which means you get a front-row view of your beautiful, amazing, sexy boyfriend every single time. and when he makes eye contact with you while he’s performing? yeah. you’re spoiled.

perk two: you’re basically his personal makeup artist. back when he was still an upcoming artist you’d sit on his lap and do his makeup for him. now that his schedule’s packed and he has actual hired makeup artists you don’t really get to do it as much… but every now and then he still asks them if you can take over instead. he knows it makes you happy. and he likes having your hands on his face more anyway.

perk three: being featured in his music! not in the way most people would expect though. sometimes when you’re in the studio with him he’ll drop to his knees and eat you out just so he can record your soft moans and add them into the background of a track (always with your full consent ofc).

perk four: personal stylist privileges. before he blew up all he really had was you (and that was more than enough for him). so you used to pick out his outfits, decide his hairstyles, everything. even now he’ll still let you play dress-up with him whenever you want. he’ll stand there in nothing but boxers while you hold up different shirts and jackets, waiting for your final decision. we love a patient man.

perk five: his fingering game goes crazy. the man can finger a guitar at crazy speeds with perfect precision… so of course those same fingers know exactly what they’re doing when they’re on (and in) you. precision, pressure, rhythm—he’s got that shit all locked down.

perk six: free instrument lessons! heeseung is multi-talented in almost everything, especially instruments. one time he invited you to the studio and found you messing around with one of his guitars. he sets his bag down and sits next to you with a soft smile. “wanna learn how to play?” he carefully tunes the guitar and starts teaching you a few basic chords, gently adjusting your fingers on the strings and fixing the position of your hand whenever you get it wrong. “wow… you’re a natural,” he says, even though both of you know you’re still messing up half the chords. he hypes you up anyway.

perk seven: free backstage vip pass (iykyk). after he finishes performing and the adrenaline is still pumping through him, he’s all over you the second you’re alone. he props you up on the backstage vanity, kisses all over your neck, and asks in that low slightly raspy voice, “you enjoyed the show?” you nod. “then show me how much you liked it.”

perk eight: you get to see his sweet side that almost no one else does. a lot of people assume your boyfriend is freaked out asl (and in some cases… yeah he is), but he’s actually the sweetest person alive. you’re literally his number one priority. even with his all over the place schedule he never misses an anniversary, never forgets your birthday, never lets anything important to you slip.

and fun fact when you two first started dating he was actually sooo shy. the same man who now fucks you in every position imaginable used to get all sweaty and nervous just holding your hand. it’s always the quiet ones...

prev. next. masterlist.

you're sitting in the passenger seat of chloe's car and you're trying not to cry but it's not going well.

"don't cry," chloe says, glancing over at you with a grin. "you're going to scare the puppies."

"i'm not going to cry," you lie, wiping your eyes already.

you look down at your phone, at the picture the breeder sent you three days ago. a tiny blonde mini dachshund, eight weeks old, ears too big for his head, looking at the camera with an expression that could only be described as judgmental.

you'd fallen in love instantly. you'd sent the deposit before you could talk yourself out of it. you'd named him buddy in your head before you'd even filled out the application, before you even knew if you'd get approved, before you even knew if he was still available.

"what if he doesn't like me?" you ask, the anxiety hitting you suddenly. "what if i pick him up and he's like, no, actually, i want someone else?"

"then he's an idiot with bad taste," chloe says, "and we'll find you a better dog."

"there is no better dog," you say, clutching your phone. "he's buddy. he's the one. i know he's the one."

"you've seen one picture."

"one perfect picture."

chloe laughs, but she's slowing down now, turning onto a residential street lined with trees. the gps says you're two minutes away. your heart is hammering against your ribs. you feel like you're about to meet a celebrity. you feel like you're about to change your entire life.

"there," chloe says, pointing.

the house is cute. yellow with white trim, a fenced yard, a sign that says "happy tails dachshunds" in cheerful lettering. there are flowers in the window boxes. it looks like a house where good things happen.

chloe parks and turns to you. "ready?"

"no," you admit. "yes. no. yes. let's go before i change my mind."

the breeder is a woman named marjorie, round and soft with gray hair and a smile that makes you think of grandmothers in storybooks. she leads you through the house to a sunroom at the back, and there they are. five tiny blonde puppies tumbling over each other in a playpen, yipping and wrestling and being alive in that perfect puppy way.

but you see him immediately.

he's in the corner, separate from the chaos, staring at a toy like he's trying to figure out if it's worth his time. his ears are ridiculous. his paws are too big. he looks like he's already tired of everyone's nonsense.

"that's him," you breathe. "that's buddy."

"the one in the corner?" marjorie asks. "that's the little male. he's got personality, that one. bit the vet tech yesterday. nothing serious, just a warning."

"he's perfect," you say, and you're already kneeling, already reaching through the bars of the playpen.

the puppy looks at you. really looks at you. his eyes are dark and considering. he takes you in, head to toe, and you feel judged. you feel seen. you feel like you're being evaluated for a position you really want.

then he walks over. slowly, like he's doing you a favor. he sniffs your hand. he sniffs your sleeve. he looks up at your face again.

and he licks your nose.

"oh," you say, and then you're crying. full on, ugly crying, tears streaming down your face while this tiny creature climbs into your lap and settles down like he owns you.

"he's yours if you want him," marjorie says gently.

"i want him," you sob. "i want him so much."

chloe is taking pictures. you can hear her laughing, soft and fond. "look at you," she says. "you're a mom."

"i'm a mom," you repeat, looking down at the warm weight in your lap.

the puppy, your puppy, buddy, sighs and closes his eyes. he's asleep in thirty seconds, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

you're in love. you're so in love it hurts.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the drive home is magical and terrible.

chloe drives while you hold buddy in a blanket in your lap. he's awake now, exploring, biting your fingers, trying to climb your chest to see out the window. he pees on the blanket. he tries to eat your hair. he barks at a stop sign.

"he's got opinions," chloe observes.

"he's got so many opinions," you agree, delighted by every single one.

you text your mom. you text your sister. you post a picture that gets three hundred likes in ten minutes. you don't care about any of it because you're too busy watching this tiny creature discover the world from the safety of your lap.

when chloe pulls up to your apartment, you realize you don't want to move. you want to stay in this moment forever, the first day, the beginning.

"you good?" chloe asks.

"i'm perfect," you say. "we're perfect. look at us."

she looks at you, at the puppy currently trying to chew your shirt button, and she smiles. "yeah," she says. "look at you."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the first three weeks are a blur of puppy pads and lost sleep and finding teeth marks on things you thought were out of reach.

buddy grows into his ears, sort of. he develops a personality that could best be described as selectively chaotic. he loves you with his whole heart. he once spent forty minutes barking at a balloon because it moved wrong.

you love him more than you've ever loved anything.

you cry when he does something cute. you cry when he does something frustrating. you cry when you look at him for too long because he's just so perfect and he's yours.

chloe visits constantly.

she brings toys, treats, advice you didn't ask for. she takes pictures of buddy constantly, fills her phone with them, shows them to everyone she knows.

which is how you end up where you are now, six weeks after bringing buddy home, sitting on chloe's couch while she scrolls through her phone and you try to keep buddy from eating her throw pillows. you're emotional and tired and so happy it almost hurts.

"by the way," chloe says, not looking up from her phone, "my friend jake wants to meet buddy."

you look up from where you're wrestling with your dog. "what?"

"my coworker jake," she says, like this is casual information. "i showed him pictures of buddy last week at lunch and he wouldn't stop asking about him. he loves dogs. he wants to meet him."

"why are you showing people my dog?" you ask, but there's no real bite in it. you're used to this.

chloe has been your best friend since college and her love language is showing people pictures of things she cares about. usually it's you. now it's buddy.

"i work with him," chloe says, shrugging.

"we were just talking. he saw my lock screen, which is buddy, obviously, and he asked about him. and then i showed him more pictures, because look at him, and now he's obsessed. he said, and i quote, 'that dog looks like he has opinions and i need to hear them.'"

you snort, pulling buddy into your lap. he immediately tries to bite your necklace. "so now your coworker wants to meet my dog?"

"he's not just any coworker," chloe says.

"he's great. he's got such warm energy, always smiling, probably cries during commercials with dogs in them. genuinely the nicest person. he has a border collie named layla, but she lives with his parents. he wants to meet buddy. we could go to the dog park this weekend. it'll be fun."

you think about it. you don't know jake. you know chloe works with a lot of people, marketing types who wear nice shirts and talk about engagement rates. but the idea of someone wanting to meet your dog specifically, not just tolerating him as an extension of you, is kind of nice.

also, buddy needs socialization. according to the internet. according to the vet. according to the passive aggressive notes your neighbor keeps leaving about "excessive vocalization."

"fine," you say. "but if he doesn't like jake, we're leaving immediately."

"he'll like jake," chloe says confidently. "everyone likes jake."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the thing about buddy is that he is not a people pleaser.

you've had him for six weeks now and you've learned this well. he likes who he likes and he makes it very clear who he doesn't.

the list of people he likes includes: you, chloe, the old lady who lives next door and gives him cheese, and the barista at the coffee shop who once dropped a piece of bacon near his stroller.

the list of people he doesn't like includes: the mailman, anyone who wears hats, anyone who moves too fast, anyone who moves too slow, and approximately seventy percent of the dogs at your local park.

you've been trying to socialize him. you really have. but buddy's idea of socialization is sitting on your lap and judging people from a distance while growling softly at anyone who makes eye contact.

"he's just protective," you tell yourself. "he's a guard dog in a very small body."

he is currently sitting in his carrier in the passenger seat of your car, looking out the window with an expression that says he knows exactly where you're going and he has several complaints prepared.

"we're meeting chloe's friend," you tell him. "apparently he really wants to meet you. he has a border collie named layla who lives with his parents, so he knows dogs. so please don't bark at him. please. for my sanity."

buddy looks at you. he doesn't blink.

"also, if you could not bark at any other dogs today, that would be great. or any people. or any birds. actually, just don't bark."

he barks. once. short and sharp. it sounds like "no."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the dog park is already busy when you get there, which is your first mistake. your second mistake is letting buddy out of the carrier before you've fully assessed the situation.

he immediately starts barking at a golden retriever who is, admittedly, three times his size and standing very close to his personal space.

"buddy," you hiss, scooping him up. "we talked about this."

the golden retriever's owner gives you a look. you want to die.

"hi!" a voice calls out, and you turn to see chloe jogging toward you, waving her arms. she's wearing a bright yellow sundress and sunglasses and she looks like she's in a commercial for happiness. "you made it!"

"barely," you say. "buddy tried to fight a golden retriever in the parking lot."

"he's spirited," chloe says, which is her nice way of saying "he's a menace."

"where's your friend?"

"oh, he's here," chloe says, looking around. "he was just... there he is!"

she points, and you follow her finger to a guy who is currently on his knees in the grass, being enthusiastically licked by a beagle.

he's tall, you notice first. broad shouldered. wearing a white t-shirt and light wash jeans and sneakers. his hair is brown, styled in that effortless way that looks messy but probably took time, and he's smiling with his whole face, warm and bright and genuine. he looks like he belongs in a sunshine commercial.

"that's jake," chloe says, fondness in her voice. "told you. total sweetheart."

jake looks up then, like he can feel you watching, and his face breaks into a smile that's so bright you almost take a step back.

he waves, big and enthusiastic, and then he's standing up and walking toward you with the beagle trotting after him like they're best friends now.

"you must be y/n!" he says when he gets close, and his voice is warm and deep and exactly what you expected from someone who gets on the ground with strange dogs. "and this must be buddy!"

he looks at buddy, who is currently in your arms, growling softly at the beagle.

"he's perfect," jake breathes, and he means it. you can tell he means it. he's looking at your tiny angry dog like he's looking at a sunset.

"he's usually not friendly," you say, which is an understatement. "he takes a while to warm up to people."

"that's okay," jake says, not offended at all. "i'm very patient. also, i brought treats."

he pulls a bag of training treats from his pocket like it's a magic trick.

"you can't just bribe him," you say.

"watch me," jake says, grinning.

he takes a step back and crouches down again, putting himself at buddy's level. the beagle wanders off, bored now that the pets have stopped. jake holds out a treat between two fingers and waits.

buddy stops growling.

he looks at the treat. he looks at jake. he looks at you, as if to say "is this allowed?"

"it's okay," you tell him, setting him down carefully.

buddy takes three tentative steps toward jake. then he stops and barks once, sharp and demanding.

"yes, hello," jake says, not flinching. "i agree. the service here is terrible. no one has given me a treat yet either."

you laugh despite yourself.

buddy takes two more steps. he's close enough now that jake could grab him if he wanted to, but he doesn't. he just waits, hand steady, smile patient.

buddy sniffs the air. he sniffs jake's shoe. he sniffs jake's knee. he looks up at jake's face and considers him for a long moment. he slowly takes the treat, eating it and looking up at jake.

then he suddenly jumps into jake's arms.

you stare.

chloe stares.

jake's face lights up like christmas morning.

"hello!" he says, cradling buddy against his chest. "hello, little man! look at you! look at your ears!"

buddy, the dog who bites you when you try to clip his nails, who growled at your own mother when she visited, who once spent twenty minutes barking at a particularly offensive trash can, is currently licking jake's chin and wagging his whole body so hard his back legs are lifting off the ground.

"what," you say.

"i told you," chloe says, smug as anything. "total sweetheart. dogs can sense it."

"he hates everyone," you say, still staring.

"he doesn't hate me," jake says, delighted. he stands up with buddy in his arms and buddy settles against his chest like he belongs there, chin resting on jake's shoulder, looking out at the world with an expression of smug satisfaction. "we're friends now. sorry, i don't make the rules."

"you literally just met," you say.

"love at first sight," jake says, scratching behind buddy's ears. buddy makes a sound that's halfway between a whine and a purr. you've never heard him make that sound.

"can i hold him?" you ask, reaching out.

buddy looks at you. he looks at jake. he settles deeper into jake's arms and closes his eyes.

"traitor," you mutter.

jake laughs, and it's a good laugh. warm and open and genuine. "we can share," he offers. "you can have him back eventually. maybe. if he wants to go."

"he's my dog."

"he's choosing me," jake says, not unkindly. "democracy in action."

you should be annoyed. you are, a little. but mostly you're watching the way jake holds buddy carefully, supporting his long back, the way he keeps scratching that spot behind the ears that buddy loves, the way he's looking at your dog like he hung the moon.

"fine," you say. "you can hold him for now. but i'm watching you."

"fair," jake says. "i'd watch me too. i am a stranger, after all."

"a stranger who came prepared with treats," chloe points out.

"a stranger who did his research," jake corrects. "chloe told me buddy was a dachshund. i looked up dachshund facts. did you know they were bred to hunt badgers? that's insane. that's so brave. little legs, big dreams."

"buddy would run from a badger," you say.

"buddy would negotiate with a badger," jake says. "he's very smart. i can tell. look at his eyes."

you look at buddy's eyes. they're currently half closed in bliss as jake rubs his chest.

"he's not usually like this," you say again, because you feel like you need to defend your dog's honor. "he's usually very... opinionated."

"he's opinionated now," jake says. "his opinion is that i'm great. and he's right. so really, he's just very discerning."

you don't know what to say to that. you end up laughing, and jake grins at you, and chloe looks between the two of you with the expression of someone who just successfully set two people up and knows it.

"let's walk," she suggests. "the pond is nice this time of day."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the pond is nice, but you're mostly watching jake and buddy.

they've been walking together for twenty minutes now, and buddy hasn't barked at a single person. not the jogger who ran too close. not the kid on the scooter. not the poodle who looked at him funny.

instead, he's trotting along next to jake, occasionally looking up to make sure he's still there, occasionally jumping up to demand more pets.

jake carries him part of the way, holding him like a baby, and buddy lets him. he more than lets him. he actively snuggles.

"this is weird," you say to chloe, walking slightly behind them.

"what is?" she asks innocently.

"this. buddy. he's being... good."

"buddy's always good," chloe says.

"buddy bit the groomer," you remind her.

"buddy has standards," she amends. "apparently jake meets them."

you watch jake stop to let buddy sniff a particularly interesting patch of grass. he waits patiently, not rushing, not pulling the leash. when buddy finds a stick and brings it to him, jake acts like it's the greatest gift he's ever received.

"he's going to expect this now," you say. "he's going to want me to be this excited about sticks."

"you should be excited about sticks," chloe says. "sticks are great. jake's great. this is great."

"you're very pleased with yourself," you observe.

"i'm a genius," she agrees. "i should charge for this."

"charge for what?"

"nothing," she says quickly, but she's smiling.

jake looks back at you, buddy still in his arms now, and he smiles. "your dog is excellent," he calls out. "ten out of ten. best dog i've ever met."

"you've known him for twenty minutes," you point out, catching up.

"quality over quantity," jake says. "besides, i have a good feeling about this. me and buddy. we're going to be best friends. you and me too, probably. by association. since you're his mom."

"i am his mom," you agree, feeling a warmth in your chest at the way he says it, like it's a fact, like it's important.

"exactly," jake says. "you're his mom and i'm his new best friend. we're basically family now."

you should find this overwhelming. jake is a lot. he's loud and enthusiastic and he smiles with his whole face and he talks to dogs like they're people and he actually listens when they respond.

but somehow, it's not overwhelming. it's kind of... nice.

"basically family," you repeat. "great."

"you don't sound convinced," jake observes, falling into step beside you. chloe has wandered ahead to take pictures of ducks, leaving you alone with the warm hearted man holding your tiny opinionated dog.

"i'm just wondering when you're going to realize he's not always like this," you say. "usually he's barking. usually he's trying to fight things bigger than him. usually he's being difficult."

"difficult how?"

"he ate my favorite shoes last week."

"he has taste."

"he barked at his reflection for ten minutes."

"he's self aware. he knows his own face. that's advanced."

"he's not actually a good dog," you say, trying to be honest. "i love him, but he's not... easy."

jake looks at you, then down at buddy, who is currently trying to steal his sunglasses. he doesn't seem bothered.

"i have a dog," he says.

"layla. she lives with my parents now, but i raised her from a puppy. and she was the most difficult dog i've ever met. she herded everything. she once herded my dad into the garage and wouldn't let him leave for an hour because he was wearing a hat she didn't like. she bit three delivery guys. she ate an entire couch cushion."

"and you still love her?"

"i adore her," jake says simply. "she has personality. she knows what she wants and she isn't afraid to demand it. buddy's like that. he's not bad, he's just... specific. he likes what he likes. and he likes me."

buddy, as if on cue, licks jake's nose.

"see?" jake says. "specific. and correct."

you don't know why you're smiling so hard. "you're very weird."

"thank you," he says, like it's a compliment.

"it wasn't meant to be one."

