LaLaMihee

OCTOBER 2

Perfect wouldn't be the exact word to describe today. In fact, it's an understatement. Maybe it's your habit of romanticizing life, but the autumn leaves seem to fall in a much slower, sweeter way these days. The wind that flows through your window feels a gentle reminder of the approaching winter. And every day, it feels a bit chiller, pushing everyone to put on more fabric to face the cold.

It has already been a week since you came to your hometown to spend the winter season with your family. But, to be very honest, it feels the exact same as living alone in Seoul because your parents are barely home; going on dates every now and then, abandoning you and your brother, Joshua. And it gets worse, because Joshua physically cannot stay at home for longer than one hour and always has to go out with his friends.

That leaves you, your emotional support—a crocheted heart shaped pillow and the emptiness of your nostalgic childhood home alone for almost the entire day. You didn't mind, though, because being a grown adult meant you had to get used to doing everything alone.

Like usual, you woke up early in the morning, not surprised to find no-one else in the house. After a few hours of laying around, you decided to do something productive—clean your room. So, you plugged your headphones and jammed to your favourite summer songs in the sole presence of winter. Not that you dislike winter, in fact it's your favourite, it's just your unpromising choice of music at the most random times.

Your taste in music is unmatched, though. You have full confidence in that.

You wiped the windows one last time, and leaned back to look at the entire room. A proud smile bloomed on your lips, satisfied with your much-needed hard work. And after all that, you deserved a treat. A sweet one.

You put all the cleaning essentials aside and jerk the dust off your hands before sliding your headphones down to rest around your neck.

As you open your bedroom door, you're met with an unfamiliar noise coming from downstairs. You head towards the staircase, taking conscious steps on it, trying to decipher the voices.

It should be Joshua, but you hear a much deeper and sweeter voice alongside. The tone sounds oddly familiar but you don't remember ever hearing the voice in your twenty-six years of living. It's obvious enough that your brother probably invited his friend over without informing you beforehand, but you still decide to risk it anyway.

In a very, very careful manner, you tip-toed your way down the stairs and leaned against the wall, peeking your head just enough to get a glimpse of the kitchen. It wasn't too far from where you were standing right now, and it shouldn't be a big problem to make a run for it without being seen in your old clothes that you wore because you didn't want to get the good ones dirty while cleaning.

But you're quick to hide behind the wall with a small gasp and change your mind within seconds. And the reason? An insanely gorgeous guy around the age of Joshua in your common room, unpacking a guitar. Your heart jumped a little, and you found yourself peeking again, just enough to get a better look at him.

His eyes traced the shape of an almond, coloured in the hues of the same. His black, flowy hair rested just above his upper neck, shining under the warm afternoon sunlight. His pink lips were pressed into a thin line, the corners curved like the softest smile you'd ever seen. He gently held the guitar with one hand, twisting it out of the carton box. Your heart refused to believe he wasn't an illusion of the love-sick mind. He was right there, in front of your eyes, all flesh and bones.

Just another second more, and maybe you could've gathered the courage to say something. Anything. But here your brother was, calling out for his friend with a name that sounded too familiar. Before his eyes could catch your sight, though, you were already racing back upstairs as quietly as possible.

“Jeonghan!” Joshua shouted from the front yard, sounding completely exhausted. A few more shuffling noises continued in the common room before a voice cut through.

“What's wrong?”

It was warm, light and clear. A confusing mixture of soft and deep. But angelic enough for a chill to run down your spine, and for your heart to soften. Then, the name that Joshua called, clicked in your mind.

“Jeonghan…” the name slipped from your mouth, curious and also aware at the same time. Pretty name, you thought. But you've definitely heard it somewhere before.

——

Your room felt too empty, too quiet. The silence was heavy with your own embarrassing internal monologue: You, an adult, had practically hyperventilated in a stairwell because of a man who looked like an angel and whose name you knew but couldn't place.

It had been atleast two hours, and Jeonghan was long gone—a beautiful phantom who had entered your home, dropped off your brother's things, and left without ever knowing he'd been watched, much less fled from. But the name, Jeonghan, was still stuck in your mind. It was an itch you had to scratch. You were an author; you solved puzzles for a living.

You were leaning against your pillow, trying to start a new show, or most probably, attempting to divert your mind from the guy named Jeonghan. Just then the muted clatter of the front door indicated that your parents were finally home from their date.

The soft tapping came almost immediately after. Your mother’s footsteps had paused just outside your door.

Knock, knock. Just two quick taps.

“Y/n, are you awake, honey?” her voice was low and warm. “I just wanted to tell you about the terrible lighting in the bistro before I forget.”

You smiled as soon as your eyes met hers, inviting her into the comfort of your room. But before she could launch into the decor review, a kind, clear voice called up the stairs.

“Y/n! I served your favourite cheesecake on a plate, it’s sitting right here in the fridge. Come get it before I accidentally mistake it for my own!” Joshua warned playfully, followed by a soft laughter from your dad. 

Your mother smiled, leaning against the door frame. “See? A devil disguised as a gentleman who might steal your snack. Come on, sweetie. You deserve a bite of something good after a long day.”

You pushed her blankets back with a laugh. “This guy…”

“Wait! Can you bring my phone from my room, please? It'll be quick!” Joshua shouted urgently, afraid you might ignore his words if he's a second late. Already halfway down the stairs, you sighed loud and dramatically before taking a full u-turn and dragging your foot along the steps.

“I need half of your cheesecake in return!” You exclaimed, earning a scoff from him. But he couldn't disagree, atleast, not while you're doing his work.

You marched into Joshua's room, intending to raid his bed looking for his phone, but spotted a dusty, faded photo album resting on his bedside table.

“2002.” — the cover read. Your eyebrows furrowed, your posture softening curiously. You grabbed it without hesitation, just wanting to have a look at it.

Holding the album tight against your chest with one hand, you searched through Joshua's bedsheets for his phone with another. You took his phone, ran to your room and hid the photo album under your pillow, your heart racing with uncertain hope.

You had an overwhelming feeling that Jeonghan might be someone you've known in your past.

Taking one last look at your perfect hiding spot, you shut the door behind you and crept down the stairs, as if you suddenly became too self aware. Then, clearing your throat, you plopped down on the couch beside Joshua and snatched his bag of chips.

“You know you could just ask for one and I won't bite, right?” Joshua remarked, clearly not bothered, yet feeling the need to make facts clear to you.

“Where's the fun in that?” You smiled, munching on your brother's favourite flavour of potato chips. You two continued to chat, and he continued to crack his very unfunny jokes, oblivious to the fact that his bedside table will be missing something tonight.

——

It didn't take long before evening passed by. For the first time, though, someone didn't have to tell you to go to sleep. Because the moment you were done with dinner, you were already taking two steps at a time towards your room. Your night routine lasted for a few minutes—a quick warm shower, your skin settling for only moisturizer for tonight. Because you had something much more exciting waiting for you other than your usual relaxing skincare.

Finally, you lifted your pillow and grabbed the photo album with enthusiasm, settling onto your bed with a soft blanket proving warmth till your waist. ‘2002’, it read, making you a bit confused until you flipped the cover. The first page contained photographs, dating way back to 2000.

12th April, 2002. It specified, followed by a bunch of photos of you and Joshua, racing through the nostalgic fields of your once favourite lilies. White t-shirt with a blue jean jumpsuit and a white breton cap, posing with a cute peace sign—Joshua, you recognised. Peeking over his shoulders from behind was you, dressed in a yellow printed bright frock, making you glow in the garden of flowers.

Your lips bloomed with a smile, and widened with each page you flipped, each photograph an embarrassing and lovely reminder of the beautiful childhood you’ve spent with your family.

You found yourself hooked to it, flipping past years of awkward childhood photos until you hit the deep past—the messy, grainy world of kindergarten.

And there it was. A picture of three small children covered in mud, squinting into the sun. A goofy Joshua was grinning, flanked by a messy-haired girl with two cute buns (you), and on the other side, a skinny, handsome boy with an angelic smile.

The realization was a punch to the gut. The handsome man whom you had stumbled into this afternoon wasn't just a stranger; he was a friend. He was the friend. Your first childhood confidante, the boy who shared his best toys, the one who had taught you how to tie your shoelaces, though wrong himself. And the one you had always found a bit more charming and special than the rest since the day you two met.

The friend from twenty-three years ago had spontaneously combusted into a full-blown adult attraction, all while turning into a distant memory in your mind.

The memory snapped the name into place: Jeonghan. He was the reason you and Joshua used to sneak out to the playground at sunset. The reason you learned addition and subtraction better than your classmates. He was a piece of your past, and you had never tried to look back for these whole 23 years.

You slammed the album shut, realisation hitting you like a jolt of electricity. It had been twenty-three years. Twenty-three years since the last time you saw that angelic smile, and today, you saw it all over again. Except it was much brighter and sweeter now.

You flip the photo album to that specific page again, carefully taking the photograph of seven year old Jeonghan, your heart melting at the sight just as it did all those years ago when he gave you his ice-cream after you dropped yours. Putting the album aside, you keep the photograph between the pages of your diary safely before turning the lamp off and tucking yourself in the sheets.

It leaves you on a cliffhanger all night—“If you stood before him, would he remember you in a heartbeat, or has your shared childhood simply faded into a past he would no longer care about?”

—

OCTOBER 4

With a huff, you placed the plastic bag full of snacks on the table, making your colleagues erupt in excitement.

“You're the best!” Seokmin stood up from his seat, clapping his hands like a toddler getting ice cream for dessert. Mingyu snatched the first thing he saw from the bag, a big wide grin stretching across his face as he giggled. Minghao, on the other hand, sighed at the sight unfolding before him. But not long after, he also got up, unable to avoid the temptation.

 “Oh my god! Where did you get this drink from? Everywhere I go it's always sold out…” Mingyu pouted, scanning the cold drink can with a frown.

“There's a shop just a few blocks away, I got all this from there.” You sat down on a chair, grabbing a small fruit cake packet. Seokmin swallowed his food, clearing his throat just to stupidly ask, “Do you just have this many snacks lying around the house or what?”

You paused and shared a look, almost sad. “This was supposed to be my monthly restock if y'all didn't just barge in my house without notice.”

Mingyu choked on his food, looking at you horrified. “That is your monthly restock? You eat all this alone?” He gasped, making Seokming and Minghao wheeze loudly.

“Hey, I have three other people living in this house!” You defended, unable to hold back your smile at his goofiness. Minghao lightly smacked Mingyu's shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Maybe you should slow down on that sugar, or you’ll be meeting up with Dr. Jeonghan tomorrow.” He remarked while Mingyu sulked, and Seokmin threw himself on the floor, cackling.

You froze. Your hands stopped mid-air as your ears perked up, your heart pounding in your ribcage a little louder now. The name echoed in your memory, sending your mind into a spiral. Seokmin wasn't helping either.

“Also, didn't Jeonghan warn you that day too?” He doubled down as the room erupted in laughter while you sat there in complete silence.

Calm down, Y/n. There are thousands of other Jeonghan in this world.

The careless repetition of the name felt like an invasion. You wanted to interrupt, to confirm which Jeonghan they were talking about, but the name itself was a trigger. It silenced the question in your throat, leaving you with a blinding surge of nervousness and a heart that felt ready to beat its way out of your chest. Everywhere you turned, the name followed, not just a whisper but a persistent, inescapable sound—as if it were hunting you down. As if you had to fill in the gap of those twenty three years you've missed.

——

EARLIER THAT DAY.

“I'm not paying 5k for this and that's final.” You slammed your hand on the stall’s counter, frustrated. The middle aged shopkeeper annoyingly mirrored your actions, an insufferable expression painted on his face, clearly meant to provoke you.

“Then don't. Feel free to walk away, young lady.” He gestured towards the roadside, fueling your frustration. You snorted.

“Listen, uncle,” you leaned over the counter, ready to drop an earful. “I’ve been a customer of this store even before you stepped foot here, respectfully. So I don't understand why I'm having to deal with you this early in the morning just because your arrogance is out of control. I bought this exact one just yesterday and it was two times less than whatever price you're telling me to pay right now.” You spilled out everything under one breath, then leaned back huffing to grab the small menu.

“And mind you, this is not even 3k so you may be a bit sick in the head to think I'd pay you 5k.” You glared into the shopkeeper’s soul, and for a split second, you could see his expression falter.

Yes. Victory.

Silence. Then he began to argue again, leaving you jaw-dropped. The audacity of this man needed to be studied or you might just go insane on a random Thursday morning. But then, like a gift from the heavens itself, a deep, soft, and familiar voice cut through the tension. It came from directly behind you, blocking the sun and casting a sudden, sharp shadow. You froze for a beat. Two beats. then practically spun on your heel as the recognition hit.

There he was: the same captivating, brown almond eyes; the silky, dark, impossibly shiny hair. The beautiful, sharp detail of his cheekbones that you hadn't noticed before, and now that you had, the pang in your heart was almost painful. You could run away and hide—not just from the man, but the insane, radiant energy he possessed. It was a beauty so profound, so utterly gorgeous, you almost felt plain and unremarkable infront of him. You were looking directly at an angel's twin, made human.

His lips looked baby pink, soft and magnetic. You almost felt embarrassed at the way your eyes were travelling and scanning each and every detail—even his lips, but could you really blame yourself? He was Jeonghan. The same pretty, mischievous kid who used to chase you around dressed in a ghost costume who had now grown into such a fine man you almost couldn't believe your eyes. Just like he always guessed and remarked, he had grown taller than you thought he would, and it was taking your breath away seeing how he towered you so easily.

But why was he here?

“Ah, Mr. Shin?” Jeonghan spoke into the speaker of his phone, catching the shopkeeper's attention. His steps halted just beside you, although he hadn't met your eyes yet.

“Jeonghan-ah? Is something wrong, you don't call at this hour.” A voice followed through the phone almost immediately, and you instantly recognised the voice. It was Mr. Shin, the actual owner of the store you knew since childhood.

Jeonghan reached out to grab the menu, his eyes examining the price of the pastry you had wasted your past 20 minutes for. “Something is very wrong, actually,” he sighed, placing the menu back on the counter. “I didn't know you changed the prices for the strawberry chocolate mousse…”

You paused, fighting back a smile. You knew exactly where this was going now. He sounded almost sad, his expression worried and distressed, but you could tell it was fake. Even after all these years, you haven't lost the ability to tell he was faking it, although he looked too convincing to others.

The shopkeeper was horrified, and you loved each and every second of it.

“Wait what? I don't— I don't remember doing so. Are you sure you're not mistaken?” Mr. Shin sounded puzzled and worried, recalling everything he did before leaving for a few days of vacation.

He looked directly at the shopkeeper, causing him to startle a bit. “I can't be mistaken because that's what I'm being told by—”

“No, wait a minute! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just take it!” He slid the pastry box towards you on the counter, panicked and scared for his dear job. “Don't complain, please, I beg you.”

Jeonghan glanced at his phone, then spoke, “Mr. Shin, I'll talk to you later, it's an emergency.” Before ending the call.

You were stunned. He was still so clever and troublesome, just a lot kinder now.

The shopkeeper bowed one last time before hurrying away to the other side of the stall, leaving you and Jeonghan alone. You hadn't looked away from him until now.

Grabbing the pastry box, you gathered every last bit of confidence left in you to turn to him with a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you, Jeonghan—” the name slipped from your lips before you could process it, and you noticed the way his eyes immediately turned to look at you. You averted your gaze at the realisation, trying your best to not drown in the awkwardness. Your heart was racing at the sheer thought of your childhood bestfriend recognising you after twenty-three years. You were excited, even. Until he spoke. Too casually, too nicely and too normally.

“You know my name?” He asked, tilting his head with a genuine surprised look on his face. Your stomach dropped, the hint of eagerness in your eyes fading slowly.

He didn't recognise you.

You were a stranger to him right now, and at that very moment, you lost every intention to remind him. But you pushed the personal thoughts aside, thinking of an excuse to get out of the awkward situation.

“I heard Mr. Shin call you that on the phone,” you say, forcing a smile that he mirrored.

“Ah, ofcourse, that was nothing special. Just use this trick when needed, although I doubt there'll be a next time.” He joked with a soft chuckle, the sound sending a jolt down your spine. You nodded along, your smile reaching the eyes. He still carried a spark within him, enough to light up a person's mood.

“Enjoy your pastry, I'm in a bit of a hurry right now.” He said, glancing at the watch on his wrist. “See you around.” With one last look and smile, he jogged down the street. It was only when he reached the turn that you realised his words.

You do wish to see him around, hopefully.

——

OCTOBER 7

The morning sunlight shone through the tall windows into the small shop. You stepped inside, closing the door behind you gently. The room had dim lighting, each corner filled with musical instruments and lit up by the sun rays alone. The shop is owned by one of your grandfather’s closest friends, whom you've known for years by now. You stopped by the store to share some of the dumplings you had cooked this morning for your family as your mother reminded you of the fact that it was his favourite.

“Uncle?” You called out, looking around the room curiously. You walked inside further, your eyes glued to the various instruments. He has always been the biggest lover of music, if it wasn't obvious enough. Not receiving a response, you called out once again, a bit louder this time.

​"Y/n, I'm in the storeroom, hold on a minute!" Uncle Kang called out, his voice accompanied by the distinct sound of tools at work. You acknowledged with an 'okay' and set the lunch box on a small table in the corner.

The guitar leaned against the wall by the table, and a ridiculous, irresistible urge flared in you. You wanted to snatch it up and play, never mind that your skill was only mediocre. But just as you had moved to take a seat, the tiny bell above the entrance door chimed. You glanced up from the floor, your eyes instantly locking with familiar ones.

Your hands froze halfway. The guitar slipped your mind instantly. Your heart didn't just beat; it slammed against your ribs, once, a heavy, silencing thump. You blinked, hard, once, twice, three times, a desperate attempt to reset your vision and your reality. But the impossible was standing there: Jeonghan. He was here, he was everywhere. A shiver traced your spine. It was a coincidence, you told yourself, a trick of the city's sprawl, yet his shadow followed yours like a magnet.

“Ah, Jeonghan! You're here!” A voice suddenly echoed in the store, and Jeonghan had almost lifted his gaze, but you turned away. As fast as you could. You froze, a single, desperate thought screaming in your head: please don't let him recognise you—atleast, not as the one who sent him a matching request on a literal dating app two days ago. That too, accidentally. While stalking. Uncle Kang was standing infront of the store room, patting the dust off his shoulders.

“Good morning,” Jeonghan greeted, your heart melting as soon as you heard the sweet tone of his voice. Maybe it was a mix of fluttery nerves and a tiny bit of sweet panic at the thought of facing him. Or perhaps he just looked so wonderfully fine now, years later, that he felt like a brand new person—making your heart tap out a silly, fast rhythm it hadn't before.

“Good morning, good morning, take a seat.” Uncle Kang gestured for him to sit beside you, causing you to shut your eyes in defeat.

Okay, act like an adult.

You tracked the sound of approaching steps until they stopped. Then, with a soft sigh or perhaps just the scrape of wood on the floor, he pulled out the stool and sat down in the space next to yours. From the corner of your eye, you saw him carrying a gig bag—probably a guitar—which he settled against the wall on the floor just as Uncle Kang began to speak again.

“Just a moment, I'll be right back.” He announced. “Y/n-ah, can you pour him a glass of water?” He requested, shifting his gaze on you. You quickly darted your eyes between him and Jeonghan—who was just now registering your presence—before giving a slight, tentative nod. With a smile, uncle Kang turned away into the dusty storeroom again, getting busy with the tools.

