11:11
Plot: A single mistake. A quiet fury. And a time that will never be forgotten.
Genre: Angst
Warning: Break up
Taglist: @celine-dept @jkkyks @jkkymb-10 @hood-jabi @hynjamkook
A/N: You will hold your breath and your stomach will twist
You don’t know how it happened.
It just did.
Mouth to mouth — barely seconds, a clumsy brush of lips that shouldn’t have existed in this lifetime, yet there it was. A mistake caught in the air of the dim office, born out of nothing but proximity and silence.
Your heart slams in your chest as if it wants to escape your ribcage. Disbelief turns quickly into nausea, and before the shock could even register, your hand flies to your lips. Wiping. Scrubbing. As if you could erase the touch, erase him.
You feel filthy. Contaminated. The guilt crawls over your skin like oil, suffocating and hot.
Kylian’s face flashes in your mind — his laugh, his steady warmth, the way his mouth always found yours like it belonged there. Now it feels wrong even to imagine it.
The taste that lingers on your lips isn’t his. That realization nearly makes you gag.
Your coworker stares at you, frozen, his expression torn between apology and something unreadable.
“I—I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice sharp, trembling. “Don’t say anything. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake.”
His jaw tightens, shame flickering in his eyes, but he doesn’t push.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know it was.”
You press harder against your lips with the back of your hand, as though you could wipe the moment away. “It can’t happen again. Ever. Do you understand me?”
He nods quickly, guilt written all over him. “Yeah. Of course. It won’t.”
But the words give you no relief. They only make the silence heavier, the air thicker, as if the walls themselves now know what you have done.
Grabbing your bag with trembling fingers, you turn on your heel. You can’t stand the sight of him, can’t stand yourself.
The building’s exit doors close behind you with a metallic thud. The night air is cool, but it does nothing to wash away the heaviness pressing into your chest.
Your phone vibrates in your hand.
11:11 PM.
Kylian.
Your heart lurches painfully. His name had always been a comfort, a reason to smile, a warmth that could carry you through the loneliest nights. Tonight it feels like a knife.
You open the message.
Kylian: 11:11 — make a wish, beautiful. How’s work?
Your breath hitches. The universe can’t be this cruel. A wish? You had one. Just one. To take it back. To unlive the last ten minutes. To still be the girl who could look at him without flinching.
Your eyes blur with tears, the letters on the screen swimming until you wipe at them with the back of your hand. With shaking fingers, you type:
You: I need to tell you something.
There it is. The truth begging to be set free.
Your thumb hovers over the send button. If you press it, everything will shatter. If you don’t, you’d rot from the inside out.
And yet, even as you type those words, a part of you whispers the truth you can’t admit out loud: you don’t deserve him. Not anymore.
Seconds stretch. Your pulse thunders in your ears. And then, cowardice wins.
Delete.
The confession disappears like smoke.
Instead, you write:
You: I wish forever with you. Just finished.
You lock the screen.
Your reflection in the black screen looks unfamiliar — hollow-eyed, trembling, guilty. You hate her. You hate yourself.
Your hand drops to your side, nails biting into your palm. You don’t deserve to say that to him.
Not anymore.
You were still staring at your phone, hollow, when headlights sweep across the pavement. A sleek black car slows to the curb. For a second, you thought nothing of it — just another late worker being picked up.
But then the back door opens.
And he steps out.
Your breath catches in your throat. Kylian.
The world seems to stop. He is supposed to be away, halfway across the globe, sending you texts and voice notes to bridge the distance. Yet here he is, tall and sure, the city lights glinting off his skin. The kind of presence that pulls gravity with him, that always makes you feel like you belong.
Except tonight. Tonight, you want to disappear.
His smile — warm, boyish, devastating — spreads across his face the second he sees you. He opens his arms instinctively, ready to wrap you up, to hold you the way he always does when he surprises you. But you freeze, clutching your bag so tightly your knuckles ache.
And then you aren’t alone.
The glass doors behind you slide open. Footsteps echo. Your coworker emerges, hesitating for only a moment before falling into step beside you.
The three of you freeze in the same frame — you in the middle, Kylian just steps away, and your coworker behind you like a ghost tethered to your mistake.
Kylian’s gaze flicks past you, locking on him. Just a glance, but it is enough to change everything. His smile doesn’t falter outright, but it shifts — the easy warmth drains into something tighter, sharper. His body stills, the air around him suddenly charges.
Your coworker offers a polite nod. “Bonsoir.” His voice is even, but there is something in it — something that makes your skin crawl.
The silence that follows is unbearable. The sound of passing cars on the avenue only seems to underline it. You feel heat climb your neck, your hand tightening around your bag strap until it bites into your palm.
Kylian’s eyes come back to you, studying, probing. You could almost feel the question burning there, even before he speaks.
