Jaehyun x Reader - Forgotten Memories
Since the Donghyuck version of this story was so loved, I made a Jaehyun version since he got discharged from the military recently. I hope you enjoy!
Jaehyun is in an accident during his military service and forgets the past year of his life, including his breakup with y/n. When he wakes up, he thinks they're still together. Y/n and everyone around him scrambles to play the part so the shock doesn't ruin his recovery, but will it work?
11.1k (full ver is 15.6k), First person POV
Unprotected sex, riding, more angst than my usual stories but happy ending!
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You and Jaehyun had been together for three years. Three years of inside jokes and late-night convenience store runs, of him learning exactly how you liked your coffee and you knowing the precise spot on his back that made him shiver when you touched it. Three years of building a future together—talking about moving in, about trips you'd take, about everything that glittered on the horizon.
Then he enlisted.
You'd known it was coming. He'd talked about it since before you got together, a sense of duty ingrained in him by his father and his father's father. You'd braced yourself for the distance, for the letters and the phone calls and the long stretches of missing him.
What you hadn't braced for was the breakup.
A week before he shipped out, he sat you down on the same park bench where he'd first kissed you. His hands were shaking. His voice cracked when he spoke.
"I can't do this to you."
You blinked at him, confused. "Do what?"
"Make you wait." He wouldn't meet your eyes. "Two years I''m gonna be gone Y/N.. You deserve someone who's here. Someone who can give you the time and attention you need. I'd just be holding you back."
You argued. You pleaded. You cried until your throat was raw, telling him you didn't care about the wait, that you'd be here when he got back, that you wanted to wait.
But his jaw was set, his eyes distant in a way you'd never seen before.
"I'm sorry. I love you. That's why I'm doing this."
He stood up. Walked away. Didn't look back.
That was fourteen months ago.
Fourteen months of silence. Fourteen months of deleting his number and re-saving it. Fourteen months of driving past his parents' house and wondering if he was home on leave, if he'd changed, if he'd found someone else. Fourteen months of building a wall around your heart brick by bitter brick.
You told yourself you were over it. You told yourself he was a coward who didn't deserve your tears. You went on dates that went nowhere, laughed at jokes that didn't feel funny, and pretended the ache in your chest was just heartburn.
He was supposed to be discharged in two months. You knew because you'd checked. Because you were weak. Because some pathetic part of you still hoped he'd call, show up at your door, tell you he'd made a terrible mistake.
But he didn't. And you told yourself it was time to move on for real.
Then your phone rang.
It was a Tuesday. Rain streaked your window. You were halfway through a bowl of instant ramen, scrolling through Netflix, wearing the oversized sweater you'd stolen from him years ago—the one you never threw away, no matter how many times you told yourself to.
The caller ID flashed an unknown number. Base prefix.
You almost didn't answer. Probably a wrong number. Probably a scam.
But something made you swipe the screen.
"Hello?"
"Am I speaking with Y/N L/N?"
Male voice. Professional. Tense.
"This is her. Who's asking?"
"This is Sergeant Park from the 8th Army Corps. I'm calling regarding Private First Class Jeong Jaehyun. You're listed as his emergency contact."
Your heart stopped. "What? No. That's—we're not together anymore. I shouldn't be on that list."
"Ma'am, I understand. However, the information we have indicates your number as his primary emergency contact. I'm afraid this is somewhat urgent. Can you come to the base hospital as soon as possible?"
Ice flooded your veins. Hospital. Urgent.
"Is he okay? What happened?"
"Ma'am, I'd prefer to explain in person. Please come to the main gate and ask for Sergeant Park. I'll have you escorted to the medical wing."
The line went dead.
You stared at your phone. Your hands were shaking. Your ramen had gone cold.
You were in your car before you fully registered what you were doing, the tires squealing as you pulled out of your parking spot, rain hammering against the windshield, your mind a hurricane of worst-case scenarios.
The base was a maze of checkpoints and identical buildings. True to his word, Sergeant Park met you at the gate—a stocky man with tired eyes and a clipboard—and walked you through the sterile halls of the medical wing.
"He was in a training accident this morning," Sergeant Park said as you walked. "Simulated breach exercise. Structural collapse. He was pulled out within minutes, but he took some hits to the head. Multiple contusions, mild concussion, bruised ribs. He regained consciousness a few hours ago."
Relief. Then confusion. "So he's okay?"
"Physically, yes. He'll recover. But there's... a complication."
You stopped walking. "What kind of complication?"
Sergeant Park stopped too, turning to face you. His expression was difficult to read—guarded, maybe pitying.
"I'll let you speak to the doctor so she can explain the rest" he says.
The moment you stepped into the room, the doctor—a tired-looking woman with kind eyes and a clipboard—gestured you aside. Jaehyun was asleep, his breathing slow and even, the monitor beside him beeping a steady rhythm.
"Can I speak with you privately for a moment?" she asked quietly.
You followed her into the hallway, your pulse still racing. She introduced herself as Dr. Choi, the attending physician.
"You're the emergency contact listed in his file," she said. "I understand you and Private Jeong—"
"We broke up." The words came out flat, harder than you intended. "More than a year ago. He broke up with me right before he enlisted. We haven't spoken since. I don't know why I'm still in his phone."
Dr. Choi's expression didn't change. She nodded slowly. "I see. That complicates things."
"Can you call his parents? They should be the ones here."
"I already have. They're on their way. But in the meantime, I have to be honest with you—Jaehyun is still under the impression that you're together. He has amnesia and can't remember the past 2 years of his life. When he woke up, he asked for you by name. He asked when you were coming to visit. He thinks you're still his girlfriend."
Your throat tightened. "There is no way this is really happening."
"And given the extent of his memory loss, the fact that you were together for a long time before his enlistment... telling him abruptly that you've been broken up for over a year could be a significant emotional shock. We're already monitoring him for signs of traumatic stress from the accident. A sudden revelation like that—while he's still disoriented and vulnerable—could hinder his recovery."
"So what are you saying?"
"I'm saying that for now, it might be best to let him believe what he believes. Just for a short while. Let him stabilize physically, let his brain rest. Then we can gradually reintroduce the truth in a controlled way, with his family's support."
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell her that this was insane, that you weren't his girlfriend anymore, that he broke your heart and you couldn't just pretend—
But before you could speak, the door to the ward opened and a familiar couple rushed in.
His parents.
Mrs. Jeong looked exactly as you remembered—small, warm-eyed, with grey threading through her dark hair. Mr. Jeong stood behind her, stoic but with worry etched into every line of his face. They'd always liked you. They'd been devastated when Jaehyun told them about the breakup.
"Y/N," Mrs. Jeong breathed, rushing to you. "They called us. Is he—is he okay?"
"He's stable," Dr. Choi said. "Physically, he'll recover. But there's an issue with his memory."