Finally, you looked over at Jeonghan, his expression softening as soon as your eyes met. You offered a soft, polite smile that he mirrored.

​"It's you," he murmured, a sound of calm surprise. You gave a short nod in reply. "We meet again," you answered, surprised by the low, steady quality of your own voice, which seemed to rise from a place of unexpected composure. You saw his expression soften, then a small, knowing smile bloomed on his lips.

His smile was to fucking die for.

“Do you live nearby? It's almost impossible we've run into each other twice in a week.” He asked with a soft chuckle. His eyes followed you as you stood up from your seat and walked to a small cabinet to pour a glass of water for him.

“My parents live in this town, so I drop by on holidays to visit them sometimes.” You replied, placing the jug on the cabinet. “I moved out years ago.” You added, then walked over and handed him the glass of water. He hummed in acknowledgement, taking a quick sip of the water.

“What about you?” You questioned. He glanced at you, then back at the glass of water. “I grew up here as a child, but my family moved out too soon. I think about when I was like… seven?” He smiled, his expression softening slightly as he recalled. “I never visited after that. I think this might be my first time in years.”

You slowly nodded, biting down on your bottom lip. The words were right there, hot and eager on your tongue: I grew up here, too. I grew up with you. But the timing was wrong, the risk too great. Could he handle that much information all at once? Would he even care? Maybe your hopes were a ridiculous height, and all you'd achieve was an immediate, uncomfortable silence. Right now, you were sitting with him—as a stranger—and that was enough. You wouldn't poison the atmosphere just to ease your own mind.

“It must feel weird to see everything in here change so much.” Your voice dropped to a softer tone. ​He grew utterly still, his shoulder softening without a trace of tension. The look in his eyes held a moment of vulnerability, a silent pause before speaking. It was then he carefully formed his response, the words slipping one by one, like gentle steps.

“It really does. I keep trying to find the corner where the old bookstore was, but I can't even trace it. It feels like everything got scrubbed clean.” Then a quick chuckle left his mouth before he added. “I mean, I can't expect everything to be the same after more than a decade.”

You nodded slowly, your mouth a tight, thin line. A wave of pity, almost regret, washed over you for him. You didn't know why he'd been absent all these years, but you suspected the crushing weight of his studies was a major part of it—the curse of the "gifted student", who was supposedly immune to the very real pain of pressure. You understood that void perfectly: the hollow ache of a life half-missed. You knew, with a painful certainty, that you couldn't rewind time, couldn't reclaim those lost years, no matter how desperately you wished to.

“But hey, did you have to use my trick a second time, though?” Jeonghan’s voice cut through your train of thoughts. You registered the question and chuckled, shaking your head. “Thankfully, not yet.”

The sound of his laugh filled the space, chasing away the silence. You spotted his gig bag and gestured toward it with a slight tilt of your head. "You're here to get this repaired?”

​His eyes followed yours, and he shook his head with a small smile. “Just an exchange. Uncle Kang is particular about this specific guitar, so I volunteered.”

​“Ah, I see,” you said, your attention snapping from the bag to him. “If you haven’t picked the new one yet, let me show you around.”

​He studied you for a moment, a flicker of genuine relief crossing his face. “Please. Yes. I’d love that. I doubt he'll be finished tuning up today.” His weary sigh earned a quick laugh from you. ​You stood, the stool screeching a little on the floor. “Exactly, let’s get this over with.”

He nodded, rising from his seat as you started toward a part of the shop he’d never seen before. He followed, familiar with the layout yet thrown by the presence of a new door. You stopped, turned the knob, and stepped aside. Jeonghan stopped short, taking in the sight with unconcealed awe. This wasn't a shop; it was a vault. Massive cabinets and polished displays were packed with guitars of every conceivable make and style. The air felt different here—heavy with the scent of aged wood and lacquer. Each instrument, from the simplest acoustic to the most vibrant electric, seemed to hold its own unique story.

Jeonghan's breath hitched, and he choked, “This is... crazy.” He finally stepped past the threshold, shoulders slumping as he tried to take in the sheer scale of it all. You followed, letting him drown in the awe. You remembered that feeling—the moment you couldn't stand up from your knees when you first saw Uncle Kang's magnificent, hidden vault.

“I know. It feels like stepping into a musical dream,” you agreed, your voice hushed as you walked straight to a cabinet. The smooth, heavy wooden door hissed open at your touch. You glanced over your shoulder at Jeonghan, who looked lost amid the treasure. “Are you looking for something specific?”

He shook his head slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “Not really, just with a pretty print is alright.” Hands tucked casually into his pockets, he walked over to where you stood. You nodded, immediately pulling out the ones you thought would catch his eye.

The two of you began your easy, rambling walk through the guitar section. It was full of easy laughter at the oddly broken guitars and hushed admiration for the beautiful ones. You were slightly stunned by how much Jeonghan knew. He wasn't kidding when he announced he'd be a “guitar genius” years ago—a time when he could barely manage to tie his own shoes.​

“What about this one?” Jeonghan asked, his hand hovering over an acoustic guitar lying on the far end of the cabinet. You immediately shot him a look of disapproval, scrunching your nose as you recalled your last experience with it.

​“Absolutely not. That might be the worst one here,” you declared with a definitive grimace, still vaguely icked by the memory of its dull, rattling sound. Jeonghan simply chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eye as he gave a slight nod. You turned your back on him, walking deeper into the room and launching into an explanation about the better models in the other display case.

​But then, you froze.

​A chill chased down your spine as the most exquisitely clear and resonant melody sliced through the air. The sound didn't just reach your ears—it enveloped you, stopping your breath mid-sentence.

​You spun around in a flash, completely astonished.

​Jeonghan stood there, the very guitar you had called the “worst one here” cradled in his arms. His fingers danced effortlessly over the fretboard, coaxing a sound so rich and magical it felt like a musical paradise had suddenly been unveiled. The melody filled the space, clean and captivating, leaving you utterly transfixed. You could only stare, your lips slightly parted in sheer awe.

​With a final, clean slide across the strings, the music ceased. He gently returned the guitar to the cabinet.

​“Wait a minute,” you managed to murmur, your voice barely a thread. You walked toward him, your eyes wide as if he’d just transformed into a superhuman. You reached into the cabinet, pulling the same acoustic guitar out again. “How did you—” You paused, genuinely floundering for words. “play it so… perfectly?”

​Your raw surprise made Jeonghan’s lips twitch; he had to bite down slightly to suppress a laugh. He inhaled, ready to speak, but you were already extending the guitar back to him.

​“Please play it again,” you pleaded, your expression a mix of urgency and desperation, a furrow deep between your eyebrows. “I need to hear it again.”

​Taken completely aback by your sudden, fierce passion, Jeonghan needed a few seconds to register the request. Then, a soft, amused smile finally broke free as he took the instrument back, dipping his head in a quick nod.

Jeonghan's smile deepened, a playful challenge in his eyes as he accepted the guitar. “I only know a few chords, though,” he teased, a blatant lie that made you roll your eyes.

That's how you two dropped everything and went back to the same spot to sit down.

You watched, mesmerized, as he settled the guitar against his chest, his gaze dropping to the fretboard with a sudden, serious focus.

He didn't launch into the complicated melody from before. Instead, his fingers started a pattern that was simpler, yet deeply moving: a slow, familiar, melancholic piece. It wasn't showy, but every note was perfectly placed, resonant, and clear—a testament not to the guitar's quality, but to the player’s skill.

The sound of the cheap wood vibrating against your chest was almost secondary to the pure feeling in the music. It was a song you had heard countless times, but played with a sincerity that made it sound entirely new. You found yourself swaying slightly, the initial shock giving way to a profound sense of calm. The way he manipulated the sound, softening a chord here, letting a note sustain there, was nothing short of artistry.

When he finished, the silence that followed felt enormous. He looked up, his expression innocent. “Better?”

You glanced up, locking eyes with him. You nodded, involuntarily and basically hating the fact that the music stopped. “I guess I'm just bad at this.” You chuckled, embarrassed as you recalled how you labelled the guitar ‘the worst one’, when, infact, it was perfectly fine.

The morning sunlight had long since surrendered to the warmer afternoon hours, but neither of you noticed the passing time. Uncle Kang, realizing you had everything completely figured out, had quietly slipped away with the lunch box ages ago.

“It's not like that. I've had my hated guitars before too.” He admitted, but you didn't budge. “Then, it was probably broken. I don't believe you'd embarrass yourself like me when you play so professionally.” You sighed, a small smile hovering on your lips.

He shifted, bringing the guitar back into his lap. “Want to try something simple? No labels, no judgment. Just... a chord?”

The afternoon sun, now a deep, buttery gold, stretched long shadows across the floor. You felt a quiet shift inside—the enormous silence had become a comfortable calm. You nodded, a genuine, unforced smile replacing the embarrassed one. “Yeah. I think I'd like that.” You reached out, slowly taking the neck of the guitar back into your hands, the light catching the polished wood. The lesson wasn't about the music; it was about the fear of failing, and that, at least, felt a little lighter now.

——

OCTOBER 9

The chair screeched against the floor, making Joshua hiss. Jeonghan rounded the table of his common room and plopped down on the couch beside Joshua, practically sticking to him like a magnet now.

“Can you literally leave me alone, you're a grown ass man, Jeonghan.”

“Well, I'm in need of some entertainment right now and you're not telling me about your long term girlfriend you soft launched yesterday.” He grinned teasingly, wiggling his eyebrows as Joshua glared at him.

“If it's so obvious, stop asking me,” Joshua sighed, scooting away on the couch to rest his elbow on the arm rest. Jeonghan clicked his tongue in disappointment, sinking into the couch with a bored expression on his face.

“Man, I'm just bored.” He grumbled, folding his arms as he stared up at the ceiling. “So basically in the whole friend group, I'm the only one who lacks a life partner now. Wow.” Jeonghan scoffed sadly, looking around the house as if he'd spot cupid somewhere in the corner.

“Well, not really,” Joshua's voice cut through the still silence as he scrolled through his phone. Jeonghan jolted awake, confused but eager.

“What do you mean?” He asked, adjusting his position to sit straight. Joshua tapped a few buttons on his phone screen before a small smirk bloomed on his lips.

“I mean this.” He said, flashing his phone screen toward Jeonghan. He immediately leaned close, eyes glued to the screen. Then his expression fell as soon as he understood—a whole new page on a dating app with his information and pictures.

Jeonghan snatched the phone from his hand, shouting complaints at the top of his lungs as Joshua fell to the floor laughing and wheezing.

“Are you sick!? I have a reputation to maintain, what the f—” He paused, stumbling on his own steps as he halted. “Wait, but I'm lowkey famous though,” he boasted, scrolling through all the list of people who wanted to match with him, a ton of them being his colleagues.

“See? That's why I—”

“Hong Y/N…” The name caught Joshua off guard, making him pause. Jeonghan stared at the phone screen, the words that left his mouth and the photo causing him to pause. Joshua stumbled away from the couch, immediately walking up to Jeonghan and grabbing the phone.

His jaw dropped. The name, the bio, the photo—it was you. His very own sister.

He stared into the screen, concerned and confused, but also feeling a bit cringe. The thought of his sister sending a match request to someone who had been like a brother to her in the past sounded too awkward to begin with. It sounded unbelievable too, because the request was from just yesterday, and Joshua is damn sure you don't remember Jeonghan even in your most nostalgic dreams.

“Wait,” Jeonghan murmured, peeking over Joshua's shoulder. “I know her—”

“You what!?” Joshua turned around at the speed of light, eyes widened. Ofcourse, he should know her as a childhood friend, not something more, nor something less. Jeonghan stumbled backwards, startled as he nodded slowly. Joshua shoved the phone closer towards his face, making him lean away, concerned.

“You mean this woman?” He repeated his question, but got the same answer. A quiet, simple nod. Joshua sighed in defeat, completely and utterly beyond confusion.

“How and where on earth…” he mumbled, putting his phone in his pocket as he made his way towards the couch again. Jeonghan leaned forward as soon as Joshua moved away, sighing in relief.

“What's so wrong with her anyway?” He asked, sitting at the edge of the dining table as he fixed table cloth. Joshua paused, coming to a realisation.

Jeonghan had probably seen you around. He definitely doesn't recognise you. Definitely.

“Literally everything,” Joshua sighed, having no intentions of telling him as he rested his head on the palm of his hand as he scrolled through his phone, stressed.

“Why? Do you know her? Who is she?” Jeonghan looked up from the table, raising an eyebrow as he tapped his foot on the wooden floor.

“No, and you don't have to either." Joshua dismissed with a clear tone of strictness in his voice. Jeonghan clicked his tongue, disappointed.

“Well, I think I like her. Send me her account.” Jeonghan said as he took out his phone from his pockets, ready to send a text as soon as possible.

“Yah!” Joshua huffed, eyes wide and eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. Jeonghan reciprocated his expression.

“What!” He exclaimed. “Stop acting like that!”

“I told you you don't have to know her!” Joshua repeated.

“Why! Is she someone so special to you?” Jeonghan questioned.

“Yes, right, she is. So what?”

Jeonghan opened his mouth to say something but stopped, and sighed, turning away. “So I was correct. I am dying single and alone.” He pouted, scrolling on his phone, uninterested.

“There are literally hundreds of patients who come to the clinic just to see your stupid face everyday by the way.” Joshua reminded him of the fact that people were dying over him, yet he always told himself that he didn't have anyone.

“They just…” Jeonghan paused, scrunching his nose. “They're nice, just not what I think I need.”

“Then leave it up to me, I'll find you one like literally next week.”

“Only if she's better than Y/n, tho—”

“Don't get on my nerves!” Joshua threw the couch pillow, hitting Jeonghan's head as he yelped in pain.

——

OCTOBER 10

Jeonghan felt like he was staring at a mirror reflecting his own stupidity. An idiot. A brain-wrecking fool. How could he have been so blind? He blankly stared at the photograph resting on the dark wooden table, the image itself a silent, sudden heartbreak—like the needle skipping on a record just as the music soared.

The photograph was old, a little faded, but safely preserved in a plastic sleeve. Yet, it felt less like a precious memory and more like a heavy revelation dumped on him all at once.

“Mom…” he finally managed, his voice a low drag. “Are you absolutely sure this is Joshua’s sister? It could be a friend… a cousin.”

​His mother didn't even look up from slicing strawberries. She gave a confident shake of her head, the action final and uncompromising. “I’m not mistaken, dear. Not at all. I even remember the exact park, the exact day your father took this.”

​A bizarre cocktail of emotions—surprise, a dizzying happiness, a sense of rightness—churned in his stomach. A precious, lost piece of his childhood had been right here, close enough to touch. He’d unknowingly found a profound connection with someone who now filled his thoughts.

​But the joy curdled into a sharp, bitter regret. The easy, genuine smile you brought to his face—the one that was rarely offered to a stranger1—was shattered by the ghost of a childhood promise.

​Brother. He’d sworn to be your strongest brother.

​How, in the face of that memory, could he ever look at you now as a woman? How could he see you as anything other than the little sister he'd promised to protect?

But a more bitter, chilling thought silenced him: Did you know? Were you aware from the very start? You couldn't have been as blind as he was. So, why didn't you tell him?

——

OCTOBER 11

The sharp, metallic slam of the mailbox echoed through the quiet afternoon, cutting through the soft hum of the dishwasher your mother was running. You were curled up on the common room sofa, a half-written chapter open on your laptop, pretending to work while really just scrolling through every possible old photo of Jeonghan you could find. Your mind was a messy battlefield: disbelief that you had been so willfully blind, and a terrifying elation that the man who had effortlessly charmed you was, in fact, your childhood confidant.

“Y/n-ah! Did you order something?” your mother called out, her voice slightly muffled.

You closed the laptop lid with a weary sigh. “No, Mom! I don’t think so.”

A minute later, she walked into the living room, her arms full. Full of things. There was a massive white bakery box tied with a silky silver ribbon, a small bouquet of delicate white orchids, and nestled amongst them, a thick, cream-coloured envelope.

She set the gifts on the coffee table with a surprised, pleased smile. “The delivery man just dropped these off. It was a rather big parcel. And guess who sent this?” She asked, more than excited to reveal the name.

“...who?” You asked, still processing the mountain of gifts. “Yoon Jeonghan.” She chirped, picking up the elegant, cream envelope. “I think he is back in town, but oh I wish he visited himself. That boy remembered us after decades.” She smiled before handing the envelope to you.

“And he specifically marked this one as ‘Read First.’ for you.” She looked at you with an almost too-knowing glint in her eyes.

You stared at the pile, your heart beginning to beat a frantic, uneven rhythm. Orchids. He still remembered. It felt too grand, too fast for a person who, as far as he knew, was still a complete stranger who haggled over pastry prices and guitar chords.

But then your mother pushed the cream envelope toward you.

“Go on,” she urged, heading back to the kitchen. “I’m putting the box in the fridge. That beautiful cake needs to be saved for later.”

Your hands were shaking slightly as you picked up the envelope. It was heavy, sealed with a sophisticated wax stamp you couldn't quite decipher. You carefully broke the seal, unfolded the single sheet inside, and instantly recognized the elegant, slightly tilted handwriting.

You read it once, quickly, the words a blur of shock and excitement.

You read it again, slowly, letting the weight of each line settle in your chest.

Now, before I begin, I asked Joshua.

Yes, you knew everything. No wonder I connected with you so well, orchid. I know it sounds sudden but let’s meet tomorrow, there’s too much to catch on. Hopefully I’m not getting stood up –

hannie

Your breath hitched, painfully trapped in your throat. He knew. The realization hit with the force of a sudden stop. How? It didn't matter. Your internal world exploded: joy and terror indistinguishable in the chaos. Were you free now, or just exposed?

The air left your lungs with a soft puff. Orchid. The silly, childish nickname he'd given you because you were holding two orchids in your hands on the first day you met. And Hannie. Your own silly nickname for him. Twenty-three years had vanished in a single, perfectly written word.

You lifted your head, a dizzy smile blooming on your face. He knew. And he was asking to meet. The suddenness of it was jarring, but the sincerity, the sheer relief in his words, was palpable. He hadn't wanted to be a stranger either.

You checked the small note tucked into the end of the letter. “Tomorrow. 10 AM. The old clock tower near the riverside park.”

10 AM. You smiled. You wouldn’t be late for this.

——

OCTOBER 12

The cold rain wasn't a sprinkle; it was a rhythmic, drumming downpour. You were huddled deep under the narrow, cracked awning of the old closed bus stop nearest the clock tower, pulling the sleeves of your cardigan over your hands. It was 10:05 AM, and the riverside park was deserted, save for the relentless drumming of water.

You'd arrived too early, a flutter of excitement making punctuality impossible. Part of you was eager to witness the end of that polite, awkward distance—the shift from stranger to friend—and the other part simply dreaded being late for a moment you'd awaited so long.

A few minutes later, you heard a hurried splish-splash and looked up. Formal was the last word to describe Jeonghan's entrance.

He came jogging into view with a huge, bright yellow plastic bag pulled over his head like a makeshift, ridiculous poncho. It was a perfect absurdity that made you instinctively laugh under your breath, your nervousness dissolving for a split second. He skidded to a stop, quickly shoving the bag off and running a hand through his perpetually damp, black hair, sending droplets flying.

“I'm sorry I kept you waiting,” Jeonghan huffed between breaths, his voice warm despite the cold. He was already wet, but the smile on his face was sweet and genuine. “And this isn't a very ideal way to show up.”

