Dae-hyun's POV
I needed sleeping pills. Who knew sleeping could be hard?
The pharmacy near my area was nearly empty at this hour.
I came here often. Not for the sleep aids — they don't work — but because the silence here didn't feel suffocating.
I reached for the usual bottle on the shelf.
Another hand landed on the same one.
I froze.
I didn't have to look up.
I knew that hand.
Those fingers.
The faint scar along the knuckle.
My stomach sank.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze.
Pink hair — a little longer now, softer, parted messily.
Eyes the same shade of turquoise I'd learned to avoid.
Kang Woo-jin.
Of all people.
His lips parted just slightly. Not smiling. Not pretending. Just… breathing.
"…Dae-hyun."
Hearing my name in his voice again made something sharp twist in my chest.
Annoyance. Irritation. Something old and messy.
I clicked my tongue and pulled my hand back first.
"Tch. Figures." My voice came out colder than I expected. "This city isn't big enough, huh?"
He didn't joke back.
Didn't play innocent.
Didn't try to smile.
He just looked tired.
"Didn't expect to run into you here," he murmured.
I scoffed. "Believe me, I wouldn't have come if I knew."
The silence was thick, almost too heavy.
He shifted his weight — not uncomfortable, just… worn.
"…You look well," he said softly.
"I am."
Even if I wasn't.
"And you?" I added, because manners had been beaten into me.
He hesitated just one second too long.
"I'm fine," he lied.
I noticed the sleeves pulled down too far.
The slight tremor in his hand.
The smell of alcohol under expensive cologne.
I knew these signs.
I used to stop them.
I didn't comment.
Not my responsibility anymore.
"I'm surprised you're out here alone," Woo-jin said, voice quiet. "You usually hate late crowds."
"I don't remember telling you that."
But I did.
He remembered everything.
His eyes flickered, hurt flickering so fast it was gone before I could decide if I imagined it.
"Well," he whispered, "I paid attention."
I didn't respond.
The bottle of melatonin stayed untouched between us.
He stepped back first.
"If you'd like," he said, tone steady, practiced polite, "I can pretend we never saw each other."
That hit harder than I expected.
"…Do that," I answered.
He nodded.
He walked past me — slow, careful steps — as if afraid that brushing against me would cause damage.
As he reached the automatic door, he paused.
Not turning around.
Just stopping.
"You don't have to hate me forever," he murmured.
My jaw clenched.
"I don't hate you," I said. "I just don't want you in my life."
He exhaled — something small collapsing inside that sound.
"I know."
The door slid open.
Cold air rushed in.
He stepped out.
Gone.
I could sense as his pheromones faded.
I stood there, staring at the empty doorway, heart pounding for reasons I didn't like.
This time, I said his name aloud.
"…Woo-jin."
It felt like swallowing glass.
But I was too late.
The automatic door slid shut behind me with a soft click, leaving me in the quiet chill of the night.
Woo-jin's silhouette was already halfway across the block, moving fast, like he couldn't put enough distance between us.
My fingers curled tightly around the small pharmacy bag in my hand, plastic crinkling loud in the silence.
Tch.
Why the hell am I even standing here?
If I go home now — that's it.
He walks away.
We become strangers again.
That should be a good thing.
It should make things simple. Clean. Over.
But—
What if I regret it?
The thought was sudden, sharp.
It slid straight into the center of my chest.
What if… this moment is the last exit?
What if I let go now and something I don't remember was important?
What if the emptiness I feel sometimes — the one I refuse to name — gets worse?
…And what if I find out too late?
I sucked in a breath. It felt like I'd been holding it for years.
"Damn it…" I muttered under my breath, like the night air deserved an explanation.
My feet started moving before I finished the curse.
Not running — just long, deliberate strides, my pulse loud enough that I could feel it in my fingers.
The cold wind stung my face.
The pavement echoed under my shoes.
Every step felt like walking into something I wasn't ready for.
"Woo-jin!" I called.
He didn't stop.
He didn't even slow down.
That— irritated me.
My jaw clenched, breath fogging in front of me.
"Hey!" I called again, louder, almost a snap.
He kept walking.
