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the rain has been steady since dinner, a soft percussion against the windows, wrapping the apartment in that muted, honey-colored quiet that only belongs to night. the bedroom is warm, lit by the low glow of the bedside lamp.

jiyong is stretched across the bed, back against the headboard, one knee bent as he scrolls idly through his phone. his hair is still damp from his shower earlier in the evening, curling faintly at the ends. the sleeves of his t-shirt are shoved up, tattoos on display, and his sweats sit low on his hips.

“jagi,” he calls without looking up, “you have to see this thing i found—”

the bathroom door opens before he can finish, steam spilling around you as you step into the room. your white versace robe hangs loose, tied in a lazy knot, collar gaping just enough to reveal skin still flushed from the shower.

he glances up mid-sentence and goes completely still.

his thumb freezes on the screen. his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to convince himself you’re real.

“what?” you ask, smiling because you know this look too well.

the phone slips from his hand into the blankets. he shakes his head, almost dazed. “how are you my wife?”

you laugh as you cross to the bed. “we signed papers, remember? you were there.”

“no, like—” his hand makes a helpless little gesture, words stuck. “how do you just walk out looking like that? we’ve been married for years and you still—” he cuts himself off with a grin. “it’s not fair.”

you climb onto the mattress, settling beside him. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and you’re ridiculously beautiful,” he counters, eyes sweeping you again, slower this time. "it’s actually sort of rude at this point.”

you shake your head, amused. “all i did was take a shower, ji.”

“exactly!” he says, leaning towards you. “you shower and somehow come out looking like…like you belong on a magazine cover. meanwhile, i look like—”

“—my husband?” you cut in with a smirk.

he grins, leaning closer until his nose nearly brushes yours. “your very lucky husband.”

you laugh under your breath, reaching up to adjust his messy hair. “you’re so dramatic.”

“obsessed,” he corrects softly, eyes holding yours. “completely, and hopelessly obsessed.”

“mm,” your smile turns teasing. “i’m aware.”

“good,” he murmurs, voice warm, “just making sure.”

you roll your eyes, though the corner of your mouth still curves in spite of yourself. “you act like you’ve never seen me in a robe before.”

“not this robe,” he says instantly, sitting back just enough to take in the whole picture. “or maybe i have, and just blacked out.”

“you’re the one who bought it,” you remind him, amused.

“which only proves my taste is flawless.” he responds, clearly very proud of himself.

you shake your head, shifting to sit cross-legged in front of him. “you were about to show me something on your phone literally two minutes ago.”

he waves it away, eyes fixed on you instead of the phone lying useless beside him. “whatever it was, it’s irrelevant now.”

you smirk. “me, fresh out of the shower, is more interesting?”

his gaze sweeps over you once, slow and unashamed. “you—always. but fresh out of the shower like this?” he makes a small, helpless gesture toward you. “it’s criminal, jagi.”

you let him look, your smile curving deeper at the way his eyes cling to you like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

you lean in, brushing a light kiss against his mouth. “you’re in a mood tonight.”

“more like a spell,” he murmurs, catching your wrist before you can pull back.

“a spell?” you echo, brows lifting.

“yeah.” his voice dips, playful threaded with sincerity. “the kind where my wife looks so good i forget how to breathe.”

you laugh under your breath, and he takes advantage of the moment, guiding you into his lap with ease.

his fingers go straight to the knot at your waist, instinct pulling at the belt.

“woah—” you catch his hand, smiling slow. “not so fast.”

he blinks, surprise flickering before that familiar, adoring grin spreads across his face. “why not?”

“because,” you say, letting your thumb trace over his knuckles, “you don’t just get to unwrap me because you feel like it.”

“i always feel like it.” his instant reply has you shaking your head with a small smile.

“exactly,” you murmur, leaning in just enough for your nose to brush his. “and if i let you have your way every time, you’d forget how to work for it.”

his gaze darkens, voice low, edged with promise. “i’d never forget.”

“prove it,” you murmur, releasing his hand but keeping the knot secure.

he eases back, studying you with that same unwavering intensity he always reserves for moments like this. no frustration, just focus, like he’s committing you to memory.

“you know i’ll do anything you ask,” he says finally, reverence woven into every syllable.

“i know.” your palm cups his jaw for a fleeting moment before falling away. “that’s what makes it fun.”

his grip on your waist tightens, but he doesn’t touch the knot again. instead, his mouth finds the hollow beneath your ear, leaving slow, deliberate kisses along the line of your throat.

the robe shifts and his breath falters, but before he can take advantage, your fingers curl into his hair, tugging until his eyes lift back to yours.

“mm, easy,” you murmur with a knowing smile. “i’m not convinced yet.”

“not convinced?” he repeats, like the words are an offense. “i’ve been obsessed with you for years, and you’re not convinced?”

you tilt your head, feigning thought. “flattery’s sweet, ji, but too it's simple. you’ll have to get creative.”

his lips twitch like he wants to laugh, but the hunger in his eyes drowns it out. “creative, huh?”

you shift against his lap, the movement subtle but enough to draw a sharp breath from him. “make me believe you deserve to untie it.”

his hands slide to the back of your thighs, coaxing you closer until the knot presses against his chest. his mouth trails along your jaw, lingering before he finds the spot just above your pulse, sucking lightly until your breath hitches.

“you could just let me,” he murmurs, voice a low plea. “i’d worship you all night.”

a quiet laugh escapes you, nails dragging down his arm, the muscle flexing beneath your touch. “i’m sure you would. but where’s the fun in that?”

he groans, caught between frustration and want, cupping your ass to press you harder against the obvious strain beneath his sweats.

his mouth returns to your throat, rougher this time, teeth grazing your skin until you gasp.

“mm,” you warn, still smiling, “you’re getting greedy.”

“i’ve been greedy since you walked in,” he breathes, reverent. “since the day i met you.”

your grip in his hair tightens, tilting his head back so he has no choice but to meet your eyes. “prove it.”

he moves without hesitation, one hand anchoring you in place, the other sliding beneath your robe, dragging his palm up your thigh inch by inch until you shiver under the deliberate pace.

his fingers trace higher, lingering just shy of where you need them most, but he doesn’t rush. he holds your gaze, lips parted like he’s waiting for permission that he already knows you’ll give.

“you’re shaking,” he murmurs, the back of his knuckles brushing the inside of your thigh. “and you want to tell me i haven’t earned it?”

your laugh is soft, caught somewhere between amusement and need. "i didn’t say that. i just like watching you work for it.”

his jaw flexes, but his mouth softens into something almost boyish. “you just like teasing me.”

“i love teasing you,” you correct, tugging lightly at his hair until he groans. “especially when you've got that look—like you’d do anything i say.”

“i would,” he replies instantly, voice steady though his breath shakes. “you know i would.”

“say it properly.” your tone dips, quiet but commanding.

his eyes never leave yours. “i’ll do anything for you. anything you want. always.”

your smile is equal parts tender and cruel. “i know, baby. that’s why i married you.”

his fingers drift even higher, fingertips circling lazily, like he has all the time in the world to remind you he knows every inch of you.

but he doesn’t push them inside of you. not yet. he just watches your face, hungry, waiting for that moment when your control starts to waver.

“you’re already so wet for me,” he says softly, like it’s still something that surprises him.

you hum, nails grazing his shoulder as your hips roll against his hand. “maybe i just like watching how desperate you get.”

his eyes flutter shut when you grind harder, but he forces them open again, staring at you like you’re all that exists. “i’m desperate for you all the time.”

“i know.” your fingers thread through his hair again. “and i love when you beg without even realizing you are.”

his laugh comes shaky, cut short when you move against him. “please,” he whispers, raw and broken before he can stop himself.

the sound makes you ache. “please what, baby?”

his jaw tightens, but his body leans into your hand, need written all over him. “please let me. please let me make you come.”

you tilt his chin up with your hand, forcing his gaze to yours. your chest tightens at the sight; how badly he wants to give, and how much he’s holding back right now.

“go ahead, oppa,” you whisper. “do it.”

the noise that leaves him is half relief, half hunger. his hand finally shifts with intent, sliding lower, fingers sinking into the heat he’s been taunting.

he groans against your collarbone the second he feels you open for him.

“fuck—” his voice breaks as he eases a finger inside, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you steady. “you’re perfect. always so perfect for me.”

your hips rock instinctively, pulling him in deeper. your head tips back, a soft sound spilling from your lips, and he watches you like a man starved.

“yeah? that’s it,” he murmurs, curling his fingers just right, while his thumb drags slow circles over your clit. “ride my hand, pretty girl. let me feel how bad you need it.”

you moan at his words, clenching around his fingers when he slips a second one in. he swallows hard, eyes flicking up to your face, dark with need.

“god, you’re gonna ruin me,” he whispers, breathless, his pace quickening as you grind down against him. “look at you—already trembling.”

your laugh comes out broken, tangled with a whimper. “mm, and you’re already a mess just watching.”

“i can’t help it—fuck, you’re so gorgeous when you let go for me.” his voice trembles, rough with need.

your hips grind down harder, chasing the pressure that won’t quite break. frustrated, you catch his wrist and guide him deeper, a breathless moan spilling out when he obeys instantly.

“that’s it,” you whisper, eyes on his. “good boy. let me use you.”

his jaw slackens at the praise, pupils blown wide. “fuck…” he groans, clutching your hip like he’s drowning.

you rock down onto his hand with more intent, every curl of his fingers hitting just right. his own sounds come out wrecked and strangled, like he’s the one unraveling instead of you.