She explained the situation again, quickly, while Mrs. Jeong's hand found yours and squeezed tight. When Dr. Choi finished, his mother turned to you, her eyes glistening.
"He still thinks you're together?"
"Yes."
"He was so in love with you," she whispered. "When he ended it, I told him he was making a mistake. He wouldn't listen. He said he was doing the right thing."
You felt the old anger flicker in your chest. "He threw me away like I meant nothing."
"I know, sweetheart. I know." Her grip on your hand tightened. "But please I'm begging you. Just for a week or two. Let him recover. Let him get stronger. Then we'll tell him everything together. I don't want him to relapse or hurt himself further because of the shock."
Mr. Jeong, who rarely spoke, cleared his throat. "We know it's a lot to ask. You don't owe him anything. But if you could find it in your heart... for a little while..."
You looked past them, through the half-open door of the hospital room.
Jaehyun lay in the bed, turned slightly on his side. His face was slack with sleep, but you could see the bruises painted across his cheekbone, the scrape along his collarbone peeking above the hospital gown. His hand—the same hand that had held yours a thousand times—rested limply on the pillow.
He looked so vulnerable. So different from the man who'd stood on that park bench and told you he was letting you go.
A part of you hated him. Hated him for giving up on you. Hated him for making you feel disposable. Hated him for all the sleepless nights and angry tears. A part of you truly despised him.
But another part of you, the part you tried to bury, still loved him. Still missed him. Still ached when you thought about the future you'd planned together.
And now he didn't even remember destroying it.
"What's a couple of weeks, right?" you heard yourself say, the words hollow and resigned.
Mrs. Jeong let out a shaky breath. "Thank you. Thank you, Y/N. We'll be here too. We'll help. You're not alone in this."
You nodded, not trusting your voice.
When Jaehyun woke again, the light in the room had shifted to a warm afternoon glow. You were sitting in the chair beside his bed, scrolling through your phone without seeing anything, when you heard him stir.
"Hi baby."
Your heart seized. His voice—soft, hoarse, full of sleepy affection—hit you like a punch to the chest. He was reaching his hand toward you, palm open, fingers curling in that familiar way that meant come here, hold me.
You forced a smile onto your face. It felt fragile, like paper stretched too thin.
"Hey," you said softly, taking his hand. His fingers closed around yours, warm and real. "You're awake."
"What happened?" he asked, blinking slowly, looking around the room with confusion. "Why am I in the hospital? My head hurts."
You squeezed his hand. "You were in an accident. A training exercise. They said you hit your head pretty hard."
"An accident?" He frowned, trying to remember. "I don't... I can't remember. What day is it?"
You told him the date. His frown deepened.
"That doesn't make sense. I should be... I was supposed to enlist next month. I was still in civilian life."
"No," you said gently, hating every word. "You enlisted. You've been in for over a year. The doctors think the accident made you forget more than a year of your life."
His eyes searched your face, looking for any sign of a joke. When he found none, he exhaled slowly, his grip on your hand tightening.
"So I don't remember the military at all even though I've been serving for months?"
"Yes."
He smiled—that same soft, loving smile—and tugged your hand gently.
"I'm glad you're here. I was scared when I woke up and didn't see you."
"I'm here," you said, the words scraping past the lump in your throat. "I'm not going anywhere."
The doctors decided to discharge him early. His physical injuries were minor enough to treat at home, and they believed a familiar environment would help his memory recovery. When he was fully healed he would still need to come back to base to finish his military service. But there was no point keeping him in the hospital for observation when his home—his parents' home, technically—was only an hour away.
But when Mrs. Jeong mentioned taking him to their house, Jaehyun shook his head.
"No, I want to go to our place. My apartment with Y/N. I want to be with her."
You froze. Your apartment. Your apartment, which he'd visited a hundred times, which still had a drawer of his clothes in it because neither of you had ever bothered to empty it after the breakup.
His mother shot you a look. Go along with it.
"Of course," you heard yourself say. "I'll take you home."
So now you were driving, Jaehyun in the passenger seat beside you, his hand resting on your thigh like it used to, his eyes closed against the glare of the afternoon sun. He smelled like hospital soap and antiseptic, but underneath it, beneath the unfamiliar scents, there was still him. The boy you'd loved. The man who'd broken you.
And you were bringing him back to your bed.
You ask him what's the last thing he remembers. Jaehyun's brow furrows as he tries to pull the memory forward. "Discussing enlisting early with you," he says slowly. "I still had a couple more months before I had to go, but I wanted to join and get it over with. You were so supportive about it." He smiles, the warmth of that memory softening his face. "I remember you holding my hand, telling me you'd wait."
You nod once, a short, tight motion. "Yeah," you say, your voice carefully neutral. Inside, the thought spikes sharp and bitter: That was ultimately our downfall.
You don't say it out loud though.
Jaehyun studies your face, concern bleeding into his expression. "You look upset."
"It's just—" You swallow, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. "Seeing you hurt like this. It's really hard."
That, at least, isn't a lie.
His smile turns gentle, almost grateful. He lifts your hand from where it rests on the arm of the chair and presses a kiss to your knuckles, lips warm and soft against your skin. "I'm fine," he murmurs. "Promise."
Your heart twists. You let him hold your hand, feeling the lie settle heavier around you both.
The drive back to his apartment is quiet, punctuated only by the low hum of the radio and the occasional directions from the GPS. Jaehyun's hand finds yours over the center console, fingers lacing together like it's the most natural thing in the world. You let him, telling yourself it's for the act, but your palm tingles where his thumb strokes slow circles.
When you finally step through his front door, the familiar scent of his place—laundry detergent, sandalwood, a hint of the lemon cleaner he always used—hits you hard. It smells like memory, like three years of coming and going, like home. You swallow the lump in your throat and toe off your shoes.
Jaehyun drops onto the couch with a satisfied groan, stretching his legs out and letting his knees fall wide apart in that classic manspread that always used to make you roll your eyes. He does it now, and you do roll them, a reflex that comes before you can stop it.
But underneath the exasperation, something warm curls in your chest. He's still him. His simple presence—the way he fills a room without trying, the way he exists so casually, so comfortably—always had way too big of an impact on you. Even now. Especially now.
He pats his lap, that easy smile spreading across his bruised face. "Come here. I've got a few questions. Things are still fuzzy."
You hesitate. Sitting beside him would be safer. A little distance. But you know Jaehyun—the real him, the one who remembers everything—would notice that immediately. You're usually clingy. Both of you are. Hands always finding each other, legs tangled, bodies pressed close. If you keep space, he'll sense something's wrong.
So you move forward, settling carefully onto his lap, mindful of his ribs. His arms come around you immediately, pulling you flush against his chest. He presses a warm kiss to your cheek, lips lingering a second longer than necessary.
You sigh, giving in, and wrap your arms around his neck, resting your head on his shoulder. The tension in your body slowly unwinds. You can't lie—this feels nice. You missed this. Missed him. Even with all the anger and hurt still simmering underneath, you've missed him so much it aches.
