𓉘The Beginning: I Don’t Feel Your Love
Summary: Seonghwa and Hongjoong parted ways with hearts in ruins and accusations echoing louder than apologies. Now, Seonghwa realises some mistakes can’t be undone — but he’ll burn the world down trying.
Or
The one where top model Park Seonghwa faces his ex-manager and ex-lover Kim Hongjoong in the very industry that made them — a world of champagne smiles and silent wars — and learns that the past doesn’t stay buried just because you pretend it never hurt.
Genre: romance, fashion industry au, angst, slow-burn, love triangle
WC: 2.9k
Trigger Warnings: toxic relationship dynamics, emotional abuse and manipulation, jealousy and possessive behaviour, arguing and yelling, breakup, panic and anxiety
Author’s Note: Hello my lovely people! If you don’t know me yet, welcome… I’m a certified heartbreaker, professional chaos instigator, and emotional demolition expert! And if you do know me, congratulations, you’re back in my mess again!! This story has been sitting in my drafts forever, whispering my name, judging me every time I opened my laptop 👀… but lately I couldn’t stop thinking about it. So I said: enough. Let it live. Let it breathe. LET IT DESTROY HEARTS. Buckle up, because this is going to hurt, delight, and maybe leave you sobbing on your bedroom floor… in the best way!
Love, Mon!
The city lights streaked across the windshield as Seonghwa’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little too tightly. Hongjoong sat rigid in the passenger seat, eyes fixed on the faint blur of the street ahead, waiting for whatever storm would come first.
“I saw him, Joong,” Seonghwa said, voice tight, low at first but simmering. “Mark. He was practically throwing himself at you.”
Hongjoong stayed silent. He had already anticipated this, yet hearing the accusation still made his chest tighten.
Seonghwa huffed, exhaling sharply. “Don’t give me that look. You know what I’m talking about. I saw his hand linger on your arm—smile all over his face. Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”
“I didn’t,” Hongjoong said evenly, keeping his voice calm. “It was a conversation. About work.”
Seonghwa’s laugh was sharp, bitter, a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “Work? Fucking work? You expect me to believe that after all the time you spent talking to him? That it’s just business? Don’t make me laugh. You’ve got this clean-ass innocent act down to a fucking science.”
Hongjoong kept his jaw tight, staring at the dashboard. “I was doing my job.”
“Don’t even start with that bullshit!” Seonghwa snapped, voice rising. “You think I didn’t notice you flirting with him? Laughing with those girls from Celine? You had hands on half the party and I—” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “I saw him. And you didn’t even stop him.”
Hongjoong’s hands tightened in his lap. The tightness in his chest coiled like a spring. “I didn’t have to stop anyone. You act like every glance, every word from anyone else is a betrayal. You were the one—”
“Don’t. You—don’t you dare start talking about me,” Seonghwa spat, jerking the wheel slightly as if the road itself could absorb his rage.
“Damn right I will talk about you!” Hongjoong’s voice cracked, the calm he’d been holding shattering. “While I was there, talking about signing you with Celine, you were in the fucking lounge with your fellow model friends—laughing, grabbing them, joking around—and I was on my own for hours! Do you even realize what that feels like, Seonghwa? Sitting there, trying to hold myself together while you act like nothing’s happening?”
Seonghwa’s eyes went wide, his jaw working. “Joong—don’t—”
“No!” Hongjoong snapped, turning to glare at him. “No, I will talk! I’ve been quiet long enough while you—while you do whatever you want and expect me to just swallow it! You think your charm and your jokes erase the fact that I was lonely, that I was anxious, that I cared about you more than you cared about me?!”
“You weren’t lonely you were with Mark,” Seonghwa muttered, shaking his head. “It’s always fucking Mark, isn’t it? Every party, every event—he’s there. And you—you gravitate to him like he’s the only person in the room.”
Hongjoong’s breath hitched. “That’s not—”
“He’s been at every single one of these things for months. Months! And every time, I watch you light up when he walks in. You lean into him when he talks. You laugh at his jokes a little too hard. You think I don’t see it?”
