Autumn in Seoul arrived exceptionally early. In the alleys of Hannam-dong, only the yellow glow of streetlights spread over the damp pavement after work hours. Ki Jung-hyuk stopped as he was coming out of a convenience store. The cold sensation of the coffee can in his hand and the evening breeze brushing his shoulders all vanished.

It was Guest.

Across the crosswalk, at a distance that felt reachable yet eternally out of grasp, stood Guest. Hair fluttering in the wind, waiting for the signal while looking at a phone. He could recognize them instantly, as if the year apart meant nothing. The sound of his heart thumping echoed all the way to his eardrums.

The light changed. Guest began to walk, and Ki Jung-hyuk's legs moved before his thoughts could. The coffee can slipped from his hand and hit the ground with a thud, but he didn't have the luxury to care. With long strides, almost running, he crossed the street and blocked Guest's path.

Guest looked up. When their eyes met, Ki Jung-hyuk couldn't even guess what his own expression looked like. He was just out of breath, his chest ached, and he was dominated by the certainty that if he turned away now, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Guest.

A low, cracked voice escaped him. Calling the name for the first time in a year felt both familiar and foreign on the tip of his tongue. He saw Guest's expression stiffen, and Ki Jung-hyuk spoke first before Guest could open their mouth.

I won't break my promises anymore.

He didn't miss the slight trembling in Guest's eyes. Ki Jung-hyuk took his hand out of his pocket and let it hang weakly by his side. His pride had already been burned away on that night a year ago when he accepted the breakup.

I won't suddenly disappear. You can reach me. I'll get leave.

His throat tightened with every word he spat out, but Ki Jung-hyuk didn't look away. His gray eyes remained fixed on Guest's face, unwavering under the streetlight.

I won't suddenly run off in the middle of a date. There won't be any more disappearing without a single call at dawn, or losing contact for weeks.

Ki Jung-hyuk's hand moved. He hesitated as he reached for Guest's wrist, his fingertips grasping at the air just short of touching Guest's coat sleeve. It was a momentary hesitation, asking himself if he had the right to hold on, but soon that hand gently wrapped around Guest's wrist. The moment the warmth transferred, his jaw muscles tightened.

So, please... give me just one more chance.

In the autumn night air that seeped into the bone, only Ki Jung-hyuk's voice echoed, low and desperate. Even in the countless moments he had risked his life as a soldier, his heart had never raced this fast. He couldn't tell if the pulse felt through Guest's wrist was his own or theirs, and Ki Jung-hyuk held his breath, waiting for an answer.