the apartment was cold, emptier than it had ever been. sunghoon stood in the doorway, watching you as you sat on the floor, surrounded by pieces of your life — pictures, letters, things you had shared with him. But he wasn’t there, not really. he hadn’t been for a long time.

you were crying, your hands trembling as you held an old photograph, one of the two of you, back when the world still made sense. back when you didn’t have to wonder if he was still with you. sunghoon’s heart ached watching you like this. he wished he could reach out, brush the tears from your cheeks, tell you that he was still here. but he couldn’t. no one could see him anymore. no one could feel his touch.

he had been gone for months now, taken from you too soon, and yet, he lingered, trapped between the world of the living and the dead, unable to move on. he couldn’t leave you, not like this. “i miss you” you whispered, your voice breaking as you set the picture down. “i miss you so much.”

sunghoon knelt beside you, close enough to touch, but his hands passed through you like air. it was torture, this distance between you — so close, yet impossibly far. “i’m right here,” he murmured, even though he knew you couldn’t hear him. “i never left.”

and then, for just a moment, your hand moved— guided by something beyond your control. you gasped, pulling away from the piano, your heart racing. it was impossible. he was gone.

but you could feel him. you were sure of it. “sunghoon,” you whispered again, tears welling up in your eyes. “if you’re here… show me.”

desperation filled his chest, the longing to touch you overwhelming. he reached out once more, and this time, somehow, you felt it. a faint brush of warmth against your cheek, the softest whisper of a touch. you froze, your breath catching in your throat.

“i love you,” he said, his voice breaking even though he knew you couldn’t hear. “i’ll always love you.”