hari

it started small.

a stupid crush you brushed off, telling yourself it didn’t matter. he was just around a lot. just familiar. just easy to notice.

but then it didn’t go away.

it got worse.

it turned into you fixing your posture when he walked in. pretending not to hear your name just so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes too quickly. laughing a second too late because you were too busy watching him first.

you don’t know if he notices.

and somehow—that’s the worst part.

because if he does, then it’s embarrassing.

and if he doesn't…

then maybe you don’t matter enough for him to.

the thing is—

eunseok does notice.

just not in the way you think.

it’s quiet, careful. he doesn’t point it out, doesn’t tease, doesn’t say a word. he just… watches.

he notices the way you hesitate around him, the way your words soften when you talk to him, the way your gaze lingers too long before darting away.

and he shouldn’t notice.

he really shouldn’t.

because you’re his best friend’s sister.

someone he has spent so long seeing as “just there.”

and yet… there it is.

a pull he can’t explain.

a warmth in his chest whenever you laugh at something small, whenever you fidget without realizing it, whenever you look at him like you’re catching him in a thought.

he shouldn’t feel this way.

he knows he shouldn’t.

it’s complicated.

but still, he can’t help it.

he tries to focus on anything else—homework, practice, conversations with his friend. but even in the corner of his mind, you’re there.

“you’re staring.”

your voice cuts through his thoughts, and he blinks, caught.

“…am i?” he says quietly, unsure if he should even admit it.

“yes.”

your expression shifts. half exasperated, half amused. and it hits him that he’s caught between wanting to look away and wanting to stare longer.

“…okay,” he murmurs, because what else can he say?

he doesn’t move.

because even though he knows he probably should, there’s a part of him that can’t.

and part of him wonders… if he steps back, will he regret it?

his chest tightens slightly, not uncomfortable. just unfamiliar.

like something is settling into place too late.

“when did you get like this?” he asks, softer now.

you blink. “like what?”

he hesitates.

because he doesn’t have the right word for it.

not one that won’t change everything.

“different,” he says instead.

your expression shifts, something more vulnerable slipping through.

“…is that a bad thing?”

he shakes his head immediately.

“no.”

and he means it.

you’re nervous, he can see it, and it makes something twist in his chest. a mix of wanting to protect you and wanting to see you, really see you.

he shifts slightly, and your hand brushes against his, lightly, almost accidentally and your fingers twitch. without thinking, they curl around his, holding on before you even realize it.

his thumb moves faintly over your fingers, slow, deliberate, and the motion sends sparks up your arm. he notices me. he really notices me. your chest twists and your breath catches like it’s too much and not enough all at once.

and part of him still worries... about lines crossed, about what his friend would think, about whether it’s right. but for this moment, in this quiet space where only the two of you exist, that worry fades.

because your hand in his feels… right.

and maybe, just maybe, he can figure the rest out later.

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boyfriend!wonbin who acts cool but gets soft when you’re soft with him. if you randomly cup his face or tell him you’re proud of him, he’ll blink for a second like he short circuited. then he laughs it off… but later that night he’ll replay it in his head.

boyfriend!wonbin who protects your peace without making it dramatic. if you’re overwhelmed in a crowd, he subtly moves you to the side, hand firm around yours. if you’re upset, he doesn’t force you to talk, he just sits next to you until you do.

boyfriend!wonbin who fixes your hair without thinking about it. if a piece of your hair falls into your face, he’ll quietly reach over and tuck it behind your ear. no big comment, just a soft “there,” like it’s the most normal thing.

boyfriend!wonbin automatically pulls you closer in crowds. his hand finds the small of your back and gently guides you through people. sometimes he just keeps his hand there even after the crowd is gone.

boyfriend!wonbin lets you play with his hands. you’ll start tracing the lines on his palm or comparing hand sizes and he just lets you, watching quietly with that small smile because he thinks it’s cute.

boyfriend!wonbin who loves quiet dates. walking together at night, sharing earphones, sitting side by side watching videos on his phone. sometimes he’ll rest his chin on your shoulder absentmindedly, just basking in your presence.

boyfriend!wonbin who always walks a little slower so you can keep up. the way he quietly takes your hand so you can walk side by side.

you’ll be standing at the counter doing absolutely nothing important, and suddenly he’s there, leaning against it beside you, hip bumping yours like it was always meant to. on the couch, he starts on the opposite end. somehow, ten minutes later, his shoulder is against yours.

you don’t comment on it. neither does he.

you’re scrolling on your phone when he tilts his head, squinting at the screen. “what’re you reading?”

