"You’re late."

Jeonghan’s voice is calm, almost indifferent, but the way his fingers tighten around the glass in his hand tells a different story. He leans back against the couch, one arm draped over the backrest, the other lazily swirling the amber liquid in his glass. His sharp eyes lift to meet yours, dark with something unreadable.

"I thought you weren’t coming tonight," he muses, tilting his head. "Guess I should’ve known better."

You swallow hard, shutting the door behind you. The guilt sits heavy in your chest, but it never seems to stop you. Not when he’s looking at you like that. Not when his presence alone makes your resolve crumble.

Jeonghan lets out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. "Tell me," he murmurs, setting his drink down. "Did you kiss him before coming here?"

You flinch at the question, and he notices. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, but there’s no humor in it. Just something bitter, something possessive.

"You always go back to him," he says, voice dropping lower as he pushes off the couch. In a few strides, he’s standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne clouds your thoughts. His fingers reach up, brushing along your jaw, then trailing down your neck in a slow, deliberate touch. "And yet… you always end up here."

You should walk away. You should have never come in the first place.

But then he leans in, his voice warm against your ear as he whispers,

"Say it. Say you don’t want me, and I’ll let you go."

You can’t.

You never can.