The agreement wasn’t handed to me–it was thrown in my face.
I moved into a new rental apartment, trying hard to pull myself together.
During this time, Jonathan contacted me several times. I only gave brief replies when he asked about my health.
He also tried to meet up with me. But after thinking it over for a long time, I refused.
I was afraid that the moment I saw him, I’d lose control. I’d want to hug him, kiss him, sleep with him. I’d want to make him completely mine.
But at the same time, I stayed painfully clear–headed, afraid that this beautiful dream would end up being nothing more than an illusion.
Jonathan didn’t push me or cling to me.
Sometimes, I’d scroll through his social media. He rarely posted–just updates about morning runs or night jogs.
I felt like a creep, zooming in on his photos, greedily taking in every detail of him.
Work gradually started becoming difficult. I had a vague feeling that maybe Jasper was pulling strings behind the scenes.
But I couldn’t afford to quit, so I gritted my teeth and endured it, even as my salary kept getting cut.
When the pressure was so overwhelming that I felt like I was going to break, I came home late one night from working overtime and saw Jonathan standing downstairs.
By then, autumn had already arrived.
He was wearing a dark gray trench coat, standing beneath my apartment building, tall and striking, as if carved by the gods. A cigarette dangled between his slender fingers.
It was the first time I’d ever seen him smoke.
The moment he saw me, he immediately stubbed it out.
I stood frozen, stunned, the cold sandwich in my hand falling to the ground.
Jonathan strode toward me. Without hesitation, without giving me a chance to refuse, he pulled me into a tight embrace and kissed me.
That kiss was deep and overwhelming, with the faint bitterness of nicotine seeping into my lungs–intoxicating.
Within moments, I was on my tiptoes, my arms wrapped tightly around his neck, responding to him with equal fervor.
