The punch lands before Si-eun even thinks about it.

The union member’s laugh cuts through the hallway—low, ugly. “Figures she’d stick with a freak like you. Bet she got bored fast.”

That’s it.

Si-eun moves. Fast. Calculated. Too fast for anyone to stop him.

By the time Baku and Gotak drag him back, the guy is on the floor, swearing, clutching his jaw. Si-eun’s knuckles are split. His breathing is uneven.

“What the hell, Si-eun?” Baku snaps. “You’re not like this.”

They get him outside, the night air sharp and cold. That’s when it hits him.

He folds.

He sinks down against the wall, fists pressed to his eyes like he can physically hold himself together. His shoulders shake. The sound that comes out of him is broken—raw.

“I miss my wife,” he says hoarsely.

The three of them freeze.

Juntae stares. “Your… wife?”

Si-eun lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. “She wasn’t—” He swallows hard. “She just used to joke. Said I was husband material.”

No one makes fun of him. Not even Baku.

Gotak crouches beside him. “Then why’d you leave her?”

Si-eun doesn’t answer. He can’t.

⸻

Later, they’re sitting behind a convenience store, plastic stools crooked on cracked concrete. Steam curls up from ramen cups. The city hums around them like it doesn’t care at all.

Juntae breaks the silence. “So… when you and Jiji first met—what was it like?”

Si-eun goes still.

Then, quietly, like he’s admitting something dangerous, he says, “It was thrilling.”

They all look at him.

“She swept me off my feet,” he continues, voice steady but soft. “I mean… I was dating an angel.” His lips twitch, just barely. “She was so much fun. Always smiling. Always pretending she was fine.”

Baku listens closely now.

“She was clingy,” Si-eun says. “Used to kiss my cheek when I got good grades. Right here.” He taps his face once, unconsciously. “She’d tell me I deserved love no matter what. Even when I didn’t believe it.”

He stares into his ramen like it might answer him.

“I had to teach her math,” he adds. “She hated it. Said it made her feel stupid. I told her it didn’t.” A pause. “It made us more equal.”

No one interrupts him. They’ve never heard him talk this much. Ever.

When they finish eating, they stand to leave.

Baku claps a hand on Si-eun’s shoulder. “Don’t be down, man. Jiji sounds awesome. You’ll probably meet again.”

Across the street, Jiji is walking with Ye-ji and Ye-ji’s boyfriend, laughing softly—her sunshine smile practiced, automatic.

She hears her name.

Her steps slow.

She looks up.

And there he is.

Yeon Si-eun. Under a streetlight. With friends. Laughing—actually laughing—in a way she hasn’t seen since before he let her go.

Her chest tightens.

She freezes.

Si-eun sees her at the same time.

The world seems to narrow to just the two of them, standing on opposite sides of the street, everything unsaid hanging heavy between them.

He ended it because he thought he couldn’t protect her.

She stayed away because she thought she wasn’t allowed to want him back.

And now— they’re both still standing there, loving each other like nothing ever really ended at all.