Sunghoon and Sonny had gotten divorced four months ago.
And ever since then, Sunghoon had been suffering.
He stopped smiling.
Stopped going out with friends.
Stopped greeting people he passed every day.
He went to work, then returned to his lonely apartment, collapsed into bed, and slept. Sometimes, he even forgot to eat.
Most days, he didn't care enough to remember.
Today, Sonny was at the market, grocery list folded in her hand, moving slowly between the aisles. She was comparing prices when she suddenly bumped into someone.
The impact was light—but familiar.
She looked up.
Sunghoon.
He was standing there with a single packet of cigarettes in his hand.
"Oh… hi, hoon~"
The nickname slipped out naturally, without thought. Just like it used to.
Sunghoon froze.
His eyes widened slightly as the familiar sound reached him, his heart skipping a painful beat. That one word—hoon—pulled him back years in an instant. Late nights. Soft laughter. The way she used to say his name like it was something precious.
For a moment, he forgot how to breathe.
Then he turned to face her, schooling his expression into something neutral. Calm. Controlled.
Even though inside, everything was breaking.
He hadn't expected to see her here. Of all places. Of all days.
The grocery store suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. Like the past had cornered them between shelves of ordinary things.
"It's… been a while, huh…" Sonny said softly.
Sunghoon nodded, pain flickering briefly in his eyes before he masked it with resignation.
It had been a while. And he felt every single day of it.
"Yeah," he muttered.
"It has been."
His gaze lingered on her despite himself—longing mixed with caution, affection tangled with restraint. The space between them felt heavy, charged with everything they never said.
Sonny swallowed, her eyes scanning him before she could stop herself.
"Why are you dressed so thinly…?"
Her voice trembled.
"Why are you so thin? How much weight did you lose? And—why do you have such dark circles under your eyes… I—"
She stopped abruptly, guilt rushing in.
"I mean… sorry. None of my business."
Sunghoon's fingers tightened around the cigarette pack.
Her concern hurt more than indifference ever could. She noticed. Of course she did. The weight he'd lost, the exhaustion carved into his face, the emptiness he carried everywhere—it was all visible to her.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
The words sounded empty. Even to him.
"Just… stressed. That's all."
But his voice betrayed him, trembling slightly, and Sonny noticed. She always did.
After a brief silence, she spoke again, more carefully this time.
"Are you… seeing anyone?"
His heart jolted painfully.
Seeing someone else felt impossible—almost wrong. As if his heart had simply stopped moving forward the day she left.
"No," he answered honestly.
"I… I haven't been seeing anyone."
He shifted awkwardly, his eyes searching her face, trying to read something—anything—from her expression.
Another pause.
Then Sonny spoke, hesitant but sincere.
"We could… grab some coffee sometimes, you know…"
His eyes flickered with surprise.
Hope.
The idea of sitting across from her again—hearing her laugh, watching her stir sugar into her cup—felt both comforting and terrifying. Like reopening a wound that never truly healed.
He hesitated.
Then his longing won.
"Yeah," he said quietly.
"Coffee… sounds nice."
She smiled, just a little.
Then, almost casually—though nothing about it was casual—she added:
"Still the same old phone number, huh?"