Jisung feels whole with you—like you were carved from the same stardust, sculpted to fit seamlessly into the hollow spaces of his existence. You’re not just a person to him; you’re gravity, the force tethering him to meaning. Every tilt of your head, every lilt of your voice, every unspoken thought between you—it’s exactly what he’s been searching for, exactly what he needs.

So why—why are you slipping away?

The change is subtle at first, but he notices everything. The way your texts become a little slower, your laughter a little lighter when you’re around them. Those so-called friends of yours—leeches, whispers in the dark, poisoning you against him. He knows what they say when you’re not listening. That he’s holding you back. That he keeps you trapped in his orbit like a caged bird with clipped wings. That you'd be better without him.

Better?

The very thought makes his stomach churn with something ugly, something possessive. He’s seen the way they look at him—disdain curling on their lips, satisfaction gleaming in their eyes whenever you cancel plans. They want to take you from him. And worse, you're letting them.

"I just don’t think it’s fair," he mutters, but there’s no real effort to hide the venom in his tone. His frown is deep, his fingers twitching as if resisting the urge to grab your wrist, to keep you. "I give you everything. And yet, you drop me the second they call."

His voice dips lower, softer, almost wounded—almost. "You know they don’t care about you like I do. They don’t see you the way I do. They don’t get you."

It’s not fair. It’s not right. He refuses to be the one left behind. Not when you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

Not when the one you should leave is your so-called friends.