#sanxreader

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.

Hongjoong didn’t even look up from his own phone, though his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He remained unnervingly calm. "She's mad because I forgot that specific, limited-edition book she asked me to pick up in London. I know I heard her, and I know she reminded me about a dozen times, but it completely slipped my mind in the chaos of the airport."

Seonghwa sighed, shaking his head. "She's been talking about that book for weeks. You know how she gets when you forget something important, especially when she’s been looking forward to it."

From the kitchen, the sounds of your anger escalated. You were aggressively preparing a cup of coffee, the metal spoon clinking violently against the ceramic mug. You marched back out, clutching the steaming cup, and slammed it down onto the coffee table with a thud, hot liquid sloshing over the rim. You didn’t say a word, but your eyes locked onto Hongjoong’s with a fierce, burning intensity. You glared at him, your chest heaving slightly, before you turned on your heel and stomped back down the hallway, leaving the two men in a deafening silence.

Seonghwa watched you go, his expression shifting from concern to pure bewilderment. He leaned closer to Hongjoong, keeping his voice strictly hushed. "Are you going to do something about this? She looks ready to burn the place down. How are you planning to fix it?"

Hongjoong finally looked up, offering a casual, almost smug shrug of his shoulders. "I already ordered it online yesterday. It’s supposed to arrive by courier tomorrow morning."

Seonghwa blinked, surprised. "Wait, so you fixed it? Did you tell her? Does she know it’s coming?"

Hongjoong shook his head slowly, his eyes fixed on the doorway where you had vanished. "Not yet."

"Why not?" Seonghwa pressed, genuinely baffled by his leader's strategy. "Why let her stay this mad if you already solved the problem?"

Hongjoong didn't get the chance to answer. You stormed past them again, your coffee cup now empty, headed back toward the bedroom. You didn't acknowledge them, but your icy demeanor remained firmly in place, sending a clear message that the grudge was very much active.

Once you had rounded the corner and the sound of your bedroom door slamming shut echoed through the hallway, Hongjoong finally relaxed his posture. A slow, mischievous smirk tugged at the corners of his lips as he turned his attention back to his bandmate. He leaned back into the cushions, looking far too pleased for a man currently in the doghouse.

"You really don't get it, do you, Hwa?" Hongjoong murmured, his eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and genuine affection. He sighed softly, shaking his head as if he were letting Seonghwa in on a secret. "She is just incredibly hot when she’s mad like that. I honestly wouldn't mind letting her stay angry for a little while longer."

Seonghwa

The front door clicked open, and the sound of your heels clicking against the entryway floor was the signal Seonghwa had been dreading for the last hour. He sat on the edge of the sofa, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He had tried to be helpful, really, he had. You had left your favorite silk dress in the washer, and he thought he’d save you the trouble by moving it to the dryer before you got home.

Except, in his haste, he hadn’t checked the label. He’d cranked the heat up high, and by the time he realized his mistake, the damage was already done.

You walked into the living room, your face softening the moment you saw him. You leaned down, pressing a sweet, unsuspecting kiss to his cheek. "Hey, baby," you chirped, your voice bright. "Did you manage to pull my dress out of the dryer? I’m hoping to wear it tonight for dinner."

Seonghwa felt the blood drain from his face. He forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and nodded slowly. "Yeah. It's... it’s out."

"You're a lifesaver," you said, beaming at him before turning toward the laundry room.

Seonghwa held his breath, bracing himself. He didn't have to wait long. A sharp, guttural scream erupted from the back of the house, followed by the distinct sound of a hanger clattering against the wall. He flinched, his shoulders hunching up toward his ears.

A moment later, you stormed back into the living room, a crumpled, shrunken piece of fabric held aloft in your grip like a crime scene piece of evidence. You looked like you were vibrating with fury.

"Explain this," you demanded, your voice trembling with rage as you thrust the mangled dress toward his face. "Seonghwa, please, just tell me how this happened."

He stood up slowly, keeping his hands raised in a placating gesture. "I... I wasn't as attentive as I should have been. I’m so sorry, I didn't think about the fabric type—"

"You didn't think?" You cut him off, your voice rising into a sharp, incredulous shout. "This is my absolute favorite dress! I told you specifically how much I love this, and now it’s ruined. It looks like a doll's outfit! How could you be so careless?"

You continued to rant, your arms gesturing wildly. As you paced in front of him, letting out your frustration, Seonghwa found himself momentarily distracted. He watched the way your cheeks flushed a deep, vibrant red, contrasting beautifully with the fire in your eyes. He noticed the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, your breathing ragged from the intensity of your anger. A strange, undeniable spark flared in his chest; there was something undeniably captivating about the way you held your ground, completely unafraid to let him have it.

A small, genuine smile—completely involuntary—began to spread across his lips.

You stopped dead in your tracks, your eyes narrowing into slits. "Are you... are you seriously laughing at me right now?"

The smirk vanished instantly. Seonghwa’s expression turned deathly serious, though the ghost of that smile still tugged at the corners of his mouth. "No. No, I’m not laughing. I’m very sorry, I—"

His mouth twitched. He bit down on his lower lip hard, trying to force his face back into a mask of contrition, but the amusement was still dancing in his eyes.

You stared at him in utter disbelief, your mouth agape. "You are laughing! You think this is funny?"

Without another word, you balled up the ruined silk and threw it at his chest. It hit him softly, sliding down his torso before landing on the floor. You turned on your heel, your hair whipping around with the force of your movement, and stormed off toward the bedroom. The door slammed behind you with a finality that made the floorboards vibrate.

Seonghwa stood alone in the quiet living room. He slowly reached down and picked up the shrunken dress, the fabric still warm from the machine. He watched the hallway where you had disappeared, his thumb absentmindedly tracing the edge of the ruined hem. He bit his lip again, a soft, breathless laugh finally escaping him.

"Well," he whispered to the empty room, his eyes dark with a mix of guilt and lingering admiration. "I certainly didn't expect that."

