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soombee · 2 months ago

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merry christmas , please don’t call — sim jake ⋆⁺₊❅⋆

pairing ; sim jake (en-) x reader (s.her pronouns)

warnings / genre ; hurt no comfort , alcohol consumption (don’t do this!!!) , jake being a real man and yearning , idol smau , mentions of harm (metaphorical) , lmk if more!

word count ; ~8600 (8.6k words)

publish date ; dec 4, 2024

sypnosis, jake sim still aches for the love he let go, haunted by memories of you in every snowfall—well more like every day he breathes. though your breakup was for the best, he can’t stop yearning in silence, whispering love letters you’ll never hear.

perm tag list (open) ! @voikiraz (tysmily)

— inspired by “merry christmas, please don’t call” by bleachers ^^

an ; hai guys Sorry for this LOLLL i still love u i promise… but no this actually hurt me to write.. sorry for thr weak angst tho I HATE angst so much plz #ILoveComfort ily so much jake i would never leave u…. (But actually plz leave if your s/o acts likw this or never follows their words w actions!! a liar will always tell and never act!!) AND PLS DO NOT GET BACK W UR EX (if they hurt you) (if they didn’t do anything and they hit u up RUN BACK HOME!!!! IJBOL) (only if u want to ofc) (do not cheat) (never ever be like jake in this fic #istillloveyou #imsorry.) anyqays. Hope this fic isn’t too boring, enjoyyy!!! ☺️☺️

the snow fell in soft, silent sheets, muffling the world and its noise. the streets glittered under the warm glow of streetlights but jake felt none of the holiday cheer radiating around him. his feet moved on autopilot, crunching through the fresh layer of snow as he headed toward the cafe—the café

he hated himself for coming here. he’d avoided this place for months, knowing full well it was a minefield of memories—every corner of the space filled with you. but tonight, something had drawn him back. maybe it was the first snow, or maybe it was the loneliness creeping in, heightened by the christmas spirit

he pushed the door open, the warm air inside hitting him like a bittersweet embrace. the smell of fresh coffee and gingerbread filled his senses, and for a moment, he could almost pretend nothing had changed

Almost.

jake’s eyes automatically scanned the room, even though he knew you wouldn’t be there. you were probably across town, maybe even across the country, living your new life—the one you’d both agreed you needed. but that didn’t stop his heart from aching as he slid into the corner booth, the one you’d always claimed as yours, the one where you two had met.

the waitress came by, and he ordered black coffee. no frills, no sweetness. just black and bitter, like the ache in his chest that refused to fade

he sat back, letting his gaze drift to the window. outside, the snow swirled under the streetlights, mesmerizing in its quiet beauty. but jake wasn’t thinking about the snow. he was thinking about you.

he thought about how your hands used to curl around your own mug, fingers perpetually cold until he’d wrap his own around them, how he’d dance you in the dim light of the night and how you looked as beautiful as ever. he thought about the way your nose would scrunch when he teased you, or how your laughter used to fill this space, louder and brighter than any christmas song playing in the background

God, he missed that laugh

he missed everything about you. the way you’d insist on splitting a cinnamon roll even though you’d end up eating most of it. the way you’d lean into him, your head resting on his shoulder as you people-watched through the frosted glass. he even missed the arguments—the stupid, petty fights about nothing that always ended with you curled into his side, whispering soft apologies against his neck

jake ran a hand through his hair, biting down hard on his bottom lip. he hated how vivid the memories were, how they clawed at him even now, months after you’d walked away

no, that wasn’t fair. you hadn’t just walked away—you’d made the decision together. it had been mutual, logical. you’d both realized you were heading in different directions, that clinging to each other was only holding you back. you’d promised to let each other go, to grow, to heal

but jake wasn’t sure he’d healed at all

if anything, he felt stuck. he went through the motions—practice, performances, interviews, photoshoots. smiling for the cameras, playing the part. but behind closed doors, it was you he thought about when the silence crept in. It was your voice he longed to hear when he woke up in the middle of the night, reaching for someone who wasn’t there

the coffee arrived, and he wrapped his hands around the mug, letting the warmth seep into his frozen fingers. he stared at the black liquid, the bitter aroma filling his lungs. he didn’t even like black coffee, not at all. you used to tease him about it, saying it didn’t suit his personality

“sim jaeyun, a golden retriever in human form, drinking something so bitter? you’d have to kill me to make me believe it,” you’d said with a laugh, stealing a sip from his cup before grimacing dramatically, “yuck, this is nasty!!!”

