vulnerable inside her. she took a slow sip from her glass, letting the wine coat her tongue, grounding herself with its warmth before responding. ❝ i had to prove to people that i wasn’t just the second name on a two name brand. ❞ she said, eyes not quite meeting his. ❝ that i was capable on my own. ❞ she paused, then added more softly: ❝ even if part of me missed having someone who could carry the weight with me. ❞

his answer didn’t surprise her, not really. tylio had always found comfort in the rhythm of work — and she understood that too well. but there was something about the way he described his team now. the bowling nights, the assistant eager to drag him out of his office… that made her chest tighten with something that felt dangerously close to sadness. she wondered if he’d ever actually gone bowling, or if he always found an excuse to stay behind, buried in spreadsheets and strategy sessions. ❝ i used to be jealous of people who could clock out at six. ❞ she admitted, tracing the rim of her glass with her fingertip. ❝ but now i think they might have it right. this obsession with staying late— it tricks you into thinking you’re building something that’ll last. ❞ she looked at him then, and for a moment, her expression was unguarded. ❝ but even foundations crack if you don’t stop long enough to check where the weight is falling. ❞

she smiled (genuinely this time) when he brought up the movie night. ❝ of course i remember heh. ❞ she said, her voice warmer now, touched by nostalgia. ❝ we fought for days about whether it was worth leaving the office early for a movie, and then we both ended up crying over it anyway. ❞ her laugh was small, but real. quiet and filled with that rare kind of shared memory that only people who truly lived together could understand. ❝ i still remember what we ate. that overpriced pasta place with the candle that wouldn’t stay lit. ❞ her eyes flicked back to him, and though she didn’t mention what came after. the stumbling, wine drowsy kisses, his hand beneath her blouse, the whispered laughter as they fumbled with keys at the door… it hung in the air between them, charged and unspoken. ❝ sometimes i think about that night and wonder if that’s when it all started slipping through the cracks. like we were trying to live a whole relationship in one evening. ❞

she went quiet after that, letting the words settle while the hum of city traffic filtered faintly through the closed windows. then, more carefully, she added: ❝ i leave early sometimes now. i try. i think about balance a lot. about what it even looks like. but the truth is, i’m still more comfortable here than anywhere else. even if it means eating dinner over my keyboard. ❞ she glanced at her wine, then at him, meeting his gaze with something that felt both resolute and open. ❝ being in this room with you again… it doesn’t feel like progress. but it doesn’t feel like surrender, either. it just… feels like we stopped pretending for a second. and honestly… ❞ she added, her voice lowering into something nearly intimate, ❝ that’s kind of a relief. ❞