Yunho

The late afternoon sun was streaming through the curtains, casting a warm, golden glow over the living room, but the atmosphere inside felt anything but warm. You stood in the center of the room, blinking against the light, your head throbbing with the disorienting, heavy fog of a two-hour nap.

"I told you," you snapped, your voice rough with sleep and sharpened by genuine irritation. "I specifically asked for thirty minutes, Yunho. Just thirty! And now look at the time. It’s nearly sunset. Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be for me to fall asleep tonight?"

Yunho sat on the edge of the sofa, looking up at you with a sheepish expression. He looked genuinely guilty, though his explanation sounded flimsy at best. "I know, I know, I’m so sorry. I honestly didn't mean to lose track of time. It’s just... that episode of Kitchen Nightmares was so intense! Gordon Ramsay was tearing into that chef, and I got so sucked into the drama that I completely forgot to check the clock."

"I don't care about the kitchen, or the drama, or the chef!" you whined, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "I’m going to be a complete zombie tomorrow. I have that meeting, and now I’m going to be dragging myself around like a wreck because you couldn't be bothered to set an alarm."

You let out a frustrated huff, pacing back and forth before stopping to rake your fingers through your messy, sleep-tousled hair. You sighed deeply, a sound of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Yunho’s expression shifted. As he watched you—the way your hair fell wildly around your face, the sound of your frustrated whines, and the way your body language radiated such raw, unfiltered fire—his guilt began to be overshadowed by a different, much more potent feeling. He leaned back, tilting his head to the side, his eyes darkening as he took you in. He didn't just look at you; he studied you, his gaze dragging slowly from your head to your toes, lingering on your flushed, tired face.

You caught him in the act. The way his focus shifted made your skin prickle, though not entirely from anger this time. "Don't look at me like that," you muttered, narrowing your eyes. "It’s your fault I look like this, so you don't get to stand there and look at me like I’m some kind of entertainment."

Yunho let out a low, melodic chuckle that vibrated in the small space between you. He stood up, towering over you, and closed the distance. "I’m not looking at you like that because you're tired," he said, his voice dropping into a teasing, husky register. "I’m looking at you because, even when you're fuming and sleep-deprived, you look absolutely gorgeous."

You rolled your eyes, though you could feel your cheeks heating up for a different reason now. "Oh, stop it. I’m serious, Yunho. I am really, really mad at you. You ruined my sleep schedule."

He didn't back down. Instead, he reached out, pouting his lower lip in a mock-apologetic way that made your heart skip a beat despite your best efforts to stay firm. He leaned in, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your cheek before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you into a tight, warm hug.

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear, and whispered, "If you're worried about not being tired enough to sleep... I might have a few ideas on how we can burn off that extra energy."

You groaned, the sound caught somewhere between a protest and a surrender. You pushed against his chest, trying to maintain some space, though his grip remained firm. "You are disgusting," you muttered, though the bite in your tone had long since vanished.

Yunho just chuckled, pulling you closer, his eyes dancing with mischief as he waited to see if you would finally give in.

Yeosang

The kitchen counter was already a disaster zone of flour, mixing bowls, and half-opened ingredient packets. You had been waiting for Yeosang to return from the grocery store for the better part of an hour, and the moment the front door clicked shut, you were at his side, eager to finish the birthday cake for your friend.

Yeosang set the bags on the island, his movements a little more deliberate than usual. You started pulling out the items, checking them off your mental list, until your hand hit the bottom of the bag. You rummaged through, moving aside the sugar and the food coloring, but your heart sank.

"Yeosang? Where’s the black fondant?" you asked, looking up at him.

He hesitated, his eyes flickering toward the window before settling on your face. "The store was out of it," he said, his voice a little too smooth, a little too rehearsed.

You squinted at him, narrowing your eyes. You knew that tone; you knew that slight tilt of his head. "You’re lying."

Yeosang sighed, his shoulders slumping as he realized the jig was up. "Okay, fine. There was only one package left on the shelf. But this elderly lady reached for it at the same time, and she seemed so sweet—she told me it was for her nephew’s birthday—so I just… I couldn't be rude. I let her have it."

You stared at him in utter disbelief, your jaw dropping slightly. "Are you kidding me? Yeosang, have you lost your mind? We need that for the decorations! You’re the one baking with me, you know this!"

"She was really sweet, though," he protested, trying to defend his soft heart. "She even showed me a picture of the boy—"

"She was probably lying to trick you!" you snapped, your frustration finally boiling over. You started pacing the small kitchen floor. "Yeosang, you are constantly too nice to everyone. You let people walk all over you, and then you get tricked every single time. It’s exhausting! You have to start learning how to speak up, how to say no, and how to look out for yourself instead of being the neighborhood saint."

Yeosang frowned, his brow furrowing as he tried to defend his nature. "It’s not like I get tricked all the time—"

"You absolutely do!" you interrupted, huffing as you grabbed a bowl and shoved it toward the sink. "Now I have to improvise, and the cake isn't going to look like anything I planned. Everything is ruined because you couldn't tell a little old lady 'no'."

You went on a tear, lecturing him with a level of passion and confidence that made the air in the room feel heavy. You pointed a flour-dusted finger at him, listing every instance where his kindness had backfired, your eyes flashing with annoyance.

But as he watched you, Yeosang’s defensiveness began to melt away. He stood perfectly still, his eyes locked onto your face. There was something undeniably magnetic about the way you stood your ground, the way your voice took on that commanding, authoritative edge. The sheer intensity of your lecture, the way your hair was slightly disheveled and your cheeks were flushed with irritation—it was doing something to his pulse. He found himself mesmerized by the way your mind worked, by how tough and unyielding you were in this moment.

"You're right," he said quietly, his voice dropping an octave. "I really should listen to you."

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden compliance. "I—yes, you should. Because I’m usually right about these things."

"You are," he agreed, a small, knowing smirk playing on his lips. "You’re so smart. And tough. It’s… actually pretty attractive."

You frowned, your hand still hovering over the counter. "Stop that. Don't try to compliment me just to get out of trouble when I’m mad at you."

