#nctu

You looked to your side, his profile staring up at the ceiling above you. "What the fuck, Jaehyun," you mumbled, your voice low. You looked for a long time. His throat moved, his adam's apple going up and down as he swallowed hard. "And did you consider maybe starting there, before fucking me?"

“I needed to see you. One last time.” His voice was thick, heavy with what sounded like shame.

You stayed where you were, tangled in him, head resting on his outstretched arm, limbs still joined. You squinted at the side of his face, searching for regret in it, some trace of remorse. But all you found was silence. Then, your own voice broke through: dry, almost fragile. “Get out of my house.”

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look your way. Just sat up in your bed, reached for his clothes, and muttered a quiet, “I’m sorry, angel,” on his way out, before closing the door quietly behind him, leaving your house like he had never been there at all.

And you’d be lying if you said it didn’t break you. You’d be lying if you said your pillow wasn’t soaked with tears that night, or that you didn’t spend the next week dissecting every moment with your best friend, wondering where it all went wrong.

You’d be lying if you said it didn’t shatter you all over again — one month later — to see him across the room, sitting across a table from the girl he had chosen instead. The same girl he had left you for. That night, your heart splintered in a thousand new directions.

You met Jaehyun on a train. He was seated across from you, headphones in, sketching something in a small notebook. You hadn’t noticed him at first, too focused on the cracked screen of your phone. But when he got up without a word to let an elderly woman sit, you looked up—and caught his face. Clean lines, tired eyes, quiet.

A week later, same train. This time, he noticed you first. “You again,” he said with a small smile.

You raised a brow. “Am I being followed?”

“Maybe it’s destiny,” he replied, almost joking - but not quite - and flashed a smile that was all charm and warmth. You exchanged numbers before getting off at your stop.

Things unfolded quietly. He texted you for the first time to ask if you’d ever tried Korean cold noodles at midnight in winter. When you said no, he took you to a tiny place with fogged-up windows and metal tables. It was a dark, cold night, in the late hours of the dawn. You ate with gloves on, and he told you about how his grandma used to make him that exact dish when he was a kid. You didn’t say much, but you listened. And he noticed.

Another time, he took you to a bookshop café where he never read the books, just picked titles he thought sounded like you—"The Art of Quiet Chaos," "We Were Never Here," "On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous." He didn’t say why. He just passed them across the table with a smirk, as if they were private jokes only he understood.

One night, after you told him you'd had a particularly hard day in uni, he brought you to an abandoned rooftop. He said he used to sneak there when the world got too loud. You brought coffee in a flask. He brought his silence and listened to you vent. Then, you sat side by side watching the night sky full of stars. And at the end of the night, he gave you a soft goodnight kiss that left you wanting more.

And all this time, you didn’t notice how he looked at you when you weren’t paying attention. You didn’t catch the way his shoulders relaxed when you laughed, or how he memorised the exact way you stirred your drinks.

And when you did notice, you chose not to say anything.

And then, after one particularly still evening—just the two of you wandering a half-empty museum—he parked the car outside your building and didn’t kill the engine. “What are we doing?” he asked, hands loose on the steering wheel, voice light but careful.

You blinked. “You’re giving me a ride home?” you teased.

He chuckled under his breath but didn’t drop it. “No, really. What is this?"

You turned to face him fully, one leg tucked beneath you. “I don’t know. I’m enjoying this, Jaehyun. Do we have to label it?”

A few minutes went by with no answer and then ,you saw jaehyun nodding his head slowly. “So you’re not looking for something serious,” he said—not as a question, but as a confirmation. His tone cooled just enough to make you look at him twice.

“I’m not,” you admitted. “Not because I don’t like you. I do. I just... I’m not ready for something that demands so much. I like my space. I like my freedom. I like not having to explain myself to anyone.”

He nodded again. “Of course.”

And that was that.

Only it wasn’t.

Because after that, something in him dimmed. Jaehyun, who would always stop your makeout sessions when they got a little too heated because he wanted to 'take it slow with you', was quick to fuck you against your mattress the night right after that conversation. He stopped texting you about the weird street musician he saw on his walk home. Stopped sending you photos of sunsets he knew you'd love. Stopped making time for you between the chaos that was the life of a STEM student.

But you didn't question it because, in your eyes, he was doing everything right - not drowning you in attention, not invading your space, and giving you just the right amount of passion. You figured this was just what happened. The natural slowing down. The balancing of desire and distance. Besides, he still made you feel alive whenever he touched you. And that was enough.

