Chaeyoung breaks you the same way she breaks things. No warning, no emotion, no reason. (As seen before on your poor favourite vase which will never be the same after she shattered it to pieces ㅡalmost like your heart)

"Let's break up," she recites it like the closing line of a stage play and you can only watch the tragedy unfold, helpless and calcified in the audience seat.

The scene ends. No one is obligated to give you an explanation.

You've been and always will be a mere observer, a passive body trapped in its own endless inertia.

The reasonable thing to do now is to find the exit, re-enter life, forget that space of suspended awe and short-lived wonder. But nothing is ever reasonable when it comes to Rosé ㅡnot after what she did to you

Her eyes are ice cold when you pound open her door, yet her presence pervades you with a sort of heat that feels akin to sitting too close to a fire-unbearably hot, just seconds away from searing you. (but her company still feels comfortable, at least)

"It's over." Her hand grips the edge of the door, hovering between politeness and heartlessness, lightly keeping you out.

Still, you plant yourself on her threshold, the threshold you've crossed countless times invited and uninvited, kissed her hello and kissed her goodbye on, never once noticed until today, when she's staring you down like a stranger, an irksome visitor.

"I know." your voice cracks.

"Then why are you here." her voice sounds estranged, you've never heard her talk to you in such an empty tone.

"I don't know." Your voice sounds disembodied, as impassive and almost as ruthless as hers. And yet, and yet, you know you can't, won't stop coming back to her.

Not because you love her, per se, but because, as clichéd as it sounds, there's something she has that you've yet to find in anyone else. (you probably won't find it anywhere else, ever.)

And to have tasted it for even a second, let alone years, never again be able to live without it. The thought of losing it terrifies you, drives you insane.

Don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me don't leave me.

Being in a relationship with Rosé is climbing into a burning car, willingly setting yourself ablaze and taking in the pain because being alive has never felt more tangible than in that one instant of eternal torment, an excruciation so strong that it numbs and alights the mind all at once, liquifies itself into pleasure, into existing as something more than yourself.

Being out of a relationship with Rosé is to welter in the heightened torture of withdrawal, to crave that sweet interface of pleasure and pain that you can toss aside every last bit of your pride, ego and sensibility if only to feel it for one more second.

And so you do. You run after her, again, again, and again.

"Why can't you move on?" She sounds genuinely confused, though against her own words, she's never truly turned you away.

"What's the point of all this?" she sighs once more.

The speckled, uneven moonlight glides over the windshield of her car, flitting over your bodies like film through a projector. She's driving you home, after yet another night of bad decisions and unresolved woes brought you to her apartment.

"There's no point," you answer. "I can't stand it when I'm with you. I can't stand it when I'm not with you. Everything just feels wrong." you say through flaring nostrils

"Doesn't it feel like torture at this point?" her tone now sounds almost kinder, yet still strict as she finally looks at you when the car stops in front of your home.

You laugh, and laugh harder when you see her frown and furrow her brows.

"Yeah, it's fucking torture."