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♡♡A Vow over Coffee & Ash
The rooftop café smelled of burnt coffee and rusted metal. Steam curled from my cup like a living thing, twisting toward the dim glow of string lights overhead. The city hummed beneath us, muffled and distant, as if we'd slipped into some other world where time and sound softened.
I curled my fingers tightly around the ceramic cup. Warmth seeped into my skin, but it didn't reach the storm inside. My knuckles whitened around it, and I took a shallow breath. I didn't want him to see that I was anything but composed.
> "I want the truth," I said flatly, voice steady but brittle. "Even if it breaks me."
The detective—grey eyes sharp, face unreadable, a trench coat pulled close to him—didn't blink. He let the words hang in the cold rooftop air for a moment before answering.
> "Truth often does."
I locked him dead in the eyes, jaw tight, refusing to let him sense the tremor in my heart.
> "And if Taehyung—if he has anything to do with my memory loss, my missing years… if he's the reason I'm suffering—past or present—"
I leaned forward, fire sparking in my voice. My cup rattled slightly as I pushed it onto the table.
> "I swear, I'll destroy him. I'll ruin his life like he ruined mine."
The detective studied me for a long second. Silence stretched between us, heavy and deliberate, like the pause before a storm hits.
He gave a small, unreadable smile. One corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
> "You don't seem like someone who could destroy a man like him."
I snapped my head toward him.
> "You don't know me," I said sharply, voice low but cutting. "I may look soft. But if I find proof—if I know he's been lying, using me—I'll burn everything he loves to the ground."
I forced the words out, cold and precise. But my hands betrayed me, trembling lightly under the table. I pressed my palms to the cup, trying to steady them. My heart raced as if it didn't agree with the defiance in my voice.
He tilted his head, observing me, tapping his pen slowly against the worn wood.
> "Do you hate him?" he asked quietly, almost conversational.
I swallowed hard.
Images crowded my mind—too fast, too sharp. His fingers braiding my hair as if it were fragile silk. The soup he'd made me, still warm, that night I couldn't eat. The way he kissed my temple like it was a vow. The way his eyes caught mine, soft and claiming, as though he'd known me forever, even when I hadn't known myself.
I looked away, trying to erase the tenderness from memory.
> "I can't answer that," I said finally, voice shaking despite myself.
The detective let it pass. He leaned back, pen still tapping, studying the city below us through the rusted gate. I could hear the faint buzz of traffic and distant laughter, sounds of lives unaffected by the chaos in mine.
> "You're scared," he said softly, almost a statement, not a question.
I lifted my gaze, meeting his.
> "Scared?" I echoed, bitter. "Of him? Of what he could do to me? I've been surviving fear my entire life. This… this is just the next chapter."
> "Next chapter?" He raised a brow. "This isn't just survival. It's obsession."
I froze. My stomach knotted.
> "Obsession isn't always bad," I whispered. "Sometimes… it's survival."
He regarded me silently, letting that hang. Then, deliberately, he leaned forward, hands clasped on the table.
> "You know him better than anyone."
I swallowed, eyes fixed on the steam curling from my cup. My voice was quieter now.
> "Better than anyone should."
> "And yet… you trust him."
The words hit me like ice. I pressed the cup to my lips, letting the warmth remind me that I was alive, still breathing, still standing. But my chest felt hollow, torn between dread and longing.
> "I don't know if I trust him," I admitted finally. "But I can't… I can't let myself hate him. Not fully. Not yet."
The detective leaned back, studying me with those gray, calculating eyes.
> "And if you find out you've been wrong all along?"
> "Then I'll burn him," I said flatly, though a shiver betrayed my calm.
He chuckled softly, the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
> "That's a heavy vow."
I nodded.
> "It's the only one I can make."
The city hummed below us, oblivious to the promise that weighed like iron in my chest.
For a moment, everything stilled. No wind. No clatter. Just the soft hiss of the coffee machine from inside, and the faint, persistent thrum of my own pulse.
> "You're afraid of what he can do," he said finally, voice low, careful. "But more than that… you're afraid of what you'll feel if he doesn't."
I stiffened, gripping the cup so tightly I thought it might crack.
> "What I'll feel?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
> "Yes." He leaned back again. "Because you can destroy him—or you can forgive him. And both will change you."
I pressed my lips together, tasting the bitterness of coffee and of truth.
> "I don't forgive easily," I muttered, almost to myself.
> "Then you'll have to decide," he said quietly. "Which is worse: hating him and losing yourself, or letting him into the spaces you swore were yours alone?"
I didn't answer. I could feel the weight of those words pressing against me. His eyes studied me, calm, patient, like a man who had seen far too many storms and knew the shape of every one.
I shifted in my seat, looking down at the cup, the warmth that couldn't touch the ache in my chest.
> "He's been protecting you," the detective said finally. "Even when it hurts you, even when you fight it, even when you think he's the monster."
I flinched slightly, bitter.
> "Protecting me?" I echoed, shaking my head. "He kills. He lies. He… he—"
> "Protecting you." He repeated, quieter, as if speaking it to himself now.
I stared at him. I didn't know whether to rage or cry. I had so many reasons to hate him. So many reasons to run. And yet, the truth—messy, twisted, impossible truth—sickened me with longing.
The detective tapped the table again. Slow. Measured.
> "You need to decide what you're willing to lose."
I swallowed, nodding, though my throat felt constricted.
> "I don't know if I can… yet."
> "Then be careful," he said. "Because the longer you wait, the more you risk… everything."
I clutched the cup tighter, staring at the rising steam. It blurred the city lights, but it didn't blur my vision. Not anymore.
> "One day," I whispered, almost to myself, "I'll know the truth."
> "And when you do," he said softly, standing, sliding the pen into his coat pocket, "you'll have to decide whether you're brave enough to act on it."
I watched him go. The chair scraped softly against the floor. The wind carried his absence in its hollow sigh. The city lights flickered in the dark, and for a long moment, I felt utterly, achingly alone.
And yet…
The cup in my hands was still warm. The vow on my lips still raw.
I didn't know if I would destroy him. I didn't know if I would forgive him. I didn't even know if I could survive the truth.
But I would chase it.
Even if it burned everything I loved to ash.
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