“nothing,” you say.

he hums, unconvinced, and stays right there anyway.

a few seconds pass.

“you’re cold,” he says.

you blink. “i am not.”

he looks at you for a second, then down at your hands tucked into your sleeves. “you are.”

before you can argue, he’s already tugging his hoodie over his head. “sungchan—”

“hold still,” he says, gentle but firm, guiding it over you like he’s done this before. it’s warm and oversized, sleeves way too long, soft from being worn and washed a hundred times. it smells like clean laundry and him, which feels unfairly comforting.

he steps back to look at you, eyes flicking over the hoodie, then your face.

“…better?” he asks.

you roll the sleeves over your hands. “yeah. thanks.”

his ears turn pink instantly.

he clears his throat and looks away, pretending the counter is suddenly very interesting. “okay. good.”

later, you’re both on the couch again. sungchan stretches his legs out, accidentally-on-purpose crowding your space. you don’t move, so neither does he. instead, he shifts closer until your thighs touch.

“is this okay?” he asks, quiet.

“yeah.”

“okay,” he says, equally quiet, like he needed permission even though he already knew the answer.

his hand hovers near yours for a second, actually hovers, before he finally reaches out, pinky brushing against yours. when you don’t pull away, he hooks it gently, like he’s testing the waters.

he relaxes instantly.

“you comfy?” he asks after a bit.

“mhm.”

he nods, satisfied, thumb starting to trace slow circles against your knuckles without him even noticing he’s doing it. you lean into his shoulder, and he freezes for half a heartbeat before adjusting, arm slipping around you so you’re more supported.

“sorry,” he murmurs. “tell me if i’m too—”

“you’re not,” you say.

he hums softly, content.

the room is quiet in that everyday way. the hum of the fridge, something playing on the tv that neither of you are actually watching. sungchan rests his chin lightly on your head, breathing slow and even.

after a while, he squeezes your hand once.

“i like when you’re here,” he says, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you tilt your head up to look at him. “yeah?”

he shrugs, shy smile tugging at his lips. “yeah.”

you lean back into him. he holds you a little tighter, like that settles something.

jung sungchan stays right there, hovering, holding you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

2026 © csenarios , all rights reserved

today is no different; your alarm goes off, you groan, and before you can even reach over to turn it off, he snakes an arm around your waist and pulls you firmly back into his chest.

“five more minutes,” he mumbles into your shoulder, voice thick with sleep.

“you said that ten minutes ago,” you say, though you don’t exactly try very hard to escape.

his grip tightens, warm and solid. “yeah, but i mean it this time.”

you sigh dramatically, reaching behind you to pat his cheek. “you always mean it.”

“because you’re comfy,” he argues, as if that’s the highest scientific truth.

eventually he loosens his hold just enough for you to roll over and face him. his hair is a mess—like, a work of modern art level disaster—and his eyes are still puffy. he looks unfairly adorable.

he blinks at you. “hi.”

you kiss his nose. “hi.”

seunghan immediately hides his face in your chest. “don’t do that right when i wake up.”

“why not?”

“because you know it kills me.”

you laugh softly and slip your fingers into his hair, brushing it back the way he likes. he relaxes instantly, melting against you like you’re his personal charge station.

“okay,” you say, “we actually need to get up.”

he looks up with the most betrayed expression known to man. “why would you say something insane like that?”

“because you have practice. and i have class.”

he groans loudly, flopping onto his back and throwing an arm over his eyes like he’s in a tragic drama. “i vote we skip both.”

“we can’t just skip life.”

he peeks at you. “we could. for, like, a day.”

you’re so tempted it’s ridiculous. but someone in this relationship has to be responsible, and spoiler: it’s usually not him.

“how about,” you offer, “we actually get up now, and tonight we make ramen and watch that dumb dating show you pretend to hate?”

“i don’t pretend.”

“you literally screamed at the tv last episode.”