Or so you told yourself.

You had always, throughout your whole life, had some problems with committing to relationships. It was hard for you to give up your independence, had always been. So the relationship you established with jaehyun was perfect for you. You got to enjoy your single independent life as well as the joys of having a loving man beside you.

Until he left you naked in your bed, after fucking your brains out, without as much as an explanation.

And it got ten times worse when you sat down in front of your way-too-nice date on a random tuesday, just to look over his shoulder and see jaehyun. His eyes on you. Unmoving.

You froze.

For a moment, you forgot how to smile, how to breathe, how to pretend. The glass in your hand felt suddenly too cold, too heavy. You blinked, once, twice, hoping it was someone else.

But it wasn’t. It was him. His dark hair was longer than you remembered, the ends brushing his cheekbones. Still as handsome as you remembered. His hands rested on the table, fingers tapping a silent rhythm you used to feel against your spine, on nights he would come to make you company.

The restaurant was dimly lit, small, quiet in that urban way: the low hum of conversation, the clinking of cutlery, jazz humming faintly through the ceiling speakers. You had picked it because it wasn’t trendy. Because you didn’t think anyone you knew would be there.

But there he was.

The girl across from him was pretty. Blonde hair, clean laugh, elegant hands with manicured nails around a glass of wine. The complete opposite of you. She reached across the table to wipe something from the corner of his mouth. He didn’t pull away like it was a familiar feeling. Familiar enough to gut you.

And yet his eyes never left you.

You forced your gaze back to your date. To his ocean-blue eyes and curly hair. You tried to focus on his voice — something about his cousin’s dog and a hiking trail with a view of the city you didn't give two shits about when jaehyun's sweet brown eyes were right there.

You nodded to what he said. Laughed when it seemed appropriate. But all you could feel was the heat rising in your chest, your throat tightening around a lump you hadn’t invited.

You found the bathroom after mumbling something about needing to check your lipstick. Your hands shook as you pushed open the door and locked it behind you. Sat on the closed lid of the toilet and stared at the tiled floor, tracing the cracks like they were a map out of this moment. You got up and leaned over the sink, staring at your reflection, makeup still intact but your skin was pale and your eyes distant.

The air in the bathroom smelled like lemon-scented cleaner and anxiety. You gripped the edge of the sink with both hands, grounding yourself with pressure. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out.

You closed your eyes. But even in the dark behind your eyelids, you saw him.

Jaehyun at the noodle shop, laughing into his palm when you couldn’t use the metal chopsticks properly. Jaehyun tracing the curve of your knee absentmindedly while reading something on his phone. Jaehyun gifting you a book with a pink sticky note inside that just said, “it made me think of you.”

For some reason, you couldn't shake the feeling of heavy guilt from your chest, even knowing he was the one walking out on you.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened your phone. No notifications. Not from him. Not from anyone that mattered.

You splashed water on your cheeks, trying to keep your makeup spotless. Patted your face dry, and walked back out. You didn’t look toward Jaehyun’s table. You didn’t have to.

You felt his gaze follow you anyway.

Later that night, after dodging the tentative kiss of your unsuccessful date, you laid in bed, but sleep didn’t come easily.

You reached for your phone, instinctively. Scrolled past the messages you’d archived a month ago just to avoid seeing his name. But tonight, you opened them. Scrolled through them and watched them grow shorter, colder, until the effort started to dissolve into silence.

You closed the messages.

Locked the phone.

Stared at the ceiling until the sun came up.

Four days passed.

You were lying on your couch, curled sideways like a comma, the light from the window pale and watery. One sock on. The other was lost somewhere in the kitchen.

Your phone buzzed once. Then twice. No anticipation. Just muscle memory. You reached for it, already expecting some useless notification—an ad, a group chat, something about the deadlines you’d been ignoring.

But it was him.

Jaehyun: the bookstore café’s shut down thought of you

You stared at the screen, blinking slowly.

It didn’t say much. It never did, with him. But the weight it carried was absurd. Of all the things he could’ve said. Of all the ways to reach out. Your thumb hovered over the reply field. You could pretend not to see it.

But you rolled your jaw slightly and typed back:

Y/n: random didn’t think you still thought about stuff like that

The message was read instantly. A minute passed.

Jaehyun: I don’t. just walked by it not that deep.

