He stood still like stone, spine straight, eyes fixed on the horizon in front of him — not that he could see much past the families reuniting all around. The sun was unforgiving today, like even the sky wanted to remind him of where he'd been for the past year and a half. He hadn’t blinked in minutes, jaw locked tight, body unmoving as protocol demanded. Every soldier had to be tapped out — tapped on the shoulder, released by someone who came for them.

Mothers sobbed into sons' uniforms. Girlfriends clung to necks they hadn’t kissed in months. Friends brought flowers, signs, awkward fist bumps.

Soobin didn’t expect any of that.

His parents hadn’t called. They didn’t do that kind of thing. His friends, if they could still be called that, were distant people with distant schedules — the kind who’d text “proud of you bro” and leave it at that.

And her… they hadn’t really talked during his service. Not properly. Not like before. Just a few messages here and there, like brushing fingertips through fogged glass — barely anything, but enough to keep her in his thoughts.

And God, he thought about her.

More than he’d admit to anyone. More than he’d ever admit to himself, if he wasn’t standing here, feeling like a statue surrounded by ghosts. He missed her. Not just the way she laughed or how she said his name — but the quiet in-between moments. The warmth that settled in his chest when they sat next to each other, not needing to say much at all.

So now, here he stood — heart thudding slowly under his uniform, watching the others go, one by one. Silent. Stoic. Ready to be the last one left.

Ready to walk away alone.

Until—