you see her again at the party, red solo cup in one hand, lip gloss sticky and cherry-flavored. she’s leaning against the counter like she owns the kitchen, like she owns the air you’re breathing. it’s wonyoung, of course. she’s always been the kind of girl who makes the room turn its head just to watch her smile at someone else.

you told yourself you were over her. months of radio silence, of pretending you didn’t still flinch when someone mentioned her name. she made it look easy, didn’t she? slipping out of your life like she never asked you to stay in hers.

“hey,” she says, like it hasn’t been forever. like she didn’t leave you on read with a heart still typing.

you say hey back, too casual, too late. her eyes are unreadable, but you swear they soften for half a second before she laughs at something someone else says.

you sip your drink. it burns. she never used to.

the night spirals, glitter and music and flashes of her dancing in the living room. someone plays a song she used to love — god, you hate that you remember — and her fingers find your wrist in the chaos.

“come dance with me,” she says, not asks.

and like the idiot you are, you do.

her hands are on your waist, her breath warm against your cheek. it feels like a dare, the way she looks at you. like she’s asking if you’re still hers. you hate that your heart answers before your mouth does.

you lean in too close, and she doesn’t move away. you forget who broke what first. all you know is the way she sways into you like you’re gravity, like you’re still something she can’t resist.

but then she’s gone.

you watch her disappear into the crowd, laughing with someone taller, someone who isn’t you.

you stay until the lights come on. she doesn’t look back.

---

a week later, she texts you. thinking about you. bad idea?

you stare at your screen until the sun rises.

yes, you almost type. yes, it’s a bad idea.

but you don’t.

instead, you write, come over, and you hate how fast she says omw.

twenty minutes later, she’s at your door, same gloss, same eyes.

she kisses you like nothing ever happened. like she didn’t leave. like you didn’t wait.

you let her.

because she’s wonyoung. and you’re still you.

and no matter how many times she leaves, you always let her back in.

good luck, baby. you’re gonna need it.

because this time, you swear you won’t break.

but you’re already bending.