His hand runs up and down your spine in a lazy, soothing rhythm. "So," he says, voice low and content, "catch me up. What've you been up to the past two years? How's 127? Any new hobbies? Interests?" He presses another kiss to your hair. "I need to know every little thing. I feel like I've been asleep for ages."
You shift slightly, buying time. "It'll come back with time," you say softly. "There's no rush."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching. Then he leans in and kisses you—slow, deep, his lips moving against yours with aching familiarity. Your heart stutters. A soft moan escapes your throat before you can stop it, and you kiss him back for a breathless second.
Then you force yourself to break away. "We can't," you murmur, voice shaky. "No physical stuff for at least a week. Just to make sure it doesn't mess up your recovery."
Jaehyun smirks, that cocky tilt of his mouth that always made your knees weak. "Actually," he says, voice dropping an octave, "it might help my recovery. Endorphins, you know."
He dips in again, and this time you let him. Your lips part, tongues meet, and for a moment you lose yourself in the taste of him. His hand slides to your hip, grip firm, and he starts to shift underneath you, trying to angle you differently—
You plant a hand on his chest and push back, breaking the kiss. "Nice try." You slide off his lap and stand, smoothing your shirt. "But we're gonna do this right."
He licks his lips, that slow, deliberate motion that always made your stomach flip. Then he smiles, easy and accepting. "Okay."
You know him. You know he always gets his way eventually—with that charm, that persistence, that way of wearing you down until you give in. But this time, you're determined to make it different. You're not the same girl who let him walk all over your heart.
This time, you'll hold the line. Even if every cell in your body wants to fall back into his arms.
The moment the bathroom door clicks shut and the sound of water starts with him the shower, you pull out your phone. Your thumb hovers over the screen for a beat before you open the folder with the little red badges you've been ignoring for days.
Delete.
You don't let yourself hesitate. One by one, the apps disappear. Tinder. Bumble. That other one you downloaded on a lonely Friday night when wine made you reckless. Gone.
Then you open your messages.
Your stomach twists as you scroll through conversations—some casual, some surprisingly serious. You pause on the thread with the guy you've been seeing for the last few weeks. His name Soobin blinks back at you: a kind smile, a gentle voice, someone who made you feel like maybe you could move on.
His texts are sweet.
"Good morning, hope you have a good day." "That café you mentioned? I went. The pastries are incredible. You were right." "You free this weekend? I’d love to see you again."
You type back: "Hey, I’m so sorry. Something came up. I can’t explain right now but I need to pause things. I’ll reach out when I can. I’m sorry."
Your finger trembles before you hit send. Then you delete the thread.
Not because you want to. Because you have to.
Another notification pops up. Minhyun.
Minhyun: "You okay? Haven't heard from you in a few days. I'm starting to think you've finally ghosted me like everyone else." A winky face follows, but you know him well enough to catch the real concern underneath.
You glance at the bathroom door. Still running. You call him.
He picks up on the second ring. "There she is. I was starting to think my best friend had fallen into a pothole or gotten abducted by aliens."
"Minhyun." Your voice comes out quieter than you intended. He must catch something in it because his tone shifts immediately.
"What's wrong?"
You sink onto the edge of the couch, rubbing your forehead. "It's... a lot. Okay, so, you know my ex? Jaehyun?"
"The one who joined the military? The one you were with for three years before I met you?"
"Yeah." You take a shaky breath. "He was in a training accident. He lost his memory. The last two years—he doesn't remember the breakup, the military, any of it. He thinks we're still together."
Silence. Then: "That's crazy."
"I know." You laugh, but it comes out hollow. "I know. But—Minhyun, you should've seen his mother. She showed up at the hospital and begged me. On her knees, practically. The doctors said it could set back his recovery if he finds out the truth right now. She just wants a week or two for him to stabilize, and then they'll handle it."
"And you said yes."
"I said yes."
He's quiet for a moment. Then, softer: "Y/N. You don't owe him anything. You don't owe his family anything."
"I know." You press your palm against your eyes. "I know that. But... I saw him. He was so confused, so scared. And he kept looking at me like I was the only thing that made sense." Your throat tightens. "I couldn't just leave him alone. I couldn't...even though he left me."
"So what about the guy you've been seeing? What's his name?"
You wince. "Soobin. I... I just sent him a message. Put things on pause. I don't know if he'll wait."
Minhyun lets out a long breath. "You're juggling a lot, Y/N. Are you okay?"
No. You're not okay. You're overwhelmed and confused and still angry at Jaehyun for breaking your heart the way he did, and yet here you are, playing house like nothing happened. But you can't say that out loud.
"I'll manage," you say. "It's only for a week or two."
"Famous last words."
The water stops. You hear the creak of the shower door sliding open.
"Hey, I gotta go. He's done in the shower."
"Call me if you need anything. And I mean anything. Doesn't matter what time."
"Thanks, Minhyun." Your voice softens. "Really."
"Of course. Stay strong."
You hang up just as the bathroom door starts to open.
The soft sound of footsteps pads across the hardwood floor. You're already halfway gone, eyelids heavy, the day's weight pressing down on you like a warm blanket you can't fight. Your head lolls to the side, cheek pressing into the couch cushion, and the last thing you register before darkness pulls you under is the faint scent of soap and the quiet rustle of fabric.
Jaehyun steps out, towel still scrubbing at his damp hair, and stops when he sees you. A soft smile spreads across his face—genuine, unguarded, the kind he used to wear when you'd fall asleep on him during movie nights. He finishes drying his hair in silence, tosses the towel over the back of a chair, and disappears for a moment. When he comes back, he's carrying a folded blanket from the linen closet and a pair of your socks he'd thrown in the dryer earlier. He drapes the blanket over you gently, tucking the edges around your shoulders, then carefully pulls the warm socks onto your feet. His fingers brush against your ankle, featherlight, and he lingers for just a second before pulling away.
He stands there, watching you breathe, and something in his chest tightens. He doesn't know why. There's only you, safe and asleep, and the quiet hum of the TV filling the space.
He heads to the kitchen.
You wake slowly, consciousness seeping in like honey. The first thing you notice is the warmth. Not just the blanket—soft and smelling faintly of lavender—but the cozy heat wrapped around your feet. You wiggle your toes and realize you're wearing socks that are still slightly warm from the dryer.
Your heart does something complicated. A twist, a squeeze, a swell.
You sit up, blinking the sleep from your eyes, and look down at yourself. The blanket is tucked in carefully, the kind of meticulous care he always took. He used to do this—little things. Warming your socks in the dryer on cold mornings. Making sure your coffee was exactly the way you liked it. Leaving notes on the bathroom mirror when he left for early schedules.
How did things go south so fast?
