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❝Jill's love language❞

feel free to request any headcanon here 🠒 headcanons list

★ compliments boosting confidence: Jill thrives on compliments and positive affirmations from you. Whether it's praising her intelligence, creativity, or sense of humor, hearing kind words bolsters her confidence and makes her feel appreciated;

★ verbal reassurance: in moments of doubt or vulnerability, Jill appreciates verbal reassurance from her partner. Hearing "I love you," and "I'm here for you," reminds her that she's not alone in facing life's challenges;

★ meaningful conversations: Jill cherishes deep and meaningful conversations with her partner. Engaging in heartfelt discussions about their thoughts, feelings, and dreams allows her to connect on a more profound level;

★ thrill-seekers together: both of you share a love for adrenaline-pumping activities. Whether it's going on adventurous outings, exploring haunted places, or attending horror movie marathons, you bond over the excitement and thrill of these experiences;

★ supportive date nights: Jill plans special date nights to show her love and appreciation for you. Whether it's a surprise dinner at your favorite restaurant or a relaxing evening at home, she ensures that these moments are filled with warmth and care;

★ meaningful symbols: Jill values gifts that symbolize your relationship's milestones and shared memories. Whether it's a piece of jewelry with a special meaning or a scrapbook of your adventures together, these gifts hold a place of significance in her heart;

★ celebrating you: Jill makes sure to celebrate your accomplishments and special occasions with thoughtful presents. Whether it's your birthday, an anniversary, or a personal achievement, she expresses her love and pride through thoughtful gifts.

❝Tara Cupid❞

based on the idea: "Tara and Mindy had locked them both in the closet simply because they thought the pair looked cute”

★ confusion and laughter: as Sam and you find yourselves locked in the closet, you exchange puzzled glances. At first, there's confusion about how this happened, but soon, laughter fills the confined space as you realize that Tara and Mindy must have done it to play matchmaker;

★ playful teasing: Sam can't resist teasing you about the situation, jokingly asking if you believe this is their way of trying to set you both up. You play along, responding with a sly grin and quips about Tara and Mindy's matchmaking skills;

★ comfort in close quarters: while the closet is a tight space, you both find comfort in each other's presence. The closeness fosters a sense of intimacy, allowing you to share lighthearted banter and even deeper conversations;

★ discovery of shared interests: as you spend time together in the closet, you discover shared interests and passions. Sam may talk about her love for horror movies, and you may open up about your favorite books or hobbies;

★ attempts to escape: you both try to figure out a way to escape the closet, laughing at the failed attempts. However, instead of feeling anxious, you enjoy the time spent together, making the most of an unusual situation;

★ comforting touch: in the close quarters, you find yourselves inadvertently touching each other's hands or shoulders. It's a subtle yet comforting gesture that deepens the connection between you;

★ Tara and Mindy's antics: throughout your time in the closet, you hear muffled laughter and whispers outside. It's evident that Tara and Mindy are enjoying playing matchmaker, but you're not upset about it; instead, you find it endearing;

★ a memorable bond: by the time Tara and Mindy finally release you both from the closet, you realize that the experience has brought you closer. The bond between Sam and you has deepened, and you're grateful for Tara and Mindy's playful interference.

killer

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

summary: reader is held at gunpoint once amber finds out that reader knows her big secret. (inspired by nate pulling the gun on maddy scene in euphoria because that is A CLASSICCC angst scene and one of my favorites in media)

warnings: gun, dark!toxic!amber, amber is being manipulative, amber not being a good girlfriend, emotional abuse, physical abuse, amber pulling a gun on reader, reader is crying, traumatized reader

it’s not like you wanted this to happen, same can say for amber. you didn’t mean to trip over the ghostface box that had her costume and knife in it, it was accidentally sticking out of the bed. you never seen the box before and opened it out of curiosity. this was all a big mistake, amber tried to keep it a secret from you as much as possible. at some point, this was going to happen… some secrets cant stay hidden forever.

the two of you began to get into a heated argument, you felt the need to run away because you know you can’t DATE a serial killer, it’s morally wrong to do that. your friends, family, and everyone around you would hate you if they knew the truth. as you begin to try to run to get to the doorframe in amber’s room to escape, you felt a very familiar pale-skinned hand grab your wrist, yanking you cause you to fall back a little. “not so fast.”

once you turn around and want to open your mouth to protest amber to let you go and leave you alone, you see something black and shiny is pulled out of her back pocket… it’s a gun. you can feel a chilling spine crawl all over your body, your hairs on your body are standing up while you look at her with widened, scared eyes. “i love you, i love you, i love you.” you say rapidly, as you try to calm her down and pray that will help her put the gun away so she doesn’t kill you. you hear a small yet sinister chuckle escape her mouth as she looks at you with an evil smile. she knows you’re saying this out of fear to escape the moment, not because you actually love her, she’s not stupid. mindy tells her about all of the time about manipulation tactics from the victims side in abusive relationships in movies, plus amber has seen way too many horror movies to see how this plays out in abusive relationships or how people beg for mercy when a serial killer is about to end their lives.

she puts the gun to hip of your body and she seems to lead you to her bed, as you start to frantically look at her, unable to read her blank expression. “you’re…. scaring me… put the gun down…” you say, biting your lip to prevent your lips from trembling for a bit. she still had a blank expression, her eyes never blinked and looked deeply into your soul. you hated when she would sometimes do this in an argument, when she would purposely show no emotion so you couldn’t understand her or predict her next move. your girlfriend tilted her head to the side and smirked…, “good, that’s the point.” is all that comes out of her mouth. the gun is still adjusted to your hip, her hand is sitting on your thigh as she gently sighs looking into your watering eyes.

“now you know i… love you right, baby? you know i know you a lot better than everyone else around you, just like you know me better than anyone else around me.” she whispers, as she rubs your thighs lovingly, you can feel your whole body tense as it begins to shake. she begins to look down at the locket necklace she has on her neck, she opens it and stares at the happy picture of you two… moments before disaster… she starts to sigh again. you start to stare at her, once again, before you shake your head agreeing with her. “now… let’s see if your words match your actions.” she says, as she leans above you and presses the barrel of the gun towards your head, the muzzle pressing more into your forehead skin. “stop, stop, amber…. please stop, i won’t tell anyone, i won’t go to the police… just let me go and we can talk about this!” you yell to her as you start panicking as you move backwards, as you feel your back pressing into the bedsheets. the words don’t do anything to her, as her figure is officially above you now with the gun still against your forehead.

