The Breaking Point

The ramen shop was humid, the air thick with the scent of pork broth and scallions. A low hum of conversation filled the space, interrupted occasionally by the clatter of chopsticks against ceramic bowls. Outside, neon lights buzzed against the damp Seoul evening, their reflections shimmering on the rain-slicked pavement.

Jiho sat across from her, barely touching his food. His girlfriend, Nari, was happily slurping her noodles, oblivious to the weight pressing against his chest. She always ate messily, strands of ramen hanging from her lips before she sucked them up, her eyes lighting up every time she found an unexpected bit of spice.

She was cute. Everyone said so.

And he was supposed to love her.

"So," she said between bites, "I saw this cute café in Hongdae today. They serve these little strawberry shortcakes, and they have these tiny forks that look like cat paws." She grinned, reaching for her phone. "Wait, I took a picture ---"

"Nari," Jiho interrupted, his voice sharper than he intended.

She blinked, chopsticks freezing in midair. "What?"

He hesitated. The words sat on his tongue, but something about the way she looked at him ---so unguarded, so expectant ---made it impossible to say what he really wanted to.

Instead, he exhaled. "Never mind."

Nari tilted her head but let it go, returning to her food. "Anyway, we should go this weekend. It looks really nice. And we haven't gone on a proper date in weeks."

Jiho forced a smile. "Yeah. Maybe."

He could already picture it. The packed streets, her hand tugging at his, pointing out every little thing she found interesting. The way she'd make him pose for pictures he didn't want to take, then pout when he looked "too stiff." The way she always held onto his arm like she was afraid he'd slip away.

He hated how predictable it had all become.

How predictable she had become.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out without thinking, only to freeze when he saw the group chat notification.

[Junsu]: Bro, you coming out tonight? Or you busy being on a leash?

Jiho's grip tightened around his phone.

Nari was still talking, something about a coworker at her internship, but her voice faded into background noise. He glanced at her, at the way she naturally leaned toward him, how easily she assumed he wanted to hear everything about her day.

She didn't notice how his responses had become shorter.

She didn't notice how often he checked his phone when she spoke.

She didn't notice how much he wanted to leave.

Jiho swallowed hard.

He needed to breathe. He needed space.

He needed to be free.

The bar was loud, packed with the usual Friday-night crowd --- college students, office workers unwinding after a long week, and clusters of guys like Jiho, seeking an escape from something they didn't want to name.

Junsu nudged him with an elbow, grinning as he tilted his glass. "Finally, man. Thought Nari had you on a curfew."

Jiho scoffed, tipping back his drink. The alcohol burned down his throat, dulling the tight coil in his chest. "She's not that bad."

"Not that bad?" Junsu snorted. "Dude, I've seen hostages with more freedom than you. When was the last time you came out without her blowing up your phone?"

Jiho didn't answer. Because he knew what would happen if he checked his messages right now --- her name flooding his notifications, asking if he'd eaten, if he was still out, if he was coming home soon.

His silence only made Junsu laugh harder. "That's what I thought."

Taemin, their mutual friend, leaned back against the booth, swirling his drink lazily. "It's not even just the texts, bro. She clings. Like, I saw you two at the arcade last week. You couldn't even take one step without her glued to your arm."

"She just likes being close," Jiho muttered, but even to his own ears, it sounded weak.

"She likes suffocating you." Junsu shot him a knowing look. "C'mon, don't even pretend you're happy, man. You've been off lately."

Jiho exhaled through his nose, staring at the condensation forming on his glass.

Was he happy?

There was a time when he had been --- when Nari's constant attention had felt like devotion instead of a weight. When her clinginess had been endearing, not exhausting.

But now?

Now, he could barely stand it.

"She's just… too much sometimes," he admitted. "Like, she needs me all the time. Every second of every day. It's like I can't even think without her in my ear."

Junsu nodded sagely. "Classic case of 'my girlfriend thinks I'm her emotional support animal.'"

Taemin hummed in agreement. "You should break up with her."

Jiho startled, looking up. "What?"

"Break up with her," Taemin repeated, setting his drink down. "If she's that bad, why are you still with her?"

Jiho opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

Why was he still with her?

"She's not a bad person," he said finally, more to himself than to them. "She's just… Nari."

Junsu raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound like love, bro."

Jiho stared down at the amber liquid in his glass, his fingers tightening around it.

Was it?

Had he ever really been in love with her?

Or had he just been caught up in the idea of her --- of having someone so devoted, so wrapped up in him, that he never questioned if he felt the same way?

Taemin leaned forward, his voice dropping just enough to be heard over the music. "If you're staying because you feel like you have to, not because you want to, then what's the point?"

Jiho didn't have an answer.

But something heavy settled in his gut, a seed of realization rooting itself deep inside.

And for the first time, he let himself think---really think --- about what life would be like without her.

And he didn't hate it.

Jiho's apartment felt suffocating the moment he stepped inside. It wasn't big to begin with just a small one-bedroom in a quiet neighborhood of Seoul --- but lately, it had started feeling even smaller.

And tonight, it wasn't just the walls closing in.

Nari was there.

She sat cross-legged on his couch, wearing his oversized hoodie, looking completely at home. A takeout box sat half-open on the coffee table, the smell of tteokbokki filling the air. She looked up from her phone when he walked in, her face lighting up.

"You're home!"

Jiho forced a smile. "Yeah."

"I got us dinner. Figured you'd be hungry after going out."

He felt the weight of it immediately --- the assumption.

