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—愛だけがこのように傷つける—

❝σηℓу ℓσνє ¢αη нυят ℓιкє тнιѕ, мυѕт'νє вєєη α ∂єα∂ℓу кιѕѕ.❞

Pairing: Yang Jungwon x Reader, childhood friends to lovers, first love to first time, exes to soulmates Content Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, emotional fever scenes, soft domestic intimacy, first time confessions, suggestive content, virgin x virgin, gentle smut mentions but mostly emotional, kitchen disasters, rain symbolism, hibiscus symbolism, mutual pining, healing after heartbreak, leaving California for love, no more running, shared blankets, late-night conversations, memory-heavy narrative, quiet kisses, soft laughter after crying, old habits, new beginnings Genre: angst, comfort, coming-of-age, soft romance, emotional first love, slice of life, suggestive but tender, bittersweet healing arc with a happy ending Summary: You thought running away to California would make the ache go away. It didn’t. Now you’re back, haunted by memories, missing the boy you swore you’d forget. But then he shows up on your doorstep, soaked in rain, hibiscus in hand, ready to stay this time. It’s not just love. It’s learning how to heal in the same room again. It’s soup on the stove, laughter after tears, his hoodie on your floor, his hand in yours. It’s kissing like it still hurts a little, undressing slowly, breathing together through shaky firsts. It’s knowing you’re done with almosts. This time, you’re home.

The sunset was cruel tonight. Orange and pink spilled across the sky like someone had taken a brush and dragged it too hard over canvas, like they wanted to tear it. Like they wanted to ruin something beautiful. You stared at it from the sand, arms wrapped around your knees, chin pressed to your sweater. The ocean glittered in the distance. Waves crashed like they always did, indifferent, endless.

People were everywhere, loud and alive. Someone tossed a frisbee. Someone took a shot of tequila. Someone laughed so hard they doubled over, shaking sand from their hair.

Your coworkers buzzed around you like bees. Talking about office gossip, weekend plans, some guy in finance who just bought a boat. Their words floated past you in cotton-candy clouds, sticky but insubstantial. You were supposed to be happy here. That was the point, right?

You came to California for the job. For the life you thought you wanted. High-rise apartments. Beach sunsets. Smoothie bowls and promotions and friends who called you babe and bestie without really knowing you at all.

You left Seoul because it was the plan. But you also left because you couldn’t bear to stay. Because the ache of watching Jungwon kiss someone else still pressed into your ribs like a bruise you forgot how to stop touching.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since you boarded the plane. Two years of pretending you were okay. Two years of Instagram captions and new shoes and holiday photos. Two years of lying to your mother when she asked if you missed home. Two years of telling yourself you would get over it.

Get over him. But you hadn’t. And the sunset wasn’t helping. Your throat tightened. The tears threatened to spill, but you bit them back, swallowing the lump in your chest so hard it hurt your neck.

“Come on, drink with us!” someone called, holding up a plastic cup. Their bracelets jingled against their wrist. You took the cup because that’s what you did. Took things you didn’t want. Accepted what you didn’t need. You smiled, not the real kind. The kind that stretches too thin over skin. The kind you’ve been practicing for two years.

I’m fine. That’s what you told yourself. I’m fine. I’m here, aren’t I? But your eyes drifted back to the water. You weren’t really watching the waves. You were watching your life crumble all over again. You were thinking about Jungwon.

Where was he now? Probably doing well. He always did well. He probably had someone new. A girl who fit into his life better than you ever did. Someone who never left. Someone who deserved him more. Your stomach flipped. You wondered if he still laughed the same way. If he still wore that awful jacket you teased him about. If he ever thought about you at all. You told yourself you’d get over it. You promised. When you first landed here, you made a list in your phone:

Find someone new

Date a guy with a stable job

Settle down

Forget Jungwon

You wanted someone who worked in finance or medicine. Someone with a 9-to-5 and a clean apartment and a five-year plan. Not a boy who kissed someone else the week you were supposed to leave.

But here you were, sitting on the sand, watching the sun go down, and thinking about him like you always did. Like you always would. The car ride home was worse. You sat in the backseat, head pressed to the window, eyes glazed over as the California streets blurred past. The lights were too bright. The palm trees looked fake. Everything here was shiny and soft-edged, but none of it felt real.

You wanted to throw up. You wanted to cry. You wanted to go home. But you didn’t even know where home was anymore. Your mind betrayed you, dragging you back into old memories you didn’t ask for.

Your mother’s laugh when she stirred stew on the stove. Rain hitting your bedroom window at 2AM. The way Jungwon used to send you texts that said “Are you home safe?” even when he was the one who dropped you off. You left everything behind. Two years ago, you got on a plane and swore you wouldn’t look back.

But now? Now you were staring at the ceiling of your overpriced California apartment, biting your lip so hard it bled, trying to stop yourself from opening flight booking apps on your phone. You knew the truth, even if you didn’t want to say it out loud:

You never really left him behind. And you were starting to think you never would. You thought it would go away when you woke up. That the ache in your chest was just leftover wine and saltwater air. That the homesickness was a passing thing, the kind of feeling that sneaks up on you after too much sunset, too much nostalgia.

You told yourself you’d sleep it off. But when your eyes blinked open the next morning, the ache was still there. Worse. Heavier. The ceiling fan spun above your bed, slow and useless. California sunlight poured in through your window, soft and warm, but it didn’t touch you. You lay there staring at the ceiling, your throat so tight you couldn’t swallow. Your stomach felt like it was lined with glass.

You sat up. Stood. Showered. Dressed. Mechanically. Like your body was on autopilot and your mind had stayed behind somewhere in Seoul. You brushed your teeth too hard. Your gums bled. At work, you laughed when someone told a joke. You nodded when someone asked about your weekend plans. You smiled when you were supposed to smile.

But it wasn’t real. It hadn’t been real for months. Maybe years. You kept waiting for this version of your life to click into place. You told yourself: “I’ll settle in soon.” “This is just a phase.” “Everyone gets homesick sometimes.”

But it wasn’t just homesickness anymore. It was like your soul had started rotting from the inside out. You were supposed to love it here. California had been the dream.

You got the job everyone envied. You left your old life behind with your head held high, passport in hand, suitcase wheels rattling behind you like you were escaping something. You told everyone you were chasing opportunity.

But you were running. You knew that now. You thought maybe you’d find someone new. Someone who worked in tech or medicine. A man with a soft smile and a cushy apartment and a 401K. Someone who wouldn’t make your chest tighten every time he breathed too close to you.

You told yourself you’d get over Jungwon. That was the whole point, wasn’t it? But you hadn’t. Not even close.

Where was he now? Probably happy. Probably with someone who deserved him more. Someone who fit into his life better. Someone who didn’t run away at the first sign of heartbreak. You pictured him holding someone else’s hand at Han River.

Bringing her fried chicken after work. Laughing with her in the backseat of a taxi like he used to with you. Maybe she kissed his cheek before bed. Maybe she loved him the way you couldn’t. Maybe she stayed.

Your chest twisted. You almost cried right there at your desk, but you bit the inside of your cheek so hard it tasted like pennies. When you got home that night, you dropped your keys on the counter and collapsed onto the couch.

Your apartment was too quiet. The California skyline blinked outside your window, glittering with city lights, but none of it felt like yours. You boiled ramen in silence.

A stupid thing, really. Instant noodles. The same kind you used to eat with Jungwon in your old apartment. You tried to eat but your throat closed up halfway through. The noodles sat in your stomach like stones.

The walls pressed in. The quiet was unbearable. You showered. You changed. You climbed into bed. But you couldn’t sleep. The sheets felt wrong. The air was too still. Your heart was racing, but your body wouldn’t move. You tossed. Turned.

Opened your phone. Closed it again. The ache pulsed behind your ribs like a bruise you couldn’t stop poking. Why did you think you’d forget him? You left for California thinking it would save you.

But nothing changed. It didn’t matter how far you ran. Didn’t matter how many new friends you made. Didn’t matter how many brunches or rooftop parties or late-night Uber rides you took. You were still in love with him. And he wasn’t yours anymore.

Your pillow was cold beneath your cheek, but your skin burned. You lay there for hours, eyes wide in the dark, mind unraveling. You thought about going back. You told yourself not to.

You whispered, “Don’t do it,” into the air like a prayer. But you did it anyway. At 3:12 AM, you grabbed your phone off the nightstand and opened the airline app. Fingers trembling. Breath caught. Seoul. One way. As soon as possible.

You hit confirm. And when the booking screen blinked back at you, glowing soft blue in the dark, you let out a shaky breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. Because sometimes staying hurt more than leaving. And sometimes running away a second time was the only way to survive.