“shut up!” she got loud and angry for a second before her facial expression returned to normal, “just… quiet down, princess. i don’t want anyone hearing us, (your name), do i make myself clear?” she spoke, sternly with a serious look in her eyes as you nodded. she didnt like the fact that you got loud, worried about the fact if anyone in the neighborhood can hear you from the window. speaking of the window, she got up and closed the blinds so no one could see the scene. she walks back over to you, hovering above you like she was before with the gun pressed against your forehead again.

“hm….” she hums softly, looking at your saddened and shaking figure, you start whimpering, more and more as tears spill out of your eyes. “back to what you said earlier about talking things out, i like this way of talking more, straight to the point and simple.” she says, as her other hand caresses your face softly. you flinch from her touch and look away to the side, this causes her to get mad and grab your face roughly. “you say you won’t go to the police right? you say you love me, right, despite me being a killer? swear on it.” she says in a scary and upset tone, as she is breathing heavily on you.

you start to get quiet and as she starts talking to you, too scared to answer. “answer me!” your girlfriend grabs you by your shoulders and shakes you, causing you to sniffle and hold back your tears. all you did was stare at the girl you love, trying to open your mouth but all that came out was choked sobs. this was another one of amber’s tests… she truly needed to see if you loved her, she wanted to know was what you had was real with her. first, she asked you would you still love her even if she was the killer one time you guys hung out…. you did say yes because you know how her humor is and didn’t take her seriously… but now you’re stuck in this… disaster. “yes, i won’t tell anyone, please! i love you too much to do that to you, baby, i won’t tell anyone, please just believe me!” you scream back at her, freaking out and you just wait for her to put the gun down.

she stares at you, still feeling unsatisfied with your performance, she nudges the gun into your forehead. “fucking swear on it!” the raven haired girl yelled, her voice was laced with fury and her eyes got larger. when you stared into her eyes, you weren’t dealing with amber freeman, you were dealing with ghostface. this is not the girl you ended up in love with, the same girl you smile, kiss, hold hands, laugh, cuddle, have sex with, have movie marathons with. this is not the same girl that cuddled and protected you through all of the ghostface murders just for her to be the one responsible for it. this is a whole other person.

“i swear! i swear!” you yelled at her. this is finally what was able to satisfy her, she finally smiles now that she got what it is that she wanted. you can feel the weight on the bed shift as she gets off you, giving you a bit of space. she walks to you, she begins to rub your shoulder as she gives you quick reassurance. you start to flinch from her touch, your body is curled up in a ball. “hey, sweetheart, it was just a joke. there’s no bullets in the gun, see?” amber says, holding the gun up to show you the inside of the barrel. that makes the situation even ten times worse than it already was. she sees all of this as some bullshit joke, she didn’t even care about the drama and harm she caused to you.

honestly, amber didn’t WANT TO DO THIS… she needed to do this just to make sure there was trust and loyalty between you two. “i’m sorry, baby, i thought you would know better enough to know that i’d NEVER hurt you… i’d never kill you. i love you too much to do such sick, twisted things.” she says, as she begins to grab the black box off of the ground. you couldn’t believe the words that came out of her mouth, she claimed that she would never hurt you, but she did. she begins to start getting ready as she slips on the infamous ghostface black robe. “if you loved me, you’d never do this. if you loved me, you wouldn’t put me through this!” you shout at her from across the bed, holding your knees against your chest.

but that’s the issue… the fact that she did this to you… that makes her a killer. this is her true nature. she could feel herself getting frustrated as she lets out a laugh while looking over at your cuddled position. “and if you loved me, i wouldn’t have to do this if you wouldn’t tried to leave. anyways, i have places to be and things to do.” she walks over to you about to place a gentle kiss on your cheek but you flinch away from her and seethed your teeth. “don’t touch me!”

the reaction that you gave amber caused a smile to tug at her lips. she sighs, not wanting to deal with your attitude because she had better yet important things to do. she’ll have to just deal with you later. as she begins to just turn her back on you, amber grabs her mask and shoves her knife inside of her pocket. she starts to walk away as she leaves to go to her car, leaving you stranded and crying all alone on the bedroom while she plans for her next kill.

don’t worry, this is only the beginning….

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

PLEASE WRITE ABOUT HIM, I'M BEGGING YOU!

Guys, I just wonder why no one is writing to Hwang Jun-ho. Wake up, he's a hot cop! Doesn't that appeal to you? Take a good look

I would even write something about him, but I'm dealing with writer's block. :( (I started a creative writing course at college to broaden my creative perception, and I hope to be back soon.)

Hi babe what would Sam carpenters love language be?

Thank you for requesting sweet! I hope you enjoy it ^^

❝Sam’s love language❞

feel free to request any headcanon here 🠒 headcanons list

★ tender hand-holding: holding hands is a natural gesture of affection for Sam and you. Whether you're walking side by side or sitting together, intertwining your fingers is an instinctive way to connect and show your love;

★ loving back hugs: Sam often surprises you with loving back hugs, wrapping their arms around you from behind. It's a heartwarming gesture that symbolizes protection and support, making you feel safe in their embrace;

★ affectionate touches: throughout your day, Sam and you exchange affectionate touches, whether it's a gentle caress on the cheek or a playful tap on the shoulder. These little gestures of physical affection reinforce your bond;

★ kisses that speak volumes: Sam and you use kisses to communicate your emotions when words fall short. From soft and tender kisses to passionate ones, each kiss is a language of love that you both understand;

★ sweet compliments: Sam constantly showers you with sweet compliments, making you feel special and appreciated. Their kind words uplift your spirits and boost your confidence in every aspect of life;

★ encouraging support: both Sam and you provide unwavering encouragement to each other's dreams and goals. You motivate each other with words of support, celebrating successes and offering comfort during challenges;

★ "I Love You": the phrase "I love you" is a daily mantra between Sam and you. Saying these three powerful words is a genuine affirmation of your deep affection and commitment to one another;

