: We Can Fix This - Tumblr Posts
PROMPT DRABBLE
Prompt: 'You don't own me'
Pairing: Chan x female reader
WC: 1.1k
Warnings: angst, angst and more angst, established broken relationship, relationship discourse re monogamy and open, implied infidelity, hurting and crying and a hug I'm fine I promise
“Your stuff is in the front room.”
How you’d been dreading this day.
“Thanks,” you said.
Stepping into the house you once shared with the man that now only regarded you with cold disdain felt like entering a graveyard. In the entrance hallway, all pictures had been taken down; their frames imprinted by dust on the wall. In the front room—a space in which you spent many a late night with takeout and wine and laughter aplenty—there was no trace of you left. The ornaments you’d picked out, the décor you’d arranged, the sofa throws and the cushions and the plush faux-fur rug you’d made love on in the early days: all of it.
A lump of emotion rose in your throat, testing your composure. You’d known this would be hard, but—
“I think that’s everything,” Chan said from behind you, gesturing to the three cardboard boxes stacked high and taped tightly. “If there’s anything missing, you’ll have to let me know.”
You blinked through the sting in your eyes and nodded. “Right.”
Approaching the tower of your belongings, your attention was caught by a scrawling of black marker on the side of the topmost box. Someone had written something, then had scribbled over it erratically. Clearly not well enough, for you could just about decipher it.
“Witch?” you read it out loud, heart sinking.
Chan grimaced. “Sorry. Seungmin was helping me pack everything...”
“I see.”
“Thought I’d coloured over it enough.”
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine, actually, but hashing it out with Chan would achieve precisely nothing. His friends’ opinion of you was now muck; you could almost hear the shit they no doubt slung around and about your name. There was no way Chan hadn’t contributed to it.
You lifted the first box from the stack, surprised by its hefty weight. Chan looked on as you lumbered it to the front door and out to the street, where your car waited.
“Need a hand?” he called from the door.
“No. Thanks.”
Popping the boot and hauling the box inside, you panted through the burn in your arms, rubbing them as you headed back to the house. Chan stepped aside for you to enter.
“I can help, you know,” he said.
“I don’t need your help.”
Chan scoffed. “Right. You never did.”
Your stomach churned uncomfortably. “Don’t start, Chan. Please. I’m just here to get my stuff, then I’ll leave.”
“Get on with it then.”
You turned to glare at him, and in the afternoon light of the bare front room, saw how gaunt he looked. Chan was always on the slimmer side—had been for as long as you’d known him—but this wasn’t the product of any sort of health kick.
Anger suddenly dampened, concern came to the forefront.
“Are you eating enough?” you asked.
Chan’s eyes narrowed under his snapback. “Really?” he snapped.
“What?”
“You’re pretending to give a shit?”
“I’m not pretending, you look like you’ve lost weight—”
“Right, because I’m not fucking eating, but what concern is that of yours? You forfeited any right to check in on me when you destroyed our relationship.”
Rage and upset gathered tightly and brought you to a tremble, tears boiling up before you could hope to quell them.
“Destroyed our relationship?” you repeated, voice breaking. “You really think that’s what I did?”
“I know it is. Look at where we are, what we’re doing. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for you.”
You took a deep breath, blinking tears to their escape. “Suggesting that we open our relationship was not me trying to destroy it. I just wanted something new for us, something that we could explore together—”
Chan held his hands up. “And that’s where we’re different. I never wanted anyone else. I didn’t want anything new.”
“You’re a liar!” you started towards him, emotion now spilling over in waves of hopelessness. “I saw the way you were with that girl from the café; how you two flirted and texted all the goddamn time.”
Chan’s face went pallid with mortification. “What?”
“I never resented you for it,” you said, “I didn’t want to be the kind of delusional that believes her boyfriend is planning to cheat, so I thought opening things up would be easier. It would have taken the thrill of secrecy away, would have taken the pressure off, given us room to breathe a little. But you just... you didn’t want to see it that way.”
“Because it’s not right,” he seethed, taking a step towards you. “I was never going to do anything with her—”
“How could I have known that, Chan? How was I supposed to interpret things when you never communicated with me?”
“You were supposed to fucking trust me.”
“No,” you shook your head, swiping tear-streaked cheeks with your palms, “that’s not fair. It’s not fair to throw that at me now. I trusted you with every fibre of my being. I wouldn’t have even suggested opening up if I didn’t.”
Chan yanked off his snapback and raked a hand through his curls. Pain wrote all over his face, pulling his brows together, thinning his lips.
“Did you... want to see other people?” he then asked.
“In that moment, not really. But if you had agreed, I’d have tried. Seen what’s out there.”
“So I would have had to watch you dating other people? Watch random fucking guys trying to get you into bed?”
“No. Not if you didn’t want to, and if that were the case, I would have wanted boundaries between you and the café girl instead. If you chose monogamy, I was going to ask you to respect that. Opening things only would have worked if we were in it together. But you just... you called everything off. Ended it.”
Chan sagged against the wall. Tears dampened his thick lashes, his cheeks blotched pink with stress.
“I tried to tell you all this. You didn’t want to hear it.”
“Because you were supposed to be mine,” he said. “Just mine.”
Your chest throbbed warm and with a pain of yearning you’d never felt. The simple truth of things was so much bleaker when cards were played and hands shown.
“You don’t own me,” you said. “You never did.”
He nodded, slow and controlled. Then he looked up at you, your eyes meeting across the skeleton of your once shared life.
“But I love you,” he whispered.
You crossed the small space and, without a second thought, embraced him in what was to be your final farewell. Arms around his neck, his around your waist, your bodies drew close and warm as tears were shed freely.
For the first time in your life, you prayed for the healing touch of time to come quickly.
My followers are booing and throwing tomatoes at me
My followers are booing and throwing tomatoes at me
My followers are booing and throwing tomatoes at me