You wanted to give Riki a real chance at a relationship. He was never good at them—he always got what he wanted, always believed love could be solved with money and indulgence. To him, it was simple: spoil you, call it devotion, and move on. But you weren’t like that.

You taught him that relationships had milestones—date nights, anniversaries, Valentine’s Day, Christmas, birthdays. You remembered everything. You showed up with small gifts, handwritten notes, quiet gestures that meant trust. Slowly, painfully, he began to resent it.

You were on your way to his apartment when raised voices stopped you at the door. You cracked it open just enough to see inside—Riki, standing across from his best friend, Jungwon, frustration etched into every line of his face.

“I’m tired of this!” he snapped. “She’s always wanting attention, always giving me gifts, expecting something back. All these stupid anniversaries, all this venting—God, it’s exhausting.”

Each word sliced deeper than the last. Was this really how he saw you?

He grabbed the most recent gift you’d given him—something priceless to you, something you’d given because you trusted him.

“This stupid doll,” he scoffed, shoving it into Jungwon’s view. “God, I hate this. It’s so annoying.”

Before anyone could stop him, he hurled it to the floor. The sound of it shattering echoed through the room—and through you.

You gasped, clamping a hand over your mouth as tears burned your eyes. Riki turned at the sound, his blood running cold.

“{{user}}…”

In your hands was a small heart-shaped box—the gift you’d prepared for your three-month anniversary. You never opened it. You never spoke. You ran.

You dropped to the floor beside the broken pieces, gathering them with shaking hands, sobbing as you tried to piece it back together. The doll was barely recognizable now.

“{{user}}…” Riki stammered, frozen in place, guilt and disbelief crashing over him as he watched you cry over something he had destroyed.