"it felt like one," he says, grinning. "come on. let's catch up to chloe before she falls in the pond trying to get the perfect duck angle."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake doesn't go away after that first meeting.

you expected him to be a one time thing. a nice afternoon at the dog park, a funny story about the guy your dog liked more than you, and then back to normal life.

but he texts you. he gets your number from chloe, which should be annoying but somehow isn't, and he sends you pictures of dogs he sees on the street. he asks about buddy. he sends you memes about dachshunds. he tells you stories about layla, sends videos his parents send him, asks for advice on what brand of treats to buy for her when he visits.

he's relentless in the best way.

"he likes you," chloe says, a week later, when you're getting coffee together before work. she's showing you a text from jake that's just a photo of a hot dog with the caption "saw this and thought of buddy. long boy energy."

"he likes my dog," you correct, stirring your latte.

"he likes you," she repeats, lowering her voice like she's telling you a secret. "trust me. i work with the guy. i know when he's interested. and he's interested."

"he's just being nice."

"he's being interested," she says. "there's a difference."

you think about that as you're getting ready for bed that night, buddy curled up on your pillow because he refuses to acknowledge that he's small and the floor exists.

you scroll through your messages with jake. there are a lot of them. pictures of dogs, mostly, but also questions about your day, jokes about work, a video his mom sent of layla herding the vacuum cleaner.

he's easy to talk to. that's the thing. he responds to everything like it's the most interesting thing he's ever heard.

when you complained about your coffee spilling in your car, he sent you a link to the world's best travel mug and a story about the time he spilled an entire latte on his laptop.

when you told him buddy learned a new trick, he demanded video evidence and then sent you a video of himself attempting the same trick with a stuffed animal.

he's ridiculous. he's also kind of wonderful.

buddy shifts in his sleep, making a small snoring sound, and you scratch his belly without thinking.

"you like him too, don't you?" you ask your dog. "that's why you were so nice to him. you knew."

buddy opens one eye, looks at you with disdain, and goes back to sleep.

"rude," you say, but you're smiling.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the second time you see jake, it's intentional.

he invites you to the dog park again, just you and him this time, chloe having to work overtime on a saturday which she's suspiciously vague about.

you almost say no. you're busy. you have work.

but jake sends a picture of himself holding a bag of premium dog treats with a pleading expression, and you cave.

"this is a bad idea," you tell buddy as you get ready. "i don't know why i'm doing this. we don't need friends. we have each other."

buddy is currently trying to eat your sock. he's not listening.

"he's going to expect you to be nice," you continue. "you're going to have to not bark at children. can you do that? for me?"

buddy spits out the sock and barks once.

"i'll take that as a maybe."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

jake is waiting when you get there, sitting on a bench with two coffees and a bag of what smells like pastries.

he's wearing a soft looking sweater and jeans, and his brown hair is catching the morning light, and he looks so good it almost hurts.

he sees you and waves, big and enthusiastic, and you feel something in your chest tighten in a way that's not entirely unpleasant.

"you came!" he says when you get close. "i wasn't sure you would."

"why wouldn't i?"

"you seemed hesitant. in the texts. lots of 'haha' and 'maybe' and 'we'll see.'"

"i was being mysterious."

"you were being cautious," he corrects, but he's smiling. "it's okay. i'm a lot. i know i'm a lot. but i brought coffee and a bacon quiche for buddy's mom, so hopefully that helps."

"it helps," you admit, taking the coffee. it's exactly how you like it, which you don't remember telling him, but chloe probably did.

"buddy!" jake crouches down again, that same position from last week, and holds out his hand. "hello, old friend!"

buddy, the dog who once tried to bite the wind, launches himself at jake with such force that jake almost falls over.

"hey!" jake laughs, catching him, holding him up like simba on pride rock. "there he is! there's my guy!"

buddy is losing his mind. he's licking jake's face, his ears, his hands. he's making that whining purring sound again. he's wiggling so hard he's basically vibrating.

"i think he remembers you," you say dryly.

"i think he loves me," jake says, not smug, just delighted. "which makes sense. i have great taste in dogs. and people."

he looks at you when he says it, and you feel your face get warm.

"let's walk," you say quickly. "before he pees on you from excitement."

"too late," jake says, but he's already moving, buddy in his arms, leading the way down the path like he knows exactly where he's going.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you walk for an hour.

you talk about everything and nothing. jake tells you about his job, which is marketing but somehow involves more excel spreadsheets than you'd expect.

you tell him about yours, which is something with numbers that you don't love explaining because it makes people's eyes glaze over.

he asks questions anyway. he seems genuinely interested in the quarterly projections you're complaining about.

you talk about buddy. you tell him about the shoe incident, the reflection incident, the time he got stuck under the couch and barked for help but then bit you when you tried to rescue him.

"classic dachshund," jake says, like this is normal.

"layla was like that too. she once got herself stuck under my parents' deck and then barked for three hours straight because she was mad about it. not because she wanted help. just because she was angry."

"they're impossible," you agree.

"they're perfect," he counters. "they know exactly how much space they deserve in the world. which is all of it."

you look at him. he's carrying buddy again, because buddy got tired after twenty minutes of walking, and he doesn't seem to mind at all.

your dog is asleep in his arms, snoring slightly, completely at peace.

"you're good with him," you say. "i don't get it. he's not good with people."

"i'm not people," jake says. "i'm jake. it's different."

"how is it different?"

"because..." he pauses, thinking. "because i don't want anything from him. or you. i just like hanging out. i think that's rare. i think dogs can tell when you just want to be around them without wanting them to be anything specific. and i think people can tell too."

you look at the ground. "that's... that's actually really nice."

"i have my moments," he says. "not many. but some."

you walk in silence for a while, but it's comfortable.

the sun is warm. the coffee was good. your dog is happy. you can't remember the last time you felt this... easy.

there's a pause for a minute. not awkward, just soaking in the scene. then, jake voice fills the silence. "why'd you really come today?"

you look at him. he's not looking at you, focused instead on a squirrel that's caught buddy's attention even in sleep. his profile is soft in the afternoon light, his brown hair falling slightly over his forehead.

"i wanted to see if you were real," you say, surprising yourself with the honesty. "if you were actually like this. or if it was just... a first meeting thing. a fluke."

"and?"

"you're real," you admit. "you're a lot. but you're real."

"the best kind of real," he agrees. "the warm, enthusiastic, probably too much kind."

"is that what you are?"

"in human form," he says. "it's a heavy burden. but i bear it with grace."

you laugh, and he smiles at you, and buddy wakes up just long enough to lick both of your chins before settling back down.

"same time next week?" jake asks.

"same time," you agree.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the weeks pass, and then the months.

you don't mean for it to become a thing. you don't mean to start looking forward to saturday mornings at the dog park with more intensity than you've looked forward to anything in months. but it does, and you do, and suddenly jake is just... part of your life.

he texts you every day.

good morning texts that are actually funny, not just "good morning" but "good morning i saw a corgi on the train and thought of buddy. shorter legs, same energy."

pictures of his lunch, which always looks terrible, with captions like "chef's kiss" and "cuisine." questions about your day that are specific enough that you know he's actually paying attention.

you start sending him things too. pictures of buddy being weird. complaints about work. random thoughts at 2am that you immediately regret sending but he always responds to with something that makes you laugh.

you see him every saturday. sometimes chloe comes, smug and pleased with herself. sometimes it's just you and jake and buddy, walking the same path, talking about everything.

but then it starts to be more than saturdays.

he texts you on wednesday, casual, like it's nothing

jake

i'm near your neighborhood for a meeting. any good coffee shops near you?

you tell him about the place on the corner, the one with the window seats and the croissants that buddy likes to beg for.

he texts back

jake

save me a seat? i'll buy you one too, as payment for the recommendation

you should say no. you have work. you have things to do.

..but you type back.

you

sure, see you at two

he's already there when you arrive, sitting by the window with two coffees and a croissant on a plate, and your stomach does something complicated when you see him.

he's not in workout clothes this time. he's wearing a button down shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and he looks... good. he looks really good. professional but still soft, still jake, still smiling at his phone like whatever he's reading is the funniest thing in the world.

then he looks up and sees you, and his face transforms, and you feel it. you feel something shift in the air between you.

"you came," he says, standing up, pulling out the chair across from him. "i wasn't sure you would."

"you say that every time," you observe, sitting down.

"because every time i'm not sure," he says, honest. "you're hard to pin down. i feel like if i blink you'll disappear."

"i'm not going anywhere," you say, and you mean it more than you've meant anything in a while.

he looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. "good," he says finally. "that's... good."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

the coffee dates become a thing. then the evening walks. then the "i'm just in the neighborhood" texts that happen more and more often, until you're seeing him three, four times a week, until he's just... there. present. constant.

you learn things about him. he loves bad movies and will defend batman forever to his dying breath. he cries at every commercial with a dog in it, just like chloe said. he has a spreadsheet ranking every donut shop in the city and he's not afraid to use it. he wants to open a dog rescue someday, when he's saved enough money, somewhere with land and space for all the dogs no one wants.

"the difficult ones," he says, when he tells you this. "the ones who bark too much or have too much energy or are just too much. they deserve love too. they deserve someone who sees them and doesn't want to change them."

you think about buddy, who is currently asleep on jake's lap on your couch, and you feel something shift in your chest.

"yeah," you say. "they do."

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

you start noticing things about jake.

the way he looks at you when he thinks you're not paying attention, soft and fond and something else, something that makes your stomach flip.

the way he remembers things, the way he brings you your favorite coffee without asking, the way he always has a treat for buddy and a compliment for you.

the way your hand brushes his when you're walking, and how neither of you pulls away.

the way you start wanting to tell him things first. before chloe, before anyone. good news, bad news, random observations about clouds. you want him to know everything.

the way you start noticing things about him. the scar on his chin from falling off a bike when he was ten. the way he runs his hand through his hair when he's thinking. the way he says your name, like it's something precious.

the way you're falling in love with him, week by week, day by day, like watching the sun rise, and it doesn't scare you as much as you thought it would.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

it's been four months since the dog park. four months of texts and coffee and walks and saturdays. four months of building something you don't have a name for yet.

you're at his apartment this time. he's cooking dinner, something involving pasta and sauce that smells amazing, and buddy is exploring the space with the confidence of a dog who has claimed this territory as his own.

"he likes it here," you observe, watching buddy settle onto the dog bed that jake apparently bought just for him.

"he likes everywhere you're at," jake says, stirring the sauce. "we have that in common."

you look at him. he's focused on the pot, but there's color in his cheeks, like he hadn't meant to say that out loud.

"you do?" you ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

"...i what?" jake asks quietly, knowing you heard him anyway

"like everywhere i'm at?"

he stops stirring. he looks at you, cheeks flushed cause he was caught. his eyes are dark and warm and full of something you've been pretending not to see for weeks.

"yeah," he says, simple and honest. "i do. i really do."

your heart is hammering. the air feels thick. buddy is snoring from jakes couch, oblivious, but you can't look away from jake.

"that's... that's good," you manage. "because i... i like where you are too."

he sets down the wooden spoon. he turns off the burner. he walks around the kitchen island until he's standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell his soap, something clean and warm, close enough that you could reach out and touch him if you wanted to.

"..can i kiss you?" jake asks, his gaze not leaving your eyes.

the question hangs in the air between you, heavy and electric, and you feel every nerve in your body light up at once.

"yes," you whisper. "please."

he steps closer. his hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing your jawline, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, like you're something precious, something he's been waiting for.

he leans in slowly, giving you time to pull away, time to change your mind, but you don't. you can't. you've been waiting for this too, you realize. you've been waiting for months.

his lips brush yours, soft and tentative, and it's electric. it's like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like sunlight on your skin, like coming home.

you make a small sound, involuntary, and he pulls back just enough to look at you, to check, and you can see the question in his eyes.

"again," you breathe, and you reach up to touch his face, your fingers brushing his cheekbone, and he smiles against your mouth before leaning back in.

this time it's not tentative. this time it's sure, it's warm, it's months of buildup finally breaking free.

his mouth moves against yours, gentle but insistent, and you open for him, letting him in, tasting him, learning him.

he makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, something happy and relieved, and it sends warmth flooding through your whole body.

his other hand comes up to cradle the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair, and he angles your head to deepen the kiss.

his tongue slides against yours, slow and sweet, and you whimper, pressing closer, wanting more, wanting everything.

he walks you backward until your back hits the wall, but he's gentle about it, his hands protecting your head from the impact. then he's crowding you there, his body warm and solid against yours, and you can feel every inch of him, the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way he's trembling just slightly, like he's holding himself back.

"is this okay?" he murmurs against your lips, his breath hot against your skin.

"yes," you gasp, arching into him.

he kisses you deeper, sweeter, his hands moving from your hair to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel his heart hammering against your chest, matching yours beat for beat.

your hands slide up his chest, feeling the warmth of him through his shirt, and you fist your hands in the fabric, pulling him closer, closer, until there's no space between you at all.

he kisses down your jaw, your throat, finding the sensitive spot below your ear that makes you gasp, and he lingers there, pressing soft kisses to your skin, and you tilt your head back to give him better access, your fingers tangled in his hair.

"jake," you breathe, and his name sounds like a prayer, like a promise.

he hums softly against your skin, his arms wrapping around your waist, holding you tight, and he buries his face in your neck, breathing you in.

"i've wanted this," he whispers, his voice rough and honest. "i've wanted you. for so long."

"i know," you whisper back, holding him close. "me too."

he pulls back to look at you, his eyes dark and blown wide, his lips swollen and pink, and he looks at you like you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

"be my girlfriend?" he asks, his thumb brushing over your kiss-bitten lips. "officially? no more saturdays as just friends. i want to be yours. i want you to be mine."

"yes," you say immediately, smiling so big it hurts. "yes, i want that. i want you."

he grins, that bright, sunshine grin that made you notice him in the first place, and then he's kissing you again, deep and slow and full of promise, and you kiss him back with everything you have, everything you've been holding back for months.

when you finally pull apart, breathless and smiling, he rests his forehead against yours, his hands still on your waist, and he looks at you with so much affection you feel like you might cry.

"you're my girlfriend," he says, like he's testing it out, like he can't believe it.

"i'm your girlfriend," you confirm, laughing softly.

"and i'm your boyfriend."

"you are."

"and buddy is our dog."

"he's our dog," you agree, feeling the truth of it settle into your bones.

he kisses you again, quick and sweet, and then he pulls back, taking your hand in his, threading his fingers through yours.

"we should eat," he says, smiling. "before the pasta gets cold."

"in a minute," you murmur, pulling him back down for another kiss. "just... one more minute."

he laughs against your mouth and kisses you again, soft and slow and perfect, and you think that maybe, just maybe, you could stay like this forever.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊  

six months later, you're standing in chloe's apartment holding a glass of champagne and watching your boyfriend laugh at something her boyfriend just said.

jake's wearing the sweater you bought him for his birthday, the soft blue one that makes his eyes look even warmer, and his brown hair is styled in that way you love, and he's holding buddy in one arm and gesturing wildly with the other hand, telling a story about how layla once herded his entire family into the kitchen because it was dinner time and they were running late.

"you're staring," chloe says, appearing at your elbow with her own glass of champagne.

"i'm appreciating," you correct, not looking away.

"you're in love," she amends, smug as ever.

"i am," you agree, because there's no point denying it. you're so in love it radiates out of you. you're so in love you wake up smiling. you're so in love it almost doesn't feel real.

chloe follows your gaze to where jake is now demonstrating how buddy sits on command, the tiny dachshund looking proud and regal in his arms.

"he's good for you," she says, softer now. "you know that, right?"

"i know," you say. "he's... he's everything."

"he's your person," she says. "and you're his."

across the room, jake looks up like he can feel you watching, and he smiles, that same bright smile from the dog park all those months ago, and he mouths "i love you" without caring who sees.

you mouth it back.

he excuses himself from the conversation and walks over to you, buddy still in his arms, and he wraps his free arm around your waist, pulling you close.

"having fun?" he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"the best," you say, leaning into him. "you?"

"always," he says, "when i'm with you."

buddy squirms between you, demanding attention, and jake laughs, adjusting his hold on the dog so he's cradled between both of you like a baby.

"our son is demanding," jake observes.

"he's spoiled," you agree.

"he's perfect," jake corrects, and he's looking at you when he says it.

"you're perfect," you say back, reaching up to fix his hair where it's fallen over his forehead.

"we're perfect," he amends, smiling that sunshine smile. "all three of us."

chloe, watching from nearby, raises her glass in a silent toast, and you laugh, leaning up to kiss jake properly, champagne glasses clinking somewhere in the background, buddy squished happily between you, and everything is exactly how it should be.

you're a family. you're his. he's yours. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

⋆˚✿˖°

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Nothing Jungwon loved more than flowers. Ever since he was young, he had dreamed of owning a little flower shop of his own. Nothing too fancy nor shabby, just a warm place with color and life. After graduating with a degree in agriculture, he decided to turn his dream into a reality. His parents had been dismissive at first, doubtful that flowers alone could build a future, but after seeing how tirelessly their son worked for it, they finally chose to support him. 

Most people noticed Eden’s Garden by its flowers long before they noticed the man who tended them. Tucked between an old bakery and a tailor shop at the corner of a quiet street, the little florist was easy to miss. The flower shop originally was a greenhouse owned by an old man, then Jungwon decided to buy it and turned it into what Eden’s Garden is now. 

Jungwon stood behind the counter with his sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, fingers moving with practiced ease as he arranged a bouquet for the old lady waiting patiently across from him. She had come in every Friday for the past three months, always asking for something ‘pretty enough to make an old man smile’. 

Today, he chose pale pink carnations, cream roses, and small sprays of baby’s breath, tying them together with soft brown paper and a ribbon the color of fresh milk. He adjusted the stem once, then twice, tilting his head as he examined the balance of it. 

“Your husband likes warm colors more,” he murmured, gently replacing one white rose with a peach one. 

The old lady chuckled. “You remember better than I do.”

Jungwon only smiled, shy and quiet, before offering the finished bouquet to her with both hands. 

The bell above the door chimed softly as morning sunlight spilled across the shop floor, catching in the glass jars and petals around him. For a moment, with flowers in his hands and laughter filling the room, Jungwon looked exactly where he belonged. 

.

.

.

.

The bell above the door jingled so violently that Jungwon barely had time to look up before someone stumbled inside. It was Doctor Jake from the hospital across the street. Still in his navy scrubs, his glasses a bit tilted on the side, hair a mess like he had run all the way here. He looked as though he had just escaped a medical emergency. 

“Jungwon,” he gasped, hands on his knees. “I need flowers.” 

Jungwon set down the ribbon in his hand. “Good morning, Doctor.” 

“My relationship is in critical condition.” 

