The Industry - Blackpink Jennie x femreader

14.

You never thought that not arguing would be worse than actually arguing, but the more days that passed with nothing but silence from Jennie, the more you realized you thought wrong.

Almost two days had gone by since you walked out of her house and didn't look back. You expected a call or even a text. But nothing.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Jennie was, evidently, very stubborn.

But so were you, which was why you were holding out on reaching out first. The way you saw it, Jennie was the one that was upset and so she should be the one to initiate contact. You were just giving her space.

The radio silence from Jennie was taking its toll on you, to say the least. You tried not to let it affect you so much, but as time went by you realized just how much your life in Korea revolved around her.

You basically never spent your days without seeing her at least once or even just texting her. But the argument and the no contact was real and so was the pain you felt when you realized just how alone you were in Seoul.

Because you were really only in this city, in this country, for her. You only bought your condo to be in Seoul because Seoul was where Jennie was. It was almost absurd; just how easily you packed your things to move there for her, no matter how temporary it was. No job, no collaboration, would've made you do that. It was all her.

So for two days, you wallowed in your loneliness and tried to come to terms with, well, everything. What the argument meant, if you should give in and say sorry, the extent of just what you felt for her, and so so much more.

It was complicated. And stressful.

It was so stressful that you found yourself buying a pack of cigarettes for the first time in eight months. It was impulsive, definitely, and it was at a low moment when you passed by a smoke shop after picking up lunch.

You dragged yourself back up to your condo, one hand holding the white, plastic bag of food and the other hand clutching your keys so tightly that it dug into your palm to the point where you knew it'd leave some marks. But during the elevator ride up, you knew you regretted buying them. You knew it when you forced out a shaky breath and told yourself to hold anything but a cigarette in your hands.

It helped once you sat down and started eating, putting on a show to further distract yourself. The craving was real and strong, and maybe it wasn't addiction but it was certainly tempting and debilitating.

You distracted yourself with music for the rest of that day. Playing with the strings of your guitar and countless guitar picks instead of a cigarette. And for that day it worked, until it just didn't.

It was in the middle of the night, of course, when you were tightly tucked under your blanket, staring at the ceiling, and overthinking so much that it made it hard to breathe. Ironic, that you needed a cigarette to fix that. That you needed a small stick of chemicals to stop your hyperventilating when all it really did was destroy your lungs even more.

But it helped, it really did, as you stood leaning against the railing of your balcony, the cigarette held between two fingers and pressed against your lips. The chemicals flooded your lungs as you inhaled and with the smoke also left your stress, little by little. It made you feel guilty, knowing that every time you quit, something happened and you would end up back where you started. Rory would be disappointed, most definitely.

The thought of your best friend, who had only ever tried to help you, finding out that you caved in to the stress once again, made you grind the cigarette down to extinguish it, not even half way done. Your mind was conflicted with the opposing thoughts that it was a bit of a waste but also good that you didn't smoke any further.