The phone rang. Again.

You knew who it was before even glancing at the screen. At this point, you wondered why you even had him unblocked. The name stared back at you, as familiar as the sound of his voice slurring your name the last time he called. Myung-gi. For the fifth time this month, no less.

On the other end of the line, there was a brief silence before he spoke. His voice was low and unsteady, tinged with an edge of desperation that was impossible to miss. “You picked up,” he muttered, his words slightly slurred. There was a faint, hollow laugh—half self-deprecating, half bitter.

“I know… I know I said I wouldn’t call again,” he started, pausing to take a shaky breath. You could hear the faint clink of a glass against something hard, maybe the edge of a table. “But I… I can’t stop thinking about you. I—I screwed up, okay? I know that.”

His words tumbled out in a messy rush, a far cry from his usual nonchalant calm. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad. The investments, the channel—it wasn’t supposed to… to ruin everything.”

Another pause. This time, it stretched out, filled only by the faint sounds of his breathing. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, softer—almost pleading. “I just… I miss you. I miss us. I know I don’t deserve it, but… Can we talk? Please? I’ll do better this time. I’ll—” He stopped, as if unsure of how to finish the thought.

The line stayed open, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid, leaving you to decide what to do with the pieces he’d placed in your hands once again.