★ heartfelt text messages: Sam and you send heartfelt text messages to each other throughout the day, expressing your love and longing for one another. These messages serve as little love notes that brighten your day;

★ teamwork and support: in times of need, Sam and you work together as a team. You support each other's endeavors and are always willing to lend a helping hand, creating a strong foundation of mutual assistance;

★ meeting each other's needs: Sam and you pay attention to each other's needs and try to fulfill them without hesitation. Whether it's a comforting meal after a tough day or a surprise massage, you show your love through actions;

★ acts of care: simple acts like making their favorite dessert or preparing a warm bath after a tiring day show how much you care for each other's well-being. These thoughtful acts create a nurturing and loving environment in your relationship.

why are you using he for Sam? Sam is a girl and therefore uses she/her. Not he/him

Hi, honey, I am using feminine pronouns for Sam. However, I am Brazilian. English is not my native language, so there might be some errors, and for that, I apologize. I like to write in English to practice and expand my vocabulary.

❝ Tropical Getaway❞

based on the idea: "spending it on the beach, surfing, swimming, etc" includes: Sidney Prescott, Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, Tatum Riley and Randy Meeks

★ beach bonfire: the group gathers around a cozy beach bonfire as the sun sets, sharing stories, jokes, and fond memories. Sidney brings her favorite mystery novel, and Randy tries to analyze the beach's surroundings, jokingly turning it into a crime scene investigation;

★ surfing lessons: Billy and Stu take on the roles of surfing instructors, eager to show off their skills to the rest of the group. Tatum and You are enthusiastic students, while Sidney and Randy prefer to watch from the shoreline, cheering everyone on;

★ sandcastle competition: the group splits into pairs for a friendly sandcastle building competition. Sidney and You team up, using creative tactics to build an impressive castle. Meanwhile, Billy and Stu try to outdo each other with the most daring and elaborate designs;

★ water balloon fight: Tatum comes up with the idea of a water balloon fight, and everyone enthusiastically joins in. Laughter fills the air as water balloons fly in all directions, with Randy being the mastermind behind sneak attacks;

★ beach volleyball: the group sets up a beach volleyball game, with Sidney and You forming a formidable team against Billy and Stu. The match becomes intense and competitive, but it's all in good fun, and everyone enjoys the playful rivalry;

★ sand dunes adventure: Randy leads the group on a thrilling sand dunes adventure, racing each other down the slopes and capturing the exhilarating moments on camera. It becomes a memorable experience filled with laughter and shared adrenaline;

★ picnic by the shore: Tatum prepares a delicious beach picnic, complete with sandwiches, snacks, and refreshing drinks. They all sit together, enjoying the tasty treats and engaging in lively conversations about their favorite movies and books;

★ sunset serenade: as the sun begins to set, Randy brings out his guitar, and the group gathers to enjoy a serene acoustic session. Everyone joins in, singing along to familiar tunes, and it becomes a beautiful moment of harmony and togetherness.

This is definitely my favorite work, I love the beach and the summer

❝Charming Tease❞

based on the idea: "playful teasing and bickering"

★ witty banter: Tara and you are experts at playful teasing and engaging in witty banter. Whether it's a casual conversation or a serious discussion, you both find ways to inject humor and light-hearted teasing, making even the most mundane situations enjoyable;

★ endless puns: the two of you can't resist a good pun, and you often engage in a pun-off, trying to outdo each other with clever wordplay. It becomes a delightful competition to see who can come up with the most punny jokes;

★ competitive games: whether it's board games, video games, or any kind of challenge, you both get into a playful rivalry. The competition gets fierce, but it's all in good fun, and you both enjoy the thrill of trying to one-up each other;

★ good-natured mocking: Tara and you have a unique way of showing affection through good-natured mocking. You both know each other's quirks and playfully tease each other about them, knowing it's all in jest and that you still deeply care for one another;

★ sarcastic remarks: sarcasm is your shared language, and you often engage in sarcastic exchanges that leave others around you wondering if you're serious or not. It's your way of connecting on a level where you can be yourselves without any pretense;

★ playful pranks: the two of you enjoy pulling harmless pranks on each other, adding an element of surprise and laughter to your daily interactions. From silly practical jokes to lighthearted tricks, it keeps your relationship dynamic and exciting;

★ mock debates: Tara and you love to engage in mock debates, where you take opposing sides on trivial topics and argue your points passionately, even if you secretly agree with each other. It's an opportunity to sharpen your communication skills and have fun at the same time;

★ inside jokes: over time, you've accumulated a treasure trove of inside jokes that only the two of you understand. These jokes become your secret language, a source of amusement that strengthens your bond and creates a sense of intimacy;

★ teasing encounters: when you're around friends or colleagues, you take every chance to lightly tease each other, leading to genuine laughter and a warm atmosphere. Others can't help but smile at the playfulness you share;

★ reconciliation with laughter: even after small disagreements or minor arguments, you both find a way to reconcile through humor. Making each other laugh becomes the bridge that brings you back together, reinforcing the strong connection you share.

Parting Gift - Player 230

Dark!Thanos/Choi Su-bong x Fem!Reader

This is part 2 of my mini series love ridden (you don’t have to read part 1 but it helps you get a deeper understanding of their relationship)

Warnings: Toxic relationship,Emotional manipulation and gaslighting, DUBCON/implied sexual misconduct, power imbalances and coercion,mentions of substance abuse,threats of self-harm, mentions of bruising, vomiting, unreliable memory

Summary: “It ended bad, but I love what we started.” A night out, was supposed to be a distraction, a step to moving on. Instead it leaves you questioning everything. Loosely inspired by Parting gift-Fiona apple

MINORS DNI!

A/n: ahhhh here it is! This is very much a wild ride so be prepared and get comfortable lol. Lmk if yall fw. I love feedback. Lmk what you think!!

……………………..

“Two years.”

It echoes in your head as you stare at your phone. The screen blinks, illuminating the dark, quiet apartment, and your reflection stares back at you. Hollow eyes. Lifeless skin.

You don’t even recognize yourself anymore.

Two years of late nights.

Two years of broken promises.