“they were making horrible choices,” he says defensively.

you raise a brow. “so you love it.”

he scrunches his nose. “i tolerate it because you love it.”

you lean over and kiss him properly this time. slow, gentle, warm, the kind of kiss that says thank you without needing actual words. he kisses back immediately, hand sliding up the curve of your waist, thumb brushing soft circles against your skin.

when you pull away, he’s smiling in that tiny, shy way that still gets you every time.

“fine,” he says quietly. “let’s get up.”

you both eventually drag yourselves out of bed, bumping hips while brushing your teeth, stealing little glances while packing your bags, him tugging on your sleeve every time you walk too far away. he ties his hoodie drawstrings around your finger and laughs when you flick his forehead.

on your way out the door, he pauses and tilts your face toward him.

“hurry home today,” he murmurs.

“why?” you tease.

he presses a soft kiss to your jaw. “because i like you best when you’re here.”

you pretend to roll your eyes, but he sees the smile you’re trying to hide—and he grins, satisfied, before lacing your fingers together and walking you out like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

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“you did,” he said proudly, patting the space next to him. “and now i’m saving you from being alone with your thoughts. you’re welcome.”

you sank down beside him, kicking your feet up and sinking into the couch cushions. the room smelled like buttered popcorn and whatever clean cologne he always wore. the tv was playing some random sitcom rerun, laugh track and all. but neither of you were paying much attention.

“you look exhausted,” he said quietly after a beat, eyes soft as they flicked over your face.

“i am exhausted,” you mumbled, slumping sideways. “today was… a lot.”

he didn’t say anything at first, just lifted his arm in silent invitation. “c’mere.”

you hesitated for a second, then gave in, leaning your head against his shoulder. he adjusted easily, tugging the blanket over both of you and settling back until you fit perfectly into the space beside him.

his hoodie was warm against your cheek and you felt your muscles start to unclench one by one.

“you okay now?” he murmured, voice low.

you nodded against him. “yeah. better now.”

taesan hummed, the sound soft and steady, like background music. “good. i told you, i’m a certified comfort professional.”

you laughed quietly, the sound half muffled by his shoulder. “is that a real title?”

“yep. just made it up. only one in existence.”

“lucky me, then,” you said, eyes already fluttering shut.

he smiled, resting his chin lightly on top of your head. “yeah,” he whispered. “lucky me, too.”

the room faded into a soft haze, the hum of the tv, the rain beginning to tap against the window, taesan’s heartbeat steady and close.

you didn’t mean to fall asleep, but it was impossible not to, not when everything finally felt this quiet, this safe, this right.

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boyfriend!eunseok who takes a million pictures of you when you’re not looking, the kind that aren’t posed, the kind that is candid; you laughing, looking out the window, talking to someone. he claims that it’s for memories, but they’re literally just for him.

boyfriend!eunseok who gives you his jacket without saying anything, just tosses it over your shoulders and keeps walking like it’s no big deal.

boyfriend!eunseok who loves teasing you. gently, affectionately. says things like “you’re so dramatic” while literally being just as dramatic.

boyfriend!eunseok who plays with your fingers when he’s tired. not even thinking about it. just traces little circles on your palm until he falls asleep.

boyfriend!eunseok who pretends to be the chill type — except when someone flirts with you, and then he’s suddenly wrapping an arm around your shoulder like it’s instinct.

boyfriend!eunseok whose affection isn’t loud. it’s quiet hands, soft glances, a jacket draped over you before you even ask, fixing your shirt for you, and adjusting your necklace.

boyfriend!eunseok who doesn’t talk about his feelings much, but when he does, it’s so sincere that it catches you off guard. the kind of “you know i don’t say this often, but i’m really happy when it’s just us” kind of honesty.

boyfriend!eunseok who always offers to carry your things, but not in an overbearing way. just slips them from your hand when you’re distracted and goes “i got it.”

boyfriend!eunseok who doesn’t do grand gestures. he just loves you in small, consistent ways, until it feels like breathing.

2025 © csenarios , all rights reserved

you shake your head. “nope. i figured the universe would go easy on me.”

he hums softly, the sound almost lost in the patter, and rummages through his bag. out comes a tiny, slightly dented umbrella. the kind clearly meant for one person, maybe one sohee, but definitely not for two.

still, he flicks it open with a soft click and holds it between you. “it’s small,” he says, “but better than nothing.”

you grin, stepping closer. “so, what’s the math on this? two people, one umbrella…”

he tilts his head. “math?”

