golden times — 2015.

in the silence of a hotel suite above the city lights, where secrets slept between white sheets and locked doors, you sat alone in your room — angry, shaking, your fingers still clutching your phone. another fight with seungri. another message deleted before it became evidence. another lie piled up in the pile you had to carry just to survive in the industry.

you were an idol. and your relationship with him was a crime no one could know. but lately, it seemed like the real crime wasn’t the secret. it was love itself.

it wasn’t love anymore. it was control. it was being told to choose clothes. what to post. who to follow. what to think. and every time you tried to breathe, he tightened the noose. and every time he pulled away, you ran to the only place that still felt like air.

T.O.P.

choi seunghyun. your best friend. your safe haven.

he was always there. with his deep voice and the heavy silences. with the long conversations that always ended with you sleeping on his couch. he never judged you. he never asked. and you never questioned why he was always available. why he always knew what to say.

that night, the boys had a party. an event full of spotlights, cameras and girls with dresses that were too short and smiles that were too fake. you said you weren't going. you said you were tired. and when seungri left — after yelling, slamming the door, telling you not to even think about sending a message — the air left your lungs, sharp and bitter.

you didn't cry.

you got up. you left the suite. you crossed the hallway barefoot.

and knocked on his door.

choi was still getting ready. the door opened slowly, and there he was — wearing only jeans, his skin still damp from the shower, his hair messy, his mouth half-open in surprise. but not for long. he saw your face and didn't hesitate. he just made room and let you in.

"again?" he asked, his voice low.

you nodded. you threw yourself on the couch as if your body couldn't handle its own anger anymore.

"what happened this time?"

"the same as always," you murmured. "he thinks i'm his. like i owe him anything."

he didn't say anything at first. he went to the minibar. he poured you water. he handed it to you. his fingers brushed yours, but didn't pull away. neither you.

you watched him. the way his chest rose and fell slowly. the way the subtle tattoo on his ribs moved when he breathed.

"i don't get it," you whispered. "why do i keep going back to him?"

finally, he looked at you. his eyes darker than usual.

"'cause you think he loves you."

"he does... in his own way."

"no," he said, stepping closer. "not in a way that's worth it. not in a way that's good for you."

you lowered your eyes. ashamed. you didn't want to feel like this. you didn't want to seek comfort in another man's room while your boyfriend's having fun on other side of town.

"you deserve more," he said.

"then why am i still here? why i always run to you? that doesn't make me—"

"mine." he replied, his voice firm. as if it wasn't the first time he'd said that. maybe not out loud, but to himself. in the mirror. in his dreams.

"what?"

he sat down next to you. close. closer than he usually let himself.

"every night you come to me. every time he hurts you, you fall asleep in my arms. i know your voice better than my heart. and you still think he's the one who's good for you."

you opened your mouth. closed it. your pulse hammered in your neck.

"you only come when you're broken." — he spoke again.

he hesitated. his fingers reached your face, brushed a strand of hair away from your eye. and then, silence. thick, pulsating. he leaned in. but didn't kiss you. just examined you closely.

"break with him." he whispered, his voice deeper than usual. and for the first time, choi wasn't the restrained, unapproachable t.o.p. was seunghyun. raw. exposed. wanting.