scarlett @mjfever - Tumblr Blog

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Welcome to my diary 💌

About me(ik no one cares but still):

• SCARLETT - teenager (not a minor!!) - INFJ

• english isnt my native language

• stan/ support:

☆ aespa, TXT, 7EN-, Hearts2hearts

☆ Olivia Rodrigo, Regina Song, Katseye

#scarlettdiary #Spotify

sunishake

BAD REPUTATION PART 2 ‪‪ ❤︎‬ sjy

After your best friend is left heartbroken by the infamous campus legend Jake Sim, you make it your mission to teach him a lesson — the one he won’t forget until he’s practically begging for forgiveness. What starts as a simple plan quickly spirals into chaos, pulling you into a web of complications you never saw coming. Lines begin to blur, intentions get messy, and you realize things aren’t as black and white as they seemed. After all, a bad reputation is a heavy burden to carry on both ends, isn’t it? — CONTINUING FROM THE LAST PART ✦

content tags: tooth rooting miscommunication, jake pmo, enemies to enemies to lover, y/n cries a lot, angst, mid ass slow burn, college au, emotional turmoil, long ass fic, crack, blonde jake, lots of kisses, campus romance (?), fake relationship. NOT PROOFREAD !!

Divider credit: @uzmacchiato

lilacletterss

so true

heejamas

YOUR HEART GOT TEETH | CHOI. YEONJUN ⨾

SYNOPSIS ٬⠀⠀✦ in a world ruled by blood and territory, you built your empire from ash and betrayal. years ago, yeonjun shattered your life with a single lie — and vanished. now he’s back, offering salvation laced with secrets, handing over pieces of your land to save the very people he once left to die. old scars reopen as you're forced into an alliance stitched together with memory, resentment, and the kind of tension that never really left. while danger brews at every border and loyalty crumbles beneath ambition, you must decide if the devil you once loved is worth trusting again — or burning with everything else.

PAIRINGS 🗝️ mafia! yeonjun x fem! reader

WARNINGS ❜୧ violence, mafia themes, enemies to lovers, stabbing, blood, grief, all kinds of illegal activities, death of father figure, smut, dry humping WORDCOUNT ''. 28k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ٬ ✦ this is my first time writing a mafia fic and ngl i was super nervous 😭 i’ve never touched this theme before and i was so scared it would come off super cheesy or over-the-top but honestly?? i’m really happy with how it’s turned out so 🖤 hope you guys enjoy it!! Hi guys! this is rain @heesmiles, i'm making this layout for ronnie; i made the header too ! like this its so cutie core

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ#nowplaying - teeth by 5 seconds of summer

Some nights, you forget what peace feels like. And when silence finally settles, you start to miss the sound of violence.

That’s the first thing you think when the cold of 3:17 a.m. presses into your skin like a warning. It’s quiet, but not the good kind. This silence has sharp edges. Because you’re standing on the rooftop of a building that doesn't belong to you but answers to your name. The city stretches around you, lit up like a lie, glittering and full of ghosts. Somewhere out there, someone is bleeding. Somewhere out there, someone’s praying they never hear your name.

sundives

Decode ✶ psh.

Learning from you that I can walk away, too.

Summary: You're the textbook definition of the perfect daughter. With everything laid out to you, the only thing you should do is follow the footsteps of your parents and become a doctor. If not, marry a soon-to-be doctor and be the perfect wife for him.

Easily, you can do both. Despite being a college student, you are already arranged to marry Park Sunghoon, the son of your parents' business partner. While you're doing everything to tie him to your perfect life, Sunghoon is very much determined to ran away from it, chasing after a dream of passion which you could never understand.

✰ Song inspiration: Decode by Sabrina Carpenter, Autumn by Niki, Already Over by Sabrina Carpenter

✰ Word Count: 23.9k (what the hell sure.)

✰ Tags: Arranged marriage, angst!!, a bit of unrequited love, hurt a little bit of comfort, lots of lots of miscommunication (these two can’t communicate ffs), angst with happy ending ig, short fluff, smut! College setting, reader is a perfectionist and soooo stubborn, Park Sunghoon is a mess, he’s also in a band. Mentions of drinking and alcohol, and mild violence. Toxic relationships, so much drama, Wonyoung and Ningning as your best friends, mentions of enhypen members, fancy dinners and shits, lots of cursing lmao.

✰ CW: smut! Plot with little porn, loss of virginity (both of them are virgins lmao but they kinda know what to do though, don’t ask how), extremely soft vanilla sex!! P in v sex, short mutual masturbation, fingering, mentions of blood, use of condom (!!!), praise, big dick! Sunghoon, aftercare. I might have forgotten some but yeah, shitty smut hope you enjoy nonetheless.

✰ Asul’s note: okay med students don’t come to me, I know that you need to pass a board exam before attending med school, or not, i think that’s based on your undergraduate program sdkfkjddfk. (I base it on my country lmao) so inaccuracies about becoming a doctor might be present here, so now, I am apologizing for the inaccuracies. (anyways, this is a fanfic guys, let it slide.) This is also not proofread lmao.

Anyways, this is the second installment for Arcanum series yay! you guys loved Jay's fic that I decided to write for the other members. :D hope you enjoy this one. <3

read arcanum series here.

✰ Taglist: @kiikiisblog @bussolares @semi-wife @starry-eyed-bimbo @sievenderz @jakeslvt

romancentold

☤ TEETH. ❝ 𝖲𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤𝖲 𝖬𝖠𝖲𝖳𝖤𝖱𝖫𝖨𝖲𝖳 ❞ 박성훈⸝.ᐟ⋆

