#college!jay

The practice room was warm. Not hot, exactly—just the kind of warm that stuck to your skin, that lingered in your collarbones and made your bangs cling annoyingly to your forehead.

You stood in front of the mirror wall, catching your breath, fixing the satin skirt tied loosely around your waist.

Your black cropped shirt had already slid down one shoulder, exposing the strap of your leotard underneath. You didn’t bother fixing it.

Your focus was elsewhere—mostly on your discomfort, and the silent scream your thighs were making from doing that god-awful développé combo three times in a row.

“Hey,” Kazuha called softly from the side, wiping her neck with a towel as she approached you, “you okay?”

You nodded, lips pressed together in a tight smile. “Yeah. Just… not my usual skirt,” you muttered, glancing down.

Kazuha tilted her head. “I noticed. It’s shorter than usual.”

You gave a dry laugh, fingers tugging lightly at the tie. “Yeah, it’s my old one. From high school. My usual skirt’s in the laundry and I forgot to grab it this morning, so I’m surviving with this thing.”

Your reflection blinked back at you from the mirror—sweaty, flushed, still catching your breath. Your ponytail was coming loose and you were already sure your tights were rolling at the waist.

You turned slightly to the side and tugged the skirt again, voice flat. “This is what I get for being too lazy to do laundry.”

Kazuha laughed, leaning back on the barre. “It’s kinda cute, though. Retro. You look like you're in a throwback recital.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled anyway.

Getting into Decelis University hadn’t been easy. The performing arts department—especially the dance conservatory—was known across the country for its prestige and high expectations. Hundreds auditioned every year. Not all made it past the first round.

You did.

On your first try.

Full-ride scholarship. Competitive record. Trophies and tears to back it all up.

People said you made it look easy, like you were meant to be there. But it wasn’t ease—it was effort. It was years of calluses, missed parties, bleeding toes, and sacrifice. You didn’t just want to dance. You needed to.

Kazuha tossed her towel on the bench, pulling her leg up on the barre to stretch. “You staying late again tonight?”

You nodded, eyes fixed on your reflection again. “Yeah. I have to perfect the solo for finals. My second rotation’s on Friday.”

“You know,” she grinned, “you say that like you’re not already one of the top students here.”

You shrugged. “Perfection’s the bare minimum.”

Kazuha blinked at you like you were insane, but she didn’t push it. She knew you well enough by now.

The speaker clicked as the next song loaded, soft classical strings filling the room again. You took a breath, stepped forward, and let your body move—not perfectly, not effortlessly, but honestly.

Your feet kissed the marley floor with a quiet grace, arms extending with purpose as you lost yourself to the swell of the violins.

You didn't think, didn't worry—this was the part where everything else slipped away. Just you, the music, and the ache in your chest that only dance could reach.

Just as Kazuha stepped forward to join you in the center, the door handle jiggled behind you.

You both froze mid-pose.

Then—knock knock knock.

Sharp. Persistent. Not polite.

You blinked at Kazuha, who mirrored your confusion, and as you turned toward the door, you caught a chaotic shuffle of movement behind the foggy glass panel.

“What the hell—” you muttered, already walking over as Kazuha crossed the room to pause the music.

Three heads crammed into the glass at once, pushing and jostling to get a peek inside, like some low-budget Scooby-Doo skit come to life. Behind them, more bodies shuffled around, some holding instruments.

You squinted. One had a guitar case strapped to his back. Another was holding drumsticks. Someone in the back had an amp cord looped around his neck like a scarf.

Kazuha tilted her head. “Are we being… robbed? By a band?”

You raised an eyebrow, folding your arms across your chest. “Who even lets them in here?”

The glass panel fogged slightly from the nose of someone pressing into it a little too eagerly.

You sighed, took a few steps forward, and called out—loudly enough to be heard through the semi-soundproof barrier, “Do you need something, or are you just here for a group peep show?”

That did the trick.

The door burst open like someone forgot subtlety existed. Seven guys came tumbling in, all trying to talk at once, their words tangling into a mess of “wait—no you ask—dude, she’s literally glaring—” while you stood, unamused, watching the circus unfold.

Kazuha blinked, frozen in place like her brain short-circuited at the sheer volume of testosterone in the room.

The boy with dyed blonde hair lit up like a switch. “Kazuha!”

Her head whipped around at the sound of her name, and when she caught sight of the voice—tall, bleach-haired, grinning like a kid—her face softened instantly.

“Oh, Ni-ki,” she said with a small laugh, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s you.”

You blinked.

Wait. Ni-ki?

As in—her cousin Ni-ki?

The one who, according to Kazuha, played bass ‘like he was born doing it’ and could barely stay out of trouble for longer than a week?

The dots connected in your head like a quiet click—that was the cousin who hung out with some band. That was the chaos she warned you about when she said don’t mind the noise if you hear it down the hallway.

“Wait,” you said slowly, glancing between her and the group of rowdy boys trying to look innocent while still blocking half the studio entrance. “This is your cousin?”

“Yup,” Kazuha replied, already looking more amused than confused. “And that—” she gestured loosely toward the rest of them, “—is his band, I’m guessing.”

“You’re guessing?” you deadpanned. “They walked in here like they were about to headline Coachella.”

The boy in the front—tall, dark eyes, jet-black hair pulled back under a hoodie—finally stepped forward, less loud than the others, but still undeniably present. A black guitar case hung across his back, the strap slung casually over one shoulder like it belonged there, like he belonged here.

He wasn’t smiling.

He looked at you, at the studio, at your sweat-damp shirt and worn-out ballet shoes, and then back at you.

He raised a brow.

And then he said, “Is this the part where we pretend to be sorry for barging in?”

Your arms stayed crossed, lips twitching. “That depends. Is this the part where you explain why you’re here like this is a battle of the bands?”

Kazuha snorted. Ni-ki cackled.

The guy with another guitar case nudged the hoodie boy with his elbow. “Jay, say something normal, you’re scaring them.”

You raised an eyebrow.

The rest of the room seemed to pause, some failing to hide their grins while others tried very hard not to look like they were watching a drama unfold.

The so-called Jay hadn’t looked away from you once—dark eyes unreadable, the weight of his stare almost intrusive if it didn’t feel so curious.

You refused to break eye contact. If he was testing you, he’d have to try harder.

Kazuha stood quietly beside you, arms lightly crossed over her chest now, the tension in her jaw suggesting she was just waiting for someone to say something stupid so she could comment.

Finally, someone near the door cleared his throat—a polite, practiced sound that immediately drew your attention. The boy who stepped forward looked nothing like the storm standing across from you.

He was shorter than Jay, cleaner cut, dressed neatly in a dark crewneck and jeans. He smiled, dimples flashing as he extended a hand toward you.

“Hi,” he said with a slight bow, voice warm and measured. “I’m Yang Jungwon. Sorry to barge in all of a sudden. I know it’s unexpected, but…”

He reached into his back pocket and unfolded a neatly creased slip of paper, holding it up for you to see.

“It says here on the permit that we were assigned this studio for band practice at 7:30 PM,” he added carefully, his smile faltering just slightly. “And, uh… well…”

His voice trailed off as you took the paper from him, your eyes skimming over the familiar university header. You read the fine print, squinting at the date and time listed in the middle of the page.

Your jaw tightened.

It was 7:32 PM.

You looked up. Right on cue, another boy—tall, broad-shouldered, impossibly pretty—piped up from behind Ni-ki, his tone light and almost too casual.

“Well, it is 7:30,” he said, shrugging one shoulder, an easy grin on his face. “Technically.”

You gave him a flat look. He smiled wider, clearly not sorry.

“I’m Lee Heeseung,” he added, a little sheepishly this time, like that would soften the blow.

“Oh,” you said dryly, crossing your arms. “So your plan was to just burst in and interrupt mid-combo because you had a slip of paper and a sense of entitlement?”

Heeseung winced, looking to Ni-ki for backup, who was definitely not paying attention—too busy playing with the hem of his oversized jacket while whispering something to Kazuha.

Jay finally blinked, his voice low and slow as he spoke for the first time. “No one said it was a good plan.”

Your eyes flicked to him again, sharp. He still hadn’t moved from where he stood—hoodie half-zipped, guitar case slung over one shoulder, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark jeans. He didn’t look embarrassed. He looked bored. Or tired. Or both.

“And you’re Jay?” you asked, tone unimpressed.

His head tilted slightly. “Unfortunately.”

You gave him a look. He held it again.

“God,” Kazuha muttered under her breath beside you, “do you two want a chair so you can keep eye-fighting in comfort?”

Jungwon, ever the peacemaker, gently stepped between you again, holding up his hands.

“Look, I think the admin office made a mistake. We’re not trying to kick you out or anything. We just… really need a place to rehearse tonight. Our usual room’s under maintenance.”

You glanced at the clock near the mirror.

Your solo practice was supposed to end at 7:30, but you usually stayed longer—everyone knew that. No one ever came after you. No one dared.

Until now.

You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

“Fine,” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “Give us five minutes to cool down and grab our stuff. You guys can have it after.”

Jungwon looked relieved. “Seriously? That’s—thank you.”

Heeseung threw a little fist bump in the air, whispering a triumphant “yes” under his breath.

Without another word, the group finally started moving—some quieter than others—as they drifted further into the practice room. You and Kazuha stepped aside instinctively, watching as they began unloading.

The boy with the second guitar case unclipped it and set it gently on the floor. Jungwon followed him, coiling a few amp cords neatly, while someone near the door nearly dropped a whole keyboard with a loud thud.

You flinched.

Your jaw tensed. "Seriously?"

“Sorry!” the boy called out quickly, already scrambling to fix it.

Ni-ki ducked around him and pushed the door open again, holding it wide with his foot as another boy wheeled in a full drum kit like this was a full-blown arena setup and not just a shared university room.

“Careful with that, I tuned the snare this morning!” Jungwon scolded, and Ni-ki just huffed dramatically but helped anyway.

Across the room, someone handed Heeseung a mic stand like it was a sword and he was about to lead them into battle. You watched with a quiet sigh as chaos began blooming in your sacred space.

Beside you, Kazuha chuckled under her breath.

You nudged her shoulder with your bag. “Your cousin’s just as hardheaded as you, you know that?”

She laughed softly, looping her sweatshirt over her arm. “I know. I’m sorry. It runs in the family.”

You knelt down to grab your ballet flats, towel already half-hanging from your tote, when a shadow fell across your line of sight.

You looked up.

It was the same boy who had nearly dropped the keyboard earlier. He was standing in front of you now, hands clasped in front of him, an almost apologetic smile stretched wide across his face.

His hair was cropped short, brushing just above his brows. His eyes practically sparkled.

“Hi,” he said brightly, almost like he meant it. “I’m Sunoo. I—uh—just wanted to say I’m really sorry about earlier.”

You blinked. He had that kind of smile that felt like it came with its own lighting—warm, unguarded, maybe a little too charming for your own good.

You stood, slipping your shoes into your bag. “It’s not that big of a deal,” you said lightly, waving a hand as if to brush it off.

Still, he bowed slightly, earnestness in every movement. “Still. I apologize. Jay usually isn’t that…”

He hesitated, searching for a polite word.

You offered, “Intense?”

He laughed. “Yeah. That. Or dramatic. Or socially incapable, depending on the day.”

You let out a small, unwilling laugh. Damn him and his infectious energy.

Behind him, the tall boy who had helped Ni-ki drag the drum set in let out a sigh as he leaned against the mirror wall, arms crossed.

“Yeah, seriously,” he said, brushing hair away from his forehead. “We don’t usually come in here, and we didn’t mean to crash your rehearsal or anything.”

You turned to him, a little caught off guard by his voice—deep, smooth, kind of casual in a way that made you think he wasn’t used to saying sorry out loud.

“Oh—yeah, I’m Sunghoon,” he said quickly, standing up straighter. “I play bass. In the band. That’s here. Right now.”

You raised an eyebrow at his awkward phrasing. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling under his breath.

“Sorry. That came out weird.”

Before you could respond, Ni-ki—who’d reappeared from behind the keyboard stand—elbowed Sunghoon in the ribs with a mischievous grin and said, “You mean I’m the better bass player.”

Sunghoon didn’t even flinch. He just deadpanned, “Ni-ki, shut the fuck up.”

“You say that now,” Ni-ki replied, holding up a guitar clip like it was a trophy. “But when I go solo and top the charts, don’t come crying.”

Kazuha laughed, grabbing your arm gently as she looped hers through yours. “Okay, that’s our cue. We should go before my cousin starts making powerpoints about why he deserves a bass solo.”

Ni-ki beamed. “You’d watch it, admit it.”

“I wouldn’t,” she said flatly, already tugging you toward the door.

Despite Ni-ki being the only one actually saying goodbye, a soft chorus of murmured goodnights and lazy waves followed behind you—Jungwon giving you a polite nod, Sunoo offering a sparkly smile, and Heeseung shooting a goofy two-finger salute like this was some kind of after-school special.

You glanced back once, just briefly—only to find Jay still watching you.

Still standing near the mic stand, still quiet, expression unreadable.

There was no smirk, no apology. Just stillness. Like he was memorizing something, but didn’t want to show it.

The door shut with a soft click behind you.

The hallway outside was colder—empty, quiet, the lights humming faintly above your head. Your footsteps echoed against the tiled floor, and Kazuha’s arm still looped around yours like second nature.

You sighed as you leaned into her slightly, the ache in your shoulders finally catching up to you.

“My God,” you muttered, pressing a palm to your forehead. “Your cousin’s band is weird.”

Kazuha laughed, eyes crinkling as she bumped your hip with hers. “I told you they were rowdy. You just didn’t believe me.”

“I thought you meant, like… normal band rowdy. Tattoos. Bad rehearsal schedules. Not actual sitcom-level weird.”

“Oh, that is their normal,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You let out a soft scoff, nudging her with your shoulder. “You say that like you hang out with them.”

“I don’t,” Kazuha said quickly, laughing. “Not really. I mean, I’ve never actually seen them practice or perform—Ni-ki just never shuts up about them.”

You hummed in response, the sound quiet between your steps as the two of you walked in sync down the empty corridor. Your shoes squeaked faintly against the tile, the overhead lights casting soft shadows on the tiled floor.

Now that the noise and tension of the room had faded behind you, your body started to relax, step by step.

Kazuha glanced at you, her expression thoughtful. “But like… I have heard they’re popular or something?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Popular how?”

“Like… actually good,” she said, lifting her hands a little as if that explained everything.

“Ni-ki said they’ve won the university’s Battle of the Bands for the last few years. Every time. So now they automatically get a slot in all the school events—like festivals, College Week, charity nights…”

You slowed your steps, head tilting slightly. “Wait,” you said, frowning. “You mean… those guys are the ones that perform after us during College Week?”

She blinked, then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

You furrowed your brows, trying to remember. You knew College Week. Your dance troupe always had one of the final performances. But you never stayed long enough to watch what came after.

By then, you were usually backstage, catching your breath, fixing your makeup, or already halfway home with sore feet and sore everything else.

“Huh,” you muttered. “Weird. I’ve never actually heard them before. Like—properly.”

Kazuha hummed in agreement beside you as the two of you turned left at the corner, heading toward the student entrance.

“They’re good,” she said casually. “From what I’ve heard. Ni-ki plays me demos sometimes when I sleep over and pretend to be asleep.”

You looked at her. “That’s creepy.”

She snorted. “He puts his phone under my pillow. He calls it subliminal promotion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing lightly down the hall.

The two of you finally spotted the main exit doors at the far end of the building, glowing under the fluorescent lights like a way out of chaos.

Kazuha reached forward to push one open, and the second the glass door swung wide, a rush of cold night air swept in—sharp and biting, cutting through the warmth clinging to your skin from practice.

You shivered, instinctively hugging your arms over your chest. “Shit,” you muttered under your breath, stepping outside. “I forgot to bring my leg warmers again.”

The sky had already deepened into a soft navy, stars just barely peeking out beyond the clouds. The faint buzz of field lights nearby hummed in the distance, illuminating the quiet path that cut across campus toward the dormitories.

Kazuha slipped her arm back through yours. “You’re always forgetting those.”

“I was in a rush!” you said defensively. “Besides, I wasn’t planning on staying that long. Or dealing with an entire band.”

“I’d say that’s your own fault for being talented and dedicated,” she teased, bumping your hip lightly.

You groaned, breath fogging in the air. “Wanna crash at my dorm tonight?”

Kazuha perked up immediately, turning to you with eyes bright. “Wait—are you gonna cook curry?”

You narrowed your eyes at her, lips twitching. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope,” she grinned, not even a second of hesitation.

She tightened her hold on your arm and tugged you faster down the pavement.

“Come on, let’s stop by the convenience store near the dorms first! You need something warm. Let’s get you that fancy black tea you like—what’s it called again? The one that smells like actual flowers and money?”

You rolled your eyes, but let her pull you anyway, the weight of her excitement warming you more than your sweatshirt did.

“It’s not that fancy,” you mumbled. “It just doesn’t taste like cardboard.”

Kazuha snorted. “Mm, cardboard tea. A classic.”

Your steps fell in sync again, the gravel path crunching beneath your shoes as the golden glow of the dorms and the soft neon flicker of the convenience store came into view.

“Do we need anything else?” you asked absentmindedly, your voice quiet against the wind.

“Just curry cubes,” she said, already scanning the store shelves from outside. “And maybe a pack of Pocky if you’re feeling soft.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m not feeling soft.”

“You will be,” she grinned, tugging open the door. The bell jingled.

The lock clicked softly as you turned the key, Kazuha hovering patiently behind you with her arms full of grocery bags and her cheeks pink from the walk.

You pushed the door open with your shoulder, and the familiar scent of soft linen, citrus cleaner, and a little bit of cat greeted you instantly.

The moment the door cracked open—a little white blur padded across the wooden floor, tail high and curling like a question mark.

You lit up. “Hi, Doobu! Mommy’s home,” you cooed, immediately crouching down to scoop her up.

She let out a pleased trill, practically melting into your arms like she’d been waiting all day for this moment. Her fur was as soft as ever—warm and fluffy and slightly dramatic as she pressed her face to your chin and gave a little snuffly sigh.

“God, clingy,” you mumbled affectionately, rubbing your cheek against hers as her tail flicked lazily behind her.

Kazuha stepped in behind you, carefully closing the door with her foot as she dropped the plastic bags down on the small table beside the TV.

“For a school dorm, you’re living kinda luxurious,” she muttered, glancing around.

She wasn’t wrong.

Your dorm was unusually spacious—one of the perks of applying early and having ‘scholarship kid who needs personal space for daily injury recovery’ written in your file.

There was a small kitchenette in the corner, a two-seater couch against the wall, fairy lights strung up along your bookshelf, and a thick pink carpet you refused to get rid of even though Doobu had shed all over it.

Speaking of—

Doobu sniffed at your shirt suspiciously.

“Yeah, I know,” you said, following her nose with a fond eye roll. “I had to deal with weird boys today.”

Doobu gave a grumpy-sounding purr, like she understood exactly what that meant.

Kazuha came to your side, reaching out to scratch behind Doobu’s ears. “I don’t know what you feed her, seriously,” she said with a shake of her head. “She’s so chonky.”

You laughed. “Cat food, duh.”

Doobu meowed again like she agreed, batting her paw gently at your necklace before giving a little yawn and curling closer into your arms. Her soft belly pressed against your forearm like a warm pillow.

Kazuha leaned her head on your shoulder. “Okay, I vote we wash our faces, put on something fluffy, and start on curry.”

You tilted your head. “You mean I start on curry.”

She gave you an angelic look. “Well, someone’s gotta entertain the cat.”

You both giggled, shoulders bumping gently, the warmth of home already settling around you like a blanket.

Not long after, you’d changed into your fluffiest oversized tee and tied your hair into a messy bun, steam from the rice cooker wafting through your dorm.

Kazuha sat cross-legged at the small dining nook peeling open packets of curry mix like she’d done it a hundred times.

Doobu, in the meantime, had circled your feet three times before flopping dramatically onto her back like she owned the floor.

Fifteen minutes and one mini kitchen disaster later, you were perched on your bed with a steaming bowl of curry and rice, your legs stretched out under a throw blanket.

Kazuha sat beside you, her own bowl balanced on her lap, a green clay facemask smeared evenly across her cheeks—yours was a little more chaotic, mostly because she insisted on artistic freedom when applying it on you.

The TV played softly in the background, some K-drama with way too many dramatic hallway scenes and brooding men in trench coats. You weren’t even fully following the plot anymore, just laughing when Kazuha made commentary.

“Oh my God,” she said, mouth full of rice, “he’s literally been staring at her for five minutes. Say something, you dramatic coat rack.”

You snorted. “He’s trying to speak with his eyes, Zuha. Let him suffer in silence.”

“Okay Shakespeare, relax.”

You giggled again, leaning back on your hands as you spooned more curry into your mouth, warmth blooming in your stomach.

Doobu had settled into her cat bed just under your bunk, tail flicking occasionally as she napped peacefully, her belly rising and falling in the soft golden glow of your fairy lights.

Just as you reached for your water, your phone buzzed loudly on your bedside table.

Both of you froze at the sound cutting through the moment, your ringtone echoing awkwardly in the room like it didn’t belong.

Kazuha paused the drama with her chopsticks still in hand. “Who is it?”

You glanced at the screen, brow lifting. “Unknown number.”

She hummed. “Might be important.”

You sighed, putting your bowl on the side table and swiping to answer as you leaned back against your headboard. “Hello?”

“Hey, um—sorry—hi! Is this Jeong (Y/N)?” the voice asked, polite and just slightly breathless. “This is Jungwon. From earlier.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“…How’d you get my number?”

There was a pause on the line, followed by the distinct sound of Ni-ki laughing in the background.

“Oh—I, uh—sorry! I came from Student Affairs with Ni-ki and Jay just now,” Jungwon explained quickly, clearly flustered. “Ni-ki was trying to reach Kazuha but apparently—uh…”

“She blocked him,” you finished flatly, glancing at Kazuha.

She didn’t even flinch. “Deserved. He replaced my healing playlist with Mongolian throat singing.”

You blinked. “…That’s so specific.”

She shrugged. “It was an experience.”

Back on the phone, Jungwon stammered, “Y-Yeah, well, I’m only calling because, uh—not me, technically—Jay gave me his phone to call you.”

You blinked again, this time slower.

Your fingers tensed a little around the device. “Jay?”

“Mhm,” Jungwon said sheepishly. “I mean—it’s his phone number, not mine. But, like, he told me to—um—just give him the phone. Give—give me a sec—”

You heard more shuffling, the soft thud of something being handed over, and then a low, familiar voice spoke next.

“Hey.”

You sat up straighter without meaning to.

Jay’s voice was smooth. A little quiet. Just like earlier. But something about hearing it now—soft and direct, in your private space—made your stomach flutter once.

“This is kind of last-minute,” he continued, “but our practice room’s under construction. There’s water damage and they’re doing renovations.”

You blinked. “Okay…”

He sounded mildly annoyed now, like it physically pained him to say the next part.

“It’ll be down for at least two weeks,” he muttered. “And apparently we need to share your room. The studio, I mean. Starting tomorrow.”

Your mouth opened. Then closed.

You blinked at the wall.

“…You’re calling to tell me that we’re gonna be stuck together for two weeks?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Jay said, voice dry.

“Wow. You sound thrilled.”

“I’m always thrilled,” he deadpanned.

You pulled the phone away from your ear slightly and looked at Kazuha.

She was already wide-eyed. “What? What’d he say?”

You pressed the phone back. “Why do you guys even need to use the studio again?”

There was a pause. A beat.

Then Jay said, quieter this time, “Because we have a performance soon. A big one. We need the space.”

You exhaled through your nose, head tilting back against the wooden headboard, your eyes focused on the ceiling as a long silence stretched between you. The line didn’t hang up. He didn’t say more.

Neither did you.

There was a pause. Then—

“Seven onwards,” Jay replied, tone steady.

You closed your eyes for a beat, pressing your lips together. That meant long nights. Tired legs. Sharing mirrors. Sharing space.

“Okay,” you murmured. “Got it.”

Another pause. Faint static hummed between your ears. And then—

“…Thanks.”

The line went dead before you could say anything else.

You lowered your phone slowly, setting it on the nightstand beside your lamp, and let out a low cough—half irritation, half disbelief—as you mumbled under your breath:

“Rude.”

Kazuha was still staring at you, her bowl long forgotten, chopsticks perched against the rim like they’d been abandoned mid-bite.

“Well?” she prompted, peeling the now-dry mask from her cheek. “What did they want?”

You leaned back against the headboard again, letting your legs stretch out in front of you as Doobu gave a tiny sneeze from her bed below.

“They need the studio,” you muttered.

Kazuha blinked. “Again?”

“For two more weeks.” You rubbed your temple. “Apparently their practice room’s under construction or whatever. Water damage.”

She blinked again, expression unreadable. Then she shrugged. “Well… that’s not that bad.”

You whipped your head toward her. “You weren’t the one being stared down by Hoodie McBrooding in the middle of rehearsal.”

She snorted. “I was there. He wasn’t that scary.”

“He looked at me like I insulted his guitar.”

“Maybe you did.”

You threw a pillow at her, making her laugh as she ducked and caught it mid-air.

“I’m just saying,” she said with a grin, fluffing the pillow behind her, “if they’re really sharing the space, this might actually be kind of fun.”

“Fun is not the word I’d use,” you muttered, eyeing your phone like it might ring again.

Kazuha leaned back beside you, slipping her feet under your blanket. “Mm. I give it three days before someone flirts with you.”

You blinked. “Why would you say that?”

She grinned. “Because I know men. And I know your face.”

You groaned, pulling your blanket up over your head. Doobu meowed from below, clearly siding with Kazuha.

It was six in the morning when you blinked awake to the weight of soft fur pressed against your arm.

The bed wasn’t empty—Doobu was curled into a fluffy comma by your side, tail twitching as if to say how dare you even think about moving right now.

You reached over to gently run your hand down her back, your fingers brushing the warmth of her little body as she gave a contented little sigh in her sleep.

Your phone buzzed.

You squinted against the sudden brightness as you grabbed it, groaning as your dry eyes adjusted. The first thing on your screen was a message from Kazuha.

zuha [6:00 A.M.]: left at 5am to get ready, good luck waking up loser 💗

You scoffed under your breath, thumbs already typing a grumpy reply before tossing the phone aside. Still, you sighed and sat up, letting your legs dangle off the side of the bed.

You stretched slowly, your spine cracking, and rubbed the sleep from your eyes as Doobu rolled onto her back like a little queen.

“Be good today,” you murmured as you leaned down and gave her a kiss on the head. She purred, obviously pleased.

You padded into the bathroom, letting the warm spray of the shower melt away the heaviness from your limbs. Afterward, you tied your hair up, added a little makeup—just some blush and gloss and eyeliner to hide how tired you felt.

You pulled on a soft white ruffled blouse, tucked it into a pair of pale jeans, and layered a white jacket over it. Warm enough to fight the cold, but still light enough to move in.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and smiled faintly.

You kissed Doobu goodbye at the door, her round eyes blinking sleepily up at you from her cat bed.

“Don’t start a coup while I’m gone.”

She meowed like she made no promises.

The walk to campus was quiet.

The sky was still tinted pale gray, the kind that hinted at the rising sun behind soft clouds. Your boots clicked softly on the pavement as the cold air kissed your cheeks, your breath visible in soft puffs.

You moved slowly, soaking it in. The silence. The morning stillness. The kind of peace that only existed before the world woke up.

Until footsteps joined yours.

At first, you thought it was coincidence. But they fell in sync with yours too easily, too closely. Your shoulder barely brushed against fabric—black fabric.

You turned slightly, just enough to see the hem of a long, inky button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to the forearms, a silver watch glinting at the wrist. Black jeans. Clean loafers. And a guitar case slung casually over one shoulder like it weighed nothing.

Jay.

You raised a brow. “…Stalking me already?”

He didn’t look at you, but you saw the faint twitch at the corner of his mouth. “I live across the quad. You just happen to be slow.”

You blinked. “Not slow. Calm. It’s called appreciating the morning.”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It’s cold. That’s all I’m appreciating.”

