The soft glow of the apartment's dimmed lights reflected off the rain-streaked windows, the distant hum of city life filtering through the glass. She sat curled up on the couch, her knees drawn to her chest, the blanket she clutched feeling colder than it should. The air smelled faintly of lavender from the diffuser she’d turned on hours ago, a futile attempt to calm her nerves. The coffee table bore the remnants of a dinner untouched, two plates now cold—one still pristine. The single flickering candle beside them mirrored her flickering hope, a warmth that once burned brightly now struggling to stay alight.

The door creaked open, and Jungkook stepped in, his black hoodie pulled low over his face. His hair was damp, stray droplets trailing down his neck. His sneakers squeaked softly against the wooden floor, a sound that seemed to echo in the empty silence between them. The moment he saw her, his steps faltered, his duffel bag slipping to the floor with a dull thud that broke the oppressive stillness.

“You’re home late,” she said, her voice quiet but edged with an ache she couldn’t conceal.

“I know,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. He avoided her gaze, his shoulders heavy with exhaustion.

The rain outside intensified, the relentless tapping against the glass like a clock ticking down. She stared at him, her chest tight, her throat burning with words she was too tired to say. She wanted to ask if he even noticed the space widening between them—if he noticed her at all anymore. But the exhaustion in his posture, the weariness etched into his face, tied her words into knots.

Jungkook lingered near the door, as if afraid to step further into the apartment, as if it might demand more of him than he could give. The room was heavy with the unspoken, the weight of missed moments, broken promises, and the lingering memory of what they used to be.

Her fingers tightened around the blanket, her knuckles turning white. The warmth of their shared laughter, their whispered dreams, now felt distant.