“yeah. geometry, physics…. something like that. there’s no way both of us stay dry. one of us is doomed.”

sohee laughs, quiet, genuine, the kind that feels like the first warm thing in the cold rain.

“then we’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

you both step out together. the umbrella tilts slightly toward you every few seconds, sohee subtly adjusting his arm to cover more of your side. the rain drips from his sleeve, darkening his hoodie, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

“sohee,” you say, nudging his elbow, “you’re getting soaked.”

“it’s fine,” he answers lightly. “you fit better under the angle.”

you scoff. “that’s not how angles work.”

he smiles without looking at you, voice barely audible under the rainfall.

“it works for me.”

the city glows in soft reflections, puddles rippling with light, signs blurring into watercolor. and when your hands brush, just once, warm and unsure, neither of you pull away.

by the time you duck under the overhang of a small cafe, both of you are laughing, breathless and wet and flushed from the cold. sohee shakes the umbrella, then looks at your dripping sleeves. “you’re soaked,” he murmurs, sounding faintly guilty.

“so are you,” you reply. “guess umbrella math really doesn’t work.”

he huffs out a laugh and wordlessly pulls off his hoodie, holding it out.

“here,” he says. “it’s warm. mostly.”

you hesitate, and he raises an eyebrow. “what? i’ll be fine.”

so you take it. it smells like rain and something soft… faint detergent, maybe, or just him. when you slip it on, it nearly swallows you whole, sleeves hanging over your hands.

sohee glances at you once, quickly, then looks away, fighting a small smile. “it looks better on you.”

inside, the cafe hums with quiet music and the smell of espresso. you sit by the window with two steaming mugs between you, raindrops tracing slow lines down the glass.

outside, the umbrella rests closed and forgotten by the door.

you nudge your cup toward him. “for the record, i think we solved the math.”

he looks up. “yeah?”

you nod, grinning. “turns out two people under one umbrella equals one person with a really big heart.”

for a moment, he just stares at you, cheeks pink, lips parted. then he laughs softly, shaking his head. “that’s not in any textbook i’ve read.”

“then it’s an original theory,” you say, taking a sip. “you can name it after yourself.”

sohee’s eyes soften, that quiet, half-smile kind of look, and he says, almost to himself,

“maybe i will.”

outside, the rain keeps falling, but for once, neither of you mind.

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jaehyun is sitting cross legged on the floor, hair damp from a shower, scrolling through his phone while the glow from the tv washes over him. there’s a half eaten bag of chips between you, condensation sliding down his forgotten iced americano.

he looks up when you don’t answer whatever he just said.

“you spaced out again,” he teases, nudging your knee with his own. “still mad i spoiled the ending?”

you blink, caught. “i’m mad you think you were right about it.”

jaehyun leans forward a little, elbows resting on his knees. “then tell me. enlighten me.”

you’re too aware of how close he is now, how the space between you smells faintly like coffee and the shampoo he always uses after practice. his eyes meet yours and don’t flinch away. for a second it feels like you’re both waiting for the same thing you’ll never name.

he breaks first, a small smile ghosting over his mouth. “you’re impossible.”

“you like that about me,” you manage to say, but your throat feels dry.

“maybe i do.”

it slips out so casually that you almost convince yourself he didn’t mean it. almost.

you look down at the bag of chips between you, fingers brushing his when you reach for it. he doesn’t move his hand. you pretend you don’t notice, but the heat of his skin hums under yours like static.

the silence stretches, too long, too careful. you can hear his breathing over the hum of the tv.

then the knock comes. two sharp taps against the door. the sound is almost a relief.

jaehyun exhales and sits back, the tension unraveling just enough for him to move. “that’ll be sungho,” he says, getting to his feet. “he wanted to grab my notes.”

you nod, watching the outline of his shoulders as he walks away. the air still feels warm where he was sitting.

you hear jaehyun’s voice by the door first, low and familiar, then another, lighter, a little hesitant.

sungho.

you’ve met him a few times before. he’s always polite in that disarming way, calm but observant, like he’s constantly trying to piece people together without making them uncomfortable.

he laughs at something jaehyun says, the sound easy and warm, and then he’s stepping into the room.