Yeosang chuckled, a low, smooth sound that only served to frustrate you more. He stepped into your personal space, his gaze intensifying. "I can't help it. You look so good when you’re lecturing me like that."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't stop the heat rising to your cheeks. You shoved a bag of flour into his chest. "Move your ass and stop flirting. If you ruined my plans, you’re going to help me fix this mess."

He caught the bag, his smirk widening as he stepped up to the counter. "Yes, ma'am."

San

The notification sound on your phone was becoming the soundtrack to your frustration. Ding. Another shirtless gym selfie from San on his story, captioned with a casual, lazy emoji. It was the third one today.

When he finally sauntered into the living room, still looking far too fresh after his workout, you were already pacing. You didn't even look at him as you tossed your phone onto the sofa.

"Another one, San?" you snapped, your voice tight. "Do you really need to show the entire world your abs every single time you step into the gym? It’s relentless."

San paused, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel before tossing it aside. He looked entirely unbothered, even slightly amused. "It’s just fanservice, babe. It’s part of the job. It really doesn't mean anything to me."

You turned to face him, crossing your arms over your chest. Your lip jutted out in a stubborn pout. "It means something to them! I feel like I have to share you with thousands of people every single day. I see the comments, I see the edits... it doesn’t help my mood, San."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and took a step toward you. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering. "You know you’re the only one who actually gets to touch me, right? Everyone else is just looking at a screen. You’re the one who gets the real thing."

You shoved his shoulder, though your heart wasn't really in the violence of the push. "That doesn't make it any better! It’s not just the pictures. Even when we go out, I see the way girls look at you. It’s constant, and it pisses me off. It’s like I’m constantly on guard, defending my territory."

San’s eyes glinted with a dangerous, playful spark. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing, velvety whisper. "If you’re worried about territory, why don’t you just lick me in public? That would certainly send a message."

You rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt. "You are not funny. That is not a suggestion, that is a nightmare."

"I’m just trying to offer solutions," he said, though the smirk playing on his lips betrayed his sincerity.

"Stop smirking like that!" you shouted, your frustration bubbling over. "I am trying to have a serious conversation about my boundaries and my feelings, and you’re acting like this is a game."

He did stop, his expression smoothing out, but that smug glint remained in his eyes. He seemed genuinely flustered, perhaps even a bit excited by the sight of you so worked up. "I am taking it seriously. But you have to admit, seeing you get this jealous over me... it’s not exactly easy to stay stoic."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you muttered, brushing past him with a huff. The tension in your shoulders was unbearable, and you felt like you were going to explode if you didn't get away from his infuriatingly calm demeanor. "I’m going to shower. And stay out of there, unless you want me to bite your head off."

You marched toward the bathroom, your heels clicking sharply against the tile. You were already reaching for the door handle when you heard his footsteps trailing right behind you.

"Why don't I just join you?" he asked, his voice now thick with that familiar, predatory playfulness.

You spun around, glaring at him with every ounce of willpower you had left. "Are you deaf? I told you I’m still very mad at you!"

San didn't look deterred in the slightest. He leaned against the doorframe, a low, frustrated groan rumbling in his chest as he took in your flushed, angry face. A hungry, intense look took over his features, and he gave you a slow, deliberate nod.

"Even better," he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous, promise-filled rasp.

Mingi

The walk from the front door to the living room was marked by the rhythmic, squelching sound of your soaked shoes against the floorboards. You were shivering, your hair plastered to your neck in dark, heavy strands, and every muscle in your body felt tight with cold and irritation. Mingi was trailing behind you, his hands hovering uselessly at his sides as he tried to find the words to mitigate the disaster.

You didn’t give him the chance. With a sharp, aggressive movement, you peeled off your sodden jacket. It was heavy with rainwater, and you didn't hesitate to toss it directly at his chest. It landed with a wet thud against him, and he caught it instinctively, his expression crumpled with guilt.

"Fifteen minutes, Mingi," you snapped, your voice shaking slightly, though not just from the chill. "Fifteen minutes I spent standing on that platform in the pouring rain. I was freezing, I was miserable, and I had no idea if you were even coming."

Mingi shifted, looking down at his boots before meeting your eyes. "I know, I’m so sorry. I swear, it wasn't on purpose. We were working on the bridge for the new choreography, and I just—I got so distracted, I lost track of everything. I didn't even realize how much time had passed until I looked at my phone and saw your missed calls."

"I don't care about the choreography!" you shouted, gesturing wildly to the water dripping from your hair. "I care that I’m standing here soaking wet and shivering because you couldn't be bothered to set a simple alarm."

You looked down, your eyes widening as the reality of your state finally hit you. Your thin white blouse was completely saturated, clinging to your skin like a second layer and becoming entirely transparent. You felt humiliated and exposed, the cold air hitting your skin through the wet fabric. You looked up at Mingi, your eyes blazing.

"Look at me," you commanded, gesturing to your drenched form. "Do you see this? I look like I just stepped out of a wet t-shirt contest. I am humiliated, I’m freezing, and it is entirely your fault."

Mingi’s eyes dropped from your face, trailing slowly down your torso. His breath hitched, and his entire demeanor shifted. The guilt in his eyes was rapidly being replaced by a dark, intense heat. His gaze was heavy, lingering on every curve that the water had so blatantly revealed. He didn't even try to hide it; he stood there, watching you with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly smaller and much, much warmer. He let out a low, involuntary groan, his hands tightening around the wet jacket he was still holding.

Your face twisted in disgust as you realized exactly where his focus had landed. "Pervert," you hissed.

You grabbed the decorative pillow from the armchair and hurled it at him with all your remaining strength. It struck him square in the chest, but he barely seemed to notice. "You’re a pig, Mingi!"

You didn't wait for him to try and justify his staring. You stormed past him, your shoulder clipping his as you marched toward your bedroom. The cold water was still dripping onto the floor, but you were far more concerned with getting out of these clothes and putting as much distance as possible between you and his lecherous gaze.