Jungwon only hummed softly as he tossed the ribbon scraps into the nearby bin. 

“That sounds serious.” 

“It is serious,” Jake said, straightening up. “She said she needs space.” 

Jungwon glanced at him. “And what did you do?” 

“I gave her space.” 

A pause. 

“Physically?” 

“Yes.”

“No, I mean what did you do to make her say that?”

Jake blinked. “Oh.” He looked suddenly sheepish. “I forgot our anniversary.” 

Jungwon let out a quiet sigh, already walking toward the flower cooler. 

“Yesterday?” he asked over his shoulder. Jake’s silence was answer enough. 

“Mm.” Jungwon opened the glass door and scanned the rows of fresh blooms. “You came here instead of writing your will. Interesting choice.” 

“Can you focus?” Jake groaned. “I’m trying to save my future.” 

“I’m tough.” Jungwon reached for a bundle of tulips. “You’re the one panicking in my store before ten in the morning.” 

Jake dragged a hand down his face. “I had a night shift.” 

Another quiet sigh slipped past Jungwon’s lips. As if Jake had never worked a night shift before. Difficult as it must be, exhaustion was hardly an excuse for forgetting something like that. 

“You’ve had night shift before,” Jungwon said flatly, selecting a few cream roses next. “Yet somehow this is the first time you’ve sprinted in here looking divorced.” 

“I’m not divorced.” 

“Not yet.” 

Jake stared at him. “You’re unbelievably unsupportive for someone helping me.” 

Jungwon merely smiled to himself as he gathered cream roses, pale tulips, and sprigs of baby’s breath into his arms.

“No red roses,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because red roses say I panicked and stopped at the nearest flower shop.”

Jake frowned. “That is exactly what happened.”

Jungwon paused for a moment, then looked at him with mild disbelief. For someone trusted to make life-or-death decisions at a hospital, Jake could be remarkably foolish in matters of romance. 

“Well,” Jungwon said dryly, returning to his bouquet, “good thing you came to a professional.” 

Jungwon gathered the stems into one hand and began trimming them with sharp, efficient snips, his expression calm even as disbelief simmered beneath it. Honestly, he could not understand why this had somehow become part of his job. He had opened a flower shop because he loves flowers, not to clean up after an irresponsible boyfriend with poor memory and worse planning. Yet here he was, at nine in the morning, barely sipping his coffee in peace, repairing damage caused by a grown man. 

Jake hovered nearby, watching every moment like an anxious intern. 

“Can you make it look expensive?” he asked. 

“Can you try looking sincere?” 

Jake winced. “Right. Sorry.” 

With another quiet sigh, Jungwon returned to his work, layering tulips beside cream roses and soft greenery. Somewhere along the years, he had become less of a florist and more of a crisis manager for careless men in love. 

“I should start charging emotional hazard fees,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

After the bouquet finished, Jake rushed out as dramatically as he had arrived. Bouquet clutched to his chest and phone already in hand, nearly colliding with the doorframe on his way out. The bell above the entrance jingled wildly behind him before settling back into silence. 

“Flower shop owner,” he continued under his breath, adjusting a crooked vase. “Part-time relationship counselor. Full-time cleaner of other people’s messes.” The corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. 

Jungwon dusted stray leaves from the counter and reached for the next stack of wrapping paper, irritation still lingering beneath his calm expression. 

.

.

.

.

Jungwon expected many things when he stayed past closing. Last-minute customers were unfortunately one of them. 

The bell above the door rang just as he was about to flip the sign to 'closed,' and a young man in a wrinkled suit hurried inside with a guilty expression on his face, a look Jungwon knew far too well by now. 

“Please,” the stranger said, breathless. “Do you still have tulips?”

Jungwon glanced at the clock. Two minutes past eight. Of course. 

“I do,” he replied evenly, already turning back toward the cooler. “Who did you disappoint?”

The man blinked. “My wife.”

“Hm.” Jungwon selected a bundle of pink tulips. “Honesty. Rare.” 

“It’s our date night,” the man admitted. “I got stuck at work.” 

Jungwon wrapped the flowers neatly in kraft paper, fingers swift and practiced despite the annoyance tugging at his patience. He hated rushing. Hated the way people treated flowers like emergency repairs for problems they had neglected all week. 

Still, the bouquet came out lovely. It always did. 

“That’ll be twenty-three thousand,” he said.

The man paid, bowed gratefully, and hurried out with promises to do better. Jungwon doubted it.

Once the door shut behind him, silence finally settled over Eden’s Garden. Jungwon exhaled through his nose, locked the front door, and turned the sign to closed with more satisfaction than necessary. He dimmed the front light one by one, gathered ribbon scraps from the counter, and then headed toward the back to check the greenhouse before leaving. 

He expected many things when he heard the sudden crash from behind the glass doors. Stray cats, fallen pots, another loose windowpane. What he did not expect was a girl lying among overturned orchids, breathing hard, with torn wings trembling behind her like broken glass. 

Jungwon stopped where he stood. 

For a moment, his mind refused to make sense of what he was seeing. The greenhouse lights cast a warm glow over the shattered pots and scattered soil, over the pale shape of a girl curled carefully on the floor—and over the pair of delicate wings folded weakly behind her. They shimmered faintly, dusted in silver, the edges cracked and bent as though made from glass. 

A fairy. 

The thought came absurdly, impossibly clear. 

He had heard stories as a child of spirits hiding in old forests and winged beings blessing the garden in spring. He had long since grown out of believing them. Yet there was no other word for the creature struggling to sit upright among his orchids. 

You noticed him then. 

Your eyes widened, and for a second, you looked more startled than he felt. Slowly, carefully, you lowered your gaze and bowed your head despite the pain tightening your face. 

“I’m terribly sorry,” you said softly. Your voice was light as wind through leaves. “I didn’t mean to damage your flowers.” 

Jungwon only stared. 

You glanced at the broken pots beside you and seemed to shrink further in embarrassment. 

“I tried to land more gracefully,” you admitted in a small voice. “It did not go as planned.” 

Still, Jungwon said nothing. You looked back up at him, hesitant now. 

“Are humans always this quiet when surprised?”

That finally snapped him out of it. Jungwon blinked once, then twice.

“No,” he said slowly. “Usually we scream first.”

A faint, apologetic smile touched your lips before you winced and reached for your wing. Only then did Jungwon move forward, kneeling beside you as disbelief gave way to concern. 

“You’re hurt,” he murmured. 

“A little,” you said, though the tremble in your voice suggested otherwise. “I’m sorry for troubling you.” 

Jungwon glanced around at the ruined orchids, the feathers scattered like moonlight, and the fairy trying to apologize while barely able to sit upright. Somehow, this was not how he imagined ending his night. 

.

.

.

.

Jungwon returned a moment later with a small first-aid kit tucked under one arm and a clean towel draped over the other. He had also, for reasons he did not care to examine too closely, brought a cushion from the front of the shop. 

You were still where he had left you, sitting carefully among the overturned pots with your injured wing drawn close. Your expression brightened a little when you saw him return, though pain still lingered around your eyes. 

“I wasn’t sure you would come back,” you admitted softly. 

Jungwon set the cushion down in front of you. “It’s my greenhouse,” he said. “Hard to abandon it.” 

Then, after a pause, he added, “You too, I guess.”

A shy smile touched your lips. He helped you shift onto the cushion, movement cautious and surprisingly gentle for someone who looked perpetually unimpressed by the world. Once you were settled, he knelt behind you to inspect the damage more closely. 

“Tell me if this hurts.”

“It already hurts,” you said honestly. “But I’ll let you know if it becomes dramatic.”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him before he could stop it. 

Using warm water and a soft cloth, Jungwon carefully cleaned the dirt from the fractured edges of your wing. Up close, the structure was delicate and intricate, each translucent feather threaded with a faint silver vein that pulsed like moonlight. He handled it with the same patience he used when pruning fragile blooms. 

You shivered once when his fingers brushed a sensitive spot. 

“Sorry,” he murmured immediately. 

“It’s all right,” you said, voice smaller now. “You’re very gentle.” 

Something unreadable crossed his face. He focused harder on wrapping a strip of gauze around the split near the base. When he finished, he leaned back on his heels to study his work. 

“There. Not perfect, but it should keep it stable for tonight.”

You turned your head enough to look at him, wonder softening your features. “Humans know how to mend wings?” 

“We don’t,” Jungwon said. “I’m improvising.” 

“That may be even more impressive.”

He looked away first. Then his gaze flicked back to you, lingering on how pale you’d gone. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, as though the question had surprised even him. 

“Hungry?”

“You crashed through my greenhouse,” he said flatly. “I assume that takes energy.” 

A tiny laugh slipped from you. “Yes,” you confessed. “Very much so.” 

Jungwon rose to his feet. 

“Stay there. Don’t touch anything expensive.”

As he headed toward the shop kitchen, you watched him go with a smile that felt strangely warm in the quiet greenhouse. 

Jungwon returned carrying what looked like a tray assembled through reluctant thoughtfulness. A small saucer no bigger than his palm held a few berries, torn petals of edible flowers, and a single cube of honeycomb. Beside it sat a thimble-sized cup of water and half of a steamed bun from the baker next door. 

You blinked at the offering, then at him. 

“You prepared this?”

“I guessed,” he said, setting it carefully on the potting table. “You’re smaller than most of my customers.”

A soft laugh escaped you. “That’s true.”

He dragged a stool over and sat across from you, arms folded. 

“Eat.”

You climbed a little closer to the tray, wings tucked carefully behind you, and picked up one berry with both hands. The fruit looked oversized against your palms. After one bite, your eyes widened with delight. 

“This is wonderful.” 

“It’s a blueberry.”

“It’s a perfect blueberry,” you corrected gently. “Sweet, cool, and sun-warmed.” 

Jungwon watched as you nibbled another bite with the concentration of someone tasting treasure. Then you reached for the honeycomb. The moment the golden sweetness touched your tongue, you let out the tiniest sigh of happiness. He stared. 

“Is honey always this good?” you asked. 

“Yes,” Jungwon said slowly. “Have you never had it before?” 

“Not from human shops.” You took another careful bite. “Everything here tastes heavier. Richer. It lingers.”

He did not know what that meant, but nodded as though he did. You sampled the bun next, tearing off a piece no larger than a petal. 

“Warm bread,” you whispered, visibly moved. 

“It’s from next door.” 

“Then your neighboring kingdom is also blessed.” 

Jungwon looked away to hide the smile threatening his mouth. When you reached for the tiny cup of water made out of a bottle cap, your injured wing twitched painfully. You winced. He was beside you before thinking, steadying the cup so it would not tip. Your fingers brushed his. You both paused. 

“Thank you,” you said softly. 

“It’s just water.”

“And yet,” you murmured, looking up at him with bright eyes, “you keep saving me with simple things.”

Jungwon straightened too quickly and returned to fixing overturned pots. Behind him, he could still hear your small, delighted hums over berries and bread. Somehow, in the middle of a ruined greenhouse and a very long night, the sound made the place feel warmer than it had all day. 

.

.

.

.

The next morning arrived quietly, washed in pale gold sunlight that filtered through the glass panes of the greenhouse. Jungwon unlocked the back door with a yawn, balancing a tray of watering tools in one hand and a paper cup of coffee in the other. He had almost convinced himself that the events of last night were some elaborate exhaustion-induced dream. An injured fairy in his greenhouse sounded far less believable in daylight.  

Then he stepped inside. And there you were. Fast asleep on the makeshift bed he had arranged from folded blankets, spare cushions, and an old linen cloth usually used for wrapping pots. You had curled into yourself near the row of hydrangeas, one tiny hand tucked beneath your cheek. Your wings, carefully bandaged by his own clumsy hands, were folded close behind you, catching the morning light in soft silver hues. 

Jungwon stopped in the doorway. For a moment, he simply stared. In sleep, you looked even smaller than he remembered. A few loose petals had gathered around your bed during the night, as though the flowers had crept closer to watch over you. 

He had spent years trying to keep this greenhouse alive, and somehow, overnight, it had decided to adopt a fairy. The floor creaked beneath his shoe. Your nose scrunched first. Then your lashes fluttered open slowly, heavy with sleep. For a second, you only blinked up at him in confusion before memory returned. 

“Oh,” you murmured, voice soft and rough with sleep. “Good morning.” 

Jungwon looked away too quickly, clearing his throat. 

“You’re drooling.”

You sat up at once, horrified. “I am?”

“No.”

You stared. A beat passed before he took a sip of coffee, expression unreadable. 

“That was mean,” you said quietly. 

“It was funny,” Jungwon replied, already moving toward the watering cans so you wouldn’t see the corner of his mouth lift. 

Jungwon busied himself with the watering cans, pretending he had not just lied to an injured fairy before breakfast. Behind him, he heard the rustle of blankets and the soft shift of wings as you carefully sat straighter on the makeshift bed. 

For a few quiet moments, the greenhouse was filled only with the sound of running water and morning birds beyond the glass. Then, your voice drifted over, gentle and curious. 

“What is it that you do for a living?”

Jungwon glanced back. You were watching him with open interest, knees tucked beneath the blanket, hair still mussed from sleep. He frowned slightly. “You mean right now?”

“In general,” you said, smiling a little. “Humans seem to spend much of their time doing things for a living.”

He considered that. “I own this place.” He gestured around the greenhouse. “The flower shop out front, too. I arrange bouquets, sell plants, keep everything alive.” 

Your eyes widened with genuine admiration. “You care for flowers every day?”

“That’s the job.”

“Thats sounds lovely.”

“It’s mostly dirt, invoices, and people who remember anniversaries too late.”

You laughed softly, the sound bright enough to make him pause mid-pour. 

“I think it suits you,” you said. “You have gentle hands.”

Jungwon nearly overwatered a fern. He set the can down with unnecessary care. 

“Mm.” 

Then, because he needed the subject away from himself immediately, he turned back to you.  

“What about you?” he asked. “Why did the accident happen?” 

Your smile faded. Fingers curled lightly into the blanket over your lap. For a moment, you looked down at your bandaged wing. 

“My home was destroyed,” you said quietly. 

Jungwon stilled. 

You glanced toward the glass roof, eyes distant now. “It was a garden. Full of blooming flowers. Vines, ponds, trees older than memory.” A small breath left you. “It’s gone now.” 

He said nothing, sensing there was little to say. 

“I had nowhere to return to,” you continued softly. “So I wandered, looking for another place where I might stay.” 

Your fingers tightened around the blanket.

“Then a hunting creature found me.”

Jungwon frowned. “What kind of creature?”

You hesitated. “Small. Round face. Sharp eyes. Very smug.”

He blinked once. “A cat?”

You looked offended. “It was vicious.”

Jungwon had to look away to hide the smile threatening his mouth.

“It chased me through the alleyways,” you said with wounded dignity. “I flew faster than I should have. Then I saw this greenhouse full of flowers and thought I could hide here.”

His eyes moved slowly over the broken pots, spilled soil, and bent orchid stand.

“You then flew directly into my shelves.”

“I lost control,” you murmured. “At the last moment.”

“You crashed through three pots.”

“Two and a half.”

Jungwon let out a quiet breath that was almost laughter.

Despite the absurdity of it, something in your voice lingered with him—the way you spoke of a ruined home, of wandering alone, of choosing his greenhouse because it was full of flowers.

He reached for another watering can, tone calmer when he spoke again.

“Well,” he said, not looking at you, “until your wing heals… You can stay here.”

For a moment, the greenhouse went completely still. Even the faint rustle of leaves seemed to pause. You looked at him as though you were not certain you had heard correctly.

“…I may stay?”

Jungwon kept his attention fixed on the row of ferns in front of him. “Temporarily.”

Your voice turned smaller, softer. “Here?”

“Until your wing heals,” he repeated.

For a heartbeat, you simply stared at him. Then your eyes began to shine in a way that caught him entirely off guard. 

“It’s not a place invitation, it’s a spare corner in a greenhouse.” 

But you were already pushing yourself carefully to your feet, clutching the blanket around your shoulders. 

“This is the kindest thing anyone has done for me in a very long time.” 

The sincerity in your voice made him glance over despite himself. You looked genuinely overwhelmed by something he considered practical at best. 

“Thank you, Jungwon.” 

His name sounded different in your mouth. Soft, careful, almost precious. Jungwon forgot, briefly, what he had been doing. You bowed your head over his hands, though it was something worthy of reverence, then looked up at him with such open gratitude that he had to clear his throat and look away. 

“You’re making this weird,” he said quietly. 

A tiny laugh escaped you, bright as wind chimes. He risked another glance and immediately regretted it. You were smiling at him like he had handed you the world instead of an unused corner and some blankets. Ridiculous. And, annoyingly, kind of cute. 

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Later that morning, once the front sign had been turned to open, Jungwon guided you into the narrow space behind a tall shelf of potted hydrangeas near the doorway between the shop and greenhouse. From there, hidden between leaves and ribbons, you had a clear view of the counter. 

“This is your spot,” he said. “Stay quiet, stay hidden, and don’t reveal yourself to strangers.” 

You nodded solemnly. “I shall be invisible.”

“You are currently sparkling.” 

You looked down in alarm and quickly tucked your wings closer. Jungwon sighed and went to unlock the front door. The bell chimed only minutes later. An elderly woman entered first, leaning on a cane with careful steps. Before she could even speak, Jungwon had already moved around the counter. 

“Good morning, Mrs. Han,” he said, taking the basket from her hand. “The daisies lasted longer this week?” 

Her face brightened. “You remembered.”

“You complained about them twice,” he said mildly. 

You watched, wide-eyed, as he selected fresh stems and adjusted them to a height easier for her to carry. He even tied the ribbon loosely so arthritic fingers could undo it without trouble. When she left smiling, you pressed both hands to your mouth. He knew her flowers. He knew her hands. 

The bell rang again. This time, a nervous student came in asking for ‘something pretty, but cheap’.

Jungwon did not laugh. He simply asked, “For apology or confession?” 

The boy flushed crimson. “Confession.”

“Then yellow tulips. They’re hopeful without being arrogant.” 

You nearly gasped aloud. He could read hearts from a flower request alone. 

Throughout the morning, customers came and went. A mother with a crying toddler received a free carnation to distract the child. A tired office worker was offered water before discussing the colors of the bouquet. A young woman is uncertain about caring for succulents left with written instructions and Jungwon’s promise that she could return if she killed them accidentally. 

Each time, he remained calm, steady, a little dry in humor—but attentive in ways so small most people probably missed them. He noticed trembling hands, tired eyes, wedding rings, and ink stains, as well as sadness hidden beneath smiles. And he responded gently every time. 

From behind the hydrangeas, you could only stare. When the shop finally emptied for a moment, Jungwon began reorganizing ribbon at the counter. You slipped out from hiding before remembering you were supposed to stay hidden. 