“I think you're perfectly fine, hannie,” you assure with a smile, the nickname slipping through like an old, familiar habit that happens before you realise it. His lips twitched at the name, the nervousness that was tightening in his chest earlier soothing now.

“And I think you're lying, orchid,” he replies, a velvet layer of playfulness in his voice that makes your heart flutter. You smile, a genuine and soft one.

You lean in just a little, your gaze warm and steady as you hold out a handkerchief. “I mean it. A little rain can't possibly change that this warmer tone of brown suits you alot.” You pause, offering a gentle, almost shy smile. "Now please, dry off a bit before you freeze.”

His gaze lingers on you for a second longer, then he gently takes the handkerchief. “You think so? I think green suits me more, doesn't it?” He asked, keeping his eyes on you as he began wiping his face and hand.

You watch a kid passing by on his bicycle under the rain before nodding toward the street, a soft laugh escaping you. “You're not wrong,” you confirm, your voice soft and honest. “But I'm worried that sweet smile of yours is about to turn into a shiver. We can debate colors once you're standing next to that restaurant heater. Come on, let's get going.”

——

The cozy ambience of the traditional restaurant soothed your cold senses as your fingertips absorbed the warmth from the cup of hot coffee. You look outside the small, wooden window, the rain tapping mutely against the glass. The weather was completely contrasting with your heart. The rain brought immense cold, winter air swooshing through and through the town, but you felt warm inside.

You don't know if it's the coffee, or the fact that you were sharing a day with someone you'd known 23 years ago.

A soft, weary sigh left you. Your eyes traveled back to the door that led to the restroom, waiting for Jeonghan to step outside any moment.

To be honest with yourself felt like a punishment. You were nervous. You didn't know what to say to him. You don't even know if he enjoys grapefruit now as much as he did back then. Why is fate even bringing you together again?

“Did I take too long? I'm sorry,” Jeonghan's voice pulled you out of your thoughts as he sat down across the table, his hair looking a little less damp. You shake your head, wearing a small smile.

“No, not at all.” You reassured, adjusting your position on the cushion.

“This feels nice, although I don't remember the last time I visited this restaurant.” Jeonghan says, grabbing the coffee mug that you ordered for him. It was lukewarm, heat spreading through his hand as he wrapped his fingers around the cup, seeking warmth. 

“Me too, actually,” you responded, turning to face him better. “I don't remember stepping in here after you went away. This was like a resting place in the evening after we played all day. I guess my 5 year old mind just couldn't wrap around the fact that she'd have to spend time without her friend.”

A soft smile ghosted your lips as you recalled, your finger tracing shapes absent-mindedly on the wooden table. Jeonghan's eyes softened, his heart tugging at the memory. He felt guilty, regretful and empty whenever he thought of his childhood days. His memories became a blur whenever he tried to think of the days after he moved away. It's faded, dusty and forgotten.

“Well…” Jeonghan's voice was a soft, low murmur, and you would barely catch it under the sound of the heavy rain outside if you weren't so absorbed in the moment. “It was unfair, we shouldn't have been forced to separate as kids.”

You managed a small, subtle nod, your lips flattening in a tight lipped smile. “Hey, I don't think I'm prepared enough to talk about the past yet. I might bawl my eyes out.”

A soft, breathy laugh followed your words, and you honestly wouldn't be able to take it all without a drop of year rolling down your cheek. Jeonghan's eyes drifted to the weather outside, then dropped to the mug he placed on the table with a quiet thud.

“Then we won't,” he said, his voice softer than ever, a smile gracing his lips. “I’m not really able to sort my mind out yet, but I felt like I had to meet you. I was… anxious that if I wasted any more time, I'd lose this chance.”

Jeonghan wasn't looking at you, but you couldn't look away from him. He had a relaxed, thoughtful, almost pensive expression on his face, his finger tracing the mouth of the cup. For the first time since you'd met him, you truly studied his face, taking in every subtle detail that had changed. And now that you realise, he hasn't changed so drastically for you to not recognise him at first glance.

“I'm sorry,” the words slipped out before you could think straight, your emotions taking over your tongue. Jeonghan raised his gaze, his eyes, which held a hint of confusion, lingering on you.

“Why?” He tilted his head, his eyebrows lifted slightly.

You bit your lower lip, briefly meeting his eyes. “For not telling you,” your voice wavered lightly, your eyes lingering on his hands for a moment before you squirmed on your seat, locking eyes with him. “Even though I knew everything.”

Jeonghan's lips curved into a smile, and a flicker of amusement crossed his face. “You almost made me feel better about myself,” he chuckled, observing your face for a split second. “But no, it's not you who should be apologising. I literally met you, talked to you, even shared a guitar, and still had the stupidity to ask you how you knew my name.”

A quick chuckle escaped you, forcing you to cover your grin and bite back a full laugh. Propped up on his elbow, Jeonghan watched, his cheek resting against the back of his hand, his eyes glittering with focused amusement.

“To be honest, I found out about that through a photobook that Joshua had in his bedroom from ages ago.” You admitted as you sheepishly glanced at Jeonghan. He leaned forward with interest, keeping his arms folded on the table.

“Joshua has a photobook? From our childhood?” He asked, receiving a nod from you as a response. Jeonghan sat back slowly, a deeply suspicious look spreading across his face. “Wait. Does it have a photo of me falling down from the stairs and landing my head straight on the huge wall ahead, then dad had to drive me to ER?” 

You wheezed, nodding at the memory that always stayed as clear as day in your mind. Jeonghan laughed along, but his eyes were following your every movement. He noted every detail he could: the curve of your lips looked so familiar even after years, your eyes still crinkled whenever you laughed, and your hand still instinctively went to tuck your hair behind your ear, the same nervous habit he remembered.

Your laughter died down to a soft, happy sigh. Jeonghan was still observing you, his initial amusement giving way to a more sincere, gentle smile. He waited patiently for you to catch your breath, the sound of the rain and the soft restaurant murmur filling the brief silence.

“Well,” you finally said, wiping a stray tear of laughter from your eye, “it has a picture of you right after the incident. Your head's wrapped in a giant white bandage, and you’re giving the camera a grumpy look while holding a melting popsicle. Joshua wrote ‘The Great wall of Korea (Jeonghan's version)’ underneath it.”

Jeonghan let out a loud, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “Oh my God. That idiot kept that? I never healed from that embarrassment.” He paused, leaning back in his seat and running a hand through his slightly damp hair. “But seeing you laugh like this… it brings back a lot. Maybe it's not too late yet.”

“It was never too late. I mean, atleast not until we die.” You chuckle softly, looking at him with a glint of newfound hope in your eyes.

——

The air was sharp and cool against your cheeks. You and Jeonghan had left the warm anonymity of the café, stepping onto a quieter, tree-lined street where the residual cold drizzle kept the atmosphere misty and clean. He held the umbrella high over both of you, moving with a calm, easy rhythm that finally made the overwhelming tension from earlier feel manageable.

“You know,” you said, enjoying the comforting sound of the light rain hitting the nylon above your heads. “Your schedule seems surprisingly flexible for a man who claimed his life was just 'work.' Are you secretly retired? Does aunt know?”

Jeonghan chuckled, the sound warm and close. “Let's just say my team can handle things for a few more hours. I'd rather be here, judging your choice of umbrella color.” He nudged his shoulder lightly against yours, a casual, friendly gesture that was anything but casual.

“Well I think black and yellow is a cute combination.” You were about to continue, when a sudden splash of color caught your eye. Tucked into the wrought-iron fence of an old house was a dense burst of late-blooming, dark purple flowers.

"Woah, what are these flowers?" you murmured, stopping abruptly to admire the vibrant hue against the muted backdrop of the rain-damp street.

Jeonghan stopped with you, pulling the umbrella back slightly to give you a clear view. He looked at the flowers, then back at you, a soft, unguarded look in his eyes. He lowered his voice, just for you.

“They're called 'Love-in-a-Mist',” he explained, his tone gentle and patient. “I think they’re beautiful because they shouldn’t survive this late in the year, but they do anyway.”

He shifted the umbrella, ensuring you were perfectly shielded. For a long moment, he simply looked at you, the easy banter gone, replaced by profound sincerity.

“Look,” he said softly, his voice barely rising above the sound of the mist. “I know I might've asked to meet too soon. I'm sorry. I haven’t figured out... the right way to be around you yet. But I'm having a really good time, Y/n.”

His lips bloomed a small, honest smile. You couldn't help but reciprocate, you hummed softly and nodded in understanding. But before you could say a word, his phone blared with an urgent, piercing alert tone. It was a sound that signaled immediate, non-negotiable crisis.

The change in him was instantaneous and shocking. The warm, playful man vanished. His eyes went cold, clinical, and intensely focused. He answered the phone with a low, firm, authoritative voice.

“This is Jeonghan. What's the status? I need a clear assessment of the damage. Is the site secure? I'm ten minutes out. Tell the team I need everyone prepped immediately.”

He snapped the phone shut, the decision final. He was already moving.

“Y/N, I have to go. Now. This is... a situation that requires me there immediately. I’m sorry and I'll call you, okay?”

He thrust the umbrella into your hand, the weight of the object a startling substitute for his sudden absence. He turned on his heel without waiting for your response, and sprinted away down the street.

You stood alone on the damp sidewalk, the umbrella heavy in your hand feeling suddenly foreign and huge in your hand. The air, which had felt warm moments ago, was now just a cold, biting mist.

You watched the space where Jeonghan had just been, your mind refusing to process the speed of his departure. One second, he was looking at you with that gentle, sincere expression, making a sweet, playful promise. The next, he was a cold, efficient stranger barking commands into a phone, sprinting away as if you were entirely irrelevant.

You blinked once, hard. The silence was deafening now, broken only by the persistent tap-tap-tap of the drizzle hitting the umbrella above your head.

Your heart, which had just been thrumming with anticipation, felt like a small, startled bird trapped in your chest. You walked a few steps, dragging your feet, the sound loud on the wet pavement.

You looked down at the umbrella he had thrust into your hand, its handle still slightly warm. It was his last physical trace, the only evidence that the moment of connection hadn't been a dream.

You kicked a small, loose pebble across the sidewalk, feeling the sudden, ridiculous surge of sulky frustration.

"Unbelievable," you mumbled to the empty street, your voice muffled and small. You tightened your grip on the umbrella. "A situation at the site? Is that really more important than finally meeting your best friend after two decades?"

The absurdity of the comparison made a tiny, bitter laugh escape you. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that you were finally making progress breaking through the initial awkward barrier, only to have his entire secret, high-stakes life intervene. He had chosen the crisis over the connection, leaving you holding his umbrella and his unspoken promise to walk you home.

——

The day went by with absolutely no text or call from Jeonghan, leaving you feeling forgotten. You held your phone as your finger hovered above the keyboard many times, only to drown in your thoughts again and refuse to be the one to reach out first.

It wasn't stubbornness, it was self respect. He was the one that abruptly left and you stood under that umbrella all alone. He had some explanation to do, and you weren't going to ask him for it.

But he called a day later, repeating apologies like it was a prayer, a routine. You couldn't really say ‘it's fine’ sincerely until you understood his situation, but you did say it, atleast for the name's sake.

——

OCTOBER 15

The air outside was cold, damp, and perfectly still—the kind of light weather after rain that felt comfortable even when large puddles covered the streets. You were ready, dressed in your heaviest coat, feeling a tight, wary tension coiled in your chest. You needed answers, but you didn't want to show how much his abrupt departure had affected you.

You peered through the window before opening the door.

Jeonghan was standing just outside your garden gate. He was leaning against the stone pillar, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his heavy wool coat. He looked tired and slightly rumpled as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep because he was worried. He was completely still, patiently waiting, exposed to the cold air.

His car was idling silently at the curb nearby.

When you pulled the front door open, the sound drew his attention instantly. He straightened up, pushing off the pillar, his eyes meeting yours with a look of pure, focused sincerity.

You walked down the path, the crunch of your shoes on the damp asphalt loud in the quiet street.​You walked down the path, the crunch of your shoes on the damp asphalt loud in the quiet street. You simply reached the gate and waited for him to speak.

​“Good evening,” you greeted softly, a subtle smile on your lips. You noticed the way Jeonghan's worried expression softened, a huge weight—one he didn't even realize he was carrying—lifted off his shoulders.

​He opened his mouth to speak, his voice just above a whisper. “I almost thought you wouldn't want to see me again.”

​Jeonghan's face wasn't marked by panic, but by a deep, weary guilt. His eyes, though relieved you were here, still held a gentle seriousness. He had resolved many high-stress situations with unmatched calmness, but this felt different. He looked like he genuinely needed this conversation as much as you did.

​”I need to apologize properly, Y/n,” he continued, his tone low and soft, conveying a deep respect. “I know I left you confused.”

​You watched him carefully, realizing how much the awkwardness was genuinely affecting him. You knew this conversation needed to be serious, but you needed a break in the tension.

​“Well, I'm not very convinced yet,” you replied, leaning slightly against the gate. You managed a lighthearted, playful tone. “You might have some bribing to do.”

​A flicker of genuine relief and warmth crossed his features, melting some of the fatigue around his eyes.

​”I will,” he said immediately, his voice earnest. “I want to, and I need to. I promise I won't make the apology feel half.”

​You smiled at him then—a warm, true smile that reached your eyes, signaling that while the issue wasn't resolved, you were willing to listen.

​In that brief moment, Jeonghan's composure slipped. His heart gave a heavy, rapid jump in his chest, a purely physical reaction to the sight of your unguarded warmth. He instantly told himself he was being stupid; he shouldn't be getting distracted from the actual, serious reason he was here. He tried to convince himself it was just the residual nervousness from the emergency call, causing his heart to beat a little faster than usual.

​He tried to smile back fully, managing only a quick, controlled curve of his lips before he gestured and guided you toward the idling car.

​“Let's go,” he murmured. “I have the perfect spot for you to feel a bit better.”

——

You stepped outside the car, the crispy autumn leaves crushing beneath your shoes as the cool breeze hit almost immediately, making you hug your torso tightly. You walked a few steps ahead, admiring the view as Jeonghan closed the car door behind you.

The lookout point was not a formal park, but a wide, flattened shoulder of the hill, edged by a low, weathered stone wall. Along this wall, facing the illuminated city, were several sturdy, built-in wooden benches, permanently installed for visitors. They were worn smooth by the seasons.

Beyond the wall, the world dropped away.

​The rain was long gone, and the sky above was a breathtaking canvas of deep, cold navy, pricked everywhere by fiercely bright stars. Directly in front of you, the vast, sprawling city was laid out like a geographical map made of light—a mesmerizing, chaotic blanket of white, gold, and amber.

​The distance was immense. The usual sounds of horns and traffic were completely absent, replaced only by a low, continuous hum—the abstract, collective sound of thousands of lives being lived far below.

“I drove up here because I knew we couldn't do this conversation next to a cash register.” Jeonghan's voice, low and gentle, blended seamlessly, making the silence feel even softer. He stood behind you, maybe a few steps away, but you felt him come close just a bit, enough for you to feel the warmth radiating from his body.

“I think you like it,” he remarked, a soft smile ghosting his lips. “Maybe a bit too much.”

You tilted your head, a relaxed smile already on your face. “I like it here. It feels like I'm looking at Beon-dong from the sky.” You say, turning your head and glancing at him for a brief second. He hummed in response before a comfortable silence fell, the chirping of crickets and the faint sound of wind making the atmosphere peaceful.

“I'm sorry,” then, it finally happened. Jeonghan's gentle voice reached your ears, and your eyes drifted off to a tree that stood a few feet away. He didn't wait for a response, nor an action, and continued with the same tone.

“It was disrespectful to just leave you there all alone, especially in that weather,” he said, his gaze flickering to you before it faced ahead at the town lights. “I might've looked or sounded crazy after that phone call, but I need you to know it was just… important. Too important. Someone's life was at stake, and I had to be there.”

You spun around, a subtle shock instantly painting your face, your lips parting in silent confusion. "Had to be there...?"

​Jeonghan nodded, his gaze meeting yours for a heavy moment before dropping to the floor. A low, weary sigh escaped him, an answer in itself. “It's my job. I always have a life on my hands, depending on me completely to save it. It's scary, sometimes, but it feels like I'm built for this now.”

Your eyes never left him as he spoke, taking in the way his calm, soft expression didn't match his heavy words. His eyes were quiet, settled on the town beneath the hill. He kept his hands deep in his pockets, and the only break in the stillness was his smart watch that would light up on its own, flashing a quick glance at his long schedule.

“You…” you murmured, your eyes lingering on his face as if you were trying to see through him. “You're a doctor?”

Jeonghan's eyes turned to you, a glint of surprise in them. “You got it.” He chuckled, his lips blooming with a charming smile.

——

“So 7 year old Jeonghan, who taught me how to cheat better without getting caught, was actually serious when he did experiments with thermocol hearts?”

Jeonghan's bright, chiming laugh filled the air, his eyes reflecting the dazzling, scattered jewels of the town lights far below. You glanced at him, a warm grin stretching across your face. He took a shaky breath to quell the laughter, then turned to you, his smile reaching his eyes—a soft, genuine curve.

​“I guess so,” he managed, chuckling quietly. “He really took it seriously.” His gaze drifted back to the view. You took a moment, letting the cool evening breeze wrap around you, smelling the faint scent of pine before you spoke again. “And I’m really proud of you.”

Jeonghan's cool composure visibly cracked. His expression softened, a subtle smile touching his lips, and his eyes glinted with a raw, unmistakable gratefulness. He was genuinely taken aback. Slowly, his gaze turned to meet yours.

​Your smile didn't waver; it grew warmer, an open, honest expression that met his gaze and confirmed your sincerity.

​“Although that doll of mine never healed from your experimental ‘surgeries',” you said gently, “she’d be happy to know she wasn't sacrificed for nothing.”

​Jeonghan blinked, his chest constricting. The sudden silence seemed to amplify his heartbeat, a loud, heavy thump-thump in his ears, and he prayed you couldn't hear it. His face held nothing but pure gratitude—the exact reassurance he hadn't realized he’d been craving. He had heard the words from his parents, but hearing them from you, now, was different. A tremor of emotion ran through him, and he had to look away as his lips twitched, threatening to bloom into a wide, unguarded grin.

​He took a breath, letting a fraction of his usual coolness return. “Thanks,” he replied, his voice surprisingly steady. Then, the corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk. “You’ll get a complimentary discount on your first heart surgery.”

​The dark joke landed perfectly, making you laugh—a bright, genuine sound—as he finally allowed himself a small, fond chuckle.

——

OCTOBER 18

The university library was quiet, warm, and smelled pleasantly of old paper and dust. You were hunched over a spread of notebooks at a large mahogany table in the reference section, your forehead resting against the cool wood in a gesture of absolute defeat.

“I just don't know why she wouldn't trust him!” you groaned, lifting your head. “It makes no sense for her character arc.”

Mingyu, your colleague, leaned in close, his posture easy and familiar, his large frame crowding your space slightly. He rested his elbow on the table, tilting his head. “She wouldn't trust him because she's always been betrayed,” he whispered back, gently tapping a note on your page. “You need to plant a seed of doubt, Y/n. Something small, something unavoidable.”

You laughed, a quick, genuine burst of air. “You're right, you're always right!” you said, patting his arm.

A few minutes later, the door to the reference section hissed open, and someone walked in. But you two were too engrossed in fixing the plotholes to see people come and go.

