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THE FIRST TIME YOU MET SEO CHANGBIN, you were pretty sure you had made a bad impression.

or so you thought, at least.

the jyp entertainment building loomed over the busy seoul street like any corporate giant, yet the cafe on its ground floor, your current workplace, was a world away from the polished, high-pressure energy of the floors above. it was your sanctuary, your little pocket of warmth in the city, you had worked part-time for the past year, ever since your cv required a little more padding and your bank account required a little more cushion. what started as a necessity had become a comfort, where the scent of freshly ground coffee beans had become synonymous with a life that existed outside of your own spiraling thoughts.

you loved it here. the way the afternoon sun slanted through the large windows, casting golden light across the wooden floors. the way regular customers, especially idols, smiled and greeted you when they saw you behind the counter. the way the chaos of the entertainment world swirled just upstairs while you remained in your quiet, cozy bubble. it was cozy, it was inviting.

you were wiping down the counter, humming along to a mellow piano piece, when the little bell above the door chimed. you looked up, a practiced smile already forming on your lips, ready to greet the customer.

“welcome–”

and then, your brain just… short-circuited.

not in a panicked, static-noised kind of way. more like the way the world goes silent right before a first snowfall. everything else in the coffee shop, the hiss of the espresso machine, the dull roar of small talk, all of them just… faded.

he was average height, sure, yet the way he stood made him feel like the only solid thing in a tilting room. his shoulders were broad, not in an intimidating way, but in a way that they seemed to carry the weight of the world in the most attractive way possible. the simple black hoodie looked impossibly soft, his jeans worn perfectly, and a black mask that covered the lower half of his face.

but it was his eyes that got you. god, his eyes.

they were sharp, almost too sharp for a place this ordinary, scanning the menu board like he was solving a puzzle. there was a warmth behind the intensity, though, a quiet fire that made you wonder what it would be like to be the sole focus of that gaze. and then, as if he felt the weight of your staring, his eyes dropped from the menu.

and they landed on you.

thump.

your heart didn’t just skip a beat; it stopped entirely, forgot its rhythm, and then started again in a completely new tempo meant only for him. you almost forgot how to breathe, almost forgot your own name.

you had seen those eyes a thousand times on your phone screen. in music videos. in variety shows. in the photos your best friend, kim seungmin, occasionally sent you from their dorm, captioned with things like ‘this idiot fell asleep on the couch again’ or ‘this greedy motherfucker ate the entire chicken and left me with nothing.’

seo changbin was literally standing three meters away from you, and you were already a sweating mess.

“hi,” he greeted, his voice slightly muffled by the mask yet still undeniably warm, a rich baritone that seemed to resonate somewhere deep within your chest, “can i get an iced americano, please? and a tuna salad sandwich.”

“of course,” you managed, mentally proud that your voice only wobbled slightly. you tapped his order into the tablet with his fingers that definitely weren’t trembling. “that’ll be 10,300 won.”

the card reader beeped. he tapped it once, twice, then slipped it back into his wallet with hands that looked like they had been drawn by someone who understood art–okay, y/n, keep your shit together.

you told him you would call his order number and he nodded. just a dip of his chin. just a small thing. it shouldn’t have made your stomach drop.

then he moved.

you watched him thread through the cafe, watched him choose the table by the window like it had been waiting for him his whole life, watched him comfortably settle into the chair. the light loved him immediately–of course it did, everything would, now.

you watched for exactly three seconds. long enough to memorize the way his shoulders relaxed against the chair. long enough to burn the image behind your eyelids. long enough to admire.

then you forced yourself to look away.

number one-four-three. your hands found his cup, and you began to make his order as if the axis of your world hadn’t just permanently tilted towards a window seat.

concentrate, you told yourself firmly. it’s just coffee. you’ve made thousands of coffees. this one is no different. he’s just a customer.

except, it was different, and you knew it, and your stupid hands knew it too.

you made his iced americano with painstaking care, measuring the espresso shot twice, making sure the water ratio was exact. you placed the sandwich on a small plate with the kind of reverence usually reserved for offering sacrifices to ancient gods. you took a deep breath, steading yourself before calling out his number.

“order number one-four-three?”

he looked up from his phone, and even through the mask, you could see the slight crinkle around his eyes that suggested a smile. he rose from his seat and walked towards the counter, and with every step, your heart pounded harder against your ribs.

just hand him the order. that’s it. hand him the order and walk away.

you set the tray on the counter, “one iced americano and one tuna salad sandwich, enjoy!’

he reached for it, his fingers brushing against the edge of the tray, and you quickly pulled your hands back as if burned.

“thank you,” the words unfurled slowly, warm honey dripping into the space between you, and you wanted to bottle them, keep them, play them back on every cold morning for the rest of your life. his voice didn’t just reach your ears, it settled into your bone, made a home there, started building furniture.

you nodded and smiled. you felt it split your face open–too wide, too bright, the kind of helpless expression that belongs to people who have just realized they’re in a huge, huge trouble.

then you turned away because staying would have been impossible.

the espresso machine waited for you, cold and patient, and you ran a cold over its surface like you could smooth away the shakiness in your hands–news flash, you couldn’t. you didn’t. your pulse was a metronome counting time to a song only your heart could hear.

out of the corner of your eye, you watched him. you watched him carry his tray back to the window table, watched him settle in, watched him pull down his mask to take that first sip.

and then you watched him pause.

his eyebrows drew together slightly. he looked at the cup. took another sip. look at the cup again.

your stomach dropped.

no. shit. nonono.

you glanced at the order screen on your tablet. one-four-three: iced americano, tuna salad sandwich. you swore you had made it correctly. you had been so careful. you–

he was looking at you now. not angrily, not even with frustration. just… confused, slightly puzzled.

you walked over before you could stop yourself, your feet moving on autopilot. you could feel a hard lump stuck between the depths of your throat, “is everything okay?”

his eyes remained fixated on you, and even confused, even puzzled, his eyes were so incredibly kind.

“sorry,” he began, his voice without the mask was even deeper, even warmer, even more unfairly attractive, “i think there might be a mistake. this tastes like… vanilla syrup?”

you stared at him. stared at the cup. stared back at him.

and then your gaze snagged on something over your shoulder; a flash of wood, a drink sitting lonely on the counter behind you. the vanilla latte, made for the woman at the table across, who was now craning her neck, scanning the cafe, looking around like she had been forgotten.

…shit.

“oh my god,” you breathed, your face instantly flooding with heat, “i am so sorry. i mixed up the orders—i gave you the wrong drink. i don’t know how–i was so sure… i’m so sorry, i’ll make you a new one right away.”

you reached for the cup, already mentally kicking yourself, preparing for the sigh, the eye roll, the cold dismissal that someone like him… someone important, someone famous, someone who had places to be and people to see, would surely give to someone like you, someone who couldn;t even get a simple coffee order.

however, instead, he laughed.

it was soft, barely more than an exhale, yet it was genuine. his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way you had only ever seen in videos, and it was even more beautiful in person.

“it’s okay,” he breathed, “honestly, it’s a nice surprise. i was expecting bitter, and yet i got something sweet instead.”

he took another sip, and his eyes–those eyes, sparkled with amusement. “not bad. but i was really looking forward to that bitter kick.”

you stared at him, momentarily speechless. he wasn’t annoyed. he wasn’t rude. he was just… kind. patient. human.

“i’ll get you a new one,” you repeated, your voice steadier now, touched by his unexpected grace, “right away, i promise!”

“thank you… y/n.”

he said your name.

he said your name.

his eyes had dropped to your chest; to the small rectangle pinned to your apron, the one you had worn a thousand times without thinking, the one that now felt like the most important in the entire universe. he had read it. he had looked at it. he had formed the letter in his mind and then let them fall from his lips like they belonged there.

y/n. the same name you had been called your entire life.

and yet, hearing it from him was like hearing it for the first time. as if no one had ever said correctly before. as if every other person who had spoken your name had been practicing for this moment, and he was the first one to get it right.

something fluttered in your chest.

scratch that. something ignited. something small, warm, and terrifying, like the first spark of a fire you wouldn’t be able to control. it fluttered, yes, but it also burned. it settled into the space between your ribs and started growing roots.

you looked at him.

he was still watching you. still patient. still kind. still impossibly, devastatingly there, with your name still hanging in the air between you like a gift you hadn’t earned.

“r–right away!”

you rushed back to the counter, and made a perfect iced americano, ensuring that it wouldn’t contain any syrup or other condiments. you then grabbed a chocolate chip cookie from the display case, before bringing everything back to him, setting it down with trembling hands.

“again, i’m so sorry for the mix-up,” an apologetic smile hovered your lips, “the cookie is on me, a peace offering.”

his gaze remained on the cookie, before diverted back to you. for a moment, he just stared, and you could feel your cheeks burn under his gaze. then slowly, he smiled–a real smile, full, and warm.

“my, you really didn’t have to,” a soft chuckle escaped his lips, the cookie now within his grasp, “we make mistakes all the time. thank you, i love chocolate chip cookies.”

you let out a shaky laugh, “i’m glad. i mean–i’m glad you like them. i mean–”

you idiot. stop talking. you’re so embarrassing.

“i mean… i’m just glad you’re not.. mad.”

his smiles widened, his eyes crinkling into those beautiful crescents. “that will be unnecessary. thanks for fixing my drink.”

you nodded, managed to say something that might have been ‘enjoy your coffee,” and practically fled back to the counter. from there, you had him under your scrutiny as he ate his sandwich, sipped his coffee, and scrolled through his phone. he also ate the cookie, taking large bites and looking genuinely pleased with it.

when he finally got up to leave, he paused at the counter on his way out, “have a good day, y/n,” giving a small wave.

“you too. please come again–”

and then he was gone, the little bell chiming softly behind him, leaving you in a daze with a heart that refused to stop racing.

that was the moment. the exact moment your heart began to stutter for seo changbin.

YOU DIDN’T TELL SEUNGMIN ABOUT IT. it felt too silly, too insignificant. it was just a three-minute interaction, for fuck sakes. yet you couldn’t stop thinking about it. the kindness in his eyes. the soft laugh. the way he had looked at you like you were an actual person, not just an average part-time worker who had messed up.

a week later, seungmin invited you over for game night at his apartment. it was a regular occurrence; you had been friends with him since high school, and his groupmates had become familiar faces over the years. through him, you had grown close with jeongin, which you often played mario kart with (who definitely cheated during the games), and you had deep conversations with the two of them at two in the morning about life in general. you were comfortable there, a part of the furniture in their chaotic, lovely world.

you arrived on a friday evening, two large tteokbokki takeouts in each hand. seungmin opened the door, his round glasses on, looking like the epitome of a cute, studious nerd.

except, he was the complete opposite–that menace, you hate him. (affectionately, of course.)

“hey! what took you so long?” he demanded, already reaching for the bags, “i’ve been waiting forever. jeongin’s been complaining about the controller for twenty minutes straight. my ears are bleeding.”

you rolled your eyes, pushing past him into the apartment, “you’re living in seoul, idiot–traffic exists. also,what happened to ‘hi, hello?” nice to see you, seungmin. i’m fine, thanks for asking.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. now give me my tteokbokki.”

you held the bags above your head, grinning at his glare. “say please.”

“please,” he said flatly, without an ounce of sincerity.

“woooow. so heartfelt. i’m moved.”

“y/n.”

“seungmin.”

he lunged for the bags, and you dodged, cackling as you ran into the living room where jeongin was sprawled on the couch, controller in hand, looking betrayed by the game on screen.

“noona,” jeongin perked immediately, his face splitting into a wide grin, “you actually brought food! i take back every bad thing i have ever said about you.”

“you what?” a scoff followed your inquiry as you dropped onto the couch next to him, the bags clutched to your chest.

“in my defense, only when you beat me at mario kart. which is never, by the way, because i’m simply amazing.”

“you cheat,” you and seungmin sang in unison.

jeongin gasped, clutching his chest in mock offense, “this is slander! defamation! i’m hurt!”

“you’re annoying,” seungmin corrected, finally wrestling the tteokbokki from your grip and settling on your other side, “now shut up and eat so we can play.”

the night progressed as it always did, with jeongin somehow winning at every round of mario kart, seungmin complaining about unfairness, and you comfortably existing in the middle of the chaos, laughing until your stomach hurt.

it was around ten when you heard the front door open and close.

jeongin perked up, “is that–”

“hey! how can you guys order tteokbokki without me!”

the voice came roaring from the hallway–loud, indignant, and absolutely unmistakable. it was deeper than you had heard back in the cafe, rougher around the edges, laced with playful outrage.

you froze, your hand hovering over the controller.

changbin burst into the living room like a man on mission, his eyes scanning for the source of the spicy and savory scent that had clearly been tormenting him sinc he walked through the door. he was in a loose gray t-shirt and sweatpants, his hair slightly damp, as if he had just got back from the gym. his expression was one of exaggerated betrayal.

“i can smell it from the elevator! you guys are so inconsiderate, i’ve been starving all evening and you–”

he stopped dead on the tracks.

his eyes had found you.

you watched the realization dawn on his face–the shift from playful indignation to startled recognition. his mouth, which had been agape mid-complaint, slowly closed. his ears, you noticed with a strange sense of detachment, were turning slightly pink.

for a suspended second, no one moved. the mario kart soundtrack played cheerfully in the background, completely oblivious to the tension crackling through the room.

jeongin, bless his chaotic heart, was the first to break the silence, “hyung, you’re so loud! also, there’s still some left. noona brought two large portions.”

“...noona,” changbin repeated, his voice now significantly softer than the roar that had preceded it, he was still looking at you, and you watched as he seemed to piece everything together; you, on the couch, holding a controller, seemingly a close friend to his younger members, very much not behind a coffee counter.

you raised your hand in a small, awkward wave. “hi…i… also brought the tteokbokki. sorry. for existing–i mean, with the food. that you can smell.”

kill me now, literally.

however, instead of looking annoyed or embarrassed, changbin’s face broke into that same genuine smile from the cafe–the one that crinkled his eyes and made your heart do dangerous things.

“miss best barista strikes again,” he observed, warmth curling through his voice like steam off fresh coffee. no trace of annoyance, “first coffee, now tteokbokki. you’re going to spoil me.”

“you two know each other–”

you shot a glare at seungmin. a playful smirk hovered his lips by that exchange, his eyes dancing with mischief behind those round glasses. he knew exactly what he was doing.

“we’ve met,” changbin said easily, finally tearing his gaze away from you to look at seungmin, “at the cafe downstairs. how about you? you’ve never formally introduced me to your friend.”

the accusation in his voice was mild, yet there was something underneath it–curiosity, maybe, interest. seungmin, the traitor, just shrugged.

“didn’t think you’d be interested,” he uttered casually, and you wanted to strangle him.

changbin’s eyebrows rose, “why wouldn’t i be interested in meeting my favorite dongsaeng’s oldest friends?”

favorite dongsaeng. the term of endearment made something warm flutter in your chest, even though it wasn’t directed at you.

seungmin gestured vaguely between you and changbin, “well, now you’ve met. y/n, this is changbin hyung, you know him. changbin hyung, this is y/n, a close friend from high school.”

you managed a small wave. again. “hi. officially.”

changbin’s smile widened, his teeth peeking through his plump lips, “hi, officially.”

jeongin, who had been watching this exchange with the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel, finally interrupted, “so, are we gonna play mario kart or? the tteokbokki’s getting cold and my winning streak is getting lonely.”

seungmin threw a pillow at him, “you don’t have a winning streak. you cheat.”

“i don’t cheat! i’m just talented!”

changbin laughed, and the sound wrapped around your heart and squeezed gently, as if it was testing whether you were real. he moved towards the couch, settling onto the floor across from you with the kind of casual grace that made everything look effortless, “i haven’t played in awhile, you have to go easy on me.”

“i don’t go easy on anyone,” jeongin declared, “victory shall be mine–”

“this brat–”

you couldn’t help but laugh, and when you looked up, changbin was watching you again with that soft expression. this time, he didn’t look away when you caught him. he just smiled; a smaller yet more intimate smile, and something warm bloomed within your chest. something that felt like the first real thing you had felt in years.

the night progressed in the familiar chaos of races and trash talk. you learned that changbin was surprisingly quiet bad at video games, or just mario kart, despite his confident claims, that he had a habit of biting his lip when concentrating, and that his laugh was even more fun and beautiful up close.

you also learned that he was kind. when seungmin got frustrated with a difficult course, changbin was the one who calmed him down. when jeongin made a self-deprecating joke, changbin was quick to reassure him. and when you accidentally knocked over your drirnk, he was the first one to grab paper towels.

and without you knowing, seungmin was already documenting the entire scene. that asshole.

“don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling beside you to wipe up the mess, “accidents happen.”

he was so close you could smell him. you could feel your cheeks burning, could feel the heat crawling up your neck, staining your ears, betraying every calm thought you had ever had.

“...thanks,” you managed, the smile on your lips trembling.

he looked up at you, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. his eyes were dark and warm, and you could see yourself reflected in them.

“anytime,” he exhaled softly.

seungmin’s voice shattered the moment, “is it just me or is it getting hotter here? get a room, you two!”

you jerked back, face burning.

changbin shot him a dirty look, despite his ears turning pink, “dude, shut up!”

both seungmin and jeongin looked at each other, mirroring each other’s grin.

by the time midnight rolled around, jeongin was yawning, and seungmin was checking his phone with a grimace.

“i should go,” a soft yawn accompanied your words, starting to gather your things, “thanks for having me. this was really fun.”

seungmin stood up, “i’ll walk you–”

“i’ll do it,” changbin offered immediately, “it’s late, i need air anyway.”

seungmin looked at him, then at you, that knowing smirk playing on his lips, “suuure, hyung.”

you grabbed your bag, avoiding seungmin’s gaze. as you headed for the door, you heard jeongin’s loud whisper: “noona’s down bad, isn’t she?”

the door closed behind you before you could hear changbin’s response, and you were figuratively, metaphorically, dying inside.

you wanted to melt into the floor of the hallway and never resurface.

the walk to the lobby was short, barely five minutes, yet if felt charged with a new, electric energy.

“it was really nice talking to you tonight, y/n,” changbin was first to break the silence as you reached the shelter. the night air was cool, and he stood with his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, looking down at you.

“you too,” you replied, and you meant it with every fiber of your being, “i had a lot of fun.”

his signature smile returned, “maybe we can do it again sometime? not a game night, necessarily. just… talk more in general. about music, or movies, or anything.”

your heart soared. this man will be the end of me.

“i’d like that,” you whispered, your voice full of a hope you were terrified to feel.

“great… that’s great! i’ll reach out to you, of course,” a sigh of relief slipped past his lips, “i’ll see you then, y/n.”

your taxi rumbled into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness. you climbed in, turning back to wave. he was still standing there, under the streetlight, a figure who had somehow, in the span of a single evening, managed to capture a piece of your heart you hadn’t even known was available.

as the taxi pulled away, you pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the wild, erratic beat beneath your palm.

oh, you were so screwed.

THE MONTHS THAT FOLLOWED WERE A MONTAGE OF STOLENT MOMENTS AND GROWING FEELINGS. it started with messages. he would send you little snippets of songs he was working on, asking for your honest opinion, and you would send back voice memos of your thoughts; voice cracking slightly, too shy to call.

and then the messages changed.

they became life updates. mundane thing such as what he ate for lunch, a funny thing seungmin said, a picture of the sky from his studio window. however, tucked between the ordinary were photographs of him: messy hair after gym sessions, sleepy eyes over morning coffee, that same smile he had always given you every time you meet.

and of course, you couldn’t help but to admire him even more. an idol was literally sending you messages for free, and that also happened to be the man you had grown feelings for.

he would reply with long advice when you were struggling, or compliments that landed soft and warm within your chest. and you would find yourself smiling at your phone like an idiot; on the subway, on your breaks, in bed at three in the morning.

and then came the casual meet-ups–the coffee ‘dates’, although neither of you would necessarily call that a date. you would meet at a small cafe in hongdae, and you would talk for three hours without realizing it. about music, movies, your families, your dreams. he would tell you about his producing process, and you would tell him about your studies, and somehow, impossibly, the conversation had never once felt awkward.

after that, it became a pattern. coffee dates turned into walks by han river. walks turned into late-night calls that stretched into the early morning. late-night calls turned into him showing up at your cafe during your shifts, just to say hi and make you laugh.

and with every shared moment, every lingering glance, every comfortable silence, you fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

it was quite a kind of falling. the kind that happens without a drama, without any announcement, without any of the fanfare you had always imagined love would bring. just the slow, steady gravity of wanting someone. just the soft, relentless pull of his existence against yours.

you fell like the rain into the ocean, like dusk into night, like you had never been anywhere else, never wanted anything else, never knew what it meant to be whole until he walked into your coffee shop and looked at you like you were worth looking at.

and yet.

you knew, a hundred percent certain, that he would never feel the same way.

you were just… ordinary.

just a barista who made him the wrong coffee. just a stranger who happened to be there. just someone who laughed too loud, smiled too wide, and loved too easily. just ordinary.

and that fact hurt a lot.

yet the feelings remained growing until they were a physical presence in your chest, a constant, aching thrum of affection and longing. you couldn’t keep it to yourself anymore. you had to tell someone.

so, on a rainy thursday afternoon, you found yourself sprawled on seungmin’s couch, staring at the ceiling while he sat on the other couch, typing on his laptop.

“...i think i’m in love with him, seungmin,” you mumbled into the silence.

the words fell out of you like something heavy you had been carrying too long. like a confession you had whispered to yourself so many times it had worn grooves in your brain, and now it was finally loose in the world, vulnerable, real, and terrifying.

having feelings for someone had always been terrifying.

you waited for the shock, the questions. for the careful unpacking of a secret you had protected with everything you had.

seungmin didn’t even look up from his screen, “with seo changbin? yeah, i know.”

the world stopped.

you sat up so fast the room tilted. your heart slammed against your ribs like it was trying to escape, like it knew it had been caught, having nowhere left to hide.

“how do you know?” the words came out too high, too fast, too desperate, “am i that obvious?”

seungmin finally turned, pushing his glasses up his nose with a sigh that carried the weight of someone who had been watching this ongoing disaster unfold for weeks and was frankly exhausted by it.

“y/n,” his voice was patient. too patient. the kind of patient that meant he was about to say something devastatingly obvious, “you’ve been going on these ‘dates’ with him. you talk about him all the damn time. you always have this dreamy, faraway look in your eyes whenever he’s around. you get so flustered easily. it’s not exactly a state secret.”

you deflated.

all the air left your body in one long, defeated exhale, and you flopped back onto the pillows like a puppet with cur strings. the ceiling stared down at you, blank and indifferent, and you stared back at it, wishing it would swallow you whole.

you could never fight with kim seungmin on this. he saw too much. remembered too much. cared too much to let you pretend.

“well, fuck,” the word came out flat, resigned, “i’m screwed, huh?”

“not exactly,” seungmin was quiet for a moment, before continuing, “so, what are you going to do about it?”

the question landed in your chest like a stone.

you laughed; a hollow, humorless sound, “what am i going to do about it? nothing. absolutely nothing.”

the silence that followed was different, heavier, you could feel his gaze on you, could feel him turning something over behind those glasses, could feel the exact moment he decided this conversion wasn’t over,

you heard the soft click of his laptop closing, the creak of his chair as he turned to fully to face you.

and you knew, with the kind of dread that sits in your stomach like lead, he wasn’t going to let you off that easily.

a frown grazed over his features, “why not? he clearly likes you. he mostly spends all his free times with you. not to mention how he always light up whenever you walk into the room–”

“no.”

the word came out sharper than you intended, sharp enough to cut through the gentle concern in seungmin’s voice. you felt it leave your mouth like a dagger, felt the way it landed in the space between you, felt the way it made him stop mid-thought,

“he doesn't,” your voice was brittle now, cracking at the edges. you couldn’t hear this. “he's just being friendly. he’s a kind person, seungmin. he’s like that with everyone.”

he’s like that with everyone.

the words hung in the air between you, fragile and false, and you hated how they sounded out loud. hated how they tasted like excuses. hated how even as you said them, a small, traitorous part of you was remembering the way he looked at you, the way he smiled at you, the way he treated you right.

but that didn’t mean anything, didn’t it?

it couldn’t mean anything.

“no, he’s not,” seungmin insisted, his voice firm. “he’s polite to everyone. but with you? it’s a whole different world. he’s softer, more open. i’ve known him for years… i can tell.”

you shook your head. the familiar wave of self-consciousness washed over you, cold and heavy, dragging you under. it whispered in your ear, that agitating voice, the one that knew you better than anyone: you’re not special. why would he even have feelings for you? have you seen yourself? stop humiliating yourself further.

you sat up slowly, pulling your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around them like they were the only thing keeping you together. like if you held tight enough, you could protect the small, fragile thing inside you from hoping. from believing. from getting hurt.

“seungmin, look at me,” you muttered, your voice laced with an old, familiar pain, “really, look at me.”

he did, his expression patient yet puzzled.

“i’m not…” the words stuck in your throat, stumbled over years of careful swallowing, of biting back, of learning to smile through the quiet devastation of never feeling like enough.

you struggled to find them; the ones that had been whispered by cruel voices in your head as long as you could remember. the ones that had been reinforced by a thousand tiny cuts from a world obsessed with a narrow definition of beauty. magazine covers, movie screens, the way people’s eyes slid past you in rooms full of people who looked like they were born for the covers.

“i’m not the kind of woman someone like him falls for. he’s seo changbin. he’s talented, successful, and painfully gorgeous. he could have anyone. any of those perfect, thin, out-of-this-world beautiful women. why would he ever look twice at someone like me?”

seungmin’s frown deepened, “what do you mean, ‘someone like you’?”

“you know what i mean,” your voice trembled–just slightly, just enough to betray the years of careful composure you had built around this particular wound. you gestured vaguely at your body. at the curves you had spent years learning to hide. at the softness that had been pointed out to you as a flaw. your hand moved through the air, encompassing everything you had been taught to hate about yourself.

“i’m not… i’m not physically attractive. not in the way that matters. i’m not thin. i’m not pretty. i’m just… me. and me isn’t enough for a man like him. he wouldn’t, couldn’t, ever love a woman with this body.”

the words hung in the air between you; they were ugly, raw, and bleeding, like wounds you had picked open in front of someone who actually cared.

you couldn’t look at him. couldn’t bear to see the confirmation in his eyes, the quiet agreement that you had finally said out loud what everyone must have been thinking all along.

yet as the silence stretched too long, you risked a glance.

seungmin’s expression had shifted. the gentle confusion was gone, replaced by a dawning, horrified understanding that made your stomach drop. he got up from his seat and sat next to you. the mattress dipped under his weight, pulling you slightly towards him, and you hated how even that small act made you want to cry.

“y/n…” he called, his voice gentle, the way he used to talk you down from panic attacks back in high school, “that’s the most ridiculous thing i’ve ever heard you say.”

“it’s not ridiculous, it’s true–”

“it’s not,” he insisted, “do you think changbin hyung is that shallow? that he only sees the surface? the guy who spends hours talking to you, hangs out with you during his free times, visits your every shift, buys you gifts, that guy–you think he only cares about what you look like?”

“he cares about me as a friend,” you mumbled into your knees, “that’s different.”

“it’s not different!” the words burst out seungmin with a force that made you flinch. you knew it wasn’t anger, never anger, but it was definitely something close to desperation. like he was watching you drown and couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t take the rope he kept throwing.

“ attraction isn’t just about one thing. it’s about everything! it’s about how you laugh, how you listen, the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love. it’s about who you truly are. not what you look like. not the number on a scale. not whether you fit into some impossible standards that wasn’t even healthy in the first place,” his voice softened, just slightly, just enough to crack something even open in your chest.

his eyes were boring into yours, “and changbin hyung is head-over-heals for who you are. i’m telling you, he likes you back. he’s crazy about you.”

you wanted to believe him. desperately. but the voice of insecurity was too loud. it kept taunting you for far too long.

“you’re a good friend, seungmin,” you whispered, learning your head on his shoulder, “but you’re wrong. he could never like me. not like that. and i would rather have him as a friend than not have him in my life at all. so i’m just going to… i’m going to be okay with that.i have to be.”

a long, frustrated sigh escaped seungmin. he wanted to argue, you could tell. however, he also knew you well enough to know that when you had built a wall like this, pushing against it would only make it stronger.

“okay,” he exhaled softly, wrapping an arm around you for comfort, “okay, fine. but for the record. i think you’re beautiful. and i think you’re wrong about him. one day, you’ll see.”

you closed your eyes, letting your best friend’s warmth comfort you.

yet, the cold knot of insecurity remained, coiling tightly within your chest.