“You’re astonishing,” you blurted. 

He looked up slowly. “That sounds suspicious.” 

“You care for them the way you care for flowers.”

Jungwon blinked once. “I sell them flowers.”

“No,” you said, stepping closer. “You make them feel seen.”

The ribbon in his hand stilled. For once, he had nothing dry or clever to say. You smiled at him with shining admiration. Jungwon looked down at the ribbons again, ears faintly pink. 

“Get back behind the hydrangeas before someone walks in.” 

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That afternoon slowed into a gentle lull. Sunlight poured through the front windows in warm strips, turning the shop golden and quiet. No customers came for nearly half an hour, leaving only the soft hum of the refrigerator cooler and the distant sound of traffic outside. 

Jungwon used the silence to sort a shipment of fresh stems at the worktable near the greenhouse door. Roses, lisianthus, eucalyptus, peonies–ordinary things, familiar things. Easy to understand. 

You, meanwhile, were not. 

He glanced over to find you perched on the edge of a wooden crate, legs swinging idly as you studied a sunflower that was bigger and taller than you. Your injured wing was tucked carefully behind you, bandages neat from where he had changed them earlier. The other wing caught the light each time it moved, scattering tiny flecks of shimmer across the floor. 

You reached out with both hands and cupped the sunflower’s face with reverence.

“It follows the sun,” you whispered, delighted. “How loyal.”

Jungwon stared for a moment too long before looking back down at the stems in his hands.

“It’s called heliotropism,” he said.

You turned immediately. “You know the language of flowers scientifically and emotionally. That feels unfair.” 

He nearly cut the eucalyptus crooked. A few minutes later, he looked up again. You had discovered the ribbon drawer. Lengths of satin and organza were spread around you like treasure while you held a spool of green ribbon above your head. 

“This one matches your aura,” you announced. 

“I don’t have an aura.”

“Everyone has an aura.” You squinted at him thoughtfully. “Yours is moss after rain.” 

Jungwon had no idea what that meant. Yet somehow, hearing it made his chest feel strange. He went back to trimming stems. Then came a soft gasp. He looked up sharply. 

You were standing beside a vase of unopened lilies, hands clasped under your chin. Before his eyes, the tight buds slowly loosened, petals unfolding one by one as if waking from sleep.

Jungwon straightened. “Did you do that?”

You blinked at him. “A little.”

“That’s possible?”

“You talk to flowers with water and patience,” you said simply. “I talk to them differently.”

He walked closer without meaning to, gaze fixed on the lilies now fully open and fragrant. All his life, flowers had been work. Beautiful work, yes–but still predictable in their own ways. Soil, sunlight, pruning, seasons. Cause and effect. 

But you stood among them like something from a story, smiling shyly because you thought opening lilies was ordinary. Jungwon looked at your face, then your bandaged wing, then the petals blooming around you. 

Ridiculous. Impossible. Entirely inconvenient. And he couldn’t stop looking. 

You tilted your head. “Why are humans always so quiet when surprised?”

He blinked, caught.

“…Because sometimes,” he said slowly, “we don’t know what to say.”

Your smile softened. For the rest of the afternoon, Jungwon found himself glancing up every few minutes—just to make sure you were still there. 

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Days slipped into one another so quietly that Jungwon did not notice when caring for you became part of his routine. 

At first, he told himself it was temporary. You were an injured guest, nothing more. A strange responsibility that had fallen into his greenhouse like broken weather. He was only helping until your wing healed. 

Then, somehow, mornings began with looking for you first. 

He would unlock the greenhouse and find you asleep in a nest of blankets, petals gathered around your hair, or sitting cross-legged by the window, whispering to seedlings until they stood a little taller. Sometimes you would already be awake, waiting for him with a bright, “Good morning, Jungwon,” spoken as though his arrival was the best part of your day.

He never admitted how much he liked hearing it. 

You learned the rhythm of the shop quickly. When a customer came, you hid in the back room or behind the taller plants, peeking through leaves with scandalous curiosity. When the store emptied, you emerged to ask endless questions.

Why did humans apologize with flowers? 

Why did some people buy roses only after making mistakes?

Why did Jungwon frown when concentrating, but smile at lilies?

He had no answer for the last one. 

You followed him everywhere your wing allowed. If he watered the orchids, you carried the spray bottle two-handed behind him.  If he trimmed stems, you sorted discarded leaves into neat little piles. If he rearranged displays, you offered opinions no one asked for.                                                                                                                        

“That vase is insecure,” you declared once.

“It’s ceramic.”

“It knows what it did.”

Jungwon laughed so suddenly that he startled himself. That happened more often now. You had a way of filling quiet spaces without making them loud. The greenhouse, once peaceful in a lonely sort of way, now felt warm with your presence. There was always the soft rustle of wings, the hum of your voice, the occasional gasp of delight over something ordinary. Bread. Rain. Fresh peonies. The fact that pencils could be sharpened. 

You made the world seem newer than he remembered it being. And you notice him in ways others did not. 

You left flowers beside his register ‘because they matched his mood’. You reminded him to eat when lunch hours grew busy. You scolded him gently when he worked too late. You thanked him every single night for letting you stay, as though he had not already lost count of how many times he would say yes. 

One afternoon, while tying ribbons for an order, Jungwon realized he was smiling before you had even entered the room. He had heard your footsteps in the hall and smiled automatically. The realization unsettled him. He set the ribbon down and stared at nothing for a long moment. Then you appeared in the doorway carrying a strawberry twice the size of your face. 

“Look what I found,” you announced proudly. 

Jungwon looked at you, ridiculous and radiant in the late sunlight, and felt the strange tightness in his chest again. 

“Wash it first,” he said. 

You beamed as though he had said something tender. 

Maybe, Jungwon thought as he watched you hurry to the sink, he was growing used to having a fairy around. Maybe that was all it was. But when you laughed from the kitchen a second later, bright and familiar, even he knew he was lying to himself. 

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It happened on an afternoon so ordinary that Jungwon almost missed how impossible it was. 

Rain tapped softly against the greenhouse glass, customers were scarce, and the shop smelled of damp earth and fresh eucalyptus. Jungwon was in the back room sorting inventory sheets while muttering about missing ribbon spools. You had been strangely quiet for nearly twenty minutes. That alone was suspicious. 

He looked up from the papers. “What are you doing?”

No answer. Jungwon frowned and pushed back his chair. “If you’re using magic on the stock again, I’m charging rent.”

Still nothing. 

He followed the faint rustling sound toward the greenhouse, stepping around buckets and crates until he reached the row of climbing roses near your makeshift bed. Then he stopped so abruptly that the clipboard nearly slipped from his hand. You were standing in the middle of the aisle. Not perched on a crate. Not small enough to fit in his palm-sized blankets. Standing. Human-sized. 

Your head nearly reached his shoulder now, wings spread carefully behind you in a softened shimmer. The loose shirt he had left folded nearby hung off one shoulder, its sleeves too long for his arms, the hem brushing the tops of his thighs. Bare legs, tousled hair, startled eyes. You looked just as shocked to see him as he was to see you. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Jungwon’s brain, usually dependable and practical, offered nothing useful. 

“...What,” he said finally, “is this?”

You clutched the oversized shirt tighter. “I can explain.” 

“I would love that.”

Your gaze dropped to the floor. “Fairies can shift forms.” 

“You could do this the whole time?” 

“No!” you said quickly. “Not properly. It requires strength, and my wing has been damaged.” 

You flexed your fingers uncertainly, as if surprised by their length. “I only just regained enough magic to hold it.”

Jungwon stared. This explained many things. None of them helped. 

“You mean to tell me,” he said slowly, “that for days I’ve been making you tiny fruit plates when you could one day become…” He gestured helplessly at all of you. “...this?”

You bit your lip. “The fruit plates were very sweet.”

His eyes caught on the way the borrowed shirt slipped lower on your shoulder. He looked away so fast it almost hurt. 

“And you chose now to mention this because?”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

“You’ve succeeded.”

A pause.

“Are you upset?” you asked softly.

Jungwon looked back then. You stood there, nervous and hopeful, bare feet against his greenhouse floor, wrapped in one of his shirt like it belonged to you. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled. 

“No,” he said after too long. His voice came out rougher than intended. “Just… unprepared.”

Your expression brightened instantly. “Then you’re not angry?”

“I didn’t say that.”

You laughed, warm and relieved, taking one step toward him. The movement made your still-healing wing wobble. Jungwon was beside you before thinking, hand catching your waist to steady you. Both of you froze. His palm burned through the thin fabric. Yours caught lightly at his wrist. Up close, you smelled like rainwater and flowers. Jungwon cleared his throat and stepped back at once. 

“Sit down,” he said. “Before you break something else.”

You smiled in a way that made his pulse deeply uncooperative. You only nodded. He turned sharply and walked back toward the stockroom. Behind him, he heard your soft laughter echo through the greenhouse. He did not return for five full minutes. 

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The discovery of your human-sized form changed surprisingly little. Jungwon had expected complications. More blankets, larger meals, perhaps an entirely new category of headaches. Instead, by the next morning, he opened the greenhouse to find you exactly as usual—small again, curled atop a folded towel beside the basil pots, one wing draped over your face to block the sunlight. He stared down at you.

“You can become human-sized,” he said. “And yet you choose to sleep in a herb tray.”

Your wing twitched. Then you peeked out at him with one sleepy eye.

“It smells nice.”

“That is not an answer.”

“I like being light. I like fitting into warm places. I like hearing flowers from close by.”

That was such a fairy sentence that he did not know how to respond. So instead, he handed you the lid of his coffee cup, now emptied and rinsed, filled with fresh water. 

“Drink this before you start saying stranger things.”

You accept it happily. 

You followed Jungwon through the shop perched on his shoulder like an inquisitive ornament, asking questions from sunrise to closing.

“Why do humans brush their teeth every morning if they become dirty again?”

“Because that’s how cleaning works.”

“Why do people stare at glowing rectangles while ignoring flowers?”

“Phones.”

“That did not answer the question.”

You rode in his apron pocket while he restocked ribbon, peering over the edge like a suspicious manager. You sat cross-legged on the register while he counted change, watching coins stack with fascination. You once spent twenty minutes observing the receipt printer as if it were a mystical beast.

“It screams paper,” you whispered in awe.

“It prints receipts.”

When business was slow, you demanded lessons on ‘human daily rituals’. Jungwon showed you how to make tea. You insisted the kettle was too aggressive. He demonstrated sweeping. You called brooms ‘floor combs’. 

He tried explaining taxes once. You stared at him in silence before declaring, ‘That cannot be real’. 

“What do fairies even do all day?”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You keep interrogating humans. I’m asking back.”

You considered it seriously.

“We greet flowers in the morning,” you said. “We collect dew. We nap in warm petals. We sing to roots when they are sad.”

Jungwon stared. “Roots get sad?”

“Sometimes.”

“What else?”

“We chase dragonflies. We braid grass. We gossip.”

“With who?”

“The bees, mostly.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Of course.”

“What do humans do for fun?”

The question came while Jungwon was trimming wilted leaves from a row of daisies near closing time. He did not look up. 

“Depends on the human.” 

You sat cross-legged on the counter, chin in your hands, wings flicking lazily behind you. “What do you do for fun?” 

“I enjoy silence.”

“That cannot be the whole answer.”

“It’s a strong one.”

You frowned at him. “No festivals? No dances? No moonlit flower gatherings?”

“We have bills,” Jungwon said dryly.

You gasped softly, scandalized. “That is tragic.”

He continued clipping stems, pretending not to notice the way you were now staring at him with obvious pity.

“I think,” you declared, “you have forgotten how to enjoy life.”

“I think,” Jungwon replied, “you’ve been alive in my greenhouse too long.”

When the last customer left, he locked the front door, flipped the sign to closed, and began counting the register. Behind him, you sighed dramatically every few seconds. He lasted three minutes. 

You perked up at once. “What?” 

“You wanted to know what humans do for fun.” He grabbed his coat from the hook. “Come on.”

Your wings fluttered so fast they blurred. “We are going on an adventure?”

“We are walking three blocks.”

“That is still an adventure.”

Ten minutes later, you were tucked safely inside the deep pocket of his coat, only your head peeking out as he walked down the quiet evening street. The city glowed in warm shop lights and passing headlights, rainwater still shining on the pavement from earlier. You stared at everything. 

“The world sparkles at night,” you whispered.

“It’s puddles.”

“It’s magic puddles.”

He took you to the convenience store first.

You nearly fainted at the snack aisle.

“So many colors,” you breathed. “So many shapes. Why is that bread smiling?”

“It’s a mascot.”

“It knows something.”

Jungwon bought you a small honey candy after five full minutes of you pressing your face to the packaging displays. Outside, he unwrapped it and handed it over.

You held it like a jewel. “For me?”

“You were becoming a public spectacle.”

You licked the candy once and gasped. “Humans are geniuses.”

He looked away to hide the smile tugging at his mouth.

Next, he took you through the small night market near the station. Steam rose from food stalls. Music drifted from somewhere unseen. People laughed, bargained, and hurried past. From his pocket, you watched it all with shining eyes. 

“So this is fun,” you said softly.

“This is crowds and overpriced snacks.”

“This,” you insisted, “is life happening everywhere at once.”

Jungwon glanced down at you. Your face was lit by lantern glow, wonder written plainly across it. Something in his chest shifted again. later , on the walk home, you grew quieter, sleepy from excitement. You leaned against the inside of his pocket, clutching the candy wrapper like treasure. 

“Jungwon?” 

“Mm?” 

“Thank you for showing me human fun.” 

He kept his gaze on the road ahead.

“It wasn’t a big deal.”

“It was to me.”

A pause.

Then, softer—already half asleep:

“You make ordinary things feel safe.”

Jungwon’s steps slowed for just a second. When he reached Eden’s Garden, you were asleep in his pocket, warm and trusting. He stood outside the shop door longer than necessary before unlocking it, strangely unwilling to disturb you. 

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A week later, Jungwon noticed it before you did. 

You were hovering. Only an inch above the greenhouse floor, wobbling dangerously near a bucket of fertilizer. Jungwon set down the watering can at once. “Get down.” 

“I’m flying,” you corrected, voice full of triumph. 

You drifted sideways, clipped a hanging fern, and landed in a pot of basil. 

“A temporary setback,” you said from the leaves. But he had already crossed the room, crouching beside you with an expression caught somewhere between concern and disbelief. 

“Are you hurt?” 

“No.” You sat up, leaves in your hair, grinning so brightly it almost annoyed him. “Did you see?” 

He had. 

More than that, he had seen the way your wings moved now without trembling, the silver fractures nearly gone, the old stiffness replaced by clean, smooth light. The bandages he had changed day after day were no longer needed. 

Jungwon reached out before thinking, fingertips brushing the edge of your wing. It was whole. You went still at the touch. 

“They healed,” he murmured. 

Your smile softened. “Because you cared for them.”

“I wrapped gauze badly and fed you fruit.” 

“You stayed.” 

The simple answer left him strangely quiet. You stepped out of the basil pot and spread your wings carefully. Morning light poured through the greenhouse glass, catching every translucent panel until they shimmered like water. 

“May I try again?” you asked. 

He should have said no, told you to rest, to wait, to be careful. Instead, Jungwon only nodded once. You bent your knees, then lifted. This time, there was no wobble. No crash. No panicked grab for nearby shelves. You rose smoothly into the warm air, higher and higher until you circled above the hanging ivy with a laugh so bright it filled the entire greenhouse. 

Jungwon stood motionless below, head tilted back. You were beautiful like this. Weightless. Made for the sky in a way the earth could never keep. The realization hit harder than expected. You dipped lower, spinning once before landing lightly in front of him, cheeks flushed with joy. 

“I did it!” 

He looked at your shining face, then at the wings now strong enough to carry you anywhere. 

“Yes,” he said quietly. “You did.” 

You stepped closer, excitement fading as you noticed something in his expression. 

“Jungwon?”

He turned away first, reaching for the watering can he no longer needed. 

“Don’t break anything on your victory lap.” 

But the greenhouse suddenly felt too small, and far too empty. 

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The morning your wings fully healed, the greenhouse felt inextricably bright. 

You had risen laughing into the air at sunrise, circling the rafters with effortless grace before landing in a spill of golden light. There was no tremble now, no hesitation, no pain. Only freedom. 

Jungwon had smiled. Just not for very long. For the rest of the day, he buried himself in work. He rearranged bouquets that did not need to be rearranged, polished shelves already clean, and spent ten full minutes glaring at the ribbon spool as though it had offended him personally. You noticed, of course. You always did. 

When closing time came, you found him in the greenhouse stacking empty pots with unnecessary focus. 

“My wings are better,” you said softly. 

“So I’ve heard.”

You stood there for a moment, hands clasped behind your back. 

“I think… I should go soon.”

The pot in his hands nearly slipped. He set it down carefully before answering. 

“Probably.” 

Your smile dimmed. “Probably?”

“You wanted to travel.” He kept his eyes on the shelf. “Find somewhere new. Bigger than this place.”

The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have. Then you nodded once. “I see.”

He did not look at you. That night, Jungwon barely slept. The next morning, he opened the shop to find your makeshift bed neatly folded. The tiny cup you liked to drink from had been washed and left upside down to dry. The ribbon drawer was organized by color. 

You were gone. 

For a full minute, Jungwon simply stood there. The greenhouse was quiet again. Too quiet. No humming. No questions. No soft voice asking why humans enjoyed bitter bean water. His chest tightened painfully. He lasted seven minutes. 

Then he was out the door.

He found you on the rooftop of the building across the street, standing at the ledge where the morning wind tugged at your hair. In your human-sized form, your wings gleamed behind you, strong and radiant beneath the sky.

You turned when you heard him. 

“I forgot to say goodbye properly,” you said. 

Jungwon was slightly out of breath, hands shoved into the pockets of his coat. 

“Don’t go.” 

The words came rough, immediate, and far too honest. Your eyes widened. He swallowed once. “I know your wings are healed. I know you can leave whenever you want.” He looked away briefly, jaw tight. “But I don’t want you to.” 

The wind moved softly between you. Jungwon forced himself to continue.

“This place was quiet before you came.” He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Too quiet. Now every corner reminds me of you. The basil tray. My pocket. The fact that I apparently buy honey candy now.”

A watery smile touched your lips. He stepped closer. 

“I don’t know when it happened,” he said quietly. “But somewhere between fixing your wing and arguing about taxes, you became…”

He exhaled.

“…home.”

Your eyes filled at once.

“Jungwon…”

“If you still want to travel, then go,” he said, voice gentler now. “If you want the sky, I won’t stop you.”

“But if you’d like to stay…” He met your gaze fully. “Stay with me.”

