𝑃𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛 / 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

S3 ch 87

Changbin, Jeongin, and Seungmin had come over early that morning, worry etched into their expressions. Word had spread fast after Jiwon came home bruised and bloodied the night before. Everyone had come—everyone. The living room was crowded with bodies and hearts too full, too fragile.

Jiwon sat on the edge of the couch, arms crossed tightly over his chest, hoodie hood drawn up again. His face still bore the aftermath of the fight—purple bruises blooming across his cheekbone and a small butterfly bandage just above his eyebrow. His eyes were colder than the sea he’d nearly drowned in the night before.

Rafayel sat across from him, knees bouncing with tension, trying—trying—not to react.

He had spent the night awake, flinching at every sound in case Jiwon left again, in case this time he didn’t come back. The weight of everything Jiwon had said still echoed in his chest like rot.

Everyone had taken turns trying to speak to Jiwon. Seungmin asked gently if he wanted tea. Jeongin offered to play some music. Changbin said nothing at first, just squeezed Jiwon’s shoulder on the way in.

But Jiwon was a stone wall. Cold. Detached. Irritable.

And worst of all, mean.

“Can you please stop looking at me like that?” Jiwon finally snapped across the room.

Rafayel’s brow furrowed. “Looking at you like what?”

“Like I’m a damn science experiment. Like you’re waiting for me to either explode or heal. News flash—I’m not gonna do either, so save your pity.”

“I’m not—” Rafayel started, then sighed. “I’m not pitying you, Jiwon. I’m trying to be here. I’ve always been here.”

“Yeah,” Jiwon muttered, smirking bitterly. “You’re always ‘here.’ Like a ghost.”

“Jiwon—”

“You’re pretending so hard to be the nice guy,” Jiwon continued, voice louder now. “It’s exhausting.”

“Don’t.” Rafayel’s voice dropped a notch, warning low.

“Why?” Jiwon asked mockingly, standing. “Did I touch a nerve?”

Tension shot across the room like electricity. The others had fallen quiet, still as statues.

“I’ve been watching you,” Jiwon said, eyes locked on Rafayel’s. “Trying to act like you’re healed. Like you’re soft. But I know what’s underneath. You’re still that same person. That same murderer. You can’t hide it forever.”

Something snapped.

Rafayel’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening like storm clouds over the ocean. He stood abruptly, crossed the room, and grabbed Jiwon by the arm—hard.

Jiwon didn’t flinch. He smirked.

And laughed.

The sound of it was cruel and hollow. “There he is,” Jiwon hissed. “The real Rafayel. I knew you were still in there.”

Rafayel’s breathing was ragged, fury trembling just beneath his skin. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s funny,” Jiwon said, looking him straight in the eyes. “Watching you pretend to be the savior when you’re still soaked in blood. You don’t love me. You just need someone to keep you human.”

“Stop it,” Minho warned, stepping forward.

“Fake,” Jiwon continued, louder now, pulling away from Rafayel’s grip. “All of it. Your love. Your care. Your face. Everything about you makes me sick.”

“Enough!” Chan’s voice cracked through the room like a gunshot.

Everyone froze.

Chan’s jaw was tight, eyes blazing. “That’s enough, Jiwon. What the hell is wrong with you? You’re being a dick, and for what? You think hurting him makes you feel better?”

Silence fell again.

Jiwon looked unfazed, until—

“We miss you,” Jisung suddenly screamed, tears brimming in his eyes. “You’re not even you anymore! What happened to the Jiwon who used to laugh at my dumb jokes and eat chips at 3 a.m. with me? What happened to the one who cared?”

“I’m still here,” Jiwon said quietly. “You just don’t like what I’ve become.”

“No,” Seungmin said from the corner, voice steady but filled with pain. “You don’t like who you’ve become.”

Jiwon didn’t respond. He looked down at the floor, hands tightening into fists.

---

That night, the apartment was quiet.

No one knew what to say. Jiwon had gone into the room and shut the door. The atmosphere felt like walking through the ruins of something beautiful. They were waiting, unsure, afraid.

When Rafayel finally knocked on the door around 1 a.m., there was no answer.

The next morning, the door was still shut.

And then it was open.

And Jiwon was gone.

His things—some clothes, his wallet, a small bag—were missing. His pills left on the nightstand.

On the bed sat a folded note with Rafayel’s name scrawled across the front.

Rafayel picked it up with trembling fingers. Everyone stood behind him in the hallway as he opened it.

The handwriting was messy, rushed, but unmistakably Jiwon’s.

> Rafayel,

I’m sorry.

I know I hurt you. I know I hurt all of you. I’ve been awful, and I don’t even know how to fix it anymore.

I’m breaking up with you.

Not because I stopped loving you. Because I do love you. So much it hurts. But that’s exactly why I need to leave.

I’m tired of dragging you down. I’m tired of being this person. And I don’t want to make you hate me.

I need space. Please don’t come looking for me.

You never have to see me again.

I’m sorry for everything.

– Jiwon

Rafayel stood still, eyes unmoving as the words soaked in. His hands dropped to his sides. The letter fluttered to the floor.

“No...” he whispered.

No one spoke. Not even Chan.

Only the silence answered him.

To be continued...