"Hey," Mingi called out, his voice deeper than usual, laced with a mix of genuine worry and something much more primal. "Do you… do you need help getting out of those? I can get you a towel, or—"

His offer was cut short by the sound of your bedroom door slamming with enough force to make the pictures on the walls vibrate. You left him standing there in the middle of your living room, the damp jacket still clutched in his grip, staring at the shut door with a look of lingering, frustrated desire.

Wooyoung

The morning light filtered into the apartment, but it did nothing to brighten your mood. You had spent the better part of the night staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled shouts and aggressive button-mashing coming from the living room as Wooyoung played games with his friends until the early hours of the morning.

When he finally emerged, looking perfectly rested and infuriatingly cheerful, you didn't hold back. You confronted him immediately, and while he offered a quick, superficial apology, his tone was dismissive. When you pushed back, his defensive wall went up, and his demeanor shifted into something sharp and combative.

"You’re always doing this," you snapped, your patience worn thin. "It’s like living with a toddler who has no concept of boundaries or volume. You act like such a brat, Wooyoung, and I am over it."

He rolled his eyes so far back into his head they nearly disappeared.

"Don't you dare roll your eyes at me," you warned, your voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. You turned your back on him to walk toward the kitchen, your irritation still fueling your stream of consciousness. "Honestly, the lack of respect is just unbelievable. I told you I had an early morning, but apparently, your win-loss ratio in a game is more important than your girlfriend being able to function like a human being. It’s pathetic, really."

As you ranted, you didn't see his face, but you could hear the smirk in his voice as he began to mimic your movements, pulling a ridiculous, mocking face behind your back. He contorted his features, widening his eyes and pursing his lips in a silent, taunting imitation of you.

You stopped in your tracks, glancing at the hallway mirror in front of you. You saw the entire performance reflected perfectly.

You spun around, your eyes flashing. "There is a fucking mirror right in front of me, you idiot! I can see exactly what you're doing."

Wooyoung froze, his mouth hanging open for a fraction of a second before he simply said, "Oh."

You marched back toward him, invading his personal space until he was backed against the wall. "Let me be crystal clear, Wooyoung. Do not mess with my sleep schedule again. If you think I’m annoying now, just wait. If I don't get my rest, I will become your absolute worst nightmare. You have no idea what I’m capable of when I’m exhausted and irritable."

Instead of looking intimidated, a slow, predatory smirk crept across his face. He looked you up and down, his eyes dark with amusement. "You know... I really like it when you’re angry like this."

You bristled, your chest heaving with indignation. "Keep acting like this, and I promise you, I’m going to get even angrier. I’m not playing, Wooyoung."

He nodded, leaning in slightly as if encouraging you to continue. "It’s actually very hot, you know. When you get all bossy and start making threats? It’s a great look on you."

You stared at him in utter disgust, your face heating up with a mix of genuine rage and disbelief. "You are twisted. Seriously, something is wrong with you. Keep pushing me, and I swear, I’m going to suffocate you with a pillow tonight while you’re sleeping."

Wooyoung’s expression brightened, and his smile became wide and blindingly genuine. He didn't even blink at the threat; instead, he laughed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. "Is that right? Well, I’m all in for new kinks, babe. Whenever you’re ready."

Jongho

The front door clicked shut behind you, sealing out the noise of the city, but it did nothing to quiet the storm raging inside your chest. You tossed your purse onto the entryway table with a resounding thud, still vibrating with the remnants of the argument you’d just had at the bakery.

"I still can’t believe her," you muttered, pacing the small hallway. "She had the audacity to push right in front of me like I didn't exist! And then she had the nerve to act like I was the one being difficult when I called her out. It was infuriating, Jongho!"

Jongho simply stood by the door, hanging up his coat with his usual, infuriatingly steady rhythm. He looked entirely unbothered, his expression smooth and calm as a lake. "People can be entitled sometimes. It wasn't worth the stress, though."

You spun around to face him, your eyes narrowing. "That’s it? That’s all you have to say? You were standing right there, and you didn't say a word! You just watched me handle it alone."

Jongho sighed, keeping his voice low and measured. "What were you expecting me to do, exactly? It’s a bakery line. We got our bread, we left. It’s over."

"I expected you to stand up for me!" you snapped, your voice rising in pitch. "You could have defended me, or at least shown a little bit of support instead of just standing there like a statue. It’s always like this—you’re so composed, so damn chill, while I’m the one out here losing my mind over the smallest things. Do you ever feel anything, or is it all just logic with you?"

He looked at you, a small, knowing chuckle escaping his lips. He moved closer, leaning against the doorframe with an air of relaxed confidence that only served to fuel your fire. "I think it works out, honestly. We balance each other perfectly. You’re the fire, and I’m the one who makes sure we don't actually burn the house down. It’s a good system."

Your breath hitched. "A 'system'? Is that all we are? And what is that supposed to mean, anyway? Are you saying I’m too emotional?"

He shook his head quickly, his expression softening, though that maddeningly calm glint remained in his eyes. "That’s not what I said, and you know it. You’re just passionate. I like that about you."

You didn't want to hear it. You let out an angry huff and marched into the bathroom, grabbing your hairbrush with a grip so tight your knuckles turned white. You started yanking the brush through your hair, the motion sharp and erratic as you continued your tirade.

"You’re just a rock," you grumbled, half to yourself and half to his reflection in the mirror. "You have no heart, no reaction, no pulse. You just watch me get worked up and you stand there like you’re observing a weather pattern. It’s honestly exhausting being with someone so… unbothered."

Jongho didn't move. He stayed right where he was, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. He watched you intently, his gaze heavy and focused, tracking every movement of your hand and every flicker of annoyance on your face. He didn't interrupt; he didn't offer any more logical justifications.

Instead, he watched you with a look of quiet, intense fascination. As you continued to ramble, your movements became more animated, your passion spilling out into every word. He began to bite his lower lip, his eyes darkening as he watched the flush crawl up your neck.

