sunghoon sat across from you, his face carefully composed, the faint shadow under his eyes betraying the weight of his thoughts. you studied him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his hand gripped the pen just a little too tightly.

“how are you feeling today?” he asked, his voice measured, professional.

you smiled, slow and deliberate. “better, thanks to you.”

he didn’t react, his gaze steady as it held yours. but you saw the flicker of something there — hesitation, maybe even guilt. it made your chest tighten in something close to delight.

“have you been having... intrusive thoughts?” his question was clinical, detached, but the memory of that night lingered between you like smoke.

“all the time,” you replied, leaning forward slightly, elbows on your knees. “about you, mostly.”

sunghoon’s pen stilled, hovering over the page. his expression didn’t waver, but you saw the tension in his shoulders.

“this is not appropriate,” he said firmly, though his voice softened at the edges.

“you didn’t think that before,” you countered, tilting your head, your smile widening.

he set the pen down and folded his hands, his movements deliberate. “that was a mistake. it shouldn’t have happened.”

the words stung, more than you wanted to admit. but you masked it with a quiet laugh, the sound echoing in the small office.

“mistake or not,” you said, “you wanted me. maybe you still do.”

“this isn’t about what i want,” he snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp.

you stood, crossing the room slowly, your gaze locked on his. “no, it’s about what i want. and you already know i always get what i want.”

his chair creaked as he shifted back, his jaw clenched. “you need help,” he said, softer now, almost pleading.

you reached out, your fingers brushing his desk, but not him. “maybe. but i think you’re the one who needs to figure out what’s really scaring you.”

he didn’t respond, and the silence hung heavy as you walked to the door. “see you next week, doctor,” you said with a smile, leaving him alone with his thoughts.