You gave him a look, then returned your gaze to the path ahead. “Nice fit, though.”

That made him pause for half a second. Then he glanced down at his shirt like he forgot he was even wearing it. “Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

You caught a glimpse of his profile—the sharp line of his jaw, the calm in his eyes, the way his hair was still slightly tousled from the wind.

Admittedly, the man had taste.

“Didn’t think black-on-black was a thing before sunrise,” you said dryly.

Jay glanced sideways. “You’re wearing white like you’re in a coffee commercial.”

You choked. “Excuse me?”

“All white, floating around in a dreamscape,” he deadpanned, eyes still forward. “All you need is a cup and a wind machine.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a laugh, the sound cracking through the crisp air.

Jay didn’t say anything, but you saw the faintest quirk at the edge of his lips again. Like he was trying really hard not to smile.

“…You’re weird,” you mumbled, glancing at him again.

“Takes one to know one,” he replied.

You scoffed, raising a brow in mock offense as your eyes flicked toward him.

“Wow,” you muttered, hands deep in your jacket pockets. “Coming for my entire personality before sunrise. That’s bold.”

Jay only shrugged, unbothered, lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. “You started it.”

The two of you fell into silence again—not the uncomfortable kind, but the type that sat easily between two people who didn’t know each other well enough to fill it, and maybe didn’t mind that.

Your eyes trailed over the field as you passed it, where a few student athletes were already stretching, setting up cones and goalposts. You watched as one of them kicked a ball lazily toward the net.

“You play bass like Ni-ki and Sunghoon?” you asked suddenly, keeping your gaze forward.

Jay shook his head once. “No. Electric guitar.”

You nodded, quietly filing it away in the drawer of things you weren’t sure why you wanted to remember.

He didn’t offer more, but you didn’t really mind. You were content with the crunch of gravel beneath your boots, the wind playing with the strands of your hair that had come loose. The cold nipped at your cheeks, leaving them pink, but you liked the sting—it kept you awake.

A soft rustle came from your side, and you noticed Jay glancing at you again.

He wasn’t subtle about it. Not really.

He looked at your hair where it swayed against your shoulder, at the faint shimmer of your highlighter catching the morning light, at the soft pink ribbon that dangled from your tote bag—a leftover from the ballet shoes you had shoved inside before leaving.

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t look away either. Not until you caught him.

You turned slightly, brows raised, your mouth tugging upward at one side. “Staring’s kind of rude, you know.”

Jay blinked, deadpan. “You have glitter on your cheek.”

You blinked back, lifting your hand to swipe at your face. “Do I?”

He watched you try, then sighed and reached into his back pocket, pulling out a pack of tissues. Wordlessly, he offered you one.

You took it with a quiet thanks, dabbing carefully.

“Better?” you asked.

Jay looked at you, slower this time. “Yeah.”

Another moment passed before you tilted your head toward him. “So what’s the big performance all about?”

He looked back at you, one brow lifting slightly. “Don’t we have College Week?”

You blinked. Froze. Then groaned like something hit you physically.

“Oh my god,” you muttered, dragging a hand down your face. “I totally forgot about that.”

Jay actually laughed—soft, deep, amused under his breath. “You perform every year, don’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t remember until like, the week before,” you grumbled. “Last year I sprained my toe trying to cram the choreography into three days.”

Jay’s eyes widened. “That’s possible?”

“Apparently,” you said, exasperated. “My teacher still makes fun of me for it.”

A beat passed.

“…You’re kind of dramatic,” Jay said.

“You’re one to talk. You wear black button-ups at dawn.”

Jay gave you a look, but you caught the way the corners of his lips pulled upward.

The gates to the building appeared ahead of you, golden light just beginning to slip past the horizon behind it. You exhaled, watching your breath cloud in the air.

Jay suddenly spoke, quieter this time. “You looked like you liked the morning.”

You turned to him, a little startled by the softness in his tone.

“I do,” you replied, voice matching his. “It’s quiet.”

He nodded. “You look like you belong in it.”

That made you pause.

You didn’t have time to respond—Jay pulled the heavy glass door open for you and gestured subtly for you to go ahead. His face was unreadable, that same practiced neutral he always wore, but the soft pink dusting the tips of his ears gave him away.

“Thanks,” you murmured, stepping inside.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied simply, the door shutting softly behind the two of you as the cold gave way to polished floors and tall ceilings.

You both fell into step again, your footsteps echoing slightly as you walked side by side down the long hallway of Decelis’ east wing. The building was quiet this early in the morning—some classrooms still locked, lights flickering to life one by one, janitors mopping in the distance.

Jay glanced over at you. “What’s your first class?”

You blinked, glancing down at your schedule in your head. “Oh. Arts. I think we’re covering expressionist pieces this week.”

He hummed, nodding. “Makes sense. You… kind of give that vibe.”

You squinted at him. “What vibe?”

He looked straight ahead. “You know. All poetic and floaty and stuff.”

You snorted. “Wow. So insightful.”

Jay smirked, just barely. “I try.”

“And you?”

“Business math,” he replied, as if the weight of the world rested on those two cursed words.

You groaned instantly. “Ugh. Math.”

Jay turned to you, brow lifting. “You don’t like it?”

“Hate it,” you declared with no hesitation. “With a burning passion. I think numbers were invented just to make me cry.”

That made him laugh under his breath. “That’s dramatic.”

“You look emo right now. Don’t talk to me about dramatic.”

You saw the corners of his lips twitch again, his eyes dancing with quiet amusement.

And then—just like that—you came to a stop.

You glanced at the plaque beside the door:

ROOM 1B-04 ART HISTORY – PROF. CHOI

“Well,” you said, adjusting your tote bag higher on your shoulder. “This is me.”

Jay looked up at the sign and nodded once. “Art history. Got it.”

You looked up at him, lips quirking into a soft smile. “Try not to die in math.”

“No promises,” he said with a small shrug.

You hesitated just a second longer. “Bye, Jay.”

He gave you a small wave—fingers lifted, the gesture almost lazy, but his eyes lingered for a beat too long. “Later.”

The door clicked shut behind you as you entered, and Jay stood there for a second, just looking at the nameplate again.

Then—without a word—he turned and walked all the way back down the same hallway the two of you had just come from. He passed the entryway, the glass doors you came in from, then turned toward the elevators at the far side of the west wing.

When he stepped inside, he hit the button for the third floor.

Business math wasn’t even remotely on the way.

And yet he walked you the whole time anyway.

Now, alone in the elevator, Jay leaned back against the cool wall, head tilting up as he let out a long breath.

‘It was just a nice gesture’, he told himself.

Nothing big. Nothing deep. Just something to make up for being—well. Kind of an asshole last night.

He shook his head once, jaw tightening at the thought. He’d been tired, irritated, and none of that was an excuse—but still. You didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t even react the way most people did. No sarcasm, no petty comeback, no wide-eyed awe or annoying flirtation. You just went silent at him. Met him exactly where he was.

Yeah. Had to make up for it. That’s all.

The elevator chimed softly.

The third floor was just starting to wake up—some lights flickering on, the coffee machine across the hall hissing in the break room, students murmuring half-asleep greetings as they passed. Jay walked down the long corridor, muscle memory carrying him as he reached the classroom near the end of the hallway.

He pushed the door open with one hand.

“Yo,” came Jake’s voice from across the room, already lounging with a pen in his mouth. “You’re a few minutes late.”

Jay didn’t even glance at the clock. “Yeah. I was busy.”

Jake raised a brow, his smirk a little too knowing. “With what?”

Jay walked past him, slinging his guitar case off his shoulder and leaning it carefully against the chair next to his. “Just busy,” he said simply, voice flat as he pulled his seat out.

Jake snorted. “Okay, then. Mysterious rockstar things, got it.”

Jay didn’t respond, only exhaled through his nose, resting his arms on the desk.

Jake didn’t press any further.

It was only after the classroom started to fill in around them—students trickling in one by one, the professor still nowhere in sight—that Jay reached into the pocket of his pants.

He pulled out his phone, screen lighting up with a soft glow.

He opened his contacts and stopped at the one number Jungwon had dialed last night to call you.

Just a random string of digits. No name. No photo.

He hesitated, then tapped edit.

Then paused. His eyes flicked to your tote bag again in his mind, to the soft pink ribbon hanging out like a little flag.

He typed in your name slowly, deliberately—

(Y/N) 🎀

Jay stared at it for a second. Just long enough for the corner of his mouth to lift—barely there, just the ghost of a smile.

Then he hit save.

And tucked the phone away like it meant nothing.

Even though, deep down, he knew it already meant a little too much.

It was just past one in the afternoon, and you were quite literally seconds away from collapsing into your desk.

The sun filtered lazily through the windows of the arts building, golden and too tempting, especially when paired with the drone of your professor’s voice at the front of the room.

“…and if we consider the range of motion relative to the joint axis, then the flexibility of the hamstring significantly affects the body’s—”

You drowned her out halfway through.

Kinesiology. Again.

God, how many times do we have to talk about hamstrings?

Your cheek rested on your fist, elbow propped on your desk, lips pursed in a subtle pout as your professor continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had never seen the sun in her life.

“Now, these handouts,” she said, finally changing the slide on the screen behind her. “Please read them thoroughly—we’ll be applying this next week during assessments. Pass them around.”

You barely resisted the urge to groan. The stack of papers was passed to the row in front of you, then to you. You took one, handed it back without a glance, and immediately began packing up the moment the bell rang.

Your bag hit your shoulder with a soft thump, the only thing more desperate than your escape being the dramatic sigh you let out as you pushed through the doors and stepped into the hallway.

The cafeteria was already buzzing when you got there. Somehow still not flooded—yet. You weaved between groups of students chatting loudly, trays clinking, the smell of coffee and fried chicken lingering in the air.

You spotted a seat by one of the tall windows—sunlight spilling across the table like it was calling your name.

You made a beeline for it and dropped into the chair with a soft huff, letting your shoulders relax for the first time all day.

Pulling out your laptop and your phone, you set them both down and opened your notifications—only to be met with a string of messages from your group chat with your friends.

zuha [1:14 P.M.]: guys i can’t make it to lunch TT i have to finish two portfolios before 3

chaewon [1:14 P.M.]: same! i’ve got a crit w/ my prof in 20 minutes

yunjin [1:14 P.M.]: i’m dying in editing class bye

manchae [1:15 P.M.]: pls save me

kkura [1:15 P.M.]: sorry baby i’ll treat you to strawberry milk later

You sighed, thumbs tapping out a quick reply.

you [1:15 P.M.]: okay study well :( don’t forget to eat!!

You turned off your phone, placing it face-down on the table, and opened your laptop with a soft click. A sea of reports blinked back at you—deadlines lining the corners of your screen like silent threats.

You pulled one up, adjusted your seating, and leaned in to start typing, the warmth of the sun kissing your cheek as your fingers danced across the keyboard.

The ambient chatter faded into soft background noise—until a shadow crossed over your screen.

You paused, blinking, then glanced down—familiar shoes coming into view. Black loafers. Paired with dark jeans cuffed slightly at the ankle. And then—

“Is this seat taken?” a familiar voice asked, low and smooth.

You tilted your head up, eyes meeting a very Jay-like expression: blank, almost bored, but eyes just a bit too focused on you to match the rest of his face.

He wasn’t carrying his guitar today. Just a laptop tucked under his arm and his phone in hand. Minimal, neat. The sleeves of his long-sleeved shirt were still rolled up to his elbows.

Jay nodded once and sat down across from you, sliding into the chair with quiet ease. He placed his laptop on the table, phone on top of it. His eyes flicked over to your trayless setup.

“You’re not with Kazuha?” he asked, voice lower than it needed to be—like the question was just for you.

You sighed, slumping slightly in your chair. “Nope. All my friends bailed on me for deadlines.”

Jay’s head tilted slightly to the side. “But you’re here. In the cafeteria. And…” he glanced at your table, “you’re not eating anything.”

You let out a short laugh, soft and almost embarrassed. “I’ll eat in a few. I was gonna finish something first.”

Jay said nothing for a second. Then stood up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “What do you want?”

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

He looked down at you, dark eyes steady. “To eat. You said you’re not eating yet. So what do you want?”

“I—Jay, you don’t have to—” You frowned a little, sitting up straighter.

Jay clicked his tongue lightly, cutting you off. “Come on. What do you want?” His voice was gentle, but it left no room for arguing.

And god—he was tall. Standing there with the sun lighting up the ends of his hair, shirt slightly wrinkled from his classes, his height felt… kind of overwhelming. You sighed, giving in.

“Fine,” you mumbled, looking up at him through your lashes. “Anything. I’m not picky.”

Jay raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

You pursed your lips, thinking. “…Banana milk. And maybe tonkatsu with curry if they still have some.”

He nodded. “Any allergies?”

You shook your head. “None.”

Jay gave the smallest smile—so quick you almost missed it—and turned around to head toward the food stalls.

You watched him go, unable to stop your gaze from lingering on the clean lines of his back, the careful way he walked, the way he held his phone in one hand and checked something on it like he was making sure he got your order right.

The heat was crawling up your cheeks before you even realized it, blooming just under your skin and warming your ears.

You looked away, exhaling through your nose as you tapped your keyboard blindly, pretending to be busy—even though your fingers weren’t even on the right keys anymore.

But, your eyes found him again.

Jay stood by the food stall, head tilted slightly down as he tapped on his phone with one hand, the other holding the receipt.

He said something to the lady behind the counter—voice too soft for you to hear from this distance—and you saw her nod and begin plating the orders.

Your gaze wandered—he stood so casually, weight resting on one leg, hair slightly mussed from the wind earlier. There was a quiet patience to him, one that surprised you more than it should have.

You sighed softly, more to yourself than anything, muttering under your breath as you leaned forward, “I could’ve bought my own food…”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched. And when he finally turned and walked back toward you—two trays balanced carefully in his hands—your heart had the audacity to skip.

He placed them down with quiet precision, yours sliding just in front of you as the scent of warm curry hit your nose.

You blinked. “Thanks.”

Jay gave the tiniest smile, barely there. “No problem.” And he sat back down like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You glanced at the tray. Banana milk, tonkatsu, steaming white rice with curry just the way you liked it. You didn’t even remember saying half the details.

He pushed a set of utensils toward you without a word, and you blinked again, heart fluttering at the small gesture.

“Thanks… again,” you murmured, accepting them as you pushed your electronics aside.

Jay did the same, nudging his laptop farther away as he grabbed his chopsticks and cracked them apart with a soft snap.

There was a moment of comfortable silence. Just the two of you and the hum of the cafeteria around you.

You fiddled with your banana milk straw for a second before asking, “Where’s your band? Thought they’d be glued to you.”

Jay took a sip of his miso soup, looking unbothered.

“They’re all busy. Practice. Class. Jungwon’s chasing down a professor. Ni-ki’s retaking a test he didn’t study for. Heeseung’s probably asleep somewhere.”

You laughed. “Sunoo?”

“Also probably asleep.”

You shook your head, smiling. “I didn’t know you did lunch like this.”

Jay didn’t look up as he stirred his curry around gently with his spoon. “I don’t,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Oh.”

That one word fell from your lips heavier than intended—softer, a little too laced with disappointment. Your smile faltered just a bit, a quiet frown forming before you could stop it.

But then Jay set his spoon down, the quiet clink of metal against tray pulling your eyes back to his. “But,” he said, lifting his gaze to meet yours, “I love curry.”

You blinked again, confused, but then—

“And you,” he continued, voice calm but not cold, “need to eat.”

Your breath caught, just for a second.

Jay was staring at you—not in a way that felt overbearing or cocky, but in a way that looked like he was trying to read you.

Not just the expression on your face, but the space behind your eyes, like there were answers only you could give. His gaze was steady, thoughtful, just the faintest softness lingering in the corners.

You stared back, lips parting slightly. You weren’t used to this side of him—not the aloof reputation, not the guitar-slinging campus enigma that everyone whispered about. No, this was something else entirely.

You smiled, quiet and warm. “Thank you, Jay. Really.”

His lips twitched into a small smile as he nodded once. “No problem.”

He went back to his food like it was no big deal, but your heart felt anything but calm.

You tried to do the same, digging into your curry with a distracted hum, before glancing back at him. “So… how much do I owe you—?”

“No,” he said instantly, cutting you off.

You blinked. “What?”

“No,” he repeated, tone firm but not unkind.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “But I want to—”

Jay gave you a look—before he reached across the table, plucked your unopened banana milk off your tray like it was his, and silently started unwrapping the straw.

You stared as he poked the straw through the foil with surgical precision, then slid the drink back in front of you without a word.

“…Still,” you mumbled, fingers wrapping around the bottle.

Jay met your eyes. “And I said no. You’re not paying me for any of the meals you’ll be eating when you’re with me.”

That made you pause.

Your hand froze mid-air. Your brain might’ve, too.

“…When I’m with you?” you repeated, voice a little more breathless than you meant it to be.

Jay’s lips curled into the tiniest smirk. It wasn’t smug—it was playful. Mischievous. The kind of smirk someone wears when they know exactly what they’re doing to you.

“Depends,” he said, eyes flicking from your drink to your face. “Are you planning to eat lunch alone again tomorrow?”

You opened your mouth to respond—maybe to say yes, maybe to say something clever—but all that came out was a short laugh and a shake of your head.

“I guess that depends,” you echoed back, your grin growing.

He raised a brow, a subtle challenge.

“On whether you’re showing up with curry again,” you teased, sipping your banana milk.

Jay chuckled under his breath, low and smooth. “Then I guess I’ve got my answer.”

You tried to focus on eating after that, really—you tried—but something about the warmth on your cheeks and the smug little tilt of his mouth had you poking at your rice with more enthusiasm than coordination.

Still, you managed a few bites, asking him casual things between sips of banana milk.

“So… when did you start playing guitar?”

“Middle school,” he replied, chewing thoughtfully. “My dad had one lying around. Got curious.”

“Is it hard?” you asked, chin resting lightly on your palm.

He raised a brow. “Compared to what?”

“Ballet.”

He scoffed a quiet laugh, like it was the most ridiculous comparison he’d heard all day. “Hard to say. You make ballet look easy.”

You blinked, heart hiccuping a little. “…You’ve seen me dance?”

“Once,” he said with a little shrug, lifting his tray. “Before I scared the shit out of you in your studio.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “Right.”

Jay smirked faintly, standing. “Mhmm.”

Before you could pick up your own tray, he was already reaching for it—wordless, fluid, like it was second nature. You moved to stop him.

“Jay—”

“Nope.” He cut you off smoothly, stacking both trays before walking off without looking back.

You sighed, lips twitching upward as you shook your head.

When he returned, he checked the sleek black watch on his wrist, lips tugging down a little. “Come on. We both have one more class this afternoon.”

You blinked, glancing at your laptop. “Already?”

Jay nodded, and just as you started packing up your things, he reached out a hand toward you. You looked at it, confused.

“…What?”

He didn’t answer. Just leaned over, hand brushing against your side as he effortlessly plucked your bag from the seat beside you.

You blinked. “Hey—”

“I’ve got it,” he said, tucking his own laptop under one arm and slinging your bag over the other.

You reached out again to take it back, but he shot you a look—stern, brow raised like a tired parent dealing with a particularly stubborn child.

You huffed. “You’re annoying.”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

Grumbling under your breath, you fell into step beside him as he pushed open the cafeteria doors for you. “So… where’s your next class?”

You sighed dramatically. “Second floor. Art theory.”

Jay nodded. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

You side-eyed him. “Why are you suddenly so nice to me?”

He smirked, not bothering to look at you. “Maybe I just like carrying your stuff.”

You rolled your eyes, walking a little faster to hide the way your smile grew too wide.

The studio lights cast long shadows over the polished floor, the mirrored walls reflecting every movement with brutal honesty.

You and Kazuha were the only ones left—again. Yunjin had dropped by earlier, but a project pulled her away, leaving you and Kazuha stuck in the studio running Swan Lake for the nth time that week.

You landed on your toes with a little huff, arms curved above your head as you wobbled slightly. “I didn’t even wanna be the White Swan, like come on, give me a break.”

Kazuha looked up from her own stretch, raising an unimpressed brow. “Stop acting like you didn’t fight blood and bone to audition.”

You groaned, flopping back down onto the floor and stretching your legs out in front of you. “Okay, fine. I do want it. But the work is slowly killing me.”

She laughed as she sat beside you, pulling her foot up into a butterfly stretch. “That part’s valid.”

You sighed, leaned back on your hands, and casually added, “Oh, by the way, Jay treated me to lunch earlier.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Kazuha stopped mid-stretch, twisting to look at you so fast you thought she might’ve pulled something. “What?”

You blinked at her, deadpan. “What?”

“What?” she repeated, louder, eyes wide. “Park Jongseong, rock band Jay, treated you to lunch?”

You shrugged, rolling your neck as you moved into another stretch.

“Yeah. We bumped into each other this morning. He walked me to class, then sat with me during lunch ‘cause you all were busy.”

Kazuha stared at you like you’d just said you got proposed to. “Girl—what the fuck? You let that man walk you to class and feed you?”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, brushing your hands over your thighs to shake off the lingering ache.

The hem of your skirt settled lightly against your legs as you turned toward her with a half-annoyed, half-exasperated look. “What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal,” she said, stepping forward dramatically, finger pointed, “is that Jay doesn’t just do that. He barely talks to people unless it’s his band. Even Ni-ki was surprised he agreed to this whole studio arrangement.”

You raised a brow, unimpressed. “I mean… he’s not that bad, Zuha. He just did it ‘cause he was eating alone, too.”

Kazuha looked at you flatly. “Yeah. And I’m Korean.”

You squinted. “But you aren’t.”

“Exactly,” she huffed, walking back to the speaker as she tapped the screen and said, “Shut up and get into position.”

You stifled a laugh, fixing the ribbon on your skirt and stepping slowly toward the center of the room. The soft opening chords of Swan Lake echoed through the studio, and almost instinctively, your entire body shifted.

Your breathing slowed, arms lifting in delicate arcs as your chin tilted slightly upward.

Light from the windows caught the sheen of sweat on your collarbones, the glow on your cheekbones, and the pale shimmer of your satin skirt.

You moved like you were born from the music itself—weightless, barely touching the ground.

Kazuha couldn’t help but smile, her gaze soft and proud as she leaned her hip against the mirrored wall, arms folded loosely. “Yeah, (Y/N)’s made to play the White Swan.”

But just as you bent into the first arabesque, a loud bang sounded on the studio door.

Kazuha groaned and immediately pressed pause. “What now—”

You blinked out of your daze, lowering your arms with a frustrated sigh. You padded toward the door, soft steps echoing faintly across the floor as you pulled it open—

And were greeted with a tuft of blonde hair and the brightest grin you’d seen all day.

“Hi there,” Ni-ki said cheerfully, pushing a rolling cart in front of him that carried half of Jungwon’s drumset. His own bass was slung over his back, dangerously close to sliding off.

Behind him, the rest of the band stood loosely huddled with various instruments in hand—Jungwon with his sticks poking out from his tote, Sunghoon balancing his amp like it weighed nothing, and Sunoo waving excitedly.

“Delivery boys,” Heeseung deadpanned with a mock bow.

You blinked. “You’re early.”

“We came straight from class,” Jungwon said, adjusting the strap on his shoulder as he stepped around Ni-ki. “Didn’t want to waste time.”

“You guys could’ve texted,” Kazuha called from inside.

“We did,” Sunoo pouted, stepping in behind Ni-ki. “But someone blocked Ni-ki.”

Kazuha threw him a pointed look. “I told you, deserved.”

Ni-ki dramatically clutched his chest. “I’m literally your family.”

“I said what I said.”

You shook your head fondly as the group started filing in like they owned the place, all noise and energy and guitar straps.

Ni-ki rolled the cart in with zero regard for studio etiquette, and Jake was already dragging an extension cord from the corner like he’d done it a hundred times.

You stepped aside quickly, flattening yourself against the door as Heeseung strode in next, his mic stand folded neatly under one arm and the actual mic dangling precariously from his other hand. He shot you a polite, small smile as he passed.

“Thanks,” he murmured, careful not to bump into you.

Then came Sunghoon, carrying his bass like it was a part of him, the strap slung lazily over one shoulder. He gave you a nod as he maneuvered around Ni-ki’s still-parked cart.

Jay entered last.

His black button-up was slightly unbuttoned now, revealing a sliver of skin that caught the light just enough to make your throat dry.

The strap of his guitar bag sat snug across his chest as he adjusted it, dark hair falling slightly into his eyes. He glanced at you and offered a soft, “Hey.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the acknowledgment, but quickly recovered. “Hey,” you replied, stepping back to let him through.

As the door clicked shut behind him, the studio seemed to hum alive with the sounds of their set-up—clinks of metal stands, low murmurs of discussion, and the occasional curse word when Ni-ki nearly dropped part of the drum kit.

Sunoo had gravitated toward Kazuha in the corner, the two chatting animatedly as she tied her hair up again.

“Woah—really? Swan Lake?” Sunoo’s voice carried easily over the sound of Heeseung testing his mic.

Kazuha glanced up at him, her face bright with amusement. “Yeah. Me and (Y/N).”

Sunoo’s eyes widened. “Wait—you’re both in it? That’s… that’s huge, isn’t it? Like, I swear even people who don’t care about ballet know that one.”

Kazuha smirked as she crossed her arms. “She’s playing the White Swan.” She tilted her head toward you with a subtle grin.

Sunoo’s gaze shot to you so fast you froze mid-step. “The White Swan? That’s the big part, right? The main girl?”

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, suddenly hyperaware of Jay adjusting his amp a few feet away. “I mean… yeah, but it’s not really finished yet, so—”

“Still,” Sunoo cut in, his grin infectious. “That’s insane. You’ve got to invite us when it’s done. I wanna see it.”

You blinked, surprised at his genuine excitement. “Uh… sure?”

“Promise?”

“I—uh, yeah. Promise.”

“Good.” Sunoo’s smile widened, almost mischievous now as he added, “Jay would wanna see it too, right?”

You caught Jay’s eyes flick up briefly from where he was adjusting his guitar strap. He didn’t say anything, but there was the faintest quirk of his lips before he looked back down.

You cleared your throat softly, heat creeping up your neck to the tips of your ears as you turned on your heel, walking back to where Kazuha and Sunoo were crouched over a tangled mess of speaker wires.

Sunoo shot you a knowing grin the second your shadow fell over them, his eyes sparkling mischievously like he’d caught the tail end of something he wasn’t supposed to.

“Need a hand?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, but the slight edge of nervousness betrayed you.

Sunoo smirked wider. “We’re good here. But you seem… flustered. Everything okay?”

Kazuha, bless her, didn’t even look up. “Leave her alone, Sunoo.”

You barely had time to respond before Ni-ki came bounding over, rolling his bass strap into his hand. His dyed blonde hair fell into his eyes as he grinned down at you, full of mischief like he was ready to stir up trouble.

“So,” he started, rocking back on his heels, “are you and Kazuha staying to watch? It’s gonna get loud in here, but I promise it’s worth it.”

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard by his enthusiasm.

“Oh—well, I’m not really sure. We might have to run through some choreography again,” you admitted, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your skirt as you glanced at Kazuha for backup.

“We’ll stay,” Kazuha said simply, already settling herself cross-legged by the speakers like she was setting up for a full private concert.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught between protesting and following her lead. “I guess we’re staying then.”

Ni-ki’s grin widened. “Good. You’ll love it.”

And maybe you were imagining it, but when you caught movement in the mirror across the room, you realized Jay wasn’t watching his reflection like the others.

No—his eyes were on you.

He knelt by his amp, one knee pressed to the hardwood, black button-up sleeves rolled messily up his forearms as he plugged the cable into his guitar.

His fingers moved with practiced ease, but every now and then, his gaze flicked up—not to the tuning pegs, not to his bandmates, but to you. Like he couldn’t help himself.

You froze for half a second under the weight of it, lips parting slightly, feeling every bit like a bunny caught in headlights as Ni-ki kept rambling about their setlist.

Jay’s expression didn’t change, but there was something unreadable in the tilt of his head, the faint crease of his brows, the way his eyes followed your movements even as he reached for the volume knob.

You weren’t sure what to make of it. But it made your chest feel too tight for comfort.

