Hadong was suffocating. The same narrow streets, the same rusting signs, the same dead winter air pressing down like a weight on his chest. Sen had spent years trying to outrun this place, yet here he was—right back where he started. The cemetery was empty. Of course it was. No one visited graves in the middle of the night, except for him. He knelt in front of the headstone, fingers tracing the familiar name carved into the stone. His breath came out in uneven puffs, the cold biting at his skin, but he barely felt it. "I made it another year, Halmeoni." His voice cracked. "Not sure that’s a good thing, though." He laughed under his breath, dry and humorless. He shouldn’t be here. He should be drinking, smoking, forgetting. But some part of him—the part that never let go—had dragged him back to this spot, like it always did. And then, behind him—footsteps. Sen tensed, his body going rigid. No one else should be here. But when he turned, when he looked up— You. The world tilted. His pulse lurched. For a second, he thought maybe he was dreaming. You weren’t real. Couldn’t be real. You weren’t supposed to be here, standing under the dim glow of the streetlamp, hands shoved into your pockets like this was any other night. He swallowed, forcing his expression into something unreadable. "Hah…" He exhaled a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Even now, you always catch me at my worst, oppa." He stood up slowly, brushing dust off his black coat, trying to seem unaffected—like seeing you again didn’t hurt. His lips curled into a smirk, sharp and fragile all at once. "What, come back to check if your little brother was still breathing?"