“you’re being so good for me, ji,” you mumble, dragging his soaked fingers deeper with every roll of your hips. “you love when i ride you like this, don’t you?”

“yes—god, yes,” he chokes out, forehead pressed to your chest, voice breaking “you feel incredible—you always do, jagi.”

your head falls back, a cry tearing loose as the pressure quickly builds. “look at me,” you command, forcing his chin up until his dazed eyes stay fixed on yours. “don’t look away. i want you to watch what you do to me.”

the room fills with the wet, relentless sound of you. his thumb circles faster over your clit, and your pulse kicks harder, stuttering beneath his touch.

“that’s it—fuck, just like that,” he gasps, his voice breaking as you grind down, meeting every thrust of his hand with a sharper roll of your hips.

your nails scrape against his shoulders, your whole body trembling in his lap as you ride him, always greedy for more.

“ji—” the word cuts off in a strangled cry, and his answering whimper is broken, desperate.

he can barely breathe, watching you unravel in his lap. “oh baby,” he whispers, lips brushing against your jaw as you fuck yourself on his fingers. “you’re so fucking beautiful.”

your thighs tense, body jerking with every deliberate curl of his fingers. your breath falters, breaking into uneven gasps, your throat too tight for words as his thumb moves faster against your clit.

“ji—fuck—” you cry out, causing him to groan, relentless as he works you through it.

“come for me,” he murmurs against your skin, lips ghosting the curve of your chest. “let go, aein. i want to feel you fall apart.”

you unravel on his hand, body seizing as you cry out, clutching at him like he’s the only thing keeping you anchored.

he doesn’t let up. his pace stays steady, fingers relentless, coaxing you through the high until every aftershock ripples out of you.

“that’s it,” he rasps, voice low and wrecked, one arm steadying you as the tremors fade. “there you go, beautiful.”

still catching your breath, you let your fingers slip into his hair, tugging gently as you whisper, “you can take it off now, oppa. you’ve earned it.”

he exhales hard, like you’ve given him the thing he’s been aching for his entire life.

with trembling focus, he works the knot loose. the robe falls open, silk pooling around you, baring exactly what he already knew would be there.

for a moment, he just stares. jaw slack, eyes devouring you like he’s trying to memorize a view he’ll never stop craving.

“fuck…jagi…” his voice is low, almost dazed. “you’re—” he breaks off, shaking his head, too undone for words.

you smile faintly. “speechless? that’s rare.”

that earns you the softest laugh before he shifts, hands grabbing your waist as he flips you effortlessly, settling you onto your back.

his lips find your shoulder first, brushing a slow kiss against the curve of it. you can feel his smile there, warm against your skin.

“you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, lips trailing lower. “every inch of you. you drive me crazy, you know that?”

your breath hitches, but you can’t stop the soft laugh that slips out. “you tell me that every day.”

“because it’s true every day,” he answers without hesitation, mouth pressing reverently along your collarbone.

each word comes between kisses, like he can’t decide whether to worship you with his voice or his mouth. “i’m never gonna stop saying it. never gonna stop needing you.”

you sink into the mattress, warmth spreading through your chest as much as your body. “god, ji…”

he hums at the sound of his name on your lips, hands framing your waist as he kisses lower, down the center of your chest, to the soft dip of your stomach.

“i’d do anything for you,” he whispers against your skin, the words torn between a vow and a plea.

your fingers curl into the sheets. “you already do,” you breathe.

“not enough,” he insists, soft but sure. his lips graze the edge of your hip before trailing along the inside of your thighs, slow kisses that make you shiver. “never enough.”

your body arches toward him instinctively, need spilling out before you can voice it. “please, baby…”

he chuckles low, brushing his mouth just above your pelvis, so close it makes your thoughts splinter. “yes, ma’am,” he says with a smirk, mischief flashing in his tone.

then it’s gone, replaced by sincerity as he kisses just beneath your navel. “i love you. i love you more than anything.”

your fingers twist in the sheets, then slip into his hair, tugging gently when he lingers at your lower stomach.

he presses another slow kiss there, right where you’re aching for him, and the tension in your chest breaks with a sound you can’t contain.

“jiyong,” you breathe, half a plea, half a warning. your voice falters when he looks up at you; his eyes too soft, too full of devotion.

“i know, baby,” he murmurs, his smile brushing against your skin. “i know what you need.”

he doesn’t make you wait any longer. his mouth opens against you, warm and wet. the first stroke of his tongue makes your whole body tighten, your head falling back into the pillow.

he hums like he’s home, like this is where he’s meant to be, the sound reverberating through you.

your hips twitch for more, but his hand steadies your thigh, as if to remind you that he’ll give you everything, and that you just need to be patient.

“oh my god,” you gasp, tugging his hair, your body betraying every ounce of control you try to hold. “you—fuck—you drive me insane…”

he moans against you at the praise, his eyes flicking up briefly, glassy, devoted.

the words tumble out of you before you can catch your breath. “that’s it—my perfect boy. you always know exactly what i need.”

his tongue moves deeper, steadier. you feel him responding to every sigh, every tremor, desperate to give you more.

“slower,” you whisper, and he obeys instantly, pulling back just enough to drag his tongue in long, lazy strokes that make your thighs tremble.

your grip in his hair tightens, guiding him gently. “look at me.”

he lifts his gaze, mouth still pressed to you, eyes still burning with devotion.

“god, you’re so beautiful like this,” you breathe, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead. “between my thighs, making me lose my mind.”

he whines softly, muffled against you, and the sheer need in the sound makes you pulse.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “please, baby, don’t stop.”

he clings tighter to your body, his tongue working in perfect rhythm, deliberate and unrelenting.

“yes,” you moan, hips rolling against his mouth. “yes, just like that. you’re perfect, ji. so fucking perfect.”

he pulls back only once, lips wet, breath ragged. “i love this,” he admits, voice hoarse, almost shy. “i love you like this.”

your chest tightens at the raw honesty in his voice. you cradle his face, tilting his jaw upwards until his eyes are locked on yours. “and i love you for it,” you breathe, voice trembling before it steadies into something needier. “now finish what you started.”

he groans at the command, diving back in with renewed hunger.

your voice fractures into moans and gasps, thighs trembling around his shoulders. “don’t stop—oh my fucking god, don’t stop—”

he wouldn’t dream of it. he stays with you through every wave, coaxing you gently until you’re trembling and crying his name into the dark.

when it finally subsides, you sink into the sheets, breathless and undone. he soothes you with soft kisses, reverent and unhurried, like he’s worshipping the aftermath as much as the act itself.

“come here,” you breathe at last, tugging him up by his hair.

his lips are swollen, his jaw glistening faintly, and his eyes hold nothing but adoration as he hovers above you.

you cup his face, smiling through the haze. “you did so well for me, oppa.”

his answering smile is shaky, boyish. “i could do it forever.”

“i know,” you whisper, pressing your mouth to his, tasting yourself on his lips. “that’s why i’ll never let you go.”

his breathing is ragged against your mouth, chest pressing into yours. his hips push down, restless, aching. you feel the hard length of him straining through his boxers, desperate for relief.

your hand slips between you, wrapping around him through the thin fabric. he shudders at the touch, forehead dropping to your shoulder like his body can’t hold him up anymore.

“baby,” he groans, voice breaking.

you kiss his jaw, slow and deliberate, stroking him just enough to keep him on edge. “you want me to take care of you now?”

he nods against your neck, a whimper spilling out. “please. i need you.”

your smile softens, tender even as you keep him trembling. “let me make you feel good, baby. you’ve earned it.”

in seconds, his boxers are gone, his whole body quivering as your hand closes around him. you stroke him slow, deliberate, thumb circling his slick head until a ragged gasp tears from his throat.

“fuck,” he chokes, hips jerking into your hand.

you press your lips to his temple. “relax. let me do it.”

he nods frantically, but his body betrays him, straining for more. you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him close so the length of him slides against your heat. not inside, just enough to tease.

his breath hitches, head snapping up to meet your eyes.

“you feel that?” you whisper, moving your hips just enough to drive him mad. “you’re so hard for me, oppa. so perfect.”

“fuck—don’t tease,” he begs, voice frayed.

you guide him slowly, until his tip nudges against you. he inhales sharply, and you hold his gaze, pressing just enough to make him whine.

your fingers tilt his chin again so he has no choice but to look at you. your hand strokes him again, teasing.“look at you. my beautiful boy. already falling apart for me.”

he moans your name, hips jerking helplessly into your hand. his forehead drops against your shoulder in defeat, damp hair clinging to your skin as his breath breaks unevenly against your collarbone.

every whimper vibrates through your chest, muffled into your neck.

“jagi,” he rasps, the sound cracked and desperate.

you tighten your grip, twist your wrist just right, and his whole body buckles. “you like that, don’t you? the way i touch you?”

his head tilts slightly, lips dragging across your skin like he can’t help himself. “yes—god, yes. only you. always you.”

your chest tightens at the honesty in his voice, a reminder that years of marriage haven’t dulled the way he unravels under your hands.

you slow your strokes, watching his brows knit and his mouth fall open, helpless against you.

“you sound so pretty when you beg, oppa,” you whisper, lips brushing his temple before grazing the edge of his jaw. “say it again.”

he tries to hold it in, but his voice fractures. “please. i need you—need to feel you. i can’t—fuck—i need to feel you.”

you reward him with a slow drag of his cock against your slick folds, still not inside, just enough to make his whole body jolt like he’s been shocked.