You shook your head, your mouth tightening. The way he said - casual, like you were just a passing thought. A book he once read, now covered in dust.

Y/n: then why the fuck text me that in the first place? you lost the right to text me at all the second you walked out I mean, the second you fucked me and then walked out

The typing bubble flickered into view. Then disappeared. Then came back.

Jaehyun: I just didn't know how to bring it up I didn’t lie to you you think I meant for it to go like that?

You felt real anger stir in your chest and scoffed. Actually scoffed. Alone in your apartment, with your phone in your hand and your jaw tight.

Y/n: no, I think you’re a coward you just didn’t want to say anything until after you got what you wanted sex classic so yeah, maybe don’t text me when you pass coffee shops. I’m not a fucking souvenir

That one made him take longer.

Jaehyun: don’t do that I asked to be serious, you said no, I moved on anyway, I didn’t reach out to fight with you

Y/n: I said I wasn’t ready yet. not that I didn’t want to be with you but you didn’t even give it a chance you just backed off

The three dots danced again.

Jaehyun: I left because I knew what I wanted, and you didn’t you said not to label it, so I didn’t don’t rewrite that now just because you’re mad

Y/n: so you think what you did was right? pretending that what we had meant nothing?

Jaehyun: it did mean something that’s why I didn’t want to keep dragging it out things would only get worse for me

You swallowed.

Y/n: oh yeah, poor you. you're an angel

Jaehyun: jesus, Y/N it was one message that's all it was

You stared at the last one for a while. Your phone screen dimmed. Then lit up again when you touched it.

You didn’t want to reply. You wanted to throw your phone against the wall, or maybe press call and scream at him just to hear how calm he’d be on the other end.

But instead, your thumbs moved again.

Y/n: was it all meaningless to you?

A pause. Long enough to feel like maybe he wouldn’t answer. Then he did.

Jaehyun: none of it was meaningless to me I left because it was the opposite of that you're the one who pushed me away in the first place

That one got under your skin. You sat up straighter, chest tight.

Y/n: can you stop blaming me for that? last time I checked you left me for someone else you pulled away first you changed the second I said I wasn’t ready for labels you stopped calling. You stopped showing up didn't even try you were halfway out the door before I even pushed it

Another pause.

Jaehyun: I wanted something solid you wanted space I gave it to you

Y/n: you didn’t give me space you gave up

He didn’t answer right away. You locked your phone. Set it down. Not noticing how your eyes had teared up. Picked it back up. Reopened his chat.

Jaehyun: and you never asked me to stay not once

And there it was - the guilt you had been pushing down in your chest ever since he left you that night. But you ignored it.

Y/n: I didn’t think I had to I thought you’d stay because you wanted to be with me stupid of me, I guess

Read. No reply. You were about to lock your phone again when—

Jaehyun: y/n. you told me how you liked your freedom how you didn’t do labels how you weren’t ready I tried to believe that was enough. that maybe I could live in the in-between with you but I couldn’t so I left what's so wrong about that?

You breathed in slowly. And typed.

Y/n: it's how you did it, jaehyun you never communicated how you felt and when you finally decided you'd had enough of me, you fucked me one last time and left me crying and now you're here texting me about a fucking café

Another pause.

Jaehyun: I thought about you that’s it didn’t expect it to turn into this

You sat there, chewing the inside of your cheek. You didn’t know if you were more hurt by his honesty or by how casual he still sounded.

Y/n: well it did

There was a long pause. You thought maybe that would be the end of it. That he’d finally shut up and disappear like he always did.

But then you saw him writing and deleting multiple times. Before it struck you.

Jaehyun: can we meet? just talk, clear the air

You didn’t want to go.

You told yourself that three times while putting on your coat. Five more on the bus ride there. And again while standing across the street from the park, half-convinced you’d just walk past and go home.

But you didn’t. Because a part of you wanted to see him. Needed to know if the way he’d left you—so quietly, so cruelly—had haunted him even half as much as it had haunted you.

The park was mostly empty. Overgrown grass, cracked pavement, that fountain that hadn’t worked in years. There was a sharp chill in the air, enough to cut through your sweater. You crossed your arms tighter, more for comfort than warmth.

And there he was.

Sitting on the edge of a bench like it was nothing. Like this was any other day. Jaehyun. His elbows rested on his knees, staring at the cracked pavement in front of him. His hair was messier than usual, curls pushed back with one hand like he’d been running his fingers through it over and over. His black hoodie was too thin for the weather.