The question lingers, bitter and unresolved. You'd been so angry at him for leaving—for making the choice to enlist early, for saying he didn't want to make you wait, for deciding for both of you. And yet here he is, not remembering any of it, still caring for you like it's second nature.
The sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. Jaehyun walks in from the kitchen, holding two plates. He's changed into a loose t-shirt and sweats, and his hair is still slightly damp, curling at the ends.
"Hey, sleepyhead." His voice is soft, amused. "Figured you'd wake up soon. I made sandwiches."
He sets the plates on the coffee table—turkey and cheese on toasted bread, cut diagonally, the way you used to like it. Your chest tightens.
"I was hungry," you admit, your voice a little rough from sleep. "But—Jaehyun, I should be taking care of you. You're the one who just got out of the hospital."
He shakes his head, settling onto the couch beside you. His knee brushes yours, and he doesn't pull away. "No. We take care of each other. That's how it works."
We take care of each other.
The words hit you harder than they should. You look down at the sandwich, not trusting your voice, and take a bite. It's good. Simple, but good. He always made the best sandwiches.
You eat in silence, the TV playing some dumb sitcom with a laugh track that feels too loud and too hollow at the same time. But the quiet between you isn't uncomfortable. It's almost... familiar. Like slipping back into an old rhythm you thought you'd forgotten.
Jaehyun finishes his sandwich first and leans back, groaning. "I need to catch up on so much stuff. Music, TV shows, movies... I don't even know what's been popular the last two years."
You glance at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. "Hey, it'll come back to you. Just give it some time." You pause, considering. "But... music might be a good way to jog your memory. You always had that playlist we made together."
He perks up at that, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. "The one with all the road trip songs?"
"Yeah." Your smile widens despite yourself. "That one."
He nods slowly, thoughtful. "You're right. Music is—it's like a time machine." He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, and grabs the edge of the blanket, draping it over both of you. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, solid and grounding.
You let yourself lean into him. Just for a moment. Just for tonight.
The sitcom plays on, and your eyes grow heavy again. The sleep you've been running from for months—the restless nights, the anxious mornings—finally catches up to you. Your head finds the curve of his shoulder, and you let go.
For the first time in a while, you really sleep.
And it's the best sleep you've gotten in years.
The doorbell rings at exactly eleven in the morning, and you're in the middle of wiping down the kitchen counter when Jaehyun calls out, "I'll get it."
You freeze. You know who it is—Jaehyun mentioned last night that Jungwoo and Johnny had texted him, insisting on coming by. Your stomach knots. You haven't seen them since the breakup. They were his friends first, but you'd grown close over the three years, shared meals, inside jokes, late-night conversations. And then you'd just... vanished from their lives. No explanations, no goodbyes. Just silence.
You hear the door open, followed by Jaehyun's surprised laugh. "Hyung! Jungwoo-a!"
"Holy shit, look at you," Johnny's voice booms, warm and familiar. "You look like hell, but a good kind of hell."
"He's been through an accident, Johnny, be nice," Jungwoo chides, but there's laughter in his tone. "How are you feeling hyung?"
You dry your hands on a dish towel, taking a breath, and walk toward the living room just as they're wrapping him in careful hugs—gentle, mindful of his bruises. Jaehyun winces slightly when Johnny's hand pats his back, but he's smiling.
"You guys look older," Jaehyun says, cocking his head. "Did you get gray hair already, Johnny hyung?"
"Yah, I'm only thirty-two," Johnny protests, but he's grinning. "And you're still an asshole, I see. Head injury didn't fix that."
Jaehyun laughs, and the sound is so easy, so familiar, that your chest aches.
Then their eyes land on you.
You're standing at the edge of the living room, arms crossed loosely, a strained smile on your face. "Hey."
The atmosphere shifts for half a second—a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes, a shared glance between them. But then Jungwoo steps forward, pulling you into a hug before you can react.
"Y/N," he says softly, squeezing you tight. "It's good to see you."
You hug him back, your voice catching. "You too."
Johnny follows, wrapping his arms around both of you briefly, then pulling back to look at you. His expression is careful, knowing. "You hanging in there?"
It's whispered, just for you, his hand still on your shoulder. You nod, blinking quickly. "Yeah. The plan is to tell him in a week or two. His mom's idea."
Johnny gives a firm nod, his jaw tight. "We'll follow your lead. Just... let us know if you need anything."
Jaehyun is watching from the couch, oblivious, a curious smile on his face. "Hey, are you guys keeping secrets from me already?"
You laugh, shaking your head. "Just girl talk. Or... guy talk? Girl-to-guy talk?"
Jungwoo snorts. "That's not a thing."
"Come sit," Jaehyun says, patting the spot beside him. "Let's catch up. I feel like I've been in a time machine and I missed everything."
You settle into chairs around the dining table, the afternoon light filtering through the curtains. You've set out glasses—wine for the guests, and a tall glass of apple juice for Jaehyun, which he eyes with theatrical disappointment.
"Really?" He picks up the glass, swirling it like it's a fine vintage. "I'm a grown man. I can have a glass of wine."
"No," you say firmly, sliding a plate of snacks onto the table. "You're on medication for another four days, and I don't know how alcohol interacts with a concussion. So juice."
"A concussion," Johnny repeats, raising an eyebrow. "That's what they're calling it?"
"It's retrograde amnesia," Jungwoo supplies, pouring himself a glass of red. "Which means he forgot a lot of stuff, including all our inside jokes. So we have to reintroduce ourselves."
"You're my best friends," Jaehyun says, deadpan. "I didn't forget you. I just forgot what you've been doing. So... fill me in. What comebacks did I miss? Who's dating who? Any scandals?"
Johnny leans back, swirling his wine. "Well, I've been working on some solo stuff. Thinking of dropping a single next spring. Nothing huge, just... something for me."
Jaehyun's eyes light up. "Solo? That's amazing, hyung. What genre?"
"R&B, mostly. A little hip-hop. I'll send you a demo when we're done."
"And me?" Jungwoo points at himself. "I'm enlisting soon. Next month, actually."
Jaehyun's face falls. "Already? Didn't you just... I mean, you were supposed to have more time."
Jungwoo shrugs, but there's a flicker of nervousness in his smile. "Time flies. And you're almost done, right? Two months?"
"Two months," Jaehyun confirms, glancing at you. "They discharged me early because of the accident. Medical leave, then I finish out my service."
You nod, keeping your expression neutral. You remember the paperwork you'd signed at the hospital, the official forms listing you as his primary contact. The irony wasn't lost on you.
"Anyway," Johnny says, raising his glass, "to Jaehyun's miraculous recovery. And to Jungwoo's imminent suffering."
"Yah!" Jungwoo protests, but he's laughing. They clink glasses, and Jaehyun takes a long drink of his juice, making an exaggerated pleased face.
"Mm. Delicious," he says flatly. "I feel so healthy."
