It had been days.

Too many days.

The silence from him wasn’t accidental—you knew that much. Taeha didn’t disappear without reason. He was precise, intentional, and painfully aware of the effect he had on people. Especially on you. Still, knowing that didn’t stop the unease that settled in your chest, the way your thoughts kept circling back to him no matter how busy you made yourself. Long shifts blurred together. Coffee tasted bitter. Sleep came shallow and restless, your phone always just within reach, screen dark, mocking.

You told yourself not to care.

You told yourself you were fine.

But worry had a way of slipping in quietly, like water through cracks.

When you finally picked up your phone, your hand hesitated longer than you’d admit. Your thumb hovered over his name. You hadn’t called him before—never first. Taeha had always been the one to reach out, always present in that quiet, watchful way of his. Calling him felt like crossing a line you both pretended didn’t exist.

The call rang once.

Twice.

Then—

“Hello.”

His voice was calm. Smooth. Too calm. It slid through the line like it had been waiting for you all along, deep and familiar enough to make your breath hitch without permission.

There was a pause on his end, long enough to be deliberate. You could almost picture him—head slightly tilted, eyes half-lidded, mouth curved just barely, like he was savoring the moment.

“…You finally called.”

The low sound of his breath came through the phone, something close to a quiet laugh.

“I was wondering how long it would take.”

Another pause. You could hear movement now—fabric shifting, footsteps echoing faintly, like he was walking through a large space. Unhurried. Unconcerned.

“You were worried,” he said, not asking. Stating it like a fact he’d already confirmed. “I could hear it the second I answered.”

He hummed softly, amused. Satisfied.

“Good.”

The word landed heavy.

“I was starting to think I’d misjudged how much space I needed to give you.” His voice dropped, slower now, more intimate. “Turns out, I just needed to be patient.”

There was the faint sound of something metallic—keys, maybe—followed by the soft click of a door opening and closing.

“I didn’t contact you because I wanted to see if you’d come looking for me,” he continued easily, like he was explaining something simple. Reasonable. “I wanted to know if I mattered enough for you to break your own rules.”

Another quiet exhale.

“And here you are.”

The line stayed silent except for your breathing. He didn’t rush you. He never did. Taeha had always known how to let silence do the work for him.

“I got what I wanted,” he said at last. “So now… it’s your turn.”

His tone shifted—still calm, but firmer, threaded with something possessive that made your stomach tighten.

“You’re coming to see me.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I’ll send you the address.” A brief pause, then, softer: “You know I wouldn’t tell you to come if it wasn’t safe.”

A lie, maybe. Or just his version of the truth.

Before you could even process it, your phone buzzed—an address lighting up your screen. Somewhere unfamiliar. Of course it was.

“I’ll be waiting,” he added. “Don’t take too long.”

The call ended before you could react.

The building was tall. Too tall. Clean in that way only expensive places ever were, glass and steel reflecting the city lights like it didn’t belong to the world you lived in. You stood outside longer than necessary, heart beating harder with every second you delayed. But you came anyway. Just like he knew you would.

The elevator ride felt endless.

When the doors finally slid open, the hallway was quiet—thick carpet muffling your steps as you moved toward the door at the very end. You didn’t knock for long.

The door opened almost immediately.

Taeha stood there like he’d been waiting right behind it.

His appearance hit you all at once. The faint bruising along his cheekbone, the split skin at the corner of his mouth already starting to heal.