“hey,” he greets, giving you a small smile. “sorry for dropping by this late. i just needed to borrow some notes.”

“it’s fine,” you say, sitting up a little. “we weren’t doing anything important.”

jaehyun glances at you for a second, just long enough for you to feel it. it’s almost imperceptible, the kind of look that says really? but he doesn’t comment.

sungho, meanwhile, moves to the table, flipping through a stack of papers. “wow, you actually keep these organized,” he says, half teasing.

“of course i do,” jaehyun replies, brushing past him to grab a pen. “someone has to keep track of everything.”

you can feel it again, that faint hum in the air, the leftover tension from before, still hanging between you and jaehyun like static. sungho notices. you can tell by the way his gaze flickers between the two of you, quick but careful.

“you guys were watching something?” he asks, looking at the tv still playing in the background.

“yeah,” you answer before jaehyun can. “he ruined the ending.”

“i didn’t ruin it,” jaehyun protests. “i just… predicted it.”

sungho laughs under his breath, soft and genuine. “that sounds like you.”

and somehow that simple line makes jaehyun look at him, really look at him, for the first time. you can’t explain it, but something shifts there, quiet and sharp.

sungho gathers the papers, tucking them under his arm. “thanks for this,” he says, then turns to you. “you coming to the thing tomorrow?”

“depends who’s asking,” you tease, half smiling.

he grins, easy and unbothered. “i guess… me.”

the words hang in the air longer than they should. jaehyun’s quiet now. you don’t have to look to know he’s watching.

—

you’re halfway through curling your hair when the first text comes in.

“you’re still coming, right?”

it’s jaehyun. of course it is. you can almost hear his voice in it. casual, but a little too careful.

you type back: “yeah. almost ready :)”

you’re not sure why you add a smiley face after. maybe to make it lighter. maybe to pretend things still feel the same.

when you get there, jaehyun’s already waiting outside. hands in pockets, hoodie half-zipped, like he didn’t want to look like he was waiting but couldn’t help it.

“you look nice,” he says when you walk up. it’s easy, practiced, but his eyes flicker down to you and stay there a second too long.

“thanks,” you mumble. “you too.”

he grins. that same grin that’s gotten you through too many bad days. but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

inside, the room hums with music and chatter. the air feels too warm, lights too soft. you tell yourself to relax. this is supposed to be fun.

and then you see him. sungho. leaning against the far wall, sleeves rolled up, smile tucked into the corner of his mouth as he spots you both.

he waves, easy and unbothered, but his gaze lingers. you feel it even as jaehyun’s hand brushes your arm, steering you toward the snacks like nothing’s changed.

the night stretches in moments, laughter, shared glances, unspoken things.

at some point, you end up sitting beside sungho on the edge of the couch. he’s talking about something mundane, a song he’s been working on, how he messed up a verse. and you’re laughing, maybe too loudly. it feels natural. safe.

when he leans closer to hear you over the noise, his shoulder brushes yours. he doesn’t move away, and you don’t either.

across the room, jaehyun’s looking. not glaring, not obvious. just watching.

you meet his eyes, and for a second the whole party fades to quiet.

he looks away first.

later, outside, the air is cool and smells like rain. you find him standing by the curb, phone in hand but unread messages lighting the screen.

“you left without saying anything,” you say.

he shrugs, then glances at you, that same look that always undoes you a little. “you looked like you were having fun.”

you sigh. “you could’ve stayed.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just looks at you, really looks. and then, softly he says

“maybe i didn’t want to.”

it hangs there, heavy but gentle. you don’t ask what he means. you both already know.

a car passes, headlights sweeping over his face, and for a moment, everything feels suspended. your breath, his words, the space between you.

he reaches out then, hesitates, fingers barely brushing your wrist before he lets them fall.

“get home safe, okay?”

you nod, even though you don’t want to move. “you too.”

he smiles. small, a little sad, but real.

and as you walk away, you can still feel where his touch lingered, light as air.