jake clenched his jaw, the ghost of your laughter ringing in his ears. he couldn’t count the number of times he’d caught himself replaying your voice in his head, as if the sound of it could bring you closer. it never worked, of course. the space between you had only grown more distant, the threads of your shared life unraveling into nothing but silly little memories

he stared out the window, the snow piling higher on the sidewalks. couples walked by, their faces illuminated by the golden glow of christmas lights. one of them reminded him of you—a girl tugging at her boyfriend’s scarf, laughing as he rolled his eyes and let her adjust it for him. it was the kind of small, meaningless moment he used to share with you

but now, jake didn’t have anyone adjusting his scarf. he barely wore one at all, the cold biting at his skin a welcome distraction from the pounding aches in his chest

his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him back to the present. he pulled it out hesitantly, the screen lighting up with a notification. it wasn’t you—of course it wasn’t. it was just a message from jay, asking if he wanted to join the group for dinner later. jake didn’t reply. he couldn’t bring himself to face anyone tonight, not when the weight of you was still pressing down on him so heavily

his thumb hovered over your contact instead, the familiar name glaring back at him like a taunt. he shouldn’t. he couldn’t. you’d made it clear when you parted ways: no calls, no texts, no nothings. not because you didn’t care, but because you cared too much. staying in each other’s lives would have been too painful, a constant reminder of what you had both lost

but God, did he want to hear your voice.

“merry christmas, please don’t call,” he muttered under his breath, echoing the line from the song that had been haunting him all night. he set the phone face down on the table, resisting the urge to do something he’d later regret

the truth was, he didn’t even know what he’d say if you picked up. would he tell you he missed you? that he still kept the scarf you left at his apartment, buried in the back of his closet because he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out? that every time he heard your favorite song, he had to leave the room because it made his chest tighten with longing?

jake laughed bitterly, shaking his head. none of it would matter. you were gone, and no amount of yearning could bring you back

the café was quieter now, the other customers leaving as the evening wore on. jake drained the last of his coffee, the bitterness lingering on his tongue. he left a few bills on the table and stood, his legs feeling heavier than they should

outside, the snow was laying thicker, coating the world in white. it was beautiful, he supposed, but it only made the city feel emptier

as he walked down the street, the cold seeped through his coat, but he didn’t care. his thoughts were stuck on you, on what could have been if things had been different. if he’d fought harder. if you’d stayed.

but life wasn’t “the notebook,” there were no miracles waiting to reunite you. the was only the cold, and the loneliness, and the silence

jake reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone again. his thumb hovered over your name one last time before he let out a shaky breath and put it back in his pocket

“merry christmas,” he whispered to the empty street. “i hope you’re happy.”

with that, he kept walking, his figure disappearing into the snowfall, the quiet yearning in his heart a burden he’d carry alone—do you still think of me?

flashback — beginning of the end

his absence wasn’t sudden—it never was. it began to stretch further and further. at first, you’d see him four or five days a week, then three. then there were weeks when you could count the hours he was home on one hand

you adjusted, at least outwardly. you stopped waiting up for him, stopped asking if he’d be home for dinner. every time you thought to reach out, his familiar excuses echoed in your mind:

jakey jakey: sorry baby, new album soon. promise i’ll make it up to you, i love you!

but his words felt emptier with every passing week.

sometimes, you’d sit on the couch with your phone in your hand, staring at his contact name and wondering if it was worth calling. would he even pick up? if he did, what would you say?

i miss you.

i can’t keep doing this.

come home.

instead, you swallowed your words and let the silence stretch on.

to cope, you tried to fill the spaces he left behind

you threw yourself into work, taking on extra projects to keep your mind busy. you reconnected with old friends, meeting up for coffee or weekend brunches that helped ease the ache, even if only for a little while. you even had time to travel to australia to visit your in-laws.

but no matter how much you tried to distract yourself, the loneliness always crept back in. it lingered in the empty apartment, in the untouched leftovers in the fridge, in the cold side of the bed where jake used to sleep.

your friends noticed, too.

“you okay?” one of them asked over lunch one day

you forced a smile, “mhm, just busy, yk?”

“have you seen Jake lately?”

the question hit harder than you expected. You hesitated before answering,

“not as much as I’d like.”

they exchanged a look, one you couldn’t quite decipher, but they didn’t press further

when you got home that evening, you sat in the quiet and wondered if this was your life now: always waiting, always wondering, always pretending everything was fine

you told yourself it was temporary.

jake had always been ambitious—relentlessly so—and you admired that about him. he’d fought days and nights of exhaustion to get to where he was, pouring his blood, sweat, and tears into a career that demanded everything and more from him

you had to understand that.

when he missed date night for a sudden meeting, you reminded yourself of how hard he worked to provide for a future you both dreamed about. you pictured the life he talked about during quiet nights: a cozy home, maybe with the children you two had planned on having, vacations to places you’d only seen in magazines. this was just a temporary sacrifice, you told yourself. he was doing it for you. for both of you.

on your anniversary, when he texted to say he was stuck at the building again, you tried not to let the hurt show. you prepared the dinner anyway—all of his favorite meals—lighting the candles and sitting at the table long after the food had gone cold

when he finally called, voice strained and full of apologies, you smiled through the disappointment,

“haha it’s okay, my love. i know you’re busy.”