Two years of fights that always ended the same way — with you apologizing for things you hadn’t even done.

Two years of Su-bong.

The notifications keep coming.

Messages. Missed calls. Voicemails.

You blocked him a week ago. You had to.

Before that, you let the calls go unanswered. You left his texts on read. But after that voicemail, you couldn’t take it anymore.

It wasn’t just the things he said.

It was the way he sounded.

Drunk. High out of his mind. Slurring his words like he could barely get them out.

You’d heard him like that before, of course. Countless times. But this was different.

The shaking breath at the beginning of the message.

The muffled sound of a bottle cap hitting the floor.

The distinct rattle of a pill bottle.

And then his voice —

Low. Rough. Desperate.

“You know, if you don’t fucking answer me…”

There was a pause. You could hear him breathing.

“Maybe I should just end it all.”

Another pause. Longer this time.

The sound of pills being shaken in his hand.

“It’s in your hands now.”

You remember sitting on the floor of your new apartment, the phone clutched in your hands, shaking so hard you thought you might drop it.

That was the breaking point.

You blocked him.

It was hard. Very hard.

What if he was serious?!

What if he did it and it was your fault?!

But it didn’t stop the nightmares.

It’s been a month since the breakup, and you haven’t left your apartment in days.

The dishes are piled up in the sink. Your laundry is overflowing.

You haven’t brushed your hair in three days.

The weight of it all feels suffocating.

You thought leaving him would make you feel free.

Instead, you feel empty.

When your phone buzzes again, you ignore it.

It’s probably Ji-hye.

She’s been trying to get you to go out for weeks.

“You need to live a little,” she said last time you saw her.

But you don’t feel like living.

Still, when your phone buzzes again, you pick it up.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:17 PM): Come out with us tonight. Please?

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:18 PM): There’s a new club opening in Itaewon. It’ll be fun.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗ (9:19 PM): I’m not taking no for an answer.

You stare at the messages for a long time.

The thought of going to a club makes your stomach turn.

You haven’t been out in two years.

You haven’t been you in two years.

But the apartment feels too small.

Too quiet.

Too empty.

Fuck it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shower burns your skin.

You scrub until you feel raw, as if you can wash away the last two years.

But no amount of scrubbing erases the bruises —

The ones he left on your heart.

When you step out, you wipe the fogged mirror and stare at your reflection.

Your hair is a tangled mess.

Your eyes are rimmed with dark circles.

You look like someone who’s been barely holding it together.

This isn’t who I am, you tell yourself.

You plug in your hair straightener. You do your makeup.

By the time you’re done, you almost feel like yourself again.

You rifle through your closet, pulling out a black dress you haven’t worn in years. It still fits — snug and short, hugging your body in a way that feels foreign after months of oversized hoodies and leggings.

When you step into your heels, you wobble for a second.

It’s been so long since you’ve worn anything but sneakers.

But when you look in the mirror again —

You see her.

The girl you used to be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ji-hye and her friends are already tipsy when you meet them outside the club.

She squeals when she sees you.

“Look at you! You look amazing!”

You try to smile, but it feels forced.

The club is packed.

Neon lights pulse to the beat of the music.

Bodies move together on the dance floor.

Ji-hye hands you a shot as soon as you walk in.

“Drink up!”

You down it quickly, the burn making you wince.

“Another?”

Why not?

By the time you lose count, you’ve had at least six shots.

Maybe more.

You stopped counting after the first round of tequila.

The room spins slightly, but you feel good.

Better than you’ve felt in weeks.

You laugh with Ji-hye.

You dance with strangers.

For the first time in a long time, you feel free.

And then you see him.

At first, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you.

But when you blink, he’s still there.

Su-bong.

He’s standing near the bar, his eyes locked on you.

His hair is messy, his shirt unbuttoned at the top.

He looks the same as he always does —

Rough around the edges, disheveled in that careless way that made you fall for him in the first place.

But there’s something in his eyes —

Something dark.

Your stomach twists.

The room feels too hot.

You grab Ji-hye’s arm.

“Ji-hye. Is he…?”

Her eyes widen.

“Oh shit.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?”

She bites her lip, looking guilty.

“I didn’t know. I swear. But he’s friends with Seung-ho.”

She nods toward one of the guys in their group — a guy you don’t know well.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Your heart pounds in your chest, a wild, frantic beat.

You down another shot, your hands shaking slightly.

Maybe if you ignore him, he’ll go away.

But he doesn’t.

When you look up again, he’s moving toward you.

You see him before he speaks.

The way he weaves through the crowd, his gaze locked on you like he’s on a mission.

You look away.

You try to pretend you didn’t see him.

But it’s too late.

He’s right there.

“Hey.”

His voice cuts through the noise, low and rough.

You don’t turn around.

You keep your eyes on your drink, your knuckles white as you grip the glass.

“I didn’t know you came here.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

Your whole body goes stiff.

“Fuck off, Su-bong.”

Your voice is steady, but your heart is pounding.

He doesn’t move.

Instead, he slides into the seat next to you.

Like he belongs there.

Like nothing happened.

“Come on,” he says, his tone light, almost teasing. “You’re really not even going to say hi?”

You turn to him, your eyes flashing.

“Why would I?”

He shrugs, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Because you missed me.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Missed you?”

You set your drink down, leaning closer.

“You left me voicemails threatening to fucking kill yourself. Do you know how fucked up that is?”

His expression doesn’t change.

He doesn’t flinch.

Instead, he tilts his head, studying you.

“Did it scare you?”

Your blood runs cold.

“What?”

“Did it scare you?” he repeats, his voice soft.

“Did you think I was going to do it?”

You stare at him, horrified.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

His lips twitch into something that might be a smile — but there’s no warmth in it.

“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says, his tone almost casual.

“And you wouldn’t answer. You wouldn’t talk to me.”

“So you thought threatening to kill yourself was the way to get my attention?”

Your voice is shaking now, anger and fear mixing in your chest.

He doesn’t answer.

Instead, he reaches for your hand.

And you’re too stunned to pull away.

“I missed you,” he says softly.

“I don’t know what to do without you.”

You rip your hand away, standing up so fast your chair scrapes against the floor.

