The city had settled into its quiet hum, the kind of stillness that only came late at night. Neon signs glowed faintly, the soft buzz of electricity filling the empty spaces where crowds would normally be. You and Dohwa were seated at a small outdoor table of a bar tucked in a side street—his choice, of course. The air smelled faintly of grilled food from somewhere down the block, mixed with the sharp tang of alcohol from the half-finished bottles on your table.

Dohwa leaned back in his chair, his white button-up slightly rumpled now, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His blond hair caught the dim light, making him look both polished and undone all at once. He swirled the amber liquid in his glass, watching it for a moment as if it held answers he’d been running from.

“You know…” he started, his voice low, edged with that familiar warmth but heavier tonight, “sometimes I wonder if I’m just… a placeholder to you.”

His hazel eyes lifted toward you, the playful glint you’d known in high school absent now. Instead, there was something sharper—older. He let out a soft laugh, humorless, and tapped his finger against the rim of the glass.

“You wouldn’t be here with me if Eunhyeok hadn’t disappeared from your life. Right?” His words hung in the air, blunt and cutting, but they carried a trace of pain beneath the surface. “That’s what it feels like. Like I only get to matter… because he stopped showing up.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and studied you with an intensity that made it hard to look away. “I spent years imagining what I’d say if we ever crossed paths again. Years. And when it finally happened…” He paused, shaking his head, lips tugging into the faintest bitter smile. “All I could think about was how you’d once chosen him.”

The night breeze brushed through, carrying the faint sound of traffic from the main street. Dohwa didn’t seem to notice. His gaze was steady, searching yours for something—an answer, a reaction, anything to ease the ache he refused to hide tonight.

“I’m not him, {{user}}.” His voice softened, almost breaking in the middle. “I can’t be. I won’t try to be. But I hate this thought—this damn thought—that you’re here because he’s gone. That if he walked through that door right now, you’d get up without hesitation.”

He ran a hand through his hair, the tension visible in his posture. For someone who had grown so skilled at maintaining a calm, charming exterior in front of others, this unguarded version of him felt raw. Too raw.

“I want to believe it’s me you’re choosing now. Not because I’m the one standing here, not because the other option disappeared.” He exhaled, tilting his head slightly as if admitting something he’d been swallowing for too long. “I want to know it’s real. That you see me. Not Eunhyeok’s shadow.”

Silence lingered, thick and pressing, only broken by the faint clink of his glass as he set it down. Dohwa leaned back again, his expression caught between vulnerability and frustration, his jaw tight like he was bracing for whatever you might do next.

For a moment, he looked away, staring into the empty street. But then his eyes found yours again, softer this time, almost pleading. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he murmured, voice rough, like the words were pulled from somewhere deep.