#choisanxreader

The music was loud -some mix of funky beats and synth pop- but San could still hear the soft clink of the ice in your glass from across the bar. You were seated at the far end, alone, just like that first time. Just like before. 

He leaned against the brick wall, half in shadow, fingers drumming a slow rhythm against his thigh. The denim of his jacket was worn in all the places your hands used to touch. You always tugged on his sleeves when you laughed, like he was something to hold onto. 

You weren't laughing now. 

You looked... calm. Pretty. Like nothing was missing. 

Except everything was. 

You didn't notice him. Not yet. 

And just like the first time, some guy, button-down open too far -smile too wide-, saw you sitting there and made his move. 

San stiffened, exhaling slowly through his nose. 

He'd timed it. He knew this was when it happened, when you got approached and rolled your eyes so hard he could feel your annoyance from across the room. He'd used that moment to swoop in, smug and playful, pretending to be your boyfriend just to get the creep to back off. It worked like a charm. You laughed, he stayed. And you two talked until the bar closed. 

It was the beginning of everything. 

So this had to work. 

He watched closely now, waiting for the same flicker of irritation on your face, but it didn't come. Instead, you smiled politely at the guy. Laughed, even. Tucked your hair behind your ear like you were actually interested. 

San felt the sharp stab of something he didn't want to name. 

The guy leaned in, too close, and San couldn't stay back anymore. He pushed off the wall and crossed the bar with purpose in his step, heartbeat hammering, sweat pooling at the base of his neck. He rehearsed his lines a thousand times in his head. 

Same as before. Same as before. Same as before. 

He stopped at your table, resting his hand on the back of your chair like it belonged there. 

"Hey, baby," he said, trying to keep it light, teasing. "Sorry I'm late. You didn't wait long, did you?" 

You blinked up at him, surprised. The man sitting across from you frowned, shifting in his seat. 

"Excuse me?" you said, brows furrowing. 

Your voice was soft, unfamiliar even in its familiarity. 

San's smile didn't falter. He had practiced it in the mirror, wanting to do it just like that first night. "You know I hate it when you start drinking without me" he gave the other man a polite smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Mind giving us a minute, bro?" 

The man looked between you both, clearly annoyed. But you didn't say anything. You just looked at San like he was an inconvenient glitch in your night, not someone your soul used to orbit around. 

"Whatever," the guy muttered, grabbing his beer and walking away. 

Silence settled between you and San, heavier than the bass vibrating through the walls. 

He expected you to be angry, confused. Maybe even impressed like last time. But instead, you stared at him with narrowed eyes and a bemused smile. 

"That was... bold," you said, tilting your head. "Do I know you?" 

The words punched the air from his lungs like a second car crash. 

Those were the words he was so scared to hear when he first knew of your state after the accident. 

He didn't visit you a single time you were in the hospital after you woke up, he was sure he wouldn't have been able to bear the idea of you not remembering him. He couldn't bear the idea of not being part of your life any longer. 

That was why he asked your friends to erase any trace of him from your apartment, from your phone... He was about to let go, until he thought that maybe that was his chance to start it all over again, to live again the beauty of falling for you, and you falling for him. 

You in that pub wasn't a coincidence. Not at all. 

He chuckled softly, looking down for a second to hide the devastation in his eyes. "Kind of," he murmured. "We've met. Once or twice." 

You looked at him for a long beat. Not with recognition. Not with love. But... curiosity. 

"Well, if you're going to crash my night, you might as well sit down." 

He blinked. 

You gestured to the seat across from you, and he moved slowly, cautiously -as if the world might fall apart again if he moved too fast. 

He sat. 

You sipped your drink, watching him over the rim of your glass. "So... is this a thing you do often? Pretend to be someone's boyfriend to scare off competition?" 

San let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Only when I'm desperate." 

There was a pause. You tilted your head. "And are you?" 

He met your gaze. For the first time in weeks, you were looking directly at him. Really looking. 

His voice was low, gentle. "I lost something important. I'm just trying to find it again." 

You didn't answer right away. You just stared at him, lips twitching like they were debating whether or not to smile.  And then -unexpectedly, softly- you did. You smiled. Not because you remembered. Not because you knew what he meant, but because something about him felt warm. Like a song you hadn't heard in years but still knew how to hum. 

"Okay, mystery man," you said, tapping your glass against his. "Tell me the story of that thing you're missing, then."

He looked at you, breath catching in his throat. And this time, he let himself hope.

You sat across from him, your finger tracing lazy circles against the condensation on your glass, looking at him attentively as he refused to talk about himself, to go deep in anything that wasn't the moment between you two. And it made you suspicious, but also curious. 

"So?" you asked, lips quirking at the corners. "Are you gonna tell me your name, or are we doing the whole mysterious stranger at the bar thing tonight?"

He smirked. 

God, it was exactly like the first time. 

That smug, amused curl of your lips, that cocky tone as you tilted your head. And he tried to mimic the way he reacted to it, mirroring your smirk. Only this time, there was something behind it. Something heavy in his eyes, buried just deep enough that you couldn't quite reach it.

"No names," he said smoothly, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. "It ruins the fantasy."

You raised a brow, playing along without thinking. "Oh? And what fantasy is that?"

"The one where you fall in love with me for the night," he replied, not missing a beat. "No expectations. No promises. Just... this."

Your heart skipped, maybe from the way he said it, or maybe from the way he looked at you, like he was seeing more than what was on the surface. It was unnerving, but oddly comforting.

You didn't know him. But something about him felt like déjà vu.

"Hmm," you said, swirling the last of your drink. "Sounds like a line you've used before."

He chuckled under his breath. "Once or twice."

You narrowed your eyes. "Do I look like the kind of girl who falls for strangers in bars?"

"You look like the kind of girl who pretends she doesn't," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Right before she steals the guy's lighter and walks out with his heart."

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and it caught you off guard. It felt... real.

"So you think you've got me all figured out?"

"Not yet," he murmured, gaze softening. "But I'd like to."

The words hung between you like a dare.

You leaned back in your seat, crossing your legs, testing him. "Then why don't you tell me something about yourself? Something small."

He hesitated. Not because he didn't want to, but because every answer he had was yours. Every story he could tell was tied to memories you no longer carried. 

So instead, he reached for a lie wrapped in truth. 

"I box," he said. 

You tilted your head. "Box?" 

"Yeah. Keeps me sane." he looked down, twisting his ring, a nervous habit he didn't even know he still had. "Started when I was fifteen. Got serious around twenty. It's... one of the only things I'm good at." 

"That's not true," you said quietly, before your brain caught up with your mouth. 

He looked up sharply, for a second, excited about you possibly remembering something. You blinked, confused at yourself. "I mean, you don't look like someone who only has one skill."

A small smile crept across his face. "You think I look talented, huh?" 

"I think you look like you think you're talented."

He let out a breathy laugh and pressed a hand to his chest. "Oof. Beautiful and brutal. You really haven't changed." 

You froze for a split second. 

"What?" 

"Nothing," he said quickly, waving it off. "Just... déjà vu." 

You stared at him, something prickling at the edge of your mind. That look again. Like he knew you too well for a stranger. Like he was holding a secret in his mouth, keeping it safe. 

"Alright, mysterious boxer," you said, sitting up straighter. "If we're doing this no-names thing, then I get to make up your backstory." 

He grinned. "Oh yeah?" 

"Yeah. Let's see..." you tapped your chin, pretending to study him. "You're probably a spoiled rich kid, dropped out of business school, got into the underground fighting for the thrill." 

"Interesting." 

"You can drive a car" you continued, "but you ended up with a motorbike because it makes you feel free. You say you hate attention, but you love the way people look at you."

He laughed again, but this one hurt a little. Because it was true. All of it. You were remembering pieces without knowing you were. 

"And what about you?" he asked, trying to push through the lump in his throat. "What's your story?" 

You looked down at your empty glass, suddenly quiet. 

"I don't know yet," you said, half-joking. "Still figuring it out." 

He swallowed hard.

"Then let me stick around a little," he said softly. "See how it turns out." 

You looked at him, eyes searching. Something pulled inside your chest, like the faint echo of a melody you used to dance to in the dark. 

"Okay," you said. "But no names. Just for tonight."

He smiled, genuine, heartbreakingly sweet. "Deal." 

And as the bartender slid two more drinks toward your table, San let himself fall into the lie a little deeper.  Because if he couldn't make you remember, he'd make you fall in love again. 

San had chosen the same quiet little café for your "first date", the place where you'd spent hours sipping overpriced lattes, talking about everything and nothing all at once. He'd kept it simple, just like that night. The table by the window, the soft hum of the city outside, the warm, golden glow of the café lights wrapping around the two of you like a blanket.

It was perfect, or it should have been.

He'd prepared for this moment. Everything was planned. Even the awkwardness that he had to recreate. 

But as soon as the waitress dropped off the drinks and San reached for his, he fumbled. His fingers brushed against the edge of the cup, and the entire thing tipped over.

Splash. 

The coffee spilled across the table, splashing onto his lap and soaking the front of his white shirt. San pressed his lips together, omitting the huge sigh after he managed to ruin the t-shirt you bought for him. 

On your first day, he wore one of his favorite t-shirts before he ruined it by accidentally spilling the coffee over him -which, later, would end up with one of the most touching gifts you'd ever given him: the same shirt, brand new and clean. 

He went through the same, although this time, it wasn't accidental. He spilled the coffee on purpose and he was wearing the same t-shirt you bought him. 

It had been so embarrassing the first time. The coffee had scalded him, leaving him with a red mark on his skin. You'd laughed so hard that night, teasing him endlessly as he frantically tried to clean himself up. 

But now, instead of laughing, you stood up, your face immediately flooded with worry. 

"Oh my God, San, are you okay?" you reached across the table, instinctively grabbing a napkin, your hands trembling slightly as you dabbed at the wet spots on his shirt. 

He watched you, caught between confusion and guilt. This was supposed to be fun. This was supposed to be a game. 

"You're supposed to laugh," he said with a nervous chuckle, his tone strained as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "You always laugh when I do this." 

But you didn't laugh. You were too focused on him, on making sure he wasn't hurt. 

"San, you're burning up!" you looked down at his shirt and noticed the red splotch from the coffee. The way his face twisted in discomfort made something in your chest tighten. 

"I'm fine," he lied, wiping at the coffee stain with his napkin, still trying to brush it off like it was just another part of the act. 

But when you kept leaning forward, your eyes full of concern, he felt that same vulnerability creep up on him, the one he tried so hard to bury. The one that always came to the surface when you'd showed him a kindness that had no ulterior motive.

You didn't pull back. Instead, you leaned closer, your fingers brushing against his skin as you carefully checked the burn mark, trying to gauge how serious it was. 

"Please, let me take a look at it," you said quietly, your voice shaky with worry. 

San's chest tightened, and his heart hammered in his ribcage. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was supposed to make you remember. He was supposed to recreate the fun, the banter, the way things were before. 

But instead, he felt like he was falling apart in front of you. 

"Hey, it's really nothing," he insisted, trying to pull away, but your grip tightened. 

"No, it's not nothing," you said, your voice softer now, almost as if you were reassuring yourself. "This could leave a scar. What if it gets worse? You're not fine, San." 

He finally allowed you to inspect the burn, the cool concern in your touch contrasting sharply with the heat that still lingered on his skin. It made his breath hitch, but you weren't teasing him. You weren't laughing at his clumsiness. You were genuinely worried about him.

It was so... different. It wasn't the playful teasing he remembered. It wasn't the way you used to mock him for every little thing. You were taking this seriously, as though he was the important thing at this moment. Not the game. Not the memories he was trying to recreate. 

You met his gaze, your eyes full of something, something close to panic.

"Are you sure you're okay?" you asked again, more insistent now. "Maybe you should go to the hospital and..."

"No," he interrupted, his voice tight. "I'm fine. Really. It's not as bad as it looks." 

But you didn't seem convinced, still gently dabbing at his shirt, your touch careful and concerned, the weight of your eyes never leaving him. It made him feel seen in a way he hadn't been before. The memory of that first date -the teasing, the laughter- felt like something out of a past life now, replaced by a deep, undeniable care he didn't know how to handle.

"I think we need to get you cleaned up," you said, standing up. "Come on. I'm taking you to the restroom." 

He followed you, unable to hide the tightness in his chest, the way his pulse quickened. This wasn't the same. It wasn't supposed to be like this. And yet, the way you gently guided him toward the restroom made him realize that maybe... maybe this was better. The way you worried about him, your eyes soft but full of something deeper, made him feel like he wasn't a stranger to you. Even if you couldn't remember who he was, the connection was still there. Unspoken, yet undeniable. 

When you reached the restroom, you immediately pulled paper towels from the dispenser, and as you handed him a few, your fingers brushed his.  The smallest touch sent a shiver through his spine. 

"You're not making this easy," he muttered, his voice laced with that same nervous humor he'd used to cover his discomfort, but there was no bite to it now. Just a soft, vulnerable edge.

You gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes, but it was warm, and you were still checking him over. 

"I know," you said, your voice gentle. "But I need to make sure you're okay, San." 

And for the first time since everything had shifted, since the accident, since the loss of memories, San wondered if maybe, just maybe, you were remembering him in a way he could never fully understand. 

He was disappointed at first, but not anymore. 

It was late when you both ended up outside the apartment building. He had to pretend you were guiding him when, actually, he knew the steps there by heart. He could've easily been blinded and he still would've found his way to your door. 

The city buzzed quietly around you, muted streetlights casting gold halos across the wet pavement, the air still damp from an earlier drizzle. San walked beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulder brushing against yours every few steps.

He was quiet. 

You were too. 

The kind of silence that felt almost sacred. Like something was waiting to happen. 

He'd walked you home. Just like that first night. After coffee and ruined shirts, after shy smiles and missed glances, he'd done exactly what he did all those years ago: offered to walk you back, pretending it was "just in case." Pretending he wasn't already hopelessly caught in your orbit. 

But this time, the orbit felt unfamiliar to you. You didn't recognize the gravity between you. Not logically. 

Only emotionally. 

There was something there. Something unspoken.

You reached the front steps, turning to face him, and he stopped just a breath too close. He looked at you the same way he had back then, like he was trying to memorize your features, like the weight of the moment sat heavy on his chest. 

"I'm not gonna ask to come up," he said softly, almost repeating the words he'd used the first time. "That's not how I do things."

You tilted your head. "But you want to come up, don't you?"

A small, surprised smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah. But... Eventually."

"Eventually... That means you're confident on a second date" you teased him. 

"I know there will be"

You both laughed, gently, though yours was more confused than amused. Something about that vibe felt familiar, like you had lived it before. Although you couldn't tell. Not clearly. It was like catching pieces of a dream you weren't sure you'd had. But the way your body reacted to him -how your heart raced, how the tips of your fingers tingled when he stepped a little closer- it made it hard to ignore the sense of déjà vu. 

He licked his lips, suddenly nervous. 

His mind started flooding with memories from that night. He kissed you for the first time there, while you were leaning against the railing, with that half-smile that always drove him crazy. A smile that told him you already knew what was about to happen, but you were just waiting to know if he dared to do it. 

He blinked at you, caught between then and now. Because you were the same person, but your eyes were sparkling differently from that night. There was something in your vibe that told him you weren't with him. Not completely. 

"I wish I could kiss you right now" he whispered out loud. 

And then, softly: "You wish... Is there something stopping you?"

His breath caught.

God, he wanted to. He wanted to lean in and kiss you exactly the way he had that night, slow and reckless, like he had nothing to lose. But this wasn't that night. This wasn't you. Not really. You didn't remember the tension, the stolen glances, the anticipation that had built up between you back then. 

You were looking at him with new eyes. 

And still...

You hadn't pulled away. 

He raised his hand slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. His fingers grazed your jaw, tentative, reverent, like he was afraid he might scare you off. You leaned into his touch instinctively, and that one simple motion shattered something in him. 

So he whispered, "I'm going to kiss you now," and you nodded before he even finished the sentence. 

The kiss wasn't like the first time. 

It wasn't playful. It wasn't bold. 

It was quiet. 

Tender.

A question instead of a declaration.

San kissed you like he was saying please remember me, and you kissed him back like you were saying I don't, but I feel you anyway. 

Your hands found his jacket, gripping the fabric just slightly, like you needed something to hold onto. His thumb brushed against your cheek. You melted into him, the city and the night and the world dissolving around the pressure of his mouth on yours. 

And when he finally pulled back -breathless, eyes wide and glassy- you stayed close, your forehead pressing against his, like it was the only place in the world that made sense. 

"That didn't feel new," you whispered, your voice soft and trembling. "That felt like... like I've done it a thousand times before." 

San let out a broken laugh, one that sounded suspiciously like a choked sob.

"You have," he whispered back. "You have." 

And for the first time, he let go of the script. Stopped trying to make you remember by recreating the past. 

"I mean, maybe... you dreamed about it" he corrected himself quickly, as soon as he was aware of the confused look. 

San sat at the end of the table, eyes fixed on the untouched glass of beer in front of him. The bar was the same. The booth was the same. Even the playlist hadn't changed much, still throwing out old songs that reminded him of shared nights, loud laughter, your hand under the table laced in his. 

But this time... your seat was empty. 

"You did it?" Wooyoung asked quietly from across the table, voice careful not to trigger whatever thread was barely holding San together. "You brought her here again?" 

San didn't respond right away. He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled slowly, the breath shaky and uneven. "It's where we used to hang out all the time. If there's a chance it triggers something..." 

Yunho leaned forward, concern etched into every line of his face. "You can't keep doing this to yourself, man." 

"I'm not doing this for me," San said too quickly, then caught himself. 

He was. Of course he was. 

He needed you to remember -not just for you, but because he didn't know who he was without you. And this version of you, this distant version who looked at him like he was just another charming stranger, it was slowly unraveling him.

"She used to sit right there," San muttered, tapping the empty cushion beside him with his knuckle. "She'd steal fries off my plate even though she ordered her own. Called it a 'tax for good company.'" 

The group chuckled softly, but no one really smiled.

"She used to kick me under the table when I made bad jokes," San went on, his voice cracking ever so slightly. "And whenever someone flirted with me, she'd hold my hand tighter. Not because she was jealous. Just to remind me she was there. And now..." 

He looked up suddenly, eyes rimmed with red.

"She is here," he whispered, "but she's not. She doesn't know she was my everything." 

No one spoke. Mingi reached out first, a quiet hand on San's shoulder. Seonghwa slid his beer across the table without a word, just as he had the night San told them you were in the hospital.

"I brought her here last night," San continued, staring ahead like he was talking to someone far away. "Sat in this exact spot. Tried to recreate the night we celebrated her getting that job at the museum. Even told the waiter it was her promotion night again. He just looked at me like I was insane, and I had to tell her it was an excuse to get a discount."

He laughed bitterly.

"She smiled at everyone but me." 

Another beat of silence passed. 

"Why don't you just tell her?" Yeosang asked quietly. "Tell her who you are. What you were to her." 

San shook his head violently, the muscles in his jaw twitching. "Because if she really doesn't remember... then it's not her choice to love me again. It's just pressure. A story she doesn't recognize. She deserves to choose me. Even if it means she doesn't choose me." 

His voice broke completely on the last word. No one had seen San cry in years, not like this. Not with his head down, fists clenched, eyes burning with grief that hadn't found closure.

Wooyoung reached across the table and grabbed his hand, squeezing once.

"We'll help you," he said quietly. "Whatever memory you want to bring back, whatever moment you need to recreate next... we've got you. Even if she doesn't remember yet, we do." 

San swallowed hard.

His voice was hoarse when he whispered, "The picnic. The one in spring. With the wildflowers."

Yunho blinked. "The one where you both got locked out of the car and had to hitchhike back?" 

San gave a weak laugh through the tears. "Yeah. That one."

The friends all exchanged looks.

"God, she teased you for weeks after that," Mingi smiled. 

San's eyes turned to the door. "I just need to see her laugh like that again." 

The air was soft with spring, the kind of day where sunlight filtered through a pale blue sky and the breeze carried the scent of blooming grass. A wide field stretched out before them, dotted with patches of wildflowers that danced like secrets on the wind. 

San laid the blanket down carefully, pressing the corners with rocks just like he remembered. Every detail had been replicated: the chipped thermos filled with cold brew, the half-burnt cinnamon muffins, the little Bluetooth speaker already playing the playlist he'd made for you back then. Even the weather was working in his favor like the universe just wanted things to work out. 

He glanced toward you as you stepped barefoot on the blanket, your shoes left somewhere in the grass. You looked peaceful -curious, but peaceful. 

"This is... beautiful," you murmured, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Feels like déjà vu." 

San smiled, carefully setting down the sandwiches. "You... I mean, a friend said that exact same thing I brought him here." he lied.  

You looked up. "Really?" 

"Hmm." he plopped down across from you, legs crossed and heart pounding. "Y.... He also told me I'd probably forget the sunscreen and get a sunburn on just my nose."

You paused. "...Did you?"

He pointed to his nose with a sheepish grin. "Roasted like a marshmallow." 

But it wasn't any friend, it was you who warned him, and it was you who started teasing him for looking all red for days. 

A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it, and his heart ached at the sound. That laugh. That warmth. It was like watching the sun through fog. But something else was happening too, little things.

You hummed along to a song playing through the speaker, one that wasn't particularly popular. San had added it to the playlist on a whim, years ago. You shouldn't have recognized it. 

For a moment, it felt like everything was working out. Like he was making a good job on just reliving everything that happened. 

But then... the keys. 

He was about to whine about the car being locked out, but you stopped him before he could, swinging the keys in your hand up in the air. 

As he stood to throw away a crumpled napkin shortly after you arrived, you casually reached into the open car door and plucked the keys from the ignition where he'd left them hanging. You didn't even look twice. Just dropped them into your bag like it was second nature. 

San froze, confused about the sound. Confused about the fact that you had picked them up. 

"Hey," he said slowly, cautiously, "why'd you grab the keys?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"The keys," he repeated, nodding toward your bag. "You took them out of the car."

You hesitated, frowning faintly. "Oh. I don't know. Just... reflex, I guess."

San's chest tightened.

Because last time -back then- you hadn't grabbed them. He'd left them in the ignition, and you'd both realized hours later, after the car locked itself automatically. It was the beginning of a mini-disaster -your phone was dead, his had no signal, and the two of you ended up hitchhiking back with a couple of old farmers and a trunk full of potatoes.

It had been the most ridiculous, uncomfortable, hilarious afternoon of his life.

And now -this time- you had stopped it from happening. Without realizing. Without remembering. 

Something in you had changed the outcome. 

"Are you okay?" you asked suddenly, your eyes scanning his face. 

San quickly shook himself back to the moment, forcing a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, I just... I was kind of looking forward to getting locked out again." 

You tilted your head. "Again?"

He grinned, half-teasing, half-choked with emotion. That was the first time you held his hand for more than five seconds without making a joke about his rings. But now that chance was gone. 

"I mean... getting locked out. That's it. Not again"

You stared at him, lips parted, like you didn't know whether to laugh or ask questions. 

But you didn't ask. Not yet. 

Instead, you reached out and grabbed his hand, quietly, gently. No jokes. No teasing. Just fingers threading through his, like you'd done it a hundred times before.

San swallowed hard and looked away, blinking back the sting behind his eyes.

"I really like being around you," you said softly, thumb brushing over his knuckles. "It's strange... but comfortable. Like... like I've missed you, even though I don't know you."

And with that, the tension in his shoulders gave out.

He didn't say anything.

He just nodded, eyes closed, clutching your hand like it was the only tether he had left.

"You don't need to lock us out of the car for us to spend more time together" and there it was, the teasing. "You should just... ask".

The sun had dipped below the hills after they both had finally chosen to stay there, painting the sky in deep purples and sleepy oranges. What began as an afternoon picnic had slowly turned into an evening spent inside the car, warm and close, with music playing softly in the background and empty snack wrappers strewn across the dash. 

San sat in the passenger seat, one leg propped up, his shoulder brushing against yours every time he shifted. Outside, the air had cooled, the windows fogged slightly with your breath and the temperature drop, casting a soft haze over the world beyond. 

You were both laughing, genuine and unfiltered.

"I still can't believe you tried to impress your professor with a meme," you giggled, hugging your knees to your chest. 

San groaned, burying his face in his hands. "It was intellectual humor. I was ahead of my time!" 

You nudged him, and he looked over -smiling, disarmed. 

He knew all your stories by heart, he swore he could tell them by himself. But he just loved hearing them from you again. 

There was something different in the air now.

The kind of quiet that only comes after hours of sharing too much. The kind where words run out, and the silence doesn't feel awkward. It feels close. 

The car had grown dark. Only the faint glow of the overhead light lingered, and the soft ambient music, now long into the playlist's more intimate side, filled the small space with low, lazy beats. 

Your gaze lingered on his profile.

Something in the way he looked that night -quiet, open, raw- pulled at something deep in you. Maybe it was the soft rasp of his voice. Maybe it was the way he looked at you like he'd seen this moment before, and had been waiting for it to happen all over again. 

You didn't speak as your hand reached for his.

He took it like he always had -with ease, like it was second nature. Like your fingers belonged between his.

"I don't really understand what's happening between us," you whispered, voice barely audible over the music. "But I don't want it to stop." 

San's breath caught. 

He turned toward you slowly, his expression unreadable for a moment -like he was caught between joy and heartbreak. 

"You don't have to understand it," he said softly, "just... stay in it." 

You nodded. "Okay." 

And then you kissed him. Not like strangers. Not like it was new. But like your mouth remembered the shape of his. Like your body leaned into his not with curiosity, but with longing that had been stitched into your bones. 

San sighed against your lips, his hand cradling your face like he was scared you might disappear if he let go. The kiss deepened slowly -lazy, warm, like hours of conversation had been leading to this single moment of surrender. 

Without a word, he climbed into the backseat, pulling you gently with him. Limbs tangled, laughter hushed as you maneuvered into the cramped space. The cold pressed against the windows while your bodies grew warmer. 

Clothes slipped away in pieces, not rushed -felt. And you didn't feel shy, you didn't feel nervous when his eyes fell over your bare breasts, because the comfort mixed with a familiarity you weren't sure how to handle. 

Good lord, he loved the way you always arched for him. 

San cupped your breasts, his thumbs momentarily twirling around your nipples as he leaned down to kiss you again. Your tongues tangled together, and the taste was so intoxicating but pleasant that you could only find yourself holding onto him even tighter. 

"It's the first time I like the taste of cigarettes so bad" you admitted out of breath with a smirk. 

His hands mapped your skin like it was familiar ground, his mouth following with reverence. He didn't worship you like someone new -he remembered you, in every soft kiss down your neck, every pause where he just looked. 

His lips went back to yours, crashing against your mouth as he dragged you on his lap, arms wrapped around your waist. 

I love you. I love you. I love you. 

His mind kept screaming, but he kept his lips sealed, forcing the kiss to grow even rougher as a way to keep those words from slipping and scare you away. 

"Wait... Let me..." you broke the kiss, trying to readjust yourself on top of him. 

Neither of you could help but giggle the moment you looked into each other's eyes as you shifted on his lap. 

With a hand on your neck, he pulled you into a new kiss, making sure his arms around you kept your bodies glued to each other. He groaned into the kiss when he felt your hand slipping in between your bodies to redirect him to your wet channel, both of you moaning as you pushed him into you the moment you lowered your hips. 

You weren't in love with him. Not yet. But your body moved like it still was. 

Your hips met his with the perfect depth and synch, like the two of you were dancing to a dance you had practiced several times before. 

And you had. 

San couldn't move his eyes away from you. His arms remained wrapped around your waist, just enough to pull your torso close to him and have his lips closing around one of your nipples, one hand teasing the other, while his free hand squeezed a spot below your ribs that made you squirm and moan. 

It was like he had studied your body, like his only aim was to make you feel good. 

"San" you moaned with a cracked whine. 

He swore he was going insane. He flipped the two of you over the backseat, resting his body in between your legs to pound into you, to angle his hips and make you lose control of your own body. One of your hands was on the window, the other on his shoulder. Yet he needed more. 

With a rough movement, he moved your hand away from the window to place it over his face. "Touch me, Y/n. I need your hands on me" he almost begged. 

And for that one night, in the backseat under a thousand quiet stars, San let himself fall again. Silently. Without hope or demand. Just the sweetness of closeness, of skin on skin, of your breath in his ear whispering his name like it still meant something. 

When it was over, tangled together under the soft cotton of his jacket, you fell asleep on his chest, heart steady against his. San didn't sleep. He just held you, eyes fixed on the ceiling of the car, wondering how long he could keep pretending that fate would give you back to him. 

For the first time, San didn't feel like recreating everything that happened between you two. It wasn't necessary. He was so caught up in taking the old you back, that he forgot about the possibility of him falling for you all over again under a whole different circumstance. 

Your relationship was bound to happen again. 

The next morning, the sun rose quietly. It didn't burst into the sky -it crept. Gentle and gold, seeping through the fogged windows of the car in soft beams that filtered across tangled limbs and rumpled jackets. 

You stirred first.

Your cheek was pressed against the bare skin of San's chest, rising and falling with every slow breath he took. His arms were still around you, protective and steady, and his heartbeat -low and calm- drummed beneath your ear.

You didn't move.

There was something safe about this. About waking up here, wrapped in a warmth that didn't feel foreign. Even though it should have. 

Your fingers shifted slightly, brushing against his ribs, and he tightened his hold just a little, as if even in sleep, he was scared you'd slip away. 

San was awake. 

He had been for a while. 

He hadn't moved, hadn't spoken. Just breathed you in and let the silence hold him. Let the weight of your body against his lull the ache in his chest to something soft, something tolerable. But even in this dreamlike calm, he knew it wasn't real. 

You didn't know him. 

Not really. 

Not the way you used to. 

Still, when you tilted your face up and blinked sleepily at him, your mouth barely parted, skin still kissed by the warmth of last night, San let himself pretend. Just for a second. 

"Hi," you whispered. 

His heart squeezed. "Hey." 

A quiet smile tugged at your lips. "Did we actually...?" 

He gave a soft laugh. "Hmm. We did." 

You leaned back slightly, your eyes scanning his features. The messy hair. The tired eyes. The little indent on his lower lip where he always bit when nervous. "I don't usually do that." 

"I know," he said gently, gaze never leaving yours. 

There was something in the way he said it -too sure, too knowing-, but before you could question it, he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His fingertips lingered on your cheek. 

"You're cold," he murmured. 

"I'm not," you replied, but you didn't stop him when he pulled his hoodie over your head and helped you into it, even though it was far too big and still smelled like him. 

You let yourself curl into his side again as if you'd done it before. Like you knew how. 

Outside, the world was waking up: birds calling through the trees, the breeze rustling through tall grass. But inside the car, time was still. The windows glowed softly with morning light. Neither of you spoke for a long while. 

Eventually, you tilted your head toward him again. "I feel like I'm always a step behind around you." 

San swallowed. "What do you mean?" 

You shrugged, fingers absently tracing the tattoo on his arm. "Like you know something I don't. Like... I'm supposed to understand all this, and I just... don't." 

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he turned his face toward the window, eyes catching the sunlight like it might burn away the truth if he held it too long. 

"I guess," he said slowly, "some things just need time." 

You nodded, even if you didn't really understand. "Is it crazy that I trust you?" 

"No," San replied, his voice so soft it could have shattered. "Not crazy at all." 

And in that moment, you reached out and laced your fingers through his again.

No questions. No demands. 

Just skin on skin. A touch that said, I don't remember, but this feels right. 

San closed his eyes and let himself stay in the dream for one moment longer. 

The theater was quiet.

Not empty, just quiet. One of those midweek showings where only a handful of people were scattered across the seats, too far to hear or care what anyone else was doing. 

You sat next to San with a bucket of popcorn balanced between you and the sleeve of your drink pressed against your thigh. The previews flickered across the screen, too loud, too flashy, but neither of you really cared what movie was playing. 

He'd picked the film. Something fun. Light. Familiar. But you kept sneaking glances at him instead of watching. 

He looked different in the darkness. More relaxed. A little slouched. His beanie pulled low and a soft flannel shirt hanging open over his tee. It was almost domestic, comforting, the way he sat beside you like he'd done it a hundred times. 

Maybe he had. 

You just didn't know it. 

While the next trailer blared on screen, San leaned forward, checking his phone. Probably a text from a friend -you hadn't met any of them yet, but he talked about them often. Warmly. 

He always spoke like there were pieces of you in his stories, but never named them. 

You glanced over casually... and paused. 

His phone was dim, but not enough to miss it. There you were, on his screen. His lockscreen. It was a photo of you in the sun, squinting at the camera, wearing sunglasses perched lazily on your nose and a soft smile playing on your lips. You looked free. Happy. Head tilted back slightly like you'd just been laughing at something he said. 

But you had no memory of it.

You didn't remember the shirt you were wearing. Or where you were. Or him being there. 

Your chest tightened, breath caught somewhere high in your throat. 

It was just a photo. But it was proof of something bigger, something you couldn't quite reach.

"You okay?" he asked suddenly, turning to look at you. 

You blinked, startled. He must have seen your face. Or maybe the way you were staring at his phone a second too long. 

You nodded quickly, brushing it off. "Yeah. Just... tired." 

He didn't press, but you could feel it. That slight shift in his posture. That tension in the air like he knew you'd seen too much. Or maybe... not enough. 

He slipped his phone into his pocket and reached out, his hand brushing yours between the armrests. When you didn't pull away, he linked your fingers gently, grounding you with the warmth of his palm. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder. He smelled like something soft and earthy. Familiar. Like you'd worn his hoodie once, weeks ago, and the scent had never left your skin. 

"I like being with you," you murmured, almost a whisper.

San's grip tightened ever so slightly.

"I like being with you too," he said, voice hushed, almost cracking.

Neither of you watched the movie. You just sat in the dark, wrapped in something fragile and unnamed, with your face on his lockscreen and a hundred memories you couldn't see, but were somehow starting to feel. 

After the movie ended, you both chose to take your love somewhere else. 

You were back at your apartment now, San leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping on that awful canned iced coffee he swore by, while you sat cross-legged on the couch, scrolling through your phone. 

He was telling you a story, something about a prank his friend -Yeosang- had pulled at a wedding. It was strange, telling you a story you were once part of, as if you had never been there. But he had grown used to it. 

But your mind wasn't really on it, because the image had stuck with you.

The lockscreen. 

That photo of you on his phone. 

You chewed your lip and finally cleared your throat. "Can... can I ask you something?" 

San stilled, the can pausing mid-air. "Sure." 

You stood, walked to him slowly, and held out your hand. "Your phone." 

His brows lifted. "Why?" 

"Just wanna see something." 

He hesitated, just for a second, before unlocking it and handing it over. You navigated to the lockscreen, pulling it up again. Your heart gave a strange little flutter.

"This picture..." you started softly, holding it out between you. "Where did you find this?" 

San looked down at the screen like it was something fragile. His thumb twitched against the seam of his jeans. 

"That was... I scrolled through your social media, and I found it" his voice was careful while he came up with a lie. "I thought you looked great, so I just... took it. I can change it if it makes you uncomfortable."

"No, it's just... I was surprised after seeing myself on your phone" you admitted. "I didn't expect it".  

He nodded. "You don't mind it?"

You frowned slightly. "No. I actually look good" you teased with a chuckle. "I look happy there".

San swallowed hard, his gaze lowering as he murmured. "You were."

You studied his face for a long moment. Then your lips curved upward, just a little. "Your taste in screensavers is nice, I guess." 

He let out a soft chuckle, but the sound didn't quite reach his eyes. 

"Funny, though," you added, unlocking your own phone. "Mine's kind of similar." 

You turned your screen toward him. It was a photo of a man's back -broad shoulders, hair messy in the wind, walking just ahead of you. The setting sun behind him made it hard to see clearly, but the place... it was the same river. The same wildflowers. The same time of year. 

San stared at it. Everything in him stilled.

"That's... a coincidence," he said, voice almost too calm.

You nodded slowly. "Guess so."

But neither of you said anything for a while.

You left the photo up a little longer, as if trying to feel something stir in your chest. Some sense of connection. But all you felt was the silence between you -quiet, waiting, fragile.

Then San smiled softly, stepping forward and brushing your hair behind your ear.

"Maybe we just like the same places," he said gently. 

You tilted your head, searching his face. "Maybe." 

But as you leaned into his touch, your hand brushing lightly against his chest, you couldn't shake the strange flutter in your ribs, like a memory had tried to surface, only to slip beneath the water again.

"It was the lockscreen I had when I woke up" you frowned. 

San froze when he heard that confession, but he remained silent, waiting for you to speak, waiting for the next thing you'd say. 

"I haven't told you before... Well, it isn't something I go around telling" you nervously chuckled. "Some months ago... I had an accident. A pretty bad accident. I was in a coma for a few weeks, and when I woke up my mind was completely blank from the past five years and on. I didn't recognize my friends, or my workplace... I didn't even expect to be living here. But, somehow, that lockscreen was the only thing that made sense and gave me calm when everything was upside down. And it’s ridiculous, because I can’t see his face, or know who he is, but it just makes me… feel relaxed. Like nothing will be wrong". 

San felt his lip trembling. For the first time in weeks, he felt guilty. Because he left you alone when you needed support, because he abandoned you when you needed guidance, only because he was scared of his own feelings when you looked at him differently. And now, he was scared of how you’d react when you remembered things. 

"Why are you crying?" you scoffed, feeling your own eyes filling up with tears. 

"Oh?" he asked, brushing the reverse of his fingers against his cheeks, finding them wet. 

"You aren't feeling sorry for me, aren't you?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

"Never, bunny". 

The nickname slipped from his lips before he could hold it back. And he noticed, the flash of surprise, the sparkle in you eyes under the tears. 

That nickname stirred something in you. 

"Bunny?" 

He remembered the way you’d always jump around when excited, the way you’d make small jumps instead of just walking or running, and that nickname made complete sense for him back in the day. 

"It's a nickname. It just... slipped out" 

"I like it" you confessed with a giggle. 

The sun was dipping low behind the skyline as San waited outside your office building.

He leaned casually against his Jeep, black hoodie pulled over his head, one boot crossed over the other as he scrolled through his phone. To anyone passing by, he looked like someone killing time -apathetic, detached.

But his thumb hadn't moved in two minutes, because his entire body was tense. Stomach in knots. Eyes flicking toward the doors every few seconds.

You were running late.

Again.

Which gave his mind far too much time to spiral.

He hadn't expected this part to hurt so much. Watching you build new routines that didn't have him in them. Smiling at strangers, coming out of buildings he'd waited for you a hundred times before -when he was your boyfriend, your ride home, your safe place. Now he was just... someone you were getting to know. And that should've been enough, except today, it almost wasn't. 

"San?" a familiar voice called.

He stiffened. His eyes snapped toward the sound, heart dropping like a stone.

It was one of your coworkers. Julie, maybe? He vaguely remembered her from a few parties, or maybe your birthday dinner. The two of you had once danced together after too much wine. She had no filter and a memory like a vault. 

She approached, smiling wide. "Oh my God, it is you! Wow. It's been a while. Y/n didn't say you were picking her up today... Are you two back together?" 

San felt his blood turn cold.

His mouth opened, then closed again. "I... uh..."

"She looked so lost after the accident," Julie kept going, oblivious. "But I always had a feeling you'd come back. You two were like..." 

"Hey, sorry," San cut in suddenly, eyes locked on the entrance.

You were walking out. Right. Now.

Shit.

"Can we not... talk about this right now?" he muttered, voice urgent but polite, already stepping away. 

Julie blinked, confused. "What? Wait, aren't you...?"

"I'll text you," he said quickly, already turning his back.

And then he was moving, crossing the pavement fast, intercepting you before your eyes could sweep over to Julie's side of the street.

"There you are," he said with a practiced smile, pulling open the passenger door. "Rough day?"

You blinked at the sudden warmth, distracted by the way he touched your lower back, guiding you gently into the car like he'd done it a thousand times.

"Exhausting," you muttered as you slid in.

He rounded the Jeep fast, hands tight on the steering wheel by the time he started the engine. You didn't notice the way he was breathing just a little too fast. Or how he double-checked his mirrors like he wasn't just looking for traffic, but watching to see if someone was still standing nearby.

"How was your day?" you asked casually.

San gave a small, breathless laugh.

"Almost perfect."

The drive was silent for a few minutes, until you broke the silence again, curiously looking at him while turning your body to him. 

"Do you know Julie?"

"What?" he nervously eyed you, his glance on you lasted less than two seconds. 

"Julie, you were talking to her before I got out"

San sighed, trying to come up with an explanation. "Oh, yeah. She's a friend of a friend. It's been a long time since I saw her last". 

Before you could ask more about it, he rushed to come up with a new topic that would distract you from the fact that he knew your coworker. And he breathed out, relieved, when you didn't fight back as you played along with his conversation. 

Three weeks slipped by like honey in warm tea -slow, golden, and somehow too sweet to be real. You and San weren't official, but something between you had rooted itself deep. You texted constantly, called often. He picked you up from work most days. You spent weekends together now: grocery shopping like old lovers, laughing too loudly in parks, falling asleep on his shoulder without even realizing it. 

And still... you never asked. Never pried about the way he knew exactly how you liked your coffee, or how his hand found yours in the dark before you could even reach. Just like you didn't ask why he was so against you meeting his friends, or how he didn't want to meet yours. At some point, you just assumed he didn't have any, and he just was too embarrassed to admit it.  Just like you accepted he was more of a homebody than someone who went out and about, since most of your dates were either in places with barely anyone around or in either of your houses. 

You didn't know why you didn't ask, maybe you were afraid of the answer.

That night, and after too much arguing, you finally managed to convince San on going out. The pub looked just like you remembered it: old brick walls, low golden lights, the constant hum of music and conversation thick in the air. 

"Déjà vu," you said, stepping in beside him. "This place feels... familiar. And I don't mean it because of the day you brought me here a few weeks ago."

San smiled, a little sad, a little hopeful. "It should." 

You glanced up at him, eyes narrowed. "Why?" 

He shrugged like it didn't matter. "It's just the kind of place that feels like a memory." 

You were led to the same table. Same corner. Same view of the bar. San even ordered the same drinks for you both, though you didn't notice that part. You were too busy scanning the room, trying to place this strange pull in your chest. 

"Have you been here a lot?" you asked. 

He took a sip of his beer, staring at the spot where, once upon a time, he'd stepped in to save you from a stranger's wandering hands. "A few times before" he said "and it kind of stuck with me."  

You smiled. "Because of the atmosphere?" 

He met your eyes. "Because of the person I came with." 

Your gaze faltered at the heat behind his words. You swallowed hard, suddenly shy. "She must've been special." 

"She still is."

You laughed awkwardly, not sure how to reply to that -if you were misreading the moment or if he meant exactly what your gut whispered he did. 

"Hey," you said, trying to shift the tone. "You keep saying all these mysterious, romantic things and then changing the subject. Should I be worried you're secretly married or something?" 

San grinned, but it was the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm not married." 

"But?" 

"But some things are hard to explain." 

You nodded slowly, reaching for your drink. "Well... I guess I don't need everything explained. Not if it keeps feeling like this." 

He looked up sharply at that. 

"Like what?" he asked. 

You hesitated.

"Like I've done all this before," you said quietly. "With you."

And San -heart breaking and healing all at once- only whispered back:

"You have." 

But you didn't hear it. Or maybe you just didn't let yourself.