Your phone screen was still glowing in the dark when you set it down on the pillow beside you, eyes wide, staring at the ceiling like the shadows could swallow you whole. You didn’t sleep after that. You lay there thinking about everything you’d left behind. About how leaving once was hard, but coming back might be worse.

The sun rose without your permission. The light spilled in soft and gold, painting the edges of your bed. It looked beautiful. Cruel, but beautiful.

You wanted to hate California for it. Your chest hurt. It wasn’t the sharp kind of pain, the dramatic, cinematic kind. It was dull. Heavy. A wet cloth pressed against your lungs, suffocating but slow.

At 7:43 AM, you picked up your phone again and called your mother. Your hands trembled. Your thumb hovered over the call button for three full minutes before you finally pressed it. The ringtone rang once. Twice. Three times. When she answered, her voice was soft and warm, still thick from sleep. “Yeoboseyo?”

Your lips parted. Nothing came out. “Eomma, I—” Your throat closed. You swallowed. You tried again. Her silence on the other end of the line wasn’t impatient. It was knowing. Your mother always knew when you were about to break. You bit your lip so hard it stung. “I’m coming home.”Silence. For a terrifying second, you thought the call dropped. You almost pulled the phone away to check.

But then you heard it. Her breath hitched. A quiet, fragile sob. And another. And another. Your eyes flooded too fast to stop it. You blinked through the blur, smiling through your tears like an idiot. “Eomma,” you whispered, “it’s okay. I’m okay. I just—” You choked. Gulped air like you were drowning in your own room.

“I miss you.” Her voice cracked in the way you hadn’t heard since you were a child. “I miss you too.” You pressed the phone tighter to your ear, curling into yourself under the covers. For a long time, you didn’t say anything else. Neither did she. You just listened to each other breathe. The ache in your chest throbbed, but somehow, for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel alone in it.

You spent the next few days pretending you were fine. That’s what you were good at. You folded your clothes into neat little piles on the bed. The sweaters you never wore in California. The old T-shirts from university events. Packing your things. Folding clothes you didn’t remember buying. Throwing away half-empty skincare bottles you wouldn’t need anymore. A scarf Jungwon once teased you about because it was too long. You held it in your hands for five minutes before shoving it deep into your suitcase. You cleaned out your fridge. Vegetable you swore you'd cook with tomorrow, but the sun for tomorrow never came up. Leftover takeout menus. Receipts for dinners you didn’t remember eating.

You walked through your apartment slowly, like you were in a museum of your own life. You touched the walls. Ran your fingers along the countertop. Took photos of things you knew you wouldn’t care about in a year but couldn’t bear to forget just yet.

And then you started saying goodbye. You visited the beach at night, toes cold in the sand, watching the tide drag itself in and out like it was breathing. You stood in front of your favorite café, staring at the chalkboard menu through the window, not bothering to go inside. You walked past the bookstore that always smelled like old paper and rain, even in California.

You memorized every color of the sky. The way the city lights flickered against your windshield on the drive home. The way the ocean whispered things you never wanted to hear. At work, you smiled like you were supposed to. You wrote a polite email to your boss: A short break to visit home. Two weeks off.

You knew that was a lie. You knew you weren’t coming back. Your coworkers hugged you tight. “Two weeks will fly by!” “Don’t forget about us!” “Send pictures!”

You laughed. You promised. You lied to their faces. The night before your flight, you sat alone in your living room, staring at your packed bags. Your phone buzzed with texts from friends. Safe flight! Love you! Let’s call when you land! You answered each one with a smiley face or a heart emoji. None of it felt real. You thought about Jungwon again. Does he even remember you? Is he happy? Does he hold someone else the way he used to hold you?

You pressed your forehead to your knees, eyes burning. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to outgrow this. Supposed to build a new life. Supposed to be better by now. But you weren’t. You were just a girl who left and couldn’t stay gone. A girl who thought she could run away from herself and ended up right back where she started.

You whispered into the dark, like maybe the universe was listening: “I don’t know what I’m doing.” And then you cried until you couldn’t anymore. When the tears dried, you wiped your face on your sleeve, crawled into bed, and waited for morning. Tomorrow, you were going home.

Whatever that meant. When your plane landed at Incheon, your stomach churned harder than the turbulence had. Your phone buzzed to life the second the plane touched down, messages pouring in, notifications blinking, the usual flood of welcome-back texts from friends you hadn’t seen in years. But you barely read any of them. You were still half-asleep from the overnight flight, groggy from crying too much, heart bruised and sore. You expected to have to wait for a taxi. Maybe your dad would show up if he wasn’t busy. But when you walked through the arrivals gate, blinking against the harsh airport lights, you froze.

Your suitcase handle went limp in your grip. Because there he was. Yang Jungwon. Standing by the wall in a black hoodie, hands shoved into his pockets. His eyes locked on yours before you could pretend not to see him. Your breath caught. For a split second, your heart actually lifted. Some reckless, stupid part of you hoped, maybe he came because he wanted to. Maybe this was the universe’s apology.

But then he spoke. “Your mom was rushing,” he said flatly, not even a trace of warmth in his voice. He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “When I asked her why, she told me you were coming home.” You waited for something else. Something soft. Something personal.

But he shrugged. “I didn’t have anything better to do.” The words slammed into your chest like a car crash. Sharp. Precise. Designed to cut. Of course. Of course it wasn’t about you. It was about convenience. Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

He glanced at the ground. Kicked his sneaker against the floor once, then looked back at you with those same tired eyes. “Your mom can’t handle the airport anymore,” he added, voice casual, like he was just stating a fact. “She’s not young, you know.”

You nodded slowly. “Right.” You tried to smile but it felt fake. Your lips twitched, barely managing it. “Thanks.” He walked ahead without another word, leaving you to trail behind with your suitcase wheels squeaking against the floor.

The car was colder than you remembered. You sat in the passenger seat, hugging your knees tight, eyes fixed on the window. The city blurred past. Jungwon’s fingers tapped the steering wheel, a steady rhythm like he was counting down seconds in his head.

He didn’t speak. Neither did you. The silence wasn’t comfortable, it was thick. Suffocating. It sat between you like a third person in the car, whispering all the things you didn’t have the guts to say. You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve, nails picking at the threads. You tried to think of something, anything, to break the tension. But your throat felt dry.

Finally, you cleared it. Soft. Barely audible. A small sound, but it was enough. Jungwon’s eyes flicked toward you for a second, then back to the road. His lips curled into something sharp. A smirk, but not the good kind. “So,” he said, voice laced with something mean. “How’s California?” You swallowed.

“Fine,” you whispered. “Hmm.” His fingers drummed harder. His eyes stayed cold. “Living the dream, huh?” Your heart twisted. You knew you deserved this. But it still made you want to curl into yourself. “I guess,” you said quietly, barely a breath. He scoffed.

“You find someone out there?” His words stabbed into the air between you. Casual. Careless. Like he was just asking what you had for lunch. But you knew better. Your lips pressed together. “No.” That single word carried every ounce of your shame. Every second you’d spent trying, and failing, to forget him. Jungwon let out a soft, bitter laugh. “Really?” he said, voice low.

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t let him see. You kept staring out the window like the city lights could save you. The car was so quiet you could hear your own heartbeat. You thought about saying something else. About explaining. About telling him that no, you hadn’t met anyone, because you still measured every man against him and they all came up short.

But you stayed silent. Because what was the point? He didn’t want to hear it. The rest of the drive passed like that. Fingers tapping. Heart aching. Eyes locked on the passing streets, pretending you were somewhere else. When he finally pulled up in front of your parents’ house, you sat frozen in the passenger seat for a moment. You didn’t want to get out.

“Thanks for the ride,” you whispered, throat tight. He shifted in his seat, staring straight ahead. “Yeah.” You hesitated. Your hand hovered on the door handle. Then you swallowed the lump in your throat and tried to be brave. “Do you—” your voice cracked. “Do you wanna come inside?” For a split second, his face almost softened.

Almost. But then his jaw tightened again. “No.” He refused flatly. Your heart dropped straight to the pit of your stomach. Your smile fell immediately. You looked down, fingers twisting the strap of your bag.

“Okay.” You reached for the door, trying not to let your hands shake. But then, just as you stepped one foot onto the pavement, his voice came again. Soft this time. “Hey.” You turned back, eyes wide. Jungwon was staring at the steering wheel, fingers flexing once. “Do you…” he sighed, eyes flicking up to meet yours for the briefest second.

