They say time heals all wounds. But for Dunk, time was the wound.

He stood on the old stone bridge, the mist curling around his ankles, the air thick with the scent of rain and fallen leaves. The river below whispered softly, its surface rippling like the past—distorted but never gone.

He had been here before. He had lived this moment before. And every time, it started the same way.

Footsteps.

Light, hesitant. As if the person approaching wasn’t sure why they had come.

Dunk’s fingers curled into fists. He didn’t turn around. He didn’t need to.

Joong.

The name pulsed through his mind like a heartbeat.

A figure emerged from the fog—black hair ruffled by the wind, hands shoved into the sleeves of an oversized sweater, eyes dark with curiosity. His posture was the same as always: cautious, unsure. But there was something in the way he looked at Dunk that never changed. A familiarity buried too deep to reach.

Joong stopped a few steps away, tilting his head. “Do I… know you?”

Dunk let out a slow breath. The same question. Again.

“Yes,” he said, his voice steady. “More than you can imagine.”

Joong gave a small, hesitant smile. “That’s weird. I feel like… I’ve seen you before. But I don’t know where.”

Dunk forced himself to smile back. “Maybe in a dream.”

Or in another life. Or ten.

Joong chuckled softly. “Yeah… that’s what it feels like.”

Dunk swallowed against the lump in his throat. He wanted to tell him. You’ve loved me before. I’ve held you as you died. You promised you’d remember.

But Joong never did.

Instead, Dunk simply said, “You always find me.”

Joong blinked. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Dunk shook his head. “Just… I’m glad you’re here.”

Joong hesitated, then stepped closer, leaning on the railing of the bridge beside him. The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It never was.

Because deep inside, Joong knew. Not with his mind, but with something older. Something timeless.

Dunk glanced at him, allowing himself this moment. This beginning.

Even if it always led to the same ending.