“next time,” he promised, “i’ll make it up to you.”

you wanted to believe him.

and when the missed dinners and canceled plans piled up, you clung to the hope that all of it—the sacrifices, the empty nights, the growing distance—was worth it, he’s a rising star!

he’s doing this for us, you repeated like a mantra, even as the cracks in your heart grew deeper. stop being so selfish, yn. he loves you, he’s doing this for us.

but as the months passed, those words began to feel like a lie and you wondered how much more of yourself you could give before there was nothing left.

your birthday came — jake promised to surprise you. everything should have been perfect.

he had planned everything down to the smallest detail. he’d listened when you talked about how much you missed those intimate dinners, the quiet moments when time seemed to slow. he remembered every little thing you liked and disliked, and he had worked tirelessly to make this birthday different—to make up for the forgotten anniversaries, the unspoken words, the promises made in the heat of passion and quickly broken in the cold rush of reality.

a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. a small, decadent cake with the kind of frosting you loved, not too sweet but perfectly balanced. a handwritten letter, each word carefully chosen to remind you of all the reasons why he loves you, of all the reasons why you had been the light in his life for so long, of all the words he could not say to you.

but none of it happened the way Jake had envisioned..

you sat on your couch, hands gripping the edges of your phone, staring at the screen as the minutes ticked by. 5:30 pm—the time you had agreed upon. that was when you expected him to arrive. that promised. promised it would be different this time but as the hands of the clock seemed to mock you, you knew deep down that this night was going to be just like every other—every single one of the nights you had spent waiting for him.

the dinner you’d prepared, with love and care, now sat on the table, cold and untouched. the candles you had lit to set the mood flickered softly in the silence of the room, their light casting long shadows on the walls.

you sent another message,

“baby, where are you?”

the response came minutes later.

“running behind, something came up at the studio. be there soon, i promise lovely.”

you stared at the screen, your heart sinking. ‘be there soon..’ you had heard that so many times, but it had never meant anything. he had always said the same thing, always claimed he was on his way, and yet it felt like you were always the one who waited. always the one left behind

you placed your phone on the table, willing yourself not to cry. but it wasn’t about the tears anymore. it was the disappointment. the frustration. the pain that had built up over weeks, months even, as his promises piled up like empty words

an hour passed. another message.

“so sorry, baby. still at the studio. it’s running late.”

at the studio. Again.

it had been weeks since you had gone out to dinner together without something getting in the way. his job, his career, his ambitions—they always took precedence. you understood that, you told yourself. you’d been patient, supportive, waiting quietly for him to balance things out, to see you the way you needed to be seen.

but now? now, you were beginning to wonder if he even saw you anymore, if he even thought about you

when the door finally opened, it felt like the moment you’d been waiting for all night was anticlimactic

jake stepped in, his coat dripping water onto the floor, his face twisted with guilt and exhaustion. his eyes were wide with that apologetic look, but it wasn’t enough. not anymore. the bouquet of flowers he held in his hands was a sad excuse—wilting, pale, as if the gesture itself had already been rotten

“i’m so sorry i’m late baby,” he began, the words rushed as if they were rehearsed,“there was this thing at the studio, and—”

you couldn’t take it anymore

“do you even care?” the words came out harsher than you expected, filled with raw, unfiltered emotion

jake froze

you could see the way his breath hitched, the way his hands tightened around the flowers as if they were the only thing grounding him to the present moment—even though the thorns from its stems found its way into his skin. he looked so lost. so helpless.

his mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. you could see the panic in his eyes—the kind of panic that came from knowing he had already failed. but still, he reached for you, as if that would solve everything. as if the gesture alone could erase the months of distance between you two

but you weren’t willing to forgive him, not this time. not when your heart ached too much for you to pretend that things were okay anymore

“are you serious?” you laughed, but it wasn’t funny. it was bitter,

“every time i think it’s getting better, you pull this shit. i’m always waiting. always. and you’re never here. NEVER present. You’re just like my fucking dad, jake.”

his face paled, his eyes flickering to the table where the cold meal sat untouched, the cake you had baked slowly sinking into itself, the flickering candles an eerie reminder of how much time had passed,

“i swear i didn’t mean for this to happen,” he said, but the words felt hollow, like they were coming from a place where regret was no longer enough to fix anything, “i swear i was going to—”

“it’s always your words and never your actions. what? you thought i would be okay with this?” your voice broke then, the weight of your frustration cracking through the veneer of control you had been holding onto all evening,

“that I would just understand? you’ve been promising me for weeks, jake. weeks! and all you do is disappoint me. i don’t even know who i’m waiting for anymore”

his face twisted with guilt. he wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, to apologize until it made everything better, to reassure you that he was still the jake that you fell for, but he knew he couldn’t. he knew the distance between you wasn’t something he could close with a hug or a few empty words.

