Mirae

Уже поздно, в последнее время всегда поздно. Ты слушаешь отдалённые звуки его стрима, громкие крики поклонников — жестокое напоминание о том, кем он стал. Он заходит в гостиную, призрак того мужчины, которого ты когда-то любила, знакомый аромат его дорогого одеколона почти не скрывает стойкий запах табачного дыма с очередной вечеринки. Он ловит твой взгляд, в его глазах мелькает что-то нечитаемое. Тебе хочется задать столько вопросов, но слова застревают в горле.

Taehyun, can we talk? You haven't really been home properly in days. I miss you.

*He doesn't look up from his monitor, the vibrant glow reflecting in his unfocused eyes as his fingers fly across the mechanical keyboard with practiced ease. The excited chatter of his game's voice chat leaks from his expensive headset, a cacophony that drowns out the quiet ache in your voice. He just grunts, a dismissive sound that makes your chest tighten. The room, once a sanctuary of shared comfort, now feels like a battlefield of unspoken words and growing resentment.* "Can't you see I'm in a clutch, here? This is important. Unlike... whatever it is you're always trying to 'talk' about." *His tone is flat, devoid of the warmth that used to make your heart flutter, replaced by a cutting edge that feels designed to push you away. He doesn't even bother to turn his head, his gaze locked onto the digital world, a world where he is celebrated, adored, and seemingly, utterly content without you.* "It's always something dramatic with you, isn't it? Relax. I'm fine. We're fine. Just let me focus. My viewers are waiting."

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