sunishake

[sunishake]

IN BETWEEN — park jongseong ☆ミ 박종성

"This is not a love story"

Synopsis: They were everything until they weren’t. a ugly truth about first loves, final goodbyes, and the quiet kind of heartbreak that lingers long after the door closes. pairing: reader x non idol! jay genre: angst, drama, realistic portrayal of romance, high school sweethearts to strangers, milked the whole ashiqui 2 album kinda fic (?)

If you ask Jay what is the earliest memory he had of y/n, it would definitely be her annoyingly chipped blue nail polish and the faint smell of lotte bubble gum whenever she opened her mouth. They met when they were 16. He sat behind her in class, always doodling on the margins of his worksheets and in between glancing at her coffee stained workbook. “Would you stop?” He would ask, annoyed by her constant movement as she couldn't just stay still resulting in her feet always brushing against his. In reply y/n would turn back and give him a big gummy smile, her braces visible “sorry jay but I just noticed your socks! they are mismatched!”

“You don't have to say that out loud god…”

“They look cute! don't worry!—”

“Shut up please”

She was loud and quick-witted, the kind of loud which would make you wanna join her and sign for a peace treaty for the universe, the kind of loud that made everyone feel warm, feel energetic, feel like they are Monday kinda ready.

And Jay wanted to be one of them. He was quiet, the kind who watched everything and said very little. He noticed the way her collection of pokemon stickers never ran out, the way she highlighted entire pages, the way she chewed her pen when she was thinking and definitely the way her smile made him feel bubbly inside.

Ugh, it's uncomfortable. Until it was not. Until he realised he was yelling at everyone when he couldn't see that gummy smile just for one sick leave.

Their first kiss was in a stupid high school play. It was a disaster, she jumped on him completely ignoring the script and his lips scraped against her braces, amidst the chaos and students laughing jay watched her stupidly fix his brown shirt which had powder stains now, the one he borrowed from his dad.

She wore too much eyeliner. He smelled like old cologne. It was awkward and new.

Jay knew there was no running away after that because of how he had pulled her closer backstage and gave her a big smooch on lips. “T-that's how you do it idiot, I swear to god if you kiss anyone else after this, I'm going to haunt you down” he was a rambling mess and she was burning “i won't! You can count on me!”

They made promises, soft, teenage ones, under the sunroof of his dad's old car. "Let’s not be like everyone else," she whispered. "Let’s not fall apart.”

He touched her pinky with his."I won’t let us.”

And for a while, they didn’t.

They fell in love in coffee shops and libraries, in movie ticket stubs and shared playlists. On the way he walked her home every night, even when it rained. In the way she cheered at his band’s terrible gigs. In the way they said 'forever' like it was a fact, not a hope.

They’re twenty-six now. Living in a third-floor apartment with weak water pressure and a fridge that hums too loud. The walls are the same beige they swore they’d repaint. They never did. Long gone are her braces and Jay's guitar collected dust now and then. “Jay…stop”

She mumbled, feeling his hand on her bare skin, the one he immediately retreated after hearing those two words and thousands others silent. “I'm sorry, you seemed distressed—”

“Lately….” She stared at the ceiling contemplating each and every word that formed in her mouth. “We're just fucking” her voice sharp and ice cold “what's the point if we're just fucking and not making love anymore?”

“…I don’t know,” he whispered. It wasn’t defensive. It wasn’t angry. It was worse, honest.

She turned away, jaw clenched, blinking rapidly.

Jay sat up, back against the headboard, fingers threading through his unkempt hair. “I still look at you like I used to,” he said quietly. “But I think I forgot how to show it. Somewhere between rent payments and late shifts and us pretending everything’s fine, I—I lost the version of me that made you feel loved.”

Silence.

She laughed, bitter and sad. “Then why are we still here?”

He swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in his eyes. “Because part of me still believes we’re worth saving. Even if we’re already halfway gone.”

It’s a Wednesday. The groceries sit by the door. She’s home first but doesn’t move to unpack them. He comes home late, tired, fingers red from biting winter air. They barely say hello. He notices the bags, still full but doesn't say anything. Just walking past them like silence has become their language.

She hears the rustle of his coat hitting the hook, the soft thud of his boots by the door. The sigh he lets out, the one he doesn’t mean for her to hear.

“Long day?” she asks, finally.

He nods, not looking at her. “You didn’t unpack them?”

“I didn’t feel like it.”

He hums, barely audible. Not agreement, not annoyance. Just something to fill the space where connections used to live.

She turns back to the show she isn’t really watching. He disappears into the kitchen. Plastic bags crinkle, cans meet shelves, the fridge opens, closes. For a second, the quiet feels unbearable, for a second, she thinks about asking him what they’re doing. About saying she misses him, even when he’s right there.

But she doesn’t.

And neither does he.

The apartment feels colder than outside.

Their life has turned into habits, two toothbrushes side by side, his cereal on the second shelf, her conditioner always empty. There’s comfort in the routine, sure. But not intimacy. He still keeps her gums stocked. She still leaves the bathroom light on for him when he works late. They exchange small kindnesses that feel like echoes of something bigger. But they don’t look at each other the way they used to.

Sometimes she talks to him from the kitchen and he doesn’t hear her. Or maybe he does, and just doesn’t respond. Either way, she stops talking halfway through.

They don’t fight. They just… don’t reach for each other anymore.

Sunoo and Jungwon still think they’re perfect. Childhood sweethearts. The golden couple. But she can’t remember the last time he looked at her like she was anything more than familiar. Sometimes, she catches him in the morning light, half-asleep, hair a mess, and shirt wrinkled from restless nights. For a moment, she hopes he’ll look at her the way he used to like she held galaxies in her hands.

But his gaze always passes right through her.

He asks if she wants coffee and she says yes, even though it’s bitter now, even though he forgets the sugar. It’s not about the taste, It’s about pretending they still know how to care.

They sit at the kitchen table, across from each other, sipping the silence.

Love was never supposed to feel like a habit.

They try. Sort of. They go on date nights that feel like chores. They talk about taxes, broken heaters, meal prep. She starts working longer hours and he gets quiet when she comes home.

“Remember that poem you wrote to me back in college?”

He nods slowly.

“I don’t think you’ve said anything like that in years.”

He looks at her for a long moment. “You didn't either”

The words hang between them, brittle.

Later that night, she re-reads that old poem. He finds her asleep on the couch with the crumbled paper in her lap. He stares at the paper for a second before picking it up and then glances at the trash can way too hard.

And after he covers her with a blanket he sits beside her for hours, wide awake.

She begins to romanticize the quiet as he begins to fear it.

There were better times.

