Minwoo POV
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I didn't watch the replay.
I couldn't.
The stream was lagging anyway, and my hands were shaking too much to hold my phone steady. Every time Jae looked into the crowd, something in me twisted.
Because I knew who he was looking for.
And I didn't want to be found.
I wasn't strong enough to stand beside him.
Not after what he said.
Not after how easily he pushed me away.
You make me feel things I don't want to feel.
He said it like a curse.
But to me, it was the first thing that ever felt real.
---
The apartment was quiet. Too quiet.
No music. No background noise. No humming from the hallway.
Just the echo of his voice.
I kept thinking about his hands. The way they hovered before they touched. Always hesitant. Always careful. Like he wasn't sure if he was allowed.
I wanted to scream at him, You're allowed.
You're the only one I'd ever let that close.
---
When he came to the door that night, I heard his voice through the intercom.
It was shaky. Barely holding together.
Please. Just five minutes.
I closed my eyes.
I didn't move.
I couldn't.
Because if I opened that door, I would fall into him again. And I didn't know if he'd ever catch me the way I kept catching him.
---
The envelope came the next day.
I found it slipped under my door. No return address. No explanation.
Just a single picture:
Jae laughing. My hand on his back. We looked happy.
We looked real.
On the back, scrawled in red ink:
> "So this is who I have to break."
My heart stopped.
Because that handwriting...
It wasn't unfamiliar.
I'd seen it before.
In the margins of old lyric sheets.
Back when Jae still went by his real name—Jaeyoung—and spent his nights trying to erase someone from his memory.
I grabbed my phone. Dialed. Straight to voicemail.
Of course.
---
I texted him.
> I got a message. With a photo of us.
He's back, isn't he? The one you never talk about.
Three dots.
Then nothing.
I waited.
And waited.
No reply.
And that's when I realized—
Jae wasn't ignoring me out of anger anymore.
He was shutting down.
---
Later that night, Hana called.
"Did you hear?" she whispered. "Jiho's missing."
"What?"
"He left a note. Just like before."
I sat up in bed, the cast on my leg burning. "What kind of note?"
There was rustling on the other end. Then Hana read it:
> "They never hear me. Maybe this time, they will."
---
I didn't know who I was more afraid for.
Jiho—spiraling somewhere with a heart full of glass.
Or Jae-hyun—who might shatter before anyone could catch him.
And this time, I didn't know if I'd be fast enough.