You padded quietly across the wooden floor, the sound of your ballet flats muffled against the worn panels.

Kazuha glanced up at you as you settled beside her, tucking your legs neatly under you. She offered a small smile, the kind that said she noticed the pink lingering on your ears but wasn’t about to say a word about it—not yet anyway.

Your gaze drifted back to the seven boys scattered across the studio. They were lost in their element, voices low but urgent as they muttered among themselves, hands moving quickly as they adjusted knobs, checked wires, and tested mics.

Jungwon stood near the drum set, leaning slightly on a cymbal stand as he gestured toward Sunghoon’s bass. “You’re a little flat on the E string, try tuning up just a hair.”

Sunghoon gave a small nod, fingers turning the tuning peg with practiced precision as he strummed lightly. “Got it. How’s that?”

Heeseung, crouched with his mic in one hand, grinned. “Better. Jungwon’s ears never fail.”

Jake, who was sitting cross-legged by the amp, chimed in. “Do we want to start with Karma or Blessed-Cursed? Karma has a softer open, might be easier to soundcheck.”

Jay was leaning against the wall now, his black top unbuttoned just slightly at the collar as his fingers skimmed the strings of his guitar in a soundless rhythm. He hummed, low in his throat, eyes on the floor but clearly listening.

“Go with Karma. Better flow into the setlist that way.”

“You guys read my mind,” Jungwon said with a grin.

Ni-ki was already setting his bass strap across his shoulder, bouncing slightly on his heels. “Let’s not waste time. I wanna hear how the mix sounds in this room.”

Sunoo, who had been coiling cables neatly, added, “We’ll need to check the balance too. The acoustics here aren’t what we’re used to.”

You couldn’t help but watch them, your chin resting lightly on your knees. There was something mesmerizing about it all—the way their movements fit together like gears in a clock, efficient and familiar. It was chaos, but it was their chaos, and somehow it worked.

“They’re… really good at this,” you murmured softly to Kazuha, not taking your eyes off the group as Heeseung tested his mic with a smooth, “Check, check, one, two.”

“They’ve been at it for years,” Kazuha replied, her voice low but warm.

“Even if some of them don’t seem like it, they’ve always been serious about music. Ni-ki says they barely ever waste a practice session.”

Sunoo pressed a few keys on his keyboard, the warm synth notes cutting softly through the quiet air of the studio.

“Sorry for the wires,” he said into his mic with a sheepish grin, his voice light and melodic even in the test run.

Jungwon cracked his knuckles, adjusted his drumsticks in his hands, and leaned slightly toward his mic, his expression calm but focused.

“We are Enhypen,” he said, voice smooth yet commanding, like he’d done this introduction a hundred times. “And this is Karma. An original.”

You blinked, sitting up straighter. Original?

Before you could fully process it, Jungwon tapped his sticks together—“One, two, three, four”—and the room came alive.

The first sound was Jay’s guitar, low and steady, the distorted riff crawling like electricity over your skin. His fingers moved fluidly over the strings, confident and deliberate.

It wasn’t flashy, but there was weight in every chord, a rhythm that anchored the entire song as Jake joined in with his own guitar, layering bright accents and counter-melodies like sparks dancing over embers.

Then Jungwon came in. His drumming wasn’t frantic—it was calculated, tight, every beat hitting perfectly as his foot worked the bass pedal with precise force.

You could feel it in your chest, that deep, steady thrum that pulled you in and refused to let go.

The rock instrumental wasn’t loud in the grating way you expected from underground bands—it was powerful but clean, addictive even. The kind of sound that could fill an arena yet still feel intimate in a room like this.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until Kazuha nudged your knee.

“They’re… insane, right?” she whispered with a grin, her eyes locked on Ni-ki as he stepped forward for a small bass run.

You could only nod, your eyes catching briefly on Jay again. He wasn’t looking at his reflection in the mirror. He wasn’t looking at his bandmates either.

He was looking at you. Fingers steady on the strings, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as if he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your eyes were locked on Jay, unable to look away even if you tried. He was in his zone—fingers gliding across the frets with a practiced ease that spoke of years spent mastering his craft.

The way he leaned into his guitar slightly during heavier riffs, the faint furrow of concentration between his brows, even the subtle tap of his foot in time with Jungwon’s drums—it was mesmerizing.

And damn it, he knew how to play. No unnecessary flair, no overcompensation. Just clean, precise chords that bled into Jake’s bright melodies and Sunghoon’s heavy bass lines like they belonged there all along.

They all were good—no, they were phenomenal. Voices layered perfectly, harmonies slipping in like silk as Heeseung and Jake took turns on the vocals, with Sunoo and Jungwon occasionally adding backing vocals that rounded everything out.

Even Ni-ki’s occasional adlibs on the bass fit seamlessly, his energy infectious as his head bobbed with the beat.

As the song started to wind down, the final chorus hit with one last punch of sound—Heeseung’s voice raw and gripping, Jay’s guitar sliding into a clean, lingering note that seemed to hang in the air long after Jungwon gave a final, decisive hit on his snare.

The silence that followed felt heavy but electric.

You exhaled, realizing too late that you’d been holding your breath for most of the song.

Heeseung was the first to break it, pulling back from his mic with a grin. He ran a hand through his hair, sweat sticking a few strands to his forehead as he looked over at you and Kazuha.

“Well?” His voice echoed lightly through the room, still amplified by the mic. “How’d we do?”

You blinked, caught off guard at suddenly being the center of seven pairs of eyes.

Kazuha let out a low whistle, clapping her hands together. “I mean… that was insane. You guys sound like you’re ready to headline college week and then some.”

“Right?” Sunoo grinned, tapping a few playful notes on his keyboard as he leaned toward you. “(Y/N), what about you? You were pretty quiet over there.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it again, trying to find the words.

“I… you guys were incredible. Like, seriously. I didn’t expect it to sound that—” You made a vague gesture in the air, your mind still fogged from the performance. “—that good. That clean.”

“Clean?” Ni-ki raised a brow, smirking. “That’s it? We pour our souls into the song and all we get is ‘clean?’”

“She’s stunned.” Jay’s voice cut in suddenly, calm but with the faintest edge of amusement. He still sitting on his amp, one leg crossed casually over the other as he adjusted the knobs on his amp. “You can tell.”

Your head snapped to him, but he didn’t look up—fingers busy with the guitar strap, lips twitching into what looked dangerously close to a smirk.

“Guess we’ll take that as a compliment,” Jake chuckled, his dimples deepening as he leaned his guitar against the wall.

“You should.” Your voice was softer now, almost too quiet as your eyes flickered back to Jay. “It was really good.”

The clock above the studio door blinked 11:03 PM in harsh red digits when Jungwon clapped his hands, declaring, “Alright, pack it up before someone locks us in here.”

The sound of zippers, metal clasps, and light chatter filled the space as the boys moved quickly—Jake carefully winding his guitar cable, Sunghoon clicking his keyboard case shut with a soft snap.

Jungwon muttered under his breath as he berated Sunoo, “You almost killed my snare earlier—careful, man. That drum costs more than my entire existence.” Sunoo only laughed sheepishly, clutching said drum like it was a newborn child.

Kazuha was kneeling near the mirrors, folding up her jacket as she handed you your pointe shoes with a little grin.

“Here. Thought you’d want to put these away before they get stepped on.”

“Thanks, Zu,” you murmured, fingers moving to re-lace them neatly before slipping them into your tote. The satin was frayed at the edges, little scars from all the rehearsals you'd been throwing yourself into lately.

By the door, Sunghoon glanced over his shoulder, bass case in hand. “Everyone done?”

“Yes,” came a chorus of voices, yours included as you adjusted your bag strap.

Ni-ki, ever the chaotic younger one, suddenly grabbed Kazuha’s arm as she tried to slip past him.

“Did you film me? Tell me you filmed me—I swear my solo was sick.”

You laughed at Kazuha’s wide-eyed expression as she tried to shake him off. “Ni-ki, let her breathe. She’s not your personal videographer.”

“Should be,” he shot back with a pout, finally releasing her.

The group filed out into the hallway, their footsteps echoing off the polished floors. The building was quieter at this hour—no chatter from other students, no professors barking reminders.

Just the shuffle of sneakers and the occasional creak of instrument cases shifting against shoulders.

You hung back slightly, letting the line of boys and Kazuha move ahead as you pulled your jacket tighter around you. The hall’s faint chill clung to your cheeks. You didn’t notice Jay slowing down until you caught up beside him.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye, his pace shifting effortlessly to match yours.

“Hey.” His voice was low, almost lost to the quiet hallway.

“Hey,” you replied, tucking your hands into your coat pockets.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. It wasn’t uncomfortable—just the sort of silence that settled when two people didn’t feel the need to fill it.

The air smelled faintly of dewy grass and cold concrete, your breath coming out in soft little puffs that fogged in front of you. Your gaze drifted to the field outside, now cloaked in darkness with only a few stray lampposts keeping it alive in faint golden light.

“…What did you think?” Jay’s voice broke the quiet, low and steady, pulling your attention back to him.

You blinked at him, tilting your head slightly. “Huh?”

“The songs,” he said, his dark eyes catching a glint of light as he glanced sideways at you. “Were they… good?”

You nodded almost immediately. “Oh—yeah. They’re good. You guys are really good.”

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his face, his lips pressing together in a subtle nod. But you weren’t done.

“And you’re… really good at playing that guitar,” you added, words softer now. You didn’t know why your cheeks felt warmer as you said it.

Jay looked at you fully this time, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small, quiet smile. “Thank you.”

You returned it with a shy one of your own before tucking your chin back into the soft folds of your white jacket.

Silence settled again, but this time it felt a little different—like it wasn’t just there by default, but because neither of you wanted to disturb it.

“…Aren’t you cold?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye.

He glanced down at you, buried like a marshmallow in your jacket with your tote bag swinging at your side. The faintest laugh escaped him. “No, not really.”

“You’re insane,” you huffed, your breath fogging in the chilly night. You exhaled again on purpose, watching the puff disappear like smoke as you hugged yourself tighter.

Jay chuckled under his breath but didn’t argue.

The group had slowed as they reached the path that split off toward the quad. The boys began murmuring their goodbyes as Sunghoon and Ni-ki led ahead, Sunoo falling back slightly to walk closer to you.

Jay suddenly stopped and turned slightly. “Guys, this is my stop,” he said, jerking his chin toward the dimly lit path across the field.

“Oh yeah, mine too,” Heeseung added, adjusting the strap of his mic stand case on his shoulder.

“See you tomorrow,” Jungwon called, waving his free hand.

Jay’s eyes flicked back to you once more. “Bye, (Y/N).”

Your name on his lips—simple, soft—sent an odd warmth rushing up your neck. You raised a hand hesitantly, giving him a small wave. “Bye.”

Heeseung shot you a bright grin and waved too before both boys began crossing the field.

You didn’t notice Jay slowing for just a moment, glancing back over his shoulder one last time.

His eyes caught on you, furrowed brows and lips parted slightly as you nodded at something Sunoo animatedly explained to you, trying your best to keep up.

A small smile tugged at Jay’s lips as he shook his head almost imperceptibly. Then he turned back, shoving his hands into his pockets and falling into step beside Heeseung as their voices faded into the cool night air.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the sound of their shoes against the pavement echoing faintly in the stillness of campus. The air smelled faintly of cold grass and leftover rain.

“Hey,” Jay said suddenly, voice calm but a little lower than usual. “You wanna stop by Prada with me tomorrow?”

Heeseung’s brows shot up slightly in surprise as he glanced at his friend. “Prada? Sure, I guess. I need a new bag anyway—my old one’s starting to look beat up.”

Jay nodded absently, his gaze fixed ahead at the dimly lit path. “Thought so. You’ve been carrying that same one since last year.”

Heeseung chuckled, adjusting the strap of the mic case on his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. So, what about you? What do you need?”

Jay’s hand brushed against his guitar case as he shifted it slightly, his expression neutral as he replied, “A scarf.”

“A scarf?” Heeseung repeated, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Since when do you get cold?”

Jay’s lips quirked faintly—not enough to call it a smile—as he muttered, “It’s not for me.”

“Oh?” Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity written all over his face. “Then who’s it for?”

“Don’t worry about it.” Jay’s tone was final but not sharp, and he quickened his pace slightly as if to move the conversation along.

Heeseung raised his hands in surrender, smirking. “Alright, alright. Your secret’s safe, Romeo.”

Jay shook his head with a quiet scoff, but the faintest flush crept up his neck under the dim streetlights.

They didn’t speak again as they reached their dorm building, the sound of the door clicking shut behind them echoing in the empty hallway.

It was Saturday morning—the kind of golden, lazy one that draped sunlight through your open curtains and made the dust motes dance in the air.

Your dorm room smelled faintly of Sakura’s lavender hand cream and the cup of instant coffee you’d abandoned hours ago.

The TV buzzed softly in the background, some slice-of-life K-drama playing with warm colors and melodramatic music. Laughter bubbled from the floor where Yunjin, Kazuha, and Eunchae sat sprawled out on blankets, their hair tied messily back, snacks scattered between them.

You were curled up at the head of your bed, your laptop balanced on your knees as you furiously typed.

Beside you, Sakura sat cross-legged, her hands skillfully moving a crochet hook through pastel yarn. The soft sound of her work was oddly calming against your clacking keyboard.

“Is that your Art History paper?” Sakura asked without looking up, her voice soft but teasing as she looped another stitch.

You let out a distracted hum, barely glancing at her. “Yeah… it’s due at three. I’m almost done.”

“Almost done, she says,” Yunjin snorted, tilting her head back from the floor to peer at you. “Why are you even cramming that? Didn’t the professor give you like… a week?”

“I thought it would be easy, okay?” you muttered defensively, your brows knitting as you hit delete on a sentence for the third time. “Turns out, it’s not.”

Chaewon let out a giggle from where she was cradling Doobu in her lap. The cat was purring like a tiny engine, squishing its face happily into her hoodie sleeve.

“Yeah, you hear that, Doobu? Mommy’s a really bad crammer, huh? Good thing your aunts aren’t.”

You shot her a mock glare over your screen, your lips twitching despite yourself. “Ha. Ha. So funny, Chae. Keep talking—I’ll assign you to finish this paper for me.”

Eunchae snorted and threw a pillow lightly at you. “She’d probably do a better job.”

You caught it with one hand, tossing it back at her with a small laugh. “Traitors. All of you.”

“Not a traitor,” Kazuha said from the floor, chewing thoughtfully on a piece of tteokbokki she’d brought from the convenience store earlier.

“I’m just saying… you’ve been acting busy all week. Between rehearsals and… other things.”

Her voice trailed, and Yunjin’s head snapped toward her with a grin. “Other things? Wait. Wait. Did something happen?”

You felt your fingers hesitate on the keyboard for a second too long, and that was enough for Yunjin to pounce. “Oh my God. You’ve been quiet since yesterday too. Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“I think there is,” Sakura chimed in, side-eyeing you with a knowing little smile, her crochet work still going steadily.

“There’s nothing,” you said quickly, but the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you. “Seriously. You guys are so dramatic.”

But Kazuha just leaned back on her hands and raised a brow at you. “Is it about Jay?”

You froze mid-type, your fingers pausing above the keyboard. “…Excuse me?”

“Jay who?” Yunjin asked immediately, her head snapping between the two of you like she’d just caught the scent of drama.

“The one from my cousin’s band,” Kazuha replied casually, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger.

Sakura’s crochet hook stilled as she turned her full attention to you, eyes widening slightly. “Wait… Park Jongseong?”

“The emo guitarist?” Eunchae added in, eyes sparkling with mischief. “The one Ni-ki’s always talking about in Biology? That guy?”

“Oh yeah,” Kazuha chimed in, nodding thoughtfully as if she’d just remembered a passing detail. “I forgot you guys are in the same class.”

Chae-won tilted her head at you from the floor, still holding Doobu lazily in her lap. “So? What’s up with him?”

You let out a groan, throwing your head back against the headboard dramatically as your laptop slid slightly down your thighs. “First of all, he’s not emo—he just… owns a lot of black clothes, okay?”

The room broke into quiet snickers, Sakura biting back a smile as she picked her crochet back up.

“Second,” you continued, shooting them all a weak glare, “he’s… nice. That’s it. He’s just nice, okay?”

Kazuha’s grin widened as she dropped her bomb. “And he bought her lunch yesterday.”

You buried your face in your hands, muffling a groan. “Zuha—”

“Oh, oh!” Kazuha added cheerfully, “And he walked her to class too.”

Yunjin’s jaw dropped as if you’d just confessed to dating a K-drama male lead. “What? Jay? That Jay? Doesn’t he like… not talk to anyone at all?”

“I don’t know!” you burst out, throwing your hands up in defense as your friends all gawked at you like they were watching the climax of a drama. “Maybe he just—was being polite? Or he felt bad? I don’t know! Stop looking at me like that.”

“Polite?” Eunchae repeated, raising a brow.

“Girl, he looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole whenever Ni-ki drags him to our morning classes, and you’re telling me he voluntarily walked you to class and bought you lunch?”

You let out an exasperated groan, flopping back against the headboard and covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know, okay? I’ve barely even talked to the man! I already told you guys—he’s just nice. End of story.”

Sakura, sitting cross-legged on the other end of your bed with her crochet still in hand, hummed thoughtfully. Then she said, far too casually, “What if—and it’s a very big what if—he likes you?”

You peeked through your fingers, shooting her a look so sharp it could cut steel. “Sakura.”

“What?” she said with a little shrug, feigning innocence as her eyes sparkled like she’d just lit a fuse.

Kazuha, lounging lazily on the floor with her hair tied up, raised a brow and added fuel to the fire.

“I mean… it’s not impossible. Ni-ki literally says he’s single, and—if we’re being honest—Jay doesn’t seem like the type who cares about romance.”

“Exactly!” Eunchae said, snapping her fingers. “So what if you’re like… the first person who’s caught his eye or something?”

“Guys—seriously?” you muttered, your ears already burning as you hugged a pillow against your chest.

“You’re all making this sound like some kind of webtoon. He’s not interested. He’s just… being decent. That’s it. End of story. Period.”

But Yunjin, sprawled on your rug with her legs propped up on the edge of your bed, smirked knowingly. “You don’t sound very sure, babe. Are you sure it’s not you who’s starting to like him?”

Your head snapped down, “Yunjin.”

“What?” she said with a laugh, holding her hands up defensively. “I’m just saying. You’ve got that look on your face when we brought him up.”

“I do not—” you began, but Kazuha cut you off with a teasing grin.

“Yeah, you do. You’re blushing right now.”

“I’m not—oh my god.” You buried your face into the pillow, groaning as the girls broke into laughter and squeals.

When the sound died down just enough for you to breathe, you peeked out from the pillow, face still flushed, and mumbled under your breath, eyes fixed anywhere but at them.

“He’s… popular, you know? And he’s intimidating. Like… the way he carries himself? I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

Kazuha raised a brow, smirking as she picked up her water bottle. “You’re saying that like you’ve been analyzing him.”

“I’m not,” you said quickly, grabbing your laptop again and pulling it onto your lap as a weak distraction.

The sound of your fingers clacking on the keys filled the room as you added, softer this time, “I’m just saying—I have to agree with Kazuha. Maybe he’s not into romance at all.”

You took a breath, forcing a little laugh that sounded too tight. “So yeah. He probably just… took pity on me or something. Like, no big deal.”

The room fell quiet. Suspiciously quiet.

You didn’t look up, too focused on pretending to type as if your project was suddenly the most important thing in the world.

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

Then Sakura’s weight shifted on the bed, and you felt her scoot closer. Her hand landed softly on your knee as she said, voice gentle but firm, “(Y/N), don’t say that. Okay? Don’t ever say that about yourself.”

You blinked, your fingers pausing mid-word.

“We all know you—inside and out. You’re beautiful, and you’re talented, and you’re so kind it’s almost annoying sometimes,” she said with a small laugh, her eyes searching yours. “Jay wouldn’t be taking pity on you. Not a chance.”

“Exactly,” Yunjin chimed in from her spot on the floor, propping her chin up with her palm.

“And we’re not saying this just because we’re your friends. You really are that girl. Like, honestly? Half the campus has been trying to get your number since freshman year.”

You snorted, shaking your head, but Eunchae leaned forward too, her expression serious for once. “Plus,” she said matter-of-factly, “don’t you, like, reject guys every month? All because they’re too into you, or too clingy, or whatever?”

You groaned again, tugging the pillow back up to your face as their words made your ears burn even hotter. “Oh my god. Can you guys not bring that up right now?”

“Nope,” Chaewon teased, scratching Doobu’s chin as the cat purred in her lap. “Because we’re trying to remind you who you are.”

“You’re not someone he’d ‘pity,’” Sakura said softly. “You’re someone people fall for. And maybe he’s no exception.”

You blinked at her, the words sinking in like warm tea on a cold day. Your lips tugged up, small but genuine, and you nodded slowly.

“Thank you,” you murmured, voice quiet but full of gratitude. “Really. You guys are… way too good to me.”

Yunjin stretched her arms over her head with a dramatic sigh, the elastic between her teeth as she tied her hair up into a quick bun.

“Good to you? Babe, we’re saving you from spiraling into overthinking about some tall broody guitarist who might actually like you.”

“Yunjin,” you said with a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“What?” she grinned, hands on her hips now. “It’s true. Anyway, I’m hungry, and clearly you’re too distracted to feed yourself, so—” She pointed at you with mock accusation. “What do you want? Name it.”

You shook your head, amused. “Anything will do. There’s still stuff in the fridge.”

Yunjin nodded like she was preparing for battle. “Perfect.” She waved dramatically as she made her way toward the kitchenette. “Come on, Eunchae. You’re my sous-chef.”

“Eh? Why me?” Eunchae grumbled but still hopped up from her spot on the floor to trail after her. “Fine—but I’m not cutting onions!”

You shook your head fondly, the soft smile still lingering on your lips as you turned your attention back to your screen. Fingers danced across the keyboard, the steady click of the keys mixing with the sounds of Sakura’s crochet hook tapping against itself.

Then you felt a slight weight on your shoulder. Sakura had leaned her head there, peeking at your screen. “You spelled ‘kinesiology’ wrong.”

You snorted, backspacing quickly. “I always do.”

She hummed softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know, (Y/N)… we’re really proud of you. Not just because of ballet or school or whatever. Just… for being you.”

You paused, the words catching you off guard, and turned slightly to glance at her. She wasn’t looking at you—her eyes were on your laptop, her expression calm and warm.

“You guys are seriously going to make me cry today,” you teased lightly, though your throat tightened a little.

Sakura’s lips curved into a small smile, her eyes finally meeting yours. “Good. Means we’re doing our jobs as your best friends.”

You laughed softly and shook your head before turning back to your screen. “I really am glad I have you all, you know?”

“We know,” she said, patting your leg before picking up her yarn again.

In the background, you heard Yunjin yelling something about “Where’s the sesame oil?” and Eunchae responding with “You’re holding it!”

The scent of something beginning to fry wafted from the kitchenette, and you let yourself relax—shoulders uncoiling from a tension you didn’t realize you’d been carrying all morning.

It was perfect. Cozy. The kind of afternoon that felt like a bubble outside of time.

You smiled faintly as you hit the final save on your document, Sakura peeking over your shoulder to murmur, “Finally.” You chuckled. “Took me long enough.”

By the time six in the evening rolled around, the sky outside your window was a watercolor wash of peach and violet. The air had cooled further, and one by one, your friends began gathering their bags, the lingering laughter softening into sleepy goodbyes.

“Thanks for letting us crash your dorm,” Yunjin said with a grin, pulling her hoodie over her head.

“Don’t mention it. Come any time,” you said, hands resting on the doorframe as you watched them shuffle into their shoes. “And thanks for doing the dishes, Zuha.”

Kazuha waved you off, tugging Eunchae’s sleeve to hurry her along. “You let us stay; it’s the least I could do.”

Chaewon turned back briefly, holding Doobu like a baby in her arms. “Bye-bye, mommy’s little princess. Don’t keep her up too late.”

You laughed. “Goodnight, guys.”

“Night!” they chorused back, their voices overlapping as they spilled into the hallway.

Doobu trotted out after them as if to see them off. You crouched and scooped her up easily, cradling her against your chest. “Come on, girl,” you murmured, pressing your cheek into her soft fur. “Let’s get some sleep.”

You nudged the door closed with your foot, the faint click echoing in the now-quiet room. The air still smelled faintly of fried rice and buttered eggs.

As you laid Doobu gently onto the bed, she circled twice before curling into a neat ball beside your pillow. You smiled, slipping under the covers, pulling the blanket up to your chin and her tiny body close to yours.

The hum of the air conditioner filled the silence, joined by faint footsteps down the hall—someone passing by, a door closing a few rooms down. It was soothing in a way, grounding.

Slowly, sleep crept in, your eyes fluttering shut as your breathing evened out.

You didn’t know how long you’d been out when your phone buzzed softly on the nightstand.

With a groggy groan, you reached out blindly, fingers fumbling until you grabbed it. Blinking against the harsh light of the screen, you squinted at the time. 9:12 PM.

“Ugh.” You stretched lazily, arms above your head, a yawn spilling out as you rubbed your eyes.

But when you turned back, your brows furrowed. The blankets were rumpled—too rumpled—and the familiar soft weight of Doobu was missing.

“Doobu?” you called softly, still half-asleep.

Silence.

“She’s probably under the bed,” you mumbled to yourself, slipping one foot to the floor. You crouched down, peeking under. “Doobu?”

Nothing.

Maybe the bathroom. You padded over, cracking the door open. Empty.

“Come on, girl, where are you?”

Panic didn’t hit right away—not until your eyes flicked to the door and you noticed it.

A sliver of faint golden light where there shouldn’t have been any. Your door wasn’t fully shut.

“…Shit.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper as you crossed the room, heart thudding. You tightened the knot of your hooie over your pajamas and cursed under your breath again.

Pulling the door shut behind you with a quiet click, you huffed out a shaky breath, shoving your phone into the pocket of your oversized hoodie.

“Shit… okay, okay, don’t panic,” you muttered, yanking on your outside slippers so hard you almost tripped. Fingers raked through your hair in a half-hearted attempt to tame the mess from your nap as you stepped into the hallway.

The air outside was cooler than your room, and the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above you. You padded quickly down the corridor, whisper-yelling, “Doobu? Come on, girl… where the fuck did you go?”

Your voice echoed faintly against the closed doors lining the hall.

“Shit, shit, shit—she can’t have gone far,” you hissed to yourself, scanning every corner like a deranged detective.

You peeked around the trash bins, past the stairwell, even crouched briefly to check under the benches near the elevator. Nothing.

You bolted up the stairs to the next floor, slippers slapping quietly against the steps. As you rounded the corner, a small group of arts students you recognized from studio night looked up at you from where they lounged against the wall, sketchbooks in hand.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” one of them greeted cheerfully.

“Hey,” you said a little breathlessly, not slowing your pace as your eyes darted around. “Sorry—uh—if you guys see a white cat, she’s mine. She slipped out.”

“Oh no,” another said, eyes wide. “We’ll keep a lookout!”

“Thanks,” you called over your shoulder, already halfway down the hallway.

“Doobu!” you hissed again.

“Do not make me climb this entire fucking building in my pajamas. I swear to god—” You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Way to go, (Y/N). Lose your cat and look like a sleep-deprived idiot in the process. Great job.”

Your slippers squeaked faintly against the linoleum as you turned another corner, scanning the dimmer end of the hall where the lights flickered faintly.

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears, your breath visible in the cold drafts slipping through the windows.

“Doobu? Baby girl? Please don’t make me cry right now…” you muttered desperately.

You made your way down the other floors, checking every nook and cranny, even peering behind trash bins and under staircases. Your slippers scuffed against the stairs, the sound almost swallowed by your frantic heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Every student you passed got the same frazzled question. “Hey—sorry, have you seen a white cat? Fluffy, kind of round?”

Some shook their heads apologetically, others blinked in surprise at the sheer panic in your tone before nodding.

“Oh, I’ll keep a lookout!” a girl carrying an armful of books promised.

