twenty nine

"i'm not okay and it's not alright." -drown, bring me the horizon.

——

it had been a week.

seven long, quiet days that felt heavier with every sunrise.

misun hadn't gone to work. she'd told them she needed time off—no explanations, no questions. her phone lay face-down on the table, silent except for the occasional buzz she ignored. sometimes it was her friends, sometimes her coworkers. and sometimes... him.

she didn't open those messages. not yet.

the apartment was still and soft, sunlight pooling across the floor. her mom had gone out, leaving her alone with her thoughts—something she'd been both craving and dreading.

she sat cross-legged on the couch, an old photo album open in her lap. the pages smelled faintly like dust and nostalgia.

her fingers brushed over the edges of pictures—her and jihoon grinning in school uniforms, him in a hoodie and cap trying to hide from the world while she laughed, a picture of them the night before he debuted, when he promised her that no matter what, they'd stay the same.

she let out a shaky breath.

"you liar," she whispered, though her voice trembled with love, not anger.

she missed him. she missed them.

and yet, every time she remembered that night—the way he'd left without a word, how she'd cried until her chest hurt—something inside her twisted again.

she didn't know what she wanted. to forgive him? to forget him? or just to stop feeling this ache that seemed to live in her now.

misun leaned back, closing her eyes, clutching a photo against her chest. "what am i supposed to do with you, jihoon," she murmured, her voice breaking.

meanwhile, across the city, jihoon sat in the practice room, staring blankly at the reflection in the mirror.

his cap was low, his hoodie pulled up, and his phone lay on the floor beside him—silent, stubbornly refusing to light up with her name.

the others were there too, scattered across the room, stretching or resting after rehearsal. no one said anything for a while, but they all felt it—how quiet he'd been. how the usual energy was gone.

finally, scoups spoke first, leaning against the wall.

"you still haven't talked to her?"

jihoon shook his head once.

"she just needs space," joshua said gently. "she's been through a lot."

"she's been through me," jihoon muttered bitterly.

wonwoo looked up from his phone. "you're not wrong. but you can't undo what happened by beating yourself up. that's not how trust comes back."

"then how does it?" jihoon asked quietly.

there was a pause. no one answered right away. the air felt thick, filled with the unspoken things they'd all seen him go through.

finally, seungkwan sighed. "you can't ask her to forget what you did. but you can show her you won't do it again."

mingyu nodded. "be there. even if she doesn't want to talk to you right now, show her you mean what you said."

"and don't rush her," joshua added, his tone calm but firm. "if you want her to trust you again, you have to let her choose it herself."

jihoon rubbed his face with both hands, shoulders slumped. "i just... i hate knowing i made her cry again. i hate that i broke her. it was all because of me."

"then make sure it's the last time," seungcheol said quietly.

he looked up, meeting his leader's eyes in the mirror.

for the first time in days, jihoon nodded. not with confidence, but with a quiet resolve.

he didn't know how, or when, but he knew one thing—he wasn't giving up this time.