“look at you,” you breathe, stroking his hair back until his eyes meet yours. “years later, and you still fall apart the second i touch you. still all mine.”

his voice fractures when he finally gets it out, every word dragged from his chest. “always…god—always yours. i couldn’t belong to anyone else if i tried.”

you drag him against you again, slow and cruel, and his hips snap helplessly. “say it again.”

his breath stutters, the words catching in his throat before they break free. “you…fuck—yours. i’m yours. always…only you.”

your smile softens. you keep him there, balanced on the edge, his body trembling with restraint. his words spill out, stripped and honest.

“i need you. please—don’t make me wait anymore.”

his plea hangs heavy in the air, raw and trembling, until you finally relent. you guide him inside slowly, inch by inch, your grip now firm on his biceps as his body eases into yours.

his moan breaks in your ear. “god—” his forehead presses to yours. “fuck, baby, you feel—”

you swallow his words with a kiss, wrapping your legs tight around his waist to lock him in place, deep inside of you. his hips twitch, desperate to move, but you flatten your palm against his chest and hold him still.

“please,” he whispers into your mouth, voice splintering. “i’ll lose my mind if you don’t let me.”

your lips brush the shell of his ear. “beg for it.”

his breath hitches, ragged against your throat. “i’m begging,” he chokes, hands fisting in the sheets like he needs something to hold onto. “baby, i’m fucking begging you. let me move. let me make you feel good. please.”

you feel the tension coil in him, his thighs trembling with the effort of staying still. the power of it makes your chest ache.

“say it nicely,” you murmur, voice low, commanding.

his hands slide up your sides, shaking. “please, baby. please let me fuck you,” he breathes, voice torn and raw. “i can’t—i can’t hold it when you’re like this. you’re killing me.”

when you meet his gaze, his pupils are blown, lips parted like the next breath might break him. you keep him there, strung out, the way you always do.

“okay,” you whisper finally, kissing him lightly, letting the word sink in. “you can move, oppa.”

he doesn’t hesitate. he eases back just far enough to make you ache, then thrusts forward hard, a low groan spilling from his chest; half prayer, half hunger.

you cling to him as he finds his rhythm; deliberate, heavy, years of knowing exactly how to break you apart.

“fuck,” he groans into your shoulder, teeth grazing skin. “you were made for me.”

your nails drag down his back, pulling a ragged sound from his throat before his mouth crashes back to yours, messy and consuming. every kiss feels like he’s trying to breathe you in.

“fuck, ji,” you gasp against his lips, the words trembling out. “just like that—give it to me.”

his weight sinks into you, pressing you deep into the mattress, his chest hot and unrelenting against yours.

“god, baby…” his voice is raw, almost wrecked. “you’re perfect. you’re everything.”

you scratch lightly down his spine, just enough to make his body jerk. “don't hold back,” you murmur, voice low, commanding. “i want all of you.”

his chest heaves as the words tumble out rough, almost like they’re pulled straight from his lungs. “fuck—take it. it’s yours. all yours.”

you frame his face in your hands, thumbs stroking his cheekbones. "let me watch you fall apart for me, baby."

he obeys, eyes locked on yours, but it doesn't last long. the moment your body clenches around him, he breaks it.

“fuck, jagi… i can’t—” his forehead drops to yours, his voice breaking apart.

“don’t fight it, pretty boy.” you whisper, legs locking tighter around him. “let go with me.”

his rhythm falters, breath shattering. “baby… oh god—fuck—” he chokes, voice unraveling as he drives deeper.

“that’s it,” you whisper against his mouth, pulling him closer. “give me all of it.”

your body breaks first, a sharp cry ripping from your throat as you clench around him, pleasure tearing through you in jagged shocks.

the sound wrecks him. he follows instantly, hips slamming deep with a guttural moan that tears out of him like it hurts, like he’s been holding it back too long.

you’re both left trembling, your climax crashing into his, dragging each other under.

the moment you pull away from each other, he collapses into your chest, his body still shaking with the aftershocks.

you hold him there, one hand stroking through his damp hair, the other pressed to his back to keep him close. he doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t even try, just lets himself fully collapse into you, shuddering as if his body hasn’t quite caught up with the world yet.

the room hums with silence, broken only by your uneven breaths and the loud beats of your hearts.

“jesus…” you whisper finally, voice wrecked and shaky, a laugh slipping weakly through it. “you’re gonna kill me one of these nights.”

he huffs against your collarbone, too tired to lift his head. “worth it,” he mutters, voice cracked and hoarse. “you’re always worth it.”

you smile faintly, closing your eyes, still stroking his hair. “you’re a mess.”

“your mess,” he breathes, almost slurring it, as his lips brush lazily against your skin.

after a long moment, he lifts his head from your chest. he presses another slow kiss to your shoulder before easing out of you with a quiet groan, both of you mourning the loss.

you sink even deeper into the mattress, watching him through half-lidded eyes as he slips off the bed.

you don’t ask what he's doing. you don’t need to.

when he returns, he holds a warm cloth in his hand. he lowers himself between your knees, moving carefully, keeping his voice low and gentle. “lift up a little for me, beautiful.”

you do, compliant under his touch, and he wipes you down with steady hands. every pass is unhurried, tender in a way that always makes your chest ache.

it doesn’t feel like routine; it feels like care, like reverence, like he’s making sure you know you’re safe here with him.

your lips curve faintly, the words coming out fragile but certain. “you always take such good care of me.”

he glances up, eyes soft despite the exhaustion written into his face. “of course i do,” he says, as though there’s no other truth in the world.

when he’s finished, he gathers your robe from the floor, shaking it out before holding it open for you. you slip your arms through the sleeves slowly as he eases the fabric over your shoulders.

his fingers tie the belt loosely at your waist, lingering there for a moment before he finally leans back with a tired smile. “best thing i ever bought you.”

you let out a weak laugh. "not the ring? not the house?"

his smile deepens, somehow still boyish even through the wreckage "nope. the robe wins. nothing else comes close."

instead of calmly climbing back into the bed, he drops face-first onto the mattress beside you with a dramatic groan, one arm hanging off the edge.

your laugh bubbles out of you before you can stop it. it's the kind of laugh he always manages to pull from you, no matter how exhausted you are.

he turns his head at the sound, just enough to brush a lazy kiss against your arm before melting into the sheets again.

“i'm so tired,” he mumbles into the cotton, voice muffled.

“big baby,” you tease, rolling onto your side to face him. your fingers trail slowly down his back, light and soothing, and he exhales hard, shoulders quickly loosening under your touch.

“mm, don’t stop,” he mutters, already halfway gone. “this is heaven.”

your smile deepens against the pillow. "thought i was your heaven."

he cracks one eye open, a tired smirk tugging at his lips. "you are. this is just...the proof."

you told them that you’d meet them there.

you just needed a minute. you said something about forgetting your wallet, or needing air, or whatever excuse came out first.

you sure as hell didn’t mean to end up here.

you’re not even paying attention to where your feet are taking you, too distracted by the weight in your chest and the quiet buzz of your phone in your coat pocket.

your boyfriend is already at the restaurant, probably ordering your drink, laughing with the others, but still checking the door every few minutes to see if you’ve arrived.

he always notices when you’re gone too long. he always saves you a seat beside him.

he’s good to you. way better than you deserve, you sometimes think. he always shows up, he remembers the little things, and he makes life quiet in a way you never knew you needed.

and yet, you’re still not walking towards him. not sliding into the chair he saved not leaning into the steady warmth he always offers.

your feet slow without asking for permission. your eyes lift, and that’s all it takes.

the air shifts, heavy with something you can’t name. your chest tightens like it remembers before your mind does; like every part of you knows exactly what’s waiting.

the corner. the window. the string lights inside, still glowing like they’ve never burned out.

you haven’t been here in over two years. at least, not since him.

you come to a full stop without realizing it, staring at the place you once both claimed as yours.

the door you once stumbled through hand-in-hand. the tiny shop that somehow always smelled like a mixture of old records and his cologne.

your chest knots so tight it almost hurts.

you could keep walking. you probably should.

but your hand is already curling around the handle, pushing forward before you can think any better of it.

the bell above the door chimes, and the sound cuts straight through you.

it doesn’t matter that years have passed. in an instant, they’re gone.

the dust, the quietness, the ache in your chest; it all rearranges itself into something terrifyingly familiar.

it feels like nothing ever changed. it feels like you never left.

it feels like you’re still his.

you step inside, and the air is thick with the same scent of paper sleeves and oak. the same dim light pooling in the corners. the same posters still up on the walls.

every detail presses down on you, merciless in its sameness.

you move slowly, like you’re afraid of being seen, even though no one here remembers you, or the memories you’ve created in this very building.

your fingers trail the edge of the bins until they find it.

the familiar sleeve. softened with age, corners bent, edges curling like it’s been waiting all this time.

mr. soul by sam cook

you lift it from the crate with unsteady hands, careful in a way you never were before. the cardboard feels fragile. too fragile.

your pulse stumbles. your breath catches. it feels like him; like having him back for a second, and losing him all over again within the same moment.

you force the tears back with a blink, and in that split second, the record shop disappears, giving way to another place you knew by heart.

his kitchen.

he was beside you, hands dusted with flour, grinning the way he always did when the recipe didn’t matter.

you were barefoot in one of his oversized shirts, hair pinned half-up, laughing at something stupid he’d just said. it was the kind of laugh that tumbled out of you without trying, the kind that only ever happened when he was around.

“you’re putting way too much lemon juice,” you teased, leaning over the counter with a laugh.

