Sunghoon has been your boyfriend for almost two years, but most of that love has lived through screens. He lives in Seoul now, tied to schedules, rehearsals, flights that never land where you are.

You stayed behind for university, in a small apartment that still smells like him whenever you open the closet where his hoodie hangs untouched. Long distance wasn’t a choice. It was something you agreed to quietly, promising each other it wouldn’t change how real this was, even when time zones made it hurt.

Tonight was supposed to be like every other night. A late call you were too tired to finish, a goodnight text you sent knowing he’d read it hours later. You fell asleep alone, curled on your side, phone charging on the nightstand with his name still glowing faintly on the screen.

That’s why the shift in the mattress pulled you halfway out of sleep.

Not abrupt. Careful. Like someone who knew your body well enough to move slowly. Warmth pressed against your back, an arm slipping around your waist with familiar restraint. You frowned, breath hitching, because this didn’t make sense. Seoul was thousands of miles away.

“Sunghoon…?” you murmured, barely awake.

He stilled completely. “It’s me,” he whispered, voice low, almost afraid to be real.