It was Jeonghan—wearing a simple, dark turtleneck and his thin, silver-rimmed glasses, presenting a look of focused purpose.

His gaze was immediately trained high, locked onto the section of the shelves that held the obscure medical journal he needed. He walked directly to the required shelf, his attention entirely devoted to finding the rare volume.

He pulled out the heavy journal with quiet satisfaction. It was only after the book was safely in his hands that he allowed his concentration to break. He leaned back slightly against the shelf, and his gaze drifted down and across the room.

That's when he saw the table.

And that's when he saw you.

A soft, genuine smile began to form on his face—he was completely unprepared to see you here, in the serious, quiet corner of the city. He started to take a step toward the table, eager to greet you, but he stopped short.

He registered the man sitting beside you—Mingyu. The younger colleague leaned in close, his posture easy and familiar, his shoulder lightly pressed against yours as he pointed to your notes. You both looked utterly engrossed in a private consultation.

Jeonghan frowned. Recognizing Mingyu, he instantly decided not to disturb, assuming that it had to do something with your work. He turned his attention back to his books.

As he shifted the heavy journal, he noticed a brightly colored paperback wedged sideways next to his serious tome. He pulled it out of idle curiosity. The title screamed in bold font: “10 Ways Guys Act When They Like Someone.”

Jeonghan frowned, flipping it open. His eyes landed on the line at the top: “He Gets Too Physical.”

He immediately glanced back at your table. Mingyu was now resting his chin on his hand, tilting his head dramatically, his large frame occupying your space as he spoke earnestly about plot twists.

They are colleagues. That's professionalism. But why is his arm practically around her? He quickly flipped to the next page, trying to rationalize the strange, tight feeling in his chest.

The next point read: “He Finds Excuses to Delay Leaving.”

Just then, Mingyu sighed dramatically. “Okay, I'm starving. I need coffee. You are not to move until I get back. This is the crucial part.” He then paused, looking down at his notes for an exaggerated amount of time before slipping away.

​He just found an excuse to come back and delay this. This book is absurdly accurate.

Jeonghan felt a knot tighten in his chest. He snapped the paperback shut, looking genuinely irritated with the book's author, and shoved it back onto the shelf.

He took one last, lingering look at your table before turning to leave.

But you looked up just as he was turning away. Your eyes widened with immediate surprise, then lit up with a brilliant, genuine smile.

“Jeonghan-ah?” you called out softly. “What are you doing here?”

Jeonghan froze mid-step. The shock of being seen, combined with the warmth of your spontaneous smile, instantly melted his… whatever he was feeling a second ago. A true, full smile broke across his face.

“Y/n,” he replied, walking slowly toward the table, adjusting his sleeves. “Just borrowing a ridiculously outdated journal. I figured you and Mingyu were having a serious conversation so I just decided to slip away.” He pulled out the empty chair Mingyu had just vacated and sat down seamlessly next to you.

Mingyu, halfway to the door, spun around at the sound of Jeonghan's name, his face lighting up with genuine excitement. “JEONGHAN HYUNG!” He rushed back. “What are you doing in this corner of the library? I thought you lived on the other side of the town!”

Jeonghan smiled fondly at his younger colleague. “Hey, gyu. Still shouting in quiet zones, I see.”

“You know each other?” Mingyu asked, looking between the two of you, bewildered.

“Yes,” you confirmed, amused by the sudden, intense shift in focus.

“How? Why didn't you say anything?” Mingyu persisted, a small pout on his face.

“None of your business, little one.” Jeonghan answered smoothly, but without malice—it was the familiar, exasperated bickering tone they shared. He pulled the chair closer to your side.

“Hey! I'm literally the same age as Y/n!” Mingyu argued, but sat down across the table with a defeated sigh.

Mingyu immediately started trying to engage Jeonghan in a rapid-fire discussion about his recent work, but Jeonghan simply leaned toward you, his attention laser-focused on the problem you had introduced.

“So, about this betrayal plot hole,” Jeonghan began, immediately looking at your notes. “You’re missing the logical motivation. I had a thought while I was looking for a book.”

You laughed softly, easily pulled back into the problem. “See? I knew you'd have an opinion.”

Mingyu watched the two of you fall into a deep, intense discussion about character motivations and structural integrity. Within five minutes, he was slouched over the table, his enthusiastic excitement replaced by genuine boredom. Soon, Mingyu's head rested on his crossed arms, and he was completely asleep, his soft breathing a quiet counterpoint to your suddenly intense conversation.

Jeonghan glanced at his sleeping friend, a small, endearing smile briefly touching his lips before he turned back to you, his eyes shining with focus and a comfortable, undeniable connection.

“Why doesn't she trust him?” he murmured, lowering his voice now. “Let's figure this out.”

You nodded, finally feeling relieved with someone by your side who was as thoughtful as Mingyu.

——

OCTOBER 25

The small, independent bookstore café you favored was closed, but the owner—a friend who admired your work—had let you use one of the cozy, partitioned booths in the back. The air was quiet and still, smelling faintly of roasted beans and damp paperbacks. A single low lamp on your table casted a focused, golden pool of light over a scatter of notebooks and research papers.

Jeonghan had arrived shortly after you, wearing a comfortable hoodie, and the sight of him dedicating his intense focus entirely to your chaotic creative process made your chest tighten with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Okay,” you said, gesturing to the papers. “I'm stuck. It's the moment the protagonist needs to choose her motivation, but the logic is flimsy.”

Jeonghan leaned forward, his whole being narrowing onto your words. You watched the way the lamplight highlighted the clean, strong line of his jaw and the singular, focused intensity in his eyes. This was the quality you found so intoxicating: his ability to shut out the world and apply his sharp, systematic logic to your creative, chaotic universe.

“The logic is never flimsy, Y/n. It's just buried under the emotional wreckage,” he murmured. He pointed to a specific note you’d written. “You said she values safety above everything, right? So, ask yourself, if safety is the highest value, what is the least logical thing she could do that still serves that fear?”

As he spoke, he traced a line across your notes. His index finger, surprisingly elegant and steady, drifted onto the edge of your hand. He didn't pull away immediately. The brief, electric contact—skin to skin—felt like a small, unexpected surge of static in the quiet room. Your breath hitched slightly. He continued speaking, completely unaware of the physical contact, yet the quiet intimacy of the shared concentration felt like a secret confession only you received.

You realized with startling clarity that this feeling was no longer just the comfort of a childhood friend. It was the specific, overwhelming pull of attraction. He was focused on solving your problem, and that total, selfless attention was the most intimate thing he could offer.

You quickly pulled your focus back to the problem. “The least logical thing that serves the fear…” you repeated, your voice trailing off as the ideas began to flow. “Wait. What if her motivation isn’t fear of loss, but fear of hope?”

“Hope is a risk,” Jeonghan agreed instantly, his eyes shining with understanding. “If she chooses hope, she has to trust. And if she trusts, she can be betrayed again.”

For the next half hour, the two of you worked in perfect harmony, a seamless braid of logic and creativity. He was brilliant, precise, and completely absorbed in your world, offering the full capacity of his focus. Every time he validated an idea or dissected a premise, your respect and something you couldn't or didn't want to pinpoint—deepened.

When the final plot point snapped into place with satisfying certainty, you both leaned back, simultaneously sighing in relief.

“You are incredible,” you breathed, gathering the papers, meeting his eyes. “I would have been stuck on that for weeks.”

Jeonghan met your gaze, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “We are incredible,” he corrected softly, his eyes reflecting the deep, private pleasure of shared success.

Your heart skipped, acknowledging the ‘we.’ You knew, sitting there under the café light, that your heart was reacting in a different way. And now, only a cardiologist could fix that.

——

OCTOBER 30

Jeonghan texted you the next afternoon: No emergencies. Clean sweep. 7 PM. I want to see if you can keep up with me when the stakes are low.

You met him not at the university, but at a large, brightly lit independent bookstore downtown. It was deliberate, public, and not work-related, which felt like a victory.

Jeonghan was leaning against a shelf near the entrance, looking relaxed in a dark sweater. He spotted you, and the easy smile he wore suggested he was already planning his victory.

“You shouldn't keep me waiting for so long, orchid.” Jeonghan teased, an easy smile on his face that you loved. He pushed himself off the shelf and walked to you, placing the small book he had in his hands on a table.

“I'm only five minutes late, hannie, don't exaggerate.” You replied as you side eyed him, trying to hide your smile.

“Hm,” he hummed in understanding, looking away for a split second before a soft smile bloomed on his lips. “Anyways, this is a date. In the sense that two adults are attempting to spend time together without a medical emergency or a dissertation crisis.”

You smiled, taking a step forward as you looked around. “That sounds fun. But, why here?”

“Because,” he said, coming to stand beside you, his voice lowering to a playful conspiratorial whisper, “We’re going to play a game, and that requires being in the presence of books.”

You turned your head, just enough to be able to meet his eyes. “A game? With books?” He nodded, the edges of his lips tightening as he closed his eyes for a split second.

That smile. The simple act he always does that gives reassurance, understanding and affection—all at once.

“If you want to, ofcourse.”

“I’d love to. Tell me about it.” You agreed immediately, not leaving any room for further questions. Jeonghan paused for a moment, then broke into a grin.

——

And that's how you went round and around the library in less than ten minutes, checking each and every corner or shelf.

Yoon Jeonghan, the simple menace he is, had set a challenge for the both of you—find a book that describes eachother the best. Familiar with almost every corner here, you figured it'd be easy for you, as long as Jeonghan didn't try to do something funny.

You spotted him a few minutes later, hunched over a shelf, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Find anything interesting, Doctor?" you teased, walking past.

He immediately snatched the book he was looking at and held it behind his back. "Nothing you need to worry about. Just making sure the philosophy section hasn't corrupted me yet."

You didn't push. Instead, you found a ridiculous, brightly colored paperback titled The Existential Dread of Being Very Attractive and held it up. "Does this count?"

He just laughed, his eyes crinkling. "Thirty minutes, orchid, focus!”

——

You met him by a cozy corner of the library exactly on time. The sunset glow through the window complemented his features, making him look angelic. You were holding a small, serious-looking volume titled The Unwavering Line. Jeonghan was holding two books, a complicated, slightly sheepish expression on his face.

“I’ll go first,” you say, placing your find on your lap. “I chose this. The Unwavering Line. Because even when you're laughing, your core is rigid. You're driven by duty, and you will choose the difficult, ethical, logical path every single time.”

Jeonghan let out a soft exhale. “Ouch. That's a direct hit.”

He placed his first book down. It was the thin black volume he'd tried to hide, titled: A Quick Guide to Fixing Broken Things.

“I chose this for you,” he said, his smile faltering slightly. “Because your entire life right now is fixing the broken narrative threads of your protagonists. You are constantly in repair mode.”

You pouted slightly. “Jeonghan, you're doing that clinical thing again. Are you still seeing my writing career as a problem that needs a solution?”

His eyes immediately went wide before he pushed the book aside. “I— no, orchid, I didn't mean it like that. I'm really sorry,” he sighed.

“Hey, I was just joking. You don't have to explain yourself.” You smiled, taking the black book from his hands. 

He then placed his second book on his lap. It was a slim, unassuming poetry collection, its title warm and inviting: Quiet Lessons under the glow of the moon.

“This is what I chose first,” he admitted, looking vulnerable. He didn't look at the book; his eyes were on you. “I chose this because, honestly, you make the serious moments feel easy. You remind me that there's a space—that this space is simple and hopeful. You embody the beautiful, messy, domestic comfort I forgot existed. I chose it because I think this describes… you.”

The sincerity in his gaze was a direct hit.

“...that's beautiful,” you whispered, reaching out to gently touch his sleeve, your eyes on the book. “You definitely win, hannie.”

“We both won,” he corrected, picking up both your book and his poetry book. “So let me treat you tonight. You can do it someday later.”

He gently took your hand—this time, it was a soft, gentle grip that felt like a clear statement of affection—and led you out of the bookstore and toward the warm glow of a nearby café.

——

NOVEMBER 8

A few days later, you found yourselves in the bright, busy supermarket. Jeonghan pushed the cart, leaning casually on the handle, clearly enjoying the absurdity of the errand.

"Wait, you're telling me your ‘monthly’ restock lasted less than a week?" Jeonghan chuckled, shaking his head, finding your frustrated expression adorable.

"Don't look at me," you huffed, crossing your arms. "It was seok, hao, and gyu. They basically showed up, opened all the cabinets, and became human vacuum cleaners."

"Ah, the price of collaboration," Jeonghan teased, pulling your list out and snapping it open. "Right. 'Essential comforts' only. No more raiding."

He paused in the produce aisle. "Okay, we need lettuce, sure. But we need fun food. Snacks are essential for emergency meetings."

"That sounds suspiciously like a bribe for your future plotting help," you countered, reaching for a bag of chips.

He took the chips with a laugh, gently tossing them back. “Nuh-uh. Gourmet pretzels. Less guilt, better crunch.” The casual bickering felt effortless and wonderfully normal.

You were arguing over which frozen pizza was “least disappointing” when Jeonghan's phone ringed. He pulled it out, glancing at the caller ID: Dr. Choi.

Jeonghan frowned slightly, then leaned back against the cart, shifting his focus. You watched him answer the call, his voice dropping slightly.

“Hey, Dr. Choi,” he answered. “Lunch at the new place?”

He listened for a brief moment—you could hear the muffled, excited chatter of his friends on the line.

He glanced over at you, smiling lightly at your intense study of the pizza box.

"Yeah, sorry," he said into the phone, his voice easy but firm. "Can't make it today. I've actually got a prior engagement I can't ditch... Yeah, it's a pretty important consulting gig. Tell them I said hi, and I'll catch them next week."

He hung up, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

He pushed the cart toward you and looked directly into your eyes. "A lunch invite from the guys," he explained simply.

You felt a little flutter of warmth—he was choosing this.

"A very important consulting gig, huh?" you teased, nudging the cart. "Does this gig pay in pepperonis?"

Jeonghan's eyes crinkled with genuine, affectionate humor. "It pays in domestic bliss. And yes, it requires my undivided focus." He gently guided the cart forward, resting his hand softly on your lower back for a fleeting, intentional moment.

"They'll survive lunch without me," he murmured, his voice low and sincere. "I'm off the clock. And my new routine involves making sure you're properly stocked for whatever chaos your friends decide to unleash next."

The simplicity and certainty of his choice made the sterile supermarket feel warmer than any café. He was prioritizing the small, comfortable moment with you.

——

NOVEMBER 20

The hospital lobby was aggressively bright and cold, even at 3:00 AM. The hallways were empty, the air heavy with the pervasive, slightly bitter scent of antiseptic and stale coffee—the smell of duty. You had been waiting nearly an hour in a stiff plastic chair near the residents’ entrance. Your phone, sitting in your lap, still held the last message from Jeonghan: Clear in 10-15. Don't wait. It arrived four hours ago.

You adjusted the bag beside you, which contained a thermos of steaming black coffee, a massive high-protein sandwich, and a clean, soft crewneck sweater. You weren't here to demand his time; you were here to perform a necessary, quiet function.

A door swished open down the corridor, and a figure leaned heavily against the jamb. It was Jeonghan, but reduced to his most fundamental, exhausted state.

He wasn't wearing his usual crisp shirt or even clean scrubs. His hair was damp and matted to his forehead, his scrubs were wrinkled and likely stained with old coffee or something worse, and his face was pale, lined with a deep, crushing weariness. He was holding himself up only by leaning his shoulder against the doorframe, his eyes half-closed.

He saw you, but the sheer effort of pulling his lips into a smile seemed too much.

“You didn't leave,” he murmured, his voice rough and low, sounding like gravel.

You were instantly on your feet, moving toward him. “You said 'ten to fifteen,' Jeonghan. That was before the last two hours of silence.”

You reached him and didn't try to touch his face or hug him—you knew better than to interfere with the exhausted shell of a surgeon. Instead, you gently took his elbow, steadying him, and guided him toward a nearby bench, carefully maneuvering his heavy body.

“Sit,” you commanded softly.

He obeyed instantly, collapsing onto the hard plastic. He dropped his head into his hands, his messy hair falling over his fingers. You heard him breathe a deep, shaky sigh that held the exhaustion of a hundred hours.

“It was… exhausting,” he managed to say, the words alone costing him visible effort. He didn't offer a diagnosis or a story. He didn't need to.

You opened the bag, pulling out the coffee first. You didn't ask if he wanted it. You simply placed the hot cup directly into his trembling hands.

“Eat this,” you said, unwrapping the sandwich. “You probably haven't had a calorie in twelve hours.”

Jeonghan looked at the sandwich. Then, his eyes—dark and utterly devoid of his usual playful light—flickered up to yours. He had absolutely zero energy left to maintain his clinical facade, his flirtatious teasing, or his patience. He was completely, devastatingly exposed.

“I'm tired,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “The energy... it’s all gone.”

​You didn't need to say anything. You gently wrapped the soft, clean scarf around his neck, providing a small barrier against the cold air and a comforting texture. Then, you eased his coat open and tucked a soft blanket you had also brought around his shoulders, wrapping him in a makeshift cocoon of warmth.

​He leaned his head against your shoulder as soon as you were seated beside him. The weight of his head was immense, and you realized how long he must have been on his feet. He didn't move to speak; he simply existed there, using your stability as his anchor.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice muffled against your coat, a genuine, raw sound of gratitude. “I don't know why you're still here, but... thank you. I needed you to be here.”

You simply held him, steady and quiet, in the cold, harsh light of the corridor. You understood then, with a crushing finality, that this was the life you would be committing to—a love measured in sterile hallway visits and exhausted, half-spoken confessions.

——

DECEMBER 2

It was a crisp morning, three days after the first significant snow of the season—the kind of soft, deep quiet that muffles the city. Around ten-thirty, you were exactly where you wanted to be: curled up in the warm cocoon of your bed, lost in a book, with a mug of hot coffee warming your hands.

Your phone buzzed softly on the bedside table.

You glanced over, and a small smile touched your lips at the sight of Jeonghan’s name.

Hannie: the snow near your house is much cleaner, I don't know why.

You paused, sipping your coffee, curious about the odd comment. A few seconds later, the phone buzzed again.

Hannie: did you wash the snow? With detergent?

You chuckled, shaking your head at his obvious teasing. You knew this was leading somewhere.

Hannie: Okay, what do I have to say for you to know that I'm outside your house right now.

That made you laugh aloud, setting your coffee down quickly. You recognized his cute excuses and his impatience. You quickly opened the curtains and slid the glass door open to your balcony.

The cold air hit you immediately, raising goosebumps on your arms, but your gaze was locked instantly on the ground below. There stood Jeonghan, dressed in a thick, handsome coat and a knitted beanie, looking up and waiting impatiently for you to see him.

His expression lit up the second he saw you standing on the balcony.

“What are you doing here!” you shouted down, chuckling at the pure delight radiating from him.

With a wide grin, he shouted back, tilting his head with a teasing challenge. “Why can't I be here?”

You laughed, the cold air stinging your cheeks. “I'm not coming!” you shouted, just as a joke. He didn't budge. He knew you wouldn't let him wait long.

“Then I'll freeze here to death!” he shouted back, dramatically pulling his coat tighter around his neck.

You couldn't help but smile widely. “Okay, okay, Elsa! I'll be right there!” you shouted one last time before retreating quickly back inside to pull on a thick sweater and a muffler.