When they couldn’t stop touching, when dinner was two-minute noodles on the floor of their first rented studio and it still tasted like joy. When they kissed in bookstores and ran in the rain like clichés. When she sat on the kitchen counter and read to him while he chopped onions. When he scribbled song lyrics on napkins and slipped them into her bag.

The day they got the apartment, they danced in the empty living room to a song from a playlist he made for her in college. She had cried and said, “This is exactly what I imagined.”

He remembers that more vividly than anything else.

Now she gets irritated when he doesn’t fold the laundry. He sighs too loudly when she forgets to lock the door. Everything feels heavier.

“Good evening, Mr Park Jongseong. Thank you for taking the time to meet with us. We really appreciated your insights and enthusiasm, but unfortunately, we’ve decided to move forward with another candidate—”

He hangs up, he doesn't tell her.

She lands a raise. She doesn’t tell him.

They eat dinner in silence that night. The garlic bread burns.

He says, “It’s fine,” even though it’s not. She nods, even though she’s already halfway gone.

She doesn’t expect much, had stopped expecting things a long time ago, but still, some small, unreasonable part of her hoped he’d remember before the day slipped through his fingers.

He doesn’t.

Not until evening, when he walks in, breathless and wide-eyed, a plastic cake box from the corner grocery in one hand, and a slightly bruised bouquet of lilies in the other. Lillies. She hasn’t liked lilies since college. He used to know that.

“Happy birthday,” he says, voice light, trying too hard to sound casual. Like maybe she won’t notice the rushed panic behind it.

She smiles because it’s easier than not. “Thanks,” she says, her voice even. Flat. Her fingers brush the petals. They’re slightly wilted. She sets them in a vase without water. They eat the cake at the kitchen table, in silence, using mismatched forks. It's dry, overly sweet, and leaves a strange aftertaste. The kind of cake that only gets bought when there’s no time left.

He tells her about his day, meetings, traffic, the new intern who doesn’t know how to scan documents. She nods when it seems appropriate, hums in the right places. She doesn’t say much about hers.

Because what is there to say?

And while he showers, she curls up on the couch in his oversized hoodie. It still smells like him. Cologne and a hint of stale coffee. Her knees are pulled to her chest, arms wrapped around them like a shield.

Her phone buzzes on the table beside her. Again. A string of texts:

Sunoo: “Happy birthday, you beautiful soul!! Call me later!! 🧡”

Jungwon: “Hope today’s treating you like gold. You deserve it.”

Voice note – Yoonchae: “I miss you. Tell me what he got you! Don’t say nothing lol.”

Missed Call – Jake.

Text – Mom: “Dad says happy birthday too. We love you.”

She doesn’t open a single one.

Instead, she stares at the closed bathroom door. At the narrow sliver of yellow light beneath it. The hum of the fan. The soft thud of shampoo bottles shifting.

And the water…still running.

She imagines him in there, forehead pressed against the cold tile, letting the heat scald his skin. Washing off guilt. Or pretending to. Maybe he’s thinking of a better version of the day, one where he remembered the sunflowers and baked the cake himself.

Or maybe he’s not thinking at all.

Inside the bathroom, steam fogs the mirror. He leans into the tile wall, breath shallow. Eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” he whispers so softly that even the water barely hears him.

He doesn’t know if he’s saying it to her, to himself, or to the version of them that once lit up every room they walked into.

He just knows it’s cold now.

And not even the hot water can make it feel warm again.

Jay was folding the laundry and sounds of y/n sweeping the floor could be heard. The windows were open, and the air smelled like burnt toast and late spring.

“Do you think we're still in love?” She whispers and he almost misses it. Jay pauses. Not shocked. Just… still.

“I think we’re trying to be,” he says after a while. “But I don’t think we’re happy.”

She sits down. The broom clatters.

“I feel guilty,” she whispers. “Because I still love you. Just not in the way I used to.”

He nods. “Same.”

And there it was, the burning feeling inside her eyes, her head becoming a complete mess as she choked out a few sobs. “Jay..” she cried and lounged towards him, and he caught her perfectly, arms falling in places like they were always meant to be there. Just like how he embraced her in that silly school play.

“Fuck…” he sobs burying his face on the curve of her shoulder. For a while quiet sobs filled the room.

“I thought we were different.” She cried, no more second thoughts no more what ifs, it was raw, came from the bottom of her heart where she was scared to look into.

And he hugged her tighter “We were,” he says. “But life changes people.”

“We let it change us separately.” She broke the hug and cupped his jaw.

His eyes were shaking. God how much he wanted to stop time right now. How much he wanted to scream at himself. How much he hated himself to admit that this moment should never end.

“I don’t regret loving you.” he says. Voice hoarse.

“Neither do I.”

They sit there, surrounded by laundry and broken silence, knowing they can’t fix it. But for the first time in a long time, they’re honest.

They moved out two months later. She took the bookshelf they built together. He took the record player. The apartment is bare on their last day, and as they stand in the middle of it, keys in hand, they finally let the feelings settle in. It's really happening, huh?

“Take care of yourself,” she says.

“You too.”

They hug. No kisses. No promises.

Just a long, quiet goodbye.

She watches him walk away from the front steps, and as her vision blurs she covers her mouth. He shouldn't hear her, he shouldn't look back, he shouldn't.

And he doesn't. Not because he doesn’t want to, but because he knows if he does, he might run back.

She lives near the park now.

It’s a small apartment, tucked between a florist and an old record store that closes too early in winter. The walls are thin, the floor creaks in places, and the heater makes strange noises at night, but it’s hers. She painted the kitchen a pale yellow herself one Sunday, with the windows wide open and a sad playlist humming in the background. There’s a chipped mug she drinks tea from every morning and a balcony where a stubborn little plant clings to life in a cracked ceramic pot.

She has a cat, dusty grey, aloof, but with a soft spot for her lap when it rains. She named him “Fig,” after a character in a book she read during a summer she can’t quite forget. Fig likes to curl up beside her when she reads, his tail flicking lazily as if reminding her that he’s there, even when she forgets to be present.

She still keeps one of his old flannel shirts, navy and worn at the cuffs. It sits at the back of her closet, folded neatly between sweaters she doesn’t wear often. Sometimes, on the colder nights, she pulls it out. It’s too big, hangs awkwardly on her shoulders, but it’s soft. Familiar. And when she wraps it around herself, it almost feels like memory.

Some nights, without meaning to, she finds herself glancing at her phone. Waiting…for a text, a name on the screen, a simple “Hey.” She always catches herself before the thought fully forms. He won’t text. She knows that. But hope is a stubborn thing.

He lives by the river now.

A quiet part of the city, near the water where joggers pass in the early mornings and old men fish off the docks. His apartment is smaller than their old place, but neater. Sparse, almost sterile, like he’s afraid that if he lets things collect, they’ll start to resemble the past again.

