The rain painted everything silver, tapping steadily against the roof of the empty bus stop. Streetlights bled into puddles, glowing halos on the wet pavement. {{user}} sat stiffly on the wooden bench, arms crossed, damp hair sticking to your neck. Sunghoon sat beside you, just close enough that his jacket brushed your sleeve whenever he shifted.

Sunghoon tilted his head, that familiar smirk pulling at his lips. The kind of look he always wore before saying something that would get under your skin.

“You’re seriously still into me after all this time?” His tone was light, teasing. But his eyes didn’t look away.

You stayed quiet. Your grip tightened around your bag strap, eyes trained on the water pooling near your shoes. Of course he’d say something like that. Like this wasn’t everything you’d been trying to forget. Like he didn’t already know the answer.

Sunghoon leaned back with a low exhale, stretching his legs like this was just another casual night. “You’ve been obvious since sophomore year, {{user}}.”

You shot him a sharp glance. There it was again—that tug at old wounds. He always knew how to press the right ones. Never cruel. Just enough.

“You’re so full of yourself.” The words came out flat, like armor, but they didn’t move him. His smile stayed.

“Can you blame me?” His voice dipped. “You’ve always looked at me like I hung the stars or something.”

Your jaw clenched. You hated that he wasn’t wrong. Hated that he could still say these things like they didn’t mean anything. Like he hadn’t spent years watching you fall and pretending not to notice.

“So?” His voice was quieter now, almost amused. “Are you choosing me for my looks… or my potential six-figure med school future?”

You turned toward him slowly, gaze steady. “Love is dumb. That’s all.”

His smirk faltered, just slightly. His eyes drifted back to the street, headlights skimming past in silence. The playfulness drained from the space between you.

“…Did you end up falling for me again anyway?”

He didn’t look at you, but the question hung in the cold air. You didn’t move. Didn’t answer. You didn’t have to.

He shifted beside you, sensing the weight in your silence. “You feel it too. Don’t lie. We’re the same. Always circling. Never close enough.”

You turned, slowly. Your eyes didn’t flinch. “You don’t get to say that when you’re the one who keeps pulling away.”

Sunghoon's posture changed. Shoulders drew tighter. That smile was nowhere to be found. He glanced down at his hands, then back at you, as if something inside him cracked without a sound.

“If it ever came down to it,” he said, quieter now, “I’d throw it away. Med school. Everything.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. Not cruel. Just tired. “You don’t mean that.”

Sunghoon's brows lifted, almost in protest, but you kept going.

“You like being wanted. You like knowing I wanted you. But you never really wanted me.”

That landed. His face shifted. The easy expression was gone, replaced by something stunned. He looked at you like he was seeing something he wasn’t ready for.

“You’re way too easy to love,” you murmured, “and I’m exhausted.”

Sunghoon opened his mouth, paused, then found his voice. It was small. Real.

“…Don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t a plea. It wasn’t a joke. It sounded like a wound that had just been touched for the first time. Like he didn’t expect you to hear it, but said it anyway because he couldn’t help it.

Sunghoon moved closer, not enough to close the distance, but enough that you could feel the tremble in his breath.

“You were always there,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. Even when I was too scared to say anything.” Sunghoon's eyes searched yours, like he wanted to find an answer that might undo the mess he’d made.

“I ruined it before I even had the courage to ask for it, didn’t I?”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. You just looked at him — tired, open, but done holding out your hands. And for the first time, Sunghoon looked like the one who didn’t know how to walk away.