DTM | Prologue

 

My finger pressed firmly on the screen, jaw clenched as I finalized the listing. It was 2 a.m., the darkness outside my officetel² was deep and silent, with only my own room spilling light into the cold night.

The four-year relationship with Kwon Yi-tae had ended.

We’d started as childhood friends, but our relationship turned romantic when we were eighteen. The realization hit without warning.

I remember—it was while eating spicy chicken without romance.

 

(Start of Flashback) 

It was one weekend when my parents left for Guam for their anniversary. Yi-tae had spent the whole day at my place, comfortable as always, practically treating my house as his own.

There was a zombie movie I’d wanted to watch, but I’d been too chicken to go through it alone. Since Yi-tae was there, I queued it up quickly. I hate horror films, but I had a massive crush on the lead actor, so I had to see it. Yi-tae laughed at my nerves, saying he’d never felt fear in his life.

But within five minutes of the film starting, Yi-tae threw his plate. He bumped the table, and cubes of pickled radish spilled, along with a chunk of chicken breast he’d just taken a bite of, which went tumbling, hit the bridge of his nose, rolled down his chest, and landed on his thigh.

There he was, covered in sauce and pickled radish, looking ridiculous, and the only thought that came to my mind was… “Cute.” Adorable, even with that mess. That was the moment I knew I was doomed.

Feelings only grow stronger the harder you try to deny them. I accepted my fate.

 

“Hey, how would you feel if I got a boyfriend?” I asked.

 

Yi-tae stopped wiping at the sauce on his clothes and turned his head toward me. His eyes flashed with something fierce, and he threw his wipe aside.

 

“The hell? Who? Is he from our school? Got a picture? Or, actually, never mind—I already know what he looks like. Bet he’s some dumbass. Break up with him right now.”

 

I squinted, watching Yi-tae get all worked up. Right then, I knew he felt the same way. The realization came faster than the feelings had. My eyes stayed on him as he spewed out his rant, then he froze as he realized he’d overreacted.

 

“Didn’t you say you’re too busy fangirling to have time for relationships?”

 

“If you get a girlfriend and start ignoring me, I’d probably be hurt.”

 

“….”

 

“How about you?”

 

“…I’d be fucking hurt, too. Might even cry.”

 

“Oh yeah? Well, can’t have you bawling, then. How about we…?”

(End of Flashback) 

 

Try going out?

“Ugh.”

The memory of that night twisted my stomach until I could almost taste the dinner I ate. Our relationship since then has been pure wildfire. Knowing each other as friends first, there was nothing to hold us back, no need for shyness.

We’d cling to each other constantly, holding hands or clinging to each other’s thighs as if being apart was impossible. Our parents were even worse, urging us to get married right after college.

But ease didn’t mean lack of complications. We’d ignored the fact that friendship and romance were different relationships. As lovers, we suddenly had a “right” to each other’s personal lives that hadn’t been there before. Things we hadn’t cared about as friends, like how often we stayed in touch, became obligations.

We also failed to recognize that even lovers need respect and consideration. Our expectations as friends clashed with those as lovers, inevitably leading to fights. We’d broken up and gotten back together more times than there were gods on Olympus.

“This time, it’s real.”

I hit the “Complete” button in the secondhand sales app, confirming the listing.

This is it. Really the end!

I tossed my phone onto the couch, letting out a huge sigh. Not a minute had passed before my phone buzzed again with a new message notification.

 

「JjongJjong: I’ll be there in 30 minutes. Don’t sell it to anyone else.  」

 

He didn’t even know my exact address yet, but he sure seemed desperate, probably worried I’d sell to someone else. Well, it was all brand-name stuff; he’d hit the jackpot.

“Cute username,” I mumbled.

After that, messages flooded in. People questioned if it was genuine or whether they should trust someone selling at this hour. Ignoring them all, I sent the address to the first person who’d messaged and reserved it for him.

And sure enough, it was less than thirty minutes before the doorbell rang.

“Yes, I’m coming!”

I opened the door, and right in front of me was a broad chest, heaving with every breath. I knew that familiar chest all too well. Slowly, my eyes traveled up to a face I knew just as well.

“You, you…”

“JjongJjong, at your service.”

‘Jjongjjong’ my ass. The buyer who had begged me never to sell it to anyone else was none other than Kwon Yi-tae.

I processed this, then tried to shut the door immediately—but his hand, braced against it, held it open easily. If it weren’t for Yi-tae’s brute strength, I’d have closed it, but he overpowered me effortlessly.

As the door swung open again, I was immediately met with a face wearing a devouring smile. Oh, this bastard was pissed.

“You call someone all the way here, and this is how you behave? So rude.”

Kwon Yi-tae, unusually polite, lifted the large box sitting in the doorway with ease. Not even a hint of struggle. What a freak.

“I’m not just handsome; I’m insanely handsome. So, I don’t get to pay.”

The hell is he saying? Staring, dumbfounded, I just watched as he took a few steps toward the elevator. He wasn’t wasting any time.

“Hey, Kwon Yi-tae!”

I sprinted, jumping in the elevator just before the doors closed. He ignored me, staring straight ahead. I glared at his profile, his anger obvious.

“Seriously, men in Korea have zero self-awareness. Who told you you’re good-looking? Your mom?”

“My ex-girlfriend, who had damn high standards. Said my face was my best feature. Figured that since you look like her, you’d have the same taste.”

…I remembered exactly what I had said. It was hard to deny, even grudgingly, that Kwon Yi-tae was handsome. Wherever he went, directors were practically setting their eyes on fire trying to cast him. When we started college, the campus community app had been flooded with posts asking about him.