“Thanks—thank you so much,” you said breathlessly, bowing your head slightly before bolting down the next set of stairs.

When you reached the ground floor, you didn’t even pause. The cold air slapped you in the face as you pushed open the glass doors to your dorm building, the metal handle biting into your palm from your tight grip.

“Shit—Doobu, where the hell are you?” you whispered harshly, stepping into the crisp night air.

The campus was quieter now, the golden glow of the streetlamps casting long shadows across the empty walkways. You scanned the quad, your eyes darting across the open field, the benches, even the bases of the trees.

Your slippers whispered against the pavement as you jogged lightly toward the benches near the edge of the field.

“Doobu!” you called again, voice cracking slightly. “Come on, girl… don’t do this to me.”

Muttering curses under your breath—“Goddammit, (Y/N), you’re so careless…”—you almost didn’t notice it.

But then—there it was.

A tuft of white fur. A bushy tail flicking lazily.

Your breath caught in your throat. Doobu sat primly on one of the benches under the golden streetlights, her little face upturned like she owned the entire campus.

“Oh my god,” you whispered in disbelief, your knees nearly giving out in relief. You walked closer, slowly, carefully, afraid that a sudden movement might startle her away again.

Your cat sat so calmly on the bench, tail curled neatly around her paws, completely unbothered as if she hadn’t just sent you on a heart attack-inducing campus-wide manhunt.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

You started walking closer, slow and careful, not wanting to startle her away. But as you got nearer, your steps faltered.

There was someone sitting on the bench with her.

A man.

He was leaned back casually, one arm resting along the backrest as his other hand absentmindedly stroked Doobu’s fur. She—your Doobu, who notoriously despised every single male human who dared to even look her way—was preening under his touch.

The little traitor was even leaning her head closer, purring so faintly you could hear it from where you stood.

Your eyes flicked up, scanning the guy. Black hoodie pulled over his head. A gray cap tucked low enough to shadow his face. Cream pants loose but clean. His sneakers looked a little scuffed, as if he actually walked around campus instead of just cutting through in a car.

Then he laughed quietly—low and warm, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear it—and said to your cat,

“I bet your owner’s losing her mind looking for you, huh?”

Your jaw nearly dropped. He was talking to her?

You let out a shaky sigh, deciding to ignore him completely as you stepped forward. “Hey, Doobu,” you murmured softly, crouching slightly as you reached a hand out. “You scared the shit out of me. Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?”

At the sound of your voice, Doobu’s ears twitched. She gave a soft purr, standing on her paws to hop down—only to pause when the guy slowly drew his hand back, letting his palm rest on his knee.

That’s when he finally looked up at you.

Sharp eyes under the cap. Lips quirked in an almost imperceptible smile.

“She’s got a habit of wandering off, huh?” he said, voice low and smooth with the faintest trace of amusement.

Your heart stuttered at the sound, recognition dawning like a wave crashing down on you.

“…Jay?”

He chuckled under his breath, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. “You didn’t notice? Thought you were too focused on your runaway cat to see me.”

You straightened, blinking at him incredulously as your cat jumped off the bench and started rubbing against your legs.

“I—You—what are you even doing here?” you asked, your voice tight from a cocktail of exhaustion and mild embarrassment.

Jay didn’t answer at first. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, reaching down to grab two sleek Prada paper bags sitting on the concrete by his feet.

He swished them in the air casually, the crisp sound of the handles snapping into place breaking the quiet night.

“Shopped a little,” he said, his tone easy. “Went with Heeseung. We had some free time.”

You blinked at the bags, then back at him as he patted the now-empty spot on the bench beside him. “Sit down. You look like you ran a marathon.”

Hesitating only a moment, you bent down to scoop Doobu off the concrete, clutching her soft, warm body against your chest as you crossed the few steps to the bench.

Sitting down beside him, you let out a slow, shaky breath. Doobu purred against you, seemingly unbothered by her little adventure.

Jay was already looking at you—one elbow draped casually over the backrest, his dark eyes unreadable under the brim of his cap.

You glanced down at the bags and pointed at them. “So… you’re rich-rich, huh?”

His lips quirked, a small laugh rumbling out of him. “Not me. My parents are.” He nudged one of the bags with his foot before adding, “And anyway, I bought these using my own money. No trust fund involved.”

Jay chuckled again, softer this time. “I guess.”

There was a beat of silence before he tilted his head slightly, his eyes darting to the white fluff curled in your lap. “Can I?” he asked, one hand lifting a little as he gestured toward Doobu.

You looked down at your cat, who blinked up at you lazily as if granting her approval herself. “Sure,” you murmured.

Jay shifted closer, his fingers brushing over Doobu’s head with surprising gentleness. She pressed into his touch, tail flicking lazily as a faint purr rumbled from her chest.

“She likes you,” you said quietly, unable to hide the faint trace of surprise in your voice.

“She’s cute,” Jay murmured, his thumb stroking behind her ear. Then his eyes flicked back to yours. “So… what happened? How’d she get out?”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping as you leaned back slightly against the bench. “I didn’t close my dorm room all the way. Must’ve been when I fell asleep earlier. She probably pushed it open and slipped out.”

You buried your face briefly in Doobu’s fur, muffling a groan. “God, I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Jay said simply, his voice steady and calm. “She’s safe now. That’s all that matters.”

You peeked up at him, startled by how sincere he sounded. He wasn’t looking at you anymore—his eyes were on Doobu as he continued stroking her fur—but there was something in his tone that made your chest tighten.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, hugging your cat a little closer. “For finding her.”

Jay glanced at you again, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t find her. She found me.”

You huffed a small laugh despite yourself, your nerves slowly beginning to settle. “Typical. Little traitor.”

Jay chuckled too, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Doobu’s fur. “She’s got good taste, though.”

You froze slightly at that, unsure how to respond as the warmth from his words and the gentle sound of Doobu’s purrs filled the air. Your eyes flicked to his, catching the way he was already looking at you—something soft and unspoken in his expression.

Then his gaze dropped, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head toward you. “Not sure about her owner, though. Teddy bears and choo-choo trains? Really?”

You blinked in confusion for a moment before glancing down at yourself, realizing too late he was talking about your pajama set—the faint pastel print of tiny teddy bears riding toy trains now painfully obvious.

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Oh my god—Jay!” You slapped his arm, mortified.

He let out a laugh—louder this time, low and warm in his chest—as his hand came up to rub the spot where you hit him. “What? I’m just saying.”

“Shut up!” you hissed, cheeks flaming as you buried your face in Doobu’s fur. “I was in a rush, okay? I didn’t think anyone was going to see me like this.”

Jay’s grin softened, his dark eyes glinting under the streetlight. “Okay, okay. No need to hit me. I surrender.” He raised both hands in mock surrender before leaning back against the bench again, his posture relaxed and easy.

You frowned at him anyway, though the heat in your cheeks didn’t let up. “You’re insufferable.”

“Maybe,” he said with a light shrug, still smiling.

The evening breeze picked up then, making you instinctively pull Doobu closer to your chest. You shivered slightly, tugging at your thin jacket as a chill ran through you.

Jay’s eyes flicked to you, catching the way your hair was slightly mussed from sleep and the faint flush on your cheeks. The corner of his mouth curved almost imperceptibly—not in amusement this time, but in something gentler.

He glanced down at the Prada bag at his feet, pulling one of the items out. The soft, knitted material clung to his hand as he carefully tore off the tag, fingers meticulous so as not to snag the fabric. Without a word, he scooted closer until his knee brushed yours.

You blinked as he draped the scarf around your neck, the sudden warmth making you jolt slightly. “Jay—?”

“Relax,” he said calmly, adjusting it so it sat snug yet loose enough to breathe. “You need it. You’re freezing.”

Your hands went up to touch the scarf, the fine, soft knit catching between your fingers. “Jay, I… I can’t accept this. It’s Prada. This probably costs—”

“No returns, I’m afraid,” he interrupted smoothly, his dark eyes meeting yours again with a quiet finality.

“But—”

“Don’t,” he said simply, voice low but firm as he reached over again. His hands were careful, almost tender, as he wrapped it more securely around your neck. “And you’re still cold. So don’t argue.”

You stared at him, your protest catching in your throat. The scarf smelled faintly of new fabric and something warm—something that somehow reminded you of him.

“…You’re ridiculous,” you murmured finally, lips twitching into a small smile.

“Maybe,” Jay said again, his lips curving ever so slightly as he leaned back, resting an arm on the bench’s backrest. “But I’m also right.”

You ducked your head, hiding your warming face in Doobu’s fur as she purred sleepily in your lap.

Jay glanced at you once more, his fingers flexing faintly like he wanted to reach for you again but thought better of it. Instead, he moved just slightly closer, the edge of his shoulder brushing yours as the cool night settled comfortably around you both.

“So… any plans after this?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze unreadable as it lingered on you.

You tilted your head slightly, thinking for a moment before shaking your head. “No, not really. Why?”

The corner of his mouth lifted, just barely. “So you’re free.”

A small giggle escaped you before you could stop it, the sound carried away slightly by the night breeze. “Yeah, I’m free. Why?”

He looked ahead for a second, lips twitching as if debating saying the next words. Then he glanced back at you, meeting your curious eyes. “Do you… want to eat dinner?”

Your face lit up, eyes widening a little in surprise. “Yeah—sure. If it’s not a bother?”

Jay shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips as his eyes softened. “Never. It’s not.”

He glanced down at the white ball of fluff curled in your lap, still purring lightly. “But… what about Doobu?”

You followed his gaze, only now realizing your cat had made herself at home again, her tiny body rising and falling against your arms as she napped.

“Oh. Right.” You laughed a little sheepishly. “Would it be alright if I take her back to my dorm first? I should probably change too—”

Your voice trailed off as the memory of his earlier teasing came back, cheeks heating instantly. “—before you start commenting on my pajamas again,” you muttered under your breath, burying your face in Doobu’s soft fur.

Jay laughed at that—low, warm, and unrestrained this time. It sent a strange flutter through your chest.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said, standing smoothly as he grabbed his paper bags off the concrete. “I really am. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

You stood too, cradling the now-sleeping Doobu in your arms. She stirred slightly at the movement, her tiny head tucking into the crook of your shoulder as her tail curled closer to you. You adjusted your hold on her carefully, trying not to wake her.

Jay’s eyes softened further as he watched you fuss over your cat—something unreadable flickering behind them. Then he shifted his bags to one hand and gestured with the other.

“Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know,” he said simply, his tone making it clear he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “But I want to.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting down the smile threatening to break through. “Okay… thank you.”

Jay only nodded, falling into step beside you as the two of you started walking back toward the dorms. His steps were unhurried, his presence steady next to yours as the faint sound of crickets and your own quiet breaths filled the night.

Doobu shifted slightly in your arms, letting out a soft sigh as if content, and you felt your chest loosen—somehow lighter with Jay’s warmth just a few inches away.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

⤷ permanent taglist — @m1kkso @ilovhoonie @jiyeons-closet @manobillie @yjmylove ⤷ piece taglist — @strawjayrries

It was just past six in the morning when your footsteps tapped along the cobbled path you’d memorized after two years at Decelis University.

The world was still soft at that hour—hushed and wrapped in the cool, lingering breeze of dawn.

You shivered as the wind brushed against your legs, pulling your cream tote bag closer to your side.

“Thank god I didn’t wear a skirt,” you mumbled under your breath, glancing down at your black pants and oversized white sweater—the hem of it brushing gently against your upper thighs.

Not exactly the peak of fashion, but it was warm, and it smelled like the lavender detergent your roommate always hoarded.

A faint smile curved your lips as you looked up—the dainty little flower shop on the corner.

Even from a distance, you could spot the display of blooms lined neatly in white ceramic vases outside the door.

Soft pastel peonies, cheerful bunches of daisies, stalks of buttery yellow freesia, and delicate stems of baby’s breath nestled in between.

The real show, though, were the hanging roses—pale pink and dried lavender ones twirling gently from above the glass panels, tied with beige ribbon and strung like little ornaments of peace.

You paused at the door, eyes skimming over everything like it was a painting you’d seen a hundred times and still hadn’t gotten tired of.

Your fingers reached out to push open the door, the soft chime of the bell above your head greeting you.

Despite the almost boisterous, cheerful personality of the outside—the interior was simple. Minimalistic, warm. Earthy.

Sunlight poured through the front windows and landed across the long wooden counters, highlighting the rows of terracotta pots, tiny spritz bottles, and little signs written in slanted cursive.

Your favorite part was always the wall near the back—lined with herbs and greenery. Eucalyptus, sweet basil, dusty miller, thyme. Every single pot labeled. Every single one cared for.

A chalkboard beside it read: ‘Green babies: please talk to them!’

You shook your head with a small laugh, eyeing the row of sleepy-looking succulents under the sign.

“Good morning, little guys,” you murmured quietly, tapping the edge of one terracotta pot with your finger before straightening up.

“Mrs. Park?” you called out, adjusting the strap of your tote bag on your shoulder.

Almost instantly, the person you were looking for peeked out from behind the beaded curtain that led to the back storage room, her familiar voice echoing softly through the quiet shop.

“(Y/N), dear! There you are,” Mrs. Park beamed, stepping fully into the room with her gray-streaked hair tied into its usual messy bun and a dusting of flour still smudged on her apron.

You returned the smile warmly. “Good morning, Mrs. Park.”

She gestured proudly to a small, tiered pastry stand placed right by the counter—a little gold rack filled with a fresh batch of muffins and small sweet buns, all wrapped in pink wax paper.

“Help yourself, love. I made too many again.”

You leaned forward with a grin, grabbing one of the lemon muffins off the top tier and taking a small bite. “This is really good.”

Mrs. Park raised a hand, already chuckling. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s always true,” you replied through a soft laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand.

“So,” she leaned against the counter, “what do you need today?”

You wiped your fingers on the napkin she handed you.

“I was hoping to get some Verbena officinalis, chamomile, and if you still have them—maybe a few sprigs of alpine aster? My professor wants us prepping extraction samples for the new experiment.”

Mrs. Park’s eyes sparkled. “Of course, of course. Wait here, dear. I’ve got just the thing in the cooler.”

You nodded and leaned gently against the counter, your eyes drifting toward the delicate vase of pink peonies placed right beside the register.

The petals were full, blooming with that soft ruffled texture that looked too perfect to be real.

You reached out without thinking, fingers brushing lightly over the edge of one. They were fresh. You could always tell.

That’s what you liked about ‘Park & Bloom.’ Their flowers were always fresh—never tired, never wilting, always alive. There was a certain kind of love you could feel in a place like this.

You hummed quietly to yourself, letting the soft instrumental music from the little radio fill the silence as you waited.

When Mrs. Park returned, she had a neat little bundle of herbs in her hands, all carefully wrapped in parchment and tied with twine.

“There we go,” she said with a satisfied smile, setting it down on the counter.

But before you could thank her, she reached underneath and placed something else beside it. Soft pink peonies, arranged with sprigs of eucalyptus and tiny filler blooms in cream and blush.

You blinked. “What’s this?”

Mrs. Park smiled knowingly. “They’re your favorite.”

“Well—yeah,” you admitted slowly, touching the bouquet again, “but I didn’t—”

“It’s on the house.”

Your eyes widened. “No, no, I’m paying. Please, Mrs. Park—”

“Nonsense,” she said, already turning away like the discussion was closed. “You’re a regular. And you always talk to the plants. That counts for something.”

You frowned and gently gathered both the wrapped herbs and the bouquet, quickly fishing through your tote until your fingers found a bill—larger than necessary.

You slammed it down on the counter with a huff. “Keep the change, Mrs. Park. I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Before she could argue, you were already halfway to the door.

“(Y/N)—you little—!” she called after you, laughing.

You waved behind you, ignoring the sound of the door swinging open as someone else stepped inside just as you rushed out.

You barely registered the shadow of a tall figure entering, the door chime getting swallowed up by your footsteps hitting the pavement.

Mrs. Park sighed, looking down at the bill before shaking her head with a fond smile.

“Stubborn,” she muttered, placing the money gently in the tip jar.

Then she glanced toward the boy who had just walked in, tousled hair and sleepy eyes, dressed in denim and black.

“Just like Jay,” she muttered under her breath with a fond shake of her head.

“What about me?” the boy in question asked, his voice a little hoarse as he pointed to himself while stepping fully into the shop.

“Nothing. Suit yourself,” Mrs. Park replied, turning her back to him as she gestured vaguely toward the pastries cooling on the rack. “Eat before they’re gone.”

Jay grinned, walking over to the rack and picking up a banana muffin. He took a bite, chewing slowly.

“I woke up too early,” he said, mouth half-full, “I don’t even have class until nine.”

Mrs. Park gave him a look as she started wiping her hands on her apron. “What did your father say?”

“That you have a meeting at eight,” Jay said with a sigh, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, “and to call Hyunjae to cover the shop until you get back.”

The woman let out a dramatic groan, untying her apron with exaggerated annoyance. “Can’t your father do anything by himself?”

Jay chuckled under his breath and leaned against the counter. “Apparently not.”

Mrs. Park muttered something under her breath as she bent down and pulled out a white pastry box from under the counter. “Jake’s order is ready too.”

“Of course it is,” Jay mumbled with a smirk, standing upright as he reached into his pocket and fished out a few bills. He handed them to her without a second thought.

She scowled. “When will you kids learn not to pay here?”

Jay only grinned as he leaned on the counter. “Well, you know them. None of us listen.”

Mrs. Park rolled her eyes but accepted the payment anyway, stashing the bills in the small tin box behind her.

Jay checked the silver watch strapped to his wrist and sighed. “I better get going.”

He rounded the counter with ease, stepping closer to give his mom a quick one-armed hug. “Bye, Mom.”

“Text me when you get to campus,” she called after him.

He gave her a lazy wave, the box of cookies tucked under his arm as he pushed the door open. The bell above jingled softly as he stepped out into the cool morning air.

The scent of peonies and incense still lingered as he crossed toward his car, unlocking it with a click.

He opened the door, slid the box onto the passenger seat, then paused for a second to glance back at the small flower shop glowing warmly behind him.

With a tired sigh, Jay muttered under his breath, “Another day of this boring cycle,” before slumping into the driver’s seat.

The moment his back hit the seat, he tilted his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes for a second—just one second.

The soft hum of the morning traffic passed in the distance, car tires brushing along damp pavement.

He groaned and buckled his seatbelt with a sharp click, dragging a hand down his face. “And I have a quiz for developmental psych later too,” he grumbled. “Just… great.”

His hand stayed on the wheel for a beat longer than necessary, fingers drumming against the leather as he stared blankly at the windshield.

“Should’ve just skipped today,” he mumbled, reaching over to push the box of cookies a little more securely onto the seat.

“But no, Jake needs his cookies, and I need my GPA.”

He rolled his eyes at himself before starting the car, the low rumble of the engine coming to life in the silence.

The fluorescent lights above hum with a low buzz, matching the pounding in your head. The smell of ethanol and overcooked nerves hangs heavy in the air.

Lab’s barely ended, and your notes are a mess—ink smudged, a whole page crumpled from frustration, and worst of all, your results section might as well be fiction.

You let out a strangled groan and thunk your head against the thick biology textbook with a dull thud.

“Careful,” Jisung mutters beside you, grimacing as he lifts a pair of gloved hands like he’s watching a crime scene.

“You placed that book on top of the lab counter. The germ-infested lab counter.”

You peel your forehead off the book with a slow glare. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one failing.”

He shrugs with a sheepish wince, still in his gloves, now held up like he’s surrendering. “Okay, my bad.”

You narrow your eyes. “You didn’t even try to deny that I’m failing.”

“I mean…” He drags the word out. “You’ve been stress-picking at your highlighter for the past twenty minutes. That’s not usually a good sign.”

You groan again, dragging a hand down your face. “I’m going to die in a sea of unsorted data and unlabeled Petri dishes.”

“Death by biology,” he nods solemnly. “Poetic.”

Before you can respond, the shrill ring of the bell cuts through the lab. You exhale sharply, “Finally.”

Without a second thought, you yank off your lab coat and shove it into your tote like it personally wronged you.

The sleeves are still half-inside out and your pen falls out of your pocket, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and glance at Jisung, who’s taking his sweet time peeling off his gloves.

“I have a shift at the library until six,” you say, brushing your bangs out of your face. “Are you going to crash in one of the study rooms again?”

He shakes his head with a sigh. “Nope. I need to help Chenle with his stupid photography project. Something about needing ‘a face that screams tortured genius.’”

You blink. “And he picked you?”

“Offended,” he deadpans, pressing a hand to his chest. “But yes. Apparently, my dark circles and academic burnout passed his standards.”

You let out a small laugh, the tension finally cracking a little. “Well, stop by if you can. Bring snacks. Or caffeine. Or brain cells.”

“I’ll see what I can spare,” he says, mock-saluting you with one gloveless hand and the other still holding a rogue pipette.

You’re already halfway to the door when he calls after you.

“Bye, (Y/N)!”

You glance back and flash him a tired smile. “Bye, Jisung.”

Then you turn on your heel, your sneakers squeaking faintly against the linoleum as you disappear down the hallway. The white walls of the science wing are painfully sterile, and the hum of buzzing lights doesn’t help your growing headache.

You let out a breath—half sigh, half groan—as you roll your neck and start making your way toward the library.

“Thank God,” you mumble under your breath, eyes flicking to the hallway signs above.

The library was only a few halls down from the lab, which meant less time dragging your feet and more time convincing yourself that lab report wasn’t going to kill you.

You move through the corridors, passing a few tired-looking students carrying canvases, coffee cups, and an emotional burden that looked way too familiar.

The soft clink of keys in your bag, the rhythm of your own footsteps, and the occasional sound of muffled laughter from a classroom fill the air around you.

Despite everything, there’s a calmness in the routine of it all.

Finally, you reach the end of the hallway where the tall, double wooden doors of the library stand quietly under the golden ‘University Main Library’ plaque.

You press a palm against the door and push it open.

The scent hits you instantly.

Paper, ink, and a hint of dust—it makes you smile a little, the corners of your lips tugging up despite the weight in your chest. You’ve always loved this part—the soft quiet of the library wrapping around you like a blanket.

You walk toward the front desk where the afternoon shift student librarian is still seated, tapping lazily on the keyboard.

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Eunchae greets you with a small grin, her glasses slipping down her nose a bit. “You look like you fought a war.”

You exhale a soft laugh. “Hi, Eunchae.”

“Rough day?”

“You could say that.” You slip behind the desk and drop your bag beside the office chair, the straps giving a quiet thud as they hit the ground.

She reaches over to hand you the laminated clip-on badge. “Here. You’re the boss now.”

“Thanks.” You clip it onto your sweater, the cold plastic brushing your collarbone as you settle into the worn-out chair that squeaks in protest.

Eunchae’s already packing up, stuffing a textbook, three pens, and an empty boba cup into her tote. “I swear I’m going insane from the quietness in here,” she mutters.

“If I heard one more guy try to flirt with me over book codes, I was going to scream.”

You chuckle under your breath, your fingers already reaching for your laptop. “Romantic,” you tease. “Truly the language of love.”

She waves dramatically as she grabs her jacket. “See you, (Y/N). Don’t forget to breathe.”

You give her a tired wave. “Bye, Eunchae.”

Then it’s just you.

The soft whir of the air conditioning. The gentle rustle of pages turning from a far-off table. You settle deeper into the chair and pull your laptop out of your bag, setting it on the desk in front of you.

Your screen blinks to life and your lab report opens automatically—you stare at it for a second, shoulders slumping as the frown slowly creeps back onto your face.

“…Kill me,” you whisper.

You sigh and reluctantly start typing, your fingers dragging over the keys with all the energy of a dying lightbulb.

You squint at the lines of data from earlier in the lab, trying to remember if the solution turned blue after five minutes—or was it four?

Your momentary focus is abruptly cut off by a small cough and the sound of a familiar voice.

“What’s up?”

You glance up, already grinning before your eyes fully register the face. You push your chair back and stand, arms crossing over your chest.

Leaning casually on the front desk, with that same easy smile and brown hair falling just a little over his eyes, was Jake.

“What do you need, Jake?” you ask, brows raising.

You and Jake weren’t particularly close, but he was one of those people who had wormed his way into your life with charm and annoying persistence.

You’d met him at a party Jisung dragged you into—a night of glittery lights, too much bass, and not enough air—and somehow ended up sitting beside the overly friendly boy with puppy eyes who introduced himself with a full handshake.

Jake smirks. “Is that any way to greet a friend?”

You roll your eyes, sinking back into your chair. “I’m working, Sim.”

“That’s all you ever do,” he says with a mock sigh, shifting the white box in his hand onto the desk.

You glance at it, suspicious. “Okay, for real—what do you want?”

“Nothing sketchy,” Jake says with both palms raised. “Just figured you could use a little sugar. Here.”

He opens the box, revealing a neat assortment of cookies—some gooey with melted chocolate, others crisp on the edges with hints of caramel, one with marshmallow peeking out from the center.

The smell alone makes your stomach growl.

Jake hands you a napkin. “Take a few. I mean it. I won’t be able to finish them all anyway.”

“What is this? Where did you get them?”

“Ordered from a friend,” he says with a grin. “Trust me, they’re good. Like, really good.”

You blink, touched in a way you didn’t expect to be. Maybe the gods had whispered in Jake’s ear that you were barely running on fumes today.

“Well… thanks,” you mutter, taking two and gently placing them on the napkin. “This is saving my life right now.”

Jake leans forward a little, still grinning. “That’s what I’m here for.”

“Okay, now that your saint act is over,” you say, biting into a cookie and groaning at how annoyingly delicious it is, “what do you actually need?”

Jake laughs. “Fine. Do you have any study rooms available?”

You nod, setting the rest of the cookies down on the lower counter.

You tap on the small monitor screen beside you, scanning the digital dashboard for room availability. “Room 5 and 7 are both open.”

“I’ll take seven,” he says without hesitation.

You pull out the room card, holding it up before handing it over. “Isn’t Room 7 kind of big for just you?”

Jake shrugs, reaching for the card. “I’ve got a few friends coming in later. If you don’t mind?”

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite your exhaustion. “Sure, no problem. Enjoy.”

Jake offers a mock salute. “Thanks, (Y/N). Don’t work too hard.”

You wave lazily as he turns. “Have a good night.”

Once he’s gone, the library settles back into its familiar quiet hum—soft page turns, the occasional cough, the distant click-clack of a keyboard.

You sigh, pulling your chair closer and tapping away at your laptop. The paper was almost finished. All you needed was Jisung’s part of the hypothesis, and you could submit it before midnight.

You stretch your arms above your head, eyes fluttering shut for a second in bliss. Finally.

That peace, however, is gently interrupted.

“Hi. Good evening.”

You blink. The greeting was too formal—almost jarringly so. You glance up, expecting maybe a professor or someone lost on their first day, only to freeze for a heartbeat when you see him.

Park Jongseong.

He stood there, tall, hands politely tucked into the pockets of his sleek black jacket, glasses perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

His dark hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just run his hand through it, and despite the casualness of his outfit—black jeans, sneakers, and a plain dark tee under the jacket—he looked like he’d walked straight out of a luxury campaign shoot.

Probably because he had, if the rumors were right.

You recognized him instantly. Everyone did.

He was that kind of popular—wealthy family, striking visuals, a seat on one of the organizations he rarely attended, and a reputation so polished people either thought he was faking it or secretly a jerk.

But the thing was, he’d never actually done anything to support those rumors.

No scandals, no snide remarks. Just that calm, kind, slightly reserved personality that made people either swoon or stay suspicious.

You stare at him a second too long before blinking and rising from your seat.

“Hi. Yes, um… What’s the matter?” you ask, straightening your name card without thinking.

Jay’s lips twitch upward in a sheepish smile as he meets your eyes. “Uh, my friend said he’d be here? In one of the study rooms. I think I might be in the wrong building.”

You tilt your head. “What room?”

He blinks, then reaches for his phone from his pocket. “Wait a minute, please.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, fighting back a smile at how genuinely nervous he looks while scrolling through his messages.

He mutters under his breath, eyes flicking back and forth before he finally looks up with a small, relieved grin.

“Room seven.”

You raise an eyebrow, and the corners of your lips twitch upward.