You crossed the space between you so quickly that he barely had time to brace before your arms wrapped around him. This time, human-sized and warm and laughing through tears.

“I was waiting,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I was waiting for you to ask.”

Jungwon held you tightly, face buried in your hair.

“You are impossible,” he muttered.

“And staying,” you replied.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft in a way he no longer bothered hiding.

“Good.”

Then he kissed you there beneath the open sky, gentle and certain, while your wings shimmered in the morning light.

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Months later, customers often whispered that Eden’s Garden bloomed more beautifully than any florist in the city. Flowers opened overnight. Wilted stems revived by morning. The whole place seemed touched by luck. Jungwon, tying ribbons behind the counter, only sighed when tiny laughter came from the tulips. 

“I said no magic on inventory.”

“No promises,” came your cheerful voice.

And Eden’s Garden, at last, had become home to you.

Jungwon dramatically declared, “You’re practically moving to another country.”

“Jungwon, I’m literally a two-hour train ride away.”

“That’s basically Europe.”

You rolled your eyes at the memory, smiling to yourself.

Still, you were glad you’d made the decision to move. Three years ahead of you… of being on your own, of learning to be independent, part-time jobs, and what you hoped…a future incoming relationship. It should be easy. It should be peaceful. It should be—

“DUDE!!!”

A scream ripped through your wall.

It came from the wall to your right, a thin wall nudged between you and your neighbours. You could hear celebrations. A voice shouted, “THAT WAS INSANE!” followed by a loud thump like someone had jumped off the sofa.

You tried ignoring it at first, burying yourself under the blanket like it could block out noise. But 20 minutes in, another screamed “HE’S OFFSIDE, YOU DUMB—” loud enough to rattle the walls, you snapped.

You threw on your hoodie, jammed your feet into slippers, and marched out the front door like you were storming a battlefield. The hallway was dim and quiet, except for the muffled party behind door 3C. You knocked, hard, but polite.

The door creaked open mid-laughter, revealing three guys mid-snack, mid-game.

“Hi,” you said, tight smile. “Sorry to bother you, but… would you mind keeping it down a little? I’ve got a test tomorrow and it’s kinda hard to focus with all the screaming.”

The one with fluffy hair, cute little eyes, nodded immediately. “Shit. Sorry, sorry. Totally our bad.”

Another one, long lashes and a goofy smile, actually winced. “Didn’t realise it was that loud. We’ll keep it down, promise.”

“Are you new here?” the first one asked.

You nodded. “I just moved in today, actually.”

“Oh shit. Mrs Kim moved out?”

“Damn, we’re not getting her kimchi anymore, that’s for sure.”

“We gotta eat those store-bought ones that taste like ass.”

The second boy looked at you again, more focused this time. “Oh right! I’m Jake! It’s great to meet you! I’m sorry it happened under… unfortunate circumstances. But we’ll be quieter!”

“I’m Jay, by the way,” the first one added with a small grin, pushing his hair back.

You nodded, smiling slightly. At least they were nice about it. Well, two out of three, anyway.

You glanced past both of them, eyes landing on the third boy slouched on the couch, still holding the controller, gaze fixed on the paused screen like you weren’t even there. His jaw clenched once. No name. No hello. Just a subtle, annoyed glance in your direction before he looked away again.

Cool. So he hates you. That’s cool with you.

The third guy didn’t say anything. Just glanced at you once, then turned back toward the TV.

“Uh, thanks,” you said, lips tight, already backing away.

You returned to your apartment and for a blessed thirty minutes, it was quiet.

Then someone scored a goal and the wall shook again.

You blinked slowly at your ceiling, arms folded under your head like the weight of your patience was finally starting to crush your ribs. Okay. So that’s how it was going to be. You frowned.

And that was literally… how war started.

The next morning, fuelled by petty vengeance and two hours of sleep, you grabbed your pastel pink sticky notes and wrote:

“Dear 3C, I’ve played FIFA before. It is not that damn fun for you to be out here screaming. Please tone it down. Regards, the zombie in 3B.”

You slapped it on their door. Nothing changed.

And the next day:

“Dear 3C, I can’t sleep. Kindly shut up <3 With love, the girl one more sleepless night away from writing to the landlord. 3B.”

You half expected them to ignore it. Instead, you found your note missing by mid-afternoon. Gone. 

For a moment, you felt powerful. Maybe they’d actually listened.

Then 8:43 p.m. hit and someone in 3C scored a goal so loud you swore the bass from their TV made your candle flicker.

Alright. So it was personal now.

You stormed over to their door again, hands on your hips.. It wasn’t that late. You weren’t unreasonable. You believed in joy. In freedom. But right now? Rage was the only thing pumping through your system.

You shuffled down the hall with your bunny slippers slapping against the floor, hair in a claw clip that was giving up. You looked deranged. And for the first time, you were fine with that. You banged on their door.

The door cracked open a second later, revealing Jake blinking like a deer in headlights. His hair was messy. He looked mildly afraid.

“Were… we being loud again?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “Ya think?”

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, okay. I’m so sorry. It’s Sunghoon. He keeps saying it’s not that loud and we were mid-tournament and—”

“Tell Sunghoon that his ego’s not the only thing echoing through these walls,” you snapped, arms crossed. “Some of us are trying to study.”

Behind Jake, you heard a familiar scoff followed by a smug voice yelling, “God, she’s so annoying. We were literally whispering.”

You leaned to the side, locking eyes with the third boy slouched on the couch, controller in hand, feet on the coffee table like the world owed him something. He didn’t even pause the game this time.

You didn’t know what it was about his stupidly symmetrical face but your blood boiled.

“Tell this Sunghoon guy…his whispering sounds like a screeching cat,” you said flatly, before spinning on your heel and marching back toward your door when you heard his aggravating voice.

“Tell her she’s overreacting over a couple of friends simply trying to have fun,” Sunghoon fired back from the couch, not even raising his voice. 

You turned your head just enough to glare over your shoulder. “Well, tell him, his shirt doesn’t match his fucking pants.”

Jake looked helpless, standing between you both like a middle child caught in a divorce.

And then, with that same bored tone, Sunghoon called out again, “Well, tell her… those slippers are the best thing she’s worn all week.”

You stopped.

Jake sucked in a breath.

You slowly turned, eyes narrowing. “Tell him he wouldn’t know good fashion if it came with a user manual and punched him in his freaking face.”

Sunghoon finally glanced away from the TV, meeting your eyes for the first time that night. His lips curved into the most irritating half-smile you’d ever seen.

“Tell her–”

Jake stepped in between again, hands raised. “Okay! Okay. We’re gonna turn the volume down. Like, way down. Like you can’t even hear us tiptoe. Right, Sunghoon?”

Sunghoon leaned back against the couch and shrugged. “Whatever. I’m not the one annoying my neighbors at 9pm on a Friday night. Get some friends.” 

You slammed your door shut.

War was back on.

-

The next morning, your plan was simple. A little petty, sure, but necessary.

You stood outside their door in your pyjamas, holding a fresh pack of neon yellow Post-its since your previous ones were used up by the ongoing Post-It war.The hallway was empty. Your bunny slippers made no sound as you padded up to 3C and stuck the first one of the week dead-centre on the door.

“Dear 3C, just a gentle reminder that FIFA will not feed you, clothe you, or give you money. Kindly shut up. PLEASE. Warmest regards, 3B.”

You smiled to yourself and floated back to your apartment.

That night? For the first time…? Silence. Beautiful, blissful silence. You actually managed to revise two chapters and fall asleep before midnight. You woke up in the morning feeling like a changed woman.

But then you opened your front door.

There, taped neatly to your door, was a blue sticky note with surprisingly neat handwriting.

“Dear 3B, you sound like you narrate your life out loud. – 3C.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Narrate your life out loud?” you muttered. “That’s literally called thinking.”

You marched back into your apartment, flung open your stationery drawer.

“Dear 3C, apologies if my internal monologue disrupted your daily FIFA championship. I only talk to myself because your volume settings make it impossible to hear my own thoughts. With all due respect (and ear damage), 3B."

That afternoon, Jay knocked on your door. You hesitated, then opened it a crack. He was holding a bag of convenience store pancakes in one hand.

“Peace offering,” he said. “Also, I think your notes are hilarious. Jake’s been collecting them. I think he’s making a scrapbook.”

You blinked. “Is this a joke or something?”

Jay shrugged, leaning casually against the doorframe. “No! Honestly, it’s kinda refreshing.”

Jake popped his head in from behind, grinning. “Also, your handwriting’s really neat.”

You opened the door a little wider, cautious then shrugged. “You want some… uh… spaghetti? I made it this morning.”

“Spaghetti?” Jay tilted his head.

You nodded. “Yeah. I usually experiment with food. I’m…uh…in culinary school.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait, so you’re like… a chef?”

“Trying to be.,” you said with a shrug, suddenly a little self-conscious.

They exchanged a quick look before barging in like you'd personally handed them invites at the door.

“That’s so cool,” Jake said, practically bouncing as he flopped onto your beanbag. “I burnt instant noodles last week. Twice.”

Jay wandered deeper into your living room, his gaze landing on the dusty old guitar leaning against your bookshelf. “Dude, check it out! She plays the guitar.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, awkward. “It’s just for fun. I’m not that good.”

“I’m sure you’re great,” Jake said, already chewing through a mouthful of spaghetti he’d somehow found, and served himself in a bowl you didn’t remember offering.

You blinked at him. “Did you just—?”

“Plate was right there,” he said through a mouthful. “I took it as a sign.”

Jay nodded solemnly. “She feeds us and plays guitar. She’s better than Mrs. Kim already.”

You sighed and closed the door behind them. “I’m starting to think Mrs. Kim left because of the three of you.”

In between bites, Jake nodded without hesitation. “I think so too.”

“We can be loud,” Jay added, helping himself to another serving.

“Have you thought of… not being loud?”

“We do,” Jay said. “But then we get loud again.”

You rolled your eyes. “Guys, some of us have school and—”

“We have school too,” Jake chimed in, mouth full.

“Okay… some of us care about sleep.”

Jay perked up. “That’s why we got you this.”

He dug into his hoodie pocket and pulled out a tiny box, dropping it into your hands.

You squinted at it. “What’s this?”

“They’re sleep buds,” he said proudly. “They go in your ears and play white noise and, like… ocean sounds or something. Blocks everything out. Even us.”

You stared at the box, then at them.

“Instead of compromising, you got me gear?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah. We like you. We want you to be able to sleep… through us.”

Jay gave you a thumbs-up. “It’s called adaptation.”

You looked down at the sleep buds in your hands and then back up at the two of them absolutely inhaling your spaghetti like they hadn’t eaten in weeks.

You didn’t know whether to kick them out or thank them.

So you just sighed, defeated. “You guys are the weirdest neighbours I’ve ever had.”

Jake beamed. “Aww. You’re the weirdest too.”

And somehow… the next day… they were back.

You opened the door mid-knock, confused, only to find Jay grinning at you.

“What’s for lunch today, boss?” he asked, already halfway through the doorway.

You blinked. “How’d you know I made something?”

“We could smell it,” Jake said, stepping in right behind him, holding up a comically large spoon. “Smells so good. Brought my big spoon today. Came prepared.”

“Uh… I made chowder?”

Jake’s eyes lit up. “Oh my god, I love chowder.”

Jay had already plopped onto the floor cushion, flipping through your Spotify like he owned your iPad. “What kind? Clam? Corn? Pumpkin? Wait… do people put pumpkin in chowder?”

You stared at them, ladle in hand.

“Corn,” you muttered, shuffling back into the kitchen.

Then the day after that… they came again. At this point, it felt less like a surprise and more like a recurring appointment.

“No fucking way. Kimchi stew? This shit is so good!. Jay, you need to try the beef. It’s so soft. How— how’d you get it so soft? Is this like one of those expensive beef? Wakoo?”

“It’s Wagyu, Jake.” You corrected.

“Wagyu~” He sang.

Jay, already mid-bite, nodded with a full mouth. “Can I havefth thefth reshepee?”

You wiped your hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter with one brow raised. “Do you guys ever eat in your own apartment?”

Jake didn’t miss a beat. “Not when you cook like this.”

Jay pointed his chopsticks at you like he was making a closing argument in court. “This is technically your fault. You fed us once. That’s basically a binding contract. We’re best friends now. Aren’t we, Jake?”

Jake nodded, mouth full. “Mhmff. Whatever he said.”

You sighed, setting your elbow on the table and dropping your chin into your hand. “If you’re gonna keep doing this, at least wash the dishes after.”

Jake saluted you with his spoon like you were the captain of a very tiny, soup-based army. “Yes, chef.”

You looked at the two of them, one already on his third helping, the other stealing more beef straight from the pot, and shook your head.

This wasn’t how your independent, put-together, college life was supposed to go. You were meant to be focused. The mysterious girl on the third floor who only ever came out for groceries and exams.

But maybe… with the two of them barging in uninvited, eating like they hadn’t seen food in years, and treating your living room like it was theirs…

Maybe you wouldn’t feel so lonely after all.

-

It was 9 p.m. Strangely quiet.

Usually, by now, there’d be at least one goal celebration shaking the walls or someone shouting about a missed penalty. But tonight? Nothing. You didn’t let it bother you. You took it as a win.

The balcony door slid open with a soft scrape. You stepped out into the cool night, cradling your little scissors and spray bottle like sacred tools. Your succulents were arranged in a neat line. A few leaves had started to curl. You knelt down, snipping the dead ends carefully.

You should’ve felt peaceful.

But tonight, something tugged at your chest. 

You missed Jungwon. You missed your mom’s mismatched cutlery and the way your dad always forgot he’d already asked about your grades. Maybe even your pet fish, the one that never did much except float around looking confused.

Jay and Jake were friendly, sure. But they weren’t yours. They weren’t part of your before. They didn’t know the town you came from or the versions of you that existed before now.

And even though you thought you’d settled in... even though you were coping...you were lonely.

Without meaning to, you started speaking out loud — just like you always did.

“It’s fine. You’ll do better tomorrow. Tomorrow you won’t feel as lonely,” you said softly as you misted the leaves. “You’ll be stronger. You’re gonna get used to this. You can do it.”

But the lie caught in your throat.

Because you were crying already.

You wiped your cheek with the sleeve of your hoodie, frustrated, betrayed by your own body. You reached for your phone without thinking and hit the contact you swore you wouldn’t keep calling every time you got overwhelmed.

Jungwon answered on the first ring.

“What’s up?” he asked, casual as ever.

“Won…” you breathed out.

There was a pause. Then: “Are you crying?”

“No?”

“I can hear you sniffling, you shit.”

“It’s just—” your voice cracked. “It’s hard. I’m alone all the time. I’ve got no friends. I’ve got no one to talk to. I’m alone, Won.”

“I know,” he said gently. “I know…”

There was a pause. You could hear him shifting in bed, his voice soft and serious now. “But think about it this way, okay? You’re barely in your first month. You’re gonna get used to it. You’re gonna find people. You’re gonna build something here. It just takes time.”

You bit your lip. “You’ll visit if you can, right?”

“I’ll visit,” he promised. “Even if it takes two bloody hours.”

“But you hate traveling.”

“For you, I’d suffer.”

You sniffled. “You’re just saying that so I’ll hang up.”

“You’re right because I’m exhausted from basketball. But also… I love you.”

“Fine,” you mumbled. “I love you too.”

“Chin up. You’re talented and you deserve to be there. You can do this. We’re all counting on you.”

“I know.” You exhaled slowly. “Goodnight, Wonnie.”

“Night.”

You ended the call and sat in silence for a moment, letting the cool night air settle on your skin. The tears had stopped. Your hands still smelled like mint and basil and the faint sweetness of the spray bottle. You stared at your succulents, wondering if they ever got lonely too.

Unbeknownst to you, just a few feet away, out on the connected balcony, hidden by the divider, someone had heard everything.

He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. He’d stepped out earlier, just needing air, needing quiet, needing to be somewhere still for once. And then he’d heard your voice. The words that were not meant for anyone else.

And for the first time, Sunghoon didn’t roll his eyes or make a sarcastic comment.

He just stood there in the dark, one hand gripping the railing, heart a little heavier than before.

He understood more than you thought.

And somewhere between your tears and Jungwon’s voice, he changed his mind about you.

-

The next few days, there was absolute silence. Maybe the food had finally worked some psychological warfare on Jay and Jake. Maybe it was their way of returning the favour. Either way, you weren’t about to question it.

You were grateful, to say the least.

Because for the past week, you’d been moping around your apartment. Living alone and striking out as an “independent bachelorette” sounded empowering in theory, but in practice? Maybe you weren’t one of those girlies after all…y’know the ones on Instagram who made solitude look like a season of self-discovery instead of a series of breakdowns.

It was Saturday. You’d spent the entire morning in bed watching a Netflix documentary about some guy swindling people on Tinder, surrounded by crumpled tissue and scented candle smoke that had long turned suffocating. You were still in yesterday’s hoodie, blanket tangled around your legs.

Three knocks echoed at the door.

You lifted your head from the pillow with a groan, barely alive. The sound came again.

Dragging yourself across the living room, you cracked the door open just a sliver, just wide enough to peek through but not enough to reveal the disaster that was your face, your hair, or your pride.

“Uh.” The voice was hesitant. Familiar.

You squinted.

Sunghoon.

You blinked. “What are you doing here?” you asked, your voice hoarse from crying and a full night of narrating your own spiral.

“There was a mix-up with the mail,” he said, holding up a small stack of envelopes.

“Oh.” You extended your arm awkwardly through the tiny gap in the door and grabbed the letters. “Thanks.”

There was a pause, “I can see your puffy eyes through the gap.”

You scoffed, immediately pulling the door closer. “You just have to be a smartass about everything, don’t you?”

He shrugged, completely unbothered, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Still standing there. 

“…Are Jake and Jay home?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

His expression twitched, almost amused. “Why? Trying to steal my best friends again or—”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I was just wondering. It’s been… quiet this whole week.”

“They went home to visit their families.”

Oh. Right. Come to think of it, maybe that explained why everything felt extra heavy lately. It was the time of year people usually went home. People surrounded themselves with comfort and familiarity. And here you were, stuck in the city because the train ticket home was just slightly out of budget.

“You didn’t go?” you asked softly.

“Can’t,” he shrugged.

“Oh.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he tilted his head.

“Well,” Sunghoon said slowly, “if you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

The words came with the usual venom but the message behind them landed differently.

You stared at him through the gap in the door. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to be funny, or… sincere, in his own weird, backhanded way. It was strange. You’d only had  three full conversations with the guy. And every single one ended in a WWE tournament.

You narrowed your eyes slightly. “Are you… being nice to me?”

He clicked his tongue. “Don’t ruin it.”

