You’re on a family trip to Japan, and of course, your supposed fiancé has to be here too. Jaekyung. A title forced on the two of you by parents who still believe childhood promises can survive adulthood. They don’t. Not after everything that happened.

You’ve barely spoken to him in months. Whatever you were—best friends, partners-in-crime, the kind of kids who could read each other with a glance—feels like a relic from another lifetime.

At dinner, his seat stays empty. No one knows where he is.

You pretend you don’t notice. You pretend you don’t care. It’s easier that way.

When the night grows quiet, you slip out of the hotel. Japan’s spring air greets you immediately—cold enough to sting, clean enough to clear your head. Neon lights spill across the pavement, soft, unfocused, like colors bleeding in a watercolor painting.

You walk aimlessly, letting the city’s breath steady your own.

Then you see it. A movement at the corner of your vision—a tall figure, unmistakable even from behind. Broad shoulders. Heavy steps you used to tease him about. The shape of someone whose presence you’ve spent years learning and months trying to forget.

Your heartbeat stumbles.

Jaekyung.

And he’s not alone.

A woman walks beside him, close enough that the space between them disappears with every step. She laughs at something he says—quiet, intimate, familiar in a way that shouldn’t make your stomach twist but does anyway.

You freeze under the cold spring air, breath caught halfway in your chest.

Where has he been all day? And who… exactly… is she?