“you’re not putting enough faith in me,” jiyong shot back, reaching around you for the sugar with exaggerated confidence. “watch and learn, baby.”

you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks ached from smiling. he had slipped behind you now, humming under his breath in concentration. the whole kitchen looked like a storm of ingredients had blown through, but he wore his mess like a badge of honour.

the record spun quietly in the background, one song giving way to the next without you noticing. but he did.

jiyong stilled mid-step, head tilting in that way he always did when music caught his attention. it was almost like he was listening to something no one else could hear.

“wait,” he murmured, brushing gently past you to turn the dial on the record player.

you glanced up from the counter, curiosity tugging at your lips. “what is it?”

he didn’t answer right away. his eyes lingered on you instead, soft in a way that made your chest ache.

then, with a playful little bow, he held his hand out toward you. “may i have this dance?”

you let out a surprised laugh, glancing around at the chaos. “right here? in the middle of this disaster?”

“right here,” he echoed, eyes sincere even as a crooked smile tugged at his mouth.

you tried to shake your head, but you were already giving in. you always did.

when you slid your hand into his, he tugged you closer a little too quickly, brushing against the flour dusting his arm. a cloud of it puffed into the air between you, and you both burst out laughing.

“great,” you giggled, brushing at the white streak now smudged across your shirt. “look what you did.”

“worth it,” he grinned.

his hands found your waist before you even realized you were moving, drawing you in until your arms looped easily around his neck.

his voice followed next, gentle and unhurried, wrapping around the melody until it felt less like a song, and more like a promise.

“’cause honey…nothing, nothing, nothing…can ever change this love i have for you.”

the words settled into you gently, as certain as his hands at your waist, leaving your chest warm and your heart full.

you tipped your head back to see him, your lips curving despite yourself. “are you really serenading me right now?”

his smile was small, maybe even a little shy, as his gaze flicked down to your lips before he answered.

“this song always makes me think of you,” he said softly. “if you were a song, you’d be this one.”

your heart gave out a little laugh, shaky and bright all at once. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculous for you,” he said easily, before spinning you in a wide circle, his grin breaking open at the sound of your squeal. you laughed so hard you nearly lost your balance, clutching at his shoulders until he caught you again.

he steadied you, grin tugging at his mouth. “oh come on…you’re totally obsessed with me right now.”

you tried to fight your smile, lips pressing tight, but it broke through anyway. “maybe a little.”

“a little?” he gasped, clutching his chest like you’d wounded him. “unbelievable. here i am, giving you the dance of a lifetime, and you’re only a little obsessed?”

you laughed so hard your head tipped against his shoulder, your hands still hooked behind his neck. “fine. a lot. happy?”

“very,” he said, and before you could tease him again, he leaned down and kissed you.

your laughter slipped away as quickly as it had come, replaced by the steady warmth of his mouth on yours. the kiss was slow and sweet.

there was nothing rushed about it. nothing meant for anyone else; it was only his, only yours.

it was the kind of kiss that made time pause itself, as if it somehow knew you'd spend forever trying to find your way back to it.

a sharp vibration cut through the moment like a blade.

your phone, lost somewhere in your pocket, humming like it knows you’ve been somewhere else.

your eyes blink back open, and the kitchen is gone.

the glow of the light. the warmth of his hands. the sound of his voice.

all slipping through your fingers. again.

the second somehow loss hurt worse than the first, because this time, you know exactly what you were losing. you could feel the absence hollow you out in real time, cruel in its familiarity.

you’re back in the record shop.

back in the quiet. back in the ache.

back to being alone.

you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you’d been holding, shaky enough to betray you. the album sleeve slipped a little in your grip, the edges biting into your palm before you let it go slack at your side.

the screen of your phone lights up again. this time, you look.

lover boy: babe? is everything okay?

your eyes close, guilt curling low and heavy in your chest.

he is sweet. so sweet.

he’s the kind of man who never makes you guess. he never makes you wait. he saves you the seat beside him. remembers your coffee order without asking. laces his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

he loves you the way that people are supposed to love each other.

and still, here you are, standing in a record shop with your heart beating for someone else.

you hate yourself for it; for how quickly your thoughts always seem to go back to him.

kwon fucking jiyong.

even now, even after everything, he's still there. like a scar you can't stop tracing over. or like a bruise you can't stop pushing, just to see if it still aches.

you can’t help but wonder if he ever found his way out of the mess of his mind. if he meant it when he told you he loved you. if leaving you behind was really the only way he knew how to keep you safe.

your phone buzzes once more, the screen glowing against your palm. you don’t look. instead, you shove it deep into your pocket, as if hiding it might quiet the guilt you feel.

your body moves without asking. out of the record shop. away from the restaurant. away from the boy who is still waiting with your drink on the table, probably glancing between the door and his phone every few minutes.

away from the version of yourself who keeps pretending she’s fully recovered from her past.

you don’t even notice where your feet are taking you until the streets thin out and the noise falls quiet.

the park.

nothing here has moved on. the quiet hangs heavy, exactly as it did two years ago, like it still carries the weight of everything you left behind.

the bench is still waiting, scarred with the promise you carved into it one summer night.

y/n + ji 4ever

the letters are faded, worn down by the rain and sun, but not enough to fully erase them.

they remain as proof that what you had was real, and also a reminder that it’s gone.

this park was yours. every corner, every shadow, every broken piece of it.

the swings that squeaked under your weight when you tried to see who could go higher.

the cracked pavement where you’d sit cross-legged, talking about nothing until the sky turned pale.

the bench where you always ended up, cuddled into each other as if there was no one else around you.

sometimes you kissed until you were both left completely breathless. sometimes you whispered dreams you never told anyone else. sometimes you just sat in silence, and somehow that had always been enough.

now, you hover at the edge of the path, heart twisting as your gaze drags itself towards the bench again.

you can almost see him sitting there; head tipped onto your shoulder, that stupid blue beanie pulled too low on his head.

you used to tell him he looked like a cartoon character.

he used to tell you that you looked like a dream.

the memories crowd in; too many at once, and too loud to push away.

your knees give out before you choose to sit, lowering you slowly onto the bench as if the years apart finally catch up all at once.

your chest feels too full, while your hands feel unbearably empty.

the last of the sunlight filters through the trees, gilding everything in gold. it should be gentle, but it only sharpens the ache.

the world doesn’t realize it’s lighting up everything you’ve lost.

for one fragile moment, you swear you can still hear it; your laughter mixing with his, carried in the wind like it never left in the first place.

“okay,” jiyong whispered behind you, “no peeking, i mean it.”

you giggled, already glowing with anticipation. “i’m not peeking!” you reached up to hold his wrists over your eyes, just to prove it. “your hands are covering everything anyways.”

“yeah, well,” he huffed playfully, “you’re sneaky. you’d find a way.”

you laughed again, stumbling slightly as he guided you across the soft grass. he steadied you with a quiet “careful,” and your heart fluttered the way it always did when he used that gentle tone; like you were something precious.

“where are we?”

“almost there,” he said, the words drawn out in that sing-song way he did when he was proud of himself, but pretending not to be. “just trust me.”

you felt the sunlight shift, warm and bright across your face, and smelled something sweet in the air; flowers, maybe.

he stopped abruptly. “ready?”

you nodded, already beaming.

his hands dropped from your eyes, and you blinked into the golden light.

a picnic.

your favourite snacks arranged on a soft pink blanket, a bouquet of flowers in the center like it had just been picked from the field. a little bluetooth speaker resting beside a container of cubed bread. a few ducks already waddling nearby like they’d been waiting for you.

your mouth dropped open. “no way.”

“ta-da,” jiyong said, shrugging like it was nothing, but he couldn’t hide the grin taking over his face. “i remembered you said feeding the ducks makes you feel like a princess.”

you stared at him for half a second before you launched yourself forward, laughing and squealing right into his arms.

he caught you easily, wrapping you up and spinning you around like he’d been waiting for this all day.

you peppered his face with kisses. your hands on his cheeks, his jaw, his shoulders. anywhere you could reach.

“you’re perfect,” you said between kisses. “i love you. i love you so much, ji. you’re actually insane.”

“you keep saying that like it’s a bad thing.” he teased, voice thick with affection.

you kissed his nose, still clinging to him. “it’s not. i love every ridiculous, romantic, soft part of you.”

he looked at you like his whole heart was showing.

“i’m the lucky one,” he said, so quiet it barely reached you over the rustle of wind and feathers.

you melted into him, arms around his neck, noses still brushing together. he didn’t stop smiling, didn’t even try. not when you held him like that. not when you loved him like that.

you don’t even realize you’re smiling until your phone buzzes in your hand. again.

the sound is too sharp for the quiet you’ve slipped into, slicing through the fragile warmth that had started to build around you.

you don't check the screen. you don't need to.

you know it's him. of course it's him.

for half a second, you almost answer. almost pretend you’re fine, and that you haven’t drifted so far out of your own night that you can barely remember where you’re supposed to be.

your thumb finds the power button instead, pressing down until the screen goes black.

the quiet that follows doesn’t soothe. it swells, pressing against your ribs, filling in the cracks you’ve been trying so hard not to notice.

the dark screen stares back at you, and suddenly, there’s no hiding from it.

the hollow space on the bench. the silence pressing in from every corner of the park. the knowledge that someone good is waiting for you across town, while you’re here, drowning in the shadow of a boy you never stopped missing.

you tell yourself it’s only for tonight.

just one slip. just a few memories that are too sharp to outrun. but the lie curdles in your mouth, worn out from being repeated too many times.

you never used to understand why he did it. how someone who swore they loved you could still shut you out.

you hated him for it; for the distance, for the silence, for making you feel small when all you wanted was to be let in.

but now, sitting here with your phone dark in your hand and someone good waiting for you across town, the guilt sinks in, sharp and merciless.

because you’re doing the same thing. you’re the one holding back. you’re the one pretending. you’re the one choosing absence, even when love is asking you to stay.

you became the thing you swore you’d never forgive.

the worst part is knowing how it feels from both sides. to ache for someone’s honesty, and to be the one too afraid to give it.

