You hate how easily he comes back, as if the silence never happened. As if the four days you spent staring at your phone meant nothing. And yet, every time he shows up, your heart still forgets how to protect itself.

The bell rings. You’re shoving books into your bag when a shadow falls over your desk. You don’t have to look up to know who it is. Sunghoon. His presence is familiar, handsome, magnetic, and attractive

“you free after class?” he asks, tone casual, like he hadn’t vanished for days.

You pause, fingers tightening around your pen. You know this routine. He disappears when things get hard, only to return when he needs someone to catch his storm. And you foolishly, hopelessly, always let him. Because being his almost is still better than being nothing at all.