A Relationship Rekindled

Jiho woke up to the feeling of fingers combing through his hair.

Soft. Gentle. Familiar.

For a brief, drowsy moment, he forgot everything.

Forgot the mountain.

Forgot the fall.

Forgot that Nari was supposed to be dead.

He exhaled slowly, his body heavy with exhaustion. This was nice.

This was how things had always been.

Then, reality crashed back.

His stomach twisted violently. His breathing hitched.

Because this wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

His eyes snapped open.

Nari was lying beside him, her fingers threading through his hair, a sleepy smile on her lips.

"Morning," she whispered.

Jiho flinched.

His breath came out ragged, his pulse erratic.

But Nari didn't react. She just continued stroking his hair, as if everything was normal.

As if she had never left.

Jiho swallowed hard, forcing himself to stay still.

"Why are you doing this?" he murmured.

Nari hummed. "Doing what?"

He stared at her. "This."

Her fingers didn't stop moving. "Because you need me."

Jiho clenched his jaw. He didn't.

He shouldn't.

But his body betrayed him.

Because he wasn't pulling away.

He wasn't running.

He was letting her stay.

She smiled softly, shifting closer. "Just for a little while," she whispered. "Let me stay a little longer."

Jiho's chest ached.

He should push her away. He should end this now.

But he didn't.

Because for the first time in weeks—he felt warm.

He felt like he wasn't alone.

And wasn't this what he wanted?

Someone to hold him?

Someone to promise she would never leave?

Jiho's breath trembled.

He let his eyes drift shut.

And for the first time since Nari came back—

He held her back.

Jiho found himself falling back into routine.

It happened slowly, quietly—like a bad habit creeping back in.

At first, it was small things.

Letting Nari stay close when he woke up.

Letting her hold his hand when they walked through the city.

Letting her touch him, when he should have recoiled.

Then, it became everything.

She cooked for him.

She cleaned his apartment like she used to.

She curled up beside him on the couch, murmuring about their future.

And Jiho let her.

Because if he pretended hard enough, it almost felt real.

---

One evening, they stood in his kitchen together.

Nari hummed softly, chopping vegetables, moving effortlessly around the space.

Jiho leaned against the counter, watching.

He wasn't sure when he had started watching her again.

She looked so alive.

Her hair tied up lazily, her sweater hanging off one shoulder. She was warm, soft, familiar.

The way she always was.

She glanced at him and smiled. "You're staring."

Jiho blinked. "I… yeah."

He didn't know how to explain it.

That he couldn't stop.

That for a moment, just a moment, he forgot everything.

Nari giggled, reaching for his wrist, tugging him toward her. "Then help me cook."

Jiho hesitated—but not for the reason he should have.

Because the moment she pulled him close, it felt natural.

His fingers brushed against hers as he took the knife, their movements syncing like they always had.

Like they had done this a hundred times before.

And for a moment, Jiho let himself believe it.

That she was here.

That she had never died.

That she was his Nari.

His fingers tightened around the knife.

If this was a dream—he didn't want to wake up.

Nari leaned against his shoulder, sighing softly. "I love days like this," she murmured.

Jiho's chest ached.

He swallowed hard. "Yeah. Me too."

That night, as they lay in bed, Jiho didn't question it.

Didn't fight it. Didn't let the truth crawl under his skin.

He let her warmth lull him to sleep.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He felt happy.

Jiho woke up before Nari the next morning.

For a long time, he just lay there, staring at the ceiling.

Her breathing was soft beside him, steady and rhythmic. If he turned his head, he knew he would see her—peaceful, warm, real.

He should have felt comforted.

But instead, something felt off.

Because this wasn't real.

Jiho's fingers curled against the sheets.

He had let himself believe in the illusion. Let himself fall into the routine of "them" again.

But it wasn't the same.

It never could be.

Because she wasn't alive.

She wasn't really here.

His jaw clenched.

Then why—why was he doing this?

Why was he holding her?

Why was he letting her cook for him?