ᐟ⋆ S 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗆𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝗅𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝗂𝗍 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗆𝗂𝗌𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝗁𝗂𝗆—𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗂𝗅𝗍𝗌 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗒, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗒𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖿𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝗂𝗇 𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾. 𝗈𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗄𝗇𝖾𝗐 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗌𝗁𝖺𝗋𝗉 𝖾𝖽𝗀𝖾𝗌, 𝖻𝖾𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝖼𝗋𝗎𝖾𝗅𝗍𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝗍 𝗁𝗂𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝖺 𝗌𝖾𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇, 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖺 𝖻𝗈𝗒 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖽𝗋𝖾𝖺𝗆𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗂𝖼𝖾. 𝗇𝗈𝗐, 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝗅𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝖾𝗋, 𝖻𝖺𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝖾𝖾𝗍𝗁 𝖺𝗍 𝖾𝖺𝖼𝗁 𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖼𝗋𝗈𝗐𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗇𝖾𝗋 𝗍𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾𝗌, 𝖽𝗂𝗀𝗀𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝗈𝗅𝖽 𝗐𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝗇𝗈 𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝗈𝗐 𝖽𝖾𝖾𝗉 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆. 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖺𝖻𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾? 𝗅𝖾𝗍 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗂𝗍 𝗈𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗈𝗇𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗇𝗀 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗍 𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗉𝖾𝗋𝗂𝗅𝗈𝗎𝗌𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗅𝗈𝗌𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗌𝗂𝗋𝖾. PAIRING 𝗉𝖺𝗋𝗄 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 ۶ৎ 𝘧𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋. 💿playlist 👥profiles 💿hoon’s playlist 💿yours 📎pinterest

TAGS slowburn enemies to lovers, childhood friends, love triangle ft. jake, slice of life, chaebol sunghoon & reader, found family, college au, heavy angst, heeseung as hoon’s babygirl best friend

𝓦 .. this story contains heavy smut — mdni abuse, violence, toxic dynamics, sunghoon is mean and an overall asshole but reader isn’t any better, they’re both freaks, mutual obsession, big dick hoon, heavy themes of denial, trauma, anxiety, misogyny, power play, unhealthy coping mechanisms, emotional manipulation, high society elitism

sundives

Keep my heart guarded ✶ lhs.

Summary: Your long-term relationship with your bodyguard-slash-personal assistant Lee Heeseung goes way back in high school. Ever since then, he keeps your heart guarded and humbled in every possible way since your makeup line started to rise into fame. But when a dating scandal tied you with your brand's ambassador, leading to a PR stunt that will last for two years, that's when you realized that your relationship with Heeseung was starting to crumble because of the fortune and popularity.

Fourth installment of Big reputations series.

✰ Song inspirations: King of my heart by Taylor Swift, National Anthem by Lana del rey, Midnight Rain by Taylor Swift

✰ Word count: 22.7k

✰ Tags: CEO au, bodyguard/assistant au, established relationship, secret relationships, aged-up characters (they’re both in their early 30s) relationship conflicts, jealousy, ANGST, mild fluff ig, smut!!! misunderstandings, rumors, breakups (and getting back together,) heeseung is such a green flag and down bad (fuck yesss), usage of korean honorifics. mentions of kpop idols.

✰ CW: plot with porn, smut, service dom! Heeseung, p in v sex, unprotected sex (pls dont), cumming inside, bathtub sex, praise, petnames, riding, fingering, kinda breeding kink, idk what else to tag but this is just soft shitty smut and they’re very much in love.

✰ Asul's note: FUCK YES ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP WITH CONFLICTS, one of my favorite tropes to write. After almost two months I was able to finish this one, thank god. Anyways, I eyeballed everything so don’t come after me and yeah, buckle up because this is going to be a long-ass ride. Not proofread by the way.

✰ Series taglist: @kyutiepeachy @rosepetals09 @toastmenace @k1ttyjwon @kikidoul @brokenengene @tatikeu @ddeondalandan @ellyre @addictedtohobi @fancypeacepersona @heeseungsgf26 @axfyl @dollvtte @saraabbas @meloncholatte

xoxochb

“abortion ends lives” so does pregnancy, school shootings, lack of gun restrictions, wars, genocides, and ice. but of course you don’t care about those because you just want control over women’s bodies!

mssishipi

romancentold

you fucking guys. she’s here. oomf just sent me this edit of teeth she made and i’ve been looping it for 20 minutes straight like it’s the only video left on earth. i can’t believe my silly little fic birthed something so beautiful?

also… there’s a sneaky spoiler tucked in there somewhere as a treat for the girlies. consider it my early christmas gift for vanishing off the face of the earth.

mimil0vezz-deactivated20251204

moonvera

babetalksbookish

"good thanks how about you"

b4mbilvrr

❤︎ ❤︎ ❤︎

anushkasaha

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁.ꢾ୧ ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .ꢾ୧ ݁. ݁₊

making this while listening to cruel world on my earphones

yoonasdiary

sunishake

MY EX JUST TURNED INTO A LILIPUT !! — psh

req vol 2 . ─── 𝐄𝐍 𖹭 박성훈 : "why the hell are you 6ft even in small version!"

After a huge argument which led to your boyfriend Sunghoon becoming your ex, you swore you were never going to see his face but unfortunately Sunghoon is here to remind you about your unconditional feelings for him...but hey! At least he's pocket-sized (⌒‐⌒)

ᝰ song recommended: there is a light that never goes out

𖹭 fluff, unfinished love, supernatural, borrowed time, angst, regret and longing, bittersweet ending

note: for the anon who requested Sunghoon angst based on 'dream' by Lisa <3 !! NOT PROOFREAD !!

ʚĭɞ if you liked this don't forget to check out my other works in library

You stared at the scrap of skin you just scratched off your thumb. The area looked bright red now, a dull ache suddenly forming. But no ache could compare to the weird feeling you were feeling right now.

"Girl...its been half an hour, are you even sure he's serious with you?"

Gyuri's voice chipped open the last sanity tile you were trying to cover yourself with and you sighed with trembling lower lip "It's just his practice I guess..." "Yeah we know it's practice but come onnnn, your boyfriend seems to hate us honestly, how come he always misses these dates" Mina rolled her eyes. Your eyes fell on the junction where her and her date's hands were conjoined and the rumbling seemed to grow inside you.

Park Sunghoon had done it again. For the fifth time in a row, he had missed the date you had planned. This wasn’t just any outing either, it was supposed to be a triple date. Gyuri and Mina sat across from you at the café, their boyfriends by their sides, punctual, attentive, and so impossibly protective that you couldn’t help comparing.

The empty chair beside you felt heavier than the weight in your chest.

Gyuri leaned forward, lowering her voice though it wasn’t soft enough to disguise the sting. “You sure he likes you, babe? I mean, it’s only been a year and a half. You can still leave hi—”

A sharp kick under the table silenced her.

