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[미안해 미워해 사랑해] - [Crus]

Making decisions had never been hard for Iseul. She had always been able to run away the moment she felt vulnerable, shielding herself with distance, with coldness. But this time was different. After returning from Gurye, after everything that had happened, she knew what she had to do, even though her heart twisted at the thought.

She arrived at Sunghoon's office, her footsteps echoing through the empty halls, each step heavier than the last. With a final, deep breath, she pushed the door open, her resolve firm, her heart aching. She handed him the resignation letter, her hands trembling slightly.

Sunghoon, who had been smiling up at her, his eyes soft and welcoming, froze. The smile on his face faltered, and for the first time, Iseul saw something in his eyes—confusion, hurt, and a flicker of something deeper, something raw.

"Iseul... what's the meaning of this?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to hear the answer. He reached for the letter in disbelief.

"It was a mistake from the beginning," she said, her voice steady but laced with pain. "Me working here... us being together... it's wrong."

Her words hung in the air like a heavy weight. It felt like the room was closing in around them. She turned, her chest tight, and started to walk away. But she didn't get far before the tears began to fall, uncontrolled and unbidden. She wiped them away quickly, not wanting him to see her weakness, but they came anyway.

Sunghoon stood frozen, his eyes glued to the spot where she had been standing. He didn't know what to do, what to say. Confusion and a sense of loss wrapped around him like a suffocating fog.

He glanced at the bracelet in his hand—the one he had planned to give her, the one that had been waiting for the right moment. His grip tightened around it, the beads cool against his skin. He had never expected this. He had never expected her to leave, not like this.

He wanted to stop her, to tell her that this wasn't what he wanted, that they didn't have to end like this. But she was already gone.

He sank into the chair behind his desk, staring at the bracelet in his hand. It felt like the world had just shifted beneath his feet, and everything he thought he understood about their connection had slipped away.

And in that moment, all Sunghoon could feel was the bitter sting of losing her, of realizing that the person he had fought so hard for was now out of his reach, slipping through his fingers.

Iseul's heart pounded as she stood frozen outside her house. The scene before her was a chaotic whirlwind of anger, betrayal, and broken trust. Her father's clothes were strewn across the street, each article of clothing a symbol of a life unraveling. Her mother stood in the middle of the mess, her hands shaking as she threw her husband's belongings out the door, her voice a mixture of fury and heartbreak.

"Shame on you, Minjae!"

"Shame on YOU! I caught you with that blonde!"

Iseul's stomach twisted. She could barely make sense of it all. Her father, the man who had always been a steady presence in their lives, was being accused of something unimaginable. Her mother's voice, raw with pain, filled the air, but Iseul couldn't bring herself to believe it. Not yet. Her father... cheat? It felt like a lie, a story too outrageous to be real. The thought didn't fit with the man she had grown up with, the man she had admired and trusted all her life.

Still, as she approached her mother, she felt a strange mixture of sympathy and confusion. She didn't know what had truly happened, but she couldn't ignore the sight of her mother breaking down in front of her, so vulnerable, so hurt.

Her mother had always been strong, but this was different. This wasn't just betrayal—it was a blow to her entire sense of security, to the family they had built together.

"I'm so sorry, Mom..." Iseul whispered as she stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on her mother's trembling shoulder. "I don't know what happened, but we'll get through this. You don't have to do this alone."

Her mother shook her head, a mixture of frustration and sadness in her eyes. "You don't understand, Iseul. I've been living a lie. Your father... he's not the man I thought he was."

But Iseul, despite the flood of emotions and confusion inside her, couldn't bring herself to turn against her father—not yet. She had known him her whole life, and the idea of him betraying her mother, of betraying their family, felt impossible.

The next morning, the restaurant was eerily quiet except for the rhythmic sound of peeling potatoes. Iseul and her mother sat side by side in the kitchen, their movements slow and almost synchronized. The atmosphere was heavy, both women looking as though they carried the weight of the world on their shoulders.

