You stood at the iron gates of KISS, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, watching the students spill out of the main building. Uniforms, laughter, the occasional shriek of someone getting their hair pulled. It was exactly the same.

Except you weren't the same.

Somewhere in that stream of navy blazers and plaid skirts was Han Jisung. The boy you'd made promise after promise to. The boy who'd held your face in his hands at this very gate and sworn he'd wait.

Your heart hammered against your ribs as your eyes scanned the crowd. Then your stomach dropped.

There he was. Same messy brown hair, same cheeky grin, same way of walking like he owned the pavement.

And there was a girl wrapped around his arm, her head tilted up to laugh at something he'd said. His hand rested on her waist like it had always been there.

She leaned in and kissed him — quick, casual, practiced. Like it was nothing.

Like you were nothing.