Mina shot her a warning glare, but the words had already lodged themselves in your ribs. Your throat tightened. The scrape of metal against tile was louder than you expected as you stood, your chair dragging back abruptly.

That was the problem, its one year already and he was still acting like this. At the first you thought dating an ice skater who was training for international level wouldn't be that bad and yes, for most of the part it was not except where he almost couldnt give time to you all the time, couldn't give you his life updates, couldn't reach out to you unless you did the same, couldn’t bother to show up, plan to show up, always busy always in rush always preparing for something but at the end leaving you confused where you stood in his life , where was your place in his cramped routine, or was it even there?

“I’m sorry,” you said, though you weren’t even sure to whom. “I need to go.”

You stared at your nails, the uneven edges of your natural ones now peeking out beneath the faded acrylics. It had been weeks since you last bothered to get them fixed. The main reason was simple, you couldn’t stand the way the woman at the salon kept asking about your boyfriend, about Sunghoon, as if he were a fixture in your life when, in reality, he was absent most of the time. He existed everywhere but where you needed him—in your friends’ conversations, in strangers’ admiration, in the whispers at the rink. Everyone seemed to know about him, to admire him, to talk about him. Everyone except you, the one who was supposed to know him best.

Tears stung your eyes before you even realized they had formed. You swiped them away hastily with the back of your palm, frustrated at yourself. Sitting alone on a cold pavement, crying while the night air turned sharper with the promise of snow, wasn’t how you wanted this day or any day to end. With a small breath, you pushed yourself up and brushed the dirt from your coat. It was time to call it a day.

But then, a hand closed gently around your wrist. You gasped, startled, spinning back “S–Sunghoon?”

He stood there, breathless, hair sticking up wildly as though he had run straight from the rink. His scarf hung loose around his neck, his jacket unevenly thrown on, and yet sweat still clung to his skin despite the biting cold. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath.

“I— I’m sorry, okay? I…” He bent forward slightly, panting. “The coach… he wasn’t letting me go, I—fuck.” His eyes shut for a moment, his voice strained as though he had been rehearsing an apology while running here. You instinctively tried to tug your wrist free, but his grip only tightened. His hand was trembling, warm and desperate against your chilled skin. “Leave it, Sunghoon,” you whispered, your voice raw. “Let’s just… go home.”

The silence that followed pressed heavy between you. The words you wanted to scream about always being second place to his schedule, about the loneliness that gnawed at you remained unsaid. His thumb brushed unconsciously against your wrist, a silent plea, while your heart wrestled between anger and longing.

He suddenly straightened, shoulders squaring as though he had remembered something important. His grip on your wrist loosened, but his eyes stayed fixed on you, and unflinching “...No,” he whispered, shaking his head “not like this.”

Before you could question him, he tugged you gently but firmly down the street. You recognized the turn before you saw it, an alley tucked away behind the main road, familiar from countless late night walks together. The smell hit you first, warm and savory, wafting through the crisp air.

Fish cakes.

The small vendor’s stall glowed softly under a flickering lamp. Steam curled from the broth, carrying with it a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved. Sunghoon pressed a few coins into the ajumma’s hand, took the cup with careful fingers, and blew gently on the broth. Then, with almost ceremonial care, he held it out to you. “Here,” you stared at the cup, your chest tightening.

You swore you hated him. At least, that’s what you told yourself every time he broke another promise, every time he left you waiting, every time he chose the rink over you. But could you truly hate someone without holding that much love for them first? That was the paradox of Sunghoon. He could tear you apart with his absence, then stitch you back together with something as simple as remembering the way you liked your comfort food. He always knew how to calm you down, how to reclaim your heart, as if he had memorized the map to it long before you realized. Your lower lip trembled as you accepted the cup, the warmth seeping through your cold palms. Slowly, the tight coil in your chest began to ease. Sunghoon lowered himself onto the bench beside you, his scarf slipping from his neck, his nose flushed red from the cold. Yet when he looked at you, his eyes were soft, aching, almost tender, like his entire world was sitting in front of him. Without thinking, you lifted the cup toward him.

He shook his head immediately, a faint smile ghosting his lips. “You know I can’t.”

Of course. Street food was off-limits for him, strictly forbidden in his diet. He always said no, and you always asked anyway, hoping one day he’d let himself indulge just a little.

You sighed and turned back to the cup, focusing on the fish cake as the broth’s steam rose into the night air. Your heart calmed, though it still beat unevenly with the ache of wanting more from him. Then you felt it his head gently leaning against your arm. His weight was tentative at first, then settled fully, his hair brushing against your coat sleeve

“Let me stay like this,” he murmured, voice barely audible and you stiffened.

“Sunghoon?” No reply.

When you glanced down, the fight drained out of you. His eyes were shut, lashes resting delicately against his skin. His chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm, and a faint snore escaped his lips. He had fallen asleep, right there, using you as his anchor. And despite yourself, your heart melted all over again.

You lay sprawled on your bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The fan above you turned in a slow, lazy circle, its blades blurring until the room itself seemed unnaturally bright. Time felt thick and sticky, dragging you into that strange half-space where you couldn’t tell how long you had been lying there. With a weary sigh, you reached for your phone. You didn’t even know what you were waiting for, maybe a notification, a distraction, anything to pull you out of the dull ache in your chest. But your thumb froze halfway, and you swallowed hard.

The silence of your new apartment pressed against you. The walls still smelled faintly of fresh paint, the furniture still felt foreign, as if you hadn’t quite earned the right to call this space home. And yet, in that hollow stillness, a strange craving took hold of you.

Fish cakes.Not even the taste, just the smell. The rich, savory steam curling up from a hot cup, mingling with the bite of winter air. You weren’t hungry, but the craving hit you like a punch.

Because you knew it wasn’t about food at all.

You craved Sunghoon.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands “What the hell is wrong with me?” Why would you crave him of all people? Your ex. The boy who had once known your heart better than you did, and who had left you years ago without looking back. He wasn’t supposed to linger in your veins like this, not after so much time. Fuck those fish cakes, and fuck him too, honestly.