—

the next few days slip by quietly.

messages exchanged, then left on read.

a joke from sungho that makes you laugh, and for a moment, you forget why your chest feels tight.

but sometimes, when you close your eyes, you still see jaehyun standing under the streetlight, hands in pockets, looking like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

maybe one day he will.

maybe you will too.

for now, it’s enough that you’re still waiting.

and maybe, somehow, so is he.

it’s almost midnight when you realize you’ve been staring at the same line of a text for ten minutes.

jaehyun: “did you get home okay?”

you type “yeah”, then stop, delete it, and put your phone down. the glow from the screen paints the room pale blue. you should sleep. you don’t.

outside, the city hums, rain dripping from the gutters, a car passing somewhere far off. everything feels too still, too aware.

you keep thinking about the way jaehyun said “maybe i didn’t want to”.

the words loop, soft but heavy.

a new message blinks.

sungho: “hey, you left your jacket at the couch. i’ll keep it for you.”

then, a minute later. “also, you looked nice tonight.”

it’s harmless. he’s always like that. warm, casual, a little too kind.

you smile anyway, and type back before you can think about it: “thanks. don’t forget it.”

the dots appear, disappear, then appear again.

“i won’t.”

you toss your phone aside, burying your face in your pillow, but the quiet won’t settle. somewhere between jaehyun’s words and sungho, your chest starts to ache in a way you can’t name.

—

three days pass. you tell yourself it’s normal. you and jaehyun have gone without talking longer before.

still, the silence feels different this time.

like something’s waiting just past it.

—

you walk into the library and spot them immediately. jaehyun’s leaning back in his chair, hoodie half zipped, tapping his pen against his notebook. sungho sits across from him, flipping through a pile of flashcards. they’re mid conversation, laughing about something.

jaehyun looks up first. his smile falters for half a second before he says, “you’re late.”

“you started without me,” you answer, trying to sound even.

“we were being productive,” sungho says, sliding a spare chair out with his foot. his tone is teasing, easy. it’s the kind of thing jaehyun used to say.

you sit between them. close enough to both that your knees could touch either if you moved an inch. it shouldn’t feel like choosing sides, but somehow it does.

half an hour in, sungho leans over your shoulder to point at something in your notes. “this formula’s off. see?”

his voice is quiet, breath brushing your ear. he doesn’t notice. jaehyun does.

“she knows how to do it,” jaehyun says suddenly, not looking up from his notes.

“just making sure,” sungho replies easily, straightening up.

you don’t say anything. your pen taps against the page once, twice, before you stop yourself.

for a moment, none of you speak. the air feels heavy with everything unsaid. the way jaehyun keeps his head down too long, the way sungho’s fingers linger a second too close to yours when he passes a pen back.

later, when you pack up, jaehyun’s the one to grab your bag before you can.

“i’ll walk you out,” he says, like it’s not a question.

sungho just nods, smiling. “see you tomorrow.”

outside, the air smells like rain again. jaehyun doesn’t say anything for a while, just keeps pace beside you. when he finally speaks, his voice is quiet.

“you like him?”

you stop. “what?”

“sungho.” his eyes don’t quite meet yours. “you’ve been smiling a lot lately.”

you should laugh it off. you should. but the way he says it, soft, almost tired, makes it hard to breathe.

“he’s nice,” you manage. “he listens.”

jaehyun nods once, jaw tightening just barely.

“yeah. i bet he does.”

—

it happens slowly. the kind of slow that sneaks up on you.

you start studying with sungho more, sometimes because jaehyun’s busy, sometimes because you tell yourself you just need the focus.

but then you notice how quiet he is when you talk, how he really listens, how he asks questions like he actually wants to understand. he makes space for you in ways that feel effortless.

one afternoon, he notices your necklace clasp is twisted and reaches over before you can fix it yourself.

“hold still,” he murmurs. his fingers brush the back of your neck, light, almost careful.

the touch lasts less than a second, but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine.

you tell yourself it’s nothing.

but that night, you think about it longer than you mean to.

jaehyun notices. of course he does.

you catch him looking at you differently now. not angry, not sad. just… quiet. like he’s trying to solve a puzzle that used to make sense.

he doesn’t tease you anymore. doesn’t push or ask questions. he just keeps his distance, and somehow that hurts worse.