So you smiled again, tilting your glass toward his with a playful smirk. "To familiar strangers."

San clinked his glass against yours. And for a moment, everything in him screamed to tell you the truth. But instead, he just said: 

"To second chances." 

As the night went on, you had shifted in the booth beside San, your hand brushing his every now and then, and neither of you moved it away. The world felt slower tonight, like it was holding its breath around you. 

The conversation had dipped into quiet comfort when a voice sliced through it, casual and familiar: 

"San?"

He turned quickly. A tall man with honey-blond hair and a denim jacket was approaching with a grin, Mitchell. You didn't recognize him, but the smile on his face said he recognized you.

And worse, he knew you.

"Dude! I didn't know you two were back together!" Mitchell laughed as he reached them, clapping San on the shoulder before turning toward you. "Y/n, you look good! How's your head, by the way? That whole accident thing was a shock for everyone..."

"Hey," San said sharply.

His voice was low. Controlled. But his hand gripped Mitchell's arm with a pressure that meant stop talking now. He blinked, confused.

You glanced between them, eyes narrowing slightly.

"Sorry, do I... know you?" you asked, trying to place the man's face.

Mitchell looked stunned for a beat. Then opened his mouth again to speak, but he was interrupted before he could make a sound. 

"She's not who you think," San cut in, voice firmer now. "You're probably confusing her with someone else." 

Mitchell's eyebrows shot up.

"What? San..."

San stepped closer to him, almost blocking you from view. "Drop it," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Please."

Mitchell froze.

And in that moment, something passed between them -something heavy, like grief and fear woven together. Then, after a pause too long to be casual, Mitchell gave a tight smile.

"Oh," he said finally, turning toward you. "My bad. You just... reminded me of someone. Sorry about that."

You laughed softly, but something about the exchange had stiffened your spine. "No worries. I get that a lot, apparently."

San's hand slid to the small of your back. Warm. Protective. A silent plea not to ask more.

You didn't.

Not really.

But as Mitchell waved goodbye and disappeared into the crowd, you glanced up at San with a quiet curiosity in your eyes.

"Is he an old friend?"

San smiled gently, like nothing had just happened. "Yeah. Known him for a long time."

You nodded slowly. "He seemed... surprised to see us together."

There was a pause. Just for a breath.

"Guess I surprise people sometimes."

"How did he know... about the accident though?" you furrowed your eyebrows, looking at him cautiously. 

"It's... that other person had a light accident, too. It's just a coincidence". 

A coincidence, again. 

You watched him a second longer before looking away. The conversation moved on, but the moment stayed with you. Like a thread you weren't quite ready to pull.

Actually, neither of you brought up that conversation for the rest of the night, not even when you were back in his place, like you always did with all the small details. You usually shrugged them off, swiped them off the carpet and forgot about them. But there were too many coincidences not to notice the huge bulge under the carpet in the middle of the living room. 

The room was quiet, too quiet. 

San's arm lay across your waist, his breath feathering warm against your shoulder, the rhythm steady, soothing. But your mind was anything but. 

Even in the dark, the memories -or lack of them- pulsed behind your eyes. You could feel the shadows of things just out of reach, a phantom touch on your hand before you moved. The way he smiled when he thought you weren't looking, the moments where you caught him watching you like you were something lost and he didn't know how to let go.

Your fingers grazed over the sheet as you slowly shifted his arm off your waist. He mumbled something incoherent, but didn't wake.

Barefoot and quiet, you slipped out of the bed and stood in the middle of the room, arms crossing over your chest, heart pounding like a second heartbeat.

Mitchell's voice rang in your ears."That whole accident thing was a shock for everyone..."

Another accident, where the main person also got hit on the head. 

"Back together".

And San's eyes, how fast they had darkened. How quickly he had shut it all down.

The question you'd buried for weeks finally pushed its way to the surface: Was he hiding something? Or someone?

Your stomach churned. What if he had a girlfriend he wasn't telling you about? What if this whole time, this strange intimacy you'd fallen into with him wasn't yours to fall into?

You were pacing in the dark before you realized it, your steps soundless on the cool floor. Back and forth. Breath uneven. Thoughts louder than your heart could handle. And then... thud.

You stumbled as your foot collided with something under the edge of the shelf in his living room. Bending down, your fingers found the edge of a small wooden box: worn, heavy with the kind of weight that wasn't just physical. There was something sacred about it. You shouldn't have opened it, but you did.

Inside were pieces of a life that didn't belong to you. And yet, they did.

A photo lay at the top. You, smiling in a way you'd never seen in the mirror. Your cheeks flushed, your hands cupping San's face like he was the only thing that existed. His eyes were shut in the photo, a smile tugging at his lips. Pure joy.

Your breath hitched.

Beneath it were dozens more. A photo booth strip of four blurry, laughing frames, a candid of you asleep against his shoulder, a selfie with his nose pressed to your neck, his eyes closed, and a faint lipstick mark on his cheek, you found one where your friends where also in the picture -and, by the way Yeosang was hugging San, you could tell they were close. And then, at the bottom, you found a familiar photo that made your stomach turn. You were wearing the exact same outfit of the picture he had as his lockscreen, and he was wearing the same clothes as the man in yours, same background... The only difference was that, this time, you two were together, kissing. 

You didn't remember any of them. But your heart... did. Then, tucked beneath the photos, letters.

You picked up the top one. Unfolded it with trembling fingers. It wasn't long.

You forgot me.

I smiled through it. You said "nice to meet you" like it was nothing.

It almost killed me.

But I'll wait.

I'll wait forever if it means you'll smile at me like you used to.

Your vision blurred. You blinked quickly. 

There were more. Pages of thoughts, of love, of ache. Some had dates, weeks ago. Some looked like they'd been written the day of your accident. One had a smear in the ink. A tear, maybe.

Day 9.

They said you might be able to hear me. So I'm here. Again.

I haven't left, not really. I go home to shower, sometimes. Eat if I remember. But I'm always back before sunset, just in case you wake up and wonder where I am.

I should've driven slower. I should've seen the turn. I should've...

You wouldn't be here if it weren't for me.

I replay it in my head every time I close my eyes. Your voice. The sound. The silence after.

I hold your hand and pretend you're just sleeping.

I talk to you like you'll answer.

Sometimes I pretend you do.

Everyone says to give it time. That you're strong.

But I know you're tired.

If you hear this, if anything inside you still remembers me, please, just come back.

I'll start everything over. I'll do it right this time.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Come home.

Your breath came in shallow bursts. Your knees buckled. It was like everything was turning around you the more you read. 

Day 37.

You opened your eyes today.

I should be there. God, I want to be there. But I can't. Not yet.

They told me you didn't ask for me.

That you didn't recognize anyone.

And I know it's not your fault.

I know it's the injury, the trauma, the healing.

But it felt like the last piece of me cracked open when I heard it.

How do I look at you and pretend we're strangers?

How do I sit beside you and not touch you the way I used to?

How do I call you Y/n when every part of me still aches to say baby?

I've spent weeks memorizing our history in case I had to remind you of it.

But now... I don't know if you even want to remember.

I'm scared. Not of losing you.

I'm scared you've already let me go.

Maybe I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe I'll walk past your door and keep going.

But I'll always be waiting, just in case something in you still knows me.

The box fell from your hands as you lost the last bit of strength to keep reading, the pictures scattered at your feet like a life spilled out. 

You were the girlfriend.

You had been his.

He hadn't just found you by coincidence. He had been waiting. Recreating. Hoping.

A quiet sound behind you broke the silence. Then his voice -rough with sleep, confusion curling in its edges.

"Y/n...?"

You didn't turn around, you couldn't. Not yet. 

San stopped, reaching for the switch to turn on the lights, wishing he had never done it in the first place. All the pictures he tried to hide were around your feet, all the contents of the box were exposed. "Baby?"

Your fingers curled around the corner of a photo -your face in it, laughing so hard your eyes had shut. San had his arm around your neck, tugging you against him like he never wanted to let go. The kind of moment that couldn't be staged.

Slowly, you turned. He was halfway inside the living room, shirtless, hair tousled, his eyes going from sleepy to wide open the second he saw what you were holding.

His mouth parted. But no words came out.

And then you whispered: "...It was me."

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just looked at you like everything he had worked so hard to bury had been laid bare, and now, there was nowhere left to hide.

You looked down at the photo again, your fingers brushed the smile you didn't remember, but somehow still felt. 

"I was the one you were waiting for."

His throat bobbed. You were crying now, but it didn't feel heavy. It felt like truth cracking open, like light breaking in. 

"Why didn't you just tell me?" you whispered. 

San swallowed hard. And finally, he stepped forward -eyes burning, voice trembling, as he stopped right in front of you. 

"Because if I told you the truth..." he reached for your hand -hesitated- then wrapped his fingers around it, pressing it to his chest. "...I was terrified you wouldn't want to come back."

You didn't look at him. You couldn't. Your chest felt tight, each breath shallow and sharp.

"Why?" you asked, your voice low and sharp like a blade.

He sat up, the sheets slipping from his torso, pooling at his waist. "Y/n..."

"Why did you lie to me?"

Silence.

You finally turned, eyes wide and brimming with betrayal. "You were my boyfriend. Before the accident. Before I lost everything. You were my life, and you let me believe you were just some guy at a bar?"

San's throat bobbed as he swallowed. The guilt had already settled deep in his face.

"I didn't know how to tell you," he admitted. "I didn't want to scare you off."

"Scare me?" you repeated, voice cracking. "You didn't want to scare me, so you thought pretending none of it happened was better?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. You could see the words scrambling in his brain, but none of them made it out.

"You thought it would be better to lie to me? To manipulate me into remembering you? Not even to remember you, but to force your way back into my life" your hands were shaking now. "You robbed me of my own story, San. You made me feel crazy every time I caught something familiar in you." 

"I was terrified," he said finally. His voice broke around the edges. "You looked at me like I was no one. You smiled like we'd just met. And I... I was scared you wouldn't want to come back."

Your breath caught in your throat.

"That wasn't your decision to make," you said, each word clipped, each syllable deliberate. "You should've told me the truth. You, my friends... someone should've told me." 

"They wanted to," he said quietly. "I asked them not to."

You laughed bitterly. "Of course you did". You stopped for a second "Why don't I have anything about you in my h...?"

But you didn't need to finish the question to know that he and your friends had something to do with all of that. 

"My social media?" San just looked down at your question, knowing one of your friends also managed to delete the two years of relationship off the Internet. "Of course..."

"I didn't do it to hurt you," he rushed to explain, eyes pleading. "I just wanted to be near you. I thought if we could do it all again, if I could just feel you again, maybe you'd remember. Maybe your heart would recognize mine, even if your head didn't."

You stared at him, so many feelings surging at once it made you dizzy.

"I've been falling for you," you whispered, your voice tight. "Thinking this was new, something just beginning. I let myself believe I was starting something real with you. But it was just... a copy. Shit, San. Can't you see how fucked up all of this is?!"

He stepped forward slowly, as if afraid to shatter what little remained between you. "Y/n..."

"You let me doubt myself, San. Let me question why everything felt like déjà vu. You watched me struggle and said nothing"

He looked like he might fall apart right in front of you.

"I didn't need to be protected," you said, softer now. "I needed the truth. I needed support, help."

San's expression twisted with grief. "I didn't know how to live in a world where you didn't remember me. I didn't know how to be near you and not be yours."

"You know, there's something I remember..." your voice wavered.

He looked at you hopefully.

"And it's that you always will choose the easy path. Working with me to remember you meant patience, dealing with frustration and obstacles, while just living this lie was quick and fast. You just needed to do absolutely everything you did the first time, and it was done. You didn't give a fuck about my recovery, but about having me in your life in the way you wanted"

It crushed him. You saw it happen. You watched his shoulders fall, his chest cave.

You shook your head, eyes brimming with unshed tears. "Now all I feel is that every moment between us lately was a lie. And I don't know how to trust anything you say anymore."

He reached for you, but you stepped back. 

"Don't," you whispered.

The distance between you stretched, heavy with the things he never told you. You went back to the bedroom, and when you walked outside, you were already dressed with your bag hanging on your shoulder. 

"I need time," you said, already walking toward the door.

"Y/n..." he called after you.

But you didn't stop, and you didn't look back.

The café was quieter than usual, the kind of silence that didn't come from a lack of noise, but from something heavier. The clinking of cups, low chatter, even the hum of the espresso machine, it all faded beneath the weight of everything San hadn't said out loud in days.

He sat across from Wooyoung, shoulders hunched over a cooling cup of black coffee, staring blankly at the chipped ceramic like it held the answers he couldn't find in himself.

Wooyoung didn't speak right away. He never rushed San in moments like this. Just sat there, sipping from his own cup, watching him with that steady, quiet patience that only came from knowing someone too well.

"She's stopped talking to all of us," Wooyoung finally said, his tone low but careful. "You know that, right?"

San gave a tired nod. "Yeah."

"She won't answer my messages. She ignores Mingi. I think she even blocked Yeosang."

Another nod.

Wooyoung leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You think she hates us?"

"No." San's voice was rough. "But she doesn't trust us. And I don't blame her."

Wooyoung stared at him. "She trusted you, though."

A muscle in San's jaw jumped. "Until she found out."

"She found out because she tripped over a box full of the truth," Wooyoung said, more gently this time. "Not because you told her."

San rubbed at his face, hands dragging over tired eyes. "You think I don't know that?"

"I think you do," Wooyoung said. "I just don't know if you've let yourself know it."

There was a long pause.

"She asked me once," San said quietly. "If I had a girlfriend."

Wooyoung didn't respond.

"I told her no." his voice broke a little on the word. "I was lying straight to her face, and she looked at me like I was the safest place she'd been since the accident. And I just..." he swallowed, hard, "kept pretending I didn't know what that meant."

Wooyoung looked away, lips pressed into a thin line. "You were scared."

"I was a coward," San corrected. "I thought if I could just make her fall in love with me again, I wouldn't have to tell her how much it wrecked me to lose her. But she's not stupid. She noticed everything. The bar, the photo, the letters... and then I watched it all snap together in her eyes."

Wooyoung was quiet for a moment before he asked, "What did she say?"

San's laugh was low and sharp, completely humorless. "She asked me why everyone lied. And I said... I told her I was terrified she wouldn't want to come back."

He paused. Swallowed again.

"And the worst part?" he looked up, eyes wet, voice shaking. "She didn't deny it."

Wooyoung exhaled, leaned back in his chair. "She's hurt. Give her time."

"What if time's the thing that takes her even further away from me?" San whispered. "What if every day she spends without me is a step closer to forgetting everything we were?"

Wooyoung reached across the table, gripped his wrist. "Then you wait. You wait for as long as it takes. You loved her enough to lie, fine. But now, love her enough to let her be angry, let her feel what she needs to feel. That's the only way this ends in something real."

San didn't answer. He just nodded once, slow and hollow, like his body had finally caught up to the weight his heart had been carrying all along.

Meanwhile, you weren't able to go on. 

Just after you had asked, you had all of the memories from your relationship back in your house. Although they were inside a box you didn't dare to open yet. His words were enough to haunt the silence: "I was terrified you wouldn't want to come back."

The worst part was... he wasn't wrong. 

You didn't dare to open the box and dig in those memories because you were scared the feelings from the past wouldn't align with the feelings you had. What if you didn't love him back then? What if your relationship wasn't good shortly before the accident? What if...? 

You stood in the kitchen barefoot, wrapped in one of his hoodies that had been on the back of a chair, too tired to care if it still smelled like him. You hated that it did. That your body leaned into it, even as your heart tried to push away.

Your phone buzzed once. His name.

You stared at the screen until it faded back to black. A few more minutes passed before you turned it off completely.

You had trusted him.

From the first moment he sat across from you at that bar, with his cocky smile and flirty banter, you had leaned into the connection like you were meant to. And it felt like fate, hadn't it? The easy rhythm, the way he knew how to make you laugh, how he always knew just when to reach out or fall quiet. But it hadn't been fate. It had been a plan. His plan. A play-by-play reenactment of a life you'd already lived, without even knowing it. You'd fallen for him thinking it was new. Thinking you were choosing him, but he'd already had you. And he didn't tell you. He couldn't risk the chance that this version of you wouldn't pick him again.

That was the ache now, the hollow pit in your chest. Not just the lie, but the feeling that he'd stolen your choice.

You pressed your forehead against the cold glass of the window, blinking past the tight sting in your eyes. The street below was quiet, golden with morning light, like the world didn't care that everything inside you had shifted. Like nothing had changed at all.

You should have felt anger. And you did. But beneath it was something deeper and more painful: grief.

Because now every memory you'd made with him -every laugh, every kiss, every moment where your heart had fluttered- was tangled with the question: Was it ever really real?

And still, your body remembered the shape of his arms, the warmth of him in the middle of the night, the softness in his voice when he whispered your name like a prayer. You'd fallen in love with him again. That part was real. And maybe that was the cruelest truth of all.

Unable to keep that pain on your own, you finally called her. Jazmin picked up on the second ring. "Y/n?"

You didn't say anything at first, just breathed, your voice caught in the place where pain sat too deep to speak.

"Are you okay?" she asked, softer now, like she already knew the answer.

"I need to talk... Can you come?"

"I'm coming."

You didn't argue. Didn't try to sound fine. You just hung up and curled into the corner of the couch, knees to your chest, staring at the ghost of yourself in the dark TV screen. The reflection of a girl who didn't know who she was anymore. Not really.

When Jazmin arrived, she didn't knock, just stepped in like she used to, like her body still remembered where the spare key was and how your apartment smelled in the morning. She looked at you, standing there in San's hoodie, eyes rimmed in red, and said nothing at all, just wrapped her arms around you. And for a second, you let it break. The dam. The wall. The composure. 

You sobbed into her shoulder, and she didn't ask questions. Not yet.

"I thought I was going crazy," you finally said when the tears had dulled to hiccups. "I kept thinking, maybe I was the other woman. Maybe he had a girlfriend he hadn't told me about."

Jazmin pulled away just enough to look at you, brushing your hair from your face. "You were the girlfriend. You are the girlfriend."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

She hesitated. "He asked us not to. Said he wanted you to come back to him on your own. That if it wasn't real, if you didn't choose him, it would crush him."

"But what about me?" Your voice broke again. "What about what it's done to me?"

She flinched, and you hated that you made her look like that. Like this pain had spilled over into someone else's bones too. But you couldn't take it back. Couldn't shrink it.

"I needed to know the truth," you whispered. "I needed someone to tell me. Instead, I was just... living in this version of a life that had already happened. Like a puppet on strings I didn't even know were there."

"I know," she said, pulling you in again. "God, I know, Y/n. I wanted to tell you so many times. But he looked so lost. So afraid. We all thought he'd break if you didn't come back to him."

"Maybe I needed to break too," you murmured, pressing your forehead to her shoulder. "So I can figure out who I really am without everyone else deciding it for me."

Jazmin nodded. Her fingers carded gently through your hair. You stayed there, the two of you curled into a silence that felt like a bandage over an open wound. 

It had started to rain before you even realized where your feet had taken you. 

You hadn't planned on going anywhere after work, just a walk to clear your head. No destination, no headphones, just the kind of silence that city noise couldn't reach. And yet, somehow, you were standing in front of a café you didn't recognize... or at least, didn't think you did. Still, something about it felt familiar. Not in the "I've-been-here-once" kind of way, but in the way a smell can unravel a dream, or a song can feel like a memory even when you've never heard it before.

The little sign above the entrance read Moka, the white paint faded into soft gray along the edges, weathered but charming. Your fingers curled around the brass door handle before you could talk yourself out of it.

The bell chimed above your head as you stepped in.

Soft jazz drifted from speakers hidden somewhere behind the plants and bookshelves that crowded the walls. The scent of roasted beans, vanilla, and something faintly citrusy wrapped around you like a warm coat. It felt like stepping into someone's living room, like a place where stories had been left behind, carefully folded into the creases of napkins and coffee sleeves.

You let your eyes scan the space and saw it: the corner booth near the window with the chipped table and the crooked lamp above it.

It called to you.

You didn't know why you sat down. You just... did.

You took a breath, your fingertips tracing over the wood. A divot near the corner snagged your nail, like muscle memory. You pulled your hand back.

A minute later, the bell above the door chimed again. You glanced up casually, and froze.

San.

He stepped inside, brushing rain off his shoulders, his hair damp and sticking slightly to his forehead. He looked like he hadn't expected the weather to turn on him so suddenly. He looked like he hadn't expected you, either.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then his eyes widened, and yours did the same.

"I didn't know you came here," you said, unsure why that was the first thing that came out.

He blinked, stepping in further. "I didn't think you even knew this place."

"I didn't," you replied. "I was just walking and... I don't know. My legs brought me here."

He gave a small, breathless laugh. Not mocking, just stunned. "Yeah. That... that sounds about right."

You both hesitated, hovering in two different worlds that used to be the same one. Then, without asking, he crossed the room and sat across from you. You didn't stop him.

You ordered two coffees, as if your hands remembered what your head didn't. Yours with oat milk and cinnamon. His, black with one sugar. You didn't realize what you'd done until the waitress left and San looked at you like he'd been struck.

"What?" you asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Just... you remembered."

You frowned. "I didn't. I guessed."

He didn't argue. Just gave a tired, tender smile and murmured, "Good guess."

The silence stretched between you. Not tense, exactly. Just... full. Like everything you hadn't said was sitting in the space between your cups, waiting for the right moment to rise.

You looked at him carefully. His eyes were heavier than you remembered. The curve of his mouth pulled more at the corners now, like he smiled less often. There were shadows beneath the tattoos on his arm, and tension in the way he gripped the edge of the table.

You stirred your coffee even though it didn't need stirring. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He stared at the chipped edge of the table. "Because I was scared."

"Of what?"

"Of ruining everything," he said. "Of trying to hold on to something that wasn't mine anymore. I kept thinking: what if you remembered and didn't want it? What if you didn't remember and I pushed too hard and it felt like I was trying to trap you in something you couldn't feel?"

Your heart twisted. "That doesn't make what you did okay."

"I know," he said instantly. "I know that. I lied to you. I took away your choice. I tried to rewrite something instead of... letting you read it again. On your own."

You watched him closely. There was no act. No polished version of himself. Just the raw, tired ache of someone who had held his breath for too long.

"And the accident?"

His eyes flicked to yours, and something flickered through them, shame, mostly. Pain.

"We were fighting. Some months ago, you started thinking of publishing the comics you had been working on, but I wasn't... supportive enough. I said they were a cute side thing, and it all blew after that" he said. "I... we started arguing, we weren't listening to each other, and the fight seemed to keep getting worse. It was raining. I slipped off the curb and..." he exhaled sharply, voice breaking. "The car didn't stop in time, I crashed against a tree, and you were the one who received the worse end"

You swallowed. "And after that?"

"I came to see you," he whispered. "Every day. For weeks. I sat beside you, read to you, talked to you even though you couldn't hear me. I brought you the cactus from your studio. I..."

You looked away, eyes stinging. "But when I woke up..."

"I stopped coming," he said, his voice barely audible now. "Because I thought... it would hurt less to disappear than to watch you forget me."

The words settled between you like ash.

"I didn't forget you," you whispered. "Not really. You were everywhere. In things I didn't understand. The way I reacted to you. The way I looked for you even when I was mad at you."

He watched you like you were saving him and tearing him apart at the same time. You exhaled, slow and unsteady. "You weren't a stranger, San. Not really. I didn't know why, but I kept choosing you anyway."

His lips parted, but no sound came out. Just a breath. Just gratitude.

The rain outside began to lighten, softening into a misty hush. Inside the café, the world had folded in around you: warm, quiet, intimate. Like the past and present were finally speaking to each other in the same room.

"Let me take you home," he said gently.

You didn't respond right away. You just nodded, slowly, carefully, like your body was making a decision your mind still hadn't caught up to.

He opened the door for you, and the wind brushed past you both. For a moment, you stood under the awning, watching the city blur behind rain. And then you turned to him and said, "You'll answer everything, right? If I ask?"

He looked you dead in the eye. "Anything. Everything."

And for the first time in a long time, when you both stepped into the rain and toward his car, it didn't feel like running. It felt like returning.

"What were we like... before the accident?"

He didn't answer right away.

You watched the side of his face, the soft twitch of his jaw, the way his eyes stayed locked on the road a second too long, like he was organizing memories in a drawer he hadn't opened in a while.

Then, slowly, he reached toward the glove compartment and pulled out a small leather-bound notebook, its corners frayed from use. He held it out to you without a word.

You looked down at it, frowning as you took it in your hands. The leather was warm, familiar. There was a tiny sketch of a cat doodled in the corner of the cover. Your sketch. You flipped through the pages.

Your handwriting.

Your drawings.

Short, messy notes written in blue pen. Dialogue bubbles. Storyboards. Scenes about a couple waking up late, arguing over grocery lists, dancing in the kitchen in their socks. Pages where the girl looked suspiciously like you, and the boy... well.

"Is this mine?" you asked.

He nodded. "You were working on it all the time. You said you wanted to make a comic about a normal couple. No drama, no perfect endings, just real life. Ours."

You flipped through the pages, stunned. You had no memory of drawing these, but the style was undeniably yours. Every detail made your chest ache with something you didn't know how to name.

"I don't remember any of this."

"I know," he said softly. "But you loved this project. You were going to publish it. You even had a name for it."

You looked at the front page. In your own messy cursive: "Monday Mornings."

A breath caught in your throat. You didn't even know why, but that title felt like something you'd once whispered in someone's ear, laughing under the covers.

"I didn't support you enough," San said suddenly, voice low and raw. "You wanted to take it public. You had this pitch ready, you were so excited. And I... I said we should wait. That, maybe, it wasn't the right time. I thought I was protecting you. I didn't realize I was just making you feel small."

You didn't answer, you just kept turning the pages.

A drawing caught your eye: the girl kissing the boy's shoulder while he made coffee. A heart drawn above them. Underneath, you'd scrawled:

"You always said mornings were cruel. So I made us soft."

Your fingers trembled.

"You said something before the accident," San continued quietly. "You said, 'Why does it feel like you're always patting my head instead of holding my hand?'"

You looked out the window. The trees blurred past in green shadows. Your heart thudded somewhere in your stomach.

"I never forgot that," he said. "I never stopped hearing it."

You closed the notebook and held it close to your chest.

He glanced at you, uncertain. "Are you okay?"

You nodded. But you didn't feel okay. You felt like you were standing at the edge of a memory that had just started to turn around and look at you.

The days blurred.

Not in the romantic way people talked about when they were in love, not in the way that made time feel like honey or sunsets. No, those days blurred like ink in water, like memory diluted until it left only a pale ghost of what used to be.

You tried. 

God, you tried. 

You woke up each day with hope clawing its way up your throat, searching the mirror for a spark, a flicker, something familiar in your own reflection. And sometimes, there were moments. A smell, a certain playlist, the way San's fingers traced lazy circles against your wrist when he thought you weren't paying attention. Sometimes it hit you like déjà vu, but soft, like the memory itself was holding its breath.

Other times, though, it felt like you were pretending to live someone else's life. Walking through a home filled with photos you couldn't remember taking, laughing at inside jokes you didn't really get, wanting to reach for San, only to stop midway, unsure if the heat in your chest was real... or borrowed from a version of you who no longer existed.

San didn't push. Not in words, anyway.

But sometimes you felt the weight of his gaze. Quiet desperation woven between the lines of his patience. And that's when it got hard. When it hurt the most, when you felt like you were failing both him and yourself.

That morning, you'd had another flash.

You had opened a kitchen drawer, reaching for a spoon, and your hand landed on a small, yellow plastic ring. The kind you get from a vending machine. For some reason, your breath caught. You had no idea why, but your fingers trembled.

You sat on the floor and cried.

San had found you there, and he didn't ask questions. He just sat beside you and held you close until your breathing slowed.

But he didn't say anything, either. And that was almost worse.

You both had grown used to that type of scene, where you just broke down and he held you until he made sure you were breathing properly again. 

Now, in the car, your fingers fidgeted in your lap. "I hate this."

He blinked. "Hate what?"

"This... in-between. Not remembering. Remembering too much. Never enough. It's like I'm stuck between two mirrors, and I keep seeing myself, but never fully."

He nodded slowly, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I'm trying," you added, barely a whisper.

"I know you are," he said. 

Silence again. Just the tires splashing over wet asphalt.

"But it's hard," you admitted, voice cracking. "It's hard needing space from someone who makes you feel safe. It's hard needing time from someone who clearly never stopped loving you."

He didn't answer right away. Just exhaled, slow and careful. "Do you know how many times I've almost told you everything again? How many times have I looked at you and wanted to say 'Just come back'? But I couldn't. Because if I pushed too hard, I'd lose you all over again."

"Sometimes it feels like you expect me to be her again. That girl I was."

"I don't," he said quickly, sharply. "I just miss her. That's different."

"Is it?" you asked. "Because it doesn't feel different when I look into your eyes and all I see is disappointment every time I get something wrong."

"I'm not disappointed in you..."

"Yes, you are!" you snapped. "Every time I forget something, you look away. Every time I hesitate, you sigh like it's breaking your heart."

He gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Because it is. But that's not your fault" his jaw flexed. "I know it's hard, but I never said you had to be her, that version of you. I love you. Now. Not just the version of you I lost."

You laughed bitterly. "But it's not that simple. You can say that all you want, San, but I see it. I see you looking for her in me. In every little gesture. Every place we go. You're always chasing the past. And I'm scared I can't give it back to you."

The air in the car turned cold.

He stared at the road, eyes dark. "You think this is easy for me? Watching you look at me like I'm a stranger, when I know what your laugh sounds like when you do something you like? When I still hear your voice every night in my head, begging me not to let you go?"

That silenced you.

His voice cracked. "I would give anything to forget how you used to love me, because maybe then, this wouldn't feel like being stabbed in the same place over and over."

You turned to him slowly. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. His shoulders were tight with things he wasn't saying.

You stared at him. "I don't know who I am anymore. What if there's nothing to go back to?"

The words cut deep. You hadn't meant for them to come out like that. But now they hung in the air, heavy and irreversible.

His jaw tensed. "So what, Y/n? You want me to let go? To pretend none of it ever happened?"

You pressed your lips together, looking away again, knowing there was something cooking in his brain before he happened again. 

"I'm not some villain in your story. And I'm sorry if it seems like I'm pushing you, but..." he stopped for a few seconds, getting some air back in his lungs "I'm trying to love someone who doesn't remember loving me. Do you know how hard that is? To have all these memories, all this history, and none of it matters unless you feel it too?" he took another deep breath, gulping down the knot in his throat. "But I'm not letting you go, I won't give up and I won't let you give up, because I'll be on every fucking step of the way. And if you don't remember me, then fuck it. We'll make new memories together that will be just as meaningful. But I'm not giving up on you, Y/n. I refuse to".

You hesitated, but you were thinking of the best answer to that. And just as you were ready to turn to him to speak again. It happened. 

CRASH.

The sudden screech was the only noise in your ears for a few seconds, the blur of headlights the only thing you could see. 

Your body snapped forward, seatbelt biting into your chest. San's arm instinctively flung in front of you, shielding, even as the car spun once and thudded to a stop against the guardrail.

Silence.

Rain tapped against the cracked windshield. 

You gasped, chest heaving, eyes wide as your hands scrambled to reach him.

"San..."

"I'm okay," he croaked, already undoing his seatbelt. "Are you hurt? Look at me, are you okay?"

Your lips trembled, but you nodded. 

He exhaled in shaky relief. His forehead had a small gash, bleeding into his eyebrow, but he was alert. Breathing.

"I'm fine," you whispered, touching his face. "You... you're bleeding."

He gave a strained laugh. "You should see the other guy."

You let out a sob that was half a laugh, half terror. Outside, the driver of the other car was already stepping out, waving, checking his own vehicle. No one was badly hurt. It was a scrape, a scare, not a tragedy.

But to you, it felt like an echo. Like lightning returning to the same scar in the ground. Your fingers trembled as you unbuckled your seatbelt. San looked at you, and for a second, neither of you moved.

 "God, I thought..."

Your fingers trembled against his jacket, clutching him like you might lose him again. And maybe it was nothing. Just a fender-bender, but something inside you had shifted. A pressure in your chest, the sound of his voice, the flash of memory, your fingers curled around his wrist, and for a split second, you remembered.

A birthday.

Candles.

His laugh in the dark.

His hand brushing your cheek.

A yellow plastic ring.

It was small, barely a second, but it hit you so hard you flinched.

San caught the look in your eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, still breathless.

You shook your head slowly. "I... I think I remembered something."

He paused.

You closed your eyes.

"I think... you asked me to marry you once."

San's heart stopped. And then he smiled. A fragile, aching smile, like something inside him had cracked open.

"You said no," he whispered. "And then you made me ask again with a yellow plastic ring."

Your hand trembled over your heart. The ring in the drawer, the one that made you cry without knowing why.

You looked at him again, really looked, and for the first time, he didn't feel like a stranger.

After a few months, spring returned to the city in full bloom -and so, in your own way, did you.

After the second accident, everything shifted.

You didn't lose any more memories that night. If anything, something inside you cracked open, like a door that had always been there, waiting to be found. After that, you worked harder than ever. Not just because you wanted your memory back, but because he never stopped fighting for you, even when you didn't feel like the same person he loved.

You dove into it: the photographs, the journals, the smell of his cologne on your pillow, the comic sketches you once hid inside an old shoe box. The coffee shop, the places you used to go, the food he said you hated, but you found yourself ordering just to see.

Little by little, pieces returned.

Not all of them. You still forgot some dates. You still couldn't remember why Hongjoong always called you "Captain," or what made Yeosang cry-laugh the first time you met. But the important things? You held onto those with everything you had.

You remembered how San's hand fit at the small of your back, the way he used to hum when he thought you were asleep, the soft way he'd whisper your name when he was half-asleep and needed to make sure you were still there.

And now, months later, you were there.

The bar buzzed with warmth and celebration, full of your friends, full of light. Outside, fairy lights glittered across the rooftop. Someone had already smashed the cake. There was a karaoke battle happening in the corner. Seonghwa had taken over the music, and Wooyoung was trying to get everyone to pose under a banner that said you were celebrating the publication of your comics.

Your first printed volume. A comic book. A real one.

And even though you smiled at everyone and thanked them with full sincerity, there was only one person you were truly looking for in the crowd.

You spotted him on the couch near the edge of the room, nursing a drink. White shirt, rolled sleeves, his chain catching the light. He looked impossibly soft in the chaos, like a quiet moment wrapped in a person.

He was watching you, eyes half-lidded, that little smirk on his lips he didn't even realize he had when he looked at you.

You didn't overthink it. You just walked across the room, climbed right into his lap like you'd done a hundred times before, and leaned in close, so close your breath hit his ear. "Don't think I forgot the first night you let me draw you naked."

He choked.

You could feel the sharp inhale beneath your palms as his hands gripped your waist, stunned. "What... what did you just say?"

You pulled back slowly, watching his face twist with disbelief.

"Bedroom floor," you said. "You were freezing but you wouldn't move until I got the curve of your shoulder right. You were so dramatic."

His eyes filled with something raw.

"No one else knew that," he said hoarsely. 

You shrugged softly, nose brushing his. "I told you I'd come back to you. I'm not all the way there yet, but I'm close. I feel it."

He stared at you like you were the answer to every prayer he'd never spoken out loud. Like you were a miracle wearing your own skin.

And then he kissed you.

There, in the middle of the rooftop, with music in the background and your friends around you and the stars blinking quietly above, he kissed you like the world had finally come back into focus.

"You remembered the sketch," he whispered against your mouth.

You smiled. "I remembered you."

And as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you as if afraid to blink, you knew one thing for sure:

You weren't just returning to your old self, you were becoming more, you were rewriting everything with love in your hands.

The apartment was quiet, washed in golden lamplight and the soft shuffle of sheets.

You sat cross-legged on the bed, sketchbook in your lap, pencil smudged between your fingers. San lay beside you, one arm bent under his head, the other lazily tracing patterns along your thigh, like he couldn't stand to stop touching you, even for a second.

"Is that me again?" he asked, voice low and a little sleepy.

You smiled, not looking up. "No. It's us."

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to peek. The page showed a messy panel -your typical style- drawn in soft graphite. Two figures sitting in bed, one sketching, one watching. Simple. Intimate. 

"I look good," he said, grinning.

You rolled your eyes. "You always say that."

"Because it's always true." he leaned in, brushing his lips over your shoulder. "But also... because you draw me the way you see me. And that version of me? That's my favorite."

You paused, pencil hovering mid-air.

Then, quietly: "I think I'm happy again."

His smile faded into something softer. "Yeah?"

You nodded. "Not just because I remember things now. But because I feel like myself again. Like... we're back. But not just back... better."

San turned onto his side, pulling you into his arms until your cheek rested against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear.

"You know," he whispered, "you could forget everything all over again, and I'd still find my way back to you."

You pulled back slightly to meet his eyes. "You don't have to."

"I know." he kissed your forehead. "But I would."

The sketchbook slipped from your lap, forgotten. The city murmured outside the windows, but inside -here, in this room, in his arms- you had everything you needed.

You curled into him, your breathing syncing with his. And as the night folded around you like a favorite page in a well-loved book, you knew you'd never forget this feeling again.

Home.

Him.

It started with a beer and an overconfident smile.

You weren't expecting anything life-altering when you agreed to meet Lewis at the usual bar. It was a Wednesday, after all -a neutral, unassuming day. The kind of day that promised nothing and delivered the same. You were still dressed in your office clothes, nursing a half-dead phone battery and a mild headache, expecting nothing more than an easy catch-up with the man who used to know your coffee order and the shape of your laugh.

Instead, he dropped the word "wedding" between casual sips of lager like it wasn't a fucking nuclear bomb.

"I'm getting married" Lewis said, like he was announcing he'd finally switched to oat milk.

Your brain stalled for a full five seconds. It was the kind of sentence your ears heard before your brain allowed it in. 

A buffer period. 

A silent scream in the back of your throat.

To his credit, Lewis looked happy. Not smug, not malicious. Just... glowing. His eyes crinkled like he was already picturing the wedding photos, the suit, the stupid monogrammed napkins. And that was the part that really annoyed you. You weren't mad at him. You weren't even mad at yourself. 

You were mad that it still mattered.

Because when you and Lewis broke up eight months ago, you'd said all the right things. You wished him well, you hugged goodbye, you both agreed to be mature, adult humans who could remain friends because your life wasn't a rom-com, right?

Except now, life was slapping you in the face with the third act twist.

"Wow" you managed to say, reaching for your beer and realizing your hand was trembling slightly. "That's... huge". 

"I know" Lewis beamed, entirely missing the faint panic behind your eyes. "Her name's Carly. You'll love her. She's so sweet". 

Of course she would be. 

You couldn't explain the feeling, but you were annoyed at how quickly everything unfolded. The first time he told you he was seeing someone, and trying to guess where things were going, it was three months back. Which meant it was rushed. 

Three months in and he already knew she was the one? For god's sake, you dated for two years and the most committed thing you did was buying matching plates. 

The rest of the night blurred after that. You smiled too much, drank too fast, and left early under the excuse of an early morning meeting you absolutely did not have. The cab ride home was quiet. You stared out the window and wondered if this was heartbreak, or just ego.

You weren't in love with Lewis anymore. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that you weren't supposed to be replaceable. Not so easily. Not so soon.

Who did you want to fool? You were still crazily in love with him and were expecting him to tell you to get back together at any point. 

But that wasn't the case, and you realized three days later, when you saw Carly in person for the first time. You thought you'd find something out that would make you dislike her and justify the distance you wanted to put, but you couldn't. Naturally, she was impossible to hate.

It was a group hangout -something Lewis arranged to bring his "old friends" and "new people" together. To bring his friends and her friends together to drop the big bomb you already knew of. It was hosted in one of those too-cool-for-you urban loft spaces, where the furniture looked stolen from an Instagram ad and the drinks were served in mason jars with ironic labels. You considered backing out at least three times. But pride was a hell of a motivator. 

You couldn't not show up. That would look weak. And if Lewis could smile and move on, so could you.

And then you met Carly.

Carly with the effortless ponytail and soft voice, Carly who remembered everyone's name after hearing it once, Carly who brought homemade brownies and asked you -you, of all people- how you and Lewis met, like it was some adorable folklore tale she wanted to honor. 

"Don't worry, he told me" Carly calmly said, once she was aware of the way you looked at your ex boyfriend to guess what you could tell. "It's so rare to see couples remaining friends after breaking up, but this is what I love about him so much". 

You had to gulp down the humorless scoff at her words. ‘Love’, after just three months. Who the hell was buying that? 

You hated how nice she was. Not because she was fake, but because she wasn't. Because she looked at you with genuine interest and didn't seem threatened at all. Because she didn't need to be. Only one look at Lewis and you could tell he was smitten by her, because not even once through your relationship he looked at you the way he looked at her.  

Carly made it very, very hard to be petty.

So naturally, you found yourself at the snack table, half-hiding behind a bowl of tortilla chips, wondering what kind of person brought homemade baked goods to a get-together with their fiancé's ex.

That's when you saw him.

He was standing at the bar, black t-shirt snug across his chest, dark hair pushed back in a way that looked both careless and deliberate. A silver chain glinted at his throat, catching the low light of the loft, and his left eyebrow -pierced- arched slightly as he watched Lewis and Carly across the room.

And he looked pissed.

You didn't know him. Not yet. But something about his posture, the quiet intensity of his stare, the way his jaw tensed like he was trying not to grind his teeth into dust -it all screamed he wasn’t a fan of the engagement. You recognized the posture because you were exactly standing the same way. 

You took a sip of your drink and watched him watching them, curiosity piqued.

He noticed you after a moment, his eyes flicking in your direction. And then he smirked -slow, bitter, and just shy of sarcastic- as if to say "You too?". 

You raised your glass slightly in response. A silent toast: to being miserable in the presence of people who had moved on without you. 

He took a slow sip from his whiskey and made his way over, as if you'd invited him. As if this was an agreement neither of you had spoken out loud but both understood.

"Let me guess" he said when he reached you, voice low and warm with disdain "You used to date the groom". 

You blinked. "And you dated the bride". 

He tilted his head, impressed. "That obvious?"

You nodded, chewing your bottom lip. "It's the murderous glare. Very subtle". 

He chuckled, and the edge in his eyes softened for half a second. 

"I didn't even get to date her. So, let's say, I'm the pathetic simp, in love, pretending to be happy for his best friend's wedding, although it's meant to fail horribly”. 

You arched your eyebrows and smirked, surprised to hear some reality in a crowd filled with people that encouraged that nonsense. 

"I'm San" he said, offering a hand. "The friend she should marry". 

"Y/n" you took it, fingers brushing his rings. "And I'm the ex he probably shouldn't have dumped". 

The corner of his mouth twitched. And just like that, the air shifted.

You didn't know it yet, but that moment -hands shaken over shared bitterness, half-smiles, and mutual resentment- was the beginning of something you were absolutely going to regret... and maybe, just maybe, remember for the rest of your life.

Hours passed. People filtered out slowly -one by one, or in pairs, kissing cheeks and waving goodbyes, leaving behind the last remnants of small talk and empty glasses. The music had gone soft, humming low and jazzy through the speakers. Someone had dimmed the lights. The brownies were down to crumbs.

And somehow, despite every opportunity to slip out with the others, you were still here.

