Seo-jin couldn't help herself. The loneliness, the constant fear of being abandoned once again—it was breaking her. Every day, she felt herself unraveling just a little bit more. Min-jae had given her a sliver of his attention, but it was never enough. The distance between them had never felt more painful, more unbearable.
It was on a quiet, moonlit night that Seo-jin found herself standing at the door of Min-jae's room. Her heart raced in her chest, a mix of anxiety and desperation. She had tried to be patient, to wait for him to come to her, but the more he withheld, the more she felt herself slipping. She needed him. She needed something from him—anything—to prove that he wasn't completely gone, that there was still something of the man she once knew beneath the cold, distant exterior.
Without thinking, she pushed the door open.
Min-jae was asleep, his body relaxed in the way only someone who had no care in the world could be. His face, however, was unreadable even in sleep. He looked so different from the Min-jae she had once known, the chubby, lazy boy who couldn't be bothered to do anything but party and waste time. Now, he was a stranger—a man she couldn't quite reach, no matter how hard she tried.
Seo-jin crept closer, her breath shallow. Every part of her told her to turn back, to leave him be, but the other part of her—the desperate, lonely part—pulled her closer. She kneeled beside the bed, her trembling hands reaching for his.
In an instant, her hands were touching his skin, her fingers brushing against his muscular arm. She felt the heat of his body, the sharpness of his muscles, and it made her heart ache. She needed him to feel something for her, anything at all.
Min-jae stirred in his sleep, but he didn't wake. For a moment, Seo-jin let herself believe that perhaps, just perhaps, she could have him again, could return to the time when they were together, before everything fell apart.
She climbed onto the bed, moving closer to him. Her hands, desperate and shaking, found their way to his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. She laid her head against his shoulder, pressing herself into him like a child seeking comfort, a woman craving something more.
Min-jae's eyes fluttered open, and for a split second, he didn't know what to do. His body reacted—his arms moved, instinctively wrapping around her for just a moment, pulling her closer—but the instant it happened, he stopped himself. The flood of emotions he had been holding back for so long threatened to drown him, and he was torn between wanting to pull her into him completely and pushing her away.
Seo-jin clung to him, burying her face in his chest, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. She whispered his name, over and over again, as if repeating it would make him understand how much she needed him, how much she was willing to give.
But Min-jae could feel it—he could feel the pull inside him, the longing to forgive, to give in to the emotions he had suppressed for years. He could feel the tenderness he had once shown her creeping back into his chest, like a slow-burning fire.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to hold her, to feel the warmth of her body pressed against his. His lips brushed against her forehead, and his hands moved softly over her back, something almost resembling tenderness in his touch. But then, like a cold bucket of water, reality set in. This was all wrong. This wasn't forgiveness. This wasn't love.
With a heavy sigh, Min-jae gently pulled away from her, his heart pounding in his chest. His breath was shallow, his body tense. He looked at Seo-jin, his eyes hardening again, his mask slipping back into place.
"I don't want to do this," he said, his voice low, but firm. "You don't get to control me like this anymore. I won't let you."
Seo-jin's heart dropped as she realized how quickly he had shut her down, how easily he had pushed her away again. She knew, deep down, that this wasn't the man she had once known. This wasn't the Min-jae she had thought she could break and remake.
But even as he held her at arm's length, there was a small part of her that couldn't help but wonder if there was still a chance for them, if there was something inside him that still wanted to give her what she had once thrown away.
Min-jae stared at her, his eyes dark with an emotion she couldn't quite place. He had come so close to losing control, so close to giving her what she wanted. But he knew that if he did, it would only bring more pain, more destruction.
He pushed her back gently, standing up from the bed and walking toward the door. "Don't do this again. I won't be your emotional crutch."
Seo-jin watched him go, her heart in pieces. She was left with nothing but the echo of his words and the lingering warmth of his touch, both of which she would hold onto like a lifeline, even though she knew, deep down, that they were just fragments of a past that could never be revived.