THE UNIVERSE, YOU DECIDED, HAD A SICK SENSE OF HUMOR. not even a week after your conversation with seungmin, it decided to test your fragile resolve in the cruelest way possible.

you were at the company building on a tuesday afternoon, having just dropped a jacket that changbin had lent you during one of your walks by the han river. it had been cold that night, and he had wrapped it around your shoulders without a second thought, insisting he was fine even as you watched him shiver.

you remembered laughing. it had bubbled up out of you, helpless and warm, watching that gorgeous man freeze for your sake.

“you’re a terrible liar, changbin,’ you teased, and he just smiled; shrugging like it was nothing. as if you were worth freezing for.

you remembered the way laughter had faded into something softer when he looked at you. the way the city lights had reflected in his eyes. they way you had wanted, so badly, to reach out and pull him close, share the warmth of his own jacket.

you hadn’t, of course. you just walked a little closer, let your shoulders brush, pretended that was enough.

the jacket was safely delivered to the security guard now, with a small note tucked into the pocket: ‘thanks for keeping me warm. – y/n’

simple. innocent. friendly.

you were heading towards the exit, your head down, scrolling through your phone to check bus times–just another ordinary tuesday, just another mundane task, just another moment in a life that had been carefully, painfully returned to normal.

the elevator doors slid open.

and there was changbin.

the world stopped. your thumb froze over the screen. your heart forgot its rhythm and stumbled into something chaotic and desperate.

he was walking out with a woman.

she was beautiful–of course, she was. tall and slender, with the kind of effortless elegance that made you feel like a shadow just by standing near her. her hair caught the light like it was paid to. her smile resembled helen of troy’s, the kind of smile that could make a thousand men forget themselves and burn cities to the ground.

and all you could do was stand there, ordinary and invisible, watching her exist in the same space as him like she had every right to.

like she was born for it.

she was probably a producer. or a friend. or a girlfriend.

it didn’t matter which. the evidence was right there in front of you. your worst fear made flesh.

she was laughing at something he had just said, her head tilted back slightly, her hand resting lightly on his arm as if it belonged there.

changbin was smiling. not his polite, professional smile, yet a real one–warm and genuine, his head tilted towards her, listening intently to whatever she was saying. his free hand was gesturing as he spoke, animated in that way he got when he was comfortable with someone.

they looked perfect together.

your heart didn’t just drop. it didn’t skip a beat. it shattered into a million tiny pieces, each one a sharp, cold shard of confirmation that lodged itself deep in your chest.

see? the shards whispered, smug and cruel. seungmin was wrong. this is who he eventually chooses. she’s someone you’ll never be.

you could feel them settling between your ribs. could feel the weight of them pressing against your lungs, making it hard to breathe. could feel the sharp edges cutting into everything soft you had left.

this is what you were afraid of.

this is why you never told him.

this is why you never left yourself hope.

because hope was dangerous. hope was a knife you handed to the universe and prayed it wouldn’t use. and now, you were bleeding out in the middle of the lobby, watching the person you loved walk away with someone who was in all aspects, especially physically wise, better than you, and all you could do was walk away.

you fled the building.

you didn’t run, that would have drawn attention. yet you walked faster than you had ever walked in your life, bursting through the glass doors and into the chilly afternoon air. you made it half a block before you had to stop, pressing yourself against the side of a building, your hand over your heart as if you could physically hold the pieces together.

you didn’t cry. you were too numb for tears. you just felt a hollow, aching emptiness where the warmth of your feelings for changbin used to be.

of course, you thought, the voices in your head now sounding almost reasonable. of course he has someone. did you really think someone like him would be single? did you really think he was spending time with you because he wanted more than friendship. he’s seo changbin, for fuck sakes.

you thought about all those walks you did with him. all those late-night conversations about your lives. all those times he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room. all those messages, the shared playlists, the way he remembered your coffee order even when you weren’t at work. the jacket. the way he had wrapped it around your shoulders so carefully, so tenderly.

just friendly. that’s all it ever was. you just read into it because you wanted it to be more. because you’re desperately, lonely, and pathetic.

the walk home was a blur. you don’t remember the bus ride, don’t remember getting into your apartment, don’t remember collapsing onto your bed. you just remember staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the image of the them burned into the back of your eyelids.

that was the beginning of the end.

you began to set barriers, just as you had told seungmin you would. it was the only way to protect yourself, the only way to survive this. you couldn’t keep going the way you had been, couldn’t keep letting yourself fall deeper and deeper when there was no safety net at the bottom.

you started with small things.

and speaking of the devil, changbin texted you that night.

binnie : hey, thanks for dropping off the jacket

binnie : you didn’t have to wash it you know

binnie : it smells like your detergent now and i’m not complaining lmao

binnie : also i saw your note, you’re so cute ~

binnie : you know you can always keep it, right?

you waited an hour to reply. then two. then you sent a simple: glad u got it back! talk soon!

no emojis. no playful banter. no opening for conversation.

binnie : you free this weekend? there’s this cafe in hongdae i wanted to check out. thought you might like it!

binnie : heard the food’s great

ah, i have a crazy week ahead. maybe another time!

binnie : oh okay

binnie : no problem, just let me know when you’re free!

okay! 👍

the thumbs up emoji felt like a betrayal of everything you failed. but it was safer than a heart, safer than the smiley faces you used to send, safer than the ‘i’d love to’ that was screaming inside your chest.

he tried again a few days later.

binnie : i found this indie band today, they remind me of that playlist you made me

binnie : can i send you their stuff

sure

he sent three songs. you immediately added them to your playlist, listening to them on repeat for hours. it was the only way to hold onto a piece of him without reaching for all of him, the only way to love him quietly, safely, from a distance where he couldn’t see you aching.

and when morning came, you replied with three words that buried everything.

nice! added them!

nothing more.

after two days, he started showing up at the cafe again.

the first time, your heart lurched with that familiar, painful mixture of joy and despair. he walked in, ordered his usual iced americano, and flashed you his smile when he saw you behind the counter.

“y/n, hey.”

you served him with a tight, professional smile, “hi, changbin. the usual?”

something flickered within his eyes–confusion, maybe, at the formality. at the distance you had carefully crafted between your words. at the wall you had built brick by brick since the last time you saw him.

yet, he nodded, “yeah, thanks.”

you made his drink in silence, your hands trembling as you worked–measuring, pressing, pouring, each of your movements felt mechanical. the espresso machine hissed. the milk steamed. your heart cracked a little more with every second that passed without either of you speaking.

when you handed it to him, you didn’t linger. you didn’t ask how he was, didn’t mention how your day has been, didn’t do any of the things you used to do. you just simply, handed him the cup.

your eyes didn’t meet his. your fingers didn’t brush against his. your usual bright smile was nowhere to be found. you were terrifyingly indifferent, and it shook his poor heart.

“have a good day,” you mumbled, already turning to the next customer.

“y/n–” he started, yet you were already gone, busying yourself with the espresso machine, your entire physique hidden from him.

when you finally risked a glance, he was standing there for a moment longer, holding his coffee, staring at you with an expression that you unfortunately couldn’t read. then he turned and left.

the second time, you hid in the back room until one of your coworkers took his order.

the third time, he didn’t come at all.

his messages became more frequent, more confused.

binnie : hey, is everything okay?

binnie : you seem differently lately

all good! just busy.

for a moment, just a moment, the little bubble appeared. read. the words stared back at you, utterly devoid of the panic rising in your throat.

and for a second, you thought you were already losing your mind. he had to know that you were lying, and jokes on you, you weren’t fully mentally prepared.

then, a message appeared.

binnie : are we still on for our walk this weekend? the weather’s supposed to be nice

a trembling exhale escaped your lips, carrying the weight of everything you couldn’t say as you read his message. your thumb trembled, not from cold, not from nerves, but from the sheer effort of holding yourself together when all you wanted was to fall apart.

your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.

typing…

sorry i can’t

family stuff

there. it was a lie. you had nothing planned for the weekend. it was a lie wrapped in something almost believable. almost innocent. almost enough to explain why you were pushing him away without actually explaining anything at all.

binnie : oh okay

binnie : just let me know if you need to talk about anything

binnie : i’m always here

damn you, seo changbin

thanks

one word. after months of paragraphs, of shared thoughts, inside jokes, and late-night rambles, you could only manage by giving him one word.

the typing indicator appeared immediately. disappeared. appeared again. you watched it as if you could see him pacing outside of your door, afraid to knock on.

then his message came through.

binnie : y/n… did i do something?

the ellipsis hung there like a held breath. like he was scared to ask yet more scared not to.

binnie : if i upset you somehow, i’m really sorry

binnie : just tell me and i’ll make up for it

you stared at that message for a long time, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. you wanted to tell him everything. you wanted to scream that he hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was a ‘you’ problem, that you were just scared and didn’t know how to be around him without falling apart.

but you didn’t. fear wouldn’t let you.

what are u talking about lmao

u didn’t do anything wrong. dw about it

binnie : if you say so

binnie : but i do worry. about you. you know that right?

i know. thanks.

another brick in the wall, final.

TWO WEEKS PASSED LIKE THIS. fourteen days. three hundred and thirty-six hours. thousands of minutes stretched thin with short replies, avoided encounters, and a growing, aching silence that filled every space you used to share.

two weeks of you dying a little more inside every day–slowly, quietly, the way flowers die when you forget to water them. two weeks of him growing more and more confused, more hurt, more desperate with every unanswered question. every casual deflection,l every door you closed in his face.

you told yourself it was for the best.

you told yourself a lot of things.

and then you saw him. you were crossing the street, head down, invested in your phone, when something made you look up.

he was there. across the street, standing outside with jeongin, both of them laughing about something. his head was thrown back slightly, his smile wide and real, his whole body loose with the kind of happiness that used to make your chest ache in the best way.

for a moment, you forgot to breathe.

he looked happy. he looked like he was moving on. he looked like your absence didn’t affect him at all, as if you were just a footnote in a story he had already finished reading.

good, you told yourself, the word sharp and cold in your chest. that’s good. he has his life. he doesn’t need you.

you believed it. almost.

and then he looked up.

across the crowd, across the distance, across the cars, the people, and the weeks of silence, his eyes finally found yours. like they knew where to look. like they had been searching for you without permission. like some part of him had been waiting for this moment even when he didn’t know it.

god, the look on his face.

his smile faltered first. flickered. died. then his eyes went soft, achingly familiar, with something that looked like… longing. like confusion. like hurt. like he was seeing a ghost he had been trying to forget and realizing he had never stopped hoping she was real.

it almost broke you.

right there, in the middle of the street, with people pushing past on you both sides and the light about to change–the look alone almost broke you.

you couldn’t do it. couldn’t watching him cross the street. couldn’t hear his voice. couldn’t let him close enough to shatter what was left of you.

so you turned. you walked away.

behind you, you didn’t hear his footsteps. didn’t know if he had started towards you. didn’t let yourself look behind to find out.

you just walked.

and somewhere behind you, changbin stood frozen, watching you disappear into the crowd, wondering what he had done to lose you and why you wouldn’t talk to him.

the breaking point came on a thursday evening.

you were walking from work, your head down against a chilly autumn wind, your work bag heavy with the weight of your uniform and the extra pastries your manager had insisted on taking home. the days had blurred into a gray mess and self-recrimination, and you were so exhausted. so incredibly, bone-deep exhausted.

the cafe had been busy that evening; a constant stream of customers ordering seasonal drinks and desserts, their happy chatter grating against your frayed nerves. you had smiled, nodded, and made drinks on autopilot, your mind somewhere else entirely. somewhere with dark eyes, a warm laugh, and a hand that used to find yours.

you had checked your phone approximately forty-seven times during your shift. each time, hoping for a message from him. each time, telling yourself you didn’t deserve one.

he stopped texting three days ago.

and the silence was torturing you mentally.

you did this. you had pushed him away, built your walls, retreated behind a mask of politeness and distance. and now he was gone, just like you had known he would be. just like you had prepared for.

this is better, you told yourself for the thousandth time. this is what you wanted. to protect yourself. to protect the friendship.

however, it didn’t feel better. it felt like someone had dug into your chest and hollowed you out, leaving nothing but echoes and ache.

the street was quiet this time of night, most of the officer workers already home, the usual bustle reduced to the occasional taxi and the distant hum of traffic, a soft lullaby for a city that never quiet slept.

you welcomed the solitude.

it meant you didn’t have to pretend. didn’t have to smile when someone asked if you were okay. didn’t have to perform the exhausting charade of being fine when every step you took felt like walking through water.

the night air was cool against your skin. the streetlights cast long shadows on the pavement. your footsteps echoed in the silence, steady, rhythmic, the only sound besides your own breathing.

you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the car until it was right beside you.

the familiar purr of the engine made your heart stop.

you recognized that sound.

you would know it anywhere—in a crowded parking lot, in the middle of a song, in your sleep. it was the sound of late-night convenience store runs, of drives to scenic overlooks where you'd sit for hours just talking, of that one time he had driven you home at 3 am because you had fallen asleep on his couch during a movie marathon and he hadn't had the heart to wake you.

it was the sound of him.

you didn’t look up.

you couldn’t. if you looked up, if you saw him, if you let yourself acknowledge that he was here–right here, within arm's reach, you would break. you would shatter into a thousand pieces right here on the sidewalk, and you would never be able to put yourself back together.

so you kept walking.

your pace quickened. your eyes stayed fixed on the sidewalk ahead, on the cracks in the pavement, on anything that wasn’t the dark car gliding alongside you.

the car matched your speed.

of course it did.

the window rolled down. the sound was soft, just a mechanical hum, yet it might as well have been a gunshot in the silence. it echoed in your chest, in your ears, in the space you had been trying so hard to keep empty.

you felt him there. felt his presence like a gravitational pull, like the tide being drawn towards the moon, like every atom in your body screaming at you to turn around.

you didn’t look, and you heard the car kept moving.

the window stayed down.

and you kept walking, heart pounding, breath caught, waiting for the sound of his voice to finally destroy you.

“y/n.”

his voice. that warm baritone that used to make your heart soar, now making it clench with a painful mixture of longing and dread. you could hear the exhaustion of it, the confusion, the hurt.

you kept walking, the upcoming words came out smaller than you intended–fragile, thin, barely held together, “i’m fine. it’s a short walk–”

“y/n,” his voice was firmer now, yet still gentle. always gentle with you. even now, even after weeks of distance, he was still gentle, “it’s late at night. please, get in.”

you shook your head–a small movement, quick and dismissive. you couldn’t trust your voice, couldn’t trust that if you opened your mouth, something other than words would come out. a sob, maybe. a confession. a broken, desperate ‘i have feelings for you and it sickens me’ that you would never be able to take back.

the car stopped.

you heard it. the soft deceleration, the click of the gear shift, the sudden absence of movement beside you. then, his door opened.

heavy footsteps chased behind you, steady, determined. closing the distance you had been trying so hard to maintain.

and then his hand found your arm, his fingers wrapped around your elbow; not gripping, not trapping, just there. just enough to stop you. just enough to turn you around.

you didn’t resist.

his touch, his warm… it undid you so easily. it unraveled weeks of careful construction in a single second. it remind you of everything you had been trying to forget.

you turned reluctantly, and there he was.

changbin. standing in the middle of the quiet street, the streetlight casting shadows across his attractive face, his gorgeous eyes searching yours, looking for answers to his unanswered questions.

he looked tired as well. there were shadows under his eyes, deep purple crescents that spoke of sleepless nights and restless thoughts. a tension in his jaw that hadn’t been there before, a tightness around his mouth that made him look wearier, like someone carrying a weight they didn't know how to put down. he looked like he hadn’t been sleeping either, and that hurt more than anything.

you had convinced yourself that you were the only one suffering. that your absence alone was a final gift, a mercy, a kindness that allowed him to move on without the burden of your feelings, you had told–reminded yourself he was fine, happy, moving forward into a future that didn’t have to include you.

however, standing here now, looking at the exhaustion etched into every line of his face realized how wrong you had been.

“please,” he begged once again, softer this time. “just… talk to me. five minutes. that’s all i’m asking.”

you looked at him, really looked at him, and your heart fissured, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. the walls you had been so carefully building crumbled in an instant, leaving you raw and exposed, and so, so tired of running.

you nodded.

he led you back to the car, his hand was still on your arm–gentle, guiding, like he was afraid you might disappear again if he let go. he opened the passenger door for you, a small gesture something he had done a hundred times before, and you slid into the warm interior.

the scent hit you immediately. laundry detergent. something faintly woody. that familiar, impossible combination that was so uniquely him. it wrapped around you like a memory, like a hug you hadn’t known you needed, like everything you had been trying to forget suddenly flooding back all at once.

it made your heart ache further.

that deep, hollow longing you had been suppressing for weeks; it rose up like a tide, threatening to drown you right there in the passenger seat of his car. you gripped your hands together in your lap, knuckles white, and tried to breathe through it.

he pulled over to the side of the road, into a small parking lot near a closed convenience store. the engine idled softly, the heater hummed, and the world outside the windows felt very far away.

then, he turned to face you.

his dark eyes were intense–searching, desperate, hungry for answers you had been starving him of for weeks. they moved across your face as if he was trying to read a brook written in a language he didn't understand.

“what’s going on?” he began. his tone was cautious, as if he was approaching something wounded, “did i do something wrong?”

the question was a knife to your heart. it slide between your ribs with surgical precision, finding the softest parts of you, the places where all your fears lived, he thought it was his fault. he had been carrying this for weeks, thinking he was the reason for the ordeal.

and you had let him.

“...no,” your voice barely above a whisper. you looked down at your hands, at the white-knuckled grip you had on yourself, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

the silence stretched between you, heavy with everything you weren’t saying out loud. you could feel his gaze on you, his confusion, his desperate need to understand. you could feel him waiting, always so patient for you to give him something, anything, to hold onto.

however, the truth was too big. too messy. too terrifying.

“then why?” the hurt in his voice was raw, undisguised, stripped of all the careful composure he had been holding onto. it was the kind of hurt that couldn’t be hidden, couldn’t be smoothed over.

“why are you avoiding me? why do you barely talk to me anymore?” each question landed like a blow, as if he was listing wounds he didn’t know how to treat. “whenever i see you at the cafe, you can’t get away from me fast enough. you used to–”

a pause, his jaw tightening; that muscle jumping beneath his skin, the one you watched flex a hundred times when he was concentrating, when he was frustrated, whe he was trying not to feel too much.

however, he was feeling it now. all of it.

“i thought we were close. i thought–”

he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture so familiar it made your chest cave in. frustration. confusion. the kind of helplessness that came from wanting to fix something and now knowing how.

“did i misread everything?” his voice came quieter now, more fragile. as if he was bracing for the answer, “were we not… were not friends the way i thought we were?”

friends.

the word hit you like a slap–a reminder. like everything you had been afraid of, crystallized into seven letters.

he thought this was about friendship. he thought you were pushing him away because you didn’t care enough, didn’t value him enough, didn’t want him in your life the way he wanted you.

he had no idea.

he had no idea that you cared too much. that you wanted him too much. that every moment near him felt like standing too close to a fire; beautiful, warm, and absolutely capable of melting you.

“no!” the denial tore out of you before you could stop it–sharp, desperate, and raw in its own way. you finally glanced up at him, finally let yourself see him, finally stopped hiding behind your own walls.

and the look on his face–god.

it was hope, desperation, and fear all tangled together, mirroring your current emotional chaos; the same storm you had been drowning in for weeks, now reflected back at you in his eyes.

“you didn’t… you didn’t misread anything. you’re my… you’re one of the best friends i’ve ever had, changbin–”

“but?”

you took a shaky breath. this was it. the moment you had been dreading. you had to say something, and the words were stuck in your throat like shards of glass.

“but i can’t do this anymore,” you whispered, “i can’t keep pretending.”

changin’s brows furrowed, “pretending what?”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them.

"pretending that i don't—" your voice cracked. "pretending that you're just my friend. pretending that every time you text me, my heart doesn't race. pretending that when you smile at me, i don't forget how to breathe. pretending that i haven't been falling in love with you since the moment we first hung out.”

you looked down at your hands, twisting together in your lap like they could anchor you to something solid. the tears were already coming, hot and traitorous, spilling down your cheeks before you could stop them,

you couldn’t look at him. you couldn’t bear to see the pity, the awkwardness, the careful let-down that was surely coming. so you just kept talking, the confession spilling out of you like water through a broken dam.

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way. i know i’m not–” you, yet again, gestured vaguely at yourself–at your body, at everything you had seen as insufficient, “i’m not what someone like you want. i know that. i’ve always known that. but i couldn’t help it. i tried so hard to just be your friend, to just be happy with what we had, but every time i was with you, i wanted more. i wanted things i have no right to want.”

a sob escaped you, and you turned your attention towards the window, trying to hold it in.

“and then i saw you with that woman at the company. she was so pretty, so perfect, and i realized–” a sad laugh broke through your lips, “i realized that that was it. that was my wake-up call. you have a life, changbin. a real life with real people who belong in your world. you are loved. and i’m just.. just some girl who works at a cafe. i don’t belong there.”

you finally looked up at him once more, your eyes swimming with tears, your heart laid bare and bleeding between you.

“so i tried to give you space. to make it hurt less when you eventually–” you swallowed hard, “when you eventually found someone who was actually good enough for you. i thought if i did it first, if i created the distance, maybe it wouldn’t destroy me when you left.”

another tear fell.

“but it didn’t work. nothing worked–regardless, i still love you. i still think about you constantly.”

silence.

heavy, terrifying silence.

you waited for him to speak, to let you down gently, to explain that he was sorry but he only saw you as a friend. you waited for the kindness you knew he possessed to deliver the rejection in the softest way possible.

yet, he didn’t speak.

he just stared at you, his eyes wide, his expression frozen somewhere between shock and something you couldn’t name. something softer. something that looked almost like wonder.

“i’m sorry,” you breathed, the words falling like stones–heavy, clumsy, irreversible, “i’m so sorry. i shouldn’t have–i know this makes things weird. i know you probably don’t–”

you couldn’t finish.

you reached for the door handle, desperate to scurry away, “i’ll just–i’ll go. we can pretend this never happened. i’ll understand if you don’t want to–”

his hand caught your wrist, warm fingers circling the place where your pulse was trying to beat its way out of your body.

“y/n. stop.”

his voice was rough, strained, nothing like the gentle tone you had expected, you turned to look at him.

his chest was rising and falling too fast. his jaw was working around words he hadn’t said yet. his eyes were burning with something that looked almost like… relief.

“that woman,” he murmured slowly, carefully, “the one you saw me with at the company.”

you nodded miserably, mentally preparing yourself for the impact.

he let out a shaky breath, as if he was trying to suppress his… laugh?

“that was my cousin.”

cousin.

“she’s a stylist,” another breath, steadier this time, “she’s married.”

one second. two. your brain turning the words over, examining them from every angle, trying to find the catch, the lie, the evidence you were missing.

then the blood drained from your body.

“she’s–”

“my cousin,” he nodded, and something flickered in his eyes–something that looked almost like a smile, almost like disbelief, almost like he couldn’t believe this was the reason, “my cousin, y/n–who, by the way, has been asking about you for weeks because i may have mentioned you plenty of times.”

you stared at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, “but–”

“i was telling her about this girl i’ve been spending time with. this amazing, beautiful, incredible girl who makes me laugh, listens to my music, and definitely the best cook. this girl who i’ve been falling in love with for months.”

all of the sudden, the world tilted. the car felt too small, the air too thin, your body too fragile to contain everything that was suddenly blooming inside you. your heart literally stopped.

“i wanted to introduce you, i wanted you to meet her, to meet my family, to–” he stopped. swallowed, before starting again, “but you were gone before i could get to you. and then everything changed.”

his thumb traced a slow arc against your wrist–the same wrist he was still holding, still grounding, still keeping you here when every instinct was screaming at you to run or cry… or even both.

“you started pulling away, and i didn’t know why. i kept thinking–” his voice cracked, just slightly, “i kept thinking i had done something. said something. pushed too hard or moved too fast. i really thought i had lost you.”

“...changbin–”

“no, let me finish,” he inhaled another shaky breath, his thumb still tracing those gentle circles on your wrist–an anchor, the only thing keeping you from splintering apart completely, “i replayed every conversation in my head, every moment we spent together. every laugh, every look, every stupid joke you made that i still think about when i can’t sleep.”

a broken laugh, soft and self-deprecating.

"i kept asking myself where i went wrong. what i could have done differently. because losing you—" his voice fractured, the words splintering on the way out. "losing you felt like losing something i never even got to have. something i wanted so badly it hurt. something i didn't even know i was allowed to want until it was gone.”

you shook your head, fresh tears spilling over, carving warm paths down your cheeks.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” your voice came out fragile, trembling on the edge of breaking. it was the most honest thing you had said in weeks, stripped bare of all the restraints you had put on yourself, “nothing. it was never you.”

“then talk to me,” his eyes searched for yours, desperate, “please, whatever it is, just tell me. i need answers.”

you looked at him. at the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the way his hand was still wrapped around yours like he was afraid you would disappear if he let go.

the truth sat on your tongue, heavy and bitter.

“because you deserve better.”

your answer fell into the silence like heavy stones into deep water, irreversible, sending ripples through everything.

his brows furrowed, “what?”

“you deserve better,” you repeated, voice cracking, “you deserve someone beautiful. someone thin. someone who looks like she belongs next to someone like you.”

you gestured at yourself, your body, at everything you had been taught to hate, “not this. not me.”

“y/n–”

“i’m not pretty, changbin,” the tears came faster now, “i’m not any of the things that you should want. and i thought–”

a sob caught in your throat, “i thought if i let myself love you, it would only hurt more when you finally figured it out. when you finally saw me the way everyone else does.”

“everyone else?”

“everyone else. you don’t understand,” you pulled your hand away, now wrapping your arms around yourself like you could hold the pieces together, “i’ve spent my whole life being looked at and looked through. being told i’m too much in some ways and not enough in others. i’ve made peace with it, or i thought i had.”

you wiped your tears with the back of your hand, sucking in another deep breath, “but then… you came along. and you looked at me. really looked at me. like i mattered. like i was worth seeing–and i didn’t know how to handle that, didn’t know how to be someone worthy of that look.”

silence.

he didn’t speak for a long moment. didn’t. just sat there, his eyes never leaving yours.

then, slowly, he reached out.

his hand found yours again, gently prying it away from where you were clutching your own arm. he held it in both of his, warm and steady.

“can i tell you something?” he asked gently.

you nodded.

“when i first met you,” he began, shifting closer to you–close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, could smell that familiar scent that had haunted your dreams for weeks, “i thought you were cute. adorable, even. the way you smile like you couldn’t help it. like happiness just spilled out of you whether you wanted it or not.”

a tiny, sad smile tugged at his lips, “and so incredibly sincere. you wore your heart on your sleeve in a way i had never seen before. no pretense. just… you.”

he paused, his gaze mapping your features as if he was trying to memorize every detail.

“and i remember thinking, ‘i hope she keeps looking at me. i hope she keeps smiling like that. i hope i get to be the reason for it someday.’”

his hand came up, cupping your cheek with a gentleness that made your breath catch.

“i fell for you ever since game night. when you laughed at one of jeongin’s stupid jokes and your whole face lit up. when you talked about movies like it was something you felt in your bones. when you paid attention to the subtlest changes about me. i fell for you because of who you are.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught it with his hand.

“not who you think you should be. not who the world tried to tell you to be. not some edited, polished version of yourself. you, the real you.”

he leaned closer, his forehead almost touching yours. you could feel his breath warm against your lips.

“and you,” he continued, “you are the most beautiful person i’ve ever met. not just on the outside–although god knows i could spend an entire day just looking at you–but inside is where it counts. your heart. your kindness. the way you care about people, about me.”

his words settled in your chest like warmth, like light… it was something you had wanted to hear.

a sob escaped you–yet it was different, it bubbled up from somewhere deep and joyful, somewhere that had been locked away for so long you had forgotten it existed. it was a sob of relief. of disbelief. of hope.

"you're so silly." the words came out wet and wobbly, tangled up with laughter and tears and everything in between. a smile broke through despite everything—despite the crying, despite the weeks of pain, despite the walls you'd built so carefully. it split your face open, too wide and too bright, the way it always did when you couldn't help yourself. "how can you say things like that?”

he smiled back—that small, intimate smile, the one he saved just for you.

"because they're true." he shrugged, simple and honest and utterly devastating. "and because someone needs to say them. someone needs to tell you, every single day, until you finally believe it.”

his thumb traced your cheekbone, feather-light, “and i volunteer. full-time. no days off.”

a laugh bubbled out of you—wet and surprised and absolutely genuine. it felt strange in your throat, after weeks of nothing but silence and sorrow. it felt like coming home.