—

one evening, you all end up at a late dinner after practice. same table, same laughter, but everything feels off key. sungho sits beside you, shoulder brushing yours whenever he reaches for something. jaehyun’s across the table, watching the reflection of it all in the glass window instead of looking directly at you.

at some point, sungho leans closer and says something just for you, something small, harmless. and you laugh before you can stop yourself.

when you glance up, jaehyun’s eyes are already on you. not cold, just… aching. like he’s been waiting for you to look back all night.

the ride home is quiet. sungho’s the first to get off, flashing you a tired smile before disappearing into the building. you watch him go, and when you turn around, jaehyun’s staring at you again.

“you’re really close with him now,” he says. no accusation, just observation.

“we’ve been studying a lot,” you answer, trying not to sound defensive.

he nods slowly, hands deep in his pockets. “yeah. i can tell.”

the silence that follows feels almost tender. the kind that aches because it used to be filled with laughter.

you want to say something, to fix it, but all that comes out is, “you’re still my favorite person, you know.”

he smiles, small and strained. “yeah. i used to be sure of that.”

and it’s unfair. because you still care, because you don’t know how to stop, because every time you’re with sungho, some part of you still looks for jaehyun in the quiet corners.

—

you don’t realize how tangled it’s become until one night, sitting on your bed, you see sungho’s name light up your phone. and you hesitate. not because you don’t want to answer, but because a part of you wonders if jaehyun would care that you did.

it’s raining again. of course it is.

you’re sitting on the couch with the lights low, a blanket draped over your legs and your phone on the table, buzzing quietly. sungho’s name flashes once, twice. another missed call. you’ll text him later. you just… can’t right now.

you hear the knock before you see him. three soft taps. the kind that say it’s me without needing words.

jaehyun steps inside, hair damp, hoodie clinging to his shoulders.

“you weren’t answering,” he says, not unkindly.

“i wasn’t in the mood.”

he nods, kicks off his shoes, stands there like he’s not sure if he should stay. “can i sit?”

you nod. the couch dips under his weight, close but not close enough.

for a while, the only sound is the rain and the low hum of the tv. it’s almost peaceful. until he says, quietly,

“i miss how easy it used to be.”

you swallow. “yeah. me too.”

he laughs, but it’s small, a little bitter. “you know what’s funny? i thought i could handle it. i told myself i didn’t care if you and sungho got close.”

his eyes find yours. “i lied.”

you look down, fingers twisting in the blanket. “jae—”

“no, just—” he exhales, running a hand through his hair. “i need to say this before i lose my nerve. it’s not just jealousy, okay? it’s not even about him. it’s just… every time you look at him the way you used to look at me, i feel like i’m watching you walk away. and i don’t know how to stop it.”

your throat feels tight. the rain fills the silence he leaves behind.

“it’s not that simple,” you say quietly. “i didn’t plan for any of this. sungho was just… easy to be around. and you—” you stop, forcing yourself to look at him. “you make everything feel too real.”

his jaw tenses. “that’s supposed to be a bad thing?”

“no. it’s just— it scares me.”

he lets out a breath, leaning back. for a second, you both just sit there, hearts beating too loud in the quiet.

then, softer: “does he make you happy?”

you hesitate. “sometimes.”

“and me?” he asks, almost whispering.

you meet his eyes. “always.”

he smiles then. small, tired, but real. the kind of smile that feels like something ending and beginning all at once.

“then maybe that’s enough,” he says. “for now.”

you don’t say anything. you just lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder. he doesn’t pull away.

outside, the rain softens. inside, the silence finally feels like peace.

—

weeks pass. the world doesn’t stop for heartbreak. it just dulls the edges until you forget where it hurt first.

you see sungho often. the rhythm of it is comfortable now. shared playlists, quiet coffees, the kind of laughter that doesn’t echo too long. he still offers you his jacket when you forget yours, still waits until your bus comes even when it’s late.

and yet, sometimes, in the middle of a sentence, you’ll catch yourself thinking of jaehyun.

his stupid jokes. his half smile. the way he used to know what you were going to say before you said it.

you wonder if he still does.

