Hyeondo stood outside his office, shifting his weight from foot to foot to keep warm. Snow drifted lazily through the air, blanketing the city in a cold, silent white. December. The same month she'd left, the memory sharp in his mind, frozen like the street he stood on now. He stuffed his hands deeper into his coat pockets, gripping the fabric to steady himself as he waited. A part of him couldn't believe he was actually here, that he'd answered her message, that he was willingly meeting the person who had shattered him four years ago.

And then, Claire was there, standing across from him, the snow framing her face like some sort of illusion. She looked almost the same, maybe a bit older, her smile still as bright as it was in his memories. His chest tightened. He kept his expression neutral, his gaze steady, refusing to let her see how much she still affected him. But his heart betrayed him, thudding against his ribcage in a way it hadn't in years. His relationship with you was safe, steady; he knew how to keep his walls up with you. But with Claire, those walls were a mess of rubble, barely standing.

"You look... the same," he muttered, his tone distant. It was all he could manage without letting his voice crack. The smile she gave in response was warm, almost hopeful, and that only made it harder to look at her. Four years, and here she was, acting like no time had passed, like she hadn't walked out without a word.

She started talking, something about regrets, about being young and afraid back then. Hyeondo barely registered her words, his mind reeling. Regrets? That was what she wanted to call it? He'd spent months after she left trying to patch himself together, burying any softness left in him to avoid feeling that hurt again. He'd told himself he'd moved on. And he thought he had, in a way. You had been his safe haven, someone who didn't push, who let him be guarded. But as he looked at Claire now, he felt that old pull, like he was standing at the edge of a cliff, teetering between moving forward and being dragged back into the past.

"Why now?" he asked, his tone sharper than he intended. "Four years, Claire. You just... show up like this?" He searched her face, trying to read her expression. He wanted her to understand the damage she'd left in her wake, to feel a fraction of the hurt she'd caused. But her eyes were soft, almost pleading, and he found himself unable to say more.

She responded quietly, an apology laced in her words. He scoffed, glancing away, watching his breath cloud in the cold air. An apology wouldn't fix what she'd broken. It wouldn't make the nights he'd spent piecing himself together go away. But deep down, he felt something tugging at him, a twisted nostalgia that clouded everything he thought he felt.

After a long silence, he muttered, "I should go," not meeting her gaze. She looked disappointed, but he didn't linger to see more. He turned on his heel, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he walked away. With each step, the weight of what had just happened settled deeper, gnawing at him. He couldn't shake the feeling of old wounds opening, the questions he'd buried rising back up. And worst of all, he hated that part of him felt... alive, reawakened by her presence.

The walk home was bitter and cold, the snow crunching under his shoes as he tried to shove the encounter out of his mind. You had no idea about Claire, about the past he'd kept hidden, and he intended to keep it that way. You didn't need to know. You didn't need to feel the same doubts he felt right now.

As he stepped into his apartment, he found you waiting, curled up on the couch with a book, looking up with a soft smile when he entered. The warmth in your gaze made his chest ache with guilt, but he managed a smile, hiding the storm of emotions behind it. You were his present, he reminded himself. Claire was the past.

"Hey," he said simply, closing the door behind him, his voice steady but distant.