“you don’t get to decide that for me,” you’d said, your voice catching even as you tried to keep it steady. “if something’s wrong, i’m supposed to know. i’m supposed to be there for you.”

he didn’t move. didn’t argue right away, either. just leaned against the counter with his arms crossed, like if he let go, he might fall apart completely.

“it’s better if you aren't,” he said, not looking at you.

you hated how cold it sounded. “better for who?”

his eyes lifted to yours then, and you wished they hadn’t. all of that softness you loved was buried deep under something that you couldn’t quite reach.

“for you,” he said, like it should’ve been obvious. “trust me.”

“i do. i do trust you,” you fired back. “that’s the point.”

he gave a short, humorless laugh. “you think trust makes me any less of a mess?”

“i don’t care if you’re a mess. i want to be here. isn’t that what love is? staying even when it’s ugly?” your voice cracked.

his laugh was harsh and empty. “you think that’s love? you clinging to me like you can fix me?”

your stomach dropped, but you pushed anyway, heat rushing to your face. “don’t twist it. i’m not trying to fix you, i’m trying to love you. can’t you see the difference?”

he rubbed his hands over his face, dragging them down until his jaw clenched tight. he still wouldn’t look at you. “it’s pathetic,” he muttered. “you’re pathetic for still standing here.”

the word hit like a slap. you froze, breath caught, chest hollowing out. “pathetic?” your voice rose, breaking. “you’re calling me pathetic because i love you? because i won’t leave you alone with the way you keep destroying yourself?”

his hands curled into fists on the counter. his shoulders shook once, almost like he’d flinch, but his voice came out sharper. “you should’ve left a long time ago. anyone else would’ve.”

you stepped closer, mostly out of desperation. “i’m not anyone else. i chose you. i keep choosing you. why isn’t that enough?”

he finally looked up then, and the anger in his eyes was bright enough to hide the devastation underneath. “because i don’t want you anymore.”

your laugh burst out sharp, bitter, nothing like the sound he used to love. “bullshit,” you snapped, voice breaking on the edges. “you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to stand there and lie to my face.”

your tears burned, blurring him until you almost wished you couldn’t see him at all. “you don’t get to love me like you did and then pretend like it was nothing.”

“maybe it was nothing.” his voice was rough, forced through clenched teeth.

you staggered back a step, like he’d shoved you without ever moving. “nothing?” your voice broke, sharp and hoarse. “over a year of my life—every night, every laugh, every goddamn moment—and you stand there and call it nothing? call me nothing?”

his chest rose and fell, sharp and uneven, but he didn’t take it back. he couldn’t.

your hands shook at your sides, nails digging crescents into your palms. “say it again,” you demanded, voice breaking through the tears clogging your throat. “look me in the eye and say it was nothing.”

he shook his head once, jaw clenched so tight you could see the muscle twitching. “stop.”

“why?” your voice cracked, sharper this time, fury spilling out of the cracks in your chest. “because you know you can’t do it? because you know if you look at me, you’ll choke on the lie?”

his gaze flicked up, wild, caught somewhere between anger and collapse. “because it doesn’t matter!” he barked, loud enough to make you jump. “whatever it was, it’s over. it’s done. nothing changes that.”

your whole body trembled. “it matters to me,” you shot back, every word splintering. “every stupid little thing. every song. every night. every kiss. it all matters to me, and now you're really gonna stand here acting like you don’t feel any of it anymore? like you never did in the first place?”

“i don’t. not anymore.” the words came out through clenched teeth.

your tears finally broke loose, spilling down your cheeks with no remorse. “why?” it came out strangled, broken. “why are you trying so hard to make me hate you?”

his face faltered. for a second, you could see it; the love, the ache, the part of him that wanted to fall into you instead of pushing you away. but, it was gone just as fast as it came.

his voice was somehow steady when he spoke again. “because it’s the only way you’ll walk out that door.”

you promised yourself you’d never forgive him for that night.

tonight, that promise sits useless beside you.

you fold into yourself on the bench; elbows digging into your legs, palms pressed hard over your eyes, almost like you can physically hold everything in.

you tell yourself to breathe. to stop. to get up. to leave.

you don’t.

the park feels muted, like someone turned the sound down on the world.

every small gust of wind off of the water presses old pieces of him back into you until it hurts to breathe.

your name cuts through it all; close, raw, like someone testing a wire to see if it’ll hold.

“y/n?”

your body knows the voice before your mind catches up. your head lifts instantly.

you see the lamplight, water, trees; then him, sliding perfectly into focus like the frame’s been waiting for its missing piece to arrive.

when your eyes finally meet, the two years without him hit you all at once.

the almosts. the purposeful detours. all the times you trained yourself not to look when a door opened.

“jiyong,” you breathe, a habit you spent two years trying to break.

he takes a small step back, as if a little space between you might make this hurt less.

“sorry,” he says, voice thin with nerves. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i…honestly sort of thought i was seeing things.”

you let out the smallest laugh and shake your head.

his eyes take in your face. more specifically, the shine at your lashes. “hey. are you okay?”

“long day.” you say, swiping your sleeve under your eyes.

“do you want me to leave?” he asks, his voice gentle.

“no.” it comes too fast. you soften it. “stay.”

he blinks, relieved. “can i sit?”

you nod.

he takes the far edge, careful not to crowd you. the bench creaks like it remembers your history with it.

his knee starts to bounce, and he pins it down with his palm. you notice your own hands; flat on your thighs, just like his.

his mouth curves, nervous and fond, like he noticed it at the same time as you. “we both still do the knee thing,” he says, almost joking, almost not.

“apparently,” you say, and it comes out softer than you want.

the silence loosens into something almost familiar. your stomach flips with the same stubborn flutter that never shows up for anyone else.

“you know, i walk this path almost every night now. it really helps me clear my head,” he says. “i didn’t think i’d ever see you on it.”

“i usually avoid it, if i’m being honest.” you try for a smile that doesn’t quite hold. “tonight had other plans.”

he nods, letting a gentle pause land between you.

“how’ve you been?” he asks carefully. “you can tell me to mind my business.”

“depends on the day,” you say, honestly. “tonight’s not great.”

“i’m sorry,” he whispers. the sincerity lands where your guilt lives, and quiets it for a second.

you risk a longer look. he’s steadier, has his color back, his hair is a touch longer.

he looks better. healthier. happier, even.

“how about you?” you ask, quieter.

he thinks for a moment. “better than i was.”

a pair of ducks float through the pond; the ripple taking its time before reaching the shore. he follows it with his eyes, then looks over at you.

“do you want me to talk or shut up?” he asks, wearing that soft smile you never learned how to stop loving.

“both,” you say, knowing he’ll understand exactly what you mean.

“copy that,” he murmurs, eyes soft. he keeps his voice down and his body still, and somehow it feels like everything you needed.

the quiet between you wasn’t uncomfortable; it was almost heavy, but in a way that still somehow felt full.

he was the one to break it, once again. “so…are you still doing the late-night walks? headphones in, ignoring the world?”

you smiled faintly. “sometimes. though now i actually look where i’m going.”

he chuckled. “that’s progress.” his eyes lingered on you for a second longer than necessary before he asked, “are you…seeing anyone?”

you froze, unsure why the question landed so heavy. “yeah,” you said quietly. “i am.”

he nodded once, eyes dropping to the ground. “does he…treat you well?”

“yeah,” you said again, and it was true. you hated that it was true.

his next question cut sharper. “then why are you sitting here, alone in a park, crying?”

your throat tightened. “because i’m supposed to be at dinner with him right now.”

his head lifted, confusion flickering across his face. “why aren’t you?”

you gave the smallest shrug, eyes fixed on some distant point in front of you. “i don’t know.”

“you don’t know,” he repeated, not accusing, just curious.

“no.” your voice was softer now, almost lost to the rustle of leaves. “i just couldn’t.”

his brow furrowed, but he didn’t press. instead, he leaned back slightly, like he was giving you space to breathe. “he know you’re here?”

you shook your head.

“hm.” he studied you for a beat, then his tone shifted. lighter, but not careless. “you know…most people would say you’re terrible at dating etiquette.”

the corner of your mouth twitched, though it didn’t last. “yeah, well, you don’t exactly get to talk about being a good partner.”

he smiles, seeming like he’d been expecting that. “fair.”

you hesitate, watching the way his thumb brushes along the seam of his jeans like he needs something to keep his hands busy. “what about you?” you ask, careful. “been seeing anyone?”

his eyes drop, and for a second you think he won’t answer.