Meanwhile, Jeonghan’s grin was reaching his eyes, the victory of your simple compliance filling him with pure joy. He let out a deep breath of relief, watching the curtain fall back into place.

Then, he turned slightly to look toward the left side of your house, and his entire body immediately froze.

There stood Joshua. Leaning casually against a snow-dusted tree, dressed in a stylish but casual coat. His arms were crossed, his eyes narrowed, and the subtle, dangerous sign of his displeasure was the slight, deliberate poke of his tongue against his cheek.

Jeonghan's triumphant grin instantly dissolved into a sheepish, caught-in-the-act expression. He swallowed hard.

——

The rooftop patio of your house was surprisingly cozy. Joshua, always one for comfort, had strung warm fairy lights everywhere and set up a temporary clear roof and heavy plastic siding to protect the area from the elements. Inside, the space was filled with blankets, thick mats, and an enormous, soft beanbag chair.

You, Jeonghan, and Joshua were bundled up, sprawled around a low table littered with empty snack bags and nearly finished mugs of hot cider. The hours had flown by, filled with the easy humor of lifelong friends.

Joshua sighed dramatically, stretching his arms high above his head. “So basically, you two are making me feel left out, and I'm not liking it.”

Jeonghan smirked, nudging your foot with his. “Joshuji, you're my favourite loser, how could I do that to you—”

“Don't say that to my amazing brother,” you defended, smacking his shoulder light, earning a shared chuckle from both of them. Jeonghan raised his hand to rub the area you had hit, a pout of betrayal on his face.

"Exactly," Joshua agreed, pointing at Jeonghan. "Take that, my second favourite loser. It's a miracle we still hang out."

“Wait, who's the first favourite loser then?” Jeonghan asked, suddenly shifting the tone of air. Joshua bit his tongue, his eyes turning to look at you. But before he could confirm, you were already tackling him to the floor while Jeonghan protested only with his words.

The lighthearted conversation continued for nearly four hours—a perfect blend of shared memories, gentle ribbing, and comfortable silence. It was a demonstration of the easy, interwoven history the three of you shared.

The easy familiarity eventually gave way to heavy exhaustion. Joshua, unable to fight the warmth and the late hour, gave up first. He laid out completely on the huge, soft beanbag chair placed right at the center of the rooftop, spreading his long legs out with a groan of relief. Within minutes, his soft, steady breathing confirmed he was completely asleep, acting as the perfect, unconscious chaperone.

You were only a few minutes away from dropping dead yourself. You tried to shift on the mat, unable to find a comfortable position to truly surrender to sleep.

You looked over at Jeonghan, your eyes barely open and heavy with sleep. He was watching the steam rise from his forgotten mug of cider, looking perfectly content.

Unable to find comfort alone, you acted purely on instinct. You reached out, grabbed his arm, and snuggled close to him. You rested your head right on his shoulder, keeping your arm securely wrapped around his bicep, pulling his warmth closer.

Jeonghan froze instantly.

You felt the immediate, abnormal thump of his heart against your cheek. He didn't move a muscle, suddenly acutely aware of the deep, trusting weight of your head against him. He was thinking of all sorts of things right now: the warmth of your hair, the soft pressure of your arm, the fact that Joshua was right there.

He slowly gazed down at your face, which was relaxed and peaceful as you drifted off to sleep. For the first time since his feelings started to grow—since he diagnosed himself with “a disease called you”—he allowed himself to lean into the feeling, not run away from it. He made no movement to pull away, to categorize the contact as platonic, or to regain control.

With immense tenderness, he reached up and gently placed his other hand over the hand you had wrapped around his arm. He brought his head down to rest gently on top of yours, softly closing his eyes.

Under the silent, watchful protection of the sleeping Joshua and the soft glow of the fairy lights, Jeonghan finally surrendered. He didn't need to fix anything right now, he only needed to hold you.

——

You woke up slowly, feeling the distinct softness of a pillow under your head. You blinked, staring up at the temporary clear roof, where the fairy lights cast a diffused glow. You were wrapped in two thick blankets and perfectly situated on a plush mat.

A puzzled frown crossed your face. You didn't remember starting your nap on the mat. The last thing you remembered was practically glued to Jeonghan’s shoulder. You shrugged off the minor mystery, assuming you’d shifted in your sleep, and simply burrowed deeper into the blankets.

You looked over and saw Jeonghan already awake, sitting just a few feet away from you as he collected the mugs. His eyes crinkled with soft humor as he watched Joshua stretch.

A loud groan broke the spell. Joshua stretched out on the beanbag, announcing his return to consciousness. “My neck is going to kill me. What time is it?”

After a flurry of stretching and gathering blankets, Joshua checked his phone. “Shoot. Mom needs help with something downstairs. Duty calls, unfortunately.” He gave Jeonghan a ‘I’m sorry’ look before heading toward the exit, leaving the door slightly ajar.

——

You grabbed your coat and muffler and walked Jeonghan to his car, which was parked just outside the perimeter of the melting snow. You both stopped next to the vehicle, the air instantly cold again after the rooftop warmth. Jeonghan turned to look at you, his eyes soft and content.

“I'm cold,” he mumbled, a soft, playful pout curving his lips.

You immediately reached out to tug at the muffler around his neck, instinctively fixing the thick material. “Why? Do you need another coat? I can get one right now—”

Before you could finish, Jeonghan quickly pulled you into a hug—a warm, gentle one, wrapping his arms securely around your shoulders. You were taken aback for a second, but a smile spread across your face as you wrapped your arms tightly around his waist.

“Just say you want a hug, doc,” you chuckled, your voice muffled against his coat.

“Where's the fun in that when I can steal them,” he replied, his voice muffled as he buried his face into your shoulder that was heavy with sweater and muffler.

You two stayed embraced for a quiet while, the simple comfort of his weight sinking into the moment. You tightened your grip on his coat, finding the courage to finally speak the raw thought that had been building all afternoon.

“Please don't leave this time,” you whispered softly, your breath warm against his coat collar.

Jeonghan paused, the easy affection in his grip immediately giving way to absolute stillness as he processed your words. “Hm?” he hummed in question a few seconds later, gently pulling back a fraction to look at your face.

You took a shaky breath, tightening your grip on his coat again, afraid he might disappear if you let go. “Let's stay together this time. We're adults, Hannie. Not five or seven.” You meant the full weight of your words.

Jeonghan took a couple more seconds, absorbing the weight of the request. Then, he pulled away fully, his almond eyes soft and gentle, full of acceptance and promise.

“I won't leave,” he said firmly. “At least, not right now. So let's spend this winter together, just like we did back then.”

He lightly pecked your forehead, sealing the quiet promise in the cold winter air.

——

The winter agreement Jeonghan made in your driveway—the promise to just stay and “spend this winter together”—became the simple truth for the next three months. From late November on, the line between your personal lives got fuzzier, not because of big dates, but because you just slowly started sharing routines.

Jeonghan's intense work didn't slow down, but your apartment became the safe, quiet spot he always came back to. He started leaving little things at your place—his favorite coffee mug, an old hoodie—small, quiet signs that he belonged there now.

You both fell right back into the easy rhythm you had as kids, but now there was a constant, low buzz of adult attraction simmering underneath the surface. You shared late-night meals (always with those gourmet pretzels he insisted on), worked side-by-side in comfortable silence, and texted until the moment one of you finally crashed.

New Year's Eve was a perfect example. After a big party, you two had a quiet takeout. Jeonghan showed up after every guest left, too tired for anything but sitting on the sofa with his head on your shoulder, just grateful you were there. In those small, stolen moments, the real feelings grew—deep, tender, and way past just being friends.

You loved having that precious part of your childhood back, but now it felt stronger, more necessary. Every time he laughed at your chaos, every time he just watched you quietly, or every time he leaned into your hug, the truth became clear—He wasn't just Hannie anymore.

By late February, the pressure was huge. You weren't dating, but your lives were completely tangled up. The comfortable “winter agreement” had run its course. But what now? You had to move back to Seoul, and you're certain that Jeonghan had to aswell, but he probably couldn't tell you about it yet.

Maybe falling in love with your childhood friend wasn't the best choice. Maybe, just maybe, if it stayed the same—you as his little sister that he'd become a second brother to—everything would've been fine. But you two were in too deep to look back now.

——

FEBRUARY 18

The evening air was dry but cold, carrying the final chill of late February. The family function had long since ended, and the sudden quiet of the street felt vast after the hours of socializing. You emerged through the heavy wooden doors, already drained by the forced pleasantries and endless small talk.

You stopped dead on the top step.

Leaning against a sleek black sedan parked across the street, illuminated by the distant yellow glow of a streetlamp, was Jeonghan, scrolling away on his phone. He had clearly been waiting. He was wrapped in a long, dark coat, his hands tucked into his pockets, his posture easy and patient. The exhaustion from the day dissolved instantly, replaced by a surge of pure, delighted relief.

Your eyes widened in surprise, and a wide grin reached your eyes as you broke into a spontaneous run across the pavement. 

You didn't hesitate—you flung yourself into his arms, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. He chuckled, the sound muffled against your shoulder, and instantly wrapped his strong arms around your waist, pulling you securely against the length of his body.

The natural, familiar force of the hug made both your hearts race—a simple, reflexive response to the sight and touch of him after a long absence. You breathed in the comforting scent of his cologne and the fresh winter air.

Finally, you pulled back slightly, planting a quick, loud kiss on his cheek before letting go of his neck.

Jeonghan's composure broke for the briefest moment. His eyes fluttered shut on the impact, and the smile on his face became something soft and uncontrolled before he quickly masked it, clearing his throat.

“You survived,” he noted, his voice smooth again. He reached out and gently smoothed your coat.

“Barely. I think I used up my entire social battery for the next three months.” You reached into your pocket and pulled out a crinkled, pocket-sized packet of chocolate buns, already tearing it open. You held a bun out to him. “Here. Restorative treatment.”

Jeonghan looked at it, then stuck his lower lip out in a small, ridiculous pout. “Oh, but I can't get my hands dirty right now,” he feigned sadness, lifting his empty hands slightly to emphasize the tragedy.

You sighed dramatically, though a chuckle escaped you instantly. You plucked a piece from the bun and held it up to his lips. “You are absurd,” you muttered, blushing fiercely at the absurdity of feeding the renowned Dr. Yoon Jeonghan on a public street although it was quite empty at this hour.

The moment he bit down, his soft lips briefly grazed your skin. He pulled back just enough to let his tongue trace the sweet smudge of chocolate on the corner of his lips, his eyes never leaving yours.

You spent the next few minutes finishing the snack as you walked toward his car, ranting about everything that had happened—the awful canapés, the confusing distant relatives, the boring speeches. Jeonghan listened patiently, his hand almost holding yours as you walked. His eyes held affection, amusement and something you couldn't quite pinpoint. But he was fighting the urge to lean down and simply kiss you right there.

He approached the passenger door and reached for the handle. Then, just as the moment was about to normalize, a powerful, unexpected twist hit him—an undeniable urge to seize the moment.

Jeonghan paused. He gently and suddenly grabbed your wrist, halting your movement.

You looked up, surprised by the abrupt shift. His easy playfulness was gone, replaced by a sweet, fragile sincerity. His eyes were wide, tender, and searching, and you could practically hear the abnormal, frantic thumping of his own heart in the sudden silence. You instantly felt nervous, your heart beginning to race in response.

He looked down at your hand, then back up to your eyes, his voice soft, barely audible above the quiet street sounds. “Can you let me do an experiment on your heart?”

“Hannie, what?” you joked, the nervousness palpable in your voice. “You're not going to rip my heart open, are you?” You knew, deep down, he meant something different. Something you probably weren't expecting tonight.

He shook his head slowly, his expression still locked in that tender, intense way. He took two steps closer, closing the distance until you were only inches apart. “No, but I... Just tell me. Will you allow me to do that? Allow me to test your heart?”

You were speechless, just staring at him, waiting for him to do anything to stop your heart from beating so ridiculously fast.

His hands came to rest softly on your back, a deliberate action, as if he was testing to see if you would move away—giving you full, final authority to reject him. He then leaned closer, his eyes never leaving your lips. He tilted his head slightly as he did, moving with agonizing slowness, giving you all the time in the world to pull back.

But you didn't.

He knew he couldn't back away now. This was what you both wanted.

He pulled you gently against him and kissed your lips—a quick, soft press, as if testing the waters, hesitant and almost scared to fully touch your soft lips with his. He pulled back, his breath coming short, and locked eyes with you.

You stared at him speechless for a few lingering seconds before you let out a little squeak, covering your face with your hands at the speed of light, the chocolate bun wrapper finally falling from your nerveless fingers.

Jeonghan laughed heartily, a deep, chest-shaking sound that made your heart hammer faster.

“This is so embarrassing, I didn't even apply lip balm properly today!” you mumbled into your hands, whining and wanting to disappear.

He stooped, picked up the wrapper, and tossed it in the nearby garbage can before reaching over to cup your cheek with one hand. “Your lips are soft enough, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement and deep affection.

You instantly dropped your hands, your face flushed scarlet. “...What did you call me?”

He paused for a moment before looking around with a playful smile. “I don't know, what was it?” He looked back at you, his gaze teasing and you wanted to smack him across the face right there and then. “I'd remember if I had someone’s lips on mine right now.”

Despite being as red as a tomato, you hesitantly reached out. Jeonghan gazed at you with the same fondness, patiently waiting without any interruption. Then you did it. You kissed him—a long, lingering, and loving peck this time.

​His heart melted completely. He desperately wanted to sink to his knees, but he forced himself to maintain his composure—for the sake of both your sanity.

He chuckled softly when you pulled away. “You're a good kisser, love,” he said before leaning over and tilting his head. “Did you perhaps train with someone in those twenty-three years I was absent?”

You burst out into a shy laugh, shaking your head. “No, Hannie, you're my first kiss.”

Jeonghan's eyes instantly filled with such profound pleasure and love. He locked his arms securely around your waist, pulling you close, his forehead resting against yours.

But, unfortunately, that’s all you can think about these days. 

Because, unfortunately, Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, and most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. 

Yoon Jeonghan is the kind of guy who would drive 40 minutes out of his way just to pick you up, but also wouldn’t yield the last ramen at the local convenience store to you. Though he gives into his internal demands for petty possessiveness quite often, he cares deeply for his friends. 

He’s also the kind of guy people are quick to fall for, only to get crushed by his nonchalant but somewhat firm indifference for dating. You’ve witnessed him casually turn down far too many objectively gorgeous and incredibly intelligent people, which has convinced you that his standards are impossibly high. And if you were honest with yourself, based on the people he’d already rejected, it would be laughable for you to even think about confessing to him.

And so, as a close friend of the most sought-after man on campus, you’d like to think you know Jeonghan well enough to predict his thoughts on romance and his territoriality over ramen.

In fact, you’re sure about the ramen issue, because you’re witnessing it happen right now.

You’re staring at his smirking face in the instant food aisle of the convenience store, both of you gripping the last Neoguri cup like it’s a trophy.

“You gotta learn patience,” Jeonghan tuts, his lips upturned infuriatingly at one corner. 

“No, you should learn patience. 손 빼, [Take your hand off,]” you demand, grasping the cup tighter.

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says in a sing-song voice, raising his chin in defiance.

The ramen cup creaks slightly under the pressure of your combined grip, and a terrible thought forms in your head. Your hand is sandwiched between his hand and the cup, making you feel the heat radiating from his body. It’s something you’re afraid you could get used to. 

You narrow your eyes, targeting his ridiculous, perfect lazy smile. “Take it off while I’m being nice.”

“Nah,” he replies immediately, smiling wider, his tongue sliding to the right. 

Your heart lurches at the sight. 

“치사하게 진짜 이럴 거야? [You’re so petty, are you really going to be like this?]” You chew on your bottom lip, eyes flitting between his face and his hand. 

Jeonghan tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes sharp and steady on yours. He’s not really looking at the ramen anymore, and the intensity of his gaze makes your cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

“내가 여기서 이 옷을 입고 있는데, [I’m wearing these clothes here,]” he says, using his free hand to pinch the fabric of the expensive suit he always wears at his internship. “굳이 라면 하나 때문에 나랑 싸운다고? 그냥 빨리 가자, 음? [You’re really gonna fight with me over just one ramen cup? Let’s just go now, hmm?]”

You press your lips together and jut your chin in defiance. 

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head. His shaggy, dark hair flows with it, and you can’t help but think that he looks princely like this, standing in the middle of this convenience store with his stupidly gorgeous face, and that dumb suit and tie. 

“양보해. [Give it up.] I’ll give you whatever you want,” he says, his voice dipping lower. It feels less like an offer and more like a taunt, a challenge. His tone sends a small shiver through you, and for a second, you’re not sure if he’s teasing or serious.

You have to take a slow, deep breath to calm yourself down before even considering what to say next. You’re grateful for the ride (and his company), of course, but that doesn’t mean he can steal your rightful claim under your nose, in the same casual manner he has when letting one of his fans down. 

You’ve always given into him. Because he means everything to you, of course. 

But you’ve had enough of letting him have his way so easily, not with your precious ramen at risk.

You boldly step closer to him, cutting the distance between the two of you in half. You’re close enough to see your reflection in his eyes, now. 

“I’m not letting go, 하니 [Hannie].” You firmly shake your head. You wouldn’t let him win this time. “I don’t want anything but this,” you add, stubbornly.

Tugging hard, you try to pull the cup toward you, but it frustratingly remains stuck on the shelf between the two of you. Looking back up, you see that he isn’t even straining to keep the ramen in place! You frown, wondering when your best friend got so strong.

He leans in just a fraction closer. “Keep trying,” he murmurs, and he’s so close that you can feel his warm breath tickling your face. 

The world narrows to Jeonghan, and the faint scent of the cologne he only wears on weekends. It’s dizzying.

“야아아! [Hey!] I was here first!” you weakly defend, voice embarrassingly squeaky.

And then Jeonghan does something that completely short-circuits your brain.

His free hand lifts and brushes your hair away to your back, before resting on the divot between your neck and collarbone, where his thumb caresses the side of your neck. Feather-light, his touch is gentle, and his fingers are impossibly warm, a stark contrast to this slightly chilly convenience store. You just about choke on your surprise, your heart kicking into overdrive at the sheer intimacy of the gesture. 

God, how is it that you never get a rest day with Jeonghan? How is it that he’s always flirting, always disregarding the boundaries of platonic and romantic love, always making you confused? And how is it that you just let it happen, that you just take whatever affection he gives you? How is it that you’re drawn into his dangerous touch like a moth to a flame? Except that analogy doesn’t really work, because at least moths don’t know that they’re in danger when they reach fire—you know what you’re getting into, and you know all too well that Jeonghan will never be yours. 

“Please?” he whispers.

Your breath hitches, suddenly aware that even for your overly-touchy friend, this level of skinship is extreme. 

Does he know? Has he found out that you’re in love with him, that you’ve been keeping this ungodly secret from him for far too long? Does he know that every time he lets someone down, that every time he complains to you about people confessing and crying over him, you give him superficial laughs as you swallow your own feelings? 

Does he know that you feel like sinking into the ground every time he entertains a random girl flirting with him, and that every time he crosses boundaries with you, it hammers in the fact that he thinks you’re a joke? 

Does he know that you’ve spent over a year trying to convince yourself that you don’t have feelings for him, only to fail miserably, because there is no such thing as cutting Yoon Jeonghan out of your life, because he makes you feel so, so alive? 

He must know. He must be making fun of you, now.