I didn't think so.
I just grabbed him — hand closing around his wrist.
Warm.
Too familiar.
Like something my body remembered even if my mind didn't.
Woo-jin paused. Slowly, he turned his head, turquoise eyes meeting mine under the dim streetlight.
His expression wasn't cold.
It wasn't sad.
It was… tired.
Deeply, painfully tired.
"What are you doing?" he asked quietly.
My chest tightened — frustration, confusion, something I couldn't name.
I swallowed.
"…I don't know."
The words tasted bitter.
His eyes flickered — just barely.
The wind rustled between us, so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat.
I loosened my grip, but didn't let go.
"I just—" I exhaled sharply. "If I let you walk away like that… I feel like I'll regret it."
There.
Said.
Out.
Ugly, raw, stupid.
Woo-jin blinked once — slow, disbelieving.
Then he laughed.
Not mocking.
Not sweet.
Just… cracked.
A sound that broke somewhere in the middle, like something inside him didn't work right anymore.
"You're cruel, Dae-hyun," he whispered.
And for the first time since I saw him again —
I had no idea which one of us he meant it for.
"Cruel?" I repeated, breath hollow. "How am I—"
"Yoou…," Woo-jin said, voice thin, trembling at the edges, "so you speak like none of it mattered."
The streetlight flickered above us, washing him in cold, uneven light. His pink hair looked duller now. His face — thinner than I remembered. Shadows under his blue eyes. Like sleep never came.
He pulled his wrist slowly out of my hold — not with force, but with this… softness that felt like it hurt more.
"You shouldn't chase after me," he said quietly. "You don't even know why you're doing it. You wanted this divorce!"
"That's exactly why I—" I stopped, the words choking themselves.
I don't know why I'm doing it.
But something in me was roaring, clawing, moving.
My jaw tightened.
I forced myself to speak.
"When you walked away just now…" My voice sounded unfamiliar to my own ears. "…my chest hurt."
Woo-jin's expression flickered — pain, disbelief, something almost like anger, swallowed quickly.
"I told you," he said, almost whispering. "You're cruel."
He looked away — staring down the street like it was the only escape route left.
"I spent years trying to stop myself from being miserable because of you," he continued, voice low enough to almost lose in the breeze. "Trying to erase you. Trying to convince myself I was just… annoying. Easy to leave. Easy to forget."
My breath caught.
Something cold slid down my spine.
Woo-jin shook his head, a small, bitter laugh escaping his lips.
"And now," he said, "you show up and say your chest hurts?"
I couldn't speak.
"Do you know how many times I told myself you hated me?"
His voice wavered — just a fraction.
Enough to show the crack.
"How many times have I convinced myself that I deserved it?"
Silence.
The kind that doesn't breathe.
My hands curled helplessly at my sides.
"…I didn't hate you."
The words came raw.
Unpolished.
Not fully remembered — but felt.
Woo-jin's eyes lifted — slowly — meeting mine.
"And yet," he said softly, "you left."
Something sharp twisted in the back of my skull —
a flash.
Pink hair
a rooftop
rain
my own voice — Don't do it.
Gone.
I blinked hard.
The world swayed.
Woo-jin noticed.
His expression changed — panic flickering, just barely.
"You…" His breath caught. "You remembered something just now, didn't you?"
I shook my head once — too fast.
Too defensive.
"I don't know," I muttered. "Maybe. I don't—" I swallowed. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters to me."
His voice cracked.
The street felt too quiet.
The night was too cold.
I looked at him — really looked.
The trembling in his fingers.
The exhaustion in his posture.
The way his eyes shimmered like he'd used the last of his strength to hold himself together.
"…Are you okay?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He froze.
Like I had just spoken a language he'd forgotten.
Then — very slowly — his eyes filled.
Not dramatic.
Not loud.
Just… silently overflowing.
He looked away — wiping his face with the heel of his palm, like he was embarrassed to even be seen crying.
"No," he whispered.
"Not even a little."
Something inside me broke.
I didn't move — but I felt it.
Like a crack running straight through the center of my chest.
The wind shifted.
The streetlight buzzed once and steadied.
