(Woo-jin pov)
The cameras stopped flashing hours ago, but the light still burned behind my eyes.
Another night, another red carpet, another hollow smile.
"Woo‑jin, look here! Over the shoulder—perfect!"
"Woo‑jin, what's your secret to staying so graceful?"
Graceful. What a lie.
The driver had dropped me off at my penthouse at exactly midnight, the kind of place every fan assumed was heaven. Floor-to-ceiling windows, a city that glittered like a jewelry box, imported furniture I never sat on. The air smelled of expensive emptiness.
I tossed my phone on the couch and sank to the floor instead. My reflection shimmered faintly against the glass wall — same perfect face, same carefully styled hair. Not a single flaw is visible. Not a single piece of me left.
"Welcome home, Mr. Kang," the AI assistant said automatically.
"Don't call me that," I muttered. "Not tonight."
The silence that followed felt heavier than the words. I kicked off my shoes, grabbed a half‑empty bottle from the counter, and drank without thinking. The liquid burned its way down my throat, but at least it reminded me I could still feel something.
I leaned back against the cold marble, eyes fixed. People down there were laughing, living, fighting, being.
And I was here, surrounded by nothing.
It should have been enough — fame, money, power. I had everything I'd once dreamed of.
So why did it feel like I was rotting from the inside out?
I closed my eyes, and like always, the dreams crept back — not real memories, but flashes. A street at dusk. Someone's voice calling my name.
"Woo‑jin."
Deep, annoyed, alive.
The sound of it made something ache under my ribs.
No. I forced the thought away. Don't think about him.
I drained another glass.
Minutes blurred. Hours. My head felt heavy, my limbs slow. I got up, stumbled toward the hallway, and nearly tripped over a photo frame lying facedown near the bookshelf. It must've fallen weeks ago. Maybe months. I didn't notice.
I bent down and picked it up.
Two boys in school uniforms — one with pink hair, smiling shyly; the other with dark green eyes, scowling like the world had offended him.
My throat tightened.
Dae‑hyun.
Even the name hurt.
He'd been my first real friend. My first real… everything. The one person who saw me at my lowest — shaking, terrified, barely surviving. The one who stopped me before I did something I could never take back.
And I'd ruined it.
I'd ruined him.
I set the frame on the table and stared at it until the glass started to blur. "You said I was annoying," I whispered, laughing without humor. "Guess you were right."
The laugh cracked halfway through.
And then I was laughing harder — too hard — until the sound turned into something broken. Something that echoed off the walls like it didn't belong to me.
I pressed my palm against my mouth, trying to silence it, but it didn't stop. The sound kept spilling out, shaky, desperate, choking.
My chest hurts. My whole body trembled.
"Stop," I whispered. "Stop it. You're fine."
But I wasn't.
I never had been.
The bottle slipped from my hand and rolled away, clinking against the floor. I gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white. I wanted to scream, to hit something, to break free from the cage I'd built with my own lies.
"You're okay," I muttered again, voice shaking. "You're okay, Woo‑jin."
But my reflection in the glass said otherwise.
His eyes were empty.
His smile — the one the world adored — looked monstrous now.
The tears came before I could stop them. Not the soft kind, but the ugly, breathless kind that tore out of your chest like a confession. I sank to my knees, pressing my forehead to the floor as if I could disappear into it.
"Why can't I forget you?" I whispered. "Why do you still have to be the only one who ever saw me?"
The silence didn't answer. It never did.
I wiped my face roughly with my sleeve, but the tears kept coming. Every inhale burned. Every exhale felt like glass in my lungs. I didn't even know what I was crying for anymore — for him, for me, for the years I'd wasted pretending I was okay.
I reached for the frame again, hands trembling. My thumb brushed over his face — that same annoyed glare that used to drive me crazy, the same expression that made me laugh when no one else could.
"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "You were the only person who ever looked at me like I was real."
The city lights blurred behind the glass. I pressed the photo to my chest, rocking slightly, the way I used to when the nights got too long.
"Please come back," I breathed, though I knew he couldn't hear. "Just once. Even if it's to yell at me again."
My phone buzzed somewhere behind me — probably another message from my manager, another reminder about tomorrow's shoot, another demand to smile for the world. I ignored it. I couldn't move. I didn't want to move.
Because the truth was simple.
Without Dae‑hyun, all of this — the fame, the lights, the applause — meant nothing.
I whispered his name again, softer this time. "Dae‑hyun."
And the sound broke me all over again.
.
The sun was barely up when I rolled out of bed, still tasting last night's whiskey like bitter metal. My head throbbed, every pulse a reminder of my own weakness. The penthouse was quiet, too quiet, except for the hum of the city far below, indifferent to the wreckage of my life.
I stumbled toward the counter, where the bottle had rolled into the corner. My fingers closed around it, gripping like it was the only anchor I had left. I took a long swig, letting the burn coat my throat. It didn't make the ache go away — it just made it dull enough that I could breathe without thinking of him.
I looked around the room. Everything gleamed, everything expensive, everything meaningless. A porcelain vase caught my eye, the one on the shelf I never even noticed until now. I reached for it, feeling the weight in my hands. I didn't even think, just held it there, teetering on the edge of control.