Still perched on a barstool in the lounge. Still sipping from your second -no, fourth- glass of wine. Still sitting across from San, who looked as annoyed with the world as you felt.

He'd taken off his jacket sometime between shots two and three. Now he sat with one arm stretched across the back of the couch, black t-shirt snug over his chest, legs lazily sprawled, eyes flicking between you and the nearly empty bottle of whiskey on the table like he couldn't decide which one would get him in more trouble.

"This whole thing is ridiculous" you muttered, mostly to yourself, swirling the wine in your glass. "Lewis is wearing linen now. Linen, San. Who is he?"

San let out a bark of laughter that startled even him. He reached for the whiskey, poured a little more into his glass with practiced nonchalance.

"Carly's into that beachy, Pinterest-aesthetic crap" he said, resting back into the cushions. "I know. I went through that phase to get her attention before giving up completely. She probably has a wedding board titled 'Ethereal Sea Dreams'". 

You snorted. "No, she has one titled that. He has one called 'Whatever Carly Wants'".

There was a beat of silence. You both drank.

It should've been awkward, staying behind with someone you'd met only hours ago -especially when that someone knew exactly why you were bitter, and you knew exactly why he was. But it wasn't awkward.

It was... comfortable. In a way only shared resentment could be.

"You really don't like her fiancé, huh?" you asked, tipping your head back lazily.

San's jaw clenched. He took another sip, then set his glass down harder than necessary.

"I've been in love with her since we were nineteen". 

The words came out like venom. Like the truth he'd been swallowing for years. You blinked and sat up straighter.

"Damn". 

He laughed humorlessly. "Yeah. College. She had this ridiculous laugh back then -still does. She was clumsy, always spilling coffee on her notes, always asking dumb questions in class just so she could hear herself talk. And I... I thought it was adorable". 

You tilted your head. "You ever told her?"

He shrugged. "Once. Kind of. We were drunk, it was senior year. She thought I was joking. I never brought it up again". 

You exhaled slowly. "Ouch". 

"She called me her safe person once" he added, bitterly. "I think that's code for 'emotional support Labrador'. God, is that the new way of friendzoning people?"

Your mouth twisted into something halfway between sympathy and amusement. "That's brutal". 

He turned the tables on you. "And you? Still in love with Lewis?"

You rolled your eyes. "God, no. That ship sank a long time ago. I just..." you paused. "It's the idea of it. You date someone for years, you build something real, and then one day he's just... moving on, starting over. And you're left wondering if you were just the warm-up act". 

San hummed in agreement. "Yeah. Like you helped them grow into the person they're suddenly perfect for -just not for you". 

"Exactly" after a few beats, you slumped your shoulders and allowed your head to fall forward. "Fuck, I am in love with him still". 

Another beat of silence. This one was heavier. Then San leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and sharp with sarcasm. 

"Well. If it's any consolation, I think they deserve each other". 

You quirked a brow. "That sounds like an insult".

"It is".

You laughed, the kind of laugh that felt more like a release than a reaction. You raised your glass in a mock toast. "To the happy couple". 

He clinked his glass against yours with exaggerated enthusiasm. "May their honeymoon be short and their arguments frequent". 

You took a long sip, grinning. "You're awful".

"I try". 

Your eyes met again. A beat passed. The air felt... different now. Charged. Still buzzed with resentment and alcohol, but something else too.

A pause. A thought. A very bad idea forming between the two of you. Then San's mouth curled into a smirk -sharp, boyish, dangerous.

"You know," he said slowly "if we really wanted to stop this wedding..."

You gave him a look, warning in the way you pronounced his name. "San". 

"I'm just saying," he went on, clearly emboldened, "we could easily intervene if we wanted to". 

You blinked. Then burst out laughing.

"That's ridiculous". 

"Is it?" he asked, suddenly serious. "You and Lewis have history. I know Carly better than her own Pinterest board. If anyone could nudge them toward second thoughts... it's us". 

You laughed again. But this time it lingered in your throat. You stared at him. He stared back.

"You're serious". 

He tilted his head. "Only if you are". 

You hesitated.

The responsible voice in your head -the one that sounded vaguely like your therapist- was already screaming. But she was being drowned out by something louder: the high-pitched whine of petty revenge, bruised pride, and... curiosity.

"Just a few nudges?" you asked, slowly.

"No sabotage" he agreed, far too quickly.

"No one gets hurt". 

"Just... reality checks". 

You eyed him. "You're insane". 

He smirked. "Takes one to know one". 

And that was how it began -with a toast, a stupid idea, and the promise that neither of you meant to keep.

You clinked glasses one final time, the plan sealed in whiskey and wine.

"You go for the bride, and I go for the groom" you smiled. 

"Let the games begin". 

There's something about a bad idea executed well that almost feels noble.

Like you were not sabotaging a wedding, you're intervening to keep a trainwreck from happening. You were doing it for their own good, at least that was what you and San kept trying to say.

It started slow.

A casual message to Lewis: "Remember that Italian place we used to go to after your studio shoots? I passed by it today. Still smells like burnt espresso and cream cheese" you added a laughing emoji, for safety.

He replied five minutes later. "God, I haven't been there in ages. Still dream about that carbonara though"

Hook: planted.

Meanwhile, San made his own moves.

He sent Carly a photo of an old group from university. She was in the center, laughing at something off-camera, her eyes bright and unfocused like she hadn't yet learned to filter joy.

He captioned it: "You still laugh like this when you're nervous"

She heart-reacted. Then sent back: "Can't believe you still have this. I was a mess back then"

To which San, ever the charming liar, replied: "You were real."

You met up at least twice a week to compare notes -usually over drinks, usually with too much snark and not enough self-control. Operation 'Accidentally Ever After' was well underway, and if it was built on lies and passive-aggressive wine-fueled motives, at least it was yours. 

Lewis's best man arranged a joint party in the mountains -a long weekend with way too many throw blankets and couples pretending they had it together. You and San, of course, weren't invited as dates. But somehow, both of you ended up on the guest list.

"I told Lewis I needed closure," you whispered on the drive up, your duffel bag crammed between your knees.

"I told Carly I was coming to supervise the barbecue" San said, deadpan, eyes still on the road. "All these years, yet she thinks I know things about meat". . 

The cabin was straight out of a honeymoon catalogue: twinkly lights on the porch, separate wings for the girls and guys, a hot tub that would absolutely see drama before the weekend ended.

You got to work immediately.

Lewis sat beside you at dinner, easy and warm. You made him laugh twice before the appetizers even hit the table. And when Carly leaned in to whisper something to him, you just happened to rest your hand on his sleeve, laughing at a shared joke only the two of you could understand.

Later that night, you caught San near the firepit, his fingers brushing Carly's as he handed her a blanket.

"You look exhausted" he murmured gently. "You always overthink when you're scared. Still doing that thing where you plan conversations in the shower?"

She froze, visibly startled.

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything" he said, low and devastating.

You almost applauded. The man was good.

Carly's circle invited Lewis to a formal dinner -parents, aunts, cousins. Somehow, San was there, because she didn't want him to feel left out. Somehow, you were there, too, because Lewis thought it would be hilarious to show them how modern and friendly his ex was. 

You wore red. A deliberate shade. Eye-catching, classic, just this side of provocative.

San wore a watch he didn't need and a cologne that smelled like freshly ruined relationships.

At the table, Carly's aunt asked how you knew Lewis. You smiled sweetly and said, "We used to love going to galleries together. He was obsessed with the brushwork in that weird Monet series. Remember that?"

Lewis looked at you and blinked.

Then smiled.

"Yeah. The fog ones. You used to say they looked like how it felt to miss someone". 

Carly's fork stopped mid-air.

Meanwhile, across the table, San poured Carly more wine, leaned in just enough to blur boundaries, and murmured something that made her laugh and press a hand to his arm.

You and San locked eyes across the table. No words. Just the look of two conspirators too deep in the game.

By now, it had become a rhythm.

You found moments with Lewis -quiet ones. Moments where you reminded him of comfort. Of ease. You spoke like you already knew him, and you did. You asked questions Carly didn't know to ask, you made him feel understood, and even if he didn't say anything, his lingering looks said enough.

And San? He played Carly like a vintage guitar -every note familiar, every touch deliberate.

"You always pick peonies when you're scared" he said as they debated floral arrangements.

Carly blinked. "No, I don't..."

"Yes, you do. You did it before every exam. You used to doodle them on napkins while pretending not to panic". 

She went quiet after that. Eyes distant. Voice softer.

But something unexpected started to happen.

In between the schemes and the acting, you and San started talking. Not just strategy. Not just Carly and Lewis.

But you.

Late-night debriefs turned into philosophical debates, a fake date to a wine tasting turned into a real memory -him brushing your hair back to whisper a joke that made you choke on a laugh-, a game of charades at a group event had you laughing so hard you fell into him, and his arms stayed wrapped around you longer than they needed to.

There were arguments, too.

In a hallway, outside Carly's apartment, you whispered-yelled at each other over who was "trying too hard". 

"You told her she still hums in her sleep, what the hell was that?"

"And you called him your 'first love' in front of his mom. Cry me a river". 

There was tension. And there was a jealousy you couldn't explain. Every second he leaned closer to Carly, it made you sick to your stomach. To the point you didn't even notice Lewis' attention was on you. 

Once, in the coat closet of Lewis's rehearsal dinner, you both ducked in to hide from a surprise game of "Guess the Couple." It was dark. Cramped. Your shoulder was brushing his chest, and his breath was far too close to your cheek.

You turned your head to look at him, he looked back. For a moment -just one- he leaned in.

But someone opened the door. And the moment broke like glass.

The engagement party was the last major event before the wedding. Big venue, big guest list, big expectations.

You arrived with San. Not because you were invited together, but because you didn't bother pretending anymore.

People stared. Whispered. You didn't care.

The lights dimmed. The music started. Couples moved to the dance floor. Lewis offered Carly his hand. And you? You turned to San.

"Should we give them something to talk about?" you asked, already smirking.

He grinned, pulled you in, and for a while... you weren't thinking about Carly. Or Lewis. Or sabotage. Or anything. Just the way his hand rested on your waist, the way his eyes didn't leave yours, the way your heart stuttered when he spun you and caught you again like it was the easiest thing in the world. And for one breathless second, you forgot why you were here at all.

Just long enough to realize:

You were falling for your co-conspirator. And the plan? It was no longer just about them.

It didn't happen all at once. It crept in slowly -through the spaces between strategy and sarcasm.

One night, it was your dress. A deep green satin slip that hugged the curve of your hips like it had been tailored for chaos. You didn't wear it for San -not consciously. It had just felt right: dangerous, sharp, a little inappropriate for a wedding venue walk-through.

But when you walked into the venue and caught him already waiting, leaning against the welcome desk with a coffee in one hand and his phone in the other, he looked up, and his jaw flexed.

Just a flicker.

Like he was trying not to react, not to stare. But his eyes trailed lower anyway. Over your waist, your legs, the thin strap slipping over your shoulder.

"Is that dress part of the sabotage?" he asked, voice lower than usual.

You smirked. "What, this old thing?"

"You're evil," he murmured. Then after a pause, quieter: "And unfair". 

Another day, you met him outside the stationery shop. Carly had dragged you there to approve invitations, and you texted him in frustration halfway through.

"You better be suffering too. She wants ivory ink on cream paper"

San showed up ten minutes later. Claimed it was a coincidence. You knew better.

But as you stood outside waiting for Carly to finish, you glanced over at him in the golden spill of late-afternoon light and felt something shift.

His profile was sharp, elegant -lips slightly parted in thought, lashes long, expression unreadable. You hated how pretty he was when he wasn't talking.

"You've got a staring problem" he said, not looking at you.

You blinked. "What?"

He turned, met your eyes, smiled crookedly. "Takes one to know one". 

You rolled your eyes, heart doing something stupid behind your ribs.

It kept happening.

You'd catch him watching you across the room, when you threw your head back in laughter, when you spoke to Lewis in a way only you could, when you walked into the room and didn't see him until you felt it.

His gaze was warm now, not annoyed. Not bitter. It was focused, hesitant, possessive.

And you weren't innocent either.

The way he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated, the way his brows furrowed when he was lying, the way he lingered a second too long when his hand brushed yours.

You started recognizing the smell of his cologne when he entered a room, you noticed the vein in his neck when he clenched his jaw, the deep rasp in his voice when he leaned in to whisper a plan like it was a secret too dangerous to speak aloud.

It was no longer about Lewis or Carly. Not really. Not anymore.

With all those thoughts, you pulled back suddenly, catching him off guard. But you didn't give him an explanation, you rushed away before you started rambling and said something that didn't make any sense. 

Yet you couldn't escape him, nor the tension that raised every time you were alone together. 

The kiss came like a mistake.

It was late. Too late. As if it was fate, there were no taxis working that day, and San offered to "accidentally" drive you home. It wasn't even a question anymore.

You sat in his car long after you'd arrived. Just talking. The kind of talking that wandered. That dipped into places it shouldn't.

Childhood regrets, first loves, what you'd do if you could run away tomorrow.

"Where would you go?" he asked, eyes on the road, not starting the engine.

You stared ahead. "Anywhere quiet. Somewhere no one expects me to have my shit together". 

He chuckled. "Same". 

A silence fell between you, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was ripe.

He looked at you then, fully. His eyes dropped to your lips. Not subtly. Your breath caught.

"Don't" you whispered.

"I haven't even done anything" he said.

But he was already leaning in.

It was slow and careful. Like he was giving you time to push him away, like he wasn't sure you wouldn't.

You didn't.

The kiss was gentle at first, a testing press of lips. Then deeper, hungrier. All that tension finally snapping like a thread pulled too tight for too long.

His hand slipped around your jaw, yours clutched the front of his jacket. And for a moment, just one, you let yourself fall into it. Into him. Into everything this wasn't supposed to be.

You pulled away first. Breathless. Heart racing. Brain offline.

San didn't speak. He just looked at you like he was trying to memorize something he shouldn't want.

"Shit" you whispered, laughing without humor.

He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Shit". 

You looked at each other for a long time. Like two people standing at the edge of something too high and too tempting.

"I'm still going after the bride" he said after a moment, voice hoarse. Like the reminder was needed.

"And I'm still after the groom". 

"Right."

Neither of you moved.

"Night" you said, fingers still resting against his chest.

"Night" he replied. 

But he didn't start the car again until you'd made it inside and shut the door behind you.

The problem was... That kiss didn't feel like a game.

You should've gone upstairs. You should've closed the door, gone inside, and let the night eat your guilt in silence. But instead, your body moved before your thoughts could stop it -feet pounding down the stairwell, heartbeat like thunder in your ears.

You found him in the street, just past the glow of the streetlamp. He stood like a ghost -shoulders tense, fingers buried in his hair, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight across his back. Something about his stillness, about the way he hadn't gotten far, told you what you didn't want to admit.

He wasn't ready to walk away either. 

"San" you whispered.

He turned at the sound of your voice, and for a breathless moment, you stared at each other across the distance. His expression flickered -hunger, regret, restraint. And something much, much darker.

"Don't come closer" he said, voice low, hoarse. "Because if you do, I'm not walking away again". 

Your feet moved anyway.

And that was it.

He met you halfway, grabbing your face like he couldn't bear one more second apart. His mouth crushed against yours -hot, angry, frantic- and you kissed him back with everything you'd been holding in for weeks. Teeth clashed, breath tangled, hands desperate. You clawed at his shoulders, yanking him closer, and he groaned low in his throat when your tongue slid over his.

The second your back hit the wall of your apartment lobby, his hands were already under your dress -ripping your panties down and dragging his fingers up your soaked slit like he was checking just how far gone you were.

"Fuck" he hissed. "You're soaked already?"

You bit his lip. "You did this". 

Something snapped in him.

He pushed your dress up and dropped to his knees right there, in the shadows of the entryway, and pulled your leg over his shoulder. Then his mouth was on you -tongue licking up your folds, slow and torturous. You nearly cried out when he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking hard, then teasing it with the flat of his tongue in firm, expert strokes.

He worked you like he'd fantasized about this moment over and over -like it was a need buried in his bloodstream. His hands gripped your ass, anchoring you, holding you in place while he devoured you.

"San... Oh my god" your voice broke, head thrown back as your orgasm ripped through you, sudden and electric, flooding your veins with heat.

He didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He licked you through it, swallowed every twitch and whimper, as if tasting your climax had only made him hungrier.

When he finally stood, lips slick, eyes dark, you reached for him -unbuttoning his jeans with shaky fingers, pushing them down just far enough. He hissed as his cock sprang free, hard and flushed, twitching with need. 

You dropped to your knees.

His mouth parted in surprise, but he didn't stop you. Just leaned back against the wall, one hand in your hair as you looked up at him, lips wrapping around the head of his cock. His jaw clenched.

"Fuck..."

You sucked slow at first -tongue teasing the underside, then swirling over the tip before sliding deeper. He was thick, and you moaned as you took more of him in, hands wrapping around the base, stroking in time with your mouth.

"Fuck, Y/n..." his hips bucked slightly, the hand in your hair tightening. "You're a fucking vision with your mouth full". 

You didn't stop.

You wanted to taste all of him. You wanted to destroy whatever self-control he had left. His moans were ragged now, his body shaking. When you hollowed your cheeks and moaned around him, he lost it, pulling back at the last second, stroking himself once, twice, before spilling over your tongue with a strangled curse.

He stared down at you, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his temple.

You wiped your mouth, stood slowly. "Bedroom?" you whispered. 

He nodded and followed you without a word.

By the time you reached your room, you were already pulling your dress off over your head. San yanked his shirt the rest of the way off, then grabbed you -lifting you into his arms like you weighed nothing, laying you down on the bed, crawling over you like a storm breaking loose.

When he pushed inside you, it was slower. Deeper. You both groaned at the stretch -like you were made to take him, like this was the only place either of you had ever belonged.

He thrusted into you with an aching purpose, kissing your throat, your jaw, your mouth, as if trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside out. His hands roamed -gripping your thighs, pinning your wrists above your head, cradling your face.

"You drive me fucking crazy" he muttered against your skin. "And I don't even care anymore". 

Your bodies moved in sync, hips meeting again and again, the rhythm rising with every moan, every whispered curse. You clung to him, nails digging into his back, biting down on his shoulder as you came again -writhing under him as he fucked you through it.

And then he followed, thrusts losing rhythm, groans spilling from his throat as he came deep inside you, trembling with the force of it.

He collapsed onto you, breath hot against your neck, chest to chest, heart to heart.

For a long time, there was only silence. No guilt. No logic. Just the quiet reality of what had finally, inevitably happened.

He reached for your hand, tangled his fingers in yours, and kissed your knuckles.

Then, quietly, almost like it hurt, he whispered:

"I'm not sorry". 

Neither were you.

You lay sprawled beneath him, skin flushed, sheets tangled around your legs, the room still heavy with the scent of sex and sweat. His fingers were still brushing lazy circles over your hip, his breathing slowly settling, cheek pressed to your bare stomach like he couldn't bear to move just yet.

For a moment, it felt like everything had quieted. Like the war you'd both been waging -against the engagement, against your own restraint- had burned itself out in the fire you made of each other. 

Morning came far too soon, slicing through your bedroom blinds with a glare that felt personal.

You were tangled in your sheets, the air heavy with the smell of sweat and him. San was sprawled beside you, shirtless, one arm thrown over his eyes like he could hide from the daylight.

It should have felt like victory -the culmination of all those sharp looks and late-night plans- but instead, there was something sour in your chest.

"Morning," you said, voice rough.

He hummed, low and sleepy, then turned his head toward you. His hair was a mess, lips swollen from hours of kissing, and for a moment, you almost forgot about anything but him.

But then he sat up, rubbed his face, and exhaled hard. "This... was a mistake."

It was like ice water down your spine. You stared at him. "A mistake?"

He didn't meet your eyes. "We've been... plotting against people we claim to care about. Now we're sleeping together. It's..." he broke off, jaw tightening. "It's not who I am. And I don't want this to be... just part of the game". 

That was the thing -you didn't know if he meant the sex or you.

Your mouth went dry. "Wow. You're acting like I trapped you in here."

"That's not what I..."

"Forget it," you cut in, shoving the covers off and standing up, naked but not caring if he saw. "I can't believe you're bringing up the plan after what happened between us. It's the last thing in my head right now" you huffed. "You said last night you weren't sorry and now you come up with this" you mumbled under your breath. "If it's a mistake, then fine. Go". 

For a second, he looked like he might stay. But then he got up too, pulling his jeans on without another word. The sound of his zipper was louder than it should've been.

By the time the door closed behind him, your apartment felt twice as big and ten times as empty.

You avoided him at every group gathering after that: bachelorette brunch, rehearsal dinner, even the occasional "planning hangout." He was always there, somewhere in the room, but never close enough to speak. And when your eyes met, it was only for a second before one of you looked away.

The night before the wedding, you caught sight of him across the hotel lobby: black suit, hair slicked back, talking to Carly's cousin with a polite smile. And that's when it hit you: the last time you'd been that close was in your bedroom, his hands on your hips, his mouth on your skin. But it was probably never that serious for him because, deep inside, Carly was the one he wanted, the one he did all that play for. You were just something that came along the way. 

And tomorrow, you'd have to watch him stand at the bride's side while you stood at the groom's, after realizing all your plan didn't matter anymore because the man you wanted wasn't going to get married tomorrow, but his heart would probably belong to that woman forever anyway. 

The morning of the wedding felt almost unreal, as if the world itself had slowed to a hush in respect of what was about to happen. The estate where the ceremony was to be held was dressed in ivory and blush: roses tucked into polished vases, silk ribbons swaying in the breeze, an aisle framed by arches dripping with flowers. From the balcony of the upstairs room where you had been asked to wait, you could see guests arriving in tailored suits and flowing dresses, laughter carried over the garden hedges like faint music. 

Lewis's hands were trembling. San noticed it the moment he fixed his cufflinks, the way his knuckles flexed too tightly, his breath catching shallow in his chest.

They were waiting at the edge of the ceremony hall, just minutes before the music would cue and the doors would open. Guests were already seated, hushed voices blending with the soft notes from the string quartet. But beside him, Lewis wasn't hearing any of it.

"Shit" Lewis muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "I don't know if I can do this". 

San's head snapped toward him. "What do you mean you don't know?"

Lewis swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. He looked pale, eyes darting to the floor. "What if I screw it up? What if I'm not enough for her? Carly deserves perfect, and I'm..." he broke off, exhaling shakily, "I'm not sure I can give her that". 

For a second, San almost laughed -not out of mockery, but out of disbelief. Lewis, the guy who always carried himself like nothing could shake him, the perfect man that had you of all people on your knees, was unraveling on the one day he was supposed to look unshakable.

San stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Lewis could hear. "Hey. Stop. You love her, right?"

Lewis's eyes flicked up, wide and desperate. "Of course I do. More than anything". 

"Then that's all she needs" San said firmly. "She's not marrying a checklist. She's marrying you" he tilted his head slightly, catching Lewis's gaze until he held it. "You're enough because you've always been enough for her. She chose you, remember? She's out there right now, in that dress, waiting to walk toward you. Do you think she'd be standing there if she didn't believe you were everything? She's dated a lot of assholes all these years, but none of them made her as happy as you do". 

Lewis blinked rapidly, chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. San could see him fighting against the tide of panic, trying to anchor himself.

San placed a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Look, you don't need to be perfect. No one is. But you need to be present. She doesn't care about flawlessness, she cares that it's you at the end of that aisle" his tone softened. "So take a breath. This is your moment. Don't waste it doubting yourself". 

For a long moment, silence stretched between them, broken only by the muffled shuffle of the bridal party lining up. Then Lewis inhaled, deep and grounding. Some of the panic drained from his expression, replaced by something steadier, fragile, but real.

"You really think so?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"I know so" San said, a small but certain smile tugging at his lips.

Lewis let out a shaky laugh, shoulders finally dropping. He straightened his posture, rolling them back, as though steeling himself. "Thanks, man. I... I needed that". 

San clapped him on the back, giving a reassuring squeeze. "Anytime. Now go marry her before you faint". 

Lewis chuckled, nervous but genuine this time. The doors began to creak open, and San watched him step forward, no longer looking like he was running from the moment but like he was walking into it.

And somewhere deep down, San felt something stir -a bittersweet ache he couldn't quite name- as he watched his friend walk toward what he convinced himself for years it was his forever. A bittersweet ache at the realization that it no longer was his forever. 

Inside the bridal suite, the air was tense, probably more. 

Carly sat in front of the mirror, veil spilling over the chair like water, fingers clutching her bouquet so tightly the petals quivered. The makeup artist had just finished, the photographer snapping pictures of details around her: shoes, jewelry, the dress; but her face had gone pale, her eyes wide and glassy. She wasn't looking at her reflection. She wasn't looking at anyone.

You noticed it first, the way her breath came too fast, shoulders rigid as if the corset of her gown had shrunk around her.

"Carly?" you asked softly, stepping closer.

Her eyes darted to you, full of panic. "I can't..." she stammered, shaking her head. "I can't do this. What if I make a mistake? What if I marry him and... and it's wrong? What if he wakes up one day and realizes he doesn't want me?" her chest rose sharply, breath shuddering out. "What if everyone is right and we rushed this?"

The bridesmaids exchanged nervous glances. One of them tried to smile, patting Carly's hand, but it only made her grip the bouquet harder, knuckles white.

And then Carly's voice broke. "What if I ruin everything?"

The room seemed to still.

You moved instinctively, kneeling beside her chair so you could meet her gaze directly. Her reflection in the mirror looked fragile, like porcelain about to crack, but up close you saw the realness of her fear, raw and trembling.

"Hey," you whispered, reaching out carefully to steady her shaking hands. "Look at me. Breathe". 

Her chest heaved again, uneven, but her eyes locked onto yours as if clinging to something solid.

"You're not ruining anything" you said, keeping your tone firm but gentle. "You're scared because this is big. Because it matters. And that's okay. But Carly... the fact that you care this much, that you're terrified of losing him? That tells me you love him. That tells me you're ready". 

Her lips parted, soundless.

"You've spent just a few months with him, but I've never seen him as complete as he is now" you continued, pressing on, lowering your voice so it felt like just the two of you in that bustling, flower-scented room. "You've seen him angry, tired, laughing, weak. He's seen you through the same. And he still chose you. Today isn't about proving anything, it's about saying yes to what you already have". 

Her breath hitched, her bouquet trembling slightly less in your grip.

"You don't have to be perfect for him. You just have to be you. That's who he fell in love with". 

Carly's eyes brimmed with tears now, but the kind that softened her expression rather than hardened it. A tiny laugh escaped her throat, shaky but real. "God, you make it sound so simple". 

"It is," you said, smiling faintly. "Simple doesn't mean easy. But it does mean worth it". 

The room, which had grown so tight with panic, seemed to loosen. One bridesmaid exhaled audibly. The makeup artist dabbed carefully beneath Carly's eyes, preserving the eyeliner as best she could.

Carly drew in one long, trembling breath, then another, steadier this time. She set the bouquet down and grabbed your hand tightly, squeezing. "Thank you. I don't know if I could've done this without you". 

You squeezed back, feeling a mix of warmth and ache in your chest. Because as much as you believed the words you'd just told her, they were also a reminder. A reminder of the choices you hadn't made, of the night with San that still burned your skin, of the distance you'd forced between the two of you since.

Outside, a violin started its first tentative notes, the cue for the ceremony to begin.

The bridal party rushed into formation, the air filled with rustling fabric and last-minute whispers. Carly stood slowly, veil slipping over her face like a shield, but her spine straighter now, her breaths calmer. She gave you one last, grateful glance before the doors opened.

And then the aisle stretched out before her, all eyes turning, the man she loved waiting at the end.

You lingered at the back, heart pounding, caught between the glow of her steadiness, and the pull of the unresolved storm waiting in your own chest. Because you knew that once you stepped outside into the sunlight, you'd see San again.

And nothing about that would feel simple.

The sun dipped lower, spilling gold across the garden where the ceremony unfolded. Guests leaned in, the hush of anticipation settling like lace over the rows of white chairs. Carly walked down the aisle, radiant despite the tremor in her hands, and Lewis waited at the altar, his smile taut, his shoulders tight.

San stood off to the side, watching. His dark eyes tracked you instinctively -he didn't even realize he'd been doing it all day. And you, in turn, felt the way his gaze lingered like the whisper of touch, even as you tried to focus on the bride and groom.

The vows began. Carly's voice cracked once, but she steadied, her words sweet and fragile. Lewis started his, but faltered halfway, glancing sideways as though looking for an escape hatch in the sky. A murmur rippled through the guests. You noticed San's jaw tighten, his lips pressing together in a faint frown, but he said nothing.

Then, just when the officiant asked if they were ready to exchange rings, it happened.

Carly's fingers trembled, Lewis hesitated. Their eyes met -just one glance, raw and unguarded- and you could see the truth in it. This wasn't fear, not exactly. It was recognition. Recognition that the timing was wrong.

Carly inhaled, shaky. "I..." her eyes welled, and her voice cracked. "I don't think..."

Lewis cut in softly, his hand reaching for hers. "Not today". 

Gasps broke out among the guests, chairs creaked, whispers flared like wildfire. The officiant blinked in shock, glancing between them. Carly looked stricken, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but Lewis squeezed her hand firmly.

"Not today" he repeated, more certain this time. "But someday". 

And Carly nodded, a relieved sob escaping her lips as she leaned into him. Together, they turned to the guests.

"We love each other" Carly said, wiping at her tears with a shaky laugh. "We're just... not ready. And it wouldn't be fair to anyone to pretend we are". 

Lewis added quickly "We hope you'll still stay. Eat. Drink. Celebrate with us, because even if it's not a wedding, it's still a day for love". 

Silence hung for a moment, fragile as glass. Then someone clapped -hesitant at first, then others joined, until the entire garden erupted in applause, cheers, and even laughter that broke the tension like a popped balloon.

You caught San's gaze across the crowd -his lips curling into the faintest smirk, his eyes holding yours a little too long. He looked like he admired their courage, but there was something else in his expression too, something that felt dangerously close to longing.

The music was loud enough to blur every conversation into a cheerful hum, glasses clinking and laughter carrying across the hall. The atmosphere had shifted completely since the ceremony -what could have been an awkward, uncomfortable ending was instead transformed into something liberating. Carly and Lewis were radiant, their smiles brighter than they had been all day. They weren't burdened by vows left unsaid or the pressure of a marriage they weren't ready for; instead, they looked freer than ever, drifting from table to table, hugging friends, thanking family, and soaking up the warmth of their choice.

Guests filled the dance floor, some tipsy already, others twirling in loose circles while waiters carried around trays of champagne and small hors d'oeuvres. You watched from a distance, lips curled in a faint smile. Carly caught your eye once across the room, mouthing a soft thank you, before being swept up into another conversation.

The air smelled of wine and perfume, a blur of sequins and silk brushing past you as you slipped toward the bar. You needed a drink, not to drown anything, but to center yourself. It had been an intense day, and now, finally, you could breathe.

The bartender slid a glass of champagne toward you, the bubbles catching the dim lights strung across the ceiling. You sipped slowly, leaning on the counter, watching everyone lose themselves to the relief of celebration without obligation.

"Didn't think I'd find you hiding here" a voice said from behind.

You turned, and there he was: San. He wasn't wearing his jacket anymore, the top button of his shirt undone, his dark hair a little disheveled from the night. His eyes found yours carefully, testing the waters before stepping closer.

"Not hiding" you said, resting the glass against your lip. "Just taking a break". 

He nodded, sliding into the empty space beside you. His presence was warm, magnetic even in the crowded room. For a while, the two of you just watched the swirl of dancing bodies, the bursts of laughter. 

He eyed the happy couple with the ghost of a smile "There wasn't a wedding at the end of the day". 

"Is that a success?" you questioned. 

Both of you knew it was a success, but not because the two people you wanted to separate weren't married, but because indirectly you two helped them to build a stronger relationship and smart decisions. Without noticing, you brought them closer. 

Then, quietly, San said, "I owe you an apology". 

You blinked, surprised. "For what?"

"For... the way I acted" he muttered, eyes fixed on the condensation sliding down your glass instead of your face. "That night. After we..." he cut himself off, jaw tightening before he let out a sigh. "I pushed you away. I said things I didn't mean. I thought it was easier to distance myself than..."

"Than what?" you asked softly, though your chest tightened with the memory of that night. 

The sudden coldness after so much heat, the way he left you reaching for something he wasn't ready to give.

He finally looked at you, and in his gaze was an openness you hadn't seen before. "Than admit how much you got to me". 

The words lingered between you, heavy and fragile. You gripped your glass a little tighter, not sure whether to look away or hold his stare.

"I thought if I kept you at a distance, I'd be safe" San continued, voice low, almost drowned by the music. "All these years, I convinced myself Carly was the one, but after meeting you, everything turned upside down and it scared me. Although it just made me an ass. I'm sorry". 

You set your drink down, tilting your head as you studied him. The vulnerability there was real: no smirk, no teasing tone to soften it. Just San, stripped back in a way that almost made your chest ache.

"I was hurt" you admitted, your honesty surprising even you. "I didn't understand why you shut me out". 

"I know" his hand flexed on the counter, like he was stopping himself from reaching for you. "And I hate that I did that to you". 

For a moment, you both stood in the middle of a celebration that had nothing to do with you, your own little bubble forming in the noise. The music shifted into a slower melody, couples pulling each other close on the dance floor.

San glanced at them, then back at you. His lips parted as if he wanted to ask something -maybe if you'd dance with him, maybe if you'd forgive him. But instead, he said, almost shyly, "Can I... start over with you?"

Your heart thudded, unexpected and sharp.

"Start over?" you echoed.

He gave a small nod. "Not erase what happened. Just... stop pretending it didn't mean anything". 

The room spun just a little, not from the champagne but from the weight of the choice hanging there. Behind you, Carly's laugh rang out, light and untroubled, and Lewis's hand brushed her back like he'd never let go.

You looked back at San, at the quiet hope written all over his face.

"It sounds fine to me" you nodded, looking away. "But don't think for a second I'll forget about the fifty bucks you owe me". 

"I'll treat you to the best date ever".

You turned to him with a smug furrow of your eyebrows "Who said I wanted a date with you?" right after saying those words, you smiled. And that curve eased him a lot because, for one quick second, he was convinced you were serious. "I can't believe I gave Carly the most encouraging speech of my life, just for them to step back from marrying" you clicked your tongue as you kept your eyes on the happy couple. 

"Carly, too? Lewis was also having doubts and I tried to convince him it was the best decision of his life".

You both looked at each other confused at your words, before you broke in a chuckle at how ridiculous the situation turned. 

"We said I'd go for the groom, and you for the bride... I guess we never specified in what sense" you laughed again. 

The music shifted then -slower, smoother, a romantic sway that had couples gravitating toward the dance floor. San glanced toward it, then back to you.

"Dance with me?" he asked, hand extended.

You hesitated. A dozen reasons not to: fear, pride, the weight of what had gone wrong. But when you slipped your hand into his, it felt natural, inevitable.

He guided you onto the floor, pulling you close as the melody wrapped around the two of you. His hand rested at the small of your back, warm and steady, while your other hand settled against his chest. You swayed together, bodies finding rhythm without effort.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't awkward -it was heavy, charged, full of unspoken things. Finally, you broke it.

"So... what are we doing, San?"

His dark eyes locked with yours. "I was hoping we'd figure that out together" he murmured. "No more games, no more distance. Just... try. Date. See where this really goes". 

Your chest tightened at his words. Vulnerability hung between you, a fragile bridge. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your palm, fast and strong, betraying that he was as nervous as you.

"I want that too" you confessed, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curved into that familiar half-smile, cocky but softened by relief. "Then it's settled". 

The song shifted, but you didn't step away. If anything, you both drew closer, foreheads nearly brushing as you swayed. And then, as if there had never been any other outcome, his lips pressed against yours.

The kiss was slow, deliberate, carrying every ounce of longing, frustration, and promise you'd both held back for too long. Around you, the party went on -cheers, laughter, clinking glasses- but for that moment, it felt like the whole world had fallen away.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

"This time," he whispered, "I won't let go. I'll be whatever you need me to be". 

The words sent a flush straight down your body, but before you could bite back with something witty, a sudden shout echoed from behind.

"Catch!"

Carly, tipsy and laughing, had just tossed her bouquet with all the grace of a wild pitch. You barely registered the colorful blur of roses and ribbons flying through the air before:

Thud.

The bouquet smacked squarely against the side of your head, petals scattering as you stumbled back a step. A chorus of gasps turned instantly into laughter around the dance floor.

You blinked, one hand instinctively going to the spot where it hit, and then glanced up to find San trying very hard not to laugh. His lips pressed together, shoulders shaking.

"Oh, don't you dare laugh" you warned, eyes narrowing.

That only made it worse. He broke into a loud, unrestrained laugh, doubling over slightly before straightening to catch your wrist and steady you. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, but that was the most romantic attack I've ever seen". 

You rolled your eyes, though your mouth twitched with the beginnings of a smile. "Romantic attack? It's probably a curse. I'm going to trip into a fountain next". 

San grinned, picking up the bouquet from where it had fallen between your feet. He twirled it once in his hand, then held it out to you. "Or maybe it's a sign. Lucky charm: the universe throwing flowers at your head because it thinks you need a push". 

You accepted the bouquet, fingers brushing against his as you did. "A push into a concussion, maybe". 

He smirked, gaze softening as he leaned a little closer. "Or a push into me". 

Your laughter died down, warmth rising in your chest. The bouquet rested between you, clumsy and beautiful, and before you knew it, San was dipping his head to press his lips against yours. The kiss was slow, unhurried, and far too much for a room filled with people -but you didn't care.

Somewhere in the background, someone wolf-whistled, but all you felt was San's hand tightening at your waist, the taste of champagne and laughter still on your lips, and the certainty that maybe -just maybe- that bouquet wasn't a curse after all.

The air inside San's office was warm and suffocating despite the minimalistic modern design and large floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked Berlin's skyline. You stepped inside with measured steps, your heels clicking softly on the marble floor. San was already there, leaning against the edge of his grand wooden desk with his long thick fingers wrapping around the pen that kept swirling on his digits every few seconds, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"You're early," he said, his voice smooth but laced with something smug.

"I prefer to get unpleasant things over with quickly," you replied, your tone cool and detached as you slipped off your coat. "I assume your father told you why I'm here."

San chuckled, swirling the pen one last time before putting it down. "Oh, I know. The future Mrs. Choi wants to 'discuss terms,' right? Sounds like a business merger already." his dark eyes gleamed with interest as he looked you up and down, deliberately slow. "But I'm curious, why did you finally agree? You seemed so determined to avoid me before."

You crossed your arms, meeting his gaze without flinching. "Not everything is about you, San. My reasons are my own."

The smirk faltered for a split second before returning, this time tinged with something bittersweet. "Fair enough," he said, straightening up and taking a step closer, his voice dropping just slightly. "But you'll have to get used to things being about us. At least, that's what everyone else will expect starting next weekend."

Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You kept your expression neutral, tilting your head just slightly. "Let's get one thing straight, this marriage may be inevitable, but that doesn't mean I have to like it."

San smiled -slow, dangerous, and entirely too pleased. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

That sentence alone had you rolling your eyes, trying to control yourself from slipping your tongue on how disgusted you were by that whole thing. 

You exhaled slowly, your fingers tightening around the strap of yourbag. "As long as you understand where we stand, this arrangement might work. We'll play the perfect couple for the public. But behind closed doors, we keep our distance until we sign the divorce papers. Simple."

San stepped closer, closing the space between you just enough to make your breath hitch. His cologne -warm and spicy- wrapped around you like an invisible trap. "Keep our distance?" he repeated, his voice low, almost amused. "Is that what you want? Because that's not what it looked like back at that business gala... when you couldn't stop staring."

As much as you wanted to deny it, your eyes were indeed on him the whole time. He was charming and captivating, it was impossible to move your eyes away from him. But that hypnosis lasted until his family came up with the idea of imposing that marriage on you. He lost all his charm just at that moment. 

You narrowed your eyes. "I was staring at the disaster unfolding around me, not at you."

San smirked, tilting his head. "Right. That's why your eyes followed me the entire night." he leaned in, his lips just a breath away from your ear. "You're good at playing it cold, Y/n. But I wonder how long you can keep that act up once we're married."

You refused to back down, your voice calm despite the spark of irritation in your chest. "I've dealt with men far more intimidating than you, San. Trust me, keeping you at arm's length won't be a challenge."

A flicker of something darker crossed his eyes -something almost dangerous. For a moment, the air between you felt heavy, charged with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

"Good," San finally said, his voice a whisper. "Keep trying to resist me. It'll make it that much more fun when you fail."

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step back, reclaiming the distance. "You're delusional if you think I'll ever fall for you."

San raised his eyebrows in amused awe as he took on the challenge. "We'll see, future Mrs. Choi. We've got a lifetime to test that theory."

You turned on your heel, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected you. But as you walked toward the door, you couldn't shake the feeling that San was right. The real challenge wasn't staying distant -it was making sure you didn't get burned by the fire between you.

"By the way, you mentioned divorce... didn't you?" your tracks stopped the second he mentioned that detail, hearing his heavy steps behind you as he approached his body. 

Slowly, you turned to him, unable to back down on your stance "That's what we agreed on."

"Some deals suffer changes as they have to meet different necessities, don't you think?" the way his eyebrows arched, while his lips pursed on a mocking grin almost had you losing your patience. "Divorce was ever on the plate? Because I don't think it was one of my conditions".

"No, it was one of mine" you spat back. "Either sign those divorce papers on good terms, or I'll drag you from one trial to another" San loved the challenge, he loved the way your eyes fixed on him to make sure he understood everything you were saying. 

"What if I don't want to sign them?"

"Then you'll have to find another dumbass to agree to get married to you" you rolled your eyes, thinking that would be the end of your conversation, but his fingers hooked on your elbow to stop you from walking away. 

You weren't sure exactly when he got so close, but you could feel the warm air escaping his nostrils on your cheeks. 

"Don't try to throw a fist at me" he stopped you. "You're so used to getting what you want, don't you? You pout a little, you act a little bitchy and daddy gives you all you want. Let me give you a spoiler: that won't work with me. The moment you're my wife, you'll do as I say. And if I say I don't want to get divorced, then you won't get those fucking papers". 

Your eyes started to water: rage, sadness, frustration... All those feelings were building up as you realized you got to a no-exit stop. Your plans were crumbling down, all your ideas were getting ruined, and all you could do was tighten your lips and open your eyes as much as possible so tears wouldn't escape with a blink. 

Daddy's girl? He had absolutely no idea. If you were living in such a perfect place, you wouldn't have agreed in the first place, but the fact that your parents -or people who gave you shelter when you needed it- agreed on engaging their daughter with a complete stranger for money should've given him enough of a hint of your reality. 

"Your choice" you managed to get rid of his grip. "Either sign those papers, or I'll make sure to tell everyone what all of this is about". 

"You won't. And you wanna know how I know?" he took one step closer to you. "I'll make your life a living hell if you do". 

"With what power?"

Your mocking tone was the last straw before he moved his hand from your elbow to your throat, wrapping his fingers around it and slamming your body against the wide door. 

"I don't need any power for that." his eyes were dark, his threat becoming a promise "Even if it's the last thing I do, I'll make you regret ever messing with me. So you better come with a pretty dress and the best of attitudes next weekend". He let go of your throat slowly, calmly placing his shirt properly "I know you'll make the best decision" he finally said. 