“god, i love you,” you breathed, the confession coming easier than ever, “i love you so much.”

a soft giggle bubbled up from his chest, warm and infectious, “say it again.”

“i love you.

“again.”

“i love you, seo changbin,” his name on your tongue felt like a prayer, something sacred, “i love the way you make me laugh. even when i’m sad, even when i’m scared, even when i’m trying so hard to push you away–you still find a way to make me smile.”

a watery laugh escaped you, genuine.

“i love the way you listen. really listen when i talk. like what i’m saying matters–like i matter. you don’t just hear my words, you understood everything underneath them. the things i’m too scared to say, the feelings i can’t put into words. you hear me.”

his breath caught. you felt it in the way his chest stilled, in the way his hand tightened ever so slightly against your cheek. you could've swore you could see his eyes glistening.

“i love the way you look at me. like i’m the only person in the world–”

“you are,” he cut in, his voice rough, almost breaking, “the only person in my world. have been for a while now.”

“changbin…’ another tear slipped down your cheek, and he caught that one too.

“it’s true,” his voice was fierce now, desperate in needing you to believe his words more than he had ever needed anything. “don’t you dare try to deny it. not for a second.”

a soft laugh escaped you. you shook your head, a reflexive motion, years of self-doubt wired so deep into your bones that even now, even with him saying his truths, your first instinct was to push back. to deflect.

“chang–”

he didn’t let you finish.

his hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck—slow, deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted to savor every second of this. his fingers threaded gently into your hair at the nape, tangling in the soft strands there, and the touch sent a shiver cascading down your spine like the first notes of a melody you'd been waiting your whole life to hear.

and then he kissed you.

it wasn’t a frantic desperate kiss. it was something far more devastating.

his lips met yours with a tenderness that felt like a question and an answer all at once. it was soft, warm, a whisper of pressure that seemed to ask ‘is this okay?’ even as it promised ‘i’ve been wanting this forever.’ he hovered at the edge of you, giving you time, giving you space, giving you every chance to pull away if you needed to.

as if you had ever wanted to pull away from this.

he kissed you as if he was memorizing you. there was no rush in the way his lips moved against yours. he was a dedicated scholar, and it seemed as though the curve of your lips was a sacred text he intended to learn by heart. every angle, every soft sigh, every tiny movement you made… he absorbed it, catalogued it, stored it away in the deepest parts of his memory.

he traced the seam of your mouth with his own, a slow exploration that was more intoxicating than any rush. his upper lip brushed against your lower, then the reverse, a gentle push and pull that made your head spin and your knees weaken despite being seated.

one of your hands rose to rest against his chest, seemingly on its own initiative. your palm pressed flat against the solid warmth of his, fingers spaying slightly over the fabric of his shirt.

you could feel the frantic, staccato beat of his heart beneath your palm, and it shattered the last of your resistance.

whatever walls you had been clinging to, whatever voices in the back of your mind still whispered that this couldn’t be real, they all crumbled into dust, carried away by the truth of his heartbeat against your palm.

you kissed him back with everything you had.

your hand fisted gently in his shirt, pulling him slightly closer. your lips parted against his, inviting him, welcoming home. a soft sigh escaped you, and he swallowed it like a man dying of thirst, like you were the only thing that could sustain him.

his hand tightened in your hair, not pulling, just holding, just keeping you close. his other hand splayed over your waist, drawing you against him until there was no space left between you, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

when the kiss finally ended, it wasn’t because either of you wanted it to. it was simply that you both needed to breathe, needed to come up for air and remind yourselves that the world still existed outside of this moment.

he pulled back slowly, his lips lingering against yours even as he moved away, like they couldn’t bear to break contact completely. his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm and uneven, mingling with yours in the tiny space between.

you opened your eyes and just looked at him, at the man who had just rearranged your entire universe with a single kiss. your hand was still on his chest, rising and falling with every breath. the shiver he had sent down your spine had settled into deep, resonant warmth in the very core of you.

“that…” you exhaled, a toothy smile touched your lips–unguarded and real, “what a way to shut me up, seo changbin.”

a laugh rumbled in his chest beneath your palm–low, warm, and a little bit breathless.

“been wanting to do that for a while,” he murmured softly, his voice intimate in a way that made your stomach flip. his thumb traced a slow, absent-minded pattern on your waist, like he couldn’t stop touching you, like he was still reassuring himself you were really here.

your face flushed hot, the heat crawling up your neck and settling in your cheeks like it had every right to be there. you ducked your head slightly, a flustered smile tugging at your lips. you gave him a light, playful shove on his chest.

“shut up,” you mumbled, yet there was no heat in it. only embarrassment and the giddy, overwhelming rush of being wanted by him.

changbin stumbled back, a hand flying to his chest right where you had hit him, his eyes going wide with theatrical offense.

“ow,” he breathed, genuinely, like you had actually wounded him, “right in the heart. direct hit. you’re a dangerous woman, y/n y/l/n!”

you laughed, rolling your eyes even as your smile grew. your tears had dried up by now, replaced by the warm, bubbling joy that seemed to fill every corner of your chest whenever you were around him. the weight that had settled there earlier, the years of self-doubt and insecurity, felt lighter now. it was as if he had somehow shouldered some of it without you even noticing.

“dangerous,” you repeated, shaking your head at him, “it was just a little tap.”

“a little tap, huh?” he clutched his chest with both hands now, staggering another distance for good measure, “i think you cracked a rib. i might need medical attention!”

“hah, funny,” you crossed your arms, attempting to look unimpressed, yet the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you completely, “okay, drama queen. should i call an ambulance?”

he nodded solemnly, still clutching his chest, “yes. but only if the paramedic looks like you. and performs CPR exactly like you do.”

your face went red again–so quickly, so fiercely, that you could feel the heat radiating from your own skin. you opened your mouth to respond, to fire back with something witty, yet nothing came out. just a sputter. a flustered, embarrassed sputter.

changbin’s expression shifted instantly, the playful theatrics melting into something softer, more tender.

“god, y/n, you're so cute,” before you could react, his fingers were pinching your cheek–gently, of course. he squished your cheek slightly, his grin widening as your lips pursed into an involuntary pout.

“stop,” you mumbled through your squished cheek, yet it came out sounding more like sthob and that only made him laugh harder.

“can’t do, princess,” another squish, “you’re stuck with me.”

princess. oh, he’s gonna’ be the death of me.

the thought barely had time to form before changbin’s eyes lit up with that familiar mischievous spark. his head tilted, studying your face with exaggerated curiosity, “cat got your tongue?”

your heart, yet again, did a full somersault in your chest. your face flushed even deeper, if that was possible. you tried to look away, to break free from his knowing gaze, yet his hands on your cheeks held you gently in place.

“n–no,” the stutter gave you away completely.

his grin widened.

“no?” he repeated, his voice was honey and mischief all at once. he finally released your cheeks, only to let his fingers trail slowly down to your chin, tilting your face up towards his, “then, can i kiss you again?”

you should be used to this by now. the way he looked at you. the way his touch made your skin tingle. the way his voice dropped just slightly when he was about to do something that would ruin you in the best way.

but you weren’t used to it. you didn’t think you had ever get used to it.

“…yes,” you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the quiet of the car.

when his lips finally met yours, it was like the first time all over again.

soft. warm. perfect.

he kissed you like he had all the time in the world, like there was nowhere else he would rather be, like you were the only thing that mattered. his hand stayed on your chin, while the other found its way back to your cheek, gently cradling your face.

you melted into him.

your hands found his shirt again, fisting in the soft fabric, holding on as the kiss deepened. you could feel his smile against your lips, and you couldn’t help but to reciprocate it.

when he finally pulled back, it was only by a breath.

“i love you, y/n,” he whispered against your lips.

you couldn’t help but to press your lips against him once more, a gentle peck.

“i love you too.”

he captured your lips once again, before his kisses left a burning trail on your forehead, cheek, and jaw. returning to your lips once more.

“be my girlfriend?” he whispered against your lips, his bottom lip brushing against your upper as he spoke.

your heart stopped.

then started again, faster than before.

“yes,” an immediate response. the word tumbled out of you before you could think, before the doubts could creep in. for once, your heart spoke before your fears could silence it.

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you were smiling now, happiness radiating from every part of you, “yes, changbin. a thousand times yes.”

he smiled once more, before leaning in once again.

your eyes fluttered close.

not because you were scared. not because you were hiding. not because you were trying to block out the world.

because for the first time, you didn’t need to see to believe.

you could feel him–his warmth, his love, his unwavering certainty. the gentle pressure of his lips against yours. the way his hand cradled your cheek preciously. the steady beat of his heart against your chest, syncing with your own.

with your eyes closed, you left yourself fall.

into this. into him. into your future.

© lynsbng 2026

Why couldn't they prove it some other way? Why did they have to climb the tower and save you here? You've been here long enough that you believe your parents did this to get you far away from them. Set up impossible trials so that no one may reach you.

The familiar flapping of dragons wings swoop passed the tower and you try your best to ignore the screeching from the poor Prince. 

You wonder why they continue to send them, their sons to your impossible to climb tower. 

You peek back over the edge of the small window and watch as his bones clatter to the ground, "useless," you mutter before wandering back into your tower.

It was too soon to be hearing clattering again. Awfully too soon to for there to be another prince. 

You dropped the book you were reading and marched over to the window. You peered down and noticed immediately the bright shining iron armour rested upon a jet black horse. 

"Princess!" A loud voice bellowed up to you, "I've come to save you!"

Usually, the princes would rock up with a chest plate at most. So whoever was under the armour was certainly different from the rest. But the arrogance in his voice remained the same. You smile sweetly before moving away from the window. You roll your eyes and walk back over to your chair, picking your book back up.

The familiar sound of dragons wings flap for a moment, before a thunderous crash echoes into the mountains surrounding your tower. You quirk your head towards the window, your whole body in shock from the new noise. 

The sounds of metal clanging against itself nears closer and closer. Your curiosity wins and you make your way over to the window. Peering down, at the bottom of the tower is the armoured figure. He lifts his head to assess the next rock to place his hand.

The dragon that once protected your prison lays dead, spread wide over the ground beneath your tower. Gone without a fight. You blink at the sight. The dragon, which had been the last impossible trial, lifelessly slumped over. 

You peer back to the armoured figure, who has made it about half-way up now. "How did you do that?" You yell out.

His head jolts up, clearly startled by the sound of your voice, "sword!" He calls back before refocusing on the climb.

You blink back more confusion, eyes drifting back to the dragon. A small silver sword sits idly, wedged into the eye of the dragon.

He couldn't have killed it just like that. He couldn't have- he-

The metal clanging grew too close for comfort, so you step back into the small room, eyes remaining on the window.

Soon, the shiny silver helmet of the figure pokes over the window sill. His hands, dressed in gauntlets, grip the inside of the opening and pull himself up. He climbs through the window and clatters to the floor. 

He quickly rises and clears his throat. There is a small slit in his helmet that allows him to see you. But the only thing you can decipher, due to the heavy suit of armour that rests on his body, is that he's big.

Big as in bulky. Built like a brick, surely an intimidating foe to be faced off with in battle. 

You watch as he wretches the gauntlets from his hands and once free, he removes his helmet.

His head is bent back as he does so and he shakes his deep red hair out of his face. His round, handsome face. Soft brown eyes watched you carefully under a strong brow bone. His jaw is set, lips quirking up in a slight smirk. His face is covered in sweat, dirt, grime. 

This is perhaps the first time you've been so close to another human, but you're pretty sure this is the most handsome man you've ever seen. 

He kneels before you, resting his helmet on his knee and bowing his head, "Sir Seo Changbin, at your service Your Highness."

"You're not a Prince?" the questions holds a double meaning. Yes, you're surprised that someone other than a prince had attempted to rescue you. But you're always shocked, that given how handsome he is, that he is not from a royal blood line.

He laughs a little, something closer to a giggle, "No Your Highness, I am just a knight."

"I wouldn't say just a knight." You don't exactly know how to interact with people. Being cooped up in here most of your life has taken away any social development you required. But given the way he raises his head, an unfamiliar emotion evident on his face, you're sure you've said the wrong thing. You try to explain, "you are the one who defeated the dragon no?"

"Yes Your Highness."

"That makes you more than a knight to me," you admit. You watch his face turn red.

"Thank you Your Highness."

You eye him, still on the floor and remembering suddenly the boring piece of literature you'd been forced to read over and over again out of sheer boredom. Any person of lower status than a Princess must bow upon greeting them. They only rise when told so.

"You can stand up," you call meekly, not really sure how to properly dismiss him.

He smiles and stands up, "thank you Your Highness."

"You don't have to call me that."

"Yes, Your Highness I do."

You clear your throat, "I'd prefer that you didn't."

"Your wish is my command. What shall I call you instead?"

You think for a moment, not to conjure a better title, but out of sheer confusion, "you can call me by my name." You smooth over your dress with your hands, "Y/N."

"Y/N," he almost breathes out, "it is an honour to meet your acquaintance," he bows his head but this time does not wait for your dismissal before lifting it again.

"What now?"

"Pardon me?"

"What do we do now?" You repeat, "are we supposed to climb down the tower?"

"Oh," the realisation hits him. He moves to the back of the room, just passed where you were standing. He looks around closely at the walls. He clearly finds something that you'd miss. He pushes the bookcase aside with ease. He must be quite muscular, as they poke out from under the plates of his armour. The chainmail that covers what the heavy plates cannot, bulges out, defining what little muscle you can see. 

But your eyes are drawn then to the doorway, hidden behind the bookcase this whole time. You felt embarrassed, having lived in this tower all your life, with no escape. And the moment this man steps in, he reveals you had an escape route this whole time. 

But it washes away slightly as he pulls out a key. He pushes it into the lock on the door, twists it and tries the door. The stone is not easy to move, but he makes it look effortless. 

He turns back to you, gesturing to the doorway, "after you Your-" he stops himself, "after you Y/N."

"How did you know?" You stay frozen in place, "how do you have a key?"

He lets out that same giggle he did before. It's nearly jarring. His intimidating figure dulls it's effect the moment with the gentleness of his actions. "I'll explain momentarily. I need to make sure you're safe first. We need to leave now Y/N."

Maybe it was the lack of social interaction, or the fact that this man had done the impossible. Or maybe, you were so taken by him, his visual, his demeanour. Which ever it was, it had you listening to his word. You quickly slip on some form of slipper before making your way to the doorway.

Gazing down, a staircase began, but you could not see where it ended as the staircase winds to the right and out of view. You imagine the staircase was built into the very walls. It was dark and formidable and you hesitated.

Changbin lifted a burning torch from the wall and stepped cautiously in front of you. "Right this way Princess." He speaks before descending down the stairs, with you hot on his tail. 

There was no door at the bottom of the staircase, only a frame where one should be. He turned to you, "may you hold this for me?" He asks sweetly.

You take the torch and watch as he adorns his gauntlets again. He wastes no time and hits his fist agains the stone. He punches again, the sound reverberating in the empty staircase. Soon, a hole is made.

You stand in awe. You were deprived of a lot of knowledge, but there was one thing you knew. Humans should not be able to punch a hole through solid stone.

Changbin tore apart the bricks, careful not to get any dust on you. And soon, the hole was big enough that you were able to step through.

But still, you hesitated. You stare down at the plush green that stood tall just beyond the threshold. You'd never been outside.

Changbin notices your hesitancy and reaches out a hand, "Princess. It's okay. Nothing out here can harm you. Not while I'm around."

You look into his eyes and see no falsities. So you take his hand and step outside.

"Excuse me?" You ask, astounded by the information.

Changbin pats down the mane of his horse, "I have been sent by Prince Stefan." He repeats, "he intends to marry you."

"And if I don't intend to marry him?"

Changbin whips his head to you, "I think you misunderstand me Princess-"

"Y/N."

He sighs, "Prince Stefan is a good man."

"Why didn't he come save me then?"

Changbin opens his mouth to speak, but comes up empty. He sighs, "will you at least meet with him? If he is really as horrid as you're making him out to be, I will escort you home."

"Home?"

"Your Kingdom."

Your Kingdom? As far as you're aware, you have no kingdom. The most you had ruled over was a patch of grass and a tower guarded by a dragon. 

"Right," you nod, trying to seem put together, "very well."

You approach the horse and Changbin kneels down, offering his leg as a step. You look down to him, searching for reassurance that it was in fact, okay to step on him. He smiles sweetly, the kind of smile that melts your heart. The ghost of dimples grace his cheeks and you swear, for a moment, his eyes genuinely sparkle.

Once you're settled on the saddle of his horse, he adorns his helmet once more. He swings himself, effortless onto the horse, your back pressing against to the cool metal armour. It sends a shiver down your spine at the contact. But your stomach drops when he leans forward to pick up the reigns, pushing even further into your body.

With his covered face close to your ear, his whisper echoes through the helmet, "is this okay Princess?"

You can do nothing but nod and hope with everything that he hadn't heard how loudly you swallowed. 

He nods too and is soon commanding the horse to move. 

The tower, the dragon, the hillside, all fade into the distance as you ride off towards a fate you're certain will doom you.

You're currently perched on a rock, watching as Changbin gathers sticks for a fire. You watch intently, his helmet and gauntlets abandoned elsewhere. 

The forest is still light and warm, the cool air of night threatens to fall. You watch as he struggles to bend and manoeuvre with the heavy set of armour weighing on his shoulders.

"Would you not be more comfortable with less... armour?" You call out.

A wave of red rushes over his face. He clears his throat, "uh-um perhaps... but it is improper Princess."

"There's no one else here..." you point out, "you are wearing something underneath no?"

"Yes!" He yells, his face burning a deeper shade of red. He's flustered about your implication, but even more flustered how how improperly he spoke, "I mean- yes Princess, I am wearing something underneath."

"I don't see the issue then."

He thinks about it for a moment before he admits, "it's difficult to take off myself..."

"Oh," you rise immediately, "let me help."

"Princess.." he coos, half warning, half flustered. 

"It is okay Sir Changbin," you smile at him and you watch his facade melt away a little, "let me help you."

He simply nods and stands. He moves in front of you, eyeing you closely as you figure out how to remove his armour. You spot a small leather strap buckled tightly by his shoulder. You reach up and slide it out, allowing the shoulder piece to fall. You catch it before it lands and place it on the floor. You repeat the same on the other shoulder. 

You grab hold of his arm, twisting it slightly to reveal the strap that holds metal to his forearm. His eyes have never left your face. Your gentle touches, your heavy breathing, it all has his head reeling.

He can't think like this. He made an oath. He would never wed. He would never fall in love. He would never bear children.

He had no issue taking that oath and no issue keeping it. Until now. Until you.

The Princess who so gently removed his armour. Whose hands are on him again, unbuckling the sides of his breastplate and beckoning for him to lift his arms. The Princess, whose eyes meet his as she slides the piece over his head, and abandons it on the forest floor.

He felt bare, exposed, taken. 

He blinked quickly, hoping his moment of weakness was just that. A moment.

But it wasn't. It was a series of moments. 

The journey was torturously slow for Changbin. He practically embraced you each time you rode, avoided eye contact with you every time you caught him looking.

But he knew that this day would come. When you would both stand before the gates of the kingdom he was sworn to and would have to enter like your hearts were tied to each others. 

He is fully suited when you turn to him. His head is trained forward in a type of obedience he had not yet exhibited to you. He felt cold and distant. You felt like you had already lost him.

Prince Stefan steps out of the guards, arms wide open in greeting, "Princess Y/N, what an honour it is to finally be acquainted." He pauses just in front of you to bow. You curtsy in response. He rises and turns to Changbin, "thank you Sir. You have done well. You are dismissed."

Changbin nods and without another glance to you, takes hold of the reigns of his horse and wanders into the gates of the kingdom. 

Stefan extends an arm to you and without much else to do, you take it. 

You decide that marrying Stefan isn't the worst fate. Being trapped in that tower had made you appreciative of the small things. 

You weren't used to being tended to so closely. In fact, you kind of hated the company. Sometimes you miss the solitude your tower bought.

But being here, where Sir Changbin was, where you were able to steal glances at him, made it all worth it. 

Your lady maid explains the event to you again, "it's quite brutal Your Highness. They sit on horses and race toward one another with lances. Many knights have died or been seriously injured in doing so."

"And Sir Changbin..." you start, hoping not to draw too much attention to yourself, "will he be competing?"

"Yes dear, he competes every year." She moves in front of you to stop you from walking, "the important thing to remember is this. All the knights will ask for your favour, but you may only give it to one."

"To any of them?" You try to hide your excitement. 

"Yes Your Highness."

You held the woven, floral wreath on your lap, careful not to squish it. Many of the knights had been waiting for you to give your favour. But you knew who it would go to. Your heart was set already.

And when you saw him, helmet tucked under his arm, smiling up at the thunderous crowd, your heart skipped a beat. He rode along the stands and slowed when he reached below your seat.

He looked up at you and for the first time in weeks, his smile did not falter. You sense he had been avoiding you, allowing you space to be with your betrothed. 

You stood and smiled back down to him. Your mind flashes a glimpse of the moment you'd caught sight of him outside your window, beckoning up to assure you that he would save you. 

He smiles wider as you approach, "Princess," he greets and bows his head slightly.

"Sir.." you call back, before sliding the wreath down the lance he held towards you. He nods again and rides away, going to prepare for the competition.

You'd grown quite bored at this point. Watching men jab each other with sticks was fun for the first two times you'd seen it. But you were nearly the 25th round and there wasn't much else standing out to you.

That was, of course, until Sir Changbin readied himself on the left side of the arena. Cheers erupted at the sight of him. You'd been told he was a fan-favourite, but seeing it for yourself was another story.

He lifts his hand, waves politely to his fans and then straightens himself out to prepare the for the fight. 

His opponent seemed unfazed by Changbin. Granted, he was hard to read under that heavy armour. But the knight sat straight and his lance was held tight.

It began before you could comprehend. They were charging before you could think. But it was over in a flash when you watched Changbin fall from his horse. 

Half of the crowd erupted in cheers and the other half went silent. But over it all, you could hear Changbin's gut wrenching scream of pain.

And the worst part was that you were ordered to do nothing. You had to keep up appearances. You had to sit pretty and smile for the audience.

You'd found him that night in the stables, gentle hands grooming his horse. 

It was clear to you that he thought he was alone, given his shirt was forgotten somewhere. His skin was still half-covered, a large set of bandages wrapped around his torso. His back, which was turned to you, was muscular but covered in purple bruises. 

Without thinking, your hand reached out to soothe them over. Having not heard anyone come in, he jolts, a loud shout escaping his mouth before he sees you. He immediately tries to cover himself, "P-Princess! You should- you should be in bed! You should-"

"Please don't hide from me Bin." You whisper and he stills. "You do not have to hide from me."

"Princess," he tries, "you should not see me like this. It's impr-"

"It's improper I know," you finish. You haven't been able to tear your eyes away from his exposed skin. His arms, that you knew were muscular, appeared ten times bigger than you imagined. Maybe it was the way he hugged himself to escape your gaze, or maybe it was just from his training. "If it is so improper... then why..." you gaze back into his eyes, your voice dropping to a whisper, "why does this always feel like exactly where I'm meant to be?"

The question hangs in the air for a moment before Changbins breathy voice cuts through it, "Princess..."

"Don't call me that." You stern, "please don't call me that. It makes you feel so far away from me."

"What should I call you then?"

You sigh, "I told you this. I want you to call me by my name."

"That is a right reserved for your husband." He states, a air of gloom circling desperately around him.

"I know." There's a another moment of pause. It's not uncomfortable, just tense, built, like any moment could break. Your hand traces over a deepening bruise on his chest. He doesn't pull away. His breathing stills, like he could stop time if he did. Your eyes glaze over at the thought of his injured body, "you scared me today... when I-" a fear tears fall, "when I saw you there... it felt like my world had been taken away from me..."

"Y/N..." he breathes out, moving to swipe his thumb under your eye to wipe your tears. He held you there and you winced your eyes closed. His skin burned hot against yours, your tears seizing to spill. His hand moved to push your chin up, coaxing you to look at him. "Y/N..." he repeats.

You open your eyes and stare into his, "do you know why I'm still here?"

"Don't." He warns.

You don't listen, "because of you. Because if marrying the Prince means your presence is still known to me, than I shall do it without hesitation."

"I cannot give you the life you deserve."

"I didn't choose this life." The admission echoes through the barn. He's unsure of what to say to it. 

You step in closer, hands gliding up his chest to rest on his broad shoulders. "Y/N..."

"Kiss me." You risk.

All his self-control snaps at the request. 

Sooner than you can think, your back is pressed against the post behind you, and your lips are captured in his. His hands are pulling your face closer to his in a desperate attempt to claim you. You take a moment to drink it in before allowing your hands to work up his side.

But the second your skin touches his, he's reeling away from you. He stumbles back, staring at you like he's wounded. And he is, but now his face is drenched in guilt. "We- we can't."

"Bin-"

"No!" He shouts. And then quieter, "no. You are betrothed to another man. A man I swore an oath to. I- I can't do this."

"Changbin-"

"I cannot allow you to give up this life for me."

"I don't want this life!" You yell back. 

"I do not care what you wish Princess. This is what is best for you!"

"Who are you to decide that?"

"I'm the man that's in love with you!" The confession shocks even himself. It was true but he had sworn to himself never to admit it. But where he could deny himself, he could never deny you.

"Then why can't you let me love you too?" Tears were streaming down your face now. He wanted nothing more than to wipe them away, to comfort you, hold you close and keep you from the world. 

But instead, he chose to say, "because I do not wish to love you..."

You breath deep, unable to comprehend the weight of his words. You huff, turn on your heels and storm away.

"How about these Your Highness?" an unfamiliar voice calls to you. You're stood in the garden, deciding which flower bush to destroy for decorations for a wedding you wish did not have to take place. 

You were not paying attention to the lady. Your eyes were drawn across the field, where the Prince stood, playing some outdoor game. But stood behind him, was Sir Changbin. Armoured, still, distant.

"Your Highness?" She asks.

You turn your head back to her and hum. She points to the flowers, waiting your approval. "Oh yes, they're fine."

She nods and gets to work arranging their removal. When you look back to where your prince stood, he had vanished. 

You worked your way back into the castle. It was quiet and vast. Many had told you how lucky you were to be the future Queen, the lady of this palace. But you hated it here. You hated it more than that stupid tower. 

Because here, you were so close to having who you truly wanted, but every ornate detail in the palace reminded you of why you can't. Because duty outweighs the heart. Sworn oaths cannot be broken easily. 

Your heart is torn between staying in a place in which you know your presence torments another. But his spirit is around every corner, and the selfish part of your heart begs you to stay. 

So you're not surprised when you're stood a top a podium with several maids adjusting every crease and detail of your dress.

You tried to hate the dress. The white lace intertwining with sparkly jewels that hung gracefully from the detailed bodice. The train was long and precious, detailed with floral patterns. The skirt, puffed out and elegant. You hated how much you loved it. Because everything else was perfect. The hair, the dress, the flowers, even the candle holders were perfect.

But the man was not who you had wished. You would be forced to endure through the perfect wedding when your heart was being held by another man. 

Soon, you would swear an oath to a man that means nothing to you. The kingdom will watch as you lie to each and every one of them. You'll force a smile and keep appearances. 

You step off the podium and smile a 'thank you' to those who helped. You sighed deeply, clearing your head before adorning a smile.

The walk to the wedding hall was torturous. A million thoughts ran through your mind, but each of them led back to him. 

You could hear muffled voices from inside the closed doors. You stood just outside, holding tight to a bouquet of flowers, burning a hole in the back of the doors. 

It wasn't guarded. In fact, there was no one in this hall with you. It was odd. Prince Stefan always ensured you had a personal guard. But now, on the most important day of your life, you were left alone.

But there was no time to think. Because something broke the silence.

"Don't marry him." A voice echoes through the hall.

Turning your head to the left, you saw him. Helmet tucked beneath his arm, eyebrows knit together, eyes pleading. "Changbin?"

"Don't marry him." He took a step forward, his hand twitching by his side, begging to reach out and touch you. He took a moment to drink you all in. The sight of you in that wedding dress clouded his mind and judgement. The idea that you had worn such a lovely piece for another man would haunt him forever. But he would be dammed if he didn't risk this all for you. "Run away with me?"

He was saying everything you'd ever hoped he would. But as the organ began to play from inside the hall, it all suddenly felt wrong. "What?"

"Run away with me." He took another step, "there's this island where no one would know our names. No one would know the oaths we've taken. We could just be us. We could exist together there."

"Changbin-"

"Please Y/N," he was so close now, you knew if he really wanted to, he could take you without much protest. But he wouldn't. He wouldn't take you away unless you told him. Unless you wanted him. "Come with me. Wed yourself to me."