"Stupid," I muttered, my voice slurred. "All this… and it means nothing."
I set it down carefully, almost too carefully. My hands shook — not from the alcohol, not entirely. It was the memories clawing back, the things I thought I'd buried. Dae-hyun's face, his scowl when I made a joke, the way his hands used to hover protectively when I started shaking, panicking…
I poured another glass. Or maybe two. Or three. I stopped counting when the room tilted sideways, and the whiskey finally began to dissolve the edges of the pain. I could feel it loosening something inside me — the knot of guilt and loneliness I carried for years.
I stumbled toward the shelf again, fingertips brushing the edge of a frame. It almost fell, but I caught it, gripping it tight. The photo inside stared back at me — Dae-hyun, green eyes narrowed, lips curved into that half-annoyed, half-caring smirk. I swallowed hard.
"You left me," I whispered to the photo, my voice cracking. "You left me… and now you don't even remember. Do you even know how much I needed you?"
The tears came unbidden. I pressed my forehead against the glass, rocking slightly, the way I used to when no one was around to see me break. My hands trembled as I set the frame down, then ran a finger along the edge, dragging it across the floorboards, scraping them lightly.
I sank to the floor again, bottle in hand, staring at the ceiling. Shadows twisted across the walls as the city brightened outside, and I thought of all the times he'd pulled me back from the edge. The times he'd held me when I thought the world was too much.
And now… nothing.
I laughed bitterly, the sound echoing in the empty apartment. "I'm a mess," I muttered, voice raw. "I'm pathetic. And I deserve it. You hated me. And I… I couldn't even hold on to you."
The alcohol burned, yes, but it also loosened something darker. A little thrill of recklessness, a whisper that said, maybe you deserve more pain. I picked up something sharp from the desk, turning it over in my fingers. I traced its tip along the edge of my palm, carefully. Not enough to bleed, not enough to leave a mark. Just enough to feel… something real.
"See?" I whispered to myself, voice broken. "You feel nothing, then you feel a little. Then it hurts just enough to remind you you're alive."
I drank again, more aggressively this time. My stomach churned, my head spun, but I couldn't stop. I wouldn't stop. Because every time I tried to sleep, every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. The way he'd laughed at my terrible jokes, the way he'd scolded me for hiding my pain, the way his hands had steadied me when I shook.
And every time, the memory shattered me all over again.
I set the bottle down with a dull clink and ran my hands over my face. The tears weren't stopping. They didn't want to stop. I didn't want them to stop. I wanted to feel the hollow ache, wanted to let it remind me of him. Of us.
"Why… why did you leave me like this?" I whispered. "Why… why couldn't you stay?"
My voice broke halfway, sobs choking me. The apartment was silent except for my own ragged breathing and the distant city noise. I pressed my face into my knees and let myself break completely. "Dae-hyun… Dae-hyun…"
The city outside kept moving, uncaring. People laughed, argued, and lived. And here I was — just a shell, a hollow thing, clinging to memories that refused to let go, drowning in the ache of what I'd lost, what I'd failed at.
Finally, I collapsed fully onto the floor, my hands clutching the sides of my face. The room tilted, spun, swayed. I didn't care. I didn't want to care.
And in that quiet, hollow apartment, surrounded by the weight of my own failure, I whispered one last thing before the sleep of exhaustion and alcohol claimed me:
"I miss you… so much it hurts. And I'll never be good enough. I'll never… be enough for you, Dae-hyun…"
The bottle hit the wall before I even realized I'd thrown it.
The sound — that sharp, cracking shatter — was almost satisfying. For a heartbeat, the silence that followed felt like peace.
Glass rained down across the floor, glinting like tiny stars under the lamplight. I stared at them, breathing hard, chest heaving. My reflection looked back from a thousand broken fragments — fractured, distorted, worthless.
"This is what I am," I muttered. "Pieces. Just… pieces."
I dropped to my knees among the glass, not caring that my hands shook, not caring about anything anymore. I reached out, fingers hovering over one of the larger shards — its edge catching the light like a promise.
I gently placed the glass on my wrist. "I deserve it."
Then I did it.
I gave myself a beautiful scar and I wanted to do it again.
But when I touched it, I stopped.
The memory hit me like a wave — Dae‑hyun's voice, firm but soft, echoing from years ago.
"You're not broken, Woo‑jin. Not while you can still feel. Remember that."
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to chase it away, but the warmth of that memory only made the ache worse. My throat tightened until I could barely breathe.
"I don't deserve to remember you," I whispered. "Not after what I did. Not after how much I ruined."
My hands trembled harder. The air felt heavy, thick with regret and whiskey.
Woo‑jin, the actor. Woo‑jin, the liar. Woo‑jin, the man who let the only person who ever saved him walk away.
I pressed a shaking hand to my face, choking back a sound that wasn't quite a sob. "I deserve this," I breathed, voice trembling. "Every bit of it."
Then, instead of reaching for the shard, I swept my arm across the floor. The pieces scattered, sliding under the couch and disappearing into the dark.
I sank back against the wall, hands tangled in my hair, tears burning down my face.
The room smelled of whiskey and regret, of things that couldn't be undone.
And as the city lights flickered outside, I whispered, "I miss you, Dae‑hyun… I really do."