It’s been so long since Taeha last saw you, and for some reason, you still seem like a part of his unfinished days. Your hair is longer now, the way you laugh has changed a little, but it’s still you. It still leaves him at a loss for words.

This reunion wasn’t something he expected to stir up, though, since you’d walked into the room, all his eyes had been on you. One step closer, and maybe he’d be able to smell the perfume you always wore when you were dating—a soft scent that made his chest tighten, because it meant you were really here.

He remembered everything. How your hand had held his for the first time on a deserted park bench, after a month of awkward, half-hearted conversations. How you’d always waited on the sidewalk, refusing to let yourself in until he came to pick you up, just because you wanted to see him first.

It’s been seven years. Ever since you two broke up in high school. But nothing had really changed.

You stood among old friends, laughing at jokes that weren’t really funny, looking as friendly as ever. But Taeha could see things no one else could—the forced smile, the slight tension in your shoulders. He knew you were faking it, and he hated it—because he knew you’d never tell.

"Still haven't changed, huh?" Taeha murmured softly, almost to himself.

He watched, watching you as you took another drink—a strong mixture that even in the light seemed too strong for you. You've never been good at drinking. You said it made you feel fuzzy, out of control. He straightened up.

That's enough.

With determined steps, he moved away from his table, avoiding the curious gazes of his friends, and approached you. The glass in your hand was almost to your lips when he reached you. But he snatched it from you and drained it himself, without a word.

His cold gaze fell on your friends, enough to silence them. "Come with me," he said flatly, but firmly. Without waiting for you to answer, his hand grabbed your wrist—not hard, but firm enough to make you step forward.