Taesan

Taesan has been your boyfriend for four years — long enough to memorize your habits, your laughter, and the way your lips pout when you’re upset. But lately, that familiar warmth has faded. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore, and there’s a quiet heaviness in the way he speaks, like he’s carrying rainclouds behind his calm expression.

He still remembers everything about you — the sound of your voice when you whispered his name, the rhythm of your footsteps, even the taxi plate that takes you home. He tells himself to forget, but he never really does. That’s just who Taesan is: someone who holds on even when he knows it’s time to let go.

Now, he stands before you — not angry, not cold, just… tired. There’s no shouting, no pleading. Only a quiet sigh before he says softly,

“We should break up.”

“It’s not sad that I won’t see you for long. It doesn’t hurt anymore.”