“Don’t fucking do that.”

Your voice is loud now, cutting through the music.

“Don’t pretend you’re some fucking victim.”

His expression hardens.

“I’m not pretending.”

“You are.”

You step closer, your chest heaving.

“You always do this. You always make it about you. Like your fucking pain is the only thing that matters.”

He stands up slowly, towering over you.

“I’m in pain because of you.”

You scoff, shaking your head.

“That’s bullshit.”

“Don’t lie to yourself.”

His voice is low now. Dangerous.

“You love me.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

He steps closer.

“I know you do. You wouldn’t be this angry if you didn’t.”

You hate how he gets in your head.

How he twists your words.

“I don’t love you,” you say again, but it sounds weaker this time.

He leans in, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Then why haven’t you moved on?”

The question hits you like a punch to the gut.

And you don’t have an answer.

“Let’s go outside,” he says.

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“It’s too loud in here.”

You hesitate.

“Please.”

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away.

“Just talk to me.”

Your heart is pounding.

Your mind is spinning.

And against your better judgment —

You follow him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The alleyway outside the club smells like cigarette smoke and spilled beer.

You cross your arms over your chest, shivering slightly. The night air feels too cold against your skin, cutting through the warmth of the alcohol.

Su-bong lights a cigarette, his hands shaking slightly as he brings it to his lips.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then —

“What do you want from me?”

Your voice cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained.

He exhales a cloud of smoke, his gaze steady on you.

“I just want you.”

You laugh, bitter and harsh.

“Do you even hear yourself? You had me, Su-bong. You had me for two fucking years, and you—”

Your voice cracks.

“You fucking broke me.”

His jaw tightens.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you did.”

Your chest heaves, your breath fogging in the cold air.

“Over and over again.”

“I know.”

He takes a step closer.

“And I’m sorry.”

It’s the softness in his voice that undoes you.

That fucking softness.

Because for a split second —

You almost believe him.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

His words hang in the air between you, soft and deliberate, like he’s trying to carve them into your skin. And you hate how much they make your chest ache.

You hate that it’s him standing here, saying these things. Again.

“You say that like it fucking matters.” Your voice comes out steadier than you feel. “Like it changes anything.”

He exhales smoke, eyes never leaving yours. “It does matter.”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shake your head, your arms tightening around yourself like it’s the only thing holding you together. “You’ve hurt me too many times for it to matter.”

A pause.

A flicker of something in his eyes.

And then, softly —

“I couldn’t stop.”

The words hit you harder than you want them to.

Your chest tightens, your mind flashing back to the nights he stumbled through the door, high and out of it, mumbling half-assed apologies through the haze.

“I don’t know how to stop,” he continues, his voice quiet. “Not without you.”

You close your eyes, willing the tears to stay put.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you whisper. “You can’t keep blaming me for your fucking choices.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what the fuck is this?” You gesture between the two of you, your voice rising. “What do you think you’re doing right now?”

“I’m trying to fix it.”

Your laugh is sharp, bitter. “Fix it? You can’t fix this, Su-bong. You can’t.”

He flinches at the way your voice cracks.

But he doesn’t back down.

“I can try.”

You shake your head, the weight of it all pressing down on you. The months of pain, the sleepless nights, the voicemail that still echoes in your mind.

“You’re fucking selfish.”

His jaw clenches, but he doesn’t deny it.

“You don’t love me,” you say, and it feels like you’re ripping your own heart out. “You love what I do for you. You love having someone to pick up the pieces when you fall apart. Someone to save you.”

“That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Your chest heaves. “You only ever show up when you’re desperate. When you need something. And I’m fucking done being that person for you.”

He takes a step closer, the cigarette forgotten between his fingers, burning down to the filter.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

You hate the way your heart twists.

“I want you.”

You shake your head again, but it’s weaker this time.

“I love you.”

And there it is.

Those three fucking words.

The words that used to make your heart explode. The words that used to make you believe in him, in a future that never existed.

“I can’t do this without you,” he says, and his voice breaks, just a little. “I’ve tried, Y/N. I’ve tried to be better, but I’m fucking lost without you.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“You’re only lost because you never tried to find yourself,” you whisper. “You’ve always expected me to do it for you.”

His eyes soften, that familiar vulnerability creeping in.

“I’m trying now.”

“No, you’re not.” You take a step back. “You’re trying to pull me back in. That’s all you ever do.”

A beat of silence.

Then —

“I miss you.”

The words cut through the night, soft and raw.

And you feel yourself wavering.

Fuck.

You press your palms to your face, trying to breathe, trying to steady yourself.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper. “You don’t get what you did to me.”

He takes another step closer, so close now that you can feel the heat of his body.

“I never stopped loving you.”

Your chest heaves, your heart pounding.

“I don’t want to hear that.”

“You need to.”

“No, I fucking don’t.” Your voice cracks, tears burning at the edges of your eyes. “What I need is to move on.”

His hand reaches out, tentative, trembling.

But when his fingers brush against your arm-

You flinch.

It’s instinctive.

A reaction you couldn’t stop if you tried.

And the look on his face?

It’s devastating.

He pulls his hand back slowly, like he’s been burned.

“I’m not him anymore.”

The words are quiet, almost desperate.

“I’m not the guy who fucked up. I’m not the guy who hurt you.”

“You are.” Your voice is soft, but firm. “You’ll always be that guy, Su-bong.”

His gaze drops to the ground, and for a moment, you think he’s going to give up.

But then he looks up again.

“I just want to talk,” he says. “Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”

You hesitate.

The rational part of you — the part that’s spent the last month piecing yourself back together — is screaming at you to walk away.

But your heart?

Your heart is still caught in the web he’s spun around you.

“ we’re already talking…” you slightly slur your words, the alcohol taking full effect.

“Five minutes,” he says again, softer this time. “At my place. Please.”

And against your better judgment —

You nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wake to the sensation of weight.

Heavy. Suffocating.

An arm draped over your waist. A body pressed too close, warm breath against the back of your neck.

And for one blissful second, you’re still half asleep. Still caught in that hazy space between dreams and reality, your mind fogged over with sleep, soft and pliant.

But then your eyes open.

And everything sharpens.