He didn't seem to hear a single word of your insults. He simply stood there, clearly enjoying the sight of your unbridled energy.

being the oldest of her three siblings, and all of the cousins yn had naturally always felt a sense of responsibility growing up, no one had asked her to do it, it was just ingrained in her bones. one might see this as a good thing, and it was, she was always there for people always had a shoulder for anyone to lean on, but this faltered when it came to herself.

she never meant it to be like this, but in the midst of her helping her siblings she had forgotten to take care of herself and now here she was, not willing to lean on anyone and figuring out things on her own.

she and san had been friends since before he debuted and had always been close with the rest of the boys as well. 

usually yn was able to hold herself up through the darkest periods of her life, like when her grandmother died, she had played a huge role in all of her siblings' lives, she helped her siblings through the grief and pain of losing her. 

somehow she didn't seem to realize that her family was taking advantage of her kindness, her support. once she moved out, hardly any of them kept in contact with her, only coming to her if they needed help. she didn't know how or why it happened but they just grew apart

she knew that her family wanted nothing to do with her, her mother calling just to tell her how ungrateful she was to move away from them though she never said it to any of her other siblings when they did the same, she knew that her mother just didn't like her she knew all this, she just didn't want to accept it

It hurt to accept it, to know that the people who you were there for ignoring you completely, maybe she expected it from her mother, but not her siblings but she had brainwashed as well, she had convinced them to think that they had nothing to do with yn.

since it had been a long time since she had talked to any of her family, most days she had forgotten about the dispute going on with them. 

she held herself up when she was losing herself, trying to go day by day, fighting the demons inher head, she pulled herself up from the darkness. not because she wanted to, but because she knew that no one else would do it for her so she somehow willed herself to do so and she did it, she proved to herself that she didn’t need anyone and closed herself off completely, 

most days she was able to handle whatever was thrown at her, 

today was not most days

today just kept on kicking her down, not one thing was going good for her 

she woke up late, bumped her head on the bedside table as she woke up, when she got to work, the boss yelled at her for what seemed like hours because of her being late and in the hurry forgetting her laptop which had a presentation she needed to show today to some clients which in turn getting yelled at even more, her so called ‘friends’ from work seemed extra rude, her phone died in the middle of the day, and she just wanted to go home and have a quiet night to herself to recover from today's events 

but no, the universe decided to throw another curveball at her just as she was a few minutes away from her drive home, she got a call from her youngest sister

she picked it up, expecting her sister to want something from her, what she didn't expect her to be doing was sobbing her eyes out while trying to tell her something that she could understand nothing. 

yn pulled up on the side of the road, calming her sister down, panicking a little herself for wanting to know what was going on

that's when she heard it, oh how she wished she didn't, how she wished it was something else that she could her but the two words that came out of her sister's mouth were all that haunt d her all the way home 

'mom died' was all she heard and then just the wailing of her little sister, she didn't even realize when but she hung up the phone and started driving again 

even if her mom was terrible to her after she had moved out, she still loved her to death, she didn’t want to believe it. 

she couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it, the entire ride back to her house was a mixture of shock and numbness.

------

san was in yns living room, sitting on the couch, waiting for her to come home.

he had made some ramen for himself an hour ago and was sitting with his hand on his stomach, satisfied with the meal.

This is how it was like some days, san just showing up to her house, letting himself in with the spare keys he had, that's what happens when you've been friends for so long. he would always inform yn that he was coming over before he left from his own house, shooting her a text

it was around 9 when he heard the rustling of keys from the other side of the door signaling that yn was home. around the time he had expected her to come, what he didn't expect was her walking in like a zombie and go straight to her room, not even acknowledging the man in her living room, a distant look in her eyes.

knowing yn for so many years, he has never seen her like this, she's always been the rock between them, always there whenever san needed a pick me up, he had not once seen her this down, so he knew that there must be something going on. 

he slowly went towards her room and heard sniffles coming from across the closed door and his heart broke. he knew yn was strong, but she was closed off and she didn't like to show her emotions but it broke him to think that she was battling demons on her own. 

he knocked softly on the door in front of him "yn? honey can I come in?' he asked and heard the sniffles stop for a few seconds, but nothing more. he sighed thinking of what to do next 

so he quickly ran to the kitchen, making some ramen plus some add-ins, similar to what he had had earlier to give to yn since he was sure she hadn't had anything since she had come straight from work.

----

after I came home, i just went straight to my room, the words my sister told me haunting my brain. 

i heard a soft knock on my bedroom door, and realized it was san. in the midst of all this, i didn't even realize that he was here. he asked if I was fine but I didn't have the energy to say anything, so I didn't. some time later he knocked again and entered with some ramen, multiple side dishes and a glass of water. 

"i don't need to know what happened but I do need to make sure that you eat, so here you go." he said, placing the tray on my nightstand.

"but just so you know, if you need to talk, I'm here for you." he said with a smile as he sat on the bed.

before he could say anything else, i hugged him, my head finding the crook of his neck, he wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me under his huge frame.

Every fiber of my body yelled at me to not show my vulnerability but i didn’t have it in me anymore, to hide from people who wanted to help, especially san.

when I felt the warmth radiating off him, i couldn't help but burst into tears, the stress of it all coming all out at once, being neglected, work stress, being strong for all those years and finally, finding out about mom

"you've been strong for too long, it's okay to break, cause I'll be there to pick up the pieces." he said into my hair as we stayed there however long i needed to.

credits: divider @saradika

8 years ago - 17 years old 

A quiet voice broke the silence of the night, "Eunbyeol." San whispered as he softly shook the girl’s shoulder. This tactic work as the young girl’s eyes opened immediately and her head rose from the table that she had been laying down on.  

"Mhhmm?" she mumbled, looking around and upon seeing San's face realized that she was still in the bakery. 

"I'm finished." San smiled, his eyes sparkling that moment too and Eunbyeol couldn’t help but flushed at the sight of it. He pulled her up from the chair, his hand lingering around hers a little until he was sure that she stood steadily on her feet. "I'm finished with the cake. Sorry, it took so long." 

The clock above the shelf on the wall told her that it was already past midnight. The summer night behind the small, cracked windows seemed darker when she thought about her father wondering where she was and why she wasn't home yet. He was more or likely freaking out; however, at the same time assuming she was with San-which she was. 