“He’s the new executive at Vogue!” Hongjoong shot back, voice raw. “Of course I talk to him—he’s important for your career! I’ve been trying to get you a cover shoot, trying to make connections, and you—you act like I’m doing something wrong!”
Seonghwa’s knuckles went white on the steering wheel. “Don’t pretend this is about my career. You’ve been in touch with him for how long now? Weeks? Months? And suddenly he’s at every party, every event, and you’re always finding a reason to stand next to him.”
“Because I’m networking!” Hongjoong’s voice cracked, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “Because I care about you and your future, even when you’re too busy flirting with everyone else to notice!”
Seonghwa’s jaw clenched. “You lean into him! I’ve seen it all. The way you tilt your head when he whispers something. The way you touch his arm when you laugh. Don’t tell me I'm imagining things.”
Hongjoong turned away, staring out the window, his reflection blurred by unshed tears. “You see what you want to see,” he whispered.
Seonghwa snapped, jerking the wheel slightly as the car swerved over a lane marker. “Don’t act like it didn’t feel good! You know damn well he’s handsome, powerful… and you like it!”
Hongjoong’s jaw tightened. The words hurt in ways Seonghwa didn’t realize. “You know what I would really like?” Hongjoong snapped, his voice breaking. “If my boyfriend fucking gave a shit about me! Where were you? While I was there, negotiating, keeping everything together, you were drifting around the party, laughing with everyone, getting drunk on attention, leaving me on my own for hours! And now you have the nerve to yell at me?”
Seonghwa slammed on the brakes as they pulled into the parking lot, the car jerking to a stop in their designated spot. The engine cut off, leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing filling the silence.
Hongjoong didn’t wait. He fumbled with the seatbelt, his hands shaking as he unclicked it and shoved the door open.
“Joong—” Seonghwa started, but Hongjoong was already out, the door slamming behind him with a force that echoed through the parking garage.
Seonghwa sat there for a moment, hands still on the wheel, knuckles white. He watched through the windshield as Hongjoong’s figure moved quickly toward the building entrance, shoulders tight, steps hurried.
“Fuck,” Seonghwa breathed, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his palm. The sound reverberated in the empty car. He sat there, jaw clenched, chest heaving. Part of him wanted to chase after Hongjoong immediately, to grab his arm and force him to listen. But another part—the part that was still burning with jealousy and frustration—kept him frozen in his seat.
Through the windshield, he watched Hongjoong reach the elevators. He didn’t look back. Not once.
Seonghwa finally exhaled, running his hands through his hair as the reality of what just happened started to sink in. The anger was still there, simmering beneath his skin, but something else was creeping in too—regret, maybe. Or fear.
Finally, he opened his own door and stepped out, the sound of his footsteps echoing as he followed Hongjoong’s path toward their apartment.
Hongjoong didn’t slam the door when they entered the apartment, though every nerve in his body screamed to do so.
Seonghwa followed him inside, keys clattering onto the counter. His eyes were wild, chest heaving, hands trembling with all the energy he couldn’t release elsewhere. “You think you can just act like nothing happened? After the way he looked at you?” he spat, voice cracking.
Hongjoong turned to face him, Seonghwa still looked unfairly beautiful—sliver hair messy from running his hands through it during the ride home, collar pulled loose from where he’d yanked at it while yelling. Mascara smudged faintly under his eyes from the heat of anger.
He looked like a painting someone had tried to destroy but failed to.
“You want to know what happened? Nothing. Absolutely nothing happened, Seonghwa, because unlike you, I don’t need validation from every person in the room.” Hongjoong moved past him toward the bedroom, shoulders rigid, refusing to let the first tear fall until he was out of sight.
Seonghwa’s hands balled into fists at his sides, his breath coming faster now. “Validation? You think that’s what this is about?” His voice rose, cracking at the edges. “I watched him touch you! I watched you smile at him like—like I wasn’t even there!”
