Hyun-woo had chosen the bar for its convenience and location. Close enough that Seo-jin could walk there, but small enough that there was little chance they would meet anybody from work. He’d never visited it, so he got there early. The booths were small and old, but had been made of quality materials, making them age rather than wear, somehow giving them a familiar comfort. Perhaps, with their age, the conversation he intended to have had been said before by many others already.

Hyun-woo sat with a whiskey, untouched. One hand drummed silently against the glass. He stared at the amber liquid, embodying his current mood. Pensive and expectant.

The door opened. Seo-jin entered. She paused at the threshold before walking towards the bar, sweeping the room before she saw him. He stood as she approached, and they exchanged a polite nod, nothing more. She sat across from him, placing her bag beside her.

"Thanks for coming. I won’t take much of your evening," Hyun-woo began, launching into a practised, professional tone. "I wanted to clarify some things about the branding layers, particularly the copy alignment on..."

"Stop." Seo-jin’s voice was quiet, but firm, cutting him off. "I’m not here for work. I don't believe you are either."

Hyun-woo paused, clearly caught off guard by her directness.

"Did you read the letter?" she asked, her gaze unwavering.

He met her eyes. Didn’t answer immediately.

"If you didn’t, say so," Seo-jin pushed, her voice tightening with a desperate edge. "And if you did... Why the cold shoulder? Why today?"

A long pause stretched between them. The background music suddenly seemed too loud, too intrusive.

"Yes. I read it," Hyun-woo finally conceded, his voice flat. "Equally. Why did you have to give it to me last night?"

Silence descended again, thick and heavy, as they maintained direct eye contact, a battle of wills playing out.

"What was I meant to do with that? All these years later?" Hyun-woo continued, a tremor of frustration entering his voice. "So I was silent."

"That wasn’t silence, Hyun-woo. That was erasure." Seo-jin’s voice was low, cutting. She wouldn’t cry. But something behind her eyes flickered, a deep well of pain.

"You left me," Hyun-woo retorted, the words sharp, accusing. "No. Abandoned me."

"I wrote that letter to say I never meant to," her voice strained.

He breathed in, as if to speak, then held it, biting back whatever he was about to say.

"I wasn’t asking for an apology. I wasn’t even asking for a response," Seo-jin continued, her voice gaining strength, though it was still fragile. "Just recognition. And you couldn’t even—" Her voice broke, just slightly. She shook her head, not in anger, but with a profound weariness.

He watched her, barely blinking. The distance between them felt architectural, a vast, uncrossable chasm.

"I didn’t ignore it because I didn’t care," Hyun-woo finally said, his voice softer, laced with a bitter self-reproach. "I ignored it because... Because I couldn’t read it without being reminded of who I used to be. And I don’t like him. He wasn’t good enough for you. So he was no good for me either. He deserves nothing."

Silence stretched between them again, filled only by the intense stares they exchanged.

"He deserved something," Seo-jin said softly, "At the very least, honesty."

"I’m not him anymore." Hyun-woo’s voice was flat, definitive.

"I can see that," Seo-jin conceded, her voice barely a whisper. "But it was him that I loved."

Hyun-woo’s gaze intensified at the word ‘love’. They sat, both still, the weight of that single word hanging between them. His voice broke slightly as he started to talk again.

"That might be so." A beat. "But you also killed him. Intentionally or otherwise." Another beat, heavier this time. "Now I’m stuck like this."

She lowered her head, trying to deny him the sight of a falling tear. She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, then picked her head up, meeting his gaze again. It took all her control to deliver the next line. 

"It was never my intention. Never." She gently shook her head as she spoke, her resolve hardening. She suddenly gathered her thoughts, spitting them out at him, a desperate need to wound him back. "It would have been better if you were angry at me. But this?" A bitter laugh. "This indifference is far crueller than open anger."

She stood, looking down at him, her eyes searching for a way, any way, to hurt him now. "Perhaps I did you a favour. Even then you were too weak to try to win me back! Perhaps you’re better off being you now."

The entire bar had turned to watch her outcry, the quiet hum of conversation dying. Seo-jin turned abruptly and ran for the exit. Hyun-woo was up quickly, a flicker of desperation on his face, moving to get after her.

Seo-jin burst from the bar, her heels hitting the pavement like gunshots. She pushed past pedestrians and late diners, streaks of streetlight pooling over the wet asphalt as she hurried into the night.

Hyun-woo chased after her, catching up half a block down the street. He reached toward her arm. She flinched violently before he even made contact.

"Don’t touch me! Let me go!" she shouted, her voice raw, laced with pain.

He froze, startled by the sheer volume of her outcry. He glanced around self-consciously; a couple of passersby looked over, their conversations interrupted. Embarrassment flashed across his face, but he didn’t speak, didn't move.

She was already walking away, her shoulders shaking, wiping tears as they fell faster now. He followed, but not beside her. He kept his distance, like a shadow that wouldn’t retreat.

She stepped off the sidewalk and into a nearby park. The path curved through soft orange pools of light cast by the occasional lamppost, deserted at this hour. She slowed her pace, her momentum fading, then sank onto a bench under a skeletal tree. Sobs wracked her body, not theatrical, not controlled, grief.

Hyun-woo approached, standing silently beside her. He waited. She stayed seated, hunched forward, her head in her hands, her body shaking with silent sobs.

Eventually, he sat beside her, the space between them filled with her quiet cries. He took a long, steady breath. Then he placed his hand gently on her thigh. It wasn’t possessive. It wasn’t seeking anything. Just a quiet, grounding presence.

She turned then, slowly, leaned into his shoulder, her tears wetting his jacket.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry," she mumbled, her voice muffled against his coat. "I didn’t mean to hurt you so badly."

He said nothing in response. But his arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her gently closer. And they sat in the silence, together.

From across the street, Hyun-woo sat in his car, watching the street in front of Seo-jin's apartment. Through the windshield, he saw Do-yeon hurrying along the pavement. She slowed slightly as she reached the building's entrance. She pressed the buzzer. Waited. Then was gone. 

Once she was inside, Hyun-woo sat back in his car seat. Relieved she would finally have someone with her. 

Now inside, Do-yeon rushes to Seo-jin's apartment door. She rapped hard on the door's face, barely a second later, anxiously knocking again. 

The door opened, and Seo-jin stood in front of her, red-eyed, wrapped in a cardigan. A surprised look quickly gave way to relief. Do-yeon stepped in without a word and pulled her into a hug.

Seo-jin let out a small, involuntary sob as she melted into its warmth.

“I’ve got you.” Do-yeon whispered into her ear. She held her a little longer before breaking to check her face.

“Come on. Let's get inside.” She backed her up into the apartment.

Do-yeon placed her coat over the back of the couch and set her phone down on the table. As she put it down the screen momentarily lit to show a message preview on its home screen.

Hyun-woo: - Can you check on her for me?

She sat next to Seo-jin, who had already taken to the couch. She just sat beside her, quietly. No analysis. No questions.