And with that, he turned and walked back.

-

You finally got up.

There was no movie-worthy breakthrough moment. Just the dull ache in your head from crying too much and the feeling that if you shed one more tear, your eyeballs might actually eject themselves from their sockets. So you moved. You stripped your bed, tossed the mountain of tissues into a trash bag, sprayed half a bottle of disinfectant in the air, and opened every window.

Your apartment looked like it had survived an apocalypse, which, to be fair, was accurate. But you scrubbed it back to life.

By the time you were in the kitchen, your eyes were still a little swollen, but you’d pressed them with cool spoons and a sad little compress until you could see straight again. Kind of.

You pulled out ingredients from your fridge one by one, lining them up like you were preparing for war. Slicing, boiling, julienning, stir-frying. The sound of the pan crackling beneath the glass noodles filled the silence of your apartment. It smelled exactly like it did when your mom used to make it.

You plated it in a wide, shallow bowl. It was delicious. Of course it was. You took pride in it. You always had. Jungwon used to tease you, calling your hands “blessed by Gordon Ramsay” like everything you touched turned into comfort food. You’d swat his arm, trying not to smile as he reached for second helpings before you’d even sat down.

You missed him. You missed your family. You missed not having to eat alone on a day like this.

Your eyes drifted to the door.

Would it be stupid? To bring food to Sunghoon? You’d never really done anything kind for him. Most of your interactions were lined with sarcasm and insults. And yet… that one line of his kept replaying in your head, “If you ever need someone to emotionally rejuvenate you by pointing out your hair looks like a rat’s nest, you know where to find me.”

So maybe…maybe he meant it. Or maybe you were just desperate for company and your noodles were starting to get cold.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you packed the noodles into a clean container, wrapped a rubber band around it, and found yourself standing in front of 3C. Your feet had walked you here without permission. Your hand hovered in the air, ready to knock, but now… you hesitated. You weren’t here to complain. You weren’t here to yell. And that made it harder.

And just before your knuckles could land on the door, it swung open.

Sunghoon stood in front of you, coat already on, scarf looped lazily around his neck. There was a little shine to his hair like he’d styled it, and he looked surprised, mildly confused to find you on his doorstep without any anger evident in your eyes.

“What?” he said, voice dry.

You blinked, staring at him. You’d never really looked at him properly before. Not when he was this put-together. The gel in his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the way his scarf sat slightly off-center like he’d thrown it on in a rush. You knew he was attractive. You weren’t blind. But seeing him now?

Sunghoon was actually… pretty handsome.

“I—uh—” you stammered.

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Spit it out.”

“I—uh—I made some… stir-fried glass noodles,” you said, stumbling over every syllable. “And I know how much it sucks being alone on a day like this, so I thought… maybe it’d bring you some kind of familiarity. From home, or something.”

You didn’t let yourself overthink it. You shoved the container into his hands, heart pounding.

“Bye,” you mumbled, before immediately turning around and marching back to your apartment like you’d just robbed a bank. The door clicked shut behind you.

You pressed your back to it, eyes wide.

Shit.

Was Sunghoon actually hot?

-

Sunghoon stood in the hallway, unmoving. The container in his hands was warm and he stared down at it for a couple of seconds longer than he probably should’ve.

Jake and Jay had been raving about your cooking for weeks. At first, he thought they were exaggerating. How good could someone’s food be that it made two of the loudest people he knew voluntarily whisper through a FIFA match?

But he’d seen it with his own eyes, Jake silently fist-pumping the air, mouthing “LET’S FUCKING GO” after a goal, and Jay barely reacting as he scored. They even created a rule: first one to speak puts a dollar in the Silence Jar. A literal jar. With money.

Sunghoon didn’t get it.

And he didn’t particularly care to. Not then.

But now, standing in the hallway in his coat and scarf, staring at the gift you shoved into his hands with flushed cheeks, something felt different.

He had been on his way out, actually. There was a bar nearby, nothing special, just a dim-lit spot with quiet music and decent food where no one bothered him. He usually went there whenever Jay and Jake went back home, like they did this time every year. It wasn’t that he didn’t have family—he did. It just wasn’t… warm. They were always busy. Always somewhere else, even when they were in the same room.

He peeled off his scarf, feet dragging a little as he headed back into the apartment, the door clicking shut behind him. He set the container on the kitchen counter, grabbed a pair of chopsticks from the drawer, and opened the lid.

Steam wafted up instantly, sesame oil, soy sauce, garlic, something subtly sweet he couldn’t name. The noodles glistened. They looked homemade. No, they felt homemade.

He picked up a strand and gave it a tentative taste.

His eyes widened before he could even help it.

It was good. Like stupid good. Like how the hell is this girl not running her own restaurant kind of good. Better than anything he would’ve paid for at that bar tonight.

He stood there in silence, chopsticks hovering mid-air, thinking back.

He wasn’t proud of how he’d treated you. Three encounters, three arguments. He remembered each one too clearly. The snark in his voice. The way your expression hardened. The notes on the door. 

But it wasn’t really about you.

He hated being called out. Hated being the problem. Maybe it was ego, or maybe it was the way he’d always felt like he had to be put-together or to say the least…controlled. Your presence threw him off. You were loud in a way that was sincere. You didn’t filter your emotions. You wore your annoyance on your sleeve and your feelings on your face.

It irritated him. It also… made him feel something.

And then there was that night on the balcony.

He hadn’t meant to listen. But when he heard your voice cracking through the divider, talking to someone…maybe it was your boyfriend? Your best friend? Whoever it was about how lonely you were, it hit him harder than it should’ve.

Because he got it.

He felt it too.

Being alone in a crowd. Having people around but never really with you. That weight in your chest that didn’t come from sadness exactly…just the absence of warmth.

Sunghoon felt it more often than he cared to admit. He loved Jake and Jay, loved them to pieces. They were the kind of people who filled a room with noise and an energy he couldn’t really place and who made him laugh even when he didn’t want to.

He wanted something more. Something real.

Someone who just… saw him.

He sat at his kitchen counter, staring at the container of glass noodles still warm with steam curling from the lid. He wasn’t usually impulsive. He didn’t do gestures. But maybe tonight called for something a little uncharacteristic.

He stood and reached up, opening the top cupboard where Jake and Jay kept what they called their “emergency date plates.”. The kind of plates you used to impress someone. They only ever brought them out when trying to convince girls they were not, in fact, living in a borderline condemned apartment flat.

He grabbed two.

And then, before he could second guess it, he walked out into the hallway and knocked. 

Your door creaked open a few seconds later.

You blinked at him, confused. “What?”

It almost felt like deja vu. Except now, he was you…awkward at the door.

And then it hit him.

He looked at you…like, really looked at you, and for the first time, he realised he’d never actually seen you before. 

You were wearing a soft pink sleeveless dress, the fabric loose and falling just above your knees, cinched slightly at the waist. Your hair was tied into a side braid, fringe swept slightly to the side, with a few delicate strands left loose to frame your face. You looked like you belonged in a pastel painting.

Shit.

Were you actually—pretty?

Nope. Nope. Stop that. Sunghoon blinked hard, trying to erase the thought.

Damn it.

You probably had a boyfriend. Someone smart and warm and emotionally available who FaceTimed you every night and wrote you good morning texts. Someone who missed you from back home.

And besides…someone who could cook like you? You could probably bag Jake and Jay at the same time in under a minute if you wanted. Not that you would. But still.

He cleared his throat.

“I, uh…” He held up the plates slightly. “I thought maybe… you could join me?”

He wasn’t good at this. But his voice was steady.

“Only if you want to,” he added, quickly. “I just figured. Y’know. Glass noodles taste better on… plates that aren’t plastic.”

His eyes met yours.

He was trying.

And this time, it was your turn to blink in disbelief.

-

Sunghoon had returned with the container of glass noodles, now a little colder, a little stickier, but still giving off the faint aroma of sesame oil and soy sauce. You’d reheated it and plated it up, slightly embarrassed that the presentation wasn’t what it had been fresh off the stove, but he didn’t seem to care. Or maybe he did, but you couldn’t tell, because for the first five minutes, you didn’t look at each other.

The clink of chopsticks, the occasional scrape of ceramic, and your ceiling fan. It was awkward. You wondered why he even came. Why he asked in the first place, if he was just going to eat in silence.

“So,” you said.

“So,” he said.

You paused.

“You first.”

“No, you—”

“Okay, I’ll go first,” he said, cutting himself off. He cleared his throat and set his chopsticks down. “I—uh—I just wanted to say thanks. For the meal.”

You blinked. “Okay.” You nodded slowly. “You’re… shockingly formal when you’re not pissed.”

“I—” Sunghoon let out a breath and leaned back a little in the chair. “I was never pissed.”

“Mhm,” you hummed, nodding, eyes narrowed. “Sure.”

“I was annoyed, sure. Who likes being called out?”

“I wasn’t trying to call you out,” you said, tilting your head. “But put yourself in my shoes. I have to wake up at stupid o’clock to learn how to make a soufflé or whatever, and meanwhile, I’m treated to surround sound yelling and the occasional ceiling vibration.”

He gave a small shrug. “Well, we haven’t done it in a while.”

“And I’m grateful,” you replied, lips twitching. “Truly.”

“We got a silence jar and everything,” he muttered, almost like he didn’t want to admit it.

Your eyebrows shot up. “A silence jar?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Jay implemented it. He said if we keep it up, we’ll have enough for extra toppings on our next pizza night.”

You burst into laughter, the sound surprising even yourself. It came out light and real, and you covered your mouth halfway through. “That’s… honestly? A decent plan.”

“It can be,” he said with a grin starting to pull at the corner of his mouth. “Until everyone starts trying to play FIFA like it’s an ASMR video.”

“You guys actually whisper?” you asked, incredulous.

“Well, yeah. You told us to.”

“I didn’t think you would listen,” you said, pointing your chopsticks at him.

Sunghoon shrugged again, his eyes dropping to the plate in front of him. “Well… they changed my mind, so.”

He didn’t say what he was really thinking.

That it wasn’t Jake or Jay who changed his mind. It was that night. The way your voice had carried through the gap in the balcony, fragile and cracking. The way you’d said I’m alone, Won like it was something that had been sitting inside you for too long, waiting to spill. He’d realised then maybe he wasn’t just an annoying neighbour to you. Maybe he was part of the problem. Maybe he’d been making things harder for someone who was already trying to hold it all together.

“So…” he said quietly, eyes on his plate, “why are you alone during the holidays anyway?”

“Couldn’t afford a train ticket,” you said eventually. “I mean—I could have, technically. But that’d mean I wouldn’t have enough money left to buy ingredients for my assignments the next few weeks.”

Sunghoon winced. “Oof. That’s rough. Must suck.”

You gave a little shrug. “Yeah. It’s fine though.”

He knew it wasn’t.

There was a pause. He glanced sideways at you.

“If you ever… feel like you need someone to talk to,” he started, voice casual, “you could just knock. I have FIFA.”

You snorted. “Oh, like I’d willingly join that mess.”

“It’s actually really fun.”

“How fun can flinging a ball across a screen with your thumbs be?”

“It is!” he defended, turning fully toward you.

You raised a brow. “I tried once with my friend and it was so boring.”

“That’s ‘cause you weren’t playing it right,” he insisted, already standing up. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“I’m not playing FIFA with you.”

“Come onnn,” he whined, grabbing your wrist and tugging you lightly toward his door.

“God, this is gonna be so stupid,” you muttered, dragging your feet even as you followed him out.

Inside his apartment, the lights were warm, the couch sunken in like it had been through a war. You sat reluctantly, tucking your knees up as he handed you the controller.

“Alright,” he said, sliding in beside you. “This is you—Team Two. All you have to do is use the left joystick to move, the right one to look around. This button to pass, this one to shoot.”

You blinked. “So many buttons.”

“It’s easy! Just follow what I say.”

“Okay… so now I just—?” You pressed a button and immediately kicked the ball out of bounds.

“No, no—move left. Left.”

“I am moving left!”

He glanced over. Your tongue was sticking out slightly in concentration, eyes squinted, brows furrowed. He chuckled before he could stop himself, quickly looking away.

Then you screamed, “I DID IT! DID I DO IT?!”

He turned back just in time to see you score.

Sunghoon yelled, jumping up. “Yeah! That was it!”

You stared at the screen, jaw dropping. “Holy shit. I’m amazing.”

He looked at you again, this time longer. Your eyes were glowing, still locked on the TV. Your fingers tapped at the buttons like you already got it down. You bit your lip when you were focused, tongue sticking out just slightly when you were thinking.

And you were cute. So fucking cute.

The match picked up pace. Suddenly it was 2–2, and both of you were leaning in like your lives depended on it. You were yelling at the controller. He was shouting advice. At one point, your knees knocked, but neither of you noticed. The room was loud, just your voices and the music from the game and the way your laughter filled every corner of his flat.

Then it happened.

You scored. 

You screamed, controller tossed onto the couch, and before Sunghoon could register what was happening, your arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight as you jumped slightly in place.

“I WON! DID YOU SEE THAT?!”

He froze. Your cheek brushed his jaw, your warmth right up against him. His hands hovered midair like he didn’t know whether to hold you back or not.

And then you let go, plopped back onto the couch, and grabbed the controller again like nothing had happened.

Sunghoon didn’t move.

For the first time in what felt like forever, his heartbeat stuttered. Sped up like it had been woken from a long, indifferent sleep.

He sat there, silent, staring at you as you shouted at your pixelated team.

And all he could think was well that…he hadn’t planned on crushing on the new girl based on one single positive interaction.

God, he was so screwed.

-

The next few days passed in a blur of almost-conversations.

You and Sunghoon didn’t talk much. Not like that night. Just a few polite waves across the hallway, a quiet “hey” if you caught the elevator at the same time. Respectful nods. The occasional awkward glance if your eyes met for too long.

And then Jake and Jay came back.

And of course, Jake being Jake, invited himself into your apartment before you could even say no.

“I missed your cooking while I was gone,” he sighed dramatically, sinking into the dining chair like he’d returned from war.

“Well, today’s your lucky day,” you said, flipping through your assignment folder and squinting at the week’s task. “Because for today’s assignment, I’m supposed to…” you paused. “Make a really mean chicken pot pie.”

Jake’s eyes lit up. He clapped his hands, nearly tipping his chair over. “CHICKEN POT PIE?!”

Before you could even blink, he leapt up, yanked your door open, and sprinted into the hallway.

“JAY! IT’S CHICKEN POT PIE!” he yelled like it was a fire drill.

From across the hall, Jay’s voice rang out. “WHAT?! NO WAY!”

And then—another voice joined them.

A quieter one.

“Chicken pot pie?”

You didn’t even have time to react before you were suddenly hosting three grown men in your kitchen, all leaning over your counter.

“Guys,” you said, elbow-deep in flour. “I can’t focus if you’re all staring at me like that.”

“We’re just excited,” Jake grinned, chin in his hands.

“Well don’t be. I’ve never made this before. It might taste like ass.”

“Your hands are basically blessed by Gordon Ramsay,” Jay declared, grabbing a slice of carrot from the cutting board. “It’s impossible for it to taste like ass.”

You laughed, the sound soft and unexpected even to yourself. “Jungwon used to tell me that all the time.”

“Oh he did?” Jay echoed, voice teasing.

Sunghoon stood a few steps back from the others, arms crossed loosely, leaning against your fridge. He hadn’t said much since stepping into your place, but now he watched the three of you.

The way you smiled when Jay made a joke. The way Jake knew where you kept your mixing bowls. The way your eyes sparkled, just slightly, when you laughed about something from home. The way they got it. The way they knew you.

And the way he didn’t.

Sunghoon couldn’t explain it but it made his stomach twist. Tight and strange and uncomfortable.

And then he heard it again.

Jungwon.

Who the hell was Jungwon?

His name sounded too casual. Too affectionate. The kind of name you didn’t just drop without meaning.

Sunghoon didn’t say anything. He just looked down at your countertop, at the flour dusting your hands and the delicate way your fingers shaped the crust, and all he could think was—

Why the fuck did he care so much?

You moved around your kitchen with the kind of ease that made it impossible not to watch. Sunghoon’s eyes were locked on you, the way your hair swayed behind your back as you leaned forward to stir something in the pot, the way your sleeves were pushed up. 

His heart pounded harder than it should’ve. He tried to brush it off. Maybe he was just hungry. Maybe it was just the smell of garlic and butter making him lightheaded. That had to be it, right?

Except no.

He hadn’t planned on feeling like this today. Not when he woke up. Not when he brushed his teeth and went on his phone and told himself he’d stay in his apartment. He hadn’t even planned on coming over. And that night the two of you shared noodles? He’d chalked it up to vulnerability. Nighttime feelings. Nothing serious.

But now it was noon. He was awake. Sober. And you were still somehow making his chest tighten just by existing within ten feet of him.

God. He hated having a crush.

He didn’t even realise how lost he looked until Jake spoke up from the side, breaking the spell.

“So, is Jungwon finally coming?”

This guy again.

Sunghoon’s head whipped toward Jake so fast it might’ve snapped his neck.

You perked up at the mention, a smile blooming across your face without even trying. “Yeah! He’s coming in two weeks! I actually told him about you guys. He’s kinda excited to meet you.”

That smile. It wasn’t fake. It wasn’t forced. You looked like someone who meant it. Someone who missed this guy. Someone who talked to him often.

Sunghoon clenched his jaw and looked away, grabbing a water bottle off your counter just to do something with his hands. He twisted the cap a little too hard.

He didn’t know who the hell Jungwon was.

But he already didn’t like him.

“He’s coming over?” Jay asked, his mouth still half-full of pie filling.

“Yeah,” you said casually, brushing a stray hair behind your ear as you peeked into the oven. “He’s staying at my place for the week he’s here.”

Staying at your place?

Sunghoon blinked.

He looked around your apartment, eyes scanning every corner like they were going to magically reveal a hidden guest room. But there wasn’t one. You lived in a studio. Everything was in one space. Your bed, your desk, your kitchen, your couch. Except… there wasn’t even a real couch. Just a throw-covered loveseat that barely seated two.

No air mattress in sight. No hidden folding cot. No suspicious lumpy bags that might hold a spare futon.

Just one bed.

His chest tightened.

Where the hell was Jungwon gonna sleep? With you?

He picked at the label on his water bottle, teeth grinding quietly as he stared down at the floor, like it held answers. It didn’t.

He wasn’t even involved with you. This shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t bother him.

But it did. In the most uncomfortable, teeth-clenching, mind-racing kind of way.

-

You stood in front of the three boys, arms crossed, heart racing slightly under your apron. The chicken pot pie sat on the table…golden brown crust, just the right amount of bubbling over on the sides, the smell of thyme and butter and garlic filling your apartment.