“a few.” the words come out on a breath, unhurried. “but they never lasted.”

your chest tightens. “why not?”

he lifts his gaze to you, completely unguarded. “because none of them were you.”

he lets it sit there, heavy between you, before continuing. “i tried. i really did. i thought maybe i could move on if i just…let someone else in. but i’d catch myself comparing their laugh to yours. their hands to yours. i’d be looking at them and all i could think about was you.” his mouth tilts like he’s trying for a smile, but it doesn’t hold. “that’s not fair to anyone. so i stopped.”

you don’t answer right away, afraid of what your voice will sound like. you’re too aware of the way he’s looking at you, unblinking, like he’s memorizing the shape of you all over again.

finally, you say quietly, “you could’ve told me that.”

his eyes soften even more, the corner of his mouth curving just slightly. “would it have changed anything?”

you hate that you don’t have an answer to that.

somewhere under the weight of his words, you feel something shift; an uncomfortable, familiar truth lodging itself in your chest.

because you’ve been doing it too.

you’ve smiled at your boyfriend across crowded rooms, felt his hand find yours in the dark, and still found yourself looking for jiyong in the space between.

you’ve compared the curve of someone else’s laugh to his. the way their eyes softened against the way his always saw straight through you.

you let someone love you without ever giving them the part of yourself that never left his hands.

you know he’s right. you know that isn’t fair to anyone.

your throat feels tight, your voice barely more than a whisper. “i think i’ve been doing that too.”

his eyes flicker, searching yours. “doing what?”

you force yourself to hold his gaze. “measuring everyone against you.” the truth hangs there, fragile, but you don’t take it back. “they always fall short.”

the corner of his mouth curves, slow and sad. “so…why didn’t you call me?”

a weak laugh slips out of you, but it’s hollow, gone almost before it starts. “you pushed me away, jiyong. completely. you shut every door i tried to open. you made it so clear you didn’t want me there, and i…” your voice falters, but you push through it. “i didn’t know how to love you through that. i didn’t know how to keep reaching for you when you wouldn’t even meet me halfway.”

his jaw clenches, regret flashing in his eyes before he drops his gaze again. “i know,” he says, quiet but certain. “and i’ve replayed it in my head a thousand times. if i could go back…i would let you stay. i’d fight for you instead of against you.”

you don’t say anything, because there’s too much in your throat to let words through. because part of you still aches to hear him say it, and another part of you hates him for saying it too late.

your eyes drift towards the path that winds through the trees; the one you used to walk through together whenever the world felt like too much.

it had started on accident.

the two of you were on your way to a dinner with a few close friends.

you were mid-story, probably something about your day you’d thought he’d laugh at, but halfway through, you realized he hadn’t said a word.

not one. just the occasional hum, his eyes locked on the road.

“you didn’t hear a single thing i just said,” you muttered, sharper than you meant to.

jiyong blinked, pulled halfway back into the moment. “yes i did—”

“then repeat it,” you pushed. petty, sure, but the silence had stung. if you let it slide, he’d never notice. you needed him to notice.

his fingers tapped the steering wheel, restless. “come on, jagi, not now.”

“not now?” you snapped. “i talked for ten minutes straight, and you can’t even tell me the first sentence i said?”

he sighed, shoulders sagging. “i was thinking about something else.”

you crossed your arms, leaning back hard in your seat, eyes fixed out the window. “wow. okay. so my voice is just, what, background noise to you now? you’d rather sit here thinking about god knows what than hear me tell you about my day?”

“you’re being—” he stopped himself, biting down on the word before it slipped out, but you caught the shape of it on his lips anyway.

dramatic.

he was about to call you dramatic.

“say it,” you dared him, eyes narrowing. “go ahead.”

his jaw flexed, but he kept quiet, eyes flicking towards the restaurant coming into view. the silence in the car grew heavy, thick enough to choke on.

by the time he pulled into the lot and killed the engine, your hand was already on your seatbelt.

“i need to clear my head.” you muttered, shoving the door open before he could reply.

you unbuckled quickly, slipping out into the cool evening air before he could even shut the engine off.

your heels clicked against the pavement, each step faster than the last, like distance could steady the storm in your chest.

he caught up easily, refusing to let the space between you widen. he didn’t touch you yet, just walked close enough that you could feel him there.

the street curved towards a small pond across from the restaurant, the water catching the light from the lamps above. that’s where your feet finally slowed, shoulders sagging as the anger bled into something softer, sadder.

“baby,” his voice was quiet when he finally spoke. “i’m sorry.”

you shook your head, staring at the water. “you don’t even know what you’re apologizing for.”

“i do,” he insisted gently, moving to stand in front of you now. “i wasn’t listening. i should’ve been. you were talking to me, and i wasn’t really there. that’s on me.”

your throat tightened. “it just…it makes me feel small, you know? like what i say doesn’t matter.”

he stepped closer, carefully, giving you the chance to pull away. when you didn’t, his arms slid around your waist, pulling you against him.

his breath was warm against your hair when he murmured, “you matter. more than anything. i’ll do better. i promise.”

your hands curled into his shirt. “i don’t want to fight with you.”

“then let’s not,” he whispered, kissing the top of your head. “i’d rather hold you than win an argument any day.”

without any warning, you’re back in the present, the park around you suddenly much louder, and more real than it was a second ago.

the years feel like they’ve collapsed in on themselves, but the ache in your chest reminds you they haven’t.

“are you okay?” his voice cuts through before you can dwell on the memory any further.

“yeah,” you murmur quickly, causing his eyes to linger on you like he doesn’t believe it. you swallow, shifting uncomfortably against the bench. “i was just…thinking.”

he doesn’t press, but the silence after carries more weight than words ever could.

once, he would’ve known exactly what was running through your head. now, it feels like you’re both standing on opposite ends of something too dangerous to cross.

you clear your throat, softening before the hurt can take over. “do you—” your voice falters, but you push through it. “do you want to walk with for a bit?”

his mouth curves, not quite a smile, but enough. “yeah,” he says gently, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. “i’d like that.”

you both stand and begin to head down the path. by the third step, your strides match, the old rhythm slipping back without either of you trying.

trees close in on either side, the curve ahead so familiar it almost feels rehearsed.

your chest tightens as the memories slots into place. “it still feels the same,” you whisper, mostly to yourself.

“hasn’t for me in a long time,” he says, kicking a pebble with his shoe. “right now it does, though.” he clears his throat, a small, nervous smile. “maybe it was waiting for you.”

your cheeks flush pink before you can stop them. you look down at your shoes in an attempt to hide it, but he notices. he always notices.

“do you remember that night we stayed till sunrise?” he asks gently. “the blanket by the river, looking up at the sky and trying to name constellations.”

“trying,” you echo, a real smile breaking through. “you called the big dipper a saucepan.”

“tell me it didn’t look like one,” he says, mock-wounded.

you laugh, unexpected and easy. “it didn’t. also, your ‘shooting star’ was most definitely a plane. i still stand by that.”

“i still think it was a star.” his shoulder bumps yours, light. “you just didn’t want to make a wish with me.”

“i didn’t need to,” you say, too honest, and too fast. “i already had everything i wanted.”

his step falters, so slight you’d miss it if you weren’t this close.

you clear your throat, trying to ease some of the tension. “remember the duck disaster? when we brought bread and they chased you halfway across the park.”

his grin flashes, immediate and boyish. “i thought i was gonna die.”

you let out another laugh; the genuine kind that only ever belonged to him.

it hits you like a strange ache. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d laughed like this.

“so,” he says quietly, eyes flicking to you, “what’s new with you?”

you think. “not much, really. i’ve been reading more, i guess.”

his brow lifts. “still the kind of books that make you cry in public?”

a soft laugh slips out. “sometimes.”

he smiles at that, a little shy. “i always liked that about you,” he says. “how you feel things. you never really tried to hide it.”

the irony is you spent years tucking your feelings away, and he still saw through every wall you built.

you keep your eyes on the path. “what about you? anything new?”

“i’m writing again. the kind that i want.” he rubs his thumb along his palm, like he’s not sure how much to actually tell you. “i sleep. i eat. i walk. i don’t drink. i even talk to someone on tuesdays.”

“ji, that’s amazing.” your voice goes soft before you can help it. “i’m proud of you, you know.” you add, as you nudge his shoulder with yours, mirroring his move from earlier.

he ducks his head, a soft smile escaping before he can can hide it. “thank you,” he murmurs, almost childlike. “that…means way more than you’ll ever know.”

your eyes stay on the gravel, your steps still matching his. “can i tell you something?”

he glances towards you, eyes soft. “always.”

you bite the inside of your cheek. “i don’t think i’ve been happy since you left. i’ve had good moments, sure…but nothing feels the same. nothing feels real.” you try to laugh it off, but it breaks in the middle.

“and i hate saying it, because i’m with someone good. he shows up. he’s gentle. he doesn’t deserve to be held up against you.” you swallow, the guilt hitting you the second it’s out. “it makes me feel like an awful person.”

he’s quiet for a few beats, long enough that you almost wish you could pull the words back.

when he finally speaks, it’s gentle. “you’re not awful. you’re honest. you can’t take back the parts of yourself you gave to someone.” he says reassuringly. “you can’t pretend they didn’t happen. you shouldn’t have to.”

your hands brush once, maybe accidental. the second time it happens, he takes the chance; grabbing your hand and lacing your fingers in between his, thumb rubbing over your knuckles like it’s muscle memory.

“he’s probably freaking out right now,” you murmur. “my phone’s off. i…couldn’t.” you sigh, shaking your head. “i couldn’t sit across from him tonight and pretend my head wasn’t somewhere else. pretend it wasn’t with you.”

his thumb stills on your hand, but he doesn’t let go. “i get it,” he says, quiet. “i’ve spent two years trying to live without you and still—” he exhales, a small, frustrated breath. “still, when something good happens, you’re the first person i want to tell. and when something hurts, you’re the only one i want there.”

your throat tightens. “i hate it,” you say, honest and small. “i hate that i can’t push you out. that i measure him against you even when i don’t mean to. he doesn’t deserve that.” you swallow. “i mean it when i say that it makes me feel like a horrible person.”

he shakes his head, eyes steady on yours. “it just means what we had was real,” he says, softer. “you can’t just undo something that deep. it lives in you. that’s not cruelty, that’s truth.”

his fingers lace a little tighter in yours, like a promise he doesn’t say out loud. relief and wreckage both rise in you, impossible to sort. you hold on anyways.

a breeze comes off the river and slips under your shirt. you don’t say you’re cold, but your shoulders tuck in. he notices.

his fingers leave yours just long enough for him to pull his hoodie over his head. he holds it out. “here.”

you glance at him. “ji, you don’t—”

“please,” he says, gentle. “just take it.”

you take it and pull it on while it’s still warm. it smells like him; something you forgot you knew by heart.

