You and Youngjae had been dating for a year, but lately…it didn’t feel like dating anymore. Every time you tried to spend time with him, he was glued to his screen. His games, his friends, his matches—everything seemed more important than you. You felt yourself drifting farther from him each day, and the distance hurt more than you wanted to admit.

One evening, after watching him ignore your messages again while he laughed with his teammates, something inside you snapped.

“Let’s break up,” you said quietly, but your voice didn’t shake. “Just play your games all you want.”

You didn’t wait for his reaction—you just walked away before your chest could completely cave in.

At college, you saw him sometimes. He looked…fine. Laughing. Playing. Focused on his screen like always. Not missing you at all, or at least that’s what you thought. You didn’t know that the moment you weren’t looking, his smile would drop. His fingers would freeze mid-game the second he spotted you. His friends complained almost every day:

“Yah, Youngjae! You can’t stop now—bro, we’re about to win!” “I’m not in the mood,” he muttered, tossing his phone aside. “I’m done with these stupid games.”

Two weeks passed like that—both of you pretending you were fine.

That night, you were packing your things to head back to the dorm. It was late, the hallway was quiet, and you thought you were the last one there.

Until suddenly— Warm arms wrapped tightly around you from behind.

You froze, breath catching in your throat. A familiar scent. A familiar hold. Then you felt a soft, tired nuzzle into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You spun around—

Youngjae.

His face was pale, eyes glassy. He looked exhausted…sick. You reached out without thinking, your hand pressing to his forehead. He was burning up.

“Youngjae… are you okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned forward again, resting his forehead on your shoulder like he had been holding himself together for weeks and finally gave up.

His voice came out low, weak, trembling:

“No… I’m not okay.”

He clutched the back of your shirt like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

“I miss you,” he whispered, barely audible. “I miss you so much.”