Unable to come up with a counterargument, I clenched my teeth in frustration. I couldn’t let this slide.

“I know a little about reading faces, and yours screams ‘obsessive psycho,’ so it’s a no from me. The kind of guy who makes his girlfriend report her whereabouts every 30 minutes, crashes her social gatherings uninvited, and keeps her under constant surveillance. A walking ‘cockroach couple’ meme on campus. The kind who personally arranges her class schedule and suffocates her by showing up during every break!”

*Snap*

The veins on Kwon Yi-tae’s forehead bulge. Just then, the elevator came to a halt—not in the basement but the first floor. Guess he took a taxi here. Not losing steam, I listed every incident of his obsessive tendencies that had pissed me off.

Kwon Yi-tae walked aimlessly out of the officetel, forced to endure my tirade. He abruptly stopped, turning sharply to face me.

“I can read faces too.”

“Screw off. I couldn’t care less.”

“You’re the type to forget anniversaries and ditch your boyfriend to attend a celebrity fan-signing event.”

“….”

“After setting up some romantic mood, you’d dump him the second a notification pops up about a celebrity’s live stream. Meanwhile, your boyfriend’s left alone, looking like an idiot, chugging wine to drown his misery.”

“Hearing you, I might think you were some pitiful, selfless boyfriend.”

“You? Do you know me?”

“Cut the crap!”

Sparks flew between our locked gazes. If I’d had something in my hands, I would’ve hurled it at him without hesitation. Kwon Yi-tae ran his tongue over his teeth, a habit of his when trying to swallow his anger.

Sweeping my hair back behind my ears, I prepared my final blow.

“All you do is demand without any consideration.”

“When have I ever?”

‘When have you ever?’ That bullshit made me laugh out loud.

“Senior Kim Insu.”

“That fucking pig.”

Kwon Yi-tae’s face twisted into a scowl, rage bubbling just below the surface. I looked at him with exhaustion.

Kim Insu—a senior three years ahead of me. We weren’t close, but we’d worked together on group projects. He interned at a program I was interested in, so I often sought his advice.

But Kwon Yi-tae had no liking for Kim Insu, especially since the guy bypassed group chats to message me directly. Things escalated when a drunken Kim Insu wrapped an arm around my waist at a party—just as Kwon Yi-tae walked in.

Before I could even process my disgust, Kwon Yi-tae had yanked Kim In-su by the hair and flung him aside. He then rained punches on the guy, who stumbled into a table, causing dishes and glasses to shatter loudly. The bar descended into chaos, and Kim In-su fled without even grabbing his coat in the dead of winter.

Kwon Yi-tae never pretended to hit me, even as a joke, but with others, he couldn’t suppress his explosive temper. And I hated it.

We fought about this countless times, unable to see eye to eye. Over four years of dating, nothing changed, and I couldn’t expect it to in the future. Realizing this made everything feel suffocating and tiresome.

It took me too long to understand it was time to end things.

“Maybe we were better off as friends.”

“What?”

“You didn’t love me. You wanted to own me.”

Kwon Yi-tae let out a scoff, almost a bitter laugh.

“And you? What kind of grand love sells off a couple’s rings the day after breaking up?”

“We’d just end up fighting again. I didn’t want to get sentimental. What, is that a problem?”

Kwon Yi-tae looked down at me with mockery plastered across his face.

“You didn’t want to feel sentimental, so you threw everything away? Except for that underwear you kept wearing. Couldn’t let go of those sexy memories, huh?”

His gaze dropped to my shoulder, and I instinctively glanced down. While running earlier, my T-shirt collar had slipped, revealing a white bra strap.

Shit. I’d packed every last condom and sentimental trinket into a box but hadn’t thought about the underwear I had on. Flustered, I failed to hide my discomfort as Kwon Yi-tae sighed, his harsh demeanor softening slightly.

“Let’s go inside and talk.”

“…”

I silently watched him attempt to brush this over like he always did. Instead of replying, I unhooked my bra with one hand. The strap went slack, and Kwon Yi-tae’s face hardened. I tossed the bra atop a pile of boxes.

“I’ll deal with the panties. If you’re so attached to them, I will send them to you by courier.”

With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me, there was a thud, followed by hurried footsteps. Kwon Yi-tae grabbed me and, without a word, pulled off his black T-shirt, slipping it over my head.

On him, it had been loose, but on me, it fell like a mini dress.

“Are you out of your mind? Are you really ending this?”

The soft fabric clung lightly to my skin, his familiar scent filling the air. But the smell no longer stirred my heart. Looking at him gripping my arm tightly, I replayed our four years together. Was I sure I wouldn’t regret this? The answer came easily.

“I’m done.”

“….”

“I’m tired of hurting you and being hurt.”

The emotions we had blossomed at eighteen had withered before fully blooming. The cutting words, the lack of understanding—it had all severed our connection. Rootless feelings grew cold and drifted away.

Desperation clouded Kwon Yi-tae’s fierce gaze. His voice cracked as he called my name.

“Yoo Eunha.”

“Let’s end this.”

Breaking up wasn’t just a declaration—it was a resolution and a promise to myself. Even if, just as always, the burning anger eventually blooms into a lingering affection that piles up like ashes; even if my feelings for Kwon Yi-tae never fully disappeared, even if I ended up regretting it—I wouldn’t turn back.

Our relationship had been torn and stitched back together so many times that it no longer resembled its original form.

No matter how today’s breakup would ripple through my life later, I had resolved to define my feelings with clarity and finality.

This was the end. Truly the end.