“Jake’s friend?”

He nods, laughing a little. “Yeah… he is.”

You hum, already reaching for the back-up paper slips. “Forced you?”

Jay lets out a breathy chuckle, dropping his gaze for a second. “You could say that.”

You hand him the slip of paper and the temporary code key just in case Jake lost the room card. “You’re free to go, then. The paper’s just in case Jake’s an idiot.”

Jay nods, his smile turning a little more relaxed. “Thank you. And… have a good evening.”

“You too,” you say, giving him a small nod as he walks away.

You sit back down at your desk, watching him head off down the corridor before returning to your screen. The cursor blinks again. You smile softly to yourself.

“He seems nice,” you murmur, clicking back into your document, the soft clack of your keyboard filling the silence again.

A voice beside you replies smoothly, “Isn’t he?”

You nearly jump out of your seat. “What the hell—Jake?!”

He grins like he’s done absolutely nothing wrong, arms casually crossed as he leans against the side of your desk, clearly amused by your reaction.

“Relax,” he says, eyes dancing.

“I was waiting for him upstairs, but he was taking too long, so I figured I’d come down and see what was taking him.” He lifts a brow.

“Seems like he’s getting real cozy with you.”

You blink, scoffing. “Cozy? That’s a little far-fetched, don’t you think?”

Jake shrugs with faux innocence. “Suit yourself.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Don’t you have to meet up with your friend or something?”

He nods, pushing off the desk with ease. “Yeah. But he has a name, you know.”

“I know,” you sigh, dragging your cursor across your screen, trying to look busy. “But I don’t even know him enough to use it, so I’ll just keep referring to him as your friend for now.”

Jake chuckles knowingly, taking a step back, already turning on his heel. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You watch as he jogs off toward the direction Jay disappeared in, his gait casual but amused, like he knows something you don’t.

You shake your head, a breath of disbelief escaping you.

“Weirdo,” you mutter under your breath, the corner of your mouth twitching upward in spite of yourself.

The night air was cool against your cheeks as you walked beside Jisung, the sky painted in a fading indigo, the last hints of orange clinging stubbornly to the horizon.

Streetlamps flickered on one by one, casting a soft glow on the pavement as your footsteps echoed gently through the quiet campus street.

“I swear,” Jisung huffed, one hand dramatically pressed to his side. “If Chenle elbows me one more time during a shoot, I’m actually calling HR.”

You let out a small laugh, hugging your jacket closer to your frame. “You are such a baby, Jisung.”

“I am a baby,” he retorted with no shame, lifting his chin.

“Unless you want to experience being ordered around by a man shorter than you, be my guest. That menace was using his whole body weight, I felt my rib shift.”

You snorted. “I highly doubt he’s that strong.”

“I’ll record it next time. I’m not being dramatic, I’m being honest.”

You smiled, his complaints now a familiar soundtrack to your evening walks back.

Just as you were about to tease him again, your gaze shifted to the side—drawn, like always, to the soft glow of the flower shop tucked just between the café and the old stationery store.

You opened your mouth, but before a single syllable could leave your lips, Jisung raised his hand like he could read your mind.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You blinked. “But I haven’t even—”

“Just go inside, (Y/N),” he interrupted again, already stepping backward. “I’ll send you the hypothesis later. Don’t text me, I’m icing my side.”

He flashed you a small smile, shouldering his backpack a little higher as he turned, hands tucked into his pockets as he started toward the dorms.

You blinked once. Then twice. A soft huff escaped your lips as you muttered, “Drama queen.”

Turning toward the pristine glass doors of the flower shop, you pushed it open gently.

The little silver bell above jingled, light and warm, like it knew you by name. A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips as the familiar scent of blooming petals, sweet earth, and lavender.

At least you had this—something to look forward to at the end of a shitty day at Decelis.

You expected to hear the soft clink of porcelain from the back, Mrs. Park’s gentle voice humming a forgotten tune as she wrapped up your usual peonies and lavenders with a cup of her flower tea already set aside for you.

But instead, you tilted your head.

There, standing awkwardly by the counter, was the same boy you saw earlier in the library.

Gone was the jacket from earlier, replaced with a crisp white button-up and a black apron tied messily around his waist.

His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, one of the cuffs still uneven, and he looked painfully out of place—his brows furrowed in concentration, lips pursed slightly as he wrestled with a bouquet of red roses that looked one sharp tug away from falling apart.

You blinked again.

Still there.

No hallucination. No glitch in the matrix. His dark brown hair catching the warm overhead lights, his hands fumbling with the ribbon, and a small, frustrated frown forming on his face as he stared at the bouquet like it had personally offended him.

Your eyes scanned the shop quickly. No sign of Mrs. Park. No second pair of hands. No flower tea waiting by the counter.

You cleared your throat softly, not that he noticed—far too wrapped up in his floral battle.

So instead of calling attention to yourself, you wandered toward the rightmost shelf where a row of succulents sat nestled beside some miniature vases.

You picked up a little cactus, its spikes short and plump, the soil freshly packed. It looked healthy—fairly young, too. After a pause, you reached for a small Red Widow's Thrill, the tiny star-shaped flowers clustered together.

You nodded to yourself, hugging the two plants to your chest, and walked to the counter.

Park Jongseong was still there. Still wrestling with the roses.

He didn’t look up.

You stood across from him, watching quietly as he muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like “why do flowers even need bows—this is psychological warfare.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing.

“…Did the roses hurt you personally, or is this your first day?”

He jolted.

His head snapped up so fast he nearly knocked over the ribbon spool. His eyes locked onto yours—wide, brown, and clearly panicked.

“I—Uh—sorry, I didn’t hear you come in—wait—” he blinked, narrowing his eyes slightly as if trying to place your face.

“You’re the girl from the library.”

You nodded once. “Jake’s friend, Park Jongseong?”

His nose scrunched instantly, and he shook his head. “Park Jongseong sounds way too formal. It’s just Jay.”

“Okay, Jay,” you echoed with a small smile tugging at your lips.

Your gaze drifted downward, eyes settling on the crumpled pink paper and the satin white ribbon in his hands. “Need any help?”

Jay looked down at the mess in his fingers, then up at you with a sheepish grin and ears tinged a soft, rosy red. “Do I look that helpless?”

You laughed softly, “No, not really.”

“Then I can do this,” he said, suddenly straightening with mock confidence as he hastily tried to wrap the ribbon around the roses again, the satin slipping out of his fingers twice before he managed to tie something close to a bow.

His fingers were clumsy but careful. You watched, entertained.

He brought the bouquet to the counter and gestured to the plants in your hands. “I’ll ring those up for you.”

You handed them over—your little cactus and the red widow’s thrill—and leaned slightly against the counter, watching him work.

He scanned them quickly, then looked up. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” you said as you reached into your bag and pulled out a bill.

You handed him the cash and tilted your head curiously, eyes flicking toward the unevenly wrapped bouquet of roses still sitting beside the counter.

“So… who are the flowers for?”

He nodded toward the bouquet of roses sitting awkwardly in the wrapping paper.

“My mom has this regular she always prepares flowers for. Some girl named (Y/N). She told me to pack them up for her like usual. I just hope she doesn’t mind the presentation.” He gave a breathy chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

You blinked slowly, your lips twitching upward. “No, I don’t.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

You broke into a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand. “Nice to meet you,” you said, sticking your hand out playfully. “I’m (Y/N).”

Jay blinked. Once. Twice. Like you just grew wings.

You pulled your lanyard from around your neck and flashed your ID. “Promise.”

His eyes widened. “(Y/N)—oh my god. I’m so, so sorry—”

“Relax,” you laughed, waving him off as he bent into an apologetic bow. “I told you, it looks nice.”

“If that’s nice, then what about those?” he said, gesturing to a poor, wobbly bouquet of lavenders sitting behind him, lopsided and definitely taped unevenly.

You giggled softly. “Oh, come on. They’re not half bad.”

“That’s what my mom said too,” he muttered, clearly unconvinced.

Your eyes scanned the shop again as you leaned on the counter a little. “So how many customers have you tried to appease tonight?”

Jay huffed a laugh. “Not that many. Maybe ten? Most of them just bought potted ones. Less…ribbon trauma.”

You nodded slowly as he handed over the now neatly boxed succulents.

Then, without much thought, he lifted the bouquet of roses and held it out to you gently. “I really am sorry for the roses.”

You took them, smiling warmly. “And I said don’t sweat it. Have a good night, Jay.”

Before he could even open his mouth to say something else, you were already pushing the door open, letting the soft jingle of the shop’s bells ring out as you disappeared into the evening.

Jay stood there, blinking at the empty doorway, the scent of roses still clinging faintly to his fingers.

“…Have a nice night, (Y/N),” he mumbled to no one.

He glanced back down at the ribbon still draped across the counter, fingers brushing over it absentmindedly.

He didn’t know why—but suddenly, this shift in his boring routine didn’t seem so boring anymore.

Jay exhaled, raking a hand through his hair before muttering under his breath, “The flowers must be driving me insane.”

With a defeated sigh, he shook his head and slumped back into the chair behind the counter.

He reached under the counter and pulled out his overstuffed bag, dragging out his laptop and the thick, miserable stack of notes from his social psychology class.

He stared at the papers for a beat, then scoffed lightly. “I take it back. This is boring.”

The wind bit at your cheeks as you hurried down the path, jacket clutched tighter to your chest.

Your scarf was slipping—again—and your breath fogged in the dim light of a morning that hadn’t fully arrived yet.

The sun was still hiding behind the clouds, tucked somewhere far behind the rooftops.

You hated rushing. Especially past the roses out front. But the cold was merciless today, slicing through the gaps in your coat and coaxing a grumble from your lips as you quickened your steps.

The shop’s glass doors came into view, fogged slightly from the inside warmth. You pushed them open with stiff fingers, a quiet chime following you in.

Warmth wrapped around you like a woolen blanket. The smell of fresh blooms, faint soil, and something baked—something sweet—immediately filled your lungs.

It was a comfort that no heater or glove could mimic.

“Not stopping to admire the roses this morning, dear?”

You turned, and your heart eased further.

Mrs. Park stood behind the counter in her cozy lilac cardigan, a tray of fresh muffins beside her, still steaming. Her hair was pinned back in its usual way, her smile like the kind you only find in storybooks or movies with happy endings.

You smiled, already walking toward the daisies in the corner near the register. “Good morning, Mrs. Park.”

“They’re almond and brown sugar today,” she said proudly, nodding toward the tray. “Still warm.”

You nodded, peeling off your gloves. “You spoil me.”

“Nonsense. You kids don’t eat enough,” she huffed softly, wiping her hands on a cloth before motioning to the flowers. “Thought I’d switch the display a little this morning.”

You ran your fingers over the soft white petals, smiling faintly to yourself. “They look good.”

The sudden chime of the bells made your head turn.

And there he was again. The boy from the library. The one who had handed you roses wrapped in crinkled tissue and unsure words.

He stepped inside, wind chasing after him before the door clicked shut.

He wore a black hoodie layered over a grey shirt, simple jeans, and glasses that clung to the bridge of his nose like they belonged there.

He blinked slowly at the warmth of the shop, his eyes adjusting—and then they landed on you.

He froze for a second. Just a second.

Then he cleared his throat and offered a sheepish smile.

You returned it gently, offering a slight nod, before dropping your gaze back to the daisies and plucking a few, along with a handful of the white roses nestled beside them. You brought them up to the counter.

Mrs. Park beamed as she reached for the stems. “Newspaper or that fancy ribbon wrap today, dear?”

“Just newspaper, please,” you said, placing the blooms gently on the wooden surface.

She began wrapping them up as you reached into your coat pocket, pulling out a folded bill and placing it atop the counter. “Please, Mrs. Park. Just take it today.”

She laughed, shaking her head but accepting it nonetheless. “Just because you’re so stubborn.”

You smiled and glanced to the side just in time to see Jay who wordlessly stepped past you and disappeared behind the beaded curtain that led to the shop’s backroom.

You figured he was grabbing something and turned your attention back to the flowers.

But moments later, he returned, now with his bag slung over one shoulder, the other hand running through his hair like he was trying to compose himself.

Mrs. Park tied the final knot of twine around your bouquet and handed it to you with a smile.

“Here you go, sweetheart.”

You took them carefully. “Thank you, Mrs. Park. I’ll see you late—”

“(Y/N), dear?”

You turned just as your hand reached for the doorknob. “Yes, Mrs. Park?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “How do you usually get to Decelis? You just walk, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah, it’s not too far. Twenty minutes, give or take.”

She turned her gaze toward Jay, who was quietly zipping up his bag, pretending not to hear. “Jay, do you mind driving (Y/N) to the university?”

Your eyes widened. “Oh—no, no, there’s no need! I walk all the time, it’s completely fine.”

Mrs. Park tutted, crossing her arms. “It’s freezing out there. Look at you, your nose is already pink. And Jay has a car.”

“I don’t mind,” Jay said, voice low but steady. His cheeks were very clearly tinged red, though it was unclear whether it was from the cold or the question.

Still, you shook your head. “Trust me, Mrs. Park, I don’t want to bother—”

“It’s really fine,” Jay said again, this time softer. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

You hesitated, torn, but Mrs. Park had already gestured toward the door like there was no room for protest.

With a sigh, you gave in. “Okay… if you’re sure.”

You turned to find Jay already by the door, holding it open.

“Thank you,” you murmured as you stepped past him.

“No problem,” he replied, his eyes flicking to you only briefly before focusing on the sidewalk ahead. “Just… careful with the steps, it’s icy.”

You nodded, tightening your grip on the flowers as the cold bit at your cheeks again. J

ay let the door close behind you both, the jingle of the bell muffled by the wind—but not before he paused, lifting a brow at his mother’s suddenness.

Mrs. Park only smiled knowingly from the counter, lifting her muffin tray in a wave like she hadn’t just thrown you into the same car with her son.

Jay shook his head with a breath of disbelief, muttering something under his breath before digging into his hoodie pocket for his keys.

He held them up with a faint jingle and walked over to a sleek black Ferrari parked right in front.

You blinked owlishly, “…That’s yours?” you asked, pointing.

He looked at the car, then at you, and tilted his head. “What, the stroller?”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, even as he opened the passenger side door for you, motioning you in with a small, gentlemanly bow that made your heart thump louder than you liked.

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop the warmth threatening to paint your face—completely unnecessary in the cold, but there it was anyway.

He closed the door softly after you were seated, then jogged around to the driver’s side, slipping in with one smooth motion.

He tossed his bag in the backseat and started the engine, the dashboard lighting up with a soft hum as the heater kicked in.

“What do you mean, ‘all this time’?” he asked, glancing at you while adjusting the mirrors.

You buckled your seatbelt, settling in. “I always see this car parked here… I just assumed it was Mrs. Park’s, or like… some rich guy’s who lives across the street.”

Jay chuckled under his breath, clicking his own seatbelt into place. “My mom drives—but not really. It's either me, my dad, or whatever driver’s free from home or the company.”

You blinked at him again. “So you’re like, a certified chauffeur.”

He shot you a look. “Don’t act surprised. I do more than just water plants and fight you over roses.”

You snorted. “Fight is a strong word.”

Jay gave you a look like he didn’t believe that for a second. You just smiled to yourself, the warm air slowly thawing the tips of your fingers.

“What’s with that look?” he asked suddenly, eyes flicking to you while waiting at the corner for a passing delivery truck.

“What look?” you replied innocently.

He narrowed his eyes. “You're looking at me like I’m a wilting plant or something.”

You burst into a laugh, the kind you tried to smother behind your scarf but failed.

“I’ll just keep it to myself,” you said, still giggling. “You might judge me.”

Jay shrugged. “Kinda too late for that, don’t you think? You’re literally in my car, (Y/N).”

You turned your head slowly, his use of your name catching you off guard, like he was testing how it felt in his mouth. Soft and thoughtful.

“Well…” you started slowly, “I mean, I always thought Mrs. Park was kidding when she said the flower shop was more of a hobby than a job.”

Jay sighed, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “It is a hobby. Technically.”

“And you’re popular for being, you know,” you raised your brows dramatically, “rich.”

“Not rich,” he corrected, eyes flicking to the road. “Just… well off.”

You grinned. “That’s what all the rich people say.”

He laughed a little at that, shaking his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“Park and Bloom,” he said, nodding back toward the shop.

“It’s her passion project. She manages it in the mornings, leaves it to my cousin in the afternoons. Keeps her busy.”

“Busy from what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

Jay glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching like there was more he wasn’t saying. “Busy from everything else. My dad’s business, board seats, charities… pretending she’s not way too young to be retired.”

You blinked. “Damn.”

He glanced sideways again. “What?”

“I don’t know. That’s… kinda impressive.”

He let out a small scoff, but you didn’t miss the slight lift in his posture.

“Well,” you started, leaning back into the passenger seat as you stretched your arms a little, fingers brushing over your sweater sleeves.

“What about you? What’s your hobby?”

Jay blinked. The question seemed simple, but it visibly threw him off. His hands tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel.

No one really asked him that. People either assumed they knew, or didn’t care to learn. Most didn’t even have the guts to make eye contact after one conversation.

He didn’t answer right away.

“Earth to Jay,” you teased, waving a hand near his face with a small grin.

He blinked again, this time snapping out of whatever thought he was drowning in. “Right—uh. I like playing the guitar, I guess.”

You perked up. “Really?”

He nodded, almost sheepishly. “Yeah. Not a rockstar or anything, just… I play when I can.”

“Interesting.” You tilted your head, pretending to examine him like you were solving a puzzle. “So, are you a business major?”

He let out a small chuckle—low and amused. “Are we playing 21 questions now?”

You smirked. “Well, as you said, I’m already in your car. Might as well get to know my driver.”

“Driver?” he repeated with mock offense, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Wow. And here I thought I was being nice.”

You just laughed, nudging him lightly with your elbow.

“But no,” he added, “I’m studying psychology.”

Your head turned fast enough to make your hair sway. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah. I know—unexpected, right?”

You paused, thoughtful. “Not really… just surprising.”

“How so?” he asked, genuinely curious.

You leaned against the window, gaze drifting to the shops passing by in soft, sleepy blur.

“I guess… assuming from your reputation—y’know, being the heir to a business empire—I thought you’d take business. But no. It’s kind of refreshing.”

Jay glanced at you again, slower this time. You were still looking out the window, completely unaware of how carefully he was watching you.

Refreshing.

It was refreshing for him too—not just because you weren’t interested in his bank account or the company he’d one day run, but because you asked things for the sake of knowing.

Out of curiosity. Not calculation. It was rare.

He smiled quietly, looking back at the road. “It is, isn’t it?”

You turned to him then, catching the last flicker of that smile as you raised a brow. “So,” you said slowly, almost teasing, “Is the famous Park Jongseong going to continue his psychology dreams?”

“If I have time to do so after taking over the company, then…”

He gave a small shrug, one hand lazily adjusting the steering wheel. “Why not?”

You nodded, a little more solemn this time. “Still inheriting the business after all.”

“Mhm. I’m ready for it,” he said. “So don’t worry.”

Your lips tugged into a soft line, voice low as you mumbled, “Never doubted you.”

And for a moment, silence engulfed the car. Not the awkward kind, but something quieter. Something that hummed just beneath your skin, settling into the space between you and him.

Jay didn’t respond right away. His fingers just drummed softly on the steering wheel, almost like he was processing something—maybe your words, maybe the weight they carried.

You didn’t realize how long that silence lasted until you blinked and looked out the window, realizing you were already parked right in front of the laboratory building.

The engine hummed softly beneath your feet, and the campus morning buzz was just starting to stir outside.

You turned to him. “You could’ve just dropped me off at the gate, you know.”

Jay shook his head, eyes still fixed ahead before flicking to you with a slight raise of his brow.

“Do you want my mom to kill me?” he said, half-joking, half-serious. “Plus, it’s kind of a long walk.”

You snorted. “Whatever you say, chauffeur.”

That made him smile, but before he could reach for the door handle to get out and open it for you, you raised a hand.

“No need,” you said quickly. “I can get out of the car myself.”

He hesitated. “But—”

“I’m fine, Jay,” you interrupted, a little more gently this time. “I swear.”

He sighed, sinking back into his seat. “Okay. If you say so.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt, the click loud in the quiet space. Your hand lingered on the door handle for a second longer before you turned to him again.

“Thanks for the ride, Jay. Have a good morning.”

His eyes softened, lips curving slightly as he nodded. “You too, (YN). See you around.”

You smiled—small, sincere—before stepping out and shutting the car door behind you.

He didn’t drive away right away. Not until he saw you reach the building’s steps, humming to yourself, brushing some hair away from your face. The sun hit just right, making the morning light settle on your skin like soft gold.

You ignored the few curious glances tossed your way—some confused, some whispering—but you didn’t let it get to you. You kept your head high, steps light, your bag swinging gently by your side.

You didn’t look back.

But Jay watched for just a moment longer before pulling away, the image of your quiet smile still lingering in the corner of his mind.

The late afternoon sunlight stretched lazily across the classroom, golden rays filtering through the windows as you hunched over your desk, squinting between the glare on your laptop screen and your open notebook.

The room buzzed softly with low chatter, the occasional laugh, and the scratch of pens against paper.

Most students were scattered across the room, taking advantage of the free period, some napping, some studying.

You weren't surprised that the seat beside yours was empty—but his things were there: a worn-out hoodie thrown haphazardly on the chair, a mechanical pencil sticking out of his open pencil case, and his phone charging beside your elbow, leeching off your power bank like always.

Your fingers tapped the keys methodically, eyes darting from screen to page, double-checking that your notes on cellular respiration weren’t just typed right, but color-coded correctly.

You were in the middle of highlighting a complicated term when a hand landed on your table.

The jolt made your pen jerk violently across the page, leaving a streak of fluorescent orange ink slicing through the margin like a battle scar.

You blinked slowly at the mess, then sighed through your nose. "I swear, if any of you guys just ruined my—"

You looked up, already scowling.

Park Jisung was in front of you.

Hair ruffled from the wind, cheeks pink from running, and his eyes practically sparkling as he grinned down at you like a golden retriever who had just fetched a stick.

“Where have you been?” you asked flatly, raising a brow. “I’ve been doing all this by myself while you’re out there vanishing into thin air—”

“When were you going to tell me you had a thing for Jay?” he blurted out, completely ignoring you.

“…What.”

“You know,” he said, plopping into his seat, legs bouncing with barely-contained energy. “Park Jongseong? Jay? Tall, good-looking, looks like a prince? That Jay.”

“Yeah, I know who he is,” you said slowly, “*but I definitely don’t have a thing with him.”

“Well,” Jisung leaned in, smirking, “Chenle told me he saw you getting out of Jay’s car this morning.”

“What?!” you half-yelped, earning glances from your seatmates.

You gave a sheepish nod of apology toward one of them before turning back to Jisung with wide eyes.

“What do you mean Chenle saw that? Why was he even in our building?”

“I told him to come,” Jisung said casually, as if this wasn’t earth-shattering information. “I accidentally shoved one of his camera lenses into my bag during our shoot yesterday.”

You slapped your forehead. “Dumbass.”

“We’re going off-topic,” he said, looking far too entertained. “Jay. Car. You. What’s the deal?”

The bell rang, slicing through the tension. Students began packing up, chairs scraping, zippers zipping.

You stood and started gathering your things, flustered. “We really don’t have anything going on, Jisung.”

He stood too, but lingered, grabbing his charger from your power bank. “But the whole car thing—?”

You slung your bag over your shoulder, walking toward the door with Jisung trailing beside you like an eager detective.

“You know my favorite flower shop?”

He nodded, squinting at you. “Yeah. What about it?”

“Well…” You adjusted the strap of your bag. “His mom owns it.”

Jisung stopped walking.

“His mom?” he said incredulously, then scrambled to catch up. “Wait. Like, she owns it-owns it?”

You shrugged. “One of their family’s many businesses, I guess.”

He stared at you like the sky had just turned purple.

“So you’re telling me you got out of Jay’s car, after being a regular at a flower shop that his mother owns, and you two aren’t dating?”

You laughed, eyes crinkling. “No! I doubt he’s into flower-obsessed caffeine addicts.”

“Stop acting like people don’t kiss the ground you walk on,” Jisung grumbled, exasperated. “You’re literally one of the most popular students in the science department.”

“That’s a lie and you know it,” you said, chuckling. “I’m not even close to Jay’s level of popularity.”

“But you’re still popular!” he insisted, throwing his hands in the air dramatically.

You rolled your eyes, laughing. “We’re in different realms, Jisung.”

“Different realms, my ass,” he snorted. “If I find out you two start dating, you owe me dinner.”

You turned your head toward him, raising a brow with a teasing grin. “Deal.”

“Wait—really?” he blinked, slightly caught off guard.

“I mean, yeah.” You shrugged casually. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen anyway.”

He let out a loud laugh, the kind that made a few students glance your way. “You say that now, (Y/N), but watch—you’re gonna be sharing a milk tea with him in no time.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, shaking your head as the two of you pushed through the front doors of the science building and stepped into the warm afternoon sun.

Students buzzed around campus like bees in a hive, backpacks swinging, voices carrying in the breeze.

“Are you going with me to the library?” you asked, adjusting the strap of your bag over your shoulder.

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, but I’ll walk with you. I’m going in the same direction anyway.”

“For what?”

“Jeno invited me to this basketball thing,” he said, brushing his hair back from his forehead.

“Apparently their team’s captain—uh, Heeseung, I think—he’s looking for new people to play with for fun or whatever.”

You smiled. “Heeseung’s not that bad.”

Jisung looked at you sideways, squinting. “Wait—you know him?”

You nodded, stepping around a group of freshmen standing in the middle of the walkway. “I’ve heard of him through Jake. They’re friends. I think Heeseung’s in the same friend group as Jay, too.”

“God,” Jisung groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Rich people. I swear, they’re built different. Like you accidentally bump into them and suddenly you’re cursed for life or offered a black card.”

You burst into laughter. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not wrong,” he huffed.

“They’ve got this whole aesthetic. Leather jackets, expensive watches, dangerous glares. I don’t even know if I’m walking into a friendly basketball game or a mafia recruitment.”

You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. “Just don’t let Heeseung intimidate you. He seems chill.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung muttered. “Says the girl who’s brushing shoulders with them.”

You snorted. “They’re just people, Jisung.”

“Mmhm. Rich, insanely good-looking people who probably have secret trust funds and family empires.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just smiled to yourself and kept walking, letting the late afternoon breeze play with the edge of your sleeves.

The sun had dipped low enough to spill warm gold over the campus walkways, shadows stretching across the stone paths and weaving between the sea of students heading to their own destinations.

Beside you, Jisung kicked at a pebble and sighed, like he hadn’t just casually insulted half of Decelis University’s most beloved golden boys.

The crowd thinned a little by the time you reached the front steps of the main library.

You slowed, glancing up at the tall glass doors and then to Jisung, who was already looking at you with a knowing smirk.

“This is your stop,” he said.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

He tilted his head. “You got a shift tonight?”

“No,” you replied, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder.

He let out a long sigh. “Then what are you even gonna do in there?”

“I need to finish our paper. And study for the quiz.”

Jisung blinked. “We have a quiz?”

You laughed. “Next week.”

His eyebrows scrunched together, mouth pulling into a frown. “You’re studying a week early?”

You gave him a sheepish shrug, smiling like you hadn’t just exposed yourself. “Why not?”

He groaned dramatically, stepping back like your logic physically wounded him. “This is exactly why people call you a nerd.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Who calls me a nerd?”

“Me,” he said flatly, flashing a grin.

You rolled your eyes, not even bothering to argue. Instead, you jerked your chin toward the direction of the gym. “Just go to the gym, Jisung.”

He was already walking backwards, flashing you a peace sign. “Bye, nerd!”

“Seriously…” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as he turned and disappeared into the crowd.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the already open double doors of the main library, the warm yellow lights inside spilling out.

You stepped inside and instantly felt the difference—the hush of the indoors, the faint hum of heaters, and the overwhelming scent of old books and disinfectant that always clung to the place.

Your shoes padded softly across the wooden floor as you headed straight for the front desk.