It never was really that hard to get her parents to like San. Them meeting him when he was ten to now as a teenager helped a lot, too as they saw San as just another one of their child. It was a mutual feeling with his parents to Eunbyeol herslef. 

She followed behind the much taller San now. She remembered when he was almost one of the shortest one out of his friends. Now, it just seemed as if he would never stop growing. She looked at where his hand was gesturing and saw the wide stainless steel table in the middle of the kitchen. 

Eunbyeol then witnessed the messy kitchen; there were bowls and knives spread all over the counter, and the table dotted with different substances. However, right in the middle of the silver and powdered table stood the beautiful round cake San had been working on for the past hours. She then thought about how something so perfect appeared so oddly placed in the middle of the chaos. 

Eunbyeol could see the pride in San’s eyes as he ushered her eagerly towards the table. He held her hand again, pulling her once more towards what she thought was his most prized possession that moment.  

She stared up at him and witnessed how he was still wearing the two white bunny pins in his hair that he used to keep his bangs from blocking his view; one on each side. She had given them to him when they were ten when she noticed that his fringes were bothering him while he baked with his dad. She couldn’t believe he still had them even after seven years later. The gesture alone made her heart swell. 

Eunbyeol inspected the cake in greater detail. It was a simple one-layer Decadent Fudge Cake which she assumed featured a rich, dark chocolate overlay that was frosted with velvety chocolate ganache. She saw that he also added strawberry toppings as well which may have seemed off; but for some reason didn’t. San had once said to her that everything was allowed when baking, as long as people enjoyed it. The phrase quickly became his one and only rule.  

Sometimes he would take his father's recipes and create something completely different out of it. Often it wasn't even the taste but just the visual. He would put sprinkles somewhere they shouldn't be or put an extra layer on top just to make the cake bigger or put color on anything that was white. His cakes were fun because he had fun making them and that was evident by the end result. Yet, no matter how wild and carefree he was or in what disastrous state the kitchen was afterward, whatever creation he had composed seemed perfect. At least in her eyes. 

"So what do you think?" The sunshine boy inquired, eager to hear what his best friend had to say about his cake.  

"It looks fantastic." Eunbyeol responded, straightening herself before looking at him. 

"Really?" He skeptically examined the cake again. The thing was that no matter how excellent Eunbyeol thought San’s cakes were, he was always unsure whether to believe her completely or not. He once stated that she was just being biased and too kind to say something critical because they were friends. To his parents, he said that they naturally always thought whatever he made was great as they were his parents, and it was their job to always be on his side. 

"It is." Eunbyeol's finger stroked the sketches he had made while planning the cake. His notebook was full of experiments, results of several tastings scribbled on the sides, drawings and words sometimes erased by colorful splatters. His sketches usually looked very different from the outcome because he didn't have to mind physics when he drew whatever his head had bred. But this time the cake and the sketch looked exactly the same. Everything down to the random strawberry on the top had been planned in detail. "It will sell out in no time." She smiled. 

San mumbled, "Well, I'm not so sure about that." It was the first time a cake he had made completely by himself, without any help from his parents, would be sold in the bakery. He wasn’t sure if anyone would find it appetizing enough to even look at and be interested. 

"I'm definite. It's wonderful, you did a great job, Choi San." Eunbyeol patted his arm encouragingly and smiled despite her sleepiness. 

San chuckled and looked down at the stains covering his apron and white shirt, he had made much more of a mess than he had anticipated, especially since he had sworn his parents to work cleaner this time. "Better than my dad?" he joked, but Eunbyeol took it as a genuine question when she turned away to think. 

"Yes." She nodded, very sure of her answer. San took a step back and stared at her, waiting for her expression to change and show that she had been kidding; however, her expression never changed. They stared at each other for a long time before Eunbyeol finally looked away, breaking the tensions that were building up between them. I cleared her throat, suddenly feeling somewhat shy.

"But don't tell your father, I don't want him to get sad," she said afterwards. San laughed and removed the clips from his hair, putting them in a dish by the door. 

"Got it," he answered, still snickering when he collected the dirty bowls and utensils he had used. Eunbyeol was satisfied with herself seeing him laugh and she took a moment to appreciate the sight of him happily traveling around the kitchen before she moved in to help him clean also. 

The air tasted crisp when the two stepped out of the bakery and into the warm summer night. Soundlessly, they turned towards the direction of the nearest bus stop. It was almost dawn now, with barely anyone out on the streets. Eunbyeol almost couldn’t believe how long they stayed at the bakery; but pushed it to the side as this was not the first time they’ve done this.  

Outside felt like one of those early mornings where you got the odd sensation that you were the only person in the world. Where you could scream and shout and no one would hear you because everything and everyone laid in shadows. 

San took a deep breath because it smelt like it was going to rain soon. He snuck a glance at his longtime friend, who was fighting hard to stay awake now. Her shoulders were slouched, and her body seesawed like she could fall over if she just took one more step. His hand twitched as if fighting itself from reaching over to hold her, to give her enough strength to take the next step, but he kept his arms to his sides. 

"How easier would it be if I were still living in this area." Her voice was soft as if she had accidentally spoken her thoughts out loud, but the night was in standing still, and there was not a single sound in concurrence with her words. She was looking at the house where she once lived, and San followed the direction of her gaze.  

They had cut down the cherry tree next to the wooden bench where he used to always wait for her whenever they met outside to play. It used to shed its petals over the whole street when spring came. He remembered how their younger selves used to loved standing under the tree just waiting to catch the next pink petal.  

Everything had been covered in fallen flowers and every adult had complained. 

Eunbyeol never complained though; instead, she had relished standing under the tree right when the blossom started falling to the ground. She remember how aggravated her father would be when the petals that got gotten caught in her hair would fall and scattered around their whole house. For her, the pink tree had been the one thing that made the plain, white house unique, the windows of which were pitch black holes now when they looked up at it. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------

14 Years Ago – 11 Years Old 

By the time they were 11 years old, San and Eunbyeol had fallen into a routine. They had rituals to which they would follow religiously. The promise was that when they went to school, Eunbyeol would meet San by his family’s bakery because he would already be there as his parent had to set up the shop. She would wave from outside the window shop and San would wave back before joining her outside. His parents would smile at the two and watched as they slowly made their way down the street to school. 