“Do you wanna grab lunch tomorrow?” Your throat tightened. Your heart did that stupid jump again. You nodded, trying not to look too desperate. Trying to hold it together. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Lunch sounds good.” He gave a small nod. Not quite a smile. And just like that, the door shut. You stood alone in the driveway, suitcase at your feet, watching his car disappear into the night.

The cold air wrapped around you, but the ache in your chest was worse. Somewhere deep down, you knew: This wasn’t over. Not even close.

The second you stepped through the front door, your mother pulled you into a hug so tight it knocked the air right out of your lungs. “Aigo,” she whispered into your shoulder, her voice trembling. “You’re thinner! Look at you, did you forget how to eat over there? Huh? California has no food, is that it?”

You laughed softly into her sweater, but your throat burned. Her perfume smelled the same. Laundry detergent. Warm rice. Home.

“I’m fine, eomma.” “You’re not fine! Look at this face, ah, you’ve gotten pale too!” Her hands fussed over your cheeks, patting them like she could bring the color back. Her fingers brushed your hair out of your eyes, the same way she did when you were small. Your father stood a few steps back, arms crossed, smiling softly.

His eyes were gentle, kind. He didn’t say much, he never did, but his smile said everything. “Welcome home, kid,” he murmured. And just like that, the ache in your chest tightened, but this time, it wasn’t so sharp. It was something warmer.

Your mom made too much food. As always. Steaming hot jjigae, kimchi pancakes still sizzling on the plate, and rice bowls piled high like small mountains. She scooped food into your bowl faster than you could eat it. “Here, eat more. You need meat on your bones.”

You chewed through bites with a small smile, letting the sounds of home wash over you, the hum of the rice cooker, your parents’ voices overlapping in the kitchen, the clink of spoons against ceramic bowls. It had been so long since your life sounded like this.

For the first time in months, you weren’t alone in your apartment eating ramen in silence. You weren’t scrolling your phone to distract yourself from the quiet. You were here. Home. You caught your father watching you between bites, his chopsticks paused mid-air.

There was something in his eyes, something sad but soft. “Eat slowly,” he said, teasing but warm. “No one’s going to take the food away.” You laughed, cheeks heating. Your mother smacked his arm lightly. “Let her eat! She’s been starving out there.”

And for a while, you let yourself pretend you hadn’t just come back with your heart cracked open. You let yourself pretend you were okay. When dinner was over, your mother guided you to your old room like you hadn’t lived there your entire life. She opened the door slowly. “Go rest, hmm? We’ll catch up more tomorrow.” Her voice was soft now, less frantic. Like she could see the exhaustion behind your eyes.

You nodded. Your suitcase thudded softly against the floor as you dragged it inside. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you alone with the past. Your eyes swept over the room. Same bed. Same bookshelf. Same stupid stickers on the closet door you swore you’d peel off before you turned twenty but never did.

You ran your fingers over the edge of your old desk, tracing dents you remembered making when you were cramming for finals. Photos still lined the shelves. Friends from high school. Old polaroids. One of you and Jungwon at the school festival, laughing, faces painted, his arm slung casually over your shoulder like it belonged there.

Your throat tightened. You sat on the bed, fingers curling into the blanket. The mattress dipped the same way it always had, like muscle memory. You thought about the time you stayed up all night texting him from this very spot. How you used to sneak out for late-night walks.

How he used to sit at the foot of your bed, tossing popcorn into his mouth while you complained about life. You smiled through the ache. It was impossible not to. Tonight, you let the memories come. You let them wrap around you like a blanket, heavy but familiar. You reached for your phone, opening your suitcase halfway with one hand.

Tomorrow. Lunch. You stared at the clothes you’d packed, blinking back the lump in your throat. For a second, you wondered if he’d notice what you wore. If it mattered. You picked out something soft. Something simple.

And for the first time in a long time, you drifted off to sleep with a small smile on your face, even though your heart still hurt. Because no matter how much it hurt, you were finally home. “Table for two?” The waitress smiled as she led you to the corner seat by the window. You nodded, forcing the smallest smile, but your stomach was already tight. Your hands were clammy. Your throat felt like sandpaper. You’d rehearsed this in your head a million times.

What to say. How to act. It’s just lunch. You’re just catching up. It’s not a big deal. But then Jungwon walked in, and all your practice went out the window. “Hey,” he said, sliding into the seat across from you. His hoodie was slightly rumpled, like he hadn’t slept well.

“Hey,” you echoed, breath catching for a second too long. The silence stretched between you. You picked up the menu even though you weren’t hungry. He scrolled through his phone like he was checking something urgent, but you both knew he wasn’t. “So…” you started, voice cracking just slightly. “Been a while.” He glanced up, lips twitching. “Yeah.”

You blinked fast, trying to push past the lump in your throat. “Still drink iced tea with three sugars?” He huffed a soft laugh. The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah. Some things don’t change.”

“Some things do,” you whispered, eyes dropping to the table. He looked away. The waitress came back and took your order, her pen tapping against the notebook. “I’ll have the kimbap,” you murmured. “Same,” he said, not even looking at the menu.

When she left, you fiddled with the straw in your water glass. “Honestly,” you breathed out, voice softer now, “I thought this would be weirder.” Jungwon smirked, eyes narrowing just a little. “Oh, it’s weird.” Your lips parted, a small laugh escaping before you could stop it.

“Right.” But then the conversation shifted. Somehow, you both slipped into old patterns. Teasing. Joking. “Remember when you failed your driver’s test?” you asked, lips curling at the memory. His head dropped back, groaning. “Don’t remind me.” “You cried in the parking lot,” you teased. “I did not cry.” “Your eyes got shiny.” “They got sweaty,” he shot back, grinning now. And just like that, for a brief, precious moment, it felt like it used to.

Like you were sitting in the school cafeteria again. Like the last two years never happened. Your guard lowered. You let your shoulders relax. Maybe it’s fine now, you thought. Maybe you could just… go back to normal. But then you asked.

“So, uh… are you—” Your voice faltered. “Are you seeing anyone?” You tried to sound casual. You bit your lip so hard it hurt. Jungwon’s eyes flicked up to meet yours, something cold flashing behind them for a second. “Yeah.” Your heart twisted, but you forced a smile. “Cool. That’s cool.”

He shifted in his seat. His fingers tapped the side of his glass. “Her name’s Soojin.” Your stomach dropped. The name felt like an earthquake in your chest. “Oh,” you breathed. Your mind spun back to that night outside the library, the kiss you saw, the night you packed your bags, the night you erased your world in one breath.

Jungwon must’ve seen something shift in your face, because his brows drew together. Before either of you could say anything else, the café door slammed open. The air practically shattered. “Soojin?” you whispered, but you already knew. Her heels clacked against the wooden floor.

Her eyes locked on Jungwon like a sniper’s target. “Jungwon.” Her voice was sharp. Piercing. He froze. “Did you forget we had lunch plans?” she demanded, loud enough that people turned.

Your throat closed. “I—” Jungwon tried to speak, but she cut him off. “Or did you think it’d be fun to sneak off with her instead?” Her eyes flicked toward you, full of accusation. You sat perfectly still, like a deer in headlights. “Soojin, not here.” His voice was low, teeth gritted. “I don’t care,” she snapped. “Why don’t you tell me right now, Jungwon?” “Soojin.” Your hands tightened around your napkin.

Your heart beat so loud it echoed in your ears. You didn’t belong here. Not anymore. “I should go,” you whispered, voice barely audible. Jungwon stood abruptly, chair scraping the floor. His eyes burned into Soojin’s. “Outside,” he said, voice sharp now.

“We’re not doing this here.” But she grabbed his wrist anyway, dragging him toward the door. You stayed in your seat. Still. You stared into your coffee cup, eyes blurred. People whispered behind their hands. Someone at the counter whispered, “That’s Yang Jungwon, right?” You didn’t move. You didn’t cry. You just sat there, stirring your cold coffee, pretending you weren’t falling apart.

By the time the sun dipped low in the sky, you were still sitting at the table. Eyes glassy. Coffee untouched. Jungwon came back to the café later. He stood at the entrance, scanning the room. When he spotted you still sitting there, stirring your drink with your head down, his chest tightened. His throat ached. His heart squeezed in his ribs. He didn’t walk over.

He just watched you for a moment longer before turning away. You didn’t expect him to show up again. But at 8:12PM, there was a soft knock at your door. You opened it to find a small bouquet resting against the frame. Sunset hibiscuses. Soft orange bleeding into warm pink. Colors that made your stomach twist.

There was no note. Just his phone number scribbled on the back of a café napkin. You stared at it for a long time, heart pounding. You didn’t call him. Not yet. But you didn’t throw the flowers away either. You placed them on your nightstand. Right next to the one thing you swore you’d left behind.