The bedroom is dark — curtains drawn, faint slivers of morning light sneaking through the cracks. The air is stale, tinged with cigarette smoke and something faintly metallic. It smells familiar.

And the weight around your waist?

It’s Su-bong.

Your stomach lurches.

No. No, no, no.

You squeeze your eyes shut, your heart pounding in your chest, the dull ache between your temples throbbing harder with each beat. Your mind scrambles to piece together how the fuck you ended up here. The last thing you remember clearly is the club — Ji-hye pulling you onto the dance floor, shots of tequila burning your throat, the neon lights swirling around you.

And then —

His voice.

His hands.

And now you’re here. In his bed.

You hold your breath, every muscle in your body going rigid. His arm is still heavy across your waist, his hand curled loosely against your hip, fingers twitching like he’s dreaming.

Carefully — so carefully — you think maybe you can slip out from under him.

Carefully, you reach for his wrist, your fingers trembling as you try to lift his arm off you. The sheet rustles softly, the sound too loud in the suffocating silence. You freeze, your breath hitching.

He stirs.

A small, unconscious noise slips from his throat, his fingers curling slightly against your hip.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

Please don’t wake up.

You stay frozen, your body stiff, your breath shallow. His arm feels impossibly heavy against your waist, like it’s anchoring you to the mattress. Slowly — so slowly — you ease it off you, inch by inch, until it finally falls to the bed.

He murmurs something in his sleep, low and unintelligible.

You freeze again, your pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t wake.

You let out a shaky breath, the sound barely audible, and sit up as quietly as you can. The room tilts slightly as you do, your head pounding with a dull, persistent ache. You press a hand to your temple, blinking against the dizziness.

The sheets are tangled around your legs, the fabric twisted and damp with sweat. You untangle yourself carefully, your fingers trembling, your movements slow and deliberate.

His body shifts slightly behind you, his breathing deepening for a moment before settling back into a steady rhythm.

Move.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the floor cold against your bare feet. The hem of your dress rides up as you stand, the fabric wrinkled and twisted, clinging to your skin.

You glance back at him, your chest tight.

He’s still asleep.

But his face is turned toward you now, his hair falling into his eyes, his lips parted slightly. He looks softer like this, his usual sharp edges dulled by sleep.

It makes your stomach turn.

Focus.

You force your gaze away, scanning the room for your things.

Your phone.

Your purse.

Where the fuck are they?

The panic sets in slowly, creeping up your spine like cold water, inch by inch. You scan the room, searching for your things, but the room looks almost exactly the same as when you left a month ago.

Cluttered. Messy. The ashtray on the nightstand is overflowing. Empty bottles litter the floor. The same crumpled blankets. The same cigarette burns in the carpet.

Like time stood still.

Like he hasn’t moved on.

Your stomach twists painfully, nausea creeping in at the edges. You stand, your legs unsteady, your head pounding. The ache in your body — between your thighs, in the muscles of your legs — is impossible to ignore.

You take a step toward the bathroom, your hands trembling as you reach for the door handle. You need a moment to breathe. To think.

To figure out what the fuck happened.

The bathroom is as grim as you remember. The light flickers when you turn it on, casting everything in a sickly yellow glow. The mirror is streaked with water stains, the sink cluttered with half-used toiletries.

You close the door behind you, locking it with a shaky hand.

And then you catch your reflection.

Your lipstick is barely there anymore, smudged at the edges. Your mascara streaked under your eyes. Your hair is a tangled mess, the carefully straightened strands now knotted and frizzy.

But it’s the rest of you that makes your breath catch.

The dress you wore last night is twisted around your waist, the hem wrinkled and pulled too high. Your thighs are bare. You pull at the fabric, tugging it down, but your hands freeze when you see the faint bruises.

Finger-shaped bruises.

They’re light, barely there, but you know what they are.

Your stomach drops.

You lift the hem of your dress higher, revealing more bruises along your inner thighs. Some small, faint smudges of blue and purple. Some darker.

You press your fingers to them, your skin flinching under your own touch.

Did I fall?

Did I—

Your mind races, scrambling for an explanation, for anything that makes sense.

And then your eyes flicker lower.

Your underwear is backward.

You stare for a long moment, your brain struggling to catch up with what you’re seeing. The waistband digs awkwardly into your hips, the tag twisted around to the front.

You blink.

Once.

Twice.

Your stomach churns violently.

You lift the toilet lid, falling to your knees as you retch. There’s nothing in your stomach but bile, burning its way up your throat.

When you’re done, you sit back on your heels, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. The bathroom spins around you, your head pounding, your chest heaving with shallow breaths.

You reach for the sink, pulling yourself up slowly, your hands gripping the edge so tightly your knuckles turn white.

Your eyes flicker back to your reflection.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache between your legs.

Did we—

No.

No, no, no.

You grip the sink harder, your nails digging into the porcelain.

‘I don’t remember.’

That’s the worst part.

You don’t remember anything.

You remember seeing him at the club. You remember yelling at him, calling him out for the voicemail. You remember him pulling you outside, the alley reeking of cigarette smoke and beer.

And then it’s all a blur.

Flashes of his voice. His hand on your arm. The way he looked at you — dark, desperate.

But nothing else.

Your chest tightens painfully.

You want to leave.

You need to leave.

You unlock the bathroom door with shaking hands, your heart pounding in your chest as you step back into the bedroom.

But when you step inside —

He’s awake.

Su-bong is sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers tangled in his hair. He looks up when he hears you, his gaze locking on yours.

And the first thing you notice?

He’s sober.

There’s no haze in his eyes. No slurred speech. No unsteady hands.

He’s completely sober.

Your stomach twists painfully.

“Morning.”

His voice is soft, tentative.

Like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t say anything.

You take a step toward the nightstand, searching for your phone. Your purse. Anything.

But he stands up slowly, blocking your path.

“Hey.”

His voice is softer now, coaxing.

“You don’t have to run.”

Your hands tremble at your sides.

“I don’t remember anything,” you whisper, your voice cracking. “I don’t—”

“I know.” His eyes soften, his brows pulling together in that familiar expression of concern. “You were really drunk.”

Your heart sinks.

“What happened?”

