Chapter Text
The apartment reeked of tension—cigarette smoke curling from Bae’s fingers as she leaned by the open window, hoodie loose, her eyes half-lidded and far away. IRyS slammed the front door behind her.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” IRyS hissed, voice trembling.
“You called?” Bae didn’t even look back, her tone laced with mockery. “Must’ve been busy choking on your boss’s attention again.”
The slap was instant—sharp, echoing.
Bae laughed bitterly, finally facing her. “There she is. My perfect little angel who never fucks up.”
“You think this is funny?” IRyS’s voice cracked. “You disappear for days, come home smelling like alcohol and god knows what, and now you’re accusing me?”
“You want honesty?” Bae stepped closer, blue eyes cold. “I don’t believe a single damn thing you say anymore.”
“Then leave!” IRyS screamed. “If you hate me so much, why do you keep coming back?!”
Silence.
Because the truth was, they didn’t know how to let go.
Cigarette in hand, Bae flicked the butt, scattering ash as she strode over and grabbed IRyS by the jaw. “Because no one else makes me feel this alive. No one else makes me this fucked up. And I think you like it too.”
IRyS’s breath hitched. She hated how her body betrayed her—how one touch, one stare, made her weak. “You’re poison,” she whispered. “But I keep drinking.”
And Bae kissed her like an apology—rough, desperate, bleeding with every word they couldn’t say.
“You want me to stop?” Bae growled against her lips, her voice thick with smoke and spite.
She didn’t wait for an answer.
Teeth clashed. Tongues battled. It was never love—it was always war. Bae bit down hard on IRyS’s bottom lip, and the iron tang of blood mingled between them. IRyS aggressively slapped her shoulder, the pain shooting through Bae’s arm, but it only made her grin into the kiss, pulling back just enough to see the dazed, furious heat in IRyS’s eyes.
“Still here,” Bae murmured darkly, brushing her lips over the injured spot, kissing it softer now. Apologizing in her own twisted way.
IRyS hissed through her teeth, but didn’t pull away. She never did.
Then Bae’s fingers curled around the hem of her shirt, slow and deliberate, tugging it up with soft fingertips until the curve of IRyS’s back was exposed—vulnerable. IRyS felt the shift in the air just a second too late.
A burning sting seared into her skin.
A scream tore from her throat.
“FUCK YOU!” she cried, her voice ragged, shoving at Bae’s chest—but she didn’t step back. Didn’t run. Didn’t stop.
Bae flicked the unlit cigarette away without looking where it landed. Her other hand gripped IRyS’s thigh, lifting it against her hip, pinning her to the kitchen counter like a sinner against confession.
“You could’ve walked away,” Bae rasped. “But you didn’t.”
Their lips crashed again, and IRyS kissed her like she hated her. Like she wanted to destroy her. Her nails clawed down Bae’s back, hard enough to draw lines that would sting in the shower later.
“You're fucking insane,” IRyS whispered breathlessly.
“So are you,” Bae replied. “That’s why we work.”
They tore at each other like addicts—high on pain, high on lust, high on the delusion that this was real. Bae’s hand slid beneath IRyS’s shorts, fingers cold and possessive. She could feel the bruises from nights prior—marks she’d left, words she’d etched with her body.
And still, IRyS arched into her touch.
Because it hurt to love Bae. But it hurt more not to.
The room was dim, lit only by the low hum of a flickering lamp in the corner. Shadows danced on the walls like they were mocking them—two silhouettes tangled in a mess of bruised kisses and heavy breathing.
Bae’s hand stayed curled around IRyS’s thigh, fingers digging into soft skin like she wanted to carve herself in. Her other hand cupped the back of her neck, forcing her to keep eye contact. IRyS hated how her breath hitched at the intensity—how her body still craved even after pain.
“You’re so fucked up,” IRyS whispered, but her hips moved again—seeking friction, seeking her.
“You’re the one still here,” Bae murmured, dragging her tongue over IRyS’s collarbone. “You could’ve left. Weeks ago. Months ago. Years, maybe.”
“I should’ve.” Her voice cracked.
Bae smiled against her skin—cruel, knowing. “But you didn’t.”
The weight of it all pressed down—their history, the fights, the screams, the mornings spent in silence, the nights spent in each other’s arms like lifelines they couldn’t cut.
