☆～I'm a dreamer～☆

The call came at 1:13 a.m.

Which, honestly, wasn’t alarming.

If anything, it was late for Chen.

You were sprawled across your couch in oversized pajamas, half-watching reruns of an old drama while attempting to fold laundry with the motivation of a dying sloth. Your phone buzzed against the cushion beside you, and the second you saw his name flash across the screen, you snorted.

“Disaster time,” you muttered.

You answered immediately.

“Tell me why you’re calling me instead of sleeping like a normal person.”

There was rustling on the other end. Then a woman’s voice said carefully:

“…Hi?”

You blinked.

Silence.

Then slowly, “You’re not Jongdae.”

“No,” she said, sounding equally confused. “I’m… his girlfriend?”

You sat upright so fast a sock flew off your lap.

“Oh my God.”

A pause.

Then the woman laughed nervously. “I feel like I just uncovered a secret second life.”

“Oh no,” you groaned immediately. “Did he save me under something suspicious? Please tell me I’m not ‘Baby ❤️’ or something equally horrifying.”

The woman burst out laughing.

“No, actually, you’re saved as ‘Emergency Contact Because She’s Smarter Than Me.’”

“…Okay, that’s fair.”

You heard muffled movement and then an outraged male voice somewhere in the background.

“Why do you have my phone?!”

“Because it’s been vibrating nonstop!”

“That’s because I called her!”

“Yes, I can see that!”

You covered your mouth, already wheezing.

“Oh,” the woman said suddenly. “You can hear this?”

“Crystal clear.”

“Great. Then please explain why my boyfriend calls another woman at one in the morning.”

“Excellent question,” you said solemnly. “Usually it means he forgot another anniversary date and needs emergency assistance.”

“IT IS NOT AN ANNIVERSARY,” Jongdae shouted distantly.

You heard fumbling. A muffled curse. Then finally his voice came clearly through the phone.

“She answered my phone?”

“You left it on the kitchen counter,” his girlfriend replied.

“You invaded my privacy.”

“You called someone at one in the morning!”

“It’s her!”

“That explains absolutely nothing!”

You lost it completely, laughter echoing through your apartment.

“This is amazing,” you gasped.

“Stop encouraging her,” Jongdae complained.

“You deserve this.”

“You don’t even know why I called.”

“You panic-called me at 1 a.m. after your girlfriend answered your phone. Whatever the reason is, you already lost.”

His groan was dramatic enough to deserve an award.

And that was how you first met the woman who would eventually become his wife.

—

A week later, she invited you to dinner.

Which felt suspicious.

“You think she’s going to interrogate me,” you accused while standing outside the restaurant.

“I think she wants to meet the person I apparently emotionally depend on,” Jongdae corrected.

“You do emotionally depend on me.”

“I absolutely do not.”

“You called me crying because your rice cooker broke.”

“That was a traumatic experience.”

“You named the rice cooker.”

“It had personality.”

You stared at him.

He stared back with complete sincerity.

“See?” you said. “This is why she needs to meet me. Someone has to explain what you’re actually like.”

Jongdae sighed dramatically and pushed open the restaurant door.

His girlfriend looked up immediately from the table near the window, and the second your eyes met, recognition flashed across her face.

“Oh,” she said.

Then she started laughing.

“You’re exactly how I imagined.”

“That’s either a compliment or deeply offensive.”

“A little of both.”

Jongdae pointed between the two of you. “Please don’t team up against me.”

Neither of you answered.

Which, unfortunately for him, was answer enough.

—

You learned very quickly that she adored hearing stories about Jongdae being embarrassing.

Which meant you became dangerous together.

“Tell her about karaoke night,” you said sweetly over appetizers.

Jongdae nearly choked on water.

“No.”

“Yes.”

His girlfriend leaned forward immediately. “What happened at karaoke night?”

“He got emotional during a breakup song despite not dating anyone at the time.”

“That’s not—”

“And then he pointed at us dramatically during the high note like he was in a music video.”

“You promised never to mention that again!”

“I lied.”

His girlfriend was crying laughing by then.

“You’re awful,” Jongdae informed you.

“You trust me anyway.”

“…Unfortunately.”

There was something strangely easy about the two of them together.

You’d known Jongdae for years—through exhausting schedules, terrible hair decisions, stress-induced spirals at three in the morning, and exactly one incident involving him trying to fix a sink himself and flooding half his kitchen.

But with her, he looked lighter.

Softer.

Like he could finally exhale.

And honestly?

That mattered more to you than anything else.

—

Over time, somehow, you stopped feeling like “Jongdae’s friend.”

You became part of the routine.

Movie nights turned into regular dinners.

Dinners turned into random grocery trips where Jongdae disappeared for twenty minutes because he’d found free samples somewhere.

You started getting texts from his girlfriend without him involved at all.

please tell me honestly

does he actually think those sunglasses look good

You responded immediately.

absolutely not

destroy them

Five minutes later, Jongdae called you in outrage.

“Traitor.”

“She sent photographic evidence.”

“You were supposed to support me.”

“I support your growth.”

“My growth into what?”

“A man who doesn’t wear yellow-tinted aviators indoors.”

“You’re both evil.”

“Correct.”

—

The first time Jongdae panicked about an anniversary gift, he showed up at your apartment carrying iced coffee and despair.

“I have nothing,” he announced dramatically.

“You have two weeks.”