Every Saturday morning, he walks to a bakery two blocks down and buys a loaf of fresh sourdough. The woman at the counter always smiles, always ties the paper bag with twine. He nods, thanks her, and carries the warmth home with him. It’s a ritual. A routine. Something to do with his hands.

He doesn’t play music much anymore, but sometimes, without realizing it he hums. The same melody she used to play on repeat in the car. Their song. He’ll catch himself halfway through the chorus and fall quiet. Pretend it never happened.

In the top drawer of his desk, beneath old receipts and pens that don’t work, is a folded piece of paper. It’s yellowing at the edges, the ink a little smudged. A poem, hers. He wrote it for her on a napkin one night when they were tipsy and young and in love with the idea of forever. He’s never reread it. But he hasn’t thrown it away either. He couldn’t that night.

They don’t follow each other online.

That boundary was set without words, like most of their end. It’s easier, cleaner. But sometimes, late at night or after too much wine, she types his name into the search bar. Just to see. Just to make sure he still exists in the world.

A new profile picture. Someone tagged him in a group photo. He’s smiling, different, maybe. Or maybe just older.

He doesn’t search her name. Not often. But once, he saw her tagged in a friend’s wedding post. Her dress was dark green. Her smile wasn’t quite the same.

He walks past a bookshop one afternoon, the kind with handwritten signs and poetry scribbled on the windows. In the front display, propped against a stack of leather-bound volumes, is a copy of The Bell Jar, her favorite. He stops, mid-step, blinking against the sunlight. For a second, he’s twenty-one again, listening to her read that very book aloud on a blanket in the park, her fingers tapping against the page with every sentence.

He doesn’t go inside. Just stands there for a moment too long, until someone nudges past and the spell breaks.

She’s in a café on a rainy Tuesday, nursing a lukewarm cappuccino and rereading the same paragraph over and over. The place smells like cinnamon and paperbacks. The speakers hum softly above the clatter of cups and the murmur of voices.

And then she hears it.

Their song.

The intro hits first, a simple piano line. Her breath catches. Her hands go still. Then the lyrics begin, and her throat tightens like it always does when something hurts and you don’t know why. She stands up too quickly, chair scraping against tile, and mumbles something to the barista about fresh air. Outside, the rain is soft but steady. She leans against the wall, arms crossed, trying to swallow the ache.

It’s been months. Maybe years. But some things don’t expire with time.

Some names still echo when whispered.

And some goodbyes never quite finish being said.

The reception is in a garden lit by strings of golden lights, the tables decorated with wildflowers in mismatched jars. He came alone. It doesn’t ache the way it used to. There’s a quiet acceptance in him now, like a song that faded out gently instead of stopping mid-chorus.

He’s standing near the bar, drink in hand, half-listening to the speeches. The couple is radiant, young, stupid in love, and brave enough to believe in forever.

And then the band begins to play.

The notes rise, soft and familiar.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. Just closes his eyes briefly and lets it wash over him. It doesn’t hurt the same anymore. It’s more like touching something from a dream, something warm that you can’t quite hold onto.

“Don't you ever wish it ended differently?”

He doesn't look up. He knows there is no one.

“I wish it lasted longer,” he says honestly. “But I’m glad it happened.

The heavy atmosphere seems to nod and walks away, and the song fades into applause.

They don’t speak. Haven’t in years. They probably never will again.

And yet—

way she checks if someone had their coffee today.

In the way he remembers how another person likes their books dog-eared and worn.

They carry each other still.

Not as wounds.

But as shapes folded neatly into the corners of who they’ve become.

THE END

©sunishake

[sunishake]

here's some little sketch until my next fic dropsss (>.<)y-~

[sunishake]

OVERFLOW — lee heeseung ☆ミ 이희승

"You still make too much tea"

synopsis: in which your brother's best friend on whom you had a painful one-sided crush returns home in summer break, and it's safe to say something has changed in the way he looked at you. Or Heeseung just needs to distract his mind from the disastrous break up he had before summer break started and finally noticed the overwhelming amount of tea you made for him.

pairing: heeseung X reader

genre: brother's best friend, angst, fluff, pining for so long you actually notice a grey hair, one sided crush (?), chaos

…and he's here again.

You tapped your fingers frantically, creating almost invisible marks on your notebook. I see him more than my brother. You complained. Or maybe not? Because your feet automatically moved and you found yourself slowly tiptoeing out of your room. The living room was dark, only the blue light from the tv screen was reflecting on the walls, and you noticed the shadows dancing.

His shadow particularly.

Look at that perfect nose ugh. You facepalmed mentally at your own inner monologue. You're so gone y/n.

“man stop acting creepy and join us if you want” you jumped realising Niki caught you in act. Mumbling a “whatever…” under your breath you turned back, ready to go inside until heeseung's voice halted your movement. “My throat is so dry…”

A warmth pooled in your stomach, you knew what that meant. It's tea time omg.

You almost tripped but made your way inside the kitchen successfully. It took 17 minutes to prepare the tea, the one heeseung complimented when he tasted first. It was just a simple “wow…that tastes…interestingly good” but to you it was more than enough.

Oops. Talking about more than enough you still couldn't get the proportions right. It's been half and a year since you started making this tea and every time you end up with five cups extra instead of just two. Almost like your feelings for him. It wasn't supposed to be this down bad. You two practically grew up together, so when you realised heeseung ruffling your hair, asking about your friends, or even looking at you made you feel weak in your knees, you were doomed.

Today wasn't any different.

You poured it in the pastel green dinosaur mug which was actually a gift for you from your brother but it didn't matter, everyone knew that was heeseung's mug. You may or may not have disgustingly tried drinking from the cup right after he drank but come on curiosity gave the cat butterflies after all.

“Where's heeseung?”

You asked, noticing his absence. “Gone” Niki groaned “his throat was feeling dry or something…i don't know”

“That's literally a shit excuse to make out with his girlfriend,” Jake huffed. What? What girlfriend? Well, it's not like you weren't ready for this but not like this. Jay, your brother patted the empty space next to him where heeseung was just sitting

“Y/n you wanna joi—”

“You guys are stupid as shit”

And you stomped your way back towards the kitchen.

“What the fuck was that?”

“Shut up Niki she gonna get your ass”

“He's such a pain in ass…could've told he was horny or stuff…who tf makes excuses about dry throat that is so ridiculously stupid…I hope he choke while making out or something…”

Your movements were clumsy as you began to clean up the kitchen. It hurts. Damn.