He looked exactly like you remembered. You hated that you noticed all of it.

He didn't see you at first. You approached slowly, and he looked up as you did. His face stayed neutral — unreadable in the way that used to drive you insane. He stood when you got close, but didn’t move forward. Didn’t smile. Didn’t say your name. Just gave a slow nod, like you were business.

"Hey."

You didn’t say anything at first. You stayed where you were, the cold wind brushing over your skin and dark curly hair, your heartbeat loud in your ears. “I’m here,” you said eventually. “So talk.”

He nodded again, like he didn’t expect anything else. Gestured to the bench. “You can sit. If you want.”

You didn’t. “I’ll stand.”

He sat back down, leaned forward, elbows on his knees again, fingers threading together. His eyes stayed low. “I don’t have a whole speech planned or anything,” he said. “Wasn’t trying to make this into something it’s not.”

You snorted under your breath. “Right. I didn't expect you to.”

His jaw flexed. “I just thought it made sense to talk. In person.”

You didn’t answer. Just looked at him—really looked. The same long lashes. The same damn mouth you’d kissed a hundred times without thinking. And now, the sight of him made your throat ache.

He ran a hand through his hair, kept his eyes forward. “The way things ended… it didn’t feel right.”

You laughed once, short and humourless. “You think that’s what this is? You trying to make things feel right?”

Jaehyun didn’t look at you. “I didn’t plan that night like that.”

You took a sharp breath. “Yeah. Like it wasn’t a choice.”

“It wasn’t meant to go like that.”

“But it did,” you cut in, voice tight. “You knew exactly what you were doing. You fucked me, and then, when you got what you wanted, looked me in the eyes, and told me you were seeing someone. You think that doesn’t sound like it was very well planned?”

His head turned fast. “That’s not fair.”

“Oh, sorry,” you said, teeth clenched. “Am I being unfair now?”

“You said you didn’t want anything serious.”

“I said I wasn’t ready,” you hissed. “Not that I didn’t care. It's not the same thing.”

"It felt the same!" he snapped, finally standing up. His voice was louder now, sharper. "You kept saying you liked your space, your freedom — that you didn’t need anyone. What the hell was I supposed to think, Y/N? You wanted me close but not too close. Wanted my heart but wouldn't give yours back."

Your eyebrows furrowed. "And you never gave me a chance to! You pulled away first. You decided I wasn’t worth waiting for."

“I waited,” he said, stepping closer. “I waited longer than you think. I kept hoping you’d just say something. Anything. That maybe one day you’d look at me and decide you wanted me the same way I wanted you. But you didn’t. You never did.”

“And so what?” you shot back. “You gave up? Just like that? You didn't even try.”

He let out a sharp laugh, bitter. "Try? I was the only one trying. You think getting you books that reminded me of you wasn’t trying? Showing up when you were stressed out, taking you for midnight rides, listening to your rants and to your silences — that wasn’t me trying?"

You stepped forward now too, close enough to see the wetness brimming in his eyes. “Then why’d you leave right after sleeping with me, Jaehyun? Why wait until after sex to tell me you were seeing someone?!”

“Because I didn’t know how to say goodbye to you!” he shouted, and his voice cracked. “Because if I’d told you before, you’d never have let me close. And I was fucking desperate to be close to you one last time. Is that what you want to hear?”

Your heart thundered in your chest. “So I was just a body to you? A goodbye fuck?”

“No!” he barked. “No, you were never just a body. Don’t you dare twist this.”

You shook your head, voice trembling now. “You didn’t just break my heart, Jaehyun. You made me feel disposable. Like all of that — everything — was only real for me.”

He stepped back, breathing hard. His hands were trembling. “It was real. All of it. That’s why it hurt so much to stay. I wanted more. I needed more. And you—” his voice cracked again, “—you didn’t.”

“And you couldn’t wait,” you said, voice low but fierce. “You couldn’t believe I’d eventually come around. You just had to run.”

“I couldn’t keep waiting for someone who never even asked me to!”

Silence fell over the both of you then, heavy and breathless. Neither of you moved.

He blinked, once, twice. Looked away, stepping away and rubbing one hand over his face. His voice, when it came, was quieter. “Shit. I didn’t mean to scream at you.”

You exhaled shakily, nodding. Your eyes were wet.

Another silence. One that said too much.