He finally inclines his head toward your coworker, his voice smooth but laced with steel. “Bonsoir.”
It is such a simple word, but it makes your chest tighten as though he’d shouted. You knew that tone. Kylian rarely raises his voice — he doesn’t need to. He could take the air out of a room with measured calm.
It’s his silence that makes you worry.
Your coworker gives another faint nod, mutters something about needing to catch his train, and walks off. You don’t dare look back.
But you could feel Kylian’s gaze on you as he opens the car door. Watching. Waiting.
And when you slide inside, the silence that follows was worse than any fight.
The door shuts, the driver pulls away, and the city melts into streaks of light outside tinted glass. Inside, it is quiet — too quiet.
Kylian leans back against the leather seat, one elbow resting on the door, his gaze half-lidded, unreadable. To anyone else, he would’ve looked relaxed, almost careless. But you knew better. He was observing. Weighing.
“You didn’t tell me you were working this late,” he says softly, almost casually.
Your throat tightens. You force a small smile. “Yeah, things just… ran over.”
A hum leaves his chest, low and noncommittal. His eyes flicks toward you, and for a moment, it feels like he could see right through your skin.
“I see.”
The silence stretches, filled only by the hum of the engine. You shift in your seat, your fingers curling against your bag.
Then his voice cuts through again, smoother than velvet. “Your coworker. He seems… nice.”
Your heart lurches. You swallow hard. “Yeah, he mostly stays late at the office.”
“Mhm.” His gaze doesn’t move from the window, but there is an edge in his tone now, faint, like a blade hidden under silk. “Strange, though. You looked… tense.”
Your pulse spikes. You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway. “I’m just tired.”
The corner of his mouth curve, but it isn’t a smile. “Tired,” he echoes, rolling the word like he is testing it for truth. His hand flexes idly against his thigh, long fingers tapping once before stilling.
You turn your face to the window, but you can feel him — the weight of his attention, dark and heavy, filling the air between you. He isn’t asking questions anymore. He doesn’t need to.
Kylian lets the silence swallow you whole, his presence pressing against your nerves like a storm you can sense but not see. Every second drags, every breath louder in your chest.
And when he finally speaks again, his voice is quiet. Almost too quiet.
“I’ve missed you.”
It should soothe you. Instead, it feels like a noose tightening around your neck.
Your throat closes. Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them, hot and humiliating. You bite your lip hard, willing yourself to hold it together, to swallow the confession clawing its way up.
“I’ve missed you too,” you whisper, eyes glassy. You force a smile, small and trembling, then turn your face to the window so he wouldn’t see you break.
The city blurs by, but all you can feel is the weight of his silence beside you — dark, patient, unrelenting.
One week later.
The bar is warm, dim, buzzing with laughter and the clink of glasses. You sit opposite your best friend, nursing a drink you barely taste. She leans forward, resting her chin on her hand, eyes narrowing.
“You’ve been quiet all night,” she says, searching your face. “And don’t tell me it’s work. I know you.”
The words prick at your chest. You toy with the rim of your glass, heart pounding. You hadn’t said it out loud yet — not to anyone. But the silence is eating you alive.
Your voice cracks before you could stop it. “I… Fuck.” You lower your head in shame.
„What..?” She asks.
I did something terrible. And the worst thing is I can’t take it back or make it better.” You blurt. Lips pressed together.
„Hm.” She leans back. „So thst’s why you look like shit.”
„Gee, thanks.” You glare.
„Sorry. Someone had to say it.” She teases. „What is it?”
„I—..” You breathe out very deeply. „I kissed him.”
Her brows knit together. “Who?”
“My coworker.” The words spill out like poison, and once they start, you can’t stop. “It wasn’t even— it wasn’t planned, it just happened. It was seconds. But I—” You break off, dragging a hand on your forehead to hide your face. “I feel so sick. I can’t even look at Kylian without feeling like I’m rotting inside.”
Her eyes soften, but there is no hiding the shock. “Y/N…”
“I’ve ruined everything,” you whisper, your throat closing. “He doesn’t know. But I swear, he feels it. It’s like… it’s like he’s watching me, waiting for me to crack. And I can’t—” Your voice falters, a sob threatening.
Your best friend reaches across the table, taking your shaking hands in hers. “You made a mistake. But you need to tell him before someone else does. Kylian deserves to hear it from you.”
Your phone buzzes on the table. You freeze.
The screen lites up.
[Evan]: y/n
Speak of the devil.
Your chest tightens. You shove the phone aside, shaking your head.
Another buzz.
[Evan]: he knows.
The blood drains from your face. The bar around you fades into meaningless noise, your best friend’s voice echoing distantly as the words seare into you.
He knows.
Outside the company.
The day had bled into dusk, the sky stained in fading gold and deepening blue. Workers spilled out of the building in clusters, their chatter dissolving into the evening air. And then, one by one, they thinned until only he remained.
