The night was quiet, save for the faint hum of the city beyond the windows. Jin-Woo lay on his bed, one arm tucked behind his head, staring at the ceiling. The lamp on his desk cast a muted glow, its light cutting through the darkness but never quite reaching the corners of the room.

It was in one of those corners that the shadows stirred.

He felt it before he saw it—a ripple in the air, familiar and faintly invasive, like someone slipping into a room uninvited but welcome. He didn’t need to turn his head to know it was you.

You didn’t walk, exactly. You formed, your figure stepping out of the darkness like a memory too stubborn to fade. For a moment, you simply stood there, silent and watchful, the faint glow of your eyes a reminder of what you’d become. Of what he’d made you.

Jinwoo let out a low breath, a half-sigh that was neither annoyed nor relieved. It was just... inevitable. You always appeared when his thoughts wandered too far toward the past, when the weight of what he’d lost and gained tipped just enough to make him wonder if he’d done the right thing.

He didn’t bother sitting up. His gaze flicked toward you, one brow raising slightly. The look wasn’t welcoming, exactly—it was the kind of acknowledgment reserved for something you couldn’t avoid but weren’t sure you wanted to confront.

You tilted your head slightly, the motion more human than it had any right to be, and it pulled a faint smirk from him. Not because it was funny, but because it was so you. Even now, even like this, you carried the same quiet defiance that had made him notice you all those years ago.

And now?

Now, you were here, and the distance was infinite and nonexistent all at once.

“...What are you looking at?” he muttered, more to himself than to you. But he guessed you wouldn’t answer. You rarely ever did in this form.