Clothes dropped to the floor, one by one. The sound of a belt unbuckling. A shirt ripped carelessly. Bae guided them to the bed, but not with gentleness—with urgency, like if they didn’t touch now, they’d fall apart completely.
IRyS’s back hit the mattress. The burn on her side met the cold sheets and she winced, but didn’t stop. Her legs wrapped around Bae’s waist, pulling her down. Their mouths found each other again—messy, gasping, desperate.
It wasn’t love. It was survival.
Bae’s hand moved between them, rough and precise. IRyS moaned—sharp and strangled, biting her lip as if punishing herself for enjoying it. She clawed down Bae’s back, leaving angry red lines that would linger for days.
“I hate you,” she repeated, more breath than words.
“I know,” Bae muttered, kissing her through it. “But I’m the only one who knows how to ruin you right.”
And ruin her she did.
The bed creaked with every movement, their bodies colliding like waves crashing against jagged cliffs. There was no tenderness—just friction and fire. The kind of sex that left scars. The kind that felt like punishment and worship in the same breath.
When IRyS came, she choked on a sob—part pleasure, part heartbreak. Bae followed soon after, panting into her neck, eyes shut tight like if she opened them, the truth would be staring back.
Silence fell.
Only their ragged breathing remained, and the quiet hum of guilt crawling back into the room like it always did.
IRyS turned on her side, away from her. The burn stung—angry, red, still raw. Bae reached out to touch it—
“Don’t,” IRyS said softly, not looking back. “Just... don’t.”
Bae rolled onto her back and lit another cigarette, staring at the ceiling. The smoke curled above them like ghosts.
They didn’t speak.
Didn’t apologize.
Didn’t fix anything.
Just laid there—two broken pieces, still too scared to let go.
_
That rainy day when they first met.
Not the violent kind—just soft, misty drizzle painting the city in silver. Bae sat on the curb just outside the campus library, hoodie pulled over her red hair, one knee propped up, headphones in. She tapped a cigarette out of the box but didn’t light it. Just rolled it between her fingers like a nervous habit.
“Smoking kills, you know.”
She looked up.
IRyS stood there, an umbrella tilted slightly over her, rain catching in her lashes. Her uniform blazer was perfectly fitted, her bag still slung over one shoulder. But it wasn’t her looks that struck Bae—it was her eyes. One magenta, one ocean blue. They stared at her with an amused sharpness, like she was already reading Bae without permission.
Bae raised an eyebrow. “I’m not smoking. Just thinking.”
IRyS crouched beside her, umbrella now shielding them both.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked.
Bae smirked, flipping the cigarette in her fingers again. “How many lectures I can skip without getting kicked out.”
“Ah,” IRyS laughed—a soft, melodic sound. “A true scholar, I see.”
“You?”
“I just like the rain,” she said, tilting her head up slightly. “It makes everything feel... slow. Like the world finally lets you breathe.”
Bae turned to look at her.
They sat there in silence, letting the rain wrap around them. A peaceful pause in an otherwise chaotic city.
“I’m Bae,” she said eventually.
“IRyS.”
There was a smile that lingered between them.
When IRyS stood to leave, she handed her umbrella to Bae.
“You need it more than I do.”
Bae blinked. “You’ll get soaked.”
“I don’t mind,” IRyS said, already walking backward toward the dorms, her hair darkening with rain. “Besides... you’ll return it, right?”
“Sure. If I see you again.”
“You will,” she called out. “I’ll make sure of it.”
And she did.
_
That same umbrella was now buried in the back of their closet—broken, bent, forgotten under old clothes and lost memories.
Bae stared at the ceiling in the dark, IRyS sleeping quietly beside her.
And she wondered when they stopped being them.
When did the umbrella turn into ash?
When did the rain turn into fire?
_
The first few months were perfect.
Too perfect.
Bae would wait by the music room doors after practice, a water bottle in one hand, IRyS’s favorite snack in the other. IRyS would beam when she saw her, cheeks flushed, music instrument still clutched in her arms.
They fit.
Despite the differences—the chaos in Bae and the discipline in IRyS—they worked. Like mismatched puzzle pieces that somehow completed the picture.
But slowly, things began to shift.
It started small.