Jake, Jay, and Sunghoon each took a spoonful at the same time like they’d rehearsed it. You watched them, nervous, scanning their faces.

One by one, their expressions lit up. Jake’s eyes widened, Jay let out a satisfied groan. Well… except Sunghoon. Of course.

He stayed still. Always unreadable. But you caught it. The tiny pause, the way his brows lifted just a fraction. He liked it. He just didn’t show it like the others.

“So—” Jake started.

“Good,” Jay finished, already reaching for more.

Your eyes flicked to Sunghoon. Somehow, his opinion was the one you were waiting on. The one you needed.

“So?” you asked, staring at him.

He blinked. “What?”

“How is it?”

“It’s good,” he said, nodding once, tone flat as ever.

Your smile dropped. You frowned. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“What? I just said it’s good.”

“No, you said ‘good’ and then frowned and put your spoon down. Usually it’s ‘It’s good,’ then a second bite. Right, boys?”

Jake nodded enthusiastically, chicken still in his mouth. “She’s right.”

“Totally right,” Jay added, already helping himself to more.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, leaning back slightly. “You’re all being dramatic.”

You scoffed, insulted. “I guess you don’t want seconds then. Tch.”

You clicked your tongue and turned on your heel, storming off toward the kitchen, grumbling under your breath. Your apron fluttered behind you as you moved, and you didn’t look back.

Sunghoon watched your little pout, the way your shoulders stiffened, how you exaggerated every step. He didn’t know why, but he liked your reaction. No, he loved it. He found it ridiculously cute. Too cute, actually. That slight wrinkle in your forehead. The way your voice got higher when you were mad. The tiny stomp in your step.

The moment your back turned, his lips twitched upward. 

When lunch ended and the three of them stood by your front door, Jake and Jay turned to hug you dramatically.

“Never move out,” Jake said into your shoulder.

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because you get free food.”

“And precisely why we don’t want you to move out,” Jay replied, squeezing you once more before the two of them shuffled out, bickering as they made their way into their apartment across the hall.

Sunghoon lingered. Just behind you.

You turned, raising a brow. “Aren’t you leaving?”

He nodded. “Yeah.” He stepped back slowly, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking to the floor before settling back on you. Then he paused. Like he wasn’t sure if he should say what he was about to say.

“The chicken pot pie was good. I think…” he exhaled, voice quieter, “I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“It reminded me of home,” he added, eyes still on you now, a little softer than usual. “Not in the way where it’s about the taste or anything… it’s just… you cook like home. If that makes any sense.”

You hadn’t expected that.

Your cheeks flushed immediately. You turned away before he could see it, pretending to fiddle with a dish on the counter, fingers uselessly adjusting an already-clean plate.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice low, almost shy.

He lingered for a second longer like he wanted to say more. Then he gave a quiet nod and walked out the door.

-

It was raining.

It was only 4 p.m., but the sky had turned an eerie charcoal grey, clouds rolling thick above the city. Thunder cracked so loud you felt it in your chest, and the wind howled between the buildings, slamming against your windows.

You hated this.

You hated how much you still feared storms even at your age. How useless independence felt when you were stuffing tissues in your ears and jamming earmuffs over your head like you were five again. You turned on every single light in your apartment, lamps, fairy lights, even your microwave light and cocooned yourself under your thickest blanket, barely breathing, eyes wide.

Then the whole building shuddered.

The lights flickered.

And then everything went dark.

You screamed.

Your apartment disappeared into a blanket of pitch black, shadows curling up the walls like ink. Your heart pounded. You scrambled up from the couch, tearing off your earmuffs and patting the walls with shaky hands, trying to find a light switch like that would fix anything.

“Shit,” you whispered, voice trembling. “Shit shit shit.”

You fumbled for your phone. A message popped up from your landlord.

“The building is experiencing a temporary blackout due to the storm. Electricity should resume in an hour. Thank you for your patience.”

An hour? Alone? In this? In the dark? Absolutely fucking not.

You jumped at another violent crack of thunder and instantly rushed out into the hallway. Your blanket trailed behind you like a cape. You beelined for the only door you knew.

You knocked. The door swung open almost immediately.

“No time to explain but I’m shitting bricks here,” you said all at once.

It wasn’t Jake or Jay.

It was Sunghoon.

His brows raised. “The thunderstorm?”

You nodded frantically. “Are Jake or Jay here?”

“They’re asleep.” He glanced behind him, then back at you. “But I could… stay with you. If you want. Until it passes.”

You hesitated.

Then thunder cracked again, louder this time, right above your building.

You flinched. “Okay,” you breathed, defeated.

The two of you sat cross-legged on your couch, sharing a single candle as your only source of light. It flickered between you, casting long, warm shadows on the walls.

“Seems like you’re scared of the thunder,” he said gently.

“Well,” you sighed, voice tight. “I’ve been scared of it since I was younger. It just… gets to me.”

He nodded. “It’s okay.”

You noticed it then…the subtle tremble in his shoulders. He was shivering. From the cold, probably. Your heater wasn’t working without electricity, and the apartment was steadily turning into a fridge. You were wrapped up like a burrito, but he’d come in without anything but a hoodie.

Feeling guilty, you shifted toward him and lifted one side of your blanket.

“Uh…” he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he was being pranked.

“Relax. I can see you shivering like a dog,” you muttered.

“Oh.” He blinked, then grabbed the other end of the blanket and scooted in beside you.

Now under the same blanket, his body heat pressed faintly against yours. You sat side by side, knees pulled to your chests.

And then, in a whisper, he said, “You know…”

You looked over at him, startled by the sudden softness in his voice.

“I know I’m not as close to you as Jay and Jake are,” he said, eyes trained on the candle, “but… you don’t always have to find them for help.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I’m saying…” he sighed, eyes flicking up toward you, and then away again. “Never mind.”

“No, what? Just spit it out.”

He exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to get the words out. “I’m just saying… you could ask me for help too.”

You stared at him, your eyes adjusting to the candlelight flickering between you.

“Oh,” you said softly.

There was a beat of silence. You weren’t really sure what to do with that. But you didn’t want to leave it hanging either.

“I’ll be sure to think of you the next time,” you mumbled, barely louder than the rain still pelting the windows outside.

You felt him nod beside you.

You turned your head slowly, resting your cheek against your knees, eyes drifting toward him. His face was tilted down, lashes long and dark as they blinked now and then, just slow enough for you to notice. His jaw had softened a little. He looked calm, in a way you weren’t used to seeing him.

“Would you rather have a million dollars,” you said suddenly, “or have no problems in the world?”

He blinked, confused for a second, then turned his head toward you. His chin was on his knees now too, and with the two of you curled up in the same blanket, inches apart, it felt almost like whispering under covers at a sleepover.

“What kind of question is that?”

“A good one,” you replied, lips twitching. “So answer it.”

He scoffed a little under his breath. “Uh… maybe no problems in the world?”

“Smart answer. Why?”

He paused, “I think people ruin themselves trying to solve problems that shouldn’t be theirs. If I had no problems, maybe I wouldn’t waste time worrying about all the stuff that doesn’t matter.”

You blinked at him. That was… not the answer you were expecting. It was a good one. Way too good, actually.

“Right,” you said softly, giving him a small nod.

He looked at you for a second longer before his eyes flicked down. “Your turn. Would you rather go back in time or go into the future?”

You puffed your cheeks out, thinking. “Hmm… that’s a toughie.”

Then your eyes widened, the way they always did when you had a lightbulb moment. “Go back in time!”

“Why’s that?”

“So maybe I’d really weigh the pros and cons of moving to a city where I know no one,” you said with a grin, but it faded slightly at the end.

Sunghoon stayed quiet. 

“You must really feel alone,” he said.

You blinked, startled. “What?”

“I hear you talking about it sometimes. On your balcony. When you think no one’s listening. You talk about how moving here feels like a mistake.”

You looked away, embarrassed. “It’s not a mistake. I just… miss everything back home.”

“I get it,” he said after a second. “I was like you. Back when I was home, I wanted to leave so badly. Thought being somewhere else would fix everything. But now that I’m here… yeah, I have Jay and Jake, and they’re great, but sometimes I come back to the apartment and everything’s fine and normal and still—I just feel… empty. And I don’t even know why.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time.

You just watched him. His face had turned thoughtful, distant. His eyes unfocused, drifting somewhere past the flickering candle, past your walls, like he was staring right through the quiet that lived in his chest.

You mumbled, “Well, yeah. But… I also don’t regret it. Not one bit.”

“Really?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I mean—I’m here doing what I love. Not many people get to do that. And I made friends with three incredibly annoying people in this building.”

He turned toward you again, eyes narrowing playfully. “So we’re friends now?”

Your cheeks heated up instantly. You glanced away, pretending to roll your eyes. “Are we not?”

He let out a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled softly at the back of his throat. “I’m glad you think we are.”

“So,” you said, tilting your head, “does this mean you’ll finally be nice to me now? Or is that too much character development for one night?”

Sunghoon smirked, eyes flicking to you with a teasing glint. “You want nice? From me?”

“Yeah. Like a full sentence without sarcasm. I feel like that’s a reward I’ve earned by now.”

“You earned a participation medal at best.”

You laughed, nudging him with your knee. “Unbelievable.”

He was already looking at you again—closer this time.

“Hold on,” he said softly, “you have an eyelash on your cheek.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

Before you could move, he leaned in.

His face hovered inches from yours as his thumb brushed gently against your cheek, his touch soft but sure. The pads of his fingers were warm. His eyes, now impossibly close, scanned your face with a kind of quiet focus you hadn’t felt from him before. You swallowed.

Neither of you moved.

Your gaze locked, and the space between you slowly disappeared…inch by inch, breath by breath. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.

Then suddenly, his lips were on yours.

Then it deepened. His other hand pushed the blanket off his head, dropping behind your neck to pull you in, and your hands found their way to his thighs, then to the curve of his jaw. His lips parted just enough, and your pulse jumped as he moved against you.

His hands slid to your waist. He lifted you slightly and shifted you into his lap in one smooth motion. You were now straddling him, knees on either side of his thighs, and he didn’t stop kissing you, not even for a second.

The kiss grew stronger. He tilted his head, hand moving to your chin to pull you even closer, his mouth parting yours with a low inhale as his tongue brushed against yours.

Your hands moved back down, gripping at the soft cotton of his hoodie, when—

Click.

The lights flickered on.

You both froze.

Your faces were still inches apart. 

You slowly pulled back, still on his lap. He blinked, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure what just happened. Like part of him wanted to keep going, and the other part… couldn’t believe you just kissed him like that.

You stared at each other, the silence heavy now.

His hands were still resting lightly on your waist. Yours were still fisted in the fabric of his hoodie. Both of you breathless. 

“I need to go back home,” Sunghoon said suddenly, voice low but rushed. His eyes darted everywhere except at you.

You blinked. “Right. Of course!” you said quickly, nodding way too fast. “Yeah. No—totally.”

He shifted awkwardly underneath you, face flushing as he cleared his throat and muttered, “Probably… need a pillow or something.”

It took you a second.

Then you saw the way he was subtly covering his lap with the edge of the blanket.

“Oh.” Your voice came out small. You quickly scrambled off his lap, cheeks burning so hot they could’ve powered your apartment during the blackout.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, already halfway to your door.

And then, Sunghoon stormed out of your apartment.

-

It had been a couple of days since you last properly spoke to Sunghoon. Not for lack of trying. You had…more than once. But each time, he’d give you a quick nod, maybe a polite smile if you were lucky, before promptly power-walking away.

Maybe he just wasn’t feeling what you were feeling. Maybe that kiss was a fluke, something in the heat of the moment. Maybe your little new crush was painfully one-sided.

But you pushed it aside. You had bigger things to focus on.

Jungwon was coming today.

You’d spent the entire morning rearranging your apartment, cleaning it from top to bottom, fluffing cushions and spraying perfume not just on yourself but into the air like it could somehow mask how nervous you were. You even did your hair the way he liked it, soft curls and a side part.

And then, there he was.

The door swung open and your best friend stood in the hallway, suitcase in hand and a grin already on his face.

“WON!” you squealed, running up to him and leaping into his arms.

“Hello, idiot,” he said, his voice fond as he hugged you back, lifting you off the ground with ease.

The shout must’ve startled the boys in 3C, because right on cue, the door across the hall creaked open and out came Jake and Jay, both peeking out.

They spotted you clinging to Jungwon like a koala.

You beamed. “Guys! It’s him!”

“The famous Jungwon,” Jay said, nodding in approval as he stepped out.

“And you must be Jake and Jay,” Jungwon said smoothly, setting you down.

Then came the third.

Sunghoon.

He didn’t move from the doorway. Just stood there, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

Jungwon turned to him, a friendly smile still on his lips, chuckling. “You must be Sunghoon, then.”

Sunghoon’s gaze narrowed slightly. “What’s so funny?”

Jungwon blinked, caught off guard. “Nothing,” he said, clearing his throat. “She just… told me you were like this.”

“Like what?” Sunghoon asked sharply, the scoff nearly audible in his tone.

Jungwon scratched the back of his neck. “Nothing. She just said you were cool,” he said with a shrug, throwing you a teasing look.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes.

You stood there, suddenly awkward, unsure what the hell had crawled up Sunghoon’s ass. The hostility was as thick as the tension in the air and you hadn’t done anything. Not really.

At least you didn’t think you had.

Just stood there, arms crossed, a stiff expression on his face while Jake and Jay welcomed Jungwon like he was already part of the group. Jungwon, ever the social butterfly, fit in easily, throwing a few jokes around, complimenting the apartment despite its questionable decor, and even teasing Jake about the ugly dinosaur pyjamas he was wearing in broad daylight.

But Sunghoon?

He was frowning the entire time.

You couldn’t figure it out. His jaw was tight, his responses were clipped, and every time Jungwon so much as glanced your way, you saw Sunghoon’s eye twitch.

You walked back to your apartment with Jungwon beside you, chatting excitedly about dinner plans and all the places he wanted to visit during his stay. But when you turned back, just for a second, you caught Sunghoon still watching. Still standing in the hallway.

His arms were still crossed.

And he didn’t look away.

-

Sunghoon stood there, arms folded across his chest like they were the only things keeping him together. He stared ahead blankly, jaw tight, doing everything in his power not to glare a hole through the wall. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling.

Sure, he knew he had a crush on you. He’d known since the chicken pot pie, probably. Or maybe since you wrapped that blanket around his shoulders. Or maybe long before that. But what he didn’t know was who the fuck Jungwon was, and why he was walking into your apartment.

“Dude,” Jake muttered, throwing him a sideways look. “You could’ve at least smiled.”

“I did,” Sunghoon growled, not bothering to hide his scowl.

Jay snorted. “That was barely a smile. You looked like you were in the middle of passing a kidney stone.”

“Why do I even have to be nice?” Sunghoon snapped. “I don’t know him.”

“Because your crush’s boyfriend just came into town,” Jake replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Sunghoon's head snapped to him so fast you’d think he got whiplash. “Boyfriend?”

Jay raised a brow. “Not denying the crush though.”

Sunghoon ignored him. “Let me ask you again. Boyfriend?”

Jake shrugged. “I mean… yeah, I guess?”

“What the fuck do you mean you guess?” Sunghoon hissed, dragging a hand down his face. “He can’t be her boyfriend.”

“But he is,” Jay said with a shrug and an infuriatingly smug smile.

“No, he’s not. He can’t be. Because she and I…” he paused, realising too late what was about to fall out of his mouth. “…kissed. Three nights ago.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open. Jay blinked.

“I’m sorry, what?” Jake finally blurted.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon muttered quickly, suddenly desperate to eat his words.

“You can’t say nothing when you just said everything!” Jake shouted, grabbing Sunghoon’s shoulders and shaking him.

“Tell us right now!” Jay begged dramatically, gripping his own hair.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes, flustered. “I—we—kissed. That’s it.”

Jay blinked. “You know we were kidding about the boyfriend thing, right?”

Jake grinned. “Jungwon’s just her best friend.”

“We just wanted to see if you’d admit you liked her,” Jay added, eyes sparkling with way too much joy. “Which you did.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sunghoon argued weakly. “I just said we kissed.”

“Okay, Mr Visceral Reaction every time we mention Jungwon,” Jake teased.

Jay smirked. “Say it. Say you like her.”

Sunghoon groaned, eyes shut tight as if the ceiling could swallow him whole. Then, finally—quietly, begrudgingly—

“Okay. So what if I like her?”

Jay and Jake immediately turned to each other with identical gasps, smacking each other’s arms excitedly.

“Oh my god, he admitted it,” Jay whispered dramatically.

Jake clutched his chest. “It’s happening.”

“You guys are disgusting,” Sunghoon groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And if you keep acting like this, I’m never telling you anything again.”

“Okay, okay.” Jake raised both hands, trying to suppress a grin. “We’ll behave.”

“BUT I’M SO EXCITED,” Jay squealed.

Jake smacked him on the shoulder. “Starting now.”

Jay nodded solemnly, rubbing his arm. “Sorry. That one slipped.”

Sunghoon sighed and leaned against the counter, arms crossed again. “I started liking her last month… when you guys went back home for the week. She cooked me stir-fried noodles, and we ate together. Played FIFA. I don’t know. I just… developed a crush on her.”

“That’s so cute,” Jay and Jake said in unison, stars in their eyes.

“Seriously, can the two of you act normal for like three minutes?”

Jake shrugged, still smiling. “I just didn’t expect you to have a girlfriend before me.”

Jay patted his shoulder. “You’ll get there, buddy.”

Jake tilted his head. “You think?”

“Yeah, you have nice eyes. Great personality.”

Jake beamed. “That’s so kind.”

“Can we please get back to my problem for like a minute?” Sunghoon cut in, glaring at both of them.

“Oh. Right.”

Jay cleared his throat and finally looked serious. “Look. We like her. She’s hilarious, and she makes good fucking food. And let’s be real, you’ve never liked anyone. We’ve been trying to get you to double date with us for years and you just stare at your phone all the time. But with her? You’re like... a guy with actual feelings.”

“But now I’m losing to Jung… whatever his name is.” Sunghoon sighed.

“Jungwon,” Jake said. “And no, you’re not.”

“How do you know she doesn’t like him?” Sunghoon muttered, staring down at the floor.

“Because,” Jay said, “if she did, she wouldn’t have kissed you.”

“Unless she’s indecisive or confused or something. I don’t know.” Sunghoon exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair. “Maybe I was just… a moment. And he’s her person.”

Jake shook his head. “I’m telling you—just talk to her.”

“Yeah,” Jay added. “Before you spiral even harder and start writing love songs about her. But if you do, I haved like a couple of guitars you could borrow.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. But somewhere, deep down… a part of him hoped they were right.

