twenty

"little do you know, i'm trying to make it better piece by piece." -little do you know, alex & sierra.

——

jihoon stared at her message for a long, long time.

two simple words—and yet, they hit him harder than anything else could. his chest tightened, his fingers trembling slightly as he re-read it over and over, like he needed to make sure it was real.

for the first time in years, she didn't ignore the past. she didn't push it away. she remembered.

he paced around his living room, phone in hand, heart racing. he wanted to text back. he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing felt enough.

his thumb hovered over her name again.

and before he could stop himself, he pressed call.

the sound of the ringing almost made him sick.

once.

twice.

three times.

she wasn't answering.

he swallowed hard, ready to hang up—maybe she was asleep, or maybe she didn't want to talk—but then, on the fourth ring, he heard it.

"...hello?"

her voice. soft, careful, uncertain.

he froze. for a moment, all sound disappeared. he forgot how to breathe.

"misun," he said quietly.

on the other end, silence. then a shaky breath.

"jihoon."

he laughed under his breath—not out of amusement, but disbelief. "wow... this feels strange."

"yeah," she said. "it does."

it was awkward. not the heavy kind, but fragile. like both of them were afraid to say the wrong thing and ruin it.

"i didn't think you'd answer," he admitted.

"i almost didn't," she confessed.

"why did you?"

"i don't know," she whispered. "maybe... i wanted to hear your voice."

his heart ached at that.

there was a pause. both of them just breathing, listening, existing in that fragile moment between past and present.

"you kept it," she said softly.

"the jar?"

"yeah."

he smiled faintly. "of course i did. i kept everything."

her chest tightened. "you shouldn't have."

"maybe," he said, voice low, "but i couldn't throw away something that still felt real."

another silence. heavier this time.

then, almost hesitantly, he asked, "do you wanna do it?"

she blinked, confused. "what?"

"the jar," he said. "the things we wrote. we never got to do any of them back then."

her heart skipped a beat. "jihoon..."

"i mean, we're not kids anymore," he continued quickly. "we have jobs. we have money. we can actually make those things happen now."

her thoughts swirled, messy and fast. she didn't even know what to feel—shock, fear, longing, maybe all of it.

"you can't just say that," she said, voice trembling slightly. "you can't just call and ask me to—"

"why not?"

"because..." she hesitated. "you're you now. you're woozi. you have fans, cameras, people watching every step you take. if they see you with me, it'll be everywhere."

"i don't care," he said immediately.

"you should," she said. "they'll talk. they'll drag me. they'll say things that aren't true."

he was quiet for a second. "they already say things that aren't true," he murmured. "the difference is, this time, it's about something that matters."

she didn't know how to respond to that. her throat felt tight, and her eyes burned.

"jihoon," she whispered, "you don't know how hard it was back then. what it did to me. what it did to us."

his voice softened. "i do know. that's why i want to make it right this time."

she closed her eyes, tears gathering at the corners. her heart was beating too fast—part fear, part hope.

"you can't just fix everything," she said quietly.

"maybe not," he said. "but i can try. please give me a chance."

she went silent again. the air between them felt thick with memories, with everything they hadn't said in years.

"just one," he said finally. "just one thing from the jar. we don't have to make it a big deal. no one has to know. just... something small. something for us."

she bit her lip, wiping a tear that slipped down her cheek. "you really haven't changed," she said softly.

"maybe not enough," he admitted, voice warm but sad. "but i've learned to fight for what i don't want to lose."

her chest ached at that. for a long while, neither of them spoke. just the faint sound of breathing and the quiet hum of the call.

and then, softly—almost in a whisper—she said, "okay."

his heart stopped. "what?"

"let's do it," she repeated. "just one."

he didn't realize he was smiling until he felt it. that small, disbelieving, aching smile that made his chest feel lighter than it had in years.

"really?"

"don't make me change my mind," she said, a faint laugh breaking through her nerves.

he laughed too—soft and breathless. "i won't."

after they hung up, jihoon lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling, smiling like an idiot. he hadn't felt this alive in a long time.

and somewhere across the city, misun did the same—lying in the dark, phone clutched to her chest, her heart racing with something she didn't want to name yet.

but for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt alone.