Your coworker pushed through the glass doors, loosening his tie, his steps unhurried. But then he saw it.
A sleek black car parked across the street. Engine quiet. Windows tinted. Waiting.
The driver leaned casually against the hood, phone in hand, but it wasn’t him who made Evan’s stomach clench.
It was the figure in the passenger’s seat. The window sliding down with deliberate slowness.
Kylian.
Eyes dark, steady, unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t call out, didn’t even blink. He just watched.
For a heartbeat, the street was silent except for the rush of traffic in the distance. Evan’s hand twitched at his side, unsure whether to turn, to run, to face it.
And then Kylian’s voice cut through the air. Calm. Controlled. Heavy.
“Get in.”
The words weren’t loud, but they carried the weight of something undeniable. An order, not an invitation.
Evan hesitated, jaw tightening, before finally crossing the street. His pulse hammered as he pulled open the door and slid inside. The air in the car was cool, sharp with leather and tension.
Kylian didn’t look at him right away. He stared forward, elbows resting on his thighs, fingers intertwined, his profile carved in shadow.
When he finally spoke, his tone was low, unhurried — but there was no softness in it.
“From one man to another…” His head turned, eyes locking onto Evan like a blade pressing to skin. “Is there something going on between you and my girlfriend?”
Evan’s throat bobbed. His voice cracked when he tried to answer. “N-no. Nothing. I swear. It was— it was a one time thing.”
Kylian leaned in, slow, deliberate. His words came quieter, but sharper, like glass dragged across skin. “A one time thing?” His head tilted. “So her lips just… fell on yours? Is that what you’re telling me?”
Evan opened his mouth, but nothing came. His pulse thudded visibly in his throat.
Kylian’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching once. His hand stilled on his thigh. The air shifted, darker now, heavier.
“Don’t waste my fucking time,” he growled, the calm ripped clean from his tone. His voice was low, dangerous, vibrating with restrained fury. “Answer the fucking question.”
Your coworker flinched, his breath stuttering. He looked down, ashamed, cornered, but the truth slipped out anyway, weak and pitiful.
“There’s… nothing going on.” He forced the words out in a rush. “But… she didn’t push me away right away. She… she kissed me back. Just for a second.”
The car went deathly silent.
Kylian stared at him, unblinking, chest rising with slow, lethal control. He didn’t move. He didn’t shout again. The silence was worse.
And in that silence, your coworker knew — he’d just buried you.
„This is all I needed to hear.” Kylian confesses.
Kylian’s eyes were black fire. Silence.
„Now get the fuck out of my car.”
As if the final verdict had been reached, Evan moved to open the door.
He hesitated. His hand on the handle. “Mr. Mbappé… I hope this won’t… affect my job.”
Kylian’s jaw twitched. His lips pressed into a thin smirk. Finally, he spoke, voice low, deadly, deliberate:
“You’re a smart guy, Evan. But you must think very low of me…”
He looked down, his gaze slicing the space between them. Both of them, frozen under the weight of his quiet fury. „..Both of you do.”
Then he muttered, clipped:
“Leave.”
The apartment door clicks behind him.
You freeze, phone slipping from your hands. He is home. After a hundred attempt to get to him. He is finally home. And the way he stands there, just inside the doorway, makes your chest tighten like it is being crushed.
Kylian doesn’t move forward. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t even speak at first. Just stands there. Tall, still, quiet. The kind of quiet that makes every heartbeat in the room echo too loudly.
You rub your sweaty palm nervously, voice trembling. “Kylian…”
He doesn’t answer. His gaze sweeps over you — slow, deliberate, unblinking. Every inch of you registers in that silence. Every flinch, every falter, every guilty heartbeat.
“I… I—” You swallow, trying again. “I didn’t mean—”
He steps closer, and the air itself seems to constrict around you. His presence is overwhelming, yet still, controlled.
“Cut the shit out,” he demands, low and controlled, terrifying in its calm. “Out of everyone who’s ever backstabbed me… you’re the last person I thought would do it… to my. face.” He points to himself, pinning his pointer hard to his chest.
You swallow hard, trying to steady your voice. “I know it was wrong. It shouldn’t have happened. I… I don’t even know how it happened. It was a stupid mistake. I—Kylian, please. I love you. I swear, it meant nothing. I didn’t—”
He winces slightly, faint, almost imperceptible, but it feels like a knife in your chest.
“I just… I—” Your voice cracks. “I was stupid. I wasn’t thinking. I can fix this. I can make it right. Please, just… please don’t—”
His laugh interrupts you.
It isn’t a laugh of humor. It in’t light. It is scary, low, and dark, the kind of laugh that chills the air, that carries rage wrapped in disbelief. One of those laughs that makes you feel like the world itself is bending around it.