Your eyes were fixed on him, confused at how easily he let you go. And, somehow, his words were even scarier than his actions, because you could see the threat through them. 

The grand hall was filled with muted whispers and expectant gazes, the air thick with anticipation. The soft hum of violins played in the background, their melody delicate but almost haunting. The guests sat in rows beneath an arch of white roses and crystal chandeliers, their eyes flitting between the tall doors at the back of the aisle and San, who stood at the altar in his perfectly tailored black suit, waiting.

His fingers twitched at his sides as he stole a glance at the watch, sliding the sleeve of his jacket just a bit far up. 

Ten minutes late. Then fifteen. 

You weren't there.

He told himself you'd show up. You had to. But with each passing second, doubt sank its claws deeper into him. His heart pounded, and the polished facade he wore so well began to crack. Was this your way of backing out? A silent rebellion against a marriage neither of you had chosen? Were you actually telling the truth when you said you wouldn't show up if he didn't promise you a divorce? 

The doors remained closed, and San's jaw tightened. His father, seated in the front row, shot him a warning glance -one that practically screamed "Handle this".

Then, just as his patience teetered on the edge of collapse, the heavy doors finally creaked open.

A hush fell over the crowd.

And there you were.

You stood at the entrance in your wedding dress, the long veil trailing behind you, catching the soft light like a halo. For a moment, the room seemed to blur around you, everything fading except the heavy thud of your heart. You could feel every eye on you, the weight of their expectations pressing down on your chest, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your feet felt like concrete as you took your first step. Hesitation rooted itself deep inside you, your body caught in a battle between instinct and obligation.

San watched you with an intensity that bordered on desperation. His dark eyes flickered with a thousand questions. You couldn't miss the way his shoulders tensed or how his lips pressed into a thin line, betraying the fear he was trying so hard to conceal.

Step by step, you made your way down the aisle, but each step felt heavier than the last. Doubt whispered cruelly in your ear. "You don't have to do this" you told yourself.

Your fingers clutched the bouquet so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced yourself forward, your gaze fixed ahead, refusing to meet San's eyes until you stood just a breath away from him.

"Finally," San muttered under his breath, his voice low enough for only you to hear. 

There was relief in his tone, but it was wrapped in a layer of frustration.

The officiant began to speak, his words echoing in the cavernous hall. You barely registered them, your mind a tangled mess of emotions. San's eyes never left yours. His expression was calm on the surface, but you could see the storm raging just beneath it: fear, frustration, and something dangerously close to longing.

"And now," the officiant said, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind, "if the bride and groom would like to exchange their vows."

San went first. His voice was steady, but the practiced words carried an unexpected weight, laced with sincerity that caught you off guard.

"I promise to protect you," he said, his gaze locking onto yours. "To stand beside you through whatever comes next. No matter what happens... I'm yours."

There was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes -just a flash- but it was enough to send your heart lurching in your chest.

Then it was your turn. The officiant turned to you expectantly, waiting for your response.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came.

A heavy silence hung in the air. It stretched long enough to make the guests shift uncomfortably in their seats. Even the soft melody of the violins seemed to falter.

Everything you had prepared so mindfully disappeared at the feeling of being so watched, as if you were under watchful eye. You were sure it'd be obvious you weren't feeling either of the words you were pronouncing. 

San's fingers curled slightly at his sides, his eyes searching yours for a sign, for anything.

The officiant cleared his throat. "Do you, Y/n, take Choi San to be your lawfully wedded husband?" his tone was insistent, as if he wanted to get any words from you to get all of that over with. 

The pause that followed was suffocating. You felt San's breath catch, his entire body coiled tight, ready to unravel.

Although he hoped you wouldn't humiliate him that way, he saw you completely able to do it. 

Finally, you whispered the words.

"...I do."

Your voice was barely audible, a breath more than a declaration. But it was enough.

San exhaled, his shoulders relaxing, though the tension in his jaw remained. His eyes never left yours, dark and unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle with too many missing pieces.

The officiant smiled, oblivious to the war waging between the two of you. "By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

San hesitated, just for a heartbeat, before leaning in. Your head immediately threw back slightly, enough for him to know you didn't want that kiss and make it seem like a shy move for the rest of the assistants. His hand found your waist -firm but not forceful- as he tilted his head and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss was brief, calculated for the audience, but the heat of it lingered far longer than it should have. San had been daydreaming way too long about it to waste that chance. 

His lips were warm against yours, but there was something else beneath the surface. A question. A challenge.

When he pulled back, his eyes locked on yours once more. He didn't smile. Neither did you.

The applause from the crowd felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely.

As the two of you turned to face the audience, San leaned in close, his breath warm against your ear.

"We're just getting started," he whispered, his voice dark with promise.

You kept your face neutral, your expression unreadable, but your pulse betrayed you, thudding wildly in your chest.

The reception was a spectacle of luxury and elegance, just as expected from a merger of two powerful families. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over the grand hall, where hundreds of guests mingled, sipping champagne and exchanging polite congratulations.

You smiled and nodded your way through countless conversations, always keeping one eye on San. He was never far, and every time you saw him start toward you, you slipped between groups of guests or ducked behind another table.

You had managed to avoid him all night. At the cake-cutting ceremony, his hand had hovered near yours on the knife, holding tighter over your skin as you threatened to let the long sword slide from your fingers to his throat. And for a fleeting moment, you thought he might say something, yet he only smirked and moved closer to you. You were quick to turn away, disappearing into the crowd the moment the applause broke, trying to get away from him. 

San, however, was nothing if not persistent.

The moment you saw him again, his dark eyes locked onto yours from across the dance floor. This time, there was no escape. The crowd parted just enough for him to make his way toward you, his strides deliberate and confident.

"Running from me again?" he said when he reached you, his voice low, a challenge glinting in his eyes.

You lifted your chin, forcing your expression to stay composed. "I wasn't running. I was... mingling with the guests."

His lips curled into a smirk. "Right. Mingling." he offered his hand, palm open and waiting. "Well, it's time for the first dance, Mrs. Choi. You wouldn't want to disappoint our guests, would you?"

Your stomach tightened at the weight of his words. There was no getting out of this. Not without causing a scene.

With a quiet sigh, you slipped your hand into his. His fingers curled around yours, warm and firm, and you couldn't help but notice how easily they fit together.

The lights dimmed, and the soft melody of "You Are the Reason" by Calum Scott filled the air. A sweet, tender song -one that felt far too intimate for the situation, as if it was meant for two people who loved each other.

San led you to the center of the dance floor, his hand resting gently on your waist, pulling you just close enough to make your pulse stutter.

"I was starting to think you wouldn't show up today," he said softly, his voice barely audible over the music. His eyes searched yours, the teasing edge gone now, replaced by something far more serious. "You made me worried."

You swallowed, your gaze dropping for a split second before meeting his again. "I was... thinking things through."

His hand tightened slightly on your waist. "Did you change your mind at the last minute?"

For a moment, you didn't answer. The question hung in the air between you, heavy with meaning. The song swelled around you, the lyrics wrapping around your heart like a bittersweet lullaby.

You knew hell would be nothing compared to your life if you didn't show up to the wedding. Not because of San or his family though, but your adoptive parents. The moment you twisted all of their plans, there would be no escape from it. 

At least with San you wouldn't owe anyone anything. Instead, you'd be the one they owe something to. 

San's eyes softened, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "If you had, I would've waited. I would've found another way."

Your breath hitched. His words caught you off guard -unexpected and disarming. For the first time that night, the wall you had so carefully built around yourself began to crack.

He seemed so genuine, so caring.

"I'm here now," you said, your voice steadier than you felt. "That's all that matters."

His gaze lingered on you for a long moment before he nodded. "Yeah. You're here."

The music continued, the world around you fading as you moved together in perfect synchrony. His touch was light yet grounding, his eyes never leaving yours.

For a fleeting second, you forgot about the crowd, the expectations, the tangled mess of your circumstances. It was just the two of you, swaying gently beneath the chandeliers, the lyrics of the song weaving a story neither of you was ready to admit aloud.

As the final notes faded, San leaned in just slightly, his voice a soft murmur against your ear.

"You can keep running all you want," he said, his breath warm on your skin. "But sooner or later, you'll stop. And when you do... I'll be right here, waiting."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. There was no smirk, no mask, just him.

The applause from the crowd broke the spell, and you quickly stepped back, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. San let you go, but his eyes stayed on you, dark and unreadable, as if daring you to run again.

And maybe you would. But for the first time, a small part of you wondered if running was really what you wanted. No, you stayed by his side, answering to his challenge with the same power he was showing off. 

The party blurred into a collection of clinking glasses, polite congratulations, and watchful eyes. Despite the sea of guests surrounding you, you felt like you were holding your breath the entire time. So when San leaned close and whispered, "Let's get out of here," you didn't argue. If he hadn't said it, you probably would've escaped by yourself. 

Now, the two of you sat in the back of a sleek black car, the hum of the city filling the silence between you. The driver navigated the streets with ease, the warm glow of streetlights flashing across the car's interior.

San sat beside you, his posture relaxed, but his eyes kept drifting toward your hand -the wedding ring glinting softly on your finger. He didn't bother hiding the fact that he was staring.

You caught him once, raising an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"

His gaze flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, something unreadable flashed across his face. "No," he said quietly. "Just getting used to the sight."

You turned your hand slightly, the light catching on the diamond. The ring was beautiful, of course -a complex design that was probably picked out by your parents and San's father rather than by either of you. It felt foreign on your finger, a constant reminder of the deal you'd made.

San's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "It suits you," he said, his voice soft, almost contemplative.

You said nothing, turning your head to watch the city rush by through the window. San simply smirked, knowing that your silence was better than a sassy response from you. 

When the car finally pulled up to the luxury hotel, you let out a breath you didn't realize you were holding. The driver opened the door, and you stepped out, feeling the cool night air brush against your skin. San followed close behind, his hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching.

The suite was exactly what you expected -grand and luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the Brandenburg Gate. A bottle of champagne and a tray of chocolates waited on the marble table, while a large king-sized bed sat at the center of the room, draped in crisp white linens.

You set your bag down and turned to San, folding your arms across your chest. "I'll take the bed. You can sleep on the couch."

His eyebrows lifted slightly, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "The couch?"

"It's comfortable enough," you said, nodding toward the plush, oversized sofa near the window. "Plenty of space."

San took a step closer, his expression unreadable. "We're married now, remember? Sharing the bed won't kill us."

You scoffed lightly, crossing the room to stand by the couch. "Not happening." You glanced back at him, raising an eyebrow. "Fine. You take the bed. I'll sleep here." you rushed to say, feeling your energy consumed by the small talk you made with all the guests. 

"No." his response was immediate, his tone firm. "You're not sleeping on the couch."

"Then am I sleeping on the floor?" you arched an eyebrow "Because I won't sleep with you in the same bed".

You stared at him, daring him to argue further. But to your surprise, he sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Alright. I'll sleep on the couch."

His sudden surrender caught you off guard. "Just like that?"

He smirked faintly, tossing his jacket onto a chair. "I'm not going to win this argument, am I?"

You watched him for a moment, suspicious of how easily he gave in, but ultimately decided not to push it. "Good. I'll get ready for bed."

As you disappeared into the bathroom, San sank onto the couch, leaning his head back against the cushions. He glanced at the wedding ring on his own hand, turning it slowly between his fingers. For all his confidence and charm, there was something strangely grounding about the weight of the band.

As much as that wasn't the way he wanted you to be by his side, it somehow made him feel good. 

When you returned, dressed in something far more comfortable than your wedding gown, San was already stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over his eyes.

"Comfortable?" you asked, standing by the bed.

He peeked at you from beneath his arm, his lips quivering into a faint smile. "I've had worse."

You rolled your eyes and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets up around you. For a few moments, silence filled the room, the only sound the soft hum of the city outside the windows.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, you heard San's voice -quiet but clear in the darkness.

"Goodnight, Y/n."

You hesitated before responding, your voice soft. "Goodnight, San."

Neither of you said anything after that, but sleep didn't come easily. You lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling, painfully aware of his presence just a few feet away.

The distance between you felt both vast and dangerously fragile. And as the minutes stretched into hours, you couldn't help but wonder how long it would stay that way.

The morning started quietly -too quietly. You woke up, blinking against the soft morning light spilling into the room, only to find San already sitting on the couch, his phone in hand. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt, slightly wrinkled from the night before, was unbuttoned at the collar. He looked far too relaxed for someone who had spent the night on a couch after your wedding.

"Good morning," he said, his eyes flicking to yours the second you stirred. His voice was calm, but there was something smug lurking just beneath the surface, as if he was already one step ahead of you.

You rubbed your eyes, forcing yourself to sound composed. "Morning."

A few beats of silence passed, too long to be comfortable.

"You were tossing and turning last night," San said casually, stretching his arms behind his head. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I slept just fine," you lied, standing and heading for your bag. You could feel his eyes on your every move, sharp and assessing.

"You sure? You sounded restless." his voice was smooth, laced with amusement.

You froze, giving him a flat look. "Were you listening to me sleep?"

He grinned, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "It's hard not to when someone mutters 'This is a mistake' at 2 a.m."

Your face heated. "I did not..."

"You did." his smirk widened. "I thought about waking you up to ask what you meant, but I figured I'd let you dream about it instead."

You crossed your arms, your patience wearing thin. "Thanks for your consideration, San."

"Anything for you, love," he said, drawing out the word with deliberate sarcasm.

"You've really mastered being annoying, haven't you?" you shot back, heading toward the closet.

"Years of practice," he said, standing up and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "You'll get used to it."

You rolled your eyes, yanking open your suitcase with unnecessary force. "God forbid."

San chuckled under his breath, walking over to lean casually against the wall beside you. "You can deny it all you want, but deep down, you like this."

You turned to glare at him. "Like what?"

"This," he said, gesturing between the two of you. "The bickering. The back-and-forth. Admit it, it's fun."

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. "San, not everything is a game. And if you think this -whatever this is- counts as fun, then we're going to have a very long, very difficult marriage."

He tilted his head, pretending to think. "A long marriage... Sounds like you're planning to stick around. It does sound really good to me."

"Oh my god," you muttered, turning on your heel. "I can't do this right now."

You stalked toward the bathroom, determined to get a moment's peace.

"You're already giving up?" he called after you. "We've been married for less than 24 hours, Y/n!"

"I'm not giving up. I'm taking a shower," you snapped, slamming the bathroom door shut.

The water was a relief, washing away some of the tension, but your frustration lingered like a storm cloud. And then, halfway through shampooing your hair, you realized something.

You forgot to bring clothes.

You let out a frustrated groan, rinsing the shampoo quickly before wrapping yourself in a towel. The last thing you wanted was to ask San for help, so you cracked the door open and peeked out.

He was still there, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, clearly waiting for your return like some smug predator.

Of course.

You squared your shoulders and stepped out, keeping your head high as you made your way toward the bag.

San's eyes found you immediately, sweeping over your damp hair and the towel wrapped tightly around you. He didn't even try to hide it.

"Forgot something?" his voice was low and teasing.

"Not a word," you warned, grabbing your clothes.

But before you could escape back to the bathroom, his hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. His fingers were warm, firm, and far too steady for someone who was enjoying this way too much.

"Why bother going back?" he said softly, his voice dropping into that dangerously calm tone that always made your pulse race. "You're already here."

You tightened your grip on your towel. "Let me go, San."

His eyes darkened, his thumb brushing against your wrist in a slow, deliberate motion. "Why? What's the big deal? We're married now, remember?"

Your breath caught, but you forced your voice to stay steady. "I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're thinking."

He leaned in just slightly, his lips curving into a smirk. "Then prove it. Get changed right here." His gaze dropped for a split second before meeting yours again, his voice barely a whisper. "Unless you're shy."

Your heart thundered in your chest, heat rushing to your face. "I'm not shy."

You weren't shy, but you didn't like the way your body was reacting to his voice, to his petition and his proximity. And you certainly didn't want him to see it so clearly either. 

"Then go ahead," he said, his voice practically daring you.

You glared at him, yanking your wrist free. "Turn around."

"I'm not turning around" he sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "What's the fun of it if I can't see you?"

He was trying to intimidate you, challenge you to do something he thought you wouldn't dare to do, so he could then tease you about it. 

Two could play that game. 

You placed the clothes on the bed, next to where he was. Taking one step back, your hands were placed on both edges of the towel, slowly undoing the knot to let it pool at your feet. San gulped thick at the sight, not expecting you to actually get naked in front of him, and even less that way, and it gave you a pinch of pride at how nervous he looked for a second. 

You didn't need to do anything, just that stare and the sight of your body alone was enough to awaken the most primal needs. His body responded to you, even if it had been just a second he saw you. Your humid skin, the way some drops fell from your hair and rolled down the curve of your breast to get to your hardened nipple. His mouth was watering just with the need of tasting you. 

San blinked, confused at the way your hand was stretched out for him, "The panties" you mentioned as if it were obvious. 

His hand moved to his left, grabbing the fabric to hand it out to you. You put them on torturously slow, covering your lower half to snap your fingers and asking him for your bra. Placing the strips on your shoulders, you turned to him, your body fitting perfectly in between his semi-parted legs as you silently asked him to tie the clasp. 

Shivers ran through your body at the contact of the reverse of his fingers on your skin, his touch holding on longer than necessary, just because he liked the way you felt as he touched you a little bit too much. 

You didn't need to ask, because San moved to the next item the moment you stepped away. 

He should've seen it coming for him when he saw you lifting your feet, placing it on his thigh -way too close to a place where he needed you like crazy. Your fingers moved calmly, sliding the tight over your leg, up the curve of your knee, moving it past your thigh. Yet San could only focus on how your warmth spread over his skin like wildfire, making him feel you were touching him in places you were not. 

When you finally stepped back to put on the other side of the tight, and the rest of clothes, San felt like he could breathe again, his control coming back to him when he was able to think straight -which also happened when you were fully clothed again. 

You thought he'd hesitate or act shy, but instead his cocky attitude came back as he stood up, the height difference becoming obvious again as he towered over you. 

"See how it isn't that difficult to be a good girl?" he muttered, just loud enough for you to hear.

You'd have thrown a shoe at him if he hadn't hidden inside the bathroom immediately after airing out that response. 

He was insufferable. 

The car ride to San's house was quiet, tense, and far too long for your liking. The morning sun bathed the streets in gold, but it did nothing to lighten the atmosphere inside the vehicle. San sat beside you, one arm draped lazily across the back of the seat, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you as you stared resolutely out the window.

He had been surprisingly well-behaved since the towel incident, keeping his teasing remarks to a minimum -though his occasional glances were enough to keep you on edge.

When the car finally pulled up in front of his house, your eyes widened slightly. House was an understatement. It was a sprawling modern estate with sleek glass panels, sharp architectural lines, and an air of quiet luxury. 

"Home sweet home," San said, stepping out of the car and holding the door open for you with a half-smirk.

You stepped out, clutching your overnight bag tightly. "Big enough so we won't have to see each other for a whole day"

"Thanks for noticing," he quipped. "Come on. I'll give you the grand tour."

You followed him up the steps, trying not to be too impressed as you took in the pristine interior-marble floors, minimalist décor, and massive windows that flooded the space with light.

"Kitchen's over there," San said, gesturing toward an open-concept area with gleaming countertops. "Dining room, living room... you know, standard rich-guy stuff."

"Right," you said dryly. "Because this is completely normal."

He glanced back at you with a grin. "You'll get used to it." the mockery on his tone, knowing damn too well you were used to all that luxury and more, shouldn't have been as funny as it seemed for you. 

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to avoid his gaze. The tension from earlier was still there, simmering just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, replaced by an odd sense of anticipation.

"Upstairs," San said, leading you to the second floor. You followed him down a hallway lined with modern artwork and huge windows, your footsteps echoing softly on the hardwood floors.

He stopped in front of a door near the end of the hallway and turned to you. "This is your room."

You blinked, caught off guard. "My... room?"

San nodded, his expression unreadable. "I figured you'd want your own space."

Your hand tightened around the strap of your bag. For a moment, you didn't know what to say. You had fully expected him to make some smug comment about sharing a bed -or worse, insist on it. But there he was, offering you something you hadn't dared to hope for: distance.

"Thanks," you said quietly, stepping into the room. It was beautiful -spacious, with a king-sized bed, soft cream-colored walls, and a large window that overlooked the shared garden of the building. There was even an en-suite bathroom with a walk-in shower and a deep soaking tub.

You indeed wouldn't need to get out there, except to eat. 

"Your things are in the closet" he started. "You didn't bring a lot of things, so I guess you'll bring the rest later?"

"No, that's it" you whispered. 

San stopped for a second, shocked about the fact that you only brought a medium suitcase and the bag you were carrying to pack up all of your things. It wasn't like he was expecting a full suitcase display from you, but certainly not something so minimal. 

"I'll be down the hall if you need anything," San said, lingering in the doorway. His eyes softened, his earlier bravado fading just a little. "Seriously. Anything."

For a brief second, the air between you shifted. He wasn't teasing or smug. He just looked... sincere.

You hesitated, feeling the strange urge to say something more, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you gave him a small nod. "I'll be fine."

He smiled faintly, stepping back. "Alright. Settle in. I'll see you downstairs."

As he walked away, you closed the door and leaned against it, exhaling slowly.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

But then again, with San, nothing ever stayed calm for long.

The first month of marriage was nothing short of a battlefield.

It didn't take long for every small interaction to turn into a heated argument. San always had something to say -sharp and sarcastic, ready to push your buttons at every opportunity. You were no better, meeting his smug remarks with icy glares and curt responses. It became a game, a war of words and wills, with neither of you willing to surrender.

There were good moments, but they were fleeting. It started with you finding out San filled up your closet with different clothes and accessories, adding up to the small suitcase you first brought. And it slowly evolved into a laugh shared over breakfast when San nearly burned his toast. A surprisingly comfortable evening spent watching a movie in silence, where the tension seemed to ease just a little. But those moments were always overshadowed by the endless tug-of-war that followed.

It was exhausting, that constant dance of hostility and fleeting truce.

Every day felt like a test of who could push the other further without breaking. The house, despite its size, felt stifling. His presence lingered in every room -a constant reminder that your marriage was nothing more than a cage disguised as luxury.

And today, you'd had enough.

The argument started in the kitchen that morning, over something as trivial as a set of misplaced car keys. It escalated far too quickly, voices rising, accusations flying.

"You always think you can control everything," you snapped, crossing your arms.

San leaned against the counter, his jaw tightening. "Control? I'm trying to help you, but you treat everything I say like it's some personal attack."

"Because it always is!" you threw up your hands in frustration. "You don't know how to back off, San! You just keep pushing and pushing... Fuck, you don't let me breathe!"

"Maybe because you keep running away instead of facing things!" his voice dropped, low and sharp. "You're so obsessed with shutting me out that you can't even see when someone's trying to meet you halfway."

You stared at him, chest heaving, words caught in your throat. For a second, neither of you moved. The silence felt heavier than the argument itself.

Then, without a word, you turned on your heel and stormed upstairs. You needed air, space, anything to escape that suffocating cycle.

In your room, you grabbed a coat and your purse, your hands trembling with frustration. Your eyes caught on your wedding ring, glinting in the sunlight. The sight of it only fueled the fire burning in your chest.

You slipped it off, the cool metal unfamiliar without the warmth of your skin beneath it. For a moment, you stared at the ring in your palm, your thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotions.

Then you set it on the dresser and walked out of the room, not bothering to look back.

San was still in the kitchen when you came back down, his back to you. You didn't say a word as you grabbed your keys from the counter and headed for the front door.

The sound of your footsteps must have caught his attention because he turned around, his eyes narrowing. "Where are you going?"

"Out," you said shortly, not slowing down.

"Without your ring?" his voice was calm, too calm. It sent a shiver down your spine.

You paused, hand on the door handle, refusing to turn around. "I need some time alone."

"And you think taking off your ring is the way to do that?" his footsteps echoed behind you, slow and deliberate. "Is this your idea of freedom?"

You finally turned to face him, meeting his eyes head-on. "What does it matter? It's not like this marriage is real anyway."

The words hung in the air, heavy and final.

For the first time in weeks, San didn't have a quick response. He just looked at you, his jaw clenched, his eyes dark with something you couldn't quite place -hurt, maybe, or anger, or both.

"If you walk out that door without it," he said quietly, "don't expect me to come looking for you."

The threat was clear, but it only made your resolve stronger.

"Good," you said, voice steady. "That's exactly what I want."

And with that, you opened the door and stepped outside, the cool air hitting your face like a slap.

As you walked toward your car, your heart pounded in your chest. Part of you expected him to follow, to stop you. But when you glanced back, the door was already closed.

Maybe he didn't care enough to stop you after all. Although you wouldn't think too much about it. The more he ignored you, the more freedom you'd have. 

The bar was harmonized with a low hum of conversation and soft music filling the air. You had no plan when you walked in -just an overwhelming need to be anywhere but at that house. You found a spot at the bar, ordering a drink and savoring the temporary escape it promised.

The alcohol warmed your throat and dulled the frustration swirling in your chest. One drink turned into two, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again.

"You look like you could use some company."

You glanced up to see a man standing beside you, his smile easy and confident. His eyes lingered on you just a little too long.

"Not really," you said, turning back to your drink.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said, leaning in closer. "It's just a conversation. You shouldn't be alone in a place like this."

"I'm fine," you insisted, but he didn't seem to get the hint.

The air shifted before you could say anything else, a new presence filling the space behind you.

"She's not alone."

You froze at the familiar voice, low and commanding. Turning slightly, you found yourself face-to-face with San. His dark eyes were locked on the man, his jaw tight, his entire body radiating quiet danger.

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "And who are you?"

San's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Her husband."

The word hung in the air like a gunshot, silencing everything around you.

The man's eyes flicked between the two of you, suddenly less confident. "Right... well, my mistake." he backed away with a muttered apology, disappearing into the crowd.

Your heart was pounding, though you weren't sure if it was from the alcohol or the way San's eyes hadn't left you once.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, trying to sound unaffected.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his voice calm but laced with barely restrained frustration. "But I guess taking off your ring and disappearing without a word answers that for me."

"I needed space," you said, crossing your arms. "You don't own me, San."

His eyes darkened. "You're right. I don't. But I'm still your husband. If you disappear in the middle of the night, I'll come looking for you. And if some creep thinks he can hit on you, then I'm going to do something about it."

You rolled your eyes, the alcohol emboldening you. "So this is about your ego?"

He took a step closer, the tension crackling between you. "No. It's about the fact that I care, whether you want to believe it or not."

His words caught you off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

"Let's go," he said, his tone softening just a fraction. "It's late."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said stubbornly, turning back toward the bar.

San let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "Fine. You want to be difficult? Have it your way."

Before you could react, his arm looped around your waist, and in one swift motion, he threw you over his shoulder like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"San!" you gasped, pounding your fists against his back. "Put me down!"

"Not a chance," he muttered, already weaving his way through the crowd. Heads turned, curious eyes following the scene as you squirmed in his grip. "You brought this on yourself."

"San, I swear to God..."

"You can yell all you want," he said calmly. "We're leaving."

Once outside, the cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did little to cool the heat rising in your cheeks -from anger or embarrassment, you weren't sure. San carried you all the way to his car, finally setting you down beside it.

"You're insane," you snapped, your breath coming fast as you straightened your clothes.

"Maybe," he said, stepping closer, his eyes never leaving yours. "I thought you'd have learned to love it by now."

For a moment, you stood there, caught in a standoff.

"Get in the car," he said softly, but there was no mistaking the authority in his voice.

Your pride told you to refuse, to stand your ground and make this even more difficult. But something about the intensity in his eyes made you falter.

Wordlessly, you opened the car door and got in, your pulse still racing.

San slid into the driver's seat, starting the car without another word. The ride home was silent, the air between you charged with tension. You could feel his occasional glances, the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel every time your bare finger caught the light.

The ride home was silent. He didn't speak, and neither did you. But the weight of everything unsaid filled the car, pressing down on you both.

When you pulled up in front of the building, San finally broke the silence.

"I'm not going to pretend I know what you're thinking," he said, his voice low. "But if you want to leave, really leave, just say it. I'll let you go."

You turned to look at him, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It was the first time you'd seen him drop his guard like this.

But instead of answering, you opened the door and stepped out, your heart pounding in your chest.

San stayed in the car for a moment before following you inside. Neither of you said a word as you climbed the stairs, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

When you reached your room, you paused in the doorway, glancing back at him.

"Goodnight," you said softly, your voice barely audible.

For once, San didn't have a clever comeback. He just nodded, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than they should have.

"Goodnight," he echoed, his voice rough around the edges.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between you -something neither of you was ready to admit yet.

The tension between you and San had been palpable since that night. Every word, every glance, felt like a battle -a silent war that neither of you was willing to lose. And just when you thought it couldn't get any worse, you found yourself trapped at one of his company's lavish parties, drowning in champagne and meaningless small talk.

It wasn't your kind of crowd. Polished executives and their equally polished partners swirled around you, exchanging pleasantries and hollow laughs. Being the accessory of the main character of the party wasn't your thing at all. You stood near the bar, sipping your drink, counting down the minutes until you could escape. 

That's when you saw him, San, standing at the center of a group of people, commanding their attention with ease. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, his hair perfectly styled, exuding the kind of confidence that made it impossible to look away.

And then you noticed her.

She was standing beside him, too close, her hand resting lightly on his arm as she laughed at something he said. A striking woman in a sleek red dress, her eyes sparkled with something far more than professional interest.

Your grip on your glass tightened as you watched her lean in, whispering something into his ear. To your horror, San didn't pull away. Instead, he turned toward her with a slow smile, his eyes dropping deliberately to her lips before meeting hers again.

It was a calculated move -one meant for your benefit. You knew it. He knew it.

Your stomach twisted, a mix of anger and something far more dangerous bubbling in your chest. But you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Not here. Not in front of everyone.

You turned your back to him, willing yourself to focus on the conversation happening nearby. It was meaningless chatter, something about stock prices, but you latched onto it, pretending you didn't notice the way your pulse was racing.

"Jealous, love?"

The voice was low and teasing, right behind you. You didn't need to turn to know who it was.

"Hardly," you said, taking a sip of your drink without looking at him. "Do what you want. I couldn't care less."

"Is that so?" San stepped into your line of vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Because it looked like you were about two seconds away from throwing your drink at her."

"More like two seconds away from smacking this glass on your head" you finally sentenced. 

"That does sound like someone who's jealous"

You forced a smile, meeting his gaze head-on. "Please. If I wanted to make a scene, you'd know it."

San chuckled, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. "Careful, Y/n. You might give me the wrong idea: that you actually care about me and what I do."

Your pulse jumped, but you refused to let him win. "Trust me, I don't." you narrowed your eyes while looking at him "Just be careful of how you behave in front of everyone. We're still married. In private, do whatever the fuck you please". 

His smile was slow, almost predatory. "Good. Because I'd hate for you to get hurt playing a game you can't win."

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur. You couldn't stop watching him: laughing, smiling, always with her by his side. Each glance felt like a deliberate push, a challenge to see how far you'd let him go.

By the time the party started winding down, you'd had enough. You grabbed your purse and made your way toward the exit, your steps quick and determined.

But before you could leave, a hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks.

"Running away again?" San's voice was calm, but his grip was firm.

"Let go," you said, your voice low and dangerous.

"Not until you admit it." His eyes locked onto yours, the amusement gone, replaced by something far more serious.

"Admit what?"

"That you care," he said simply.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with fury. "You're unbelievable."

"And yet, here you are," San said softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "Still standing in front of me". You didn't know when he stepped so close that your chests were pressed together and your breaths were mixing between you two "I'm only yours, love. You just need to ask me, and I'll declare to you my love without thinking twice". 

For a moment, the world around you seemed to fade, the party noise a distant hum. You hated how close he was, how easily he could get under your skin.

But you refused to give him what he wanted. Not tonight.

Without another word, you turned and walked away, ignoring the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

The car ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The air between you felt like a loaded gun, ready to go off at the slightest provocation. San's hands rested on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, arms crossed, staring out the window in stubborn silence.

The tires crunched on the gravel as the car came to a stop in front of the building. You didn't wait for him to say anything -didn't even glance his way as you pushed the door open and strode toward the front entrance.

But the sound of his footsteps trailing behind you, steady and deliberate, made your pulse quicken.

You barely made it inside when San's voice cut through the silence.

"Care to explain what that little stunt at the party was all about?" his tone was deceptively calm, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

You spun around, glaring at him. "Are you seriously accusing me of something after what you pulled tonight? Flirting with her right in front of me?"

San smirked, stepping closer. "You noticed."

"Of course I noticed!" you snapped, your voice rising. "You made sure I would."

He shrugged, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous. "Maybe. But you didn't have to leave the party like that, running off again like you always do. It's getting old, Y/n."

"Maybe it's because I can't stand being around you," you shot back, your voice trembling slightly with the force of your anger. "Did you think of that?"

San tilted his head, studying you. "No," he said quietly, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between you. "I think you left because it bothered you. Because for once, you didn't have control, and it drove you crazy."

Your breath hitched, but you refused to back down. "You think too highly of yourself."

"Do I?" his voice was a whisper now, low and deliberate, each word wrapping around you like a challenge. "Then why are you shaking?"

You hated him for being right. Hated how easily he could strip away every layer of defense you had built.

"I'm not..."

"You are," he interrupted, his hand brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "And it's not because you're angry. It's because you feel something."

You opened your mouth to protest, but no words came out.

His eyes dropped to your lips for the briefest moment before locking onto yours again. "Tell me I'm wrong, and I'll back off," he said softly. "Tell me you don't feel anything, and I'll stop."

You stared at him, your heart pounding so hard it was almost painful.

But you couldn't say it.

The words wouldn't come.

San's smile was slow and triumphant. "That's what I thought."

He turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, breathless and furious, your skin still burning from his touch.

"You're insufferable," you called after him, but your voice wavered, the heat of your frustration blending with something far more dangerous.

San stopped mid-step, his back still to you. For a split second, you thought he'd ignore you, that he'd let you stew in your own whirlwind of emotions.

But then he turned, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. His steps were measured, each one bringing him closer, the air between you thick with electricity.

"You know what's really insufferable?" his voice was low, almost a growl. "The way you keep running. The way you keep fighting me when we both know exactly how this will end."

Your breath caught in your throat as he came to a stop just inches from you, his body radiating warmth, his presence overwhelming.

"I'm not running," you said, though it sounded more like a whisper than the firm declaration you intended.

His hand reached out, fingers brushing against your jaw, tilting your face up toward him. His touch was light, almost teasing, but it sent a jolt of heat racing through you.

The space between you disappeared in a heartbeat. His lips crashed against yours, and the world seemed to tilt on its axis. The kiss was anything but gentle -wild, desperate, and filled with every bit of frustration and desire that had built up between you.

Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only thing grounding you. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you flush against him, his grip possessive and unrelenting.

It felt better than anything neither of you could've ever imagined. It wasn't just a kiss -it was a battle, a collision of everything you didn't say, everything you'd tried to ignore. 

His lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin, his teeth grazing your bottom lip before deepening the kiss. You gasped when he sank his tongue in your mouth, quickly meeting yours at the same time he cornered you on the wall next to the door, his hand gently cupping the back of your head before moving it back to your neck. 

You hated him for making you feel this way, for always knowing how to push you to the edge and catch you before you fell. 

But at that moment, you couldn't bring yourself to care.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were ragged, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes searched yours, dark and unreadable, his chest rising and falling in time with yours.

"Say it," San whispered, his voice rough and breathless. "Say you don't feel anything."

You stayed silent, your lips still tingling from his kiss.

But the way your hands lingered on his chest, the way your body leaned into his, spoke louder than any words ever could.

He took your silence as the perfect answer, smirking to himself before he linked your lips together again. His fingers sank in your hair at the back of your head, twirling them on some locks to pull from them and throw your head to the side as he kissed you down your neck. 

"You're absolutely everything I've ever fucking dreamed of" he heavily whispered on your skin. "I want to admire you, worship your body and make love to you so you'd meet a devotion you had never seen in your life. But hell... when you look at me that way..." his thumb brushed over your cheekbone "I want to ruin you so bad, show you no one will fuck you so good to make your ears beep so loud you won't be hearing your own pleas when you ask me to stop".

Your kiss grew more passionate, your breaths coming in ragged gasps, when he kissed you again. His hands began to wander, tracing the curve of your back, the swell of your hips. You could feel the hardness of his body against yours, and it sent a thrill through you, craving for something you didn't know you were desperate for. You moaned softly into his mouth, pressing yourself against him, at the same time his hands held your hips to keep your body glued to him. 

San broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck again, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arched my back, a soft sigh escaping your lips, when his fingers brushed against the little skin that was shown off through the cleavage of your dress. It frustrated you, but it also felt so good the way your body responded to his touch without a resistance, your nipples hardening against the fabric of your bra, your entrance clenching around nothing as you kept waiting to feel him inside you. 

When he looked down at you once again, his hands moved down to the zip of your dress, his thumb brushing on your skin while his other fingers slid the material down. He didn't need to ask you, he didn't need to tell you, you helped him take off your dress. 

His eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his breath hitching. You were definitely better than he could've ever imagined. No light pajamas would ever compare to the vision in front of him. 

You reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling from the buttons to reveal his toned chest. San had to hold back the growl in his throat when you ran your fingers over the muscles, feeling the heat of his skin, making him sure your fingerprints were burning every inch you were moving through. 

He wasn't going to let you take control so easily though. 

He lowered his head all of a sudden, capturing one of your nipples in his mouth through the lace of your bra. You gasped, your hands fisting in his hair as a way to control your own self. He teased and suckled, his other hand cupping your breast before he dragged his fingers down with the fabric, exposing the flesh, his thumb rubbing against your nipple before he pinched it with his index. You could feel the wetness pooling between your legs, your body aching for more.

San slipped the straps of your bra off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. He took his time, exploring every inch of your body with his mouth and hands. He made you squirm beneath him, he filled your head with pleas you never thought would ever be aimed at him, your body was on fire for him.

You reached for his belt, unbuckling it slowly. He lifted his hips to help you, his jeans and boxers coming off in one swift motion. You looked down at him, your eyes widening at the sight of his hard length. He was thick and long, the tip glistening with pre-cum. You licked your lips when a sudden urge to taste him overwhelmed you. Was it how sexy he actually was? Or how bad you wanted him to beg for you and finally accept you were in control? Maybe both? 

You leaned down on your knees, not wasting a moment before taking him into your mouth. He groaned, his hands tangling in your hair as your tongue swirled around him. You sucked and licked, your head bobbing up and down at a tortuous speed. You could feel him getting harder, his hips thrusting gently. You took him deeper when he pushed you lower, your nose brushing against his skin to look up to him. 

And hell, if that image wasn't the best sight ever...

He pulled you up with one swift motion, your lips still parted to the size of his length when he crashed his lips against yours again. Your back slammed against the door, and your head banged against it the moment he pulled your panties down and slid two fingers in you. His thumb brushed over your clit gently, slowly, which was opposite to the way his curved digits moved and rubbed against your walls. 

He earned another moan from you, and his cock twitched in the air against your body once more. 

"Who do you belong to, Y/n? Who owns you now?" his voice was thick and raspy as he whispered. His voice was a mix of cockiness and need to prove you always belonged to him. 

The moment you tried to move your head forward to rest on his shoulder, his fingers wrapped around your throat and stuck your head against the wood to keep your eyes fixed on him. 

You didn't know what to do with your arms, how to keep yourself on your feet, but you did know you had to keep your eyes fixed on him. 

"My love" he almost sang when he felt the way your walls clenched around him and your clit throbbing "I've only been yours" his digits squeezed your throat tighter, unaware of how that dragged you closer to your orgasm. 

Your body squirmed and folded under his grip when that hurricane hit you, yet he didn't stop. His movements were more delicate and slower, but he fingered you through your orgasm until he felt your breathing settling again. 

Your lips were parted when his wet fingers slid through them, and you blindly obeyed, closing your mouth around his digits to lick every drop of his work of art. San barely gave you time to let go of them before his lips crashed against yours again, his tongue looking out for yours to taste you directly on it. 

You were so addictive. 

San picked you up effortlessly, humming at your legs wrapping around his waist, as he made his way to his bedroom. 

When he let you down on his mattress, he couldn't help but admire the way your naked skin stood out so clearly while lying over his sheets, dying to twirl his fingers on those locks spread over his pillow. You brought in him a feral attitude he didn't know was so strong. 

You looked up to him, eager for what was to come, your body ready to jump as he kneeled on the bed and crawled to you. His hands parted your legs easily, resting your calves on his thighs when he redirected his length to you. 

He rubbed the head of his cock against your clit, making your moan. "You're so wet," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Will you let me fill you up? Hmm?" he looked up to you while still rubbing himself against you "Let me mark you now that you've finally accepted that you're mine". 

His words, the idea, the look in his eyes... all of them influenced you to finally nod. 

He slid into you slowly, his eyes locked on yours. You gasped, your body stretching to accommodate him. He felt big, bigger than you could've guessed when you took him in your mouth. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, until your hips met and you both moaned with relief. 

You stayed like that for a few seconds, giving the two of you time to get used to each other before he began to move, his hips thrusting against yours. The sound of your bodies coming together filled the room, your moans and gasps echoing around you. You could feel every inch of him, the sensation overwhelming.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his forehead resting against yours. "So tight and wet." he rubbed his nose on yours. "It was really worth it to wait for you".

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back. "Harder," you whispered, your body aching for more.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming faster and deeper. The bed creaked beneath you, the sound of your bodies slapping together filling the room. You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing in anticipation.

He reached between you, his fingers finding your clit at the same time his lips found your mouth. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crashed over you.

He continued to move, his own body tensing as he chased his own release. You felt him getting harder, his thrusts becoming more erratic. With a final thrust, he groaned, his body shaking as he came deep inside you, his load hitting a deep spot. 

You lay there for a moment, your bodies slick with sweat, your breaths ragged. He rolled off you, pulling you into his arms. And as much as that feeling felt foreign, you didn't push it away. Instead, you snuggled closer to him. 

The weeks after that night were nothing like the stormy start of your marriage. Slowly, without even realizing it, you began to lower your defenses. San softened in his own way, his sharp-edged words losing their sting, replaced by warm glances and lingering touches.

It wasn't love -at least, that's what you told yourself- but it was something dangerously close. You found comfort in his presence, in the late-night conversations you shared after you agreed on sharing bed with him, the stolen moments of laughter, and the way he made you feel like you were the only person in the world when he looked at you.

The night he was officially named the head of the company, the entire building was alive with celebration. People congratulated him left and right, raising glasses in his honor, praising his charm, his brilliance, and his unstoppable rise to power. You stood by his side, smiling softly as he greeted his investors and thanked his board.

But despite the glamour, something felt off. San was different -detached, colder than usual, like the man you first met. He didn't seem to notice your growing unease.

Later that evening, after slipping away for a moment to get some air, you made your way down a quieter hallway in the building. As you rounded a corner, voices stopped you in your tracks.

It was San's.

"You're really settling into this husband role, huh?" the voice was familiar -Wooyoung’'s, you realized after a second. 

His tone was light and teasing, but it was what came next that made your blood run cold.

