Shared Spaces & Hidden Desires ? Seungcheol

28 - Birthday

Where's Seungcheol?

I shouldn't have wondered. Shouldn't have cared.

But I did.

I was about to turn back toward the stairs when a soft voice called out, "yn?"

I turned to see Ms Kim at the threshold, holding something in her hands.

"Happy birthday," she said warmly. "Someone left this for you this morning."

She walked over, gently placing a box on the counter.

A cake box.

Tiramisu.

No card. No name.

I stared at it, heart slowing.

Only a handful of people knew this was my favorite. My family. Seungcheol's.

Seungcheol.

Ms Kim must've seen something shift in my face because she tilted her head, eyes kind.

"If you're thinking you know who gave you this..." she said gently, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I blinked, cutting her off before she could say more. "It's probably from my parents."

She paused. "Ah... of course."

I nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah. My mom knows I like tiramisu. She always sends something. Even if she forgets to call."

Ms Kim looked at me for a second longer, but didn't argue. Just gave me a soft smile and a polite bow before heading back down the hall.

I stood there in the pantry, the quiet pressing in as I stared down at the cake box.

My fingers hovered over the edge but didn't open it.

It had to be from my parents.

It made sense.

It was easier that way. Easier than believing he remembered. That he still cared. That he still knew me like that.

I turned away, walking back toward the stairs.

I didn't need to see the cake to know exactly what it looked like.

And I didn't need a name on it to lie to myself about who it came from.

Seungjae

I watched Jiwon and Sujin disappear through the front door, their laughter echoing faintly down the hallway.

It was just us now.

She stood by the sink, her fingers tracing the edge of the counter absently, eyes distant in that way they've been lately—like she's here, but not really.

My phone buzzed.

Serin.

The name alone made my stomach twist.

It was her birthday.

I should be here. With her.

But something in me kept whispering that it didn't matter. That she wouldn't notice if I left. That she wouldn't care.

Maybe she didn't.

Even last night—when we were tangled up in her sheets, her back turned to me, her breathing already slow with sleep—I just laid there, staring at her in the dark. Thinking about how much I loved her. How much I still wanted to.

But it felt hollow.

Like I was reaching across an ocean and only getting waves in return.

And somewhere, on the other side of that emptiness... there was Serin.