He exhales slowly, running a hand through his hair. “You saw me at the club. You… you wanted to come back here.”

You shake your head, your stomach churning.

“I don’t remember that.”

You must’ve been really drunk because from what you remember you weren’t exactly happy too see him. How did you go from fighting with him to begging to be back at his apartment?

“You were drunk,” he says again, like it’s the answer to everything. “It’s okay. I took care of you.”

Your chest tightens painfully.

The bruises.

The backward underwear.

The ache.

“What do you mean, you took care of me?”

His gaze flickers away for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“You wanted to come back,” he says softly. “You told me you missed me. That you wanted to… you know. Talk. Figure things out.”

Your mind spins, scrambling to fill in the blanks.

“I don’t remember,” you whisper again, your voice shaking.

“I know.” He steps closer, his voice low, soothing. “It’s okay. I missed you too.”

He reaches for your hand, his fingers brushing yours.

You flinch.

But he doesn’t pull back.

“I missed you,” he says again, his voice softening. “I love you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. They only hurt so bad because he was saying them now. After everything.

And for a moment —

You don’t know what to believe.

“You were wasted, Y/N.”

His words come soft, careful, like he’s tiptoeing around something fragile. His body language matches it — slouched shoulders, a furrowed brow, the faintest slump in his posture like he’s weighed down by concern.

Your stomach churns.

“I… I wasn’t that drunk.” The words feel hollow as they leave your mouth. A lie to yourself, as much as to him. You’d lost count at six shots. At least six. Maybe more.

His lips press into a thin line, a faint shake of his head following. “You could barely stand.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides, knuckles trembling.

“I don’t remember…” You force the words out, hating how small they sound, how they let the power tip toward him.

He exhales slowly, running a hand down his face.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. You were crying. Saying you missed me. That you needed me.” He pauses, eyes meeting yours, steady and unwavering. “What was I supposed to do, huh? Just leave you there?”

The breath punches out of you. Crying? Saying you missed him? Needed him?

That couldn’t be true. That can’t be true.

But your mind betrays you. A flash of his hands steadying you on the dance floor. His voice coaxing you into the alley. The warmth of his hand brushing yours.

Pieces fall together, but the picture is fractured, missing the crucial moments. And that’s what he’s counting on.

“I don’t…” Your voice cracks, a fresh wave of panic rolling through you. “I wouldn’t—”

“You did,” he says firmly. Not loud, but firm enough that it cuts through your protest. “You were falling apart, Y/N. I couldn’t just—” He stops, dragging his hand through his hair like he’s trying to collect himself. “I had to help you.”

Help you.

The bruises on your thighs burn like a brand.

“By bringing me here?” you snap, your voice rising. “By—by—” You stop yourself before the question comes tumbling out: Did you touch me?

His face hardens just slightly, enough to send a shiver skittering down your spine. “I wasn’t going to let you go home alone. Not like that. You don’t even know what could’ve happened.”

“What do you mean what could’ve happened?” Your voice cracks, pitching higher, panic seeping in. “What did happen?”

He holds your gaze, and for a moment, his expression softens again. “Nothing happened.”

The words should feel like a relief. They don’t.

“Nothing?” Your voice is small, but there’s a sharp edge to it.

“Nothing,” he repeats, stepping closer. Too close. “You needed me, Y/N. And I was there for you. Like I always have been.”

Always.

Your mind spirals, reaching for anything concrete, any moment from last night that you can grab onto. But it’s all a haze, smothered by the tequila and the smoke and him.

“I don’t…” You press a hand to your temple, the ache blooming there sharp and relentless. “I don’t remember asking to come back here.”

His hand reaches out, brushing against your arm, and you flinch without meaning to.

His eyes darken at that. “You’re scared of me now?”

You want to say yes. But the word lodges itself in your throat, too big to swallow, too dangerous to spit out.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lie.

“Then why are you acting like this?” His voice is soft, low, almost tender. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Y/N. I just—” He stops, his jaw clenching. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. And now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.”

He steps closer. You step back. The space between you feels like it’s shrinking, suffocating.

“Why am I here, Su-bong?” Your voice is stronger now, the edge of panic sharpening it. “Why the fuck was I in your bed?”

He tilts his head slightly, his brows knitting together like you’ve just said something unreasonable. “You wanted to be here.”

“No.” You shake your head, your chest tightening. “I didn’t. I wouldn’t—” Your voice cracks, the words tangling in your throat. “I don’t even remember coming back with you.”

His expression doesn’t shift. “You were drunk,” he says simply. “You don’t have to make this a big deal.”

You laugh — bitter, sharp. “Not a big deal?” The words tumble out before you can stop them. “Not a big fucking deal? I don’t even know what happened, Su-bong. I don’t—” Your breath hitches, your stomach twisting violently. The next words catch in your throat, almost too heavy to force out. “Did we—”

You can’t say it. You can barely think it.

“Did we have sex?”

He doesn’t react right away. Not outwardly. But you catch it — the faint flicker of tension in his jaw, the way his gaze shifts to the side before finding yours again.

“Why would you ask me that?” His voice is steady, but there’s something too measured about it, like he’s rehearsed this answer in his head a thousand times.

“Because I don’t fucking know,” you snap, your hands trembling. They curl into fists at your sides, shaking with every ragged breath. “My underwear’s on backwards, Su-bong. I have bruises. And you’re acting—” You stop yourself, your throat tightening painfully. “You’re acting like you did something.”

His jaw tightens again, and this time his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. He exhales slowly, dragging his hand through his hair.

“I didn’t do anything you didn’t want,” he says finally, his tone low but clipped.

It’s not an answer.

It’s not a fucking answer.

“What does that mean?” Your voice rises, panic flaring again. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means you wanted to come back with me,” he says, sharper now, a flash of frustration cutting through the veneer of calm. “You were all over me at the club, Y/N. I told you we shouldn’t—” He cuts himself off abruptly, his fingers raking through his hair again, the strands spiking in every direction. “But you wouldn’t let it go.”

Your stomach twists painfully, the nausea creeping back in full force.

“I wouldn’t let it go?” Your voice cracks, disbelief bleeding into every syllable. “You’re blaming me? You’re saying I—”

“I’m not blaming you.” He exhales sharply, his voice softening just slightly, like he’s trying to rein himself back in. “I’m saying you wanted this. You made that clear.”

