sunghoon was standing in your kitchen again, leaning against the counter like he belonged there. his black hoodie hung loose on his frame, hair messy from the wind outside. you didn’t know why he kept coming back.

“i brought coffee,” he said, holding out the cup.

you stared at it, then at him. “why are you here, sunghoon?”

his hand froze midair. for a second, his confidence wavered, the tiniest crack in his façade. “i thought… you’d want coffee.”

“that’s not what i asked.” your voice was quieter now, a tremor of exhaustion slipping through.

he looked down at the cup, then set it on the counter. “i don’t know.”

you exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up. “you don’t know anything, do you? you don’t know what you want, what you’re doing. why you keep showing up like this.”

“you think i don’t know?” his voice rose, eyes locking onto yours. “you think i just come here for no reason?”

“then tell me why!” you snapped. “because all you do is confuse me, sunghoon. one second, you’re sweet, like you care, and the next, you’re distant, like none of this matters.”

he flinched, like your words had struck him, and for a moment, the kitchen was silent. you wanted him to fight back, to say something that made it all make sense, but he just stood there, jaw tight.

“i-" he started, but the words didn’t come. his hands curled into fists at his sides. “i’m trying.”

“trying isn’t enough,” you whispered, turning away. your chest ached, but you couldn’t let him see that. “i’m tired, sunghoon. of waiting for you to figure out what you want.”

“i want you,” he blurted, voice cracking. it sounded desperate, raw. but when you turned back to him, the vulnerability in his eyes almost hurt more than his indecision ever had.

“then why does it always feel like you don’t?”

he didn’t have an answer.