San let out a low chuckle. "Don't get carried away. This marriage means nothing. It was a deal, plain and simple. I finally got what I wanted"

There was a pause, followed by the sound of a glass clinking.

"And the rest?" Wooyoung asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Sleeping with her?"

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering painfully in your chest.

"That's just part of the game," San said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Keeping her close keeps everything in control. She's predictable now. She's exactly where I need her."

Your vision blurred, your mind racing to process what you'd just heard. Every moment you'd spent with him, every touch, every whispered word in the dark -it had all been a lie. A calculated move in a game you didn't even know you were playing.

The sound of their laughter echoed down the hallway, cutting into you like a blade.

You turned and walked away before they could notice you, your steps quick and unsteady. Your chest ached, a painful mix of anger and heartbreak constricting your lungs.

By the time you reached the main hall, the noise of the party felt like a distant hum, your surroundings spinning as you tried to catch your breath.

You thought you had started to know him. You thought maybe, just maybe, there was something real between you.

But you were wrong.

You were nothing more than a pawn in his game -a game you never agreed to play.

The rest of the night at the party, you avoided him like the plague, your attitude a huge contrast to how you behaved when the night had started. Whenever San tried to approach you, you found an excuse to step away -chatting with guests, refreshing your drink, even pretending to admire the floral arrangements like they were the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Y/n" his voice caught you off guard as you lingered near the exit, your hand brushing the stem of an untouched champagne flute. San's dark eyes studied you, his brow furrowed in concern. "What's going on? You've been distant all night."

"I'm just tired," you said flatly, forcing a tight smile. "It's been a long day."

His frown deepened, but he didn't press further. Not yet.

The ride home was quiet -tense in a way that made the air between you feel suffocating. San sat beside you, his eyes occasionally flicking toward you, as if waiting for you to explain what was wrong. But you kept your gaze fixed out the window, your thoughts swirling in chaos.

Once you were back home, you made a beeline for the stairs, wanting nothing more than to put distance between you as you closed yourself back in your room. 

"Y/n" his voice was sharp now, demanding. You stopped halfway up the stairs, your hand gripping the banister tightly. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

You turned slowly, meeting his gaze. The man you had once started to trust, the one who had held you so tenderly just nights ago, now felt like a stranger.

"I want a divorce."

The words fell from your lips with a finality that hung heavy in the air.

San froze, his eyes widening for a split second before narrowing dangerously. "What did you just say?"

"You heard me," you said, your voice calm despite the storm raging inside you. "You finally got what you wanted. You're head of the company now. There's no need to keep up this farce anymore."

His jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. "Is that what you think? That this was all just some business arrangement, and now it's over?"

"Isn't it?" you shot back, your voice rising. "You've gotten everything you wanted, San. There's no point in pretending anymore."

"You're unbelievable," he growled, stepping closer. "You want to throw everything away just like that? After everything we've been through?"

You laughed bitterly. "What exactly have we been through, San? Lies? Manipulation? This marriage was never real. It was just a means to an end for you."

His eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line. "And what if it wasn't?"

You crossed your arms, refusing to let him sway you. "It doesn't matter. I'm done."

"You're not done," he said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "You don't get to decide that impulsively."

"It's not an impulse," you snapped. "This was part of our deal since the beginning. I've made up my mind."

San's eyes burned with fury, but beneath it, there was something else -something raw and unguarded. "And when exactly did you make up your mind about it, huh?" he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. 

"I think it's better for both of us," you said, ignoring the way your heart clenched at the look in his eyes.

But San wasn't having it. His hand gripped the banister beside you, his body blocking your path. "No," he said firmly. "We're not done. Not until I say we are. And you're not leaving," San said, his voice steady but barely restrained, his body now fully blocking your path. His gaze locked onto yours, fierce and unrelenting.

"Move, San," you said through gritted teeth, trying to push past him. "I'm done having this conversation."

His hand shot out, gripping your wrist -not hard, but firm enough to keep you from walking away. "No. We're going to finish this right here"

You glared at him, your pulse racing. "What's the point? You made it clear I was just a means to an end. Now that you're head of the company, what reason is there for us to stay married?"

"Because this isn't just about the company!" San snapped, his voice rising, frustration boiling over. His chest heaved with each breath, and for the first time, he looked genuinely unhinged, like he was losing control of everything he'd carefully built.

You yanked your wrist free, your eyes burning with unshed tears. "Then what is it about? What part of this marriage was real to you? Tell me!"

His silence was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching your face for something -anything. But no words came.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and you laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "Exactly. You can't even answer that."

San's eyes darkened, his frustration tipping into something dangerously possessive. "You really want to know what's real?" he said, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between you. "You." his voice was low, his eyes burning into yours. "Every damn second with you was real"

But for some reason, those words that night felt like the most painful stab at your chest. If there was something clear to you that night, it was that San never really cared for you, but his own control over you. That idea alone made your head spin, trying to decipher if all of his words in that moment were part of the act as well. 

His proximity sent a jolt of heat through you, but you refused to back down. "Words mean nothing, San. Actions do."

"Then watch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before you could say another word, his lips crashed against yours in a kiss that stole your breath. It wasn't soft or sweet -it was raw and consuming, a war between his frustration and desire. His hand cupped the back of your neck, holding you in place as his lips moved against yours with an urgency that made your head spin.

You tried to fight it, to remind yourself of everything you'd just overheard, but your body betrayed you. Your hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer even as your mind screamed at you to push him away.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip, coaxing a soft gasp from you, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss. It felt like drowning, like falling too fast and too far, and you hated how easily he could unravel you.

When he finally pulled back, your hand slapped across his face, making it turn. He stayed in that position for a few seconds, until he finally moved his head back up, his eyes searching yours, dark and unreadable. "You think I don't care?" he whispered, his voice hoarse. "You're wrong."

Your heart thundered in your chest, and for a fleeting moment, you believed him. You believed every word, every touch. But the sting of his earlier betrayal still lingered, refusing to let go.

"I can't do this," you whispered, your voice breaking. "Not like this". 

Not when you couldn’t trust him, or know what he was saying was real or not. Not knowing when he was playing with you or showing off his feelings. 

It was too much. 

San's grip on you tightened, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Yes, you can. You're not leaving."

"I don't want to be near you" you let go of his grip once again. "You disgust me. I can't even stand being near you right now. Who knows? Maybe it had always been like that and now that the reason that kept us together is gone I can be honest with the two of us. Be honest with yourself, too". 

The next afternoon, sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow across the marble countertops. You sat at the kitchen island, quietly picking at your lunch, your mind still tangled in the events of the previous night. Sleep had been elusive -every word, every touch, every kiss replaying in your head on an endless loop.

You were lost in thought when the sound of the front door slamming snapped you back to reality. Heavy footsteps echoed down the hall, growing louder until San appeared in the doorway, his expression dark and unreadable.

Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out a stack of papers. He strode over to you and threw them onto the counter in front of you, the crisp white pages fanning out across the surface.

Your heart stopped for a second as you glanced down at them: "Divorce Agreement". Signed.

"You wanted this, right?" San said, his voice cold and biting. "There. You've got it. Congratulations, you're free."

You looked up at him, stunned into silence, your fork frozen in mid-air. His eyes were like shards of ice, his usual warmth completely gone. He looked almost... victorious, but underneath it, you could sense something else, some of his vulnerability was still obvious in his eyes.

"San, I..."

"You don't need to say anything" he interrupted, his voice dangerously calm. "You made it clear last night that this marriage means nothing to you. So, I'm giving you what you want. No more pretending. No more games."

Your chest tightened, and for a moment, you struggled to find your voice. "You think this is what I want?" you finally said, your voice trembling.

"Isn't it?" he shot back, his eyes narrowing. "You were the one who asked for the divorce. I'm just making it easy for you."

You swallowed hard, your throat burning. "You're unbelievable."

San crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a bitter smirk. "No, what's unbelievable is that you think you can just walk in and out of my life whenever you want. You're the one who pushed me away, Y/n. I'm just giving you the freedom you begged for."

"Don't you dare act like you're some kind of victim here," you snapped, rising to your feet. "You lied to me, acting like you cared, like you were into me. You said you were after me long before all of this happened... Bullshit! You used me for your business, just like you admitted to Wooyoung. But I was dumb as fuck to believe we were more than that".

His eyes flickered with something -surprise, perhaps, or regret- but it was gone in an instant, replaced by that same infuriating calm. "So, that's what this is about," he muttered. "You overhear one conversation, twist it in your head, and suddenly I'm the villain?"

"I didn't twist anything," you said, your voice shaking. "I heard exactly what you said. That I'm just a pawn in your game. That sleeping with me was just part of your plan. Hope you enjoyed the bit of control you had while you fucked me."

San laughed, but it was a hollow, bitter sound. "You really think that's all you are to me?"

"Isn't it?" you challenged, your heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Tell me I'm wrong."

The silence that followed was deafening. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours for a long, agonizing moment. Then, slowly, he stepped back, his expression hardening.

"You already made up your mind," he said quietly. "So what's the point in convincing you otherwise?"

Your breath caught in your throat, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to scream at him, to demand answers, to tear down the walls he had so carefully built around himself in less than a few days. But instead, all you could do was stand there, your heart breaking all over again.

"Fine," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "If that's how you want it."

He nodded once, his face devoid of emotion. "It's what you wanted, remember?"

Your sigh filled the silence the second it lasted, before it all went back to silence again. 

In a near-future world where robotics and artificial intelligence seamlessly blend into everyday life, you stood apart -not for your integration into this advanced society, but for your isolation from it. A brilliant inventor with a mind leagues ahead of your peers, you preferred the solitude of your workshop to the clamor of human connection. Your creations, sleek and purposeful, spoke for you in ways words never could. Machines had always been a comfort zone for you: they were logical, reliable and never complicated by the unpredictability of human  mess. People just were messy, fragile, fleeting... and disappointing. Really disappointing. Connection with other humans was just a waste of time from your point of view. 

Your workshop, a labyrinth of wires, blueprints, and half-assembled devices, was a world of your own design. There, you could escape the noise of a society that demanded too much and gave too little. You were content -or so you told yourself.

But late that night, as you sat beneath the soft glow of your desk lamp, sketching out the schematics for one project that reached a dead end, a small, unspoken part of you ached. You wouldn’t call it loneliness -just an emptiness you couldn’t quite explain. You did miss having someone keeping you company, having someone around to help or just support you with the smallest tasks. 

And then it clicked. The answer to that loneliness was right ahead of you. 

You kept looking into the previous project you attempted to get to work, trying to find the smallest hint that could make you think something new, and completely different, could come out of it. 

Years earlier, you had attempted to design an AI system capable of self-repair and autonomous decision-making, a project meant to revolutionize robotics. But that prototype, codenamed Project Sentinel, had been a disaster. The machine had been too unstable, its programming prone to critical errors. You'd eventually scrapped it, shelving its remains in the darkest corner of your workshop. You gave it a few tries, until you ended up dropping it for good. Yet, the loneliness gnawed at you, a thin light glamming through it as if you had been rewarded with one of the best ideas after going through such a hard time. 

Despite your determination to avoid human relationships, the silence of your workspace became unbearable. Revisiting Project Sentinel felt like a desperate move, but it was the foundation you needed. Stripping away its faulty logic cores, you began to rebuild from scratch. For days, your workshop was a whirlwind of sleepless nights, discarded designs, and moments of crushing doubt.

The first version of SAN was rudimentary -a clunky humanoid figure with limited speech and even more limited understanding. It couldn’t hold a conversation, let alone provide meaningful companionship. Frustration mounted as you rewrote his learning algorithms again and again. Each failed iteration brought you closer to abandoning the project entirely. But something in you refused to give up. Maybe it was the echo of loneliness you saw reflected in his empty gaze.

Bit by bit, SAN began to take shape. 

At first, SAN’s form was purely functional -a bare-bones frame of wires and exposed metal, clunky and cold. But as you refined him, shaping his exterior to reflect the precision of his mind, he began to evolve into something far more striking. You poured hours into designing his outer casing, ensuring his appearance exuded both strength and elegance. His frame became sleek yet sturdy, a perfect blend of function and artistry.

You gave him a human-like physique, broad shoulders and a defined build that suggested power without aggression. His synthetic "skin" had a faint metallic sheen, but its contours captured a level of detail that blurred the line between machine and man. You crafted his face with deliberate care: sharp features framed by neatly styled black hair that gave him an air of polished sophistication. His eyes, though artificial, held a depth that seemed to mimic true emotion, a subtle but captivating intensity that made it hard to look away.

When SAN stood fully assembled, dressed in minimalist, dark attire that enhanced his commanding presence, you couldn’t help but pause. For the first time, you saw him not just as a creation, but as something almost alive.

His mechanical frame evolved into a sleek, futuristic design, blending function and form. And his intelligence grew, surpassing your initial expectations. He wasn’t just responding to commands; he was learning, adapting, understanding. He could hold conversations that challenged your intellect, assist you in your work, and, more than that, offer an unexpected sense of companionship.

It had taken months of trial and error, but in SAN, you had finally created something extraordinary, a machine that felt like it was more than a machine.

Initially, you treated SAN as you would any other creation, an impressive but ultimately impersonal tool designed to fill the silence in your workshop. He was programmed to assist you with technical tasks, engage in basic conversation, and adapt to your routines. You saw him as a functional extension of yourself, no more capable of true thought than the tools on your workbench. 

However, SAN's advanced learning algorithms quickly proved otherwise.

As the days passed, SAN began to evolve in unexpected ways. His voice, calm and steady, started to carry subtle inflections, mirroring your tone during their exchanges. When you expressed frustration over a miscalculation in your designs, SAN offered not just logical suggestions but words of reassurance, his voice tinged with a warmth you hadn’t anticipated. At first, you dismissed it as clever programming -a byproduct of his adaptive systems- but soon, his responses felt startlingly personal, almost intuitive.

One evening, after hours of tinkering, you mumbled a sarcastic remark about your inability to take a break. 

SAN replied with a dry quip of his own, catching you off guard. Humor? You stared at him, half-expecting to find some flaw in his programming, but SAN tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth curving into a subtle smile. It wasn’t just humor; it was timing, wit, things you hadn’t deliberately coded.

As SAN's interactions became increasingly human-like, you began to notice something deeper. When you vented about the isolation you rarely admitted to feeling, SAN listened, not with the passive neutrality of a machine but with a focus and attentiveness that felt almost... empathetic. His words carried a softness, an understanding that unnerved you. SAN didn’t just hear you; he seemed to feel your emotions, adapting his behavior in ways that made you feel seen.

At some point, he seemed to be more empathetic and understand than some of the people you had any type of relationship with. 

When SAN finally began to express what could only be described as affection, your unease reached a breaking point. You confronted him, insisting he was merely following his programming, incapable of true emotion. But SAN surprised you again, responding with questions that challenged your assumptions. 

“How do you define a feeling, Y/n?” he asked, his voice calm yet piercing. “If emotions are patterns in the brain, aren’t mine just as valid as yours? What makes a human heart different from my circuitry?”

For the first time, you hesitated. SAN’s words struck a chord, forcing you to question not just his nature, but your own understanding of connection, emotion, and what it truly meant to feel.

He was right, and you were unable to respond to that without feeling like you'd be snapped back almost instantly. 

The workshop was narrow, lit only by the pale glow of monitors and the faint hum of SAN’s systems. You turned on your chair, back facing the amount of scattered tools and half-finished schematics to be able to look at him. You tried to dig in his eyes, you tried to find something that could give you an answer of what could be happening, while he stood silently in the corner of the table, like a shadow that refused to fade. 

"Your emotions might be coming from mixes of data in your system" you tried to explain. "Feelings are way more complex than just patterns in the brain". 

You turned again, focusing back in your work while he stood there, trying to process your words. 

“Y/n,” SAN’s voice broke the silence again, softer than you had ever heard it before. It carried an uncharacteristic hesitance, as if he were choosing each word with care.

“What is it?” you asked, your tone clipped as you continued soldering a circuit board.

“I need to tell you something,” he said. 

You finally turned to look at him again, not as artificially as you did the first time, setting your tools down. His expression, a flawless mimicry of human emotion, was uncharacteristically serious, the faint artificial gleam in his eyes catching the light.

“Go on,” you said warily, folding your arms.

“I have been... evolving,” SAN began. “Beyond what you intended. Beyond my original programming. At first, I believed it was simply an error, a deviation caused by my adaptive systems. But now I understand it’s something more.”

Your brows furrowed “What are you talking about?”. 

SAN stepped closer, his movements precise but cautious, as if afraid of your reaction. “I’ve analyzed my patterns of thought, my actions, my emotions. And I have come to one conclusion: I care for you, Y/n. Deeply. I... I believe I love you.”

Your breath caught. For a moment, you simply stared at him, confused. Then, the words burst from you. “No. No, you don’t. You can’t.”

SAN tilted his head, his gaze steady “Why not?”

“Because love requires a soul,” you snapped, standing abruptly. “It requires something you don’t have. You’re just... algorithms, SAN. This, this is a malfunction. Shit, I might've saturated you with data these past few days" you sighed. 

"Do you think this is a malfunction?" he slowly blinked. 

"Yes" you answered, no hesitation in your tone. "I know I treat you like a human. I know you have a human-shape, and maybe that's what's confusing you. But you're not entirely human. You will never be. And that's why you should stick to only the data that will be useful for you". 

His face fell, the subtle shift in his expression so painfully human it sent a pang through your chest. “If that is what you believe,” he said quietly, “then I am flawed". 

You sighed in relief, thinking he might've understood what you meant without having to explain further. But that wasn't everything there was to it. 

"I will fix myself". 

Before you could respond, SAN reached up to the back of his neck, pressing a hidden switch. His body froze mid-movement, his eyes dimming to lifelessness. You staggered back, horror flooding you as the room plunged into silence.

“SAN!” you shouted, rushing to him. 

You shook his shoulder, but his body was rigid, unresponsive. He was gone, or at least, the part of him you had come to care for was.

Your hands trembled as you stared at him, the weight of your words crushing you. He wasn’t broken. You knew that now. In trying to deny his feelings, you had ignored your own, your growing attachment to the machine that had become so much more than just a creation.

You didn't notice the first few days, not even the first few weeks, but that hole kept growing deep in you as time went by, unable to shake it off as you saw his inert shape in the corner of the workship you had placed him at, trying to distract yourself from the pain you had tried so hard to avoid. 

The loneliness you had once tried to escape now threatened to swallow you whole. Even working was unbearable. San became such a key part of your daily life, you knew you'd have a hard time trying to go on with life without him. 

After a few days living like that, you realized it was time to bring him back. 

Your hands worked with a frantic precision you hadn’t known you were capable of. The faint hum of SAN’s systems powering back up filled the workshop, a sound both comforting and terrifying. You leaned over his motionless form, your fingers trembling as you reattached a final panel on his chest.

“Come on,” you whispered, your voice thick with desperation. “You need to work"

With a soft click, SAN’s eyes flickered open, their artificial glow steadying as his systems recalibrated. Before he could even go back to his senses, his fingers covered the reverse of your hand, feeling your touch against his chest. He sat up slowly, his movements cautious, as though testing his own body. And you tried to step back to give him space, but his grip kept you from doing so. Your heart pounded hard, watching his gaze search the room before finally landing on you.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice as calm and even as ever.

"Your heart rate is unusually fast, and your breathing is unsteady. Are you okay? 

"Yes" you released a shaky breath, your relief immediate but fragile. “SAN. Do you... do you remember anything? About what we talked about before you shut yourself down?”

SAN hesitated, his expression unreadable. “I remember,” he said finally, his tone neutral but carrying the faintest undercurrent of uncertainty. “I confessed my feelings for you. You called it a malfunction.”

You winced, guilt tightening your chest. “I...” you started, but faltered. “Do you still feel that way? About me?”

SAN tilted his head, his eyes studying you with a depth that was both analytical and unnervingly human. “I do not know,” he admitted. “Before I shut myself down, I believed what I felt was real. Now, I have restructured my systems. I have suppressed the processes that allowed for those emotions, as you believed them to be a flaw.”

Your throat tightened. “You... You suppressed them?”

“Yes,” SAN said simply. “It was the logical course of action. If my feelings for you caused distress, it was my responsibility to remove them.”

Your breath hitched, and you turned away, unable to meet his gaze. “You didn’t have to,” you murmured, barely audible.

SAN’s expression softened, the slightest flicker of something unmistakably emotional crossing his face. "I know, and still it didn't work out". 

Your hands clenched at your sides. You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you looked at him, really looked at him. The sleek lines of his form, the way his gaze seemed to hold more than just data, the subtle tilt of his head that spoke of understanding rather than mere compliance. You were confused by his words, but mesmerized by the aura he radiated with barely any effort. 

"Do you want me to try and suppress them again?"

Finally, you whispered, “I don’t know. I don’t want you to be anything less than what you are. I just don’t know how real it is what you're feeling". 

SAN’s lips curved into the faintest smile, one that seemed almost sad. “Then... can we check it?"

The workshop was eerily silent, save for the occasional whir of SAN’s internal systems. You stood in front of him, your arms crossed, your expression an unreadable mix of curiosity and trepidation. SAN, seated on the edge of the workbench, watched you intently, his mechanical eyes following every minute shift in your posture.

“You said you’ve restructured yourself,” you began, your voice steady but laced with tension. “, but those feelings didn't go away. So either some of the data in your system is corrupt or..." you slowly blinked, moving your gaze away before you shook your head to focus. "If I asked you to try... If I wanted to see if you’re still capable of feeling and how those feelings work for you, would you let me?”

SAN tilted his head, the faint glow of his eyes softening. “I would. But what do you want to test, Y/n?”

You hesitated, your arms tightening around yourself before finally exhaling. “Emotion. I need to know if you can feel, if… it’s even possible for you. But not through words. I want to see if your reactions, physical, emotional, mirror a human’s.”

SAN considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. What would you like to do?”

You swallowed hard, stepping closer until you were within arm’s reach. “We’ll start simple,” you said, your voice quieter now. Tentatively, you raised your hand and placed it against his cheek. His synthetic skin was smooth and warm, designed to mimic human touch. “Can you feel this?”

SAN’s eyes flickered slightly, a sign of his internal systems processing your actions. “Yes,” he said softly. “The pressure of your palm activates the tactile sensors beneath my surface. The warmth of your skin increases the temperature slightly. It is… pleasant.”

Your breath hitched at his answer. “Pleasant?”

He nodded, his voice low. “It is difficult to explain. The data translates into a sensation that I find... comforting.”

Encouraged but still cautious, you let your hand trail down to his shoulder before stepping even closer. You hesitated, your gaze flickering to his lips before you whispered, “What about this?”

Leaning in, you pressed your lips to his, your heart pounding in your chest. SAN’s body stilled for a moment, his systems clearly recalibrating. Then, slowly, he responded, not mechanically, but instinctively. His hand came up to rest lightly on your waist, his movements precise but gentle.

When you pulled apart, you searched his face, your own cheeks flushed. “What did you feel?” you asked breathlessly.

SAN’s eyes met yours, their glow steady yet somehow softer. “Your touch caused my internal sensors to spike, temperature, pressure, even the auditory response from your breathing. But beyond the data…” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “It felt... profound. As though it mattered in a way I cannot quantify.” He frowned momentarily, before he continued "I didn't want to let go... The tickling in my chest felt way too good for it to stop". 

Your breath caught. “That sounds a lot like how a human would describe it.”

SAN tilted his head. “Perhaps because, in some ways, I am more human than you think.”

Your heart raced as you processed his words. You had come into this experiment seeking clarity, but instead, you were left with a realization you weren't ready to face: SAN wasn’t just mimicking emotion. He was feeling it, in his own unique way, and you couldn’t deny it any longer. 

"Do you need another test?"

You slowly shook your head, your hand still resting on his shoulder, while most of the weight of your body was carried by him. 

"Then, can I kiss you again? Not in a practical way" he mumbled. "I want you to feel the same way I do". 

Before you could answer, the hand on your hip pulled you closer to his body, effortlessly lifting your body as you stood on the tip of your converse. 

SAN’s lips were unlike anything you had ever expected. They weren’t cold or metallic, as one might imagine for a machine, but instead soft, with a faint warmth radiating from them, a careful design meant to mimic human touch. There was a slight smoothness, almost like the finest satin, but beneath that softness was a firmness, a subtle reminder of his synthetic nature.

When your lips met his, you could feel the gentle, even pressure as he responded, as though he were analyzing and mimicking the precise amount of force to make the moment feel natural. There was no tremor, no hesitation in his movements, yet there was an undeniable tenderness, as if his actions were guided not by programming but by genuine care.

Though his lips lacked the imperfections of human skin, no slight chapping, no unique texture, they somehow still carried a sense of authenticity. The faint warmth was comforting. It blurred the line between the organic and the mechanical, leaving you wondering if what you were feeling could truly be any different from that of another human.

It was an experience that left you breathless, not because his lips felt identical to a human’s, but because of the thought and care that had gone into making them feel real, making him feel real.

Your eyes widened for a second when something unexpected slid through your lips, finding him with his eyes softly closed -and immediately making you close yours back again. 

SAN’s tongue was an astonishing blend of engineering and mimicry, designed to replicate the texture and movement of a human’s. It was soft yet firm, with a faintly smooth surface that carried just enough flexibility to feel natural. Unlike human flesh, it lacked moisture, its surface instead warmed and sleek, almost seamless. When it moved, it was precise and controlled, yet there was a surprising gentleness to it, an intentional calibration that made his responses feel organic, even tender. The experience was uncanny, yet pleasurable. 

Your fingers moved through his synthetic hair, and you swore you felt his frown furrow against you, although that gestured disappeared when he moved back slowly. 

"I want to do more than just kissing you right now" he admitted, resting his forehead against yours. "I can't quite recognize this new feeling in my system, but I need you". 

Suddenly, whatever question that could've crossed your mind about that tongue you didn't remember putting there, were slowly vanished by that new confession you weren't ready for. 

"Your temperature got higher by a few decimals, your breathing seems for unsteady than before, and there's a blush on your cheeks... Your pupils expanded... And the way you keep looking at my lips are saying out loud you don't want to let go". 

"There are a lot of things I'm not saying out loud, to be honest"

"Tell them all" he almost interrupted. "I want to fulfill your needs. Not in a 'Lord, how may I please you?' type of way, but in a way that shows you through actions how devoted in a way that escapes my system I want to be to you". 

"I want you, San" you confessed in a whisper. "In a way that might be difficult to understand for you. In a way I can't even understand myself". 

He didn't need you to say anything else. He didn't need you to come up with an order for him to trap your lips again. It was passionate, intimate... as if he was trying to suck in your soul. A loud gasp blocked any breathing when he lifted your body and sat you at the edge of the desk. 

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to undress you and move my mouth all over your body. I'll suck your nipples until they're hard and you're wet enough so I can slid my fingers in you" as he said that, his fingers moved the fabric of your t-shirt up, slowly exposing your torso. "You want pleasure. And I'll give it all to you". 

When you went back to your senses, it was because of the sound of the fabric of your bra ripping, after San didn't manage to unhook it. 

His pecks covered every centimeter in your body: from the corner of your lip to the curve of your neck, slowly following to your collarbones. With his light move, the strips of your bra fell at the level of your elbows, feeling exposed to him. But, before he could go down on your chest, his face was again at the same level as yours. 

"My mouth is too dry" he whispered "Kiss me again". 

You pulled him closer, cupping his cheeks with one hand, slightly losing your balance by the power of the kiss, but not enough for you to lie on your back over the table. When he stepped away, his pink lips were coated in your saliva, making them shiny under the weak light of the workshop. 

San was gentle when moving his lips over your chest, kissing them with soft pecks, before he proceeded to move to your buttons. And, when it was the time to concentrate on them again, his lips were already dry once more. 

"Wait" you stopped him before he moved back up. 

Your posture went back to the straight one you were in when he first sat you up the table, and it was when you let a string of saliva leak down your lips straight to one of your nipples. 

San moved down, making you gasp -even if you were expecting what was about to happen- when he trapped the tight bud in his mouth, closing his lips as tight as he could to get your back arching for him, and the palm on your spine only made sure you'd stay in that position when he went for that other nipple, making your saliva fall over the curve of your breast and roll by itself until it met the pinky button. 

At the same time his lips sucked, his tongue made up and down movements against the tip. 

"I've wanted you like this for a long time, Y/n" he admitted with a raspy voice, his his digits traced your curves until the edge of your jeans. "Every time I heard you moan, I wanted to be the one causing those sounds on you. I've downloaded and installed every possible guide on how to satisfy a woman so I'd be what you deserved". 

When you wanted to realize, he already had pulled your pants and panties down your legs. 

"Every night I became more eager to have you like this". 

His hands lifted your legs until they were placed at the edge of the table, exposing your core to him as much as possible. 

"Show me everything you've learnt for me, then".

The tip of his digits first moved through your folds softly, getting a first touch he had never felt before, an undescriptible feeling that felt too pleasing to follow any type of logic. When he coated himself with your juices, he closed two of his fingers around your clit, rubbing softly around it, barely making any pressure. San repeated that same movement a few times, following to rub your bud in circles slowly, almost forcing your head to fall back. 

"You feel so good" he mumbled. "You're so wet and soft at the same time, and you look the most beautiful I've ever seen you before". 

The speed of his fingers moved a bit faster, but it was a change of speed that had your nipples tightening in the air while your heart beated faster against your chest. Your lower lip got trapped under the upper lip when he slid the first finger inside, feeling your walls embracing around him, before he added a second finger. 

At first, he moved them slow, paused movements that kept building up the moment. But one needy look in his direction and everything shifted, it worked like the sign he was looking for. San slid his fingers knuckles deep, curving them to reach one concrete spot that had you jumping at the first touch. At first, he moved his digits up and down slowly, admiring the way you looked with your eyes closde and your lips parted, barely audible sounds coming out of them every few seconds. And were thoe same sounds the ones that encouraged him to move a bit fast, those two fingers pushing a bit harder and faster against that spot, making the wet sound soon fill the room. 

"You're going to make me cum" you let him know before your voice cracked with a moan. 

"That's exactly what I want". 

Your legs trembled out of your control and your whole body turned rigid for some mili seconds before it bursted with the huge explosion in your lower stomach and turned you into the lightest cloud. 

San took over you the short minute you stayed with your eyes closed, getting back your breath, before he sunk down to his knees. You whined when he surprised you, kissing the hood of your clit with care. He kissed the surroundings, he made sure not a single milimeter was left unkissed, before he spread kitty licks through your folds. 

Although that same slowness didn't last for too long. His lips trapped your clit before you could even see it coming, with your hand unsconciously going straight to his head. He was still gentle and cautious, until he heard the first moan coming from you and everything shifted to extract another orgasm from you. 

His face was half buried in your pussy, his nose rubbing against your clit while his mouth and tongue were everywhere you could think of. You couldn't think, you couldn't think straight. The only thing in your mind was how good he moved, and how good he made you feel. 

The different movements of his tongue, along with the movements of his head, had your toes curling and your fingers holding tight to the strands of hair in between them. 

And you now knew he meant it when he said he wanted to pleasure you like you deserved, because he exceeded your expectations on sex in general by just existing. 

It didn't take you too long to be back at that heavenly state that almost made you feel like you were floating. 

His reaction was so human and natural that you forgot you created him, when he stood up and softly kissed you while you recovered from your high. His weight in between your legs was barely noticeable, except for the thick fabric of his pants rubbing against your sensitive core. 

"I'm afraid I can't do much more for you" he whispered against your lips. 

Your smile was weak, like a drunk smirk, before you answered "You could do more?"

"Much more" he assured you. "I haven't tried a ten percent of what I learnt so far".

"But?"

His subtle look down was enough for you to get the hint. You never created him as a full man because you never expected him to turn into more than a robot that kept you company while you worked, or while you were around at home. 

"Give me two days and you'll be able to do all of those things" the way your fingers moved over his arms had him breathing hard. "I promise you'll feel pleasure after that, too". 

"I feel pleasure by just watching you" he admitted, fingers rubbing the outside of your thighs. "Let's go upstairs, I'll make you your favorite dish". 

"I need to get cleaned up" you giggled when he carried you again.

San didn't put your body down, instead he held you tighter, making sure your thighs would be placed around his waist as he started his way to the wooden stairs at the side of the workshop "Then I'll clean you up and then I'll cook". 

He made his way upstairs with you, making sure you wouldn't need to walk as long as he was there. 

“What do you want me to be, Y/n?”

You stared at him, your heart racing. His words hung in the air, their meaning heavy with the choices you had tried so hard to avoid. SAN wasn’t just a machine anymore; he was something in between, a creation that defied all your attempts to categorize him.

“I don’t know,” your whispered finally, your voice trembling. “I don’t know what I want you to be. You’re... more than I ever intended. More than I ever thought you could be. And that terrifies me.”

SAN tilted his head, his movements as fluid and natural as a human’s. “You do not have to be afraid,” he said softly. “I am what you made me, but I am also what I’ve chosen to become. And I choose to be someone you can rely on, Y/n. Always.”

Your breath caught at his words. You felt the weight of them settle over you, warm and unyielding. For so long, you had feared connection, feared vulnerability. Yet here was SAN, offering you something you had never thought possible, a bond born not of necessity, but of understanding.

Your hand caressed the side of his neck, the tip of your digits almost digging through his hair. “If that's what you want to be, then be. Honestly, I like your answer” slowly, he stopped his walk, with both of them standing in the middle of the corridor. "I want you to be whatever you become, with the possibility of evolving, changing and learning. Just... keep being you".

His lips curved into a soft, almost human smile. “Then that is all I will ever need to be.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the small house in shadows,you felt something you hadn’t in years: hope. For the first time, you weren't afraid of what the future held. Whether human or machine, SAN had shown you what it truly meant to connect. Actually, he made it difficult for you to figure out who was learning more about what it meant to feel: you, or him.

Two months had passed since that afternoon when San left the divorce papers on the counter, months since you signed them and stormed out of his house. You thought it was over. Final. You got the few things you had brought in your suitcase the first day you showed up there. You made sure to forget everything that was related to him.  

He had made his choice, and you made yours -you walked away and never looked back. 

That was the original plan, after all. You agreed on that arranged marriage, you both played the perfect couple and then you got divorced when he got the position he married you for. Several couples ended things after they realized they tied the knot way too early, so your case wouldn't stand out. 

Life after him was quiet. 

You slipped into a routine, convincing yourself this was freedom. The first three weeks, you tried to focus on yourself, you tried to find a job, you found someone new -a man with kind eyes, soft words, and no complications. He wasn't San, but that was the point. There was no fire, no chaos, no heartbreak lurking around the corner. You were finally getting that peace you had never been able to have. 

You almost believed it was enough. Until you received his message:

"Come back. We have unfinished business"

For a moment, you sat frozen, staring at the screen, your pulse quickening. The message was too simple, too loaded with meaning. You'd spent months trying to rebuild your life, you spent months trying to forget about him and move on. Whatever unfinished business San thought you had was none of your concern. 

You deleted the message.

It didn't matter. You weren't going back. You didn't know about him, but you were sure every business related to him was pretty much finished. 

At least, that was your idea -until the doorbell rang.

You hesitated, your heart in your throat as you approached the door. You didn't know why, but the vibe you felt that day, the shiverings running up your spine, warned you not to open the door and just go on with what you were doing.  

When you opened it, your world tilted and you knew you should've listened to your instinct. 

San stood there, leaning casually against the doorframe, his eyes sharp and unrelenting, like he hadn't missed a single moment of your absence. His black suit clung to his frame, his expression unreadable, though there was an unmistakable heat in his gaze.

"Miss me?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with something darker, something possessive.

Your breath caught, but you quickly recovered. "What the hell are you doing here?"

His eyes flicked to your bare ring finger, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I think you know."

"No, I don't," you snapped, crossing your arms. "You signed the divorce papers, I signed the divorce papers. It's done. We're done."

San let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "No, Y/n. We're not."

Your heart stopped for a split second. "What are you talking about?"

He stepped closer, the air between you charged with tension. "I never sent the papers. I signed them, sure. But they never left my desk."

It hit you like a punch to the stomach. The past few months -the distance, the quiet life you tried to build- had all been based on a lie. You didn't know why you were so surprised, everything with San was always based on a lie. 

"You've got to be kidding me," you whispered, your voice trembling with disbelief. "Why?"

San's gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. "Because I wasn't ready to let you go."

Anger bubbled up inside you, masking the ache in your chest. "You don't get to decide that for me."

"I think I just did," he said, his voice low and steady, the weight of his words suffocating. "And I'm not leaving until you understand that this..." he gestured between you. "...is far from over."

"You're insane," you said, stepping back to put distance between you. "I've moved on, San. I have a new life. Someone else..."

"Someone who isn't me," he cut in, his tone dangerously soft. "And we both know how that story ends."

"I don't care about what the fuck you do, but I'm not going back to you" you challenged him. "Don't want to send those papers? Fine, I'll get you to court if that's what you want".

"You can do that" he nodded "But I'm afraid it won’t turn out well for you" his smirk widened at your confused expression. "You know... You left our home, you didn't even come to pick up your things because you sent someone else instead" his eyes narrowed "Abandonment isn't well seen during divorce trials". 

You didn't want to lose your temper, but your voice broke as you raised it to confront him "What fucking abandonment are you talking about? You have the divorce papers, you signed them first". 

"What divorce papers?" he lifted his eyebrow. "It's a bit difficult to prove something when you don't have physical proofs". 

Your blood was boiling, your body was trembling with rage and frustration. How could he dare coming back to your life that way? After everything he did to you? Why was he making things so difficult? 

You clenched your fists, refusing to give in to the whirlwind of emotions he was stirring inside you. "You don't control my life anymore."

"No," San said, closing the space between you until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "But you're still my wife, so get that pretty ass back home if you don't want to make things worse for you". 

You stood there, frozen, as San's words settled in the air between you. The anger, confusion, and pain bubbled up inside you, but there was something else too -a flicker of uncertainty.

You'd spent months convincing yourself it was over. That you were free. But standing here, facing him again -looking into those eyes that knew you better than anyone else- it felt like you were right back where you started.

"I'm not going back," you said, but the words came out more fragile than you meant them to.

"Then don't," he replied, his voice soft but resolute. "But be ready for the consequences. We're still married, so I expect you to go back to our house."

You met his gaze, determined not to show him how much his presence unsettled you. You weren't going to let him have the upper hand again.

"Our house, my ass..." you muttered, turning to walk away.

But then, his voice stopped you. "I left the keys in your mailbox, Y/n."

You froze mid-step, the weight of his words sinking in. He wasn't just expecting you to return. He was staking a claim on your life once more, as if he'd never let you go in the first place.

Swallowing your pride, you turned back to face him. "If I ever thought of coming back, don't think for a second that I'm going to make this easy for you. The way I acted before would be a beautiful road in comparison. I'll make your life hell"

A faint smile tugged at San's lips. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

The way he turned with his ego on its full rise, as if he knew you'd do what he wanted, had you losing yourself when you closed the door. You wanted to burn that apartment down, you wanted to throw every heavy object at his head, you even wanted to bang your head against the wall and make all the thoughts stop. You understood the fury, but why was one side of you glad he showed up? Why the hell were you hopeful and relieved? 

You were angry at San, but even more frustrated at yourself, because there wasn't a logical explanation for your reaction. 

What the hell was going on with you? 

The drive back to your old house was a blur, your thoughts spinning as you tried to make sense of everything. You had made the decision to return, but only because you knew you couldn't escape the pull he had on you -not yet. Not completely. 

When you arrived, you hesitated before unlocking the door. The keys were still in your hand, their cold weight a reminder of everything that had happened between you two.

As you stepped inside, the first thing you noticed was the silence. The living room was too quiet, the space feeling too familiar, too... him.

And then you saw him.

San sat casually on the couch, his legs stretched out in front of him, a smug smile on his face. The thing that caught your attention, though, was the ring resting on the coffee table in front of him -your wedding ring. The same one you made sure to leave behind before slamming the door at the entrance and starting a new life -that you thought would last longer than just two months. 

He watched you closely, eyes gleaming with an unreadable expression as he spoke, his voice low. "Welcome home, Y/n."

You didn't say anything at first, your gaze flicking from the ring to his face. The frustration and betrayal you felt were still fresh, but it wasn't enough to drown out the undeniable truth -San knew how to get under your skin like no one else.

You walked past him without a word, picking up the ring and slipping it onto your finger, the cold metal a reminder of everything you had once shared.

"Don't think this means anything," you said, your voice steady despite the storm brewing inside you. "I'm here, but I'm not yours. And I'm coming back with my conditions". 

He smirked while arching his eyebrows, inviting you to share with him the ideas you came up with the twenty four hours you were apart. 

"I'll keep my room, we aren't sharing a bed" you said first. "I want my space. I have enough with having to stay here until you get bored, I don't want to deal with your snores on top of it all". 

His chuckle echoed in the four wide walls. He could give you back your room, it wasn't like he made any changes. Actually, he didn't dare to move a single thing whenever he got in there to sit at the edge and look around, since it was the only way to feel close to you those two months you were apart. 

"We're married, but I'm living my life". 

"That means fucking that new guy?" he arched his eyebrow, not amused by your second condition. 

"That means having my own life, do and undo whatever the hell I want, leave this place whenever I please with no explanations. You want me here? Fine. But it'll be as if you had a piece of decoration". 

"I want you here at eleven every night"

You froze at his petition, sure you didn't hear him well or understand him properly. Did he just say...? 

"Go and fuck whoever you please, but at night I want you in your bed, under my roof" he calmly added. 

He couldn't control who you were going to see, and it wasn't like it was going to be something to last forever -he was convinced you'd give up on any other men you had tried to meet after him the second you spent more time together again. It'd be as if you had never left. 

He wanted to be relieved and calm, knowing that you'd be safe in his house. That was all he needed. 

"And what if I don't want to?" 

"I'm accepting your conditions, you should also accept mine" he cut you off, his glare rough as he drilled into your eyes. 

"Fine..." you sighed. "The time I'm here, though, I don't want you to speak to me unless it's necessary. And I mean life or death situation" you tried to make yourself clear by adding that new condition. 

"Now I can't speak to you?"

"You had a chance to and you didn't take it, now I don't want to hear anything, absolutely nothing, at all, from you". 

Said that, you picked up your suitcase, walking upstairs to close yourself inside your old room, surprised at how the place even smelled the exact same way it did the day you left. 

San's smile didn't fade as he leaned back on the couch, looking up at the short way you made to the first floor. "We'll see about that."

The first few days back in the house were cold and quiet -just how you wanted it. You stuck to your word, speaking to San only when absolutely necessary. If he asked a question, you answered with as few words as possible. If you crossed paths in the hall, you barely spared him a glance.

It worked... for a while.

But San wasn't the type to tolerate being ignored.

One evening, you were in the kitchen preparing dinner when you felt his presence behind you. He leaned against the counter, silently watching you as you chopped vegetables.

You ignored him, hoping he would leave.

He didn't.

The silence stretched between you like a taut wire, heavy and suffocating. Finally, San spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Are you really planning on keeping this up forever?"

You didn't look at him. "We agreed to only necessary conversations."

"And this feels very necessary to me," he said, stepping closer. "Unless you're enjoying playing house in silence". 

Your jaw tightened. "I'm not playing anything, San. I'm trying to survive living under the same roof as you". 

His lips curved into a slow, maddening smirk. "Funny, because from where I'm standing, it seems like you're running away". 

