Shared Spaces & Hidden Desires ? Seungcheol

YN

I barely slept.

The sheets were cold beside me for the first time in a while, and even when I curled into myself to make up for the emptiness, it didn't help. I just kept staring at the ceiling, blinking slowly, like maybe if I stayed still long enough, I'd feel something.

But nothing ever came.

Just the quiet hum of the city outside the glass and the echo of what happened a few hours ago—maybe less.

We got home late.

Didn't say much.

He showered first. I waited until the water stopped running, gave it a few minutes, then went in after. We didn't talk, didn't look at each other for too long. Just moved around like strangers sharing space they used to know how to fit in.

When I got back to the bedroom, he was already in bed, lying on his side with the lamp still on. His eyes were half-closed, but I knew he wasn't asleep.

I climbed in next to him, pulling the blanket over my legs. Sat up against the headboard for a while, quiet.

Then I asked—softly, like I didn't want to startle the moment, "Who is she?"

His eyes opened slowly.

He blinked at the ceiling. "What?"

"The girl you were with earlier. Who is she?"

A beat passed.

Then another.

Finally, he said, "Her name's Serin."

I nodded, like that told me everything. But it didn't.

Still, I didn't push. I just asked, "Does she make you feel loved?"

He turned his head to look at me.

"What kind of question is that?"

I shrugged, eyes on my hands. "Just wondering if she treats you the way you want to be treated. The way you deserve."

"You already knew, didn't you?" he asked, voice tight.

"I didn't need to," I murmured. "I saw the way you looked at her."

"And that's all you have to say?"

I looked at him then—really looked.

He was angry. Not defensive. Not ashamed.

Angry because I wasn't.

"I told you I've been seeing someone behind your back," he said, sitting up now, voice rising just slightly. "And you're just sitting there like it doesn't even matter."

"I'm not angry," I said. "I just... don't have it in me to be angry."

He laughed under his breath, bitter. "That's worse."

"I'm sorry, Seungjae," I whispered. "I mean it. I'm happy she makes you feel that way. Because I couldn't. I haven't, for a long time."

It was honest.

It was cruel in its honesty.

Because somewhere deep down, I knew it wasn't that I couldn't. It was that I stopped trying.

He didn't say anything for a while.

Then he got out of bed, started pulling his things together from the closet and drawers.

Not fast. Not dramatic. Just... done.

Before he walked out, he stood by the door, fingers tapping once against the handle.