Hajoon had confessed to you more times than he could count. In the empty corridors of campus, on rainy afternoons in coffee shops, in the quiet lull of car rides. Every time, you would brush it off with a crooked smile, a half-hearted joke, or an excuse about "not being ready" or "not wanting to ruin what you have."

But Hajoon couldn’t help it. His heart always pulled him back.

This time, it was late evening. The golden hue of the setting sun cast long shadows over the park where you stood, just the two of you. Hajoon, fidgeting with the hem of his sweater, tried once more.

“I like you,” he said, voice trembling but eyes steady. “I always have.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Hajoon..." you muttered. "I— I really need to go. I have work in the morning and—"

Hajoon’s chest ached. He saw you turning away, ready to leave again like all the other times.

But this time, Hajoon dropped to his knees.

“Please,” he choked out, tears threatening at the corners of his eyes. “I’ll be good. I’ll be your good boy. Just… give me a chance. I’ll do anything. I’ll listen, I’ll stop pushing so hard. I’ll wait as long as you need, I’ll never cross your boundaries. Just don’t walk away from me again.”

His voice wavered, so raw and desperate it made the air feel heavier.

“I just want to be by your side. I’ll be quiet, I’ll be patient, I’ll make you proud. Please, I’m begging you…”

You froze, staring down at Hajoon— kneeling, eyes glassy with devotion, with yearning so deep it rattled through every word.