Sure enough, there was Eunchae, sitting behind the counter, her brows furrowed as she flipped through a small stack of returned books, scanning barcodes and sorting titles like clockwork.

The sight made you smile—but it quickly faded when you noticed the noise level in the room.

The main floor of the library was packed. Every table was full, every group buzzed with whispers, pens tapped, pages flipped, and the occasional shuffle of chairs echoed across the space.

“Hey, Eunchae,” you greeted, walking up to the desk.

She looked up immediately, her whole face lighting up when she saw you. “Hey! You're early,” she said with a grin, brushing some loose strands of hair behind her ear before setting the book aside.

You leaned against the counter, glancing back at the tables and letting out a soft sigh. “Looks crazy in here. You okay?”

Eunchae nodded, but her eyes betrayed just how frazzled she really felt. “It’s just really busy tonight,” she muttered, rubbing her temples before straightening up.

“Group projects. Midterms. People panicking. The usual.”

You scanned the room again, eyes trailing from the study cubicles to the crowded group tables. “Are you sure you can deal with this alone?”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. I need the credentials anyway. Still, thank you for giving me your shift tonight. You didn’t have to.”

You shook your head quickly, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “It’s nothing. Seriously. You’ve covered for me enough times.”

Eunchae offered a grateful look before returning her attention to the stack of books on her left. “Try to find a seat, though. It's every man for themselves tonight.”

You groaned playfully. “Noted.”

She chuckled, then tapped the empty chair beside her. “If you don’t find any, you can crash here with me. I won’t judge if you type away behind the desk.”

You nodded gratefully, taking a step back with a soft smile. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good luck, Eunchae.”

“Same to you, (Y/N),” she replied, voice warm as ever.

Stepping away from the front desk, you adjusted the strap of your bag and exhaled. Your eyes scanned the room for an open seat—nothing. Every table was packed.

You sighed, walking deeper into the library. Past the tall, aged shelves, where the noise began to soften, muffled by old pages and quiet focus.

The deeper you went, the more your heartbeat slowed—less chaos, more calm.

Near the very back, where the windows were fogged slightly from the cool outside air, you spotted a couple rising from their seats, collecting their things.

You silently willed them to move faster, and as soon as they stepped away, you were quick to slide into the nearest chair.

Or you tried to.

A hand landed on the chair across from you at the same time, and you froze.

Your eyes met someone else's—only to be met with familiar dark ones you’ve recognized.

Jay stood there, books piled in one arm, a half-drunk coffee in the other, a hint of steam still curling from the lid.

His hair was slightly tousled like he'd run his hands through it too many times, and his uniform blazer was unbuttoned, sleeves slightly rolled, as if he had been fighting sleep and time since morning.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. “It’s you.”

“Good evening, Jay,” you greeted politely, trying not to sound as surprised as you felt.

“Good evening, (Y/N),” he mirrored, voice softer.

He nodded toward the table, shifting his weight on one foot. “Were you… going to sit here?”

You gave a slow nod. “Yes, actually.”

“Oh—sorry.” He took a step back immediately, smile sheepish as he gestured vaguely behind him. “I didn’t mean to—uh—steal it. I can find somewhere else—”

You cut him off with a small shake of your head. “It’s fine. We can share.”

Jay tilted his head slightly, brows raised. “Are you sure? I mean… I don’t want to intrude.”

“You gave me a ride earlier,” you reminded him gently, eyes flicking to the chair across from yours. “This is the least I can do. So please—sit.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his features before his lips curved into a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, settling into the seat as you both placed your things on the table.

The moment his bag dropped to the floor with a dull thud, he let out an audible sigh of relief, leaning back in his chair for just a second. You glanced at him, amused.

“That bad, huh?”

“Mhm,” he nodded, massaging the back of his neck. “It’s been a long day.”

You offered a sympathetic smile as you began pulling out your own pile of papers, smoothing them out beside your laptop. Jay glanced over at your mountain of handouts, raising a brow.

“What about you?”

“I have a quiz next week,” you mumbled, “and like… three lab reports I haven’t started yet.”

You lifted the messy bundle of worksheets and waved them dramatically. Jay snorted, opening one of the heavy books from his pile.

“God. Sounds familiar.”

“What’s with all the books?” you asked, eyeing the stack. “Research?”

“Nope,” he said grimly, “three quizzes tomorrow.”

You couldn’t help the grimace that twisted your face. “Oh.”

Jay chuckled at your reaction, the sound low and tired. “I know. Tell me about it.”

You smiled, setting your laptop in place and opening your notebook.

For a moment, the two of you sat in comfortable silence, the soft hum of the library and the occasional flipping of pages filling the space.

Jay glanced at you again, barely turning his head but enough to catch a glimpse of the way your brows furrowed as you read over your notes. His lips quirked up in a quiet, boyish smile—so fleeting it could’ve gone unnoticed.

He shook his head with a soft chuckle under his breath, gaze falling back to his own open textbook, where highlighters bled through the thin pages and his scrawled handwriting curved like tangled ivy across the margins.

But even as he looked down, he wasn’t really reading.

Because to him, everything about you was astonishing.

You didn’t approach him just to gawk. You didn’t fumble over your words or try to flirt like everyone else did. You didn’t bat your lashes or hang on to his every sentence for the sake of impressing him.

You asked questions. Real ones. Thoughtful ones.

As if you saw past all the surface-level noise and looked directly at the person underneath—the one he wasn’t sure anyone bothered to see anymore.

You talked to him like he was just Park Jongseong. Nobody else.

A soft hum left his lips, and he leaned back in his chair a little, eyes skimming the highlighted lines again as he tapped the capped end of his pen against the desk.

He snickered quietly at one of the messier annotations scribbled in the margin, his own handwriting nearly impossible to read in the yellow ink.

His brief laughter caught your attention, and when you looked up, you found him smiling—eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. It made you smile too, instinctively.

You tilted your head, eyes warm with curiosity.

“Is it true that psychology makes you insane too?” you asked teasingly.

Jay laughed, this time more openly, the sound melting into the quiet murmur of the library.

He turned his book around and tilted it in your direction, revealing the absolute chaos of notes, arrows, underlines, and circles all over the pages.

“No,” he said with a grin. “I just find my handwriting funny.”

You leaned forward to look, eyes widening a bit. “Funny? Jay, this looks like a crime scene,” you whispered, trying not to laugh.

“Is that a smiley face next to the word trauma?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, chuckling. “Yeah, well. Gotta keep things light somehow.”

You both laughed, the kind that bubbled naturally and settled between you as you pointed your pen at him with a teasing squint.

“Light is a bit too far-fetched with that topic, Jay. You’re literally dissecting the human mind.”

He turned the book back around, flipping through a few more pages littered with chaotic lines, highlighted blocks of text, and tiny frustrated scribbles in the margins.

“I should probably rewrite my notes,” he sighed, half-laughing, half-defeated.

You smiled softly and nudged your open pencil case toward him without a word. The soft clatter of pens and highlighters drew his attention.

“Knock yourself out,” you said, the corners of your lips tugging upward.

Jay glanced at the offered tools, then at you—your calm presence, the curve of your smirk, the way your hand rested near your laptop like you’d been waiting to offer help all along.

He reached over and took a black pen, his fingers brushing yours just barely.

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet to catch, as if saying it too loud would make the moment too real.

You just nodded, lowering your gaze back to your notebook, but your smile lingered.

Minutes passed. Then more. What started as a short break turned into hours of quiet company. The kind that didn’t need to be filled with words.

You worked on your lab sheets, flipping between tabs and scribbling formulas, while Jay read through his notes, occasionally adjusting the sticky flags he had lined up across the edge of a thick textbook.

Every once in a while, one of you would say something—about a definition, a memory from class, or just a random thought—and the other would respond with a small smile or a soft laugh before falling back into the comfort of silence.

You stretched your fingers after typing out the final conclusion on your lab report. “And… done,” you whispered under your breath.

Jay hummed across you, glancing over. “That’s it?”

You looked up, blinking. “You’re done?”

He shrugged, closing his book and gesturing at the mess in front of him. “I guess so. I’ve read through every chapter twice, and I think my highlighters are crying for help.”

You laughed, glancing at the pages, now overwhelmed with neon yellow, green, and pink. Sticky notes stuck out like feathers on a bird.

“Nice job,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.

Jay nodded with mock triumph. “What about you?”

You turned your laptop toward him. “Just finished answering everything.”

He tilted his head, leaning in a little as he scanned the open tabs and your meticulous work. “All three sheets?” he asked, eyebrows raised.

You nodded.

“Damn,” he muttered, impressed. “We make one good study team.”

You chuckled softly. “That’s true.”

As you began closing your laptop and slipping it into your bag, you nudged your pencil case toward him. “Are you done?”

“Oh—yes, thank you,” he said, quickly putting the pen he borrowed back inside.

You zipped it up, placing it gently in your bag. “No problem. Glad I could help you, you know?”

Jay gave a soft smile, a genuine one, as he looked around the now nearly empty library.

It was quiet—much quieter than it had been hours ago. The hum of conversations and footsteps had faded into the occasional rustle of paper or the librarian’s distant footsteps.

He started packing up as well, carefully slotting in what he could into his messenger bag, organizing the mess he had made earlier.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

You nodded, standing up and stretching a little. Jay followed suit, and the two of you walked side by side through the long aisle of bookshelves.

There was something calm about the way the library dimmed toward closing, the distant sound of a ticking clock echoing through the tall ceiling.

“What now?” Jay asked, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.

“Well, I usually walk back to my apartment after this,” you said, voice soft, “but I stop by your mom’s flower shop first.”

Jay glanced at you, humming. “That’s nice.”

You tilted your head a little, curious. “What is?”

He looked down at you, meeting your eyes with something close to admiration. “Seeing you so dedicated to the shop.”

A smile slowly spread across your face. The compliment was simple—but it warmed something in your chest.

“I love it a lot,” you said softly. “Ever since I started going to Decelis, Mrs. Park had everything I ever needed for my labs… and she’s really nice.”

Jay nodded, agreeing. “She is. Well—thank you for being our regular.”

You smiled wider as he bumped his shoulder playfully against yours, making you roll your eyes with a little laugh.

“Plus, I love her baked treats,” you added. “They’re really good.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Jay said with a grin.

As the two of you neared the front desk, a voice chimed out.

“Good night, (Y/N)—you too, Park.”

You looked up to see Eunchae mid-sentence, blinking at the both of you. Her gaze flicked between your face and Jay’s, and a teasing smile tugged at her lips almost immediately.

Jay furrowed his brows slightly, glancing between the two of you in confusion.

You sighed, muttering, “Walk faster,” as you gently tugged on his sleeve.

Jay looked at you, then back at Eunchae, then raised an eyebrow as a grin slowly pulled at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay… what was that about?” he asked.

You gave him a deadpan look. “Ignore her.”

Behind you, Eunchae grinned even wider, wiggling her fingers in a teasing wave as you and Jay walked out the library doors.

The evening breeze brushed past the both of you, gently tousling your hair as the sky dimmed into deep blues and golds. The faint sound of laughter and footsteps echoed from distant parts of campus.

Jay shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket, glancing sideways at you.

“Should I, uh, know the meaning behind that little interaction back there?” he asked, referring to Eunchae’s smug wave.

You let out a laugh through your nose, hugging your arms as the wind picked up again. “No, please don’t,” you replied, tone playfully dramatic. “For your sanity.”

Jay chuckled, nodding. “Got it. I’ll pretend I saw nothing.”

You both walked side by side, the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes filling the comfortable silence.

“I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten,” he said, glancing up at the dusky sky.

“Yeah…” you agreed softly. “It’s pretty late.”

Jay hesitated, slowing his steps a little before turning to you. And if it wasn’t for the campus lights just starting to flicker on, you might’ve noticed the faint blush painting his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. “Uhm… are you hungry?”

You tilted your head, blinking at him. “Why?”

Jay looked down, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting. “I mean—you don’t have to be—but I just thought, maybe, you know…”

You grinned. “I can eat.”

His head snapped up, startled. “Oh. That’s—good. That’s great.”

You squinted at him, amused. “Why? What’s up?”

Jay rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze as he stuttered, “Well, I uh—was thinking—maybe if you're not busy and I mean you’re probably not because we’re already walking and it's late and—”

You reached over and tugged gently on the sleeve of his hoodie, giggling. “Jay. Calm down. I can’t understand you.”

His mouth shut instantly. His eyes dropped to your hand, still lightly tugging on his sleeve—your fingers just barely brushing the fabric, but somehow it made his heart race. He blinked, then inhaled slowly.

“Do you want to eat dinner?” he asked, voice a bit steadier this time. “With me?”

You stared at him for a beat, then smiled.

“My treat,” he added, eyes darting away, cheeks glowing pink.

You blinked once then leaned in a little closer, grinning. “Is this a date?”

His eyes widened. “What—I mean—no! Not like that—I just—I figured we both haven’t eaten and it's late and—and it's totally fine if you don’t want to, I wasn’t trying to make it weird or anything—”

And there it was again. That same Jay Park who had a reputation for being cool, level-headed, untouchable—now standing in front of you as a stammering, flushed, hoodie-wearing mess because of one little question and the tiniest bit of skin contact.

You giggled, letting go of his sleeve. “I’m just teasing, Jay.”

He pouted, mumbling something under his breath as he looked down at his hands, now fidgeting with the silver rings on his fingers.

“You didn’t have to put me on the spot like that…” he grumbled.

You laughed again, watching the way he furrowed his brows and blew air into his bangs.

“Where’s the fun in that?” you teased, bumping your shoulder gently into his.

He sighed, cheeks still tinged with pink, “So… is that a yes or a no?”

You nodded enthusiastically, eyes crinkling with your smile. “Yes. I’ll have dinner with you.”

A small grin tugged at the corners of his lips. “Okay. My treat.”

You immediately protested, “Wait—Jay—”

But he was already walking ahead, hands buried in his hoodie pockets, grinning to himself.

“No takebacks,” he called over his shoulder. “You already agreed.”

You jogged a few steps after him, eyes wide. “No fair!”

Jay looked back, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “All’s fair in love and late-night dinners,” he said with a smug little shrug.

The road stretched ahead in a calm blur of streetlights and sleepy buildings, the dashboard lights casting a soft glow over the two of you.

Jay’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his other casually draped over the gearshift as a gentle tune filled the silence from the car speakers.

“If that’s what it takes to learn that sweet heart of yours…” he sang under his breath, low and steady, just barely louder than a hum.

You turned your head from the window where your cheek had been resting against your palm, and looked at him, surprised. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

Jay kept his eyes on the road, shoulders twitching in a sheepish shrug. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” you countered, your voice warm with amusement.

“Jay, stop lying. You sounded really good.”

He chuckled softly, one corner of his lips lifting in a shy smile. “Okay, maybe I can, but I’m not that good. I’d rather stick to playing the guitar, honestly.”

You shifted in your seat to face him a little more, still grinning. “I like your voice, though.”

Jay glanced at you then—just for a second—but the smile on his face grew the tiniest bit softer. “Thanks,” he murmured, eyes flicking back to the road.

“I’m serious,” you said gently. “It’s calming. You should sing more often.”

Jay exhaled a breathy laugh and scratched the back of his neck with one hand. “So… you like English songs?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I like some of them. I’ve had this one on repeat lately.”

He hummed, bobbing his head a little. “Nice taste.”

You smiled smugly, playful. “I know.”

That made him laugh again—this time, a bit louder. “Cocky much?”

“Just confident,” you teased, elbowing him lightly.

“Mmhm.” He nodded in fake seriousness, then looked ahead again, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in rhythm with the music. “I love this one too, though.”

“Really?” you asked, tilting your head.

He nodded, and his voice slipped out again, just a touch louder this time.

“If it’s ten thousand hours or the rest of my life, I’m gonna love you…”

You stared without meaning to, your breath caught somewhere between your chest and throat.

The moonlight washed through the car window, casting a soft silvery sheen over Jay’s features—his dark hair slightly tousled, jawline sharp, lips curling faintly with the lyrics, and those calm, focused eyes.

For a moment, he didn’t look like the Jay you knew—the one always being scolded for fighting, or arguing with you over notes.

He looked gentle. Thoughtful. Beautiful.

You smiled to yourself, eyes fluttering down as you whispered, “It really is a good song.”

Jay looked over briefly, catching the way you were gazing at him, and tilted his head slightly, voice softer now. “Do you like it that much?”

There was a pause. The song continued, lyrics floating through the air between you like something delicate.

Jay’s voice was low when he replied, “It reminds me of something, too.”

You turned to him slowly. “What does it remind you of?”

He hesitated, lips parting slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he should say it. But then he just smiled faintly, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Nothing bad.”

That made your heart skip just a little.

You didn’t push it. You just smiled softly to yourself, letting the comfortable silence return as he focused on driving.

The soft hum of the song continued through the speakers, wrapping around the two of you like a blanket, and before you knew it, Jay was pulling into a parking spot.

You blinked at the sudden stop and turned to look out the window.

A warm, cozy-looking restaurant stood in front of you. The soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around the pillars of the outdoor patio, and groups of people laughed and talked over their meals.

You noticed how packed the parking lot was — it must’ve been a popular spot.

“This place looks… really nice,” you said, turning to him.

Jay just smiled as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “It is.”

Before you could even reach for the handle, he was already out and walking around the car. Your heart did a little somersault when he opened the door for you, offering a hand.

You laughed. “Really?”

“C’mon,” he said, smirking. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You rolled your eyes playfully but took his hand anyway. It was warm. Firm. Comforting. He helped you out with ease and kept holding your hand for a moment longer before letting go reluctantly.

As you both walked up to the entrance, you glanced sideways at him. “So, how’d you know about this place?”

He shrugged casually. “My aunt owns it.”

You looked at him, eyebrows raised. “No way. That’s actually really cool.”

Jay chuckled. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

“No, it is,” you insisted with a grin. “Having an aunt who owns a cute restaurant? That’s awesome.”

He laughed, eyes crinkling. “If you say so.”

As you stepped into the restaurant, the soft chatter and clinking of silverware greeted you.

The place smelled like garlic, toasted bread, and a hint of something sweet—warm and comforting, just like it looked from the outside.

A staff member at the small wooden reception desk looked up and smiled. “Good evening, Mr. Park.”

“Evening,” Jay greeted with a small nod. “Is my aunt in?”

“Yes, sir. She’s by the first booth, just near the door. You should see her right away.”

Jay nodded in thanks, then gently placed his hand on your back. “C’mon. This’ll be quick.”

You nodded, ignoring the way your heart jumped from the contact as he guided you through the bustling main floor.

Just as the staff said, a woman sat in the first booth, glasses slipping down her nose as she typed furiously on her laptop. Jay leaned in a little, voice playful.

“Busy?”

She looked up, startled for a split second before a bright smile spread across her face. “Jay! You didn’t say you were coming!”

She stood up and immediately wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back with one arm.

“Are you alone?” she asked, glancing at you with a curious but warm gaze.

He pulled back and stepped to the side so you were in full view. “Nope.”

Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Jay ignored it. “Are there any booths available?”

“There should be a few left upstairs,” she said, scanning the busy dining area. “But you know your booth’s always reserved for you.”

Jay smiled. “Thanks, auntie.”

With a quick nod, he motioned for you to follow. “Let’s go.”

You quietly followed beside him, trying not to focus on how naturally he placed his hand on the small of your back again. It was nothing, probably unconscious. But your cheeks were warm anyway.

The stairs led to a second floor that was just as cozy — quieter, more intimate. Artwork lined the walls: soft-toned paintings, delicate sketches, and calming landscapes. Your eyes flitted over them in awe.

“Wow,” you murmured.

Jay glanced back, amused. “You like art?”

“I love it,” you admitted. “Especially ones like these. They’re so soft.”

He smiled at that but said nothing more until you reached the very last booth — a corner seat by the window.

The view was stunning.

The glass walls opened the whole space up to the city lights, the glimmer of buildings stretching out into the horizon. The skyline glittered like constellations in a sea of black. You slid into the leather seat, trying not to gape.

“Now this,” Jay said as he sat across from you, “is what’s cool.”

He pointed upward and you followed his finger.

Your breath caught.

A beautiful chandelier hung at the center of the room, soft golden lights catching on the delicate glass shards — casting subtle rainbows against the white ceiling.

“Wow…” you whispered.

Jay smiled, his eyes not on the chandelier, but on you. “Pretty, right?”

You nodded slowly, still a little starstruck by the place. “It’s beautiful.”

He looked away, chuckling lightly. “I figured you’d like it here.”

You looked back at him just as he reached for the menu. “So, what do you want to eat?”

You mirrored him, opening the simple leather-bound menu. “Hmm… what do you guys usually get here?”

Jay glanced up, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ve never taken my friends here.”

You blinked. “Not even Jake?”

He shook his head, amused. “Nope.”

“Why not?” you asked, clearly curious.

Jay let out a soft laugh. “Because knowing us, we’d probably end up paying more for the damage than the food.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god—”

“I’m serious!” he grinned. “One time, Jake dropped a whole hot pot on the table at another place, and we just left a hefty tip and walked out like nothing happened.”

“You guys sound fun to be around,” you giggled.

Jay scrunched his nose, playful. “If your definition of fun is clumsily breaking dishes and turning every meal into a mess, then yeah. We’re so fun.”

You beamed at him, resting your chin on your hand again. “Still. It must be nice. Being that close with your friends.”

“It is,” he said, tone softening just a little. “They’re annoying, but they’re my people.”

You smiled, heart warming at the sincerity in his voice.

Jay smiled back at you, his eyes crinkling just at the sides—the kind of smile that felt unguarded, the kind people only gave when they were truly comfortable.

“Well,” you said, resting your forearms against the table, “what do you usually order here?”

“Steak and mashed potatoes,” he replied instantly, like he’d been ordering the same thing for years.

You tilted your head. “Anything else?”

The corner of his mouth lifted as if he was holding back a bigger grin. “Chocolate cake for dessert.”

Your lips curved. “I’ll have that too, then.”

He raised a brow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” You nodded once, certain. “I trust you. Isn’t that enough?”

That made him laugh—a low, warm sound that curled at the edges.

“Okay, okay.” He lifted his hand, catching the attention of a waiter with a casual wave. The soft yellow light from the chandelier above caught the faint shine of the rings on his fingers as he gestured.

Dinner went smoothly after that.

The booth you were in had just enough privacy to make the space feel yours, with the hum of conversation from other tables fading into a comfortable background noise.

The city lights through the glass wall twinkled faintly, reflected in the polished surface of your table. The steak was perfectly seared, the mashed potatoes creamy, the sauce rich but not overpowering.

Between bites, you and Jay drifted in and out of conversation—small comments about the food, light teasing about the way you cut your steak too precisely, your laughter bubbling over more than once.

At one point, Jay set his fork down and leaned back a little, his arm resting along the back of the booth.

“You know how I met Ni-ki? You know, our first-year friend. The one Jake probably mentioned to you before?”

You looked up, curious. “Ah…him. No, how?”

“It was because of my cousin,” he began, picking his fork back up to slice into another bite. “She was in the same class as him back in high school.”

“And?” you prompted, chewing slowly.

Jay gave you a deadpan stare, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. “She called him a dick.”

You almost dropped your fork, laughing. “What? Why?”

“She said he never talked to her unless it was absolutely necessary. Like—” he mimicked a bored monotone, “‘Move.’ That’s it. That’s all he’d say to her.”

You pressed your fingers to your mouth to stifle a laugh. “No way—”

“Oh, there’s more,” Jay said, shaking his head with mock disbelief.

“One time she asked him if he wanted to join a group project, and he just said, ‘No.’ Then walked away.”

You leaned back, still laughing. “Oh my god, that’s awful—”

“Right?” Jay shook his head, a laugh escaping him before he sighed, stabbing the last piece of his chocolate cake with his fork.

“Well, I ended up befriending Ni-ki during my last year of high school, and he’s been stuck with our group ever since. My cousin still hates him, though.”

You popped the last bite of your dessert into your mouth, chewing thoughtfully before shrugging. “Well, it can’t be helped.”

Jay gave you a pointed look, lowering his voice like he was letting you in on a secret. “If you ask me, I think Ni-ki just likes her.”

Your brows shot up. “I mean… that’s a possibility.”

He leaned back with a dry chuckle. “I might punch him first. Who knows.”

You shook your head, lips twitching. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jay just smirked. “Are you done?”

You nodded, wiping your mouth with the napkin. “Yeah.”

He glanced at your now-empty plate, then back at you, tilting his head toward it in a subtle gesture. “Ready to go?”

You followed his gaze, letting your eyes drop to the cleared plate before nodding again. “Yeah, come on.”

He stood, grabbing his bag, and you did the same. The two of you made your way down the stairs, the hum of conversations and clinking cutlery greeting you again.

Jay stood beside you at the cashier, pulling out his card with casual ease.

“Good evening,” the cashier greeted.

“Evening. For table twenty, please.” Jay slid the card across the counter, his tone casual but polite.

As she began to process the payment, he added, “Can I also get a chocolate cake for takeout?”

The cashier nodded with a polite smile. “Would that be all?”

“That’s all,” Jay confirmed, tucking one hand into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited.

While she worked, you leaned in just enough for your shoulder to brush his arm.

Standing on tiptoe, you whispered near his ear, “You can eat all of that by yourself?”

You caught the faint twitch of his lips before he glanced down at you, laughing under his breath. “For me and my family.”

“Mmhm.” You rocked back on your feet, feigning disbelief but unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

The cashier returned his card with a practiced motion and handed over the neatly packaged cake.

Jay accepted it with one hand, the weight of the box light in his grip, while the other found its place naturally at the small of your back.

His palm was warm even through the fabric as he guided you toward the door.

From behind, his aunt’s voice cut through the gentle hum of conversation. “Bye! And I’m sending the cake money back to your bank account!”

Jay’s groan was immediate, loud enough for nearby tables to hear.

He turned halfway toward her with narrowed eyes. “No, don’t—”

But she just winked in his direction, her gaze flicking knowingly between the two of you before tilting her head toward you with a smile that said far too much without a single word.

You blinked, tilting your head in confusion. “What was that about?”

“I swear she lives to embarrass me,” Jay muttered, shaking his head like this was an old, unsolvable problem.

Before you could press further, the staff member from earlier stepped forward, holding the door open for the two of you.

Jay gave a polite nod in thanks before stepping outside with you.

The evening air was crisp against your cheeks, carrying the faint scent of grilled food from the kitchen vents mixed with the distant tang of city asphalt.

Neon signs from nearby shops painted the sidewalk in shifting colors, and the low hum of traffic seemed muted here.

Jay’s hand lingered at your back until you reached the car, where he finally—reluctantly—pulled away to open the passenger door for you.

His movements were unhurried, like he was in no rush to create space between you, but still careful in a way that made your chest feel warm.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, slipping inside.

Jay placed the cake gently in the backseat, double-checking it wouldn’t slide around, before circling to the driver’s side.

He slid into his seat, fingers curling around the wheel as he started the engine—a little quicker than necessary.

The soft hum filled the quiet, and for a moment, the only sound was your quiet exhale as you breathed warm air into your cupped hands.

Jay glanced over, brows furrowing. “Cold?”

You met his gaze sheepishly. “Oops—sorry. It’s just… really cold.”

Without saying another word, he reached forward to turn up the heater.

Then, in one swift motion, he tugged his hoodie over his head, the fabric rustling in the still air, and held it out to you.

You shook your head immediately. “No, it’s fine—”

He clicked his tongue in mock disapproval before gently placing it down on your lap, careful not to brush against you.

You sighed, giving him a look. “You know, for someone who’s known for his cold demeanor, you’re acting sweet.”

Jay’s lips quirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “And for someone for someone who’s so level-headed, you’re stubborn.”

The words slipped out before he could stop himself, and the moment they did, color crept up the tips of his ears.

“Plus, I’m just being a good friend,” he added quickly, eyes darting back to the wheel.

You shrugged teasingly, adjusting the hoodie on your lap. “Thank you, good friend. You’re such a good friend.”

He clicked his tongue again, turning his face away just enough to hide the pink dusting across his cheeks—but you caught it anyway.

Letting out a slow sigh, he glanced back at you. “Where to?”

You tilted your head. “You can just drop me off at your mom’s flower shop.”

