eight

"scared of moving on, but you're already gone." -moving along, 5 seconds of summer.

——

jihoon sat cross-legged on the edge of his bed, a half-eaten bowl of ramen beside him. the apartment was quiet, the soft hum of the fridge the only sound besides the faint city noises outside his window.

he scrolled through his phone, absently tapping and flicking at the screen, though he wasn't really paying attention. every image, every notification, every message felt like noise. his mind kept wandering back to misun—to her smile, her laugh, the way she had whispered his name that night.

then, among the endless feeds and notifications, a profile name flickered across his screen.

misun.

his chest tightened. his fingers froze over the phone. could it really be her?

he tapped the profile carefully, almost afraid it would vanish if he moved too quickly.

it was her.

the feed opened, a cascade of photographs: coffee cups steaming in morning sunlight, streets and alleyways, the sky painted in shades of pink and gold, clusters of flowers in full bloom. so many small moments captured in still images. he scrolled slowly, his heart tightening with each swipe.

here and there, a photograph of her appeared—just her hands cradling a cup, her hair falling over her shoulder, a shadow of her profile against a window. nothing flashy, nothing that screamed attention, but enough to make him ache.

he kept scrolling, letting the images wash over him. colors, textures, little glimpses of her world he hadn't been a part of. every post a reminder of the time he had missed. every photograph, every memory, carved a hollow ache deeper into his chest.

then he noticed the years listed at the top of the feed. his thumb hovered over them.

2018. he tapped it.

the screen refreshed, and there it was—only one post. one solitary moment frozen in time. no caption. no comments. just a photograph, simple and ordinary, yet it hit him harder than anything else.

he felt it immediately. guilt. crushing, relentless guilt.

his chest tightened. he could barely breathe.

he had missed so much. all this time, he hadn't been there. he hadn't watched, hadn't noticed, hadn't cared enough to stay.

and now, seeing her life laid bare in photographs, seeing what he had lost, his heart shattered.

he put the phone down for a moment, staring blankly at the wall.

"why didn't i stay? why did i let things end the way they did?" he whispered to himself, voice low and hollow.

his hands trembled slightly as he reached for the phone again.

he wanted—no, he needed—to follow her. to see more. to be closer in some small, digital way.

but then the doubts came rushing back.

first, carats would notice. people would see. it's not safe.

second... what if she doesn't want him to? what if she's moved on? what if following her makes her uncomfortable? what if she hates him?

his fingers hovered over the "follow" button. the temptation was strong, almost unbearable. his chest ached with longing and regret, the kind of longing that made his stomach twist and his hands shake.

he thought of her face, the way her eyes had lit up that night, the way she had whispered his name. the memory was painful, tender, and impossible to ignore.

he set the phone back down, just out of reach, as if the distance could somehow protect him. he couldn't do it. not yet.

instead, he stared at the ceiling, running a hand through his hair. the room felt smaller now, heavier. the ramen was cold, forgotten. the phone glowed faintly in the dark, a small temptation he wasn't ready to surrender to.

he felt hollow, desperate, lost in the ache of the moments he had missed and the longing he still couldn't resist.

and yet, he told himself no. not tonight. not now. he would wait.

but he didn't sleep.

he couldn't.

the glow of the phone sat on the bed beside him, silent, patient, and full of possibilities.

and somewhere deep in his chest, a tiny spark of hope flickered.