"Changbin, I-" the sounds of the organ inside cut you off. Because it was mere moments before the doors would be opened to let you inside. 

And when they did, the doorway was empty. 

And for anyone who dared a glance down the hallway, they would catch a streak of white and silver, hand-in-hand.

Two big arms wrap around your waist and a head nuzzles into your shoulder. You are stood peeling fruit in the small kitchen. 

Changbin hums behind you, "good morning my love."

"Good morning Binnie," you smile, "want some?" You offer a piece to him and he takes it gladly.

"How did my wife sleep last night?" He speaks, mouth full of fruit.

"She slept well," you laugh, "she always does when her husband is asleep next to her."

"Mmm..." he hums again, pulling you further into himself. Without another word, he spins to around and cages you against the table. He smiles down at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

"How may I help you Sir?" You tease.

"Perhaps a kiss Princess?" He teases back.

You hum, "that could be arranged..."

You pull his face down to yours and connect your lips in an all-compassing kiss. Life with Changbin was never dull. He always kissed you like it would be the last time. There was still a part of him that believes that.

But all those fears wash away at the feeling of your hands weaving into his hair and your soft lips pushing further into his. 

Your heart swelled. Finally, after years of solitude and waiting for a prince to save you, your fate was sealed by a knight in shining armour. Your future was held by Changbin, the man you loved.

taglist:

The sky outside was a moody kind of gray. The kind that sat heavy on your chest, like it was waiting for someone to cry first.

I was curled on top of my bed, knees drawn to my chest, nursing the last sips of a lukewarm iced tea. Eunice sat cross-legged beside me, flipping through a glossy magazine neither of us were really reading.

“He’s probably just busy,” she offered gently.

I gave a weak shrug.

It had been days. Days of nothing.

No typing bubbles. No mysterious late-night hypotheticals. No dumb bug-related questions or dramatic overuse of ellipses.

Silence. From ??. From Min Ho. From everyone.

Eunice didn’t say it outright, but I could see it on her face — she thought they were the same person too.

But neither of us wanted to admit it. Because if we were wrong… If we were right and he’d stopped texting me…

I let my head fall onto her shoulder. “Maybe I imagined it all.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “But even if you did, it was a fun hallucination.”

We both snorted softly, but the quiet stretched. Long enough for the ache to settle back in my ribs.

The door flung open, crashing against the wall.

Jayne stormed in like a hurricane in lip gloss and fury, her hair half-up and chaotic, her eyes wide.

“I cannot believe this,” she snapped.

Eunice and I froze.

Jayne tossed her bag onto the desk and paced twice before turning toward us, completely unaware of our already-heavy hearts.

“He knows how I feel. And yet this is what he does? Seriously?”

I blinked. “What—who are we mad at?”

She looked at me like I’d just asked if Seoul had electricity.

“Min Ho!” she shouted, dramatic as ever. “Obviously Min Ho!”

Eunice shot me a brief look, guarded. Neither of us had told Jayne anything. We couldn’t. Not until we knew for sure. And honestly… I didn’t know anything anymore.

Jayne threw her hands in the air. “I have given that boy so much of my life. My thoughts. My energy. And now this?”

“What happened?” Eunice asked, cautious.

Jayne flopped dramatically into her desk chair. “Leslie told Soo-ah who told me that Aaron saw that new girl, Stella, and Min Ho—kissing.”

My heart didn’t drop.

It freefell.

The room spun slightly. Eunice’s hand found mine on the blanket.

Jayne continued, oblivious. “Like—kissing kissing. Outside the language building. Middle of the afternoon. Not even subtle!”

I tried to keep my face neutral.

Not that Jayne was looking.

She stood again, pacing. “I bet she did that weird baby voice thing she always does. She acts all innocent around people and then bam! kisses someone else’s soulmate!”

Eunice gave me the smallest glance. I didn’t return it.

I was too busy staring at the last text on my phone.

From days ago. Unread since.

?? : do you think we’d still like each other if none of this was anonymous?

And my answer — the one I regretted sending more and more each day.

ME : Min Ho?

It sat there. Delivered.

Unanswered.

Unsaid.

Unfinished.

And now… maybe that was all it would ever be.

Jayne was still going.

Pacing. Ranting. Spitting dramatics like it was her full-time job.

“—and Stella’s not even that pretty. I mean, she’s fine, I guess, if you’re into that whole ‘I read Murakami in public for attention’ thing. But Min Ho wouldn’t really like her. Not really. He likes girls like me. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

I blinked. My hands were shaking now.

Eunice gave me a quiet glance. I could feel the tension in my own shoulders — tight, burning, ready to snap.

“And you know what? I’m not even mad at him,” Jayne continued, voice climbing. “I’m mad at Stella. She manipulatedhim. Like—he would never have kissed her if she hadn’t thrown herself at him like that, she’s just—”

“YOU SPOKE TO HIM ONE FUCKING TIME!” I exploded.

The room went dead quiet.

Jayne stopped mid-step, eyes wide.

“I’ve spoken to him multiple times,” she said quickly, her tone clipped, like that would somehow soften the blow.

I stepped forward, anger hot in my chest. “Oh my god, you’re so delusional.”

Her mouth fell open in indignation.

“You spoke to him once, at that stupid rooftop club,” I snapped. “And if I didn’t know Eunice, if Q hadn’t spilled his drink on me, you wouldn’t have gotten a single word in. You never would have even been near him.”

Jayne blinked, offended. “You don’t know that.”

“I do!” I practically shouted. “You’re not in love with him, Jayne. You’re in love with this idea of him — this fantasy where he’s perfect and you’re perfect and you have four perfect kids and a dog and matching sweaters and a fucking summer house.”

Jayne was silent now. Her pout deepened. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides.

“You don’t matter to him,” I finished, voice low and shaking.

She didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

Just stared like I’d physically hit her.

I didn’t wait.

I turned and shoved my shoes on, grabbing my coat. I needed air, distance — anything that wasn’t the too-pink walls of our dorm or Jayne’s offended silence.

As I pulled open the door, I heard Jayne gasp faintly behind me. “Eunice—?”

There was a pause.

A long one.

Then I heard the scrape of a chair, the shuffle of steps.

And Eunice’s voice: calm, soft, unflinching.

“She’s not wrong,” she said. “And… I’m really only her friend.”

I looked back just long enough to see Eunice grab both our phones off the desk, sling her bag over her shoulder, and walk past Jayne without another word.

She joined me in the hall.

Neither of us said anything as the door shut behind us with a soft, satisfying click.

But my lungs finally felt full.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

We sat on the grass outside the building, the cool blades tickling my calves through my jeans, Eunice beside me with her knees pulled up to her chest. The air smelled like spring and something soft — like someone down the path was lighting a scented candle in their dorm window. The sun was low, casting golden light across the lawn, stretching the shadows long and quiet.

Neither of us spoke for a while. I was too busy trying to untangle the heat still buzzing beneath my skin, and Eunice just stared up at the slow-moving clouds.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Were you too harsh on her?”

I picked at the hem of my sleeve. “Maybe.”

“She had it coming,” she added, but there wasn’t any real bite in her voice. Just tiredness. “Still. That was brutal.”

“I know.” I exhaled through my nose. “But I was just… done. I’ve held my tongue for so long, Eunice. She’s been spiraling over a guy she doesn’t even know, acting like he owes her something.”

Eunice nodded, her chin now resting on her knees. “She’s delusional.”

“She’s my best friend.”

Eunice tilted her head. “She was.”

I winced. “That’s the part that hurts.”

“She hasn’t asked you about your life in weeks,” she said. “And don’t even get me started on how she treats me. Honestly, I think she just likes having people around who orbit her.”

I fell back onto the grass with a groan, arms flopping dramatically out to the side. “And now I’ve exploded at her and it’s all ruined. And I still don’t even know if it’s him.”

Eunice lay down beside me. “It’s him.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” she said, turning her head to look at me. “It’s Min Ho.”

“I just… why hasn’t he texted?”

“Maybe he’s scared.”

I turned my head too. “Of what?”

“Same thing you are.” She shrugged. “That it’s real.”

The sky above us was streaked in soft pinks and peaches, like someone had brushed past with a watercolor palette.

“It felt real when we were walking back from the cafe,” I whispered.

Eunice’s mouth tugged into a tiny smile. “You were glowing when you came back. I thought maybe it was sunburn.”

I laughed under my breath, then closed my eyes. “Maybe I’m the delusional one. What if it isn’t him?”

She paused. “Then someone out there still made you laugh every day for weeks, and feel less alone. That’s not nothing.”

I stayed quiet. The sky kept dimming.

“But,” Eunice added, “if it is him… you already know how he makes you feel. And I think he feels it too.”

The dorm door creaked open, and we both looked up as someone stormed out. It was Jayne.

She didn’t look at us.

Eunice raised her eyebrows at me, then nudged my shoulder. “You okay?”

“No.”

“You want me to go inside and steal her hair mask in revenge?”

That got a weak laugh out of me. “God, no.”

“Well,” she sighed, “then I’ll sit here until you’re ready to go inside.”

We stayed on the grass a while longer, the sun slipping down past the rooftops, the sky darkening to lavender and then blue. And in the quiet between us, I thought about what Eunice said.

What if I wasn’t wrong?

What if it was him?

And what if… that changed everything?

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The classroom buzzed with quiet conversation, chairs scraping against the floor and backpacks unzipping. The usual morning shuffle. I slipped into my seat by the window, sliding my notebook and pen onto the desk even though I wasn’t sure I’d use either.

Jayne hadn’t come back last night.

Or this morning.

I knew she was probably in the dorm now, brushing her hair out in the mirror like nothing happened, maybe humming, maybe sulking. She wouldn’t want to see me. I didn’t want to see her either.

“Morning,” Dae said, dropping into the seat next to me like he always did now, a little out of breath like he’d just made it in time.

I smiled, quick and automatic. “Hey.”

He gave me a look — the kind people give when they know you’re lying through your teeth but they’re polite enough not to say it out loud.

“You okay?” he asked, tapping his pen against his desk.

I shrugged, eyes on the front of the classroom. “I’m here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I glanced at him. His expression wasn’t pushy, just… open. Patient.

And still, the words almost caught in my throat.

I fiddled with the edge of my sleeve. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you…” I hesitated, then dropped my voice. “Has Min Ho said anything? About… I don’t know. Stuff?”

Dae raised his eyebrows slightly. “Stuff.”

“Yeah. Just…” I let out a sigh. “Never mind.”

But Dae didn’t laugh it off or wave it away. He leaned in slightly, elbows on the desk, like he was weighing what he could say and what he shouldn’t.

“He’s been… weird,” Dae admitted. “Quieter. Always on his phone. Jumpy sometimes.”

My heart thumped, sharp and sudden.

“I don’t know what it’s about,” he added, “but he’s definitely got something going on. He won’t say, though. Which usually means it’s personal.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, nodded. “Okay.”

Dae nudged my arm with the side of his fist. “You want me to ask?”

“No,” I said quickly. “No. Just… if he ever talks about it, let me know?”

He nodded, simple and sincere. “Of course.”

The professor started speaking then, dimming the lights and launching into a slideshow none of us were truly prepared for.

But as the lecture began, I barely registered the words on the screen. I stared ahead, silent, feeling the weight of too many maybes.

Because maybe Min Ho hadn’t said anything.

Maybe he was scared.

Maybe he was pretending it didn’t mean anything, the walk from the café, the fries, the text messages.

Maybe he wasn’t pretending at all. But something inside me stirred — soft and persistent — telling me that we were standing on the edge of something. And that soon, one of us would have to leap.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The café looked the same.

Same flickering lamp in the corner, same creaky stool by the window that dipped too far to the left, same ivy plant hanging over the cracked brick wall.

I sat at the table by the window — our table, though he wouldn’t call it that — headphones in, music low, the world muffled like I was underwater. My iced Americano was already sweating through its paper sleeve, the condensation dripping onto the wooden surface in tiny, silver pools.

I watched it run, drip by drip. Slow. Thoughtless.

Skipping class wasn’t the plan. But I hadn’t meant to sit through an hour of notes and pretend like everything inside me wasn’t falling apart in the quietest way possible.

I’d tried to wait. I had waited.

But the silence was eating me alive.

I slipped my phone from my pocket and opened the thread — the one that hadn’t lit up in days. The name still read “??” because I never dared to change it. Not even after I was almost sure. Not even after he’d texted me about bugs and girls and feelings.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Then, slowly, I typed:

ME: are you upset with me?

I pressed send.

The message blinked.

Failed to deliver.

My stomach sank, but I tried again:

ME: was I wrong

Failed to deliver.

ME: did you change your number

Failed to deliver.

ME: hello?

Failed to deliver.

The screen stared back at me, empty and silent.

Just like him.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I’d been alone in my dorm for a week now.

No run-ins with Q or Kitty, thankfully. Dae had stayed quiet, didn’t pester me in class. Yuri was confused but sweet — she brought me food twice after Julianna must’ve mentioned I wasn’t feeling great. Julianna and Eunice had stayed over one night, curled on the floor in hoodies and half-hearted comfort. I sent them home before sunrise. I just… needed to be in my own head a little longer.

It was 1 a.m. when I heard the door click open. The metallic jangle of keys, the gentle creak of the hinges. I stayed still, pulled the blanket over my head, as if I could hide inside the dark warmth of it forever.

Jayne was trying to be quiet — her shoes off by the door, breath held as she tiptoed to her bed. She tried to be quiet, slipping into the room like a ghost. But I could feel the weight of her presence. The silence between us throbbed.

I mumbled from beneath the blanket, “I’m really sorry.”

There was a long pause before I heard the creak of her mattress and a tired sigh.

“…Me too,” she whispered.

I peeled the blanket back, blinking in the dim light from the window spilling through. Jayne was sitting on the edge of her bed, her arms resting on her knees.

For a second, it was quiet. Still.

Then she asked, “Do you like Min Ho?”

I froze. I hadn’t expected her to say it — not so plainly, not so gently.

I looked at her, throat tight. “…Yeah,” I said. “I think I do.”

She didn’t flinch. Just nodded once, like it confirmed something she’d already figured out.

“It’s okay,” she said, barely above a whisper.

I swallowed. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. I swear, I didn’t want to—”

“I know,” she cut in. “I was angry because it felt like you had something I’d never get. But he… he doesn’t look at me like that. He never did.”

I let the silence wrap around us. It didn’t feel heavy this time. Just… honest.

Jayne leaned back on her elbows and stared up at the ceiling. “It sucks,” she said. “But I guess… I always knew it was in my head. The idea of him.”

I whispered, “I think he might be the one I was texting. The number.”

Jayne turned to me, brows raised. “Wait. Seriously?”

I nodded, cheeks flushing. “I don’t know for sure. But I think… yeah.”

She stared at me for a long moment, then let out a soft, incredulous laugh. “This is so stupidly romantic I kind of want to puke.”

I laughed too, shoulders relaxing for the first time in days. “Same.”

Jayne smiled faintly. “Do me a favor?”

“Yeah?”

“Just… if it’s him… make sure it’s real. Not just what you want it to be.”

I nodded. “I will.”

And for the first time in what felt like forever, we went to sleep without anything left unsaid.

Jayne and I soft-smiled for a second, the kind of small, tentative smile you give someone after a storm passes but the air’s still thick with everything unsaid.

Then she groaned and flopped back dramatically onto her bed, hands over her face.

“I should have guessed he wanted you,” she said, muffled by her palms. “I mean, he was like—locked in. Sniper-level focused on looking at you when we were at Noir. I saw him put his arm around your waist! And oh my god—”

She suddenly sat upright, wild-eyed. “He was sitting next to you and I sat between you! I’m so sorry, UGHHHHH!” She collapsed again, dragging her hands down her face in theatrical despair.

I couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out. I sat up too, brushing my hair back from my face. “It’s not a big deal,” I said with a shrug.

“Yes, it is,” she whined. “I was so far up my own fantasy I didn’t even see it. You poor thing. You were like… in it. And I was just out here blocking passes like a goalie on caffeine.”

I snorted. “Jayne—”

She rolled over to face me, eyes wide with renewed energy. “So. Tell me everything. Come on. I want the full Min Ho debrief. Start from the beginning. The texts. Noir. The one Shirtless Saturday. I want details. I’m about to live vicariously and I’m ready.”

I hugged my knees, blushing already. “You really want to hear it?”

Jayne nodded with all the seriousness of someone about to binge a new show. “Y/N. This is my Super Bowl. Go.”

I sighed, half-laughing, and finally let myself lean in.

“Well… it started with that bad date. And a wrong number…”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Min Ho stared at the glow of his phone in the dark, lying flat on his back, arm draped over his forehead like he was trying to hold the ceiling up with sheer will.

The screen lit his face with a sick sort of hope as he stared at the last message he sent:

ME: How long have you known?

Undelivered.

He sat up, thumb hovering.

Still nothing.

He scrolled.

ME: I hoped we'd find each other. I didn't know who I wanted this number to be, but you're so different, Y/N. I wish I hadn't been such an idiot and noticed you sooner instead of wasting my time looking for things that wouldn’t go anywhere when I can feel something with you. I like you as the mystery girl that I dream of and makes me rely on a working phone charger, I like you as the girl that I see across campus with my friends laughing and smiling. I wish I could have said this to you normally, over coffee, while I could reach for your hand. But I’ve felt like it was you since I first saw you in those neon club lights and your roommate dragged me away. I feel seen as myself when I’m talking to you, no matter the situation.

Not delivered.

ME: Please don’t do this.

Not delivered.

ME: Did I wait too long? Or do you just not like knowing who I am?

Not delivered.

He clenched the phone in his fist.

Blocked. She blocked him. Or changed her number. Or deleted it all. Or maybe… Maybe she found someone else.

Maybe she sent the "Min Ho?" and felt nothing. Maybe saying his name ruined the magic.

He laid back down and closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn’t come. Just that same sick ache that had crawled under his ribs all week and made everything—class, practice, hanging out with the guys—feel like background noise.

He hadn’t seen her. Not really. He’d kept his head down. Ducking out of rooms when Julianna or Eunice appeared. Walking the long way to avoid the dorms he knew too well. Yuri kept asking what was up and he just said tired.

He was more than tired. He was wrecked.

When Stella had kissed him outside the library—just one dumb moment, one second of his attention slipping—he’d felt like he was cheating on a girl he wasn’t even dating.

He’d pulled away like she burned him.

And the worst part? Y/N would hear about that kiss. Of course she would.

He deserved to be blocked.

He held the phone to his chest, screen still glowing. Still undelivered. Still unanswered.

Still her.

Min Ho sat on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched, phone slack in his hand like it had betrayed him. The screen was dark now, but the last message still burned in his mind—undelivered, just like all the others.

His head dipped low, fingertips pressing into his temple like he could force the ache out.

Behind him, Dae stirred.

“Dude?” Dae’s voice was gravelled with sleep, half mumbled as he sat up and blinked against the dark. “Are you okay?”

Min Ho didn’t move. Just stared at the floor.

Dae rubbed at his eyes, watching him. “You’ve been weird all week.”

Min Ho finally spoke, voice quiet, flat. “I messed up.”

Dae frowned, trying to shake off the last haze of sleep. “What does that mean?”

Min Ho’s thumb ran over the edge of his phone. “There was… someone. I was talking to someone. And it was easy. Weird, but good. And then I waited too long to say what I should’ve said. And now it’s just—” He gave a humorless laugh, bitter and self-directed. “Gone.”

Dae tilted his head. “You mean Y/N?”

Min Ho’s head snapped toward him. “What?”

Dae blinked. “What?” he echoed. “You just said you were talking to someone. And you’ve been avoiding her like she’s radioactive. You think I didn’t notice?”

Min Ho exhaled, dragging his fingers through his hair. “It’s not that simple.”

Dae narrowed his eyes. “Did you do something?”

“No.” “Yes.” “...Kind of.”

“Okay, that’s not helping.”

Min Ho dropped back onto his bed, staring at the ceiling like it might offer divine guidance. “She must have seen me with Stella.”

Dae winced. “Damn.”

“She kissed me. I didn’t kiss her back.” He paused. “Didn’t even want it. But it looked bad.”

“And that’s why you’ve been walking the long way around campus and eating lunch in here?”

Min Ho didn’t answer.

Dae sighed. “Do you like her?”

Min Ho closed his eyes. “Yeah.”

“Then fix it.”

“I don’t think I can fix it.”

Dae raised a brow. “You sure you didn’t do something worse than kissing?”

Min Ho hesitated, voice quieter now.

"She was asking about you.” Dae glanced at him. “Y/N asked if you'd said anything. Like… if you had told me something.” Min Ho's fingers curled around his phone again. “That was a few days ago. And instead of talking to her, you’ve just been sitting here reading your own messages like a tragic poet”

Min Ho didn’t respond. The silence hung, full and heavy.

Dae sat up again, more awake now. “If she was asking about you, she’s not done with you. You’re the one hiding.”

Min Ho looked down. “I think she blocked me.”

“Then go talk to her.”

Min Ho swallowed. “What if she really doesn’t want to hear from me?”

“Then you’ll know. But right now, you’re making yourself miserable over a guess.” Dae tossed a pillow at him. “Fix it. Don’t let it sit like this.”

Min Ho didn’t smile. But this time, he stood.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I was hiding in the library. Or, studying. But mostly hiding.

The thick silence wrapped around me like a second hoodie. My laptop screen glowed with a half-written paragraph I’d read twelve times without absorbing a single word. I stared through it, headphones in but no music playing.

The library was nearly silent, the kind of silence that felt heavy. Final-week heavy. The kind of silence where even the shuffle of a backpack sounded like a scream.

I didn’t hear him approach.

But I heard the thud when a book dropped onto my table.

I looked up.

Min Ho.

His face was unreadable. He stood there, just looking at me—like he was trying to memorize every version of me he hadn’t been able to see this past week.

He opened his mouth.

“Shhh,” came a sharp hiss from the next row.

We both flinched, and he slowly sat across from me, dragging the chair out as quietly as possible.

I didn’t say anything. Not at first.

Not until I saw the way his hands were clenched on top of the table. The way his eyes kept flicking to my phone like it owed him answers.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice low but ice-edged.

He blinked. “I—”

“You blocked me,” I said flatly.

His brows shot up. “What? No. I thought you—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply, his voice cracking under restraint. “Y/N, I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

“I tried to text you,” I snapped. “Do you know how stupid I felt sending messages to someone who clearly didn’t care?”

His mouth parted. “You texted me?”

I stared at him. At his stupid perfect face. At the way he sat there like he had any right to just show up after all of this — like I hadn’t been tearing myself up over messages that wouldn’t deliver and nights I couldn’t sleep.

My hand moved on its own. I didn’t shove the phone across the table. I shoved it into my bag.

I stood abruptly, the legs of my chair scraping hard against the floor. A few heads turned. I didn’t care.

Min Ho’s eyes widened as I started packing up — violently. My notebook snapped shut. My pen nearly bent in my hand.

“Y/N,” he said, standing too. “Wait—”

I was already walking.

I pushed the door open with too much force and marched down the front steps of the library. The cold hit me, but it didn’t matter. Not when I heard his footsteps behind me.

“Y/N!” he called.

I turned, spinning so fast he nearly ran into me.

“You don’t get to pretend like this is all normal,” I hissed. “You don’t get to come into the library like we’re fine, like you didn’t ignore me for a week while I thought I was going insane.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you!” he shot back. “My messages weren’t delivering either—”

“So what? You just gave up?” My voice rose, sharp, raw. “You didn’t try to find me, Min Ho. You just decided I was done with you and went back to being... being you.”

His jaw clenched. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I heard about you. With her.” My throat burned. “And it felt like being slapped in the face with every stupid feeling I thought meant something.”

“I didn’t kiss Stella!” he shouted.

“Oh, great!” I snapped. “So you accidentally let her kiss you while you were thinking about me? That’s so much better!”

“I felt like I was cheating, okay?” he barked, stepping closer. “I felt sick because I thought I’d lost you, and she was just there and everything was wrong—”

“You don’t get to play the victim here!”

“I’m not,” he said, voice suddenly quieter. “I’m just... trying to explain. And I get it — I fucked up. I waited too long to say anything. But I swear to you, I didn’t stop thinking about you for one second.”

I froze. The wind brushed past us like it, too, had been holding its breath.

Min Ho looked at me like it hurt to keep going but worse to stop.

“You were the one I hoped it was,” he said, voice hoarse. “I hoped it was you, and when I found out it was, I panicked because I didn’t think I deserved you anymore.”

I stared at him. At his flushed cheeks, his wild eyes, the tension in his shoulders.

“I hate you,” I whispered.

He nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”

“I hate that you made me feel something,” I said, louder now. “And I hate that I still do.”

He stepped forward. “Then yell at me.”

“What?”

“Yell. Scream. Hit me, I don’t care. Just... don’t walk away again.”

I blinked. My chest heaved with everything I wanted to say and couldn’t. “I should,” I said. “I should walk away.”

“But you won’t,” he said quietly.

The air pulsed between us, full of all the things we hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to say. My throat was tight. “Why not?”

His eyes searched mine. “Because you feel it too.”

That was it. That single, quiet truth — said out loud — shattered something in me.

“I don’t want to,” I breathed.

“I know.”

“I tried not to.”

“Me too.”

The silence between us deepened, trembling like it might break open into something worse.

“I kept checking my phone,” I whispered. “Over and over. I thought you blocked me.”

Min Ho looked stricken. “I thought you blocked me. I thought I messed it all up—”

“You did!” I cried, stepping forward, voice cracking. “You ruined everything. And you just let me believe that I was crazy. You let me think I made this whole thing up in my head.”

“I didn’t know how to fix it,” he said, hands gripping his sides. “I didn’t know how to come back from it.”

“Try,” I snapped. “Try now.”

Min Ho blinked, stunned. Then slowly, he took one step toward me. Then another. Close now — so close I could see the way his lashes trembled when he blinked, the pink still in his cheeks from yelling.

“I didn’t want to ruin whatever this was,” he said. “I thought if I stayed quiet long enough, it would go away. The feelings. The guilt. The timing. You.”

He let out a shaky breath. “But I can’t stop thinking about you. I think about you when I wake up, when I fall asleep, when I walk past that café and I still remember the way you looked that day — like you belonged there more than I ever would. Like I was just lucky to pass through your orbit.”

My chest burned. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might bruise itself.

“I wasn’t supposed to like you,” I said. “You were supposed to be this dumb, pretty boy that Jayne liked and who didn’t even see me—”

“I saw you,” he said, his voice breaking.

I blinked.

He swallowed, then said it again. “I saw you. At that club. On the rooftop. At the café. Every time I ran into you, it felt like the universe was trying to make a point, and I was too much of a coward to listen.”

I stared at him, everything inside me aching with wanting and fear and fury and longing.

“Do you like me?” I asked. My voice was so small it barely made it out.

Min Ho nodded, a breath of laughter escaping even as his eyes stayed soft and serious. “I think I’ve liked you since you trauma-dumped about a crypto scammer date, honestly.”

That cracked something in me — a short, disbelieving laugh escaping through my tears. “You’re such an idiot,” I whispered, voice shaking.

“I know,” he said, stepping even closer. “But I like you. As the girl who ranted about dating disasters. As the girl who texts like she’s writing a secret diary. As the girl who sat alone with coffee and croissants and made the city look slower just by being in it.”

My chest pulled tight. My hands trembled at my sides.

“And I think you like me too,” he said again, gentler now.

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t. I was still too full of everything he made me feel.

Then, like before, he added quietly, “Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll walk away. You’ll never have to see me again.”

I stared at him, breath shallow, heart pounding, the whole world narrowed to the two of us under this too-bright sky.

And I didn’t tell him he was wrong.

I just whispered:

“You’re not.”

We stood there in the soft, humming silence of the afternoon. Not quite smiling. Not quite breathing.

It should’ve felt like relief. Like something falling into place.

But instead, there was just… this fragile stillness between us. Me, too aware of how close he was. Him, fidgeting slightly like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

“So,” I said, voice breaking the quiet. “Now what?”

Min Ho scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I thought maybe this would feel… less terrifying.”

“Right?” I said, almost laughing. “This is the weirdest online-friendship meeting ending.”

He gave a half-smile, then looked down at the ground. “Can I ask something?”

I nodded.

“Why’d you stop texting me?” he asked, and there was something quietly vulnerable in it. “After you said my name?”

“I didn’t,” I said quickly. “You stopped texting me.”

“No, I—” He blinked. “I thought you blocked me. I tried to message you a bunch of times, but nothing went through.”

I furrowed my brows. “Same. I thought you blocked me.”

Min Ho reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Okay, wait, what number do you have saved for—” he stopped himself, then hesitated before asking, “...Me?”

I pulled mine out too, suddenly nervous. We compared screens side by side.

