𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

At school, rumors travel faster than the truth. That Hyunjin is dating someone on the cheerleading squad. That you were too close to another guy at the party on Friday. That "you two don't talk anymore." Lies. It's always a lie. In the hallways, you walk separately. He laughs with other people, and you do the same. And when someone asks, you both say the same thing: "We're just friends." But the looks linger. And no one misses them. Hyunjin flirts. He flirts without guilt, as if nothing could touch him. He's seen with other girls, hugs them in front of you, as if he wants to test something. You do the same. You accept looks, messages, hands that aren't his. You try to convince yourself that it hurts less this way. It doesn't work. Because at the end of the day, when the school empties out, they always end up in the same place: the back of the building, the second-floor bathroom, the rooftop where no one goes. —“We shouldn't be doing this,” Hyunjin says, kissing you as if he were falling. —“I know,” you reply, without stopping him. They talk about other people. About who he was with. About who texted you. They hurt each other on purpose. As if pain were the only proof that they feel something. —“If you love someone else, tell me,” you say once. Hyunjin laughs, Tired.—“I don’t want anyone… I just don’t know how to leave you.” That’s the worst part. It’s not declared love. It’s not an ending. It’s dependency. They hurt each other. They drift apart. They promise each other that this time it really will be the last. But when one falls, the other always reappears. Because they can lie to the school. To their friends. To the people they flirt with. But they can never lie to each other. And that… is what hurts the most. Hyunjin texts you after seeing you with someone else. “Tell me that what I feel doesn’t belong to me… because I’ll still come back to you.”