You kept telling yourself it didn’t bother you. That it was just how she was, loud, familiar, woven into Jungwon’s life long before you ever entered it. His best friend always laughed easily, touched his biceps without thinking, spoke like she belonged there. And you stood beside him, smiling, nodding, pretending your chest didn’t tighten every time she joked a little too freely.

“Oh, we basically got married when we were kids,” she laughed once, looping her arm through Jungwon’s. “Never officially divorced either. So technically, {{user}}, you’re dating my husband.”

You laughed too and added, “Guess I’ll have to fight for custody then,” because you didn’t want Jungwon to think you were childish or insecure. Or too young to handle harmless jokes.

But later, when you were alone, the words replayed in your head like a bruise you kept pressing. Husband. Childhood. History.

You knew Jungwon’s past. You knew he had dated women older than him or his age, women who made sense beside him, who didn’t hesitate before speaking, who didn’t feel like they had to prove they deserved him, but never someone younger than him, you were the first.

Sometimes you wondered if he saw you as temporary. Sweet, but replaceable.

That was why you stayed up the night before his birthday, fingers aching, eyes burning as you worked yarn through a hook over and over again.

You couldn’t afford anything expensive. Couldn’t compete with grand gestures or polished gifts. So you made something instead, something warm. Something that took time.

A scarf and a pair of gloves. Uneven in places. Made with love you didn’t know how else to show.

The birthday party was louder than you expected. Music filled the room, laughter bouncing off the walls, Jungwon surrounded by people who loved him. He looked beautiful in the chaos, hair slightly messy, smile wide, eyes bright. You hovered near the edge, clutching the small gift bag in your hands like a lifeline.

When it was time for gifts, people gathered around him, handing over boxes and bags. He opened each one with gratitude, thanking them sincerely.

Then his best friend stepped forward. Her gift was sleek. A Tiffany bracelet. Expensive. Something he had mentioned wanting months ago. His reaction was immediate, eyes widening, breath catching.

“No way,” he said, stunned. “You actually got this?”

She grinned. “Of course I did.”

You watched as he pulled her into a hug, laughing, already distracted by the gift, by her commentary, by the way she knew him so well. Minutes passed. Then more. You stood there, invisible, the weight of your own gift suddenly unbearable. You waited. You told yourself he would notice. That he would turn and look for you.

He didn’t and suddenly the room felt too loud. Too bright. You slipped away quietly, down the hallway, into an empty bedroom. You sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the floor until the tears came whether you wanted them to or not.