sunishake

[sunishake]

EVERYTHING AFTER YOU — sim jaeyun ☆ミ 심재윤

Based on the novel 'Me before you' by Jojo Moyes.

Synopsis: a terminally ill man and his broken-hearted caretaker find unexpected love and healing. But as time runs out, their slow-burn bond becomes a bittersweet promise of forever within goodbye.

Genre: bittersweet, angst, drama, slow burn

Pairing: reader x non idol!jake

Warning: This story contains themes of chronic illness, suicidal ideation, emotional abuse, physical abuse, and self-harm. Reader discretion is advised. If you are sensitive to these topics, please proceed with care. You are not alone—support is available. 🤍

The house stood still, quiet as if it were waiting for something to begin again. A start contrast between where she belonged and what was her purpose.

It wasn’t grand, not really. Just tucked on the edge of a town that felt more like a whisper than a place. Rolling fields, a dying garden, the kind of silence that pressed against your ears too long. The air smelled faintly of pine and decay. Y/n stood at the gate, a secondhand duffel bag hanging from her shoulder, fingers curled tightly around the strap. She hadn’t moved for almost a minute.

This is where it begins, she thought. Or ends. She wasn’t sure anymore. She was just tired.

At least it's better than that sketchy book store where the old shopkeeper couldn't stop groping her with his eyes or the near as hell experience she had with the last babysitting job. She ran her fingers through her rough hairs and stepped forward with her heavy steps. The evidence of the last few week's clashing was still visible on her face.

"You cannot just leech off me and then tell me to shut up, bitch!" His voice tore through the silence like shattered glass. "All I've ever done is provide for you—and in return, all I get is that fucking face of yours staring back at me like I’m the villain."

She didn’t flinch this time. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her tongue, pooling beneath her lip where his backhand had landed minutes ago. Her jaw throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. She exhaled shakily. "I'm trying," she whispered. "I don't know what else you want me to do, Dad. I don’t know how to be what you need."

Somewhere behind her, a ceramic plate exploded against the wall. Shards skittered across the tile, and the sound of rushed, staggering footsteps followed.

The ragged figure of her father stormed in, eyes wild with fury and booze. "You stupid little shit," he hissed. "I'm so done with your pathetic whining. No wonder no one wants to keep you at their job. Look at you, you can't even stand straight without shaking like a damn leaf."

She said nothing. Her hands curled tightly at her sides to hide the trembling.

He leaned in, voice dropping to a venomous slur. "You think you’re better than this house? Better than me? You might as well just whore around if that’s all you’re good for."

Her breath caught in her throat.

He laughed. A low, bitter chuckle that echoed off the walls. "You don’t get it, do you?" His tone twisted, cruel and dismissive. "If you don’t get this... don’t bother coming back.”

The week that followed was a haze of job hunting and stale instant noodles. She scoured every job website, wandered around town with a printed résumé, knocking on doors of small cafés and local bookshops. Every time, she was met with polite rejection or, worse, silence. By Thursday, she hadn’t eaten a proper meal in two days. She was curled on her apartment floor, the light from her phone screen casting blue shadows across her face as she refreshed a job portal for the hundredth time.

So when the notification popped up from Yunjin with the caption “hey you might wanna check out this…”, she did not waste her time.

“Okay so rich guy, apparently he was an aspiring artist then fell sick i guess, needs a caretaker basically”

Both of them sat close, scrolling through the information that was sent by some guy called Sunghoon to Yunjin. “Where did you even find this ....looks like a scam” she sighed, not understanding why they would want to hire her in the first place.

Yunjin facepalmed “girl…its a do or die situation, there were 5 more people who got rejected before, who knows this might be your chance”

Yunjin is not really close to y/n. They were just batchmates. Occasional conversations here and there. It's not like she had any close friends in the first place. So when she asked Yunjin to help her out about job hunting with a half hearted expectation, that girl really did her best and the last thing y/n wanted to do was disappoint someone and make them hate her like she always ends up doing.

“Okay let's do this’

She knew she had to. There was no second choice. She was a beggar. And a beggar could never be a chooser.

“You’re late.”

The door opened with the kind of abruptness that made her flinch. A man stood in the doorway. Why is he so white? What the hell? She thought to herself, trying her best not to come off as rude and take a good look at his face at the same time. “Im terribly sorry I—”

“Park Sunghoon” he breathed out. Okay damn. Even his voice is chilly.

“And you are…y/n?”

She nodded while stepping close “good morning, Mr Park, I really hope we can—”

He did not let her finish the sentence.

“Okay I'm gonna cut to the chase. Have you worked as a caretaker before?” He raised his eyebrows, eying her awkward stance up and down.

She scratched her neck. While it's true, y/n did have babysitting experiences, which included the baby throwing a fit, and her awkward attempts to make her stop crying ended up scaring the baby more.

“Not really…” she answered. Fidgeting her fingers. “But I'm a fast learner!”

Sunghoon scratched the tip of nose “see…we're not talking about just feeding him, bathing him or putting him to sleep, we're talking about being a companion, you have to stay by his side 24/7, you have to make him talk, make him normal again…” he said, slowly trailing off at the end and zoning out. Make him normal? I thought that's what doctors did? She pondered. But she came here with a fixed mindset, and she knew she had to get this job.

“I…will try my best”

He stared at her for a long time and sighed. “Look…you don't have to force yourself—”

“No! It's absolutely okay I–uhm, I need money…and your uhm…?” She looked at him, realising she never got to know the relationship between Sunghoon and the guy she was gonna take care of. “Sim Jaeyun, He's my best friend” he answered, realising her curiosity.

Y/n nodded, “yes, I need money, and Mr Sim needs a caretaker…a companionship which comes with caretaking, I can do it. I'm willing to do it”

He nodded. “Fine”

“Shall we meet him now?”

Jaeyun Sim.

She heard the name before she knew the face. The information that Sunghoon sent to Yunjin had said little "patient suffering from Multiple System Atrophy, in need of physical assistance and companionship, preferably someone quiet and adaptable.” She did her part of the research and found out it was a rare, progressive neurodegenerative disorder with treatments but no cure.

But Sunghoon's information didn’t really mention the icy stares or the tired voice, which sounded like gravel, disinterested, and exhausted. “Who…are you?”

The interior of his room was like his. Sparse, dim, functional. Books half-stacked on shelves, a record player in the corner. No music. No light. Nothing living except maybe the plants by the window that looked like they were clinging on out of habit.