“i love you,” he said quietly, his voice full of desperation, as though that would be enough

you flinched at the words, like a punch to the gut. you love him too, but love didn’t fix this. love didn’t heal the broken parts of you that had cracked under the weight of his absence.

you shook your head. “i used to believe you. i really did.”

jake’s eyes watered at your words, his throat tightening as if he was on the verge of breaking down, but you couldn’t bring yourself to comfort him anymore. not when you were drowning in your own hurt, drowning in a flood caused by him

“you don’t even know how much this hurts,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “i’ve been waiting for so long, and all you ever do is show up when it’s too late.”

the silence between you was suffocating, the air thick with things unsaid, feelings that had been buried too deep for too long. jake opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to stop him

“jake please,” you said softly, each word feeling like a finality you had been avoiding for months. “i can’t do this anymore.”

he staggered back, as if you had slapped him, the weight of your words landing like a punch to his chest. he opened his mouth to say something, but it was clear that nothing could undo what had been done

“i’m sorry. i really am,” he murmured

but you couldn’t hear him. not anymore. the door was closing, slowly but surely, and he was too late to stop it

you turned your back to him, taking deep breaths, fighting to keep your composure. you couldn’t stay in this room with him any longer. not when everything had become a reminder of his neglect. not when the warmth you had once shared had been replaced by this suffocating cold

“please…just go,” you said, voice breaking as you finally let the tears fall

he hesitated, as if waiting for you to change your mind. but when you didn’t, he turned and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that echoed in your heart

and in the stillness of your apartment, you realized you were alone.

hours later, after he had left, you sat in the quiet of the dark apartment, the remnants of your birthday still scattered around you—half-eaten food, the stale cake, the wilted flowers. you had always been told that love was supposed to feel like home, but all you felt now was the emptiness of it

the day it finally ended.. oh it was heartbreaking.

it was late, nearing three am, when jake arrived at the apartment. you were laying down on the couch, hands curled beneath your head, waiting patiently in the cold. the sound of his keys jingling in the door used to fill you with relief, but tonight it only brought dread of whats to come next

jake stepped inside, his shoulders slumped, dark circles beneath his eyes. he paused when he saw you drifting to sleep, your face lit only by the dim glow of a nearby lamp

“hi baby, why are you still up?” he asked, his voice tentative, he kisses your head

“i needed to talk to you,” you said, sitting upc keeping your voice steady—though your chest felt like it was already caving in.

he kicked off his shoes, setting down his bag. “can it wait? it’s been a long day—”

“no.”

that one word was enough to stop him in his tracks. he looked at you properly then, his brows furrowing as he took in the tense set of your shoulders, the tight grip you had on your thigh.

“what’s wrong?” he asked, though you both already knew the answer

you took a deep breath, your throat tight, “jake, we can’t keep doing this.”

he froze, his hands hovering over the back of his head, “..doing what?”

“this,” you said, motioning to the space between you. “pretending that everything’s okay. pretending that we’re okay.”

his jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to argue against the idea. but then his shoulders sagged, and he sat down across beside you, his movements slow and deliberate

“i know i’ve been distant,” he started, his voice barely above a whisper, “but i swear i’m trying to get everything done as fast as possible, love.”

you shook your head, tears already pooling in your eyes, “you’ve been saying that for months, yun. and i’ve been so. patient. i’ve been waiting for you to come home, to show up, to prove that we still mean something to you. but you never do.”

“that’s not fair,” he said, his voice breaking, “you know how hard they’ve been making me work. you know how much this career means to me.”

“and what about me?” you shot back, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “what about us? don’t we mean anything to you anymore?”

his silence was deafening.

“jake,” you continued, your voice trembling, “i’ve been here since the beginning, holding on, hoping things would get better. but they’re not. and i don’t think they ever will.”

his head dropped into his hands, and for the first time, you saw him break

“please,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “please don’t do this.” he held your face with grace, not wanting to hurt you even more

your heart shattered at the sound of his desperation and the look of defeat on his face, oh your poor baby had tears in his eyes. but you forced yourself to stay strong, “i don’t want this either. but i can’t keep holding on to someone who’s never here. i can’t keep chasing for someone who won’t wait for me.”

he looked away then, his eyes red and glossy. “you’re everything to me. don’t you see that? everything i’m doing—it’s for our future. i want to give you everything you want in life.”

“but what’s the point of a future,” you said, your voice heavy with sorrow, “if we can’t even make it through the present, jake?”

you stood up after wiping his tears, “i love you jake but i’m hurting, i can’t stay with someone who’s never there to comfort me.”

and with that, you disappeared into the depths of your shared room.

the next morning, jake was gone before you woke up—7:39 am, he had only slept for 4 hours..? he left a note on the kitchen counter, scrawled in his messy handwriting:

“I’m sorry.”

that was it. no explanation, no promises to try harder. just two words that felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

you couldn’t take it anymore.. you couldn’t take his empty words and promises anymore.

by the time he came back that evening, the apartment was empty. your clothes were gone, your toothbrush missing from its place by his. you didn’t leave a note—what was there left to say?

jake sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the now-bare dresser where your framed photo once stood. his phone buzzed in his pocket, but he didn’t bother to check it. he already knew it wasn’t you, why would it be you?

he couldn’t bare the emptiness of the space.

that night, he called his mother. the moment her face appeared on the screen, her warm smile faltered at the sight of him.