Why was he falling back into love with something that shouldn't exist?

Jiho let out a slow, shaky breath.

He needed to stop.

Before it was too late.

Before he forgot the truth.

Carefully, he sat up, shifting away from her warmth.

Then—

"Nnnh… Where are you going?"

Jiho stiffened.

Nari's voice was laced with sleep, her fingers reaching for him.

He swallowed. "Just getting water."

She hummed, her eyes still half-lidded. "Come back soon, okay?"

Jiho nodded, forcing a tight smile.

He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and walked out of the bedroom, his mind spinning.

---

He sat at the kitchen table, staring at his phone.

He didn't know what he was looking for.

Maybe an answer. A sign. Anything to tell him how to fix this.

But his screen was empty.

His messages—silent.

Because the only person who ever messaged him anymore was dead.

Jiho's grip tightened.

He had told himself he loved her.

Had convinced himself that what they had was real.

But was it?

Or had he just been clinging to what was familiar?

Had he ever really loved Nari?

Or had he just been too afraid of what he would be without her?

His stomach twisted.

He didn't want to ask himself that question.

Because the answer scared him.

---

He was still staring at the screen when Nari's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

Jiho flinched, but didn't pull away.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, humming softly.

"What are you thinking about?" she murmured.

Jiho's throat felt tight.

He couldn't tell her.

So instead, he forced a small smile and said, "Nothing."

Nari's fingers traced light patterns on his arm.

"Liar."

Jiho swallowed.

Her touch was too gentle. Too real.

Too much like a living person.

His grip on his phone slackened.

"I just…" he hesitated, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

Nari tilted her head, her warm dark eyes and understanding.

"Then stop thinking about it," she said simply.

Jiho's stomach twisted.

She made it sound so easy.

Like there was no reason to resist.

Like she had already won.

Nari kissed his cheek, fingers threading through his hair. "Just be here. With me."

Jiho exhaled slowly.

He wanted to believe her.

Wanted to let go of his guilt.

But deep down, he knew.

This wasn't love anymore.

This was something else.

And if he wasn't careful, he was never going to escape it.

Jiho sat on the floor of his apartment, his back against the couch, knees pulled up to his chest.

Nari sat beside him, curled up with a blanket draped over her shoulders, her head resting lightly against his.

The room was quiet. Too quiet.

Only the soft hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of the city outside filled the silence.

Jiho felt numb.

His mind had been spiraling ever since this morning. Ever since he questioned himself.

Had he ever really loved Nari? Or had she just been there—a constant presence, someone who had loved him first?

But now, as he sat beside her, letting the weight of his thoughts settle in his chest, he felt something else.

Something he hadn't let himself feel before.

Regret.

It crept up his spine, curling around his ribs, twisting like a vice in his stomach.

Because the truth was—he had never really thought about her.

Not in the way she had thought about him.

She had spent so much time worrying about whether he loved her, whether she was too much, whether he would leave.

And Jiho… Jiho had never stopped to reassure her.

He had never given her the words she needed. The comfort she deserved.

And in the end, he had left anyway.

But not by walking away.

By taking her away.

His breath hitched, his vision blurring.

He had been so focused on escaping.

So desperate to get rid of her presence.

That he had never stopped to ask himself—

What would his life be without her?

And now, for the first time, Jiho realized:

It would be empty.

Because it always had been.

Before Nari, there had been nothing.

No one waiting for him after a long day.

No one texting him to ask if he had eaten.

No one worrying over him, loving him, choosing him.

She had always been there.

And Jiho—he had never appreciated it.

Never realized how much of himself had become intertwined with her.

And now, it was too late.

His hands shook.

His throat closed.

A choked sob broke from his lips before he could stop it.

Nari stirred beside him, lifting her head. "Jiho?"

He buried his face in his hands.

A broken, gasping sound tore from his throat, his body shaking violently.

He couldn't stop it.

Couldn't stop the memories flooding back all at once.

