The rain had been falling since afternoon, tapping against your apartment windows like impatient fingers. You’d ignored your phone all day, letting message after message pile up until the constant buzzing finally stopped.

Now, silence.

You wrapped the blanket tighter around yourself, telling yourself he’d given up — that maybe this time, he’d understand you needed space.

A knock at the door shattered that hope.

You didn’t move.

The second knock was firmer, deliberate. “{{user}},” came his voice, calm and low. “Open the door.”

Your chest tightened. “Go home, Eunjoon.”

A pause. Then the soft click of a key turning in the lock. You stood frozen as the door swung open, revealing him — perfectly composed, hair slightly damp from the rain, black coat buttoned up.

He stepped inside like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You weren’t answering my calls,” he said, his tone free of accusation, almost conversational. But his eyes… his eyes were unreadable, sharp, assessing.

“I told you I needed—”

“—space?” He finished for you, lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “That’s the problem, sweetheart. You think space exists between us.”

You backed up a step. He followed.

“I’m not doing this with you tonight,” you said, forcing your voice to stay steady.

“Good.” His hand reached out, brushing your cheek with an unsettling tenderness. “Because you don’t get to decide when I’m here.”

The scent of his cologne clung to the air, familiar and suffocating all at once.