Dunk stood frozen.

The air around him felt thick, heavy—each breath harder than the last. A faint sheen of cold sweat gathered along his temples, sliding slowly down his skin.

"Have you run enough, Natachai?"

The man's voice was low, almost calm. But it carried a weight that pressed straight onto Dunk's chest, making his already uneven heartbeat spiral further out of control.

His gaze looked indifferent, distant—just like before.

But beneath that surface, something burned.
Quiet. Restrained. Waiting.

His jaw tightened. His hand curled into a fist, knuckles paling from the force.

Five years.

The person standing in front of him... was still the one he loved the most.

And also the one he feared facing again.

The way he said "Natachai"—his real name—That alone was enough.

He was angry.

Angry about the five years of silence.
Angry about the way Dunk had disappeared without a word.
Angry that everything he had given... had been left behind.

"Five years... Did it make you happy?"

His voice wasn't loud.

It didn't need to be.

The room still felt colder.

Dunk faltered.

The question cut into him, deep and sudden—like reopening wounds that had never fully healed.

His lips parted slightly.

"You..."

He almost said it.

Almost.

For a brief second, the words gathered at the edge of his throat—fragile, uncertain, ready to fall apart.

He wanted to deny it.
To argue.
To say something—anything at all.

But the moment passed.

The words disappeared before they could take shape.

He couldn't speak.

Not now.

Not in front of him.

Dunk lifted his gaze, meeting the man's eyes—fear flickering within them, tangled with something softer, more dangerous.

Hope.

He still loved him.

Even now.

So much that it hurt.

But that love... had changed.

Slowly, quietly, it had been worn down—by the gilded cage the man had built around him. A place that looked beautiful, safe, almost perfect...

But one he had never been able to leave.

A place where he had been kept—protected, controlled—like a small bird that had forgotten what freedom felt like.

Dunk clenched his hands tighter, forcing himself to gather what little courage remained.

He lowered his head, drawing in a slow, shaky breath.

For a moment, he thought he could do it.

Thought he could finally say something—

anything—

But when he looked up again...

There was nothing left.

The words were gone.
The courage was gone.

All that remained was silence.

Heavy.

Suffocating.

Dunk lost.

He couldn't face him.

Not like this.

Call it cowardice.

Call it weakness.

But when the tears blurred his vision, hot and uncontrollable, he turned away.

And ran.

Too fast.

Too sudden.

Like if he hesitated—
even for a second—
he would never be able to leave.

The sound of his own footsteps echoed louder than anything else, drowning out every thought.

Tears slipped down his face, breaking through everything he had tried so hard to hold together.

The image he had built.
The strength he had forced himself to maintain.

All of it cracked.

Dunk Natachai...

was only human.

He could feel pain.

He always had.

In a world filled with judgment and expectation, he had taught himself to endure—to stay composed, to never let anything show.

But in the end—

he still broke.

He had no control over himself anymore.

Not when it came to this man.

So he ran.

He turned his back on everything, retreating into a place that felt just a little safer.

A little warmer.

Even if it was only temporary.

Like an invisible chain wrapping around him.

Soft.

Gentle, even.

But impossible to escape.

Joong stood there.

His eyes followed the figure running away—unsteady, desperate, refusing to look back.

He didn't move.

Didn't call out.

Didn't chase.

He simply watched.

And waited.

Waited for the moment Dunk would stop running.

Waited for the moment he would turn back—

and finally face him.

Not with fear.

But with everything he had tried so hard to hide.

Joong wasn't the same as before.

Not reckless.
Not impulsive.

Not someone who would act without thinking.

But that didn't mean he had let go.

The anger was still there.

Quiet.

Burning.

He was angry that Dunk had run again—

without even once looking back at him.

Five years.

He had spent five years searching.

Changing.

Waiting for this exact moment.

And yet—

Dunk still chose to run.

Joong let out a quiet laugh.

Low.

Cold.

"Dunk..."

His voice dropped, softer now—but far more dangerous.

"Do you really think..."

"I'd let you go a second time?"