Shoving the blanket off your legs, you sat up abruptly. The bitterness burned hotter in your throat, but it didn’t chase away the ache. You reached for your laptop, pulled it closer, and clicked open your inbox for the tenth time that day.

And there it was, the reason your chest had been tight since morning. An email from his management. Your eyes skimmed the words again, as though reading them enough times would make them less absurd.

On behalf of our client, Mr. Park Sunghoon, we are reaching out to request a private meeting at your earliest convenience. Mr. Park has personally expressed interest in reconnecting with you and has asked us to facilitate initial communication. Please confirm your availability.

Best regards,Prism Sports Management

You closed the laptop with a snap, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“What the fuck…” you whispered into the empty room. Who even sent emails like this? What kind of management team arranged personal meetings with ex-girlfriends like it was some PR stunt? Your mind spun between disbelief and anger, between a rush of questions you didn’t want to answer. Why now? What could he possibly want?But underneath the frustration, buried deep where you didn’t want to touch it, something fragile stirred.

Because despite yourself, you wanted to know. You wanted to see him. And that terrified you most of all.

“So what? You’re just gonna leave? Just like that?” Your voice cracked, fists clenched so tight your knuckles ached. Sunghoon exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. “You know we talked about thi—”

“No, Sunghoon, the hell we did not!” you snapped, words tumbling out faster than you could contain them. “That’s the problem—you and I never talk about anything. Ever. Matter of fact, you leaving for Britain literally a week from now is something I found out on my own. And guess where? Scrolling through some random fan page on Facebook.” You laughed bitterly, though it felt more like choking. “Were you even going to tell me, or was this supposed to be another fun surprise?”

His face crumpled, exhaustion written in the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, maybe weeks. He reached out hesitantly, as if his hand alone could fix the canyon opening between you. “Y/n, that’s not—I… I’m sorry.” You jerked back before his touch could reach you “Yeah, no shit, sherlock you’re sorry.”

The silence that followed pressed between you like a heavy divider. You swallowed hard. “When are you coming back?” His lips parted, but no sound came. The absence of his answer hit harder than any words could.“

Wow,” you whispered, looking away, blinking furiously at the blur of your living room. “So… you’re not coming back...” He didn’t deny it. His silence was confirmation enough, and his depressing look only deepened the pit in your stomach. “Okay then,” you said, forcing a shaky laugh that sounded more unhinged than casual. “Let’s break up.”

Sunghoon flinched. You hadn’t expected the small shudder that rippled through him. “Y/n, please, I—”

“Let’s. Break. Up.” You spat each word like you were trying to cough out poison. “I can’t keep doing this. You’ve hurt me enough these past years. Just… let me go now. Please.” His hand darted forward again, but you smacked it away, the sting in your palm grounding you. “Don’t.”

His voice broke. “Y/n, please…” And that was it, the begging. The pleading tone that always cracked you in half, the one that made you want to fold, to forgive, to cling. But not this time.

“Will you stop?!” you burst out, the words ragged. “Please, just stop. Can you at least—at least pretend to hate me? Do me that one favor, Sunghoon. Make it easier for me to watch you pack up your life and move across the world! Please!” Your voice splintered, restrained but tired that seeped into your bones.

For a moment, his chest rose as if he would argue, defend, promise, but instead, he deflated with a sigh that sounded like defeat.

“Fine.”

You hadn’t even realized when sleep had finally dragged you under. One moment you were curled up, damp-cheeked and whispering curses at Sunghoon’s name between hiccups, and the next, darkness had claimed you. Your dreams had been full of stinging flashbacks, his voice, his apologies, his stupid perfect face and you had tossed and turned until exhaustion took mercy on you.

When you woke, it wasn’t mercy that greeted you.

Something crawled across your arm. Half-asleep, you twitched, assuming it was a bug. But when you cracked open your bleary eyes and squinted, you froze. It wasn’t something. It was someone.

“What the actual fuck,” you croaked, voice hoarse from last night’s tears.Because right there, tiptoeing across your forearm like your skin was some sort of balance beam, was Park Sunghoon. Except… very much Lilliput-sized. Teeny tiny, doll-sized Sunghoon that could fit inside a teacup. You shrieked, jerking upright. Tiny Sunghoon flailed, arms windmilling before tumbling onto your mattress with a squeaky thud. He let out a sound that could only be described as a pocket-sized yelp.

“No way,” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. “No. Nope. Absolutely not. Either I’ve lost my mind or the psych ward is sending me their invitation any second now.”

In a daze, you reached out a cautious finger to poke him just to test if he was solid, if he wasn’t some hallucination conjured up by heartbreak and leftover fish-cake cravings. And then he smacked your finger away. Smacked.

huh....HUHHHHH???!!!!

He rolled onto his feet, dusting himself off like a man who had just been shoved onto the floor of a boardroom, not onto a giant duvet and planted his fists on his tiny hips, glaring up at you with a face so full of indignation it was both hilarious and terrifying.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, voice as small as his body but still dripping with sarcasm. “At first, unnecessary touching, and then pushing me over? Oh, you’d be so cancelled on X.” Your jaw dropped. “I—what?! Are you being for real right now?”

He crossed his arms, nodding solemnly. “You’d trend within minutes. #Y/nCanceledParty. Top three worldwide.”

You just stared at him, your expression sliding into full 'are you fucking serious' territory. Slowly, cautiously, you leaned closer, squinting down at him like you were peering into a very concerning science experiment. “Uh… hello?” you said, enunciating each word carefully. “What… are you?”

Tiny Sunghoon raised a brow. “Excuse you? I’m Park Sunghoon. You hottest ex, Olympic-level skater? Heartthrob? Perpetual disappointment? Ring any bells?”

You blinked at him. “No, see, Park Sunghoon is six feet tall, broad-shouldered, and ruined my life. You—” you gestured helplessly at his action-figure-sized self—“are, like, the Fun-Sized Halloween edition.”

He gasped. “Did you just call me fun-sized? Excuse me??? I'm still 6 ft tall”And for the first time in weeks, a laugh bubbled out of you, loud, startled, and entirely against your will, because, apparently, heartbreak wasn’t enough. Now you had a miniature Sunghoon sassily canceling you on your own bed.

