The last week went by too fast.
You'd known for months that you were leaving—a few months back to your family in your home country. Your parents needed you. And though Seungmin understood, you felt the knot in your stomach tightening. The thoughts of saying goodbye, of distance, of living in different time zones…
He didn't say much. Not because it didn't bother him. But because he didn't have the words to make it any easier.
Instead… he was gentler. Quieter eyes, longer hugs. Hands that lingered on yours a little longer. An extra sweater on your bed. Little things.
"I know you have to go," he'd said the night before your flight. "But that doesn't mean I'm ready to miss you."
You couldn't say anything. You just rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, your breathing matching his.
Airport. Gate 26. Boarding in 20 minutes.
Your suitcase was checked in. Your passport was in your jacket pocket. Everything was taken care of. Everything except your heart.
Seungmin stood opposite you, his hood pulled low over his head, sunglasses on, mask half off. Yet you recognized every inch of him. His eyes. His silences. His silent love.
“Are you ready?” he asked softly.
You shrugged. “Not really.”
He nodded slowly. His hands were in his jacket pockets. He looked at your shoes.
“Did you bring the book?” he asked.
You smiled weakly. “Yes. And the playlist. And that one note you slipped in my notebook.”
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “Don’t read during takeoff. You’ll cry.”
He laughed softly, but it sounded hollow. His eyes shone. Not with tears. But with suppressed emotion.
“You know I’m going to miss you, right?” you said, reaching out your hand.
He took it immediately. Warmly. Firmly.
“I know,” he said. “And I know I have to let you go. But… that doesn’t mean I want to.”
You swallowed. The ground beneath your feet felt thinner.
“I’ll be back,” you whispered.
You looked at the clock. 1:42 PM.
He let go of your hand, but stepped closer. His arms wrapped around you. Not fleetingly. Not gently. But completely. As if he was taking you in. As if he was absorbing you.
You felt his head on your shoulder. His breath on your neck.
“Don’t forget who you are there,” he whispered.
He pulled back slightly. His eyes looked into yours, soft and sharp at the same time. And then, without saying anything, he leaned forward.
Not rushed. Not uncertain. But genuine. Warm. Quiet.
A kiss filled with everything he didn’t dare say. Everything he gave you, without saying it aloud.
When he slowly pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Come back,” he whispered.
And then… the announcement of your flight.
You stepped back. One step, then another. He stood there. His hands in his pockets. His gaze on you.
And at the last moment, just before boarding, you looked back.
And then he slowly raised his hand.
The beginning of waiting.