-

You were pacing back and forth on your cheap IKEA rug, while Jungwon was laid out dramatically on your bed, arms folded behind his head, thoroughly enjoying the show.

“I’m telling you, he’s avoiding me,” you snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at no one in particular. “We kissed—KISSED, Jungwon—and now he won’t even look at me! I wave, he nods. I say hi, he nods. I breathe in his direction, he—guess what—nods!”

Jungwon hummed, annoyingly calm. “Maybe he’s nervous. Or maybe he wants you to go to him.”

“I do go to him! And then he speed-walks away like I’m the plague!” You groaned, pressing your fingers to your temples. “I’m gonna lose it.”

“Maybe…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, “you’re just a shit kisser.”

You whipped around and chucked a throw pillow directly at his smug face.

“Asshole.”

He caught it with a grin, clutching it to his chest dramatically. “I’m just saying. Maybe you scared him off.”

“You’re lucky I haven’t strangled you with this blanket,” you muttered, grabbing another pillow just in case.

Jungwon sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “You know, sometimes I forget we grew up together because you’re so unpredictable now.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He snorted. “You used to be fearless. Remember that Heeseung guy you had a crush on in middle school?”

You blinked. “What about him?”

“You were six, and you walked up to him at recess, said ‘I like your lunchbox,’ then kissed his cheek and ran off.”

“Ah,” you said flatly, “the good old days. That girl’s dead now.”

“She’s not dead,” Jungwon argued, grabbing your wrists and tugging you to sit beside him on the bed. “She’s just… overthinking everything. Look, if Sunghoon doesn’t like you—whatever. But if he does? You’re missing out just because you’re too chicken to tell him.”

You glared. “I hate it when you make sense.”

“I know.” He grinned. “It’s my worst trait.”

“I just—” you exhaled, flopping back beside him. “What if it ruins everything? We literally just got closer. What if I say something and it all goes to shit?”

“Okay, counter-offer.” He sat up straighter. “You tell him, or I will. I will walk down the hallway, knock on his door, and go ‘Hi, my best friend has feelings for you, she also has performance anxiety but can cook a great bowl of chicken noodle soup.’”

“You wouldn’t,” you hissed, swatting at his arm.

“Then do it yourself!” he laughed, dodging your attacks. “Before I start printing flyers and pasting them in the apartment lobby.”

God. Why did he always have to be right?

“Fine.”

Your hand was already on the doorknob, breath caught in your throat, just about to leave when the door across from yours had swung open at the exact same time.

And there he was.

Sunghoon.

You both froze, hands still gripping the doorknobs, blinking.

You cleared your throat first. “Sunghoon.”

He blinked like he hadn’t already been staring. “What?”

You squinted. “Is that the only word you know how to say when I call your name?”

He paused. “Sorry.”

You opened your mouth to say something else but were rudely interrupted by muffled snorts from behind Sunghoon. Jay and Jake’s heads popped out from their doorway like nosy meerkats.

“Hoon,” Jay said in a loud, exaggerated voice, “we need more eggs.”

“Desperately,” Jake added, nodding like this was a national emergency. “Go to the store.”

Then Jungwon peeked out from behind you with an equally suspicious grin. “Oh, and while you’re there, can you grab some ice cream too?”

You and Sunghoon looked at each other.

“What is happening right now,” you said flatly.

Before either of you could respond, four hands shoved the both of you toward the elevator. You stumbled in, the doors sliding shut just as Jay yelled out, “Don’t come back without snacks!”

The elevator stopped at your floor.

Your shoulders brushed as you stood side by side, awkwardly watching the floor numbers light up.

Then, finally, you broke it. “About that day—”

Sunghoon shook his head quickly. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t tell Jungwon.”

You blinked. “What do you mean you won’t tell Jungwon?”

He looked away. “Well, aren’t you like… crushing on him? I wouldn’t want what we did to, you know… ruin your chances or something.”

Your entire face scrunched up. “Won and I? What? Ew. God, no. We’re friends. We grew up together. Thinking about him that way would be like incest or something.”

And just like that, Sunghoon felt like he’d been hit by a shooting star and given a second chance at life. His heart did a full backflip. You were single. You were available. 

He couldn’t help it. He smiled.

“Why do you suddenly look so happy?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“We’ve hung out a couple of times and if I’m being honest, I’ve never seen you smile this—”

“Cut it out.” He tried to brush it off, biting back the grin. “I’m just glad.”

“Glad about?”

“Glad that I didn’t ruin your chances,” he said nonchalantly, looking up like he hadn’t just panicked thirty seconds ago.

“Mhm.” You narrowed your eyes at him, the golden-orange glow of the sunset casting warmth across his cheekbones. He was handsome. Frustratingly so. “Well… because I actually like this other guy.”

Sunghoon’s smile faltered.

“I haven’t known him that long,” you continued casually, “but he seems cool. I don’t really know much about him yet.”

“That’s… nice.” Sunghoon turned away quickly, jaw tight. He was definitely grimacing. Please don’t let her see that I’m grimacing, he begged internally.

“Yeah, he’s really tall. Really handsome, too.”

“That’s just…” he exhaled. “Great.”

“He doesn’t seem super friendly but he has a big heart. Even if he tries really hard not to show it.”

“Seems like a swell fuckin’ guy,” he muttered bitterly.

“It’s a pity though,” you sighed dramatically, still watching him. “I wish I could get to know him better.”

“Well… anyone’s lucky to get to know you.” He tried to smile. It didn’t reach his eyes. “I know I am.”

You tilted your head. “Not to mention… he lives really close to me.”

Sunghoon’s eyes darted to you. “He does?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, heartbeat accelerating.

“Like how close?”

You took a slow step toward him. “Like… just across the hall close.”

“Oh.” He blinked. “That close.”

Silence settled in the small elevator. You both just stood there, not looking at each other, tension hanging in the air like humidity.

Then, out of nowhere—

“I’m just saying,” Sunghoon said, dead serious, “but Jake sleeps with the lights on and Jay doesn’t wash his hair as often as you think he does.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“I sleep normal,” he added quickly. “I wash my hair. I do proper haircare—shampoo, conditioner, mask, mist. I could do your routine too. For you. If you want.”

You stared.

“I can’t cook, but I’ll try. I can figure skate. I can spin twice in the air. Jay and Jake? Not even one spin. Jay can play guitar, Jake can sing but I can spin, okay? Without getting dizzy too.”

“Sunghoon.”

“And those idiots never clean up after eating your food. Jay doesn’t use coasters. Jake never makes his bed.”

“SUNGHOON!”

He looked at you, breathless. “What?”

You stepped forward. Slowly. Then, you mumbled, “It’s you.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I like you.”

And for once, Park Sunghoon had absolutely nothing to say.

“Okay,” he said. “Cool. Okay. I—wow. Okay.”

You raised a brow. “That’s it?”

He nodded dumbly. “No. Yes. I don’t know. I just—holy shit. You like me.”

You smirked, the smile slowly stretching across your face. “Yes. I like you.”

The elevator dinged. Neither of you moved.

He looked at you again, still dazed. “Hold on, I kinda need a minute.”

You both stepped out into the empty lobby. The sun outside had just dipped below the skyline, casting a pinkish-orange glow through the glass doors. The streetlights flickered on. But you waited.

“It’s been a minute,” you said.

“I know,” he exhaled, hand raking through his hair. “But you like me back, so I kinda need, like… a long minute.”

“Back?” You grinned, the corners of your mouth lifting all the way to your eyes. “So you like me too?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I thought it was obvious from the, uh… word vomit.”

“Well yeah,” you shrugged. “But I didn’t want to assume. Didn’t wanna be narcissistic.”

“I think even if you were,” he muttered, “I’d still think you were pretty cute.”

You blinked. “Did you just—”

“Gross, I know,” he said quickly, face flushing. “I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

You laughed. “Yeah. But you kinda can’t take it back now.”

“Fine,” he said, pretending to groan. “You’re cute. Ugh. I said it again.”

-

A MONTH LATER

Jay and Jake found it fundamentally unfair. They were the ones who got close to you first. They were the ones who complimented you, made you laugh, showed up when you needed help. They loved you first or at least, that’s what they told themselves. But here you were, doors locked for the first time in three months, cooking a full-course meal for Sunghoon to celebrate your one-month anniversary.

“You’re not allowed to come,” Sunghoon told them flatly before slamming the door shut.

“But—!” they shouted in unison, already mourning the steak they wouldn’t get to taste.

Word on the hallway was that you were cooking the perfect medium-rare T-bone steak, paired with your signature brown sauce and a vegetable medley so crunchy and flavourful. Meanwhile, Jay and Jake sat hunched on the couch, scrolling through a food delivery app.

“Isn’t it funny,” Jake said, arms folded, “how we were the ones who befriended her first, and now we’re stuck with Burger King?”

“Life’s unfair, bud.”

Back in your apartment, things were a little more romantic. You’d decorated with fairy lights and candles, the room dimly lit. You were still being frugal, splitting every cost you could. But you’d managed to steal two T-bone steaks from the diner you part-timed at.

Sunghoon showed up in a black and white tuxedo, looking like he’d taken the prom theme you had placed as a joke a little too seriously.

“You look absolutely gorgeous,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek.

“And you look absolutely handsome,” you grinned.

He walked over to the table and took in the spread. “Okay, what do we have?”

“I made the steaks, obviously, and then there’s the vegetable medley… and your favourite—mashed potatoes,” you giggled.

Sunghoon exhaled, shaking his head with a disbelieving smile. “How did I get so lucky?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know either.”

He laughed. “The guys are pissed, by the way. You made me all this, and they’re over there with cold fries.”

“What?” you said, surprised. “I made them something too! Don’t worry.”

“You did?” he raised a brow.

“I had a feeling they’d be hungry if you were over here.”

“Babe, you didn’t have to do that. They’re grown men.”

“Yeah, but technically my assignment this week was pasta and I have too many leftovers.”

“They’re spoiled by you.”

“And so are you.”

“True, but I’m your boyfriend. They’re just two annoying shitheads constantly trying to butt in.”

“I’ll be quick. I’ll just drop the dish off and come back.”

“No,” he said, standing. “I’ll do it. You stay here.”

He kissed your forehead, grabbing the lasagna you’d tucked into the fridge. “You’re too sweet, you know that?”

“He walked across the hall and opened the door to Unit 3C.

Inside, Jay was mid-rant. “I just don’t get it. Sunghoon isn’t even that hot.”

“I mean, he is,” Jake added, “but she deserves better, you know?”

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “I can hear you two idiots.”

They both froze, turning around sheepishly. “We were just joking. We love you, man.”

He held up the dish. “And to think I came here bearing gifts from my girlfriend.”

Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait—is that lasagna?”

“She felt bad we were eating good without you, so she made you dinner.”

“Oh my god,” Jay gasped. “Sunghoon, I don’t mean to be pushy, but please marry her.”

“I can’t,” Sunghoon muttered. “Not when you two are constantly inserting yourselves into my relationship.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll back off. Just—can we have the lasagna?”

“And can you tell her we love her?”

“I am not telling my girlfriend you love her,” Sunghoon snapped. “I’ve barely worked up the nerve to tell her that myself.”

“Wait,” Jake said suddenly, “you haven’t told her you love her yet?”

“It’s only been a month.”

“So… you don’t love her?”

“I do,” Sunghoon replied, almost too quickly. “I just don’t want to come on too strong if she’s not ready.”

Jay and Jake shared a glance before shrugging.

“What?” Sunghoon asked, frowning. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Jake cleared his throat. “It’s just… she already said it.”

Sunghoon looked up. “What?”

“Yeah,” Jake replied casually. “You texted her about picking up those heat packs for her cramps, and she went all soft and whispered, ‘God, I love him so much.’ Her words. Not mine.”

Sunghoon stood frozen in the doorway, the dish in his hands suddenly weightless.

You loved him.

“So… you’re saying I should tell her?” he asked, voice quiet, almost unsure.

Jay and Jake both nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. Especially if it makes her our sister-in-law,” Jay added, grinning.

Sunghoon rolled his eyes. “God, the two of you can be so annoying.”

“But you still love us,” Jay shrugged. “So what’s the point of complaining?”

He hated that Jay was right.

Back in your apartment, Sunghoon sat across from you, completely transfixed. You were dressed in a soft pink satin dress that shimmered every time you moved. It hugged your shoulders delicately, the neckline simple, elegant. Your hair was curled softly, pinned loosely on one side with a vintage clip, and your lips were glossed just enough to make him stare longer than he should’ve.

And God, you looked so beautiful.

He tried to pay attention. He really did. But his heart was too loud, his thoughts too full. How was he supposed to say it?

Sunghoon had never told anyone he loved them before. Not seriously. Maybe to his mom years ago, right before he left for the city. But this? This felt entirely new.

Because sitting in front of him was someone who made every quiet part of his life feel loud again. You filled in the spaces he didn’t even know were missing. You made his apartment feel less cold, his world a little less grey. And the way he loved you—God, it wasn’t something small. It wasn’t a flicker or a passing crush. It was all-consuming and terrifying and the best damn thing he’d ever felt.

He loved you like it was muscle memory. Like even if he forgot everything else, his hands would still reach for yours and only yours.

“Hoonie,” you interrupted gently, frowning. “You’re not listening.”

He blinked back into focus. “Sorry,” he murmured, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I was just thinking about something.”

“What?” you looked up at him, ur big eyes shining. 

Sunghoon unknowingly smiled, his eyes dripping with honey, god he loved you. He wanted to say that. So badly.

“I…I just–uh–feel…that,” His voice trailed off. “You look really beautiful tonight. I mean, you always do. But especially tonight.” He hesitated, the words stuck behind his teeth.

You smiled. “Thank you. You look very handsome too.”

-

Later that night, the two of you were in Sunghoon’s apartment along with Jay and Jake for the usual game night. 

You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, your prom-night dress bunched awkwardly around your knees, mascara slightly smudged from earlier laughter, hair pinned half-up. Sunghoon sat slouched in the beanbag beside you, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, brow furrowed in concentration. Jake was lying on his stomach, legs swinging in the air, and Jay had somehow made himself horizontal on the couch.

You and Jake were a team. Sunghoon and Jay were not handling that well.

“Revive me!” Sunghoon yelled.

Jay shouted back, “I’m busy trying not to die, dumbass!”

Button mashing intensified. Trash talk flew across the room.

“VICTORY!” Jake screamed, leaping up like a madman.

You followed suit, springing to your feet and clambering up onto the coffee table in your dress. “GET WRECKED, LOSERS!” you yelled, pointing dramatically at Sunghoon. “THAT’S RIGHT, LOSERS!”

Jake joined you on the table, doing a badly timed robot dance. The two of you jumped in sync, yelling in triumph, while Jay groaned into a throw pillow and Sunghoon watched with a hand covering his mouth, half to hide his smile, half to suppress a laugh.

“You’re all bark, no bite!” you called, face flushed, hair falling loose. “Your character died fourteen times, Hoonie.”

“I let you win!” he shot back, grinning as he sat up straighter. “I was being a gentleman.”

“Sure,” you scoffed, sticking your tongue out at him. “Real chivalrous of you, sir died-14-fucking-times.”

He chuckled under his breath, eyes lingering on you for a second longer than usual. Then, without a word, he stood and walked out of the room.

You blinked. That was...odd. 

You gave Jake a gentle shove off the table and followed Sunghoon into the hallway. He was pacing outside, one hand in his hair, the other fiddling with the watch on his wrist.

“Hoon?” you asked, stepping out and gently closing the door behind you.

He jumped slightly, turning toward you. “You scared me.”

“You okay? You just left so sudden…”

“I—uh—yeah. I was just trying to figure out how to say something.”

You tilted your head, arms crossing over your chest. “Say what?”

“Nothing,” he mumbled with a shrug.

Your expression softened. “Are you mad at me?” You sighed. Maybe your little victory dance had been a bit much. “Hoonie?”

“No, baby, I could never be mad at you,” he said quickly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just…”

You stepped closer, teasing lightly, “Do you want me to redo my victory dance? I could. You just have to beatbox, and I’ll take it from there.”

That made him laugh.

“Come on,” you grinned, starting to move your body in the most ridiculous way. “I’m pretty sure I should’ve been a dancer instead of a chef.”

He laughed again, this time louder and then, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out.

“Oh my god, I love you.”

You blinked. Your smile faded. Your brain, for one impossible second, completely short-circuited.

“Did you just say you love me?” you asked, heart hammering.

His eyes widened in sheer panic. “No?”

“I heard it.”

“You misheard.”

“Oh my god,” you gasped, practically vibrating. “You love me. You love me!”

“Fine!” he burst out, throwing his hands up like he was under arrest. “I do! I love you, okay?”

You smiled, “You do?”

“Of course! I love the way you talk too fast when you’re excited. I love how you make my idiot friends feel like they matter. I love that you make me feel whole. That when I’m with you, I don’t feel hollow anymore. You… you make me feel like I’m not empty.”

You grinned so wide it hurt. “That’s because you’re not.”

“I used to be,” he said helplessly, gesturing vaguely like he was mourning his past self. “I was mysterious. Brooding. Sexy, even. And now? Now I smile at cat videos you send me on TikTok. Look what you’ve done to me. This is all your fault.”

You scoffed, “My fault?”

“Yes! Who else could it be?” he said, breathless, like the truth had been waiting at the edge of his tongue for too long. “You walk into my life with that stupidly perfect smile, that laugh that makes everything feel lighter, those eyes that somehow hold the whole damn sky and now I’ve got feelings. Big ones.”

He took a shaky breath, pausing for a minute.

“I used to think I was fine on my own. But now? I get out of bed just because I know I might see you. I hear your knock and my whole day lights up. For the first time, I feel like I know what living really means. It’s you. Loving you. That’s it.”

You leaned in and kissed him right in the middle of his rant.

He blinked, dazed.

“You sure talk a lot for someone who usually says nothing,” you murmured, forehead resting against his.

“I do it when I’m nervous,” Sunghoon whispered, and then kissed you again.

“I find it cute,” you mumbled between kisses.

Sunghoon grinned into the next kiss, backing you up step by step toward your apartment door, his hands finding your waist. “God,” kiss “I love you,” another kiss “so much.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “You’re very handsy for someone who claimed to be brooding and mysteriou.”

“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw as he reached behind you, fumbling for the door handle, “you ruined me.”

Your back hit the door with a thud. He fumbled with the knob like he was drunk on you, eventually pushing it open and guiding you inside.

He kicked the door shut with the back of his foot.

You were still laughing into his kiss. He walked you backward until your knees hit the bed and you dropped onto it with a squeak.

He climbed over you, hands on either side of your waist, face flushed, heart in his throat.

“I fucking love you,” he said again, like it wasn’t real until he repeated it.