remnant
You revisit the apartment you once shared with Jihyo after your breakup, only to be met with Jihyo’s cold indifference.
tags :: angst, breakup, post-breakup, cold jihyo
wc :: 1,239
cast :: y/n, jihyo
song :: can we talk again - purple kiss
The autumn chill hits you the moment you step out of the cab, the wind biting at your exposed skin. It’s late October, and the streets are littered with fallen leaves, their vibrant reds and oranges dulled by the gray overcast sky. The air smells of damp earth and woodsmoke, but you barely notice it. All you can focus on is the building in front of you, the place that was once your home.
You take a deep breath, gripping the strap of your bag tighter. The weight of it is nothing compared to the weight in your chest, that familiar, suffocating feeling of dread. You’re here to pick up the last of your things—just a few boxes Jihyo had texted you about earlier in the week. There’s no reason to feel nervous, you remind yourself. It’s just a quick trip in and out. But the thought of seeing her again, of standing in that apartment where everything fell apart, makes your stomach twist with anxiety.
Your fingers tremble as you buzz the door. The moments stretch out as you wait, the wind tugging at your jacket, the cold seeping through. Finally, the door clicks open, and you make your way inside, the warmth of the lobby doing nothing to thaw the ice in your veins.
The elevator ride feels endless, though it’s only a few floors. You’ve taken this ride countless times before, but now each floor that passes feels like a reminder of everything you’ve lost. When the doors slide open, you step out into the hallway, your feet carrying you automatically to the door at the end. Your old door.
You hesitate, standing in front of it for a moment too long. Your breath fogs in the cold air as you gather your thoughts. It shouldn’t feel this way—you shouldn’t feel this way. But then, this apartment, this life with Jihyo… it was supposed to be permanent.
With a shaking hand, you knock.
There’s a pause, and then the sound of the deadbolt sliding back. The door swings open, and there she is—Jihyo. Her eyes are hard, her expression unreadable. No soft smiles, no familiar warmth. Just cold.
“Come in,” she says, her voice clipped and detached. No warmth in her tone, no affection. Just an obligation.
You step inside, the air in the apartment colder than you remember. The smell of sandalwood still lingers, that familiar scent she always loved, but it no longer feels comforting. Everything feels different now. The walls seem bare, the furniture arranged too neatly. Even the silence feels strained.
“You can grab your stuff from the corner,” Jihyo says, her voice flat. She doesn’t look at you when she speaks, her eyes focused somewhere off to the side as if the sight of you is too much to bear. Or maybe she just doesn’t care anymore.
You nod, swallowing hard, and make your way to the pile of boxes stacked by the hallway. It’s just a few things—books, some clothes, a couple of framed photos you’d left behind during the breakup. You crouch down, opening one of the boxes to make sure everything’s there. You don’t say anything; the tension in the room makes it feel impossible to speak.
“Is that everything?” you ask, your voice sounding too small in the emptiness of the room. You don’t really expect a response, not a kind one at least.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she replies, her tone curt. She leans against the counter, arms crossed over her chest, watching you with a detached sort of interest. “Just take your stuff and go.”
Her words sting more than you’d like to admit. You knew this would be hard, but the coldness in her voice—the way she looks at you like you’re a stranger—hurts more than you expected. It’s like she’s erased everything, every good moment you shared, every memory you built together.
You take a deep breath, trying to keep your composure as you close the box. “I didn’t think it would end up like this,” you say quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them.
Jihyo scoffs, her laugh sharp and bitter. “What did you think would happen, Y/N? That we’d break up and still be friends? That you’d come back here, and everything would be fine?” Her eyes finally meet yours, and they’re cold—so cold it makes you shiver. “That’s not how this works.”
Her words are like knives, each one cutting deeper than the last. You can feel your throat tighten, your heart sinking as you look at her, really look at her, for the first time in months. The girl you loved, the girl who once held you when you were at your lowest, is gone. All that’s left is this cold, distant version of her, and it breaks your heart.
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” you say, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “I never wanted us to end up like this.”
She huffs out a breath, pushing herself off the counter. “Well, we did. It’s over. You made your choice, and now you’re here to pick up the pieces. Just take your stuff and leave.”
The harshness in her tone is unbearable, each word dripping with bitterness and anger. You wonder how things could have gone so wrong, how the love you shared could have turned into this.
“I didn’t choose this,” you say, your voice breaking. “I never wanted to hurt you, Jihyo.”
Her eyes flash with anger, and she takes a step closer. “But you did. And now we’re here.” She gestures around the room, as if to emphasize the distance between you. “So just go. We’re done.”
The finality in her voice leaves you breathless. There’s no more room for explanations, no chance for understanding. Jihyo has shut you out completely, and there’s nothing left to say.
You gather your things quickly, your hands trembling as you lift the boxes. You can feel her eyes on you, burning with anger and disappointment, and you can’t help but wonder when it all turned so sour. When did the love you shared become something so bitter, so cold?
As you reach the door, you turn back to her, one last time. There’s a part of you that still hopes, still believes that maybe, just maybe, there’s something left between you. But her eyes are hard, her expression blank, and you realize there’s nothing left to hold onto.
“Goodbye, Jihyo,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. She just watches you leave, her arms still crossed over her chest, her face an unreadable mask of indifference.
As you step out into the chilly fall air, the door closes behind you with a soft click. The wind rushes past, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and distant rain, but all you can feel is the cold emptiness inside you. You glance back at the apartment one last time, but it’s already fading into the background, just another piece of your life that’s been left behind.
The autumn breeze stings your cheeks, but you barely notice it. All you can feel is the ghost of Jihyo’s hostility, the sharpness of her words still echoing in your mind. The love you once shared feels like a distant memory now, and as you walk down the street, you realize that this moment—this pain—feels all too familiar.