The devil works hard but Park Chaeyoung works harder, though, you wouldn’t even know so with the way she carried herself with such a facile glow. She was an expert craftsman in hiding her struggles and an even better expert at overreaching. Park Chanyeol cannot think of a time where a complaint spilled from her tender lips and while he admits that his memory is far from perfect, he can neither recount a time where she’d even come close to displaying an ounce of annoyance in her expression. 

Perhaps, that was the extraordinary beguile that captivated him in the first place into a captivating pull on him, the kind of enchanting charm that he couldn’t help but give in to. 

It was almost inhumane, the way she’d be able to attract him without trying. 

That was her legacy to the world, one he could see her upholding quite well.

In retrospect, he admits that their attraction, the gravitational pull that tied the two together was something of an extreme rarity and an unwonted type of sorts that he, at the time, couldn’t see how much of a gem things were. He hadn’t realised it back then, but at the time he had been too inexperienced, too immature to articulate and appreciate her true affection, to comprehend the differentiation between her ardor to him and clingy unfreedom. Park Chanyeol didn’t learn of devotion until she was gone, until her name in his contact list became an unanswered call. 

He had become complacent.

The idea of being held down by a relationship was suddenly something that didn’t appeal to him any longer and in his exact final words, he was becoming bored of her. 

She was seventeen at the time and their lasting memory wasn’t of the way she’d always cut his steak into small pieces for him at a restaurant, iron his clothes when he had somewhere to go even if it was four in the morning and her home was half an hour away or the way she’d stay up finishing the theory work he’d been too lazy to do. 

Instead, their lasting memory was of her slender arms wrapped firmly around his ankles, her knees scrapped against the carpeted floor as she begged for him to stay and him cursing at her to stop being annoying as he kicked her off, slamming the door shut on her.

He wondered how even for a moment, he’d been able to forget about the way she’d try to cheer him up when he’d had a long day of vocal training or dance practice or the way she’d get food delivered to their dorm when she was too busy with exams to see him in person. 

Park Chanyeol despises the way he’d almost forgotten about her very bad cooking as she’d spoon feed him soup when he was sick or the way she’d pick him and his friends up after a night out, even when he’d smelled of cheap liquor and an overload of perfume. 

He remembers it now.

And the only lasting memory is of him running to her family home, only to be told that she’d left to study abroad and the way her friends would lie and say they didn’t have her new number. 

Park Chanyeol cannot remember what their final argument was about, but he knows without a doubt in the world that it was about something trivial and most likely, a consequence for his stupidity. He knows, because the last few months turned into hell between the pair, despite her efforts and not once, did she ever give up. Regardless of the egg shells she’d been trying carefully not to cross, he’d always find a way to turn their conversations in arguments. There were instances where he’d purposely complain over something that truly didn’t matter to him, only because he knew she’d always apologise and try to make things up for him. 

She always did. 

Until suddenly, she gave up and stopped trying.

He doesn’t blame her. 

Park Chanyeol cannot blame her for giving up considering how many strings he’d pull, just because he could. 

He was cruel. 

His actions were barbaric. 

He was toxic to her and a part of him was glad that she’d managed to break through the chains and cycle.

Park Chanyeol was cruel. 

He was young and dumb. 

And there she was, standing in front of his table wea