You sat down finally, feeling your legs shake beneath you. The bench was cold against your skin. A moment later, Jaehyun sat down too, but kept space between you.

“I saw you,” you said. “At the restaurant.”

He didn’t ask where. He didn’t ask when. “I didn’t know you’d be there,” he said softly.

“She touched your face like she knew it. Like it belonged to her.”

He looked at you, and his voice cracked when he said, “It doesn’t.”

You looked away. Your voice was quieter now. “Then why didn’t you come back?”

“I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“You could’ve asked.”

“I’m asking now,” he said.

And your heart stopped.

Just for a second — but it was enough. Enough to make the cold in your bones feel like fire. Enough to make your ribs ache from how tightly your lungs refused to expand.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Something behind your ribs was clenching too tight, too painfully. A wall you’d built so carefully trembling at the seams. Commitment had always tasted like surrender to you — and now it loomed in his eyes like a quiet plea.

He saw it. The hesitation. The panic flickering beneath your expression. Your lips parted like you were about to say something — but no words came.

Jaehyun’s eyes dropped. And when he spoke, there was no anger left in him. Only a tired sort of softness, laced with something that felt like resignation.

“Let me take you home,” he said.

You looked at him. At the slope of his shoulders. The way he didn’t reach for your hand this time.

And then you both stood. Side by side. Not quite touching.

And walked. The bus stop wasn't far but you decided to walk your way home, because part of you didn't want your time with him to come to an end. Because there was still so much left to say.

It was quiet at first. The city had started to slow down, the occasional bike passing by, distant chatter from someone’s open window. You watched your own breath cloud in front of you.

He was the one to speak first. “You still pulling all-nighters for anatomy?”

You jokingly rolled your eyes at the topic. "All-nighters? Please, I’ve become nocturnal. I am the night."

He chuckled, then glanced at you — the laughter fading quickly.

You glanced at him. “Still at the lab until midnight?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Most nights. It’s worse now. Deadlines stacked like hell.”

You nodded again. The silence returned, but it was different this time. Not cold. Just… tentative. He kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk. “Does your best friend think I’m an asshole?”

You let out a breath — the closest thing to a laugh you could manage. “She has her reasons.”

He looked over at you, something like a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Fair.”

The walk stretched into another few blocks. Comfortable conversation between you, catching up on what you missed in each other's lives in the last month. You didn’t say to turn left where you normally would because he knew his way to your place like it was his own. When you reached your building, he hesitated at the gate.

You opened the gate and turned back to look at his calm face, soft smile, and understanding eyes. And then he mumbled, "I'll see you around."

Three days later.

You didn’t mean to text him. You really didn’t.

You’d gone the whole day pretending you weren’t still thinking about that day. About the way his eyes watered slightly, just enough for you to notice, when he raised his voice at you for the first time. About the way he looked at you like he did when it all began. Just to whisper a low 'let me take you home' with hopeless eyes full of restraint as his hand didn't even come near yours during the walk, just to end up pulling away completely.

You could still feel it — the moment slipping between your fingers. The weight of his presence. The ache of everything unspoken.

And maybe, in the back of your mind, a quiet voice had already started to admit it: That it hadn’t just been him. That your inability to commit, your insistence on space and detachment, had pushed him into the arms of something simpler.

So when you found yourself standing in the kitchen, staring into the open fridge, your thumb moved without permission.

Y/N: do you remember the name of that noodle place you took me to once? the one with no sign and metal tables. near the station, I think.

You hit send. And instantly regretted it.

Not because it was too much — but because it was too obvious. Because you didn’t ask how he was, or say you missed him, or apologise. You asked about noodles. And yet, you knew both of you would read between every line.

He read it almost immediately. No typing bubble. Just silence.

Then finally:

Jaehyun: Seong’s. the place with the tiny stools and the broken heater.

You smiled — small, involuntary — because of course he remembered the heater. You’d both frozen your asses off that night and still stayed until they kicked you out. You were the last two people in the whole restaurant, gloved hands wrapped around tin bowls, breath fogging up the windows.

Y/N: yeah. I walked past the street today and thought of it. thought of you too.

You waited. This time, the typing bubble came almost immediately.

Jaehyun: I think about you more than I should. don't know what to do with it.

Your heart thumped once, then again — slow, painful, deliberate.

You sat down on the cold tile floor, back against the fridge, and typed slowly.

