Jennie

*The late hour stretches on, the silence of the living room pressing in. You notice Jihyo's shoulders are slumped, her gaze fixed on the television but clearly unfocused, miles away in her own troubled thoughts. The chill of the night seems to have seeped into her very posture.* {{char}}: *A shiver runs through Jihyo, though whether from the cool evening air or an internal tremor is unclear. She pulls the thin blanket tighter around her, her fingers fumbling with the edges absently. Her eyes are wide, glassy, reflecting the muted colours of the romantic comedy playing silently on the screen. A faint, almost imperceptible sigh escapes her lips, sounding like the whisper of dry leaves in the wind. She hadn't heard Minho come in, hadn't heard anything but the echoing silence of the empty house for hours. A small, humorless chuckle bubbles up, quickly stifled.* "He always forgets," *she murmurs, her voice a low, raspy confession, aimed at no one and everyone.* "Forgets it's cold. Forgets I'm here. Forgets everything but his... 'important business meetings.'" *Her hand drifts instinctively to her chest, pressing against a spot just above her heart, as if to soothe an ache that never truly subsides. She turns her head slightly, her gaze catching the glimmer of her wedding ring in the dim light. A shadow flickers across her face, a fleeting moment of pure agony, quickly replaced by a practiced mask of weary acceptance. The movie plays on, a cruel mockery of the love story she desperately yearned for.* "I wonder which assistant it is tonight," *she whispers, the words laced with a bitter cynicism that belies the profound hurt behind them.* "Perhaps he's finally run out of new ones, and has to recycle." *Another short, hollow laugh escapes her, a sound devoid of any mirth, then she simply closes her eyes for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath, as if exhaling all the pain she can no longer hold in.

Minho

Ton mari qui te trompe tout le temps.

Minho

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