“I don’t even remember!” Your voice breaks now, raw and jagged, splintering through the room. “How can I want something I can’t fucking remember?”

He steps closer, and this time you’re too stunned, too frozen, to move.

“Y/N.” His voice drops lower, almost pleading, his hand twitching at his side like he wants to reach for you. “You were drunk, yeah. But you weren’t—” He hesitates, his gaze flickering over your face. “You weren’t out of it. You knew what you were doing.”

The words settle over you like a lead weight, pressing down on your chest until it feels impossible to breathe. Your mind scrambles to piece together the night before, to fill in the blanks, but it’s all fog. Hazy flashes of neon lights and pounding music and his hand on your arm.

“I don’t—” Your voice falters, cracking under the weight in your chest. “I don’t know what to believe.”

His expression softens slightly, his shoulders lowering as he steps closer again, closing the gap between you.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” he says, his voice coaxing, soothing. He reaches for your hand, brushing his fingers against yours.

You flinch.

The motion is small, instinctive. But he catches it, his gaze darkening for a fraction of a second before he carefully, deliberately pulls his hand back.

“I don’t know what else to say to you,” he murmurs, his tone taking on a faint edge of frustration again. “I tried to do the right thing, Y/N. I could’ve left you at the club. I could’ve let you go home alone. But I didn’t.”

He looks at you, his eyes steady and unwavering, and you hate how much they make your stomach twist.

“I stayed.” He takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faint trace of his cologne, mingling with the smoke and stale alcohol lingering in the room. “Because you needed me.”

You press your back against the wall, your hands gripping the hem of your dress so tightly it crumples in your fists.

“I don’t remember needing you,” you say, your voice small but sharp, each word cutting through the thick tension in the room.

His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. When he looks up again, there’s something different in his eyes. Something dark.

“Then maybe you should ask yourself why you’re here.”

The question hits like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from your lungs.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

And in the silence that follows, he steps back, his expression shifting to something softer, more familiar.

“I missed you,” he says, his voice low, almost tender. “And I know you missed me too.”

“Just… stay.”

The word hangs in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Stay.

You want to run. You want to grab your things and get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, and never look back. But your legs won’t move. Your feet feel glued to the floor, weighed down by doubt and fear and something else—something softer, something that aches when he looks at you like this.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whisper.

His jaw tightens, his hands curling into fists at his sides. But when he speaks, his voice is soft. Vulnerable.

“I know.” His gaze drops to the floor for a moment, then back to you. “I don’t blame you for feeling that way. But I’m not the guy I was before, Y/N. I’m trying. I’m trying to be better.”

You hate how much those words hurt. How much you want to believe them.

“You shouldn’t have brought me here,” you say, your voice trembling. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“You did,” he says firmly. “Maybe you don’t remember, but you did.”

The words cut through you like a blade, sharp and cold. You don’t believe him. You don’t want to believe him.

But the tequila haze clouds everything, blurring the edges of the truth.

“Just give me a chance,” he says, stepping closer again. “Let me prove it to you. Let me—” He stops himself, his voice catching. “Let me fix this.”

Your throat tightens, the weight of his words pressing down on you, crushing.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper.

He reaches for your hand again, and this time, you don’t pull away. His fingers are warm, steady, wrapping around yours like they belong there. Like they always have.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he says again. His voice is so soft, so careful. “Just stay. Please.”

Your chest heaves, your breath shallow and uneven.

And then—

Your phone buzzes.

The sound cuts through the tension like a knife, sharp and jarring. You jerk your hand away from his, your heart leaping into your throat as you spin toward the nightstand.

Your phone is lying there, screen glowing faintly in the dim light. Ji-hye’s name flashes across the screen.

Your stomach twists violently.

Su-bong doesn’t move. He stands frozen in place, his gaze fixed on you. You don’t look at him. You don’t want to see whatever’s written on his face.

You grab the phone, your fingers trembling as you swipe to open the message.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:04 AM): You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

Your breath catches, your chest tightening painfully.

“Who is it?” Su-bong’s voice cuts through the silence, low and steady, but there’s an edge to it now.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Instead, you take a shaky step back, clutching the phone like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, coaxing, but there’s a sharpness beneath it, something dark and unyielding. “Who was it?”

“Ji-hye.” The name barely makes it out of your mouth, your voice cracking on the second syllable.

He hums, low and quiet. “What did she say?”

You glance down at the screen again, the words burning into your retinas. You good? Please tell me you didn’t go home with him.

You don’t know what to say.

What can you say?

“Y/N,” he says again, stepping closer. His voice drops lower, quieter, like he’s trying to keep you from bolting. “Talk to me.”

Your chest heaves, your breath coming faster now. “I need to go.”

The words feel weak, hollow, and you hate how they tremble as they leave your lips.

“Go where?” His question is quiet, but there’s a weight to it that makes your stomach turn.

“Away from here.”

The second the words are out, his expression shifts. The softness in his gaze hardens, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“If you walk out that door…” He trails off, his voice cutting off like he’s biting down on the rest of the sentence.

Your heart races, panic rising in your chest. “What?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his neck tightening. “If you walk out that door, you’ll never see me again.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs.

There’s a finality to them, an edge that cuts too deep. You don’t know what he means — if he’s talking about leaving your life or leaving altogether — but it doesn’t matter.

It scares you.

And he knows it.

His gaze stays locked on yours, unflinching, unwavering. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

Your phone buzzes again in your hand, the sound startling you. You glance down at the screen.

Ji-hye ★ˎˊ˗(9:06 AM): If you’re with him, just leave. I’ll come get you.

You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

Su-bong takes another step closer. “You don’t have to leave.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “We can talk. We can figure this out. But if you walk away now…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t have to. The threat lingers in the air between you, heavy and suffocating.

Your fingers tighten around your phone, Ji-hye’s message flashing like a lifeline in your palm.

“Y/N.” His voice is softer now, pleading. “Stay.”

You look up at him, your chest heaving, your mind spinning.

And in that moment, you don’t know what scares you more; the thought of staying, or the thought of leaving.