One day San had voiced that it was unfair how Eunbyeol was always the one who had to come and meet him. Even though Eunbyeol didn't mind being the one to pick up San, they came to an agreement that he would pick her up from her house whenever it rained, and she would pick him up when it didn't.  

The other promise was when school ended for the day, they would always wait for one another at the gate entrance. And when walking home they would take detours to their local store to buy a snack, sometimes to play at their neighborhood park, and sometimes just to delay their arrival time. 

But one afternoon San didn’t come when she waited outside the school gate. Dragging her foot over the gravel, she would look up whenever someone walked pass her thinking it was San, only to be disappointed to see someone else. Several times had she thought about leaving her spot but always stopped herself from doing so in fear that he would show up while she was gone. 

It was only when she saw one of San’s classmates Kang Yeosang walking down the path towards her did she raise her head expectantly. He was one of San’s friend at school and they were close, too.  

"Yeosang, do you know where San is?" Eunbyeol bravely asked. She had a history of being shy around boys as she did not really have the mind capacity of a tomboy. Eunbyeol was rather girly and timid, and although she tried to be tough sometimes, her shy personality would always betray her. San was the only boy she could talk comfortably with. He just had that aura to him.  

The boy seemed surprised to be called out by her, as she rarely spoke when San wasn't around. He turned away from the friend that was walking next to him and examined Eunbyeol with his small eyes. 

"San left already." Yeosang responded, scratching his head. His movements and manner of speaking always appeared so mature that she often thought she was standing in front of a grown-up when she interacted with him. "It's been quite some time since he did so," he added and watched Eunbyeol's face drop. 

"Oh." She couldn't think of an explanation as to why San would leave without her, so she spun on her heel and ran in the direction of her house, leaving a startled Yeosang behind. She paused at the crosswalk by her street to gasp for air but then continued running after just two breaths. In a rush, she passed the tree by the entrance of her house and hurried to the bakery where even from afar she should see customers walking in and out from. 

Heavy breaths escaped her mouth when she stood in front of the shop to look inside the window. She felt something tightening from inside her chest when she saw San sitting at their usual spot, in the corner, working on his homework. He was sipping on a glass of orange juice and looked so carefree. 

Slowly, Eunbyeol walked up the steps into the shop, her hands tightly gripping the straps of her backpack. For once she didn't care about the sweet scent that enveloped her inside or the decorations for the beginning of spring hanging from the ceiling. She just wanted to be where San was at only. Only wanted to know why he never showed up at the gate after school.  

"Why did you leave without me?" She had intended for her voice to be sharp, pierce through him with the excruciating disappointment she had felt every minute she didn’t see him come out to the gate, but sadness had overpowered her tone in the end. 

San looked at her for a while. "I totally forgot." He jumped down from the chair but still held on to his pencil. "I'm sorry." 

Eunbyeol furrowed her brows because she understood that he wouldn't elaborate any further. That was who he was. San was someone who spoke a lot; however, he could also be quiet when he wanted to. She also knew that he was never one to over explained something if he didn't think it was necessary. He said nothing more of course, even after she quietly waited for him to do so.

San looked away to someplace behind her instead. 

Eunbyeo's throat hurt and her eyes began to sting. She was probably going to cry when she really didn't want to, especially not in front of San. She wanted to make herself be angry, but she was feeling sad instead. It was at that time then, when she realized what that other feeling was: betrayal.  

When Eunbyeol turned around to leave, she did it wordlessly. Only when she knew San wouldn't see her, she let out the tears that were fighting to fall from her eyes. 

It didn't rain the next day, but Eunbyeol wouldn't go to meet San at the bakery like she was supposed to. 

"Did you have a fight with Eunbyeol?" San’s mom asked. She had never witnessed San and Eunbyeol in an argument; but she did witness their little stare down yesterday and how the young girl walked away with teary eyes. It also didn’t help that today she did not show up to the shop like she usually did. 

San neither denied nor confirmed her assumption. He just blankly stared outside; his forehead leaned against the glass, still somehow hoping that Eunbyeol would appear on the other side at any moment. He shouldered his bag with a sigh, accepted a pat on his head from his mother and a "Chin up, son" from his father behind the counter, and left the bakery. 

The weather had gotten warmer with the new school year and for the first time since forever there was not a single cloud in the blue and endless sky. San’s feet shuffled soundly over the pavement but stopped when he saw Eunbyeol sitting on the bench outside her house. His pace quickened without his notice as he watched her wearily playing with the petals that had fallen from the cherry tree. In fear that she might disappear if he just looked away for one second, he never took his eyes from her slumped figure. 

Eunbyeol didn't look up from her fingers when San came to a halt next to her. For a moment he stood there, not knowing what to say or do. Then, after talking himself out of it, he walked to the other side of the bench and sat down next to his best friend. He knew that she was aware of his presence, but deliberately not speaking anything to register it. But he couldn't stop himself from breaking the silence. 

"It didn’t rain today."  

"I know." Eunbyeol’s head was still facing down. One after another, she let the bloom fall from her hand, the pink petals joining the pool on the ground. "I'm sorry for getting sad." Her eyes were still fixed on the ground. 

"No, I'm sorry for forgetting." He looked at her when she was still busy with watching the asphalt. 

"I think I just got sad because we won’t be able to walk to school together anymore," she said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"We're moving somewhere else." Eunbyeol announced. She had known for a while now; however, she didn’t have the courage to tell the boy. It was odd how she felt so close to the boy even though they’ve only known each other for a year. It was even more odd how she knew that he was going to be the person that she missed most. It hurt her little heart just thinking about not being able to see his sunshine face anymore.

San’s heart sank, panic to rose in his chest, and his heart began pounding loudly. 

"Where are you going? Very far?" His throat felt dry. 

Eunbyeol shook her head. "No, but to the other side of the town." Finally, she looked up at him and he couldn't remember ever seeing so much hurt in her eyes. 