She hadn't even asked if he was coming over. She'd just been here, waiting.

"Did you… wait here the whole time?" His voice was flatter than he intended.

She shrugged. "Of course. I like being here."

She liked being anywhere he was.

Jiho ran a hand through his hair, feeling the night's exhaustion press down on him. He hadn't told her he was coming back, hadn't even planned to, but there she was --- like she knew he wouldn't say no.

Like he never said no.

"I saw Junsu's post," Nari continued, reaching for her chopsticks. "You didn't tell me you were going out drinking."

Jiho exhaled sharply. "Do I have to tell you everything?"

She blinked, surprised by his tone. "No, but---"

"But you expect me to," he finished for her.

Silence.

Nari set her chopsticks down, tilting her head. "Why are you upset?"

"I'm not upset," Jiho muttered, rubbing his temples. "I just---Nari, I need space."

She frowned. "But we always---"

"That's the problem," he snapped.

Her mouth parted slightly, eyes widening. Jiho wasn't the type to raise his voice. But tonight, the words were coming out before he could stop them, before he could shove them back down like he always did.

"I feel like I can't breathe, Nari," he said, his voice low but firm. "Everywhere I go, everything I do, it's us. There's never just me anymore."

Nari stared at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, she smiled soft, understanding.

"You're just tired," she said, reaching for his hand. "We can talk about this tomorrow."

Jiho pulled away.

Her smile faltered.

Something ugly twisted in his chest.

She wasn't even listening. She wasn't hearing him.

She never did.

And in that moment, Jiho knew.

He could break up with her. He could walk away. He could tell her he needed to be alone.

But she wouldn't let him.

She would cry, she would beg, she would promise to be better.

And he would give in.

Because that's how it always went.

Unless…

Unless he ended it in a way she couldn't undo.

Jiho exhaled slowly, the thought settling deep in his mind.

Maybe it was time to really be free.

Jiho lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

The faint hum of the refrigerator, the occasional car passing outside, the rhythmic ticking of his bedside clock --- everything around him felt unbearably loud in the silence of his own thoughts.

Nari had left an hour ago, after a long pause and a forced smile. She had kissed his cheek before walking out the door, pretending nothing had changed, as if she hadn't felt the distance growing between them.

She always did that. Acted like things would fix themselves if she just loved him enough.

But they never did.

And Jiho… he was tired.

He turned onto his side, eyes landing on his phone. His screen lit up with unread messages.

[Nari]: Get some rest, okay? I love you.

[Nari]: Let's talk tomorrow. I'll make you breakfast.

His jaw clenched.

It was always like this. I love you. Let's talk. I'll make things better.

Didn't she see?

Didn't she realize that she was the reason he felt like this?

He squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against his temples. His friends had been right. He wasn't happy. He hadn't been happy for a long time.

And if he broke up with her?

She would cry. Beg. Tell him he was all she had. That she couldn't live without him.

Jiho could already hear it, see the way her hands would clutch at his sleeve, her breath hitching between sobs.

No.

She wouldn't let him go.

Not unless he made her.

His phone buzzed again, but he didn't look. His mind was already drifting elsewhere.

Somewhere far away. Somewhere high.

Somewhere no one could hear her scream.

A mountain.

A clean break.

A way out.

And for the first time in months, Jiho felt something close to relief.

He already knew what he had to do.

The plan came together so easily, it almost scared him.

Jiho wasn't sure if it was fate or just dumb luck, but when Nari excitedly mentioned wanting to go hiking that weekend, it felt like the universe was handing him the perfect opportunity.

"Oh! What if we go to Bukhansan?" she had suggested over the phone, her voice brimming with excitement. "The leaves are starting to change --- I saw pictures, and it looks so beautiful! We haven't gone hiking together in a while."

Jiho had hesitated just long enough for her to rush in and fill the silence, as she always did.

"But if you're busy, we don't have to! I just thought, you know… it'd be nice. Just us."

He could hear the quiet hope in her voice, the unspoken plea underneath her casual suggestion.

She wanted reassurance.

She wanted proof that he still cared.

And for once, Jiho didn't have to force a smile as he responded. "No, that sounds nice. Let's do it."

He could practically hear her beaming.

"Really? Oh my god, I'll pack us lunch! I can make those kimbap rolls you like."

Jiho hummed in agreement, but he wasn't thinking about food.

He was thinking about the trail. The altitude. The silence of the mountains.

And how, after this trip, he would finally be free.

---

The morning of the hike was crisp, the autumn air carrying a sharp chill as Jiho met Nari at the subway station. She was already waiting for him by the ticket machines, bundled up in a cream-colored jacket, her backpack slung over her shoulders.

"You're late," she huffed playfully, swaying on her heels.

Jiho checked his watch. "By three minutes."

"Still late." She reached up to adjust his scarf, her fingers brushing against his jaw. "Did you eat breakfast?"

Jiho swallowed back irritation. "Yeah."

Nari nodded, satisfied. "Good! You'll need the energy. I packed extra snacks, just in case."

Jiho forced a smile. "You always do."

As the train rumbled into the station, Nari grabbed his hand without hesitation, threading their fingers together. It was so instinctive, so familiar, that Jiho didn't react ---he just let it happen.

And for the first time, he wondered if she would have been like this with anyone.

If, in some other timeline, she had simply found another man to cling to, another person to pour her love into.

Or if it really had to be him.

Either way, after today, it wouldn't matter.

The train doors slid open.

Jiho stepped inside, leading her toward the end of the car, his grip on her hand tightening.