Iseul let out a long sigh, the sound cutting through the silence. Her mother sighed right after, as if it were contagious.

Breaking the stillness, Iseul quipped, "Isn't it nice that I quit, Mom? Look at us, having all this quality time together."

Her tone was light, but the forced cheerfulness didn't go unnoticed. Her mother glanced sideways, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Iseul, are you sure you don't regret it?"

"Pft, of course not," Iseul replied, waving her hand dismissively. "I'm living the dream—peeling potatoes with my favorite person."

Her mother smiled faintly but didn't look entirely convinced. "Good," she said after a pause, her voice soft yet firm. "Because regret is the worst thing to live with."

For a moment, neither spoke, the sound of peeling resuming its steady rhythm. Iseul's hand hesitated for just a second before she continued, her expression unreadable.

Iseul tied the last knot on the delivery bag, brushing off stray bits of potato skin from her apron. Her mother handed her the bags with a tired smile and motioned toward the door.

"Take these to Heejin," she said, already halfway out the kitchen.

"Got it," Iseul replied, hoisting the bags.

Stepping outside, she barely took a step before colliding with a solid wall—or at least, that's what it felt like. She stumbled back, her eyes snapping up to meet Sungchan's familiar face.

"Sungchan? What are you doing here?" she exclaimed, her voice edged with concern. "You can't just take time off like this. You'll get fired!"

"I wish they'd fire me," he muttered.

"Sungchan!" Iseul chastised, her tone scolding but tinged with amusement.

"Relax, Sana approved it. I'm here for work."

"Ah, okay then. You stay here, and I'll deliver these." She motioned toward the bags she carried.

But Sungchan shook his head with a determined grin. "Nope. I'm coming with you."

Before she could protest, he turned back to leave his bag at the restaurant entrance. Inside, Sohee glared at him from behind the counter, his eyes narrowing with clear disapproval.

The walk to Heejin's house was steeped in silence, the only sounds accompanying them being the crunch of gravel underfoot and the distant hum of cicadas. Iseul handed off the delivery bags without much fanfare and turned back, ready to retrace her steps.

The quiet between them persisted until Sungchan finally broke it.

"So," he began, his voice hesitant but probing, "why'd you quit?"

Iseul froze mid-step, her shoulders stiffening. She turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "I realized the job isn't for me," she said, her tone clipped. "So, I left. That's it."

"No other reason?" Sungchan pressed gently, but the question felt like a needle pricking a wound.

Her jaw tightened as she spat, "No!"

The sharpness in her voice took him by surprise, and Sungchan raised his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. Got it."

The rest of the walk back was awkward, their earlier camaraderie replaced by an invisible wall. When they reached the parting point, Iseul waved him off with a stiff goodbye. Sungchan, still unsettled by her reaction, walked toward the bus stop, deep in thought.

Halfway there, he stopped in his tracks, groaning. "Ah, my bag!" he muttered, realizing he'd left it back at the restaurant.

Turning on his heel, he jogged back, hoping the bag was still there. But as he approached the restaurant, something caught his eye—a sleek, black car parked at the side.

Sunghoon's car.

Sungchan slowed his pace, his confusion deepening as he saw Sunghoon himself emerge from the restaurant and climb into the car.

"What...?" Sungchan whispered to himself, frozen in place.

He watched as Sunghoon drove off, the questions swirling in his mind multiplying. What was Sunghoon doing here? Why didn't Iseul mention it?

The confusion gnawed at him, making his forgotten bag seem like the least of his concerns.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon had searched every corner of the restaurant, but Iseul was nowhere to be found. He didn't need to ask anyone where she might have gone—he already knew. There was only one place she would retreat to when the world felt too heavy.

Their place.

The drive to the river was quiet, the sound of the engine humming beneath the weight of his thoughts. As he neared the familiar spot, he caught sight of her. She sat on the grassy bank, her knees drawn up, her figure silhouetted against the golden hues of the setting sun.