"why the hell are you 6 ft tall even in small version?"

The sunlight stabbed at your neck, sharp and uninvited, pulling you out of the fragile grip of sleep. You winced, furrowed your brows, and squinted at the thin golden ray slicing through your half drawn curtains.

“Fuck…” you muttered groggily, voice hoarse. That had been one hell of a weird dream. You exhaled shakily, rubbing your eyes as last night’s tears still clung to your lashes. Fish cakes, flashbacks, and god, Sunghoon, of all people. You shook your head as if the motion could knock him out of your mind. Another day to drag yourself through. Another day to pretend you were fine. You forced yourself upright with the mindset of pulling your body out of bed before work swallowed you whole. But then your eyes landed on the crumpled pile of blanket beside you, and you screamed. Properly this time.

“What the fuck?!” You pinched your cheek hard, the sting making your eyes water. You did it again, harder, until a red mark bloomed across your skin. But no the thing, the person was still there. The tiny figure of Park Sunghoon, no bigger than your hand, sitting against the folds of your blanket like some smug action figure that had crawled straight out of your subconscious.

Not a dream. Not a hallucination. Not even dehydration. Real. Your throat went dry as his tiny body stirred. His eyes blinked groggily, then flickered up to meet yours. To your absolute horror, he flashed you a sleepy grin.

“Hi, babe.”

B-babe?! You laughed, the sound high-pitched and verging on manic. “Bro—oh my god, what?! What the fuck are you?!”

Mini Sunghoon yawned lazily, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. He stretched, his tiny limbs moving in exaggerated slowness, and God help you, he looked so… adorable. Freakishly adorable. Despite every logical cell in your brain screaming, this is a crisis, not a petting zoo, the cuteness aggression in you was winning a dangerous war. He scratched his tiny head, squinting. “Let’s see… what am I except the gorgeous, immaculate, five-time international winner in ice skating—THE Park Sunghoon?”

You scoffed, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, yeah, whatever…” He seemed pleased with himself, smug in the way Sunghoon could never be, no matter his size. But then, as if some realization hit him, his expression shifted. He looked down at himself, then up at you with an odd sort of sincerity

“I’m unresolved feelings,” he said matter-of-factly.

Your face blanked. “…What?” “Unresolved. Feelings.” He said it slower, like you were dense. Then he rolled his eyes, still full of attitude. “Of course your ex’s. Who else’s?”

You froze. The words hit you like cold water. Unresolved feelings? Was this some kind of sick joke your brain had cooked up? A mini Sunghoon, not as a hallucination, but as a manifestation of the very thing you’d been trying to bury?

“…You’ve got to be kidding me,” you whispered. He just shrugged, as if this conversation were about the weather. You pressed your palms into your temples. Was this some kind of alien experiment? A breakdown? A divine punishment for thinking of him last night? You could already imagine the rest of your day spiraling into madness, spent wondering what the hell this… miniature ex-boyfriend doppelgänger was and why he was here, smirking on your blanket.

Your spiraling was cut short when your alarm clock blared aggressively on the nightstand. The sound jolted you out of your thoughts.“Shit!” you gasped, eyes widening. “My presentation!”

Sunghoon tilted his head up at you, unbothered. “Wow. Priorities.”You shot him a glare, scrambled out of bed, and nearly tripped over your own laptop bag. Meanwhile, the tiny menace stretched out on your pillow as if he claimed it as his throne, his smirk widening.

This was insane. This was impossible. And yet you had no choice but to deal with both your professional crisis and the unresolved one.

You were too tired to even process what had happened in the meeting. Numbers, graphs, fake smiles, all a blur. The moment you stepped out of the conference room, the world tilted slightly. A hollow ache gnawed at your stomach, the unmistakable growl of 'oh right, you skipped breakfast again.'

“So fucking careless,” a tiny voice drawled. You froze, eyes darting down. Sure enough, the pocket of your jeans wiggled before a very small, very judgmental Sunghoon popped his head out, arms folded, expression unimpressed. You hissed and shoved him back down with your index finger “Shh!” you whispered through clenched teeth, glancing around to make sure no one had seen you talking to your delusion.

But your stomach made another angry protest. With no time to argue with the laws of biology, you grabbed the nearest subway sandwich and retreated to the bleachers outside the office. The air was cooler here, quieter, almost empty except for the occasional pigeon strutting around like it paid rent. You unwrapped your sandwich like it was treasure. One bite in—finally, food.

“Does your attitude just… disappear when you’re outside?”

You sighed and didn’t even bother shoving him back this time. Mini Sunghoon climbed out of your pocket and sat on your thigh, legs dangling like a child on a park bench. His tiny sneakers kicked the fabric of your jeans as he looked at you like you were the weird one.

“What are you on,” you muttered around a mouthful of bread and lettuce. He smirked, clearly gearing up for one of his speeches. “For someone who says ‘fuck’ three times in one sentence… whose index finger doesn’t understand the concept of personal space… and someone who—” he paused for dramatic effect, tiny hands swirling in the air, “initiates a breakup…” You narrowed your eyes wondering where exactly was he going with this. He gave a theatrical sigh, rolling his miniature eyes as if your slowness was physically painful. Then, with cutting precision, he dropped it

“…you act very chill when your boss touches you inappropriately.”

The bite of sandwich lodged halfway down your throat. You froze, bread turning to glue in your mouth.

You didn’t bother answering him. Your chest already felt tight, and the words he tossed so casually stung sharper than they should.

“Wow…” Mini Sunghoon clicked his tongue, his tiny arms crossed like a disapproving cartoon villain. “You’re just insufferable.”

That did it. Your patience cracked. “Shut up, will you?!” you barked, louder than you meant to “What the hell do you even know about me?!”

For the first time, his expression faltered, his sharp little features softening into something eerily human. But he didn’t back down. “I know you better than you ever did yourself,” he said flatly, voice calm but heavy, it weighed more than his doll-sized body “and I know what you’re capable of. So don’t let middle-aged men take advantage of you. You’re worth more than that.”

Your throat tightened. Your appetite was gone, your half-eaten sandwich suddenly a lump of cardboard. Wow. Perfect.