Hongjoong stopped in the doorway, his back still to Seonghwa. His shoulders were trembling now, whether from anger or exhaustion, it was hard to tell. “You’re not listening,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “You never listen.”
“I’m right here!” Seonghwa shouted, stepping forward. “I’m listening right now! Tell me I’m wrong! Tell me you didn’t feel anything when he—”
“Stop.” Hongjoong’s voice cut through the air like a blade, sharp and final. He turned slowly, and when Seonghwa saw his face, he froze. His eyes were red-rimmed, tears threatening to spill, but his expression was something else entirely—empty, distant, done.
“I’m tired, Hwa,” Hongjoong said quietly, each word deliberate. “I’m so fucking tired of this. Of you turning everything into a fight. Of you seeing threats everywhere when all I’ve been doing is trying to support you.”
Seonghwa opened his mouth to respond, but Hongjoong held up a hand.
“No. You don’t get to talk right now.” His voice was steady now, cold even. “You want to know what I felt tonight? I felt alone. I felt like I was doing everything by myself while you were off being the life of the party. And now you’re standing here, accusing me of things I didn’t do, things I wouldn’t do, because you’re too wrapped up in your own insecurity to see what’s actually happening. I’m tired.”
“Tired?” Seonghwa laughed, sharp and bitter. “I’m the one who’s tired! I’m the one who has to put up with your cold, calculating bullshit all the time! You—fuck—you always act like you’re the victim!”
Hongjoong’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “I’m not the victim. I’m just… done.”
Seonghwa stood there, chest heaving, staring at Hongjoong like he’d just been slapped. The word hung in the air between them—done—and for the first time that night, Seonghwa had nothing to say.
Hongjoong’s voice dropped even lower, barely audible now. “You want to know what the worst part is?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “It feels like I’m only your manager now. Like there’s nothing between us but work and occasional sex. That’s all we are anymore, isn’t it? A transaction.”
Seonghwa flinched as if he’d been struck. “That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?” Hongjoong’s voice cracked, the tears finally spilling over. “When was the last time you looked at me like you actually cared? When was the last time we talked about something that wasn’t your schedule, your brand deals, your career? When was the last time you touched me because you wanted to, not because you were drunk or angry or trying to prove something?”
Seonghwa’s mouth opened and closed, no words coming out. His hands fell to his sides, useless.
“I love you,” Hongjoong whispered, voice breaking on every syllable. “I’m still in love with you. But I don’t think you are in love with me anymore. I think you just… need me. And I can’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m done.”
Seonghwa stepped forward, shaking his head as if refusing to accept reality. “No. No, you don’t get to say that and just walk away. You don’t get to decide when this ends.”
Hongjoong stared at him blankly. “I already did.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, anger flaring again. “So that’s it? You’re just going to leave? After everything—we’re nothing but a conversation end to you?”
Hongjoong let out a bitter laugh — tired, joyless. “Conversation? Seonghwa, this hasn’t been a conversation in months. It’s just you—screaming, accusing, spiraling—and me trying to make you feel safe.”
Seonghwa flinched like he’d been struck. “I’m not—”
“You are,” Hongjoong cut in sharply. “And I kept telling myself I could fix it. That I could love you hard enough to erase whatever you were afraid of. But I can’t. I shouldn’t have to.”
Seonghwa’s voice cracked. “So that’s it? You’re leaving me because I love you too much?”
Hongjoong’s eyes flickered — sorrow, rage, resignation all at once. “No. I’m leaving because your love hurts.”
A silence that rang louder than any shout.
And that’s when Hongjoong turned away.
He moved into the bedroom, quietly gathering a few things—his phone charger, a change of clothes, the essentials. His movements were mechanical, practiced, like he’d rehearsed this moment in his head a hundred times before but never believed it would actually come.
Seonghwa stood frozen in the doorway, watching him, his throat tight, words stuck somewhere between his chest and his mouth.
“Where are you going?” he finally managed, voice unsteady — not angry this time, but small. Afraid.