Your eyes widen, frantically searching his face for an ounce of malice. And you expect to see the look he always has when shredding the hearts of the brave people who confess to him, the face he makes when he casually tells someone that he doesn’t feel the same way. You expect to see an almost-cruel, blank stare paired with apologetic lips pressed together. 

You expect him to crush your heart. 

But instead, he’s staring at you with a gaze so, so, very soft, you wonder if you’ve hallucinated it. Shining eyes, raised eyebrows, mouth parted—he looks devastatingly beautiful. 

You can’t even bring yourself to blink, afraid that it might disappear before you can commit it to memory.

Technically, he’s looked like this before—you’ve seen it a handful of times on movie nights when you leaned against his shoulder, sleepily rambling about the bad decisions the main character had made. You’ve always figured that it was just the face he made when he was running on eight percent battery, tired and only half-registering the words coming out of your mouth. 

But now, seeing this version of Jeonghan out of its usual context, your heart stops. 

Your grip slackens.

In an instant, Jeonghan takes advantage of your daze. He snatches the ramen, links his arm through yours, and drags you to the counter. Your feet stumble, but his hold on you is firm, keeping you stable throughout the entire sudden exchange. He sets a bill on the counter, and then you’re being ushered out of the convenience store. 

The freezing cold bites at your cheeks as you stand in a haze of confusion by the passenger seat of Jeonghan’s car, unable to do anything but just watch as he starts the engine and unlocks the door. He stares at you through the window, waiting. 

If you could move a muscle on your face, you’d furrow your brows, wondering what he’s waiting for. But you’re still frozen, and before you can really think about it, Jeonghan gets tired of waiting. 

He gets out of the car and walks over to you, squeezing your shoulders as he shifts you a little to the left. Withdrawing one of his hands from your shoulders, he opens the door, and then maneuvers you inside, using the same hand to cover the top frame of the door. You bump your forehead slightly against it, and he buckles you into the passenger seat—all without a word.

When you blink owlishly at him, he just ruffles your hair and shuts the door carefully, then walks over to the driver’s side. 

Dazed, you literally have nothing to say. 

When Jeonghan gets back into the car, he looks over at you with an unreadable gaze, then reaches his hand over the console to you, this time holding an object out. Your eyes flicker downward, then shoot up at him immediately.

The ramen?

You squint at his outstretched hand, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. 

Jeonghan never yields. 

“Take it,” he says simply, airily, as if his giving up was obvious all along.

You hesitate, finger lightly tracing the top of the cup. 

“Come on,” he insists, his eyes still intensely trained on yours. “I… it was always yours.”

Your fingers close over the cup, brushing his hand. He exhales softly, the corners of his lips twitching.

Averting your eyes from him and his strange actions, you drop the ramen in your lap, then settle for staring outside the window at the night sky, finding it unbearable to look at him. Drumming your fingers against the border of the window, you get lost in thought. You’re not sure you can handle it if Jeonghan tries to flirt with you again. Every time he does it, it just hammers in the crushing idea that you’re nothing but a friend to him. That you’re just someone to practice on while he waits for the goddess of his dreams to appear, or something.

And then a strange thought occurs to you. A silly thought, really. When Jeonghan said that the ramen was always yours, he didn’t use the “ih” sound that the word “it” has. No, he used the pronoun “I” first, before correcting himself. A faint, pitiful smile makes its way to your lips as your heart pangs. 

Just what would you give to hear him say “I was always yours” someday?

Oh, maybe everything. 

────୨ৎ────

The gentle hum of the car engine fills the silence from the lack of conversation between the two of you. The moon and the stars are beautiful tonight, and you’re content with staring at them instead of the man driving the car. You prop your head up with your elbow against the window, closing your eyes with every lull of the engine. If Jeonghan ever looked over at you at a red light, you wouldn’t know, preoccupied with pretending to be asleep. 

When you feel the car come to a complete stop, you’re still feigning sleep, but you can’t help but furrow your eyebrows slightly. Surely, 40 minutes haven’t already passed? It seems way too soon. Had you actually dozed off at some point between staring out the window and faking sleep?

You peek one eye open, only to startle at Jeonghan’s gaze trained on you already, immediately opening the other. He seems completely at ease, with one hand gripping the steering wheel and the other resting on the gear shift. He stretches his fingers, accentuating the veins on his forearms, and you have to avert your eyes for a moment. 

“잘 잤니? [Sleep well?]” he asks casually. 

You look back at him, and see a strand of his dark hair fall into his eyes. Fingers twitching, you fight the urge to brush it behind his ear. 

You answer him with a nod and flush, wondering if he could tell you were acting the entire time. Hands itching for something to do, you fiddle with your seatbelt.

“야, 나 좀 보고 말해봐, 음? [Hey, can’t you look at me and talk, hmm?]”

You glance at Jeonghan out of the corner of your eye, then shy away again. He looks too good right now, too much like a doting boyfriend. You pick at a loose thread from the bottom hem of your shirt.

“자꾸 나를 안 보니까 섭섭하네. [You keep not looking at me, I’m sad.]”

You faintly laugh. In all your years of knowing the man, you’ve yet to see Yoon Jeonghan truly sad. He’s always, always composed. He never says anything without thinking about it first, and he doesn’t have to lift a single finger that he doesn’t want to, because he knows that people will jump just to fall at his feet. It’s funny that Jeonghan now just assumes that with a few pretty words, he’ll get his way. 

But your resentment is growing. It started with the ramen, and built up with how he won at the end of the fight. And it peaked when he gloated under the guise of kindly yielding the cup to you, leaving you stranded in your confusion, leaving you to sort out your racing mind and heart. What’s worse is, he has a history of doing this to you. But you never learn. Because he also has a history of giving the best, warmest, longest hugs. And he tells you all the time that he wants to be with you forever, that even when you’re 80 and wrinkly, he’ll come over every day to sing duets using your karaoke machine. And he has a bad habit of staring into your eyes with so much adoration, that you mistake it for real love. 

He has a history of making you think that his flirting might actually mean something real to him. But he never confesses any feelings, because they don’t exist, and you feel the pain of being used as romantic practice all the same. 

You’ve tried to convince yourself to just accept his affections as platonic love, but it has become increasingly more difficult to ignore it. How can you, when you get a rush of serotonin from seeing how bright his smile is when he whispers an inside joke to you in the middle of your fatally boring math discussion? How can you, when Jeonghan insists on picking you up from work even though it’s a waste of time and gas for him to make the far drive here and back? Your heart has grown to accommodate, and even expect, the constant fluttering it feels in his presence. 

So, to be exact, it’s not that you feel resentment toward him—it’s resentment for your lack of a backbone when it comes to all things Yoon Jeonghan. It happens all the time; you get mad at him, and the consequences last for all of five seconds before your will caves. 

“근대, 안 섭섭하잖아, [You’re not sad, though],” you softly say, eyes now tracing the glow of the crescent moon. 

Jeonghan shifts in his seat, questioning your words. ”What? Why would you say that?”

“아니야, [No,] forget it.” You sigh, eyes falling to your hands again. Picking at a hangnail, you inhale deeply. 

“Why wouldn’t I be sad? I love talking to you.” He removes his hands from the wheel and gear shift, then reaches out for yours.

You flinch, and he freezes. 

“Hey, did I… do something wrong?” His voice shakes, suddenly sounding strained. It’s the complete opposite of how he was just three seconds ago.

You swallow thickly. No, he didn’t do anything wrong. “아니, [No,] it’s my fault.”

He frowns. “What did I do? Please, tell me. I’m sorry, whatever it is, I can fix it, I promise.” He looks at you so earnestly, your heart sinks. 

“그건 불가능해, 정한아. [That’s not possible, Jeonghan.]” The words come out slowly and breathily, as if it’s taken you half of your life force to say them. You stare out the window again, this time at the stars, and add, “We should really get back, now. Why’d you stop here, anyway?”

“I figured you didn’t eat yet,” he says carefully. “I thought you’d want to get Thai. When you’re hangry, you yell at the TV more, and I get complaints from my neighbors.”

You blink, turning your attention down to the stores lining the street rather than the night sky. Jeonghan really had driven to your favorite Thai restaurant. “Oh. I didn’t know I did that, sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he replies softly. “I never liked my neighbors anyway.”

Your eyes close, remembering when one of your classmates, who happened to be his neighbor, confessed to him. He had vented to you about friends needing to understand when not to cross lines. The memory makes you smile weakly again, acknowledging how strong you’ve been for managing not to confess so far. 

Jeonghan continues, “But hey, your neighbors don’t like me, either. Remember when they banged on your door because we were singing too loud?”

You laugh this time, and it’s fleeting but it’s not forced. “언제 쯤 얘기야? [How long ago was that?] That was like two years ago.”

Jeonghan smiles. “You were wearing those teddy bear pajama pants, and I had my Cookie Monster pants on. They were like 70, and told us to stop being childish and grow up.”

“Maybe they had a point,” you say with a sigh, running a hand through your hair. “I didn’t know that you paid attention to those things,” you add offhandedly. 

“Pay attention to what?”

“You know, just… the stuff I wear, the random shit I do,” you say, picking at your split ends. 

Jeonghan’s wide eyes narrow, and you feel too hot under his intense gaze.

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asks, voice deep and tinged with something you can’t quite put a finger on. The question feels strangely charged. With what, you don’t know. 

You gnaw on your lip. 

“Answer me. Why shouldn’t I?” 

“I don’t know,” you shrug, feeling put on the spot. “I’m just your friend. Shouldn’t you be spending your energy remembering weird stuff about a girlfriend? Like a serious romantic partner, or something?”

Jeonghan groans, running a hand through his hair, before it comes down on the console with a light thud. Your eyes widen at his unexpected physical display of emotion, taking in his clenched fists and heaving chest. 

“하니? [Hannie?]” you say softly, concerned. He doesn’t normally resort to physical exertions when frustrated, probably because he doesn’t get frustrated very often at all.

Your hand reaches out to his right bicep, where you rub the muscle soothingly. 

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he says with a marginally more relieved, deep sigh. 

You furrow your brows. “What?”

“Now you’re calling me 하니 [Hannie] again,” he repeats. “Please, don’t call me 정한 [Jeonghan]. Only 하니 [Hannie].”

“Okay?” you say tentatively, unsure where this is going.

“You know I love you, right?” he says suddenly, staring at his hands. 

You blink rapidly. “Of course. I love you, too.” He’s your best friend, but you’re probably not his best friend. 

Jeonghan jolts, looking at you directly in the eyes now. “You know I love you more, right?”

He looks a bit crazed like this, his frantic chocolate brown eyes searching deeply for something in your face. At a loss for words, you gape your mouth at him like a fish out of water. 

“I’m not sure that’s possible,” you manage to say. “I bet I love you a lot more.” 

The statement is accompanied by a rather self-deprecating laugh from you, the kind that digs deep into your heart even as you try your best to seem casual. 

“No, no,” he says, reaching with his left hand to grasp the hand you’ve been patting his right bicep with. This time, you don’t pull away. “You don’t get it. I love you.” 

What?

Your heartbeat begins to beat so loudly that the sound of it pumping overwhelms your thoughts. Your chest tightens, and you’re half-sure that you just hallucinated it.

“뭐라고? [What did you just say?]”

“사랑한다고, [That I love you,]” he chokes out, his voice thick with the one emotion you’ve been dreaming of him reciprocating. 

You gasp.

“Please,” he whispers. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

Oh.

Crestfallen, your heart drops. You pull your hand away from him. 

This must be his new way to get you to relieve your “anger.” He doesn’t actually love you romantically, he just wants you to go back to acting like you normally do. He’ll never feel the same way that you do, in the crushing way that drives you insane every day, in the way that—

“설마, 나를 지금 무시하는 거야? [No way, are you ignoring me right now?]” Jeonghan’s wounded gaze strikes you like lightning. “아니면, 나를 못 믿는거야? [Or, are you not believing me?]”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. 

Is this real? A dream, maybe? The real Jeonghan would never say this. He would never, ever entertain the idea that you could ever be more than—

“내가 사랑한다고 했는데, 왜 아무 말이 없어? [I just said I love you, why won’t you say anything?]” Jeonghan’s voice quakes, and you’re taken aback by his pained, strained eyebrows and glittering eyes. 

Jeonghan’s eyes well with tears. He swallows thickly, “나… 아니야? [Am I… not it for you?]”

Your breath catches. He’s crying. Yoon Jeonghan—Yoon Jeonghan is crying? You’ve never even seen him sad, let alone crying. He’s always been untouchable, effortless in the way he teases and flirts with you, so sure of himself. So nonchalant and casual with his affection, that you’d always thought he never truly meant anything by it. But here he is, raw and vulnerable in front of you, holding his heart out with both hands—eyes rimmed red, voice breaking, mouth trembling. All because of you? 

He really means it, huh? The realization slams into you so hard you feel like you can’t breathe, let alone speak, your chest constricting like you’re having a heart attack. All those lingering touches, all these years. The way he’s always made you the center of his jokes, how he has the softest shifts in his voice when someone mentions your name—it wasn’t all a game to him? It was never just practice for someone else, for someone better? 

It was love?

God, you had been so overwhelmed with self doubt and insecurity that you’d convinced yourself that you had no chance, all while he was giving you clues through his proud affections, every day.

The man in question looks at you like you’ve just shattered his fragile heart, tears fully trailing down to his chin, now.

Feeling like your entire body has been engulfed in flames, you reach a trembling hand out past the gear shift. It trembles despite yourself as your arm extends to caress his cheek, where you carefully rub his tears away. 

Jeonghan shudders when your hand touches him, and he shuts his eyes. More tears fall.

“하니, [Hannie],” you breathe shallowly, still feeling an immense pressure in your chest. “Look at me.” When he doesn’t open his eyes, you swallow roughly. “하니, [Hannie], please?”

Stubbornly, Jeonghan keeps his eyes closed, and you shakily sigh. You want to tell him—no, you need to tell him that you love him with every fiber of your being, but you need to see his eyes to register whether he understands you. He needs to open those beautiful, brown eyes of his. 

You’ve never told him that you love him in Korean before. Something about it always felt too intimate, while “I love you” in English felt less charged. But you think he needs to hear it now.

Withdrawing your hand from his cheek, you unbuckle your seatbelt at last. Finally freed, you shift your legs until you're sitting on the back of your calves, facing the stunning, devastated man in the driver’s seat.

“하니야, [Hannie],” you say softly, his name a prayer on your lips, your face coming near his. 

You raise your hands up to tenderly brush the tears away from the soft tissue right under his eyes. Trembling, your right hand brushes a strand of hair out of his face, then rests on the back of his neck. 

Heart threatening to jump out of your chest, you hesitantly move closer, and closer, until your lips gently meet his forehead in a kiss so light, you foolishly wonder if he even feels your lips there at all.

“하니야, 사랑해. [Hannie, I love you.]” 

Jeonghan stills immediately. You can feel his hot breath catch against your neck, and you feel a shiver come down your spine. 

“I don’t want anyone else. Just you,” you say choppily, each word spilling out before you can think about what you really just said. 

When you retreat an inch or two back from his forehead, you can see that he has finally opened his eyes. 

“You mean it?” he asks, voice high-pitched in disbelief. 

Not trusting your voice, you nod three times. 

“Say it again,” he begs, his red-rimmed eyes downturned.

“사랑해, 하니야 [I love you, Hannie]. I tried so hard not to. 내 마음을 접고 다른 사람을 바라보고 싶었어. 싶었는데… [I wanted to let go of my feelings for you and search for someone else. That’s what I wanted, but…]”

Jeonghan inhales sharply. Distressed, his Adam's apple bobs up and down. Your heart aches at the sight of him so exposed, and your thumb moves to rub soothing circles by his collarbone. 

You assure him, “근데 그게 진짜 그냥 안 된거야. 도저히 너를 포기할 수 없었어. [But that really just didn’t work. There was no way I could bring myself to give you up.]”

Your fingers close to his neck, you feel Jeonghan’s pulse racing. Trying to help his heart settle down, you press another light kiss to his forehead, cradling the back of his head with your other hand. His breath shudders against your cheek. 

“마음이 하니한테 만 끌리니까, 뭐… 포기하려고 노력을 했는데 소용이 없었어. [My heart was only drawn to you, Hannie, and well… no matter how hard I tried to give you up, it was no use.]”

Jeonghan blinks up at you with watery eyes. 

“You’re it for me, 하니 [Hannie]. Okay?” Sheepish, you feel a bit embarrassed at having been so honest. 

Now that you’ve bared your heart and soul to him, you take the opportunity to really look at him, since you were distracted with telling your part for the past few minutes—and, oh. 

His pupils are so dilated, his eyes look almost black. His breathing has slowed down compared to earlier, but his fists are still clenched, like he’s holding something back. 

In a low voice, so deep that it wouldn’t have been audible if you weren’t practically pressed against him, Jeonghan finally responds to your confession. 

“You love me,” he says hesitantly, like he’s asking to confirm. 

The corners up your lip turn up, and he grins. “You love me,” he says again, only louder this time, and then he’s leaning forward into you. 

His hands find you first, clinging to your neck and waist sweetly yet firmly, like he’s afraid to let you go now that he finally has you.

When his lips meet yours, you melt into the kiss. His lips are warm, softer than you expected, moving against yours with an aching tenderness. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt as his hands tighten around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

He tilts his head slightly, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs down your spine when his thumb brushes along the curve of your jaw. The touch is so careful, so reverent, like he’s memorizing every part of you.

Then, he pulls back just an inch—just enough for his breath to fan across your lips, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes, dark and unreadable, search yours as if needing confirmation.

"You love me? 진심이지? [You’re serious, right?]" His voice is barely above a whisper.

Your chest tightens at the sheer vulnerability in his expression. You cup his cheek, brushing your thumb against his damp skin, and nod. "사랑해, 하니야. [I love you, Hannie.] 진짜, [Really,] I always have."

A sound escapes him—somewhere between a laugh and a sigh of relief—before he leans in again, kissing you with more urgency this time. His hands tangle into your hair, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he presses you impossibly closer. The kiss is deeper now, more certain. He parts his lips slightly, and you do the same, the heat between you growing into something undeniable.

Your hands wander—one slipping into his hair, the other trailing down his shoulder. He shudders under your touch, and you feel the tension slowly unraveling from his body, like he’s finally letting himself believe this is real.

When you finally part for air, he lets out a shaky laugh, thumb ghosting over your kiss-swollen lips. "You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this," he murmurs, his voice husky.

Your heart swells at the confession. "Actually, I think I do," you whisper back before pulling him into another kiss, this time knowing—without a doubt—that neither of you are going anywhere.

────୨ৎ──── 

“하니, [Hannie,]” you say, leaning against him on the sofa in your apartment, drawing random shapes on his chest with your right hand. “We should go on a drive again.”

“Mm, a drive?” he says, distracted by his fascination with observing your left hand, holding it like a precious gem. 

“Yeah, 바람 좀 새자 [let’s get some air]. A night drive.”

His hands stall, lips curling up at the corners. “Oh, a night drive, huh? 역사적인 거네. [How historic.]”

You bury your face in his chest. “Mmh,” you say to his shirt.

“You know, you said 사랑해 [I love you] to me for the first time on a night drive,” he says casually. His hands let go of your left hand, then make their way to your head, patting your hair gently. 

You prop your chin up on his stomach, expecting to see Jeonghan’s pure smile. But instead, he’s smirking at you. 

“You wanted me so bad.” He sighs dramatically. “What else could I do, but accept your love?”

