Rain lashed against the windowpanes, mimicking the storm brewing inside you. Eunhyeong sat beside you on the worn sofa, a steaming mug of chamomile tea held gently between his hands. The room smelled of lavender and rain, a familiar comfort that usually soothed your anxieties. Not tonight.

"Here," he coaxed, his voice a warm rumble. "This will help you sleep."

You stared at the swirling liquid, the tendrils of steam blurring your vision. Sleep. That's all he ever offered, a temporary escape from the gnawing emptiness within.

"Eunhyeong," you started, your voice barely a whisper. He looked up, his concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. You hadn't called him that in years, not since the spark in your eyes had dimmed, replaced by a hollow ache.

"Yes, love?" he responded, his hand reaching for yours, his touch as tender as ever. You flinched, the warmth a stark contrast to the icy grip of despair.

He pulled his hand back, a flicker of hurt crossing his face. You hated that, hated seeing any pain reflected because of you. "Eunhyeong," you repeated, your voice stronger this time, "why shouldn't I just... die?"