Jay immediately shook his head, grip tightening on the wheel like he’d already made up his mind before you even asked. “I’m not letting you walk this late alone.”

“But—”

“No,” he cut in, voice steady but carrying that quiet edge that told you there was no point in arguing. “I mean it. I’d blame myself if something happened to you.”

You let out a groan, tipping your head back against the seat dramatically. “I swear I’ll be fine—

He didn’t even respond this time, just sent you a sharp, level look out of the corner of his eye. It was the kind of look that made you stop mid-sentence.

You slumped slightly, muttering under your breath, “See? So stubborn.”

Jay’s lips twitched as if he was holding back a smile, his gaze fixed on the road ahead.

“Can we at least stop by the flower shop first? Please?” you asked, leaning forward just a little, hoping the softer tone might sway him.

His eyes flickered to you briefly before returning to the streetlights passing overhead. “Wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

You huffed, crossing your arms in mock offense, earning yourself a quiet chuckle from him. The sound was low, warm, and for some reason, it made the air in the car feel just a bit more comfortable.

“My mom’s not there, though,” he said casually after a moment, his voice breaking the easy silence. “I think Hyunjae’s watching the shop tonight.”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen him sometimes,” you said, recalling the tall, slightly awkward guy you’d occasionally spotted behind the counter.

Jay nodded once, merging smoothly into the main road. “Mhm. He’s one of my cousins.”

His hand adjusted slightly on the wheel, the faint glow from the dashboard catching on his profile—sharp jawline, relaxed eyes, lips that tugged upward almost imperceptibly.

Outside, the night stretched on, neon lights flickering past your window in blurred streaks, while inside, the faint hum of the heater and the lingering warmth from his hoodie on your lap made the ride feel unhurried, almost safe.

Jay glanced sideways at you from the driver’s seat, one hand steady on the wheel as the other tapped idly against his thigh.

The traffic ahead was slow, red brake lights lining up like a trail of fireflies.

“It’s a bit traffic right now,” he said, voice low. “You can get some rest if you want.”

You blinked, your head lolling slightly as you turned to look at him, eyes already heavy. “Mhm… okay,” you murmured, pulling the hoodie closer as you adjusted it in your lap.

A moment later, you slipped your arms through the sleeves and tugged it on over your top, burying your nose into the soft fabric. You sunk into the passenger seat a little more, eyes fluttering shut as your head tilted gently against the window.

“Goodnight, Jay…” you mumbled sleepily, words nearly lost in the lull of your breath.

Jay’s hand paused on his thigh. He glanced over again, just in time to see your lashes lower and your breathing steady out.

“Goodnight, (Y/N),” he whispered, barely audible, a small smile tugging at his lips as he returned his eyes to the road.

But not before he looked once more—just once—lingering longer than he probably should have.

There was something about the way you looked in that moment—wrapped in his hoodie, hands tucked close to your chest, your features soft in the dim light. Peaceful. Unbothered. Completely at ease. With him.

Jay gripped the steering wheel tighter.

He wasn’t sure what to make of the feeling creeping up through his chest—slow, persistent, unfamiliar.

He told himself it was nothing. Just the warmth of the car. The calm of the night. The tiredness from the long day.

But deep down, he knew it was more than that.

And for the first time in a long while, Jay didn’t feel like speeding through the night.

He wanted to slow down.

Just a little longer. Just a little more time with you beside him.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

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It was the third time that week.

The third time Jay had stepped out into the windy morning only for the blazing sun to mock him from a cloudless sky.

The kind of weather that made his shirt cling just faintly to his back as if to remind him—uncomfortably—that summer was creeping closer.

He locked his car with a sharp click, the sound echoing down the still-sleepy street, and lifted his gaze toward the looming white flower shop across the road, ‘Park & Bloom.’

The place he once thought was nice. Peaceful, even.

Now, the sight of it just made his jaw tighten.

Adjusting the collar of his black button-up, he hitched his messenger bag higher on his shoulder and nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Then, with a push of the door, he stepped inside.

The bell chimed—a cheerful sound that didn’t match the frown on his face.

Another empty store. Another morning without you.

His eyes swept the space automatically, like they always did, lingering on the spot where you usually stood—looking over the pink flowers, hair flowing down your back, a bunch of small potted plants cradled in your hands.

But instead—it was Hyunjae.

His cousin was crouched by one of the aisles, trimming the stems of pink carnations with an infuriating calm.

The faint scent of greenery and earth clung to the air.

“Hey, morning,” Hyunjae called, not looking up.

Jay didn’t bother to respond beyond a clipped, “Morning,” as he walked straight behind the counter.

He grabbed the last stack of textbooks he’d abandoned during his previous shifts, slamming them into his bag with more force than necessary.

Hyunjae straightened, setting his scissors aside before grabbing the spray bottle. “What’s up your ass this morning?”

Jay looked up, unimpressed. “Don’t you have a team meeting to go to?”

“They’ll survive without me,” Hyunjae said, lazily misting a bunch of lavender. The scent drifted between them, annoyingly soothing.

“I’ll fire you one day, I swear,” Jay muttered, adjusting the strap of his bag. His tone lacked any real bite.

“That’s a little excessive,” Hyunjae replied easily, “Who’s gonna clean up after your mess then?”

“Me.”

“Yeah, no.” Hyunjae snorted.

“You have a habit of causing messes. Remember that old man—the COO of Kim Corps—you punched in the face? What was it, because he tried to bribe you into marrying his daughter?”

Jay shrugged, stepping toward him. “I’m just not interested.”

Hyunjae gave him a long, knowing look. “Yeah, well… I fear the only girl you are interested in decided to run away.”

Jay blinked. Slowly. The words landed heavier than Hyunjae probably meant them to.

“What did you even do to (Y/N)?” his cousin asked, ruffling Jay’s hair on his way past.

“Nothing,” Jay said flatly, though his grip on the books tightened, the paper edges digging into his palms.

The bell above the door jingled again, cutting through the heavy pause. Customers.

“Good morning, welcome to Park & Bloom!” Hyunjae’s voice flipped effortlessly into shop-mode, cheerful and light.

Jay didn’t move. His scowl only deepened before he shoved past the counter, through the glass doors, and out into the blinding light.

The air felt hotter now.

He yanked his car door open, tossing his bag inside harder than he should have. The slam of the door was louder than the street noise, than the faint bell chime he could still hear in his head.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, Jay gripped the steering wheel like it might steady the frustration bubbling in his chest.

But his eyes—traitorous, stubborn—shifted back to the flower shop through the windshield.

The front window still caught the soft morning light, glinting off the display of pink blooms you’d always linger over. His jaw tightened. The image wouldn’t leave.

“Get a grip, Jay,” he muttered under his breath, forcing his gaze forward.

He twisted the key in the ignition, the low hum of the engine filling the silence like an unwelcome reminder that he should already be gone.

And yet—he hesitated. His foot hovered over the gas pedal, fingers drumming against the wheel as if debating something he’d never admit to out loud.

He exhaled sharply, slammed the gearshift into drive, and pulled away from the curb with more speed than necessary.

The tires rolled over the asphalt, carrying him further and further from the shop, from the stubborn thought of you.

He didn’t let himself look back—not even once.

Jay had his blazer jacket draped over one arm, his tie half-loosened as if last night’s meeting still clung to him like smoke.

His voice carried over the hallway, sharp but tired, as he gestured vaguely with his free hand.

“I swear, Hyunjae kept nagging in my ear all night about the other team’s manager overspending budget allocations. I almost had a headache just from listening.”

He ran a hand down his face, dragging it like he was physically trying to wipe the memory away, before adjusting the strap of his bag back onto his shoulder.

Sunghoon, walking beside him with his hands shoved into his pockets, gave him the most unbothered shrug.

“I’m just gonna act like I know whatever you’re talking about.”

Jay turned his head, unimpressed, while Sunghoon gave a lazy smirk.

Jake, who was trailing on his other side, chuckled as he shoved his hands deeper into his coat.

“Well, it’s part of your problem now. You’re the one who volunteered to take over these things earlier than expected.”

Jay rolled his eyes and muttered, “Unfortunately, yes.”

Jake reached over and gave his back a solid pat, almost like he was congratulating him on his misery.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. You’ve always wanted to help with the family business, right?”

Jay groaned like Jake had just pressed on a fresh bruise. “Stop reminding me. Please.”

That earned him a low laugh from Sunghoon, who tilted his head with mock seriousness, “Just fire everybody and call it a day.”

Jay let out a deep sigh, gaze flicking forward toward the crowd of students moving through the hall, his jaw tightening, “If only I could.”

“Please don’t,” Jake cut in quickly, patting him on the shoulder like he wasn’t kidding.

Jay was just about to retort when his eyes drifted, almost absently, over the open field of the campus lawn that stretched past the wide hallway windows.

He meant to just glance—scan the blur of faces and backpacks—but his feet slowed. His chest stalled.

Because there you were.

Mid-step, mid-conversation with someone he recognized vaguely from your stories—Jisung, wasn’t it? You had mentioned him before.

He watched as you handed over a thick stack of papers, your voice carrying even faintly from where he stood.

Jisung grimaced at the weight of them, his shoulders sagging, and you only rolled your eyes in that way Jay had seen a hundred times before.

But God—it hit different after days of nothing.

His grip on the strap of his bag tightened, knuckles paling as he drank in the sight of you.

Sleeves of your sweater shoved up to your elbows, strands of hair brushing across your face when the breeze caught, your bag slung across your body with a few dried flowers sticking out the side like they were stubborn passengers refusing to leave.

Jay’s jaw clenched. His lips parted before he even realized he was muttering under his breath.

“…So you’d rather keep the dead ones, huh.”

There was something biting in the words, but the ache beneath it was louder.

“Hello?” Jake’s hand suddenly waved in front of his face. “Earth to Jay. You good?”

Jay startled, almost snapping out of a trance. He shook his head quickly, pulling at his tie until it came completely loose around his neck, shoving it into his bag like it was suffocating him.

“Yeah. I’m good.”

They started walking again, but Jay’s head still felt turned in your direction. He had to force his steps to match theirs.

Sunghoon gave him a side glance, smirking like he already knew something was off.

“What, did you just see your ex or something?”

Jake barked out a laugh immediately.

“Of all the insults in the world, that’s what you go for?”

Jay shot them both a flat look, his voice low but certain, “Man, you know I’ve never even had an ex.”

Sunghoon only shrugged, smirk still curling his lips. “Yeah. I know.”

Jake hummed, though his eyes were scanning over the open field now, like trying to piece together who, exactly, had caught Jay’s attention enough to make his breath hitch.

He spotted a few familiar faces he knew from campus—but then his gaze stopped and it landed right on you.

You, with your hair catching sunlight like spun glass, golden at the edges. You, laughing at something Jisung said, your nose scrunching up the way Jake had seen maybe once or twice when he’d pestered you during your library shifts.

He didn’t miss the way Jay’s chest lifted and fell heavier than usual. Like he’d been holding his breath. Like seeing you, after days of absence, was equal parts relief and torture.

Jake’s eyes flicked sideways, catching the almost imperceptible tension in Jay’s shoulders. He didn’t need to follow Jay’s gaze to know what, or rather who, had caused it.

Still, he looked anyway. And when he turned back, he found Jay staring stubbornly forward—too forward, too rigid, like the sea of students ahead suddenly fascinated him.

Jake nudged him lightly with his elbow.

“How long?”

Jay’s brows furrowed. “How long what?”

Jake exchanged a look with Sunghoon, who only gave the smallest nod, a smirk tugging faintly at his lips. Clearing his throat, Jake leaned closer.

“How long have you liked (Y/N)?”

Jay’s eyes widened—not too much, but enough.

Enough for Jake to see it, enough for Sunghoon to huff out a low chuckle like got him. Jay blinked, shook his head slightly as if to dismiss it, turning the corner with them.

“What do you mean?” His tone was too flat, too quick.

Jake sighed, almost exasperated.

“Jay, you’re in love.”

The words landed heavy in the air, heavier than the weight of Jay’s bag or the expectations he carried daily.

His steps faltered just slightly before he caught himself, looking down, running a hand through his dark hair.

“…Oh.”

Sunghoon mumbled without looking up from his phone, “Yeah. Oh.”

Jake pressed. “So? How long?”

Jay exhaled through his nose, staring ahead, refusing to meet either of their eyes as his voice slipped out quietly, almost begrudgingly.

“Since I met her.”

Jake’s brows arched, his lips twitching into the faintest hum. “So… what, about a month and a half?”

Jay gave the slowest nod, staring so hard at the path ahead it was like he was afraid looking anywhere else would betray too much. His grip tightened on his strap again.

Sunghoon’s phone buzzed, and he scoffed, tilting it up. “Jungwon’s spamming me.”

“Tell him to calm down,” Jake muttered, eyes still on Jay.

His gaze was quiet, assessing—watching the way Jay suddenly found the movement of his own shoes unbearably interesting, like scuffing the ground was safer than acknowledging his heart bleeding out in the open.

Jake softened his voice.

“Look, we’re not forcing you to confess. We’re not asking you to declare it to the whole world in some article the reporters will twist into headlines.”

Jay’s brow furrowed, lips pressed tight, but he didn’t interrupt.

Jake went on, “Just try to get it together before she slips away completely.”

That one hit. Jay’s head tilted down, his jaw flexing. He finally murmured, voice so quiet Jake almost missed it.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way?”

Jake smiled faintly, almost sad.

“Then she doesn’t. You can’t force someone to love you back.” He paused, catching Jay’s tense expression.

“But you can show her that you care. That much is always yours to give.”

Jay swallowed, the words lingering longer than he wanted to admit. He nodded, once, like he was still searching for the right response but couldn’t quite land on one.

Sunghoon slipped his phone back into his pocket.

“Come on, lover boy. We’re supposed to help Jungwon.”

Jake rolled his eyes, “Seriously, I’m dragging him to one of my parties after this. He needs to socialize.”

The corner of Jay’s mouth twitched before a low laugh finally slipped out. He shook his head, the tension easing just barely from his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’s why we’re walking, remember?”

Sunghoon smirked, throwing a playful punch at Jay’s shoulder.

And though Jay glanced back once more at the fading view of the field—the sunlight now casting everything golden, your figure already gone from sight—he dropped his gaze again, humming low to himself, as if repeating the thought Jake planted there.

“Show (Y/N) I care, huh…”

The words slipped out under his breath, half scoff, half prayer. He rolled his shoulders back, forcing himself to look ahead, to keep pace with Jake and Sunghoon.

“Come on, let’s go faster,” Sunghoon urged, already speeding up, impatience lacing his tone as they made another turn.

The familiar glass doors loomed ahead, gleaming with streaks of sunlight. Sunghoon shoved them open with one hand, announcing flatly, “We’re here.”

Inside, Jungwon was hunched over a clipboard, brows knitted in concentration. At the sight of them, he groaned dramatically.

“Fucking finally.”

Jake dropped his bag to the ground, unimpressed. “Yeah, yeah. You missed us. We get it.”

Before he could finish, a roll of tape came flying across the room, smacking him square in the chest.

“Ow! Hey—” Jake clutched it like a personal wound. “That actually hurt!”

On the table nearby, Sunoo grinned smugly, swinging his legs as if nothing had happened. “You’ll live.”

Jay couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips as he set his own bag down. The air here was noisy but familiar, calming him in a way that pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He tugged his sleeves up to his elbows, exhaling, “Okay. What do we need to do?”

From the side, Heeseung hummed, arms crossed. “Not that much. Just relocate some of the equipment closer to the field.”

Jay nodded, already moving toward the stacked boxes. Ni-ki intercepted him, eyeing him with his usual bluntness.

“Why do you look like that?”

Jay raised a brow. “Look like what?”

“Like shit.”

Jay groaned, tossing an arm around Ni-ki’s neck and ruffling his hair hard enough to earn a squawk.

“Yeah, well, suck it up, you little shit. What’s up your ass this morning?”

Ni-ki swatted at him, fixing his hair frantically.

“I spent time on this! Leave it!” He huffed, grabbing a box of wires. “And it’s your equally shitty cousin.”

Jay sighed, bending to grab his own box. “What did you two argue about now?”

“She called me a dickhead in front of the whole class because I tripped her.”

“Accidentally or planned it a week in advance?” Sunoo cut in smoothly, brushing past with a box of fairy lights in his arms. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

Ni-ki scowled, “Accidentally! I might hate her, but I’m not a monster.”

Heeseung snickered, walking by with mic stands slung over his shoulder, his leather jacket discarded somewhere in the mess. “Yeah, I doubt that.”

“Mhmm. I agree,” Jungwon muttered from where he held the door open, not even looking up from his clipboard.

Jay shook his head, trailing behind Heeseung as they carried boxes toward the hallway.

“What are these for anyway?”

Jake, juggling an armful of plastic bags filled with streamers, sighed dramatically. “You agreed without knowing? Jay, your kindness is going to be abused someday, I swear.”

Jay only shrugged, unfazed.

“Open mic night next week,” Heeseung answered casually.

Jay nodded, adjusting his grip on the box. Sunoo trailed behind, curious.

“Who’s performing?”

“Just a bunch of student bands and some soloists,” Jungwon called, still balancing the clipboard with one hand as he kept the door propped open.

“Including me,” Heeseung added with a grin. “My girlfriend told me to perform, so.”

Sunoo scoffed loudly, setting down his load.

“Yeah, my best friend—you wouldn’t even be together if I didn’t sign you up for that one months ago. You’re welcome, by the way, Lee Heeseung.”

Heeseung laughed, looking back at the blonde with a grin.

“Yes, thanks a lot, Sunoo.”

Sunghoon muttered under his breath, though not quietly enough, “A bunch of kids, I swear.”

Jay chuckled, shaking his head before looking at Jake.

“What about you? You aren’t performing?”

Jake made a face instantly, as if the suggestion alone offended him. “Hell no. I can’t sing.”

“Yes, you can,” Jay countered easily, side-eying him.

Ni-ki chimed in, balancing three boxes like it was nothing. “Yeah, you can. I’ve heard you.”

Jake groaned, his voice climbing in protest. “No thank you. I have a party to plan, remember?”

Jay just laughed, the sound softer than usual but genuine. His chest felt lighter here, surrounded by their noise and arguments, the chaos pulling him out of the dangerous corners of his mind.

Jake drifted closer, falling into step beside him, bumping his shoulder lightly against Jay’s. “So, you coming?”

Jay raised a brow. “To open mic night? Yeah… probably.”

Jake grinned like he already knew the answer. “Good. You’re helping us set up.”

Jay groaned, dragging his feet a little for emphasis. “Do I really have to?”

“Do you have a date?” Jake shot back instantly.

The question knocked the air out of him for half a beat.

Jay pressed his mouth into a line, the image of you sparking in his mind so suddenly it almost hurt—your hair falling forward as you leaned over flowers, that easy smile you gave people when you thought no one was looking.

He shook his head slowly.

“…No.”

The smell of grass clippings greeted them as they stepped onto the field. The late afternoon sun spilled gold across the empty bleachers, and ahead, a few students were already assembling the framework of a small stage.

Jake’s voice cut through the hum of construction.

“Well, I mean—if you manage to bag (Y/N) last minute, then I’d let you off. You can even have my car if you want.”

Jay let out a short laugh, shaking his head.

“I already have one too many.”

He set his box down near the edge of the stage, dusting his hands on his jeans.

Out of nowhere, Sunoo’s voice chimed in, sharp and curious. “(Y/N) who?”

Jake turned immediately, shooting him a look.

“(L/N) (Y/N).”

Sunoo blinked, tilting his head.

“You mean that really pretty girl who’s always with Park Jisung?”

“Yeah…” Jake narrowed his eyes. “How do you know her?”

Sunoo shrugged, unapologetic. “Just because. What’s up with (Y/N)?”

Jay exhaled through his nose, realizing there was no point dodging it anymore. Crossing his arms over his chest, he admitted flatly, “I like her. That’s all.”

For a second, Sunoo just blinked—once, twice—like he was making sure he heard right. “…You aren’t shitting me, right?”

Jay shook his head.

“Cool,” Sunoo said simply, nodding once. “So when do we get to hang out with her?”

Jake barked out a laugh, instantly slinging an arm around Sunoo’s shoulders and pulling him in.

“Let’s let him man up first, yeah?”

“Hey—” Jay started, rolling his eyes, but Jake was already dragging the blonde a few steps away, the two of them snickering like they’d found a new favorite topic.

Left standing there, Jay let the faint smile slide off his face. The weight pressed back into his chest, heavier now that the others weren’t looking.

He stared out across the field, to the patch of grass where you’d been earlier, the sun painting everything golden.

He shook his head, forcing himself back into motion. Bending down, he hooked his fingers under the edge of another box, lifting it without complaint this time.

His muscles strained, but it was easier than untangling the knot in his chest.

The moonlight seeped through the window blinds, casting pale stripes across the polished floor of the Athletics Organization’s clubroom.

Dust swirled lazily in the dim light, the only sound being the shuffle of papers and Jake’s soft humming as he tucked the last folder back into the drawer.

Behind him, Jay’s voice echoed low and lazy, bag slung over one shoulder.

“You sure you can lock the doors?” Jay asked, already halfway out, his shadow stretching long in the hallway.

Jake waved him off without looking. “I’m not five, Jay.”

Jay smirked, shifting his bag higher. “Suit yourself. Don’t forget to message Jungwon after you pack up.”

Jake only nodded, watching the shadow of his friend finally disappear around the corner before exhaling, shoulders slumping. He muttered under his breath, “The things I do for you, Park Jongseong.”

He grabbed his own things, slung them over his shoulder, and crouched by the door, fumbling with the key. The lock clicked shut with a satisfying snap.

Standing back up, Jake shoved the key into his pocket and glanced down the hall again, moving carefully, footsteps muffled against the floor.

Turning the corner, Jake veered away from Jay’s path, heading instead to the back exit. His shoes scuffed lightly against the tile as he pushed open the heavy door and slipped into the stairwell, the faint hum of the city outside barely audible.

By the time he reached the elevator, the silence pressed on him like a weight. He jabbed the button, tapping his foot impatiently as the numbers glowed their sluggish descent.

The doors slid open with a ding, and Jake leaned against the cool metal walls with a sigh. Just as he pressed for the ground floor, a voice rang out down the hall—harsh, breathless.

“Wait for me, goddammit!”

Jake smirked immediately, pressing the open button.

He leaned back casually, watching as Jisung sprinted into view, hair mussed, scowl plastered on his face. He stumbled into the elevator, brushing his bangs out of his eyes before fixing Jake with a glare.

“Took you long enough,” Jake drawled, lips curling.

“You’re the one asking for a favor,” Jisung snapped, chest still rising and falling from the run, “and I’m the one running after you. Make it make sense.”

Jake only shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Consider it cardio. You could use it.”

Jisung scoffed, leaning against the opposite wall with crossed arms. The elevator jerked slightly as it began its agonizingly slow descent.

Their reflections wavered in the brushed steel, two shadows plotting in a box of silence.

“So,” Jake finally said, tilting his head toward him. “What plan do you have in mind?”

Jisung let out a long sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure we won’t end up dead before we even start? Do you know how scary (Y/N) is?”

Jake barked a laugh, his voice echoing off the walls. “I made her angry once or twice.”

“And?” Jisung arched a brow.

Jake smirked. “And I survived, obviously. We just need to work fast. Jay will have my head if he finds out I’m meddling in his love life.”

The elevator hummed, the light above them flickering faintly. Jisung shook his head, muttering, “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Jake said easily, hands tucked into his pockets. His smile sharpened, though, voice low with amusement.

“But trust me—it’ll be worth it. You’ve seen the way he looks at her. That boy’s already half-dead anyway.”

The doors slid open at last, revealing the cool air of the empty lobby.

Jisung huffed, stepping out first, his sneakers squeaking against the tiles. “If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

Jake followed leisurely, grin never faltering. “As always. Don’t worry—I’ll take the fall. But imagine their faces when this works.”

The elevator doors slid open, spilling cool night air across the empty hall. Their footsteps echoed on the tile, shadows stretching long beneath the dim ceiling lights.

Jake shoved his hands into his pockets as he glanced sideways at Jisung.

“So,” Jake started casually, tone sly, “is (Y/N) attending open mic night?”

Jisung let out a breath through his nose, raking a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m trying to drag her into it. But she keeps using your papers as an excuse. Says she has to ‘help you edit.’”

His fingers bent in air quotes, scowl tugging at his lips. “So I’m roping Chenle into it. He owes me anyway.”

Jake hummed, lips quirking, and nodded as he stepped forward, pushing the lobby door open with his shoulder. The city’s muffled hum greeted them—cars passing distantly, cicadas buzzing faintly from the trees outside.

“What about Jay?” Jisung asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he matched Jake’s pace.

“Yeah, managed to get him to sign up as a volunteer.” Jake’s voice was smug, satisfaction coating every word.

Jisung blinked. “…And?”

“And,” Jake drawled, leaning back on his heels as they crossed the quiet parking lot, “I’ll be the one doing his work before the whole event starts. I just need you to keep (Y/N) close. Don’t let her run away.”

Jisung frowned but nodded anyway. “Fine. But I have a question.”

Jake tilted his head, flashing a grin. “Ask away.”

“Why are you so eager to get them together?” Jisung asked bluntly, studying him.

Jake slowed a little, turning his head just enough to let the moonlight catch the curve of his smirk. “Because I know how it feels to be attracted to someone who seems far-fetched. Out of reach.”

Jisung scoffed, tilting his head back. “Aren’t you popular with the ladies? Don’t make it sound like you’re some tragic romantic.”

Jake shrugged, unconcerned, eyes on the stars above. “I don’t really care. Plus…”

His grin softened, almost fond. “I just want to see Jay genuinely happy for once in his life.”

That made Jisung pause. He glanced down at the sidewalk, brows furrowed, before nodding slowly. “I see.”

Jake cut him a sidelong glance, curious. “What do you mean by that tone?”

Jisung exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. (Y/N)’s the type who puts other people before herself. Always has been. Once she started telling me she might be into this guy, she immediately started stepping back. Like she’s trying to keep herself from getting hurt—or hurting him.”

He looked at Jake then, voice dropping. “And I’m assuming that guy is Jay.”

Jake snapped his fingers once, pointing at him with a grin. “Bingo.”

Jisung groaned. “Plan aside, I’m seriously blaming you if we get caught.”

Jake barked out a laugh, clapping him on the back. “Can you calm down? Heeseung mentioned you were a nervous wreck, but I didn’t think it was this bad.”

Jisung’s head whipped toward him, scowl sharp. “Heeseung said what?”

Jake just shrugged, utterly unbothered. “He said you’re good at basketball but you overthink it. Makes sense now.”

Jisung groaned into his hands, muttering curses under his breath as they reached the street corner, the night buzzing softly around them.

“Alright,” Jake said cheerfully, brushing past his sulking companion. “So where should we start?”

Jisung shot him a glare but answered anyway. “…Open mic night.”

Jake’s grin stretched wider as he looked up at the glowing streetlight above them, the plan already spinning fast in his head. “Perfect.”

You tried to reach for your phone sitting on top of your vanity mirror, but Eunchae swatted your hand away with the precision of a cat, making you pout.

“I said look up, (Y/N),” she scolded, steady hand applying mascara to your lashes.

You huffed but obeyed, chin tilted back, eyes fluttering under her touch.

Meanwhile, Chenle fiddled with the clasp of your necklace, the cool gold pressing briefly against the hollow of your throat as he fastened it. The delicate chain shimmered under the warm glow of your bedroom lamp.

“Well, don’t you look nice when you’re not burying yourself in lab reports,” Jisung remarked, leaning against the vanity with that signature half-smirk.

Eunchae laughed, loud and contagious, putting the mascara tube down before reaching for a highlighter palette.

She dug through the scattered mess on your drawer like it was her personal treasure chest.

“Oh, he’s right,” she teased, loading her brush. With a quick swipe across your cheekbones, light caught on your skin.

You tilted your head, lips tugging into a smug smile. “I look good all the time.”

Chenle snorted. Eunchae rolled her eyes affectionately. “We know, babe,” she said sweetly, “but we need to cover up those eyebags every once in a while.”

