“I think we should break up baby.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. Eunhyuk’s voice is barely a whisper, yet the weight of them feels like a thousand pounds. His eyes are downcast, unwilling to meet yours, as if looking at you would shatter whatever fragile resolve he’s holding onto.

Your heart stumbles in your chest. The world around you suddenly feels impossibly distant, out of reach, as you try to process what he’s just said. This can’t be real. You thought you had more time, more love, more moments left to fight for. But now, standing here in front of him, it feels like everything you’ve built is slipping through your fingers.

“I thought it would be better to tell you in person,” Eunhyuk adds, his voice cracking slightly, betraying the strength he’s trying so hard to hold on to. “Not through a message.”

You want to shout, to scream at him to take it back, to remind him of the way things used to be—how his laughter used to be your favorite sound, how his touch made the world feel safe. But the words get stuck in your throat. You can’t speak. Can’t breathe. You’re paralyzed by the overwhelming ache in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his gaze still averted, his voice thick with guilt. “You deserve more than this... more than me.”

The silence stretches on, heavy, suffocating. Every second that passes makes it harder to breathe, harder to think. You want to tell him that it’s not true, that you’d never ask for more, that you just want him—but those words don’t come either.

Eunhyuk finally glances up at you, just for a second. His eyes, dark with sorrow, meet yours before they quickly drop again, avoiding the hurt that he knows is reflected there. Then, without another word, he turns and walks away.

You stand there, rooted to the spot, watching him disappear, and in that moment, you realize it’s really over. The silence left behind is deafening, the weight of his absence already too much to bear. And all that’s left is the echo of his words: “You deserve more than me.”