Your day was officially ruined.

By the time you punched in your apartment code and kicked the door open, the only thing you wanted was to collapse. The force of your foot caught your ankle wrong, pain shooting up your leg.

“Woman, calm do—”

“Sunghoon, please…” your voice cracked into a plea. “Just stop. I can’t.”

The couch welcomed you with the weight of exhaustion as you crashed into it, face first. Your body hummed with ache, mental, physical, everything. You felt him wriggle out of your pocket, and soon his tiny steps tapped across the cushion until he was right in front of your face. His figure barely the size of your palm, yet still commanding attention. Your warm breath ruffled his hair.

“Your back pain is gonna get worse if you sleep here,” he clicked his tongue, tone sharp but lighter than before. “Get up, piggy.”

Somehow, the ridiculous insult drew out a laugh. A weak, airy chuckle puffed out of your lungs.

“For someone who’s a mini version of Sunghoon…” you muttered, eyes half-lidded as you sat up slowly, “…you’re not Sunghoon at all.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically, the gesture so familiar it hurt. You finally took him in. The same perfect nose. The same lashes that once brushed against your skin. The same face you’d fallen for, the same face that had turned cold the evening he left you behind. And yet… not the same. You dragged your gaze down to your chipped nails, embarrassed by how worn they looked under the weight of that stare.

“Sunghoon…” your voice cracked, fragile. “Sunghoon was never so mean. He was the warmest guy ever. He never made me feel bad about myself. He never called me names.”

Your eyes slid shut, almost begging the universe to end this cruel hallucination. Maybe it was just fatigue, maybe your brain was inventing monsters to keep you company. But when you opened them again, he was still there. Real as ever, arms crossed, mouth set into a stubborn line.

“That’s because Sunghoon never showed you his unresolved side,” he said, voice lower now, edged with something sad. “I’m the one he compressed so much and ignored so much that I became like this. A shadow. A splinter. I blame you too. You never wanted to know what he was going through. You compressed me too—until I shrank to this size.”

Your heart swelled, the ache sharp enough to bring tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You swallowed them down, shook your head. “I—I’m gonna go to sleep,” you whispered, voice trembling but final. “Suit yourself.” You turned away, curling onto the couch, hoping the tiny figure would vanish by morning. But a part of you feared he wouldn’t, and a part of you feared he would.

Mini Sunghoon blended into your life so seamlessly that sometimes you wondered if he had crawled out of your own shadow just to remind you of your misery at the worst possible times.

“Why are you so unorganised—oh my god, my head is spinning,” he groaned, clutching his tiny head dramatically as he stood on the edge of your messy wardrobe. Piles of half-folded clothes leaned like unstable towers, your socks lived in mysterious corners, and somewhere beneath all that, a winter coat you hadn’t seen in years peeked out accusingly. You rolled your eyes, pulling out a wrinkled shirt. “I am a working woman, excuse me.”

“Yeah, a nasty woman who has zero concept of basic hygiene,” he shot back, hands on his hips. You flicked him lightly with your finger, watching his tiny body stumble back. “Domestic abuse!” he squeaked, clutching his chest

Annoying. Rude. Painfully honest. He was all of those things, and yet somehow, you couldn’t deny that he made you notice details you’d long neglected,

unfinished laundry, dishes fossilizing in the sink, skincare bottles collecting dust like museum pieces. He was almost like Sunghoon. But also… not.

You still didn’t understand what unresolved agenda tied him to you, but the fact that he was here and that strange, cryptic email from his management weeks ago couldn’t have been coincidence.

“Why are you even here, meanie?” you asked suddenly, ruffling his soft hair with your fingertip. He swatted your hand away with a glare. “Did you even wash your hand first?” You ignored that. “Are you here to remind me I fucked up?” You giggled, and he scoffed. “Duh. I don’t need to remind you, your whole existence is proof. And I told you not to flick me off!”

“Keep being a bitch,” you threatened with a smirk, “and I’ll show you exactly why I’m fucked up.”

For a moment, the two of you just stared at each other in mock seriousness before dissolving into helpless laughter. Your giggles filled the room, and he tumbled over onto your notepad, bumping the pen stand as he rolled. “Ishhhhhhh.....that was so cringe,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. Your chest warmed, even the way he wheezed was so similar.

When the laughter ebbed, you straightened up and narrowed your eyes at him. “So… what exactly is five-time international winner, ice-skater Park Sunghoon’s unresolved feelings doing here? And why after all these years?” He shot his tiny arms up in mock offense. “First of all, mind you, I wasn’t just born last week. I’ve always been here. And second, I AM the international winner, not him anyway.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

Mini Sunghoon fell quiet. His usual sharp tongue dulled, and for a rare moment, he looked distant. “Your ex never actually won anything. Not a single international competition. Every time he failed, it boosted me instead. My ego grew because he couldn’t handle the pressure. I am the version of him that could win. But he… he shrank me. Hid me away until I couldn’t come out.”

Your hand flew to your mouth. “W-what are you saying?”

He tilted his head, voice dropping into something bitter. “Park Sunghoon is a loser who ran away from his feelings. That’s the truth.”

Your chest tightened. Was that really what this was about?

“But… I saw the posts on Facebook,” you whispered. “All those pictures, all those articles praising him—”

“They were literally paid for by his management,” Mini Sunghoon interrupted, his eyes cold. “He knows about it. He let them build the lie.” The air left your lungs in a rush. You turned toward the window, staring at the night sky smeared with bruised clouds. It mocked you with its vastness, its silence. Sunghoon… never won? All those glowing headlines, all that praise you clung to, had it all been smoke and mirrors? Your fingers twitched toward your phone. Against your better judgment, you opened Naver and typed his name. It had been years since you last stalked him online,five years, to be exact, before you moved away from your hometown.

The first headline hit like a punch to the gut.

Former Prodigy Park Sunghoon Disqualified After Series of Losses.

Another article followed.

The fall of a rising star: wasted potential?

You scrolled until your eyes blurred, article after article carving holes into the image you had once held so close. Words like failure, collapse, regret jumped off the screen, painting a picture you had never wanted to see. Your thumb hovered. Then, without warning, you shut your phone off, letting it fall onto the sheets beside you.