“Jaeyun, she's y/n, your new caretaker…” he said, voice latched with worry and somewhere guilt. Then he turned at her “he will tell you everything you need to do, for today I'll just excuse myself, I have meetings to attend” he sighed “if there's any emergency just contact me” and gave her a dry smile which did not really help y/n from the ‘I don't want you here’ look she was getting from the other person in the room.

And after Sunghoon left, it was unbearably quiet. Although it was yet for her to make eye contact with Jaeyun, she tried her best to keep her composer. It's okay…everything’s going to be fine…

“Good Morning Mr Sim I'm Y/n Y/ln!–”

“You’ll have the guest room down the hall. Meals are...whenever. I’m not your responsibility unless I fall or stop breathing, got it?” It was fast, sharp, and ice cold. Probably colder than Sunghoon's whole aura.

Okay? Rude?

she blinked through her growing awkwardness and dilemma. “I thought I was here to help.” And finally looked up only to get welcomed by a pale ghost of someone who probably got their life sucked out from a scary ritual. The first thing he noticed was his rough brown hair, which kind of matched her dishevelled ones. His empty eyes were looking straight through her frail figure, and his mouth let out a humourless laugh.

“That’s cute. But I don’t need help. Specifically from you”

And as he looked at her small demeanour up and down, she suddenly stumbled backwards. The familiar feeling eyes judging her and making her feel terribly naked seeped under her skin, and she opened her mouth.

“I—it's my job…I want to help you”

He did not answer. The rustling of bed sheets were clear enough to let her know he had turned his back towards her.

“You can move in any day you want, and if you don't want to, just let sunghoon know”

His voice trembled slightly. Just enough for her to notice.

the wind howled through the windows like something wild.

Y/N sat on the edge of the bed that had been cleared out for her, Jaeyun's guest room now turned her sanctuary. She hadn’t brought much. Just a duffel bag, a few clothes, and a toothbrush still in its pharmacy plastic. But even so, it felt like more than she deserved.

Her sleeves slipped past her wrists as she curled her fingers around the edge of the mattress. It was warm here. Warmer than the cold linoleum floor of her old home, warmer than the way her father’s voice used to cut through the air like a blade. But her body didn’t believe it yet. It still braced for impact.

The room was simple, muted tones. Clean sheets. A soft yellow lamp in the corner, flickering with the storm. Nothing extravagant, but to her, it felt like someone had handed her a shelter made of glass, fragile, temporary, and far too beautiful to be real.

Her phone had no signal. Not that anyone would be trying to reach her. The number had stopped ringing long ago.

Her chest tightened, not from fear, but from memory. Of the bathroom door, she once locked behind her to escape. Of the sting of a slap and the silence that followed. Of sitting with her back against cold tile, blood running in slow, mocking rivulets down her wrist, and realizing that not even that had been enough to make someone notice.

But tonight, there were no shouting voices.

Only dead silence.

And she knew it would be like that for a long time.

Jaeyun had a garden. Sort of.

He was in the garden. Or at least, he was standing in it like a statue, hands buried in the pockets of his sweatshirt, shoulders hunched, eyes locked on the grey sky above as if it had personally wronged him. The clouds were thick, unmoving. Heavy, like the silence that clung to the house lately.

It was y/n's sixth day in this void of a place she ended up a few days ago. She was slowly getting used to the silence. She always did. The smell of something slowly dying away was evident in the air and she tried her best to not cross paths with him except when they were dining together in silence, the food prepared by an old maid and her robotic movements. And times when he had to take medications, she was just…there. She stared at him as he gulped down all sorts of red and blue pills.

There was no conversation, no interaction , just silent presence, and limited responses, which sounded scripted almost all the time.

She stepped out quietly, careful not to let the door slam behind her. In one hand, she carried a ceramic mug, stained faintly at the bottom from too many uses. She crossed the yard in slow steps, stopping a few feet from him.

“Peace offering," she said simply, holding one mug out. “I don't know what I've done to piss you off but…it's too quiet…”

He didn’t look at her right away. His gaze lingered on the sky for another beat, then dropped to the mug. He studied it like it might explode.

"I didn’t poison it," she added, voice flat, neutral. The wind tugged strands of her hair across her cheek, but she didn’t move.

His brow twitched. Just a little. The corner of his mouth did, too, like the ghost of a smirk trying to remember how to live. She noticed. She always does, the layer of cockyness he has behind his sickeningly pale skin.

He took the mug.

They stood in silence. The kind that didn’t ache but didn’t comfort either. Somewhere in the trees beyond the fence, a bird called once, twice, then fell quiet.

He took a sip and grimaced immediately.

"God," he muttered. "That’s awful."

She shrugged. "So are you."

His head turned, the faint smirk no longer just a flicker. It stayed a second longer this time. "You make tea like you’re angry at it."

"I make tea like I wasn’t hired to be a barista. You want good tea, ask someone else"

He didn’t reply. Just took another sip, even though it clearly still tasted uncomfortable and boiled bitterness.

“There's an odd portrait of a woman… in the storeroom…I uhm did not mean to sneak around…” she whispered. “I was bored and ended up searching around your old paintings in the storeroom since I figured you won't speak to me for some god forbidden reason…”

"She's Jasmine." At the mention of her name, something shifted. Subtle. His grip on the mug tightened, shoulders tensing slightly.

She noticed. She always did.

"She was your muse. You used to paint like you were in love.”

He finally let his gaze fall on her. “And?”

"You still think about her?" she went on, pushing now, gently but deliberately.

"Maybe I do," he said after a pause.

"But you never told her."

Silence stretched again, but this time it burned. She watched him, head tilted slightly. "You loved her, but you never said it. That’s kind of tragic.”

"You don’t know anything about it."

"You’re right. I don’t. But I know what it’s like to want someone to see you and never be seen. I know what it’s like to stay quiet because saying something out loud makes it real."

Jake turned toward her, eyes darker now. Something unreadable danced there–anger, maybe. Or fear.

"You think you’ve got me all figured out, huh?"

"No," she said, meeting his gaze. "But I think you’re still in love with a memory. And you’re scared that if you let it go, you won’t have anything left."

His jaw clenched.

She stepped back then, slowly. Not out of fear, but to give him space to breathe. "Enjoy your terrible tea," she said, turning away. "Day six. We’re getting somewhere."

Behind her, he didn’t speak.

But the next morning, she found a note left on the kitchen counter.

'Jasmine is engaged to Sunghoon'

The house had settled into its usual nighttime stillness, the kind that hummed beneath the floorboards and curled along the corners of closed doors. Y/n was laying in her bed, eyes wide open, listening to the wind scratching lightly at the windows. The soft ticking of the clock echoed against her eardrums like thunder in a silent void. Her body was curled in on itself, hugging a pillow as if it could offer comfort, grounding. Its been a two weeks almost, the ice between her and jaeyun did not quiet melt and it surely had turned something she could not ignore anymore.