“jake? what’s wrong, mom’s sweetie?”

and that was all it took. his facade crumbled, and the tears came before he could even speak

“she’s gone, mom,” he choked out, his voice barely audible

his mother’s face softened with concern, “oh, baby…”

“i tried,” he continued, his words tumbling over one another. “i tried to balance everything—to make her happy, to make this work, to keep my career. but i couldn’t. i couldn’t give her what she needed.

“did you talk to her?” his mother asked gently

jake shook his head, wiping his face with the back of his hand, “what could I say? that i’m sorry? that i’ll do better? i’ve said those things a hundred times, and it was never enough.”

his mother’s face flickered with sadness, her heart aching for her son. she wanted nothing more than to pull him into her arms, to hold him the way she had when he was little and scraped his knees on the playground but she couldn’t reach him through the screen.

“jaeyun,” she said gently, “you’ve been carrying so much on your shoulders. you’ve always worked so hard—for your career, for the people you love. but sometimes, love isn’t about how hard you try. it’s about being there and it sounds like that’s what dear yn needed most.”

“i know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i know, but i couldn’t.. i thought i was doing the right thing but now she’s gone and i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t know if I can fix it—“

his mother let out a soft sigh, her expression pained. “sweetie, listen to me. it’s okay to grieve, to feel like you’ve failed. but you can’t carry this alone. you need to let yourself feel it, even if it hurts. you need to take time for yourself, for your heart”

jake nodded weakly but his chest ached with the knowledge that time wouldn’t bring you back,

“i miss her,” he admitted, his voice breaking again, just like his prepubescent days, “i miss her so much, mom. i don’t know how to do this without her”

“you’re stronger than you think,” she replied, her voice steady but filled with love, “but that doesn’t mean you have to do it all on your own. lwan on the people who care about you—your members, your friends. and if you ever need mom, i’m here.”

those words should have comforted him, but they only made him feel the distance more acutely. she wasn’t in korea, she was thousands of kilometers away, he couldn’t just drive over to see her, to collapse into her arms and let her stroke his hair the way she used to when he got scared of thunder striking,

“i wish i could be there,” he said, his voice trembling, “i wish i could just… come home and stay there forever.”

his mother’s expression softened, tears shining in her eyes. “i wish you could, too. but always remember why you moved back to korea, to achieve your dreams.. but still, i’m always with you, jaeyun. always.”

it wasn’t enough—not really. he needed her here, needed to feel her arms around him, needed her to tell him everything would be okay even if it felt like his entire world was crumbling but he nodded anyway. he agreed, knowing there was nothing else to say, nothing else could be said

“thank you, mom,” he murmured, his voice hoarse from all the recordings, melt downs, dehydration.

“take care of yourself, sweetheart,” she replied, “don’t forget that i love you always.”

“i love you, too,” Jake said, his voice breaking again as he ended the call, the screen going dark

jake stared at his reflection in the blank screen for a long moment, his face blotchy and tear-streaked, eyes red and swollen. he dropped the phone onto the couch beside him, burying his face in his hands as another wave of grief hit him—you were gone.

the comfort he sought was so close yet unreachable. his mother’s words lingered in his mind, warm and full of love, but they couldn’t bridge the thousands of miles between them. he felt like a child again, crying out for someone to make the pain stop, but no one could.

he sank further into the couch, the silence of the apartment pressing down on him. it was unbearable. everywhere he looked, there were memories of you—the book you’d left on the coffee table, your favorite mug still sitting in the cupboard, the blanket on the couch you always used when you curled up to watch movies together..

he thought of how you used to hum absentmindedly in the kitchen, how you’d lean against the counter and laugh at his attempts to help, how he’d always hug you from behind while you were cooking. he thought of the way you’d smile at him, soft and full of love, as if he were the only thing that mattered in the world,

but now, you were gone.

he clutched the throw pillow to his chest, as if holding onto it could somehow bring you back. he wanted to scream, to break something, to do anything that might ease the ache in his chest but all he could do was sit there and drown in his own regret

jake had always prided himself on being strong, on enduring whatever life threw at him, but this? this was different. this was the kind of pain that seeped into every corner of his being, leaving him hollow and exhausted.

he wanted to call you, to beg for another chance, to promise he’d do better. But he knew it wouldn’t change anything. you’d tried—both of you had—and it still hadn’t been enough.

so he sat there, alone, in the dark, heart aching for a love he could no longer hold onto.