The silence after felt heavier than any headline.

You bit your lip, staring at the glow of your phone screen. After hours of hesitation, you had finally done it, you replied to the email. A simple line, nothing too revealing, just enough to say you wanted to meet him. That you wanted answers. That you needed to know what was going on before your head exploded.

Mini Sunghoon swung his tiny legs at the edge of your desk, tapping them against the wood with a careless rhythm. He looked far too smug for someone the size of your pencil case.

“Sunghoon never liked Jake, by the way,” he said casually, dropping a bomb.

Your eyebrows arched. “Who?”

“Jake. Your chemistry lab partner.”

The name dragged at old, dusty corners of your memory until a picture sharpened. Jake, bright smile, loud laugh, the boy next door who always carried an extra pen.

“Ha! Impossible,” you scoffed. “He and Sunghoon were literally neighbors. We spent so much time toge...ther....” You trailed off mid-sentence, the words sticking in your throat as a memory slotted into place.

The confession. Jake’s awkward courage, the way his cheeks burned as he stammered through the words. And Sunghoon afterward,

how he avoided you for nearly a month. At the time, you had been furious, confused by his silence. When you finally confronted him, all he muttered was that he thought you liked Jake too. That he didn’t want to be in the way.

Amusement curled at your lips now. “Hold on, Hoon. Tell me more about that.” Mini Sunghoon shrugged, but his grin gave him away. “He literally couldn’t stand it when Jake courted you. He was daydreaming about punching him, by the way.”

The image burst into your head so vividly you had to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. Sunghoon, eighth grade, glasses sliding down his nose, arms thin from skating but always folded like a shield squaring up against Jake, the golden boy of gym class with his biceps and stupid charm.

“Oh my god,” you giggled, tears springing to your eyes. “Sunghoon? Daydreaming about punching Jake? That’s… that’s better than anything I could’ve imagined.”

You leaned back, laughter bubbling through your chest, lighter than you had felt in days. “Tell me more,” you urged, hungry for pieces of a boy you thought you had known, only to discover he’d hidden more than you ever realized.

“Oh, where do I even start?” mini hoon tapped his chin, “Ah. Remember when you thought Sunghoon didn’t like kissing?”

Your lips parted. “...Yeah.”

“That’s because he was terrified.” he cackled at the memory. “He wanted to kiss you every single time you smiled at him, but the second you leaned in, he froze like an idiot. His brain screamed ‘don’t mess this up, don’t mess this up,’ and then—bam—he’d chicken out. You thought he hated physical affection, but really, he just thought you’d laugh if he kissed you wrong

you wanna hear pathetic? He once sat through a two-hour lecture from his coach after sneaking out just to meet you at the bus stop. Twice. Actually, no, thrice. Coach was brutal. Yelled at him until his ears turned red. Everyone in practice stared. He just stood there, nodding like a guilty puppy, all because he thought missing one evening with you was worse than death.”

You remembered those nights

him showing up late, hair damp with sweat, saying vaguely that practice ran long. You rolled your eyes, assuming he just wasn’t managing his time well. The truth made your throat tighten.

Mini Hoon dangled his legs again, “Oh, and the lip gloss thing? Classic.”

Your brows furrowed. “Lip gloss?”

“Mmhm. Sunghoon noticed you always carried one, and he wanted to buy you a new one for your birthday. Spent hours in a store staring at the rack. But he was too shy to ask what brand you liked. He thought if he guessed wrong, you’d think he didn’t know you at all.

He literally walked out empty-handed. Settled for giving you that teddy bear instead. Remember? The one you teased him about because it looked like him?”You went still, memory unfurling the small white bear, ribbon crooked, stuffed in a gift bag. You had teased him, yes. You hadn’t realized how much effort had gone into that silly little bear.

“God,” you muttered, running a hand down your face. “He was so—”

“Pathetic? Yes. But also hopelessly in love with you,” sunghoon interrupted smugly.

You lay on your back, staring blankly at the ceiling, your mind a tangled mess of half-formed thoughts. The silence of your room pressed down like a heavy quilt, suffocating in its stillness. How had Sunghoon managed to hide so much of himself from you while the two of you had been together? The question spun in circles, clawing at your chest. You rolled to your side, then back again, restless. Something about it gnawed too deep to ignore. Fragments of memory floated up uninvited, pieces of conversations you had almost forgotten.

There was that one afternoon when you had asked him what he wanted to be if he wasn’t an ice skater.

“Hmmm… what does that even mean? I always wanted to be an ice skater,” he said, quirking a brow at you. You shrugged, tossing the question lightly into the air. “Not like that. I mean… if a truck hits me today, I’d probably want to be a kite.” The way he had laughed, soft and almost startled, still rang in your ears. “A kite? That’s new…”

But then he had gone quiet, fingers busy with the laces of his skates. His eyes had lingered on you, and after a pause, he whispered, “Then I’ll be the sky.”

You had blinked, caught off guard, then laughed. “Really? Why?”

His head bent low, his voice quieter than the scrape of his blade against cloth. “So that no matter which sky you fly to… I’ll always find you.”

The memory hit you hard, winding your chest. Your pulse stuttered as you sat upright on the bed, gripping your sheets like they might anchor you. Why now? Why were you remembering these things now, of all times? You shoved your fingers through your hair, frustrated at the sudden ache blooming under your ribs. It was too much too heavy. You reached for your phone like it could offer relief.

Your inbox glowed back at you as you scrolled. The management’s mail, it was gone. Your stomach dropped. You scrolled again, faster this time, hands trembling. Where was it? Did you delete it?

“No, no, no way,” you whispered aloud, panic climbing every nerve in your body.

The mail was gone.