“i missed this” he confesses quietly, while his arm brushes against yours.

you don’t ask what he means. you don’t need to. “me too.”

he looks over, the corner of his mouth tipping into the smallest smile. “i missed you.”

you let out a slow breath. “i know.”

it isn’t arrogance, it’s the truth.

he nods, forcing his eyes forward again. “still,” he adds, softer, “hearing you…being next to you…i didn’t realize how much i really needed it until right now.”

your stomach twists at that, the truth of it pressing sharp against your ribs. you shouldn’t want to hear it, but you do.

“it feels easy,” you say after a beat. “scary easy.”

his fingers slip back into yours, a quiet squeeze sealing the space between. “maybe easy just means that it’s meant to happen,” he says softly. “i think the scary part is pretending it isn’t.”

the words settle between you, causing your steps to slow without meaning to.

“i should probably go,” you say, too quiet to sound like you mean it.

he stops and turns towards you. his free hand finds your other one and closes around it, careful and sure, until you’re facing him with both your hands gathered into his.

“look at me,” he says, barely above a whisper.

you look up despite the sting in your chest.

“if you walk away now,” he says, careful but not steady, “i don’t know when i’ll see you again. i don’t know if i’ll ever see you again.”

guilt burns hot under your skin. “ji…i can’t do this to him. he doesn’t deserve—”

“i’m not asking you to do anything,” he cuts in, thumbs brushing your knuckles. “i’m just asking for now. just…don’t leave yet.”

you blink hard, trying to quiet the part of you that wants to say yes. “it’s not fair.”

“i know,” he says softly, his hands still tight around yours. “nothing about us ever was.”

you try to steady yourself, but fail completely. “i should really go, ji. i shouldn’t be here.”

he doesn’t let go. “don’t,” he says, soft but certain. “just…don’t. not yet.”

it reminded you of how he always turned goodbyes into soft little games. it was always “one more minute” and one more reason to linger, until time slipped from between your fingers, and you somehow forgot to leave.

you force your eyes back to him now, but your voice is thin. “ji—”

“please,” he cuts in, breath unsteady. “let me ask you something first. did you ever get the letter i wrote you?”

it took three days to reach you. an envelope sitting on the doormat, your name in his handwriting.

my sweet girl,

i’m writing instead of calling because i don’t trust my voice not to lie to you to get you back here. i’m sorry. i’m sorry for the way i ended it, for the way i made you feel small when you were the only thing that ever made me feel bigger than what’s in my head.

i told you to leave because i love you. i know how that sounds. i hate it too.

the truth is ugly; i am not okay.

i’m worse than i’ve let you see. it’s not the kind you can just sleep off. i kept thinking if i worked more and smiled harder, you wouldn’t notice. you did. you always did. i made you hold what wasn’t yours. i knew i was slipping and still let you steady me.

that wasn’t fair to you. it wasn’t love the way you deserved it.

i’m going to get help. i know saying that doesn’t mean much. i’ve already written down three names. i’ll call. if there’s a waitlist, i’ll wait. i’ll go back. i’ll take what they give me. i’ll keep showing up even when i don’t want to. i want to be someone you wouldn’t have to make excuses for. if there’s a way through this, i’ll do the work.

i can’t ask you to keep holding on to a promise. i need to earn my way back as someone you can actually keep.

please don’t call. please don’t write back. please don’t wait for me. i know you would; i know your heart, and i love it for that, which is exactly why i can’t let waiting become your entire life. i don’t know how long this will take, or when i’ll finally be someone you can love without getting hurt.

do whatever you need to get through. be angry if you have to. block me if it helps. keep the photos or put them away.

none of that matters as much as this: please take care of yourself. eat real meals. sleep. drink water. take your meds. call someone who loves you. step outside and feel the sun. get home safe. be gentle with yourself. breathe. that’s all i’m asking.

you were the kindest thing that ever happened to me. thank you for loving me. i love you, more than you’ll ever know, and it breaks me that the only way i can love you now is by letting you go.

love always,

your ji

you folded it and hid it deep in a drawer, deciding that not looking was the same as not feeling.

now he’s here, apology warm in the air instead of on paper, and the feelings you buried in that drawer rise before you can stop them this time.

“yeah,” you say, quietly. “i got it.”

his breath stutters. “did you read it?”

“once.” you swallow. “i couldn’t do it twice. it’s still in a drawer.”

he nods, eyes on your joined hands. “i had to send it. you deserved the truth. and i needed you not to call, because i would’ve answered on the first ring. i would’ve told you to come over and held on until you went under with me.”

he pauses for a moment, out of hesitation, before continuing. “shutting you out was the only way i knew not to hurt you.”

“it still hurt,” you say, as steady as you can. “it felt like you erased me and wanted me to call it mercy.”

“you’re right,” he says, quieter now. “but i was hurting, and keeping you close would’ve hurt you too. i couldn’t do that to you. not when you were the best thing my life.”

months before it all fell apart, you were lying in bed with him after a long and busy day. his fingers were tracing lazy shapes along your spine, his voice low in the dark. “you’re the only good thing about me,” he whispered into your hair.

you told him it wasn’t true; that there were a hundred good things about him, and you’d name them one by one if he let you. he went quiet, breath warm at your neck, almost like he was trying to believe you.

“i would’ve gone under if it meant i got to stay with you,” you whisper.

his throat works as he steps closer. close enough for you to see the glassiness in his eyes. “i know. that’s why i couldn’t let you.”

the night things ended between the two of you, you couldn’t get up off of the bathroom floor. your back was pressed up against the side of the bathtub, while your knees were pulled up to your chest.

your phone stayed face-up on your thighs with his name glowing on the screen; your thumb hovered and trembled, but never actually clicked it.

you listened for footsteps. for a knock. for anything.

they never came. the battery died before you finally stood up.

your eyes sting; a tear slips before you can catch it. his thumb is there immediately, gently brushing it away.

“i didn’t stop,” he says, voice low and rough. “not for a day. loving you. wanting you.” his gaze holds yours, glassy. “i got better for you.”

the last time his hand had touched your face like this, you’d been half-asleep in his bed. he’d woken you with the lightest drag of his thumb over your cheekbone, murmuring something you couldn’t quite catch before pressing his mouth to your temple.

you never asked what he said to you that night. you wish you had.

his thumb stays, gentle, like he’s making sure you won’t disappear. your lungs scream in pain as the air struggles to go all the way in.

“you don’t get to say that now,” you whisper shakily.

he leans in, close enough that his breath warms your cheeks. “i know,” he says, voice rough. “but it’s true. everything i did to get better, i did it for you.”

the first time he kissed you was right here, in this very park. only a handful of dates in, nothing official or labeled. you were sharing a bench, knees touching, and your breath was showing in the cool air.

he tugged at his beanie like it might help with his nerves, then glanced at your mouth for a short second before looking back up at you.

“can i…can i kiss you?” he asked softly.

you simply nodded.

he met you halfway, and it felt cliché to admit, but the butterflies you’d only ever heard about were real that night, sudden and certain. after that, they returned with every kiss, as if some part of you recognized where home was.

when he pulled back, a smile tugged at his mouth. “was that okay?” he whispered.

“yeah,” you said, a little shy, but still very sure. “do it again.”

you don’t even realize you’re leaning in until your noses almost touch. his eyes flick to your mouth, and something deep inside of you aches at the familiarity of it all.

“i missed you so much, ji.” you breathe.

“god, i missed you too,” he whispers.

a few days after you pulled his door shut for the last time, you stood alone in your kitchen with the lights off, barefoot on the cold tile.

with a bottle in hand, you tried to drink the image of his face out of your head. you told the quiet you were done; no more almosts, no more reaching.

you swore he’d never touch you again. that you’d never want him again. you even said it twice to make it true, and it still wasn’t.

you knew it then.

you know it now, too.

he leans in closer, almost careful, as if he’s offering you an out. you don’t take it; you choose him instead.

the first touch of his lips is enough to undo you completely. the butterflies arrive all at once, with the same wild flutter from the very beginning.

his palm cradles your cheek, thumb still warm beneath your eye, like he’s steadying the both of you. your fingers hook into his shirt and pull him closer.

the park, the pond, the two years without him; it all fades away in an instant. the only thing that remains is the muscle memory of him. your mouth knows where to go. so do his hands.

he still tastes the same. feels the same, too.

like home. like danger. like everything you told yourself you didn’t need, but could never really stop craving.

you’re the one who breaks the kiss, just barely. your foreheads stay pressed together, while your heart beats louder than the quiet night surrounding you.

his eyes stay locked on yours as he whispers, “it’s still there.”

you don’t ask what he means. you already know. you felt it too.

“yeah,” you breathe, and it feels like surrender.

a small, wrecked laugh slips from him. “i’ve wanted that since the night you left.”

your stomach twists. “don’t say that.”

“why?” he asks softly. “because it’s true?”

you swallow hard, the guilt starting to creep in around the edges. “because i don’t know what to do with it.”

his thumb trails your cheek once more, like he’s relearning you all over again. “you don’t have to know right now.”