Y/N: I’m not really sure what I’m doing either. I hate how we left things. i feel like there are still a lot of things to say

Another pause. You thought he might back away now. That you’d pushed the door open too far.

But then:

Jaehyun: i still don't know where you stand on this are we gonna repeat the same cycle?

You blinked.

The quiet truth of it hit you somewhere low in the gut.

Y/N: I don’t know. I think maybe I already ruined it.

He took longer this time. But you waited. You waited because for once, this wasn’t about being right. It was about being honest.

Jaehyun: you didn't.

Your eyes burned suddenly. You tilted your head back against the cold door, blinking hard.

And then you typed:

Y/N: do you want to come over?

Another long pause. You imagined him — sitting on the edge of his bed, hand running through his hair, probably staring at your message like he was afraid it was a trick.

But then

Jaehyun: I’ll be there in twenty.

You locked your phone. Got up slowly. The fridge door still hung open, humming quietly behind you.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t feel quite so cold.

When the buzzer rang, your breath caught. You stood frozen for a second, eyes fixed on the door like you weren’t sure you were ready to open it.

But your feet moved anyway. The lock clicked. The door opened.

And there he was.

Jaehyun stood in the doorway, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair a little messy from the wind, eyes darker than usual beneath the yellow hallway light.

You stepped aside to let him in, wordless, and he brushed past you quietly, his shoulder grazing yours.

You didn’t expect the silence to feel this loud.

Jaehyun stood in the middle of your living room like he wasn’t sure if he should take his shoes off or leave altogether. His eyes flicked to the couch, then to the floor, then—finally—to you.

You’d never seen him look like that before. Not angry. Not cold. Just… unsure. The usually so relaxed, nonchalant guy didn't know what to do with himself.

You rubbed your arm absently, suddenly aware of the too-quiet air between you, of the slight tremble in your breath, of how small this space felt with him in it again.

“You can sit,” you said softly, not quite meeting his eyes. “If you want.”

He nodded once, then lowered himself to the edge of the couch like he was afraid of sinking too deep into anything.

You sat beside him.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, exactly. But it wasn’t easy, either. It was something else — like the space between you was fragile, waiting to be handled gently or shattered.

Your knees were barely brushing, and even that small contact made your skin feel too warm.

You glanced sideways at him. He was looking straight ahead, jaw tight, fingers laced together in his lap like he didn’t trust his hands.

“Can't believe that plant is still here,” he said quietly after a moment, looking at the dry flower you kept in your living room. “That same plant that’s always half dying.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “It’s resilient.”

“Or just neglected.”

That made you smile, a little. He didn’t.

When you turned toward him, your shoulder brushed his, and you could feel him tense beside you.

But you didn’t pull away, and neither did he.

Your eyes met.

And for a second, nothing else existed.

The room fell away. The city. The noise. The weeks. The girl he sat across from. The fear. The hesitation. The version of yourself you’d been clinging to that told you love was something you weren’t meant to hold.

None of that mattered in this breath.

You glanced at him. So many moments between you had burned, fizzled, slipped. And still, he was here. You had told yourself you didn’t need anyone. But right now, in this breathless quiet, you weren’t so sure. “I miss you,” you whispered.

It came out quieter than you meant it to — not dramatic, not even deliberate. Just honest.

He blinked. His jaw shifted, his lips parting slightly like he wasn’t sure if he should admit anything.

Then he said it.

“I never stopped missing you.”

You didn’t think. You just moved.

Your lips met in a crash of silence. There was no hesitance now — no soft lean-ins, no caution. Just heat. Raw, unfiltered heat.

The kiss stole the air from your lungs. It was gasping, hungry, too much and not enough all at once. Your hands gripped his shoulders like you were grounding yourself, his fingers already at your waist, pulling, tugging — desperate to be closer.

His mouth tasted like tension. Like weeks of withheld words and nights spent remembering the taste of you. He groaned into your mouth when your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to break his breath.

He pushed you back gently, just enough to lay you down against the couch. His body moved with yours like he remembered every angle, every breath, every whimper. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he pressed into you like he couldn’t bear even an inch of space.

Every touch was too much. Every brush of his lips down your neck was a plea. You arched into him when his hand slid under your shirt, fingertips skating up your ribs like he was rediscovering the lines of you. Your breath hitched. He paused.

"You sure?" he whispered, voice low and hoarse.

You nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Clothes came off in pieces, fumbled and frantic. His mouth never strayed far from yours. Every second without your lips felt like something was missing.