Not in spam, not in trash, not in any hidden folder you could think of. It had vanished as if it had never existed. Your chest tightened, but your instincts told you that you weren’t losing your mind. You remembered the subject line, the timestamp, the way your hands had trembled when you finally pressed reply. It was real. It had to be. Everything around you looked exactly the same, your messy stack of books on the nightstand, the half-burnt candle, even the faint ring left by your coffee mug on the desk. Everything, except that one mail. You turned your head, expecting to see him. The miniature version of Sunghoon usually sat dangling his legs on the edge of your desk, either mocking you or slipping in strange confessions you had no right to know. But he wasn’t there. The desk was empty. A hollow laugh escaped your throat. Hallucination? Really? The word didn’t sit right in your chest. He felt too vivid, his voice, his tiny scowl, his laugh that echoed faintly in your head even now. You dragged yourself toward the sink, hoping cold water would snap you out of it. Your reflection stared back at you

pale, worn-out, with shadows under your eyes that told their own story. You leaned closer, searching for some trace of truth in that tired face.

“What is happening to me…” you muttered, the words breaking apart before they reached the glass. Your temples throbbed. Instinctively, you opened the cabinet above the sink, fingers brushing over smooth plastic. Rows of white pill bottles greeted you, lined neatly as if they had always been there.

Had they?

Your breathing faltered. Names of medicines stared back at you, labels blurred under your unsteady vision. You didn’t remember buying them, didn’t remember ever needing them. The sight left a chill crawling down your spine. Your gaze flicked back to the mirror only to watch your reflection blur, darken, and then vanish.

The world tilted. Blackness swallowed everything before you could even cry out. Somewhere in the haze, a flickering image lingered. Mini Sunghoon. His tiny figure glitched like an old TV signal as he approached your collapsed body. His eyes softened, carrying a weight you couldn’t place.

“I’m sorry, Y/n,” he whispered, voice trembling. “My work is done here. You’ve freed me, and I don’t know how to thank you.”

And just like that, the little version of him dissolved into nothingness.

Jake’s knee bounced restlessly as the doctor leaned back in his chair, scribbling something onto the prescription pad. The sound of pen scratching paper was maddening in the silence of the small room. “I wouldn’t say it was one of her… episodes,” the doctor finally murmured, his tone heavy with caution. “But it does seem like she was trying to force herself to remember something. That kind of strain can overwhelm the mind.” Jake swallowed hard, hands curling into fists on his knees. “Is she going to be okay?” His voice cracked despite his best effort to keep it steady. The doctor exhaled slowly, closing the file with deliberate calm. “Yes. For now. But we need to be careful. Anything connected to Park Sunghoon—his name, his memories seems to be a trigger point. For her, that can be dangerous. Harmful, even. If you care about her well-being, you’ll keep him out of her world as much as possible.”

The words echoed in Jake’s ears like a verdict, final and cruel. He nodded numbly, unable to trust his voice.

When the consultation ended, he stepped back into the dim light of your apartment. The air felt colder here, heavier, as if carrying the weight of ghosts that refused to leave. His eyes drifted to the half-unpacked boxes still scattered across the living room. You had moved in months ago, yet the place still looked unfinished, like a story you had abandoned halfway through. Jake’s gaze lingered on a box left open near the corner. Inside lay a mess of newspaper clippings, edges yellowed and curled, alongside a pair of pristine ice skating shoes still wrapped in their tissue paper. His chest tightened at the sight.

He walked over slowly, each step dragging, as though gravity itself tried to hold him back. Crouching down, he reached for the shoes, fingertips brushing over the leather. They were new. Too new. Bought for someone who would never wear them. A shaky breath slipped past his lips. He had tried, God knows he had tried, to get rid of them before. Tried to hide them in closets, to throw them out with old packaging and forgotten junk. But each time, he found himself frozen at the threshold, unable to carry through with it. Because they weren’t just shoes. They were a promise that never had the chance to be fulfilled.

You had bought them for Sunghoon. He remembered the day vividly how you had slipped out quietly, how your hands trembled when you returned with the box. You said it was for his comeback, for the day he’d step onto home ice again. You clutched them so tightly against your chest, as though protecting something fragile, something that could break if anyone else dared to touch it.

That comeback never came.Instead, what came back was a coffin, a sealed box from overseas, and a cold, impersonal letter from his management explaining that a plane crash had stolen him away. The rest of him remained scattered somewhere in the wreckage, unreachable.And yet you refused to let go.

Jake’s throat burned as he pulled the shoes closer, holding them against his chest like an anchor. Around him, the articles lay scattered, each headline a wound cut open again.

'Prodigy Returns with Silver, Park Sunghoon Fails to Place in Finals. '

'Management Denies Mistreatment Allegations.'

You had collected them all. Every victory, every failure, every ugly word the press ever printed. Because for you, keeping track of him was the only way to feel close to him. Reaching Sunghoon in person had always been impossible he belonged to a world of managers, competitions, and suffocating schedules. But this, this was your way of reaching him anyway. Jake remembered the arguments you two had about it. He had tried to convince you to stop, to throw them away, to move forward. But you had only given him that stubborn look, the one that shut down any protest. He remembered standing at the door on moving day, watching you shove the clippings into a box at the last second, thinking he could stop you. He hadn’t. He let you slip them past him, and now they sat here, haunting the room like restless spirits.

His vision blurred. It wasn’t until he felt something wet against the box that he realized he was crying. Silent, unrestrained tears fell onto the glossy surface of a photograph

Sunghoon in mid-spin, captured at the height of his elegance.

Jake pressed the shoes tighter against his chest, shaking. He wasn’t crying for Sunghoon. Not exactly. He was crying for you, for the way you kept clinging to someone who no longer existed in this world, for the way you smiled at memories that cut you deeper than knives.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that he could stand right here, alive, breathing, caring for you more than he ever dared to say while your heart still beat in rhythm with someone who was gone.

His lips trembled as he buried his face into the soft leather of the shoes. He wished he could hate Sunghoon. It would have been easier that way. But he couldn’t. Because Sunghoon had given you happiness once, had given you something Jake couldn’t take away, no matter how hard he tried. All he could do was stay. Pick up the pieces when you broke. Pretend that carrying your ghosts didn’t shatter him, too.

And so, with tears staining the shoes you had bought for someone else, Jake whispered into the silence

“I’ll protect you. Even if it means protecting his memory too.”

The words trembled, almost inaudible, but he meant every syllable.

Even if it tore him apart.

THE END

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Park Sunghoon - 02 line!

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