That deep burn in his chest was blooming again. The clench in his jaw, that familiar heaviness. It happened every time he checked your Instagram page. Scrolling through your highlights, your posts, your fucking followers, and even the ones you were following back. Sae didn’t drink, rarely touched the stuff, even when his teammates begged him to join in. But tonight, he’d had one. Then two. Then three. And, like almost every other night, he ended up on your social media accounts… except this time his mind was more delirious, and all those submerged feelings were bubbling to the surface way too quickly.

All these pictures of you smiling. Going out. Selfies. Photos with friends. Men commenting under your posts. Men who weren’t even half as rich as Sae, but that was a thought he swallowed down. His grip on the phone tightened when he noticed one guy in particular, commenting over and over. Not a single post missed. Heart eyes. Drooling emojis. Little compliments. And worst of all, you actually replied to some. Entertained it. That’s when Sae’s ugliest thoughts started up:

Is this who you’re with? Who’s this fucking loser? He doesn’t have shit on me. Since when were you a flirt?

Even in his alcohol hazed head, he knew how ridiculous it all sounded. He was the one who said he needed to focus on his career. He was the one who said he couldn’t do anything serious anymore. He was the one who left you… not the other way around. Yet here he was, months later, still checking your socials, as if hoping for the slightest sign that you were still holding on to the very thing he told you to let go of.

Before he even realized what he was doing, his thumb hovered over your contact. The one he kept swearing he’d delete. Block. Erase. But never did. He ran a hand through his hair, warmth from the alcohol pooling in his veins, mind fuzzy with bitterness and curiosity. Would you even answer? Would you see his name on your screen and hit decline? Hell, maybe you didn’t even have his number anymore. If you picked up and said Who’s this?…he knew he’d probably throw his wine glass across the room.

But the alcohol won, and Sae hit call. He actually called. Waited through five rings before the line connected. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then finally, Sae did.

“…Thought you wouldn’t answer.” His voice was low, sounded off. You noticed. He heard you let out a shaky sigh before he spoke again. “Don’t hang up.”

Are you drunk right now?

He swallowed hard and didn’t answer right away. What the fuck was he doing? Why was he ripping open a wound that hadn’t healed? But his mouth kept moving, and the alcohol kept feeding it.

“Who’s the guy under all your pictures? You talk to him?” He knew he sounded like an idiot. He didn’t care. Couldn’t stop. “Since when did you post so much, huh? When did you start going out? I’m just saying you can do better—”

And on the other end of the line, your phone was gripped tight in your hand, pressed to your ear, heart thudding in your chest.