It was almost midnight when you finally caved. You stared at your phone for an hour before you did it. Typing. Deleting. Typing again. “Hi.” Simple. Stupid, really. But your hands still shook when you hit send. The flowers sat quietly on your nightstand, petals curling like little sunset flames. You stared at the screen, heart racing in your chest like a trapped bird. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Appeared again.

Then gone. You thought you might throw up. Finally, your phone buzzed.

Jungwon [12:03AM]:Hey.

You bit your lip so hard you tasted copper. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard. What now? What do you even say after that mess? But before you could spiral again, another text lit up the screen.

Jungwon [12:04AM]:I’m sorry about today.

Your throat tightened. Your thumbs moved before your brain caught up.

You [12:04AM]:It’s okay.

It wasn’t. But you typed it anyway. A long pause. Then:

Jungwon [12:05AM]:It’s not okay.

You blinked back sudden tears.

You [12:05AM]:I shouldn’t have asked about dating.

Another pause.

Jungwon [12:06AM]:No. You had every right.

The air in your room felt too thick. You sat cross-legged on the bed, phone glowing in your lap, wishing you could shrink into the mattress.

You [12:06AM]:Did you…

Your fingers hovered. You erased it. Rewrote it. Did you love her? You didn’t send that. Instead:

You [12:07AM]:Why her?

Three dots. Then stillness. Your chest caved in. Maybe you shouldn’t have sent that. Maybe you should’ve-

Jungwon [12:08AM]:I don’t know.

Your lips trembled.

Jungwon [12:08AM]:Because you left.

There it was. Like someone had dropped a brick in your stomach. Your hands went still. Your eyes burned.

You [12:09AM]:I had my reasons.

Jungwon [12:10AM]:I know.

Another pause. Your heart beat so hard you could hear it.

Jungwon [12:10AM]:You think I didn’t wait for you?

You wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. The text cursor blinked, mocking you. You wanted to tell him the truth. That you left because you saw him kiss her. That your heart shattered before you could ask for the real story. But you didn’t. Not yet. Instead, you typed:

You [12:11AM]:I’m tired, Jungwon.

Jungwon [12:11AM]:Me too.

A pause. Then:

Jungwon [12:11AM]:Can we talk tomorrow? Face to face.

Your eyes fluttered shut.

You [12:12AM]:Okay.

You set your phone down slowly. Face warm. Chest heavy. You crawled under the blanket, heart pounding against your ribs. Outside, the world was quiet. Inside, your mind was screaming.

But somehow, somehow, you knew you’d still show up tomorrow. Even if it hurt. It started with a walk. After the awkward lunch, after the hibiscus flowers he left at your door, after the long text exchange that kept you up until 2AM, you found yourself standing outside, sneakers damp from morning dew, walking side by side with Jungwon again.

For a second, it almost felt normal. Except it wasn’t. Your hands stayed stuffed in your hoodie pockets. His too. Neither of you said much at first. The wind rustled the leaves overhead, the cicadas sang in the trees, but between the two of you? Silence. Your throat tightened with every step. You wanted to say something.

Anything. But your chest felt too full. Like you’d choke on your own voice if you tried. And then, softly, almost like he wasn’t sure if he should, Jungwon spoke. “Why’d you leave?” Your breath hitched. His tone wasn’t angry. It wasn’t cold. It was just… small. Like he’d been holding that question in his lungs for two years. You kept walking. Eyes on the pavement.

“I had to,” you whispered. The words sounded pathetic in the air. Like an excuse you didn’t believe anymore. “I didn’t ask if you had to.” His voice was barely audible now, just above the breeze. “I asked why.” You bit your lip, staring at your shoes as they moved. Left foot. Right foot. Left. You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The lump in your throat burned. Jungwon let out a soft sigh, his hands balling into fists in his hoodie. “Forget it,” he muttered. But neither of you forgot. You walked in silence for another block.

The sky cracked open around 8PM. Thunder rolled. Rain splashed against the windows like it was trying to come in. Your parents left for the grocery store, umbrellas in hand, mom scolding your dad for forgetting the list again. You stayed behind, staring at the TV without really watching it, stomach twisted in knots. You tried to drink tea, but it was cold by the time you realized you’d been holding the cup for an hour.

Then, the doorbell. Your heart jumped. When you opened it, there he was. Jungwon. Soaked. Hair dripping into his eyes. Hoodie plastered to his skin. His lips curved into a half-smile. The sad kind. “Didn’t bring an umbrella,” he said, flicking wet bangs out of his face. “Didn’t know where else to go.” Your stomach flipped. You wanted to slam the door.

You wanted to pull him inside. You did neither. You just stepped back. Let him in. In the kitchen, you stood by the stove, making tea with trembling hands. The rain hit the window like static. Jungwon stood behind you, close but not too close, hands in his pockets, shoulders wet. You tried to focus on the kettle.

On the steam curling from the spout. But you could feel him. Right there. And then, he moved. Soft footsteps. He was behind you now. So close you could feel his breath on your neck. Your body stiffened. Before you could turn, his voice cut through the silence.

“Don’t.” Your hands shook over the tea cups. “Don’t push me away again.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “Jungwon,” you whispered. “You have a girlfriend.” The silence after that was so loud it made your ears ring. “I know,” he said finally. His voice cracked.

“I know.” The kettle screamed. You poured the tea with shaky fingers. Neither of you spoke after that. You sat in the living room, sipping quietly. His hoodie dripped onto the carpet. When the rain let up, he stood. “I should go.” You nodded, throat burning. At the door, he hesitated. Like he wanted to say something else. Like there was still a piece of him stuck in the room. But he didn’t say it. He just left.

You didn’t sleep that night. The rain echoed in your ears even after it stopped. You lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across the room. Your hands clenched in the blankets, replaying every second of the day. By morning, you couldn’t stay still. You got up early, hoodie thrown over your head, sneakers on, heart racing for no reason. You walked again. No destination. Just… away. You visited your old places. The places that made your chest ache. The library was first. The moment you pushed the doors open, you almost choked on memory. Same smell. Old paper, wooden shelves, air conditioning too cold for summer.

You walked the rows silently. Feet carrying you to the same back corner seat. The one you always shared with him. “Are you gonna hog all the notes or…?” Jungwon’s voice echoed in your head. You remembered how he’d steal your highlighters. How he’d doodle in your margins when you weren’t looking. How he’d rest his head on his arms beside you, eyelashes fluttering in sleep while your pen scratched across paper. But then, another memory surfaced, sharp and unwelcome. You saw it again. That night. Rain streaking the library windows.

You were panting, about to surprise him, when you saw it. Her lips on his. Her hand fisting the collar of his jacket. His hands, at his sides. Frozen. But the image blurred in your mind over the months. In your head, it always looked like he was kissing her back. That’s what you chose to remember. Because if he wasn’t, if he really had pushed her away for you, then why did he get with her after you left?

Why did he stop calling? Why did he move on while you had to live with it? Your throat tightened. You sat down at the same table you used to share, pressing your palms into the wood like it could steady you.

After the library, you walked to the 24-hour convenience store. The bell jingled as you pushed the door open. The same fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Same old lady behind the counter. You remembered the nights you came here with Jungwon at 2AM, buying banana milk and ramen cups, sitting outside on the curb just talking. Talking about college. About life. About the future. “Let’s leave this place one day,” he’d whispered once, mouth full of rice crackers. “Let’s make it out, you and me.” You thought you did. But you left alone. And now you were back, and everything hurt more than before.

Next was the park. The bench you used to sit on was still there. You traced your finger over the initials carved into the wood. Your name. His name. A stupid little heart between them. You thought time would make this easier. But here you were, knees tucked to your chest, head down, breathing shaky like you were seventeen again.

It kept flashing in your mind. That moment in the kitchen. His voice. His breath against your neck. “Don’t push me away again.” You squeezed your eyes shut. You could still feel his hand behind you, hovering but never touching. Could still smell the rain in his hair. And then, just as fast, the guilt crashed in. Because he had a girlfriend. Because you left. Because you both did this to each other.

You ran into some old friends near the bus stop later that day. “Oh my God, you’re back?” “How long has it been?” “California looked so cool on Instagram!” You smiled. Laughed on cue. You didn’t tell them you cried in the shower that morning. You didn’t tell them about Jungwon.

Or Soojin. Or the hibiscus flowers still wilting on your nightstand. You didn’t tell them anything. By sunset, you were back home. Alone again. Your parents were still out. The house creaked like it missed you. You sat in your childhood room, knees hugged to your chest, staring at the ceiling. Your phone sat on the nightstand next to the flowers. You thought about texting him again.

