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THE SUMMER WE NEVER LEFT

requested by @pinkglitterpuke

Summer never really ended for you.

Even when the leaves changed and school swallowed you again, even when you blocked his number and told your friends you were done, some part of you stayed stuck on that lake dock with him—Sunghoon—warm air on your skin, moonlight in the water, his voice low and careful like he was afraid to break you or himself.

You were too young.

He was too old.

And both of you were too reckless to care.

He looked at you like you were trouble.

You looked at him like a dare.

And when the confession slipped out that night—your shaky “I’m starting to care about you” and his even shakier, “I don’t trust you… But I don’t want you to go,”—you felt the summer tilt.

So you made a game.

One summer.

First one to fall loses.

No rules.

No promises.

But games only work when you keep your distance.

And Sunghoon didn’t.

He leaned in too close when he talked.

Your laugh came too easily.

His hand brushed yours too much to be an accident.

You looked at his mouth too long to pretend you weren’t curious.

Somewhere between talking at 2AM and driving nowhere with his windows down, the game stopped being a game.

You fell first.

Sunghoon cared first.

Neither of you admitted it.

So instead of loving each other, you tried to out-hide each other.

He tried to be perfect for you.

You tried to be trustworthy for him.

Neither of you knew how to hold something fragile without pressing too hard.

It went toxic—not out of malice—but out of fear.

Breaking up would’ve meant a phone call, a text, a real ending.

You couldn’t.

He wouldn’t.

So the summer just… ended.

And silence took over.

Seven months of it.

Seven months of him pretending he didn’t replay the sound of your laugh.

Seven months of you pretending you didn’t keep his old sweatshirt under your bed.

Seven months of both of you growing up in opposite directions and somehow toward the same wound.

The following summer, you saw him again.

Sunghoon stood there by the campus fountain—older, softer, tired in a way you recognized too well.

Your stomach dropped so hard you turned around.

He smiled lurt him.

You walked toward him anyway.

It was good at first.

Too good.

Talking felt natural again.

He remembered your tells.

You remembered his habits.

He touched your arm when he laughed.

You didn’t move away.

For a moment, you believed you’d finally gotten timing right.

Until the promise.

That stupid promise from the first summer—

“If we can’t make it work now, we'll try again at 25. Maybe actually get married or something.”

You joked.

Sunghoon didn’t.

He asked quietly, “Do you still think we could do that?”

You hesitated.

He noticed.

One small argument became five.

Five became the one that finally collapsed the whole thing.

Before the summer could end, so did you.

You walked away crying.

Sunghoon let you go, then sat in his car gripping the wheel until his knuckles blanched, realizing too late that he’d made the wrong choice again.

Silence.

Again.

This time for almost a year.

Sunghoon stared at your name on his phone last week.

He’d grown so much, and somehow not at all.

He wanted to reach out.

He hated himself for wanting it.

He hated himself more for being afraid.

He typed: hey. You remember that promise?

He hovered.

He sent it.

When you replied, Sunghoon felt something loosen in his chest; he didn’t realize he’d been holding for months.

You hated the way your breath caught as you read it.

You hated that you didn’t hate him.

Then the messages kept coming—

soft, familiar, casually intimate in the way only two people who once ruined each other can be.

And suddenly, the game was back.

A different game.

A quieter one.

You wrote: feels like you’re trying to fall again

He wrote: I already did. not telling you when. that’s cheating

Your heart stuttered.

Sunghoon knew it did.

He always knew.

You will meet him next week.

The place he chose is quiet—a park near the river, sunlight scattered across the water, like he picked a setting soft enough not to overwhelm either of you.

He’s already there when you arrive.

Sunghoon stands when he sees you, hands shoved in his pockets like he’s trying to hold himself together.

His eyes flicker over you—your hair, your face, the way your shoulders tense—like he’s memorizing you again, carefully, reverently.

“You look good,” he says, voice lower than you remember.

“You look the same,” you answer.

“Good same or bad same?”

“Trouble same.”

He laughs, and the sound is so familiar it almost knocks the air out of you.

You sit beside him.

Close enough that your knees brush.

Far enough that neither of you has to acknowledge it.

“You really came,” Sunghoon says quietly.

“You asked.”

He nods, swallowing. “Do you still think about it?”

“Sometimes.”

“Me too,” he admits. “I think… I never stopped.”

He shifts closer—not touching you, just leaning into the space you left open.

“You know,” he says, voice soft and raw, “this time I don’t want a game. Or a timer. Or a promise for years from now.”

Your chest tightens.

“Then what do you want?”

Sunghoon’s eyes meet yours—older, steadier, terrified.

“You,” he breathes. “Here. Now. Honestly. Without us hurting each other just because we’re scared of how real it feels.”

You blink hard, swallowing a lump in your throat.

Because you want that too.

More than you should.

“Do you think we can do that?” you whisper.

He gives a small, hopeful smile—one that looks like apology and longing and the boy he used to be.

“I don’t know,” Sunghoon says truthfully. “But I want to try. With you. This time for real.”

Your heart stumbles.

And maybe—

finally—

You let it.

playlist - hoon's favourite lie - some truths hurts more than the lies we tell

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Which single father trope for a Sunghoon angst fic?

single father sunghoon x widowed y/n

single father sunghoon x social worker y/n

single father sunghoon x y/n who "doesn't like kids"

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