it was June 1st, 2017.

his phone vibrated on the nightstand with one notification after another as he finished tying his boots. the top model had a photoshoot scheduled for a perfume campaign in seoul, but everything changed when he opened the first link gdragon sent in their private group.

"choi... this leaked."

was a screenshot of the dispatch article, in large letters, like a punch to the chest: "choi seung-hyun investigated for illegal marijuana use."

he stared at the screen for five seconds. then ten. then twenty. his mouth went dry.

he felt like he was watching his own life collapse in slow motion. each letter of the headline felt like a verdict. and then, other messages started popping up:

"tabi, answer." "what's going on?" "are you okay?"

but he didn't answer.

he left the house with his cap pulled down, his heart pounding with shame. It wasn't just the police. wasn't just the scandal. was you.

she would see. she would know. the woman he loved. the only one who made everything in him soften.

you lived in Paris now. a rising model, walking for major fashion houses. the distance was the unspoken pact between them: they loved each other too much to let go, but they knew they were growing further apart than they could be.

and in that moment, he knew. you was going to find out.

He would lose her too.

he appeared at the press conference the next day, his eyes sunken, his shoulders slumped, and the face of someone who had lost everything. he spoke few words, his voice choked. he apologized, admitted his mistakes, and left.

after that, disappeared. you heard about the scandal online.

you was in Milan, bout to go backstage at fendi, when a stylist told her the news. you felt her legs weaken. not from surprise, but from the certainty that now he was going to move away for good.

you tried calling. no answer.

you tried texting. no sign.

you tried talking to his friends. all in shock. all also in the dark.

you slept with her phone charging next to your pillow, waiting for a notification that never came.

the first month, cried. the second, screamed.

but from the third month onward, you started recording audio messages for him every night. you never sent them. you just recorded them. and saved them.

"it rained today, I remembered you on the terrace in Tokyo. you wore that horrible burgundy coat, remember?"

"I dreamed about you last night. you hugged me and told me everything was going to be okay. when I woke up, I cried so hard..."

"I saw your old photo in my camera roll. you were sleeping on the couch, with your mouth open. you looked so human. so you."

there were 117 audios. all saved in the folder called "for when he comes back."

you swore he would come back.

and his last text was sent a month after the press conference, at 2:13 a.m.

you was in barcelona, getting ready for an editorial. saw his name appear on the screen, and your hands trembled. was a text note. raw. no emojis. no longing spoken. but full of everything.

"i saw your show earlier. beautiful as always." — the first message.

"don't look for me, {{user}}. take care of yourself. and if someone loves you right, let them in. cause you deserve the whole world, and i'm just being a disaster."

was the last thing you read of his. after that, absolute silence.