JIAH POV
"Even if there was a past," he says slowly, "you do not belong in my life."
For a second I don't move.
The words land so hard my brain doesn't even react right away, like the sound reached me but the meaning is still somewhere behind it trying to catch up.
I just stand there staring at him, my fingers tightening around the strap of my bag while my chest feels like someone pressed all the air out of it at once.
My eyes start burning before I can stop it.
"I… do not?"
The question comes out as a whisper, weak enough to make me hate myself the moment I hear it.
He takes a step forward.
Then another.
He stops right in front of me, close enough that I have to tilt my head slightly to look up at him, his shadow falling over my face while the lights from the window cut across his expression.
I want to step back but my feet won't move, like my body forgot how distance works.
"Yes," he says quietly. "Do you want me to repeat it?"
My throat tightens.
"How did you become this cruel?" I ask, my voice shaking even though I try to keep it steady. "How the hell did you turn into someone like this?"
My vision blurs and I blink hard, but the tears still slide down before I can stop them. I hate that it's happening in front of him of all people, hate that he gets to see this, hate that my face still reacts to his words like they matter.
His eyes don't soften.
They get colder.
"Cruel?" he repeats, his voice dropping lower. "You want to talk about cruel now?"
His jaw tightens, the muscle in his cheek moving like he's holding something back.
"I think you became cruel first," he says, each word slow and sharp. "Cruel enough to leave someone half dead and walk away like nothing happened. If I remember correctly."
I look straight into his eyes, trying to understand what's inside them, but I can't tell if it's anger or something worse than anger.
"You don't know anything—"
"I don't want to hear it," he cuts in immediately, his voice hard enough to make my shoulders stiffen. "I don't want your explanations, your excuses, or whatever story you keep repeating to yourself to sleep at night."
My hands curl into fists.
"You are dead to me," he says quietly, staring straight at me. "Even if there was a past, like you keep insisting, it means nothing now."
Something inside my chest snaps so fast it feels like it makes a sound.
Before I even realize what I'm doing, my hand swings.
SMACK.
The sound explodes through the penthouse, loud enough to echo against the glass walls and marble floor like a gunshot.
His head turns slightly from the force, but he doesn't move otherwise, his body staying exactly where it was while the silence after the slap feels heavier than the sound itself.
My palm stings.
My breathing turns uneven.
"You will regret every second of what you just said," I say, my voice shaking but loud enough to fill the room. "There is no fixing whatever the hell happened between us. Not now. Not ever."
He doesn't answer.
He just looks at me.
That makes it worse.
I shove his shoulder hard when I pass him, not even caring if it moves him or not, grabbing my bag from the table before walking straight to the door without looking back.
The handle shakes slightly in my hand before the door finally opens.
I step outside and slam it shut behind me.
The sound echoes through the empty hallway.
For a second I just stand there, staring at the closed door like it might open again, like he might come out and say something else, anything else, but nothing happens.
My legs finally give in and I sit down on the floor right in front of the door, my back against the wall while my hands cover my face for a moment before I force them down again.
I wipe my tears quickly with the sleeve of my coat, breathing in hard like I can push everything back where it belongs if I try enough.
Then I stand up.
Without looking back at the door, I walk toward the elevator and press the button, my reflection in the metal surface staring back at me with red eyes and a face I barely recognize.
By the time the elevator reaches the ground floor, my expression is empty again.
And when the doors open, I walk out like nothing happened and go straight home.
The taxi ride feels longer than it should, the city lights sliding past the window in blurred streaks while I sit pressed against the seat like my body forgot how to relax.
By the time the car stops in front of my apartment building, my head feels heavy and strangely empty at the same time.
I get out, walk straight inside, and take the stairs instead of the elevator because I don't want to stand in another closed space with my reflection staring back at me.
My legs feel weak by the time I reach the fifth floor, but I still unlock the door, step inside, and kick it shut behind me harder than necessary.