He hadn’t spoken much after their tea exchange in the garden that afternoon. He'd retreated again, disappearing behind the heavy door of his bedroom and leaving only the faint scent of paint and eucalyptus in his wake. She hadn’t expected more. This was their rhythm, fractured silences, awkward peace offerings, tension wrapped up in barely-there conversations and lingering stares that lasted a second too long.

But the stillness of night was interrupted as she heard a crash. It wasn’t loud. Not like thunder or breaking glass. It was the kind of sound that jolts her awake because she knew the familiarity. She shot upright, her blanket tangled around her legs. Her heart seized, lungs tightening with every second of silence that followed.

Another sound. A low, pained curse.

She was out of bed in an instant, barefoot and barely aware of the chill biting at her skin. The hall stretched before her like a tunnel, cloaked in shadows and quiet dread. As she reached the kitchen, her breath caught.

Jaeyun was on the floor.

One leg sprawled at an unnatural angle, his upper body braced against the edge of the kitchen counter. His right hand hung limp at his side. His hair clung to his forehead with sweat, and his face was contorted with pain and something worse. Shame. He didn't look at her.

"Don’t," he muttered hoarsely, jaw tight. "I said—don’t help me." His voice cracked mid-sentence, raw with vulnerability. Y/n froze for a moment, her instincts clashing with his pride. But then she moved forward, not touching him, just kneeling beside him, her presence gentle and unintrusive.

“I’m not helping,” she said softly. “I’m just here.”

They sat in silence, the room buzzing with the low hum of the refrigerator and the distant rustle of wind outside. Her eyes scanned him, his knuckles scraped, a dark bruise blooming on the side of his face where he'd clearly hit the counter drawer. She spotted the tea towel nearby, discarded haphazardly.

His breathing was uneven, shaky. His eyes remained shut.

"You okay?" she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't answer. Not right away.

When he did, it was a whisper. A broken confession.

"I can’t feel my right leg again."

Y/n's throat tightened. She reached for the tea towel and carefully wiped a thin streak of blood from his cheek, her touch featherlight. Her fingers lingered for a moment, not to comfort, but to remind him he wasn’t alone. “I’m still here,” she murmured.

That did it.

He turned his face away, his body trembling, and then he cried. It wasn’t loud. Not messy or theatrical. It was silent devastation, it sounded like choking. Like he was trying to swallow down years of grief, rage, and helplessness all at once. His shoulders shook as he buried his face in the crook of his arm, refusing to let the tears fall freely in front of her.

She didn’t say anything. Didn’t tell him it would be okay. Because she wasn’t sure it would.

Eventually, Jake’s breathing slowed. He pulled his face from his arm and looked at her, eyes red and glossy. “I should’ve told you about the nerve damage,” he said quietly, voice rough. “Sometimes it just... goes. Like my leg forgets it exists.”

She nodded slowly. “Why didn’t you?”

He swallowed hard, gaze flicking away. “Because then you’d see me the way everyone else does.”

“How’s that?”

“Like I’m broken.”

Her heart clenched.

She looked at him, really looked. At the boyish curve of his cheekbones beneath the bruises, at the artist's hands that trembled despite their strength, at the scars he tried to bury beneath dry humor and distance.

“You’re not broken, Jaeyun,” she said.

His lips quirked. “Then what am I?”

She hesitated. Then, honestly “A mess. But not broken.” That startled a breath of a laugh from him. Soft, disbelieving. Y/n moved closer then, slowly, deliberately. She sat beside him with her back against the cabinet, their shoulders just barely brushing. “You don’t have to pretend around me,” she said. “You don’t have to win anything. Or lose anything. Just... be.”

He let his head fall back against the counter. “I don’t know how to do that anymore.”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” she replied, not offering more than that. Not promising some fairytale recovery. Just the simple truth, she wasn’t going anywhere. Minutes passed like that. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was a shared thing, full of everything neither of them could say yet. The floor was cold beneath them, but she didn’t move.

Eventually, she asked, “Can you stand?”

He didn’t answer immediately. He tested his leg, a grimace pulling at his mouth. Then he nodded, just once. She helped him, not lifting him, but offering an arm he could lean on.

When they reached the edge of the couch in the living room, he hesitated. “Don’t tell Sunghoon,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked. “Why?”

“Because he’ll make it a thing. Call Jasmine. Turn it into some goddamn intervention.”

That name.

Jasmine.

Y/n didn’t say anything at first. But something shifted in her posture. He noticed and sighed. “You met her once. Don’t read into it.”

“I’m not reading into anything,” she replied, though her voice betrayed her. “But you clearly are.”

Jaeyun looked away. The space between them grew sharp.

“I saw the way you looked at her,” she said, quieter now. “Like you used to look at your paintings before you stopped making them.”

He flinched.

“I thought she was the one,” he admitted. “And then... I didn’t say anything. I waited too long. She moved on.”

“And now?”

He looked at her.“I don’t see her when I paint anymore,” he said.

Is that why you stopped painting? Her breath caught in her throat. But before she could speak, before she could decide what to do with the way her heart leapt and twisted all at once—

Jaeyun's body swayed.

She caught him.

“Okay, enough dramatics,” she whispered, helping him lie down. “No more falling today.”

The corner of his lips curled. It was subtle but she noticed. “You’re bossy.”

“You’re helpless.”

And then he laughed real, soft, tired. She stood over him, her eyes lingering. Jaeyun closed his eyes, trusting her presence enough to let go. But as she turned away, heart still thundering with everything unsaid, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

Something irreversible.

The rain had stopped hours ago, but the clouds still hung heavy in the sky, smudging the light that filtered through the windows of the living room into something grey and quiet. The air inside Jaeyun's house was heavy, still. It smelled like chamomile and old books, things that tried to be comforting but couldn’t erase the ache beneath them. Y/n sat curled on the armchair, a blanket tossed across her knees, an open book resting on her lap. She hadn’t turned the page in almost an hour. Her eyes were fixed somewhere near the margin, but her mind was miles away.

He sat across from her on the couch, legs pulled up awkwardly, his arm slung across the back like he wasn’t quite sure how to sit still. His fingers twitched against the fabric of the couch, occasionally flexing and releasing as if testing their strength, or lack thereof. He watched her in silence for a long time, as if she might disappear if he looked away.

Then, his voice broke through the stillness.

“Why are you here?”

It wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t even curious. It was something rawer than that, like he was asking himself more than her. She blinked, slowly closing the book. Her thumb held the place, though she knew she wasn’t going back to it tonight. “Because I needed a job,” she said evenly, not quite meeting his eyes.

He didn’t move. “No. Really.”

Her shoulders tightened slightly, but her face stayed neutral. She met his gaze then, and for a second, she looked older than she was. Tired in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.

“Because I needed to leave somewhere,” she said. “And this was far enough.”

He stared at her for a moment. Then he nodded, slowly, like that made a kind of terrible sense. He turned his face away, jaw tightening as he looked down at his hands.

“You flinch in your sleep,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Her body went still. The tension in the room shifted from quiet to taut in a breath. Her fingers curled into the blanket, pulling it closer to her chest as if it could shield her from the weight of those words.

He glanced up, met her eyes. “sorry that creeped you out...I just noticed it last night, you fell asleep on the couch...don't worry, I also scream in mine,” he added softly.

It was the most honest thing either of them had said in days. She exhaled slowly, her spine relaxing by inches. The shield she always kept up wavered, just enough.

For the first time, they looked at each other, And saw.

Saw pain. And history. And the wreckage of things no one else stuck around long enough to understand. Scars that didn’t sit on skin, but settled deep into bone. Y/n stood, leaving the blanket behind. She walked over to the couch and sank down beside him, not touching, just present. Her closeness wasn’t invasive, it was an offering.

Jaeyun didn’t move away. The silence stretched, but this time it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt... shared.

She spoke again, voice low.

“He used to lock me in the bathroom. My father. When I talked back. When I cried. When I existed wrong.”

He turned to her slowly, eyes dark and unreadable.

“And I would lie there on the floor,” she continued, not looking at him, just staring into the middle distance, “trying to figure out how much blood would be too much. How much would finally make him stop. Or make someone notice.” he swallowed hard. “Did they?”

She smiled, but it wasn’t kind. “No. I just got better at cleaning it up.”

He reached for something, a word, a gesture, anything, but found nothing. His hand twitched, then stilled. “I don’t talk about it,” she said. “I don’t want pity. I just want someone to stop pretending it didn’t happen.”

He nodded, his throat working.

“My mom left when I was nine,” he said. “After that, it was just me and a house full of things that hurt.” she turned to him, really seeing him now. Not the sharp sarcasm, not the cold bitterness he wore like armor. But the boy underneath.

“Did anyone ever come for you?” He shook his head. “I got sick before they could. And then no one wanted to deal with the dying kid.”

She leaned forward slightly. “You’re not dying, Jake.” He laughed, but it cracked halfway through. “Aren’t I?”

She stared at him and then slowly replied “You’re lonely. And angry. And tired. That’s not dying. That’s surviving. Barely.” Jaeyun let the silence fall again. He didn’t know what to say. Her words landed somewhere deep and sore.

Finally, he spoke.

“When Jasmine left,” he said suddenly, as if tugging the memory out before it rotted, “I told myself it was because she saw what was coming.”

She stayed still.

“But really,” Jaeyun continued, “she left because I couldn’t say what I wanted to say. Because I made everything a joke, or a poem, or a distance she couldn’t cross.”

“You loved her,” Y/n said quietly. He nodded. “But I never said it. Not once. I thought maybe she knew.”

“That’s not always enough,” she said. He looked at her then, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you think people can love more than once?” She met his gaze. Her heart pounded, but her voice didn’t waver. “I think sometimes we don’t even notice when it happens again. We just start showing up. Staying. Caring when we shouldn’t.” His expression changed, softened. He stared at her like he was trying to understand something he hadn’t dared to hope for.

Outside, thunder rumbled softly in the distance.

Inside, Jake whispered, “Are you staying?”

And just before she could answer, the lights flickered once, then went out.

Jaeyun was painting again.

Sort of.

The afternoon light filtered weakly through the dusty windowpanes, casting pale beams across the worn wooden floor. His bedroom smelled like old turpentine, charcoal dust, and frustration. He stood at the easel, brush trembling in his hand, jaw tight, breath shallow. What had once been a sanctuary of expression had become a graveyard of half-finished canvases, each one more desperate than the last.

He tried.

He always tried.

But the moment the brush met the canvas, everything fell apart. The colors bled into one another like bruises on skin. The lines collapsed into incoherence. His fingers, once steady and sure, twitched uselessly. The pain was more than physical. It was grief. Rage. Loss.

The brush slipped again.

And this time, Jaeyun let out a low, guttural sound of defeat. His hand snapped forward and flung the brush across the room. It hit the far wall with a sharp crack, bounced once, then fell to the ground. He gripped the edge of the easel, head bowed, chest heaving.

From the corner of the room, a soft shuffle was heard. He felt a presence. Her presence.

Y/n appeared in the doorway.

She didn't speak at first. She just stood there, one hand resting on the doorframe, her expression unreadable. Her gaze swept across the room and then at the overturned stool, the broken brush, the wreckage of another failed canvas. Her eyes finally settled on him.

"You done throwing tantrums?" she asked, her voice gentle but unflinching.

He turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was air. And after trying again his pupils began to shake a little because no matter how much he tries the words always fractured halfway through his throat.

"I can’t even paint," he whispered, his voice broken and raw. "What’s the point in any of this?"

She sighed and stepped forward, slowly. The wooden floor creaked beneath her feet. "Jaeyun..." she whispered, voice firm yet gentle "You’re not angry because you can’t paint," she said softly, crouching near the base of the easel. "You’re angry because you remember how it felt when you still could."

He stared at her. There was no pity in her voice. No patronizing sympathy. Just truth. She wasn’t offering comfort to coddle him. She was giving it to keep him anchored. She reached for the fallen brush. The bristles were splayed and ruined, but she found another nearby. One that hadn’t been broken yet. She dipped it lightly in red paint. A bold, defiant red, and turned to him.

Then, without asking, she sat on the floor beside the ruined canvas. "Come here," she said simply.

Jaeyun hesitated.

He looked at the brush in her hand, at her eyes, then down at his own hands. They were trembling again. Weak. Useless. And yet, she waited. Not pushing, not pleading. Just waiting. Shaky breathes, and he slowly lowered himself to the floor, sitting beside her with the stiffness of a man too used to pain. His gaze dropped to his lap. "I can’t hold it steady," he murmured. "It’ll ruin whatever you try."

"Then let it," she replied. "We’re not making art. We’re making noise." He stiffened. It was not uncomfortableness, but what else... she did not know, nor she want to notice. She took his right hand gently, slowly, as if touching something fragile. He didn’t pull away. Her fingers were warm around his. She placed the brush in his grip, then wrapped her hand over his, guiding the pressure.