I swallowed, throat thick, voice barely there.
"…Then don't walk away."
Woo-jin went still.
Completely still.
His breathing stopped.
Like he didn't believe the words were real.
I didn't know what I was asking.
I didn't know what I wanted.
I didn't know what I felt.
But I knew one thing with absolute, brutal certainty:
If I let him disappear again tonight —
I wouldn't forgive myself.
Not now.
Not later.
Not ever.
Woo-jin's voice came slowly — fragile, broken.
"…Dae-hyun," he whispered, "please… don't say things you don't understand."
I stepped closer.
"I don't understand anything," I said.
"But I know I don't want you to leave."
His lips parted — breath shaking.
We stood there — two people who used to know each other too well — staring like strangers who remembered ghosts.
Then—
Woo-jin took a step back.
One step.
Enough to pull the night tight around us again.
"I can't," he whispered.
And before I could speak —
he turned.
And walked away.
This time —
I didn't chase him.
Not because I didn't want to.
Because his shoulders looked like if I touched him now—
he'd break.
And I didn't want to be the one who broke him again.
The moment I stepped inside, I slammed the door shut harder than I meant to.
The sound echoed through the apartment — hollow, sharp — like something breaking.
The place was quiet. Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses against your ears, forces your thoughts to get louder.
I didn't turn on the lights.
The city glow leaking in from the windows was enough — pale, cold, and distant. Fitting.
I walked straight into the kitchen. My body moved without thought — like it had done this a hundred times.
Cabinet door. Open. Close. Open again.
Not looking for anything — just moving.
My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
It pissed me off.
My jaw clenched. I forced a laugh — thin, brittle.
"Pathetic."
I leaned forward, both palms flat against the cold countertop.
The stone pressed into my skin, solid and unmoving — unlike the mess inside my chest.
His voice replayed — soft, breaking.
"No. Not even a little."
A clean refusal.
Not dramatic. Not emotional.
Just… true.
It hit harder than screaming ever could.
I inhaled, sharp and uneven.
My heart was hammering like I'd just sprinted.
Why?
Why the hell should it matter?
He was—
Someone I used to know.
A chapter I don't remember.
A face I should feel nothing toward.
Someone I left.
I pushed away from the counter, pacing the length of the living room.
Back.
Fourth.
Every step felt like friction — heat rising under my skin, like my body was reacting to something my mind couldn't name.
The flash hit again.
Rain. Cold.
A rooftop.
A hand slipping out of mine.
My voice — raw, desperate — calling his name.
Woo-jin.
The memory cracked like lightning — then dissolved.
Gone.
Like trying to catch smoke with bleeding fingers.
Pain stabbed right behind my eyes — sharp, white-hot.
I dragged both hands through my hair, gripping until my scalp burned.
"What the hell did I forget…?"
No answer.
Just that suffocating silence again.
I looked toward the window.
My reflection stared back in the glass — faint, distorted — eyes too bright, expression too tight.
Like I didn't recognize myself either.
My chest ached.
Not a sharp pain — just a heavy one.
Like a weight had settled behind my ribs and refused to move.
I sat on the edge of the couch — but my body didn't relax.
I sat like someone preparing to flee.
Like my muscles didn't know how to stop being tense.
"Why did I run after him…?"
The words slipped out before I could bite them back.
Because I did.
The second he turned away — something inside me lunged.
Instinct.
Impulse.
Memory in the bones, not the mind.
It scared me.
I pressed my palm to my chest — feeling the uneven rhythm of my heartbeat.
Too fast.
Too loud.
And his name came again — uninvited, familiar in a way it shouldn't be.
"…Woo-jin."
It tasted like déjà vu.
Like muscle memory of speaking it.
Like something I used to say without thinking.
I shut my eyes.
For a moment — just a moment — I felt it:
A hand holding mine.
Warm.
Certain.
Then it was gone.
Ripped away.
Like everything else.
I let out a breath — slow, unsteady — and scrubbed my face with my hands.
"Get it together," I muttered.
But it didn't sound convincing.
The truth pressed against me quietly — not loud, not dramatic — just real.
I knew him before the marriage. That terrifies me.