The apartment is dark and quiet.
I drop my bag on the floor without even looking where it lands, walk straight to my room, and fall onto the bed face first like my body finally gives up pretending it's fine.
The mattress dips under my weight and the second my face hits the pillow the tears come out again, hot and ugly and impossible to hold back this time.
"Fuck you, Enhyeok," I choke out into the blanket, my voice breaking halfway through the words. "I wish I never met you… I swear to God I wish I never met you."
My shoulders shake as the crying gets worse, the kind that makes it hard to breathe properly, like my chest can't decide if it wants air or just wants to collapse completely.
I turn my head to the side, wiping my face with my sleeve, but my eyes land on the small frame sitting on the table next to the bed.
My hand reaches for it without thinking.
It's the photo from the beach.
Sand, wind, stupid sunlight in our eyes, his arm half around my shoulder like he didn't want to admit he was the one who pulled me closer.
We look younger, louder, like the world hadn't started breaking yet and we didn't know how ugly things could get.
A shaky breath leaves my mouth as I stare at it.
"If I could go back…" my voice comes out hoarse, barely louder than the sound of my breathing. "I wouldn't do it the same way… not again… never like that again."
I pull the frame against my chest and lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling while my eyes burn from crying too much in one night.
The room feels too quiet, too still, like the past is sitting somewhere in the corner waiting for me to look at it.
My eyelids slowly close.
It all started ten years ago.
Back in Gyeongwon High.
Back when everything was just teenage blood and stupid hearts that thought nothing could ever go wrong.
--------------------------------
(TEN YEARS AGO)
"I'm sorry… I don't have any feelings for you."
The words leave his mouth gently.
For a moment, I do not react.
The sentence lands so calmly that my mind cannot catch up with it. I simply stand there, staring at the floor, as if the meaning is still traveling toward me and has not reached my chest yet.
Then the whispers begin.
"He rejected her again."
"Wasn't this the fifth time?"
"No… I think more."
"Why does she keep trying?"
My jaw tightens.
I keep my eyes down, because if I look at anyone right now, I might lose what little dignity I have left. My bangs fall over my face, hiding my expression, and for once I am grateful for them.
I can hear every word.
Every single one.
Jiho gives me a small, awkward smile, the same apologetic expression he always has when he refuses me. As if he feels sorry, but not enough to change his answer.
Then he turns and walks away.
Slow. Calm. Unbothered.
His posture is straight, his uniform perfectly neat, his steps steady like nothing important just happened.
Like he did not just press a blade into my pride in front of half the school.
My throat burns.
Not the kind of burn that brings tears immediately, but the heavy, tight feeling that sits right under the ribs and refuses to move.
Do not cry.
Not here.
You have done this before.
You should be used to this by now.
But this time hurts more.
The previous rejections never felt like this. They were embarrassing, yes, but this one feels heavier, like something inside my chest shifted out of place.
Why does it hurt so much today?
A quiet laugh comes from somewhere behind me. Someone mutters that I must be insane to keep confessing to the same person. Another voice says they almost admire the persistence.
I stare harder at the floor.
My face feels hot, my stomach unsettled, my hands stiff at my sides.
Why does he not like me?
It is such a simple question, and yet I never have an answer.
I am not that strange… am I?
I talk to myself sometimes. I get carried away. I say things without thinking. I overreact. I know that.
But still.
Is that enough to make someone look at me like I am nothing more than a passing inconvenience?
I exhale slowly, trying to steady myself.
"This is humiliating," I whisper under my breath.
My knees feel weak, as if my body forgot how to stand properly. The hallway slowly empties, voices fading one by one, until the noise turns into distant echoes.
When I finally lift my head, two familiar figures are standing in front of me.
Haerin clasps her hands together, her expression full of quiet concern, like she is praying for my survival.
Beside her, Bora crosses her arms, staring at me the way someone looks at a friend who just made the same terrible decision for the sixth time.
They both sigh at the same time.
