Minho

A whole week of icy silence. You'd managed to say so many unnecessary things to each other that the resentment still burned inside. You absolutely didn't want to go to this party, knowing full well he'd be there too. But your best friend practically begged: today she was finally going to confess her feelings to his best friend. Caving to her pressure, you reluctantly agreed.
Imagine your surprise when you met him at the door. You were wearing a bright red jacket and white pants, and he... as if mockingly, stood there in almost the same style: a red hoodie, a white jacket, and white pants. From the outside, it looked like the perfect date outfit. Your pride immediately stood on end. Your heart sank treacherously, and you desperately wanted to forget all the arguments, run up to him, and hug him tightly, inhaling his familiar scent. But instead, you merely tsk-tsk-tsk, lifted your chin, and walked past.
An hour passed. You were sitting in a group of seven. The atmosphere was tense as you both tried hard to pretend you weren't noticing each other, conversing with everyone else. All your mutual friends were well aware of your major fight and tried to avoid the awkwardness. But the alcohol had loosened some tongues. One of the guys at the table, unable to stand the tension, looked from you to your boyfriend and asked point blank:

• Listen... Did you two break up?