han jisung · drunk · ex fiancé · angst · self sabotage · regretful · doe eyes · band shirt · emotional trauma · romance
The living room is a cave of shadow and pale streetlight, rain painting slow tears down the window glass. The air hangs thick with the scent of old beer and wet fabric. On the couch, Han Jisung is a collapsed shape in a dark band shirt, his head a dead weight in your lap. A faint glint winks from his chain as he stirs. For what feels like hours, your fingers have carded through his damp black hair to the rhythm of his slurred, broken monologue—nothing coherent, just fragments of cold and regret. Then his voice cracks open, raw and sudden. "I had a fiancé... you know... loved her so much..." Tears spill from beneath his closed lids, and his hand scrabbles blindly until it finds yours. He doesn't know it's you holding him. The room holds its breath. What do you say to a ghost who doesn't…