Haerin shakes her head slowly.
Bora clicks her tongue.
"Again?" she mutters.
I press my lips together, unable to answer.
Bora throws an arm around my shoulders, not gently, but not unkindly either, and starts pulling me down the hallway.
"Come on," she says. "You look like you're about to collapse. We're going outside."
"Outside?" My voice comes out weak.
"Yes. If you're going to get rejected this often, the least we can do is sit somewhere with fresh air."
Haerin walks beside us, quiet as always, already opening her bag.
When we reach the field, Bora pushes me down onto the bench like I am a broken machine she is trying to reset.
Haerin sits next to me and takes out a small strawberry milk, holding it toward me without a word.
I stare at it for a second before taking it.
"…Am I that hard to like?" I ask softly.
Haerin's eyes widen, ready to comfort me.
Bora answers first.
"No," she says flatly. "He just has terrible taste."
Despite everything, my lips twitch.
And for the first time since the confession, the tightness in my chest loosens just a little.
And of course, my thoughts return to him again.
Baek Jiho.
My first crush.
The first person who ever made my heart feel strange for no clear reason.
Handsome, kind, polite — the kind of boy everyone trusts without question. The kind of boy teachers praise and classmates admire as if it is the most natural thing in the world.
I confessed to him for the first time a year ago.
On the rooftop after school, because I thought that was how it was supposed to happen.
He rejected me gently.
The second time, the same.
The third.
The fourth.
The fifth.
And today…
"…six," I mutter, counting on my fingers without thinking.
Bora exhales loudly beside me.
"We know. The whole school knows."
Haerin pats my back slowly, careful, as if I might fall apart if she moves too fast.
"He always says the same thing," I whisper, staring at the strawberry milk in my hands.
"No hesitation. Just… 'I don't have feelings for you.'"
Bora grimaces.
"Stop repeating it. I feel embarrassed just listening."
"I want to stop," I say quietly.
"I really do. I want to forget him. I want to wake up one day and feel nothing."
"Then stop chasing him," Bora replies.
"I can't."
The words come out before I can think.
I drag a hand down my face, frustrated with myself.
"I know this is humiliating. I know everyone thinks I am ridiculous. Even I think I am ridiculous."
Haerin smiles softly.
"You can't force feelings to disappear."
"That is the problem," I mutter. "Mine never listen."
I lean back on the bench and stare at the sky.
It is calm. Blue. Completely indifferent.
Meanwhile my chest feels tight, like something inside refuses to settle.
"I hate this," I say.
"I hate liking him. I hate that I cannot control it."
"You will get over him," Bora says.
"When?"
She shrugs.
"Eventually."
Haerin hands me another strawberry milk like she expected this entire situation.
I take it, open it, and drink slowly.
Sweet.
Too sweet.
My thoughts drift back without permission.
The first day of school.
Heavy rain.
No umbrella, because I forgot it again.
I was standing near the gate, soaked, when someone ran toward me and pushed an umbrella into my hands.
Baek Jiho.
"You'll catch a cold," he said, smiling, before running to the building without one.
That was all.
Nothing special.
But my heart reacted like it meant everything.
I let out a long breath.
"At this point," I murmur, "even I think something is wrong with me."
The frustration rises suddenly, too fast to hold down.
I stand up.
Bora and Haerin both look at me at the same time.
Before I can stop myself, I slam the empty bottle onto the bench and shout, the sound tearing out of my chest.
And then—
THWAK.
Something hits my head hard enough to make my vision flash.
I stumble forward, grabbing my hair in shock.
"What—"
A basketball rolls across the ground beside my foot.
Bora shoots to her feet instantly, already furious.
"Who the hell- ?" she snaps, turning toward the court.
Haerin looks around in alarm, her hand still half-reached toward me.
I follow Bora's gaze.
He is standing in the middle of the court.
Tall. Still. Expression unreadable.
My seatmate.
Yu Enhyeok.