You didn’t. Instead, you lay back in bed, tears slipping quietly into your pillow. You wondered how things would’ve been if you’d just stayed that day. If you hadn’t booked that ticket. If you hadn’t run away. You thought about the flowers he sent. Sunset orange. Soft pink. Same colors as the sky the night you left. Same colors as the moment you realized you never really left him at all. It started with a text.

[Jungwon | 10:34PM]You up?

Your stomach twisted the second your phone buzzed. Of course you were up. You’d been staring at the ceiling for the past three hours, replaying every moment you wished you could forget.

[You | 10:36PM]Yeah.

The typing bubbles showed up right away.

[Jungwon | 10:37PM]Wanna go for a drive?

Your chest tightened. You should’ve said no. You said yes.

The air was too cold for summer. You climbed into his car, hoodie strings pulled tight, trying to make yourself smaller. He smelled the same. Fabric softener. Old gum. The windows fogged slightly from your breath. Neither of you said anything at first. The drive started slow. City lights flickering past the window. Then he spoke. Soft. Careless. Like he was testing the waters. “Still hate banana milk?”

You huffed, lips twitching bitterly. “I never hated it.” “Right,” he scoffed. “You gagged every time you drank it for fun, huh?” “I was lactose intolerant.” “Oh.” His eyes stayed on the road. “Guess you were intolerant to a lot of things.” Your stomach dropped. The tension crept in, like storm clouds gathering overhead. You looked out the window. Didn’t respond.

“So,” he said, voice light but laced with something sharp, “How’s California? You meet someone rich yet?” You sucked in a breath. “Seriously?” “I’m just saying,” he shrugged, fingers tapping the steering wheel, “Thought you’d be married by now. Settled. House in Malibu or whatever.”

You clenched your jaw. “Sorry to disappoint you.” “Didn’t say I was disappointed.” His lips curled into a half-smile. “Actually makes sense. No one can stand you for that long.” The words sliced through you. You bit back the lump in your throat. “Funny. Coming from someone still stuck in the same town.” “Right.” His voice was clipped now. “Because running away’s so mature.” You folded your arms across your chest.

The road grew quieter. Streetlights blurred past in streaks. Then he asked it again. “Why’d you leave?” You swallowed. “Drop it.” “No.” “Jungwon, I’m serious—” “Fucking tell me!” His voice cracked, raw now. “Why’d you fucking leave, huh? Was I that easy to throw away?” Your hands balled into fists in your lap. “BECAUSE YOU FUCKING KISSED HER!” The words ripped out of your throat. Your vision blurred with hot tears. Silence.

The kind that shatters you from the inside out. Jungwon’s jaw locked. His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. “You’re kidding me,” he whispered. “I saw you!” Your voice shook, loud, ugly. “I SAW YOU, JUNGWON! In the library. You kissed Soojin. You fucking kissed her—” “I DIDN’T KISS HER!”

His voice exploded, echoing off the windshield. “She kissed me! I pushed her off—” “Yeah? Then why’d you date her right after, huh?” Your throat burned. “Real smooth, Jungwon.” “Oh, fuck you,” he spat. His laugh was bitter. Mean. “Don’t act like you’re innocent. You left the next morning. Didn’t even say goodbye.”

“Because I was DONE!” Your hands flew up, shaking. “I couldn’t fucking handle it—” “Oh, poor you,” he snapped. “Had to face one heartbreak and bolted across the goddamn ocean. Bravo.” “Fuck off,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “You know what?” His voice cracked again, but now it was cruel. “You always ran when things got hard. Always.” Your chest caved in.

“At least I don’t stay and rot like you.” “Oh yeah? Must be nice being a fucking coward.” “At least I don’t stay in relationships out of guilt!” Your voice broke. “Did you even like her? Or was she just your charity case because I left?” He slammed his hand on the steering wheel, making the car swerve slightly. “I DATED HER BECAUSE I HATED MYSELF!” he yelled. The car screeched to a stop at a red light. His voice dropped. Small. Hoarse. “I hated myself because you left.”

You sat there. Breathing heavy. Fingers trembling. “And I hated you for staying with her.” “I hated me more.” His grip tightened on the wheel. “You think you’re the only one who got hurt?” he whispered. “I sent you flowers, remember?”

Your throat seized. “I showed up to your house that night. In the rain. You know what your mom told me?” His eyes shined with something bitter and broken. “She said you were already gone.” You blinked hard. “I—I didn’t know.” “Yeah?” His voice cracked again.

“Well, now you do.” Silence. “You left me,” he whispered. “And you fucking stayed,” you whispered back. The green light blinked. Neither of you moved.

Jungwon’s hand twitched over the gear shift, but his eyes stayed locked on the road ahead. His knuckles were pale, tendons tight like stretched wire. You sat frozen in the passenger seat, lips trembling. The air between you wasn’t silence. It was grief.

The kind that rotted. The kind that festered. He was the first to speak. “Guess California didn’t fix you, huh?” Your throat clenched. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t teasing. It was a dart. Venom dipped. You laughed bitterly under your breath, wiping at your eyes fast. “I don’t remember asking to be fixed.” He scoffed, hands still locked on the wheel.

“Yeah? You sure as hell acted like it.” You bit your cheek so hard it almost bled. “Maybe I wouldn’t have had to act like it if you hadn’t—” He cut you off. Too fast. Too sharp. “Oh, here we go again.” Your neck snapped toward him, eyes blazing.

“Excuse me?” “You’ve been back for what? Two days?” His voice was low but nasty. “And we’re already replaying this greatest hit? Boo hoo, you kissed her, Jungwon.” You swallowed. Hard. “I watched it happen.” “No, you watched me push her away,” he snapped. “I watched her kiss you,” you hissed, “and you let her.”

He slammed his palm flat against the steering wheel. A loud, ugly sound. “I let her?!” “You didn’t stop her fast enough.” “Oh, sorry, was there a fucking time limit? Should I have pushed her off in three seconds flat?” Your eyes stung. But your mouth didn’t stop.

“Maybe if you loved me you would’ve.” His jaw dropped open, just for a second. Then his face crumpled into something mean. Something hurt. “Don’t you dare pull that shit,” he seethed. You stared out the window, voice quieter now. “I came back for you, Jungwon.”

His laugh was bitter. Dry. Like swallowing glass. “Oh yeah? Well maybe you shouldn’t have.” You blinked. Fast. Your throat tightened. “Fuck you,” you whispered. “Seriously.” His hands trembled on the wheel. “You left. You ghosted me. And now you’re back like you’re doing me a fucking favor.” “I came back because I missed you!” “Well, congratulations,” he spat. “Now you can miss me from here.”

Your hands gripped the edge of the seat so hard your fingers cramped. “I didn’t come back for this.” “Then what did you come back for, huh?” His eyes cut sideways. “Closure? A victory lap? To see how much worse off I am without you?” Your lip quivered. “I came back because I thought maybe, just maybe, we could fix it.” He laughed again, but it was uglier now. Wet. “Fix what?” His throat bobbed. “There’s nothing to fix.”

You turned to him, eyes glassy. “Because you gave up.” “No,” he snapped, eyes narrowing. “Because you changed.” You recoiled. “You used to be soft,” he said, voice cracking. “Now you’re just cold.” “I had to be cold!” you shouted. “Because you didn’t fight for me.” His foot slammed on the brake too fast at a stop sign. The car jolted.

“I SENT YOU FLOWERS!” he screamed. Your chest seized. “I stood outside your house in the fucking rain, and your mom told me you were already gone.” You blinked back hot tears.

His knuckles turned white again. “I stayed up for three nights thinking you’d call. You didn’t. So yeah, I stayed with her.” You choked. “Did you even like her?” “No.” “Then why—” “Because she was there, and you were not!” His voice cracked. Broke. “Because I hated myself so much I figured, fuck it, why not?”

You slammed your fist into your thigh. “I hated you for it.” “I hated me more!” Silence. The kind that hurts your ears. “And guess what?” he whispered, eyes forward. “I still fucking hate myself.” Your lips parted. “I hate myself for still being in love with you.” You couldn’t breathe. “And I hate you for leaving,” he whispered. Your heart felt like it cracked in half.

“And I hate you for being the only thing in my head even now. Two fucking years later.” His voice was breaking. But he didn’t stop. “I see you in my sleep. I see you when I brush my fucking teeth. You ruined me.” Your eyes spilled over. But you didn’t back down. “YOU RUINED ME FIRST!” “Oh, come on—” “I came back, Jungwon! I came back and you didn’t even give a fuck!” His head snapped toward you, eyes glassy and furious.

“DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE!” His voice boomed in the car, echoing off the windows. “I would’ve ripped the world in half if you’d let me!” “Then why didn’t you?!” “I TRIED!” “You didn’t try hard enough.” By then both of you were sobbing. Not the pretty kind. Not movie tears.

Ugly, broken, lip-biting sobs in the dark. Neither of you said sorry. Neither of you could. When the car stopped in front of your house, you didn’t move. Your hands shook. Your lips trembled. Your whole chest heaved with every shallow breath. “Get out,” he whispered. You did. Without a word.

You collapsed onto your bed the second you got inside. Face buried in your pillow. Hands clawing at the sheets. Your phone buzzed once. Then twice. His name flashed on the screen. You blocked it. Before you could stop yourself. Before you could think.

Because if you didn’t, you knew you’d answer. And if you answered, you’d never leave this heartbreak behind.

When Jungwon dropped you off and you shut the door behind you, it wasn’t like closing a door. It was like pulling the final thread out of something already unraveling. You leaned against the wood, eyes squeezing shut. Your knees buckled. Your chest caved. And you sank to the floor, right there in the entryway.

Face in your hands. Breath hitching. Because you weren’t just heartbroken. You weren’t just sad. You were wrecked. You crawled to your bed at some point that night, but you don’t remember how. Your throat was sore. Your lips were cracked. Your eyes stung like hell from crying, but they stayed open anyway, wide, blank, staring at the ceiling like it held all the answers you couldn’t find. You told yourself you were done crying. But the tears came anyway.

You thought about texting him. A hundred times. You thought about unblocking his number. Just for a second. Just to see if he’d called again. But you didn’t. Because you were terrified that if you saw his name on your screen again, you’d fall apart in a way you couldn’t come back from.

So you starved yourself instead. No food. No water. No sleep. You let the world move around you. Let your body shut down piece by piece. Your mom knocked on your door early the next morning. “Sweetheart?” she whispered. Her voice was soft. So soft it shattered you. “I made soup.” You kept your eyes closed.

“Please come out and eat.” Your lips stayed sealed. Stiff. Cracked. Later, your dad came to check on you. “Baby?” His voice wobbled. Your father never wobbled. “I brought your favorite, peach yogurt from the bakery.” You stayed under the blanket, back turned. They tried again after lunch.

Your mom sat on the edge of your bed, stroking your hair. Her hand was shaking. “Come on,” she whispered. “You’ve always been my strong girl.” You hated that. Because you weren’t strong anymore. You were falling apart in slow motion. And nobody could stop it.

That night, your fever started. A slow, hot ache in your head. A tremble in your hands. Your lips were too dry to speak, but you whispered into the pillow anyway. “I miss him.” Your voice broke mid-sentence. “I hate him.” Then softer. “I miss him.” And then nothing. Your dad canceled his meeting the next day.

It was the kind of meeting people get promotions from. The kind you wait for all year. But he canceled it without thinking twice. “If she’s like this tomorrow, I’m staying home,” he told your mom, pacing the kitchen. “I don’t care about the damn contract.”

You heard every word. But you pretended you didn’t. You stayed in bed. Face pressed to the cold wall. Eyes wide, unblinking. Because what could you say? Appa, it’s not about California. It’s not about work. I’m dying because of a boy. A boy who loved you so wrong and so right all at once. A boy who kissed you between the pages of library books. A boy who kissed someone else when you needed him most.

And now? You were paying the price for it all.

Summer before California

It started with the library. Your place. His place. Your secret, soft little world. Every weekend, you’d claim the window seat. Two iced coffees. Two notebooks. One playlist shared between one set of earbuds. Sometimes you’d study. Sometimes you’d nap on his shoulder. Sometimes you’d just sit there, hearts beating too fast, pretending it was nothing. But then— One rainy afternoon.

You came early. You wanted to surprise him. You had something to tell him that day. Something important. You were going to tell him you loved him. But when you pushed the door open, you saw him.At the entrance. With her. She was crying. Gripping his hoodie in her fists. Begging. Pleading. And then she kissed him. Her lips crashed into his like she owned him.

And he, he didn’t kiss her back. But he didn’t pull away right away either. Your throat closed. Your legs moved before your brain did. You ran. Fast. You bolted to the bathroom. Locked the stall door. Collapsed onto the tile. You cried until you couldn’t breathe. That night, you booked your ticket to California. When you were supposed to go next week. You told yourself you were going for work. For a fresh start.

But the truth was, you were running. Running from the image of his hands. His face. His lips. What you didn’t know? He was standing outside your door the next morning. Sunset hibiscus in his hand. Pink and orange petals trembling in the breeze. He waited for you. Your mom opened the door. Her eyes sad. “She’s gone,” she whispered. And just like that—

You were two people who loved each other and hurt each other in ways you could never take back.

Back to Now

Your mom came into your room again. She held your face in her hands. Her own eyes were red now too. “Sweetheart, please,” she whispered. “You need to eat.” You wanted to. You really did. But your throat closed. Your chest ached. So you just, smiled through the tears.

“I’ll be okay, Eomma.” Your dad hovered at the door, eyes shining. “I can skip work,” he whispered. “I’ll cancel the trip.” You shook your head. Your lips trembled. “No, Appa.” Your voice cracked. “I’ll manage.” When they finally left the house to pick up groceries, you collapsed again.Back into the bed where you and Jungwon used to lie side by side, listening to playlists and sharing earphones.

Your hands fisted the sheets. Your eyes squeezed shut. And you whispered into the dark. “I should’ve stayed gone.” But you didn’t. And now? You weren’t sure if you’d ever get yourself back. The next morning wasn’t a miracle. You still woke up with puffy eyes. Your body still hurt. Your heart still throbbed under your ribs like something wounded and feral. But when you opened your eyes, you heard soft voices downstairs. Your parents. Your mom was crying. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” she whispered. Her voice cracked in the middle. “She’s not eating. She won’t talk to me, she pretends she’s fine when she’s not.”

Your dad sighed. You heard the familiar sound of his hand rubbing his temples. “I know,” he said. “I know.” They didn’t know you were listening. And somehow, that made it worse. You pulled yourself out of bed slowly. Your legs shook, but you stood anyway. For once, you didn’t want to hide under the blankets. You wrapped a cardigan around your body, shuffled to the stairs, and leaned quietly against the wall. “I’ll cancel the trip,” your dad was saying downstairs. His voice was firm. Determined.

“The meeting can wait. Our daughter can’t.” Your mom sniffled. “I don’t want you to lose this deal, honey. You’ve worked so hard for it.” “It doesn’t matter.” Your dad’s voice wavered. “She’s more important.” Your stomach twisted. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t just about Jungwon.

They were about this. The love. The worry. The weight you were putting on them. You stepped into the kitchen slowly. Your mom gasped a little when she saw you. “Oh, sweetheart—” Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. Your dad turned too, lips parting in surprise. “Baby, you’re up.” “I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Your voice was barely there. But it was enough. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” Your mom rushed forward, wrapping you in her arms. Her body shook against yours. “I thought we were going to lose you,” she whispered into your shoulder. “I’m okay now,” you lied. But it was a start. Your dad stood back, rubbing his eyes. When you looked at him, he tried to smile.

“I heard you talking,” you whispered, throat tight. “I want you to go. To the meeting.” Your mom shook her head, but you cut her off gently. “Please.” “I’ll be fine.” You said it again and again, until they started to believe you. That afternoon, you sat at the kitchen table alone, stirring soup with trembling hands. It was the first thing you’d eaten in days. Your stomach ached, but you swallowed anyway.

One bite. Then another. You opened the window to let the breeze in. The rain had stopped. The air smelled like wet grass and something new. Something soft. You didn’t know if you’d ever be whole again.But for the first time in weeks, you wanted to try. And that had to mean something. Your parents left for Busan that evening.

You waved from the door, plastering on a smile that cracked the second they turned the corner. The minute you shut the door, the house felt bigger than it used to. Too big. Too quiet. Too cold. You wandered back to bed. Pulled the blanket over your head. And let yourself fall apart all over again.

Your fever got worse that night. The shakes came back. The headaches. The burning in your throat. You were so tired, but your mind wouldn’t shut off. Memories looped like cruel little films in your brain: The library. His hoodie sleeves. The smell of his cologne on rainy days. The way he used to flick your forehead when you got sleepy during study sessions. And then, her lips on his. Your heart breaking in real time. California. Running away.

