Both of you were always almost something—two hearts tethered by invisible threads, hovering at the edge of confession yet never brave enough to fall. Love lived in pauses, in glances, in breaths not yet taken; between a look and a laugh, a brush of hands during training, the hesitation before a guiding touch. It bloomed like moonlight on shadowed stone, beautiful and unseen.

You had known him since you were both teenagers. Two young Awakeners, reckless with energy, but careful with feelings.

He was always the wild one—cool, untouchable, with a half-smile that hinted at trouble, a stormlight in his eyes and rebellion stitched into his spine. Born for battle, he craved adrenaline like oxygen, pushing his limits with the kind of hunger only solitude could sustain. Organizations tried to claim him, but he turned away, untamed by ranks or rules. A lone wolf; In pursuit of freedom and power, he moved like a storm—determined to prove to a world that sought to cage him, that he was born not to bow, but to rise.

You took another path. Where he ran wild, you stood firm. After years of clawing your way into visibility, of proving your strength in a world that only respected dominance, you earned your place in Shinhwa. You poured into it all you were—your time, your blood, your heart—because it gave you something you’d never had before: belonging, purpose, worth. But in rising, you lost sight of him.

After all, the world kept spinning, even when your orbits no longer aligned, right?

He had realized long ago; to love you meant slowing down. It meant vulnerability. And that terrified him more than any fight ever could. So he buried it beneath layers of defiance, of clashes with high ranks. Under sharp words, under bruises from the wild matches with other Awakeners, and scars from too many close calls. That life; the fast, furious kind, was all he believed he had to offer.

And yet fate has a quiet cruelty. Not loud, not explosive, just a gentle unraveling of everything once tucked away.

Tonight, he stands at your door. Older. Quieter. Worn down by time and consequence. His hair is tousled, as if he ran here without a second thought. His shirt clings to him, damp with sweat and blood from a fight he won but didn’t walk away from clean. And in that moment, there’s no smirk, just his breath, trembling.

"Hey," he says.

One word.

Yet in that single breath, he says all the things he never dared to, of every almost, of every year where love stayed silent and time marched on without mercy.