“Fix it…?” he repeats after you, voice trembling with controlled fury. He grins, terrifying in its intensity. „…fix it, huh?!”
You shrink back, hands trembling. “K-Kylian…”
He steps closer, eyes burning into yours. His voice drops, a growl now, sharp and cutting:
“You have ruined everything beautiful we had. You shattered every dream of starting a family with you. Made this relationship a joke. You insulted our love.”
Your lips tremble. “I am sorry, baby—”
“No. No, Y/N,” he spits, every word slow, deliberate, deadly calm. “You can’t fix this shit. You broke… what we had. You broke it. There’s nothing left to fix.”
The room feels impossibly small. Panic curles in your stomach, pressing against your lungs. Breath catches. Knees weaken. Tears blur your vision.
Every word you say seems to bounce back at you, echoing in the space between you like guilt makes solid.
“I’m sorry,” you whisper, trembling. “I know I don’t deserve you. I—I should never have—never, ever—”
Your chest tightens. Breath comes in short, ragged gasps. Your voice hitches, words catching in your throat. “I can’t—I can’t lose you. I can’t…”
The panic is rising, curling in your stomach and pressing against your lungs. Your hands shake. Your knees weaken. Tears blurr your vision.
“I—Kylian, please—please…”
You gasp, sobbing, body trembling, chest heaving uncontrollably. Hyperventilation claws at you. The room feels impossibly small, air too thick.
“Stop crying. Come on.” His voice is quiet now, steady, but there is a subtle softness — a thread of care weaving through the fury.
You gasp, sobbing, shaking, breath short and ragged. “I—I can’t! I didn’t mean it! I love you! Please—”
He doesn’t move, just holds you with that burning gaze, letting you feel the weight of your guilt while that tiny hint of care anchors you, even as your chest heaves and your panic spirals.
“Breathe. Calm down, Y/N.”
“I… I am sorry—”
“Y/N…” His voice is steady, calm, terrifying, but softer this time, almost… pleading. The tiniest flicker of him still being there, still caring, cuts deeper than any anger.
Anger flares, controlled but ferocious. He takes a step closer.
You tremble, words spilling in frantic bursts.
He exhales sharply, jaw tightening. Then:
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Another. The space between you vanishes.
And then, finally, he leans down.
His lips crash against yours — not gentle, not forgiving. Angry. Scorching. Dominating. A kiss that silences every excuse, every plea, every confession. A kiss that burns and punishes, holding all his fury, heartbreak, and betrayal in a single, suffocating moment.
Every ounce of his fury presses into it, a punishment for the betrayal, but beneath the rage, there is something else — something messy and human, the sharp ache of heartbreak, the unspoken, impossible longing.
Your body shakes under him, heart hammering, breath hitching. Each frantic gasp you try to push past him only seems to fuel the fire of the kiss. His hands grip your arms, holding you close, not letting you pull away. The anger in him burns, but beneath that, there is a pulse of care — subtle, fleeting, unbearable in its contradiction.
You taste the heat of his frustration, the faint metallic tang of his restraint, and it makes the guilt in your chest twist tighter. Each movement, each tilt of his head, is dominance, demand, and unspoken confession all at once.
When he parts for a fraction of a second, his forehead presses to yours, your breaths mingling, ragged, uneven, desperate, he doesn’t speak. The silence between kisses is deafening — full of everything left unsaid, everything broken, everything still aching beneath the surface.
Then he presses back again, for a final sealing kiss slower this time, but no less fiery. Anger softens by sorrow, frustration softens by the memory of what you had — a kiss that leaves you trembling, crying, drowning in every feeling at once: fear, longing, regret, and the haunting pull of love that shouldn’t exist anymore.
When he pulls back, foreheads pressed together, his breathing steady, eyes dark and unreadable, he says quietly:
“I’ll send someone tomorrow to pick up my stuff.”
No pleading. No compromise. Just the quiet, terrifying weight of a man betrayed — and you, broken and sobbing, beneath him.
Silence.
Thick with the aftermath of what had just happened.
Kylian moves toward the door, each step deliberate, heavy with finality. The shadows of the room seem to stretch and cling to you as he reaches for the handle.
“Kylian?” Your voice shakes, barely above a whisper.
He stops. But doesn’t turn. Doesn’t even look at you. The air between you is taut, every heartbeat loud in the silence.
„I love you,” you blurt, voice cracking, tears spilling freely now.
For a long moment, he stays still. Silent. Unmoving. And then, in that calm, terrifying way he always has, he whispers:
“I love you too.”
And with that, he opens the door and leaves.
The click of it shutting behind him echoes in the room like a final verdict.
You sink to the floor, chest heaving, tears streaming, heart split between love and loss, knowing some things could never be undone.
11:11
A moment frozen in time — a ghost of what was, and what could never be again.
A/N: nothing like a good gut-wrenching angst one shot.
