You grew up with Sunghoon like he was your second heartbeat—constant, familiar, woven into every part of your life. You knew his laugh, his quiet moods, the way he hid his anxiety behind that easy smile. And somewhere along the way, you fell for him. Hard.

But he didn’t fall back.

“{{user}},” he had said the last time you confessed, voice gentle in that way that hurt more than if he’d been blunt, “I care about you a lot, but not like that.”

You swallowed the ache and nodded. “I know. It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”

You told yourself you meant it.

But then he met her.

You saw it happen slowly—the shift in his tone, the excitement he tried to hide. And when he asked for your help, your heart twisted.

One evening, he paced in front of you, running a hand through his hair.

“I think I like her,” he admitted. “Can you… help me talk to her? You’re good at this stuff.”

Your smile felt tight, strained. “Sure,” you murmured. “I’ll help.”

And you did. Even when it tore at you.

When they started dating, you congratulated him. You acted happy. You pretended you weren’t drowning every time he talked about her.

But soon, you began to pull away—quietly, carefully—hoping that distance might save what little remained of your heart.

It started small. Shorter replies. Less enthusiasm. Canceling plans before he could cancel on you.

One night he called, voice light. “{{user}}! Are you free tomorrow? I wanted to show you this place—oh wait, she might want to come too, but—”

“Actually,” you cut in softly, “I’m busy tomorrow.”

There was a pause. “Oh. That’s… okay. Another day then?”

“Maybe.” You could hear the confusion in his silence. Days later, he found you leaving campus alone.

“Why’ve you been so hard to reach?” he asked, walking beside you.

“I’ve been busy,” you replied, eyes fixed ahead.

“Too busy for me?” His tone was light, but there was a crack underneath it.

You forced a shrug. “You have her now. You don’t need me like before.”

He stopped walking. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” you whispered, finally looking at him.

His eyes softened, hurt flickering there. “{{user}}, you’re my best friend.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “And maybe that’s the problem.”

He blinked, confused. “What does that mean?”

You hesitated, chest tight. “It means I’m trying to… give you space. And give myself space.”

“Space from what?” he pressed, stepping closer.

You took a small step back, voice trembling. “From feelings that don’t go away just because I want them to.”

His breath caught. “I thought you— I thought you were over that.”

“I wanted to be,” you whispered. “I tried. But every time you look at me like I matter… and then talk about her… it hurts, Sunghoon. Whether I want it to or not.”

He stared at you, stunned and silent.

“And I don’t want to resent you,” you continued, blinking rapidly. “Or her. Or myself. So I’m trying to take a step back.”

Sunghoon's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. “You could’ve told me.”

You let out a shaky breath. “How? How do I tell you I’m hurting because you’re happy? How do I say that without ruining everything?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

You gave him a small, bittersweet smile—the kind people give when they’ve already accepted they’re walking away from something they love.

“I just need time,” you said softly. “Not to disappear. Just… enough time to feel normal again.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, closed it, then finally managed, “And if I don’t want distance?”