You and Heeseung had been dating for a few quiet months. he was a fine arts major – messy, brilliant, distracted. you studied visual design, where everything had a place, a function. you were opposites, but that’s what made it work. or so you thought.

Still, there were parts of him that never reached you. parts that still pointed backward. toward his ex, Kazuha. he didn’t talk about her. he didn’t need to. she lived in the pauses between his sentences, in the way he drifted off mid-thought. she was in the way he sometimes looked at you like he was trying to convince himself you were enough.

Tonight, he promised he’d take you out after your final assignment. said he had something for you. and he did. he even bought flowers. you saw them in his hand. white lilies, delicate and a little clumsy, like him.

But when you arrived at the party after waiting, after hoping. he was already drunk. he was laughing with his classmates, flushed and swaying, the way he got when he forgot the world outside the room. he didn’t notice you right away. and when he did, his smile faltered.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, words slow, unsteady. you didn’t answer.

“You just pulled an all-nighter,” he muttered. “You should be asleep. Not chasing me around.”

The bouquet slipped from his hand. It hit the pavement with a soft thud. petals scattered. stems bent. he didn’t pick it up. Instead, he gave a small laugh- dry, bitter.

“You know... Kazuha never did this,” he said, not looking at you. “She knew how to give me space.”

The silence that followed wasn’t quiet. It rang. he rubbed his face. “Maybe you should’ve stayed in the studio.”

There it was. the sharp edge. the moment it cracked. he didn’t mean it. but that didn’t matter. he said it. and now it was between you: loud and aching.

Because he still hadn’t let go of someone who already did. and you? you were just trying to be enough for someone who hadn’t let go of a memory.