When he finally entered you, it was a slow, aching slide. A sound slipped from both of you — somewhere between relief and devastation.

You buried your face in his neck as he moved. Deep, steady, deliberate.

It wasn’t just sex. It was memory. It was longing. It was a silent scream of I’m still here.

His forehead pressed to yours, your lips brushing between every gasp. He whispered your name, almost crying it out, like it anchored him, like he was afraid he might lose you again if he didn’t say it enough.

You clenched around him, moaning brokenly into his mouth. “Jaehyun…”

“I know,” he breathed, his palm petting your messy hair. “I know.”

Your hands roamed every inch of his back, his shoulders, his chest — not like you were touching him for the first time, but like you were trying to memorise what you’d almost lost.

The world narrowed to the sound of your breaths, the slick rhythm of your bodies, the creak of the couch beneath you. The tears that slipped down your cheek weren’t from pain. Or pleasure.

They were from all the things you still couldn’t say.

And when you finally came — shuddering, clinging, whispering his name like a prayer — he followed with a broken groan against your throat.

Neither of you moved for a long time.

You stayed wrapped around each other, his arms around your waist, your fingers in his hair, your chest pressed to his.

There were no promises. No confessions.

Just breath.

Just skin.

Just this.

____

The room was now quiet and dark.

Your bodies had long since cooled from the heat, but neither of you had moved. The only light came from the streetlamp outside, flickering pale and golden through the blinds, casting slow-moving shadows across his bare chest, across your collarbone.

You lay half-draped over him, your arm on his stomach, your face near his neck. You could feel his heartbeat. It hadn’t fully steadied.

“Are we gonna talk about it?” you murmured.

Jaehyun didn’t move. “About the sex?”

You let out a soft laugh, nose brushing his jaw. “No, you idiot.”

“Because if we are,” he added, tilting his head with a playful grin, “ten out of ten. Would do again.”

You swatted his chest, a cheesy grin on your face. “Stop.”

He caught your wrist and pressed a lazy kiss to your knuckles. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”

You were quiet for a moment.

“This… us,” you said. “It’s not gonna work if wekeep being so stubborn. If we both keep wanting to be right all the time.”

He blinked. “Are you about to admit I was right?”

You groaned. “God, you’re the worst.”

He laughed — that low, quiet laugh he did when he was happy and didn’t want to show it.

But then you both fell silent again.

You shifted slightly, curling into him, your face burying deeper in the curve of his shoulder. “We don’t know how to compromise.”

Jaehyun nodded. “I think we both just want to be understood. And forget to try to understand the other.”

“And we never say sorry.”

“We say sorry with sex.”

“That does not count.”

“Feels like it counts,” he muttered. You elbowed him, and he grunted, grinning despite it.

“I mean it,” you said, softer now. “If we want this… to work… we have to actually want to work for it.” You didn’t say it out loud, but you knew that if this broke again, it would break differently. Deeper.

“I do,” he said, almost immediately. “Even when you drive me insane.”

You grinned, "I do too."

A beat passed. Then his voice, slightly different now:

“You know what also drove me insane?”

You looked up at him, your chin now resting on his chest. “What?”

“That guy you were with at the restaurant.”

You blinked, a teasing grin growing on your lips. “Oh god.”

“He looked like he used the word ‘delightful’ unironically,” Jaehyun rolled his eyes in playful annoyance.

You laughed. Loud and sudden. “He literally did! Like twice!”

Jaehyun made a face of mock agony. “See? I knew it. That guy was a menace.”

“You had no right to be that mad,” you said, smirking. “You were there with your perfect jawline and your cozy sweater and your little blonde wine-sipping mouth-wiper.”

“You’re impossible.”

You shrugged. “You started it.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “Did you kiss him?”

You tilted your head at him. “Would it ruin your night if I said yes?”

He narrowed his eyes, looking down at you with brows furrowed. “Did you?”

You paused dramatically, just to watch him squirm. Then: “No. I didn’t. I kept comparing him to you.”

“Poor guy,” Jaehyun murmured, laying his head back down, smug now. “He didn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re insufferable.” You tried to glare. It melted halfway into a smile. “What about her? What did you do to the girl,” you asked, afraid of what was to come after the question.

He shook his head. “Didn’t even hold her hand. It felt… off.”

"She seemed familiar, tho. Wiping your mouth and all that."

