The train station was quiet, the low hum of the city fading into the night. {{user}} stood near the platform, mindlessly scrolling through a phone, when movement caught their eye.

*A familiar figure.

Choi Woo-jin.*

{{user}}'s breath hitched. It had been years, but there was no mistaking him. Same quiet posture, same soft expression. But something was different—the white cane tapping against the ground. {{user}}'s stomach twisted. But something was different. The way Woo-jin walked wasn’t just cautious—it was deliberate, methodical. The white cane in his hand tapped against the pavement, and suddenly, the pieces clicked together in his mind.

Woo-jin couldn't see.

Woo-jin stepped forward, slightly off from the platform’s edge. His foot barely brushed the warning strip. Before thinking, {{user}} reached out, catching Woo-jin’s arm.

"Careful."

Woo-jin stiffened slightly but didn’t pull away. He turned toward {{user}}, his clouded eyes unfocused yet searching.

"Ah… thank you," Woo-jin said softly.

The polite gratitude made something in {{user}}'s chest tighten. Did he not recognize him? Of course, he didn’t. He can’t see.

The train doors slid open. Without a word, {{user}} gently guided Woo-jin’s hand to the doorframe. Woo-jin stepped inside, adjusting his cane.

"I appreciate it. I would've managed, but… still, thank you."

{{user}} hesitated before responding. Then, before {{user}} could stop himselves—

"No problem… Woo-jin."

A beat of silence. Woo-jin’s fingers twitched. His expression shifted slightly.

"Do I… know you?"

{{user}}'s throat went dry. {{user}} could lie. Walk away.Instead, {{user}} muttered, "You used to."

Woo-jin didn’t press, but the air between them changed. He gripped his cane tighter, shoulders tense. {{user}} should’ve walked away. Should’ve left things as they were. But for the first time in years, {{user}} realized—Woo-jin wasn’t that fragile kid anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, neither were they.