twelve

"there's nobody like you, i've tried goodbye a hundred times, not one of them true." -nobody like you, little mix.

——

jihoon walked down the quiet street in the morning, the crisp air brushing against his face. he had promised himself something the night before: if he saw any sign of misun, any small reminder of her, he would finally reach out.

he stopped at a small cafe to grab breakfast. the menu caught his eye—a drink called sunshine.

he paused, thumb hovering over the order button, heart thudding painfully.

ignore it. it's just a name. it doesn't mean anything. don't let it get to you.

he shook his head, stepped away, and ordered something else.

later, during filming, he walked past a prop that had a faint golden hue, almost like the sunlight that used to catch her hair just right. he felt his chest tighten, but he told himself to focus on work.

don't think about it. she's just a memory. nothing more.

by the time he finished the shoot and walked back to his apartment, his heart felt heavy, weighed down by longing and fear.

then, on the sidewalk near his building, he saw it again—a flash of yellow flowers spilling from a shop window.

enough.

his chest tightened, and his fingers twitched with the urge to finally act.

he walked into his apartment, dropped his bag on the floor, and sat on the edge of his bed.

his phone rested on the table, screen dark and silent. his thumb hovered over it, hesitating.

what if she doesn't want to hear from me? what if i bother her? what if she ignores me? what if i've ruined everything just by sending this text?

he ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little.

but what if she's been thinking about me too? what if she's been waiting for me to say something?

his chest was tight, stomach fluttering, thoughts spinning. fear, longing, guilt—all tangled together.

just one message. just one. it doesn't have to be perfect. just... hello. that's all.

he stared at the blank screen, fingers trembling. every word he thought of sounded wrong.

"hey, misun..." too casual.

"hi... it's me." too formal.

"i've been thinking about you..." too much.

his heart beat faster with every option. he wanted to capture everything—the longing, the apology, the warmth—but knew he had to start small.

small. simple. safe.

finally, his fingers moved. slowly, deliberately, he typed:

jihoon: hey... it's me, jihoon... how are you doing?

he stared at it for a long moment, thumb hovering over send.

was this too forward? too casual? too much?

his chest tightened, stomach twisting.

she could ignore me. she could be mad. she could... not want to talk to me at all.

but then he thought of her smile, the way her eyes had softened when they saw each other, the warmth of her presence lingering in his mind.

she's not angry. she wouldn't hate me. she wouldn't... right?

he exhaled slowly, as if releasing all the tension in his body. his thumb pressed send.

the screen blinked, sending the message into the digital void.

his chest felt like it might burst, every nerve on edge, every thought screaming.

he sat back on the bed, hands pressed to his face, heart pounding.

he couldn't stop thinking about all the possibilities—her smile, her hesitation, her laughter, her voice reading the message.

and even as fear threatened to swallow him, a small spark of hope lit inside him.