Modern AU where the characters are a little older, a little sadder, and go down the path of adults generally viewed as tedious by the hearts of youths.

"You betrayed me."

It wasn't said aloud, but she might as well have. Wild-eyed, tremor in her hands that she stuffed into her pockets, her hunched figure emanating fear and horror almost palpable that no vocal expression was needed to emphasize the obvious.

She looked like a lost child, or a person who had just been shot and was still processing the fact that there was a gaping hole in her body. She wouldn't look up but from his viewpoint, her eyes were dry. She wasn't crying, not yet.

He called her name, uncertain of what to do. That is, if the situation could be salvaged at all. She did not respond, her mind adrift in a thousand different directions. Guilt closed his throat, his voice nearly cracking as he called her again. A tentative hand reached for her arm.

"No…please…"

Terror; her eyes screamed terror as she recoiled. Something broke inside him as she retracted her arm with no less dismay than if he had wielded a branding iron. But he had done much, much worse and she knew it. With each utterance of her name that escaped his lips, she seemed to withdraw further into herself. Each syllable raked into her ears, deriding her weakness that had cast her into this deplorable state.

Whatever remained of her common sense finally kicked in when her vision went blurry. He must not see her cry, he could not! Did she have enough money to get a cab? Cab, bus, it didn't matter; she had to leave. Did she have enough strength to walk to the stop? Yes, she had to.

Her legs shook and wobbled, prompting him to grab her by the shoulders.

The myriad of distraught pain and unbearable feelings—all cut short and irrelevant in the one element that remained when there was nothing else she had left: anger. The rage usurped her mind, surging power into her limbs. He acted as if he retained the right to touch her. The ugly truth was right in front of her and yet he had the audacity to maintain the façade that he cared?

"Don't touch me." She attempted to swat his hand out of the way.

"No, you can't—"

He dared to tell her what to do, even now?

The swirl of rage kicked her mind into a frenzy that could construct no cohesive words to voice her turmoil. Only base instinct empowered her to simply act what could not be said into calm words and higher reasoning. He was wrenched aside, stumbling a few steps before righting himself. She finally looked at him, and he almost wished she hadn't. He saw the eyes of a cornered, feral animal—nothing but anger and panic. She was scared of him. She loathed him.

Meandering away, she commanded enough semblance of mind to walk properly, at least. She wasn't some hormonally love-struck teenager sobbing dramatically over broken infatuation with shiny tears trailing behind her as she fabulously ran away.

She was one of the crowd as dozens of other conventional members of society jostled past her, traffic lights changed, and vehicles honked by. All part of the normalcy that was now shut off to her as she finally managed to hail a cab.

Retaining the last scraps of her poise till the bedroom door clicked behind her was one of those feats the outside world would never know how to fully appreciate. She was alone, at last, where no one could see how wretched she was.

She was alone, where there was now nothing to distract her from herself. Collapsing, her eyes turned blank with the impact of the treachery descending upon her. This was silly. She was stronger than this; people let her down all the time! She just needed some time to get over it like she always did. Her hands had to stop shaking eventually.

Her phone was locked in seizures, twitching like a corpse in the last heaves of life. New text message. Sender: 내사랑 . 내사랑 sent you a new message on Kakaotalk. Buzz after buzz after buzz. She wanted to throw the phone out her window. But she wasn't the glamorous heroine starring in a dramatic opera. She was a pathetic girl who should've known better, could've been smarter, would've evaded this mess if she had been a little more…should've, could've, would've…

She was a damned fool. She was a victim of her blind faith as well as his duplicity. She was a girl who lay on the wooden floor, knowing that if she cried, she wouldn't be able to stop.

When Rena came in with the groceries, her cheerful whistle faltered into a stifled noise of horror.

"Eve!" Carelessly placing the bags on a nearby table, she rushed to the limp figure sprawled on the ground, the pitiful girl who was now faintly convulsing. Was it from shock, overwhelming emotion, or sickness? "Eve!"

Her hands were icy and her lips were blue.

She couldn't remain catatonic forever. Shock, then denial, then acknowledgement of pain in small measures. But Eve had no reserve in what she did, whether it be work, love, or pain. The sting of perfidy sliced into her, and she felt it—oh El, she felt it. Rena didn't know which was worse: the scalding tears that drenched her friend's pillow, or the whimpering and moaning of pain that interrupted the nights. Whichever it was, there would always be a hot cup of chamomile tea outside the greyed door.

Manage your own pain, don't bother Rena. How she wished to sleep for eternity! On some days she drank until the cup was empty; other days she couldn't take a sip because it was too hot, too fragrant. One time Rena brought her orange tea but that only reminded her of when he took her to the field of tulips where the sunset they had watched was almost as beautiful as the shades of her eyes, he said.

Sleeping draughts were like anaesthetic. But they always wore off too soon, and it was so hard to listen to her body before it could speak. The terrible thing about betrayal was that it wasn't inflicted by enemies, but those she trusted. This time, it was someone who, a week ago, she had thought of marriage, without revulsion.

El, no, no…every memory she had with him, from the wild adventures they had to the tender and most intimate moments between them were now corrupted with the sting of his perfidy. Pain was the lamp she couldn't turn off so she could get just one night of repose, and whatever sleep she could snatch was shallow, placeless, and felt worse than jetlag when her eyes wrenched open.