“Was she? Damn. Guess I was too busy trying not to choke on my wine while you played footsie with Discount Harry Styles,” he deadpanned, and you let out a surprised, loud laugh. And then, when you calmed down, "She could’ve wiped my whole face and I still wouldn’t have looked away from you.”

“First of all, it was one accidental tap. Second of all, he had great curls. You're just jealous of the curls.” You laughed together, both recognizing the teasing tone in your voice.

You both fell quiet again. But this time, it felt safe.

Then he asked — casually, like he was almost afraid of the answer — “So… what was it, really? Why did you push me away?”

Your breath caught a little.

You turned onto your side, facing him, the blanket loosely wrapped around your waist now, your arm across his chest.

“I think…” you started slowly, “I’ve just spent a long time pretending I don’t need anyone. It’s easier that way. Safer.”

He didn’t interrupt. Just watched you, his fingers tracing idle shapes on your hip.

“Every time something starts to feel real, my first instinct is to pull away. Not because I don’t care — but because I care too much. And that terrifies me.”

You swallowed.

“I get scared that if I let someone in, they’ll either want too much or leave. So I keep distance. I make jokes. I change the subject. I convince myself I’m better off alone. And then I hurt people without meaning to.”

Your voice cracked on the last part.

“I thought I was protecting myself. But I think I was just pushing away the one thing I wanted.”

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I’ve never wanted to be someone you're scared to love,” he said softly. “I just want to be someone who makes you feel safe. Even when you’re scared.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m still figuring it out,” you whispered.

“Okay,” he said. “We’ll figure it out together.”

And that was enough.

His lips found yours again — slow this time. No rush. No heat.

Just promise.

It wasn’t perfect. Not even close.

You still avoided your feelings when they got too big, falling into silence or forced jokes — still got scared of closeness, swallowed your feelings until your chest felt too tight, and said you were fine when you weren’t. And he still went quiet when something hurt, retreated behind his walls like silence might keep the peace and give him control of the situation, mistaking quiet for control. Years of emotional armor don’t just fall away because you finally say the things you were too afraid to say before. Not even with love. Especially not with love.

But now, you saw and understood each other.

He noticed when you started folding into yourself, even if you joked through it. He could read the tilt of your shoulder, the edge in your laugh, and knew when you were slipping beneath the surface. And he didn’t pull away anymore — he reached further. Even when you resisted, even when you said “don't insist.”. Now, he did insist.

And you stopped letting him disappear. You called him out when his messages got shorter or his eyes stopped meeting yours. You'd press, even when it turned into raised voices and late-night fights, even when he said “it’s nothing” four times in a row. You didn’t back off. Not anymore.

It was still messy. It still hurt sometimes. But you tried again.

There were two toothbrushes now. Two mugs permanently drying on the rack — yours chipped at the rim, his with fading math jokes printed on the side. A playlist you built together slowly, one song at a time. Your panties that always ended up in his drawers, his hoodie somehow always on yourchair. Texts that said “pick me up?” and replies that always said, “already outside”. Laughter — the kind that echoed off walls during burnt-toast mornings and grocery runs. Tiny arguments over dishes. Soft apologies whispered into skin. There were his arms around her waist while she brushed her teeth. Her fingers in his hair when he fell asleep on the couch mid-paper. Shared inside jokes.

And still, somehow — always — the heat. The fire.

It wasn’t just comfort. It wasn’t just routine. It was hunger, still — the kind that burned hot and fast when their eyes met across a room. The kind that had them tearing at each other’s clothes like they’d been starving. Had them tangled in sheets and gasping against doorframes like they couldn’t get close enough, bodies fitting like they were made for each other. It was his hands on her hips like he remembered every inch. It was her mouth at his neck, like she needed to leave a mark. It was hunger, still, for every version of each other. Familiar and feverish. Known and new.

But more than the heat, it was this: they didn’t leave when it got hard. They didn’t weaponize silence. They sat in the discomfort. Asked the hard questions. Stayed up too late whispering truths that hurt but mattered. They didn’t walk away.

Instead, they learned how to stay.

They weren’t perfect. But they were learning how to be soft with each other. How to fight fair. How to ask the hard questions and stay in the room even when the answers hurt. How to build something that felt like safety — not because it was easy, but because it was chosen.

And somehow — in the mess, in the noise, in the rhythm they rebuilt from the wreckage — they had become each other’s peace. Each other’s storm. Each other’s fire.