—

one evening, you and sungho are sitting outside the café. he’s telling you about something small, a rehearsal, a broken mic, and you’re nodding along.

he’s animated when he talks, hands moving as if his stories need space to breathe. every so often, he glances at you mid sentence, like he’s making sure you’re still with him. and somehow, you always are.

there’s this moment, when he laughs. head tilted, eyes crinkling just a little and the sound hits you in the chest before you can stop it. it’s not loud or showy like jaehyun’s, but soft, low, the kind of laugh that feels like it’s meant for you alone.

you don’t notice you’re smiling until he points it out.

“see? that’s better,” he says, nudging his cup toward you. “you looked a little far away for a second.”

“sorry,” you say, shaking your head. “guess i got lost in thought.”

he hums, eyes still on you. “i like it when you do that. it’s like you’re somewhere only you can reach.”

and then, quieter: “i just hope you come back sometimes.”

the words stay with you longer than they should. something about the way he said it — not asking for more, just wanting to be somewhere in the spaces you keep to yourself — makes your chest tighten.

—

later, as you’re walking home, the air feels heavier. the kind that smells like rain even though the sky’s clear. you scroll through your phone without thinking and there it is. jaehyun’s name. an unread message.

“miss you at movie night. next week?”

you stare at it until the words blur.

your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

for a moment, you imagine it. the easy laughter, the comfort of knowing him better than anyone else. the ache of what could’ve been if you’d chosen differently.

but then you think of sungho. the warmth of his laugh, the steadiness of his voice, the way he looks at you like you’re something worth staying for.

and the choice doesn’t feel like loss anymore.

you slip your phone back into your pocket and keep walking. the streetlights glow soft and gold against the pavement, and the world feels like it’s finally letting you breathe again.

you still think of jaehyun sometimes. you probably always will.

but as you turn the corner and see sungho waiting across the street, smiling when he spots you, you realize maybe it’s not about who stayed or who you knew first.

maybe it’s about finding the kind of love that feels like quiet, like coming home to something steady after the storm.

and tonight, that’s enough.

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groaning, you shuffle out of bed. you already knew who the cause of the sound was. you enter the kitchen and there he is, standing frozen in front of the counter with a pan in one hand and flour everywhere.

literally everywhere.

on the counter. on the floor. on his hair.

you blink, not even knowing where to start. “…what happened?”

he turns around slowly, eyes wide like a guilty puppy caught in the act.

“i was making pancakes.”

you stare at the mess. then at him.

“were you making them or fighting them?”

he bursts out laughing, and you can’t help joining in, because he looks ridiculous, covered in flour and smiling.

“i just wanted to surprise you,” he says, sheepishly brushing his hair back (which only smears more flour across his face).

“you did,” you say, grabbing a towel to help clean up. “i’m very surprised.”

he grins, taking the towel from you just to flick it playfully in your direction. “hey, don’t pretend you’re not impressed. at least i got the batter part right! that counts for something.”

you shake your head, but your heart melts a little when he wraps his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder. he smells faintly of vanilla and flour. the hug is warm and soft.

“you’re laughing,” he murmurs into your shoulder. “so i’m calling it a win.”

“you’re cleaning this up,” you reply, but your voice comes out way too fond to be threatening.

“fine,” he says, kissing your cheek before pulling away, grinning. “but only if you sit there and watch me. moral support, you know?”

you sit on the counter while he moves around the kitchen, humming something under his breath. every few seconds, he glances at you, smile never leaving his face. he can’t help but feel giddy every time he’s in your presence.

when the second batch of pancakes finally turns out right, he brings you a plate, eyes hopeful.

“well?” he asks, watching you take a bite. you sit there and pretend to think, tapping your chin. “still a little burnt.”

he gasps dramatically, clutching his chest as if you’ve wounded him. “you don’t appreciate me enough, yn”

you laugh so hard you nearly choke, and he looks so proud of himself for making you laugh that you give in, taking another bite just to make him happy.

“they’re good,” you say, softer this time.

his grin returns instantly. “told you I could cook.”

“you still got flour on your nose.”

he leans closer, nose scrunching. “then wipe it off for me.”

you do.

and somehow, that’s your morning. laughter, warmth, and the taste of pancakes slightly too sweet but perfect anyway.

because that’s just how it always is with woonhak. messy, loud, endlessly bright, and full of the kind of joy that makes everything else fade away.

2025 © csenarios , all rights reserved