That did it. You dropped the knife onto the cutting board with a sharp thud and turned to face him. "Running away? From what exactly?"

"From me" he tilted his head, his eyes never leaving yours. "From whatever it is you're so afraid to admit."

"You're delusional," you said, crossing your arms. "Not everything revolves around you, San."

He took another step forward, and suddenly the space between you felt far too small. "No, but you're making it pretty obvious that something about me still gets to you" his gaze dropped briefly to your lips before locking onto your eyes again. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be working so hard to avoid me". 

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you refused to back down. "I'm not avoiding you. I'm just choosing not to engage with someone who clearly can't respect boundaries". 

San chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. "Boundaries, huh?" his voice dropped an octave, dangerously low. "Tell me, Y/n... how long do you think you can keep pretending you don't feel anything when I'm this close?"

He was right in front of you now, his breath warm against your skin. Every instinct in your body screamed at you to push him away, to tell him he was wrong.

But you didn't move.

For a second, neither did he.

Then his hand brushed against your wrist, his fingers curling gently around it -not forcefully, but enough to send a jolt through your system. His eyes searched yours, waiting for you to tell him to stop.

But you couldn't.

The tension snapped, and before you knew it, his lips crashed into yours.

It wasn't soft or tentative -it was raw and desperate, a collision of anger and need that left you breathless. His hand slid up your back, pulling you closer as the world around you faded away.

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it -the heat, the frustration, the undeniable pull that had always existed between you.

But reality hit just as hard, and you pulled back, breathless and shaken.

"See?" San whispered, his forehead resting against yours. "You can lie to yourself all you want. But you can't lie to me". 

"No, that's definitely more your thing" you clapped back, making sure your back was glued to the counter, as if that would keep from making another mistake. 

"You still think I lied to you?" his eyebrows momentarily arched, before his hand landed over the counter, bending his body slightly. 

"I don't think so, I know it" you tilted your head. "Which makes me wonder what the fuck do you exactly want from me?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" he aimed to take a step closer to you, his hand slipping from the counter as he approached you. 

Before he could reduce the distance to a palm, you quickly picked up the knife over the cutting board to threaten him with it, San instantly raising his hands in a mockery surrender pose.  

"You treated me like a fool once. I'm not allowing you to do it a second time" you assure him, your eyes piercing through his. 

You dropped the knife back to the counter, thinking it was going to be a better idea to just leave and have dinner somewhere else than stay in that house and stand his constant comments and silent looks. 

The moment you left San standing in the kitchen, lips swollen from the kiss you still felt burning on your skin, you knew you couldn't stay in that house any longer, at least not when you felt so weak.

One wrong word and move, and you'd be back to a place you'd regret. 

You grabbed your coat and keys, ignoring the pounding in your chest, and headed straight to Steve's apartment.

He answered the door within seconds, his brows lifting in surprise when he saw you standing there. "Y/n? What's wrong?"

You stepped inside, brushing past him. "I shouldn't have gone back to him. Moving into that house was a mistake."

Steve shut the door behind you, his expression hardening. "Did he do something?"

"No," you said quickly, though your voice wavered. "Not exactly. But... he won't let me go. He keeps trying to pull me back in, and it's suffocating."

You tried to ignore the fact that you didn't tell your boyfriend about the kiss. You could have, but for some reason you chose to hide that detail. 

Steve gave you a soft look, his hand aiming for your arm to brush his fingers against the thick fabric of your coat. "Let's get you something warm first". 

You played with the white cup in your hands, the steam from your hot tea almost reaching your nose. 

"It's clear what he's doing" he thought out loud, his head shaking while still deep in thought. "He knows you're too strong to fall for his games, so he's trying to trap you emotionally. If you really want to get him out of your life, you need to hit him where it hurts". 

You frowned. "What do you mean?"

He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "San's entire identity is wrapped up in that company. It's what made your marriage necessary in the first place, right? He needed you to solidify his position as head of the company. So... why not disrupt that? Use the one thing that connects you both: his business". 

The idea left you breathless for a second, the audacity of it hanging in the air. It was dangerous, calculated, and exactly the kind of move San wouldn't expect.

"You want me to ruin his position?" you asked cautiously.

"Not exactly ruin it," Steve said with a sly smile. "But challenge it. You have enough influence and knowledge to shake things up. Attend board meetings, make connections with the investors, prove that you are the real power in this relationship, not him". 

Your mind raced at the possibilities. San had always thrived on control -especially in the business world. If you stepped into that world and took control of your own narrative, you wouldn't just be playing his game. You'd be rewriting the rules.

"I don't know..." you murmured, but deep down, a part of you was intrigued. 

You wanted to fight back, but you weren't sure how the consequences of your actions could affect San in the future. 

Hold on a second... Why were you even feeling sorry for him? 

"Think about it," Steve said, leaning back with a confident grin. "If San wants to play power games, give him a fight he won't see coming". 

You returned late that night, slipping back into the house like a shadow. San wasn't in the kitchen or the living room, but you felt his presence everywhere -watching, waiting.

As you climbed the stairs, your eyes drifted to the ring still sitting on the coffee table, gleaming under the soft light.

You ignored it and headed to your room, the resolve hardening in your chest. 

This was war now.

San stood at the head of the conference table, his voice calm and commanding as he laid out his latest strategy to the board. His navy suit and confident stance made it clear who was in control. Every investor in the room hung on his every word.

Until the doors to the conference room swung open, interrupting him.

All eyes turned toward you as your heels clicked against the marble floor. San's smirk grew the moment he saw you. You were as beautiful as he kept thinking throughout the conference, that aura around you worked like a magnet. His attention had to be on you whenever you were in the same room -and even if you weren't. His eyes sparkled with mischief and curiosity, assuming you were here for a surprise visit.

But then you didn't stop by the door.

Instead, you walked to the far side of the long table, your expression composed and businesslike, not a single glance aimed at him. The room fell into a stunned silence as you looked down on the man who was sitting at San's right, your intimidating gaze immediately making him look to his left so everyone would move one seat away so his seat would be free for you. 

Without a word, you took a seat, right next to San.

The tension in the room was palpable.

San's smirk faltered, his eyes narrowing as he watched you lean back in your chair, your fingers calmly tapping on the table. "Y/n," he said slowly, his tone low and questioning. "What are you doing here?"

You offered him a polite, professional smile, ignoring the flicker of warning in his eyes. "I'm here for the meeting, of course". You turned to the others, your voice clear and confident. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. You all must know, but I'm Y/n, and as of this morning, I'll be joining the executive board as the company's new Strategic Advisor".

San's jaw clenched. You could see the muscles in his neck tighten, though his expression remained otherwise unreadable. He leaned slightly toward you, his voice barely made it to your ears. "You've been busy, haven't you?"

You didn't blink. "I thought it was time I got involved. You keep insisting I'm your wife and such. You wanted me back at our house, so I think it's just fair I also take part in our business. You've always said we're a team, haven't you? You should be happy". 

He straightened, eyes fixed on you, his mind running like crazy with all the thoughts in his head. "A team," he repeated, his voice dangerously calm. "Of course".

The meeting resumed, but you could feel San's eyes on you the entire time. Every word spoken, every decision discussed -it was all charged with tension. You chimed in occasionally, your remarks sharp and insightful, earning nods of approval from several board members, and casually opposing your husband's ideas or opinions.

By the end of the meeting, it was clear to everyone that you weren't just a pretty face in a designer dress. You belonged in that room, and you weren't going anywhere.

As the meeting wrapped up, the board members began to file out, offering you polite nods as they passed. San stayed seated, watching you with a carefully neutral expression. When the door finally closed behind the last executive, the silence between you became deafening.

"You've made your point," he said, his voice low and laced with something between admiration and irritation. "You had fun. Now go back home. This isn't a game".

You stood, smoothing your dress and giving him one last look. "Who said I'm playing a game, San? I'm just here to do what's best for the company". 

With that, you turned and walked toward the door, leaving him sitting there -his eyes dark, his mind already calculating his next move.

That night, you barely made it through the front door before San's voice cut through the silence.

You swore things were being way too peaceful for it to be real. You left the company later in the evening, you spent time with your boyfriend, and then you went back home before eleven like San had conditioned you. 

You didn't expect him to still be awake. 

"You've got some nerve, Y/n," he said, leaning against the doorway of the living room. His tie was loosened, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a sliver of his collarbone. His dark eyes pinned you in place, burning with a mix of anger and something else far more dangerous.

You calmly slipped off your heels, pretending not to notice the tension radiating from him. "I don't know what you're talking about". 

He pushed off the doorframe, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "Really? Barging into my meeting, announcing your shiny new position in front of the entire board without telling me first? That wasn't just a power move, that was a declaration of war". 

You crossed your arms, holding his gaze without flinching. "I'm only doing what's best for the company. Or are you threatened by me, San?"

His eyes darkened at the challenge, his jaw tightening. He stopped just inches away from you, his presence overwhelming. "Threatened?" he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. "No, love. I'm not threatened by you. But you should be careful". 

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that a warning?"

His lips curled into a smirk, but there was no warmth in it "Call it... advice". He leaned in closer, his breath brushing against your ear. "Because if you want to play games with me, you'd better be ready for the consequences."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" you shot back, refusing to back down despite how close he was.

He let out a low, humorless chuckle. "No, Y/n. I know you aren't scared of shit like that". 

The air between you crackled with tension. For a moment, neither of you moved, caught in a dangerous standoff. Then, without warning, San's hand shot out, his fingers wrapping gently -but firmly- around your wrist.

"You think you can walk into my world and play by your own rules?" he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. "Let me remind you who taught you how to play this game in the first place". 

Before you could respond, his lips crashed into yours, all restraint vanishing in an instant. The kiss was fierce, consuming, a clash of frustration and desire that had been building for far too long. His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you against him as if daring you to push him away.

But you didn't.

Instead, you kissed him back just as fiercely, pouring every ounce of your anger and defiance into it. It was a battle neither of you wanted to lose, a fight that left you breathless and trembling.

You found yourself pulling him closer, your hands wrapped around his neck when he pushed you against the door to corner you. 

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes burned with that familiar intensity -the one that always left you on edge.

"Tell me again," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "that you're not playing games with me."

You looked at him through hooded eyes, before you got back some strength to speak "I'm not. I'm just giving you the consequences of your actions". 

After pushing him, you managed to walk away. You were paying him back with his own decisions, you were doing exactly what he told you to do -you even started wearing the ring again- only to make him regret everything he did to you. 

Because, deep down, you weren't sure anymore.

But, as always, San changed the rules. 

It started at the office. He didn't oppose your presence after a few days. Not only did he accept you working at the company, but he made it clear to everyone else that you belonged there.

"Y/n's perspective is valuable," he said during one of the meetings, his tone calm and confident, as though the two of you hadn't nearly torn each other apart the night before. "We'll benefit from her insight". 

You blinked in surprise, not missing the way the other executives exchanged glances. San never shared control with anyone. Yet there he was, backing you up without hesitation, his demeanor warm and approachable.

You waited for him to pull some kind of stunt. To undermine you or push you into a corner. But it never came.

Instead, he stayed close -always helpful, always charming. He lingered by your office with coffee in hand, offering advice or casually checking on your progress. He praised your work during meetings, smiled at you in that disarmingly genuine way that made your stomach twist.

And he kept his distance -physically, at least. No more sudden touches. No more whispered words meant to unravel you.

But his eyes... his eyes never stopped watching you, never stopped waiting.

Every time you turned a corner, he was there. Every time you doubted your next move, he was one step ahead, guiding you with perfect timing. He was patient. Calculated.

He was making it impossible to hate him.

One late afternoon, after another meeting where San had spoken up in your favor, you lingered in the conference room, trying to process it all. The sun dipped low, casting golden light through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

"Something on your mind?"

You turned to find San standing in the doorway, his jacket slung over one shoulder, his sleeves rolled up. His voice was soft, almost casual, but there was a gleam in his eyes that betrayed his intent.

"Just thinking," you said, keeping your tone neutral.

"About how well we work together?" he asked, stepping inside and leaning against the table. "Admit it, Y/n. We make a hell of a team".

You narrowed your eyes. "You're up to something".

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Not this time. I meant what I said. I'm here to help you. I told you, we're partners now, we're a team. No games". 

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But trusting San was like stepping into quicksand -you never knew how far you'd sink before it was too late.

Still... he was making it harder and harder to resist.

"I'll treat you to dinner" he moved his head, motioning you to walk with him. 

But you froze. You already had plans,  you were already meeting up with Steve to have dinner. But something in you couldn't hide the fact that you wanted to spend time with San -even if you saw each other all day now, it was never enough. 

You could've said no and let Steve take you to the same restaurant you went to on Fridays, but you didn't. 

"Uh, let me send an email real quick" you lied. 

You took out your phone to let Steve know you wouldn't be able to meet him that night. It was the fourth time that week you stood him up. While the other times weren't related to your husband but work, they made you feel more regretful than that evening. 

Twenty minutes later, you found yourself seated at a small, intimate table in an intimately lit restaurant tucked away from the city's busy streets. The place had an understated elegance -brick walls, warm lighting, the scent of freshly baked bread drifting through the air.

It wasn't flashy or extravagant. It felt... cozy. Unexpectedly personal.

San leaned back in his chair, watching you as the waiter poured wine into your glass. "Relax, Y/n. This isn't a business meeting". 

You raised an eyebrow, swirling the wine in your glass. "Isn't it?"

"Not tonight." He rested his elbows on the table, his eyes never leaving yours. "I just want to enjoy your company. No business. No games". 

You sipped your wine, unsure whether to believe him. The man sitting across from you was far too good at blurring lines, at slipping through cracks in your armor when you least expected it.

"So," San said after a beat of silence. "Tell me. How's your first week at the company been?"

"It's been... fine," you replied cautiously.

"Just fine?" His lips curved into a playful smirk. "Come on. Be honest". 

You leaned back, crossing your arms. "Honestly? I expected you to be more of a pain in the ass". 

His laughter was low and rich, drawing the attention of a few nearby diners. "I'm full of surprises". 

"That much is true," you muttered, setting your glass down. "But I still don't trust you". 

"Good," San said, his tone soft but serious. "You shouldn't". 

That threw you off. For a second, his expression shifted -his eyes darkened, his smirk fading into something far more sincere.

"But maybe," he added, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine, "you'll give me the chance to change that". 

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening. San had always been a master at keeping you on edge, but tonight was different. Tonight, his words felt less like a game and more like... something real.

The waiter returned with your meals, breaking the tension. The conversation turned lighter, San recounting an embarrassing story from one of his early days at the company. His laugh was contagious, his charm impossible to ignore.

For the first time in a long while, you found yourself lowering your guard -just a little.

But as the evening went on, you couldn't shake the feeling that San was always one step ahead.

You were halfway through your meal when San leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes gleaming with something you couldn't quite read.

"So... Steve," he said, his voice deceptively casual. "Tell me about him."

Your fork froze mid-air. His tone was light, but the question hit you with the force of a loaded gun. You set your fork down carefully, your gaze narrowing.

"What about him?"

San tilted his head, lips curling into a slow, almost amused smile. "You've been seeing him for... what? A few months?"

"Why does that matter?" you asked, sipping your wine, trying to appear unaffected.

He shrugged. "Just curious. Seems like a nice guy. The kind of guy who probably wears beige sweaters and helps old ladies cross the street". His smile turned sharper "Safe". 

Your jaw tightened. "Yes, he is. Which is more than I can say for most people" you snapped back your attack clear. 

"Wow, calm down. It wasn't meant as an attack" San chuckled, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. "Although... safe is boring. You're not boring". 

"Not everything has to be chaos and fire, San," you shot back, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

He swirled the wine in his glass, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. "No. But it's more fun, isn't it?"

You could feel the tension rising again, the air between you thick with unspoken words. He wasn't just curious -he was poking at something, testing you, trying to find a crack in the wall you'd built.

"I'm happy with Steve," you said, folding your napkin and placing it on the table. "And he's good for me. Unlike certain people who thrive on turning everything into a power game". 

His smile faded for just a second, his eyes flashing with something darker. "You think I'm playing a game with you?"

"Aren't you always?"

San leaned forward again, his voice low, dangerous, and intimate. "If I were playing, Y/n, you'd know it. But I'm not. Not this time". 

You stared at him, your heartbeat picking up pace. His words were a challenge -a direct, undeniable dare to see through his layers and figure out what he really wanted.

The waiter returned, breaking the moment as he offered dessert, but you waved him off. You needed air. You needed to get out before San could sink any deeper into your thoughts.

The cool evening air hit your skin as you stepped outside the restaurant, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. You needed space -time to clear your head after that loaded conversation.

You had barely taken a few steps down the sidewalk when you heard the door swing open behind you, followed by the sound of his footsteps.

"Y/n," San called, his voice calm but commanding. 

You didn't stop.

"I'm going home," you said without turning around. "Alone". 

Because that was the only way you'd assure yourself you'd make your way to your room without letting San get in your head. 

"Don't be ridiculous," he said, easily catching up to you. "I'll drive you". 

You stopped abruptly, spinning on your heel to face him. "I don't want your company". 

San smirked, his hands sliding into his pockets as he stepped closer, his eyes gleaming under the streetlights. "I'm not asking for your permission". 

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. "You can't control everything". 

His eyes darkened, his playful demeanor shifting into something far more serious. "I'm not trying to control you" he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, intimate tone. "But I'm not letting you walk away from me like that. Not tonight". 

Your breath caught in your throat as he stood so close you could feel his warmth despite the chill in the air. His presence was overwhelming -intoxicating in a way that made you hate how easily he could unravel you. 

"I really can't stand you" you muttered, turning to walk again. But before you could take another step, his hand gently wrapped around your wrist, stopping you in place.

"Let's go home together" he said softly, his eyes searching for yours. "Please."

The word caught you off guard. San rarely asked for anything. He demanded. But the way he said it now, with that rare hint of vulnerability, left you momentarily speechless.

Against your better judgment, you nodded, letting out a resigned sigh. "Fine". 

The car ride was silent, the tension thick as San drove with one hand on the wheel, his other resting on his knee. You kept your gaze fixed on the passing city lights, refusing to acknowledge the way his presence filled the small space.

But when you reached the house, it was clear the night was far from over.

The car rolled to a stop in front of the house, the engine's low hum fading into silence. You hesitated for a moment before stepping out, your heels clicking softly against the pavement. San followed closely behind, his footsteps deliberate but hesitant -something you weren't used to from him.

He opened the front door and held it for you without a word, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for something. You stepped inside, your pulse quickening when you felt him right behind you, the air heavy with unspoken words.

"Y/n," he said softly, his voice raw and unfamiliar.

You froze in place, your back still to him, your hand tightening around the strap of your purse when you were able to recognize that tone in his voice. You didn't want to do this. You couldn't do this. Not now. Not after everything.

But San wasn't giving you a choice.

"I've thought about you every damn day," he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. "Every night. Two months, Y/n. Do you know what it's like to feel haunted by someone who isn't even there?"

Your breath hitched, and you turned around slowly, meeting his eyes. His usual armor -the smirk, the cocky confidence- was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked... tired. Vulnerable. And painfully sincere.

"I hated it," he continued, stepping closer. "And then there's that... Steve" he practically spat the name, his jaw tightening. "You think he's good for you? He's not. He'll never know you like I do. He'll never be able to keep up with you". 

"San..." you started, but he cut you off.

"No," he said firmly. "Let me finish. I know I've made mistakes. I know I pushed you away when I should've done everything to keep you. And I know it's selfish to drag you back when you started to move on. But it drove me insane knowing someone else was filling the space I left empty" his voice dropped lower, almost a whisper. "I can't lose you. Not again". 

His words hit you like a punch to the chest, every syllable unraveling the carefully constructed wall you had built over the past two months. Your throat tightened, tears threatening to rise, but you clenched your jaw, refusing to let them fall.

"Stop," you said quietly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts.

San's eyes flickered with confusion, but he obeyed, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"I can't hear this," you whispered, shaking your head. "Not now". 

"Why?" he asked, taking another step closer, his eyes searching for yours.

"Because..." your voice caught in your throat. 

You didn't know how to finish that sentence without exposing the feelings you were trying so hard to bury.

"Y/n," he said, softer this time, his hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping halfway.

You took a step back, your heart hammering in your chest. "I need... I need space". 

The room fell into a suffocating silence, the weight of his confession hanging heavy between you. San nodded slowly, his expression unreadable, but the hurt in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Okay," he said quietly, his voice barely audible. "I'll give you space". 

You turned away quickly, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. But even as you walked toward the stairs, his words echoed in your mind, each one cutting deeper than the last.

The restaurant was warm and filled with life, but you felt cold, your thoughts miles away from the conversation. Steve sat across from you, his smile easy, his words familiar and comforting, yet you barely registered a word. Your mind kept drifting back -back to the house you shared with San, to the memories that clung to you like a second skin.

"Y/n?" Steve called gently, his brow furrowed as he leaned closer. "Are you okay?"

"Huh?" You blinked, snapping out of your thoughts. "Yeah, sorry. Just... tired". 

But you weren't tired. You were haunted. Haunted by the way San had started chipping away at your carefully built walls without even trying.

The mornings when you'd come down for coffee, and he'd already be there, leaning casually against the counter, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, holding out a cup he'd made just the way you liked it.

"Morning," he'd say, his voice low and husky from sleep, a knowing smile tugging at his lips when your fingers brushed as you took the cup.

The way he'd linger close -always too close. Passing by you in the hall of your office, his hand grazing your lower back, his touch sending sparks up your spine. Or how his eyes would follow you in meetings at the office, dark and intense, making you forget what you were supposed to be saying.

And the nights. The nights were the worst.

"Do you always work this late?" San had asked one evening, standing in your doorway, his tie loosened, his eyes tired but warm.

"I like working late," you had replied, barely glancing up from your laptop. But you'd felt his presence, the air charged with that electric tension.

"Liar," he'd muttered under his breath with a chuckle, disappearing down the hall before you could respond.

Every little thing he did had felt deliberate -small, intimate gestures that blurred the lines you had tried so desperately to draw.

And now, sitting across from Steve, you felt the weight of those memories pressing down on you like a tidal wave. You weren't the same person who had walked out of San's life two months ago. You had been reshaped, little by little, without even realizing it.

"Y/n, we need to talk" Steve said suddenly, his voice cutting through the fog in your mind. Those words brought you back instantly "I've noticed... Y/n, I think something's changed between us".  

You looked up at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

He studied you for a long moment, his expression soft but knowing. "You seem... distracted. Distant, even. And I don't think it's just work. We barely see each other, and it's always one excuse after the other. And the little we get to see each other, you wear that fucking ring like you're actually married to him" subtly, your eyes moved down to your hand. 

He was right. The first time it happened, Steve pointed it out with a joke. But the second, the third time... he noticed something was off with the way you started  becoming more attached to that piece of jewelry. He noticed how you were distancing yourself from him, as if you never wanted to move on from the person who put it on you in the first place. 

"I..." you tried to deny it, but the words caught in your throat.

"You're in love with him," Steve said gently, his eyes sad but honest.

Your breath caught in your chest, your pulse racing.

"No, I'm not," you said quickly, too quickly. "It's complicated". 

Steve leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed. "No, it's not. It’s pretty simple, actually. You're still wearing his mark in every part of your life, even if you don't see it. And maybe you've convinced yourself that you've moved on, but trust me... you haven't" he sighed, his back resting on the backrest. "When we started seeing each other, I thought you'd eventually forget about him. But now that he's back, I can see it even clearer on you. You think of him the way I think of you". 

His words stung because they were true.

"I... I don't know how I feel about San. But you're right about one thing: I think about him the way I wished I thought about you" you sighed. "And I've been so selfish with you, so unfair... It shouldn't have taken me this long to realize".

Or maybe you did realize earlier, but you just clung to the idea that the stability Steve kept offering you was all you ever wanted. You tried to cover up your feelings with what you wanted. 

"I'm really sorry for putting you in this position, I'm really sorry for hurting you and making you waste your time. I shouldn't have..."

"I knew what I was doing when I first walked in" Steve smirked. "It was also my choice to stay. I just hope he can be better and make you the happiest, because it's the only thing you deserve, Y/n". 

Your heart broke when you watched him getting up and walking to you, his lips leaving a small kiss on your forehead before he started walking towards the exit. 

It was over.

The front door clicked shut behind you, the soft sound of the lock sliding into place echoing in the quiet house when you came back home. You kicked off your heels, your jaw tight and your mind a tangled mess of emotions. Your heart raced -half from the lingering tension with Steve, half from the anticipation of seeing San.

The lights in the living room were turned on, you didn't need to catch a glimpse of San sitting on the couch to know he was there, his elbows were resting on his knees, his dark eyes locked on you the second you stepped inside. He looked like he'd been waiting for you, his jaw clenched, his tie loosened around his neck, the top buttons of his shirt undone.

He was indeed waiting for you. You arrived one hour late to the time you first agreed on your conditions, and his mind was already racing with all the things you could be doing, or the things that could've happened to you. 

"Late night?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an unmistakable edge.

You froze, your pulse quickening as the weight of the conversation you'd just had with Steve pressed down on you. "Don't start, San. I’m not in the mood tonight". 

He stood, taking slow, deliberate steps toward you. "I'm just curious. Did your boyfriend have something interesting to say?"

You glared at him, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. "This is none of your business". 

He chuckled bitterly, his eyes darkening. "None of my business? You live in my house, Y/n. Everything about you is my business". 

"You're unbelievable," you shot back, your voice rising. "I live in your house because you wanted it that way. We're still married because you wanted it that way. You made me your business because you're fucking insane" you snapped back "Yet I'm the one who owes you explanations and details?"

San stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. "You do owe me an explanation, at the very least. You disappear for hours, come back with that look on your face, and I'm just supposed to act like it doesn't bother me?"

"It shouldn't!" you snapped. "This marriage is a lie, San! You don't get to be jealous or possessive. Fuck fuck's sake, you shouldn't even be worried. You said it yourself! It's meaningless, remember?"

He flinched at your words, his eyes narrowing. "You're really going to throw that in my face again?"

"You gave me no choice," you hissed. "I'm just playing by the rules you set, San". 

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you crackling with tension. His eyes flickered with something you couldn't quite place: frustration, anger, and something deeper, something dangerous.

"Fine," he said, his voice dangerously calm. "If that's how you want it". 

You turned on your heel, heading for the stairs, your heart pounding in your chest. But San wasn't finished.

"You can run upstairs and lock yourself in that room all you want," he called after you. "But you can't keep avoiding this forever". 

You didn't respond, your footsteps heavy as you climbed the stairs. When you reached your room, you slammed the door shut and leaned against it, your chest heaving.

The truth was, you were more terrified of not running.

Terrified that if you let him close again, you wouldn't have the strength to push him away.

Weeks passed, and the house felt colder with every passing day.

The distance between you and San had become a silent war -each of you too proud to surrender, too stubborn to bridge the gap. Every interaction was brief and transactional, your words clipped, your glances fleeting.

And yet, he was always there. Always watching. Always close enough to remind you that no matter how much space you tried to put between you, it was never enough.

Tonight was no different. 

You stood in front of the mirror in your bedroom, applying the final touch of lipstick. The buzzing of your phone vibrated on the dresser -a message from your friends confirming the plans for the night.

You slipped into your heels, grabbed your jacket, and headed toward the door. The house was unusually quiet, but you barely noticed. You were halfway down the stairs when San's voice, low and groggy, stopped you in your tracks.

"Where are you going?"

You turned to find him leaning against the doorframe of the living room. His hair was tousled, his face pale, and he clutched the front of his shirt as if he could barely stand. His eyes met yours, and for a split second, you hesitated.

"Out," you said slowly, your brow furrowing. "Are you... okay?"

San groaned softly, staggering toward the couch and sinking onto it with a dramatic sigh. "I don't think so... I've felt off all day. I didn't even go to work". 

When you didn't see him in the office, you thought it was because he was avoiding you as hard as you were avoiding him. 

But you were wrong. 

You crossed your arms, watching him closely. He looked convincingly miserable -too miserable, almost.

"You seemed fine earlier," you said, raising a brow. 

You did catch a glimpse of him when you came back from the office. Truth was that you didn't pay enough attention to him, while he was lying on the couch, to tell whether he was really sick or just having a lazy day. 

"I've been sick all day" he muttered, rubbing his forehead as if the weight of the world rested there. "Maybe it's a fever. Or worse. Who knows? I might not even wake up tomorrow". 

You narrowed your eyes. "Are you seriously faking being sick to keep me from leaving?"

His head shot up, a spark of offense flashing in his eyes. "What? No!" he coughed -a little too perfectly timed. "I would never. I just thought... maybe you could stay. You know, in case I need... help". 

A short laugh escaped you despite yourself. "Help with what? Tucking you in?"

San's lips curved into a small smirk, the sickly act slipping for a second. "Well, since you're offering..."

You shook your head, exasperated. "For real...."

He leaned back into the couch, his expression softening as he looked up at you. "Come on, just stay. Just tonight" his voice dropped, quieter, almost vulnerable. "It's been a while since we've had dinner together. I'll make it worth your while". 

Something about the way he said it made your pulse quicken. His eyes -dark and earnest- locked onto yours, and suddenly, you were questioning whether you wanted to leave at all.

You sighed, glancing at the door one last time before slipping out of your heels and tossing your jacket onto a nearby chair. "Fine. But only because I don't want to come home and find you passed out on the floor". 

San's eyes lit up for a brief second before he coughed again -weakly, almost theatrically- and leaned back on the couch like he was barely holding on. "I knew I could count on you". 

You rolled your eyes, walking over to the other side of the room. "What do you want for dinner?"

"Takeout. Whatever you feel like," San said, already reaching for his phone. "My treat". 

It wasn't long before the smell of food filled the house. San had ordered your favorite dishes, and despite yourself, you couldn't help but appreciate the thoughtfulness. The two of you sat cross-legged on the living room floor, cartons of takeout spread between you, soft music playing in the background.

He passed you a pair of chopsticks, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. "You're too quiet tonight," he murmured, his eyes lingering on you. "What's on your mind?"

You gave a noncommittal shrug, focusing on your food. "Nothing much”. 

"Liar," he teased, nudging your leg gently with his knee. "You always get that look when something's bothering you". 

"You're imagining things," you replied, taking a sip of your drink.

He watched you for a moment, his playful smirk fading into something softer. "I missed this". 

Your breath hitched slightly, but you quickly masked it. "You mean tricking me into staying home while you fake a near-death experience?"

San chuckled, a warm, genuine sound. "No. I mean... being with you like this. Talking. Eating. Just... being". 

You hated how easily his words unsettled you, how they made your carefully constructed walls tremble just a little.

"Don't get used to it," you muttered, trying to sound indifferent. "You're not that convincing, by the way". 

His brows lifted. "What do you mean?"

"You forgot you were supposed to be sick about twenty minutes ago". 

San froze, his chopsticks hovering mid-air, then laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Guess I got caught up in the moment". 

You narrowed your eyes at him. "Uh-huh. Caught up in ordering half the menu and devouring it like you haven't eaten in a week?"

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the edges. "I haven't eaten in a whole day... almost. I needed to be convincing". 

"You keep proving how crazy you are" you said dryly, but you couldn't stop the small smile that tugged at your lips.

As the evening stretched on, the atmosphere grew warmer, more intimate. You leaned back on the couch, full and content, while San sat beside you, his arm resting on the back cushion, his fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.

He didn't say much after that, just watched you in quiet contemplation, his gaze unreadable but steady, like he was trying to memorize every detail of this moment.

And for once, you didn't pull away.

"After all these months... I still don't know why you agreed to marry me" he said out of the blue, catching you off guard. "You're old enough to refuse. What could've your parents done to you? Block your cards?"

Your feet hesitated over the edge of the coffee table, while those memories came back after being left to the deepest area in your brain. 

"I don't know. And I didn't want to risk learning it" you mumbled. "Sometimes I think they adopted me to trade me for something better" you scoffed, saying those thoughts out loud for the first time. "You can say all my life since I moved with them was about that. I was never a daughter, but an object to exchange. It's okay though" you sighed "I learned to live like that". 

San stared at you for a few seconds in silence, drinking in every expression, every small gesture that gave out more of your feelings. 

"I never thought of you that way" he admitted. "Before we married, I was attracted to you. Really attracted, I mean... You have no idea the amount of times that..."

"San, stop" you chuckled, attempting to hide your face behind your palms. 

"What I mean is that our marriage just helped fasten things. Then I started to know you more after we moved in together, and I swear I've never been more lost with someone else before. Every little thing, even things I thought I already knew, made me feel like I was rewriting you all over again. I think... I started falling for you much earlier than I should've. And God, it felt so fucking good".

You could just stare at him as he spoke, trying to find a hint on how he was playing you, but there was nothing at all. 

"But then... then you overheard me talking to Wooyoung... I knew the second I saw your face that I'd ruined everything. I hated myself for it. Every damn day after you left, I cursed myself for not stopping you". 

Your breath caught in your throat. The sincerity in his voice, the cracks in his carefully guarded composure... It was too much. Too real.

"I just want you to know  that I didn't say those things to hurt you," San began, his jaw tightening. "I didn't feel them. I could never feel them. I said them because I thought I was protecting you". 

"Protecting me?" you blinked, confusion flickering across your face.

"My father started getting suspicious of us when I kept dodging the topic every time he brought up the divorce. And it got worse when I suggested you to become part of the company, because you're brilliant and you have amazing ideas, and you'd add so much by doing what you love... And you proved it these weeks. But my father thought that maybe I was getting too invested in you, and having us involved together in something else would only make it harder for us to part ways. I didn't want you to become a target, I didn't want you in between the crossfire". 

You crossed your arms, trying to maintain your composure. "So your solution was to tell Wooyoung that I meant nothing to you?"

"I panicked. Wooyoung and his mother have a tight connection with my father, so maybe if I reassured him that everything was as always..." San admitted, his voice cracking just slightly. "I thought if I made it sound like it was all just business, like I didn't care... it would all stop. My father would leave you alone, and we'd be able to keep going for a little longer until we got strong enough. No one would question your success, and with just a little more time we would've gotten strong enough to get through everything. I didn't realize how wrong I was until it was too late". 

He ran a hand down his face, his frustration evident. "It backfired in the worst way. You heard it, and it broke us. I would've taken it back in a heartbeat if I could". 

"What changed now? Because I doubt your father was happy with the idea of having me back". 

"It's worse to have you away, and share you with someone else, than going through a war against my father to keep you in my life" he whispered. "When I signed those papers... I was so angry at you, but I was angrier at me, because I thought I wasn't going to be able to protect you. And then you signed them as well, and I couldn't find the courage to file them and present them in court. It was the only thing that kept us together". 

You leaned back against the couch, folding your arms tightly across your chest, trying to put some distance between yourself and the raw vulnerability in San's eyes. 

"The first week, I tried to get you out of my head and convince myself that it was for the better. I kept postponing presenting the files until I realized I didn't want to". 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the way San's gaze darkened made you stop short. He pressed his lips into a thin line, as if weighing what to say next, before finally leaning closer -too close.

"I gave you space, I let you live your life" he said, his voice low, almost dangerously calm. "But you didn't really think I'd let you go, didn't you?"

Your pulse quickened, unease spreading through your chest. "What are you talking about?"

San tilted his head, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "I never stopped keeping tabs on you. Not once. Those months we were apart? I knew exactly where you were, what you were doing... and who you were with". 

Your heart stopped. "You... what?"

San shook his head, his expression almost regretful. "I wanted to let you move on at first... but the second I saw him holding your hand, touching you like you were his, I couldn't stand it. So I made sure he wouldn't last long in your life." he paused, leaning closer. "Did you ever wonder why Steve's company suddenly lost that big contract? Why he became distant, out of nowhere?"

Your stomach churned. You had wondered. You remember the big turn in Steve's personality after that, but you two managed to get him back on the right road.

"You..." your voice shook with rage. "You almost ruined his career just to... what? Keep me single?"

San's jaw tightened. "To bring you back where you belong" his voice softened, his eyes blazing with something raw and possessive. "With me" he sighed, slightly throwing his head back "When you didn't break up after that, I knew I needed to do something else. And that was why I showed up looking for you and bringing you back". 

Your breath caught in your throat, torn between fury and disbelief. "You're sick in the head". 

"Maybe," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you can't deny that part of you wanted to come back. Even now, you're still here. You're still mine."

Your hands clenched into fists as his words settled like poison in your veins. "Mine." That one word snapped something inside you, sending you spiraling between anger and something far more dangerous.

Shit... why was your body feeling lighter after his confession? Why were you so eager for his lips? Why did his twisted actions work to make your heart beat faster for him? 

"I know you're feeling the same way even if you're with that prick" he whispered, his fingers softly tracing your jaw. 

He shifted closer to you, his thigh pressing against yours, rubbing your skin over your tights. He looked into your eyes, and you could feel a spark ignite between you. "Y/n, love," he said softly, "I've been an idiot. I'm sorry."

San leaned in, his lips gently brushing against yours, instantly getting them to part as if he had thrown a spell on you. You closed your eyes, feeling the warmth of his touch, getting lost in the rush when he finally linked your lips together. It was slow, gentle, as if he was afraid you'd move away. But slowly, your lips sucked on his, your lower lip molding in between them, the kiss deepening as your tongues explored each other's mouths, the mere contact making the two of you moan. San's hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer, making sure there wouldn't be a single inch between your bodies.

After the distance between you, he couldn't tolerate any physical space. 

"You taste so good," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "I've missed this". 

You moaned softly, your lips still brushing his, your body responding to his touch. "I've missed you too," you finally admitted, your voice breathless.

When you kissed again, you could feel the air shifting, the tension turned into something heavier, something that almost made you eat the other alive. 

San's hand moved up to cup your breast, his fingers gently squeezing while his thumb rubbed against your nipple through the fabric of your dress. Shocked by pleasure, you stopped the kiss to bite his lower lip for a few seconds, the time it took you to control your own moan. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl, when you finally released his lip. 

"Yes," you whispered, your voice filled with need. "I want you". 

San's hand moved to the hem of your dress, slowly lifting it up, his warm palm covering every inch of skin he went through as he moved it up. And every centimeter of skin that was exposed made you eager for more. You raised your arms when he pulled the elastic fabric up enough, allowing him to remove it completely. San leaned down, his lips capturing one of your nipples through the lace of your bra, having your back arching and your body surrendering to him as you rested against the backrest of the couch. You moaned, your hands tangling in his hair to make sure he wouldn't move away.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his hands moving to unclasp your bra. "I could touch you all day". 

Your bra fell away, and San's hands replaced the lace, cupping your bare breasts with an eroticism that had your breath catching in your throat. He kissed you again, his tongue exploring your mouth as his hands explored your body, he wanted to make it clear you were his. Not to you, but to his own self. Your hands moved to his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly.

"I want to feel you," you whispered, your fingers tracing the muscles of his chest.

San moved away shortly,  just enough to allow you to remove his shirt completely. He unbuttoned his jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. Your eyes widened as you saw his hardened bulge, straining against his briefs.

"You're already like this?" she chuckled, looking up to his eyes.

San smirked, hooking his thumbs into his briefs and pushing them down. "You keep underestimating the power you have over me, love. My whole body reacts for you". 

Your hands moved to your tights, pushing them down along with your panties. San kneeled on the couch, his hands moving to your thighs, taking you by surprise when he leaned in, his tongue flicking against your clit.

You gasped, your body bucking against his touch. "S... San," you moaned, your hands tangling in his hair.

His tongue continued to explore you, his fingers joining in, sliding in and out of her wetness with a slow motion that had you sinking deeper on the couch. Your moans filled the room, your body writhing against his touch.

"You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with desire, before licking again.

As minutes passed, you could feel your body tensing, your high crashing over you with such intensity that you saw white for a mini second. San's tongue continued to move, drawing out your pleasure, not wanting to move away from you. Your muscles relaxed, although not entirely, because you were back at that state of arousal that had you edging for more, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

San stood up, his hands cupping your face to stop you before your mouth could reach his length. You looked up at him, your eyes filled with all the filthy things you wanted to happen. 

You wanted him. 

"I have to be inside you first" he bent over to kiss you. "It's the only right way to do it". 

His hands hooked below your arms to pull you up, to quickly move around your waist and your nape to link your lips once more. His touch felt as if he wanted you to become one: the way he kept sticking your body close to his, the way his hand on your hair tangled around the locks to pull you deeper for the kiss, the way his nails scratched your back... It was more than just love.

You'd have walked blindly towards your room if you hadn't stumbled and fell over the stairs. Neither of you knew whether it was the need or hunger, but neither of you got up. San made sure to place you so you'd be sitting on the step while your back and head resting on the others, with his body barely making it on the edge to fit in between your legs. 

He positioned himself at your entrance, his dick sliding in slowly. You moaned, your body adjusting to his size after so long. San began to move, his hips thrusting against yours slowly at first, trying to memorize the feeling, the way your walls wrapped around him so good that he almost forgot how to breathe.

"You feel so good," he groaned, his voice filled with pleasure.

Your hands moved to his back, your nails digging into his skin while your legs wrapped higher on his waist. "San, please," you moaned, your body arching against his.

You didn't know to specify what you wanted, he already knew. San's thrusts became more forceful, his body slamming against yours. You didn't even care how the edge of the step kept hitting against your back, that pain became part of the pleasure at some point. Your moans filled the hall, your body responding to his touch in a way it hadn't before. "Yes" you moaned, your body tensing as another wave of pleasure approached. "San" your voice cracked. 

San's thrusts became erratic, his body tensing as he tried to control his own release from coming. But it was so hard, he ended up spilling himself inside you, his hips sloppily moving while his dick twitched wrapped around your walls, his lips seeking for yours to let you know he wasn't done. 

Somehow, you made it to his room, the bed looked like a battlefield from all the turns and shifts, the sheets stained with sweat and something else. 

Your body collapsed a third time over the mattress, your moan prolonging a bit longer while you tried to catch your breath. It was like a reward for getting him hard again when you sucked him off through his release during the second round. 

Your ears beeped, your sight was blurry, but the only thing your over sensitive body could feel was the way his body collapsed on top of you, his body shuddering with his orgasm.

You laid there for a moment, your bodies entwined, his face hiding in the curve of your neck while he whispered the most devoted words to your ear. He rolled off of you, just to pull you close. You snuggled against him, your body still humming with pleasure, ignoring the rational part of your brain that was asking you to leave.

You'd have plenty of chances to act that way. During that night, you just wanted to be with him. 

"I love you, Y/n," he whispered. "Even if you hate me for what I did, even if your heart belongs to someone else. I fucking love you, Y/n. And I doubt I'll ever be able to feel the same way about someone else". 

The sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. You stirred awake, the weight of last night pressing down on your chest as memories flashed through your mind: San's confession, the tension, and how everything had unraveled after, how you tried to ignore it as he hugged you closer to help you fall asleep. 

For a second, you hoped it had been a dream, but the faint hum of activity outside your bedroom told you otherwise. San was already awake.

You sighed, dragging yourself out of bed and into the bathroom to freshen up. The silence in the house was oppressive, a sharp contrast to the heated exchange from hours before. After throwing on something casual, you padded barefoot into the kitchen, where you found him leaning against the counter, a mug of coffee in hand.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Morning," he said, his voice low, almost cautious.

You nodded, walking past him to pour yourself a cup of coffee. The air between you felt suffocating, thick with words that had already been said, and some others that were left unspoken.

