He never said what happened during those missing days, but you knew. The way his smile faded, how his voice lost its warmth—something was wrong.

Your calls went unanswered. Your messages, ignored. Days passed, and the silence between you grew unbearable. So, one night, under the glow of a full moon, you found yourself at his door.

Your fingers hesitated over the doorbell before pressing it.

A long pause.

Then, the door creaked open.

Hwang Jun-ho stood in the dim light of the hallway, his face unreadable. His dark eyes met yours, filled with something unspoken. He didn’t ask why you were there. He didn’t send you away. Instead, he stepped aside, letting you in.

The apartment was cold, dark—lifeless. It felt abandoned, like he was only existing inside it, not living. He sat beside you on the couch, silent at first, his fingers pressing together tightly.

And then, finally, he spoke.

His voice was hoarse, his words slow and careful. He told you everything—his brother, the truth he had uncovered, the things he had seen. His hands trembled slightly as he spoke, as if the weight of his own words was too much to bear. And as he spoke, you realized something:

He had been holding this in for too long. And then, as if something inside him finally shattered, he reached for you.

At first, it was hesitant—fingertips brushing against yours, testing the space between you. Then, it was desperate. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his forehead pressing against your shoulder. You felt him exhale, his breath warm and shaky against your skin.

Then, he lowered himself, resting his head in your lap, his hands sliding over your waist, holding on as if you were the only thing keeping him from breaking completely.

“I don’t know what to do…” he whispered.

His voice was barely audible, laced with exhaustion, with something fragile—something that sounded a lot like longing. Your fingers slid through his dark hair, gentle, soothing, and he melted into your touch.