He had returned the next morning. The sun had began to rise, crossing over into the skies casting shades of bright oranges and yellows into the world. Hoya closed the door as quietly as he could. He stepped inside, making sure his footsteps were soft.

After rushing out on her, he had lost himself in the clubs. Liquor and Girls were his means of escape. It wasn't until a little after three in the morning that Sunggyu had come stomping into the VIP room Hoya had found himself in, drunk with random girls hovering around him.

Sunggyu literally dragged Hoya out of there and offered him a place to sleep for the night at his penthouse. He claimed it was because he didn't want Hoya waking up in the middle of an alley in the middle of no where, but Hoya knew Sunggyu was actually worried and wanted to make sure Hoya was alright.

Now he was walking back into the apartment he shared with her. His wife. Thick air suffocated him, clogging his lungs. His temper burned, maybe from the alcohol but it was the guilt that was eating at his flesh. He still couldn't believe that he had hit her.

Sure, they weren't exactly best friends, but his mother taught him never to lay a finger on a woman. His mother would be so disappointed. His thoughts also lingered onto JiAh, what was she thinking? Why was she doing what she was? He cheated on her, he treated her like crap, he freaking hit her, and still, she never rose her voice to him, she never said a thing back, never brought up an argument.

He looked around the living room, half expecting her to be gone, but he had a part inside of him that hoped she wasn't. He had no idea how he could be hoping for this, he obviously didn't want her around, did he? He then made his way to the kitchen and to his utter surprised, there laying on the counter was his breakfast. He knew it was his because next to the plate was a note.

You must be hungry, eat.

It said in a near black ink. She must've wrote it, even the thin piece of material smelt like her. He was more than flabbergasted at her actions. She was feeding him, making him breakfast, and less than 24 hours ago he had hit her. He sighed. There was so much to her that he didn't understand. He looked down at the plate of food again. Bacons, waffles, eggs, and a glass of orange juice.

As if on cue his stomach grumbled. He hadn't eaten since lunch yesterday. Hey, she cooked it, might as well eat it. He took a quick bit and felt like he had gone to heaven and back. The food was good, no, good was an under statement. The food was delicious. He took another bit, then another.

Pretty soon he was stuffing the whole tray down his throat. He added another thing onto the list of things he didn't hate about JiAh. The list was short in his mind, and he didn't even realized he had started a list.

He froze when he heard soft footsteps approaching. His body turned frozen, yet somehow his head managed to turn around and face her. There she stood, in a daze, her hair a wavy mess, her face make-up less, though it usually was, JiAh didn't wear make-up, she was beautiful even without it. Her eyes were tired, and red, from crying maybe? She looked pale, and dark circles lined underneath her eyes like she hadn't slept at all. And then she did the oddest thing he could imagine in a situation like this: she smiled.

It was a flat smile, a simple lift of the corner of her lips, which some may not even consider a smile but coming from her, it was a smile.

"Hey, you're back." She mumbled softly like an innocent puppy. Hoya felt his heart crush. He felt like he had slapped a puppy. He didn't say anything back, she didn't speak, he stood there, staring at her while she stood at the edge of the kitchen behind the counter playing with a piece of random napkin.

Her eyes didn't meet his, she avoided his glare and her head fell down, hiding her face, but he could still see the slight pout locked on her face. Her body was stiff. She was scared. He felt another punch was being thrown in his face. She was scare of him. Yet he also couldn't blame her.

He couldn't stand looking at her anymore. Something in his heart jerked seeing her. He dropped the fork he hadn't realized he was still holding and walked away, brushing pass her shoulder as he walked.

--

JiAh frowned as he walked away, once he was out of view she softly walked over to the empty tray. Her mother use to cook like this for her father. Sure, she wasn't an amazing cook like her mother, but she watched her mother preparing every meal they ate as a child. She wanted to do the same for her husband one day.

Sadly that one day wasn't how she expected. She turned around and accidentally pressed her arm on the counter, she pulled away and winced in pain. She slowly lifted up the sleeve of her sweater to reveal cut wounds, bandaged in white wraps. The image of blood filled her mind and she shook her head in frustration to get that image out of her mind.

She shook the thought off as she grabbed the empty dish and washed it along with the glass cup.

JiAh, she mumbled to herself. What are you still doing here? She asked herself. But in truth she already knew, she had no other place to go. JiAh was alone in this world. And because no matter how he acted, she still had hope.

Hope, blind hope that carried faith in nothingness. JiAh's kind of hope. The stupid kind only a fool had.

--

He had taken a shower, he hoped it would take some stress off of him, but the second he laid eyes on her every guilty emotion possible, rose back into him. He pulled the tie to his suit, wanting to pull it tighter until he was deprived of oxygen.

It was one of these many moments where she scared him. She wasn’t looking at him, she didn’t even notice his presence, she was too wrapped up in her thoughts to notice him standing by the kitchen doorway staring at her with curious eyes. What went on in that head of hers, he wondered.

He sighed as his gazed slowly moved from her silky black hair that fell like a dark waterfall to her porcelain skin that was as soft as flower petals, those pumps pinks lips to her amazing figure, though it was covered up by thick layers of clothes.

His eyes narrowed when he noticed something. Something he was at fault for. She had rolled the sleeves of her sweater up while she washed the dish. It was a single dish she had been rinsing for a while now, she was so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t noticed. On her arm however, he saw the thick white wraps, spots of dried blood were visible and he felt like there were bugs inside him eating him inside out.

The memory of the night before flooded into his mind like a awful nightmare he wanted to escape from and forget. But he knew it couldn’t, guilt was eating him up. Guilt, a deadly sin, it spread like a virus, contaminating your air, depriving you of oxygen as it began to worn down your lungs until you were grasping for air, until you were dead.

“Did you need something?” Her voice, filled with the melody of summer wind chimes and forgotten lullabies asked, breaking him from his thoughts. He met with cold, emotionless eyes. She wore a impartial expression like she couldn’t care for him if he was to jump off a bridge.

“No. Nothing.” The words filled off his tongue. He didn’t want to say that. He wanted to apologized, he wanted to tell her how sorry he was. But he couldn’t. he was a coward. And like the coward he was, he turned around, leaving her once again.