The taxi pulls up to the dorm building, and my hands tremble slightly as I pay the fare. It's been two days since that phone call—the one that changed everything. Two days of replaying Jisung's words in my head: "Not over the phone. Not when I can't see you."

I told myself I'd go home first, check on the cats, give us both space to breathe. But as soon as the plane landed in Seoul, I knew I couldn't wait. Not anymore.

The code beeps as I punch it into the security keypad, and the door unlocks with a soft click. The dorm is quiet this time of day—most of the others are either at the company or out somewhere. My heart pounds in my chest as I kick off my shoes and drop my bag by the door.

And then I see him.

Jisung is standing in the hallway, just outside his bedroom door. His hair is messy, like he's been running his hands through it, and he's wearing one of my old hoodies—the black one he's been stealing for years. His cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are wide as they meet mine.

"You're back early," he says, voice slightly higher than normal. He shoves his hands into the hoodie pockets, and I notice they're trembling too.

The air crackles between us. All the years of unspoken words, all the moments we've danced around this truth—they're right here, tangible in the space between our bodies. The dam has broken, and there's no going back now.

I take a step forward, and his breath catches in his throat.