You can’t help but smile. “I think you’re misremembering things a little, 하니 [Hannie].”

“Oh, am I?” he gasps, wide-eyed and open-mouthed. 

If he were anyone else, he’d look stupid feigning ignorance. Fortunately for you, though, he isn’t anyone else—he’s the love of your life, and he makes everything look good. 

“Ugh,” you say, eyes shining. “You look dumb, stop it.”

“You love it,” he says cheekily, arms falling from your head to wrap around you in a big hug. 

“Mmfph,” you say in response, relishing in the warmth radiating from his body. 

“Not denying it, I see,” he says. “Overwhelmed by your love for me, you dove at my poor, innocent self in the car, kissing me all over!”

“Pfft,” you laugh. “No, that was you!”

“No,” Jeonghan pouts.

“I happen to remember a little crybaby confessing first,” you say with an upside down smile, hugging him tighter.

Jeonghan’s eyes look up at the ceiling. “무슨 말인지… [I don’t know what you’re talking about…]”

“야아! [Hey!]” your hand slaps his chest lightly. “나 좀 봐봐, 음? [Look at me, hmm?]”

“싫은데? [Don’t wanna,]” he says, pouting. 

“사랑해도 안 볼 거야? 섭섭하네… [Even if I love you, you won’t look at me? I’m sad…]” you huff, burying your face into the sofa pillows instead of Jeonghan’s chest. “하니가 안 사랑해주면 난 갈 거야. [If you don’t love me I’m gonna leave.]”

Jeonghan laughs, “가긴 어딜가, 여기 너네 집이잖아. [Leave? What do you mean, leave? This is your house.]” 

Jeonghan hugs you tighter, then suddenly sits up, taking you with him. 

“사랑해, [I love you,]” he says earnestly, staring deeply into your eyes, as if he wants to dive into the depths of your iris. Your name leaves his lips fervently, like a prayer.

“사랑해, 하니야, [I love you, Hannie,]” you say back, and you mean it. 

Because Yoon Jeonghan is simultaneously the funniest, weirdest, kindest, most devastatingly handsome man you’ve ever met. And he’s yours.

Masterlist

Author's Note: here’s a big literary hug <3

Disclaimer: nothing i write is representative of how svt acts off camera, take their names as stand-ins for oc's!!

You press the button for the first song request, the soft strains of a romantic ballad filling the room. As the music plays in the background, your eyes scan the requests that have been flooding in. The chat box is constantly ticking with messages—listeners asking for advice, sharing their love stories, or seeking songs that speak to their hearts. You feel that rush, the adrenaline of knowing you’re connected to so many people in real time.

"Now, I’ve got a message here from a listener who needs a little help," you say, pulling up the request. "This one’s from 'Cherry,' who writes in: ‘I’ve been crushing on someone for a while, but I’m not sure how to confess. Any advice?’"

You let out a small breath, your fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk as you think. This one’s a classic. You've seen it all before, but every confession still feels fresh. You smile softly into the mic.

"Ah, 'Cherry,' I get it. Confessing your feelings can be scary, but it’s also one of the most real things you can do. Here’s my advice: Keep it simple. No need for grand gestures, no elaborate speeches. Sometimes, the best way to let someone know how you feel is through a small, sincere gesture. Maybe write a note or give them a little gift that shows you’ve been thinking about them. And when you tell them how you feel, just be honest—there’s no such thing as a perfect confession. Just be you."

You pause, feeling the warmth of the words settle into your heart. The music swells in the background, adding to the ambiance of the moment.

"Remember, 'Cherry,' it’s not about getting it perfect—it’s about being brave enough to say it. And hey, the worst that can happen is they don’t feel the same way. But you know what? You’ve still won because you were true to yourself. So take a deep breath and go for it. You got this.”

You let the silence linger for a moment, Cherry’s words still hanging in the air. Then, with a small smile, you reached for the controls.

"Alright, Cherry, and everyone out there holding onto feelings they haven’t found the words for—this one’s for you. Maybe it’ll give you the courage to say what’s in your heart, or at the very least, remind you that you’re not alone."

With a soft click, the studio filled with the delicate, wistful melody of "From the start" by Laufey—a song that is the ultimate friends to lovers song for all delusional daydreams.

Leaning back in your chair, you glanced out at the city lights reflecting against the glass. Somewhere, maybe Cherry was listening, hesitating over a letter they weren’t sure they’d ever send. Or maybe, just maybe, they had already begun writing.

After an hour of song requests, confessions, and quiet laughter shared through the airwaves, the LIVE sign dims. You take off your headphones, stretching your neck as the studio falls into silence. Another night, another show wrapped up.

Gathering your notes, you stack them neatly before grabbing your now-lukewarm latte from the desk. The faint chatter of coworkers drifts through the halls—other RJs wrapping up, producers discussing schedules.

"Great show tonight, ___," someone calls out in passing.

"Thanks! See you tomorrow!" you reply with a small smile, pulling on your coat.

Near the exit, your producer glances up. "Don’t forget—tomorrow’s segment is longer for the Valentine’s special. Get some rest!"

"Got it. Night, everyone!"

Pushing open the station doors, you step into the cool night air. The city hums in the distance, but here, it’s quiet—still. You take a slow sip of your latte, savoring the warmth against the crisp breeze.

And then, just a few steps away, you see him.

Leaning against his car, hands tucked into his coat pockets, Seungcheol watches you. The street lamp casts a soft glow over him, catching the faint curve of his lips.

You stop in front of Seungcheol, raising an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

He tilts his head, acting like it’s the most casual thing in the world. "I was just passing through."

You narrow your eyes. "Passing through? Your workplace is nowhere near here."

"Okay, fine," he chuckles, pushing himself off the car. "I thought I’d pick you up. It’s been a while since we had dinner together."

"Ah, I see. You missed me." You smirk, taking another sip of your latte.

"Don’t flatter yourself, " he scoffs, but the amusement in his eyes gives him away.

You let out a laugh, shaking your head before walking around the car. "Alright, alright. Let’s go before you start crying about how I never have time for you."

He pulls open the passenger door for you with a teasing bow. "Your chariot awaits, my lady."

Rolling your eyes at his theatrics, you slip inside, and he shuts the door before making his way to the driver’s seat.

As he starts the engine, Seungcheol glances at you. "Nice show today."

You blink. "Oh? What’s up, Choiseung? You’re complimenting me?" You raise an eyebrow, grinning.

He scoffs, shaking his head. "Forget it. Should’ve just let you believe no one listens to your rambling at night."

"Too late. I’m taking this to heart forever," you joke, leaning back in your seat.

A few minutes into the drive, Seungcheol reaches into his coat pocket and hands you a neatly folded envelope.

"Here."

You glance at it, then at him. "What’s this?"

"Just open it."

Curious, you unfold the letter inside. His familiar handwriting stretches across the page, carefully written, filled with warmth. It’s a simple note—thanking you for being in his life, for always listening, for just being you.

Your heart softens as you read.

"Ohh, Cheol... this is so sweet. Thank you so much, friend." You smile, touched by the gesture.

The moment the word leaves your lips, he freezes—just for a second.

Then, with a short nod, he looks away, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

"Yeah… friend." His voice is light, but something about it feels off.

You don’t notice. Or maybe, you just don’t understand.

"Hm? Did you say something?"

"Nothing," he clears his throat, turning into a street. "We should hurry before the restaurant gets packed."

You let it go, tucking the letter safely into your bag as the city lights blur past.

Dinner is simple—warm bowls of stew and easy conversation. You catch up on each other’s lives, laugh over childhood memories, and argue over who should pay the bill (which Seungcheol wins, as always). It’s comfortable, familiar—just like it’s always been.

But every now and then, Seungcheol watches you with something unreadable in his gaze. Something just beneath the surface.

Later, he pulls up in front of your place.

"Thanks for dinner, Choiseung." You grin, unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Yeah, yeah. You can pay next time."

"I’ll believe that when it happens." You laugh, stepping out of the car. "Goodnight!"

He waits until you disappear inside, only driving off once your lights flicker on.

And then he waits.

Seated in his car, he watches as your silhouette moves around the room. It’s only when your lights finally turn off that he exhales, rubbing the back of his neck before driving away into the quiet night.

The next day passes in a blur of work, coffee, and the usual routine. You go through meetings, reply to emails, and try not to fall asleep at your desk. It’s just another regular day—until night falls, and you’re back in the studio, headphones on, mic live, slipping into the comfort of your show.

"And that was 'Moonlight' to set the mood for tonight," you say, adjusting the volume on the console. "Now, let’s see what’s on your mind, listeners. Late-night confessions, random thoughts, love letters—I'm here for it all."

A familiar name pops up in the chat, and you smile.

"Ah, a message from ‘Cherry’ again," you muse, skimming through it.

"So, Cherry says: ‘I wrote them my feelings, but I feel like they didn't get the hint. Any advice?’”

You lean back, thoughtful.

"Confessions are tricky, aren’t they? But if words feel too heavy, why not try something else?"

You pause, then smile.

"Here’s an idea—make a playlist. Fill it with songs that subtly express your feelings, and share it with them. You can name it something meaningful, like ‘For You’ or ‘Songs That Remind Me of You.’ Maybe they’ll get the hint, maybe they won’t, but either way… music has a way of saying what we can’t."

A soft melody plays as you set up the next song, your voice lowering.

"Speaking of confessions… Cherry, this one’s for you."

___

After the show, you gather your things, stretching as the familiar hum of the studio fades into the quiet of the night. Stepping outside, the cool air brushes against your skin—and there he is, leaning against his car, arms crossed, waiting.

"You again?" You arch a brow, teasing.

Seungcheol smirks. "What can I say? Madam needs her personal chauffeur." He pushes off the car, opening the door for you with a playful grin.

You scoff, rolling your eyes as you slide in. "More like my chauffeur needs his daily dose of validation."

He chuckles, shutting the door before rounding the car. "Can you blame me? Gotta make sure my most important passenger gets home safe."

You shake your head, biting back a smile as he starts the engine. The familiar warmth of routine settles between you, comfortable and unspoken.

As you drive, soft music fills the space—a melody unfamiliar yet strangely intimate. You pause, listening. It’s not his usual sound. Gone are the heavy beats and sharp rhythms he prefers. Instead, the speakers hum with gentle tunes, lyrics drenched in longing.

You glance at him, amusement flickering in your gaze. "Since when did your taste in music change this much?"

His fingers flex over the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road. "Dunno. Just felt like switching things up."

You hum along absentmindedly, letting the melody wrap around you, comforting in ways you don’t fully understand.

Seungcheol exhales quietly, gripping the wheel a little tighter, sneaking a glance your way. Because this playlist isn’t just a mix of songs—it’s a confession. One he can only hope you’ll hear.

As Seungcheol pulls up in front of your place, he shifts the car into park but doesn’t make a move to unlock the doors just yet. Instead, he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, stealing a glance your way.

"__, since tomorrow’s the weekend... you wanna hang out?" His voice is casual, but there’s something just a little hesitant in the way he says it.

You turn to him, brows raised. "Sure. Where?"

Seungcheol clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks away. "Nothing much… just the amusement park. Maybe a café after, y’know."

You blink before breaking into a small smile. "Huh, it’s been a while since we’ve gone there."

He nods, still avoiding your eyes. "Yeah. Thought it might be fun."

You tilt your head, watching him for a second before nudging his arm. "Well, if you’re paying, I’m definitely in."

He scoffs, rolling his eyes but grinning nonetheless. "Yeah, yeah. Just don’t go overboard with the snacks."

You laugh, reaching for the door handle. "No promises. See you tomorrow, Choiseung."

As you step out, he waits, watching until your lights flicker on inside. Only then does he drive off, the soft hum of the playlist still playing in the background.

The next day, the weekend air carries a hint of excitement as you step outside, spotting Seungcheol waiting by his car. Dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, he looks effortlessly relaxed—except for the way he keeps checking his phone, as if trying to act nonchalant.

"Wow, you’re actually on time today," you tease, walking up to him.

He scoffs, sliding his phone into his pocket. "Please, I was born punctual."

You snort. "Sure, if 'punctual' means making me wait at least ten minutes every time."

Seungcheol rolls his eyes but opens the car door for you anyway, his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Just get in, before I make you walk to the amusement park."

You laugh, sliding in as he rounds the car. Soon, you're both on the road, the soft hum of music playing in the background.

"So, what’s the plan, tour guide?" you ask, glancing at him.

He shrugs, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "Nothing fancy. Just rides, food, and you trying not to chicken out on the roller coasters."

You gasp dramatically. "Excuse you, I do not chicken out—"

"You literally backed out last time," he deadpans, making you groan in protest.

The banter continues, filling the car with laughter as the amusement park comes into view, the vibrant lights and distant screams of thrill-seekers setting the perfect scene for the day ahead.

As Seungcheol parks the car, you glance at the towering rides ahead, the excited chatter of parkgoers filling the air.

"Alright, where to first?" he asks, stretching as he steps out of the car.

You scan the park, lips pursed in thought before pointing towards the roller coasters with a challenging grin. "Since you’re so confident, let’s start with that."

His eyes widen for a split second before he huffs. "I wasn’t the one who backed out last time, remember?"

You laugh, linking your arm with his and pulling him along. "Exactly. Time to redeem myself."

The line moves faster than expected, and soon, you're seated, the bar locking in place. You grip the handles tightly, sneaking a glance at Seungcheol. He looks relaxed, but the way he exhales deeply before the ride starts doesn’t go unnoticed.

The moment the coaster shoots forward, your screams mix with laughter, adrenaline rushing through your veins as you grip the bar for dear life. When it finally slows, you glance at Seungcheol, only to see him looking at you instead of the ride’s descent.

"What?" you ask, breathless.

He shakes his head, a small, fond smile on his lips. "Nothing. Just glad you didn’t chicken out this time."

You roll your eyes, nudging him playfully as you both step off the ride, your legs slightly wobbly from the rush.

The day continues with more rides, playful bets on who can win the most arcade games (he cheats, you swear), and an unnecessary but hilarious attempt at a claw machine.

"Face it, I'm just naturally gifted," he boasts, tossing you a small stuffed bear.

"Naturally full of it, maybe," you grumble, but take the bear anyway, hugging it to your chest.

Finally, as the night settles, you both find yourselves on the Ferris wheel, the gentle hum of the ride filling the comfortable silence. The city sprawls below, glowing under the streetlights, and in the distance, fireworks begin to bloom in the sky.

"Didn’t think today would be this fun," you admit, leaning back against the seat, the cool glass behind you a contrast to the warmth in your chest.

Seungcheol glances at you, something unreadable in his expression. He exhales softly, his fingers tapping against his knee.

"Yeah... I, uh—" He hesitates, licking his lips, his voice quieter now. "There's actually something I—"

But before he can finish, a particularly loud firework crackles in the sky, painting the cabin in flickering colors. You turn quickly, eyes lighting up as you take in the view.

"Oh, look at that one! It’s so pretty" you say, completely missing the way Seungcheol sighs, his half-spoken words swallowed by the moment.

He leans back, running a hand through his hair, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," he murmurs, gaze lingering on you instead of the fireworks. "It is pretty."

Eventually, you both find yourselves at a cozy café just outside the park, the scent of coffee and pastries filling the air.

After placing your order, Seungcheol suddenly pushes back his chair. “Be right back,” he says, flashing a quick smile before heading toward the counter.

You don’t think much of it, scrolling through your phone until the waiter returns with your drinks. As they set your cup down, you notice the delicate heart design floating atop the foam.

You tilt your head, stirring it slightly with your spoon. “Oh? Is this some kind of Valentine’s special?” you ask, amused. “Did you get one too?”

Seungcheol, who’s just returned to his seat, glances at his own plain coffee and shrugs. “Yeah… no.”

You raise a brow. “Huh. Guess they just like me more.”

He chuckles, taking a sip of his drink, but you don’t notice the way he hides his small, satisfied smile. Because the truth is, he had asked for that heart—just for you.

//

The next evening, the soft glow of the studio lights casts a warm hue as you settle into your seat, adjusting your headphones. Outside, the city hums with life, but a sudden downpour has turned the streets into shimmering reflections of neon signs.

"Looks like we’re in for an unexpected downpour tonight," you say, adjusting your headphones with a small chuckle. "So if you're heading home, grab an umbrella—or better yet, find someone who’ll share theirs with you—if not, maybe this is your chance for a classic movie moment. You know, the whole ‘one umbrella, two people’ thing."

With a quick tap, you queue up a slow, dreamy melody.

"Wherever you are tonight—rushing through the rain or just watching it fall—I hope this keeps you warm. Stay safe out there." As the song plays, you sit back, stretching your arms with a sigh. 

As the show wraps up, you take off your headphones, letting out a small sigh as the last song fades into silence. The studio, once filled with the hum of voices and music, now feels still. Gathering your things, you push open the door, stepping into the quiet hallway.

Outside, the rain still falls in soft sheets, blurring the glow of streetlights. You pause near the entrance, rummaging through your bag. No umbrella. Right. You meant to bring one this morning, but in the rush, it completely slipped your mind.

 You pause at the entrance, contemplating making a run for it, when a familiar voice calls out.

"Figured you’d forget yours."

You blink as Seungcheol steps forward, holding out an umbrella, his usual smirk in place. His hair is slightly damp, his coat dusted with droplets, like he had hurried here without much thought.

A small flutter, barely noticeable, stirs in your chest. You shake it off with a teasing smile. "What, no chauffeur duty today?"

He chuckles, tucking a hand into his pocket. "Uhh, not tonight. I have to stay late for that project."

You tilt your head, a little surprised. "So you came all the way here just to give me this?" You motion toward the umbrella in your hand.

"Yeah," he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Before you can say anything else, his phone buzzes. He glances at the screen, sighs, then looks back at you. "I gotta go. Text me when you get home, okay?"

You nod, watching as he jogs toward his car, the red taillights fading into the rain.

For a moment, you just stand there, gripping the umbrella a little tighter. You don’t know why, but the weight of it in your hands feels different.

Then, shaking off the thought, you open it and step into the rain, heading home.

//

As morning arrives, the first thing that comes to mind is Seungcheol. You blink at your phone, thumb hovering over his contact.

Texting him isn’t anything new—you’ve done it countless times before. But for some reason, tonight, it feels… different. Maybe it’s your coworker’s words still echoing in your head, or maybe it’s the way he’s been occupying your thoughts more than usual.

Before you can overthink it, you start typing.

You: Did you get home okay?

A second passes. Then another. You bite your lip, debating whether to add something else.

You: And did you even sleep well? Don’t tell me you stayed up all night working.

You press send before hesitation can creep in. Almost instantly, the dots appear.

Seungcheol: Wow, checking up on me? I must be special.

You roll your eyes, already imagining the smug grin on his face.

You: Forget I asked.

Seungcheol: Wait, wait— I did sleep. Kinda. Had a long day, but I’m home now.

You: Good. Don’t overwork yourself.

Your fingers hover over the screen for a beat before you add one last message.

This time, he takes a little longer to respond.

Seungcheol: You too.

You lock your phone, exhaling softly as you sink into your pillow.

Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re just overthinking. But the warmth unfurling in your chest suggests otherwise.

At work, the usual hum of chatter fills the office. You’re halfway through your emails when a coworker slides into the seat beside you, a teasing grin already in place.

"I saw you yesterday," they start, leaning in slightly. "With a guy. Was he your boyfriend?"

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard.

"What? No!" The denial is immediate, instinctive. Too quick. You clear your throat, forcing a casual shrug. "Just a friend."

