Work Text:
The relationship they had was not a healthy or sweet one like the cheesy dramas the woman often watched on television.
[Name] had realized this a long time ago, long before the people around her began warning her. She knew the way Ticket Taker watched her was not normal. She knew the jealousy he showed was often excessive. She also knew that every fight they had always ended with emotional wounds. Yet strangely, neither of them decided to leave.
Every time [Name] tried to distance herself, Ticket Taker knew exactly what words to say to make her feel guilty for wanting to leave. And every time that happened, [Name] would surrender again. Even though she knew this relationship was fragile. Even though she knew love shouldn't feel like an exhausting obligation.
All this time, Ticket Taker had always placed his work at the circus as his top priority, while [Name] kept telling herself she was patient enough to be second place. Yet Ticket Taker always managed to make her stay.
When [Name] was at her breaking point, ready to give up, he would suddenly show up at her apartment door after days of disappearing without a word. He would come bearing strings of apologies and expensive gifts that were exactly what [Name] wanted.
For Ticket Taker, his week-long absences were not something worth debating. And foolishly, [Name] always melted. Because Ticket Taker knew how to make his lover feel calm and comfortable.
He didn't talk much, but he always remembered the smallest details about [Name]. He knew her favorite food, the songs she played when she was sad, even her bad habit of biting her lip whenever she was nervous.
Those small attentions were what made [Name] feel special and loved—even though she never truly knew whether he was sincere or not.
That night, after hours of staring at a silent phone screen, [Name]'s fingers danced across the keyboard.
Do you still love me?
She stared at that sentence for a while, then mustered the courage to press send. Two hours passed, but her message hadn't even shown as read—let alone received a reply.
Half an hour later, with what remained of her crumbling self-esteem, she sent another message.
Or maybe, you never loved me at all?
That sentence sounded so pathetic, even to herself.
Finally, one last message was sent as a turning point.
I think we should break up.
After that, [Name] immediately turned off her phone.
The next morning, the sound of notifications woke [Name]. Her heart immediately pounded wildly. With trembling hands, she unlocked the screen. All the messages she had sent the night before had changed status to "read." Slowly, she opened their chat thread. Several messages came in consecutively.
Ticket Taker:
Darling, I was working.
I still love you.
I don't want us to break up.
The tears she had been holding back since the night before collapsed instantly. But before she could reply, one final message came in: Open your door.
With hurried steps, [Name] ran to her apartment door. As soon as the door opened, there stood the masked man—Ticket Taker—already on her doorstep, carrying a medium-sized cake box.
"Are you serious?" [Name]'s voice trembled, holding back both tears and anger. "I said we're breaking up, and you're only responding now?!"
"Sorry, dear. I did it on purpose."
"What?"
"I deliberately didn't reply to your messages for the past week."
"Are you insane—"
"I wanted to surprise you," Ticket Taker cut in.
[Name] nearly slammed the door in his face. But before she could, Ticket Taker lifted the lid of the cake box in his hands. On top of the sweet cream surface was a simple inscription: Happy Birthday, sweetheart.
[Name] froze.
"I wanted to be the first person to say it," the black-haired man said from behind his mask.
[Name] stood paralyzed. She knew this relationship was painful. She knew she would be disappointed over and over again. She also knew that Ticket Taker would never change. But she realized, if he turned around and left right now, she would still stay and wait.
Because what bound her here wasn't healthy love—it was hope. A false hope that one day, Ticket Taker would choose her over his work. A hope that slowly materialized into chains, tightening around her neck more and more each day.