“That’s basically tomorrow.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“She already bought me something thoughtful.”

“And?”

“And now I have pressure!”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Then slowly, “Have you considered using your brain?”

“I came here for support.”

“You came here because I’m the only person who remembers what she bookmarks online.”

“That too.”

So naturally, the two of you spent three hours building the perfect anniversary plan.

Which included:

— a handwritten letter because his girlfriend cried over sentimental things — reservations at the tiny restaurant she loved — replacing the flowers three times because Jongdae kept picking ugly arrangements — banning him from choosing wrapping paper after he selected one covered in cartoon ducks

“They’re festive,” he defended.

“They’re hideous.”

“You have no artistic vision.”

“You’re holding duck paper.”

“You’re attacking me during a vulnerable time.”

“You made me leave my house for this.”

“And yet here you are.”

You sighed heavily.

“Unfortunately, you’d die without me.”

“Probably.”

—

Eventually, the wedding happened.

And during the reception, after speeches and champagne and Jongdae crying halfway through his vows because of course he did, his wife found you standing near the dessert table.

“You know,” she said thoughtfully, “I was genuinely prepared to hate you.”

You nearly inhaled frosting.

“What?!”

She laughed immediately. “Not because of anything you did! I just kept hearing about you constantly.”

“That’s terrifying.”

“He’d say things like, ‘Oh, she’d know what to do,’ or ‘I need to ask her opinion,’ and I thought…” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe there was some dramatic unresolved feelings situation.”

You looked horrified.

“With him?”

She burst out laughing.

“Exactly my reaction after meeting you two.”

“Thank God.”

“You act like siblings.”

“That’s because he’s annoying.”

“And you bully him constantly.”

“It builds character.”

From across the room, Jongdae pointed suspiciously at both of you.

“Why do I feel attacked?”

“You should,” you and his wife answered simultaneously.

He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re definitely plotting.”

—

Years later, nothing really changed.

Except now there was a baby.

Which somehow made the chaos worse.

“Why is she awake?” you whispered frantically at 2:07 a.m., bouncing his daughter carefully in your arms.

“Because she hates sleep,” Jongdae whispered back.

“She’s three months old!”

“And already judging me.”

The baby stared at him with enormous unimpressed eyes.

You nodded solemnly. “Honestly? Valid.”

“Can both of you stop bullying me in my own house?”

His wife appeared in the hallway looking exhausted.

“Is she still crying?”

“No,” you whispered proudly. “We reached diplomatic negotiations.”

The baby sneezed.

Then immediately grabbed your finger.

“Oh,” Jongdae’s wife said softly.

You looked up.

She was smiling.

Not politely.

Not carefully.

Just warmly.

Like this—this messy, exhausted, ridiculous moment—was normal.

Family normal.

And somehow that hit harder than expected.

—

The thing nobody told you about loving people platonically was how permanent it could become.

You’d always assumed friendships shifted eventually.

People drifted.

Lives changed.

But somehow, yours only tangled together more over time.

You were there for house hunting disasters.

For pregnancy cravings at four in the morning.

For Jongdae calling you in genuine panic because he accidentally shrunk his daughter’s favorite sweater in the wash.

“She’s going to hate me forever.”

“She’s two.”

“She looked disappointed!”

“You’re projecting.”

“I’m suffering.”

“Buy a new sweater.”

“You solve everything too quickly.”

“You create problems too dramatically.”

And somehow, through all of it, his wife just accepted you.

Not cautiously.

Not reluctantly.

Completely.

You became the designated babysitter.

The emergency contact.

The person their daughter ran to whenever she wanted snacks her parents said no to.

One afternoon, while you sat cross-legged on the living room floor helping her color cartoon animals, she looked up suddenly.

“Auntie?”

Your heart paused.

“Hm?”

“Daddy said you knew him before Mommy.”

“I did.”

“Were you annoying back then too?”

From the kitchen came immediate offended yelling.

“I HEARD THAT.”

You started laughing so hard you nearly dropped the crayons.

His daughter giggled wildly.

And a second later, his wife leaned against the doorway smiling at the three of you like this scene belonged naturally in her life now.

Maybe it did.

Jongdae appeared behind her carrying juice boxes with the exhausted expression of a man deeply outnumbered.

“You’re teaching my child slander.”

“She figured it out herself,” you said.

His daughter nodded seriously. “Daddy tells bad jokes.”

“Et tu, tiny traitor?”

“She learned from the best,” his wife replied.

You raised your hand proudly.

Jongdae stared at his family—his wife laughing, his daughter stealing crayons, you sitting in the middle of his living room like you practically lived there.

Then he sighed.

“You know,” he said, “this really got out of hand.”

“What did?”

“I called you once because my rice cooker broke.”

You gasped. “You said we’d never speak of that again.”

“And now somehow you’re permanently attached to my household.”

His daughter cheered. “Forever!”

His wife nodded thoughtfully. “Forever sounds right.”

Something warm settled quietly in your chest.

Not dramatic.

Not overwhelming.

Just certain.

Some people found love stories in romance.

But sometimes, love looked like this instead.

Late-night phone calls.

Shared grocery lists.

Inside jokes built over years.

A little girl handing you purple crayons like you’d always belonged there.

Jongdae pointed accusingly at you one last time.

“For the record,” he informed his daughter, “your auntie is the reason nobody respects me.”

You grinned.