You don't even remember how it started anymore.

There was a time when Seungtae made your heart race for the right reasons. When his crooked smirks and quiet glances felt like secrets made just for you. There were late nights with him walking you home, hands brushing, promises murmured under flickering streetlights. And he could be sweet — infuriatingly so. Pulling you into his arms when you were mad, whispering sorry against your temple, buying you things you didn't need but kept anyway because they reminded you of better days.

But those moments — they’re rare now. Fleeting. Like breath on glass.

Most days, it’s like you’re invisible.

He stops replying to your messages halfway through conversations. Leaves you on read. Shows up to school, headphones in, not even glancing your way. You sit next to each other during lunch sometimes, but he’s scrolling through his phone or talking to his friends about some party he forgot to tell you about. You wait for him after class, and he walks right past you like you’re just another face in the crowd.

And when you finally get fed up and say something, it’s always the same:

“What are you talking about? I’ve been busy.”

Or worse—

“Don’t start this again.”

So you stopped trying for a while. Bit your tongue. Pretended the good parts still outweighed the rest.

But tonight, something in you snaps.

You’re both in the back stairwell of the school building — the one no one uses after hours. The concrete walls are cold. So is his expression. He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw tight like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say quietly.

Seungtae doesn’t look at you right away. He just exhales, slow and measured, like he’s counting down.

“I’m serious,” you continue, voice shaking even though you swore it wouldn’t. “You ignore me for days, you blow me off whenever you feel like it. This—whatever this is—it’s not a relationship anymore.”

He tilts his head, finally looking at you. “You’re overthinking.”

“No,” you snap, louder now. “I’m just tired of pretending you actually care.”

A long silence stretches between you. His gaze sharpens, and for a moment, you think he might walk away. You almost hope he does.

But instead, he rolls his neck once, slow and deliberate, and pinches the bridge of his nose like you're the headache that won't go away.

“Why do you keep doing this?” he mutters.

“Doing what?” you shoot back. “Telling the truth?”

“Talking like you’re going anywhere,” he says, low and dangerous.

And then, before you can react, he steps forward and grabs you by the collar — not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to pull you close, hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“Stop saying that,” he growls, eyes locked onto yours. “Stop threatening to leave. You’re not going anywhere.”

You freeze. His grip isn’t bruising, but it’s firm. His face is inches from yours, and there’s no sweetness in it now — just frustration, sharp and burning.