Chapter 10 - Silent Wounds

The living room was still filled with the soft hum of the television. The low light from the screen flickered against the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced in the silence of the house. Hyunjin stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, his fingers curled into the fabric of his oversized sweater as he watched them.

Minho and Seungmin, wrapped in each other's arms, a picture-perfect image of love and devotion.

Hyunjin felt like an intruder in his own home.

His throat tightened, his chest ached, but he forced himself to breathe through it. Crying wouldn't change anything. Breaking down wouldn't change the way Minho looked at him—or rather, the way Minho refused to look at him.

So, he did what he had always done.

He swallowed the pain and turned away.

--

The kitchen was dark when Hyunjin entered, save for the dim glow of the streetlights bleeding through the windows. He moved in silence, opening the fridge and pulling out ingredients with mechanical precision. Cooking had always been a source of comfort, something he could control, something that didn't betray him.

Chopping vegetables, boiling water, mixing flavors—it was methodical, simple, grounding.

And for a moment, just a brief moment, he could pretend that everything was normal.

That he wasn't living in a house where his husband loved someone else.

That he wasn't married to a man who despised him.

That he wasn't utterly, painfully alone.

The rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board was the only thing filling the silence in his head.

Until it wasn't.

Until footsteps sounded behind him.

Hyunjin didn't turn around. He didn't need to.

"Cooking this late?" Seungmin's voice was laced with amusement, as if the sight of Hyunjin trying to distract himself was entertaining. "Did we make you uncomfortable?"

Hyunjin's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing. "No."

Seungmin leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with an unreadable expression. "You're a terrible liar."

Hyunjin didn't respond.

He had no reason to.

"Tell me," Seungmin mused, tilting his head. "Do you ever wonder what it would be like if you weren't in this marriage?"

Hyunjin's fingers clenched around the knife.

If.

If he weren't in this marriage.

If he were free.

If he could walk away from all of this without hurting the people he loved.

Yes.

Of course, he had wondered.

But he couldn't.

He wouldn't.

Because no matter how much pain he endured, he had made a promise.

And Hyunjin never broke his promises.

Seungmin smirked as if he already knew the answer. "You should leave, you know." His voice was light, almost casual, but there was something cruel beneath it. "Minho doesn't want you here. You're just making things harder for everyone."

Hyunjin inhaled slowly, setting the knife down with careful precision.

Then, for the first time, he turned to look Seungmin in the eyes.

And he smiled.

A soft, serene smile. One that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I know," Hyunjin said gently.

Seungmin blinked, caught off guard. "Then why—"

"Because it's not about what Minho wants," Hyunjin continued, his voice calm, unwavering. "It's about what's right."

Seungmin's eyes darkened. "And you think staying in a marriage with someone who hates you is right?"

Hyunjin tilted his head, considering the question.

Then, he shrugged.

"Sometimes, love isn't about winning," he murmured, turning back to his cooking. "It's about endurance."

Seungmin stared at him for a long moment before scoffing, pushing himself off the counter.

"You're pathetic."

Hyunjin didn't flinch.

Didn't react.

Didn't show a single crack in the mask he had perfected.

Instead, he simply continued cooking as Seungmin left the kitchen, the sound of his footsteps fading down the hallway.

--

By the time Hyunjin finished cooking, the house had gone silent again. He assumed Seungmin had gone back to Minho's room, and he had no intention of checking.

He plated his food carefully, setting the dish in front of him at the dining table. But as he picked up his chopsticks, his stomach churned, and the thought of eating suddenly felt unbearable.

The food blurred in his vision, and for the first time that night, he let out a quiet, shaky breath.

He was tired.

So incredibly tired.

Of pretending. Of enduring. Of being the unwanted piece in a puzzle that never should have included him in the first place.

But still, he smiled.

Because that was all he could do.

He forced himself to take a bite, even as his throat burned with unshed tears.

Even as the silence threatened to consume him.

Even as his heart slowly, quietly, continued to break.