It's not like this was heeseung's first relationship. He had three more prior to this. And you've met all of them. You held the edge of the sink and sighed. They were genuinely so beautiful. Tall, slim, long hair which reached their waist almost, big eyes, prominent nose and academically good. He had a type, and you were not in there. Your hair was brown, the texture was rough, and since you had problems managing them, you used to chop them right away once they made past your shoulder. You were average, in everything else, studies, looks, extracurricular activity. Good. But not good enough to make Heeseung notice you. And last, the most unfortunate thing was you being Jay's sister and younger than him. Heeseung doesn't date younger girls. He always had women either his age or older than him as girlfriend.

Your head hurts. Wow. Talk about overthinking.

“what are you thinking shortcake”

You stiffened. Done making out with your gorgeous girlfriend? You wanted to scream but god had another tortuous plan as you felt Heeseung's warmth behind you, announcing his sneaky presence.

“You're balding, oh my god stop thinking so hard,” he laughed as he ruffled your hair. The redness crept on your cheeks as you subtly leaned in his touch. Why does he have to see me as a kid…and that stupid nickname…I want to smash his face.

“Are you drinking that?”

Your thoughts were interrupted when he pointed at the medium-sized kettle filled with tea. You nodded your head already embarrassed as heeseung threw his head back while laughing “shortcake there will be 70% tea in your body, why do you always get the measurements wrong”

You cursed yourself. “I am going to throw this awa—”

“No way” he deadpanned. “I see my share in that”

He said with a stupid boyish smile that left you flustered for the nth time.

How come you noticed the overwhelming amount of tea every time and not my feelings heeseung…

Heeseung had always been someone who moved fast, not in the reckless way, but in that quiet, restless sort of way that made people think he had somewhere better to be.

And maybe he did. Maybe he always believed there was something brighter just beyond the next door, just past the next deadline. That there was no shame in wanting more. He was always chasing the spark, the adventure. He liked the taste of testing his limits. So when you heard his decision to pursue Aerospace engineering from SNU you weren't surprised.

There was a little ache in your heart, but his dreams were bigger than your stupid little puppy crush. You sure were frustrated and pulled your hair, maybe wet your pillow case for weeks, realising Heeseung really was going to be skies apart, and there would be no one to notice your wrong measurements.

It's not like he interacted with you everyday but the growing distance was too loud to ignore.

Heeseung did not mean to pull away, but between college applications, late-night study sessions, and emotionally closing off post-breakup with his girlfriend, you start to feel like an afterthought.

“You didn’t even tell me you got accepted.”

Tea sessions were long forgotten as days became busier, with your upcoming finals and little to no interaction with your brother's best friend you felt hopeless.

Heeseung shrugs. “It’s been… hectic.” eyes on his phone.

So was loving you in silence, but I never missed a moment.

You noticed his smile as he typed something, the excitement did not go unnoticed. You always did. That was the smile he had every time he started talking with someone new. And suddenly you felt stupid, insecure, weird. A what the fuck am I doing hormone grew in your stomach.

“Oh okay, best of luck”

Late afternoon, the living room is quiet but heavy with the hum of departure. Suitcases by the door. Jay was outside helping Heeseung’s dad load the car. It's the last ten minutes before he leaves for the airport.

The kettle whistled once before you turned it off.

You moved like muscle memory—two scoops of the blend he liked, water just off the boil, and the pastel green dinosaur mug he once stole from your possessions years ago and never remembered again. The smell of chamomile and cinnamon drifted through the kitchen, familiar and faintly cruel.

You heard the door open but did not look up.

Heeseung stood there, quiet. No teasing, no loud entrance, no "Shortcake." Just the soft creak of sneakers on tile and the weight of your silence.

“You’re not coming to the airport?” he asked.

You poured the tea steadily, not spilling a drop. “you are going to forget me anyway”

He winced, though he tried to hide it. “That’s not true.”

You finally turned to him. Your eyes weren’t angry. Just… tired. Dimmer than he remembered them being when he first noticed how big and round they were.

You held out the mug. “Here.”

He hesitated, like taking it meant accepting something heavier. “You still made it?”

“I always did,” you said, voice low. “Even when you forgot to ask.”He took it from your fingers gently, like the mug might shatter. And suddenly he had the realization, maybe it wasn’t the ceramic he was afraid of breaking.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a pause. “Things got… overwhelming.”

You offered a smile, thin and polite, the kind people wear at train stations, pretending their chests aren’t caving in.

“I get it,” you replied. “You were busy with everything, I am still immature anyway”

“You were never immature,” he said quietly. “Not to me.” You felt heavy. The burning sensation in your eyes grew stronger.

But before you could respond, Jay’s voice called from outside “Heeseung! We gotta go!”

He looked toward the door, then back at you, like maybe time would pause if he stared long enough. It didn’t.

He reached for the handle, then paused.

“I don’t know when I’ll be back”

You nodded. “I figured.”

He took a breath. “But when I think of home…”

He looked down at the mug.

“…this is what I’ll taste.”

You didn’t reply. Couldn’t. The words were caught somewhere between your throat and your heart, tangled in too many summers of watching him leave rooms before you could say the things that mattered.

He stepped outside.

The door clicked shut.

And in the kitchen, with the kettle still warm and your hands now empty, you whispered to the silence

Why didn’t you ever stay long enough to notice I was always waiting?

It had been nearly two years. And between seasons somewhere you grew up without warning.

The small town hadn’t changed. Same cracked sidewalks. Same loud cicadas buzzing through the July air. It just feels less colorful. Of course, what else did you expect after deciding to stay back in your hometown and study business despite your family constantly nagging you to go outside the small town and explore more.

You were scared, more than meeting new people, building a complete different life, isolation, new places, you were scared of your heart betraying your brain. You'd never admit it but the constant thoughts of Heeseung which you of course tried to ignore came back nearly taking your breath and sometimes the scenery of you bumping on him randomly in the streets of Seoul as unrealistic as it sounds scared the shit out of you.

Heeseung did not return home for almost 2 years, and amidst your boring university life, you forced yourself out of your shell. There was no way he was gonna magically appear one day and say he missed you.

Until it happened.

Same porchlight flickering above the front door that had seen him leave far too many times.

But Heeseung? He had changed.

Or maybe, for the first time, he had finally stopped running long enough to notice what had stayed.

Jay met him at the station with a slap on the back and a lazy grin. “Look at you. Seoul made you ugly.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound dry and automatic. His shoulders ached from the weight of the last semester, from the silence he had left behind.

“Man I just want to crash in your place”

There was a growing ache in his heart.

Jay missed him too much to say the regular ‘yuck go to your own house’ he used to during their last year in high school.

Heeseung wanted a break. These past 2 years had been hectic to him. After turning down 2 summer vacations and locking himself up in his dorm he finally felt the strong sense of homesickness. Tensions in his never ending casual relationships, losing himself in the chaos of the big city, he suddenly lost himself.