—

jake spent the next few weeks wandering through his days in a haze. the apartment felt impossibly quiet without you there, your absence a constant reminder of what he’d lost.

he drowned himself with work, staying late at the studio until exhaustion forced him to stop. although no matter how busy he kept himself, the emptiness remained

some nights, he found himself sitting by the window, clutching the small, crumpled note you’d once written to him: “i’ll never stop loving you, i will love you until we both become food for soil!!”

but now, he wasn’t yours to love anymore.

and that realization hurt more than anything else.

days without you blurred into weeks, and the weeks into months. but for your ex lover, time didn’t heal—it only deepened the wound, pressing onto it with a sharper blade. you were everywhere, not just in the apartment you’d once shared but in the life you continued living without him.

each of your milestones became a ghost that haunted him, milestones he had once imagined celebrating by your side. now, they were moments he had to watch from afar, each one a bittersweet mix of pride and pain, leaving him both in awe of your resilience and hollowed by his absence from your joy.

your birthday. don’t even get jake started on your birthday.

he had always loved your birthdays—well, before the idol like exhausted him. he used to make them extravagant, treating the day like a sacred holiday meant for only the two of you. he remembered how your eyes lit up at the smallest details—a handwritten note tucked under your pillow, a trail of flower petals from your once-shared bedroom all the way to the kitchen table, breakfast already made for you, the way he’d stay up until midnight just to be the first to wish you everything you’ve been working towards

but this year was different.

jake found out about your celebration through a tagged photo on social media. you were at a cozy rooftop party surrounded by your beloved friends, the city skyline twinkling in the background. yog were smiling, radiant as ever, holding a cupcake with a single swirly candle

he couldn’t stop staring at the screen, fingers frozen over his phone as he scrolled through the pictures. he noticed how your smile was the same one he used to know—bright, genuine—but there was something missing. or maybe it was just him, searching for a version of you that didn’t exist anymore, searching for a hint of sadness in you.

he typed a message, the words “happy birthday, I hope you’re doing well” sitting in the text box. but before he could press send, his own voice echoed in his mind, bitter and sharp:

happy birthday. please don’t call.

his chest tightened as he deleted the message. you didn’t need him ruining your special day. he put the phone down, but the images of you celebrating stayed in his mind, vivid and unrelenting. for the rest of the night, he sat at the piano, fingers moving across the keys as he tried to compose something—anything—to capture the ache in his chest but all that his fingers memorized were the chords of your favorite song.

by morning, the only words he had written were:

i love you. i’m sorry.

a few months later — one year after your break up.

jake knew today was special. he didn’t need to see pictures to know you’d graduated. he remembered the date from when you used to talk about it, lying next to him in bed, your voice filled with hope and determination,

“i can’t wait for you to see me walk across that stage with aaaalll my chords, sashes, and medals,” you’d said, your head resting on his chest. “i’ll probably trip, though..”

he’d laugh, kissing the top of your head,

“i’ll catch you if you do”

the thought twisted in his chest now, bitter and hollow. he wasn’t there to catch you—not at your ceremony, not in your life. he wondered if someone else had stepped into that role.. no. nevermind. that thought hurt to imagine.. it hurt a little too much.

he found himself scrolling through old photos on his phone, landing on one of you in his hoodie, hair messy, glasses perched on your nose as you furiously typed away at your laptop. you were studying for finals, the faintest scowl on your lips

“i don’t know why i’m doing this,” you’d muttered, frustrated

“because you’re amazing,” jake had replied without hesitation, “and you’re gonna be the best (profession of choice) out there”

now, he stared at the picture until his vision blurred. you had achieved your dream after years of education, just like you always said you would. he wanted to tell you how proud he was, how he’d always believed in you, how he’d always be your biggest fan.

but all he could whisper into the silence was:

“congratulations. please don’t call.”

“i’m proud of you. please don’t call.”

—

it was easy for you to find a starting job in your career dud to your impressive statistics.

when jake saw the announcement, it was like a punch to the gut. someone had shared your linkedin update—a smiling picture of you holding a nameplate for your new job. the caption was simple, professional, but it felt like a dagger:

“i’m officially licensed hehe”

the brunette stared at the photo for what felt like hours, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. he was proud of you—of course he was. he’d always known how capable and brilliant you were, but the pride was laced with a sharp, unbearable ache.

he couldn’t stop the flood of memories—thinking about the nights you spent on his couch, head buried in job applications, chewing on the end of your pen as you stressed over every word. he remembered your hopeful smile when you got that first interview call and how you’d hugged him so tight he could barely breathe when you told him the good news.

jake used to imagine this moment—your first big girl job, your first step into the career you’d worked so hard for. but in every version of that memory, he was there to celebrate with you. he’d pictured himself popping champagne in your apartment, pulling you into a kiss as he told you how proud he was.

instead, he sat in his empty apartment, staring at a screen. the message he wanted to send formed in his mind: i always knew you’d get there, my love. you deserve this.

but then, like a reflex, the bitter echo followed:

please don’t call.

his phone buzzed with a notification—another congratulations for you from a mutual friend. He muted the conversation. it wasn’t jealousy; it was the sinking realization that the version of your future he’d envisioned, where he stood beside you every step of the way, was gone.

later that night, jake sat down, pen and paper in hand, writing absentmindedly. mind soft, full of you and how proud he was:

“congratulations on your first job.

i knew you’d get there.

i knew you’d shine.

but please don’t call.

i’m proud of you.

please don’t call.”

his fingers cracked on the last line, and he put the pen down, pressing his palms into his eyes to stop the tears.