Anywhere but this street felt far away for her. She wouldn't be able to walk down to the bakery anymore or help Mrs. Choi decorate the shop when the seasons changed or watch Mr. Choi every so often teach San a thing or two about baking even though the boy would just forget it moments later.  

She wouldn't be able to say hello to the old lady from the bookstore anymore, the one who always had the nicest smile reserved for her. She was going to miss the uncle from across the street, the one who owned the flower shop who sometimes gave lollipops to her when she passed by. 

She would miss all of it, even just sitting under the tree and watching the passerby, trying to figure out who had been here once before and who hadn't. 

"When are you going?" 

"Saturday."

---------------------------------------------------------

8 years ago - 17 years old 

There was no one except them on the midnight bus. The driver greeted the pair with a suspicious raise of eyebrow, but the Eunbyeol and San were too tired to comment on it. The air conditioner wasn't running so the air in the bus was hot and stifling. When they sat down far in the back, Eunbyeol slid one of the windows open and took a deep breath of the morning air. San always let her sit by the window. 

San could feel his shirt sticking to the sweat on his back and Eunbyeol's arm felt cold when it touched his as they swayed along with the bus. He noticed how her eyes were only halfway open, trying hard not to close all the way. It wasn't until they made their first turn when her head started bobbing up and down because she was occasionally losing consciousness. 

Sometimes she would lean her head on his shoulder, but lift it back up again quickly as if to hide how tired she was. There was a moment when she rose her head away from him again because he was shaking so much from trying to suppress in his laughter. He chuckled when she suddenly opened her eyes and turned to face him guiltily. "I didn't fall asleep."  

"Of course not," he answered, smiling now. 

Her eyes were teary when she looked at him as she had to concentrate hard to hear what he said. "I told you; you didn't have to wait up for me. Your dad is going to kill me as it is." He didn't even want to think about how late it would be when they reached her home. 

"Don't worry about my dad.” Eunbyeol assured. “Also, this was much more important." She shifted in her seat because she couldn't find a comfortable position to sit in, she would much rather lie down. "I wanted to be the first one to congratulate you when you were finished." She had said that several times the evening before, and San liked hearing her say it. 

"Oh, I forgot." Eunbyeol moved her hands to each side of her face, covering her lips and looked at San again. Her body was shaking from the movements of the bus, and her knee was touching his because she had closed in. San couldn’t help noticing how rosy her cheeks were, which he believed was caused by the heat of the air. She blinked several times, her expression still drowsy and her eyes still wet, but then her lips formed into a smile and her eyes sparkled with the color of the streetlights. "Congratulations." 

There were times when San thought that he had reached his capacity, that he was at the limit of how much he could feel for the girl, because he had gathered that much over the years. He felt that he would spill over if he felt more; that he could burst at any moment. But then she beamed at him despite her sleepiness, and it just completely melted his heart. 

He was falling more and more for his best friend.

-------------------------------------------------

Hiya there, I hope you are enjoying this story so far! Leave a comment down below to let me know what you think San and Eunbyeol are going to do to keep their friendship going!

𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀: I think Seonghwa likes your eyes the most. He could get lost in them forever, and even when looking into them for the hundredth time, he never gets tired of them. Sometimes he claims he can see the whole universe through your eyes, and though you know he is only joking, to him it's heartfelt. You are, after all, his universe.

𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆: Hongjoong likes your personality the most. It's not a secret that his job as an artist is very demanding, having to stay up late to either practice or compose or anything which takes up too much energy. Oftentimes, he finds himself astray due to the fact that he has hardly time for himself. But then you come around the corner, and always manage to lift up his spirits with your beautiful personality. He sees you as the light at the end of the tunnel when things get hard.

𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎: Yunho definitely likes your height the most. That goes for people who are shorter or taller than him. He obviously cherishes his height a lot, considering he is the tallest member in ATEEZ. He is proud of it and becomes even more so when you stand next to him. When being shorter, his pride exceeds. You look small and fragile next to him and he loves that feeling. And when you're taller than him, he feels so proud that he can look up to the love of his life, literally.

𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆: Yeosang loves your hair. He loves combing his fingers through it or styling it in different ways. Whether it's braiding your hair or sectioning strands of hair and putting them in cute ponytails, it doesn't matter. It makes him calm and collected and lets him forget everything that's around him. He loves smelling your hair, especially when you have just washed your hair. It smells like home.

𝐒𝐀𝐍: your confidence. I feel like, because San himself is very confident, he looks for confidence in a partner. And the way you handle yourself, even on bad days, just makes him fall in love again every time. Even when you feel like you're not confident in yourself, he'll point out all the good things he sees in you. Because if you can see all his perfections, why shouldn't you be able to see it in yourself?

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈: your cheeks. Something about them always makes him smile. The way your cheeks go into mochi-mode when you smile has him smitten all over you. There never goes a day by when he doesn't try to make you smile or blush, just to see your cheeks all red and cute. He definitely does the grandma cheek-grabbing because he cannot help it. If it's cute then he must squeeze them. Must.

𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆: Listen, this boy. He is the most hyper member in ATEEZ, that's established. He smiles a lot, and then I mean, a lot. And he loves smiling. But you know what he loves even more? Seeing you smile, especially when it's because of him. He loves the way you laugh whenever he does something silly. Even in serious situations, he cannot contain himself. Seeing you smile is equal to people in Ancient Greece seeing Zeus himself coming down from Olympus. He is addicted to your smile.

𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎: It's a known fact that Mariah Carey bows down to Jongho. I mean, come on. When you enter Heaven, the first thing you'll hear is Jongho's voice. And he cherishes his voice very much. It's a given, he is an angel in disguise who has a choir as vocal cords. And though he loves his voice very much, he loves you talking even more. Especially when you sing too, even if it's a little song while you're cleaning or just doing your thing. Even if you cannot really sing well, it doesn't matter. Your voice reigns supreme. You are his Mariah Carey.

A/N: My first ever headcanon, and of course about my favourite boys. I hope you enjoyed these headcanons! See you hopefully next time <3