The way she would pull him out of his bad moods by dragging him outside for late-night snacks.

The way she would stay awake just to hear about his day.

The way she never gave up on him, even when he pushed her away.

The way she had loved him with everything she had.

And he had repaid that love by throwing her away.

By killing her.

Jiho sobbed harder, curling in on himself.

The guilt was suffocating, swallowing him whole.

His hands trembled, gripping his own arms, his body desperately trying to hold itself together.

But he couldn't.

He was falling apart.

And then—

Warmth.

Nari's arms wrapped around him, pulling him close.

Her hands ran through his hair, her breath warm against his temple.

"Jiho," she whispered, so softly it hurt.

His entire body shook.

"I—" His voice broke. "I'm sorry."

His fingers clutched at her sweater, gripping it like a lifeline, like she would disappear if he let go.

Nari only smiled.

"I know."

Jiho sobbed into her shoulder, his tears soaking through the fabric.

"I—I didn't—" His breath came in short, uneven bursts. "I didn't know. I didn't—"

"I know," she whispered again.

She rocked him gently, the way someone might comfort a child, her fingers running up and down his back in slow, soothing strokes.

"You were scared," she murmured, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. "I understand."

Jiho gasped for air, his entire chest aching.

"I should have—" His voice cracked. "I should have loved you better."

Nari's fingers tightened slightly in his hair.

"Maybe," she mused. "But I already loved you enough for both of us."

Jiho whimpered.

Because she was right.

She had loved him so much more than he had loved her.

And he had only realized it now—now that she was gone.

His shoulders shook, his body wrecked with grief.

Nari held him through all of it.

Patient. Steady. Smiling.

Because this—this was what she had wanted all along.

For him to finally see her.

For him to finally understand.

-------

The invitation came suddenly.

Jiho had been sitting on a bench outside a convenience store, staring at the half-empty can of beer in his hand. The city buzzed around him—people walking past, headlights flashing, muffled music from passing cars.

Then, Nari's voice cut through it all.

"Let's go somewhere."

Jiho barely reacted. His fingers curled around the cold aluminum, condensation dripping onto his palm.

"Where?" he asked, his voice dull.

Nari crouched in front of him, resting her chin on her arms as she gazed up at him. Her soft playful smile.

"Somewhere fun," she said. "Just like old times."

Jiho knew better than to ask.

She had already decided.

And he would follow.

They took the subway.

Jiho stood, gripping the overhead handrail, his body swaying slightly with the movement of the train.

Nari stood beside him, too close, too real.

No one else looked at her.

No one else noticed the girl who had died weeks ago.

Jiho's stomach twisted.

He had stopped fighting her presence.

Stopped questioning why she was still here.

But sometimes—sometimes—he still wondered.

Would there ever be a moment when someone did see her?

Would she ever slip?

Would she ever let him go?

Nari nudged his arm, her voice light. "You're thinking too much again."

Jiho clenched his jaw. She always said that.

The train slowed to a stop, and Nari's fingers curled around his wrist.

"Come on," she whispered, pulling him forward.

Jiho let himself be dragged.

Because he always did.

They arrived at the night festival.

The streets were alive—colorful lanterns swaying overhead, street performers juggling fire, music pulsing from every direction.

It was a place filled with life.

Jiho felt out of place.

But Nari looked like she belonged.

Her eyes gleamed as she spun around, taking it all in. "It's just like before, isn't it?"

Jiho's chest tightened.

They had been here once.

Their first real date.

She had dragged him from stall to stall, laughing at his reactions to the food she made him try.

She had made him dance with her back then, too.

And now—

She was going to make him do it again.

Nari turned to him, her dark eyes shimmering under the festival lights.

"Dance with me."

Jiho's breath caught.

He took a step back. "Nari, I—"

She didn't let him finish.

Her hand slipped into his, her fingers lacing through his own.

Jiho's heart pounded.

Her grip was warm. Soft. Real.

Too real.

And then—

She pulled him into the crowd.

Into the music.

Into the night.