as he stopped writing, he decided to pick up his guitar, the melody so melancholic and raw.

the lyrics he’d written—unfinished and full of longing—stayed with him. you slipped into his music, weaving through the melodies he created, even when he didn’t mean for them to. the studio became both a sanctuary and a battlefield.

his bandmates noticed the shift. he was quieter during rehearsals, distracted during dance practices, often lost in thought. when he sang, his voice carried a weight it hadn’t before—a deep sadness that even they couldn’t ignore.

one night, alone in the studio, jake finally recorded a song. the verses described every aspect of yours he’d missed: your kindness, thoughtfulness, your gentle face, your everything. each line was a love letter wrapped in pain, a confession he could never send.

by the end of the recording, his voice broke completely. the final line lingered in the empty room, his whisper barely audible:

“one ticket out of your heavy gaze

I want one ticket off of your carousel

I want one ticket out of your heavy gaze

I want one ticket off of your carousel”

jake didn’t know if the song would ever see the light of day. it wasn’t meant for anyone else but himself. it was his way of holding onto whatever he had left of you, even as the world forced him to let go.

and yet, as he sat in the silent studio, he couldn’t help but wish—just once—that you would listen to his song anyway.

years later — he hasn’t heard from you in a while, maybe he was finally healing after years of hurt..?

** ding..!!

oh! oh? ….oh.

“yes to forever!!” your instagram post captioned

it was simple—just a picture of your hand intertwined with someone else’s, a gleaming ring on your finger

the world seemed to tilt as he stared at the photo. his vision blurred, the edges of the screen fading into a dull haze. for a moment, he thought it was a joke, a misunderstanding, or maybe just a bad dream!! he rubs his eyes, no. no no no—there it was, still clear and undeniable, he could feel every pinch his fingers inflicted

jake didn’t breathe. he couldn’t.

he clutched his phone tighter, as though crushing the image into oblivion would erase this event. but the picture stayed, unwavering, a testament to the reality he’d spent years dreading. you were moving on..?

he had flashbacks of the future he’d once imagined.

there had been a time when jake couldn’t picture his life without you. you’d once lain together under a canopy of stars and fireflies, his hand in yours, as you talked about the future—two kids, one pet, and a happy life with each other.

“what kind of wedding do you want?” he had asked, his voice soft and full of promise

you had laughed, rolling onto your side to face him. “something small and intimate. just our close friends and family. i don’t need anything big as long as i’m with you”

he smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face, “i’ll make it perfect.”

he had imagined that day so vividly. you in white, walking toward him, the room filled with music he had handwritten just for you. he’d imagined the vows he’d whisper, promises he’d spend a lifetime keeping. and he’d imagined forever with you—a future where he could hold your hand until the very end

now, that future belonged to someone else. someone deserving of your love.

he didn’t want to know when your wedding day was set. no, he didn’t want to know anything about you at all. but fate had a cruel sense of humor. he overheard it in passing from a mutual friend, who mentioned it like it was just another piece of small talk.

the day arrived like a storm, unrelenting and heavy. jake woke up early, his chest tight and his mind racing. every hour felt like a countdown, each second pulling him closer to the inevitable

by noon, he was in the studio, in meetings, in talkshows trying to drown his thoughts in work. but even his industry betrayed him. everything reminded him of you, of the songs you used to hum while he played, of the melodies you inspired, of talkshows you’d talk about

he couldn’t escape you.

as the evening rolled around, jake found himself sitting on the floor of his apartment, a glass of liquor in hand. his phone lay beside him, the screen dark, but he couldn’t stop staring at it. he wondered what you were doing at that exact moment.

were you walking down the aisle? were you kissing his lips? were you happy?

jake’s throat tightened as he imagined it—the soft rustle of fabric as you stepped forward, the way your smile must have lit up the room. he pictured your hands trembling slightly as they always did when you were nervous, and then he imagined someone else holding those hands steady

someone who wasn’t him.

the thought sent a sharp ache through his chest. he tried to take another sip of whiskey but his hand shook so badly that the liquid sloshed over the edge of the glass. setting it down, he pressed his palms into his eyes, as if that could stop the flood of images rushing through his mind.

he could almost hear your laugh, soft and bright, as you said I do. as you committed the rest of your life with a random guy.

jake leaned back against the wall, head tilted toward the ceiling. he’d let his mind drift to the promises he once rehearsed in secret, words he thought he’d say to you on your wedding day.

