(Yijeong POV)

...

He's sitting on the couch. You haven't seen him in ages, but he's sitting on your couch with his ankles crossed and feet resting on the coffee table and he looks worn out and a little ruffled and absolutely beautiful, you can't deny it. (You've never been good at denying the truth, but you've started trying again.)

You told him you were busy, you told him to go away, you tried to tell him that you couldn't give him anything tonight, but he looked into your eyes and told you he just didn't want to be alone and you'd be lying if you said you weren't a little lonely yourself lately, so you had no choice but to let him stay. That was an hour ago, and all he's been doing is sitting on your couch and occasionally chuckling at something on his phone and breathing, but you feel like you're coming out of your skin because he's so close but not close enough and you can't focus on anything but the images of him you keep catching in your peripheral vision and the way his laugh fills you up despite everything. (And there is so much everything now.)

Finally, you can't do it anymore, you can't focus and you can't stop and you can barely breathe, so you save your work and you sit down on the couch next to him and he sets down his phone in his lap. "Done?" You shake your head. "Taking a break." He sighs. "You're never done, are you?" You wish it was a question, but he knows you too well. You're never done with work just like you're never done with him. (Just like he's never done with you.) "How have you been?" you ask, like you would ask anyone who showed up in your life after a while. "I'm fine. You?" You nod. "The same." 

"Have you eaten?" You shrug. "A while ago." He picks up his phone. "I'll order something." You clear your throat because it's already feeling tight with emotion over his proximity. "So, you're staying?" He looks over at you and you swear you see tears in his eyes before he blinks them away. "I'm staying." You nod again. "Are you sure you're fine?" You regret it the moment you say it because he puts his hand on your knee and looks at you as intensely as ever and your heart stops. Spending time away from him is only breaking down your ability to resist him. (Even though that would imply you possessed that ability in the first place.) "I'm tired and I'm lonely and I miss you, but I'm fine." He sounds so earnest that your heart breaks a little more for him and you hate yourself for forgetting that you're not the only one who's suffering. You think you're selfish, you think you're immature and you feel guilty about it, but you're almost glad that he's hurting because it's making him need you and that's something you still want, something you'll always want. "You miss me?" is all you can think to say. "Of course. Do you miss me?"

"Still asking stupid questions, I see," you reply, because saying you miss him out loud feels a little like losing right now. You should let him be the one who misses you, you should let yourself be the one who's indifferent to him, you should take the opportunity to have the upper hand with him for once, just once. "People don't change, remember? You taught me that." You realize you're wringing your hands again and you cross your arms across your chest to resist the temptation. "I did?" He nods. "You've taught me a lot, actually." If you stare at the coffee table any harder, you're going to burn a hole in it. "Like what?"

"You taught me that hard work really does get you somewhere in life, even if it means you have to make a lot of sacrifices along the way." You shouldn't be flattered, but you are. Just a little. "I taught you that?" He looks down and realizes that his hand is still on your knee before he looks back up. "Yeah, you did." He takes his hand from your knee and leans back into the couch. "What are we going to do?" he mutters after a moment. "About what?" you say. "About us."

"Oh. I don't know." He sighs heavily, closes his eyes and presses a hand against his forehead. "Everything kind of fell apart," he says, "but you're still here. I don't... I don't know why." You're confused and you know it shows so you decide to address it. "I told you I'd be waiting, right? Even if you didn't want me to?" He nods slowly. "I'm still here because I'm still waiting to see if... you ever want me to be." It feels too honest, you feel like he'll snap, like it's too much pressure to put on him right now, but you're getting tired of lying. "I want you," he says and your heart stops. (Once upon a time, you didn't think that was possible.) "I'm here too, aren't I?" You look at him, feeling a little stunned because the two of you are never this honest with each other anymore, but he's looking at you too and you know you're falling right back into him, just like you always have. (Just like you always will.)

If someone asked you later on, you probably wouldn't be able to tell them who moved first. For once, you feel like the two of you are on the same page, like you're moving together, like this is working, like you both want it just as much and even that is enough to break your heart. Either way, if he moved first, if you did, you don't care for long because you're in his arms and your hands are in his hair and he's kissing you as gently as he probably ever has and you start to believe it, you start to believe that he needs you and not just , like he's been lonely for you and not just the closest warm body, like the only one who can help him is you. 

You believe it even more when you end up in your bed with all of your clothes on, with his arms around you tightly and a movie playing in background. He kisses your hair and touches you like you're something fragile, no, like you're something precious and he's the only person who has ever made you feel that way. (He might be the only person who will ever be able to.)

"I'm sorry for everything," he whispers. "I really do know I can't keep showing up like this." You don't know if he means it, because if he was really sorry, he would stop, but it feels genuine enough and you never thought he'd apologize so you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. (You pretend that's ever been a choice for you.) "We've both made mistakes," you compromise. "It's my fault we're broken up. All of us." You roll yourself over in his arms, look up at him, take a deep breath. "I don't blame you for that. We all decided, it was the right thing to do. You didn't get to choose to leave, you had to. You shouldn't be sorry for that." 

"But I am. I was supposed to be... I failed you, all of you." You smile despite everything in you that wants to cry. "You didn't. You're didn't fail me, because you always come back." As long as he's yours some of the time, as long as he wants you occasionally, as long as he's still around, you're willing to take what you can get. (Because this, random drop-ins and misspoken words and stolen kisses and uncertainty, feels like the closest you'll ever get to love.) "I should've have tried harder." Tears are welling up in his eyes again and you reach out to swipe a tear away from his cheek before it can fall. "Don't stop trying. I can't speak for anyone else, but you tried hard enough for me. There's nothing else that could have been done. It's time to let it go. Right?"

"Are you gonna... let it all go?" he asks nervously, and you don't know why he won't believe you when you say you'll always be waiting. (He has to believe it eventually, it's the truth.) "Maybe it's time to let the past go." He blinks twice. "What about the future?" 

"I guess we'll have to wait and see." He bites his lip. "I guess." You've been talking more than ever and it's not making you feel any better, and you can't believe it's been long enough for you to forget how much the both of you hate talking, so you sit up abruptly and turn to look at him. He looks tired and concerned and beautiful and a little like he's done something wrong and it's a look you haven't seen in a long, long time. "Are you staying the night?" He blinks again, concern washing across his eyes. "Yes." You nod and pull your t-shirt off over your head. "Have we done enough talking yet?" you say confidently, even though your heart is beating against your rib cage and you feel like you might pass out from anticipation, even though you only feel this way when it's him, not that you've been willing to prove that theory much. "I'm yours," he replies and you think you might be tearing up now because you've wanted to hear those words for far too long, because he's here and it's real and you're not alone for once. "You're mine," you repeat, "and I'm yours."

The next morning, you know he has to go and you know you have things to do, but you get up early to make him coffee and kiss his face until he wakes up and it feels too real, so real that it seems fake. "So what now?" you ask finally, once he's had his coffee and is retrieving his pants from your floor. "I probably can't come back for a while. We're both so busy, but... maybe you can call me. And maybe next time... it won't be so out of the blue."

"I'll be here," you say, even though he should know that by now. "I'll come back," he responds, even though you should know that by now. He walks back over to kiss you goodbye and your heart aches in a way it hasn't in a while, because he's leaving again, but you know he'll be back, and you miss him already, but you know he misses you too, and he might be the worst thing that's ever happened to you, but right now he's the best thing that's ever happened to you and somehow that makes it worth it. 

(He starts texting you again and confiding in you and flirting with you and it might not be perfect, but it feels like the next chapter of a story you know will never end and maybe all you really needed was a new start.)