“i’m sorry it had to be like this.”
she squeezes her eyes shut. if she can’t see him, maybe he can’t see her, too, and this inconvenient thing between them would just evaporate, as if it has never been. it’s wishful thinking, woori is aware, but she’s too exhausted (exchanging battered, torn hearts and cradling his in her palms) of this burning façade to pretend that she’s fine, because she isn’t and neither is he.
“you don’t have to be.” her voice is barely above a whisper, vibrating excruciatingly in the miniscule storage room; their breaths are warm and weary, damp and tired, and myungsoo wishes that he can end this whole charade, but he knows he can’t because although his heart is bruised, it’s whole when there’s her.
her hair falls into her eyes, framing her drawn face like a curtain. myungsoo doesn’t even flinch when she recoils at his stroke (don’t touch me, we’re not us, we can’t be, we never were, don’t touch me) but just allows his hand to fall back to his side. she slouches against his chest and he doesn’t touch her anymore, but she feels him all the same.
woori’s breathing decreases to a steady, slow rush. her eyes have become hooded with fatigue and her lips are chapped, although the amount of lipstick applied on them daily hides that just fine. “do they know?” she mumbles, fingering the buttons on his jacket.
he closes his eyes momentarily before dragging the syllables out. “they can read me like a book. do they know?”
“they can tell. they’re girls, too.”
the air seems to have been sucked out of his lungs; myungsoo can’t breathe, knowing that there’s a sordid affair going on where it shouldn’t be, knowing that he’s done something he shouldn’t have. “i love you.” the confession is stilted and halting, but she understands, although she wishes she doesn’t.
“i can’t say the same,” woori murmurs. the tears in her clear eyes quiver dangerously, but they don’t fall (she’s been trained to pretend that she’s made of steel, but words can still do nothing but hurt her, because what is she doing to my oppa? and she’s four years older than him! and l-oppa doesn’t even like her can get a tad arduous) because she won’t let them.
he bravely swallows the boulder accruing in his throat and replies with a small, stoic smile. “i know.” taking a deep, trembling breath, woori allows her fingers to travel his face, touching each and every feature the way only she knows how. she sighs against his neck, “I’m sorry this can’t work out.”
there’s no reply, but she doesn’t expect one, either.
(sungyeol and sungjong insist on paying rainbow a visit, claiming that the girls are their seniors, after all; myungsoo rolls his eyes, because the former still drools over jaekyung’s chest-popping and the latter is oddly attracted to jisook’s ‘manliness’, something he sadly lacks.
they just stand at opposite ends of the room, occasionally glancing at each other, but they leave it at that, because really, there’s nothing else.)