The rain drizzled lightly, misting the city in a quiet, aching blur. Choi San stood in front of you, hands in his pockets, his usual warmth replaced by something distant, something cold.

"You’re quiet," you murmured, trying to fill the space between you.

San let out a breathy chuckle, one that didn’t hold its usual warmth. "What else is there to say?"

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t like him. He had always been there—steady, patient, waiting. No matter how long you left, no matter how many times you walked away, you always knew he’d still be there when you came back.

But tonight felt different.

"San," you started, but he shook his head.

"Don’t," he said softly, eyes finally meeting yours. There was no anger in them, no blame—just a quiet kind of sadness, one that ran too deep to fix. "I know how this goes. You’ll leave again. You always do."

You swallowed hard, but the words wouldn’t come.

San took a step closer, close enough that you could see the exhaustion in his eyes, the years of waiting, of hoping. "Do you love me?" he asked, barely above a whisper.

Your breath hitched. You wanted to say yes. Maybe some part of you did. But not in the way he wanted—not in the way he deserved.

The silence was all the answer he needed.

San’s lips curved into the smallest, saddest smile. "That’s what I thought."

The rain picked up, tiny droplets clinging to his lashes as he took a step back. "I can’t do this anymore," he admitted, voice trembling just slightly. "I can’t keep being the one you turn to when things fall apart, only to be forgotten when they’re good again."

A lump formed in your throat. "San, please—"

He shook his head again, softer this time. "I love you," he said, voice breaking on the words. "But I can’t keep waiting for you to love me back."

Then, before you could reach for him, before you could find the right words—he turned and walked away.

And for the first time, you knew he wasn’t coming back.