Kim Namjoon - I don't believe in love, and if you are looking for that in me and us, then you should stop right here, Y/N.
Y/N - I'm not searching for love either, and I don't want you to feel anything special for me.
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Y/N - Why don't you i...
I walked into the parking lot with my head down, letting the evening air hit my face, hoping it would wash away the sting in my chest. But it didn't. Her words kept echoing— "You'll be the last person I'd consider dating..."
I didn't even realize when the first tear slipped down my cheek.
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And then another. The weight of our entire conversation settled like a storm in my ribcage. Every word, every silence, every glance we exchanged on the way out... replayed in my head like a loop I couldn't shut off.
I got in the car and gripped the steering wheel tightly before starting it. The drive to the dorm was quiet—so quiet that I could hear the sound of my own heartbeat...and the words I wished I hadn't heard from her.
When I reached the dorm, I didn't look around. I didn't greet anyone. I just walked straight to my room, carrying the ache like a shadow stitched to my back. But I should've known better. Scoups-hyung always notices. Just as I was closing the door behind me, I heard soft footsteps. He entered quietly, not pushing his way in, just... standing there.
He didn't ask what was wrong. He didn't need to. He just looked at me with that quiet understanding only a true hyung has and softly asked, "Where's Y/N? She didn't come with you?"
I kept my eyes on my half-packed suitcase and muttered, "She'll come tomorrow... just when we're leaving." There was a pause. And then a gentle nod. No further questions. No assumptions.
He placed his hand on my shoulder briefly—just enough to say, "I'm here." "If you need to talk... I'm around," he said before quietly leaving the room.
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And then it was just me, the suitcase... and a heart that didn't know how to pack itself back together. i was packing. At least, I think I was. My hands were moving—folding clothes, zipping compartments, throwing things into the suitcase—but my mind? It was somewhere else entirely.
The room felt colder than usual. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe it was the emptiness sitting in the pit of my chest, spreading like a quiet fog. This was the first time I walked away from her like that. The first time I didn't turn back. The first time I let my hurt speak louder than my heart. And now... I felt it—guilt. Like a stone sitting on my chest, making it harder to breathe with every passing second.
