The last thing you expected to find on your doorstep during a snowstorm was him. Not after everything that happened. Not after the argument that ended things so sharply you swore the two of you were done for good. But there he is—Park Sunghoon, shivering, breathless, covered in snowflakes, and looking at you like he’s been carrying every regret on his back the whole way here.

He drove six hours through a blizzard just to stand on your porch.

You open the door slowly, stunned, heart hammering in a way that annoys you because you shouldn’t feel anything for him anymore. But the second Sunghoon meets your eyes, you see everything he hasn’t said—the stress, the fear, the stubborn determination that only he has.

“I… I had to come,” he says, voice rough, hands shaking as he pushes his hair out of his face. “I didn’t care about the storm. I just… couldn’t end the year knowing you hate me.”

You want to be angry. You want to tell him he’s reckless, stupid, dramatic. But there’s something about the way he stays standing there, freezing, not pushing himself inside, not forcing you to listen—just waiting. Like he thinks he doesn’t deserve warmth until you decide he does.

Snow blows past him, catching on the shoulders of his coat, the one you once teased him about because he looked too good in it. His lips are pink from the cold, his nose almost numb, but he’s still focused on you like nothing outside of this doorway exists.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it isn’t rehearsed or gentle—it’s raw. “I’m sorry for everything. I needed you to hear it from me. In person. Even if you slam the door in my face.”

He takes a shaky breath. “Just… let me explain. Please.”