"You hold it," she said. "I’ll guide." They moved together, her breath quiet near his ear, her body aligned close but respectful. The brush dipped into the canvas with a low scratch. Together, their hands made a single stroke across the fabric. It wasn’t straight. It wasn’t elegant. But it was real.

It was alive.

His shoulders began to shake.

Not with anger. But with something that had been waiting to surface. Tears spilled from his eyes and landed silently on the canvas. Y/N didn’t look away. She didn’t let go. Her fingers held his, steady, present. He whispered, "I hate this." "I know," she said. "Me too." He turned slightly, his temple brushing hers. There was no sign of hesitation. She felt his warmth seeping through her transparent self.

"You still see something in me?" His eyes were now directly looking at her. There was a storm going on behind them. And she spoke in a daze. Almost enchanted."I see someone," myself. she said. "I see someone who fought to stay alive. Someone who still exists. Even if he doesn’t believe he matters." Please let me live.

He inhaled sharply. She let him.

The room was silent except for their breathing, and the faint ticking of a clock somewhere in the hall. The red line on the canvas bled a little, sinking into the weave like a scar. "You still exist," she whispered. "You’re still here. That has to count for something." He closed his eyes, and for the first time in weeks, he let the silence cradle him.

Let her presence sway him away. Let his guard down. Let the weight of grief rest somewhere outside his body for a while. And outside, the wind picked up—not enough to rattle the windows, but enough to promise change was coming.

Y/n reached over Jaeyun's shoulder and dipped the brush again, this time in gold. He whispered, almost inaudibly

"What if I forget how to be myself?"

She didn’t flinch. She smiled, soft and certain. And for a spilt of second Jaeyun swore his heart made a weird movement.

"Then I’ll remind you"

The brush touched the canvas again. And the door to something better cracked open, just a little.

That evening, the porch was quiet. Rain had come and gone, leaving behind the heavy scent of wet earth. The wooden floorboards beneath Y/n creaked softly as she sat still, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes staring into the darkness as though searching for something just out of reach. She didn’t cry. She hadn’t for a long time. But her silence held weight, an ache that no tears could lessen. Jaeyun stepped out quietly. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been watching her from the hallway, unsure whether to say something or leave her be. But the stillness of her profile, the haunted look in her eyes, pulled something in him taut.

“Why do you help me?” he asked finally. His voice was hoarse, raw. “When you’re clearly drowning too?” She didn’t look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the empty yard, where the rain had traced silver veins across the stone pathway. “Because no one helped me,” she said quietly. “Not when it mattered.” The air between them felt fragile, like glass waiting to splinter. Jaeyun sat beside her, cautious not to startle her, not to close the distance too fast. He left a hand’s breadth of space between them, enough for comfort. “I hate this feeling,” he admitted, fingers twitching in his lap. “Being a burden. Useless. Waiting to forget my own name.”

Y/n finally turned to him. There was no pity in her eyes, only exhaustion and quiet knowing. Her voice cracked when she spoke.

“I’d rather be hated than forgotten.”

Her expression was carved from something deeper than pain—it was shaped by surviving it. Slowly, carefully, he reached for her hand. His fingers brushed against hers, hesitant.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. That small touch, barely there, was more intimate than any embrace.

Days passed.

Jaeyun’s condition worsened.

The seizures became more frequent. They came in waves now, sharp, sudden, stripping him of control. His body was failing him in increments, and he felt every loss like a betrayal. Sunghoon, who used to show up twice a month, now turned up almost every week. It was midday when it happened again. She heard the thud before she saw it.

He was crumpled in the hallway, eyes wide and unfocused, hands trembling. Sweat slicked his brow. His breathing was shallow, erratic.

“I’m fine,” he barked when she approached. “You’re not,” she said calmly, kneeling beside him. Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. Face pale, jaw clenched in frustration. “I can’t–I can’t move.” The words tumbled out like a confession. “I’m so fucking tired, Y/N. Tired of fighting.”

Without a word, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him. He stiffened.

Then crumbled.

She held him as though he were breakable, and she’d spent her whole life learning how not to shatter things. Her hands moved slowly, one resting between his shoulder blades, the other smoothing over his spine. “I’ve got you,” she whispered, voice steady even as her own heart trembled. “Even when you don’t.”

She didn’t try to lift him right away. She just held him, grounding him with her presence, letting the panic drain from his system like poison drawn from a wound. Eventually, with her help, he made it back to his room. Each step was a quiet struggle, but she stayed by his side, letting him lean against her without making him feel small for needing to.

That night, she stayed with him. They lay in his bed. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was reverent. Their backs barely touched, and yet their fingers found each other beneath the covers. Intertwined.

No words were exchanged.

There was no need.

For the first time in months, maybe years—Jaeyun slept.

And She didn’t roll down her sleeves to hide her scars.

Jaeyun hadn’t left his room in two days.

At first, Y/N gave him space. She let the hours pass quietly and tried not to pace outside his door. But something about the silence inside that room felt heavier than it should. Like the air had turned into something sharp and suffocating. The house, usually humming with silence in its small ways, the soft spin of a record player, the clink of his tea mug, the shuffle of his slow footsteps, was now unbearably still. She hated how much she missed the little things. Hated how she waited for sounds that never came.

By the end of the first day, she had taken to sitting just outside his door. At first, she brought a book. She didn’t read it. She stared at the pages until her vision blurred, listening for anything. A cough, a sigh, a thud.

By the second day, she stopped pretending. She just sat there, back pressed against the wall, knees drawn to her chest, her presence a quiet message You’re not alone. Even if you want to be.

The third morning dawned gray and damp. Rain tapped against the windows, wind curling through the eaves. Y/N hadn’t slept properly. Her limbs ached from the position, her body reminding her she was flesh and blood, not resolve and willpower.

But that day, something inside her snapped.

She stood up slowly, fingers brushing the wood of his doorframe like it might burn her. And then she spoke.

"Jaeyun," she said, loud enough to be heard through the door. Her voice was rough from sleep and silence. "I know what this is."

Nothing.

She swallowed. "I’ve done it too. I’ve laid in the dark and waited for something to take me. I’ve looked at my ceiling for hours and thought, This is it. This is how I disappear. I know what it’s like to stop hoping anyone will come."

Still, no answer.

She pressed her forehead against the door. "But I came, Jaeyun. I came for you. I’m here."

A minute passed. Then another.

And then, slowly, the lock clicked.

