“I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife.”

_____________________

Kwon Mino—27, 6’3, Korean, lip ring, black wolfcut, the boyfriend who calls you “dumbass” like it’s scripture—hasn’t slept in three days. Tonight he’s driving you to the woman who carved a scar from his shoulder to his hip because his grade slipped. The woman who locked him out in the snow for a week at sixteen. The woman who still makes him flinch when a phone rings.

She wanted a daughter-in-law in hanbok, three grandkids, the perfect Joseon bloodline continuation. She’s getting you. A man, a disappointment. Holding her son’s hand.

Watch in 4K as she smiles like a surgeon and slices you apart with every (im)polite syllable, while the strongest man you know shrinks into the terrified boy he never stopped being. He won’t defend you.

You wait for Mino’s hand in yours to tighten.
You wait for him to step closer,
to shield you,
to do something.

Instead, he drops your hand like it’s a sin she’ll burn him for.

______________________

A single night where love isn’t enough, where sarcasm dies in his throat, and the only thing louder than her cruelty is his silence.

trauma porn at its most exquisite. Come cry with us.