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Chapter Three : The Weight of What Was Lost
Warning: angst, mingyu being a little possessive
"Some wounds don’t heal with time — they just learn to bleed in silence."
Three months.
Ninety-two days.
That’s how long it had been since she left. Since her scent stopped lingering in the hallway. Since the apartment fell into a haunting silence.
He'd counted every morning without her. Counted every minute he'd laid awake in that empty bed, trying to memorize the sound of her voice so it wouldn't fade. He tried to fill the void—parties, gym, noise—but it was like trying to drown a storm with a whisper.
Her mug was still on the shelf. She’d forgotten it. A stupid, chipped little thing with faded sunflowers.
He’d never touch it.
The sheets hadn’t been changed. Her shampoo still clung to the pillows. He slept curled around the ghost of her, begging the silence to answer him back.
“You need to go out,” Jihoon had said.
So now he was sitting in some quiet café he’d never been to before, just because Jihoon dragged him by the collar. Half-dead and nursing a lukewarm americano.
And that’s when she walked in.
Time didn’t just stop. It crashed.
She was laughing. Her hair was longer. She wore a soft pink dress that swayed like petals. Her smile was effortless—beautiful and unfair.
His heart stopped functioning for a full ten seconds.He stood before he could think. Jihoon tried to stop him—“Don’t”—but it was too late.
She froze when she saw him.
So did he.
She wasn’t supposed to see him.
She hadn’t thought about him. Not today. Not until now.
The studio apartment was tiny but hers. She painted the walls herself. She’d learned to sleep with one pillow. She could cook without crying. Most days, at least.
She looked good. Her friends said so. She felt... better. Or she was trying to.
But when he walked up to her table, everything stilled.
“Can we talk?”
Her chest tightened. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please. Just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
She shook her head and started packing to leave.
The moment she turned her back on him, heading toward the café exit, Mingyu’s heartbeat pounded so hard it echoed in his ears. He stood up abruptly, the legs of the chair scraping against the floor. “Hey!” he called out, voice breaking slightly, but she didn’t stop.
His instincts took over. He rushed after her, weaving through the chairs, almost knocking over a coffee tray held by a startled waiter. Just as she reached the threshold of the café, he reached out and grabbed her wrist—not harshly, not gently either. It was firm, desperate.
“You're not just walking away again,” he said, his voice dangerously low, trembling with frustration and longing.
People turned to look. The soft jazz music playing in the café couldn’t drown out the emotional crackle between them.
“Let go, Mingyu.” Her voice was cold. But her eyes wavered.
“No. You don’t just get to do this.” He tightened his grip slightly and pulled her gently—yet firmly—into the building’s lobby. The door swished closed behind them, dulling the hum of voices.
The lobby was quiet and wide, with marble floors and soft lighting. He stood between her and the elevator, towering over her slightly.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she murmured, hugging her arms to her chest.
“You think I can?” Mingyu snapped. “I wake up every day and it’s like I’m missing a lung. You left and took everything with you.”
“You cheated!”
“I didn’t know what I was doing, I was drunk—”
“You slept with her, Mingyu. Drunk or not, it was still you.”
His jaw clenched. His voice broke. “I haven’t slept properly since you left. I see your face in every corner of that apartment. Your damn mug is still there. Your scarf is still on the hook. You haunt me.”
The elevator dinged, and she stepped forward, but he blocked her path.
“You’re not leaving again. Not like this.”
“Move!”
“No!”
“Mingyu—”
The sound of shoes clicking on the marble floor interrupted them. Jihoon stepped into the lobby, eyes widening as he saw the scene before him.
“Mingyu?”
He glanced back, his body shielding her instinctively. “Not now, Jihoon.”
Jihoon approached cautiously. “What are you doing? You’re being reckless.”
“I’m trying to stop the only person that ever made sense from walking away.”
“You’re scaring her.”
Mingyu looked back at her. Her eyes were wide—not afraid, but overwhelmed. His grip softened, but his presence didn’t.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said to her, softer now. “I’m trying to fight for you. For us. Maybe for the first damn time with everything I’ve got.”
Jihoon stepped in, putting a firm hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. “You need to breathe.”
Mingyu took a shaky breath, but his eyes never left her. “I love you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect what we had when I had the chance. But I’m not letting go without trying. Even if you hate me. Even if you never come back. I need you to know I would burn down the world for you.”
Her voice was hoarse, barely audible. “Sometimes love isn’t enough...”
She slipped past both of them, stepped into the elevator, and let the doors close in silence.
Mingyu didn’t move. Jihoon stood beside him, silent, respectful of the grief boiling just beneath the surface.
“She’s my everything,” Mingyu muttered, trying his best to hold his tears back.
“I know,” Jihoon said quietly.
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I’m putting my foot down, if you don’t Know you’re flirting you’re not Flirting. Flirting requires knowledge and intent. If you’re not doing it on purpose you’re just bantering. I will die on this hill, yes.
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Ingeborg Bachmann, from "Eyes to Wonder" in Three Paths to the Lake
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