It had been three weeks since Ren left. Three weeks since the rooftop. Three weeks since their quiet, almost-love had quietly fallen apart.
Kai hadn't seen him since.
Ren had switched teams, apparently—moved to another department across the building. HR said it was a "temporary rotation." Kai didn't ask for details. He told himself it didn't matter.
But every time he passed the 14th-floor hallway, every time he heard that familiar low laugh in the distance, his heart forgot what pretending meant.
It was Monday morning when it finally happened.
The elevator doors opened with a quiet ding, and there he was.
Ren.
Standing beside a stack of folders, talking softly with another intern. His hair was shorter now, darker at the ends, and his tie hung slightly loose. He looked the same—only somehow older. Tired, maybe.
Kai froze in the doorway. For a second, no one moved.
Then Ren looked up.
Their eyes met.
A quiet, invisible current snapped between them—three weeks of silence shattering in an instant.
Ren's lips parted slightly. "Kai."
Kai's throat tightened. He forced a polite nod. "Ren."
The other intern glanced between them, sensing the tension, then mumbled something about a meeting and slipped away.
They stood there, alone now.
Kai stepped forward. "You've been avoiding me."
Ren raised an eyebrow. "You noticed."
Kai's jaw tightened. "Hard not to."
Ren set the folders down a bit too roughly. "You wanted space. I gave it to you."
"I didn't ask you to disappear."
"You didn't stop me either."
The air thickened. Their words were low, calm—but their eyes said everything their voices didn't.
Kai took a slow breath. "You quit on us too easily."
Ren laughed under his breath, bitter. "Us? Kai, there hasn't been an 'us' since the day we both decided to pretend it was love."
Kai flinched. "That's not fair."
"It's honest."
"You call walking away honest?"
"I call it mercy," Ren snapped, his voice rising before he caught himself. The nearby office chatter fell quiet for a moment. Ren's hands clenched at his sides. "I was tired, Kai. Tired of feeling like I was reaching for someone who never reached back."
Kai stepped closer. "You think I didn't want to? You think I wasn't scared out of my mind?"
Ren met his gaze, anger flickering with something softer underneath. "Then why didn't you try?"
Kai's voice broke, barely above a whisper. "Because everything about you makes me feel things I can't control."
Ren's breath caught. His anger faltered, just slightly. "And that's a bad thing?"
Kai swallowed hard. "It's dangerous. You're dangerous."
Ren's lips curved—not in a smile, but in something close to pain. "Funny. You said that the first week we met."
"I meant it."
"I know."
Silence again. The weight between them wasn't anger anymore. It was history. The kind of silence that hurts to breathe in.
Ren looked away first. "You said I quit too easily. Maybe you're right. But tell me, Kai—what would've happened if I stayed?"
Kai opened his mouth but no words came.
Ren shook his head, a tired laugh slipping out. "Exactly."
Kai's chest felt tight. "You think I didn't care, but I—"
"Then say it," Ren interrupted quietly. "Right now. Tell me you cared. Tell me it wasn't all an act."
Kai's heartbeat thundered in his ears. "I—"
But the words got stuck.
Ren's eyes dimmed. "You can't, can you?"
Kai wanted to scream that he could—that he did—but the truth sat heavy in his throat, half-buried under fear.
Ren stepped back. "That's what I thought."
"Ren—"
"Don't," Ren said, his voice trembling. "You can't keep pulling me back just because you're lonely."
That hit like a blade.
Kai froze, eyes wide. "That's not what this is."
Ren's expression softened just enough to make it worse. "Then what is it, Kai?"
Kai's voice dropped, quiet and raw. "It's me missing you every day and hating that I still do."
Ren's breath hitched.
The air cracked open between them again—something fragile, broken, but still alive.
Ren took a small step forward, almost without thinking. His hand brushed Kai's arm. Just barely.
And that tiny touch was enough.
Kai reached up, fingers curling gently around Ren's wrist. The contact was electric—shaky, too real.
Ren looked up at him. "Don't," he whispered, but he didn't pull away.
Kai's voice shook. "Tell me to stop."
Ren's lips parted, but no sound came. His pulse fluttered beneath Kai's thumb.
Kai leaned forward, just enough for their foreheads to touch. The scent of coffee and paper filled the space between them, small and intimate.
"This is wrong," Ren whispered, eyes fluttering shut.
Kai's voice trembled against his skin. "Then why does it feel like coming home?"
Ren's breath caught. He didn't answer.
Their lips met again—softer this time, sadder. It wasn't a beginning. It wasn't an ending. It was a memory being rewritten in real time.
When they pulled apart, neither spoke.
Kai's eyes were glassy. "I'm sorry."
Ren shook his head slowly. "Don't be sorry. Just…" He exhaled shakily. "Just don't lie next time."
Kai frowned. "Lie about what?"
Ren's voice cracked. "About wanting me."
He turned before Kai could answer, gathering his folders and walking toward the elevator.
Kai watched him go, frozen in place. The soft click of the doors closing sounded like finality.
But even as the elevator descended, Ren's hands trembled around the papers. His heart pounded. He knew he had to get over it, but how could he? Something inside him told him to turn back. To say a word. To sigh, to snap his fingers, anything. But he couldn't. Not yet. He didn't want to have to absorb the sadness all over again, but something just felt wrong.
Maybe it isn't over after all.