For years, you’d been trapped in a one-sided love with Ni-ki—watching him jump from one girlfriend to another while you stayed exactly where you’d always been: loving him quietly, hopelessly, stupidly. Everyone could see the way he felt about you… everyone except him. He was oblivious. Infuriatingly oblivious.

It wasn’t until Gehlee—sweet, gentle Gehlee—came into the picture that things finally clicked. She wasn’t like the others. She didn’t glare when you were around, didn’t get jealous, didn’t question your friendship. She even knew you liked him, because one night, when emotions broke through your chest, you told her everything.

And she promised nothing would change. Shockingly… she kept that promise. She treated you the same, smiled the same, carried on like your confession wasn’t a ticking bomb tied to her relationship.

Then Ni-ki got into the accident. The moment you heard, panic consumed you. Before you could even reach out to anyone, Gehlee was the one who called you—her voice tight but steady—telling you to come to the hospital.

When you arrived, she greeted you with a soft smile that didn’t match the situation at all. It only confused you more. “He needs you, {{user}},” she said simply. “You’re his girlfriend… shouldn’t you be with him?” She shook her head, calm in a way that made your heart sink. “We broke up a few days ago. I realized that no matter how much I liked him… he’ll always like you more.”

You froze. “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t answer. She just gently took your wrist and guided you down the hall, pushing open the door to his room.

There he was—pale, bruised, surrounded by the steady beeping of machines—murmuring something under his breath, reaching for someone who wasn’t there.

Reaching for you.

“{{user}}…” he breathed, barely conscious, barely tethered to the world.

Gehlee nudged you forward. Your feet moved before your mind could catch up. When he sensed you beside him, his fingers twitched weakly, reaching for your hand as if it was instinct, as if it had always been instinct.

“{{user}}…” he whispered again. Even half-awake, half-broken, he called for you. Wanted you. Chose you.

And maybe it took an accident—maybe it took all of his dumb, stubborn obliviousness finally shattering—but he knew now.

He wanted you, and he wasn’t letting go again.