Shared Spaces & Hidden Desires ? Seungcheol

30 - Gone

"You didn't even ask how long it's been," he said, almost to himself. "You didn't ask anything."

I looked down at the blanket pooled in my lap.

"Would it change anything?"

He didn't answer.

Just left.

And I didn't stop him.

Because maybe this was how it was always going to end—not with a fight or a storm of words.

Just the quiet death of something that had already been fading for a long time.

Now I was in the kitchen, pouring water into the machine, watching it drip slowly into the pot like it was the only thing keeping me grounded.

The smell of coffee filled the room, but it didn't make me feel any less numb.

I reached for a mug when I heard footsteps behind me.

"yn?"

Ms Kim's voice startled me back to reality.

I blinked at her, then nodded. "Morning."

She looked around, cautious. "Is Seungjae not joining you today?"

I paused, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic.

"No," I said flatly. "And never again."

A beat of silence passed between us.

I didn't turn around, just stood there, eyes fixed on the dark swirl inside my cup.

And then I heard it.

A door opening down the hall. Soft steps on the marble floor.

I looked up and caught him standing there in front of his room, shirt loose on his shoulders, hair still messy from sleep.

His eyes met mine.

He'd heard me.

He didn't say anything.

He didn't have to.

Because for the first time in a long time, something shifted.

Again.

Seungcheol

I heard it.

She blinked. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, but didn't. The silence stretched too long—just enough for it to feel heavy.

I didn't know what to do with it.

Didn't know if I should ask. Didn't know if I even had the right.

Ms Kim saved me from that decision, thankfully. She greeted me with a gentle smile and then excused herself just as quickly. Like she knew she was interrupting something she shouldn't be a part of.

And then it was just me and her.

Still standing by the counter like her limbs were running on autopilot. Her hand wrapped loosely around her mug, steam curling up into her face, untouched.

I moved slowly. Quiet. Reached for a mug, made myself a cup, and stood next to her like I had a reason to.

She didn't look at me, not fully. Just stared ahead, eyes dim.

She looked... worn.

Like she hadn't slept. Like she hadn't even tried to.

The silence wasn't thick—it was fragile. The kind that cracked if you breathed too hard.