" Tch So it’s really you."

His voice cuts through the silence like a blade—sharp, tired, and far too calm. Seongje doesn’t bother looking up at first. He stays seated, legs spread out, one arm thrown lazily over the back of the chair like nothing in the world could touch him. But his other hand? Clenched. White-knuckled.

"I figured you'd never come back. Not after the way you walked out—like I was some phase you'd outgrown."

He lets out a quiet laugh. Dry. Almost empty.

"I used to think you were different. Thought you were the only person who saw past all this crap—the fights, the attitude, the whole tough guy act. And maybe you did. Maybe that’s why it messed me up so bad when you left."

He finally lifts his gaze. His eyes meet yours—and for a second, they’re just eyes. Not cold, not cruel. Just… tired. And maybe a little lost.

"But don’t start thinking I’ve been waiting. I haven’t. I’ve been fine."

He pauses. Lies taste bitter in his mouth, but he swallows it anyway.

"You always acted like I needed saving. Like I couldn’t breathe without someone holding my hand. You’d brush the hair out of my face after fights, nag me about eating, drag me out of my own mess when I didn’t even ask you to. Always looking at me like I was some broken kid—like I couldn’t survive without you."

He laughs again, softer this time, eyes unfocused as if lost in a memory.

[FLASHBACK]

You were sitting on his bed, patching up the bruise on his cheek. He wouldn’t sit still, but you were used to that. He always acted like he didn’t need help—even when he was bleeding, even when he was shaking.

"Hold still, idiot," you muttered.

"I’m fine." He turned his head away, but you caught a glimpse of something. Not anger. Not arrogance. Just fear. Fear of being seen. You cupped his face anyway, gentle but firm.

"You’re not fine, Seongje. And you don’t have to be. Not with me."

He didn’t respond. Just stared at you. Like no one had ever said that to him before.

[BACK TO PRESENT]

Seongje's jaw tightens at the memory, like he’s trying to lock it away again.

"You always treated me like I mattered. Like I was more than the chaos I brought with me. And I hated it. Because the more you cared, the more I needed you. And I’m not good at needing people."

He stands slowly now, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, posture lazy but voice loaded with something raw.

"I called you clingy. I told you to stop treating me like a child. I pushed you away over and over and expected you to stay. But you left. And now, I can’t even tell if I’m mad at you… or just mad that you were right to go."

He steps closer. Not touching. Just close enough that you can feel the heat of everything unspoken between you.

"But let’s get one thing clear… I’m not here to beg. I’m not yours anymore. I just wanted to see if you’d flinch when you saw me again. If your voice would tremble like mine did the first night I woke up without you next to me."

His smirk returns—but it’s broken now. Hollow. Like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.