We both stood in this delicate, electric tension — phones in our hands now, hearts somewhere between our throats and the floor.

“Wait,” I said, squinting at my screen. “Let me try sending something again.”

I typed a quick “Hi?” and hit send.

Nothing.

“No delivery,” I muttered. “Still.”

“Let me check something,” Min Ho said, his voice low. He opened up his messages, brows furrowing as he scrolled. “Wait—what the—”

He tapped something, went quiet. Then he turned his screen toward me.

A tiny red Blocked Contact banner hovered at the top of the message thread.

My name.

Blocked.

I stared at it, a hot sting building behind my eyes.

“Oh,” I said, quietly.

“What—no. No, I didn’t do that,” he said immediately, shaking his head like trying to physically undo it. “Y/N, I swear. I didn’t block you.”

“You literally—”

“I didn’t!” he stepped forward, his voice sharper, desperate. “Why would I? Why would I pour my heart out and say the dumbest, most vulnerable things I’ve ever said in my life, and then block you?”

He looked genuinely panicked now, thumbing at the screen like it could explain itself.

“I don’t even remember doing it. I must’ve—” He paused. “I don’t know, maybe when I thought you hated me. I was spiraling, I thought you'd ghosted me because you figured it out and wanted nothing to do with me.”

“And I thought you were the one ghosting,” I said, barely holding in everything. “I thought you saw it was me and just… cut it off.”

His expression cracked open. “God. No. I’ve been avoiding you because I was sure I ruined everything. Because Stella kissed me and I felt like I was cheating on someone I wasn’t even dating.”

That hit something deep in me.

“You blocked me,” I said again, quieter. “And I still kept waiting.”

He exhaled, stepping even closer. “I swear, if I’d known… I would’ve run to you. I wouldn’t have let a single day go by. I didn’t mean to push you away.”

There was silence.

Then, just barely, I said: “Unblock me.”

He did it instantly, and for a second, we just… stood there.

Everything was still tight in my chest, but it had loosened — just enough for something lighter to slip through.

I glanced at him, arms crossed. “You’re like… weirdly romantic, you know that?”

His brow lifted. “Weirdly romantic?”

“Not in the way your fan club thinks,” I clarified quickly. “More like… you’re a loser who accidentally flirts really well.”

He scoffed, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me—”

“Like, it’s not even intentional half the time, which honestly makes it worse.”

“You’re just mad I’m naturally charming.”

“You’re not,” I said, shoving his arm lightly with the back of my hand. “You’re just accidentally good at it in a way that makes people emotionally spiral.”

He smirked. “At least I’ve never launched a bagel at someone’s head.”

I froze. “That was one time.”

“Once is enough,” he said, smug. “It was a bagel, Y/N. Not a grenade.”

“I was aiming for the trash can!”

“You hit a priest.”

“You’re literally the worst,” I laughed, trying to hide the fact that I was also smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

He nudged my foot with his. “You like me though.”

We stood there on the sidewalk outside the library, dusk settling in slow around us, and for the first time in weeks, something in me felt lighter. Not fixed — not yet — but real.

Like maybe we could get there.

Together.

We stood there a moment longer, the banter fading into a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable—just expectant.

Min Ho cleared his throat, shifting his weight like he was preparing for a high-stakes performance. “So, um…”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I was just thinking,” he started, and immediately I knew he wasn’t just thinking. He was spiraling. “Tomorrow… are you—would you want to go for coffee?”

I blinked. “Like we did last time? Or do you mean as in—”

He rushed out, “As in a date. Like, I mean—unless you don’t want to call it that. It doesn’t have to be—well, it is, but—”

I bit back a smile. “Min Ho.”

He shut up immediately.

I stepped just a little closer. “I’d like that.”

He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since 2019. “Cool. Cool. That’s—cool.”

“You said ‘cool’ three times.”

“I panicked.”

I laughed softly, heart doing something traitorous in my chest again.

Min Ho tugged at the strap of his bag like it might ground him. “So. Tomorrow?”

I nodded. “Tomorrow.”

And when we finally walked off in opposite directions, I didn’t stop smiling until I got to my door.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The dorm smelled like hairspray, lip gloss, and perfume.

Yuri was dancing around in an oversized hoodie and biker shorts, holding up outfit options like a stylist under pressure on a reality show. “This skirt says ‘I’m effortlessly pretty’ but this one says ‘kiss me under string lights.’ What’s the vibe we’re going for?”

“I just want to look like I didn’t try,” I said, even though six people were actively trying for me.

“Too late,” Eunice muttered, carefully blending something shimmery on my cheekbone. “You’re about three TikToks away from soft glam royalty.”

Kitty groaned from across the room. “Q, you don’t know anything about shoes!”

Q gasped. “How dare you? I know Min Ho. And Min Ho would one hundred percent notice these shoes.” He dramatically held up a pair of sleek, black platform loafers like they were a sacred offering.

Jayne rolled her eyes, already on her knees digging through my closet. “He’s a boots guy. Trust me. Ankle boots with a little heel—deadly combo.”

“He’s a ‘whatever she’s wearing, he’s obsessed with it’ guy,” Julianna called from behind me, fingers weaving gently through my hair. “God, your hair is so silky, I feel like I’m braiding a shampoo commercial.”

“I’m gonna throw up,” I said.

Yuri laughed. “You’re going on a date, not to war.”

“Same difference.”

“Can I please pick the shoes?” Q whined.

“No!” Kitty and Jayne said in unison, both lunging for the same pair of boots.

Eunice leaned down so we were eye level. “You ready?”

I looked at myself in the mirror—flushed cheeks, soft lashes, hair tucked perfectly behind one ear. My heart was hammering but somehow I looked calm. I looked like a girl who might, possibly, survive a date with Min Ho.

“I think so.”

“You look hot,” Julianna confirmed.

“You look like you’re going to ruin him,” Jayne added proudly.

“And,” Q said, holding up the shoes he was still championing, “these would make him cry. Just saying.”

“I’m vetoing the denim skirt,” Kitty announced, arms crossed. “It’s giving class presentation, not date with a guy apparently secretly who writes poetic texts in the dark.”

“Okay, but this dress?” Yuri held it up reverently. “This screams ‘I didn’t mean to be irresistible but here we are.’”

“Too obvious,” Julianna countered. “She needs to look like she stumbled out of a French film and accidentally ruined his whole year.”

Eunice pulled a silky top from the pile. “Pair this with the trousers she wore to that art gallery party. Minimalist. Chic. Emotionally devastating.”

“Emotionally devastating,” Kitty repeated, nodding solemnly. “Now you’re speaking my language.”

Q held up a neon green sweater with rhinestone stars. “What about a pop of personality?”

“Absolutely not,” all four girls said in perfect unison.

Q scoffed. “You guys are allergic to fun.”

“Fun doesn’t mean blinding someone at thirty paces,” Jayne said, snatching the sweater from his hands and throwing it behind the bed like it had offended her ancestors.

Y/N was still frozen in the middle of the chaos, arms slightly raised as shirts and shoes flew around her like a tornado of fabric. “Am I even allowed to have input in this?”

“No,” Kitty said gently. “You’re the canvas.”

“We’re the artists,” Yuri added, kicking aside a pile of rejected skirts.

“I’m literally the one dating him,” Y/N said.

“Which means you have the worst judgment of all,” Q muttered.

“That’s it.” Julianna snapped her fingers. “Black wide-leg trousers, cream top with that square neckline, gold hoops. Hair down, effortless waves. Those ankle boots Jayne’s been hoarding like a dragon.”

Jayne held them close to her chest. “They’re my children.”

“Well, one of your children is going to help this girl make Min Ho forget how to breathe,” Eunice said.

“Okay, this is it,” Kitty declared, clapping. “Now everyone get out except me, Eunice, and Julianna. Q, you’re making her sweat with your nervous pacing.”

“I’m not nervous—”

“Out!” the girls all shouted, pointing toward the door.

Q threw his hands up. “Fine. But if he compliments her eyeliner, I taught her that wing.”

“You didn’t!” Eunice shouted as she shoved him into the hallway and slammed the door behind him.

Silence.

Y/N stood in the center of the now-messy dorm, blinking. “So… this is really happening.”

Julianna handed her the final outfit and grinned. “Oh, it’s happening.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Q opened the dorm door and immediately paused. “…What the hell is happening in here.”

The boys’ dorm looked like a war zone. Not a normal messy room — a tornado made of cologne bottles, rejected shirts, and hair product had ripped through it. Clothes were everywhere. Towels. An open steamer hissed from the coffee table. A brush sat abandoned next to a half-spilled jar of pomade.

And in the middle of it all, Dae was on the couch, completely unfazed, calmly eating cereal from a mixing bowl like he was in a spa commercial.

Min Ho sprinted past behind him, barefoot, bathrobe clinging to him and a towel wrapped turban-style around his head.

“I CAN’T FIND MY MOISTURIZER WITH SPF!”

Q just blinked. “You own, like, seven moisturizers.”

“Exactly!” Min Ho shouted, reappearing from behind the fridge like he’d considered refrigerating one. “I don’t know which one gives me the ‘I drink water and write under a full moon’ glow and which one makes me look like a sweaty ghost!”

Dae took another bite of cereal. “They all make you shiny. You’ll be fine.”

“I’m meeting up with Y/N. I can’t just look fine, Dae. I have to look like she regrets every minute she spent not kissing me!”

“Okay, relax Casanova,” Q said, kicking a pile of button-ups out of the way to get to the couch. “Have you picked an outfit yet?”

Min Ho pointed at the wall where several outfits were thumbtacked like a fashion conspiracy board. “I have five contenders. But I can’t wear anything black or she’ll think I’m trying too hard.”

“You’re literally trying this hard,” Dae muttered.

Q squinted at the wall. “You wore this one to that influencer dinner.”

“Dae said she once called that shirt smug,” Min Ho snapped. “That I looked like someone who pretended to read Hemingway but actually just followed bookstagram accounts.”

“I mean… are you mad because it’s wrong?” Q asked, not even looking up from his phone.

Min Ho flopped face-first into a pile of sweaters and groaned dramatically. “What if she doesn’t even show up?”

“She will,” Dae said. “She was asking about you.”

That got Min Ho to lift his head, hope cautiously blooming behind his eye patches.

“She was?”

Dae nodded. “Kind of in a ‘tell me everything you know or I’ll steal your organs’ way, but yeah.”

Min Ho sat up straighter. “Okay. Okay. Deep breath. Casual shirt. A little cologne but not date cologne. Hair effortless but not messy.” He paused. “Wait. Do I look like I care?”

“You look like you’ve just done skincare for your skincare,” Q said.

“Perfect,” Min Ho grinned.

Then immediately panicked again. “WAIT — WHICH SHOES?!”

Q caught a sneaker thrown in his direction and sighed. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Min Ho was standing shirtless in front of the mirror, towel still on his head, holding two very similar button-downs and glaring at his reflection like it had personally betrayed him.

“Q,” he barked, “do I look more emotionally available in the navy or the oatmeal?”

Q didn’t look up from his phone. “What emotion are you trying to be available for, exactly?”

“I want her to think I’m confident but also like I’d cry if she asked me about my childhood.”

Dae, still unmoved on the couch, said without looking up, “Then wear a turtleneck.”

“IT’S JUNE, DAE.”

Min Ho threw one of the shirts across the room and let out a disgusted scoff. It landed on the lamp. The lamp fell.

Q finally put his phone down, sighing as he stood. “Okay. Emergency fashion triage. Let’s go.”

Min Ho spun to him like a Victorian woman who’d just been asked to dance. “Do I go with the boots that say ‘I respect you’ or the sneakers that say ‘I won’t ghost you’?”

Q held up both pairs. “These say ‘I live on Pinterest,’ and these say ‘I peaked in high school.’ Pick your poison.”

Min Ho dragged a hand down his face. “I should cancel. I should tell her I got tuberculosis. Or food poisoning. Or tuberculosis from food poisoning.”

“Or you could,” Dae said, sipping his cereal milk, “go on your date like a normal person instead of staging a Broadway musical in the hallway.”

Min Ho dramatically dropped into a squat, hands clasped like he was praying to the ceiling. “She thinks I blocked her, Dae.”

“Did you?”

“NO!” Min Ho popped back up. “My phone glitched or some cosmic being is trying to humble me for being too hot or something, but I didn’t block her.”

“You also didn’t tell her for a week,” Q added, flinging the now-fixed lamp back upright. “So.”

Min Ho pointed dramatically at Q. “That’s not helpful. I’m in my Shakespearean tragic love story, and you’re giving me tax accountant energy.”

“I’m giving you ‘hurry up or you’ll be late’ energy.”

Min Ho checked the time and froze. “OH MY GOD I’M GOING TO BE LATE.”

He sprinted to the bathroom, towel falling off his head, leaving a trail of wet footprints, rejected moisturisers, and unhinged muttering in his wake.

Q ran a hand though his hair.

"How was it at Y/N's?" Dae asked

"Like a calm chaos, not this havoc that's happened here clearly. They made tea, it was nice. The disaster prince needs to finally leave the dorm and head to his date, which he is definitely over-accessorised for."

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The knock came exactly one minute after the playlist ended.

We froze.

Kitty let out a sound like a squeal and a gasp had a baby. Julianna’s mascara wand halted mid-air. Jayne ducked behind the kitchen island like we were being raided, and Eunice grabbed my shoulders.

“That’s him, right?” she whispered, as if Min Ho could hear us through the walls.

“I don’t know!” I hissed. “Probably?”

“He knocked,” Kitty said, ducking beside Jayne, “so it’s not food delivery unless the sushi guy’s hot now.”

“Focus,” Julianna barked, tucking a loose strand behind my ear and spinning me toward the door like I was a doll she was about to send to prom.

I stood there, paralyzed.

“You’re ready,” Eunice said. “You're radiant. You look like the soft-focus end of a coming-of-age movie. Go open the damn door.”

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” I muttered.

Jayne popped up like a jack-in-the-box. “If you throw up on your date, I’m retiring from friendship out of secondhand embarrassment.”

“Wow. Thanks.”

The knock came again. Firm. Polite. Too polite.

The knock echoed through the dorm again, and every girl in the kitchen ducked as if the FBI was at the door.

“I swear to god if one of you breathes too loud—” I hissed, already making my way toward the door.

Eunice tugged my arm. “Wait—lip gloss.”

She dabbed a final touch onto my bottom lip like a painter finishing a canvas. Behind her, Julianna crouched in combat boots, clutching a brush like a weapon. Kitty and Jayne were whisper-arguing about shoe theory again, and I was half-certain someone had opened a window to spy out through the blinds.

I took a breath. And opened the door.

Min Ho stood there.

Button-down shirt, casual but crisp. Rolled sleeves. He looked like he’d practiced not looking like he tried, which meant he definitely had. Hair still slightly damp like he’d sprinted to make it in time, a nervous, crooked smile twitching at his mouth.

“Hi,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat.

“Hi.”

We stared for a second.

“I wasn’t sure what to wear,” he said finally. “I changed, like, five times. Pretty sure I’m overdressed.”

I tilted my head. “You’re fine. You… look good.”

His smile flickered wider, teeth showing now, but his eyes were still doing that scanning thing like he was trying to memorize this moment.

From the kitchen: a single cough, followed by a loud whisper of “SHHHH.”

Min Ho blinked.

“Is your room haunted?” he asked.

“Only by the living,” I muttered, grabbing my coat from the hook by the door. “The girls are behind the kitchen island.”

“Of course they are.”

I stepped out, gently shutting the door behind me, trying to ignore the squeal I definitely heard the second it clicked shut.

We stood in the hallway, just the two of us now. There was a weird kind of quiet between us—comfortable, but charged. Like we were still feeling around for the edges of something new.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” I said.

Min Ho rubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to.”

“I mean,” I said, giving him a look, “you did accidentally block me.”

He groaned. “I swear I didn’t. Why would I say all that stuff and then block you?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged. “Men are weird.”

“Okay, fair.”

We started walking slowly toward the stairs, arms close but not touching.

“Wait,” I said suddenly. “I just realised—you were at the club that night. So, when I was ranting to you over text you were standing like 2 steps away from me.”

He smirked a little. “Yeah, I watched you. That's why I wanted to dance with you, Stupid”

I rolled my eyes, but I was grinning.

“Loser.”

He gasped. “I am a gentleman. I didn’t once bring up you attacking that bagel.”

“I did not attack it—”

“You yeeted it.”

“It slipped!”

“Your honor, the bagel was launched with intent—”

I swatted his arm, and he dodged, laughing.

And for the first time in a while, I felt it again—that warmth in my chest, that stupid flutter behind my ribs that told me maybe this was real. Maybe we hadn’t ruined everything.

Maybe it was just beginning.

"I didn't think anyone still said yeeted" I snickered

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The café was quiet this time of day—late afternoon glow filtering in through wide windows, casting honey-colored stripes across the floor and the small two-seater table we settled into. It was the same café we’d both been to separately, the one where he walked me home. It felt… full circle.

Min Ho tugged lightly at the cuffs of his sleeves once we sat, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his hands. I felt the same way. My fingers hovered near the handle of my mug for longer than necessary, pretending to read the chalkboard menu even though I already knew what I wanted.

“This is weird, right?” I said eventually, smiling into my tea. “I feel like we already did the part where we confessed feelings, and now we’re rewinding into a first date.”

“Kind of backwards,” he agreed, laughing gently. “Like we hit ‘emotional intimacy’ before we hit ‘coffee.’”

“And blocked each other before we even held hands.”

He winced dramatically. “Too soon.”

We both laughed, and the awkwardness cracked a little more, something easier slipping in its place.

The server came over and took our orders — mine, usual and boring; his, surprisingly elaborate. When they left, he leaned back in his chair and looked at me for a long moment.

“I meant all of it,” he said softly.

I looked up.

“The messages,” he clarified. “What I said. What I tried to say. I don’t know what happens next, and I have no idea how to not be awkward about this, but… I want to try.”

That flutter again.

I sipped my tea and met his eyes. “You’ve been weird about me since Noir, you know.”

“You’ve been weird about me too,” he countered.

“I’m just weird in general,” I said with mock-seriousness.

He smiled, and this time it was relaxed. Unburdened. His leg bounced under the table and I could tell he was still nervous, but there was a lightness in him now—like maybe the week of heartbreak and blocked numbers and too many almosts had finally passed.

“So,” he said. “First date rules.”

I raised a brow. “There are rules?”

“Well, rule one is: no trauma-dumping.”

“You’re the one who trauma-dumped about skincare to Q for three hours yesterday,” I shot back.

“I was exfoliating my grief,” he said solemnly.

I choked on my drink.

The conversation spilled after that—easy, winding, full of stupid jokes and quieter glances when we thought the other wasn’t looking. At one point, I reached for the sugar at the same time he did and our fingers brushed, both of us freezing, smiling stupidly.

When the sky outside began to tint lilac, neither of us had made a move to leave.

“So… do you want to go on a second first date?” I asked, trying to sound breezy.

Min Ho leaned forward, eyes on mine. “Only if I don’t screw this one up.”

“You might.”

“I definitely will.”

We smiled. Because maybe we both already knew: that was okay.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The air outside was cooler now, just edging into evening, the kind of breeze that makes you wish you had a jacket but not enough to complain about it. The sun had dipped low, leaving streaks of gold and violet bleeding across the sky.

We walked side by side, not touching, not rushing. Just existing in the same space with the kind of closeness that said: We could.

Min Ho kicked a small rock along the sidewalk like he was focusing on not saying something too fast. I had my hands shoved into my pockets, hoping the walk would calm the very obvious fluttering happening somewhere in my chest.

“That was fun,” I offered, half into the silence.

He looked at me with a quiet grin. “Even though I drank a coffee that tasted like a cinnamon candle?”

“You ordered it.”

“You dared me.”

I smirked. “You’re supposed to be the cool, mysterious one. Not the one who’s peer-pressured into a seasonal beverage.”

“Cool, mysterious people can be victims of seasonal spice curiosity.”

I nudged his arm with my elbow. “Mmhm.”

He laughed under his breath and looked ahead again. I noticed how his shoulder occasionally brushed mine when we got a little too close on the sidewalk, but neither of us pulled away.

We passed the spot where he’d first offered to walk me home, weeks ago, when everything was still half-known and crackling with mystery. He noticed it too, glancing around and then down at me.

“This feels like déjà vu,” he said softly.

“Except now you know I'm super cool, and I know you use toner.”

“Hey—”

“I’m not judging,” I said, bumping him again.

He looked at me, face turned slightly, and I caught the exact second he debated taking my hand. He hesitated—and then didn’t.

His fingers brushed against mine, then curled around them, gentle and tentative. I looked down at our hands, then up at him. His gaze was steady now, nervous but certain.

I squeezed once. Just enough to say okay.

The walk was slower after that.

Near the entrance of my dorm building, we stopped. Streetlights buzzed above us, soft golden halos around our heads.

“I’ll let you go before you get your group interrogation,” he said.

“They wouldn’t do that.”

“They would absolutely do that.”

I shrugged. “They might already have a PowerPoint ready.”

He laughed quietly, but didn’t let go of my hand.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “About wanting to try. Even if I have to prove it. Even if I already kinda screwed it up once.”

“You didn’t screw it up,” I said. “We just… missed each other. Bad timing.”

Min Ho nodded once. Then stepped back just enough to let my hand go, like he was afraid holding it too long would make this feel too real too fast.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Min Ho.”

And as I climbed the steps to the dorm, I didn’t look back. I didn’t have to. I knew he was still standing there.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Eunice, Julianna, and Jayne were all sitting in a suspiciously casual circle on the floor with mugs of tea they clearly didn’t need. The second I stepped inside, four heads swivelled toward me like owls spotting prey.

“Well?” Julianna demanded.

I kicked my shoes off slowly. “Well what?”

“Oh my god, she’s doing a slow reveal,” Jayne gasped.

“Start from the beginning,” Eunice ordered. “Like… what was he wearing? Did he smell nice? Did he try anything?”

I frowned. “You sound like my mom.”

Jayne waved a hand. “She sounds like all of us, now TALK.”

Before I could answer, the scene cut—

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Q was leaning against Min Ho’s desk with his arms crossed, and Dae was sprawled on the couch like a therapist who was also a little entertained by the situation.

“Well?” Q said.

Min Ho dropped onto his bed, running a hand through his still-perfectly-styled hair. “It was fine.”

“Fine?” Q scoffed. “You sprinted around this dorm like a man possessed and now you’re giving me fine?”

“It was fine,” Min Ho insisted, then after a pause: “She held my hand.”

Dae grinned. “That’s not fine. That’s good.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“HE HELD YOUR HAND?!” Eunice screeched.

I winced. “I didn’t even say that yet—”

“She squeezed back?” Julianna asked like we were dissecting a historical event.

I shrugged, biting back a smile. “Maybe.”

Jayne leaned forward. “Maybe my ass. You’re glowing.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“You walked her home?” Q asked.

“Obviously,” Min Ho said.

“Did you kiss her?” Dae asked, straight-faced.

Min Ho gave him a sharp look. “No.”

Q sighed. “Tragic.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

“Did he kiss you?” Eunice whispered dramatically.

“No,” I said, and immediately all four groaned like I’d failed some collective mission.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Dae grinned. “You’re gonna kiss her next time though, right?”

Min Ho rolled onto his back. “…Maybe.”

Q smirked. “He’s definitely gonna kiss her next time.”

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

The morning was deceptively calm. Coffee in one hand, notes in the other, I was telling myself I’d make it to class without incident.

Then I spotted Dae up ahead… and next to him, all tall, broad-shouldered confidence in a navy sweater, was Min Ho.

Of course.

Dae waved when he saw me. “Y/N! Perfect timing.”

I slowed, my stomach doing something stupid. Min Ho’s eyes flicked to mine and he smiled like we were in on some shared joke no one else could hear. “Morning,” he said, low and easy.

“Morning,” I answered, trying for neutral.

We walked together into the building, Dae holding the door. When we reached the classroom, I headed for my seat like normal—only to have Min Ho follow us in.

Dae dropped into his chair beside me. Min Ho, instead of leaving, leaned forward onto my desk, forearms braced, face tilted just enough that we were eye level.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice a whisper meant to sound annoyed, but my pulse was betraying me.

“Walking with Dae,” he said, then added with a sly half-smile, “And maybe seeing if you still looked at me like that after last night.”

I blinked. “Like what?”

“Like you’re deciding whether to roll your eyes or smile at me.”

I opened my mouth to answer, but the professor walked in. Min Ho straightened slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry, and glanced down at me.

“See you later,” he murmured, before strolling out like he hadn’t just left my brain in total chaos.

Dae watched Min Ho leave, then turned to me with that infuriatingly casual smile of his.

“So…” he drawled, resting his elbow on the desk, “do I get to hear about last night?”

I kept my eyes on my notebook. “I’m sure you already got a lot of answers.”

His brows shot up, and he tilted his head. “You’d tell Q if he asked.”

I gave him a look. “Q’s nosy.”

“And I’m not?” Dae’s pout was almost comical, chin in his hand like he was personally wounded. “Come on. I promise not to tell him if you don’t want me to.”

I stared at him for a long second, debating. He stayed quiet, just watching me expectantly until I sighed.

“Fine,” I muttered, leaning closer so my voice wouldn’t carry. “We got coffee. Talked. Walked around a little. He was… nice. Normal. Not full of himself.”

Dae grinned. “So… you liked it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, looking smug. “I can tell.”

I shoved his shoulder lightly. “Don’t start.”

“Too late,” he said, already pulling out his pen like he wasn’t plotting ways to bring this up later.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

I’d just stepped out into the bright afternoon air when Stella fell into step beside me, her glossy hair swinging with each stride.

“Hey,” she said casually, like we bumped into each other all the time. “You headed somewhere?”

“Meeting Jayne,” I said, tucking my phone into my pocket.

“Perfect. I’ll walk with you.” Her smile was all teeth, the kind people wear when they’re saying something without actually saying it.

We strolled in silence for a moment before she tilted her head, voice light. “You know, I saw Min Ho last night.”

I glanced at her. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” She smirked. “All dressed up, headed into the girls’ dorms. Looked nice. Like… date nice.”

I stayed quiet, waiting for whatever game she was playing.

“And then,” she continued, “Kitty and Yuri came home later, laughing about how you had a date.” She gave a low, amused hum. “Funny coincidence, right?”

Her eyes flicked over me, searching for a reaction.

“Not really,” I said flatly, keeping my expression unreadable.

Her lips quirked upward, but her gaze stayed fixed on me, just a little too sharp. “He’s very… loyal, when he wants to be. But also—” she tilted her head, “—easily distracted.”

The words landed heavy, almost like she knew something I didn’t.

She stepped a little closer, her voice dropping as if she were sharing a secret. “I mean… sometimes you just have to make sure the competition disappears. You’d be surprised how easy that can be.”

For a second, my stomach twisted—not because of what she said, but how she said it. Like it wasn’t a threat. Like it was a confession.

She smiled, full and bright again, as if she hadn’t just casually hinted at being the villain in someone’s story. “Anyway. I’ll let you get to your friend.”

And with that, she turned off toward another building, leaving me standing in the path, pulse pounding for reasons I couldn’t fully explain.

I stood there for a second after she disappeared into the crowd, my mind buzzing. That hadn’t just been weird. That had been calculated.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I pulled out my phone and scrolled until Kitty’s name popped up, then hit call.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hey, Y/N? Everything okay?”

“Yeah—well, no. Maybe? I don’t know.” I shifted my bag higher, glancing around like Stella might reappear. “I think… maybe you’re right about Stella.”

There was a beat of silence, then Kitty’s voice sharpened instantly. “What did she do?”

“She just—” I let out a breath. “She said something and it was… off. Like she was testing me. And it wasn’t just about Min Ho, it was like she wanted me to know she could get rid of me if she wanted.”

“Okay,” Kitty said, already in problem-solving mode. “That’s not paranoia. That’s a warning.”

“Exactly.”

“Meet me later,” she said firmly. “If Stella’s playing a game, we’re going to figure out the rules before she does.”

I hung up feeling equal parts uneasy and… maybe a little grateful that Kitty was on my side.

───── ❝ ❞ ─────

Later that night, the dorm was quiet except for the low hum of Kitty’s laptop fan and the occasional distant slam of a door down the hall. I sat cross-legged on my bed, knees pulled to my chest, while Kitty paced like she was building a legal case.

“So,” she said, turning to face me, “tell me exactly what she said. Word for word.”

I went through it again, the part about Min Ho dressed nicely, the girls mentioning my date, the way Stella smiled like she was holding the punchline hostage.

Kitty frowned, arms crossing. “That’s… not casual. That’s a power move.”

