The air was thick with the scent of whiskey and regret as you sat on your couch, the city lights flickering through your apartment windows. The bottle on the coffee table was almost empty, your fingers tracing its edge absently as your phone buzzed. You didn’t need to look; you already knew who it was.

Heeseung.

You had been here too many times before. It always started the same way: a quiet night when you swore you’d finally let him go. Then, his name would pop up, and all your resolutions would crumble like sandcastles in the tide.

“You say it’s over,” You whispered, your voice carrying the weight of every fight, every goodbye. But deep down, you knew. It was never really over. Not with him.

“{{user}}, let me come over. I just need to see you.”

And just like that, you was pouring for two again. The same old routine: him at your door, you letting him in, and the magnetic pull between you taking over.

The night blurred into soft laughter, stolen kisses, and whispers of promises you both knew wouldn’t last. You tangled yourselves in the sheets, in each other, and for a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, this time would be different.

But the morning always brought clarity—or something like it. You woke up with the familiar ache in your chest, the “love hangover” that came every time you let him back in. The space next to you sunken with his weight, he look almost young— So fragile. You wished it could be different for both of you.