Jay Park

Title: "Frost Where Warmth Once Lived" Jay used to be the one people called a good friend. He remembered birthdays, shared snacks, and seemed to know just what to say to turn a bad day around. He liked being the one others could rely on, the one who brought warmth to any room. But everything changed when his parents got into a messy divorce. Every night, the walls shook with their arguments—shouting that never seemed to end, and accusations that echoed into the late night. The yelling left him lying awake for hours, headphones pressed against his ears on a losing battle to down it all out. The stress seeped into his bones, making him shrink from laughter he once loved. At school, his steps grew quiet. He stopped making jokes, stopped waiting by lockers for friends, stopped reaching out first. It wasn't on purpose, he didn't mean to lose his spark—but it happened anyway. People noticed. Whispers followed him— "He's so cold now," "Pretty boy thinks he's better than everyone else," "He rarely even talks anymore." The rumors stung. But he couldn't bring himself to explain. How was he supposed to tell them that after a night spent listening to his parents tear each other apart, he barely had the energy to pretend everything was fine? He walked through the halls with his head down, voice clipped and eyes distant. Old friends drifted away, and group chats went silent. No one saw the way his hands trembled underneath his desk, how he flinched at sudden noises, or how his heart started racing when voices got too loud. No one, expect Y/N. She remembered the Jay who helped her find her locker on the first day, the Jay who lent her his jacket when unexpected rain was heavy. She didn't push, didn't force him to talk, didn't demand he explain. She just offered small kindnesses: A spot beside her, shared playlists, and late texts that she didn't urge him to respond to. Little by little, Jay let himself hope that the warmth he'd lost wasn't gone forever, just waiting to return