𝗨𝗡𝗦𝗣𝗢𝗞𝗘𝗡 | p.sunghoon

𝟎𝟑.

𓏵

SUNGHOON hated birthdays. The word itself left a bitter taste in his mouth. Every year, it was the same: an expensive gift from his parents—something bought by an assistant, wrapped up in fancy paper—and no actual attention from them. He was the heir to a family fortune, but at home, he was just a shadow, ignored until it was time for them to make a show of his achievements.

This year would be no different. His eighteenth birthday was just days away, and his friends Sunoo and Nayu had already hinted at planning something, though Sunghoon had made it clear he didn't want to celebrate. Still, he let himself be dragged out to a karaoke club that night, not because he wanted to, but because it was easier than arguing.

Sunoo and Nayu had gone all out, decorating the private room with balloons and a cake that read "Happy Birthday, Hoon!" in big letters. As soon as they walked in, Sunoo grinned and waved his hands dramatically, saying, "Surprise!" while Nayu stood there smirking with her arms crossed.

Sunghoon took one look at the setup and sighed. "Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, slumping into one of the seats. He didn't need this, the forced fun, the attention. It was all just noise to him.

As they settled in, a waitress entered the room to serve them drinks. Sunghoon barely paid attention until she stepped in front of him. It was Sarim—the quiet girl. She wore the same expressionless look she always did, avoiding eye contact as she placed the drinks down on the table.

Something about her presence annoyed him. He didn't know why, but it felt like her silence was a challenge, like she was trying to disappear, and that made him want to remind her of her place.

"Yah," he said, his voice low and cold, "You missed a spot." He pointed to a glass she hadn't put down yet. Sarim glanced up, her expression still blank, and quickly set the glass in front of him without a word.

"Better get it right next time," he added, his tone sharp. She didn't flinch, didn't even react, just gave a quick bow before turning to leave. Her calm composure only irritated him more, but he said nothing as she left the room.

Sunoo, oblivious to the tension, grabbed the mic and started singing, his voice filling the room as he belted out a pop song. Nayu laughed, heckling him from her seat while Sunghoon sat there, staring blankly at the drinks in front of him, barely listening to his friends.

The night dragged on, and Sunghoon's mood only worsened. He hated parties, and this one was no different. The fake cheer, the noise—it all felt meaningless. By the time they were ready to leave, Sunghoon was itching to get out.

They stepped out of the club, Sunoo and Nayu saying their goodbyes before heading in opposite directions. Sunghoon didn't bother with long farewells; he just wanted to get home.

But as he walked down the street, he spotted Sarim again. She was standing on the sidewalk, her head lowered, while a man—her father, Sunghoon guessed—stood in front of her, shouting. Sunghoon could see the anger in the man's posture, the way he leaned into her, yelling something he couldn't quite make out from where he stood.

It annoyed him again, but this time it was different. It wasn't just her passive behavior; it was the whole situation.

How could she just stand there and take it?

He thought about how she'd done the same thing at the club, quietly taking orders like she was some kind of robot. People like that—people who didn't fight back—were pathetic.

Before Sunghoon could turn and walk away, he saw the man's hand flash through the air. The loud slap echoed in the street as he slapped Sarim across the face. She stumbled, but didn't make a sound. The man grabbed something from her—money, he realized, probably the tips she'd earned tonight—before storming off without a second glance.

For a brief second, Sunghoon felt something twist in his chest. But he quickly shoved it down. It wasn't pity. He didn't care about her, or anyone for that matter. He was just... annoyed.

Yeah, that's all it was.

She just kept proving how weak she was, letting everyone walk all over her.

Without thinking, he quickly turned away and walked in the opposite direction. He didn't want her to see him. Didn't want to get involved. This wasn't his business. It had nothing to do with him.

As he walked home, the night quiet around him, he tried to push the image of her getting slapped out of his mind. But it lingered, that blank expression on her face after being hit, the way she hadn't even fought back. It irritated him in a way he couldn't explain.

By the time he reached his house, the thought still gnawed at him. He threw his bag onto the floor and collapsed onto his bed, staring at the ceiling. His mind replayed the scene again, unbidden.

Was that why she had cried that day on the rooftop? He remembered her tears—her silent, pitiful sobs. Maybe that's what her life was really like, getting slapped around by her father and working herself to death at the karaoke club.

It wasn't a stretch to think that was why she always looked so tired, so empty.

But then he shook his head sharply, pushing the thought away.

No. He didn't care about her.

She was nothing to him, just another weak person too scared to stand up for themselves. He wasn't going to waste time thinking about someone like her.

She was beneath him.

Rolling over, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to forget her. She wasn't his problem. He didnt care about her.

Or maybe, just maybe, he did?