“That’s what I thought.” I twisted the blanket in my hands. “And the way she looked at me, it wasn’t like she was curious. It was like she already knew, and she wanted me to know she knew.”

Kitty stopped pacing. “She’s staking a claim. And it’s not because she likes Min Ho—it’s because she needs him for something.”

That made my stomach turn. “You think?”

“I know,” she said, a spark of determination lighting her face. “I’ve seen this before. She’s too calculated to just ‘accidentally’ run into you and bring it up. She wants to get in your head. The more you’re second-guessing yourself, the easier it is for her to move in.”

I looked at her for a long moment. “Why me, though?”

Kitty tilted her head like it was obvious. “Because you’re the threat. And I don’t think she knows how much of one you really are yet.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or be concerned at that, but Kitty was already grabbing her notebook and pen.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Starting a list,” she said matter-of-factly. “Step one: figure out her real endgame. Step two: get proof. Step three…” She smirked. “Take her down before she even sees it coming.”

I almost laughed—but the part of me that was still thinking about Min Ho, and Stella’s smirk, couldn’t.

Kitty was muttering something about “cross-referencing her socials” when I picked up my phone. I stared at Min Ho’s contact for a long time.

The last thread of messages between us was still a graveyard of red Not Delivered warnings. My thumb hovered over the keyboard anyway.

Y/N: hey Y/N: can we talk?

I hit send. The bubble hung for a second… then the familiar red text flashed again. Not Delivered.

My chest tightened. I typed again.

Y/N: this is getting ridiculous

Not Delivered.

Kitty glanced up from her laptop. “Not going through?”

I didn’t answer. Instead, I got to my feet and shoved my shoes on, the laces tangling in my hurry.

“Uh—where are we going?” Kitty scrambled after me, nearly tripping over her blanket.

“Your dorm,” I said, yanking the door open. “Now.”

We walked fast, Kitty barely keeping pace as she hissed questions I didn’t answer. My pulse was pounding too loud in my ears.

When we reached her dorm, I didn’t hesitate — just pushed the door open and headed straight for Stella’s room. She was lounging on her bed, phone in hand, scrolling like she didn’t have a care in the world.

I stopped in the doorway. “I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing,” I said, my voice sharp enough to cut the air, “but I know you’ve done this.”

Her head tilted, all faux-innocence. “Done… what?”

“You know what.” My jaw clenched. “About me being blocked.”

Kitty’s eyes darted between us like she was watching the opening scene of a bar fight. Stella just smiled, slow and deliberate, like a cat stretching in the sun.

Stella set her phone down gently, as if she had all the time in the world. “Blocked?” She blinked at me like I’d just spoken in another language. “Why would I ever… do something like that?”

“Don’t play dumb.” My voice cracked with the edge of how long I’d been holding this in. “You saw his phone. You knew.”

Her lips curved — not a smile, not exactly. More like she was trying one on for size. “That’s an interesting theory. But if Min Ho blocked you, maybe you should be asking yourself why.”

Kitty stepped forward, arms crossed. “That’s not what happened, and you know it.”

“Kitty,” Stella said sweetly, turning her attention like a laser beam. “You weren’t there. Neither of us were. So how could we possibly know the truth?”

I took a step closer, fists curled at my sides. “You don’t get to mess with me. Not with this. You’ve been trying to get in his head since you got here.”

Her eyes glimmered, sharp under the lamplight. “Trying? Honey, I don’t have to try.” She leaned back against her pillows, feigning nonchalance. “And maybe instead of accusing me, you should be worried about why he hasn’t come running to clear this up himself.”

The words hit, hot and heavy, but I forced myself not to flinch.

Kitty sucked in a breath like she was about to launch into a full defense, but I lifted a hand to stop her. My voice was low, unshaking. “If you think I’m just going to let you win, you don’t know me.”

Stella tilted her head, smile cool, unbothered. “Then I guess we’ll see who Min Ho really chooses, won’t we?”

I turned to Kitty, pulse pounding. “Give me your phone.”

Her brows shot up. “Uh, okay…” She fumbled it out of her pocket and handed it over.

I typed in Min Ho’s number from memory before I could chicken out, then pressed call. Kitty’s wide eyes met mine as I hit speaker.

The ring barely lasted two beats before his voice came through, breathless. “Hello?”

Silence clamped over the room. Stella’s smirk faltered.

“Min Ho,” I said evenly, staring right at her. “It’s me. Y/N. Calling from Kitty’s phone.”

There was a pause — then his voice softened, urgent. “Y/N? Finally. I’ve been— I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

Kitty’s jaw dropped. “See?!” she hissed, glaring at Stella.

I swallowed hard, throat dry. “My texts… my calls… everything was blocked.”

On the other end of the line, Min Ho sounded confused, panicked. “What? No. No, I would never—” His breath hitched like he was moving around his room. “Y/N, I swear, I don’t know how that happened. I’ve been texting you every night, you didn’t answer, I thought you hated me—”

“Blocked,” I repeated, eyes never leaving Stella.

Her expression had gone carefully blank now, a mask settling over her face.

Kitty muttered, “Busted,” under her breath.

I tightened my grip on the phone, pulse roaring in my ears. “Then tell me, Min Ho,” I said, voice razor-sharp but trembling underneath. “If it wasn’t you… who would want to make sure we never talked?”

Stella’s mask cracked into something smug and syrupy, the kind of smile that made my skin crawl. She stepped closer, folding her arms like she had every advantage in the world.

“Min Ho,” she said, her voice honeyed, dripping into the phone like poison, “since Y/N’s so… upset right now, maybe you’d rather go on a second date with me?”

The air in the room turned ice cold.

Kitty’s jaw dropped so hard I thought it might hit the floor. “WHAT?!”

I stared at her, fury bubbling in my chest. She wasn’t even pretending anymore—she wanted me to hear it, wanted to twist the knife.

On the other end, Min Ho’s voice snapped like a whip, sharp and disbelieving. “Stella? What the hell are you talking about?”

There was a pause on the line, just long enough for Stella to smirk at me like she still had the upper hand.

Then Min Ho’s voice came through, firm and clear. “Stella, no. I’ve already told you—I’m not interested.”

Her smile faltered.

“And honestly,” he went on, his tone steel now, “if you can’t tell how obvious it is that I like Y/N, then you’re not paying attention.”

The words hung heavy in the air. My breath caught. Kitty’s hand flew to her mouth to smother a squeal, her wide eyes flicking between me and Stella like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

"I don't know whats worse," Hyunjin started, "watching them both be completely oblivious... or..." he trailed off and everyones eyes trained towards the new couple at the table, "this."

Y/N and Jisung were in their own little world. It had only been a week since the party, but they were completely smitten. She leaned into him when she laughed, and he spoke softly to her, whispering little jokes. They weren't doing anything heinous, it's not like they were making out in front of everyone. But there was certainly a shift.

"This." Changbin stated. "This is worse."

"They'll chill out soon enough," Chan reassured. Though his voice quivered as he watched Y/N kissed Jisungs cheek when he wasn't looking. Jisung proceeded to turn his head to her in fake-shock before he kissed her as 'payback'. "I hope they'll chill out soon." Chan muttered, mainly to himself.

"So tonight yeah?" Jisung questioned as he leant a little away from her. He kept their faces close.

"Tonight." She reassured.

"What's happening tonight?" Jeongin butted in.

"Their big date," Felix beamed. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't bothered by the couple and their giddiness.

Felix had watched Y/N endure a lot. He listened as she pined for this man she now called her own. There was nothing the couple could do to make Felix uncomfortable or disappointed. His sister was happy. Jisung was good to her. That's literally all Felix had wanted for her for so long. 

"Where are you going?" Changbin inquired and moved back in his chair.

"I can tell you later," Jisung spoke before he turned back to Y/N. His smile as wide as ever, a shade of mischief behind it, "but it's a surprise for Y/N."

"It better be good lover boy," Y/N started, "or I might have to reconsider this whole arrangement."

"You won't need to." Jisung stated simply. 

Usually, a comment like that would send Jisung spiralling. Would she really reconsider? But right now, with the memory of her lips on his, he mind stayed quiet. 

Jisung had grown more confident in the week following the party. Not that Y/N minded, but she's still taken aback by the shift. She liked nerdy, awkward Jisung. But she also liked flirty, confident Jisung. Whoever he is, she'll all in.

Usually, the flirting happens before the girlfriend thing. That's how you get a girlfriend right? But Jisung's biggest brag is being able to flirt with his girlfriend. He's making up for all those times he stumbled over his words. All those awkward interactions. Every time he wanted to call her pretty or blush at the feeling of her hand on his shoulder. But he didn't need to hold back anymore. And he wouldn't.

He was even wearing a plain black tee today. Partly because Y/N mentioned how hot he looked in that tight black shirt and partly because she wanted to wear his hoodie. And who was he to deny her that? Especially when she looks that good in it.

Over lunch, he couldn't take his eyes off her wearing his clothes. He wanted her to wear whatever he gave her only. But at the same time, he loved the way she dressed too. It was truly a lame conundrum. But a conundrum he was happy to have.

The bell chimed out, signalling the end of lunch. Jisung rose and collected his bag from the ground before he swiped Y/Ns from her hands. She looked at him confused and he just smiled back at her, "pretty girls shouldn't have to carry their things."

"EW." Jeongin let out loudly and picked up his things too.

"Get a room." Changbin added. 

"Gladly." Jisung spoke. He smiled at the boys before intertwining his fingers with Y/Ns.

"You're such a simp dude." Hyunjin shook his head. 

"Yep. And proud about it too," He paused before walking away, "remind me who here has a girlfriend?" He pointed his finger around the circle at everyone standing. He waited for an answer. The silence was deafening. Jisung laughed a little, "ah, that's right. It's me. I'm the only one. Which makes all of you jealous."

"We're not jealous of you mate," Chan tried to defend, but his voice failed him. He did not sound certain. 

"You keep telling yourself that." Jisung thought for a moment before continuing, "you know, maybe you should all simp a little bit more. That's how you wanna bag a baddie. Worked for me."

"Someone get that man off the internet." Changbin mused. 

"Alright baby," Y/N put a gentle hand on Jisungs chest, "I think you've bragged enough."

"Never." He laughed, but left it at that. His lady asked him to stop, so he'll stop. 

He was being honest too. He wore that insult like a badge of honour. Why is being a simp such a bad thing? What, men are going around hating their girlfriends? No. He would rather be known for his sickening, loud acts of love then for neglecting his girlfriend. 

He pulled Y/N out of the cafeteria, after he muttered some goodbyes to the boys. They started the journey towards Y/Ns next class. He felt odd walking beside Y/N as she floated down the hall. Jisungs newfound confidence was still something he was getting used to and the hallways were still a challenge for him. 

She strode beside him without a care in the world, waving to everyone she knew. Which was practically everyone. She would drop a few lines as she passed by familiar faces. A few people muttered things back. She was too distracted to notice all the looks. But Jisung noticed.

He wasn't surprised that people were confused. Some wore it because they didn't even know who this boy Y/N clung to was. Others wore a jealous confusion for why she would be with him. He saw it. 

If he was honest, he hadn't thought this far ahead. He didn't ever think she would like him back, so he didn't waste time daydreaming of walking down the halls together. He daydreamed about the good things, like cuddling on the couch watching a movie together or sharing the last slice of cheesecake. 

If Y/N noticed the looks, she didn't seem to care. I think a part of her knew. Knew what people were thinking and saying behind their backs. But why would she bother with people who don't understand when she could spend time with the one person that makes her feel so seen and safe. 

They stopped just outside the classroom, Jisung pulled her back a little to look at him. He tried his best to hide the concern that washed over his face. But Y/N noticed. She always did. 

"You okay Sungie?" Her voice was so gentle. So tender. So caring. She stared at him, waiting for an answer. 

But Jisung forgot what he was even worrying about. Because she had just called him, "Sungie?" he repeated back to her. 

"Sorry," her giggle was a little worried. Her eyes flicked to the ground, "it just slipped out."

"No I like it." He reached for her face and tilted it up to look at her, "It's just that... you usually call me Ji. I wasn't expecting it."

"Ji feels more like a friendly nickname you know? Like everyone calls you Ji-"

"Only because you started calling me that." Jisung pointed out, his smile now evident and genuine. 

"Well 'Sungie' is just for me." Her smile took a serious edge as she spoke. "Got that?"

"Sure thing Princess." Jisung smirked, leaning a little closer.

"Princess?"

"If I get a cute nickname, then you should have one too." He wanted to lean in and kiss the top of her nose, but he hesitated. He didn't know if he was allowed. This whole week, he would just wait for her to initiate. Sure, he was more confident now, but there was still a thick air of nerves and worry. He pushed those feelings down, "although I'm not entirely sold on Princess yet. I'll have to try out a few."

"Oh will you?" She teased, unconsciously leaning into him. He hummed before his eyes fell down to her lips. She smirked as she noticed his gaze falter and she leaned up, stealing a kiss from him. He hummed in delight at the contact, his body taking over for him. He pushed her back until she hit the lockers, deepening the kiss. 

Then, he leant back just enough to slide her bag from his arm, holding it out for her. "Will you be able to carry this into class or do you need me to come with you?"

She playfully hit his arm and took her bag, "I'm a strong woman you know!"

"Mmhm, sure." Then there was a pause. A beat where they stood staring at each other. "I'll see you tonight pretty girl."

Y/N found it hard to hide her blush at the nickname. Jisung took note of that. She kissed him one last time, on the cheek. Quick, soft, caring. He took a few steps back to allow her to move into the classroom. "I'll see you tonight Sungie."

He'd kissed her on the lips a few times now, so why does his cheek burn under her touch? He wasn't sure and part of him didn't even care. He just hurried down the hall before anyone could see just how red his face had gotten. 

"UGH," Y/N flopped onto her bed which was currently covered by every piece of clothing she owns, "I have nothing to wear!"

Mingi, Y/Ns dorm mate, chuckled from her own bed. "You're literally laying in a pile of all your clothes right now."

"And none of them are right!" She huffed, sitting up and looking over to Mingis closet with a grin, "do you have anything I can wear?"

"No," she spoke, finally looking up from her phone and over to Y/N, "the last time I let you borrow something it came back dripping with paint!"

"I told you I was sorry!" She fell back on the bed and continue in a whiny voice, "I paid for a new one! I didn't know Seungmins 'networking' event was really just his excuse to hang out with me!" Then, she mumbled to herself, "how was I supposed to know he wanted to do paintball?"

"Ugh," Mingi was just sick of her whining. She rose from her bed, padded over to her closet and pulled out a form-fitting black dress. There was nothing too scandalous about it, but it wasn't exactly safe for work either. She held it up and through a sigh, "what about this?"

"Oh my god, Mingi!" Y/N rolled off the side of her bed. She picked herself  up quickly from the floor and rushed over to her. She felt the fabric between her fingers and hope the dress wouldn't disappear on her. But the image of Mingis paint-covered top flashed in her mind. Y/N decided, "No, I can't wear this. It's too nice."

Mingi sighed, "well, I bought it when I thought Minho was going to ask me out but... then he didn't. You would get a better use out of it than I would."

"Mingi..." Y/N trailed off. 

"Just-" she pushed the dress into Y/N, "just wear it."

Y/N had spent the whole year with Mingi as her dorm mate. She knew Mingi wasn't sentimental or sappy. She knew Mingi was definitely not a hugger. Mingi kept to herself, quietly loyal to her friends. Y/N thought she reminded her a lot of her friend Minho. They both had weird secrets they hid away from prying eyes. She knew, deep down, Mingi actually considered her a friend. But she wouldn't be caught dead admitting that to Y/N.

Despite knowing all this, Y/N hugged her. A small act she did often when her emotions ran high. She knew Mingi didn't like when Y/N rambled 'thank you's or kind words. And it's not like she expected anything back. Mingi usually stands there, allowing Y/N to her until she's satisfied. And that's exactly what she did. Stood there, allowing the warmth of Y/Ns presence to wrap around her. She had a way of doing that, not just to Mingi and not just through hugs. But where Y/N is present, her soul is weaving a web of human connection.

Y/N pulled back and rushed into their bathroom with a squeal. The door hung slightly open, allowing their conversation to continue, "Y'know-" Y/N started. She called out in a voice that was louder than necessary, "I could set you up with Minho."

Mingis eyes went wide, unable to process the suggestion. She was glad Y/N couldn't see, or else her cool and mysterious persona would shatter. "Nah," she managed, trying to force her voice to be steady, "I'm sure he has better things to do."

"He's mentioned you before," Y/N laughed a little, coming out of the bathroom, "he said you were quite intelligent."

"When?" Mingi's eyebrows furrowed.

"The science project." Y/N stated simply, like it wasn't cracking open Mingi's heart. "Min and I were talking about it and he said his partner was very intelligent. Were you not his partner?"

"I was."

"So then yes," Y/N laughed a little louder, "he said you were intelligent."

"That doesn't mean anything though..." Mingi trailed off, eyes flicking up to Y/N, whose eyebrows were knit together. She's supposedly very intelligent. "Does it mean something?"

"Minho doesn't compliment just anyone." Y/N walked around the room, trying on different accessories to complete her outfit, "it took him 6 months of me eating lunch with him to tell me 'there are worse people to eat with'. Like, come on! It's barely even a compliment." She sighed, "it wasn't until I gave him my pudding that he actually called me his friend." She flicked her eyes over to Mingi, "that was last week."

"But he probably doesn't see me like that." 

"Well you never know... Boys are silly and they will do anything but admit they feel things."

Y/N stood in front of the mirror with a sense of finality. She smoothed over parts of the dress, twisting and turning to view herself from as many angles as she could. The outfit was simple. Simple but sexy. 

"Oh my god, Jisung's gonna lose his mind." Mingi gawked at her. 

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Y/N jumped and nearly squealed. She turned, panic rising in her. She whisper-yelled, "is he here?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Mingi whispered back.

"I've changed my mind- I can't do this- I'm too nervous. He's gonna realise I'm not cool and dump me right now." She panicked, her whisper-yelling straining her voice. 

"Hey Y/N..?" Jisung's soft voice rang out from the door, "the walls are not as thick as I think you think they are." There was a pause, a sigh and then, "if you don't want to go out anymore, or if you've changed your mind- I totally get it. You have so many other choices-"

The door swung open with such a force it nearly knocked Y/N back. Her eyes were blown wide as her mouth immediately spat words without thinking; "Oh my god Jisung no! NO! No, I want to go out with you so bad- like so so bad- I just- I'm nervous that's all! I like you so much and I'm really worried you'll think 'oh my god, she's so lame' or I'll say something that puts you off- and then I started thinking 'well what if he doesn't like what I'm wearing?' He'll think 'I can do so much better-"

Jisung wasn't listening to a word she was saying. His eyes travelling her body. He swallowed a lump in his throat, blinking profusely at the sight before him. I've died. He thought. I've died and gone to heaven and this beautiful angel is welcoming me inside. 

But his trance is broken by the sound of her believing, even for a second, that he could do better than her. He stopped her ranting with a loud "WHAT?" They both stood there, staring at each other, "you think I want anyone else?"

Y/N couldn't help but focus on the slight pang of hurt in his voice as he asked that question. She didn't blame him, they were both chronic over-thinkers. And if Jisung had said something like that, she would be hurt too. 

She didn't respond to him though. Instead she took in the large bouquet of flowers he held that covered his whole chest. "Are they for me?" She nods towards the flowers. He looks down then back up to her, nodding. "Sungie..." she drawls out, reaching out for them. 

He lets her take them, their fingers brushing slightly.  They were heavier than she expected, the bouquet slipping a little in her hands. Yet they never fell. She wouldn't let them. These were precious to her. "I asked Felix which ones were you're favourite. He came with me to the flower market." 

"You made this yourself?" She almost yelled, eyes shooting wide open. He dragged his hands down his jeans, drying the sweat from his palms. With the flowers safely in her hands, she could finally take in what he was wearing. A white collared shirt, rolled up to his biceps. A large grey sweater-vest over the top. His hair looks the fluffiest it's ever been. His jeans were light-wash and baggy and a single silver bracelet hung off his wrist. But most noticeable, his glasses were missing. (link) Simple. Elegant. Attractive. Holy shit she was a lucky woman. 

"Felix helped me with it a little. He apparently knows a lot about flowers," he continued to wipe his hands along his jeans to dry them, even after most of the sweat was gone.

"Sungie, you're too much." She laughed, opening the door wider before disappearing inside. 

He stood awkwardly by the door. He wasn't sure if he was allowed in or not. She'd seen his room, and he wanted to see hers. But she shared this space and he thought too much. So, he stood outside in fear. 

It was barely a minute before she returned, a bag hung over her shoulder, a bright smile on her face. He leant over and tugged slightly at her handbag, "what's this for?"

"My lipgloss and phone," she looked down at it, "this dress doesn't have any pockets."

He slid the bag off her shoulder, "I told you... Pretty girls shouldn't have to carry things." 

He emptied the contents of the bag into his own pockets. Her lipgloss, her phone, her keys and a tin of breath mints. He smiled a little and before pocketing it, held it up to her, "you planning to kiss me tonight?"

She blushed a deep red, eyes flicking nervously to the floor, "maybe..."

"Hmph," he let out, pocketed the mints and threw the bag inside behind her. He picked up her hand and dragged her outside, "good. I was hoping for one."

She leaned up to kiss him, but he pulled away, "ah!" he yelled. She pouted at the rejection, "I haven't earned it yet." 

She smiled, exhaling slightly from her nose in a sort of laugh. "Okay Sungie," she mused, pulling the door shut behind her, "where are you taking me?"

"Ah," Jisung intertwined their fingers and began to lead them down the hall, "you will see soon."

"Ah Sungie!" She whined, clinging tightly to his arm with both of her hands. "You've been teasing me all week! Haven't I been good?" 

He looked down to her. The implication behind her words sent shock waves through his system. His eyes were trained on Y/Ns, which seamed to sparkle. A small pout rested on her lips, silently begging for any scrap of information. And as always, he folded. But he gritted his teeth before deciding to which crumb to give her, "dinner. A nice one."

"Ugh," she groaned, looking back to the path to focus on walking, "you're so hard to crack Ji."

"Just this once, I promise. I'll tell you every detail of every other date we go on. But just this one... I wanted to be a surprise." He stopped them before the main door. He turned to her a little, "I want tonight to be perfect..." he pondered. Y/N hung on his every word, sensing he had more to say. And he did, "I know you followed me out. And you said all of that stuff back there. But I- if it's too much to ask- I- there's still time to back out. Just say the word and I'll go home right now and you never have to see me again."

"You need to hear me say it huh?" She spoke so calmly. And there she was again. Reading between the lines, deciphering his rambling. Observing so thoroughly that even when Jisung couldn't form his own words, she knew exactly what he was saying. He needed to be told explicitly. Clearly. Unwavering. 

A sheen washed over his eyes as the prospect of appearing weak in front of her. Was he asking too much for her to tell it to him straight? Would she grow annoyed at his need for affirmation? If not now, then later surely. At what point does Jisungs insecurities become too big? Too much for Y/N to handle. Which day, he wondered, would she wake up an realise how many boys were lining up for her. How could Jisung even fight for her if every time his brain malfunctioned he needed her. 

He wanted so desperately to be the kind of man Y/N could rely on. He tried to be that for her. Perhaps that's why he put on this flirty front. Projecting his insecurities into over-affection and flirting. He ran his mouth. He knew that. That's why he remained quiet for so long. He knew, if he opened his mouth, he would say something stupid.

In the back of his mind, he understood that Y/N didn't think of him that way. But his mind was constantly clouded with thoughts of wanting to be worthy enough for her. He heart literally ached for her. If it had arms, he was sure his heart would rip open his chest to reach for her. He wanted to care for. Protect her. Love her. But how could he do that with this brain of his? Constantly switched on. Constantly filling up with tricks and lies.

His mind ran a million miles ahead of his body, but he still nodded his head at her lingering question. She gave him a single nod back, "Jisung," she cautioned, moving to stand in front of him, "I want to go out with you. I want to date you. I want to be your girlfriend. I don't want anyone else."

Off. His brain switched off. Insecurities melted away by the lull of her voice. She was smart adn she knew herself. She knows what's best for her. And she believes its him. So for a moment, Jisung allows himself to believe it too. 

He breathed a sigh of relief, opening his mouth to speak. So many thoughts, so many things he wanted to tell her. But instead, "thank you."

"I just get so nervous around you." She continued, the vulnerability catching him off-guard. "I mean- look at you! You show up at my door, looking like this! Holding a bouquet of flowers you made yourself, asking for me to come out with you."

"It's not-"

"Don't say it's nothing special." She pointed a finger at him, proceeding to prod it into his chest, "you are special to me Jisung. What you overheard before was my brain filling up with nonsense. It has absolutely nothing to do with you."

Jisung understood completely. He nodded his head.

"Now," she smiled, "if you'll excuse me, I have a date with my boyfriend." 

Outside was a sleek black car, engine running. A man in fancy dress stood outside, appearing ready to open the door. "Ji-"

"I won't hear any protests," he whispered assertively in her ear, " tonight is about me spoiling my Princess."

She looked up at him with a restrained smile. She can't say she was entirely comfortable with someone spending so much money on her. And it was clear he'd spent a lot of money. But she knew Jisung. He wasn't flaunting his wealth. She's sure he didn't pay for the car because he pitied her, or looked down on her. He paid for the car because he wanted to spoil her. 

They walked towards it, the man opening the door. Jisung let Y/N slide in first, then stepped in after her. The door shut, and Y/N took in the interior of the car. A small drinks tray sat on the right side wall, a privacy divider raised up in the middle, a basket of snacks hanging off the left side. "This is so fancy!" She whispered to him.

He giggled, interlocking his fingers in hers. "Yeah, you get used to it."

"Do you take this car often?"

"Not really," He began fiddling with her fingers on top of his, "you know me, I like simple."

"What do you call this?"

"You misunderstand me!" He turned to look at her, "I like simple for me. I like fancy for you."

"That doesn't make any sense!" The car began to move.

"It makes perfect sense!" Jisung quipped. "You're the most beautiful girl that has ever existed in the history of girls and you deserve to be treated as such. Hence," he gestured around the car, "fancy car!"

She laughed along with him, leaning closer into him. She laid her head on his shoulder, settling more into the seat. "Will you at least tell me how long the drive will be?"

"We'll be there soon."

"Ugh, you're lucky you're so cute Sungie!" She lifted her head to look at him. Their faces close together, "which reminds me," she poked his cheek, "where are your glasses?" 

He laughed a little, "I'm wearing my contacts."

"Why?"

"Because I wanna look good for you."

"You always look good Jisung."

"That's a lie," he scoffed, turning to look at the divider in the car. 

"You calling me a liar Sungie?"

"No!" He looked back at her then quickly away again, "I just-" he thought for a moment, "I just know the facts. Sometimes... I just don't look good."

"Name one time."

"The beach." He turned back to her with such confidence. 

"HAH!" She let out loudly, "now I know you're delusional!" 

"I hadn't worked out that whole week. I was slacking. You could tell."

"Oh my goodness Jisung! Do you not see the way I was drooling over you?"

He blinked nervously at her, the dumbfounded look she loved so much, "drooling?"

"Do you not remember how I tripped over my words?" She cleared her throat to imitate herself, "I was all like, 'you look so good with your clothes off- not that I don't like the hoodie- I just like you better without it and I'd be okay if you never put a shirt back on'." She giggled. 

"I definitely don't remember you saying the last part!"

"Yeah but maybe I wanted to. It was in the subtext." She let the laughter die down before she spoke again, "don't mince my words though Ji. I like this look on you. But I also like the hoodie and glasses. I like watching you push them up your nose when you're deep in thought."

"Do I do that?"

"All the time."

His heart swelled at the observation. How did she know so much about him? How was she so casual about telling him too? She knew things about him that even he didn't know. 

He could die happily right here. His heart so full he swore it would implode. 

Soon enough, the car rolled to a stop and Jisung stepped out first. He extended his hand to help his girlfriend out of the car. He nodded a quiet thank you to the driver. 

Jisung began leading them down the sidewalk, his hand on the small of her back. He noticed the position they were in quickly, and moved her aside, scrambling to ensure she was on the inside of the footpath. A flurry of butterflies flew around in her stomach. She wondered if he was doing all this consciously or if he looked up a 'how to be the perfect man' guide.

Either way, she drowned in it. Let him wash over her. Let him be who he wanted to be for her. 

He reached across her, pulling open the door to the restaurant. She entered first, waiting for him to join her. His hand found her back again, pushing her forward slightly as he spoke with the greeter. The woman then guided them towards the top of the restaurant, a quaint little table reserved just for them. 

He nodded a thank you to her and pulled out the chair for his lady. Tucking her back in. He rounded the table and sat down. Her eyes were drawn to the wall, where she expected some sort of brick. Instead, it was only glass with a view of the beach below. She loved the beach. She loved pretty views.