Your coworker chuckles, clearly amused. "Mmm, sure. You should’ve seen your face just now."

You scoff, shaking your head. "Oh, please. It’s not like that."

They raise an eyebrow, smirking as they lean against your desk. "Right. Just a friend, huh?"

You roll your eyes, waving them off, but as they walk away, their words linger.

Just a friend. 

You’ve said it a hundred times before. So why does it feel different now?

The soft glow of the studio lights wraps around you like a familiar embrace as you settle in for another night on air. The playlist hums in the background, filling the quiet spaces between your thoughts as you scroll through messages from listeners.

One catches your eye.

“I think I’ve fallen for my best friend. It wasn’t sudden—more like a slow, creeping realization. One day, I caught myself smiling at my phone just because they texted me. I don’t know if they feel the same, and I’m scared to lose what we have. What do I do?"

You hesitate for a moment, the words settling heavier than they should. There’s a flicker of something familiar in them, something that makes you sit up a little straighter.

You take a breath and lean toward the mic. “That’s… complicated,” you begin, your voice even, steady. “Falling for a best friend is tricky. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it. One day, they’re just… them. The same person they’ve always been. And then suddenly, everything feels different.”

Your breath catches slightly. A part of you wants to laugh at the timing, but instead, you clear your throat and lean into the mic.

You exhale softly, fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of your notes. "I think the scariest part isn’t even confessing—it’s the thought of what happens after. What if they don’t feel the same? What if things change? But… at the same time, isn’t it worth knowing? Isn’t it better than wondering ‘what if’ forever?"

The words come naturally, maybe a little too naturally, and you catch yourself mid-sentence, blinking at the realization. Your fingers tighten slightly around the papers in front of you.

You shake it off with a light laugh. "Anyway, I’m not a love expert. But if you’re listening… maybe ask yourself this—would you rather take the risk or live with the regret?"

As the segment transitions, you queue up the next song, the soft melody of Can't Help Falling in Love by Kina Grannis filling the airwaves. A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you lean back in your chair, staring at the ceiling.

//

The idea of a team dinner had been floating around the office for weeks, but it wasn’t until today that your producer finally put his foot down.

“We’re going,” he declared, arms crossed as he leaned against your desk. “No more excuses, no more ‘let’s do it next week.’ Tonight, we eat.”

Your coworker snickered, spinning lazily in their chair. “You just don’t want to go home and cook.”

“Exactly,” he admitted shamelessly. “Besides, it’s been a while since we all hung out outside of work. You in?”

You hesitated for a beat, glancing at your screen before sighing. It wasn’t like you had anything better to do. “Yeah, I’m in.”

And that was that. A few hours later, you found yourself walking toward the restaurant with the rest of your team, the air buzzing with conversation. Your producer was still arguing about food, insisting that this place was “decent at best” while another team member defended it with an almost personal level of passion.

You laughed at their banter, falling into step behind them—until something made you slow down.

A familiar figure stood just outside the restaurant, hands tucked into his coat pockets. Even before he turned, you knew who it was.

Seungcheol.

Your brows lifted slightly in amusement. “Are you a stalker?” you teased as you approached. “You’re literally everywhere I go.”

He turned toward you, chuckling under his breath. “No, I’m here with someone. My cli—”

“Shall we go?”

The voice belonged to a woman who stepped up beside him, her posture poised, her tone polite. She looked… elegant. The kind of effortless elegance that didn’t even need to try.

Your gaze flickered between them, something unreadable tightening in your chest before you smoothed your expression. “Who…”

The woman met your eyes and smiled. “Oh, I’m Lee Hana. I’m working with Seungcheol on a project.”

You nodded, lips curving into something light, something easy, even as something else tugged inside you. “Right. Nice to meet you.”

Seungcheol’s gaze lingered on you for a second longer than it should. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh,” you blinked, shifting slightly. “Our team is having dinner.” You motioned toward the restaurant behind you. “You know, bonding and all that.”

He nodded, but before he could say anything else, Hana touched his arm lightly. “Shall we?”

There was a pause—brief, barely there—before he cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.” Then he glanced at you again. “Bye, then. Have fun.”

And then he was gone, walking away with her at his side.

You watched them leave, something unspoken pressing against your ribs. It’s not jealousy, you told yourself. Not really. But the feeling stayed anyway.

A voice broke through your thoughts. “Oh, isn’t he the umbrella guy?”

You turned to see your coworker standing beside you, glancing after Seungcheol with mild curiosity before their gaze shifted back to you. “Did he come here with a woman?”

You said nothing, but that seemed to be enough of an answer.

They hummed knowingly. “You really must be just friends.” And with that, they walked inside.

You stayed there a second longer, staring at the spot where Seungcheol had just been, before shaking yourself out of it and following them in.

The night air is crisp as you walk back home, the sounds of the city buzzing softly in the background. Your team dinner had ended a while ago, but instead of feeling full and satisfied, there’s a strange heaviness in your chest—a weight you don’t quite understand.  

As you turn the corner to your apartment complex, you slow down, your steps faltering.  

There, leaning against his car with his arms crossed, is Seungcheol.  

Your brows knit together. “What are you doing here?”  

At your voice, he straightens, slipping his hands into his pockets. “You didn’t look well back at the restaurant,” he says, his tone light but laced with something else—concern, maybe. “So, I thought I’d check on you.”  

You blink at him. “You drove all the way here for that?”  

He shrugs. “It’s not far.”  

Liar. His office is nowhere near your place.  

There’s a brief pause. The usual banter is on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason, the words don’t come out as easily tonight. Maybe it’s because he actually showed up. Maybe it’s because you don’t know what to do with the way your heart stutters at the sight of him standing there, waiting for you.  

You shift your weight. “Do you… want to come in for coffee?”  

At that, he chuckles, shaking his head. “Coffee? At this time?” He tilts his head at you, amused. “You must really hate me if you don’t want me to sleep tonight.”  

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Then I’ll give you plain water. Just come in.”  

His lips twitch into a smirk before he pushes himself off the car. “If you insist.”  

And just like that, he follows you inside.  

The door clicks shut behind you as you step inside, flipping on the lights. The familiar warmth of your home settles around you, but with Seungcheol standing in your living room, it suddenly feels… different.

“You can sit,” you say, gesturing vaguely to the couch as you move toward the kitchen.

He hums in response, wandering over but not immediately sitting down. Instead, he looks around, eyes flickering to the small details of your space—the stack of books on the coffee table, the blanket draped lazily over the couch, the half-full cup on the counter from this morning.

“By the way,” you start, keeping your voice casual as you pour warm milk, “who was that woman earlier?”

Seungcheol hums in acknowledgment, but when he answers, it’s after a slight pause. “Just a client. I’m handling a project for her company.”

“Ah.” You nod, stirring the coffee a little too forcefully. “Looked like you guys were close.”

He lets out a small laugh. “Are you interrogating me right now?”

You scoff, bringing the mugs over to the table and handing him one. “No. Just making conversation.”

You drop onto the couch beside him, curling your legs under you. He’s been here so many times before, and yet tonight, the usual comfort feels a little different—like you’re hyper-aware of the way he leans back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, the way he watches you over the rim of his mug.

“You seemed off earlier,” he says after a beat. “Something wrong?”

“No,” you lie, but even you don’t sound convinced.

Seungcheol doesn’t press, just tilts his head slightly, studying you like he’s figuring out a puzzle. “If you say so.”

After a while, he stretches, glancing at the time. “I should go.”

You nod, following him to the door. He lingers for a second, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Text me when you wake up, yeah?”

You frown. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Just ‘cause.”

You roll your eyes, but something about the way he’s looking at you makes your chest tighten. “Fine.”

He smirks. “Good.”

And then, with a small wave, he’s gone.

You stand there for a second, staring at the closed door, fingers curling tightly around your cup.

The theater is dim, the soft glow from the screen casting flickering lights across Seungcheol’s face. The film has barely begun, but the hum of quiet conversations and the rustling of popcorn bags fill the space around you.

You’re not sure who suggested this movie. Maybe he did. Maybe you did. Maybe it was just one of those things—where he casually texted, "Movie?" and you didn’t even think before replying, "Sure."

The movie plays, but your focus wavers. You’re aware of him. Of the way his shoulder is just barely brushing yours. The way his fingers drum lazily against his knee. The way he shifts slightly every now and then, getting comfortable.

And then, his hand moves to the popcorn bag between you.

Your fingers accidentally graze his. Just for a second.

You don’t think much of it—until it happens again.

The second time, neither of you pull away immediately. It’s not intentional, not deliberate. Just… a pause. A moment that lingers for a beat too long before he finally retracts his hand.

Your pulse stutters, but you keep your expression neutral.

A few more scenes pass. You’re getting lost in the film when suddenly—

A jump scare.

It’s sudden enough that your breath catches, and before you can stop yourself, your hand darts out, grasping the closest thing—his arm.

Seungcheol doesn’t move. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t say a word. Just glances down at your fingers curled around his sleeve.

You realize what you’ve done a second too late. Heat creeps up your neck as you start to pull away.

But then—

His arm shifts just slightly, just enough that your hand slides from his sleeve to his wrist, fingertips brushing against his skin.

You don’t move. Neither does he.

The moment stretches, unspoken, unacknowledged. Not quite intentional. But not exactly not intentional, either.

And suddenly, the movie is the least interesting thing in the room.

The movie ends, and the crowd slowly shuffles toward the exits. You stretch your arms as you step out of the dimly lit theater, the cool night air greeting you.

"That wasn’t as scary as I thought," you say, glancing at Seungcheol.

He scoffs, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Sure. That explains why you nearly ripped my sleeve off."

You roll your eyes, nudging him lightly with your elbow. "That was one time."

He smirks. "Uh-huh. And what about the other time? And the time after that?"

You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real bite behind it. He’s enjoying this way too much.

"Okay, whatever. Where are we eating?" You change the subject swiftly, and Seungcheol hums, pretending to think.

"Ramen?" he suggests.

Your stomach growls at the mention of food, and you nod. "Sounds good."

It’s a short walk to the small ramen shop tucked away on a quieter street. The place is cozy, warm, and familiar—one of those late-night spots you’ve both ended up in more times than you can count. The moment you step inside, the comforting aroma of broth and spices fills the air.

Seungcheol orders for both of you, as he always does, rattling off your usual without even asking. The cashier doesn’t even blink, already used to it by now.

You shake your head with a small smile. "One day, I’m going to switch things up just to mess with you."

He leans against the counter, grinning. "No, you won’t."

He’s right, and you hate that he knows it.

The two of you settle into a booth, the conversation flowing easily between bites of food. Seungcheol steals a piece of your fish cake without asking. You retaliate by swiping a sip of his drink. It's effortless, familiar.

By the time you step back outside, the streets are quieter. The late hour drapes the city in a peaceful hush, the occasional headlights casting long shadows on the pavement.

Neither of you say much as you walk, but it isn’t an awkward silence. Just the kind that lingers when words aren’t needed.

At some point, Seungcheol slows his pace, falling into step beside you instead of slightly ahead.

The street lights flicker above, the air crisp but not too cold. You rub your hands together out of habit.

A beat passes before Seungcheol exhales through his nose and, without a word, reaches out.

His hand brushes yours, just barely.

You think it might be an accident until he does it again.

This time, he doesn’t move away.

And neither do you.

The apartment is quiet when you step inside, the familiar space wrapping around you like a well-worn blanket. You toe off your shoes, set your bag down, and exhale, as if the night still clings to your skin. The soft hum of the refrigerator is the only sound filling the air, but your mind is anything but quiet.

You wander into the kitchen on autopilot, reaching for a glass, but your fingers hesitate over the cabinet handle. The thought slips in, uninvited.

What if he already knows?

The question lingers, settling into the corners of your mind like an echo. You shake your head as if that alone could shove it away, but it doesn’t work.

Maybe it’s the way he laughed tonight—soft, genuine, like the sound itself belonged to you. Or the way he leaned in closer, just enough that his warmth almost touched you. Maybe it’s nothing at all, just the way he exists around you—familiar, steady, yet suddenly… different.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to chase the feeling away, but it’s stubborn. Because now that you’ve noticed it, you can’t unsee it. Every teasing remark, every lingering glance, every small, meaningless moment—it’s all been leading to this.

And the worst part?

You don’t even know when it started.

You sink onto the couch, pressing the cool glass against your palm, grounding yourself. You try to convince yourself it’s nothing. You’ve always been close. He’s always been there.

But tonight, when his hand brushed yours and he didn’t pull away… when he said goodnight like he meant something else…

Your heart had stuttered.

You bite your lip, staring at the ceiling, willing your heartbeat to settle.

...What if he already knows?

//

The studio is quiet except for the soft hum of the equipment. The city lights flicker through the window, casting faint shadows against the booth. You scroll through the messages, eyes landing on a familiar name.

Cherry.

“I tried everything you said—gave them a letter, took them out, spent so much time together. And honestly? I swear they like me too. But… nothing. What do I do?"

You let out a breath, tapping your fingers lightly against the desk.

"Okay, first of all—don’t give up. I know it’s frustrating when someone doesn’t read between the lines, but sometimes, people need things to be said plainly. No metaphors, no subtlety. Just… real words."

You lean back slightly, eyes flickering toward the dim window of the booth, where the city blurs in the distance.

"Because here’s the thing—what if they do feel the same way? What if they’re just as scared as you are? Wouldn’t you rather know than spend your days wondering?"

The words come easily, almost too easily, and for a split second, you wonder if you’re really just talking to Cherry anymore.

You exhale and push forward.

"So here’s my advice, Cherry. Tell them. No hints, no half-confessions. Just look them in the eyes and say, ‘I like you.’ And if they don’t feel the same? At least you’ll know. At least you won’t have to live with ‘what if.’"

Your hand hovers over the controls for a moment longer than necessary before finally pressing the next song cue.

The melody flows through the studio, soft and steady. And yet, your heart is thudding slightly faster than it should.

The night air is cool against your skin as you step out of the building, the faint hum of the city filling the quiet. Work is done for the day, your coworkers already heading their separate ways after a few lingering goodbyes.

You stretch your arms slightly, exhaling as you adjust the strap of your bag—only to freeze mid-motion.

He’s there.

Standing just outside the entrance, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket—except for one, which lingers behind his back, hiding something.

Your heart stirs, something instinctive. “Seungcheol?”

His lips twitch in a small, almost nervous smile. “Hey.”

“You’re waiting for me?” You shift your bag on your shoulder, stepping toward him.

“Yeah.” A soft exhale. “I had to.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Why?”

Seungcheol hesitates, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then, with a slow exhale, he pulls his hand from behind his back—revealing a bouquet of flowers, delicate and vibrant under the streetlights.

Your breath catches.

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

Your breath catches.

He holds it out to you, a faint chuckle escaping his lips. “I know it’s kind of cheesy, but... I saw this and thought of you.”

Your fingers brush against his as you take it, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours.

“Seungcheol…” Your voice is softer now, unsure. The gesture feels too deliberate, too thoughtful. It makes your heart ache in a way you don’t fully understand.

He watches you for a second before exhaling, running a hand through his hair. “I should’ve said this sooner. A long time ago, actually.” His voice drops slightly. “I think—no, I know—I’ve liked you for a while now.”

The world feels like it slows down.

His eyes flicker with something—uncertainty, vulnerability, an honesty so raw it makes your chest tighten.

“I tried not to,” he continues, voice steadier now. “I thought maybe it would pass, that maybe we were just friends and I was misreading things. But then you started showing up in my thoughts at the most random times. I’d hear a song and think of you. I’d pass a café and wonder if you’d like their coffee. And no matter how much I tried to ignore it… it was always you.”

Your fingers tighten around the flower.

“So I’m done pretending.” His voice is quiet but firm. “I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You swallow, fingers tightening around the flower as your heart stumbles over itself. The weight of his words settles over you—not heavy, not suffocating, but something warm, something undeniable.

For a long moment, you don’t speak. You don’t know if you can.

Seungcheol watches you carefully, his usual confidence laced with something softer, something uncertain. You can tell he’s waiting, bracing himself for whatever comes next.

So you inhale slowly, steadying yourself.

“You—” Your voice falters slightly before you clear your throat. “You’ve liked me for a long time?”

He nods, lips curving into a self-deprecating smile. “Yeah.” A beat. “I thought you knew.”

Your breath catches.

Did you?

You think back—to the lingering glances, the easy laughter, the way he’s always been there, steady and constant. The way he looks at you when he thinks you don’t notice. The way your heart has been shifting, your feelings unraveling into something you weren’t ready to name.

“I…” You pause, lips parting, your heart beating so fast it’s dizzying. And then you laugh, a little breathless, shaking your head. “God, I feel so stupid.”

Seungcheol blinks, caught off guard. “Huh?”

You meet his eyes, and this time, there’s no doubt, no hesitation.

“I like you too, you idiot.”

For a second, everything is still.

Then Seungcheol lets out a sharp breath—a laugh, almost disbelieving—and suddenly, that teasing smile you know so well is back, but there’s something else in his expression now. Something real. Something unshakable.

“Yeah?” His voice is quieter, laced with something warm.

You nod, lips pressing together. “Yeah.”

And then, he pulls you in—his hand resting at the back of your head, fingers threading into your hair.

His lips press against yours, gentle at first, then firmer, like he’s been holding this in for too long. His other hand stays over yours, the bouquet still between you, petals brushing against your skin.

The city buzzes in the background, but all you can hear is the quiet rush of your own heartbeat. And in that moment, with his warmth, his touch, his everything—

It just feels right.

You pull away just enough to look at him, breathless, your forehead still resting against his. His hands remain on your waist, warm and grounding, as if neither of you wants to let go just yet.

And honestly? You don’t think you ever want to.

A soft laugh escapes you, light and airy. “You know… a listener of mine also loves their best friend,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly. “They tried everything—subtle hints, letters, taking them out—but their best friend was too dense to get it.”

Seungcheol chuckles, his thumb brushing over your wrist. “Sounds familiar.”

“Right?” You sigh dramatically. “So, I told them to just confess. No hints, no half-confessions, just… real words.”

He hums, nodding thoughtfully. “Good advice.”

“Yeah,” you grin, looking up at him. “I wonder how it went for them.”

Seungcheol pauses for a second, then leans in just a little, his voice playful yet quiet. “I’d say pretty well.”

You blink. “Huh?”

His lips quirk up, and suddenly, the way he’s looking at you feels a little too knowing.

And then, before you can process it, he says it—just two words, but they hit you like a ton of bricks.

“I know.”

You stare. “What?”

He grins, tapping a finger against your forehead lightly. “Your listener. Cherry.”

Your brows furrow. The pieces are there, but your brain refuses to connect them. “What about them?”

He hesitates, as if savoring the moment, before finally confessing, “It’s me.”

Silence.

You tilt your head, processing his words. “...You’re Cherry?”

Seungcheol nods, clearly holding back a laugh at your expression.

For a second, you just stand there, staring at him.

Then, with a dramatic gasp, you lightly smack him with the bouquet in your hands.

“Ow—hey!” He feigns pain, stumbling back slightly, but the wide grin on his face betrays him.

“You idiot!” You hit him again, though there’s no real force behind it. “You made me give love advice for your own confession?”

He catches your wrist, still laughing. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”

You narrow your eyes at him, but before you can retaliate, he tugs you forward, pulling you into another hug.

This time, it feels different.

Familiar, warm, but with something new. Something neither of you have to question anymore.

You sigh against his shoulder, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you.”