“You forgot our lunch today,” IRyS said one afternoon, not angry, just... disappointed.
Bae blinked, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself. “Sorry, dance practice ran over. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“I waited for an hour.”
“Okay, and I said I was sorry.” Her voice sharpened, just a little. “Can’t we just move on?”
IRyS nodded, lips tight, eyes avoiding hers. She didn’t say anything for the rest of the day.
The silence hurt more than yelling would’ve.
A week later, IRyS showed up at Bae’s apartment with two tubs of ice cream and a movie.
But Bae didn’t answer the door.
She was inside—half-naked, breathless, tangled in a stranger she’d brought home from the club. Her phone had been off. The voicemail IRyS left was never heard.
The next morning, she called IRyS, casual, pretending nothing had happened.
“Something came up,” she said. “Raincheck?”
There was a pause.
“...Sure,” IRyS replied. Her voice was too calm. Too understanding.
The first big fight.
It finally came one night—loud, fast, a storm they’d been ignoring for too long.
“I’m not your fucking afterthought, Bae!” IRyS yelled, slamming her bag on the counter.
“I never said you were—”
“You don’t have to! You say it with your silence, with every ‘sorry I forgot,’ with every damn time you ditch me for a party or someone else.”
Bae clenched her jaw, anger rising like bile. “You knew who I was when we started this.”
“I didn’t think I’d have to compete with your self-destruction for attention!”
That did it.
Bae’s laughter was bitter, cracked. “So what, now I’m broken? That’s what you think of me?”
“No,” IRyS whispered, tears forming. “But you keep choosing everything else over me. And I keep letting you.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Just breathing—harsh and uneven.
Then Bae stepped forward, voice quieter, but colder. “Then maybe stop letting me.”
It hung there.
Heavy.
Final.
IRyS stared at her, eyes wide and wet. She opened her mouth, but no words came.
She left that night.
No kiss. No goodbye.
Just the echo of a door closing behind her.
Then.
The mistake of coming back when they should’ve walked away.
It was two weeks before they saw each other again.
Two weeks of sleepless nights, missed calls, typed and deleted texts. Bae had gone to three parties, fucked two people, smoked more than usual. None of it filled the ache. None of it made her forget the look on IRyS’s face as she walked out.
IRyS, meanwhile, buried herself in lectures, piano practice, and late-night walks in the rain without an umbrella. She still left her phone volume on. Still checked it every few minutes. Still waited.
Until one night, her doorbell rang.
Rain again.
Of course it was raining.
She opened the door, heart pounding—and there was Bae, soaked to the bone, hoodie clinging to her body, mascara smudged under tired eyes.
“Hi,” Bae said, her voice trembling. IRyS couldn’t tell if it was because of the rain—or something else.
IRyS stared at her, unmoving. She looked older. Sadder.
“You’re gonna get sick,” she murmured, stepping aside.
Bae didn’t even hesitate. She walked in like she’d never left, dripping on the floor, hands shoved in her pockets.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
IRyS leaned on the wall. “So you came here?”
“No,” Bae said. “I came home.”
The silence between them crackled like static.
“You hurt me,” IRyS whispered.
“I know.”
“You fucked someone.”
“I know.”
“And I still—” Her voice broke. “I still love you. That’s the worst part.”
Bae stepped forward, cautiously, as if IRyS might vanish if she moved too fast. Her hand reached out, brushing damp hair from her face.
“You shouldn’t,” she said.
“I know.”
And then they kissed.
It wasn’t the kind that said, ‘I miss you.’
It was the kind that said, ‘I need to feel something again.’
Their lips clashed hard—IRyS shoved Bae back against the door, pulling her hoodie off in one swift motion. Clothes came off like they were burning. Hands explored like they were trying to memorize each other again. Every bruise, every scar, every mistake.
They moved to the bedroom without speaking. Bae pushed IRyS onto the mattress, her lips trailing down her neck, across her chest, her hands trembling slightly even as she held on tight.
IRyS gasped, fingers gripping Bae’s hair. “Don’t stop.”
“I wasn’t going to,” Bae whispered against her skin. “Even if I should.”
They made love like it was war. Like they were daring the world to break them more.
When it was over, IRyS lay curled into Bae’s chest, eyes open, staring at nothing.
