heeseung hasn't fixed himself. not really. but for the first time, he's trying.

he stopped drinking. cold turkey. the bottle of whiskey is still on the kitchen counter, half full, untouched. he stares at it sometimes, hands twitching, throat dry, but he doesn't reach for it.

he started cleaning, too. one drawer at a time. like maybe if he made the apartment less miserable, it would stop feeling like a graveyard. he washed your coffee mug and placed it back in the cabinet, even though he knows you won't be using it. he folded your forgotten sweater and placed it in the drawer he swore he wouldn't open again. he even vacuumed.

he still doesn't sleep much.

but he started thinking again. like really thinking.

about you.

about himself.

about all the things he never said when it counted, and all the things he said when he should've stayed quiet.

he replays that last night like a movie he hates but can't stop watching. the look in your eyes. the way your shoulders didn't shake when you walked away. the way your voice sounded more done than angry.

he knows you're not the type to bluff. you didn't leave to teach him a lesson. you left because it was the last thing you could do.

but tonight, he's dressed. not well, just enough to not look like he's been rotting in guilt. his hair is damp, clean. he put on the cologne you always liked. wore the hoodie you used to steal from his closet.

and now he's standing outside your building.

holding nothing but carrying everything.

the city is loud behind him.

the cars, voices, life moving on but it all feels distant. like the world shrank down to this one doorway and the pounding of his heart in his chest.

he lifts his hand to knock. pauses. drops it.

breathe.

he knocks.

once.

twice.

and then the door opens.

you're there.

soft lighting behind you. no makeup. aan oversized t-shirt that doesn't belong to him. hair pulled back like you were just about to settle in for the night.

your expression shifts the moment you see him.

from confusion.to disbelief. to something unreadable.

you don't speak right away. neither does he. he just looks at you, like really really looks and it nearly shatters him all over again. god, you look good. not in a superficial way, not even in a nostalgic way. just... real. you look alive in a way he hasn't felt in weeks.