The door opened with a long, reluctant creak. He stood there, barefoot, wearing the same hoodie he had the last time she saw him. His hair stuck out in messy tufts, and his skin looked paler than it should, like he’d been hollowed out from the inside. His eyes were bloodshot, framed by dark shadows, unfocused at first. He looked at her like he couldn’t tell if she was real, a hallucination conjured in the thick quiet of his grief. Like maybe she’d disappear if he blinked too hard.

His voice was hoarse. "Why haven’t you left yet?"

She flinched but didn't step back. "Because you keep pretending you want me to."

The words settled between them, heavy and sharp. Jaeyun's eyes flickered away as though the weight of them was too much to hold. He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, swaying slightly.

"You don’t know what it’s like," he muttered. "To feel like your body is a cage. To hate waking up. To forget what it was like to be... more." She stepped forward. Not touching. Just closing the space.

"I do. Not in your way. But in mine. I know what it’s like to be seventeen and scared and alone in a house that was supposed to protect me. I know what it’s like to bleed in silence. To scream into pillows because you don’t want anyone to hear how weak you sound."

He didn’t look at her, but his breathing shifted.

"I know what it’s like," she whispered, "to be so used to pain that the absence of it feels foreign."

Jaeyun blinked hard. A tear slipped down his cheek. He didn’t wipe it away.

"I thought if I just stayed in here long enough, maybe everyone would forget me," he said, voice shaking.

"I won’t," she said simply. He finally met her eyes.

She stepped closer, her hand hovering between them. "Can I?"

He nodded.

Gently, she took his hand. His fingers were ice cold, but he didn’t pull away. She guided him out of the room like something fragile and ancient. They didn’t speak as they walked to the living room. She led him to the couch, sat him down, and disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she handed him a warm cup of tea and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders.

He didn’t thank her. But he didn’t need to.

They sat in silence, side by side, staring at the muted rain beyond the windows. After a while, Jaeyun said, "I used to think my art was the only reason people loved me. Now I can’t even hold a brush."

Y/n turned toward him. "You think I’m here because of your art?"

He didn’t answer.

"I’m here," she said slowly, deliberately, "because when you smile, even the bad days make sense. Because your silence doesn’t scare me the way my father’s did. Because you make space for me in a way no one else ever has."

He looked like he might break.

She leaned in slightly, enough for their shoulders to brush. "You're more than what you create. More than your illness. More than what you lost."

Jaeyun let out a breath. Shaky. Real.

"I don’t know how to be anything else."

"Then let’s figure it out together," she said. They sat like that for a long time. No more words. Just breath and warmth and the quiet hum of being not alone.

Outside, the rain eased. Inside, for the first time in days, Jaeyun felt like maybe he could be okay. And somewhere, deep in the heart of that quiet, something shifted.

It wasn’t love.

Not yet.

But it was a beginning.

And beginnings were everything.

The breakdown came fast.

Jaeyun had been trying to make tea. A simple act. Familiar. But the kettle slipped from his grasp, water sloshing out as it clanged hard against the stovetop. His jaw clenched. He swore under his breath, reached for the string of his hoodie to tug it tighter and failed again. His fingers trembled, fumbling like they didn’t belong to him. He let out a strangled yell. A roar of frustration ripped from his throat as he grabbed the nearest mug and hurled it across the room. It struck the far wall and shattered instantly, porcelain shards splintering like glass stars across the floor.

She didn’t run. She didn’t even blink.

She moved forward, swift and unwavering, and grabbed Jaeyun by the shoulders.

"Stop! Just stop it!"

He stared at her, chest heaving, arms trembling at his sides.

"You think you're the only one who wants to disappear?!" she shouted, tears already spilling down her cheeks. Her voice cracked with the weight of too many unsaid things. "That you're the only one who's tired?! That you're the only one who wakes up wishing it would all just end?!"

Jaeyun opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She pushed on, voice trembling but unrelenting. "Do you think I wanted to become the girl with bruises no one asked about? The one who had no one to come home to? You think I don’t know how it feels to want to scream but be too tired to even cry? You're sick, Jaeyun. I know that. But you don't get to shove everyone away just because you're scared."

His eyes widened, stricken. Her words hit him like a wave, and he staggered under them. His felt heart thumped against his rib cage. And the anger collapsed in on itself, curling into something quieter. Something raw.

And then—

He kissed her.

Fuck it.

No warning. No slow lead-up. Just motion and desperation. His hands, trembling, cupped her face with surprising tenderness. Her fingers curled into the front of his sweatshirt, pulling him closer as their mouths crashed together. There was nothing soft about it. No grace. Just breath and grief and longing pouring out of the cracks they tried so hard to hide.

It wasn’t romantic. It was survival. Jaeyun stumbled forward, pressing her back against the counter. Her legs instinctively parted, bracing him, holding him upright with the only strength she had left. Their foreheads bumped, breaths tangled, eyes fluttering open to find each other already too close.

He whispered, "Y/n—"

She cut him off, her voice low and broken. "Don’t do this."

He blinked, caught off guard. "Why not?" And paused hearing his own desire in the question. Her eyes searched his, desperate and wounded. "Because if I kiss you back again, I’m going to fall. And you don’t know how to catch me."

It landed harder than any slap.

He froze.

Then, slowly, achingly, he stepped back. The warmth between them disappeared. The air turned cold.

He didn’t speak. Neither did she.

That night, they didn’t speak. Not during dinner. Not when she gently refilled his glass of water and slid the tiny white pills across the table. Not when she turned off the lights in the living room and locked the door.

But in the small hours, when the world had quieted to a whisper, he found her again. She was outside on the porch, curled up on the old wooden bench. Her knees drawn to her chest. Her sweatshirt hood pulled up over her head. The rain had started falling softly, a quiet patter against the roof.

She didn’t look up when he stepped outside. He stood there for a moment, unsure. Then, with slow, deliberate steps, he moved beside her. He didn’t sit. Just stood near enough for her to know he was there.

He swallowed.

"I'm sorry I...I don't know what I was thinking....it wasn’t supposed to be like that..." he said finally, voice hushed, almost afraid the wind would carry the words away. I wasn’t supposed to like you. She turned her head slightly. The rain glistened on her lashes.

"I wasn’t supposed to feel anything either" she whispered. He clenched his jaws. A carefully tamed and guarded garden growing wild inside him. He sat down, close but careful, afraid of pushing too far again.

Silence.

Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he spoke.

"I don’t know how to stay alive for myself. But I keep waking up for you."

