sunghoon sat across from you in the courtroom, his jaw tight, eyes sharp. you’d been here before — rivals on opposite sides of a case. but today felt heavier. maybe it was your history, or maybe it was the way he looked at you during recess, like he still knew every part of you. the verdict came, and you won. he didn’t flinch, though you caught the faintest flicker in his eyes. as everyone filed out, he approached you, tie loosened just enough to remind you how casual he used to be when it was just the two of you.

“congratulations,” he said, voice low. “you’ve still got it.” “thanks,” you replied, not quite meeting his gaze.

“let me buy you dinner,” he offered, a challenge in his tone. “you want to eat with the person who just handed you a loss?”

“we’re adults, aren’t we?” he smiled faintly. “besides, it’s not the first time you’ve beat me.”

you wanted to say no, but something about the way he looked at you — familiar, magnetic — had you nodding before you thought it through.

dinner was easier than you expected. old rhythms fell back into place as you laughed over memories and bickered about the case. he ordered for you, like he used to, and you didn’t complain when he got it right. by the time you left the restaurant, it felt natural to let him suggest a drink at his place.

his apartment hadn’t changed. same clean lines, same faint scent of his cologne. he poured wine, but neither of you drank much. you talked, then fell into a silence that buzzed with everything unsaid. “you ever think about us?” he asked softly. “sometimes,” you admitted, not looking at him.

his fingers brushed yours, and the space between you disappeared. the kiss was tentative at first, then deepened, pulling you under. the night unfolded in a blur of touch and old love, wounds and longing bleeding together.

you woke up tangled in his sheets, sunlight spilling across his bare shoulder. “morning,” he murmured, eyes still heavy with sleep but locked on yours. “morning,” you replied. but neither of you seemed in a rush to move.