“You’re always halfway out the door, Heeseung,” Hana said. Her voice trembled with something between frustration and longing. “Every time I try to reach you, you’re already somewhere else in your head, in your books, chasing some spark that’ll fade before you can even name it.”

He didn’t answer right away. He stared at the skyline, blinking slowly. Planes blinked red in the distance, one after another, cutting through the night like thoughts he couldn’t catch. Hana’s voice sharpened. “You can’t keep romanticizing this need to escape. You make people feel like placeholders.”

That one hit. He winced.

“I’m not asking for fireworks,” she said. “Just show up. Just choose someone. Choose me.” He finally turned to look at her.

“I don’t know how to do that,” he said, voice low. “I’ve never known how.”

“But you’ve been with me for months, Heeseung.”

“I was trying to outrun something.”

Her expression faltered. “What?”

He opened his mouth, but it wasn’t her name on his tongue. It was a memory.

A flicker of sunlight in a dusty kitchen. The smell of chamomile and cinnamon. A girl sitting cross-legged on the porch, holding a mug with dinosaurs on it, laughing softly as the wind tangled in her hair.

y/n.

He felt the ache bloom in his chest, sudden and sharp. God, he missed home. Missed the creaking floorboards. Missed the taste of your tea. Missed the way you looked at him, quiet and constant like the town he always left.

“I think I left something behind,” he whispered.

You huffed. Sometimes, you don't get your professors. Nevermind, it's almost all the time. Pages scattered all across your bed, and some fell from your lap as you stood up, back aching from sitting in the same position for hours.

“God my head hurts…i need rest” you mumbled as you stepped out of your room. The house was usually quiet as everyone was out for work except you, who was stuck inside with projects.

You heard the car outside. Jay is back?? It's too early, though.

With your head full of random thoughts, your hands moved as you prepared yourself for the ultimate dose of caffeine.

You opened the cupboard for your mug but couldn't process yourself as your actions paused again. It's an everyday routine. The half finished tea jar and the stupid dinosaur tea cup sits there collecting dust, almost like it's waiting for someone. Oh you are so doomed. You sighed. You've stopped forcing yourself, somewhere in between you realised accepting your feelings were far easier than gnawing them out even though they hurt you.

You'd gladly let your feelings collect dust rather than throw them away.

The door clicked open, and you yelled out of habit “Jay I'm making coffee. You want some?”

Then you paused. There were footsteps. More than one person. Did he bring friends?

You started preparing for one extra cup but couldn't move yourself as you noticed the similar figure leaning on the kitchen door frame.

“Can I have some too shortcake?”

Did the summer heat finally catch up or its really Lee fucking Heeseung in front of you right now.

You opened your mouth to say something but couldn't realize your throat was dry.

He was just in front of you. So close yet so far. His complexion was a bit pale with faint black circles around his eyes but that failed to hide the charming gaze and his as beautiful as ever smile you fell for.

You winced realising your hand accidentally touched the hot mug.

“Careful” his expression faltered as he walked towards you.

What the fuck. He's real. Why is he back oh my god what, I'm going to kiss his stupid ass so bad—

You covered your mouth. Yep. I've completely lost it.

“Oh? You got the measurements right!” He exclaimed as he helped you to pour the coffee. You were still recovering from the shock. “I—yeah it only happened with the tea…”

The silence after that was more confusing than comfortable. Heeseung was finally looking at you for the first time, properly, no phone in sight long enough and an unfamiliar ache bloomed in your heart.

“You came back?”

“I had too”

The reply was short but the amount of butterflies in your stomach weren't.

You nodded “how long are you planning to stay?”

You facepalmed inside. Why am I interrogating him like a stalker oof. But Heeseung gave a short smile “As long as I find the things i came back for” His voice was firm. There was a certainty that he would find it. He had too.

you opened your mouth for response but couldn't realize how close he was standing. Heeseung seemed to understand your uncomfortableness as he stepped back.

No, don't go please. You missed his warmth too much. God you wanted to hug him and cry so bad but his sudden arrival, him looking at you with the same fondness was genuinely confusing.

Heeseung cleared his throat.

“Your hair… it's longer.” You unconsciously touched your hair. Does it look weird?? He's definitely gonna think I did that to impress him…this is so embarrassing oh my god.

“It suits you”

You swore your heart just knocked at your chest walls.

“How’s Seoul?” you asked flatly.

“Loud. Cold. Fast.”

“And your girlfriend?”

Heeseung paused. His throat tightened.

“Ex.”

You turned slowly “oh….jay missed to deliver this tea”

He laughed bitterly.

“She said I was distant. That I only knew how to leave.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him, eyes unreadable. Then your eyes traveled back to the coffee mugs, perfectly filled with the same amount of coffee.

The summer moved differently.

Jay was working full-time, leaving early and returning late. The house became a quiet hum of forgotten routines. And suddenly, Heeseung was in every corner again. On the porch at 4 p.m., sipping watered-down iced tea. In the kitchen, commenting on how the rice tasted different when you made it. Hovering.

But it wasn’t like before.

He wasn’t teasing. He wasn’t laughing at your messy hair or calling you Shortcake like it was a punchline.

He listened now. Really listened. And when he asked how your classes were going, he didn’t cut you off midway to scroll through his phone.

Something had changed. And it bothered you so much.

a summer storm had rolled in without warning. Thunder cracked like bones in the sky, loud and vengeful. Rain clattered against the kitchen windows, streaking down in erratic lines, and the trees outside bowed beneath the wind’s howl. The whole house felt suspended in a breath held too long.

Jay had already texted that he was stuck at the office, roads a mess, and wouldn’t be home until the weather cleared.

You moved through the house in silence, barefoot, your steps light as you lit candles one by one along the countertops. Wax pooled slowly. Shadows danced.

The kettle had just started to warm when you heard it, the screen door creaking open, a gust of cold air rushing in with the smell of wet pavement.

Heeseung.

He stood there, dripping wet, shoulders slightly hunched from the rain. He held up his phone as a flashlight, the beam cutting through the dim kitchen.

“You okay?” he asked.

You looked up, startled but not surprised and nodded, hugging your arms over your hoodie.

His lips quivered, but it was soft, tired. “Jay is stuck…I was worried” He stepped in, water puddling beneath his shoes. “Mind if I ?”

You gestured to the stool at the counter.

Both of you sat in flickering silence. The only sound was the storm outside and the low bubbling of water heating up. The candlelight cast soft gold across the angles of your faces, but it couldn’t warm the distance.

“You used to be scared of thunder,” he said after a long moment.

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “You used to hold my hand and tell me the sky was just clearing its throat.”

Heeseung smiled at that. A real one. But his eyes... his eyes looked like they carried too many miles. Too many missed moments.

