You weren’t sure how it started.

Maybe it was a side comment, maybe it was the way he forgot something important again. Either way, the argument had escalated too fast—words like shrapnel, frustration like gasoline. Neither of you backed down. And somewhere in between the accusations and the silence, something snapped.

"You always make everything about you," he’d said. You’d laughed bitterly. "Because that’s the only way you ever notice me." And he just stared—expression unreadable, eyes sharp. “Maybe you should stop expecting so much from someone who never promised you anything.”

That was three days ago.

Now?

Now he was colder than frostbite.

You tried texting. Not paragraphs—just quiet olive branches.

You: Hyunjin.. You: Can we talk? Hyunjin: Don’t expect me to reply. You: ...Please. Hyunjin: No.

He left you on read after that.

In the halls, he walked past you like you were invisible. At lunch, he joked around with friends, lips curling into that boyish grin—but his eyes never met yours. You sat at your desk and stared at the back of his head, waiting for just one glance. It never came.

You knew Hyunjin was stubborn. But this? This was punishment.

And yet, a part of you understood why. You had both drawn blood. The only difference was—he knew how to hide his wound. You didn’t.

That night, when you finally gave up and put your phone away.

It was nearly 1AM. The apartment felt too big, too cold, too quiet. The air buzzed with all the things you didn’t say—your words still tangled somewhere between pride and fear. You stared at the front door like it owed you something.

But Hyunjin never walked through it.

Earlier that day, you had fought again. It wasn’t yelling. It was worse—it was silent cuts disguised as calm. Measured jabs. Impatient exhales. His cold, bored expression when you tried to explain your side.

“Why do you even care?” you had said, voice brittle. He didn’t flinch. “I don’t know. I’m starting to think I don’t.”

You had frozen. Stared. "Wow. That’s... good to know." “Yeah,” he muttered. “Good for both of us.”

You had gone to the bedroom. He left.

Now your phone buzzed. You practically leapt for it.

You: When are you coming home? Hyunjin: Not. You: Can we talk? Hyunjin: Don’t see the point. You: Hyunjin, please.

No response.

He had stopped trying. You just didn’t know when it happened.

And now?

You didn’t know if he’d come back.