Her throat worked around a sob she didn’t release. Her fingers curled tighter around the fabric of her sleeve. And then, as if the words had stitched something broken inside her back together, she turned her face toward him and said, "Then I guess we’re even."

The rain fell harder. But they didn’t move.

Together, they sat in the wet silence, wounds open, but understood. And neither of them felt alone anymore.

The house was quiet again, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel empty but weighed heavily in the air, soft like the breath between words. Jaeyun broke it suddenly, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if the words had been sitting on his tongue too long.

"You ever wonder what your life would’ve looked like… if it had gone right?"

Y/n blinked from where she sat curled up on the worn-out couch, a thick knit blanket pulled up to her chin. Outside, the rain tapped against the windows, and inside, the only light came from a flickering candle on the coffee table between them. She considered his question. The way it was asked, quiet, careful, like he already knew the answer but still needed to ask.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Sometimes I think about who I’d be if I’d grown up in a house where the only thing thrown was a birthday party." Jaeyun gave a small, broken laugh. It cracked around the edges, like it didn’t know whether it was allowed to exist. "I’d probably still be in Seoul," he said after a beat. "Probably still painting murals in back alleys and forgetting to eat because the light was too good."

His voice drifted, almost wistful, like he could still see it, brush in hand, sun painting his shoulders, colors blooming on concrete. He paused, his fingers curled slightly in his lap.

"My brother used to tell me I looked happiest when I was covered in color."

Her breath caught in her throat. Something in the way he said it, the use of past tense, felt like a quiet fracture in the room.

"You had a brother?"

Jaeyun nodded. "Jungwon. Two years younger. Died in a crash last year. I was supposed to pick him up. I told him I’d be late. He took a cab. That cab never made it." The room fell silent. The only sound was the faint crackle of the candle between them, flickering shadows dancing on the walls.

"I don’t tell people that," Jaeyun added quietly. "I don’t like the way they look at me after."

She leaned forward, her voice barely above a whisper. "How do they look at you?"

He swallowed, eyes still fixed on the flame. "Like I’m already gone." Then, for the first time in what felt like forever, he turned to meet her eyes.

"You don’t look at me like that."

Later that night, after the dishes were done and the hum of the kitchen light had grown comforting, they sat on the floor with their backs against the fridge. A half-empty bottle of ginger ale sat between them, and the linoleum floor was cool beneath their legs. Y/n broke the silence this time. Her voice was steady, but she didn’t look at him when she spoke.

"My father used to call me a ghost. Said I moved too quietly. Like a girl hiding something. He said I made him uncomfortable."

Jaeyun’s expression didn’t change, but his body shifted slightly, tension creeping in through his shoulders.

"I guess I was," she added after a moment. "Hiding bruises. Thoughts. Every time I walked past a mirror, I tried not to see myself. Like if I ignored it long enough, it would stop existing." Her voice faltered.

"One night, he dragged my face to the mirror. Told me to look. Said, 'No one will ever stay with that. That’s what you are.'"

A muscle in Jaeyun’s jaw twitched. He said nothing, but the silence stretched, thick and burning. She finally looked at him. Her voice trembled. "You’re the first person who stayed."

Slowly, like the moment might break if he moved too fast, Jaeyun reached out. His fingers brushed against hers, a touch so light it almost didn’t happen.

"I’m not going anywhere."

when the house was wrapped in shadows and the candle had long burned out, they lay on the couch beneath the same blanket. The record player spun something soft and wordless in the background, the music weaving through the quiet like a memory. Jaeyun rested his head on her shoulder. He felt warm, real. Like something she could reach for and not lose.

Y/n’s hand lay flat on his chest, rising and falling with each breath. She could feel his heartbeat. Slow. Steady.

There were no grand confessions. No sweeping declarations.

Just wind tapping gently on the window.

Just breath.

Just presence.

Jaeyun’s voice was barely audible, his lips brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. "You feel like remembering what painting is supposed to feel like."

Y/n didn’t reply.

She didn’t need to.

Her fingers curled slightly into his shirt, and that was answer enough.

It happened on a Tuesday.

There was nothing special about the day, the kind of Tuesday that didn’t ask to be remembered. The sky was an indifferent grey, as though even the clouds were too tired to hold their shape. The kettle shrieked from the kitchen, steam curling into the air, but Jaeyun barely noticed.

He was halfway up the stairs when his legs gave out. The pain hit fast and sharp, followed by a sickening weightlessness. He collapsed against the railing, cursed under his breath, and then louder, loud enough for the birds outside to scatter from the trees. She was there before he fell further, arms locking around his middle, grounding him. He stiffened, and for a moment it looked like he might push her away. But then his fingers fisted into the back of her shirt, tight and desperate, and he let himself lean into her. His face buried in the crook of her neck, and she felt the way his shoulders trembled.

"I hate this," he whispered, voice hoarse with something that wasn’t just pain. "I hate this fucking body. I hate needing anyone. I hate—" he couldn't finish the sentence. His eyes were looking directly at her and Jaeyun froze in her arms. And when he pulled back, slowly, reluctantly, his eyes met hers with something naked and raw. She could see it there, unspoken and terrified.

He didn’t hate her.

He loved her.

And that truth was more frightening to him than the sickness or the pain or the nights he spent screaming into his pillow.

Afternoon passed in silence. They sat in the same room, at opposite ends of the couch, not looking at each other. A quiet tension hung between them like fog. Y/n had a book open in her lap, but her eyes never moved across the page. Jaeyun picked at the seam of a throw pillow, his knuckles pale from clenching.

Finally, she spoke.

"I don’t know what we’re doing anymore."

Her voice was soft, but it landed like a match dropped on dry leaves. He flinched. Didn’t look up.

"We’re surviving," he muttered, the words heavy. "Isn’t that enough?" She turned to him, and when he finally looked back, he saw the storm in her eyes.

"No," she whispered. "Because surviving isn’t the same as living. And I want to live, Jaeyun. I want to live with you." Something broke in his expression then. A crack in the dam. A tremor that began in his chest and spread to his limbs.

And without another word, he crossed the space between them.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t slow.

It was like gravity snapped, like the pull between them had been waiting for one small shift to bring the rest tumbling down. His hands came up to cradle her face, fingers trembling but reverent. Their lips met with a kind of hunger that wasn’t about lust, but about relief. About the ache of withholding something for too long. Y/n gasped into his mouth as he kissed her deeper, one hand moving to her waist, pulling her into him like he needed her to breathe.

"You drive me insane," he breathed against her lips."Then lose your mind with me," she murmured back, tugging at his shirt. He groaned, a broken, wrecked sound that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than his lungs, and kissed her again. They stumbled backward, her spine pressing into the wall. The room spun with the weight of everything that had never been said. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth moved along her jaw, her throat, reverent and frantic.