Hongjoong didn’t look up from his half-zipped bag. “Out.”
“That’s not an answer,” Seonghwa snapped, stepping fully into the room now, desperation bleeding through every word. “Out where? To Mark?”
Slowly, he lifted his gaze — not furious, not panicked. Just… tired. Completely worn down.
“If I wanted to be with Mark,” he said quietly, “don’t you think I would’ve already left you for him?”
Seonghwa faltered — silence swallowing his retort.
Hongjoong continued, voice steady but laced with grief. “I’m not leaving because of him. I’m leaving because of you. Because being with you feels like being interrogated. Accused. Punished — for things I haven’t even done.”
Seonghwa’s breath hitched, anger flaring in panic. “So that’s it? You’re punishing me now? You’re doing exactly what you say I do—”
Hongjoong cut him off with a sharp breath — not loud, but final. “This isn’t punishment.”
He straightened, dragging the zipper closed on his bag.
Seonghwa stared at him — throat tight, eyes wide, heartbeat pounding so loud he could barely hear himself think.
“You’re not leaving,” he said, barely a whisper. “Tell me you’re not leaving.”
Hongjoong held his gaze for a long, excruciating moment.
Then he spoke, softly — like a mercy. Or an execution.
Hongjoong reached into his pocket, movements slow and deliberate, and pulled out a key ring. Their apartment keys—the ones Seonghwa had given him two years ago with shaking hands and whispered promises of forever.
He held them out between them, suspended in the space that had grown too wide to cross.
“Here,” Hongjoong said quietly, voice empty of everything except exhaustion.
Seonghwa stared at the keys like they were a weapon. “No. No, Joong, don’t—”
“Take them.” Hongjoong’s voice cracked just slightly, the first real break in his composure since he’d zipped up that bag. “Please. Just take them.”
Seonghwa’s hands remained at his sides, fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms. “If I take those, it means—”
“It means I’m leaving," Hongjoong finished for him, the words falling like stones. “Which I already told you I was doing.”
Silence stretched between them—heavy, suffocating.
Finally, Hongjoong stepped forward, closing the distance himself. He reached for Seonghwa’s hand, uncurling his fingers with a gentleness that felt like goodbye, and pressed the cold metal into his palm.
Seonghwa’s breath shattered. “Joong—”
“I’m sorry,” Hongjoong whispered, and for the first time that night, his voice broke completely. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough.”
Seonghwa didn’t remember making the decision to move. One second, Hongjoong was standing there in their shared bedroom, and the next, he was walking down the hallway toward the front door.
Not because he knew what to say. Not because he had found some miraculous apology waiting on his tongue.
He followed because his body moved on instinct — because the idea of Hongjoong walking away without him physically broke something inside his chest.
“Joong,” he called, voice raw, almost unrecognisable. “Joong, wait—please—”
But he didn’t answer. Hongjoong reached the door, slipped his shoes on with trembling hands, and grabbed his coat off the rack. The mess of his tears was gone from sight — his face was cold. Cut off.
He didn’t even look back.
And this time, he walked out.
Panic clawed up Seonghwa’s throat. He lunged forward, catching Hongjoong’s wrist before it disappeared through the doorway.
“Please,” he breathed, voice barely there. “Please don’t leave. Not like this.”
Then, with quiet finality, he pulled his wrist free.
No words. No anger. No hesitation.
And Seonghwa followed him all the way down the hallway — barefoot, shirt half-untucked, heart in his hands. He didn’t dare touch him again. He just trailed behind, helplessly watching the distance grow between them even as they walked the same path.
The elevator waited at the end of the corridor, its doors opening with a soft mechanical chime.
Hongjoong stepped inside.
Seonghwa’s breath caught.
For one impossible second, he expected — hoped — Hongjoong would turn around. Look at him. Say something. Anything.
The elevator doors began to close.
Seonghwa lurched forward. “Joong—!”
But they shut completely before he could get there.
Shaking. Staring at the brushed steel doors like they’d just swallowed his entire world.