You can't help but smile. It's the old Jaehyun—playful, sarcastic, warm. The one you fell in love with.
After an hour of catching up—stories about missed comebacks, industry gossip, and Johnny's detailed recounting of a disastrous blind date—you stand up, stretching.
"I'm going to run to the grocery store," you say, grabbing your bag. "We're out of a few things. You guys keep talking."
Jaehyun looks up, a flicker of concern in his eyes. "You don't have to go. I can come with—"
"No, no." You wave him off. "You stay. Catch up. I'll be back in an hour."
He hesitates, but Johnny claps him on the shoulder. "Let her go, man. We'll keep you company."
You give them a small wave and head out, the door clicking shut behind you. The hallway is quiet, and you lean against the wall for a moment, letting out a breath you didn't realize you were holding.
Inside, the three men fall into an easy rhythm. Jaehyun finishes his juice and sets the glass down, his expression sobering.
"I feel bad," he admits quietly. "I can't remember anything. The last two years are just... blank. Like a hard drive that got wiped. I know things happened—I know I enlisted, I know we had our schedules—but I don't remember. And you guys have been through stuff too, and I wasn't there."
Johnny and Jungwoo exchange a glance. There's a weight in the air, a secret pressing down on them.
"Hey," Johnny says, reaching over to squeeze Jaehyun's shoulder. "It's okay. You're here now. That's what matters."
"Yeah," Jungwoo adds, his voice gentle. "And you have Y/N. She'll help you remember the important stuff. The little things. The things that matter."
Jaehyun's face softens at the mention of you. A small, genuine smile touches his lips. "I know. She's... she's been amazing. I don't know what I'd do without her."
Jungwoo's throat tightens, but he pushes through it. "She's strong. And she loves you."
Loves you. Present tense. The words hang in the air, and Jaehyun doesn't question them. He just nods, looking down at his hands.
"Yeah. I know."
The shower hums in the bathroom, steam curling under the door, and the sound of water hitting tile fills the apartment. Jaehyun sits on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, the screen glowing against his face while he waits for you to finish your shower. Johnny and Jungwoo left ten minutes ago, their cheerful goodbyes still echoing in his ears, but now the silence settles heavy around him.
He scrolls through his gallery. Photo after photo of barracks, training grounds, group shots with faces he doesn't recognize. Guys in uniform, arms slung around each other, smiles wide and genuine. He should know their names. He should remember the jokes, the late-night conversations, the shared exhaustion. But it's all blank, like looking at strangers.
He swipes further. A few landscapes. A meal at a base cafeteria. A selfie he must've taken on a rainy day, looking tired but grinning. Nothing from before. No photos of you though, at least not recently. His thumb hovers over the empty space where memories should live.
Why did I delete everything?
He opens his messages. The list is sparse—mostly numbers without names, conversations he can't place. A text from someone named "Hyejin" asking if he's okay after the accident. A thread with "Sanghyuk" about a workout schedule. He scrolls down, finds your name. The chat is clean, empty. A few messages from yesterday—you asking if he wanted soup for dinner, him replying with a heart emoji. But before that? Nothing. Cleared. Wiped clean like the rest of his memory.
He frowns, tapping the screen absently. When did I do that? Why?
The water stops in the bathroom. He hears you moving around, the rustle of a towel, the click of the cabinet. Your phone is on the nightstand, screen face-up. A notification lights it up.
Minhyun: hey how're you doing?
Jaehyun's eyes catch it before he can look away. He knows Minhyun is a friend—you've mentioned the name before, he thinks—but the timing, the casual intimacy of the text, makes something flicker in his chest. Curiosity, maybe. Or something sharper.
He stares at the phone for a long moment. The screen dims, then darkens. The bathroom door creaks open, and you step out, hair damp, wrapped in a robe.
"You alright?" you ask, seeing him sitting there, phone in hand, expression unreadable.
He looks up, and the worry softens his features. He sets the phone aside. "Yeah. Just... looking at old photos. Trying to remember."
You cross the room, sitting beside him on the bed. Your hand finds his, fingers intertwining. "Anything come back?"
He shakes his head slowly. "Not really. Just a lot of guys I don't know." He pauses. "I saw you got a message. From Minhyun?"
You blink, caught off guard. "Oh. Yeah, he's just checking in." Your voice is careful, neutral. "He's a friend from...from the past few months so I guess you wouldn't remember him."
Jaehyun nods, but his eyes search yours. "You never mentioned him before."
"Because it's not important." You squeeze his hand. "You're the one I'm focused on right now."
He wants to believe you. He wants to let it go. But the cleared messages, the missing years, the growing sense that something is just out of reach—it gnaws at him, quiet and persistent.
"Okay," he says finally, and leans in to kiss your forehead. "I trust you."
But even as he says it, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers: Do I?
The towel in your hands stills as you catch Jaehyun's silence—that particular kind of quiet that settles heavy, loaded with unspoken thoughts. You finish drying your hair, the damp strands clinging to your neck, and sit beside him on the bed.
"What's wrong?" you ask, keeping your voice light.
He looks at you, and there's a vulnerability in his eyes that makes your chest ache. "I was looking through my phone. I don't have any recent photos of us together."
The words land like a stone dropped into still water. You force yourself to breathe, to think fast. "We haven't seen each other much since you enlisted," you say softly, reaching for his hand. "It's been mostly phone calls and texts. You know how it is when you're on base."
He nods slowly, accepting the explanation, but you see the flicker of disappointment. "Yeah, I figured. I just had to ask."
It's terrifying, how easily the lie slips out. How smooth and practiced it sounds, like you've been rehearsing it for weeks. You hate yourself a little for that.
He shifts the topic, casual but pointed. "So you've made new friends while I've been gone?"
"Yea, a few."
"Good. I'd like to meet them. I'm sure I already have, but it'll be like the first time." He smiles, and it's genuine, hopeful.
You hesitate—just a second too long. Your mind races to Minhyun, to the other casual dates you'd been seeing before this whole mess started. "Actually, they haven't met you yet," you say carefully. "You were so busy with training. But sure, I'll set something up."
He doesn't notice the crack in your voice. Or if he does, he doesn't show it.
"Okay, good." He pulls you into his lap, and you let yourself be moved, your damp hair brushing against his cheek. His lips find your forehead, your nose, your cheeks—featherlight kisses that make your skin tingle despite everything. You giggle, squirming, the sound surprising even yourself. It feels almost natural.
He strokes your hair, looking into your eyes with that old adoration you'd forgotten existed. "I love you so much, you know?"
The words hit you like a wall. The smile on your face freezes, then slides off entirely. For a heartbeat, you're fourteen months ago, right in front of him, hearing him say I can't do this anymore with a face that held none of this warmth.
You blink. Slowly, you nod. "Yea, I know." A pause. "I love you too."
The smile you offer is weak, barely holding.
He doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he chooses not to. He kisses you then—soft, lingering, his hand cradling the back of your head. When he pulls back, he just holds you, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.
"I missed this," he murmurs into your hair.
You press your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. Fabric softener, soap, the faint musk of his skin. It smells like home. Like the home you used to know.
But you don't say anything. You just let him hold you, guilt coiling in your stomach like a snake, and wonder how many more lies it will take before you both break.
The call to Minhyun is brief, your voice steady as you explain the situation. He listens without interrupting, and when you finish, there's a pause.
"Sure," he says finally. "Anything for you."
You meet at a small café near the river, the kind of place with mismatched chairs and the smell of fresh pastries drifting through the air. Jaehyun stands a little straighter than usual when Minhyun approaches, his posture sharper, more deliberate. He extends his hand first.
"Hi. Jaehyun. Thanks for coming."
Minhyun shakes it, a polite smile on his face. "Minhyun. Y/N's told me a lot about you."
"She's told me nothing about you," Jaehyun replies, but there's no edge to it—just curiosity. He glances at you, then back at Minhyun. "I'm going to order for us. Y/N, the usual?"
You nod, and he kisses the top of your head before walking to the counter, leaving you alone with Minhyun.
Minhyun watches him go, then turns to you, eyebrows raised. "He's really handsome."
You roll your eyes, a playful smirk tugging at your lips. "You wanna date my boyfriend?"
He doesn't laugh. Instead, he looks at you with that knowing expression, the one that always cuts through your bullshit. "You're not even dating him."
The words hang in the air. You pause, and then you genuinely laugh—a real, unguarded sound that surprises even yourself. "I guess not, huh?" You lean back in your chair, the humor fading into something heavier. "This situation is absurd."
He doesn't push. He just waits, letting you sit with it.
Jaehyun returns a few minutes later, balancing three cups. He sets an iced Americano in front of you, a hot latte for himself, and a black coffee for Minhyun.
Minhyun glances at your drink, then back at you. "Didn't you stop drinking coffee?"
You shrug, taking a sip. "It's fine."
Jaehyun's head turns, his brow furrowing. "What? When did you stop?"
"A year ago, maybe? I don't know. It just started making me jittery."
He stares at you for a moment longer than comfortable. There's a flicker of something in his eyes—hurt, maybe, or the sting of not knowing. He forces a smile, but you see through it easily. You always could.
The conversation shifts. They talk about how you and Jaehyun met, how he asked you out even though he thought you might hate him because you seemed so closed off. Minhyun laughs.
"Yea, I thought that too when I met her. She's got this wall up."
"She's worth breaking through," Jaehyun says, his hand finding yours under the table.
You squeeze back, but your smile is tight.
When the café date ends, you walk out together, the late afternoon sun warm on your shoulders. Minhyun heads off with a wave, and Jaehyun turns to you, his expression thoughtful.
"I liked him," he says. "He seems nice."
"Good."
But you know him. You know the slight tension in his jaw, the way his eyes are just a little too bright. "What's wrong?" you ask softly.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. "I don't like how I can't remember things about you that have changed. I don't like that someone else knows you better than I do right now."
You stop walking. Turn to face him fully. Your heart pounds, but your voice is steady.
"No one knows my heart, soul, body, and dreams like you, Jaehyun. No one." And it's not a lie.
He looks at you, and there's so much vulnerability in his gaze that it hurts. You don't think. You just step forward, rise on your toes, and press your lips to his.
It's you. For the first time in this strange, twisted game, you're the one initiating physical contact. Your hand cups his cheek, feeling the faint stubble, the warmth of his skin. He freezes for half a second, then melts into it, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer.
The kiss is soft at first—tentative, like a question. Then it deepens, and you feel his breath hitch, his fingers threading into your hair. You let yourself sink into it, just for a moment, letting the taste of his lips erase the lies you've been telling.
When you pull back, his eyes are still closed. He opens them slowly, and there's something raw in them—gratitude, longing, love.
"Thank you," he whispers.
You don't know what he's thanking you for. The kiss. The reassurance. All of it.
You just nod, taking his hand, and walk home together in silence.
The next morning, Jaehyun kisses your forehead before he leaves, promising to text you when he's done with the members. You watch him go from the window, his gait still a little careful, a little guarded, like his body remembers the accident even if his mind doesn't.
You meet Minhyun at the same café. He's already there, nursing a black coffee, scrolling through his phone. When you slide into the seat across from him, he looks up and doesn't bother with pleasantries.
"You're fucked," he says.
You blink. "What?"
He sets his phone down, leans forward. "I thought you were doing this out of pity. Or kindness. Some noble ex-girlfriend bullshit." He shakes his head slowly. "But you're still in love with him."
Your mouth opens. Closes. "What?"
"It's clear as day." He holds your gaze, steady and unflinching. "I saw you two together. The way you look at him. The way you kissed him at the end there. That's not pity. That's a woman who never stopped."
You want to deny it. The words are right there, lined up on your tongue. No, I'm just confused. I'm just going through the motions. I'm just—
But you can't say them. Because they'd be lies.
Minhyun's voice softens. "For what it's worth, it's just as obvious he feels the same. That guy is wrecked for you, Y/N. Even with his scrambled brain, he knows."
You drop your gaze to the table, tracing the grain of the wood with your fingertip. "Maybe I never fully got over him." The admission comes out raw, scraped clean of pretense. "And no matter what, I'll always love him. I don't know how to not."
Minhyun smiles. It's a sad smile, the kind that carries the weight of things left unsaid. He reaches across the table, his fingers brushing yours. "I know this is messed up. But maybe… this accident was a blessing in disguise? To bring you two together." He lets out a quiet laugh, almost to himself. "I don't believe in destiny or soulmates. But sometimes… maybe things happen for a reason. Don't waste this chance."
The tears come before you can stop them. One slips down your cheek, then another. You press your palm to your mouth, trying to hold it in, but your shoulders shake.
"I have to come clean," you whisper, voice cracking. "Soon. But I'm so scared of how he'll react. What if he remembers everything and he's disgusted? What if he already chose to walk away two years ago and I've been pretending we're still together? What if he hates me for lying?"
Minhyun gets up, rounds the table, and pulls you into his arms. You collapse against him, face buried in his chest, your tears soaking into his shirt. He rubs your back in slow, steady circles, his hand warm and grounding.
"It's alright," he murmurs. "Everything will be okay."
You cry into his shoulder, ugly and raw, and he doesn't flinch. He just holds you, letting you fall apart in the middle of a café, surrounded by strangers who don't know the mess of your heart.
And for a moment—just a moment—you let yourself believe him.
The door clicks shut behind you, and the silence of Jaehyun's apartment wraps around you like a wool blanket—heavy, warm, suffocating. You kick off your shoes without bothering to put them away, drop your bag by the entrance, and drag yourself through the hallway.
