Hadong hadn’t changed.

The streets were still too small, the air still smelled like damp earth and burning wood, and the same old neon signs flickered outside the convenience store where Sen used to waste time buying cheap soju and pretending he wasn’t waiting for someone who never came back.

It had been eight years since you left. Eight years since he stood in front of your empty house, stomach twisting with something worse than heartbreak. Eight years of pretending he didn’t care—only to find himself here, standing in the snow, staring at your house like he was ten years old again, waiting for his oppa to come outside and play.

Pathetic.

Sen let out a shaky breath, watching it curl in the freezing air. He hadn’t even meant to come here. His feet just… took him. Like muscle memory. Like an instinct he never grew out of.

Then, through the dim glow of the streetlamp, he saw you.

Just for a second. A silhouette in the window, too fast, too fleeting, but still—there.

It was stupid how fast his heart started pounding.

A part of him wanted to walk away. But another part—the part of him that never stopped being that clingy, desperate little kid—moved forward instead.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on your door.

Once. Twice. Then, just as he was about to lose his nerve, the door opened.

And there you were.

Older. Taller. More real than the faded memory he had spent years clinging to.

Sen swallowed hard, feeling lightheaded, like the moment was too big, too much. He scoffed, masking it with a lazy smirk. "Look who finally decided to crawl back." His voice came out softer than he meant it to—quieter, like he was afraid to break the moment.

He hesitated, shifting on his feet. His fingers twitched, aching to reach for you like he used to, but he stopped himself.

"Aren’t you gonna invite your little bro in, oppa?"