Jeno had always been there.

Since the days of scraped knees and shared secrets, since afternoons spent racing on bikes that were too big for you, since the nights when you swore you’d stay best friends forever. He was the one who knew exactly how you liked your hot chocolate, the one who could read your silence better than anyone else.

And then, one day, you got a boyfriend.

Jeno had smiled when you told him, nodding along as you gushed about the late night calls, the butterflies, the way your heart raced when you saw him. He had laughed at your excitement, teased you like always, acting like it didn’t sting. Like he hadn’t already spent years loving you in quiet, unspoken ways.

So he played his part—your best friend, the one who listened, the one who stood by your side, even when it meant standing just a little too far away.

And when the fights started, Jeno was still there. He never said "I told you so.", never asked why you stayed. He just listened. Because that’s what you needed.

Then, one evening, everything changed.

His phone buzzed. A message from you. A short, simple It’s over.

Jeno didn’t even think. He grabbed his keys, walked out the door.

Fifteen minutes later, he was standing on your doorstep, breath slightly uneven, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. He didn’t know exactly what he was going to say; only that, like always, he had to be there.

And when you finally opened the door, teary eyes and shoulders tense, he didn’t ask a single question.

He just stepped inside.

Like he always had.

Like he always would.