a/n: guys, i'm ing psychotic. and classes starts soon

Ahn Yoomi

My sinking feeling had manifested itself into reality and the more success that Namjoon and I reached, the less we saw each other. We would go for weeks without managing to be at home at the same time, weeks without calls or texts. And when we were together, it was as if some invisible line had been drawn between us.

I loved him more than I would ever love myself. But he was barely speaking to me, the precious moments we had together. And every single time, I told myself it was because he was stressed out at work. He and two of his friends started producing music and debuted as Tristitial¸ when he wasn’t in the studio he was on stage. And whatever free time I had away from my job at AA Textiles, I watched his performances and listened to his music.

I knew he still loved me. He openly dedicated music to me, sent me presents all the time, paid for luxury things we could afford in the past. A new apartment, a car. His fame only grew and with it, his wealth. And even though it was a blessing not having to worry about things like rent anymore, it made me sad to think that the only way he had left of telling me that he loved me was through the material.

And quite frankly, I missed the dust. Our new apartment had a properly working ventilation system as well as air con and heating. Dust was simply cycled out of the air.

Groaning tiredly, I kicked my shoes off at the door and dropped my bag next to them. It was almost three in the morning and I’d been working at the office all night organizing a mistake made by the shipping company. My head pounded from strain and my eyes burned with tired tears. Everything about our new apartment was amazing, far cleaner and nicer than our old one, but without Namjoon it never really felt like home. It felt like I was taking an extended stay at a hotel and sooner or later I was going to be kicked out.

Padding through the living room, I reached into the fancy fridge and pulled up a water. There wasn’t much in the fridge, just water, and some rotting fruits as well as two tubs of kimchi from my mother. But other than that, the contents of the fridge hadn’t changed much since the move. Setting a half empty water bottle back inside, I tiredly moved through the kitchen and into our bedroom. Not bothering to turn on any lights, I quickly pulled off my clothes, leaving just my bra and on.

It was only when I’d slipped under the covers did I realize that someone was in the bed already.

“Holy ,” I almost screamed, jerking away from the warm body that was reaching for me,

“Yoomi-ah?” Namjoon’s familiar voice asked and I turned to see him propping himself up on his elbow. “It’s okay, it’s just me.”

I hadn’t seen or talked to Namjoon in almost a month now, he rarely came home. My eyes searched his face, once so familiar he seemed almost like a stranger now. The last I’d seen him; his hair had been cut short. Now it was long, brushing his dark sooty lashes, and grey. He’d lost weight sharpening his jaw, cheekbones, and nose slightly and from the corner of my eyes, a dark stone in his left ear glittered in the moon light.

“Is that a tattoo?” I blurt, noticing the ink that trailed up his left arm and disappeared under his sleeve.

“Uh, yeah,” Namjoon pulls at his shirt sleeve and exposes several intricate rose designs.

“I thought you said you’d never get one?” I ask, slowly lowering my back down onto the bed.

“Well I never really had anything that I wanted tattooed,” he responds. I nodded several times, feeling awkward and exposed. I was practically and he was wearing long sleeves and sweatpants.

I pull the covers over my body, scooting to my side of the bed.

“Well, good night,” I say to him, settling onto my back.

Namjoon doesn’t move for a moment before I hear the rustling of fabric and he’s readjusting his position.

“Good night.”

After that awkward experience, the next time that I see Namjoon is two weeks later, on a tabloid website with a link to a tape. I bite my lip, my hands trembling and my phone slips between my shaking fingers. My thin smart phone clatters down onto my glass table, capturing the attention of everyone around me.

“Yoomi-ah?” Merlyn asks me, worriedly. She and Jungkook stand up from their desks, but I quickly scoop up my phone and wave them away.

“I’m fine,” I tuck hair behind my ear, trying to take their attention away from my trembling hands as I clutch my phone to my chest. “I just need a minute.” I don’t wait for them to say anything, just hurry out our office door. I don’t stop running until I’m outside on the rooftop. I press my back against the door and look back down at the article.

Super star and music producer, Kim Namjoon caught on tape with y Spanish model.

My throat clamped up and my stomach turned. Pressing my free palm against my bone, I tried to calm my jumpy heartbeat. My inside twisted painfully. There was no way that he could do this to me, he loved me.

Tears well up uncontrollably, leaking down my face. My finger hovers of the video. If I played the video, this became real. I didn’t want to watch the love of my life another woman. So I shut my eyes tightly and sobbed.

When I returned home that night, I returned to an empty apartment. My limbs felt sluggish as I stepped out of my shoes and slipped my jacket off. I felt numb like I was witnessing myself do these things from outside my body. Like I was just a spectator to muscle memory. I sat down on the couch with a grunt and turned my phone on. It flooded with texts and calls, but the second I saw Namjoo