It rained for hours. The kind of rain that pressed against the windows like it wanted in. You stared at the ceiling. Eyes hot. Body weak. Maybe you deserved this, you thought. Maybe this was what heartbreak was supposed to feel like when you let it rot too long. And then, the doorbell rang. Once. Twice. Loud. Urgent. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing it to stop. But it didn’t.

Whoever it was kept ringing, hand heavy, fist knocking now, over and over. Your head spun when you sat up. Your legs shook when you stood. But you stumbled to the door anyway. And when you opened it, he was there. Jungwon.

Soaking wet. Rain dripping from his hair, plastering it to his forehead. His chest rose and fell like he’d run the whole way here. And in his hand? A single hibiscus. Sunset pink. Orange at the edges. Like the ones he always gave you. You blinked at him. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. His eyes moved over you slowly. Taking in your messy hair. Your shivering body. Your flushed cheeks.

Something cracked in his expression. His lips pressed together. His brows furrowed. And then? Without a word, he stepped inside. For the first few minutes, neither of you spoke. He took off his wet jacket and draped it on the chair. You stood there like a ghost, your fingers twisting the hem of your shirt. His eyes met yours once, but only for a second. You opened your mouth to ask why he was here, but your voice came out too hoarse. So you said nothing. He disappeared into the kitchen. Came back with a wet cloth. Knelt beside you. Pressed the cloth to your burning forehead.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. Your throat hurt to talk. “No, you’re not.” His voice was quiet. Low. He stayed. For hours. He made tea and held it to your lips. Wiped your sweat. Changed the towel on your forehead when it got too warm. Sometimes his hands trembled when they touched you. Sometimes yours did too. At one point, you whispered his name.

Barely audible. His eyes flicked up to yours, fast. Like he couldn’t stop himself. “Why are you here?” Your lips barely moved. His throat bobbed. His eyes darted away. “I don’t know,” he whispered back.

Time passed like that. Silence. Rain tapping the windows. Two people trying not to break all over again. At some point, he brought you broth. Held the spoon to your lips. Waited. Your hand rested weakly on the blanket. He hesitated. His gaze locked on your trembling lips.

And then, he said it. Quiet. Barely louder than the rain. “I broke up with her.” His voice cracked halfway through. But he didn’t look at you. His eyes stayed on the spoon. On the bowl. On anything but your face. Your heart thudded, sharp and hard, like it wanted to leap out of your chest. You blinked, lips parting, but no words came out.

He lifted the spoon again. “Eat,” he whispered. You opened your mouth.Took the bite. Tears slipped down your cheeks silently, but he pretended not to see.

You don’t remember when you fell asleep. One moment, you were sipping lukewarm broth, your fingers trembling. The next? Jungwon’s hand found yours under the blanket. Neither of you said a word. His palm was cold from the rain. Yours was burning from the fever. But somehow, the warmth in the middle felt right. And for the first time in days, maybe weeks, you slept.

Not the fitful, restless tossing you’d been doing every night, but something real. When you opened your eyes, the rain was still falling softly outside. Your body still ached, but your chest? A little less. Your hand was still in his. Jungwon had fallen asleep in the chair beside you, chin resting on his chest, his other hand clutching the same hibiscus from last night. For a long moment, you just watched him.

His lashes. The rise and fall of his breath. The way his fingers twitched slightly in his sleep, like he was still holding onto something in his dreams. Your throat tightened, but in a softer way this time. You squeezed his hand gently, and his eyes fluttered open.

“Good morning,” you whispered. His gaze searched yours, slow and cautious. “Morning,” he whispered back, voice hoarse from sleep. “I’ll make you breakfast,” you offered, trying to sit up. “No,” he said immediately, standing so fast his chair scraped the floor. His eyes narrowed, playful but stubborn. “You’re not lifting a finger.”

“Wonie—” “No.” He pointed at you, shaking his wet hair out of his face. “You just stay there.” You watched him stumble into your kitchen like he owned the place, sleeves pushed up, ruffling through cabinets. You knew how this would go. He couldn’t cook for shit. But you let him do it anyway.

You heard the sound of pots clanging, eggs cracking, and something that definitely wasn’t supposed to be on fire. Ten minutes later, the kitchen was a disaster zone. “Jungwon,” you wheezed, voice cracking. He turned around, cheeks flushed, holding a pan of what might’ve been eggs once, but now looked like abstract art.

“I—I can fix this.” His eyes were wide, panicked, a little embarrassed. You bit your lip, trying not to laugh. But then he dropped the spatula. And you lost it. Laughter bubbled out of you, sudden and sharp. The kind that shakes your whole body. Your stomach hurt from it, but it was the best pain you’d felt in weeks.

He laughed too, eyes crinkling, head tipping back. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t healed. But for that one moment, you both forgot how much it hurt to love each other. The room was still warm when the laughter faded. You looked at him, really looked at him. The boy you left behind. The boy who stayed anyway.

And your heart tugged in your chest. You wanted to kiss him. God, you wanted to kiss him so bad it hurt. But you didn’t. You just stood there in the kitchen, barefoot, cheeks flushed, staring at each other over a ruined breakfast, wondering how love could feel this good and this complicated at the same time. The rain slowed to a soft patter outside. Almost like the sky was giving you both a break. You sat beside Jungwon on the couch, wrapped in the same blanket, knees barely brushing. Neither of you said anything for a long time. But the silence wasn’t heavy, not right now.

It was that kind of silence where you let yourself remember. The kind where your chest fills with warm ache, and you almost wish you could rewind time just to sit in the past a little longer. You spoke first. Voice soft. Almost shy.

“Do you… think about those days?” His eyes flicked to you, lashes damp at the tips from sleep, or maybe from all of last night’s crying. His hand tightened just slightly around the edge of the blanket. “All the time.” You swallowed. Looked at your lap. “I thought coming back would make it hurt less,” you whispered. Jungwon’s breath hitched just slightly.

“I thought leaving would make it hurt less,” he answered, and the way he said it made your stomach twist. You let out a small, humorless laugh. “I guess we’re both idiots.” That made him smile a little. Not much. But it was there. His gaze turned distant again, flickering to the window where raindrops slid lazily down the glass.

“Remember how we used to sit like this in the library?” he asked suddenly. You nodded. “I used to tell you to scoot over but you’d just get closer.” He laughed under his breath, eyes crinkling. “Yeah, well. I had a plan.” You nudged his arm, heart racing faster now. “You’re full of shit, Yang Jungwon.” He turned to you, gaze sharp but teasing. “I’m serious.”

Your smile faltered a little. Your throat tightened. There was a beat of quiet, where the room felt smaller. Closer. And then, like a fool, you said it. “Do you remember that time we kissed?” The words hung between you, soft and sharp at the same time. His jaw flexed. “Which one?”

You scoffed, shoving his arm, but your fingers lingered. “You know which one. The library. Senior year.” His lips curved up into something crooked. “That wasn’t an accident, you know.” Your heart skipped a beat. Maybe two. “What?” He shifted closer, just a little, head tilted, eyes locked onto yours. “I did that on purpose.” “No, you did not—” “You think it’s a coincidence I always sat that close?” Your breath hitched.

“You think I just, what? Happened to turn at the same time you did?” His voice dropped an octave. His hand found your knee under the blanket. Barely touching. Just a whisper of warmth. “I wanted you to kiss me.” You blinked. Chest tight. “And you liked it.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. “Say it,” he whispered. His eyes were glittering now. Dark, but soft. Like every memory you’d buried was clawing its way back into the room. “Yeah,” you finally breathed, voice cracking just a little. “I did.” A beat of silence. Neither of you moved. The air between you tightened. Warmed. Suffocated. His gaze dipped to your lips. Back to your eyes.

And then, slowly, like you were something delicate, Jungwon reached up. His fingers brushed the side of your face. Tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, hand lingering at your jaw. You didn’t pull away. And when he leaned in this time, you knew exactly what you were doing.

The kiss was soft. But not small. It was two years of heartbreak pressed into one breath. Two years of missed chances. Of pain. Of love that refused to die no matter how hard you tried to kill it. His lips tasted like rainwater and regret. Yours tasted like coming home. You let yourself fall into it. No defenses. No walls.

Just you and him. Finally. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, and you were both breathing too fast. Neither of you spoke. But his thumb brushed your cheek, just once. And it felt like everything was breaking and healing at the same time. Jungwon never really left after that night.

At first, it was subtle. Little things. Little visits. “Forgot my charger,” “I brought ramen,” “Your mom told me you’re not eating again.” You let him in every time. Sometimes you wondered if you should close the door, but you never did. Before you knew it, you were falling back into old patterns. The ones that felt like home. Late-night walks down familiar streets. Sharing a drink, a look, a stupid inside joke no one else understood. Your parents started teasing you again.

