He never does.
But somewhere in the back of his skull, something knocks.
Not a memory. Not a name.
Just the taste of sandalwood and fire.
He shivers. Not from cold. From that split-second feeling that if he turns around fast enough, someone will be there.
He doesn’t turn.
Instead, he walks back inside. The snow follows. It clings to the hem of his coat, the curve of his braid, the smudge on his lip where Minseok’s teeth had been.
Back on the floor, someone tells him he looks like a ghost.
He bares his teeth.
They’re sharp.
??????
The snow doesn’t stop.
He falls asleep curled on the studio couch, braid across his chest, fingers twitching.
And somewhere across the city, a man in a black coat wakes at his window and whispers a name he does not remember saying.
The snow falls heavier.
The story is stirring.
Not yet.
But soon.
Before the snow falls—
They will find each other again.
Even if they don’t remember.
Even if they bleed for it.
Even if love is only a ghost in the dark.
They will meet again.
Because some storms never end.
Some fires never go out.
And some names are written so deep in the soul, the body remembers what the world forgot.
Even if it takes five hundred years.
— The End—