Could she bring herself to walk past the flower shop on the fifth street again? He had given her a single rose on their third date because he "didn't want to scare you off on the first, and the second one would mean I have a real chance." When she told him she wasn't a fan of roses, he didn't falter.

"I made chicken stew, Eve." Warm voice, gentle as the hands that set a piping hot bowl on her nightstand. Soft fingers brushed against the matted hair, silver and wet with sweat. Or tears? "Anything else?"

She shook her head. Her voice, and heart, couldn't be trusted.

When Rena wrapped her arms around her in a warm hug, Eve let her rest on the elder's shoulder. Rena hugged her differently than he did. He would hug all of her and whisper in her ear that if she were any smaller, she might just disappear in his arms. But Rena hugged her like a sister, kissed her gently on the forehead, and left with an "I'll be back soon."

Eve was a person who valued her privacy, but right now, she wished she wasn't left alone. However, she couldn't be a selfish bitch to want to keep Rena with her. She knew the pot of chicken stew would go to Raven, a man who was almost worthy of Rena as a long-term partner who was currently down with the flu.

Click went the lock of their front door, and then silence. In the solitude that was both relief and agony, she settled back on the bed, her tears gliding where they could.

She had blocked his number, there were no messages now. She didn't trust her to stay away if the notifications kept popping up, reminding her like taunting needles.

Minutes crawled by, hours seemed endless. Nights provided no sleep, and days were worse when she had to pretend to the rest of society that she was still a fine and productive member of it.

In some ways, Rena knew Eve more than her own parents. Photos, videos, and text messages were wiped out from her phone, tablet, laptop, USBs. The polaroids they had (in the digital era, he would sometimes take shots to have something tangible in his hands. One of his many quirks…and charms, one would think.) were taken care of by the elder.

"Do you…want to burn the clothes and presents he gave you?" Rena asked, tentative. "I understand that's what people do here after things are over."

If there was indeed a brick fireplace, then it would have been fitting. To watch the flames crackle and burn away everything, just as he had so casually thrown what they had and cherished, it would give some measure of pleasure. Unfortunately, the apartment they lived in lacked brick fireplaces and setting anything on fire indoors would raise more than a few complaints.

So that was how they ended up in an abandoned parking lot at two in the morning, crouched in front of a smouldering blaze of clothes and other mementos. Some of the pain seemed to mingle with the inferno. Rena had used Raven's extra-strength blowtorch for the occasion, and by the time they were finished, a black smudge was branded onto the ground amidst scraps of ash.

He called Rena after a little less than a week. He just wanted to talk to her, to let him explain. How was she doing?

"Do not involve me in your attempts to hurt her further." She was polite, though it took a sharp ear to notice the undertone of cold contempt towards her listener. "She is not in the mind to listen to deceit, especially from you."

[At least tell me how she is. Look, it wasn't supposed to be like this! If you'd just let me talk to her—]

"—which is unacceptable given what has happened. I may not understand the whole situation and honestly, I don't care. What I do care is that you've hurt her and she does not want to talk to you just now. Good day." Beep.

All of her friends must've got the memo, too, because none would pick up. The few who did…well…the one named Aisha yelled expletives at him that would make a sailor blush, and when Rose picked up, all he could hear were gunshot sounds.

Days turned to weeks. Weeks were comprised of days where she could smile again without her face looking like it was about to crack. She was surrounded by friends who upbraided "the little fucker" in a vehement verbal storm of outrage and glared daggers at him were he unfortunate enough to cross their path. Rena would always make the cup of tea, and more often than not, the little cup would be in the sink, empty. Raven offered to lend her his blowtorch "for defensive purposes."

Yes, there was much to be happy about, and Eve was astonished that she had such a tightly knit network of support and trust. From the politest of sympathies to the most genuine concern, she was grateful for it all. In the last girls' night out, she even chuckled when Aisha made a sexual pun that sent everyone howling.

Ah, the tequila burned her throat, but she revelled in the sensation. He didn't like it when she drank too much—said that it would make her prey to wolves pretending to be men—but fuck that now! She had her friends!

And yet…

There were bits of him that no parking lot fire could burn away. His lips, soft and ardent against hers, then tracing her jawline, sometimes tenderly, sometimes roughly. The same lips that whispered sweet nothings into her ear, continuously deluding her into believing that what they had, was real.

He had told her, among many words crooned in her praise—empty mockeries now—that she was everything he never knew he wanted but would never let go.

But no, he had only wanted one thing, and he had succeeded. She had been spectacularly played. Eve Nasodia, the scion of the Nasodia clan known for their technical prowess and intellectual genius, a huge letdown and an even bigger fool.

She would get her mind to match her body's resolve. It seemed ludicrous to even think that one day, someday, she would look back on everything and not feel the cut of his memory slice into her. But, for this moment, the pain

Ha, these stories are becoming less and less fanfic-ish, and more original stories with the characters being plugged into the plotline at my convenience. I actually have a collection of Elsword Fanfics—drabbles, wishful chapters, and the like, all incomplete. It was my dream to complete them all, but the Elsword Fandom has changed…quite drastically.