A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at his lips. She hadn't changed—not in the ways that mattered.

Stepping out of the car, he walked toward Iseul, each step deliberate, as though the stillness around her was sacred and fragile. The late afternoon sun gilded her figure with a soft glow, casting elongated shadows that blended into the quiet ripples of the river.

She sat on a worn wooden bench, her posture tense despite the serenity of the scene. Her hands rested limply on her lap, and her gaze was locked on the water, her thoughts clearly adrift somewhere unreachable.

When Sunghoon reached her, he paused, hesitating. He sat down at a respectful distance, the space between them filled only by the murmurs of the river and the rustling of nearby leaves. For a long moment, neither spoke.

"You always come here," Sunghoon finally said, his voice quiet, as though he was afraid to break the spell of the moment.

Iseul didn't look at him. Her profile was sharp yet delicate, her face betraying nothing of what churned inside. "And you always find me," she murmured, her tone neither welcoming nor cold.

A faint, lopsided smile tugged at his lips, though the weight in his eyes remained. "You're not that hard to figure out."

Silence fell again, stretching long enough for Sunghoon to wonder if she would say anything more. She didn't.

"What made you so upset that you decided to quit?" he asked, his voice soft but insistent.

Her fingers tightened slightly in her lap, the only outward sign that she'd heard him. "I'm fine," she said, the words practiced and brittle.

Sunghoon studied her closely. The tension in her frame, the guarded edge to her voice—she wasn't fine, not in the slightest. "The way you left so suddenly... it wasn't fine."

"You don't need to keep asking," Iseul said quietly, her tone resigned but weary. "It's done."

He reached into his pocket, pulling out the small charm bracelet she had left behind. The delicate silver glinted in the light as he held it out to her. "You forgot this."

Her head tilted slightly, her eyes flickering with surprise before she quickly masked it. She reached out, her fingers brushing his palm as she took the bracelet. The brief contact lingered in the charged air. "I didn't even realize..." Her voice faltered, her words trailing off.

"You were in too much of a hurry," Sunghoon said, his gaze steady.

She fidgeted with the bracelet, her fingers tracing its small charms. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice almost inaudible.

"Why, Iseul?" he pressed. "Why did you leave?"

"I already told you," she said sharply, though her voice wavered. "It wasn't right."

Sunghoon shook his head, his brows furrowing. "You're lying."

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and something more vulnerable. "And what if I am? What does it matter to you?"

"Because you matter to me," he replied, his voice steady and raw with sincerity.

Her breath caught, but she masked it quickly, standing abruptly. "I have things to do."

Before she could leave, his hand shot out, catching her wrist. The warmth of his touch startled her, grounding her in place. His grip wasn't tight, but it held a kind of quiet desperation.

"Don't go," he said, his voice quieter now, pleading. "Not this time."

She froze, her gaze locked on his hand around her wrist, her chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Slowly, she turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable, a carefully constructed wall of indifference. But Sunghoon saw past it, the cracks in her armor barely hidden.

"Iseul," he said again, softer this time, his voice laced with something she couldn't name. "There's an event tonight. For the campaign we worked on. It's your moment—you deserve to be there."

Her lips parted as if to argue, but no sound came out. For a fleeting moment, her mask slipped, and Sunghoon glimpsed the uncertainty, the doubt, the fear that she couldn't quite hide.

He released her wrist, his fingers brushing against hers as he let go. "Please," he said again, his tone almost a whisper.

Without a word, she turned and walked away, the sound of her footsteps fading into the rustling trees. Sunghoon didn't move, his eyes fixed on the spot where she disappeared.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Sungchan stood hidden in the shadows, his expression a storm of confusion and unease. What he had just witnessed felt like a secret too heavy to carry, a moment too intimate to intrude upon. Yet, it left him with questions—questions that gnawed at him long after Iseul and Sunghoon had gone their separate ways.

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sungchan mind ur own business ure the second lead