Bae lit a cigarette and didn’t ask if it was okay. IRyS didn’t ask her to put it out.
They didn’t talk about the other people. Or the pain. Or the fact that this didn’t fix anything.
They just held each other.
Because even if it was killing them... it was still them.
The good days.
There were still moments that felt real. That felt right.
Bae would show up at IRyS’s campus with coffee and a bag of her favorite melon bread, plopping down beside her on the grass like nothing was broken.
“I remembered your test today,” she’d say, handing over the snack with a lopsided smile.
IRyS would take it with a quiet “thanks,” trying not to read too much into it. Trying not to get her hopes up that maybe, just maybe, things were getting better.
They’d laugh again. They’d watch late-night anime together on the couch, limbs tangled, Bae playing with IRyS’s fingers absentmindedly.
Sometimes, Bae would dance just for her in their living room—barefoot, carefree, her eyes never leaving IRyS. And IRyS would fall in love all over again, even though she knew better.
The bad days.
Then there were the nights Bae wouldn’t come home.
IRyS would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, her phone glowing with no new messages. She never asked where Bae had been. She didn’t want to hear lies.
Bae would return reeking of perfume that wasn’t hers, eyes bloodshot, a hickey darkening her neck.
And IRyS wouldn’t cry. Not anymore. She’d just walk past her, brush her teeth in silence, and crawl into bed—turning her back.
But when Bae slid in behind her, whispered “sorry” into her shoulder blade, IRyS would still let her pull her close.
Because even if it hurt, it was still her.
The arguments.
They fought over nothing, and everything.
“You’re not even trying,” IRyS would shout, tears brimming. “I’m always the one patching us back together!”
“Maybe I like us better when we’re broken,” Bae would snap back.
Slamming doors. Raised voices. The neighbors banging on walls.
Then silence.
Then fucking.
Always fucking.
Because it was the only time they felt like they were on the same page. When words failed, their bodies still remembered how to fit.
And then the tenderness.
After the storms, there were quiet moments that made it harder to walk away.
Bae running her fingers through IRyS’s hair while she slept.
IRyS bandaging a wound on Bae’s knuckle after a bar fight.
Bae whispering “I love you” when she thought IRyS was asleep.
IRyS pretending to be asleep because if she answered, it would make it too real.
They weren’t happy. But they weren’t alone. And in their world, that counted for something.
They stopped saying “I love you” out loud.
Not because they didn’t feel it—because they did. It was everywhere. In the way Bae always made sure IRyS ate something before her exams. In the way IRyS folded Bae’s hoodie just the way she liked, even when she was angry.
But love, when poisoned, becomes something dangerous.
And they were both already bleeding.
Another morning after another fight.
Bae’s knuckles were bruised again. IRyS saw them the moment she walked into the kitchen, still in her oversized sleep shirt, eyes puffy from crying the night before.
Bae was making eggs. Like nothing happened.
“Who was it this time?” IRyS asked, tone flat.
“Some guy at the bar who wouldn’t shut up.”
“Did he call you out for being a piece of shit?”
Bae didn’t flinch. She just scoffed. “Yeah. But you beat him to it.”
IRyS sat down at the table, unimpressed.
Bae placed a plate in front of her, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.
A peace offering.
IRyS didn’t move away.
The birthday she forgot.
IRyS sat in the dimmed restaurant alone, the candle on the little slice of cake flickering sadly.
Bae never showed.
No message. No call.
She paid the bill herself. Took a cab home in silence. When she walked through the door, Bae was passed out on the couch, bottle of vodka on the floor, music still playing from her phone.
IRyS stood there for a full minute, staring.
Then, quietly, she walked over, crouched beside her, and brushed Bae’s hair back.
“You forgot,” she whispered. “And I still love you.”
She kissed her temple and left the room.
The night IRyS kissed someone else.
It was a mistake.
It meant nothing.
It was at a friend’s party, after too many drinks, after another fight that left her shattered. A guy leaned in. She didn’t stop him. For a second, she just wanted to feel wanted.
Bae never found out.
But IRyS cried in the shower that night—guilt flooding her like acid. Because no matter how toxic Bae was, she never stopped choosing her.
She just didn’t know why anymore.
They kept waking up beside each other.
Kept cooking breakfast.