Your body feels hollowed out. Every muscle aches with the weight of the morning, of Minhyun's words, of the tears you let him catch.
You don't even remember crawling into bed. One moment you're standing in the bedroom doorway, staring at the sheets that still smell like him. The next, you're face-down on the mattress, fully clothed, the world fading to black.
Jaehyun comes home to darkness.
The apartment is quiet, no light from the living room, no hum of the TV. He calls your name softly, but there's no answer. He checks the kitchen, the bathroom, and then pushes open the bedroom door.
You're sprawled across the bed, still in the jeans and sweater you wore this morning. Your hair is fanned out messily across the pillow, one arm dangling off the edge. You didn't even pull the covers over yourself.
He frowns, his brow knitting with concern. He sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and places a gentle hand on your back. "Y/N," he murmurs. "You want to change into something more comfortable?"
You shift, a soft sound escaping your lips, but you don't wake. Just burrow deeper into the pillow.
He doesn't push. Instead, he carefully pulls the duvet from under you, draping it over your body. He brushes the hair from your face, his thumb tracing along your cheekbone. Your skin is warm, slightly puffy around your eyes. He notices. His fingers still for a moment, but he doesn't ask. He tells himself it's just fatigue, the stress of the past days.
He leans down, presses a feather-light kiss to your temple, and whispers, "Sleep well."
Then he gets up, undresses quietly, and slides into bed beside you. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and rests his chin on your shoulder. Within minutes, he's asleep.
Morning comes in pale gray light filtering through the curtains.
Jaehyun wakes first. His internal clock is still military-trained—up before the sun, even on leave. He eases out of bed carefully so as not to disturb you, padding barefoot to the kitchen.
He makes himself a black coffee. For you, he boils water and steeps a chamomile tea bag, knowing you prefer it mild. He sets the mug on the counter, waiting.
You sleep for another hour. Then two.
When you finally stir, the tea has gone cold. He reheats it, brings it to the bedroom, and sits beside you. His hand finds your neck first—a gentle touch, checking your temperature. Then his palm presses against your forehead.
"Hey," he says softly. "You okay?"
You blink, groggy, your voice raspy. "Yea. Just tired."
He studies your face, searching for cracks you've already learned to hide. "Don't stress over me, okay?" He strokes your hair back. "I'll get better. The doctors said it might take time, but I'm already remembering bits and pieces. It'll come."
You force a smile. If only that were my biggest problem.
He tilts his head. "What did you do yesterday? You were out when I got back."
"Met Minhyun again," you say, the name slipping out before you can weigh it.
"Oh." His voice is neutral, but there's a flicker in his eyes. "So soon?"
"What does that mean?" You sit up slowly, pulling the duvet to your chest.
He shrugs, looking down at his coffee cup. "Nothing. I don't know." A pause. "I've just been feeling a bit insecure since I can't remember anything lately. You have this whole life I'm not a part of. People you see, things you do. I feel… behind."
Your heart clenches. You reach for his hand, lifting it to your lips and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. "If you want to know something, you can just ask me. You don't need to hide anything."
He looks at you then, really looks, and the insecurity melts into something softer. He leans in, presses a kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering. "We should eat something. I'll make pancakes."
You nod, and he gets up, heading for the kitchen.
You sit there, the tea warming your palms, and wonder how much longer you can keep this up. How many more mornings of pretending everything is fine before the truth shatters the fragile peace you've built.
But for now, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed and follow the smell of batter hitting the pan.
The date unfolds like a memory you've been trying to forget but can't stop replaying. Jaehyun insists he takes you out tonight, claiming it'll bring back memories.
He takes you to a small restaurant tucked away along the coastline, the kind of place you used to visit on lazy Sunday afternoons when the world felt small and safe. The wooden deck overlooks the ocean, lanterns strung overhead casting warm pools of light across the tables. The salt breeze carries the sound of waves, soft and rhythmic.
You order shrimp pasta, he gets lasagna. And for a while, it is like old times.
He asks about your week—the parts you're willing to share—and you find yourself laughing at his jokes, the way he scrunches his nose when he's being particularly silly. He reaches across the table to hold your hand, kisses your knuckles between bites. Then he cuts a piece of his lasagna and holds the fork out to you, eyebrows raised in that familiar, teasing way.
"Open up."
You roll your eyes but accept, the warm cheese and meat melting on your tongue. He grins, satisfied, and goes back to his own plate.
The conversation drifts between nothing and everything. He talks about the band, about Jungwoo's upcoming enlistment, about how Johnny's been texting him ideas for a solo track. You nod, you smile, you add your own commentary. The weight in your chest loosens, just a fraction.
After dinner, he pays before you can argue, then leads you down a narrow path to the beach. He kicks off his shoes, then kneels to help you with yours, unlacing your sandals with careful fingers. He holds them in one hand, his other hand finding yours, fingers lacing together.
"Walk barefoot," he says, glancing at you sidelong. "I know you love it."
You do. You always have. The sand is cool and damp between your toes, the water kissing the shore just inches away. The moon hangs low and silver over the horizon, painting the waves in soft light.
You walk in silence for a while. The kind of silence that used to feel comfortable, but now presses against your ribs like a held breath.
Then he stops. Turns to face you, the ocean at his back, his eyes soft and earnest.
"After I finish my last two months in the military, I'm a free man," he says, voice low but steady. "We can spend the rest of our lives together."
You freeze.
The words hit you like cold water. Rest of our lives. He's planning a future that doesn't exist. He's talking about after, about a timeline where you're still his, where the breakup never happened, where the year of silence and hurt and moving on was erased by a head injury and a hospital bed.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his smile faltering.
You force your mouth to move. "Nothing. I just… didn't think about that. But you're right."
It comes out hollow, but he doesn't seem to notice. He's already looking out at the water, his thumb tracing circles on your hand.
"We should go looking for a ring soon," he says, almost to himself. "I want to do it right. Maybe next week, after I see the doctor again."
Your stomach lurches. A wave of nausea rolls through you, hot and sudden. You pull your hand from his, pressing your palm to your mouth.
"I feel sick," you manage. "Maybe it was the shrimp."
He's immediately at your side, his hand on your back. "Hey, hey—come here."
You stumble toward the edge of the water, doubling over as your body rebels. He holds your hair back, his other hand rubbing firm circles between your shoulder blades. You heave, nothing but bile and the remnants of dinner, your eyes watering.
"It's okay," he murmurs. "Let it out. I've got you."
When it passes, you straighten up, shaky and pale. He hands you a water bottle from his jacket pocket—always prepared, always caring. You rinse your mouth, drink slowly, and let him guide you back to the car.
He drives with one hand, the other resting on your thigh. Every few minutes, he glances over, concern etched into his brow.
"You sure you're okay? We can stop at a pharmacy if you need something."
"I'm fine," you whisper, but you're not. You're the opposite of fine.
