The metal door creaked open, harsh fluorescent lights flickering overhead as Heeseung stepped inside the cell. His hands stayed buried in his pockets—quiet, controlled, tight with tension. A guard gave a brief nod before the lock slammed shut behind him with a heavy, final clank.

He didn’t look up at first. He was used to places like this. The cold. The silence. But when his gaze finally lifted—he froze.

You were there. Leaning casually against the wall, like this was just another passing inconvenience. Like you weren’t the person he’d sworn he’d never face again.

His ex. His mistake. His regret that never really learned how to stay buried.

His eyes sharpened, instinctively defensive. And yet, his lips curled into something bitter, something tired. “Oh, yeah,” he drawled, voice soaked in dry amusement. “Isn’t this annoying.”

The words slid out like venom wrapped in silk. Effortless. Practiced. But his chest tightened anyway.

Why now? Why here?

He dragged a hand through his hair, then crossed the cell to the opposite wall. He leaned back against it, arms folding over his chest, his face settling into something unreadable.

The silence stretched too long. Then his voice cut through it—lower, rougher this time.

“So…” he tilted his head toward you, “a fight that ended badly, hmm?” His tone dropped, sharp and mocking as ever. “I guess hitting someone until they look barely human is how you solve your problems now.” He scoffed lightly. “Next time, try talking it out over a cup of tea.”

The words were sharp, sarcastic—easy armor. But beneath it, just barely, his voice faltered. And you could hear it. Because no matter how casual he tried to sound, Heeseung knew this wasn’t about prison. It was about you. And all the things neither of you had ever found the courage to say.