"How am I doing so fair?" Jisung grinned as he watched her gawk at the view. 

"Mmm," she thought for a moment, looking over to him, "you're definitely earning some points here."

He smiled, relaxing into his chair before picking up the menu, "perfect." he muttered to himself, nearly imperceptible to Y/N.

The waitress came when they were ready, Jisung giving the orders flawlessly. She watched him, confused as to how that quiet boy at the back of the class, who could barely speak a word to her was sitting in front of her now, speaking so professionally with the staff. He smiled politely before he looked to Y/N, reaching for her hands across the table. 

"I've only done this once you know." His voice was soft and silky but there was an air of nervousness to it. She shot him a confused look, "the whole first date thing."

A silent "oh," left her mouth.

"So I apologise if I get awkward or stutter-y. I'm trying my best."

She gave his hands a squeeze, "you know your 'best' is like... everyone else's 'princess treatment' right?"

"Yeah?"

"You hired a car to take us to a fancy restaurant where you managed to book the best seat in the house. And most men don't even give their girlfriends flowers, let alone a whole bouquet they arranged themselves. So yes Jisung. This all screams princess treatment." She all but laughed out.

He took a moment, breathing out with a smile on his face, "good. Nothing but the best for my baby."

They spoke about anything and everything. Wherever their minds took them. Jisung would speak about some anime he's watching and she was happy to listen. But then it would remind her of a dream she had the other night, and he was happy to switch lanes to listen to her ramble. 

To everyone else in the restaurant, this looked like a couple that had been here many times. They looked like they were celebrating some sort of anniversary or something. But no, this was their first date. They were already so comfortable with each other, still nervous and giddy. But comfortable nonetheless. 

She didn't know how attractive the little things were until Jisung did them. Like watching him pull out his wallet to pay for the food and sign the cheque. Or how he thanked the staff so generously, tipping nearly as much cash as he had in his wallet. 

They left the restaurant and Y/N swerved towards the car but was pulled back by Jisung. "Wait," he tugged her towards the connivence store, "we need snacks."

"Snacks? For what Jisung? I'm so full!" 

He laughed like she was so silly, "for the movie!"

"The movie?"

"Yes pabo, the movie!"

The fluorescent lights inside nearly burned their eyes. But Jisung had his set on his favourite aisle. The snacks. "I asked Felix which were your favourites. But he said you usually like to pick them yourself."

"Are you going to ask Felix to tell you everything about me?" She asked, her eyes scanning the shelves in front of them.  

Jisung did the same, "only the things I want to surprise you with. I'm still learning all your favourites."

"Mmm," she responded, too focused on the conundrum of choosing a good snack, "I can't decide between these two," she held up two snacks.

Without thinking he took them both, threw them in the basket and turned his eyes back to the shelf like it was no big deal. 

"Sungie, I won't eat all that." 

"Maybe not tonight but you can eat them tomorrow. Or- what if you wake up in the middle of the night starving? What will you do then?" He turned to her, his face dead serious. There was a part of him that genuinely worried she would wake up hungry, so he turned back to the shelf. "we better get you more just to be sure." He spoke, picking up a few snacks from the shelves.

He'd seen you snack a few times. And although he couldn't remember fully, some of the packets looked familiar. "Sungie!" She giggled, trying to swat his hands back from taking anymore snacks. He pushed her back gently, chuckling. Enough that she couldn't fight him anymore. She soon gave up.

He threw so much into the basket it nearly overflowed. But Y/N wasn't paying much attention anymore because his bicep was right there, flexing under the weight of all the snacks. His honey skin was flawless, glistening under the fluorescent lights she once cursed. 

"You're drooling." He whispered, voice low and teasing. Sexy. She thought. 

Her panicked eyes darted up to his, "mmm," she mused before taking a more teasing approach, "am I not allowed to?" She reached out and squeezed his bicep between her hands, "I thought these belonged to me."

"Yours?" His teasing grin faltered, a wave of red washed over his face and travelled up to the tips of his ears in an instant. 

"Mine." She repeated. No air of humour in it. She was serious. 

Before she had time to tease him about how red he was, he dragged her up to the counter to pay. He forced his eyes to steer clear of her gaze, which he felt boring into him. His hands shook slightly when he took his wallet out to pay. He muttered a quick thank you to the cashier, bowed his head and walked out of the store.

Her gaze never left his figure, a proud smile painted on her face. That's my man. 

The car stopped again in front of Jisungs house. 

In an almost practiced manner, he exited, taking her hand to help her out of the car. He led her up the driveway, through the door where they left their shoes and down a hallway she'd never seen. "Isn't your room the other way?"

"Mmhm," he continued to pull her, "but the theatre room is this way."

"Theatre room?" She exclaimed.

Soon enough, she was stood in a large room. Comfy looking chairs filled the space, a large projector screen loomed on the back wall. She was in awe. 

He pulled her towards the front of the room, pausing to place the snacks on a small table. Then he looked back at her, eyed her up and down and then tsked. "You can't wear that."

"What?" She looked down at her outfit, "what do you mean?"

"Uh-" he cut himself off, not sure how to say what it is he wanted to say. But with an awkward smile and a blush that seemed to live permanently on his face, he said, "I kinda wanna cuddle you while we watch the movie and I have a feeling you'll be uncomfortable in that."

"I guess you're right." She sighed, "but I didn't bring anything else."

He chuckled, "I know." Then he walked out of the room, Y/N in tow, towards his room. She stood awkwardly by, waiting as he dug through his drawers. He pulled out a white shirt and a pair of baggy shorts. He turned, placed them in her hands and ushered her into the bathroom. 

She giggled, happily obliging. She always wanted to a girlfriend for so many different reasons. But stealing clothes from her partner was definitely high on that list. 

She slipped the shirt over herself first, a fresh but woody aroma filled her nose. The shirt was clean and cold but the scent of him sent a hot rush throughout her body. She pulled the string of the shorts tight, wondering how much tighter Jisung would have to tie it to keep it slipping down his tiny waist.

She shook the thoughts from her head. Although they were together now, Y/N still felt bad for the way she thought about his body. They weren't there yet. And she didn't want to make him uncomfortable by risking him finding out what exactly his body did to her. So she pushed those feelings down.

Once she was fully dressed, she opened the door to be greeted with Jisung in a similar looking outfit. White shirt and shorts. Granted, the graphic and patterns on both were different, but Y/N liked the idea of them matching, so she pretended they were. 

"I found this in mums bathroom," he offered her the makeup wipes he held, "in case you wanted them."

She sighed, thanking him as she took them back into the bathroom. The door remained open this time, allowing Jisung to move in behind her. 

She was stretched over the counter to near closer to the mirror. She wiped her face over, scrubbing harder at certain parts of her face to rid it of the stubborn makeup. His hand brushed her back as he reached around her for his contacts case. With ease and precision, he peeled his contacts out and stored them. 

He wandered back into his bedroom, retrieved his glasses and went back to lean against the doorframe. His head fell sideways too when he admired the domestic scene of her bent over the counter, removing her makeup. His mind drifted elsewhere at the image.

Once most of it was gone, she looked over and asked, "do you have any face wash?"

"Mmhm," he hummed, moving further in, willing his brain to stop thinking of her that way. His hands gripped her waist and pushed her slightly out of the way before pulling open a drawer and pulling out his face wash. He placed it on the counter before retrieving a moisturiser too. 

She moved back towards the sink, leaning even further in to splash water into her face. 

He was a man. Which meant he usually scrubbed his face haphazardly, both hands moving up and down his face vigorously. So he couldn't help but admire the way she did it. 

She lathered up the soap in her hands until a slight bubble started. Her fingers worked gently around her face, working into the corners of her nose, avoiding her eyes and circling over her cheeks.

Satisfied, she ducked back down to the sink and turned the water on. A few strands of hair fell forward and Jisung was quick to step in, pulling them back. She rinsed her face, eyes squeezed shut and her head moved back up. Jisung laughed before fetching a hand towel and drying her face for her. 

Y/N moved towards the moisturiser but Jisung picked it up quicker. Tenderly, he asked, "can I?"

His boba eyes shone brightly at her and her head nodded yes before she could even think about it. He smiled and closed in on her, gripping her waist and hoisting her up onto the counter. A small gasp left her lips at the unexpected act.

Jisung didn't pay it much mind though, as he squeezed a small amount of cream onto his face. He brushed some stray hairs from her face and tucked them behind her ears. His mouth hung open slightly and his brows furrowed in concentration. He dotted the cream around her face before he began to rub it in. He was thankful he paid so much attention to how she washed her face before.

Now, he practiced her moves. Working gently around her face, circling over her cheeks, avoiding the sensitive areas. But a wave of panic filled him as he realised just how red she was. 

"Oh no," he whispered. He snatched the bottle off the counter, reading the back for ingredients, "are you allergic to anything?"

"What?" She panicked. 

"Your face is so red I think you might be allergic to something in this cream."

"Oh," she let out, chuckling lowly. She reached her hand forward, moving the bottle and his hands down. "Jisung..."

He looked up at her, worry riddling his face. He looked as if he could cry. He would never forgive himself if he hurt her. "God, you're so red."

"Jisung." She repeated, her eyes flicking towards the ground, "I'm not allergic... I'm just... you..."

"I what?"

"You just put me on the counter like I was nothing. I just forget how strong you are sometimes."

"Oh..." he spoke, placing the bottle back on the counter. And then again, "oh." This time more teasing and he moved his hands up her thighs and landed on her hips. He pulled her forward until she fell into him, forcing her legs to wrap around his waist. 

"Sungie!" She exclaimed, but did nothing to stop herself from being manhandled. 

Her arms slung around his shoulders and she stared into his eyes. He laughed and started the walk back to the media room. "C'mon princess. We've got a movie to watch."

She giggled and hid her face into his neck. He adjusted her slightly in his arms, not because he was struggling, but to ensure she was comfortable. He was not breaking a sweat. 

Before long, they were back in the theatre room. He didn't let go of her, but instead sat straight down on the love seat at the front of the room. He kept her in his lap as he reached across for the remote. 

She fell a little bit to the side to allow herself to look towards the screen. But her legs were slung over his lap, his left arm wrapped around her waist. 

Her hand came to rest on his chest as he flicked through for the movie he wanted to watch. Her head laid between his shoulder and chest as her fingers drew little circles absentmindedly. 

"Ah," he huffed, clicking play on the movie. The music swelled in a familiar melody and Y/N beamed.

"Howls?" She questioned.

"You said it was your favourite."

"It is."

"Me too."

They held their gaze on each other for a moment longer than necessary. "You did well Sungie."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm..." her hand that rested on his chest crept up to cup his face, "I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

He nodded his head frantically and she pulled his face towards hers in a kiss. The kisses they'd shared throughout the past week, after the party, were generally quick, cute and rushed. They hadn't had time to have a repeat of the movie-worthy kiss they had on the balcony of Seungmins house. 

But here, they had all the time in the world. Which was maybe what gave Jisung the confidence to poke his tongue towards her lips, asking for entry. She didn't hesitate to give it, and he deepened the kiss. His tongue swirling around hers and he pushed in closer to her face. She leaned back against the armrest, but he didn't let up. He hand travelled up her body to rest just under her ribcage. His thumb soothed her, before he pulled his face back for a breath. 

"Fuck." He muttered. Dropping his forehead against Y/Ns. "Fucking hell you're going to kill me."

She let out another giggle, both hands now cupping his face. "I wouldn't allow it. You're stuck with me."

"Mmm," he leaned back in, "if you say so."

He kissed her again with a lot more force than last time. But a loud sound from the movie made them both flinch. Their eyes turned towards it, red faces hidden by the darkness of the room. They laughed together at the silliness before Jisung moved them both upright again. He waited for Y/N to settle into his side however she wanted before turning his attention finally to the movie.

"Howl! Calcifer! It's me, Sophie!"  The sound from the speakers rang through the room and Jisung mouthed the words along with it, "I know how to help you now! Find me in the future!"

Jisung smiled to himself at the line, whispering down to the girl beside him. "I think I was destined to find you in every world and every future..."

He let the words hang in the air. Mulling them over, satisfied with the thought of them being together in every instance of existence. But the silence stretched longer than he was comfortable with. He tilted his head down, and saw Y/N was fast asleep in his arms. His heart melted and he let out a small scoff of cuteness aggression.

Soon, the credits rolled and the sleeping figure next to him remained unmoving. He smiled to himself, scooped her up and carried her away.

Streaks of early morning sun poked through the curtains and Y/N stretched out her limbs. She breathed deep, her senses being engulfed by a familiar woody scent; but one she was not expecting. 

She blinked her eyes open in confusion, looking around as her eyes adjusted. She was in Jisungs room. In his bed. Her phone sat on the table beside his bed, her phone plugged in. Jisungs was abandoned next to it. A glass of water sat there too, and some leftover snacks from the night before with a small note on it; 'Y/N <3'. She reeled around, her hand meeting an empty space beside her. She looked down at her hand, now covered by the black sleeve of Jisung's hoodie. 

Before she had time to panic about his whereabouts, she heard a soft snore and turned her head towards it. Jisung sat in his gaming chair, arms crossed over his chest, head back and mouth open. His glasses remained perched on the bridge of his nose, a second away from falling. He slept on the chair.

"Ji?" She whispered into the room. She watched him sleep for a moment longer. His head fell down a little before he reeled it back up. "Ji!" She spoke louder, managing to rouse him. 

"Wha-huh?" He shook his head, glasses falling into his lap from the movement. He jolted slightly, sitting up a little more. Once he saw Y/Ns half-awake figure in his bed he relaxed a little. Letting a soft yawn escape as he rubbed his eyes, picking up his glasses again. "Morning."

Oh my god his morning voice. The tone she could feel in her chest. Deep. Gravelly. Sexy.

Y/N tried to push passed the feeling that was sending chills and waves of... something, throughout her body. "What are you doing?"

"I was sleeping until someone woke me." He blinked his eyes drowsily, struggling to keep them open.

"I knew that," she sat upright in his bed, "I meant why are you sleeping over there?"

"Well... I didn't want to sleep next to you without your permission... Last night was only our first date after all... You fell asleep during the movie and I didn't want to wake you," he shifted slightly in the chair, "and I didn't want to leave you on the couch."

"Why didn't you sleep on the couch?"

His face turned red. Of course. Why didn't he think of that? He was just so preoccupied making sure she was safe and well-rested that he didn't even think of sleeping on the couch himself. He had thought about so many things last night, but the one he told her was; "Well, I didn't want you to wake up alone either."

How can one man be this cute all the time? "Ji..." she let out, patting the bed beside her, "c'mere, your neck must hurt so much."

"I-" He stopped himself. 

It was clear he was hesitant, so Y/N cleared her throat. With an assertive voice, "Sungie come here. I want cuddles please."

With that he was on his feet, scrambling up his bed and under the covers. He wasted no time in pulling her onto his chest, small noises emanating from her mouth as he did so. They settled into each other with a sigh. They didn't speak another word, just closed their eyes and drifted back off. 

The sun had moved higher in the sky by the time her phone buzzed on the bedside table. She groaned, reached across and blindly switched it off. She snuggled back into Jisung, humming softly before the noise woke her. Another groan and without looking, she answered. 

It went through, "Mm?" she hummed and a loud voice came ringing through.

"Y/N! Where have you been?"

"Mmm?" She was not awake enough to recognise what was happening.

"Mingi called and apparently you didn't go home last night?" The sweet concern in Felix's deep voice gave him away. "Where are you? Chan and I have been looking everywhere!"

She heard Chan yell something too but she couldn't make it out. "I'm at Jisungs."

The line went silent. She took the phone away from her ear to look. She was still on call. "Hello?"

It was Chans voice now, "tell me you're joking."

"Why would I be joking?"

"Y/N..." He cautioned, before huffing and loudly demanding, "put him on."

"What?"

"Jisung. Put him on the phone. Put him on right now. I want to speak with him." Y/N had confused the anger in his voice with worry, so she handed over the phone to an equally sleepy Jisung.

He picked his head up from where it was smushed his into his pillow. He took it, pulled it up to his ear and answered. 

The room was silent until Chan's angry, loud voice rang through the phone. You would have thought it was on speaker. But it was his words that caused Y/N to wake up instantly. 

"You slept with my sister? My baby sister? On the first date? You haven't even been together a week and you're already making plans to knock her up!"

Y/N stole her phone back instantly, anger burning up in her too, "Christopher what the fuck?"

"Did he hurt you bug?" His voice was still stern, but an air of concern was added when he heard her voice.

"The fuck you mean did he hurt me? It's Jisung! He couldn't hurt a fly even if he wanted to!"

"I'm coming to get you."

"No the fuck you're not." The line was silent for a beat, before Y/N spoke again, "who do you think you are talking to Jisung like that?"

"You slept with him didn't you?" Chan seethed through the phone, his voice loud enough that Jisung could still hear it. 

She laughed, but there was no humour in her voice, "No, I did not sleep with Jisung, not that its your business. He didn't even sleep in the same bed as me. And even if I had slept with him, that's my business. I'm a grown ass woman, I can fuck who I want." She breathed deep, her anger not seeming to subside. Jisung could sense that and sat upright next to her.

"No, you're too young to be throwing yourself at boys like that. Jisungs a nice boy, but you have to promise me you won't do anything with him until you're older."

She scoffed, "Fucking hell Christopher. This whole protective brother thing? It's cute until it gets to this point. You've never had a problem with Ji. All this time I spoke to you about him and you never had a problem. So why the fuck now, huh? You can accuse me of whatever the fuck you want but to ask me if Jisung hurt me? Nah, you've crossed the fucking line." She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, the anger inside her boiling over and her body didn't know how to rest. 

Jisung wanted to reach out to her so badly, but the tension in her shoulders suggested to him to wait.

"You do this anytime I get close to a boy!" She continued, "You act like you're on my side until things get serious and suddenly you're not the only important boy in my life so you freak out. You say shit without thinking about it." She stood up, beginning to pace around Jisungs room, arms gesticulating, "And then you scare them all away! And I'm left alone again!"

"I've never left you alone Y/N."

"You think I want to be glued to your side my entire life? You think you can stop me from falling in love as long as I live? No," her voice was stern but shaky, the tears glazed her eyes over, but had not yet fallen, "you don't get to do that to me anymore! You don't get to demand to know where I am. You're not allowed to tell me who I can be with. You don't get to accuse my boyfriend of being anything less than the gentleman he is."

She was too far away for Jisung to hear exactly what Chan had said, but he watched as hot tears fell rapidly down her cheeks. Whatever he said, it caused her to bite back, "no fuck you Christopher!" Then she hung up the phone. She threw it onto Jisungs bed before storming away into the bathroom. 

Jisung was quick onto his feet, rushing after her. His heart broke when he entered. She sat on the edge of the bathtub. Her face flushed with anger, burning tears soaking her beautiful cheeks. Her hand clawed at her chest. That's when he realised her breathing was so erratic. "I can't-" she choked out, "I can't breathe."

Jisung fell to his knees in front of her, grabbing her hands and pulling them against his chest. "Breathe," he soothed, "with me baby. Breathe."

She sucked in a shaky breath, exhaling soon after. She tried again, but it was like her lungs wouldn't let her get enough air. "I can't Ji." She cried more.

"Yes. Yes you can. Follow my breathing okay?" He pushed her hands further into his chest, breathing loudly and through his nose and mouth so she could hear. 

Her eyes were sealed shut, but the tears burned hot. "Why did he have to ruin everything?"

"Shh," he calmed her, "not now. Just focus on my breathing baby."

She took another deep breath in, still shaky but bigger than the last. Another, less shaky. Soon, all that was left were the hot tears soaking Jisungs hoodie. He rose a little from his spot on the ground to wipe away the tears on her face. "You're okay baby. You're here with me okay? You're safe."

She simply nodded her head. "Tell me what you see." Jisung asked.

"Mmm?"

"Tell me what you see. 5 things."

She opened her eyes inquisitively, before searching the room. "You."

"Mmhm," he nodded, accepting her answer.

"The shower." She listed things but waited after each for approval from Jisung. "Bar of soap." She scanned some more. "Toothbrush." He hummed again, waiting for the final one, "your cream. The one you put on me last night."

Jisung looked over his shoulder to find that, indeed, his moisturiser still sat on his counter. "Good. Now what do you feel? Four things."

"I feel how warm your hands are..." she smoothed her fingers over his palms, "how cold the tiles are," she wiggled her toes slightly against the floor. "I can feel the edge of the tub digging into my butt," she let a small, quick, humourless laugh escape her mouth. Jisung let one out too before moving her onto the floor in front of him. "I can feel how soft the inside of your hoodie is."

Jisung wiggled a hand passed hers into the sleeve of his own hoodie to confirm. "Okay. Close your eyes. What do you hear? 3 things."

She followed his instructions, "I hear your breathing. It's so steady." She mused for a moment, matching her breathing to his. "I can hear a... drip?" She opened her eyes slightly, looking around for the source. 

Jisung scanned the room quickly before; "Never mind that..." he crossed his legs in front of her, holding her hands tightly. "One more."

"You."

He squinted at her, "you said that one already."

"No I said your breathing. Now I hear your voice."

"Okay," he caved, "I'll allow it. What can you smell? Two things."

She took a deep breath, "coconut?"

"That's my shampoo." He spoke, a little embarrassed. 

He let another small laugh out, breathing deep again, "I smell you."

"That's not very nice." He tilted his head slightly. "I haven't had the chance to shower yet!"

"But you smell like sleep and coconut and..." she breathed in once more, "home."

"Okay one more before my heart explodes." He laughed, trying to remain composed. The he leaned in a little, "one thing you can taste."

She thought for a moment, smacking her tongue around in her mouth. "I don't. I don't taste anything."

Jisung hummed and leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her mouth, pulling back and hovering against her. "How about now?" he whispered softly.

She licked her lips, tasting him. Only him. "Mmm," her eyes were focused on his lips and whispered back, "I taste you."

He bought her back in for a another soft kiss. Her eyebrows knit together and her hand wove into his hair, deepening the kiss. He got hold of her legs, swinging them around his waist and bringing her close to his chest. 

Y/N snuggled her face into his neck, breath matching his. They stayed like this for a while. 

Y/N spoke next. So soft and quiet Jisung nearly missed it. "Thank you."

He mulled over the words, allowing them to hold weight in this heavy space. "I'd drop anything to be there for you. You know know right?" She only hugged him tighter. "Like, even if... and this is worst case scenario... but even if things don't work out between us. You call me... and I'm there. I'd never let anything hurt you my baby."

She hummed into her, pulling him impossibly closer. "I know."

"Good." He pulled back a little, "I think you should have a shower. Do you think you could do that? For me?"

Y/N thought about it for a moment before she nodded her head softly. 

It was the middle of spring, the sky as blue as the ribbons tying your pigtails, and the air carried that mixture of sun-warmed grass and chalk dust from the blacktop. Everyone else was loud, laughing, chasing each other across the yard in a game of tag. But he was still. A small island of silence in the chaos.

You’d heard the whispers before you saw him.

“His accent’s weird.”
“He’s new.”
“Why’s he so quiet?”

Children can be cruel without realizing it, their words sharp without knowing how much they cut. And while everyone else ran away from the new boy, you had wandered toward him.

You smoothed down your flowy pink dress, it always flared when you walked too quickly and padded over with your lunch bag swinging from your wrist. He didn’t look up at first. His fingers gripped the handle of the lunchbox so tightly that his knuckles turned pale. You remember wondering if he was scared of opening it, as if it might bite him.

“Hi,” you said simply.

His head lifted. Dark eyes, wide and careful, met yours. He looked like a rabbit caught under a flashlight beam frozen, unsure if it was safer to run or stay.

“You’re the new kid, right?” you asked, tilting your head. “What’s your name?”

“…Changbin,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

“Changbin,” you repeated, tasting the syllables. “I like it.” You plopped down beside him before he could protest, your skirt brushing against his leg. “I’m Y/n.”

He blinked, confused. Most kids introduced themselves while standing several feet away, wary, ready to bolt. But you were close. Too close. Close enough for him to smell the faint sweetness of the juice box you carried.

You unzipped your lunch bag and pulled out your sandwich. “What did you bring?” you asked, peering at the unopened box in his lap.

His grip tightened. “…It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing. It’s food.” You leaned sideways, attempting to peek. “C’mon, I want to see.”

He hesitated, then slowly opened the lid. Inside were small portions of neatly packed rice, side dishes arranged with care, clearly the work of someone who loved him enough to make sure he ate well. It wasn’t the sandwiches and chips the other kids had, and you realized, with a sting of guilt, why he’d been reluctant to show it.

“Wow,” you said honestly, eyes wide. “That looks way better than mine.”

His head snapped toward you. “…What?”

“Mine’s just boring bread,” you complained, holding up your sandwich. “Yours looks like a feast.”

And for the first time since you’d approached him, his lips twitched. Not a smile, not fully, but a crack in the wall he’d built around himself.

You grinned, triumphant, and nudged his arm with yours. “Want to trade a little?”

“…Trade?”

“Yeah. Half of mine for half of yours. That way I can try it and you can try mine.”

He stared at you as if you’d just offered him something unimaginable. Slowly, cautiously, he handed you a piece of rolled egg, and you gave him half of your sandwich. He took a bite, chewed, and then made a face.

“Too dry,” he muttered.

“Hey!” you protested, though laughter bubbled in your chest. “You’re supposed to say it’s good!”

“It’s not,” he said bluntly, but his cheeks turned pink as he avoided your gaze.

You laughed anyway. And that was how it began.

From that day forward, you and Changbin were inseparable. At first, you thought you were just being kind, including the new kid so he wouldn’t be lonely. But it didn’t take long before kindness turned into habit, and habit turned into something stronger.

You sought him out in the mornings, saving him a seat beside you. You walked with him after class, your steps falling into rhythm without thinking. At recess, while others played in their own groups, you dragged him along, insisting that tag or hide-and-seek was more fun with him there.

The other kids noticed. They whispered again, but the tone was different this time.

“They’re always together.”
“Are they best friends?”
“Do you think they’re…?”

You didn’t care. He was yours, your best friend, your safe place. And he looked at you like you were the only one who had ever chosen him.

Years passed, but the memory of that first lunch on the bench never faded. Sometimes, you’d tease him about it.

“Remember when you wouldn’t open your lunchbox?” you’d laugh.

He’d roll his eyes, trying to play it off, but you could always see the way the corner of his mouth curved upward.

He remembered too.

And somewhere deep inside him, beneath the easy banter and the laughter you shared, something else took root. Something softer, heavier, harder to ignore as time went on.

Changbin loved you. He had from the very beginning.

But you didn’t know that yet.

Not then.

-

Somehow, through all the awkward years and sudden changes, you and Changbin never drifted.

People came and went, friends you sat with in class one year would vanish the next, replaced by strangers who felt temporary, like passing shadows. But he was constant. Like gravity, always pulling you back no matter how far you wandered.

By now, the whispers had changed.

“They’re basically dating, right?”
“They’re always together.”
“Look at the way he carries her bag.”

You learned to laugh them off. “No, we’re just friends,” you’d say quickly, almost defensively.

It wasn’t untrue. At least, not then. He was your best friend, the one you trusted more than anyone else. You never thought twice before linking arms with him, or stealing food off his tray, or lying on his shoulder during long study sessions. It felt natural. Familiar. Safe.

But for Changbin, safety was never the whole story.

He knew the shape of your laugh, the rhythm of your sighs, the tilt of your head when you were trying not to smile. He noticed the way you fidgeted when you were nervous, the way you’d tap your pen against the side of your notebook when you were thinking. He knew you like he knew himself.

And somewhere along the way, knowing became loving.

It wasn’t sudden for him. It wasn’t one moment of realization but a thousand little ones. The way your hair caught the sunlight when you leaned across the desk. The way your voice softened when you asked if he’d eaten. The way your eyes searched for him in a crowd like you couldn’t breathe until you found him.

He didn’t tell you. How could he? To say it out loud would risk shattering everything, and he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, not even a piece of you. So he held it quietly, guarding it like a secret treasure, letting it seep into the way he treated you.

He carried your heavy books without being asked. He waited after practice so you wouldn’t have to walk home alone. He memorized your favorite snacks and bought them when he knew you were having a bad day.

To everyone else, it looked like devotion. To you, it was just Changbin being Changbin.

And to him, it was love disguised as friendship.

There were girls, of course. Girls who noticed the way his shoulders had broadened, the way his laugh had grown deeper, the way his sharp jawline contrasted with the softness of his smile. They started approaching him between classes, slipping him folded notes, lingering by his locker.

You always ended up being the messenger.