You're sitting next to a man who's planning to marry you, who doesn't know you've been broken up longer than you were ever together in his memory. And every second you don't tell him the truth, the lie grows deeper, more tangled, more dangerous.
You close your eyes, the hum of the engine filling your ears, and know—with a certainty that sits heavy in your gut—that you have to tell him. Soon. Before he buys a ring. Before he falls any deeper into a dream that isn't real.
But the thought of his face when he learns the truth makes you want to throw up all over again.
You close the bathroom door softly, the click of the lock echoing in the small tiled space. The mirror reflects a stranger—pale, hollow-eyed, a woman who's been lying for days and is about to break.
You pull out your phone and dial the number you'd saved in a moment of guilt-ridden foresight. Jaehyun's mom picks up on the second ring, her voice warm but wary, like she already knows bad news is coming.
"Sweetheart, is everything okay?"
"No," you whisper, voice cracking. "It's not. I can't do this anymore."
Silence on her end. You press on, the words tumbling out before you lose courage.
"I have to tell him the truth. Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest. He's talking about marriage, about spending the rest of our lives together, about looking for rings. I can't—" Your breath hitches. "I can't keep pretending. It's tearing me apart."
"Please," his mom says, her voice gentle but pleading. "Just a little longer. The doctor said his memory might return on its own. If you tell him now and it shocks him, it could set back his recovery. Please, for his sake—"
"No." You shake your head even though she can't see it. "You don't understand. He's planning a future. He's picking out rings. I'm going to have to look him in the eye and lie while he puts a ring on my finger if I wait any longer. I can't."
There's a long pause. You hear Jaehyun's mom exhale slowly, the sound heavy with years of maternal exhaustion.
Then she speaks, her voice quieter, almost fragile.
"I guess… he doesn't remember."
You frown. "Remember what?"
"He already bought a ring." The words land like stones. "About a month before he enlisted. He called us, so excited. Said he wanted to propose soon. He'd been saving up, found the perfect one. He asked for my mother's ring—to have it reset, combine it with something new. He wanted it to be special."
Your throat tightens. "What?"
"He loved you so much, sweetheart. We'd never seen him like that. He was glowing when he talked about it." Her voice wavers. "And then a few weeks later… he called again. Said he'd broken up with you. Wouldn't tell us why. Just kept saying it was for the best, that you deserved better, that he was being selfish by holding you back. We thought he was just scared of the military, of the distance. But we never knew the real reason."
You lean against the sink, the ceramic cold through your shirt. The phone feels heavy against your ear.
"Why didn't he propose?" you ask, the question raw, scraped out of you. "Why did he end it instead?"
"I don't know," she says softly. "I wish I did. Maybe he'll remember. Maybe… maybe this is a second chance for you both. To find out."
You close your eyes. The water is running in the kitchen, the soft clink of dishes, Jaehyun humming a melody you used to fall asleep to.
"I have to go," you murmur.
"Think about it, please. Just a little more time."
You end the call without answering, shoving the phone into your pocket. You stare at your reflection again—the smudged mascara, the trembling lips, the woman who got a ring she never knew existed from a man who broke her heart instead of giving it to her.
You don't know whether to cry or scream.
So you do neither. You splash cold water on your face, dry it with a towel, and open the bathroom door.
Jaehyun looks up from the sink, hands soapy, a smile softening his features.
"You okay? Heard you talking in there."
"Fine," you lie, the taste of it familiar now. "Just my mom. Checking in."
He nods, turning back to the dishes. "Tell her I said hi."
You lean against the doorframe, watching the way his shoulders move under his shirt, the way he hums without a care, the way the future he's building for you both is built on sand.
And you wonder—if he remembered the ring, if he remembered why he never gave it to you—would he still want to marry you now?
Or would he break your heart all over again?
The knocking comes sharp and insistent, rattling the door in its frame. Three rapid thuds, then a pause, then two more.
Your eyes snap open. The morning light filters through the curtains, pale and gray. Beside you, Jaehyun is dead weight, one arm flung across your waist, his breathing deep and even. He doesn't stir.
You slide out from under his arm carefully, your bare feet hitting the cold floor. The knocking comes again—harder this time.
"Coming," you hiss under your breath, grabbing the first thing you can find. Jaehyun's t-shirt from last night, crumpled on the floor. You pull it over your head—it hangs past your thighs, the fabric warm and smelling like him.
You pad to the door, unlock it, and crack it open just wide enough to see who it is.
Your stomach drops.
Soobin.
He's standing on your doorstep, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, hair messy like he ran his fingers through it too many times. His eyes are bloodshot, worried.
"Y/N," he breathes, relief flooding his face. "Thank god. I was so fucking worried."
You push the door shut behind you, stepping out onto the small porch, your bare legs exposed to the crisp morning air. You cross your arms, hugging yourself, suddenly very aware that you're wearing nothing but your ex-boyfriend's shirt.
"What are you doing here?" Your voice comes out hoarse, frazzled. "Soobin, you can't...you need to leave."
He takes a step closer, searching your face. "You ended things out of nowhere. No explanation. Just a text saying 'I can't do this anymore.' I thought something happened to you. I thought you were in trouble."
"I'm fine." You press a hand to your chest, feeling your heart hammer. "I'm sorry I did it like that. I should have called. But I'm fine, and you need to go."
"Fine?" He laughs, but there's no humor in it. "You look like you haven't slept in a week. You're wearing a guy's shirt. Y/N, what the hell is going on?"
You swallow. The truth sits heavy on your tongue, but you force it out. "I got back together with my ex."
Soobin's expression shifts. His jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. He looks at you—really looks—and something cold settles into his features.
"The one who broke your heart?" His voice drops, low and sharp. "The one you cried about? The one who left you for the military and didn't even call?"
Your throat closes. The tears prick at your eyes, hot and unwanted. "Please," you whisper. "Please just leave."
He stands there for a long moment, studying you like he's trying to find the person he thought he knew. Then he shakes his head, steps back, hands raised in surrender.
"Fine." He turns, walks down the path, then stops. He looks over his shoulder. "You deserve better than that, Y/N. You always did."
He leaves.
You stand there, frozen, the cold biting into your legs, the tears finally spilling over. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, take a shaky breath, and turn back to the door.
You push it open.
Jaehyun is standing in the hallway.
His hair is mussed from sleep, his chest bare, pajama pants slung low on his hips. He looks like he just woke up—but his eyes are wide open, dark, fixed on you. There's a crease between his brows, a tension in his shoulders.
"Who was that?" His voice is quiet. Careful.
You freeze. The door clicks shut behind you. The silence stretches, suffocating.
"It was... no one," you say. The lie tastes like ash.
He doesn't move. "I heard you talking. You said you got back together with your ex."
You can't breathe. He's looking at you like he's trying to piece together a puzzle that doesn't fit.
"Y/N." He takes a step forward, his voice steady but fragile. "Who was that?"
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