“I never knew how to stay,” he said, almost to himself.

You looked at him then, fully. Your gaze traveled from the damp fringe clinging to his forehead, to the tired slope of his shoulders. There was a different kind of storm in his eyes. One that didn’t roar, but quietly ached. Something clicked inside you.

“You didn’t have to,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I would’ve waited either way.”

About damn time.

He looked at you like you were a map he had ignored for too long. Not out of cruelty, but fear. Like home had always been there, marked in the fine print, but he had been too scared to trace the line.

The kettle hissed behind. But neither of you two moved.

He opened his mouth, lips parting like a question finally formed—

And the lights flickered back on.

Reality returned. The fridge hummed. The room brightened.

And the space between you two grew sharp again.

You stood and turned the stove off, your movements slow, almost careful. Heeseung remained seated, watching you with something fragile flickering across his face.

He didn’t say what he wanted to say.

Not yet.

But the storm wasn’t over. Not really.

It had only moved inside.

Heeseung wasn’t sure when it started.

Maybe it was that winter afternoon three years ago, when he came home after a gruelling basketball match. Everyone else was out, and he had wandered into the kitchen looking for food, expecting the fridge to be empty, only to find a warm bowl of tteokguk waiting for him on the stove. A note stuck to the microwave in the familiar handwriting he always pretended not to recognize.

*"wrong measurement of ingredients led to this, Jay had enough, I know you missed your lunch, eat up-y/n"

That was the first time he stared at his phone with your number glowing on the screen and didn’t call.

He couldn’t.

It didn’t feel fair.

You were Jay’s sister. You were the kid he used to hold upside down by the ankles and tease until you cried. The one who followed him around during middle school summer breaks with her awful glittery notebook and bright, too-loud giggles. The one he protected like a younger sibling.

But somewhere in the last year, that version of you disappeared.

He remembered watching you from the hallway one night when you were tutoring some neighbourhood kid. You had your glasses on, hair in a lazy bun, and was scolding the boy with a mix of fondness and fire. He remembered thinking she’s not a kid anymore.

And he hated it.

He hated that he noticed.

He hated that he cared when you laughed at someone else’s joke. Hated that he remembered your favorite brand of tea. That he checked your posts from an anonymous account.

Heeseung was used to control. In his studies. In his life. In his carefully managed relationships that never quite asked him to stay. But y/n? You weren't manageable. You were messy and warm and stayed in his head long after he left you behind.

That winter, he started pulling away.

Because it was easier to be distant than it was to admit that he no longer saw you as someone he was supposed to protect.

He saw you as someone he was afraid to lose.

And for someone like Heeseung, fear like that was the most dangerous kind.

So he left again. And again. Until he convinced himself it wasn’t real.

Until the summer he came back and realized

You had stopped waiting.

Or maybe that's what he forced himself to think in order to find peace.

And it broke something in him.

It happened on a Sunday.

The kind of quiet, golden afternoon that should’ve been harmless. The rain had dried off. The town breathed a little softer. But the storm in you did not die. What the fuck he meant by that that night? You reached out to him after that, texts, calls, every single attempt was ignored. It was killing you.

Seated on the back porch, knees drawn to your chest, the familiar dinosaur mug tucked between your palms you pondered. The scent of cinnamon drifted up, wrapping around you like a memory you couldn’t let go of.

Your phone buzzed. It was Jay.

“Heeseung’s looking for you. Don’t run.”

what.

You stared at the text for a full minute before locking your phone. You hadn’t seen him since that night the power went out. He disappeared again physically, emotionally, mentally. You should’ve been used to it by now.

You didn't realize you were crying until a drop fell into your tea.

Then the screen door creaked. You stiffened.

He stepped out slowly. “I’m sorry for showing up without warning.”

“Isn’t that what you do best?” you said, not looking at him.

The words stung, but he deserved them.

He eased himself down on the opposite bench. “I just needed to talk.”

“You always need something. Then you disappear.” you finally looked up, and your eyes were red-rimmed, tired, and yet sharp as glass. “So go ahead. Say whatever you need to, and then go chase your spark again.”

He winced. “It’s not like that—”

“Isn’t it?” your voice was brittle. “You leave. You come back. You’re nice. You laugh. You pretend like nothing’s ever different, and the second I start to believe you might actually care—poof. Gone again. You don’t get to do this anymore, Heeseung.” You tried to control yourself but it was too much. Your head hurt so did your heart.

“I know,” he said. “I know I messed up. But I didn’t come here to pretend anymore. I came to be honest. Finally.”

You scoffed. “Honest? About what?”

“You're hurt and I'm the reason” he admitted.

“and why does that even matter?” you cried.

“Because you’re not just anyone!” He stood now, pacing, hands in his hair. “Because you’ve always been more. I just—I couldn’t let myself want you. You’re Jay’s sister. You’re younger. You trusted me. I didn’t want to ruin everything by needing you the way I did.”

Your lips parted. “What are you talking about?”

Heeseung looked at you, chest heaving. “I’ve been in love with you for years. I buried it. I denied it. I covered it up with other people, with school, with cities that weren’t home. But every time I ran, it was your voice in my head. Your tea in my mouth. Your laugh stuck in my chest.”

What the hell. You couldn't tell if it was the overflowing tears or emotions or how frantically stupid you felt right now or the overflowing amount of tea you consumed for years, which made you feel drunk.

Your breath hitched. “You don’t get to say that now.”

“I have to. I can't hold it in anymore. Every time you looked at me and smiled, I wanted to hold you. Every time you poured me a cup of that god-awful tea, I wanted to kiss you. And when I left, it wasn’t because I didn’t feel it. It was because I felt it too much.”

That's it.

You stood up, shaking. “Then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say anything before? Do you know what that did to me? Watching you date other people? Hearing you talk to your flings while I sat there with a smile plastered on my face like I wasn’t breaking inside?”

Heeseung looked devastated. “I thought I was protecting you.”

“From what?” you walked towards him, eyebrows twitching and eyes searching for answers.

“From me!” he exploded. “From this mess of a person who didn’t know how to stay, who always chose the chase, who was terrified of something real. I thought you deserved better than that.”

You felt the lump in your throat just tightened.

“I didn’t want better,” you said, voice cracking. “I wanted you. I wanted the boy who ruffled my hair. The boy who laughed at my tea. The boy who looked at me like I wasn’t just Jay’s sister. And then you left. Again and again. You left me in the silence you made.”

Tears streamed down your face now. “You made me believe I was unworthy of being chosen.”

Heeseung closed the distance, stopping just in front of you. “You were never unworthy. I was just too much of a coward to believe I deserved you.”

Your fists clenched at her sides. “So why now? Why this Sunday? Why come back now and tell me all this when I’ve finally stopped waiting for you?”

lies.

“Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you thinking you were forgettable. You’re not. You’re unforgettable in every way. I didn’t come back because I wanted to make amends. I came back because I can’t imagine another version of my life where you’re not in it.”

The silence stretched thin in between.

“I don’t trust you,” you said finally. “I don’t trust that you’ll stay.”

“Then let me earn it,” he whispered. “Let me stay this time. No spark chasing. No excuses.”

You looked at him, eyes heavy with doubt and hope all tangled together.

“Say it again.”

He stepped closer. His hand cupped your cheek.

“I love you,” he breathed. “Not in a fleeting way. Not in a ‘what if’ way. In the ‘I’ll ruin my pride just to be near you’ way.”

You didn’t kiss him.

You just leaned your face into his palm. God how much you missed this warmth.

“I love you too, you idiot,” you said, breaking. “And I always did. It broke me to believe I never mattered to you.”

“I’ll spend every day proving you did.” Heeseung whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn’t pretty.

It was tear-stained and trembling and furious and raw. His lips moved against yours like an apology he couldn’t put into words. You gripped his shirt like you were trying to hold together all the parts he had broken, and you'd fall into a void if he let go. He kissed you back like he’d been starved of you. Because he had been.

And only after breaking apart you realised how ugly both of you were crying.

“You still taste like cinnamon,” he murmured.

“You still taste like heartbreak.” you hugged him, tears staining his shirt now. He couldn't care less.

He laughed, wet and broken. “Then let me heal it.”

Late evening. The living room in Heeseung's house is dim, lit only by the flicker of a muted TV neither of you are watching. It’s been silent for too long. He’s leaving in the morning. Again. You’re curled into him, head on his chest, his hands around your waist, pretending the ache in your throat is from holding back yawns, not tears. He’s beside you, hands rubbing your back gently, jaw clenched like he’s been holding back everything all night.

Then, suddenly softly, so softly you almost miss it

“Shortcake.”

Your chest tightens.

You blink. Slowly. “Don’t.”

He turns, brows drawn. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t call me that.”

His lips part, stunned. “You used to love it.”

“I did,” you admit. “But I got used to it. Started waiting for it, even. Every time the door opened and you walked in with my brother every damn time I’d wait to hear you say it.”

He says nothing.

You look down at your hands, twisting the hem of your sleeve. “It was the only thing that made me feel like maybe… you saw me. Not just as his sister. As me.”

He breathes in sharply. “I did see you.”

You scoff, bitter. “Then why do you always run the moment it gets quiet enough to hear my heart break?”

He shifts toward you, voice low. “Because I was afraid if I didn’t, I’d do something I’m not supposed to.”

“Like what?”

His lips moves, uncertain, resting just inches from yours. “Like call you Shortcake… and mean it.”

You lift your gaze slowly, meeting his.

A beat.

Then another.

His voice cracks when he whispers, “You’re not a kid anymore. And I’m not pretending I don’t love you.”

The silence breaks loud, deafening.

You swallow hard. “Then don’t call me Shortcake like it’s a joke. Not unless you mean it like a promise.”

His fingers lace through yours.

And this time, when he says it, it’s barely a breath

“Shortcake.”

And it sounded more than anything you wanted to hear.

“By the way don't start measuring your ingredients…I like when it's overflowing” he whispered, closing the distance and you smiled into the kiss. And for the first time you did not regret the overwhelming amount of tea you made for him.

Not anymore.

THE END

©sunishake

[sunishake]

NOT MEANT TO BE — enha hyung line !

"When I let go of what I am, become what I might be." — Lao Tzu

Enha Drabble Vol 1: When they know they are not the one for you .꒷ 𖤐⤸₊˚ ִֶָ

HEESEUNG 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

Everything was okay

Everything was going to be okay

Everything will be okay

You held onto these until you realised you weren't living. You were just surviving at this point. Missed calls, fighting, cursing each other only to run back in each other's arms seemed so good, but you realize those were the fantasies you were chasing.

It hurt so bad in reality that you felt like ruining everything.

Rain clung to the edges of his coat as he stood in the doorway, eyes red-rimmed and jaw clenched. You stood across from him, arms wrapped around yourself like armour.

"I can't do this anymore," you whispered, voice cracking like porcelain.

Heeseung stepped forward, desperation lacing his every breath. "Don't say that. Not like this." You looked up, glossy eyes meeting his cloudy red ones.

He stepped closer, and you stepped back.

“Really??? Avoiding me like you weren't just crying on my chest last week, the truth is you always come back, you give me hope this will work out and you are the one to always pull away first.” His words were latched with poison, your heart bled.

You shook your head, eyes glistening. "We've been trying, haven't we? For so long. But all we ever do is hurt each other."

Heeseung ignored the lump in his throat, he expected you to bite back like you always did, but this just made him feel sick.

He swallowed hard. "So what? Love's not meant to be easy. It's meant to be worth it."

Your silence cut sharper than any goodbye.

Then, softly, almost apologetically, you said, "If it was meant to be, it wouldn't be this hard.”

Snap.

Heeseung looked pale. He knew what you said was making sense, but he just wanted to trick his heart a bit more. He just wanted to make you feel better to fix everything.

“Y/n…” he choked “Don't do this, i beg you”

“I’m tired Heeseung…how long are we going to pretend? Stop hurting me and hurting yourself”

He flinched like you slapped him. "That's bullshit and you know it. Since when did 'meant to be' mean effortless? This-" he gestured wildly between you two, "-this mess, this chaos... it's real. That's what love is. It's not calm seas, it's surviving the storm together."

Tears spilled freely now, you cried, "and you don't think we could've done that? Together?" Your voice broke as you said, "I think we would've drowned each other trying."

He stared at you, every word landing like shrapnel in his chest. His lips trembled. "You still love me.”

There was no denial. You did. You always will.But you know. Both of you knew you weren't just meant to be.

JAY 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

The world was crumbling again.

The sky split in shades of fire and ash as buildings collapsed in the distance, and people screamed like echoes from another life.

But all he could see was you—standing at the centre of the chaos, eyes wide, heartbroken, already fading.

Just like the last time.

And the time before that.

Jay reached for her, breath ragged. “No. Not again. Please, not again.”

You smiled through your tears, soft and familiar, like the melody of a song he'd once known by heart. “It’s happening, isn’t it?”

He nodded, voice cracking. “It always happens.”

You stepped closer, your fingers brushing, never quite holding. “Do you think it’s punishment?” you whispered. “For something we did… in the first life?”

“I don’t know,” he choked. “I just know I’ve found you in every lifetime, and I’ve lost you in every one.” it hurt so bad, you wished you could hold him close forever, but the universe had different plans for both of you.