Your mom hummed under her breath when he left his socks by the door. Your dad smiled a little too knowingly when he found Jungwon asleep on the couch beside you, the TV still playing. You told yourself it was fine. Just friends. Just old habits. But your heart knew better. It was never just friends with him.

It was supposed to be just another movie nigh Jungwon showed up at your door the same way he always did now, hood up, rain dripping from his sleeves, popcorn in one hand like it was some grand offering. “Movie?” he asked, eyes soft but tired. Like he didn’t really care about the movie at all.

You let him in without a word, heart already doing that thing it always did when he was close, fluttering painfully, hopelessly, like a bird trapped in your chest. You curled up together on the couch, blanket thrown over both your laps, the world outside drowned in rain. He sat close. Too close. His thigh pressed against yours beneath the fabric. His pinky brushed yours on the cushion between you. Neither of you moved away. Halfway through the film, your head tilted, resting against his shoulder. His hand slid over your knee, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin. The movie faded into the background.

Your heartbeat didn’t. “Wonie,” you whispered softly. He turned his head at the same time you did. Your lips brushed. Both of you froze. Eyes wide. Breaths caught. But he didn’t pull back. Neither did you. The next kiss was on purpose. It was slow, trembling, mouths moving hesitantly at first, then deeper, wetter, until you were gasping softly into him. His hand slid up your thigh, fingers splaying under the hem of your shorts, resting there. Warm. Careful.

You shifted, straddling him on instinct, knees pressing into the couch cushions on either side of his hips. His hands trembled when they landed on your waist. Your chest pressed to his. He was so warm under you, so familiar it hurt. “You’re sure?” he whispered, breathless. You cupped his face between your hands. “I want you,” you whispered back. His lips parted, pupils blown wide. “I’ve never done this before,” you confessed, voice shaking, cheeks flushed. His eyes snapped up to yours. “Me neither.” Your stomach flipped.

Your throat went tight. “Wait—you’re serious?” He nodded, eyes glossy. “I was waiting.” Your hands slid to his jaw, fingers trembling. “For me?” “Yeah.” The clothes came off slowly. Your hoodie fell first, leaving goosebumps on your skin as his eyes traced over you. Like he was seeing you for the first time. Like he had waited just for this.

He kissed you everywhere. Not just your mouth, but your neck, your shoulders, the space between your ribs. His hands were gentle but eager, memorizing you with shaky touches. His lips brushed soft apologies onto your skin, like he was still scared this was a dream. You tugged his hoodie off, fingers brushing the smooth skin of his back. Your palms flattened over his shoulder blades, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart under your hands. His mouth found your collarbone, breath hot, teeth grazing the curve of it. You gasped, hips shifting against his lap.

His hands gripped your thighs, sliding up, up, under the soft cotton of your shorts until his thumbs brushed over the hem of your underwear. “Can I—?” “Yes.” Your voice came out small but sure. He peeled the fabric away, his eyes flickering down, breath hitching when he saw all of you. You expected him to be cocky. But he wasn’t.

He looked wrecked. Eyes glassy. Throat bobbing with a swallow. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. Your hands cupped his face again, thumbs stroking the sharp line of his cheekbones. “Jungwon.” His sweatpants came off next, and it wasn’t awkward, just real. Just vulnerable. Skin against skin for the first time.

Warmth. Breaths. Shaky hands. Your hips shifted, both of you gasping softly when you felt him, hard and flushed against you, pressing where you were already wet and aching.

“Wonie—” “Shh, it’s okay.” His forehead pressed to yours. His lips ghosted over your mouth. “I’ll go slow.” And he did. When he pushed inside you, it wasn’t perfect. It stung a little. But it was right. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him close as you gasped into his shoulder, tears burning behind your eyes, not from pain, but from the overwhelming rush of finally. He whispered your name like a prayer.

Again. And again. You stayed like that for a long time, bodies trembling, moving together slowly. Learning each other. Hands clasped tight. Hearts pressed close. It wasn’t fast. It wasn’t desperate. It was tender. Raw. Years of love folded into this one moment.

“I love you,” he whispered, breath hot against your ear. “I love you more,” you whispered back, your voice breaking. When you both finally came, it wasn’t loud. It was soft. Shuddering. His breath catching against your neck as your walls fluttered around him, bodies locked tight, hearts hammering in sync. After, you didn’t move. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. Your fingers curled into his hair, both of you still trembling, sweat cooling on your skin. Neither of you said anything for a while. There were no words big enough.

But eventually, he kissed the top of your head. “I waited for you,” he whispered, his voice wrecked. You smiled into his neck, tears wetting his collarbone. “I waited, too.” This was it. No more running. No more almosts. There was no falling out of this one. You were always meant to be. Some people think love is a lightning bolt, fast, explosive, here-and-gone. Yours was different. Yours was the kind of love that crept back in like morning light.

Soft. Steady. Warm against the skin. You and Jungwon weren’t pretending this was easy. There was too much history for that. But you were learning. Learning how to sit in the same room without biting your tongues. Learning how to hold hands without wondering when you’d have to let go. Learning how to be in love, this time with nothing held back.

It started with the small things. He brought you iced coffee on humid afternoons, just the way you liked it, three shots, no sugar, extra ice. You saved him the last bite of your favorite pastry, even when you wanted it for yourself. Sometimes you bickered over stupid things, like what playlist to use in the car, or whether mint chocolate counted as real dessert. But you always ended up laughing about it. And then came the day Jungwon showed up at your door, cheeks flushed with excitement, fingers laced behind his back like he was hiding something. “Come on,” he said, eyes sparkling. “We’re going out.”

“Where?” He just grinned. When he parked the car and you stepped outside, your heart flipped. The café. That tiny, sunlit place where you’d first met him. It looked almost exactly the same. Same faded sign. Same chipped paint on the window frames. Same sleepy barista behind the counter. You swallowed thickly, memories hitting you in waves. The first time you met. The way your hand shook so bad you spilled coffee all over his white T-shirt. His laugh echoing in your ears, soft and boyish, saying it was fine, really, don’t worry, while secretly thinking, God, I hope she talks to me again.

“This place,” you whispered, eyes scanning the familiar wooden walls, the old menu board that still hadn’t changed. “I haven’t been here since—” “Since you poured an iced Americano all over me,” Jungwon finished, grinning. You let out a breathless laugh, cheeks flushing. “God. I was so embarrassed.” “I wasn’t.” His voice softened. “I thought it was the best thing that ever happened to me.” You sat at your old table, the one by the window, sunlight filtering in, dancing over the back of Jungwon’s hand as he laced his fingers through yours. The drinks arrived, two matching orders of the same coffee you’d had back then.

This time, you didn’t spill it. “Look at you,” he whispered, gaze locked on yours. Like you were still the same person who stole his heart over a cup of coffee, even after everything life threw between you. Your cheeks burned, but it wasn’t embarrassment anymore. It was the kind of warmth you get from knowing someone loves every version of you, clumsy, broken, healing, whole.

The coffee came, two matching orders. You sipped quietly, feet brushing his under the table, eyes tracing the familiar walls. Outside, the sky started bleeding into orange and pink. The windows caught the sunset, filling the room with gold. You were glowing. Not just from the light, but from something deeper. Something that started in your chest and worked its way out to your fingertips. Afterward, you walked hand-in-hand down the street, the city humming softly around you. Jungwon kept stealing glances at you, like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Stop staring,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. “Can’t help it.” His smile reached all the way to his eyes. “You’re mine.”

When you got home, you curled up with him on the couch, your legs tangled over his, his chin resting on the crown of your head. Your laptop sat warm on your lap, cursor blinking in the open email draft. “Are you sure?” you whispered, heart thudding softly. Jungwon didn’t hesitate. “Yeah.” His voice was low, steady. “Write it.” So you did.

Subject: Resignation To: Your boss in California From: You

Thank you for everything, but I won’t be coming back.

Regards,

Yours faithfully.

You hit send. The air shifted. No more running. No more wondering if you made the wrong choice. “She would understand,” Jungwon told you, squeezing your hand.” No, she wouldn’t, Mrs. Garcia would absolutely blow up, cursing your entire bloodline, but you didn’t care. Jungwon’s hand found yours, squeezing gently. “You’re stuck with me now,” he whispered into your hair. You smiled, heart light for the first time in years. “Good,” you whispered back. That night, you fell asleep beside him, limbs tangled, his breath steady against your neck. And for the first time in a long time, there were no ghosts in the room. No old versions of yourself whispering doubts in the dark.

Just you. Just him. Just home.

THE END

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