Minho's Perspective
It's funny how silence can be louder than any scream.
Haru hasn't spoken to me since that night.
Not one word.
Not even a glance.
Not even a breath in my direction.
And I hate that I can't tell if he's ignoring me or if he just… doesn't care anymore.
I used to be good at pretending I didn't need anyone. That none of this mattered. But now? Now I feel like I'm unraveling, one skipped heartbeat at a time.
I check my phone more than I should.
Messages typed and deleted.
A dozen unsent drafts sitting in my gallery like unshed tears.
His contact is still starred, still on top, still Haru-hyung with the little red heart I thought he'd never see.
He probably saw it.
And that's why he won't talk to me.
Because I got caught loving him too loud.
Last Week
We were alone. Again. That stupid project — I swear it was cursed. Or maybe we were.
He was tired. Not just sleepy-tired, but soul-tired.
Fingers curled around his pen like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. His shoulders slumped in a way that made me want to fix everything and hold him at the same time. His eyes had dark circles, hollow like he hadn't slept in days. His voice was lower than usual. Softer. Defeated.
So when I leaned in and said, "You look like shit,"
I expected him to roll his eyes or call me a brat. Maybe throw a pencil at my face like old times.
But he just looked at me.
So long.
So deep.
Like he was finally seeing something he didn't want to admit.
Then he said quietly, "You always show up when I'm too tired to fight."
I didn't know what to say.
Because that wasn't an insult.
It was a truth. A surrender. A cry.
So I kissed him.
Again.
But this time — this time he didn't freeze.
He kissed me back.
Slow. Painful.
Like it was goodbye before it even began.
Like he was mourning the pieces of us we'd never get right.
When we pulled away, I whispered, "Don't ignore me after this."
He didn't answer.
He never does when it matters.
Present
He's ignoring me.
I see him across the quad. Laughing with that guy from the theatre department — Donghyun or something. The one who always finds a reason to touch his arm when he talks. The one who clearly likes him.
I know it doesn't mean anything.
I know Haru doesn't look at him the way he used to look at me — like I was his biggest mistake and his only comfort rolled into one.
But it still makes me furious.
Haru throws his head back when he laughs. His hair catches the sunlight like strands of gold. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
I want to bottle that moment, break it open later and let it pour over me when I'm alone.
But I can't.
Because I don't have him.
Not really.
Not the way I want to.
And I don't think I ever will again.
In Class
The professor calls on me. I barely register it.
I answer something about historical materialism and Marx. Something about alienation. Ironic, considering I'm the most alienated bastard on campus right now.
Everyone looks surprised.
Guess they expected me to fail the midterm or flirt my way out of a paper. Guess they didn't know that heartbreak makes you memorize entire textbooks just to keep your hands busy.
I don't care.
My eyes flick to Haru.
He's writing.
Not looking.
Always not looking.
I hate it.
I hate him.
I hate how much I don't.
Flashback: A Month Ago
"Why do you always do that?" he asked, arms crossed, lips pursed in that annoyed-hyung way he always used with me. We were in the greenroom — just the two of us. The lights were off. He was bathed in blue shadows and stubbornness.
"Do what?" I asked, leaning against the wall, watching the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to slap me.
"Push people away."
I scoffed. "Who says I don't want to be alone?"
He looked at me, really looked at me.
"No one wants to be alone, Minho. Not forever."
I almost said except you, but the words died.
Because I realized he wasn't talking about me.
He was talking about himself.
About how lonely he is even when he's surrounded by people. About how he only lets his guard down when he's absolutely sure no one will use it against him.
And I'm the one who proved him right.
---
I tried to find him after class today.
Waited by the hallway, hoping he'd stop. Acknowledge me. Anything.
He walked past.
I caught his wrist before he could go.
"Haru."
He didn't look at me.
"Just say it," I whispered. "Say you hate me. Say I ruined everything. Just—say something."
His eyes finally met mine.
He looked exhausted. Like I was a weight he'd been dragging uphill for too long.
"I don't hate you, Minho."
I felt my lungs collapse.
"But I don't forgive you either."
Then he pulled away.
And left me standing there with my heart bleeding out into the corridor tiles.
Night
I stare at the ceiling.
My roommate's asleep. The dorm is quiet. Only the hum of my thoughts keeps me awake.
I replay every moment I ever touched him. Every time I made him laugh. Every second I let pride speak instead of my heart.
I thought I was strong.
I thought I was in control.
But loving him — it's the most out-of-control thing I've ever done.
And the worst part?
I don't even think he knows how much power he has over me.
Or maybe he does.
Maybe that's why he's silent.
Another Day, Another Bruise
We pass in the hallway again.
His friend pulls him aside, whispering something in his ear. He laughs, eyes crinkling.
That kind of soft laugh he never gave me.
I envy it.
Not the laugh.
The person who earned it.
Because Haru used to laugh like that before me.
And now?
Now I'm the reason he doesn't.
Later
I'm smoking behind the gym again. I told myself I quit. Haru hates the smell. Said it reminded him of his dad.
But maybe I want to be hated.
Maybe I want him to yell at me again. Slam me against a wall. Call me immature. Selfish. A mistake.
At least that meant he felt something.
Now it's just silence.
And it's worse than hate.
Because hate means he still sees me.
Now I'm just a ghost clinging to memories that are already slipping through my fingers.
Text Message (Unsent):
> "I'm sorry."
"I miss you."
"Do you ever think about that night?"
"You kissed me back, Haru. You kissed me first."
"So why does it feel like I'm the only one who remembers?"
Delete. Delete. Delete.
I can't send them.
I'm scared he won't reply.
I'm more scared he will — and say the one thing I don't want to hear:
> "I moved on."
Theater Room
It's empty. Dim. Dust floats in the shafts of light like forgotten dreams.
I sit in the front row. Watch the stage where he used to shine.
Where I first saw him.
Where it all began.
Back when I thought I hated him.
Back when I thought touching him wouldn't ruin me.
Back when he still smiled like he meant it.
I used to think I could break anything and it'd still be mine.
But Haru was never mine.
He just let me pretend.
And now?
Now I'd give anything to earn even a glare from him.
I deserve this.
I deserve the silence.
But it doesn't mean I'll give up.
Because Haru — he might hate me now.
But I'll make him fall for me again.
Even if I have to break apart to do it.
Even if I bleed for every inch of trust I destroyed.
Because I'd rather be broken with him than whole without him.