Ewon

'OMG. Have you seen this?'

The text came from my sister. I didn't even have to look at the attached picture because I knew damn well it was the same one half a dozen people had already sent me today. I'd barely been at work for an hour, and everyone was talking about that picture. I assumed so, anyway. People kept asking me about it, and whenever I walked into a room where a conversation was happening, everyone went quiet and stared at me.

Alicia, the nurse who shared the office with me, shut the door behind her and studied me "Are you doing okay, sweetie?" her tone suggested she was pretty sure I wasn't.

"I'm fine." I avoided her gaze, but I could feel her watching me. Sighing, I turned to her again and hoped my expression conveyed I don't want to talk about it.

She managed to look both concerned and irritated, but thank God, she let it drop. 

After she left our office again, I pressed my elbows into the desk and rubbed my eyes. It was kind of ironic how everyone and their ing mother knew Taehyung and I had split up, but somehow failed to consider that maybe I didn't need every last one of them sending me the latest gossip. I didn't care if the tabloids mentioned me. If they did, I sure as didn't want to know about it. Even if they didn't, I really, really, really had no desire to torture myself with pictures of the man I already couldn't get out of my head.

As much as I tried to ignore all the media attention, I wasn't completely oblivious to it. People knew we'd split. There'd been speculation about why we'd broken up. No one had caught on to the part where being hounded by the press might have had something to do with it. Or maybe the part where so ing many people had added their two cents about why Taehyung deserved better than me. And here I'd thought high school ended on Graduation Day.

Throughout my shift, people kept...asking, but not asking. Phoebe beat around the bush a little, hinting that she knew something was going on but was going to make me say it. My friends kept sending benign texts, as if they thought all they needed to do was keep a conversation going, and eventually I'd break down and say something. Patients gave me The Look. The same one people gave when you showed up on crutches or with a conspicuous bandage—I want to ask, but I won't, but please tell me. 

Curiosity was admittedly getting to me. I'd only glanced at the photo earlier to see what it was, but I'd flinched away as soon as I'd realized it was a candid shot of Taehyung in his car. I couldn't. I just couldn't. Why the hell did people keep sending it to me? Word of our breakup had gotten around as fast as word of our relationship, so why were they all trying to torture me with it? I didn't want to see pictures of Taehyung. Not now. I wanted him back in my life, but there were things that made that impossible, and seeing him just hurt.

Finally, though, I got tired of the looks, the calls, and the messages, and I bit the bullet. I logged onto the computer and opened one of the emails someone had sent me with the same attachment. With no shortage of trepidation, I waited for the attachment to open.

And then it did.

And I couldn't breathe.

It was Taehyung in his car. That much I'd expected. Not the Maserati—the one he drove when he didn't want to be seen.

Someone had seen him, though.

It didn't look like Taehyung noticed the photographer. He was focusing out the windshield, one hand on the wheel.

With the other hand, he was wiping his eyes. And he looked utterly heartbroken. 

God, Tae. I am so sorry.

Because I was a ing masochist, I kept scrolling and read the article.

The image comes days after Taehyung's publicist released the following statement:

'Taehyung confirms that he and Ewon have ended their relationship. The split was amicable, and Taehyung requests that Ewon's privacy be respected while they move forward. No further comment will be made regarding this matter.'

My breath stopped in my throat. I read and reread the publicist's message, and every time, it was a fresh kick in the balls. I'd been the one to break things off. Taehyung was the one who lived in a swamp full of paparazzi. He was the one who'd be hounded by the press even more than I would.

And he'd still asked for my privacy to be respected.

'You're a ing scum.' a message had informed me earlier 'Taehyung deserves better than a loser like you.'

My stomach turned to lead. Maybe the trolls were right after all. Maybe I was a loser. Taehyung definitely did deserve better than me. Or at the very least, better than what I'd done to him. 

I scrolled back up to the picture and stared at it, my throat tight with emotions. This was wrong. All wrong. Not the relentless bullying from strangers, but me looking at a photo of Taehyung, both of us hurting like hell.

All because some s behind computer screens thought I wasn't good enough for Taehyung.

Yeah, this was wrong. I'd let the s win. It was no different than when I'd let my middle school tormenters chase me off the wrestling team or let the homophobic s in high school scare me off the baseball team. Or when, believing the classmates who'd convinced me I was stupid, I'd declined to take a test for Honors classes. Except it was different. This was way worse. I wasn't just missing out on a sports team or an advanced class—I was missing out on the man I loved.

I love you, Tae, I thought as I stared at the photo. Why did I do this to us?

Why am I not doing something about it?

My heart sped up. I could do something about it, right? It wasn't like either of us had said anything we couldn't take back. This wasn't a nasty split. He had every right to be angry, and maybe he was, and maybe he wouldn't take me back, but...it was worth a shot, wasn't it?

How ironic that it was the relentless press coverage that had overwhelmed me and—coupled with the nasty emails and threats—had driven me away from Taehyung, and now it was a paparazzo's photo that had made me second-guess my decision.

I picked up my cell and went to his contact, but hesitated. Was this really a conversation to have over the phone? And would he even answer since he was still filming?

Without another thought, I opened a new tab and started looking up airfare.

Getting a few days off work and getting to LA was reasonably easy.

Finding Taehyung? Not so much.

I'd swung by his house, hoping he'd be home, but he wasn't. I'd texted to see if we could talk, but no response. Quite possibly because I was too much of a coward to come out and say I was in town and wanted to talk in person.

Finally, feeling a bit creepy and stalkery, I did a little Google-Fu. Lo and behold, there were fans and reporters alike talking about where the movie was filming, and luckily, they weren't on one of the studio lots today. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be able to get on one of those lots, or at least not close enough to actually talk to him. 

Instead, they were filming in an old warehouse out in Pomona. I wondered a few times if my internet intel was accurate and if I should just it up and tell Taehyung I was in town, but when I rounded the corner and the warehouse came into view? Oh yeah. There was definitely some Hollywood happening here today.

A flock of paparazzi milled around outside the chain link fence. Some looked bored, keeping an eye on the warehouse. Others were pressed up against the fence like kids pressing their nose to a toy store's window.

I parked half a block or so over, swallowed my nerves, and walked toward the fence. I was still a solid hundred feet away when someone saw me. My nerves came crashing back to the surface as soon as the first lens faced me, but I kept walking. Even as more cameras turned, the California sun glinting off wide-eyed lenses, I forced myself to keep going. I hadn't come this far to be scared off by these s again.

Some plastic barriers kept the reporters corralled out of the way of the gate, which was guarded by two burly, bored-looking dudes with badges. As I approached, the black guy put up his hand "This is a closed set, sir."

"I know." I swallowed "I just need to get a message to someone."

He shook his head "No can do. Closed set."

"Look, all I—" 

"Move along, sir."

The other security guy—a sunburned white dude who looked twice as grumpy as his partner—glared at me.

Sighing, I stepped back. . How the hell was I supposed to let Taehyung know I was here? He probably had his phone off, too.

Except...didn't he say his assistant kept up on his social media when he was working? Especially if he was on set? What if I could get her attention?

I scanned the group of photographers, and my heart sped up.

I had an idea.