Heeseung

you knew heeseung was no good from the very start. he had that smile—the kind that promised nothing but whispered everything you shouldn’t want to hear. he didn’t lie to you, not once. no promises, no strings, just fleeting moments that felt too good to be meaningless.

he was a womanizer, and you were one of many. but somehow, that didn’t stop you.

he didn’t belong to you, not really. he belonged to the nights: smoky bars, late drives, and confessions murmured under dim streetlights. you weren’t naive. you’d seen him with other girls, his arm draped over someone else’s shoulders, lips pressed to someone else’s skin. and still, when he turned to you, you melted.

"you know how this works," he told you once, voice soft but firm. and you nodded, even as the unspoken rules knotted themselves around your chest.

when he called, you answered. even when you swore you wouldn’t. even when you knew he’d probably been with someone else hours before.

"why do you let him do this to you?" your friends asked, eyes full of pity. they called him worthless, a waste of your time. maybe he was. he didn’t offer you stability or love, only flashes of a world where you were the only thing he saw.

but those flashes—they were enough. the way he looked at you sometimes, like you were more than just another girl. the way his fingers lingered on your skin, like he couldn’t quite let go.

you never asked for more. you didn’t dare. because asking meant risking everything, and you weren’t ready to lose even the scraps he gave you.

so you stayed. you answered his calls, let him pull you close, even knowing he’d slip away by morning. because in those hours, he was yours, and that was enough.

it wasn’t fair. it wasn’t healthy. but it was heeseung. and for now, that was all you wanted.