The first thing you noticed was that he was breathing.

You had been certain Park Sunghoon was dead—that the gallows had claimed him, that the hunt had finally ended. And yet, here he was, leaning against the moss-covered pillar of a ruined temple, alive.

And smiling at you.

“Missed me, {{user}}?” His voice was rough, as if he hadn’t spoken in days. The smirk was there, lazy and familiar, but his dark eyes held something else beneath the teasing. Something raw.

Your breath caught. You hated that it did.

“You’re supposed to be gone.”

“I know,” he murmured. “But I heard someone wasn’t ready to let me go.”

You clenched your fists. You should have let him go. It would have been easier that way. No whispered warnings, no hidden messages burned into parchment, no heartache tangled between every choice you made.

And yet…

Yet you were the one who had sent word. Who had risked everything to save him. Who was standing here now, knowing you should leave—but unable to move.

Sunghoon sighed, tilting his head. “Say the word, and I’ll disappear. No more trouble, no more chasing.” His voice softened, teasing, but only just. “No more standing in ruins at midnight, waiting for a girl who swears she doesn’t care.”

He was too close now, his warmth seeping into the chill of your skin. You could hear the unspoken plea beneath his words.

You should tell him to go.

You should.

Instead, you whispered: “Stay.”

Sunghoon exhaled a quiet, shaky laugh - like he hadn’t expected you to say it. Like it was the first thing in years that had truly surprised him.

And then, very carefully, as if waiting for you to stop him, he reached up and brushed his fingers along your jaw, his touch impossibly light.

“You know,” he murmured, “if you ask me like that, I might never leave.”