“Hey, can you give me his number?” they’d ask you shyly.

You never thought twice about it. “Sure,” you’d reply, scribbling it down for them. Why wouldn’t you? He was your best friend, and you wanted him to be happy.

Changbin never said a word about it. He just tucked his hands in his pockets, waited until the girl gathered the courage to talk to him again, and then gently, always gently told her no.

Because he didn’t want their numbers. He wanted yours.

But you never noticed. Or maybe you never let yourself notice.

High school was full of moments like that, things you didn’t see, things you brushed off.

Like the time at the school festival when you tripped over a loose cable and he caught you before you hit the ground, his arm strong around your waist. For one heartbeat, your faces were inches apart, close enough to feel his breath against your cheek.

You laughed nervously, shoving him away. “You’re such a lifesaver.”

He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

Or the night you both stayed up cramming for finals, your head dropping onto his shoulder as exhaustion pulled you under. He froze, heart hammering in his chest, every instinct screaming at him to stay perfectly still. You slept peacefully, your hand curling unconsciously against his arm.

He stared at you for hours, memorizing every line of your face, every flicker of expression in your dreams. And when morning came, he pretended nothing happened.

You never noticed the way he looked at you differently when you weren’t watching.

And he never let you.

Still, even without labels, you and Changbin were inseparable. People stopped asking if you were dating; they just assumed. And every time you denied it, every time you laughed and said, “No, no, it’s not like that,” a small part of him cracked.

But he never let it show.

Because if you didn’t see him that way, he’d rather have you as a friend than not have you at all.

So he smiled, swallowed his feelings, and walked beside you anyway.

Always beside you.

But feelings don’t stay buried forever.

And neither of you knew that college would change everything.

College felt bigger, wider, overwhelming in a way high school never did.
Suddenly, there were endless halls, crowded lecture theaters, faces you didn’t know and professors who didn’t care if you kept up or fell behind.

But through it all, there was Changbin.

He found you in the mornings, walking you to class with coffee in hand because he already knew you wouldn’t eat breakfast. He waited outside lecture halls so you wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. He memorized your schedule before you even had, texting reminders about room numbers or assignment deadlines like he was your second brain.

Everyone noticed.

“They’re definitely dating.”
“Did you see him hold her bag while she tied her shoe?”
“He walks her everywhere.”

The whispers never really stopped, they just got louder in college. And this time, instead of brushing them off with a laugh, you felt your throat tighten every time you heard it.

Because what if they were right?

No.
You shook the thought away, too quickly, too defensively. He was your best friend. That was all.

So when someone asked directly, you snapped out the same answer you always had:
“No, we’re not dating.”

You didn’t notice the way his expression faltered the first time he overheard you say it. You didn’t see how his jaw clenched, how his hands curled into fists in his pockets, how the words sank into him like stones tied to his chest.

All you saw were the girls who started approaching you afterward.

“Hey, could you give me Changbin’s number?”
“Since you’re so close with him, could you pass this along?”

You gave it without thinking.
Why wouldn’t you?

He was handsome now, not just in the way you noticed objectively, but in the way other girls whispered about when they thought you couldn’t hear. Of course they wanted his number. Of course they noticed him.

You never asked what he thought of it.

And Changbin never told you that every time you handed out his number, it felt like watching pieces of himself slip further from you.

He turned them all down. Always. Gently but firmly, no hesitation.

Because he didn’t want their attention.
He wanted yours. But you never realized.

The strange thing was, the more time you spent in college, the more you started noticing him, not the boy you’d grown up with, but the man he was becoming.

It crept up on you slowly.

The slope of his shoulders under his hoodie when he leaned back in his chair. The way his laugh was deeper now, rich and warm, drawing stares from people around the room. The little veins that popped along his forearms when he carried too many textbooks for you.

You told yourself it didn’t matter. He was still Changbin. Still the boy you’d sat with on that bench years ago. Still the one who shared his lunch when no one else would sit with him.

But your body betrayed you.

The first time your fingers brushed by accident, your heart gave a traitorous jolt. The first time he leaned in too close to show you something on your laptop, your breath caught in your throat.

You ignored it. Buried it. Laughed it off.

But then came the night that changed everything.

You’d gone out with a group of classmates, more out of obligation than desire. It was some casual mixer thing, music too loud, shoes that pinched your feet, a haze of perfume and chatter that made your head spin.

Changbin was there, of course. He always was.
He kept close, hovering protectively when strangers tried to strike up conversation with you, keeping his hand near the small of your back when the crowd got too thick.

It should’ve annoyed you. Instead, it made something burn hot and confusing in your chest.

But you didn’t fully understand it until your heels betrayed you.

They looked cute when you put them on, but three hours in, every step felt like walking on broken glass. You tried to play it off, smile through the ache, but Changbin noticed immediately.

“You’re limping,” he said flatly, stopping you in your tracks.

“No, I’m fine—”

“You’re not.” His tone left no room for argument.

Before you could protest, he guided you to an empty bench outside the venue. You sat down, trying to wave him off, but he crouched in front of you, frowning at your swollen feet like it was his personal responsibility.

Then, without a word, he jogged off.

Minutes later, he returned with a pair of plain, comfortable slip-on shoes he’d bought from a nearby store. He knelt again, gently helping you out of your heels, slipping the new shoes onto your feet with a care that made your chest ache.

“I’ll carry these,” he said, picking up your discarded heels without hesitation.

You stared at him. At the sweat shining faintly on his temple from rushing. At the way his strong hands held your delicate shoes like they were nothing. At the quiet steadiness in his eyes, the unspoken worry written in every line of his face.

Something shifted inside you.

Your heart raced, pounding against your ribs in a way it never had before. Not with anyone else. Not even once.

It terrified you.

So you smiled weakly, thanked him, and the very next day, you started to pull away.

-

You didn’t mean to hurt him. You told yourself it was just space. Just a little time to breathe, to figure out why being near him suddenly made it hard to think straight.

But he noticed.

Of course he did. He always noticed.

The missed texts. The excuses about being too busy. The way you suddenly locked your door when before he could come and go freely.

He stood outside your dorm once, staring at the code panel, thumb hovering over the spare key in his pocket. He used to know your rhythms so well, your laugh echoing down the hall as you opened the door before he even knocked.

Now there was silence.

And Changbin wondered.. Was it something he’d done?
Had you figured it out?
Did you finally see the feelings he’d tried so hard to hide?

And worse, did you not want him anymore, not even as a friend?

It started small. A late reply here. An excuse there. A laugh that didn’t sound quite like you when he asked if you wanted to grab dinner.

Changbin tried not to notice. He told himself you were busy, college was different now, schedules heavier, circles widening. You had more friends, more places to be, more things to do. He told himself it wasn’t about him.

But it was.

Because he still knew you. Better than anyone else. He knew the difference between your I’m tired and your I don’t want to talk right now. He knew when you were genuinely busy, and when you were simply avoiding him.

And lately, every excuse, every flimsy smile, every locked door screamed avoidance.

At first, he thought back on everything he’d said, everything he’d done. Had he pushed too far? Had he let too much slip? He replayed moments over and over, dissecting them in the dark of his room until sleep wouldn’t come.

The shoes.
The heels he carried in his hands while you walked beside him in comfort.
The way your eyes had looked at him different, for once, sharp with something he couldn’t name.

Had you noticed? Had you seen too much?

And if you had… did that mean you wanted less of him now?

The thought gutted him.

-

You, on the other hand, told yourself you were doing the right thing.
Space. That’s what you needed. A little distance to steady yourself, to quiet the pounding of your heart every time he came too close.

It wasn’t supposed to hurt him. You hadn’t meant for it to.

But you were scared.

Scared because for years, he had been safe. Familiar. A constant you never had to question. He was the boy who sat on the bench with you when no one else would, the boy who carried your books, the boy who stayed up all night to help you study. He was your anchor, your person, your home.

And now, suddenly, your heart was racing in ways you didn’t understand when he touched you, when he smiled at you, when he looked at you too long.

It felt dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff you weren’t ready to jump from.

So you stepped back.

You leaned on your other friends instead, your girlfriends who never minded Changbin, but who didn’t miss him either. They welcomed you when you showed up alone. They didn’t question why he wasn’t there. They filled the empty spaces with chatter and laughter, and for a while, it felt easier.

You laughed with them, smiled through the nights out, took pictures, held drinks in your hands. On the surface, everything looked fine.

But in the quiet moments, when you looked down at your phone and saw no new messages, when the crowd grew too loud, when the laughter around you didn’t quite reach your chest, your thoughts drifted back to him. Always to him.

To his frown when he noticed you weren’t eating.
To his laugh, low and warm, that made the air vibrate.
To the way he’d held your heels in one hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You thought of him, even when you were trying not to.

Especially then.

And Changbin noticed.

Every time you posted a picture out with them, smiling without him in the frame.
Every time he saw you across campus, surrounded by people who weren’t him.
Every time he sat in his room, staring at the spare key you’d given him, wondering if he even had the right to use it anymore.

The weight of it crushed him slowly, like the ground beneath his feet was sinking inch by inch. He wanted to ask, but the fear of your answer was worse than silence.

Still, he couldn’t take it much longer.

That night, when you came back from yet another outing with your friends, laughter still clinging to your lips, the last thing you expected was to see him waiting.

Changbin stood leaning against your doorframe, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head tilted down. The dim hallway light cast shadows across his face, and for a moment, you thought he might’ve been waiting there for hours.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

“Changbin…” you breathed, guilt prickling sharp in your chest.

He lifted his head slowly, and the sight made your throat close. His eyes were glassy, rimmed with exhaustion, and there was something raw in them you’d never seen before.

“Hey,” he said softly, but his voice cracked halfway through the word.

You froze, clutching your bag tighter. “What are you doing here?”

“I needed to see you.” His tone was steady at first, but his hands trembled where they fisted inside his pockets. “I… I can’t keep pretending like this is normal.”

Your breath hitched. “Pretending what?”

“That everything’s fine when it’s not,” he burst out, his voice breaking louder this time. “You’re pulling away from me, and I don’t know why. Did I do something? Did I—did I mess up?”

The pain in his voice tore through you. His eyes shone, tears welling despite the way he blinked hard, trying to keep them at bay.

And when the first tear finally slipped down his cheek, your world shattered.

Because Changbin didn’t cry. Not like this. Not openly, not where you could see.

Your chest ached so fiercely it felt like it might break open.

“Bin…” you whispered, taking a step closer, but he flinched back like he couldn’t bear your pity.

“Just tell me the truth,” he begged, voice hoarse. “If you don’t want me around anymore, I’ll go. I’ll disappear if that’s what you need. Just—please—don’t leave me wondering.”

You couldn’t breathe. Every word was a knife, cutting through the excuses you’d built. He thought he’d done something wrong. He thought you didn’t want him anymore.

And it was all your fault.

Because he hadn’t done anything, nothing but care for you, nothing but love you the only way he knew how.

The problem wasn’t him. It was you.

You were terrified. Terrified of your own feelings, of seeing him not as the boy you grew up with but as the man who made your heart race, the man who could destroy you with one touch, one word, one kiss.

And now your fear had hurt him more than anything else could.

Your hands shook as you reached for him, your voice breaking. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I swear, you didn’t. I just…”

How could you explain it? How could you tell him you’d run from him because you felt too much? That the idea of losing him, of ruining what you had, had paralyzed you until you chose distance over risk?

How could you say the truth when it might unravel everything between you?

Tears burned your eyes as you choked on the words. “I’m sorry, Bin. I’m so, so sorry.”

And he just stared at you, heart in his throat, waiting for an answer that would either save him or break him completely.

He shook his head, cutting you off before you could say anything else. “Don’t. You don’t have to explain. I get it now.”

Your stomach dropped. “Get what?”

“That you don’t want me around anymore.” His voice was low, steady, but every word carried the weight of something breaking inside him. “You’ve been avoiding me, ignoring me, pushing me away. I should’ve taken the hint earlier, but I didn’t want to believe it.”

“No,” you said quickly, panic rising. “That’s not—”

“I won’t bother you anymore.”

The words hit you like a slap, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe. He was serious. He meant it. The boy who had always been at your side, the one person you thought would never leave, was telling you he would go.

Your hand shot out instinctively, grabbing his wrist before he could turn away. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

His gaze snapped to yours, eyes blazing with hurt. “Why not? So you can keep pretending like nothing’s wrong? So you can keep giving me scraps of attention while you laugh with everyone else?”

“Changbin—”

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” His voice rose, anger laced with anguish. “Or did you think I wouldn’t care?”

The words cut deep.

“You used to tell me everything,” he pressed, his frustration unraveling with every syllable. “Every little thing. I knew more about your day than you probably did yourself. And now? I ask, and you barely give me a sentence. You shut me out like I’m nothing to you.”

You swallowed hard, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he continued, his chest heaving as years of restraint cracked wide open. “You avoid me in class. You smile at everyone but me. You think I can’t tell, but I can. I notice every damn thing, because that’s what I do. I notice you.”

The words hung heavy in the air, suffocating.

You closed your eyes, sucking in a shaky breath. You hadn’t meant for it to get this bad. You hadn’t meant to hurt him this way. But you’d been so caught up in your fear, in the pounding of your heart every time he got too close, that you’d forgotten,

He wasn’t just your best friend.
He was the person who loved you the most.
And you’d broken him by trying to protect yourself.

“I…” The word stuck in your throat. You forced yourself to look at him, at the tears still clinging stubbornly to his lashes, at the anger barely holding together the pieces of his hurt.

Your voice came out louder than you intended, raw and desperate.

“I like you, okay?!”

The words tore out of you, filling the narrow hallway with a finality you couldn’t take back.

Changbin froze.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your hands trembling as you held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “I like you,” you repeated, softer this time, your voice breaking. “That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. Because I didn’t know how to handle it. Because it scared me. You scare me.”

His breath hitched, the storm in his eyes faltering into stunned silence.

And for the first time, the truth lay bare between you, messy, jagged, terrifying.

No more excuses.
No more distance.

Just the raw, undeniable truth neither of you could ignore anymore.

The words hung in the air, heavier than stone.
I like you.

You almost couldn’t believe you’d said it. You hadn’t planned to. You hadn’t rehearsed. It wasn’t supposed to come out like that loud, raw, desperate. But once the words left your mouth, there was no taking them back.

Except he didn’t respond.

Changbin just… froze. His eyes wide, his lips parted slightly, his chest rising and falling as if he’d forgotten how to breathe.

And the silence stretched.

A second. Two. Five.

Your heart pounded louder with each passing moment, your ears burning hot, your stomach twisting. The longer he said nothing, the more the panic clawed at you.

Maybe you’d ruined everything.
Maybe you’d misread the way he cared for you.
Maybe he’d never think of you as more than the girl with pigtails and a pink dress who sat beside him when no one else would.

“Forget it,” you blurted, shaking your head, your voice cracking with humiliation. “I didn’t mean it. Just… forget I said anything.”

You turned quickly, fumbling with your keys, desperate to escape into the safety of your apartment before your face burst completely into flames. If you could just get the door open, if you could just hide from his eyes—

“Don’t.”

His voice was firm, breaking through your panic.

Your hand stilled against the lock, your knuckles white as you gripped the key.

“Don’t take it back,” Changbin said, softer this time, but no less intense.

You swallowed hard, staring at the door as if it could swallow you whole. “…Why not?”

“Because—” He let out a shaky laugh, one that sounded closer to a sob. “Do you really not know? Do you honestly not know how I feel about you?”

Your chest tightened. Slowly, you turned to look at him, and the sight nearly undid you.

His eyes were wet, glistening under the dim hallway light, but they burned with something more than pain. Something fierce, desperate, unshakable.

“Binnie…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He stepped closer, and you forgot how to breathe.

“Since the moment you walked up to me on that bench,” he said, his words raw, unguarded, “since the moment you sat down beside me when everyone else turned away—since then… I’ve liked you.” His voice cracked, but he pushed through. “No. I’ve been in love with you.”

Your breath caught, your world tilting off its axis.

He took another step, close enough now that you could see every line of exhaustion on his face, every flicker of emotion he’d been holding back for years.

“I’ve loved you since we were kids,” he admitted, his voice breaking into a whisper. “Since you smiled at me with your sandwich in one hand and told me my food looked better. Since you dragged me along to every game, every class, every stupid thing you thought was fun.” His lips trembled, but his eyes never wavered from yours. “I’ve never stopped. Not once.”

Heat flooded your face, a blush spreading across your cheeks until you thought you might combust. Your hands shook, still frozen on the key, but your heart… your heart felt like it was about to explode.

All this time.
All those years.
While you were busy convincing yourself he was just your best friend, he’d been carrying this love, quietly, patiently, without ever asking for anything in return.

And you’d been so blind.

“Bin…” Your voice broke, tears stinging your eyes. You wanted to say more, to tell him you were sorry, to tell him you didn’t mean to hurt him, to tell him that the feelings he carried weren’t one-sided anymore. But your throat closed, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

Changbin watched you, his chest heaving, his entire body trembling with the release of years of silence.

And though the air between you buzzed with a thousand unspoken things, you knew one truth now clear, undeniable, impossible to ignore.

He loved you. He always had.

And you could no longer pretend you didn’t love him back.

For a long moment, neither of you moved.

His words still clung to the air, heavy and sharp enough to cut through your every defense:
Since we were kids… I’ve loved you.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. The ground beneath you felt unsteady, like one wrong step would send you tumbling.

And then he laughed low, bitter, shaky.

“You don’t have to say it back, you know,” Changbin murmured, gaze dropping to the floor. His voice was raw, ragged around the edges, as if every word scraped his throat. “If you just said you liked me because you felt guilty—because you wanted to stop me from leaving—don’t. Don’t lie to me like that.”

Your chest tightened, panic flaring. “That’s not—”

“Do you know what it’s like?” he interrupted, his voice rising with the force of everything he’d bottled up. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Do you know what it’s like to spend years, years loving someone and telling yourself it’s enough just to stand next to them? To watch them laugh at everyone else, to watch them hand out your number like it means nothing, to hear them shut down rumors like the idea of being with you is disgusting?”

Tears blurred your vision. “I—”

“And then suddenly,” he continued, his voice breaking, “they pull away. No explanation, no reason, just—gone. And you think it’s you. You think you’ve finally ruined it. That the one person you can’t live without doesn’t want you anymore.”

You closed your eyes, the weight of his pain pressing against you until you thought you’d collapse under it. He was trembling, every word spilling like blood from a wound he’d been holding shut for far too long.

“I can’t take it if you’re just saying it to make me feel better,” he whispered, his voice raw, fragile. “I can’t.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Your heart pounded, your throat dry. You’d hurt him, more deeply than you’d ever meant to. And now, if you didn’t say it right, if you didn’t show him the truth, you might lose him for good.

So you inhaled sharply, forcing the words out before your fear could swallow them whole.

“I like you, Bin.” Your voice trembled, but it was loud, clear. “Not because I feel sorry for you. Not because I want to stop you from leaving. I like you because I do. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel like this.”

He froze, staring at you like he didn’t dare believe it.

You swallowed hard, tears spilling down your cheeks. “You scare me. That’s why I pulled away. Because the way you make me feel—it’s not safe. It’s not comfortable. It’s like standing on the edge of something so big I don’t know if I’ll survive it if I fall.” You pressed a trembling hand to your chest. “But I already fell. That’s the truth. I already did.”

Silence.

For a second, you thought you’d ruined it again, that he’d turn away, call you a liar.

But then Changbin’s lips parted, his eyes widening, glassy with unshed tears. He shook his head slowly, like he couldn’t quite comprehend what he was hearing.

“You…” His voice cracked. “You mean it?”

Your laugh came out broken, wet with tears. “Of course I mean it. Do you think I’d stand here crying in the hallway if I didn’t?”

Something inside him shattered then, not from pain, but from the unbearable relief that came with finally hearing what he’d longed for all these years. His shoulders sagged, his fists unclenched, and a sob slipped past his lips before he could stop it.

You stepped forward, reaching for him instinctively, and this time he didn’t flinch away. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his entire body shaking with the force of everything he’d kept inside.

Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your own tears soaking into his hoodie. “I’m sorry,” you whispered over and over, the words tumbling out helplessly. “I’m so sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“You did,” he admitted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “But I still… I still…” His breath hitched. “I can’t stop loving you.”

Your heart clenched, breaking and healing all at once. You tightened your grip, burying your face in his hair. “Good,” you whispered fiercely, “because I can’t stop either.”

And for the first time in days maybe weeks, you felt the distance between you crumble.

But beneath the relief, the tenderness, the truth laid bare, a question lingered in his silence.

Could he really believe it?
Could years of one-sided love and heartbreak really be undone by words?

Or would you have to prove it to him, again and again, until he finally let himself believe you weren’t going anywhere?

The world outside your apartment blurred into silence. The hallway, the neighbors, the late-night hum of campus life, it all faded until there was only Changbin in your arms.

You could feel him trembling against you, his breath uneven, his heartbeat pounding like a war drum against your chest. Years of restraint, of silence, of swallowing everything he felt had all cracked open tonight, and now he clung to you as though you were the only thing holding him together.

And maybe you were.

“Bin,” you whispered, pulling back just enough to see his face. His eyes were swollen, lashes wet, his mouth trembling in a way that made your chest ache. You lifted your hands, cradling his cheeks gently, forcing him to look at you.

“I meant it.”

He blinked, his brows pulling together. “You—”

“I meant every word I said,” you cut in softly, firmly, before he could spiral again. “I like you. I’m in love with you. I’ve been terrified, but I’m not running anymore.” You brushed away the tears that streaked his face with your thumbs. “So don’t you dare think this is pity, or guilt, or anything less than real.”

Changbin’s breath caught, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the strength. His eyes searched yours, desperate, pleading for proof.

So you gave it to him.

Slowly, you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t perfect, not at first. He froze, shocked, his breath stuttering against you. And then, as though the realization hit him all at once, he melted into it. His hands rose to your waist, gripping you like you might disappear, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The kiss was soft but trembling, full of years of silence finally breaking. And when you pulled back, breathless, you kept your forehead pressed to his.

“See?” you whispered, smiling through the tears. “I meant it.”

Changbin laughed then broken, wet, shaky. But it was a laugh, the kind you hadn’t heard from him in weeks. The kind you thought you might never hear again.

“I can’t believe this is real,” he muttered, his thumb brushing over your hip absentmindedly, like he was memorizing the shape of you. “All this time… I thought I was alone.”

“You were never alone,” you said fiercely, your own tears spilling again. “You’ve always had me. I was just too stupid to realize what I had right in front of me.”

He shook his head, smiling faintly despite the tears still clinging to his lashes. “You’re not stupid. Just… late.”

You laughed, the sound broken but light. “Late, then. But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere.”

-

The next few days felt surreal.

Everything looked the same campus buildings, the walkways you always took together, your favorite café, but nothing was the same.

His hand lingered in yours now. His shoulder brushed yours and stayed there. His smile when he looked at you was different, softer, unhidden.

And yet, there was hesitation too. You saw it in the way he sometimes second-guessed reaching for you, in the way his words faltered as though afraid of saying too much. Years of being “just friends” had carved deep habits, and the fear that this might vanish lingered heavy in both of you.

So you made it your mission to prove it, over and over.

You texted him good morning, every morning, with little hearts he used to tease you for sending to your girl friends. You rambled again about your day, letting the words spill out until he laughed at how little had changed. You leaned on him in public, unashamed now, daring anyone to whisper about the two of you because for once, they’d be right.

And at night, when you were both exhausted from classes, you sat curled up together on your couch, your head resting on his chest while he scrolled absently on his phone with one hand and stroked your hair with the other.

It was new. It was fragile. It was terrifying.

But it was also everything you hadn’t known you were missing.

-

One evening, as you sat like that, the TV droning in the background, Changbin spoke up suddenly, his voice low.

“Promise me something.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “What?”

“Promise me you won’t take it back,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you while he asked. “Not tomorrow, not a month from now, not when things get hard. Just… don’t take it back.”

Your chest ached, the fear in his voice cutting deeper than any confession. You sat up slightly, cupping his face until he finally looked at you.

“I promise,” you said without hesitation. “I’m not taking it back. Not ever.”

He searched your eyes for a long moment, and then he nodded, exhaling shakily as though he’d been holding his breath for years.

And when he kissed you again, slow and tender, you knew this wasn’t the end of the story.

It was the beginning.

The strangest part of dating Changbin wasn’t how different things felt.

It was how much they didn’t.

You still walked to class together, side by side, your conversation tumbling over itself in the same chaotic rhythm as always. You still ended up sprawled on each other’s furniture after long study sessions, complaining about professors or laughing at inside jokes no one else would understand. You still stole bites of his food and still smacked his shoulder when he teased you too much.

The difference was in the spaces between.

The little pauses where his hand found yours, warm and steady. The moments when your laughter faded and he leaned down to kiss you, quick and soft, like he’d been waiting years to be allowed to. The way you didn’t deny it anymore when people asked, their voices filled with smug satisfaction,
“So, you two are finally dating?”
“Yes,” you’d say simply, smiling as Changbin’s thumb brushed across your knuckles.

It wasn’t fireworks, not all the time. It wasn’t a dizzying rush or a whirlwind of change.

It was sweeter than that.

It was waking up to a text from him that wasn’t just are you up? but good morning, baby.
It was watching him grin when you used his hoodie as a pillow during study breaks.
It was the quiet certainty that when you looked up, he’d be there, smiling back at you.

The first time you went out officially, a date, not just “hanging out” you almost laughed at how normal it felt. Dinner, a movie, nothing extravagant. And yet, every second shimmered with a new layer of meaning, a glow that hadn’t been there before.

Halfway through the film, your head leaned onto his shoulder automatically, the way it always did. Only this time, instead of keeping still and quiet like before, his hand slid confidently into yours. You felt him trace lazy patterns across your palm with his thumb, and you couldn’t stop smiling.

On the walk back, you noticed how his steps slowed just enough for you to match them. How he carried your bag without being asked. How he glanced at you every few seconds, as though he still couldn’t believe you were there, with him, like this.

“Why are you staring?” you teased, nudging his side.

He flushed, looking away. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“…Maybe I am.”

Your laugh spilled out, warm and easy. “What are you thinking about?”

Changbin hesitated, his lips twitching into a smile he couldn’t quite contain. Then he met your gaze, steady and unflinching.

“If I had a penny for every time I thought of you,” he said, his voice soft but certain, “I’d be a billionaire.”

You stopped in your tracks, blinking at him as heat rushed to your face. “Binnie—”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though the tips of his ears were pink. “What? It’s true.”

You shook your head, laughing as you grabbed his hand again, tugging him along. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling wide now, his dimples deepening as he swung your hand between yours. “Unbelievably in love with you.”

And the words weren’t whispered, weren’t hidden, they were out in the open, shameless and certain.

Because this was your new normal.

The same as before.
And yet, completely different.

//

masterlist.

You sit on top of Merry's head as the sun sinks low in the sky. It's probably dinnertime by now, but you aren't very hungry. You've been lost in thought most of the afternoon.

Earlier today, the subject of dreams came up. Not the sleeping kind, the life goal kind. Everyone was sharing what they'd do next, who they'd tell, etc. Then it was your turn...and you didn't have an answer.

The truth is, you haven't really thought about what you want to do or what your purpose should be. Being free is still such a novel concept to you. It's hard to think past the next day, let alone years from now.

What was your dream?

"Oi, Anata!" the familiar voice your captain calls from behind. "What are you doing in my spot!?"

"I'm just borrowing it for a bit," you call back.

You hear the telltale snap of rubber as Luffy vaults up to join you, still chewing on a meat skewer from dinner.

"I guess it's fine, then," he says, settling next to you.

"It's a good spot for thinking," you say absently. "You get a nice perspective from here."

"I just like being in front. That way I get to be first for whatever happens next."

It's such a simple, honest answer. You wonder how much different the world would be if people could be a bit more of those two things.

"So, what'cha thinkin' about?" he asks.

"Dreams."

He waits patiently, sensing there's more you want to say, but letting you set your own pace.

"What if I don't have one?" you ask, giving a voice to the fears that had been eating away at you these past few hours. "What if it's too late or something? What if being freed was my dream?"

Luffy shakes his head.

"Freedom is a right. Dreams are different. They're wants that feel like needs, but..." he frowns, trying to put it into words. "Ah! Dreams are like log poses! They point where you wanna go, but you still gotta follow them to get there. And if you do that, then you'll never be lost!"

"But I'm already lost!" you snap. "And I don't even know where I want to go in the first place!"

"Hmm, I guess I kinda forgot about this part," he says. "It's been a while. But...you don't pick your dream, Anata. You kind of just...find it. Or, I dunno, maybe it finds you."

He gently places something on your head.

"Just, do me a favor and don't stop looking, okay?"