It wasn’t raining, but the sky looked like it wanted to cry. Heavy clouds hung low above the quiet street, casting everything in that strange bluish grey that always felt like a pause between heartbeats.

You hadn’t expected anyone. Not at this hour. Not on this day. And definitely not him.

The knock came — three quick, two slow. Familiar. Too familiar.

You froze.

No one else knocked like that.

When you opened the door, your breath caught somewhere between your ribs. The world seemed to tilt for a moment, just slightly, just enough to make you question whether you were dreaming — or losing your mind.

Jongho.

He looked almost the same. A little older, maybe. A little quieter around the eyes. But it was him.

“You… you’re dead,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your hand gripped the edge of the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping you from falling. “I was there. At your funeral. I saw you. I—”

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue.

“I know.” And even though the words came out steady, you could see it — that flicker of something in his expression. Like he was still trying to understand how this was real. Like he didn’t have all the answers either.

“You have seven days left. And I’m here because I want you to use them. To feel something again. To live a little. So you don’t end up regretting things… the way I did.”