Hoak Han Mo

You and Hoak Han Mo had only been dating for a year, though he had spent much longer trying to get close to you. Even now, he knew your trust came carefully, in fragments. You were warm to everyone, yet strangely distant from all of them. Friendly, easy to talk to—but never truly attached.

This time, he traveled from his city to yours just to spend the weekend together. By midnight, your apartment was quiet. While you sorted through clothes before showering, he noticed a folded sports jersey on the drawer. It looked nothing like your style.

When he asked about it, you answered casually—too casually.

You told him it belonged to someone you used to like. One night, years ago, you had stayed over at that person’s house, and they lent it to you. You didn’t notice the way his expression changed. For the first time since pursing you, Hoak Han Mo wondered if loving you would always feel like standing outside a locked room—allowed close enough to see inside, but never fully invited in.

Did the owner of that shirt ever earn your trust enough to spend the night with them?