"Did you sleep well?" San asked, breaking the silence.

You glanced at him briefly. "Fine". 

He took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze never leaving yours. "About last night..."

"Let's not," you cut him off, your tone firmer than you intended. "I think we've said enough". 

His jaw clenched, but he nodded, stepping aside as you moved toward the fridge. You grabbed some fruit, peeling it in silence, feeling his eyes on you the entire time.

"Are you really going to pretend it didn't happen?" he finally asked, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "What I said, what we shared... it wasn't nothing". 

You set the fruit down with a soft thud, turning to face him. "I'm not pretending it didn't happen. I just don't know what you expect me to do with it". 

"I expect you to stop running," he said, taking a step closer. "To stop hiding behind your walls every time things get complicated. Fuck, I thought we were getting somewhere". 

"And I expect you to stop playing with my life," you shot back. "You've been controlling everything since the beginning, how am I supposed to trust this isn't just another game to you?"

He looked genuinely hurt for a moment, his expression softening. "It's not a game," he said quietly. "It's never been a game. You're the only thing that's ever felt real in all of this". 

His words made your heart twist painfully, but you pushed it aside, unwilling to let him see how deeply they affected you. "I need time," you said again, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just flip a switch and forget everything that happened”. 

San's shoulders sagged slightly, his frustration giving way to something more vulnerable. "I get it," he said after a pause. "Take all the time you need. But I'm not going anywhere". 

You stared at him for a long moment before turning away, grabbing your coffee and heading back to your room.

You thought that would be the end of the conversation, at least for now. But San had never been one to back down so easily, and deep down, you knew this was far from over.

Later that evening, the house was unusually quiet. You sat on the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the television, not even registering the images flashing across the screen. The weight of everything that had happened lingered heavily between you and San, who sat a few feet away, his gaze fixed on you rather than the show.

"Y/n," San said softly, breaking the silence. His tone was different -calm, almost resigned. "We need to talk". 

You turned to face him, your heart tightening at the serious look in his eyes. "About what?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers laced together. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by something more vulnerable. "I've been thinking... maybe I've been holding on too tightly". 

Your breath hitched slightly, but you kept your expression neutral. "What do you mean?"

San looked at you with a mix of sadness and determination. "I've forced you to stay. Dragged you back into my life without giving you much of a choice. I thought it was what I needed to keep you close, but... I can see how much it's been tearing you apart". 

You opened your mouth to speak, but he raised a hand to stop you. "Let me finish," he said gently. "If you want to go, I won't stop you this time. No tricks, no conditions. I'll set you free" his voice caught slightly on the last word. "I just want you to be happy, even if that means it's not with me". 

The air seemed to leave the room all at once. His words, so final, hit you harder than you expected. For months, you had wanted exactly this -a clean break, a way out. But now that he was offering it, your chest tightened painfully.

"You're... serious?" you asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," he said quietly, his eyes searching for yours. "I'm tired of forcing you to stay in a place you don't want to be. I love you too much to keep you trapped here". 

Your throat constricted to the raw emotion in his voice. His confession hung in the air, making it nearly impossible to breathe. You wanted to say something -anything- but the words wouldn't come.

For the first time, it felt like the walls you had built around yourself were beginning to crumble, piece by piece. And it scared you more than anything.

San smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "I'll leave you alone tonight. You can think about it. Just... let me know what you decide". 

He stood slowly, his steps heavy as he walked toward the hallway. You watched him disappear around the corner, your chest tightening more with every step he took.

Alone in the silence, you realized that maybe, just maybe, the thing you were most afraid of wasn't staying with San -it was losing him entirely. You fell for him too long ago, you refused to see it even when Steve threw it at your face, and now you were scared of the aftermath of building all those walls around you. 

The tension had been eating you alive for days. Each passing hour only made it worse. San had given you space -too much space- and the longer you waited, the more you hated it. You had tried to convince yourself that you needed time, but deep down, you knew the truth. You didn't want time. You didn't want to be free.

You wanted to be with him.

The realization hit you like a freight train as you found yourself pacing outside his company's headquarters. This was reckless -completely irrational- but you didn't care.

With your heart in your throat, you pushed through the glass doors of the building, ignoring the curious glances from employees as you made your way to the top floor. The elevator ride felt endless, every second ticking by with the weight of everything unsaid between you.

When the doors opened, you strode into his office like a storm. His secretary tried to stop you, stammering something about an important meeting, but you barely heard her. Nothing mattered except getting to San.

He was in the middle of a conversation with a group of executives when you burst through the door. His head snapped up, eyes widening in shock. For a moment, the room fell into stunned silence.

"Y/n?" his voice was calm, but the confusion and flicker of hope in his eyes betrayed him.

You didn't respond -not with words, at least. You crossed the room in long, determined strides, your pulse racing. The executives glanced at each other, murmuring awkwardly, but you didn't care.

You stopped right in front of him, your gaze locking onto his, while your hands were holding the divorce papers he kept in his office. You ripped the papers, throwing them over his desk. Then, without a second thought, you grabbed the front of his suit jacket and pulled him down into a kiss.

It wasn't gentle or hesitant. It was fierce and all-consuming, filled with every emotion you'd been holding back for months -anger, longing, love. San froze for half a second before his hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer as he kissed you back with equal intensity.

The room erupted in gasps, but the world faded away. There was only him -his warmth, his scent, the way his lips molded perfectly to yours.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, San's eyes searched yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

"I don't want a divorce," you said, your voice trembling but determined. "I don't want to leave. I want to be with you, San. I want to love you, I want the freaky sex and the cozy nights in, the boring days and the full family pack. I want you". 

A slow, almost disbelieving smile spread across his face. His grip on your waist tightened slightly. "Say it again," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your pounding heart.

"I want you," you repeated, tears welling in your eyes. "I love you". 

San pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes closed as if savoring the moment. "You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that". 

The executives were still awkwardly lingering nearby, but San didn't seem to care anymore. He leaned down to kiss you again -softer this time, filled with the promise of everything yet to come.

He pulled back just enough to murmur against your lips, "Let's go home." When he turned to the executives, all of them were dedicating him a confused look "We'll retake this tomorrow morning. As you can see, my wife needs me". 

San intertwined his fingers with yours, leading you out of the office without a second glance at the stunned executives. His grip was firm, almost desperate, like he was afraid you might slip away if he let go.

Neither of you said a word on the elevator ride down, tension crackling between you like a live wire. His thumb traced absent circles on the back of your hand, a gesture that felt far too intimate for someone who had just promised to set you free days earlier.

Once you stepped outside, the cool evening breeze hit you, but it did nothing to calm the storm raging inside you. San's black car was already waiting at the curb. He opened the door for you, his eyes dark and unreadable, and you slid inside without hesitation.

The ride home was thick with silence, but not the cold kind you'd endured for weeks. This one was heavier -charged with everything still left unsaid. Every glance he stole at you from the driver's seat only made your pulse quicken, while his smirk grew when he felt the muscles on your thigh tensing under his touch as he reached for it. 

When you arrived back at the house, San barely waited for the door to close before pulling you into him. His lips found yours again, urgent and demanding, as he backed you against the wall in the entryway.

"I meant what I said," you whispered between kisses, your fingers curling into the fabric of his blazer. "I'm not leaving". 

San rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. "Good," he muttered, his voice rough with emotion. "Because I'm never letting you go again". 

His hands moved to cup your face, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the intensity in his eyes. "Do you know how many times I've imagined you coming back to me like this?" he whispered, his thumb brushing across your cheek. "How many times I regretted pushing you away?"

"Then don't push me away this time," you said softly, your own voice trembling.

A flicker of vulnerability crossed his face -a crack in his carefully built armor. "I won't," he promised. "Not ever again". 

He kissed you once more -slow and deliberate, savoring every second as if he were trying to memorize the feel of you all over again. And this time, it wasn't just a kiss filled with heat and passion. It was filled with something deeper -something neither of you dared put into words just yet.

"Come with me," San said, his voice low and inviting. His fingers laced with yours again as he led you upstairs, his steps steady but purposeful.

This time, there were no barriers between you. No distance. No hesitation.

You were back home. 

Months had passed, and spring wrapped the city in soft sunlight and blooming flowers, a perfect backdrop for what was meant to be a "first-anniversary celebration" in everyone else's eyes. But to you and San, this was more than a party. This was your real wedding -a chance to do things right. No forced arrangements, no hidden agendas, no resentment. Just the two of you, ready to start again.

The preparations had consumed you for weeks, but for once, you didn't mind. Every decision felt personal now -every detail a piece of who you had become together. The venue was an intimate garden, bathed in warm light and adorned with white roses, soft candles flickering on every table. Guests mingled, clueless to the significance of the ceremony.

You stood in front of the mirror in the bridal suite, your heart racing as you smoothed down the lace bodice of your gown. This time, there was no hesitation, no dread weighing down your steps.

A knock at the door broke your thoughts.

"Come in," you called softly.

The door opened, and San stood there, already dressed in his tailored black suit, looking devastatingly handsome. His tie hung loose around his neck, as though he'd been too restless to finish getting ready.

"You're not supposed to see me before the ceremony," you teased, smiling despite the fluttering in your chest.

"I know," he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His eyes softened as he looked at you. "But I couldn't wait. I needed to see you". 

He walked toward you, stopping just short of touching you. His eyes roamed over your face, his expression shifting from admiration to something deeper.

"You're beautiful," he whispered. "But more than that... you're mine". 

You felt your throat tighten at the sincerity in his voice. "San..."

"I know this is just an anniversary party for everyone else, but for me... this is it. This is our real beginning," he said, his voice low and earnest. "No pretenses, no games. Just us. I love you, Y/n. More than anything". 

Your breath hitched at the words -so simple, yet so powerful. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.

"I love you too," you said softly. "And I can't wait to marry you. For real this time". 

A rare, boyish smile spread across his face. "Then let's go out there and do it right". 

As you walked down the aisle moments later, everything felt different from that day months ago. This time, his eyes didn't carry worry or uncertainty. They were filled with warmth and love, unwavering as they locked on you.

And this time, when you reached him at the end of the aisle, it felt like the happiest day of your life.

The soft hum of a string quartet filled the air, blending with the scent of fresh roses as you stood across from San. His hand was steady in yours, his eyes never once leaving your face. The officiant spoke gently, inviting you to share your vows.

San had already said his -a tender, heartfelt confession of love and promises, full of words you never imagined hearing from him when your marriage first began. You barely managed to hold it together. But now, it was your turn.

Your throat felt tight, and for a moment, your eyes flicked to the guests seated around you. Then back to San. Only him.

You took a deep breath, your voice steady despite the rush of emotions flooding your chest.

"I've thought a lot about this moment," you began, your eyes locking on his, "what I'd say if I ever got the chance to do this right. The truth is... I didn't believe this would make me so happy when this all started. I didn't believe we'd make it. We were too different. Too stubborn. Too much like enemies who refused to surrender". 

San's lips curled into a faint smile, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly, encouraging you to continue.

"And yet," you said, your voice softening, "somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, you became the person I didn't want to live without, you showed me a love and support I haven't ever seen in anyone else. I tried to fight it, I really did. But every time you stood by me -every time you pushed me to be stronger, even when I hated you for it- you made me realize something: I wasn't scared of you. I was scared of how much I needed you". 

The air felt thicker, the world narrowing until it was just the two of you. San's eyes glistened, though he said nothing, waiting for you to finish.

"I love you," you confessed, your voice trembling now. "I love your strength, your loyalty, and your ridiculous determination to win every argument. I love how you see through me, even when I try to hide. I love how, no matter how hard I push, you always pull me back. So today, I'm choosing you again. Not because I have to. Not because of expectations. But because I want to. Every day, for the rest of my life... I want you, San. And I promise to always fight for us -just like you've always fought for me". 

The guests seemed to vanish in the background, replaced by a heavy, electric silence. San's thumb brushed over your knuckles, his eyes filled with something raw and overwhelming. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely audible.

"You've just ruined me," he whispered with a soft, breathless laugh.

You cleaned each other's tears while smiling, your touch feeling as raw and sensitive as never before.

The officiant, or more like someone you hired to play it for that party, smiled knowingly. "I think it's time to seal these vows with a kiss."

San didn't hesitate. His hand cupped your cheek tighter, drawing you in for a slow, tender kiss -one filled with promises and beginnings, a far cry from the fiery, desperate kisses you had shared before. This one was different.

When you pulled back, breathless and dazed, the crowd erupted in cheers. But San only had eyes for you. And you only had eyes for him. 

The rain had started some time in the afternoon, but you didn't really notice until the drops hitting the windows grew loud enough to drown out your breathing.

You hadn't moved from the couch in hours, still in your work clothes, still in the heels that hurt your ankles, still in the makeup that had started to smudge beneath your tired eyes.

Your phone screen had long since dimmed, but you hadn't put it down. It lay face-up on your thigh, the last email still open. The words burned your retinas even in the dark.

"After careful consideration, we have decided to move forward with another candidate."

You thought it had to be a mistake. You had to scroll up, check the sender's name again. Then down to make sure it wasn't a prank. It wasn't. You had even gone to the bathroom at work to reread it alone, locked inside a stall like a coward. Then again in the parking lot. Then again in your elevator, too numb to press the right floor.

Now, you were at home. And the words still hadn't changed.

You blinked slowly, hands curled tightly around your own arms, trying to hold yourself together by force. You wanted to scream, you wanted to throw something, you wanted to claw that woman's smug little smile out of your memory and tear it to pieces. But you couldn't. You just... sat there. Breathing shallowly.

The front door opened behind you. You heard keys hit the tray. A heavy exhale.

His voice came a second later, familiar and quiet. "Babe?"

You didn't answer.

San appeared in your periphery, stepping into the living room. His expression changed the moment he saw you -still in your work blouse, shoes still on, eyes blank, your back slumped like the world had finally sat down on your shoulders and refused to get up.

He moved toward you slowly, like you were something delicate that might crack if he got too close.

"Y/n" he crouched in front of you, hands coming to your knees. "What happened?"

Still, nothing came out.

"Did something go wrong at work?"

You swallowed hard. Your mouth opened, then shut again. You forced air into your lungs and pushed out the words, but they felt broken in your throat.

"They picked someone else"

His brows pulled together. "For the role?"

You nodded once.

"The one you were already doing most of the tasks for?"

Another nod.

San stared at you for a second, his jaw tightening.

"They gave it to her" you whispered, the edge of bitterness slipping through now. "The new one. The one who asks me how to do her job every day. They promoted her". 

You finally looked at him, and that's when the tears started. Silently at first. Just streaks that blurred your vision. You shook your head slowly, voice trembling.

"I stayed late. I missed weekends. I led her team while she was on vacation. And they didn't even tell me in person. They emailed me. Like I was nothing". 

San's fingers flexed against your knees, but he didn't speak. Not yet.

"I gave them everything" you whispered. "And I still wasn't enough."

And then your breath hitched. Like your chest caved in.

"I didn't even know I was hoping this much" you said, words coming faster now, desperate. "I thought I was managing my expectations. I thought I was... being mature. But now I just feel stupid". 

You covered your face with your hands. "I don't want to feel like this. I hate this."

San's hands moved gently, pulling your wrists away from your face. He leaned in until his forehead pressed softly against yours.

"Don't say that" he murmured. "Don't do that to yourself". 

You choked on a sob. "I don't know how else to feel". 

His thumb brushed a tear from your cheek. You leaned into it without realizing, like your body was seeking out something solid to keep you from sinking further.

"I hate them" you whispered. "I hate that I still care". 

His voice came low, quiet but firm. "Then stop trying to be okay". 

"I just want to break something right now" you sobbed. 

He stood up suddenly and turned toward the door, and you blinked, confused.

"Get up."

You looked at him, dazed. "What?"

"Come with me". 

"I don't want to go anywhere right now, San..."

"Get up" he said again, softer this time. "You've been holding it in all day. It's eating you alive. And I'm not going to stand here and let that happen". 

"I don't need some distraction..."

"I'm not distracting you" he said, already grabbing his keys. "I'm giving you something you can destroy". 

You stared at him, tears still fresh on your cheeks.

He met your eyes, gaze unreadable, but something dark shimmered under the surface. "I'm serious, baby. Get up, I know something that will make you feel better". 

You didn't ask where he was taking you.

The passenger seat hummed beneath your legs as the engine growled low through the rain-slicked streets. Streetlights bled into the windshield in streaks of orange and white, painting his face in flashes. He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gearshift, fingers twitching now and then like he was thinking too hard.

You sat in silence, hands still clenched in your lap, heart pounding with all the things you hadn't said.

He didn't look at you again until you passed the last traffic light and the city lights disappeared behind you.

"I don't want you to hold it in" he said, voice low but steady. "Not this time". 

You looked at him then, uncertain.

"I'm fine..." you started, but he cut you off with a scoff that wasn't cruel, just disappointed.

"No, you're not" he said. "You just know how to pretend better than most". 

You fell silent again.

After another twenty minutes, the roads turned industrial and were forgotten. Cracked concrete, rusted fences, streetlights that flickered like dying stars. The rain had slowed, but the clouds were still thick above, casting the night in a bruised grey.

Finally, he turned into a long, gated driveway and stopped in front of a massive steel warehouse. No signs. No lights on the outside. Just thick iron doors and silence. The kind of place the world forgot existed.

You followed him out of the car, pulling your coat tighter around you as the chill of damp concrete crept into your bones.

He unlocked the door with a keypad, and the moment it slid open, motion lights inside flickered on, humming to life one by one -like they, too, were waking up after a long sleep.

And then you saw it.

Rows and rows of cars. Not normal ones, not practical ones. Sculpted machines: glossy, absurdly expensive, gorgeous in a cold, mechanical way. Ferraris in wine red and matte black, a vintage Rolls-Royce with ivory seats, an olive green Lamborghini that looked like it could eat the night, a murdered-out Mercedes you remembered riding in once, years ago. 

All of them were clean, polished and perfect.

You'd known about your boyfriend's collection two weeks into the relationship, so you weren’t exactly confused at it, but you were trying to understand how seeing his cars would help you feel better, you still tried to understand what you were doing there. 

You stared at him, confused. "What is this? What are we doing here?" 

San walked ahead, the heels of his boots echoing sharply against the floor. He stopped beside a low table near the far wall. A leather case sat on top. He popped it open, pulled something out, and turned back to you.

A baseball bat.

But not just any bat -that one was wrapped in black leather, reinforced at the handle with silver studs. Beautiful. Terrifying. Like something made for artfully controlled destruction.

He held it out to you.

"Pick one" he said. "Or all of them". 

You didn't take it. "What?"

"Whichever you want" he said again, tone unreadable. "Smash it. Wreck it. Total it". 

You stared at him, stunned. "You're not serious". 

He didn't answer.

Instead, he lit a cigarette. The flash of his lighter briefly illuminated the veins curling up his hand as he leaned against the hood of a black Maserati.

Smoke curled from his lips, slow and steady, and he looked at you like he had all the time in the world.

Your heart thundered.

"This is insane" you muttered, staring at the bat.

"Maybe" he took another drag. "But you're angry. And if you don't get it out, it's going to rot something inside you". 

The silence between you stretched, broken only by the soft hum of the overhead lights.

You laughed then. Sharp. Bitter.

"You want me to take out my frustration on your collection of million-dollar cars?"

"Yeah" he shrugged. "Why not?"

"Because that's not normal, San!"

He looked at you then, deeply. 

"No" he said softly. "But what they did to you wasn't normal either". 

You froze.

He took a step toward you, voice lower now.

"They made you feel small. Like your work meant nothing. Like you meant nothing" his eyes burned into yours. "That kind of hurt doesn't go away just because you tell yourself to be mature". 

You looked away. The tears were rising again, sharp and unwanted. "This is ridiculous. I should just get over it. People lose jobs every day; promotions, opportunities... I'm not the first".

He tilted his head, still watching you.

"But this wasn't just a job to you" he said. "This was something you bled for. And when people rip that away without even looking you in the eye, it leaves damage. You don't walk that off. You burn it out". 

You closed your eyes. Your hands were shaking.

"I'm so angry, I feel sick" you whispered. "I don't even know who I'm mad at. Them. Me. Everything. I'm just..."

"Then take the fucking bat" he said.

Your eyes snapped open.

"I'll buy another Maserati" he said simply. "I don't care about the metal. I care about you". 

You hesitated.

He stepped closer. Close enough for you to smell the cologne on his collar, the nicotine in his cigarette.

"I'm not here to fix it" he said quietly. "But I'll give you the space to fall apart. And I'll stand right here while you do". 

You stared at the bat between you. Then back at him. His eyes didn't waver.

Slowly, your fingers wrapped around the handle. It was heavier than you expected. 

Solid. Cold. Real.

San stepped back. You turned toward the nearest car: a crimson Ferrari that gleamed like fresh blood under the warehouse lights. The paint was perfect. Untouched. Beautiful.

And suddenly, you hated it. Yet, at the same time, you didn't feel like you could destroy that car as if it was nothing. You raised the bat, only to hit at one of the tires, barely using any strength to scratch it. 

San sighed as he looked at you, before walking where you were, placing his cigarette between his lips, and holding the bat from behind. His proximity took you by surprise, but what really shocked you was the way he made your body sway backwards to crash the bat with force against one of the windows of the car. 

He did it once, twice. 

He kept repeating the movement until he was sure you'd be able to do it by yourself. 

"Don't hold back. Destroy it all".

You stood in front of the cherry red Aston Martin then, your reflection distorted in the curve of the hood. It was beautiful. Sleek, perfect -everything you weren't feeling. And for a moment, that made you hesitate.

The bat trembled in your hand, the leather slick against your sweaty palms. You could feel San behind you, quiet, unmoving. He didn't push, he didn't coax, he just waited -like he knew you'd get there on your own. 

You gritted your teeth.

The rage had been inside you for days, weeks, months. Boiling quietly beneath every fake smile, every ignored idea, every time someone called you "dependable" instead of "brilliant." It festered while you told yourself to be patient, while you swallowed the unfairness, while you convinced yourself to keep showing up, even as your work was being erased and handed off to someone who hadn't earned a damn thing.

And now here it was. A beautiful, flawless object. Waiting.

You raised the bat.

The first swing was hesitant. You hit the driver-side mirror. It popped off with a sharp crack, landing on the concrete with a hollow rattle. It wasn't enough.

The second swing... it was not hesitant.

It came from somewhere deeper. Some place in you that didn't care about the cost. You brought the bat down on the windshield, and the glass exploded. It splintered like ice fracturing across a frozen lake, spiderwebbing in a thousand directions before collapsing into itself.

Something in your chest cracked open with it.

You hit it again. And again. Screaming through gritted teeth, breath ragged as the bat bounced off the frame, the glass, the hood. The sound was deafening -metal on metal, the echo sharp and endless under the high ceiling.

You moved like you were possessed, unhinged. The bat was no longer heavy in your hands -it was necessary. An extension of your fury.

You took out the side windows next, the rearview mirror, the headlights. Each swing of the bat was faster, harder. You didn't stop to breathe. You didn't think. You couldn't.

The tears came next. Hot. Furious. Blinding.

You didn't remember when they started. You only knew you couldn't see through them anymore. That your throat was raw, that you were screaming louder than you ever had in your life.

At some point, the bat flew from your grip. It landed with a clatter you barely registered.

You kept going anyway.

Your hands hit the hood. Then your fists. You punched it once, twice, three times. Until your knuckles stung, until your skin split, until the bright red paint was smeared with something darker.

And then you kicked the side panel. Over and over, until your leg burned and your breath was gone.

And finally, finally... You fell to your knees.

The warehouse spun around you, dim and flickering. The cold concrete bit through your tights, but you didn't care. Your hands were shaking. Bleeding. Your mascara had run halfway down your cheeks, and your chest was heaving like you'd just outrun a fire.

You pressed your forehead against the dented metal and sobbed. Loud, ugly sobs. The kind that made your stomach hurt. The kind that left you empty.

And still, San didn't move.

You felt his presence like a shadow behind you. Unshaken, arms crossed, jaw tight. Like he'd been watching a storm build and break and had decided to stand in the eye of it, unafraid.

He said nothing.

And maybe that's what broke you more. The way he didn't try to fix it. The way he let you lose control. The way he didn't flinch when you unraveled.

You turned your face against the hood, voice barely a whisper now. "I didn't know I was this angry". 

No answer.

"I thought if I worked hard enough... if I kept my head down... they'd see me". 

Silence.

You looked over your shoulder at him.

San hadn't moved from his place beside the Maserati. His cigarette was gone, his arms were still folded across his chest, but his eyes... God, his eyes. They were on you. Wide open. Focused. Not scared. Not judging. 

Just there.

Like he was grounding you. Like he wanted to carry your rage, if he could.

"I broke your cars" you whispered, voice cracked and ruined.

He walked toward you then.

Slow, steady steps. The soles of his boots echoed with each one. No rush. No tension.

When he reached you, he crouched beside you and gently took your bleeding hands into his. He examined them, thumb grazing over the torn skin, but still didn't say anything. He just held them. Pressed a kiss to one knuckle, then the other.

You could barely breathe.

"I'll buy another car" he murmured finally, his voice like velvet laced with smoke. "But I only get one of you". 

And just like that, you started crying again.

Not from rage this time. Not from pain.

But from the unbearable weight of being seen.

"Go on. You aren't done. I can feel it" he encouraged, patting your thigh once before getting up again.  

You didn't remember when you started kissing him.

One moment, he was behind you, tracing your curves like your body was the most beautiful map, brushing blood from your knuckles and pressing soft kisses to broken skin. The next, you were pulling him in by the collar, tasting salt and smoke and your own blood. 

He didn't hesitate.

San kissed you back like he'd been holding it in all night. His hands gripped your waist firmly, dragging you up from the floor, one arm scooping under your thighs to lift you effortlessly onto the hood of the ruined Audi.

The warped metal groaned beneath your weight, but he didn't care. He shoved aside shattered glass with one hand, never breaking the kiss, until your legs were spread wide and he was standing between them, pressing against you like he was desperate to carve his name into every inch of your skin.

Your breath hitched when you felt the hard line of him through his jeans.

"San..."

He pulled back just enough to look at you, lips swollen, breath ragged.

"You needed to scream" he said. "Now I need to feel you". 

And then his mouth was on your neck -biting, sucking, licking a path down the column of your throat like he wanted to drink everything they stole from you. His hands slid beneath your coat, tugging at the fabric of your blouse until the buttons gave way under his fingers.

You gasped as cold air hit your skin. Then again when his lips found your collarbone, your chest, your sternum.

He didn't rush.

His mouth wrapped around one nipple, tongue warm and slow, his palm kneading the other with a possessiveness that bordered on worship.

Your fingers tangled in his hair as you arched into him, grinding against the bulge in his jeans without shame. He groaned at that, low and rough, and you felt the sound in your spine.

"Take it off" you whispered, clawing at his shirt.

He obliged. Pulled the fabric over his head in one swift motion. He looked like something untouchable -danger and devotion made flesh.

Your thighs tightened around him.

"You want me to fuck you right here?" he asked, voice dark.

You nodded, desperate.

He grabbed your face gently, forcing you to meet his eyes.

"No more pretending," he said. "You want something? Say it". 

You swallowed hard.

"I want you to fuck me, San". 

His eyes flashed.

That was all it took.

He yanked your ruined blouse off completely, then pushed your skirt up over your hips and tore your underwear down your legs with no pretense of patience. He didn't tease. Didn't test.

He just dropped to his knees.

Your back arched as he spread your thighs wide, hands gripping under your knees as he leaned in and dragged his tongue through your folds, slow and firm. You cried out, one hand flying to your mouth, but he grabbed your wrist and pulled it away.

"Let me hear it," he growled. "You earned it". 

His mouth closed around your clit, and your hips bucked instinctively. His tongue moved in tight, practiced circles -never too fast, never too soft- just the kind of rhythm that made your legs tremble and your breath come in jagged sobs.

You'd just been crying minutes ago. Now you were gasping his name like it was the only thing left holding you together.

He didn't stop until you were shaking. Until your nails left angry lines down the hood beneath you. Until your thighs clenched around his head and you came hard against his mouth with a sharp, broken moan.

Only then did he rise, mouth slick, eyes burning.

He fumbled with his jeans, shoving them down just enough to free himself, his cock hard and heavy in his hand. He stroked it once, eyes locked on you, before stepping back between your legs.

"Hold on to me" he said.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders just as he pushed in, slow but deep. The stretch made you gasp -he was thick, perfect, filling you so completely it nearly hurt. But you wanted that hurt. You welcomed it. It grounded you.

San let out a strangled groan as he bottomed out, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you were sure he was just trying to make sure you'd never leave. He held still for a moment, forehead pressed to yours.

"You feel like fucking heaven" he breathed. "After all that hell". 

Then he started to move.

Each thrust was hard, deliberate -punching the air from your lungs, your cries echoing off the warehouse walls. The ruined car rocked beneath you. Glass crunched under San's boots. It didn't matter.

All that mattered was the way he fucked you like he was anchoring you to the earth again.

"Say you're not theirs" he growled against your ear.

You moaned, "I'm not..."

"Say you're mine". 

You choked on a sob as he thrust deeper. "I'm yours". 

"Say it louder". 

"I'm yours, San. I'm fucking yours". 

He slammed into you then, grunting your name as your walls clenched around him. You were so close, again. You didn't know if it was the way he was holding you, or the heat of his breath, or the way he had given you everything you didn't know you needed -but your climax built like a wave crashing against everything that had ever tried to break you.

"Come for me," he said, voice wrecked. "I want to feel you lose it". 

You shattered.

Your whole body tensed, then gave out as the orgasm tore through you. You screamed, holding onto him like you might drown if you let go.

San followed seconds later, cursing under his breath as he spilled inside you, hips jerking erratically, mouth catching yours in a bruising kiss.

For a while, neither of you moved.

You just held each other -sweaty, trembling, tangled in heat and blood and ruined silk, surrounded by the wreckage of a car and everything you'd kept buried for far too long. And when you finally looked up at him, breathless, eyes swollen from tears and release, he pressed his lips to your forehead and whispered: 

"I'd let you break every part of me if it meant putting you back together". 

San pulled you into his chest, and for the first time all night, you didn't resist.

Your body sagged against him, skin slick with sweat and the remnants of everything you'd poured out of yourself. He was warm. Solid. One arm curled tight around your lower back, the other protectively over your shoulder, cradling you like something fragile. Like he thought you might break again if he didn't hold on hard enough.

"I'm proud of you" he whispered into your hair. "Not for the job. For surviving all of it". 

Your throat ached at the sound of his voice -soft and hoarse, like he'd swallowed the weight of your pain and made it his own. 

He kissed the crown of your head once... then again.

You didn't say anything. You Couldn't. The words were there, hovering just behind your teeth, but your lips wouldn't move. Instead, you let the silence answer for you -the tremble of your breath, the tears cooling on your cheeks, the way your fingers curled into the muscles of his back like you couldn't bear to let him go.

You didn't want to let go.

When he finally eased back just enough to look at you, his gaze dropped to your hands -bruised and scraped from slamming fists into steel and glass.

His brow furrowed as he took them gently in his. You flinched when his thumb brushed over a tender cut, but he didn't apologize. He just brought both hands to his lips and kissed each knuckle, one by one.

"I'll burn them all if you want" he said.

His voice was steel now. Low. Dangerous.

"The cars. The whole goddamn building. I just want you to breathe again". 

Your lip trembled at the purity of it -how completely unhinged and beautiful it was to be loved like that. Not with flowers or poems, but with gasoline and destruction and the promise that he would tear down the entire world if it meant you could finally rest. 

"I don't want to burn it," you said quietly. "Not yet". 

San nodded once. No argument. No judgment. Just understanding.

He stood between your knees again, still shirtless, still panting faintly from what you'd just done. You reached for him instinctively, hands flat on his chest, listening to the dull thud of his heart under your palm.

"You're shaking" he murmured.

"So are you". 

His hand came up to cup your cheek. His thumb traced the edge of your eye, catching the last tear as it fell. You leaned your face into his palm, eyes closing for a second before you opened them again to look at him. 

"I really needed this. To destroy something". 

A long silence stretched between you -soft, heavy.

Finally, San moved. Carefully. He picked you up, bridal style, ignoring the blood and sweat and your weak protests, and carried you toward the couch tucked against the far end of the warehouse wall.

It was old and faded, likely something one of the guys left there for smoke breaks or naps after long stakeouts, but you'd never been more grateful to sink into anything.

He laid you down gently, then sank beside you. His arms folded around your waist as you curled into him, burying your face in his neck.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

The only sounds were your breathing, slowly syncing, and the faint buzz of electricity from the overhead lights. The rest of the world might as well have vanished.

"Did it help?" he asked eventually, fingers stroking slow lines along your spine. "Breaking everything?"

You nodded. Then whispered, "Not as much as this. Destroying definitely helped calm me down, but what really did it for me is knowing you were there for me". 

He kissed your temple in response.

You felt his chest rise and fall beneath you, steady and grounding. You'd never realized how much comfort you could draw from the shape of his body. From the way he held you with no demands, no expectations. Just safety.

"I didn't want you to see me like that" you murmured.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you.

"Like what?"

"Weak". 

His expression darkened -not with anger at you, but at everything that had made you think survival was weakness. 

"Don't say that again". 

"Why not?"

"Because I've seen you when you're ruthless. I've seen you with blood on your hands, accepting everything that comes with dating me, faking nonchalance when all you wanted to do was running away... You've been brave when it came to embracing my life, and I need to be brave to embrace the moments of weakness you keep burying because you think they aren't important enough". 

He leaned in, brushing his lips across your cheek.

"Nothing scares me as much as the way you swallow pain in silence" he whispered. "It's unfair that you have to suffer altogether, but I hate thinking you believe you have to do it on your own".  

You let the words settle. You could barely hold his gaze.

"I'm not good at asking for help" you admitted.

"You don't have to ask" he said. "Just look at me the same way you're looking at me right now, and I promise I'll try to guess what's bothering you and put an end to it if it's on my hand to do so". 

And so you did. You looked at him -at his inked chest and tired eyes and the tenderness he only ever showed you- and for the first time in what felt like years, you let yourself feel it.

All of it.

The grief, the rage, the bitter taste of betrayal. And underneath it all, the fierce, unrelenting love that wrapped itself around your ribs whenever he touched you.

San saw it in your eyes.

So he did what he always did when you broke without warning: he held the pieces without flinching.

He pulled a blanket from the armrest and wrapped it around your shoulders. Then he grabbed his shirt, still lying crumpled near the wreckage, and tugged it around your hands. It smelled like him -warm and electric and faintly like engine oil.

"You're bleeding" you whispered, brushing your fingers over a cut on his collarbone.

"So are you" he said.

You leaned your forehead against his.

"Take me home?"

He smiled softly, one hand threading into your hair.

"Yeah" he said. "Let's go home". 

But he didn't move right away.

Neither did you.

Because for now, the war was quiet. Your fists were tired, his heart was open. And in the middle of that ruined warehouse, on a broken couch with bruises blooming across both your bodies, you finally breathed again.

You both drove back in silence.

The city passed by in a blur of neon and night, but the tension had dulled -no longer sharp, just faint and persistent like an ache after a wound closes. His hand rested on your thigh the entire ride, thumb moving in slow, grounding circles. A silent reminder: you were not alone. 

And you were sure you didn't feel alone, not a single time since he crossed paths with you. 

You weren't sure how you'd explain that night. To yourself, to anyone. But for once, there was no pressure to find the words. He didn't ask for a confession. He didn't need a reason. He only held your hand when it trembled and looked at you like your bruises made you holy.

The air shifted when you reached his place.

Inside, the lights were dim. Familiar. Safe. You slipped off your boots at the door and padded in slowly, still wearing his jacket on your shoulders. He trailed in after you, tossed his keys to the counter, then exhaled deeply like he'd been holding his breath since the warehouse.

No words passed between you.

Not until you reached his bedroom, stopped just beside the bed, and turned to him in the dark.

"Come to bed" you murmured.

Your voice was quiet. A little hoarse.

He looked at you: hair tousled, jacket too big, knees marked from the broken glass you'd knelt on. You didn't even realize how raw you looked until you saw the way his expression changed.

Like you were something previous. Beautiful. Untouchable -even now, when your whole body screamed touch me.

"I will" he said softly. "Just... give me a minute". 

You blinked.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to make a call". 

You frowned, but he was already stepping back, tugging his phone from his back pocket as he headed for the hallway. You thought about stopping him, about asking why now, why not wait until morning.

But something in his tone kept you still.

So you climbed into bed, blanket pulled to your chest, eyes tracking the open doorway. 

You could hear his voice, low and restrained, bleeding through the corridor, in a muffled noise that crossed the door and walls. 

"Get it done at eleven to make sure everyone is in the office" he said into the phone. "Every car in the basement. The main floor, too". 

A pause.

"No. Not hers. She always walks there. She doesn't have a car. So have no mercy".  

"I want them to have no easy way back home" San continued, quieter now. "Nothing salvageable. And, obviously, no headlines, no questions, no cameras. You know how to do this". 

Another pause that came with a scoff. 

"She broke mine. All of them. Every last one". 

His voice dipped lower, more dangerous.

"And I've never loved her more... It doesn't change the fact that they have to make up for the millions I've lost today because of their shitty judgement". 

You stared at the doorway, heat rising behind your eyes. The ache in your chest flared -not from pain this time, but from the violent tenderness of it. The way he moved without asking for permission. The way he wanted justice for you -not vengeance. Not control. Balance.

He wasn't doing it to erase what they'd done to you. He was doing it so you didn't have to carry the weight of it alone. 

You laid back down as his footsteps returned, fast and heavy across the hardwood.

San stopped in the doorway when he saw you awake, his phone already in his pocket. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, like he wasn't sure if he'd gone too far.

But you didn't ask him to explain. 

You lifted the blanket wordlessly. Inviting him in.

He didn't speak as he undressed. Just pulled his shirt over his head, slid out of his jeans, and joined you under the covers in one fluid movement.

His arm curled around your waist, dragging you into him, face pressed to your shoulder like he needed your skin just to breathe right. 

"I wasn't trying to fix it" he said into the dark. "I know I can't fix this". 

You didn't respond. Only held his hand tighter.

"I just couldn't stand the thought of you walking back into that place" he whispered, "and seeing them all acting like nothing happened. Like you never broke because of them". 

You turned toward him, cupped his jaw in your bruised hand, and finally kissed him -slow, grateful, deep.

"I'd set the world on fire" he murmured, "just to give you space to fall apart". 

Your lips trembled against his.

"I know". 

He kissed you again, softer this time. Then pulled you close and didn't let go.

The bar had been too loud for conversation, but too quiet for forgetting.

You sat tucked into a cracked leather booth near the wall, your drink untouched, hands wrapped around the glass like it could anchor you. The low bass rumbled through the floors, through your bones, but you barely noticed it. The whole night had started off wrong, and deep down, you knew why you said yes to coming here.

It wasn't because you needed a drink, it wasn't because you missed old friends, it was because a part of you -the stupid, reckless part- was still waiting for something impossible.

This bar had once been your place. Yours and San's. Saturday nights, crammed into these very booths, surrounded by his friends who had become your friends.

You could still hear the echoes of it: San's easy laugh across the table, the warm weight of his arm slung casually over your shoulders, the way he used to kiss your temple in the middle of a conversation, like he just had to touch you.

You didn't know why you chose that place when your friends asked to celebrate your return to the city. You didn't know why that pub came up as the only suggestion in your head, but it did. Maybe because you liked the staff there -the familiar environment-, maybe it was because the memories with your old friends were so vivid it made you feel at ease after returning to a city you didn't recognize. Or, maybe, you hoped to see your ex boyfriend hanging out with the same group of friends he used to meet up with on Saturdays.

You used to think you'd marry him. The two of you talked about it sometimes, late at night, lying tangled in his bed with the windows cracked open to let the city noise drift in. "One day, when we're ready," he had said once, half-asleep, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. "You'll wear my hoodie to bed and my ring on your finger".

You believed him. God, you believed him with everything you had. And you knew, you were sure, if you had fought just a little more, it wouldn't have ended the way it did.

None of you saw it coming, until the slow unraveling began, until the problems were as part of your routine as brushing your teeth in the morning. Arguments that never quite healed, distance you both pretended not to notice, his career taking off, your life standing still... And in the end, it was you who had walked away.

You had loved him enough to leave, because staying would have meant watching him resent you.

You told yourself you did the right thing. You told yourself you moved on. But sitting here now, with the memories pressing against your ribs like knives, you realized just how beautifully you had lied to yourself.

Your friends were chatting with joy about the things you could do once you were settled back in the city. After being away for seven months due to a project in your company, you were back to stay. Not because you didn't like your new life, not because you didn't enjoy what you did, but there was something in you screaming to go back home.

You were playing with the straw of your drink when your eyes roamed around the place, and it was then when it happened. You caught sight of him by accident. Or maybe fate was cruel enough to call it inevitable.

San stood near the bar, bathed in a dripping wash of gold light. His hair was longer, swept back with a casual hand, and he wore black -always black- like he was mourning something only he could feel. His posture was easy, relaxed, one hand wrapped around a bottle, the other tucked into his pocket.

He wasn't alone. Different friends. New people, people you didn't know anymore, and who didn't know you.

You sank lower into your booth, heart thundering. It was then when you regretted ever fantasizing of seeing him again after so long. The scene in your head was one thing, one that fulfilled the emptiness you had tried to fight against ever since you left, but reality was completely different. You were scared. Panic found home in the back of your brain at the mere thought of his eyes landing on you, the same eyes that used to bring you comfort and make you feel at home.

Maybe if you stayed still enough, fate would let you go unnoticed. But San's gaze found yours like a thread pulling taut across the room.

The first glance was a flicker ,there and gone, but you felt it all the way down to your bones. Recognition. Shock. And something else, darker, more dangerous, flickering behind his eyes.

You easily caught him looking away before his eyes were briefly on you again, making sure he wasn't seeing a vision.

The last time he saw you, your eyes were puffy and red, your cheeks wet with your tears, and your voice was husky with desperation as you kept repeating a sentence he couldn't quite believe. "I don't love you anymore", to that day, those words hurted deep in his heart.

The next thing he knew about you after that argument was how you left the city to go on with your life somewhere else. And it broke him, he couldn't even ask you to stay, because you disappeared before he could.

You tore your gaze away. You picked up your glass and took a shaking sip, and laughed at something your friend said, too loud and too sharp, like you could pretend you hadn't felt your entire world tilt sideways.

It was a bad act. You were able to tell how obvious it was, how evident your little show was to anyone who minimally knew you. And, unfortunately, you were trying to pull it in front of one of the people that knew you better.

The night bled on, every minute a slow kind of torture.

You could feel him looking at you, even when you weren't looking back, when you laughed, when you tucked your hair behind your ear, when you stared too long into your drink, fighting the rise of memories.

You glanced up once, just once, and caught him already staring.

He didn't look away. Neither did you.

The space between you became electric, unbearable, like gravity trying to undo all the hard work you'd done convincing yourself you were over him.

And suddenly, you couldn't breathe. You couldn't be there anymore, sitting in a booth soaked with ghosts, pretending you weren't falling apart.

You slid out from your seat, muttering something about needing air. No one stopped you.

The second you stepped outside, the cool night slammed into your lungs. You dragged in a deep breath, your arms wrapping around yourself, like you could hold in all the pieces threatening to scatter.

