Blue Flower (Boys Over Flowers Fanfiction)

Chapter 30

I pushed my hair back, inhaling sharply as I stood in front of Yi-Jung's pottery studio. The events of last night still clung to me like a shadow, refusing to let go. My body was exhausted, my mind even more so, but none of that mattered when I forced open the door.

The moment I stepped inside, my breath hitched.

His studio—his sanctuary—was in ruins.

Fragments of shattered pottery lay scattered across the floor like broken dreams. The once-beautiful sculptures, molded by his skilled hands, now lay in jagged pieces, their delicate curves reduced to nothing. The air was thick with the scent of clay and heartbreak.

And in the middle of it all, Yi-Jung sat on the ground, shoulders trembling, tears misting his eyes.

The man who once carried himself with effortless arrogance, who flashed his wicked grin at every woman in sight, was now drowning in misery.

I ran to him, my heart clenching at the sight of his quivering lips, at the silent agony etched onto his handsome face.

"Yi-Jung..."

Just saying his name felt like a plea, as if I could pull him back from whatever abyss he was sinking into. But he didn't look at me. His gaze remained fixed on his injured hand—the one that had paid the price for last night's reckless choices.

"What can I do with a broken hand?" he murmured, voice hollow.

My chest tightened. He wasn't just talking about his injury. He was talking about his art, his identity—everything that made him who he was.

I knelt beside him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him into the warmth of my embrace. He was vulnerable, fragile in a way I had never seen before. And I wanted—needed—to protect him.

"You can still do so much," I whispered against his ear. "A talent like yours doesn't disappear just because of one injury. Art isn't just in your hands, Yi-Jung. It's in you."

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, a shaky breath escaped his lips.

"You're right," he finally admitted, though his voice wavered. "I'm sorry. It's pathetic of me to cry like this."

I shook my head. "No, it's not. We all have moments like this."

His tears, his pain—I understood it far too well.

"When my parents died, I thought I'd never be able to move forward," I admitted, my own voice quiet, almost lost in the weight of the memory. "But somehow, I did. We always do."

Yi-Jung exhaled, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips.

"I really am a jerk," he muttered. "You've been through so much already, and yet, I still managed to hurt you."

A ghost of last year flickered through my mind. The pain of our past—the betrayal, the heartbreak. But looking at him now, so broken, so lost, I found that the anger I once held was long gone.

"Don't worry about it," I started, but he cut me off.

"No. I never told you the truth about that night. About why I was drunk."

I stilled, waiting.

"I met my father," he said, his voice raw. "And the conversation... it didn't go well."

Yi-Jung rarely spoke about his father, but the resentment in his voice was unmistakable.

"He cheated on my mother with his secretary. She left him, and ever since, he's been a playboy—just like me." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Maybe it's in my blood. Maybe I was always meant to be this way. That night, I drank myself numb, and when I saw that girl... I thought she was you."

His confession hung in the air between us, heavy and suffocating.

"I should hate you for it," I said softly, and I meant it. I should have walked away, should have let my pride win.

But life had been cruel to him, too. And somewhere deep inside, I understood.

"I forgive you, Yi-Jung," I whispered, placing a comforting hand on his back.

His shoulders sagged. A part of him, I realized, had been carrying that guilt all this time.

"If I could redo everything," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet to hear, "I would hold onto you. I wouldn't let you go."

My breath hitched. His words were unfiltered, raw. And for a fleeting second, my heart betrayed me—pounding against my ribs as if it still longed for him.

But then he shook his head, as if snapping out of a dream.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "Let's just move on."

He stood up before I could respond, walking away.

I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the erratic beat of my heart.

As if it was crying out for him.

"Jun-Pyo, what are you doing here?!" I exclaimed as I opened my front door.

The curly-haired man stood there, uninvited, looking exhausted. There was something different about him—his usual arrogant air was missing. Instead, he looked... burdened.

"Can we talk?"

Minutes later, we were walking through the park, the cool breeze whispering between us. He looked older somehow, as if the weight of the world had settled onto his shoulders.

"It's been a long time," he muttered.

He had been so consumed by his world—his responsibilities, his engagement, his family—that he had forgotten me. And yet, I didn't blame him. Life had been unkind to all of us.

"How are you? How's your fiancée?" I asked, unable to ignore the elephant in the room.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "She's... expressive about her feelings for me."

I knew what that meant. Jae-Kyung adored him, followed him relentlessly, never giving him room to breathe. Even Jan-Di had given up. And Jun-Pyo, the fearless leader of F4, was trapped in a life he didn't choose.

"I'm sorry," I said sincerely. "But if you fight for what you love, you'll find happiness."

He let out a humorless chuckle. "Happiness, huh?"

All he needed was someone to remind him that he still had a choice.

"Remember when we talked last year?" I asked. "You asked me what money couldn't buy."

"It's my parents," I said, my voice distant. "Even if I had all the money in the world, I could never bring them back."

I swallowed hard.

"Sora, I—"

"You can't buy love, either," I interrupted, staring straight into his tired eyes. "You have to chase it."

He stared at me for a long moment before nodding. "You're right."

For the first time that night, I saw some of the tension lift from his face.

"I wish you were my fiancée," he muttered.

I laughed at the absurdity of it, but then—

"Because then... I could love you like no other."

My laughter died. My breath caught in my throat.

And for a moment, I thought my heart had stopped beating.

Because it had always belonged to him.