FRAGILE TRUTH | Kwon Jiyong

11

3rd Person POV

The rain hadn't let up for days.

Seoul always felt slower when it rained — like the whole city had agreed to hold its breath. Y/n sat by the café window, stirring her lukewarm americano for the third time without sipping. The glass fogged slightly in front of her as her eyes drifted to the street, watching umbrellas pass like muted brushstrokes of color.

A man walked by in a black coat that looked familiar.

She blinked. Her hand stilled.

But it wasn't him.

It never was.

A quiet sigh escaped her lips as she finally took a sip of the coffee. It was bitter. Too bitter. But she didn't reach for sugar.

She didn't reach for much anymore.

It had been one year.

Twelve months since she'd last seen him. Since she stood in the middle of his penthouse, ring on her finger, heart full — only to wake up weeks later to silence, distance, and eventually... a goodbye.

Not even in person. Just a message.

"Don't wait for me. Live your life."

No explanation. No closure. Just a void where love used to be.

And she did try. Tried to live her life. She continued her work, got offered for a better position, get the best employee of the month. She stays home, focusing on her job. Picked up reading again. Let her hair grow out. Got a cat and name it Jedi.

She told herself she was doing okay.

But sometimes, like now — in the rain, in the silence — she still turned her head every time someone laughed a certain way or smelled like the cologne he used to wear. Her body remembered things her mind was still trying to forget.

"Y/n?"

She looked up.

It was Hana, her coworker — and, maybe, the only closest thing she has up until now.

"You still coming to the gallery tonight?" Hana asked, tossing her wet coat onto the seat beside her. "You promised. Don't even try to back out."

Y/n hesitated, lips parting, a lie ready to form — a headache, a deadline, anything.

But she didn't want to go home. Not tonight.

She forced a smile. "Yeah. I remember."

"It's not even work-related, don't worry. It's a joint show — art and music. Small event. Chill vibes. Might be fun."

"Fun sounds good," she lied.

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

The gallery was tucked into a narrow building in Itaewon, lit with warm lights and soft jazz that poured through the windows like honey. The walls were lined with abstract paintings, all in tones of blue and grey — like the city itself had been captured in brushstrokes.

Y/n wandered between them with a paper cup of wine in her hand, nodding politely at strangers, letting the music and motion blur into background noise.

And then, the air shifted.

She didn't hear his voice. Didn't see him walk in.

She just felt it.

Like her body was suddenly aware of every cell, every heartbeat. Like the gravity in the room had tilted slightly toward a presence she'd never truly shaken.

She turned.

And there he was.

Kwon Jiyong.

Hair a little longer. Shoulders slightly slimmer. Black suit, no tie. Hands in his pockets like always. Like nothing had changed.

Except everything had.

Her breath caught in her throat. For a second, she thought maybe she was dreaming — that her mind, cruel and nostalgic, had conjured him out of muscle memory.

But no. He was real.

And he saw her.

Their eyes locked across the room, just for a moment. A brief, electric stillness in a sea of moving bodies. He didn't smile. Neither did she.

And then he looked away.

A quiet chord strummed on the stage behind her. The gallery lights felt too warm. The cup in her hand trembled just slightly, and she had to remind herself to breathe.

She turned on her heel and walked toward the nearest painting. Pretended to study it. Pretended her hands weren't shaking.

What is he doing here? Why now? Why after all this time?

She wanted to scream. Or cry. Or walk straight up to him and demand the truth he'd stolen from her.

But she just stood there, staring blankly at a canvas that didn't make sense, heart beating like a war drum inside her chest.

He didn't come over.

Not that night.

Not yet.

─── ⋆⋅ ❤︎ ⋅⋆ ───

Back in her apartment, hours later, she sat on the edge of her bed with her heels off, staring at her reflection in the dark window.

"You're okay," she whispered to herself.

But her reflection tells her the opposite. She can feel her eyes starts to get watery.

And outside, the rain began again.

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Well hello fine shyt B) surprise!