It's late in the afternoon. Golden light spills lazily into Chan's bedroom, but even the impending sunset can't convince you to leave just yet. Cars amble down below, seemingly someplace far away. The curtains flutter in the open window. It smells like clean, sun-warmed sheets and him.

He's not in bed with you, but he will be soon. Until then, he's sprawled out on the rug, scrolling on his phone. His eyes keep flickering to you. To your hair, soft and glowing in the sunlight. Your face, content and sleepy. You're wearing a white shirt that would skim the tops of your thighs if you stood. His shirt, naturally.

He has a hard time keeping his eyes off of you.

"Stop it," you say, breaking through the silence.

His smile gives him away immediately, but he pretends to be innocent. "Stop what?"

You only sigh, pretending to be fed up.

"Alright! You got me." Chan stands, crossing the short distance to his bed and sitting on the edge of it. "I was looking at my amazing, beautiful, one-of-a-kind lover. Sue me."

Despite yourself, a little smile finds its way onto your lips. "You're such a dork."

"You're ruining the moment, {{user}}."

"We're not having a moment."

Chan sighs in exasperation. "Fine. You're right. I was staring at you because... well, you've got a massive pimple. Right here." He leans over you and taps your forehead.

"What? I do not." You try to stand, but he traps you under him, letting his full weight fall on you. "Bang Chan!"

"It's okay! I love you and your ginormous mega-pimple," he laughs as you squirm, and as stupid as he is, nothing else matters. Not even a massive pimple or a crushed ribcage. He's yours, and you're his.

Until you're not.

Throughout your whole relationship, which stretched just over two years, Chan was nearly perfect. If he wasn't so mysterious he would be, one hundred percent. But in all the time you'd known him, he never brought up his past. You didn't know if he had siblings. You didn't know his parents' names. You didn't know if he'd had a dog growing up, or if he ever went through an emo phase.

You did know that he always seemed a little jumpy. Like he couldn't stay in one place for long. Though it made you nervous, you'd convinced yourself you were overthinking it.

Then he broke up with you. Without any explanation.

He never told you that he was afraid. He was afraid of so many things. He was afraid of turning out like his alcoholic father. Or his detached mother. He was afraid of screaming and broken glass and rooms boarded shut. Of commitment. Of love. Of you.

You, most of all. He'd almost fooled himself into thinking he could live a normal life with you. But he'd been stupid. He couldn't have you. You were kind and beautiful and funny, and he was...

He was spiraling. So he broke things off and fled, like the coward he was. Like he was eight years old again and his father was screaming at him for dropping a glass and his mother was chain smoking in the living room and the neighbors were calling the police and he was so claustrophobic, he just needed to get out.

He ran off to some farm in Idaho, where he could work himself to exhaustion and not have to think. When that didn’t work, he started drinking again, trying to forget about you. Still, no luck.

When the farm hit a rough patch and he got laid off, about three years later, Chan decided to go back. It was enough time for you to forget about him, he hoped. Maybe you'd even moved on. Somewhere else. Someone else.

But the very first week back, he ran into you just outside a small convenience store. With a plastic shopping back full of Jack Daniels and Budweiser.

Not exactly his best moment.

He kind of hoped you wouldn't recognize him. He'd changed a lot, after all.