The ground trembled beneath.

“If we were meant to be,” he whispered, “why does the universe keep tearing us apart?”

You looked at him, eyes glassy but resolute. “Maybe… maybe we were never meant to stay. Maybe we were meant to find each other, to remember… so it would always hurt.”

“No.” His grip tightened. “I refuse to believe that. I’ll find you again.”

“And I’ll love you again,” you said,voice already growing distant, from flickering like smoke. “Even if it ends like this… every time.”

“No—please, stay,” Jay begged, voice breaking.

You pressed a final kiss to his blood clad knuckles, and vanished with the wind.

Silence.

Then rubble.

Then lifeless stars.

And somewhere in another time, another version of him woke up with a name on his lips.

Your name. Always your name.

JAKE .꒷ 𖤐⤸₊˚ ִֶָ

You stood in the back of the room, drink untouched, eyes fixed on them.

Your once lover and his first love.

Laughing.

That quiet kind of laugh that crinkled his eyes, the corner of his lips forming a beautiful crescent—the one you once believed was only reserved for you. You expected too much.

Tonight, it was her that made him laugh like that.

You watched Jake tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, lean in just a little too close. You watched the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

Like you never existed.

Your chest burned. Still, you smiled. You brought this misery upon yourself. No one told you to do charity work or attend your ex's engagement. It truly was pathetic. You tried to look away but couldn't. The pain was addicting, almost like you felt a pleasure victimising yourself.

Jungwon found you later, half-hidden near the window. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Just needed some air.”

He hesitated. “You're hurting y/n, stop forcing yourself ”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you asked, “Did I imagine it? All of it?”

he frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The way they looked at me. The late-night calls. The little touches. I thought… I thought it meant something.”

His gaze softened with something like pity. “Maybe it did.”

You looked back toward them—now with Jake's hand resting casually on her back. So natural. So easy.

“He was never mine Jungwon,” you said quietly, voice cracking. “I just convinced myself he was. Built a future in my head out of moments that were never promised.”

Jungwon reached for your hand, but you stepped back.

“I was just the story he forgot once the real one began.”

“He cared about you,” he insisted.

You nodded, hollow. “But not enough.”

And as Jake smiled at someone else the way you once dreamed He’d smile at you, you realized something far worse than losing love—

You never had it to begin with.

Jake laughed at something she said, a soft, practiced sound, and tucked her hair behind her ear the way she liked. She smiled- bright, unbothered, perfect.

Everything looked right.

Everything felt... off.

He didn't know why his eyes kept drifting.

Why his chest tightened every time he caught the smallest glimpse of a familiar silhouette near the window.His heart ached. He knew he did not have any right but he hoped he was yours to begin with.

SUNGHOON 𓄹𓈒 𓏲 ๋࣭ ꕤ

He watched you from the doorway, the quiet thrum of the house only broken by the sound of you packing. It had been an almost ordinary evening—until it wasn’t.

Your suitcase lay open on the bed, half-zipped, like you couldn’t even bring yourself to finish it. It was a simple, almost clinical task for him, but for you… He could see it in the way your hands trembled as you folded your clothes. You were trying to act normal, as though this wasn’t the quiet death of everything you’d built together.

“Why are you leaving?” The words left his lips before he could stop them, but they didn’t feel like a question. More like an accusation, an unfair challenge to something neither of you two could control.

You didn’t turn at first. Just continued your work, your back to him, but your shoulders sagged, as if the weight of his gaze was too much to bear. “I have to,” you whispered, barely audible.

Sunghoon swallowed. “I thought we were okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you or himself.

The silence was sharp. Then, softly, like it was the hardest thing you ever said “we were. In pieces.”

“Then why?” His voice cracked despite his best effort. “If you love me, why are you leaving?”

You turned then, slowly, you still had tears, but you weren't crying. “I do love you,” you said, the words breaking between them, “but not enough to stay.”

He stood there for a moment, unmoving, trying to process it. The words felt too final, too clear.

The door clicked shut.

He didn’t move.

He just stood there, staring at the half-empty coffee mug you left on the table—still warm. Like you hadn’t really gone. Like you might walk back in and laugh awkwardly, say you forgot your power bank, your sketchbook or your cherry colored scarf.

But he knew better.

You always took the cherry colored scarf.

He sat down at the edge of the bed hours later, staring at the crumpled sheets on your side. That’s where you used to curl up, always toward the wall, like you were guarding something he wasn’t allowed to see.

He remembered how you used to reach for him in the middle of the night, like instinct. Your fingers cold, your breathing uneven.

“Are you okay?” he used to whisper.

“Yeah,” you lied. Every time.

And he let you lie.

Because he thought if he didn’t push, you’d stay. Because he thought love meant giving space, even if it was slowly killing him.

There had been signs. Small ones, too easy to ignore.

The way you flinched when he said “we, us, our.”

The way you smiled less.

The way you stopped telling him about your day, and started saying “it’s nothing” instead.

He’d hear you crying in the shower sometimes. He never asked why.

He told himself it was respect.

But deep down, he knew. It was fear.

Fear that if he asked and you answered, you’d say the one thing he couldn’t unhear

“I’m not happy here anymore.”

He was grounded. Calm. Stable.

That’s what you said you loved about him.

But sometimes he wondered if that’s what pushed you away.

He wasn’t spontaneous.

Wasn’t the type to yell during fights or demand grand moments.

He loved you in quiet ways—warm meals, remembering small things, never letting the gas tank go empty in your car.

But maybe you wanted storms.

Someone who’d grab your wrist at the door and say something.

He didn’t.

He just stood there.

Even now, he wasn’t sure if he could have stopped you.

Or if you’d already left him a long time ago, in pieces he ignored.

THE END

© sunishake

Ts so ass.

[sunishake]

welcome.

about .꒷ 𖤐 ish ⤸₊˚ ִֶָ

she/her 05 desi enha <3

hii cuties, ish here. this is practically my first time writing on tumblr. I wrote actively on wattpad and insta from 2017-2022 then took a break which lasted for a while.

not sure if I will be actively writing here but I'll try.

!! Requests are open !!

casual check ins !!

currently a college student going through mid life crisis already

a rising sagittarius with leo sun | mbti: infp-t

I love love love sketching, drawing, painting and in general anythin related to art, let me know if you guys want to see them !!

started stanning enha from late 2022 and by 2023 they were my ults

I'm avidly Jake, Sunghoon and Heeseung biased ( ≧∀≦)ノ

things to remember !

I do not write nsfw nor do I feel comfortable with them

no regular updates

will mainly write about the hyung line

since english isn't my first language I apologise beforehand for all the spelling and grammatical errors I will be making (ToT)

you've reached the end !! thank you for your patience, love you too <3