Page 12 of Tell Me Where It Ends

“I can find out,” he says, low and dangerous. “Give me a name.”

“No.”

That stops him.

“I don’t want your help,” I say tightly. “You showing up to play vigilante isn’t going to fix this.”

“I’m not trying to fix it. I just hate seeing you like this.”

“Then don’t look.”

He flinches, and the silence that follows is sharp. I break it, voice raw.

“You came all this way to see me, right? Well, here I am. Miserable. Completely screwed. Congratulations.”

“Stop it.”

“No, really. Is this what you wanted? To play hero for a night? Act like we’re twenty again and no one’s watching?”

“That’s not fair,” he says quietly.

“Neither is this,” I shoot back. “You disappear for months, then show up the second my life implodes, like my disaster is a show for you.”

My voice cracks. But I don’t care.

“We’ll go to your place, make the same mistakes, and I’ll hate myself more tomorrow. I don’t need that right now.”

He stares, then turns his gaze back to the road. “I wasn’t going to take you to my place,” he murmurs.

“Then where?”

“Sokcho. Yangyang. Anywhere quiet. Somewhere without headlines.”

I exhale a breath lodged in my chest for days. “And then what? Pretend we’re okay?”

He gives a small, sad smile. “Pretend we never had to lie.”

That… gets me.

He keeps driving, turning onto a narrow street by the river—a place we used to go when we were rookie idols, when the future still felt like a distant dream.

He cuts the engine and folds down the backseats, transforming the space into a tiny, private cave. He gestures for me to climb in. I hesitate, then do. He slides in after me, the car suddenly smelling entirely of him. His smile is soft, gentle—the one he reserves for moments like this.

“Remember that time,” he says quietly, “we sat here eating convenience store sandwiches and planned our acceptance speeches for the Asian Music Awards?”

I laugh. “You had tuna stuck in your teeth.”

“And you had mayonnaise on your chin.”

“And you still kissed me.”

He smiles, eyes full of memory. “Yeah. I did.”

The air shifts. I turn to face him. “Why did you really want to see me?”

He reaches for my hand, thumb stroking my knuckles. “I’m not sure,” he says. “But I have to.”

The fight drains from me. I rest my head against his shoulder, inhaling his scent. Outside, thenight is quiet. For a moment, the world shrinks to the confines of the car. He looks younger, softer. In his face, I see my past—the hopeful, fearless girl I used to be.