Generations Expectation's | 8th member of BTS

52

Ae Cha's POV

"Hey, Ae Cha. It's been a while."

I stared at her, the words lodged in my throat as my mind raced to catch up with what I was seeing. Kyong—here, now? After all this time? The last time I saw her, we had left things unresolved, tangled in the mess of misunderstandings and silence. And now, she was standing in front of me, bruised and broken, like a ghost from a part of my life I had tried to forget.

"Kyong..." I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper. "What... what are you doing here?"

She shifted on her feet, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, a clear sign of nerves. "I know I should've called or something. I just... I didn't know where else to go."

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms, unsure of what to feel. Anger? Sadness? Relief? I wasn't ready for this. "It's been so long, Kyong. You just disappeared. And now you show up like this?"
I stared at Kyong, my chest tightening as I saw the bruises up close—the dark shadows under her eyes, the swollen cut on her lip. My hands balled into fists at my sides, a knot of frustration and anger twisting in my stomach. This wasn't the first time I'd seen her like this.

"Did they do this to you?" My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I already knew the answer. I didn't need her to say it, the silence between us was more than enough.

Kyong didn't look up. Her gaze stayed glued to the floor, her hands clutching the blanket I'd given her like it was the only thing holding her together. That silence... it screamed the truth, and it made me sick.
I stood there for a moment, watching her at the door, feeling like I was trapped in the same scene, the same nightmare, over and over. Kyong was thinner than the last time I'd seen her, her shoulders hunched in defeat, her eyes hollow like she hadn't slept in days. There was something so fragile about the way she clung to the jacket wrapped around her—like it was the only armor she had left in the world.

I didn't have the strength to yell, not tonight. The words I wanted to scream at her—questions about why she kept going back, why she let them keep hurting her—were stuck in my throat. They'd been stuck there for months, maybe even years.

Instead, I sighed, the sound carrying all the weight of my frustration and helplessness.
"Come inside." I said, my voice barely above a whisper. It wasn't warm, wasn't inviting, but I couldn't turn her away. Not when she was standing there bruised and battered, looking like a shell of the girl I used to know.

Kyong hesitated, just for a second, her eyes darting to mine as if searching for permission, or maybe forgiveness. But when I didn't move, she shuffled inside, keeping her head down, her arms clutching the jacket to her chest like it could somehow protect her from the world—or maybe just from herself.

The door clicked shut behind her, the sound too loud in the silence that settled between us. My apartment, already small and suffocating, felt even tighter with her there. The air was thick, and I could feel every inch of the distance that had grown between us. It wasn't just physical anymore—it was everything we weren't saying, everything that had been festering for too long.
"Sit on the bed." I told her, trying to keep my voice steady. It wasn't quite an order, but it wasn't gentle either. I couldn't afford to be soft, not anymore. We had been through this before, and the thought of going through it again—the bruises, the tears, the inevitable goodbye—made my chest ache with a mix of anger and grief.

Kyong obeyed, her movements slow and stiff, like every step hurt. She perched on the edge of the bed, staring at her hands, her fingers trembling slightly as they gripped the edge of her jacket. She looked like a child, lost and waiting for someone to tell her what to do next.
I didn't say anything as I walked to the bathroom, my steps heavy with exhaustion. The first-aid kit was where it always was, under the sink, and as I grabbed it, I caught my reflection in the mirror. The weariness in my eyes startled me. How long had I been doing this—patching her up, only for her to leave me broken?