Invisible Affection | Taejin

35. Held Together by Nothing

A/N: This chapter deals with heavy emotional themes, including a mental health spiral, self-harm, and symptoms related to Borderline Personality Disorder. It includes intense scenes that may be upsetting or triggering to some readers. Please take care of yourself while reading, and don't hesitate to skip this chapter if it feels like too much.

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Seokjin stepped into the quiet of his home and closed the door behind him, but the silence that followed did not bring him comfort. If anything, it only intensified the pressure in his chest, as if the stillness itself were weighing down on him. The quiet was not peaceful; it was suffocating. It clung to the walls, crept into the dark corners, and reminded him that he had entered this place alone.

He didn't reach for the lights. He didn't need them. The faint glow of the city bleeding in through the windows was enough to guide him, and he didn't want clarity anyway. Moving slowly through the darkened apartment, he wasn't tired; rather, his body felt heavy with everything he hadn't allowed himself to feel earlier. Each step toward the bedroom seemed to require more effort than it should have as if even walking was too much to ask of himself at that moment.

When he reached the bed, he sat down without thinking. The mattress sank beneath his weight as he leaned slightly forward, his fingers locking tightly together in his lap. His hands ached, but he didn't loosen them. He wasn't trying to comfort himself; he was trying to hold himself together.

His eyes fell to the floor, unfocused, while his mind replayed what had just happened. It wasn't the exact words Taehyung had said that troubled him, but the way he had said them. His voice had been steady. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing. It wasn't a reaction born of anger or pain; it was calm and certain.

And that was what left the deepest cut. It wasn't the breakup itself but the fact that Taehyung had meant every word. He hadn't looked at Seokjin with resentment or regret. Instead, he had looked at him as if he was finally done carrying a burden that had grown too heavy. That quiet, unshaken certainty left Seokjin with nothing to fight against.

Seokjin leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his posture hunched as if he were trying to hold himself together. His breath came shallow and uneven, not from exertion but from the tension spreading through his chest, like something lodged beneath his ribs. Taehyung had told him to leave, and this time, he had listened. Now, in the silence of his own home, the reality of that choice settled heavily upon him.

He didn't know how he was supposed to feel. Everything inside him was too tangled to define. Guilt bled into anger, and anger folded into shame. Confusion blurred all these emotions together until he could barely distinguish what was real from what he wanted to believe. His thoughts spun out of control, grasping for something solid—anything he could hold onto that might make this hurt less or make it feel less final.

It had only been a kiss. He hadn't planned it; he'd been drinking, and it didn't mean anything. Taehyung knew him well. He had always understood how he reacted when things felt unstable. That should have counted for something.

As he clung to his justifications, they lost their meaning. Rather than alleviating his guilt, they intensified it, transforming defensiveness into self-disgust. His excuses echoed hollowly in his chest, and the ensuing shame made his skin crawl. He attempted to push the feeling away, but it only gave way to a sense of helplessness. When that feeling overwhelmed him, anger surged in again, louder this time, more desperate, as if it needed to drown out everything else.

However, it couldn't last. There was no one left to blame, no one to argue with. The anger had nowhere to go but inward, settling in his chest like a weight he didn't know how to carry, pulling him further into an overwhelming heaviness he couldn't escape.