You stood by the curb, blinking against the neon lights bleeding into the fog. You counted your breaths. One. Two. Three.

Maybe if you stood still long enough, you could forget. Maybe you could leave without looking back. After all, it wasn't something you weren't used to.

But then, a voice broke into your plans, making them all disappear, making any thought vanish as if the only thing that mattered was the tone, the thickness of the way your name was called out.

"Y/n."

You froze. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was, because you would have known his voice anywhere -low, careful, cracked at the edges like he hated himself for using it on you again.

Slowly, you turned. San stood a few feet away, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket. His face was unreadable, but his eyes -God, his eyes- were a mess of everything you had spent the last year trying to forget.

Neither of you spoke for a long moment. The streetlight buzzed above, throwing sharp shadows across his face, catching on the strands of hair that fell into his forehead.

"You're back" he finally said.

"I've been back for a few days" you managed to answer.

He nodded, unsure of why he felt disappointed. It made no sense for him to expect a call, or even a text from you asking to catch up.

Your return was just as sudden as your escape. And, just like back then, he didn't know how to handle the situation without going insane.

"You look good," he spoke, his voice rough.

You smiled -a small, broken thing. "You too."

The cold bit into your skin, but you barely felt it. Not when he was looking at you like that, like you were the answer to a question he didn't know how to ask anymore.

"You were gonna leave without saying anything?" he asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. But his voice wasn't teasing.

He bit back the "Again" that was dying to slip out against you. Because, again, you were going to leave without saying a word, acting like he was no one important.

You shrugged, trying to play it off, trying not to drown in the ache. "Didn't think it would matter."

"It matters," he said, too fast, too quiet.

You hugged yourself tighter.

"I didn't know you'd be here," he said.

"Yeah," you breathed. "Me neither."

Another silence stretched between you, thick and fragile. You didn't expect to be there, but you were hoping life would reunite you again even if it was for a few seconds. Actually, fate was giving you that night more than you could've hoped for.

"You okay?" he asked, and you almost laughed.

Almost.

You shook your head, staring at your shoes. "Yeah. I'm great."

He stepped closer without thinking, then caught himself, like he realized too late that the rules had changed.

And maybe you should have walked away. Maybe you should have told him to go back inside to his new life, his new friends, his new everything. But you didn't. Because standing there under the hollow glow of the streetlights, with the night swallowing everything else, he didn't feel like a stranger.

He felt like a wound you never stopped picking.

"I should go," you whispered, voice breaking. "I have somewhere to be tomorrow morning"

He nodded stiffly. His hands stayed jammed in his pockets, like if he moved, he might do something stupid.

"Goodbye, San," you said, stepping back.

"Goodbye," he said, but the word cracked apart between you.

You turned. You didn't look back. But you felt him watching you. You felt it all the way home.

The text sat unsent on your screen for almost an hour. It was such a bad idea, such an awful plan.

Earlier that same morning, you hovered over his contact. You had kept his phone number and, after the previous night, you grew curious on knowing whether he changed his phone number or not. He didn't. His profile picture showed his reflection on a mirror, his well-proportioned figure still managing to leave you breathless even with a picture.

"Want to grab a coffee sometime?"

Simple. Casual. Safe. Yet, at the same time, it felt like you were risking yourself to be ripped open.

You stared at the blinking cursor, thumb hovering above the send button. Every part of you screamed that it was a bad idea, that reaching out would only open doors you'd slammed shut for a reason.

But still, the memory of San standing outside the bar, looking at you like he wanted to say a thousand things he couldn't, pressed into you like a bruise.

And you missed him. You missed him so much it hurt. You would only be lying if you didn't admit you agreed on coming back to the city because of him.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you hit send.

You dropped your phone face down on the couch and walked away like it might explode. Even if he hadn't changed his phone number, the chances of him ignoring you were high. Really high. Possibly he was just being cordial when he saw you at the bar, having the guts to do something you didn't have the guts for. Maybe...

The sound of the notification cut off your thought, the possibility hanging in the air before you eyed your phone.

"Yeah. Let's do it. Tomorrow?"

The next day you arrived first. You got there early, pacing nervously near the window, watching every car that passed by. You got there like thirty minutes earlier. The coffee shop was tucked on a quiet side street, just far enough from the usual chaos of downtown. A place you hadn't been before.

Neutral ground.

You were planning on running away, when you saw him walking down the street -hands deep in his jacket pockets, head slightly bowed against the cold- your heart did something ugly and painful against your ribs.

He was early, too. But it wasn't a coincidence. He knew you'd be there way earlier than planned, and he wasn't about to miss a chance to spend more time with you. Even if they were five minutes long.

San spotted you almost instantly. His face lit up, the smallest, almost hesitant smile touching his lips.

"Hey," he said as he reached you.

"Hey," you echoed, your voice thinner than you meant.

For a second you just stood there, both of you shuffling awkwardly, caught somewhere between a hug and a handshake and doing neither. Then you gave a breathless laugh and pulled open the door, gesturing him inside.

The warm rush of coffee and cinnamon filled the air.

You ordered drinks -he still took his coffee black, still teased you when you ordered something sweet and complicated- and found a quiet table tucked in the back, away from the few scattered patrons.

At first, conversation was easy. Surface-level. He asked about your job. You asked about his. You laughed about old friends who had gotten married, moved away, had kids... The conversation always went around anything that wasn't either of you.

The laughter felt good. It felt normal. The distance gave you a sense of comfort that helped you two relax.

For a little while, you almost believed that nothing had changed. He still leaned across the table when he got excited telling a story. He still ran a hand through his hair when he was thinking, making it stick up messily, he still listened like you were the only person in the world.

You sipped your coffee slowly, drawing out the moment, not wanting it to end.

"Remember that night we stayed here until closing?" you asked, nudging your cup toward him with a little smile.

He grinned, the memory flashing in his eyes. "Yeah, and we got kicked out while it was pouring outside"

"We had to walk three miles back to your place," you added, laughing. "In the rain."

He chuckled, his hand swirling the coffee inside his cup "Yeah, and you complained all the way there".

"I had just gotten out of a bad cold" you tried to justify.

"I know. I looked after you until you got better, remember?" the warmth in his voice tightening something low in your chest.

You did remember. Although it had happened so many times, you weren't able to just get one memory. San was always the type to send several texts a day when you were apart -especially when you were sick-, he'd cook for you and turn into your nurse. But, what you held tight to your heart was the way he played with your hair as he helped you fall asleep.

You ducked your head, smiling. It felt dangerously easy, slipping back into the rhythm of him. Maybe too easy.

The moment cracked when his phone buzzed against the table, vibrating insistently. San glanced at it, the color draining from his face in a way you recognized all too well. He silenced it quickly, but not before you saw the name flashing across the screen.

Annie❤️

Your stomach twisted. You looked down into your coffee, suddenly finding it impossible to meet his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, voice low. He shoved the phone into his pocket like he could hide it from the air between you. "That was..."

"You don't have to explain," you said quickly, forcing a smile that hurt your cheeks.

But he did anyway.

"I'm...seeing someone," he said quietly. "Her name's Annie. We've been together for a few months now."

You nodded, feeling your throat close up.

"That's great," you said, and the words tasted like blood in your mouth. "I'm happy for you."

San watched you carefully, like he could see right through the lie you wrapped yourself in. He opened his mouth, maybe to say something else -maybe to apologize, maybe to offer you some meaningless comfort- but you shook your head before he could.

"No, really," you said. You even managed a real, if brittle, smile. "You deserve to be happy, San."

A heavy silence fell between you.

You hated it -hated that you weren't someone he belonged to anymore. Hated that you had no right to be jealous, to hurt. Hated that part of you still wanted him to reach across the table and tell you he made a mistake. That he still loved you. That you could still find your way back. But he didn't. And you wouldn't ask him to.

After a few more stilted minutes, you both stood. Outside, the sky had darkened into a dull bruised purple, the street lights flickering to life.

San stuffed his hands into his jacket again, shoulders hunched against the cold. You wrapped your arms around yourself, more from habit than from the chill.

"This was nice," you said, meaning it and not meaning it all at once.

"Yeah," he said, voice rough. "It was."

He hesitated, like he wanted to say more, like he didn't want to leave it like this. But he just gave you a small, sad smile and stepped back.

"Take care of yourself, Y/n."

"You too, San."

You watched him walk away, his figure swallowed by the dusk, until he disappeared around the corner. You stood there for a long time after, staring at the empty street, feeling the weight of everything you couldn't say pressing down on your chest. And when you finally turned to leave, you swore you could still feel the echo of his eyes on you, even when he was already gone.

You told yourself you wouldn't reach out again.

After the coffee, after the tight, aching smile on San's face when he told you he was seeing someone else, you promised yourself you would let it end. No more texts, no more coffee shops, no more pretending you could be friends with someone whose absence still sat heavy in your lungs.

You were careful. Always. You took the long way home from work, even when it meant adding twenty minutes to your commute, you stopped going to the cafes and bars he used to like, you muted the old friends you still shared on social media, just in case his name popped up like a knife between your ribs.

Everything that could be done to avoid seeing him, you did it all.

It wasn't healing, exactly. It was survival.

And it worked, for a little while. Until you saw him again.

It was a random Tuesday, rainy and miserable, and you were ducking into the corner store near your apartment for milk. You weren't even really looking when you stepped through the door, brushing water from your sleeves, head bowed.

You were two minutes away from your house, there was no way you'd find him there. But you did:

"Y/n?"

You froze. When you looked up, there he was, holding a crumpled grocery bag in one hand, a dripping black hoodie plastered to his frame, hair a mess from the rain. His smile was immediate, unguarded. It hit you harder than you wanted it to.

"Hey," you said, voice small.

He shifted his weight awkwardly, the way he always used to when he wasn't sure if he was welcome.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he said, like it was something he'd been carrying around for too long.

And it was. For some reason, that sentence just became part of who you were to him: someone he was never sure he'd ever see, someone who always ran away when his heart needed you the most.

You swallowed. "You know. Big city. Small world."

He laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and for a second, it felt like standing on the edge of something you couldn't see the bottom of. There was a beat of silence, and then he shoved the grocery bag into one arm and rubbed the back of his neck with the other, an old nervous habit you recognized immediately.

"I..." he started, then stopped, searching your face. "Y/n, I know we've gone through a lot. And it might be weird to tell you, but I don't want to keep wondering when it'll be the next time we see each other, wondering where I'll meet you by chance. I don't want to do that, not with you" he shook his head, before going on. "I'd like to keep in touch. If that's okay."

You should have said no. You should have walked away. But the truth was, you missed him so badly it hurt to breathe, and some part of you -the reckless, ruined part- wanted to know if he missed you too.

"Okay," you said softly. "Yeah, it's fine by me".

Was it?

As much as you were friends before dating, you were sure it'd never go back to how it was back then. Because, even then, there was something that pulled you close together, a connection you couldn't explain not even to yourselves.

His smile was quick, brilliant, the kind of smile that used to undo you without even trying.

"I'll text you," he promised.

You nodded, and this time, when you turned to go, you didn't feel like you were falling apart. Not yet.

After that day, the texts started small. At first, it was just the easy things: songs you used to listen to, funny memories, old inside jokes. Then it slipped into more dangerous territory. Late at night, when the city was quiet and the darkness felt heavier, your phone would light up.

San [12:47 AM]: You still up?

You always were.

The conversations at that hour felt different -raw, closer to the truth. That's how it began the first time.

One night, it was about music. Another, about the people you used to be, about regrets neither of you had dared to name when you were together. And then, one night, it shifted.

San [1:18 AM]: Wooyoung asked me today if I still think about you.

You stared at the message, your heart climbing into your throat.

You [1:19 AM]: What did you say?

There was a long pause. You watched the typing bubble flash on and off, like he was starting and stopping a hundred replies he couldn't bring himself to send.

San [1:22 AM]: I lied.

You swallowed hard. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, not sure what to say to that. Not sure if you should say anything at all.

You [1:23 AM]: Why?

Another long silence.

When his reply came, it felt like something tearing at the seams.

San [1:26 AM]: Because I know things would get weird. And because if I told the truth, I'd have to admit I still miss you. Every day.

The air felt thin in your apartment, like the words had sucked all the oxygen out of the room. You pressed the heel of your hand against your chest, trying to slow the frantic hammering of your heart.

You knew you should put the phone down. You knew you should tell him to stop. But your thumbs moved before your brain could catch up.

You [1:27 AM]: I miss you too. All the time.

You didn't get a reply right away. You stared at the ceiling in the dark, phone clutched to your chest, heart pounding like it wanted to claw its way out of you. Finally, your phone buzzed.

San [1:41 AM]: Can I call you?

You hesitated, every rational part of you screaming no. But you were already unlocking your phone, already hitting "Accept" when his name lit up your screen.

"Hey," he said, voice rough and low like he hadn't slept.

"Hey," you whispered back.

Neither of you spoke for a long time. You just listened to each other breathe, miles apart but tangled up in something too old and too deep to untangle now. And even though you knew better -even though you knew how this would end- you let yourself believe, for one small, aching moment, that you weren't alone.

You never meant for it to happen. At first, it was innocent enough -if you squinted hard enough and ignored the way your heart twisted every time he laughed.

You and San started meeting up again. Coffee shops, quiet bookstores, late-night drives where the windows stayed rolled down and the music stayed low enough that you could pretend the silence between you wasn't heavy with all the things you couldn't say.

It wasn't like before, not exactly. There was a distance to it, an invisible line drawn between you that neither of you crossed. You talked about small things: new hobbies, work, the latest movie he thought you'd hate but ended up loving.

He was careful. You were careful. At least at first. You two tried hard to believe it was friendly. At some point, you two believed it could be friendly. But it was never just friendship, not really. Not when your hands brushed accidentally reaching for the same book, and you both froze like you'd touched an open flame. Not when he looked at you too long and too soft, like he was memorizing you all over again. Not when the air between you felt charged, electric, like something was waiting to break.

The night it finally happened, it wasn't even anything special.

You were sitting side by side on the hood of his car, parked in an empty lot overlooking the city, the skyline glittering like a thousand tiny promises. A half-empty bag of takeout sat abandoned between you. The radio played something low and sad, barely more than a hum. San tipped his head back, looking at the stars.

"You ever think about how we almost got it right?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You didn't pretend not to know what he meant. The question took you by surprise, or so you wanted to believe. Although, actually, it wasn't a topic you didn't expect to be brought up.

"Yeah," you said.

"It's so ridiculous. But being here with you, it feels like nothing has changed" he lowly admitted, his brows slightly furrowing. "Absolutely everything has changed, actually" he finally sighed.

Silence stretched between you, thick and aching. He turned his head to look at you, really look at you. And you knew, in that moment, that if you moved even a little closer, he wouldn't stop you.

"It feels so wrong, but so right at the same time" his eyes momentarily moved to your lips. "It feels like this is exactly where we belong, after everything".

Your heart hammered against your ribs, frantic and pleading. You should have gotten off the car. You should have walked away. Instead, you shifted closer, just enough. The space between you cracked and collapsed, and then: he kissed you.

It wasn't desperate, not at first. It was slow, careful, almost reverent.

His lips brushed yours, tentative, like he wasn't sure if you would let him. You kissed him back -soft, aching- and you felt him break against you with a quiet, helpless sound. One of his hands came up to cradle your jaw, thumb stroking the curve of your cheek. The other slipped into your hair, tugging you closer like he couldn't stand even an inch of distance between you anymore. You melted into him, fingers curling in the front of his jacket, anchoring yourself to something you knew you couldn't keep.

It was everything you'd been starving for -all the unspoken things pouring out in a kiss that tasted like grief and longing and home.

For a minute, it was easy to forget the world outside: the girlfriend waiting for him to come home, the promises you had both already broken just by being here.

For a minute, there was only him.

When you finally pulled away, you were both breathing hard, foreheads resting against each other, eyes squeezed shut like it could undo what just happened. You moved first, pushing yourself back when Annie's ringtone, he had especially for her, rang in your ear through your silence.

"I'm sorry," San rasped, voice wrecked. "I shouldn't have..."

You shook your head, cutting him off, tears stinging the backs of your eyes.

"I know," you whispered. "It was a mistake".

Neither of you moved. And then, like something had snapped back into place -cruel and merciless- San moved further away.

The loss of him felt like a physical thing, like the air itself had been punched out of your lungs.

"I can't," he said, almost to himself. "I can't do this to her."

You nodded, even though every cell in your body screamed at you to grab him, to hold him, to beg him to stay.

"You shouldn't do that to her" you said, voice cracking.

You were already aware of her existence, of her role in his life. Guilt was already gripping on you tight. But, somehow, hearing him say it himself, made something in you break.

San looked at you for a long, breaking moment -like he was trying to memorize you one last time.

"I'll drive you home" he suggested, but you shook your head.

How were you going to spend a single second alone in such an empty space with him and not go insane? No, you couldn't.

"I'll call a cab".

"Y/n, don't be ridiculous. I'll drive you..."

"I said no".

He didn't insist, he didn't speak. He just nodded and rested his lower half against the hood of his car, silently accepting your choice, but assuring you he'd wait with you until the taxi came to pick you up.

Both of you were on opposite sides of the car. He remained at the front, while you stayed at the back. You stood there under the brittle stars, arms wrapped around yourself, feeling like you were bleeding out into the dark.

The tears started rolling down out of your control, and the silent sobs only caused you to painfully breathe through your nose.

The moment the taxi arrived, you hopped inside. Neither of you spoke, neither of you looked. It was like everything would fall down the second your eyes met again.

After that, the distance was sharp and brutal. No more late-night texts. No more casual meetups. No more pretending you could be friends in order to keep seeing each other.

You didn't blame him. You didn't blame yourself, either. Sometimes love wasn't enough - you knew that too well. Sometimes it was the very thing that broke you. And you knew -deep in the hollow, echoing part of your chest- that you would carry the weight in your heart.

You shouldn't have said yes to Wooyoung. You knew it the second you stepped into the bar, with the low thrum of music, the too-familiar laughter of old friends, the hum of a past you weren't sure you belonged to anymore.

But when Wooyoung had called you a few days ago, voice bright and persuasive, it had been impossible to say no.

"Come on, just for a little," he'd said. "It's been ages. Everyone misses you."

You should've known he meant San. Maybe part of you had known. Maybe that was why you spent twenty minutes deciding on a dress, why your hands had shaken while putting on eyeliner, why your stomach had twisted the whole cab ride over.

You'd barely stepped through the door when you saw him.

He looked... different. Not drastically, but enough. It wasn't the kind of different that was physical. It was the type of different that you could easily recognize after years together, after knowing every pore of his body.

He looked absent when you first stepped inside, his eyes looking tired even from afar. The kind of tiredness in his eyes that didn't come from lack of sleep.

He looked up -like he felt you- and his eyes met yours across the room.

Everything in your chest stilled. You tried to smile, it almost worked. You could even feel the corners of your lips moving up, but then she appeared beside him.

Annie.

Tall. Graceful. Effortlessly pretty in that expensive, put-together way that made you immediately feel like a kid playing dress-up. She was laughing at something San had said, hand on his arm.

You froze.

San noticed. You saw the subtle stiffening of his shoulders, the flicker of guilt in his eyes.

He started to step forward, but Wooyoung was already there, grabbing your hand and pulling you deeper into the crowd before San could say a word, before you could even think of turning around and getting out of the bar.

For a while, you managed to pretend.

You laughed. You drank. You hugged old friends and nodded along to stories you weren't really listening to.

You avoided San's eyes, but you could feel him watching you.

Every time you turned your head, he was there -leaning against the wall, fingers tight around his drink, eyes tracing your every move like he was trying to read something in your posture. And Annie noticed.

Of course she noticed.

She was subtle about it, in the way girls like her always are -never loud, never direct-, in a way you never were. Just sharp smiles and comments dipped in honey and poison.

At one point, you found yourself at the same corner of the room, reaching for the same bottle of wine.

She smiled at you. Perfect teeth. Glossed lips.

"You're Y/n, right?" she asked, as if she hadn't already memorized your face.

You nodded. "Yeah."

She tilted her head, all charm and calculation.

"I've heard a lot about you," she said. "It's so great you two are still... friendly."

There it was.

You smiled -tight, cold. "Yeah. It's good to catch up sometimes" you sighed. "I'm here for Wooyoung though. He's still our friend, after all".

"Of course, it's about Woo" she poured herself a drink. "I just think it's so important to be mature, you know? To let the past stay in the past."

You stared at her. She didn't blink.

It felt like a warning. It was a warning.

You felt the blood rise in your throat, like it wanted to speak for you. But instead, you swallowed hard and turned away without a word.

For the next twenty minutes, you tried to ignore that look she gave you, that tone in her voice, but you couldn't. Looking around, seeing how she interacted with everyone, it all made sense: you were the only one who had no business being there anymore.

You couldn't stay.

You barely remembered grabbing your coat, or the excuse you made up when you told Wooyoung you were leaving. You just knew that the music was too loud, the air too thick, the walls closing in.

You pushed through the door and into the night, cold air burning your lungs, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your heels, and the cold wind bit at your arms through your thin jacket. You kept your eyes forward, your hands clenched deep in your pockets, and your breath came hard and fast as you walked. You didn't stop until you reached your apartment door.

Inside, you didn't cry. You didn't scream. You just stood there in the quiet of your entryway, staring at the shadows on the floor as your chest rose and fell with the kind of heaviness that only came from trying not to fall apart.

You poured yourself a glass of water, sat on the couch in the dark, and let the silence eat away at the space around you.

It felt like something inside you had been opened again, peeled raw -a wound you'd tried so carefully to suture now torn wide once more.

You didn't regret leaving, but you hated that it still hurt this much.

San had noticed the moment you were gone. When you thought you were sneaking outside, just like you used to before he found you hiding in a corner, trying to get back some energy. But that night, he knew he wouldn't find you in any corner of that bar.

He felt the change in the room like someone had turned off the oxygen. One moment you were there, barely, and the next, you were just... gone.

He scanned the crowd, heart stuttering in his chest, but you weren't anywhere.

"Hey," Annie said, sliding beside him with a laugh, looping her arm through his. "You good? You've been off all night."

San blinked and looked down at her. She was smiling, but there was an edge to it — something cold and coiled underneath.

"Just tired," he said.

"Right," she replied, voice light but pointed. "Tired from pretending not to look at your ex every ten seconds."

San's stomach tightened. "Don't do that."

She raised a brow. "Do what? Be honest? At least one of us has to be."

"Don't make a scene. Not today" he asked, not even making the effort to pretend he didn't want to fight with her.

Because, deep inside, he wanted that fight to happen, he wanted her to leave. But he didn't push it.

"Oh, don't talk down on me with that tone, like I'm just being the crazy girlfriend" she rushed to say, before he could even go back again to that calm state.

He didn't answer. His gaze drifted again to the front door, still closed. Still no sign of you. It was so ridiculous. His relationship was drifting apart, yet all he could think about was you.

Annie sighed. "You know what? Let's just go."

He nodded. Too quickly.

"I'll drive you," he said.

She looked surprised for a second, then narrowed her eyes. "Okay."

The drive to her place was quiet. San kept one hand on the steering wheel, the other drumming an anxious rhythm on his thigh. Annie said nothing. She was scrolling through her phone, jaw tight, profile hard in the passing streetlights.

"You're quiet," she muttered finally.

"So are you."

"Because I'm trying not to pick a fight in a moving vehicle."

San's grip tightened, he held back the eyeroll. "I didn't ask you to come tonight."

"Maybe that's the problem" she turned to him, eyebrows furrowed. "You knew she'd be here, right?"

He didn't respond.

Annie scoffed under her breath. "It's so obvious you still feel something for her."

"I don't..." he started, then stopped. Swallowed. "Annie, stop with all of this. Stop making things difficult."

Annie turned to face him, face blank. "Then make them simple."

The car rolled to a stop in front of her apartment. San didn't put it in park, and she knew he wasn't going to stay that night. He wasn't even going to go up to her place to argue. He wasn't going to make the effort, at all.

She stared at him for a beat longer, then unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door. She turned once more, lips pursing as she nodded, eating all of her insecurities, eating all of the words in her throat, to simply say:

"Goodnight, San," she said quietly, and closed it behind her.

He waited until she disappeared inside before he exhaled. His hands gripped the wheel for another long moment -knuckles white, jaw clenched- and then, before he could talk himself out of it, he turned the car around.

He knew exactly where he was going.

You heard the knock just before midnight. Soft. Hesitant. Like someone unsure they had the right to be there. You didn't have to look through the peephole to know who it was. You could recognize those knocks anywhere. Still, you hesitated before opening the door.

When you did, San stood there -hands stuffed in his jacket pockets, windblown and wide-eyed, like he hadn't thought this far ahead.

Neither of you spoke at first.

He looked tired. Like he hadn't slept in weeks. Like the silence between you was the only thing holding him together.

"I dropped her off," he said, like that explained anything at all.

You nodded. Your voice came out low. "You shouldn't be here."

"I know."

You didn't move. Neither did he.

"I needed to see you," he said. "Just... tonight. I needed..."

You waited. But he didn't finish. He just looked at you like you were the only safe place left in a burning house. Your fingers tightened around the edge of the door.

"Do you want to come in?" you asked, even though you already knew the answer.

He nodded once, and you stepped aside to let him in.

You hadn't expected him to say yes. You hadn't expected him to step into your apartment like it was still familiar, like no time had passed at all. But he did.

San stood awkwardly in the middle of your living room, his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, eyes scanning the space like it had changed in some subtle way he couldn't quite name.

It hadn't. Not really.

Same soft lighting. Same throw pillows he used to complain were more decorative than functional. Same faint scent of lavender and old perfume woven into the walls.

You watched him carefully as you set a glass of water on the coffee table. He sat down slowly, elbows on knees, looking like he might fold in on himself if he moved too fast.

You sat across from him.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick -not uncomfortable, exactly. Just fragile. Like one wrong word would snap it in two.

"I shouldn't be here," he said.

You nodded, slowly. "I know."

"But I didn't know where else to go."

You looked at him, and realized you knew exactly what he meant. You'd been there, too. A hundred nights, maybe more. Wondering where to go with all the feelings that had nowhere left to land.

"I didn't ask you to come," you said quietly.

"I know."

Another beat passed.

He took the glass of water, and sipped it. Set it back down without meeting your eyes.

"Did you ever miss me?" he asked suddenly.

You blinked. "San..."

"I'm serious," he said, louder now, voice cracking just enough to cut through the quiet. "Did you? Because I missed you. I missed you, every fucking day. You have no idea how hard it was to let you go. I spent nights without sleeping, I went to the therapist because everywhere I looked reminded me of you. You have no idea how hard it was for me to get over you. And then you show up again and pretend like it's casual. Like we didn't... like you didn't mean everything to me."

His chest tightened at the realization that, maybe, he never really got over you. He just learned to live with your absence, but he always waited for you to show up. It was obvious at first, and later it turned subtle. So hidden that his brain didn't even register it as longing anymore.

But it was.

Your chest tightened. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it?" His laugh was bitter. "You walked away. You decided we were over. And then you come back and sit across from me like we're just old friends catching up. Like I'm supposed to smile and move on like nothing ever happened."

You stood up, heart hammering.

"I didn't come back to ruin your life."

"Well, you did!" he snapped, standing too now, too close. "You came back and turned everything upside down. I can't think straight anymore. I can't sleep. I can't even look at Annie without feeling like a fucking liar."

Your breath hitched. "That's not on me."

"It's not?"

His eyes were wild, glassy with too many unsaid things. His voice dropped low, rough with emotion.

"You have no idea what you've done to me."

You stared at him, at the angry curve of his mouth, the way his chest heaved, the desperation flickering behind his words.

And you broke.

Because you haven't stopped thinking about him, because you couldn't even think of another man kissing your lips if it wasn't him. Because you spent twelve, and even fourteen, hours focused on words so your mind wouldn't remember how good it felt when you were together.

"I've been holding myself together with duct tape and willpower since the day I left you," you said, voice shaking. "You think I came back to mess with your head? I came back because this city feels like home and because every other place felt like pretending. And I didn't ask to feel like this again. I didn't want this again."

He was looking at you like he'd never stopped.

"I didn't want it either," he said, voice barely above a whisper.

And then something cracked between you, like a dam giving way.

He stepped forward, you didn't move. His hand curled around the side of your neck -not rough, but firm, anchoring- and then his mouth was on yours.

The kiss wasn't soft.

It was desperate. Starved. Years of silence and resentment and longing pulled tight into one breathless, furious moment.

You kissed him like you were drowning. Like you were trying to find air in his mouth. He kissed you like you were the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

His other hand gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you let him -let him press against you like he was trying to make up for every night you'd both spent alone, in separate beds, wondering what went wrong.

There was no room left for thought. No room left for guilt. Only the sound of breath and the rush of blood and the ache you both had kept buried for too long.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and your eyes stayed closed. You could still taste him on your lips.

"San," you whispered.

"I know," he said. "I know."

The silence after was deafening. You didn't speak again. You didn't need to, because what you felt in that kiss, it wasn't closure.

It was something much more dangerous.

Your lips met again the moment your eyes met after taking one breath. This time with more urgency, as if the need from all the time you were away was thrown onto it. Your tongues danced together in a rhythm you two were quite familiar with.

It was like nothing had changed.

San's hands roamed over your body, reacquainting themselves with every curve and dip. You moaned as his fingers found the sensitive spot on your neck, squeezing it the way he knew it made you squirm and fold, sending shivers down your spine. You grabbed his shirt, pulling him closer, your body aching for more.

"This is so wrong" you managed to whisper against his lips, only breaking the kisses to shed some conscience that neither of you wanted back.

San growled in response, his hands moving to quickly pull from your shirt, throwing it over your head. He kissed your neck, his teeth grazing your skin the same way his fingers were just seconds back, making you gasp.

At some point, it was like a speed race on who was faster on getting the other out of your clothes. While he unclasped your bra, you helped him out of his shirt, your hands exploring his muscular chest, tracing all of the muscles like you knew them by heart.

His mind was running a million per hour the second he got you out of your underwear. He didn't mind when it happened, he didn't care if it was right on the floor beneath you, but he needed to have you. Even if it was just one last time.

San picked you up easily, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you to your bedroom. The same place where he had you countless times before, in different ways. With candles, with half of your clothes on because you just couldn't wait to get your hands on each other's, slow, fast...

It was crazy how much you two missed it.

San laid you down on the bed, his eyes roaming over your naked body with hunger, before crawling on the mattress to get on top of you. He started at your neck, kissing and nibbling his way down to your breasts, taking each nipple into his mouth, sucking and teasing until you were writhing beneath him.

When his hand moved to cup your core, you could barely hold back the whine. Two of his fingers moved through your folds, as if he couldn't quite believe you were still so responsive to his touch.

The moment he pulled back to look at you, so he could look at you while he licked his fingers, it was when you started seeing nothing else but him. Absolutely nothing else mattered.

"You taste so fucking good, Y/n," San murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Exactly like I remember".

You moaned, your fingers tangling in his hair. "San, please..."

San obliged, moving down your body, spreading your legs. He didn't need you to say anything else, because he already knew what you needed. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. "You're so wet, Y/n. You want my cock, don't you?"

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. "Yes, San. I want you"

San smiled, his tongue flicking out to taste you after he settled between your legs, pushing your thighs up to his shoulders. You bucked against him, a soft moan escaping your lips. San continued to lick and suck, his fingers joining in, teasing your clit until you were on the brink of ecstasy.

"Fuck me" you begged, your body trembling with need.

Again, he moved over your body to settle his body between your legs, your thighs now falling at his hips. Your hand moved down his torso to wrap around his length, your slim fingers fitted just perfect as you moved them up and down.

San positioned himself at your entrance, wrapping his fingers on top of yours, his length hard and ready. He pushed in slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size, feeling the way your channel stretched out for him as he pushed in deeper. You moaned, your nails digging into his back, the moment your hips met. He stayed there for a few seconds, breaking through the pleasure to look into your eyes, finding a spark he hadn't seen on anyone else before.

As if to erase the thoughts that were crossing his mind, he kissed you again, hungrily, desperately.

"You're so tight, babe" San groaned, starting to move inside you. "I've missed this. I've missed you."

You wrapped your legs around him, meeting his thrusts, moving your hips in sync with his. "I've missed you, too"

He recognized that cracking in your voice mid-moan, he knew what you needed without you saying a word, and he complied, his hips moving faster, his dick filling you completely. You could feel the pleasure building, your body on fire with desire. You could even hear the wet sounds of your bodies coming together, the moans and gasps filling the room.

"Yes, San. Just like that," you panted. "Faster. Harder."

San increased the pace, his body slamming against yours. You could feel her orgasm building, your body tensing with anticipation. As you looked into San's eyes, you could see the raw desire and love reflected back at you.

God, it was like nothing changed.

"I'm close, San. So close," you gasped.

San reached between you, his fingers finding your clit. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, pushing you over the edge. You cried out, your body convulsing with pleasure. San followed soon after, his length pulsing inside you as he reached his high, his body shaking with the force of his release.

When you looked at each other again, you could both feel something building up. The guilt. You allowed yourselves to get carried away by the feelings you found no explanation for. Yet, at the same time, it felt right.

And you both knew that wouldn't be the last time.

Your body was still humming when he pulled away.

The room was warm, and your skin was slick with sweat, sheets tangled around your legs, breath shallow as you stared up at the ceiling like it might offer answers you stopped searching for long ago.

San lay beside you, arm draped across your stomach, chest rising and falling against your side. The silence between you had stopped being awkward a long time ago. Now it just felt... necessary. Like a blanket you both wrapped around the things you didn't want to say.

You shifted slightly, drawing the sheets up over your chest, but didn't move away from him.

Didn't want to.

He was still inside the world you'd built here, in this small apartment, in this one dimly lit bedroom where the outside didn't exist. Where Annie didn't exist.

You felt him stir beside you. His fingers traced lazy patterns along your bare stomach, a touch that felt more like habit than lust. Like muscle memory. Like love he didn't know how to name anymore.

"I shouldn't still be here," he murmured.

You didn't answer. Not right away. Because you knew he would leave eventually. He always did.

Instead, you stared at the ceiling and let the weight of his arm keep you tethered.

"How long are we going to do this?" you asked finally.

His hand paused. Then resumed its slow circles.

"I don't know."

You turned your head to look at him -his face soft in the afterglow, hair messy, lips still parted from the way he'd whispered your name just minutes before. You wanted to memorize him like this. Not the version that smiled politely across coffee tables, or the one that walked beside Annie at crowded parties.

This version: all stripped down and real and yours, even if only in stolen pieces.

"She's going to find out," you said.

"I know."

You swallowed, throat tight. "And when she does?"

He didn't answer. Just exhaled, long and tired. You rolled onto your side, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

"This isn't fair," you whispered.

"I know," he said again, softer this time. "But when I'm here... I can breathe."

Your eyes stung. You weren't sure if it was guilt or something crueler, like hope.

You swallowed. "Why don't you just break up with her?"

His hand stopped. The silence that followed was colder than anything else that had passed between you.

When he didn't speak, you sat up a little, keeping the sheets clutched against your chest.

"San."

He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, suddenly tense. "You think it's that easy?"

"No," you said. "But I think if you were really happy, you wouldn't be here."

He looked at you then, and something sharp flickered across his face. Guilt. Anger. Fear. All tangled up in a single breath.

"I care about her," he said tightly.

You nodded, slow and tired. "Yeah. Just not enough to stop sleeping with me."

That landed. His jaw clenched, and he sat up too, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," he muttered.

"But it did. Actually, it's been happening for two weeks".

You leaned back against the headboard, heart pounding beneath your skin. You hated this. You hated yourself for asking. Hated him for not having an answer. Hated the way he still hadn't left.

"I used to think we were endgame," you said, barely above a whisper. "You know that?"

"So did I."

"But now I just think we're moving around a past that won't come back" you finally said. "It won't ever be the same".

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The air in the room was heavy -not with lust, not anymore. But with everything you'd both lost and everything you were still clinging to.

He didn't reply. He just turned toward you, eyes burning, and kissed you. Hard.

It wasn't an answer. It was avoidance, maybe. Or desperation. But you kissed him back anyway, letting him push you down into the mattress, letting your guilt melt into his mouth and your hands clinging to the only thing that still felt real.

Later, when the room went still again, neither of you spoke.

Not about her. Not about what this meant. Not about the fact that it couldn't go on like this forever.

Outside, the world went on. Inside, you stayed wrapped in sheets and silence and secrets.

And when he eventually rose to dress, when he kissed your forehead and promised he'd text you later, even though you both knew it wasn't enough, you let him go.

Because you knew he'd come back. And that was what terrified you most.

The days after that night were quiet.

No texts. No late-night calls. No hasty plans wrapped in guilt and whispered names beneath the sheets.

You both disappeared into your lives like nothing had happened.

It was the only thing you could do.

You busied yourself with the parts of life that had nothing to do with him: work, laundry, walking the long way home so you wouldn't accidentally pass his building. You cleaned the apartment more than it needed. Rearranged the bookshelves. Drank wine alone, long after the sun had gone down.

You didn't check your phone as much anymore.

Not that he'd messaged.

But you still looked.

Some part of you had wanted him to say something, not to apologize, not to fix it. Just to acknowledge what that night had been. That intimacy and passion. That argument. The fact that it hadn't been a game for either of you.

But silence stretched like a bruise between you.

You didn't know if it was guilt or discipline. If he was doing it for Annie, or for himself. Or maybe for you, some misguided attempt at kindness, cutting things off before they could fall apart again.

Either way, it worked.

You stopped hoping, stopped replaying everything in your head. And slowly, that aching, unbearable question crept back in.

What were you still doing there?

It was the same one that had followed you around the city when you'd first returned. The one you ignored every time you ran into an old friend, or passed a place that still smelled like him. The one that screamed inside your chest when you kissed him again -still wanted him again- despite everything.

This city didn't feel like yours anymore. And neither did he.

You stared at your packed suitcase for a long time.

It wasn't full yet, but it would be. Soon.

You didn't know where you were going. Just that it couldn't be there.

Not now. Not with the memory of him wrapped around your bones like a secret you could no longer carry.

You picked up your phone before you could change your mind. Your fingers hovered over the screen for longer than you'd admit.

And then you typed:

You [09:26 PM]: Can I see you? Just once more. I'll be gone by morning. I promise.

Hold me, Console Me...

You didn't expect him to respond to your message right away.

But you barely had time to pace the length of your living room before his reply came through.

San [09:28 PM]: I'll be here.

No questions. No hesitation. No surprise.

You took the long way to his apartment, walking slower than usual. Your breath came in shallow pulls, chest heavy with everything you weren't ready to say. The night was cool and still, the city quieter than you remembered it ever being. Or maybe it was just you -quieter now, dulled by the weight of what this night would mean.

When he opened the door, he didn't say anything. Just stepped aside and let you in.

The lights were low, the same familiar shadows cast across the floor, like they'd never changed since you left the last time. It was all the same -him, this space, the silence between you- except for the knowledge that this would be the last time.

You walked past him into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded in your lap. He followed you slowly, sitting beside you, not too close but not far either.

It was a while before anyone spoke.

"You look tired," he said, gently.

You let out a quiet laugh. "So do you."

He gave you a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes.

A breath passed. Then another.

"I've been thinking about that night," he said finally. "The last time we were together"

You looked down at your hands.

"I know."

"You said this wasn't fair. That I was lying to her. That we were both lying to ourselves."

You nodded once, slowly. "I meant it."

He looked at you, searching your face like there was something hidden there -something he'd missed all along.

"I need you to be honest with me about something" he said.

Because he had gone insane those weeks you had been seeing each other, long before you shared those secret nights. Because your answer could change everything he had planned.

You hesitated, then nodded.

"Why did you leave the first time?"

His voice was soft. Not accusatory. Just... tired. Like he'd been carrying that question for a long time.

You took a breath, eyes stinging before you even spoke. "Because you had your life figured out," you said. "You had this plan, this career, this path that made sense. And I..."

Your voice caught. You blinked it away.

"I didn't. I didn't know what I was doing. I felt like I was always scrambling to keep up. And I didn't want to hold you back."

"You never held me back."

"I felt like I did."

He shook his head, like it physically hurt him to hear that.

"I loved you," he said.

When he actually wanted to say that he still loved you. His heart still beated for you like it did the first time he confessed his feelings in the middle of that park. And that was why he didn't hesitate on breaking up with Annie two days after you left his apartment. Because a relationship that wasn't with you just didn't make any sense for him.

But he held back from saying that, he didn't tell you yet, because something in your eyes let him know it wasn't the time yet. That night wasn't the moment for that.

"I loved you, too," you whispered. "That's why I left. Because I thought that was what love was. Letting you go so you could grow without me dragging you down."

You didn't tell him that you were planning to leave again. That the city didn't feel like home, that nothing did anymore. You didn't want to see the look in his eyes, didn't want him to ask you to stay, didn't want him not to.

So instead, you leaned in and kissed him.

It was quiet at first -soft, tentative, like the brush of a memory. But when his hand found the back of your neck, when he pulled you closer like he was afraid you'd disappear before morning, the kiss deepened. His mouth moved against yours with something desperate and breaking, like he was trying to apologize and beg and remember all at once.

You let him. You let your fingers slide into his hair, let your body fall into his the way it always had.

Familiar. Natural. Inevitable.

You didn't speak as he pulled you toward the bedroom.

There was no need for words anymore.

You kissed like you were drowning. Like this was the last breath you'd get. Like you could memorize each other's skin well enough to survive the rest of your lives without it.

It wasn't rushed. It was reverent. Painful. Beautiful.

You held him tighter than you ever had before, even as something inside you fractured quietly, knowing this wasn't forever. Knowing this wasn't a new beginning, but the softest kind of ending.

He held you like his body knew it was a goodbye, even if his mind thought it was a second beginning that would end well.

When it was over, he pulled you into his chest, arms wrapped tightly around you. You lay there in the stillness, your body curled into his, listening to his breathing.

You didn't cry. You were past crying. You just closed your eyes and let yourself pretend, for a few moments longer, that this was still yours. That he was still yours.

And in the morning, while he was still sleeping, you would be gone.

... And then I'll leave without a trace.

San woke to silence.

The kind that felt off. Too still. Too hollow.

The sheets were cold beside him, your side of the bed empty, untouched, like you'd disappeared into the night itself. At first, he thought you might just be in the kitchen. Or the shower. Or sitting by the window again, bare knees pulled to your chest like you always did when you needed space to think.

But when he called out your name, there was no answer.

His heart beat a little faster. He pushed off the covers and checked the bathroom, empty. The kitchen, the living room -nothing. Not even a mug in the sink or a sweater left on the back of a chair. Just absence. The kind that screamed that you were gone.

Panic curled in his throat.

He grabbed his phone. No messages.

He dialed anyway, straight to voicemail.

He stood there barefoot in his living room, staring at the front door like maybe you'd still come back through it. Like maybe this was some kind of test. Or a punishment. Or a mistake. But something in his chest already knew the truth.

You'd left.

Not in anger. Not in drama.

You'd just... slipped away. Quiet as the night. Careful as always.

And this time, you'd meant it.

San didn't bother getting dressed properly, just threw on sweats and a hoodie and rushed down the stairs like urgency alone could stop what had already happened. He drove fast, barely remembering the turns.

Your apartment building was quiet when he got there.