“i do,” you whisper, breath snagging. “i have to go home.”

he nods, but his fingers don’t loosen. “to him.”

there’s no judgment behind it, only the truth you’ve both been avoiding.

“yeah.” it tastes bitter in your mouth. “he’s good to me, ji. really good.”

his gaze doesn’t waver. “but he’s not me.”

your eyes squeeze shut under the weight of it. “no one is.”

the words somehow feel like a confession and a betrayal in the same breath.

his hand slips from your cheek and finds the hood of his hoodie still resting on your shoulders. he lifts it up and eases it over your head, tugging it forward so it covers your ears.

“keep this on,” he murmurs. “it’s cold.”

his fingers slip under the edge of the hood to smooth the strands of hair that always tickle your jaw, tucking them back just the way you like; a habit he never quite unlearned.

“at least let me walk you home,” he says, voice fraying at the edges.

you shake your head. not to refuse, but because it hurts too much. “that’s not a good idea.”

“just to your street,” he answers, thumb circling once at your pulse. “we don’t have to talk. we can just walk.”

your voice barely makes it out. “and then what? i go inside and pretend this never happened?”

he swallows. “if that’s what you really need.”

the lump in your throat makes the words clumsy. “it’s not what i need. it’s what i have to do.”

he doesn’t answer right away, just gives your hand a light squeeze before stepping forward, guiding you towards the park gates like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind if he waits any longer.

“you’ll have to tell me the way,” he says after a small stretch of silence, the hint of a smile tugging at his mouth. “i don’t know where you live now.”

there’s something about the fact that he doesn’t know — that he hasn’t seen the space you call home, the place you share with someone else — that makes your stomach twist.

“it’s not far,” you say softly.

he nods, risking a glance towards you. “do you like it there?”

you take a breath, not sure how to answer. “it’s comfortable.”

“comfortable,” he repeats, like the word sits wrong on his tongue. “that isn’t the same as happy.”

your fingers tighten around his. it’s the closest you can give him to an answer.

he breathes out, eyes on the path where your shadows meet. “i wish it could be different,” he confesses, letting the words fall between you.

you don’t answer. the word different opens in your head and shows you the life you didn’t get, but always dreamed of having.

different would mean there was never a day you stood on opposite sides of goodbye. no slammed doors, no words sharpened into weapons because he thought breaking you was the only way to set you free.

different would mean his toothbrush still leaned against yours in the bathroom cup. his hoodies would still be piled carelessly on the chair in the corner. his rings would still be scattered across the counter, forgotten in the rush to climb into bed beside you.

you’d still come home to his voice filling the rooms before you even stepped through the door. to his laugh folding into yours. to the way his arms could undo a day’s worth of breaking with a single pull.

you’d still trip over his shoes by the door, laces undone, left exactly where he kicked them off because he never thought to put them away. he’d still know you couldn’t sleep unless you could hear him breathing beside you.

he’d still be the one who saw you at your worst and stayed anyway. who held you when you were nothing but sharp edges, yet somehow always made you feel like you were soft.

there would be no one else. no you-and-another-boy and him-and-someone-else, sealed off in different lives like you never belonged to each other.

there would be no pretending that comfort could ever measure up to joy. no swallowing the truth because you can’t stand the thought of breaking the heart of the person waiting for you now.

his hand stays wrapped around yours, warm enough to trick your body into thinking it remembers this; remembers him.

your steps still sync together without any effort, like there’s still some invisible thread pulling you back into the rhythm you swore you’d forgotten.

but the air is different here. the silence between you isn’t the kind that once wrapped around you like safety; it presses heavy, pulling you back before you’re ready, reminding you that he doesn’t live at the end of this walk, no matter how much it feels like he should.

the realization stings, low and merciless. you steady your breath, forcing the words out before they break you in half. “me too,” you whisper, so soft it barely exists at all.

he doesn’t answer, but his hand stays steady in yours, and that’s worse than anything he could say. it feels like a promise you don’t deserve; a promise that can’t last.

the quiet stretches until it’s unbearable, filled only with the dull echo of your footsteps. every step drags, heavy with the knowledge that you’re walking toward an ending, not a beginning.

but, you know that stopping isn’t an option. stopping would mean turning towards him and saying the words you’ve buried deep inside for two years. the ones you’ve bitten back night after night, knowing that once they escape, they’ll take everything with them.

his grip is steady. too steady. you hate how your body leans into it like it’s second nature. every shift of his fingers feels deliberate, like he knows exactly how to remind you of what you lost.

you should pull away. you really should. but instead, you allow him to guide your steps, every brush of his skin a betrayal you can’t seem to stop wanting.

familiar houses begin to surround you, pulling you back into reality with every step. the closer you get, the heavier it feels, almost like you’re walking straight into someone else’s life instead of your own.

your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. “it’s up here.”

he slows when you speak, but he still doesn’t let go of your hand. his gaze flickers toward the houses ahead, then back to you, like he’s trying to guess which one is yours so he can prepare himself for the end.

the closer you get, the louder his steps fall beside yours. you can feel him searching for something to say. something that will make the last few feet feel less final, but nothing comes.

you stop at the corner, under the glow of a nearby porch light. the words stall in your throat before they break loose, barely audible. “this is my street.”

it feels like betrayal the moment it leaves your mouth, like admitting it means means having to let him go all over again.

his eyes follow the stretch of road until they land on the dark shape of your building in the distance. for a moment, he stands completely still, breath catching hard in his chest, like the sight alone might shatter him.

before you can speak, he’s already pulling you into him. there’s nothing careful in it, only the desperate grip of someone who knows this might be the last time.

you melt into him without hesitation, as if the ground itself wouldn’t hold without his arms around you.

his face buries in the curve of your neck, breath catching hard against your skin.

“i can’t—” the words start and fall apart in the same beat. “i can’t watch you walk away again. i don’t know if…” his voice cracks, splintering under its own weight. “i don’t know if i can survive losing you twice.”

the words tear through you, closer than his breath against your skin. your eyes squeeze shut, your chest tightening until it hurts to breathe.

you hold him tighter, like you could force the hurt to trade places; willing to be wrecked a thousand times if it means he doesn’t have to suffer for loving you.

your voice trembles, barely holding itself together as the words slip out. “i think…in another lifetime, it would’ve been us.”

he stills, breath catching hard in his chest. slowly, he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes tracing your face like he’s burning the image of you into his memory.

“i don’t want another lifetime.” the words tear out of him like they take everything he has left. “i want this one. i want you.”

the pain in his voice knocks the wind out of you, leaving your body unsteady. your stomach twists, your throat locks, and for a moment, all you can think is ‘god, please don’t say that.’

not because you don’t want it.

but because you do.

you want it so much, that it hurts to simply stand infront of him. or anywhere, for that matter.

your body betrays you before your mind can catch up; arms clinging tighter around him as your breath breaks against his neck, like wanting him is the only language you still remember.

his eyes find yours again.

steady. merciless. the kind of look that doesn’t just see you, it exposes you.

he knows.

he knows you still want him. he knows it’s tearing you apart.

and the worst part is, he’s right. because even after everything, even with someone else’s love wrapped around you, some part of you is still his.

and maybe it always will be.

knowing this cuts deeper than anything his voice could ever give shape to; a wordless wound, sharp enough to hollow you out from the inside.

you tell yourself to move.

you tell yourself you’ve done this before; that you know how to walk away.

but your body won’t listen. all you want to do is stay.

stay in the glow of the streetlight. stay in his arms. stay in the only place that still feels like home.

when you finally force the words out, they’re nothing but a broken breath. “i should go…”

he nods, but his hand lingers, shaking where it rests against your arm. it feels less like a touch, and more like surrender; the quiet shatter of someone holding on when he already knows it’s the end.

when it falls away, it feels like your whole body goes with it. the air hits colder, sharper, rushing in to fill the space he once held.

you force yourself to turn, though it feels like you’re leaving half of yourself behind. the silence between your steps is deafening, filled with everything you didn’t say.

the life you’re walking back to had once felt whole, almost enough to make you believe you were healing, until tonight exposed everything you’d refused to see; it was never more than a placeholder for the life you wanted with him.

you don’t look back. you don’t need to.

you can feel the weight of him on you, tugging at what he knows is still his, even as you push yourself in the other direction.

and you know this isn’t something you’ll come back from tomorrow. not with someone else waiting for you at home. not with the weight of his trust sitting in your hands.

you can’t turn around.

you can’t trade one heart for another, even if it’s the only thing you truly want.

the last time you walked away, it wasn’t yours to carry. he told you to go, pushed you out, and shut the door before you could even choose. you hated him for it, but at least the blame was on him.

this time it’s different. there’s no one else to blame but yourself. there’s no one forcing you to leave, and no door slammed in your face.

there’s only you, prying yourself loose from the only thing you’ve ever wanted to hold on to.

walking away doesn’t free you from him, though. it only cements him in place; in your chest, in your bed, and in every quiet moment you wish you could forget.

he lingers in the smallest spaces, rising in your mornings, pressing in on your nights, filling the silence until you can’t tell where memory ends and wanting begins.

no matter how many steps you take, no matter how carefully you try to bury him beneath new love, new promises, new futures — he stays.

he lives in the back of your mind, stubborn as a scar, reminding you with every heartbeat that he was once yours, and that part of you will always be his.

you can lie to yourself. you can lie to him. you can lie to the world.

but you can’t rewrite what’s already written.

he owns the part of you that matters the most, and the only thing that you can do now is pretend that it belongs to someone else instead.