Kept arguing.
Kept kissing like it was the last time every time.
Because leaving felt like death. And staying felt like drowning.
So they did both.
Over and over again.
The breaking point.
It happened on a Friday.
Rain again. Of course it was raining.
IRyS came home early from work—a rare half-day granted after a presentation. She thought about messaging Bae, maybe asking her to get takeout and watch something for once without a fight. Maybe... maybe things could be okay today.
But when she walked in, the lights were low.
Shoes—two pairs—by the door.
Laughter from the bedroom.
Her heart didn’t race. It didn’t break.
It just stopped.
IRyS stood there frozen, soaked from the rain, her bag slipping off her shoulder and hitting the floor.
The laughter faded. A shuffle of sheets. Then a door creaked open.
Bae stepped out, shirtless, eyes wide the second they locked with IRyS’s.
“Wait—”
IRyS didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. Didn’t run.
She just laughed.
It was hollow.
“Wow,” she said softly. “You couldn’t even wait until we actually ended.”
“It’s not—” Bae took a step forward, but IRyS raised a hand. Her fingers trembled, but her voice didn’t.
“Don’t. Don’t give me one of your rehearsed lies.”
“It wasn’t planned, okay? It just—happened.”
IRyS scoffed. “Everything just happens with you. Fights. Bruises. Lies. Fucking other people. It’s all just impulse, right?”
“You left me!” Bae snapped, voice rising. “You’ve been gone even when you’re here. You treat me like I’m already a mistake you regret!”
“Because I do!” IRyS screamed finally. “I regret everything! Every time I forgave you. Every night I let you touch me after you hurt me. Every moment I pretended this was love!”
The silence after that was sharp—jagged.
Bae stepped back like she’d been physically hit.
IRyS exhaled shakily, eyes burning. “And the worst part?” Her voice cracked. “I still love you.”
Tears streamed down her face as she turned around.
“I wish I didn’t.”
_
IRyS sat in a hotel room that night, curled up in a robe, staring at the blank television. Her phone buzzed with unread messages, unanswered calls.
Bae’s name lit up the screen.
She didn’t block it.
She just let it ring.
And in the apartment across town, Bae sat on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, surrounded by the silence she used to crave.
The stranger she’d brought home had long since left. The bed was cold. Her cigarette burned out between her fingers.
And she whispered into the emptiness:
“I’m sorry.”
But there was no one left to hear it.
The next morning.
The hotel room was cold. Sterile.
IRyS sat on the edge of the bed, still wrapped in the same robe from the night before, her phone clutched tight in her hands.
She hadn’t slept.
The silence had become unbearable.
So she went back.
Not to forgive.
Not to forget.
Just... to see. To understand. To feel something other than this hollow ache twisting in her chest.
The door was unlocked.
That should’ve been the first sign.
The second was the silence. Too still. Too unnatural. The apartment didn’t feel lived in. No music. No movement. Just the sound of the rain tapping against the windows.
“Bae?” IRyS called, voice low, hesitant.
No answer.
She stepped further inside. Her shoes clicked against the tile. The smell hit her then—metallic, faint but undeniable. Her stomach turned.
“Bae—”
She rushed down the hallway. The bathroom door was cracked open.
The light was on.
The floor was wet.
And Bae was there—slumped beside the tub, her back against the wall, arm resting in the water like she was just soaking her hand.
But the water was red.
So red.
“Oh my god—” IRyS dropped to her knees, nearly slipping. “BAE!”
Her voice broke.
Bae’s eyes fluttered open, unfocused, bloodless lips parting slightly.
“You came back,” she slurred.
“Shut up—shut up, don’t fucking talk!” IRyS grabbed a towel, yanked her arm from the tub, pressing hard on the slashed wrist. “Why the fuck would you do this?!”
Bae just smiled—weak, fading. “I didn’t think you would—”
Her head lolled to the side.
“No, no, stay with me!” IRyS cried, pulling her closer. Her hands were soaked. Her knees were soaked. The towel turned crimson, the color spreading fast.
She fumbled for her phone with one shaking hand, dialing emergency services, her voice barely coherent as she screamed for help.
Her other arm never let go of Bae.
Even when she stopped responding.
Even when her eyes shut again.
Even when her blood kept flowing.
She died.