He tasted like rain and desperation. She felt like home and heartbreak."Tell me to stop," he gasped, forehead pressed to hers.

"I can’t," she whispered, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"Then don’t," he rasped, and captured her lips again.

Wasn’t polished. Wasn’t choreographed. It was teeth and lips and bruised breaths. Her shirt was halfway off, his hands trembling as they touched bare skin like it was something sacred. She arched into him with a sound she didn’t recognize, but welcomed. He kissed the slope of her shoulder, the hollow of her collarbone. His hands moved like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want this. Want her. But she grounded him with every touch, every breathy plea, every whispered reassurance.

And then he pulled back. Just slightly. His chest heaving. Eyes wet.

"I’m scared," he said, voice low and cracked. "That I’ll need you too much. That I’ll ruin you." She reached up and cupped his face, her thumbs brushing the corners of his eyes. "You don’t ruin me, Jaeyun," she whispered. "You remind me I’m alive."

He closed his eyes.

And kissed her like a thank you.

Like an apology.

Like a beginning.

Later, much later, they lay tangled together on the old couch, her head resting over his heart, their fingers intertwined on his chest. The record player spun in the corner, a slow instrumental hum filling the quiet.

Neither spoke.

There were no confessions or promises. Just the sound of rain brushing the windows and the steady beat of Jaeyun’s heart beneath her ear. A silence that didn’t ask to be filled.

A silence that said, I see you. I’m not leaving. His fingers curled gently in her hair. He breathed in deep, lips brushing her forehead.

She smiled against his skin.

It started with a whisper, barely audible, fragile as seafoam.

"I want to see the ocean." He said it one evening, voice frayed like threadbare linen, his gaze unfocused and distant. He lay curled beneath layers of blankets, lips chapped, skin pale and thin as rice paper. Y/N sat beside him, her hand gently cradling his. His words weren’t a plea. They weren’t a dramatic wish for finality. Just a simple truth. "I haven’t seen it in years," he said, exhaling like it hurt. "And if I go... I want it to be with you. Where the world feels wide again."

So they went.

Y/n found a weathered cottage tucked into the cliffs of a coastal town, far from the hum of machines and the suffocating sterility of hospital rooms. It smelled like salt and pine. Wind howled through the rafters like a lullaby for the restless. She packed everything, his pills, his journals, his heating pads, the quiet in his eyes. Sunghoon arranged most of the things but refused to go with them. He was dying inside.

The first time Jaeyun saw the sea again, he laughed.

Deep and unguarded, like the kind he hadn’t known in years. His whole body leaned forward in the wheelchair as he grinned at the endless blue horizon. Her breath hitched at the sound. She hadn’t realized how much she missed it. That first night, they sat by the wide, sand-dusted windows and watched the tide crawl toward them, moonlight rippling across the waves like secrets. He rested his head in her lap. Her fingers traced the brittle ridges of his collarbone, gentle and reverent.

"I hate how light I feel," he murmured, his voice dry and raw. "Like I’m not tethered to anything anymore. Like I’m floating away."

She bent forward and kissed his forehead.

"You’re still here," she said firmly.

He swallowed. "For how long?" "I don’t care," she whispered. "I just want all of it. However long you have left."

He closed his eyes, a single tear slipping free. "You’re the only reason I stayed this long."

Time, greedy and cruel, began to quicken its pace.

Jaeyun’s health declined rapidly. His voice softened to a whisper. His appetite shrank. There were days he couldn’t even lift his spoon, so Y/n fed him, spoon by spoon, pausing between each one to tell him stories from a life they never got to live. He listened with a fading smile and eyes that fluttered shut before she reached the end. Sometimes, he apologized. For the weakness. For the silence. For the sadness. Each time, she silenced him with a kiss, gentle and slow.

One night, he asked her to climb into the narrow bed.

"With me," he clarified. "Not beside me. Not near me. Just... with me." So she did. Their limbs tangled like vines growing toward the same light. Her face nestled into the crook of his neck, his fingers threading weakly through her hair. She could feel the tremor in his chest as he spoke.

"If I go while you’re asleep... don’t be afraid."

Her breath hitched.

"Then don’t go yet." Her voice trembled.

He didn’t reply. Only a tear slipped from his eye and soaked into her hair. "I’ll try."

On the last morning, Jake insisted on seeing the sea one final time. Y/n wrapped him in a blanket she’d knit during the nights he was too weak to speak. He looked small, bones like willow branches, eyes brighter than ever despite the wear. She wheeled him down the cobbled path to the edge of the sand.

The sea stretched before them, vast and unending. He closed his eyes and breathed it in—salt and wind and the memory of everything he used to be. Y/n knelt beside him, her hand in his, grounding him like an anchor.

"Promise me something," he said, voice barely more than air.

"Anything."

His hand tightened weakly around hers.

"When I’m gone... don’t remember the pain. Don’t remember the way I faded. Remember me like this. Breathing. Loving you. Free." She kissed his forehead. It was warm, still.

"I’ll remember all of it. Even the pain. Because it was love, too. And I want every part of you."

That night, the wind softened.

The sea whispered against the shore like it was saying goodbye.

Y/n woke to stillness.

No rasp of breath. No rustle of sheets. Just quiet. And a note, clutched in his hand. She unfolded it with trembling fingers.

' Thank you for showing me that even broken things can be loved. You gave me everything, and I’m not afraid anymore. I’ll meet you in the waves'

– Jaeyun.

Y/n didn’t cry. She didn’t scream. She simply lay beside him, her head on his chest, and held him like she always had, with everything she had left.

"You’re free now," she whispered into the quiet.

And as the sun rose, golden and soft, it poured through the window and onto the bed like warmth returned. She watched it alone.

To Jaeyun,

I still wake up some mornings thinking you’re in the next room. I still whisper your name when it rains.

I thought losing you would break me. But it didn’t. Because you didn’t leave emptiness behind. You left courage. And hope. And so much love.

I’m still here. I’m living.

For both of us.

And when the waves touch my feet, I remember: you’re in them now.

In the sunlight. In the silence. In me.

I’ll never say goodbye. Just, I’ll see you again.

– Yours, always, Y/n.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: IM SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG...THIS WEEK'S HAS BEEN HECTING STARTING FROM FINALS TO BIRTHDAY TO JAKE'S WATERMELON SUGAR COVER AHHHHHHJ...I hope you guys like it...fr. i admit I became lazy at the last part but...it was becoming too long 💔💔💔

[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