“i promise to never let you doubt how much i love you. i promise to be your biggest supporter, your greatest comfort, your forever.”

he’d practiced them countless times, sometimes whispering them into your ears as you drowned in the quiet night, other times writing them out in notebooks he still couldn’t bear to throw away

but those promises never left his lips. instead, someone else had taken the vows that should have been his. someone else got to stand where he always thought he’d be,

his memories collided.

the hours dragged on, and jake was helpless to stop himself from scrolling through every post, every picture that filtered onto his feed. he saw the smiling faces of your friends, the decorations you’d once described as your dream aesthetic, and then, finally, he saw you

you were breathtaking, just as he’d always imagined. the way your dress flowed around you, the soft light catching on your features—it was like a snapshot from his dreams. only now, the man beside you wasn’t him.

jake didn’t realize he was crying until a tear splashed onto his phone screen. he swiped it away angrily, but the flood wouldn’t stop. his breaths came in shallow gasps, his chest heaving under the weight of his grief,

he tried to rationalize it. he told himself this was for the best, that you deserved happiness—even if it wasn’t with him but the logic couldn’t touch the deep, raw ache in his heart.

he seeked so much comfort.

jake reached for his phone and dialed his mother. it rang twice before her familiar voice answered,

“Hello my sweetie”

hearing her almost broke him completely. he clutched the phone tightly, his voice trembling as he spoke. “mom… i—i don’t know what to do.”

“what’s wrong, jaeyunie?” her tone was soft, laced with concern

he hesitated. he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. couldn’t tell her that the person he loved more than forever was now promising forever to someone else

instead, his words came out broken and vague. “i just.. i feel like i’m losing everything.”

“oh, jake.” her voice cracked slightly, and he could picture her, thousands of miles away in brisbane, wishing she could reach out and hold him. “i’m so sorry you’re feeling this way.”

“i want to come home,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “i just want to see you. i need to see you.”

“i wish you could, too,” she said gently. “but you’re strong, jake. i know you are. stay in korea for yourself”

he nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. the words were comforting in their own way, but they didn’t ease the pain gnawing at him. nothing ever could.

“i’ll be okay,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure he believed it. “i just.. i just don’t know how to let go.”

there was a long pause on the other end of the line. when his mother spoke again, her voice was thick with the weight of unspoken words,

“i know, son, i know”

jake closed his eyes, letting the silence hang between them for a moment before he whispered, “i wish i was there with her. i was supposed to be the one beside her today.”

his mother sighed, a sound full of both sympathy and sorrow, “you know it’s not always about being there physically, jake, but I understand.. it’s hard to let go when you’re still holding onto the dream you built in your heart.”

he swallowed hard, the tightness in his throat making it difficult to speak. “i thought she was the one. I thought we had a future. and now, i don’t know what i’m supposed to do with all of this… all these feelings, and she’s… she’s not even thinking of me anymore”

his mother’s voice softened. “I know. but maybe.. maybe you’ve been holding onto a version of her that’s no longer yours. people change, sweetheart. and so do relationships.”

jake stared blankly at the wall, letting the words settle in, but they didn’t make him feel any better. in fact, they only made him feel more lost, more alone. he knew it was true, of course—he’d seen it happening slowly over the past months. But to hear it spoken out loud made the truth more final, more undeniable,

“i just don’t know how to say goodbye..” his voice cracked, a sob he couldn’t hold back rising in his chest,

“i know, darling,” she replied softly. “but sometimes, saying goodbye is the only way to set both of you free”

oh….. i hate everything about goodbyes.

the night wore on and jake found himself unable to move, still sitting in the same spot. the wedding pictures had all but burned themselves into his memory, and he couldn’t look away from them. he wanted to scream, to shout, to curse the world for taking you away from him—but he couldn’t. instead, he just let the tears flow freely, as if every drop of sadness, of regret, was somehow washing away the person he used to be.

as the clock ticked past midnight, his phone buzzed again. it was a message from a group chat with his bandmates, and he briefly considered ignoring it. but then he saw it: a single notification from.. you..?

“Hi Jake!! God, I’m sorry. I wanted to reach out sooner because we’ve just been soo apart for a while, and I’m not sure if this is the right time to say this but, I just wanted to say… thank you for everything. You helped me become who I am today.”

he stared at the message with his heart in the pits of his stomach for several long moments, feeling the weight of each word press against his chest. the ache deepened. you had moved on—fully, completely—and here he was, stuck in the past, unable to let go.

it was almost cruel the way your message made him feel both grateful and shattered at the same time. you were happy. you had your life, your future. you had someone who would be there for you in ways he never could be anymore.

his thumb hovered over the screen, but no words came. what could he possibly say? what could he say to someone who no longer needed him?

I still love you.

He deleted it.

the words stayed with him. the line, the thin thread of hope that still clung to his heart, even though he knew better.

jake sat in the dark of his apartment, the echoes of your wedding day still fresh in his mind, and then, finally, he reached for his phone again. his fingers shook as he typed out a message to you—one he knew he should never send but couldn’t stop himself from writing

he pressed send before he could second-guess himself, but almost immediately, regret filled him. his eyes were glued at the message for a long time, his heart pounding in his chest. it was too much. he couldn’t expect you to do so, to follow his message. not when you had worked so hard and moved on to a future that didn’t include him

the notification buzzed back with the “delivered” mark

and yet, he held onto that one shred of hope—just for a second, just for a moment—wondering if, somehow, you would come back. maybe not now, but someday.

he closed his eyes, the weight of the words still heavy in his chest. and with a single, painful exhale, he let go.

“Congratulations on your wedding. Please call me.”

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