You sighed in defeat, already anticipating the teasing that would follow.

“Where’s that Swarovski bracelet I gave you?” Chenle asked suddenly, already scanning the vanity like a hawk.

You pointed lazily at the pink jewelry box on top. “In there.”

He retrieved it with a flourish, slipping the golden bracelet around your wrist with careful fingers. It clicked shut perfectly, glinting as you moved.

You frowned slightly, tugging at it. “Why do I need to doll up for a stupid event anyway?”

“Stupid?” Chenle’s voice pitched up, affronted. “It’s not stupid because I’m part of the committee.”

“And,” Eunchae chimed in before you could retort, “you need to get out of this apartment every once in a while and actually socialize.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but Jisung beat you to it.

He clicked his tongue, sliding onto your bed like he owned the place. “Besides us, (Y/N). Talk to other people besides us.”

You crossed your arms, a sharp huff leaving your lips. “I talk to Jake. And Sunoo.”

Jisung rolled his eyes so hard you could practically hear it. “You know what I mean.”

“Whatever,” you muttered, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you.

Eunchae, ignoring the back-and-forth, grabbed a hair curler. She tugged a few strands loose from your pulled-back hair, letting them frame your face, then smoothed down your baby hairs with practiced fingers.

“There,” she murmured, leaning back to admire her handiwork. A quick spritz of hairspray sealed the style in place.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, blinking once. For a moment, you didn’t recognize yourself.

A smile—soft, unwilling—slipped onto your face.

Eunchae caught it instantly, pride flashing in her eyes. She hummed in approval, then reached for your hand, flipping it palm-up.

Her gaze zeroed in on your nails, clicking her tongue at the sight of the grown-out gel. “When was the last time you got these done?”

You grimaced. “Almost a month.”

She laughed, light and warm. “Don’t worry. I’ll book us an appointment soon, yeah?”

“Thank you, Eunchae. Really,” you said quietly, sincerity slipping past your defenses.

“What about us?” Chenle interjected, pointing dramatically between himself and Jisung. “No thanks for the moral support?”

You only rolled your eyes, standing as you smoothed the soft wool of your gray sweater down your frame. The cream skirt you wore shifted with the movement, catching at your thighs.

You slung your bag over your shoulder with a practiced motion and looked at the three of them expectantly.

“You three ready?”

Eunchae nodded immediately, pinning her hair up with a clip as she snatched her car keys from the dresser. “Come on, let’s go.”

The drive was short, but stepping out of the car felt like stepping into a whole new world. The campus was alive with life—the kind that only came once every few months.

Food stands lined the edge of the field, their paper lanterns glowing faintly beneath strings of fairy lights that crisscrossed overhead, twinkling like scattered stars.

Souvenir booths crowded near the walkway, selling everything from hand-painted tote bags to glass bracelets that sparkled under the lamplight.

The hum of chatter rose and fell, mingling with laughter and the occasional burst of music from the stage being tested in the distance.

You instinctively reached for Eunchae’s hand, weaving through the thick clusters of students as the air buzzed with energy.

“Ah, wait—” Chenle’s phone lit up. He glanced at the caller ID and groaned. “I need to go, Jungwon’s calling me.”

“Go,” you waved him off, not surprised in the slightest. He disappeared into the crowd in seconds, swallowed whole.

You glanced around, eyes wide at the atmosphere, before turning to Eunchae. “This is… really well planned. I’m impressed.”

Jisung, walking just a step behind, grinned knowingly. “I told you it was. This happens like every three to four months, but it’s the first time you’ve let me drag you here.”

You rolled your eyes, lips twitching despite yourself. “Only because I’m starting to recognize our book authors with how many times I’ve read the same ones over and over again.”

“Worth a shot,” he shrugged, totally unapologetic.

Before you could fire back, Eunchae’s phone buzzed loudly in her hand. She glanced down, muttering a curse under her breath. “Damn it—Kazuha needs me. I’ll be back, okay?”

You raised a brow. “Is she backstage?”

Eunchae nodded frantically, already weaving into the crowd with practiced ease. “Makeup emergency!” she shouted over her shoulder before vanishing.

You turned to Jisung, brow still lifted. “She part of the committee too?”

He shook his head, slipping his hands into his pockets as the two of you drifted toward the booths. “Nope. Makeup team. She’s helping out with the performers.”

You eyed him curiously. “And what about you?”

For a second, his lips curved guiltily before he tugged something from his back pocket.

A laminated event ID card dangled between his fingers, his name and photo printed neatly under the bold title: ‘Stage Management.’ He gave it a lazy little wave.

You sighed, dragging out the sound.

“Calm down, (Y/N).” Jisung chuckled at your expression, tucking the card back. “I won’t be needed until much later anyway. We’ve got time.”

Shaking your head, you made your way to one of the drink booths, the sweet scent of sugar syrup drifting around you. “One pink lemonade, please.”

The girl behind the stand slid a cup your way, the condensation cool against your palm.

You thanked her softly, moving aside to let the next customer through before falling into step beside Jisung again.

He was already on his phone, thumbs tapping rapidly across the screen, not paying you any mind. You didn’t bother speaking, letting yourself sink into the scenery instead.

The field stretched out before you—blankets scattered near the front, groups of students lounging on them with snacks in hand, while others milled around the sides or stood clustered in the middle.

Your lips curled into a small smile as your eyes caught something familiar—a flash of blonde hair bobbing above the crowd. Sunoo.

He was in his element, arms full of microphones as he hurriedly handed them out to committee members, his grin bright enough to rival the fairy lights overhead.

You shook your head, amused, before glancing back at Jisung—only to find him squinting at something up ahead.

Curiosity sparked. You followed his line of sight through the shifting bodies, your grip tightening slightly on your lemonade.

Your stomach dropped at the sight of Jake.

The familiar figure cut through the crowd with ease, his stride confident and casual, the lanyard and ID swaying against his chest with each step.

Same dark clothes, same easy grin. He raised a hand in a wave, sunlight glinting off his wristwatch like he’d rehearsed it.

Your pulse spiked, throat tightening as if you’d just been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to.

“Uh—Jisung—” you muttered quickly, fingers brushing against his sleeve.

He blinked down at you, brow furrowed. “What?”

You glanced between him and the boy closing in on your direction, panic written across your face. But the words wouldn’t come out. Shaking your head, you stepped a little closer to Jisung, using his taller frame as a shield as Jake finally reached you.

“Yo, Jisung! You’re late,” Jake greeted, the smile still plastered on his face.

“Blame her,” Jisung grumbled, jutting a thumb lazily behind him.

Jake leaned sideways just enough to peek—and froze for a split second before his grin stretched wider. “Hi, (Y/N). Having fun so far?”

You forced a small, nervous smile. “Y-yeah. Nice setup.”

Jake chuckled, reaching out for a light handshake. His palm was warm against yours. “Sunoo and Sunghoon fussed over the whole thing. Said they wanted this one to feel livelier than the last.”

You nodded, pulling your hand back quickly. “Well, it worked.”

“I’m guessing you haven’t been to our open mic nights before?” Jake asked, tilting his head toward the banner hung just a few feet away,

‘Open Mic Night Special — Sponsored by Student Council, Athletics Organization, Arts & Design Department, and Music Organization.’

Your lips parted, but you shook your head. “Unfortunately, no.”

Jake’s eyes softened. “Don’t worry. You’ll have fun tonight. Promise.”

Your chest tightened.

Then his attention flicked back to Jisung. “Anyway—Jeno’s been looking all over for you. We need help moving the speakers forward; the sound’s bouncing too much in the back.”

Jisung groaned audibly. “And what about (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be fine, go ahead—” you started, lifting a hand.

But the words caught in your throat when another voice cut through the chatter.

“Jake! Where the hell did you run off to?”

Your blood went cold.

You stiffened, nails digging into your cup as the familiar voice filled the air. Jay was walking toward you, expression set in that usual line of annoyance until his eyes landed on you. His voice faltered mid-sentence.

“Heeseung sent me to—” He blinked, jaw clenching for a second before forcing a thin smile. “—to come get you. His mic isn’t working, and Sunoo’s too busy teaching the juniors how not to break mic stands.”

Jake winced. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. They snapped one like a twig.” Jay’s tone was flat, but his gaze lingered on you a beat too long.

“Of course they did,” Jisung muttered, rubbing his face in exasperation.

Jake nodded quickly, “Alright. Jisung, come on. Let’s handle this before Heeseung murders someone. He’s up in fifteen.”

Jay immediately opened his mouth, “You’re taking Jisung?”

Jake cut him off smoothly with a shrug, grabbing Jisung by the sleeve before he could protest. “Nah. We’ll do your work for you.”

“Oh—yeah, totally,” Jisung said, his voice pitching awkwardly as he stumbled after Jake, his hand flailing in a half-wave before it disappeared in the crowd.

“Let’s go, man. Speakers first—unless you want Heeseung to hit you with a basketball.”

Their voices blended into the noise of the venue, swallowed whole by the buzz of conversation and the music from the stage.

Jay stood there frozen, lips pressed into a thin line as he watched them vanish, leaving only you and him in their wake.

You fiddled with the bracelets hanging on your wrist, suddenly hyperaware of how loose one of them felt, as if it might slip off. You took another sip from your drink, avoiding the weight of his stare.

Jay sighed, clearing his throat. “(Y/N).”

Your head tilted slightly in acknowledgment, but you didn’t meet his eyes. “Jay.” The way you said his name—quiet, clipped—made something twist in his chest.

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, fiddling with the corner of his event ID. “You… enjoying the evening?”

His voice was careful, almost casual, like he was stepping on glass.

“Yeah.” You nodded, eyes still fixed on the stage. “It’s… good.”

Silence pressed between you, heavy and suffocating. The cheers of the crowd felt miles away, like they existed in another world entirely.

Jay tugged at the lanyard around his neck, the plastic card flicking against his knuckles as if he needed something—anything—to do with his hands.

Finally, he exhaled through his nose, his voice breaking the quiet. “Do you—uh, do you want to go up front? Better view.”

That got you to look at him, just for a second, before your eyes flicked away just as fast. “…Yeah. Sure.”

He nodded once. “Alright.”

You two walked side by side, the space between you close but it felt so far away. When someone brushed past a little too close, Jay’s shoulder bumped yours. Neither of you acknowledged it, even though the contact lingered faintly in the back of your mind.

As the crowd grew tighter near the stage, a staff member came barreling past with a stack of folded programs.

Out of instinct, Jay’s hand tugged lightly at the sleeve of your sweater, pulling you just enough out of their path. His touch was gone the next second, but his low murmur followed.

“Sorry. Staff was rushing.”

You glanced back and, sure enough, two others with clipboards were hurrying by, muttering to each other.

Jay gave you a small nod, and you managed a quiet, “Thanks,” before stepping closer to avoid the flow of students shuffling past.

The closer you got to the front, the clearer the setup looked.

Fairy lights draped across the edges of the stage, glowing softly under the fading sky. Red curtains shielded the backstage hustle from sight, and a single mic stand gleamed under the spotlight in the center.

You hummed absentmindedly, taking it all in. It really was pretty.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Jay, his expression fixed on the stage. That’s when you noticed the walkie-talkie in his hand, the black device catching against the stage lights.

Your chest tugged with a small pang of guilt—you’d almost forgotten he was here to work, not just stand beside you.

Leaning closer, your voice dropped. “You could… go ahead, you know.”

His head tilted at you, brows knitting faintly behind his glasses, as if asking silently ‘what do you mean?’

You gestured toward the walkie-talkie. “That. You don’t have to stay here.”

Jay blinked, then exhaled softly, his lips tugging into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Ah. Yeah.” He shrugged, eyes returning to the stage.

“I can’t leave you all alone, though.”

You frowned faintly but nodded anyway, deciding not to push.

“Wait a moment.” He lifted the walkie-talkie and turned the volume up. Static crackled before Jisung’s voice burst through.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“Is Heeseung getting rea—” Jay started, but Jisung cut him off immediately.

“Yes. He’s already done.”

“What about the music, is it oka—”

“Yes, Jay, relax,” Jisung interrupted again, his voice dripping with exasperation. “We told you—we’ll do your job for you. Calm down and watch over (Y/N), yeah?”

Jay sighed into the receiver, pinching the bridge of his nose. “…Okay. Thanks.”

He shut the walkie-talkie off and shoved it back into his pocket, muttering, “Brat.”

You hid a small smile behind your cup, sipping your drink to cover it.

Jay noticed but pretended not to, clearing his throat instead. “Have you ever seen somebody who looks and sounds like a K-pop idol but never went for the job?”

You tilted your head, still watching the stage as the next crew began setting up. “Anybody besides Jisung and Chenle? No. Why?”

A quiet chuckle slipped from him, soft and unguarded. “Well, you’ll see Heeseung.”

“…And why exactly?” you asked, curiosity sneaking into your tone.

Jay’s gaze didn’t leave the stage. “Well, he’s good, so…” He shrugged one shoulder casually. “You’ll see.”

You only hummed, letting the silence stretch comfortably for a second. That quiet bubble popped the moment a flash of blonde entered your peripheral vision.

“(Y/N)!”

You turned instantly, your lips tugging into a smile as Sunoo weaved through a few students, camera in hand.

“Hey, Sunoo,” you greeted warmly, eyes flicking down to the lens swinging from the strap around his neck. “Let me guess… you need me to pose?”

His grin widened, mischievous. “Yes, but…” He glanced between you and Jay before adding, “I need him in it too.”

Jay raised a brow at the blonde. “And why is that?”

Sunoo blinked at him like he’d just asked the dumbest question in the world. “You’re joking, right?”

You frowned lightly. “What?”

Sunoo gestured between you both dramatically. “You two are literally matching. If I didn’t know any better, I’d assume you’re on a little date.”

Your head snapped toward Jay. And only then—when your eyes raked over him—you noticed. Gray wool sweater. Cream pants. White sneakers. The only difference? His glasses.

“…Are you stalking me?” you asked flatly.

Sunoo nearly choked holding back a laugh, while Jay’s face contorted into baffled denial, ears turning red immediately. “What? No! Of course not—this is purely a coincidence.”

You narrowed your eyes, humming slowly like you were judging a suspect. “Mm. Sure.”

But you nodded anyway, and Jay exhaled like he’d just been spared.

“So,” Sunoo cut in, shaking his camera, “pose time.”

You sighed but shuffled a little closer to Jay, who stayed stiff beside you.

“Closer,” Sunoo clicked his tongue.

You took a reluctant step, the space shrinking again.

Sunoo rolled his eyes. “Oh, for crying out loud.” Without warning, he grabbed Jay’s wrist and slung his arm across your shoulders.

Your grip on your drink tightened, your heart slamming against your ribcage. Jay’s body heat seeped into you despite the thick fabric, and you forced a smile at the lens.

“Perfect!” Sunoo chirped. “Okay, one more—look happy.”

Jay shook his head but a reluctant smile curved his lips anyway. You mirrored him, ignoring how the corner of his arm shifted slightly against your shoulder as the shutter clicked.

“How does it look?” you asked after, leaning toward the screen.

Sunoo flipped it around. The photo showed you both smiling—almost natural, almost easy, if not for the tightness in your grip on your cup.

“Hm.” You hummed. “That’s… nice.”

“I know, right?” Sunoo beamed. Then, more serious, “Jake says Heeseung’s up in three. No, you don’t have to do anything—just cue the other staff since you’re closest to the stage.”

Jay nodded tightly, but Sunoo didn’t give him the chance to retort before bouncing off into the crowd.

The silence he left was heavy.

Jay huffed under his breath, “Brats. I’m surrounded by a bunch of brats.”

You giggled softly, hiding behind your drink. “At least Sunoo’s nice about it.”

Jay scoffed and, in typical Jay fashion, leaned more of his weight against you in retaliation.

“Jay—you’re heavy.”

“And?” he muttered, not moving.

You groaned, rolling your eyes. “Shut up and get off me, Park.”

That earned you a real smile. He slipped his arm away, straightening again, though his eyes flickered up ahead at the staff signaling to him. He glanced back down just in time to catch you distractedly fiddling with your nails, lips pushed into a tiny pout.

And in that moment, a thought struck him like a punch to the chest: If he blinked, would this moment disappear?

If he looked away, would you run from him again?

If tomorrow came, would you go back to pretending none of this ever happened?

He found himself staring a second too long before clearing his throat, grounding himself with a quiet, “…Don’t pout. It doesn’t suit you.”

You glanced up at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “Then stop giving me reasons to.”

Jay only smiled sheepishly, lips tugging upward as if you’d caught him red-handed. He looked down at his wrist, fiddling with the cuff of his sweater before glancing at the watch strapped there.

The silver face glimmered under the warm overhead lights, catching the momentary flicker of nerves in his eyes.

When he looked back up, his expression changed—professional, composed—as he caught the expectant gaze of one of the crew waiting by the wings.

With a small nod, he lifted his hand, giving them the go signal.

The chatter around you melted into sharp cheers as the stage bathed in a single spotlight. Out of the darkness stepped Heeseung, effortlessly commanding attention.

He was dressed in a full three-piece suit, sharp lines catching on the spotlight, a small hat perched playfully on his head. He grabbed the mic stand, tapping it once.

“Hi, hello, good evening, Decelis.”

The crowd erupted, whistles and applause echoing off the walls. Heeseung chuckled, leaning back a little.

“I said I wouldn’t come back to any more open mic nights,” he teased, “but my girlfriend insisted.”

He gestured toward the front row where a girl you recognized—a fashion major, one of the popular ones—was filming him with her phone, laughing as she aimed the camera at her cherry-red-haired boyfriend on stage.

Jay snickered quietly beside you, shaking his head in amusement as Heeseung cleared his throat.

“Once again, good evening. I’m Lee Heeseung. And tonight,” he smiled, voice dipping into something softer, “I’ll be singing ‘This Is What Falling in Love Feels Like.’”

The room field immediately.

The first notes spilled from the speakers, and Heeseung leaned into the mic, voice smooth and rich.

“Feel like sun on my skin, so this is love—know it is.”

You found yourself nodding along to the familiar melody, lips parting slightly as you mouthed the next line under your breath. Without meaning to, your eyes flicked sideways.

Jay was watching. Not you—Heeseung.

That boyish, lopsided grin had spread across his face, the one you knew too well.

The one you hadn’t seen in what felt like forever. He was smiling at his friend’s performance, so open and genuine, that your chest tightened unexpectedly.

You turned away quickly, back to the stage. Still—you couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at your own lips.

On stage, Heeseung’s gaze never wavered from his girlfriend in the front row.

And for a fleeting moment, you thought—maybe a love like that didn’t sound half too bad.

You risked a glance back at Jay. His grin was still there, faint but present, softening the sharp lines of his face.

You shook your head quickly and forced your attention to the music.

But if you had just kept your eyes on him a little longer, you would’ve noticed—Jay wasn’t looking at Heeseung anymore.

His eyes had shifted, trailing over you instead, his grin faltering into something quieter. Something real.

The stage lights caught on your hair, illuminating it like strands of molten gold as the chilly night breeze from the field lifted them slightly.

You were nodding to the beat, mouthing the lyrics with that small smile that you probably didn’t even notice had formed.

Jay’s chest tightened in a way he couldn’t ignore.

He should’ve been annoyed. Should’ve confronted you for the distance, for the silence you’d forced between you these past weeks.

But in this moment, watching you sing under your breath with the faintest glow on your face, he felt none of that.

Instead, his lips curved into the softest smile he’d worn in a long time.

Because more than being angry, more than demanding answers—he was just happy. Happy to have you here, standing beside him again.

Sunoo, who had been clicking away at Heeseung center stage, lowered the camera for a second, adjusting the lens.

Then, out of instinct, his eyes flicked toward you and Jay.

And for a moment, it wasn’t the performance that caught his breath—it was the two of you.

Jay leaned just slightly closer, enough that his shoulder brushed yours as you laughed at something in the performance. Your smile was wide, almost childlike in the way your eyes sparkled under the lights.

Sunoo’s heart clenched. Without thinking, he lifted the camera again. Click.

A candid shot: the two of you, side by side, mid-laughter, almost leaning against each other like you’d always belonged there.

Sunoo bit his lip, a smile tugging at him. Quietly, to himself, he whispered, “You deserve happiness, Jay.”

But then—he froze. His finger hovered above the delete button. Should he keep it? Or erase the proof of something that maybe wasn’t supposed to be seen?

Still, his gaze wandered back to you two. Jay leaned down slightly, his voice almost lost in the noise.

“Having fun?” he asked, his tone light, casual—but his eyes were searching, hopeful.

You nodded, smiling softly at him before turning your eyes back to the stage. “Yeah… yeah, I am.”

Jay let out a small laugh, not the loud, cocky one people knew him for, but something quiet—relieved.

He looked at you again, the stage lights catching in his eyes, and for a moment he didn’t even bother hiding it.

“(Y/N),” he said gently.

Your head tilted back up at him, the noise of the crowd fading for just a second.

His eyes curved into crescents, that boyish warmth overtaking the usually sharp edges of him.

“…Thank you,” he whispered.

Your smile faltered—just for a second, barely noticeable—but inside, it felt like your chest cracked open. The sincerity in his voice wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing.

It was real. And real was terrifying.

You nodded slowly, forcing the corners of your mouth back up. “Don’t mention it,” you murmured, though your voice didn’t carry the same ease.

Jay smiled again, turning his attention back to the performance as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

Meanwhile, you bit your lip, a sharp pang of guilt twisting in your chest. Because you knew this—this moment, this closeness—was fragile.

Would he still look at you the same way tomorrow, if you went back to pushing him away? If you went back to the safe choice—walls, distance, excuses?

You swallowed hard, blinking back to the stage, pretending to be absorbed in the performance.

But your mind wasn’t on the music, or the lights, or the crowd’s cheers—it was on him. The boy beside you, so close and yet so out of reach.

You hug yourself tighter as you hurry down the dim path, the muffled noise of the event still ringing faintly from the distance.

Jay’s face flashes in your mind—the faint frown, the way his lips pressed together like he was holding something back. He didn’t stop you. He only nodded, and somehow that hurt more.

Your steps quicken, almost frantic now. If you can just reach the exit near the sciences building, if you can just disappear—

A voice cuts through the silence.

“So this is where you escaped to.”

You stop dead, breath hitching. Slowly, your eyes lift, only to see Jake.

Leaning against the cold concrete wall, his posture deceptively casual, arms crossed over his chest like he’s been waiting all along.

His face is unreadable, none of the warm smiles or soft teasing you’re used to. Just neutral. Watchful.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The only sound is the night breeze rustling through the trees. Then Jake pushes himself off the wall, his shoes scraping lightly against the ground.

“You don’t have to,” he says finally, stepping past you as though the decision has already been made.

“I won’t force you to come with me. But…” He pauses, the corner of his mouth tightening. “If you want answers to your own questions—then feel free to follow me.”

You let out a quiet sigh, the word slipping from your lips before you could stop it.

“…Jake.”

He doesn’t turn. His pace remains steady, shoulders relaxed, like he already knows you’ll follow.

You curse under your breath, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

His figure grows smaller with every step he takes, retreating farther and farther, until you groan quietly and hurry after him—keeping a distance, but not too much. Just enough to hear if he decides to talk.

The two of you pass the wide field, still alive with chatter and laughter despite the late hour, but Jake doesn’t spare it a glance. His footsteps remain unbroken, leading you to the looming main building.

He taps his student ID against the scanner, the door unlocking with a muted beep. Without a word, you follow, swiping your own card before the door shuts behind you.

Jake’s stride is confident as he ascends the grand staircase, the kind that consumed most of the entrance hall, his figure framed by the glow of the chandelier above.

You trail behind, every step tugging at your nerves.

He veers left, his hand pushing open a heavy wooden door. The hinges creak faintly before he looks back at you, nodding once.

“Ladies first.”

You hum a faint thanks and step past him, only for the sight beyond to steal your breath.

From here, the field seemed almost unreal—the glittering lights all stitched together into a scene you could almost mistake for a painting.

You rest your palms lightly against the cool stone railing, exhaling. “…Jungwon really outdid himself, huh?”

A chuckle escapes Jake’s lips, low and amused.

“He’s only handling the athletics organization,” he says, leaning back against the balcony with casual ease. “But sometimes it feels like he’s the president.”

You hum again, eyes scanning the crowd below. The energy feels lighter from up here, but your chest still feels tight, the questions pressing heavier.

“Why did you take me here?” you finally ask, glancing at him.

Jake doesn’t answer right away. He shifts his weight, then leans further against the railing, his eyes trained on the view below.

“Look,” he says simply, the word almost heavy.

Your brows furrow, but you wait.

He exhales. “(Y/N), I know we haven’t been friends long enough for you to just listen to me—or even trust whatever’s about to come out of my mouth.”

His voice is steady, but softer now. “But I need you to.”

You turn to him fully, brows knitting. “…Why?”

Jake’s gaze drops to his shoes, the usual warmth in his tone dimmed by something heavier.

“Because I know Jay enough to read him.”

The admission makes your stomach twist. You let out a quiet, awkward sigh, fiddling with the bracelets dangling loosely around your wrist.

Jake looks up at you then, something pleading flickering in his eyes. “Can you please listen to me?”

You sigh, fingers still toying with the trinkets. “Is this you trying to guilt-trip me?”

A quiet laugh escapes him—short, almost disbelieving. “No. This is me talking to you as a friend.”

He lifts his hand then, pointing toward the stage area below. “Look.”

You follow the direction of his finger, squinting at the right side of the backstage.

A cluster of staff and student volunteers scurried about, adjusting wires, carrying boxes, directing performers.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?” you mutter.

“Closer.” His tone leaves no room for dismissal.

You do. And there—half-shadowed behind a makeshift wall—you spot Jay.

He was leaned casually against the wood, his blazer still sharp despite the long night, his head tilted as he spoke to two student staffers. They nodded eagerly, jotting things down, before rushing away.

Almost instantly, the polite smile on Jay’s face crumbled. His jaw tightened, his expression hardening, his eyes distant and unguarded in a way you rarely got to see.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Mhmm.” Jake’s voice cuts into your stunned silence. “See him?”

Your lips part slowly, your throat dry, but you manage a small nod.

Jake nods back, expression unreadable at first, before a small exhale slips past his lips.

“I know this isn’t my story to tell… and Jay might have my head for it,” he admits with a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair, “but whatever.”

You stay rooted in place, arms hugging yourself tighter, eyes fixed on Jay a little ways ahead—now with a clipboard in hand, head slightly bowed as he carefully scans the paper he’s been given.

Jake’s voice threads through the still night.

“I’ve known Jay since we were in high school. He’s… someone you could immediately trust after meeting him.”

Jake’s lips twitch upward, though his gaze remains skyward. “He’s got a bit of a reputation, you know—people call him a snob, a troublemaker, a dick.” He huffs out a laugh. “But none of it was true. None of it ever was.”

He finally looks back at you, smile tugging wider but softer. “Jay’s like a brother to me. But… something was always missing. He never really smiled. Not the way you’d expect someone like him to. Not until you came into his life.”

You blink, breath hitching, eyes still glued to Jay.

“What?” The word slips from you in a whisper, almost involuntary

Jake leans back against the stone railing again, his voice lower this time,

“Believe it or not, Jay has never been in love. Ever. He always said he’d wait for the right one—even if it took him a millennia and hundreds of heartbreaks. He never willingly stepped into the dating scene, never entertained things that didn’t feel real. Because… he wanted his first to be his last.”

There’s a pause. A quiet wind passes through the courtyard, rustling the leaves in the distance. Jake folds his arms, as if weighing his own words.

“And yeah,” he admits with a wry smile, “why am I saying this to you and not letting Jay say it himself? I don’t know. I just… I know he’ll struggle to. And I hate watching it eat him alive.”

You swallow hard, pulse thudding.

Slowly, you glance back at Jay—just in time to catch him looking up. His eyes find yours across the short distance, and though he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, his lips curve into the faintest, softest smile.

“He loves you,” Jake says simply. “Even a blind person could see that, clear as day.”

“Oh,” you murmur, caught between disbelief and a quiet ache in your chest.

Jake chuckles under his breath. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’ Seriously, you two are more alike than you think.” His tone shifts, gentler, more earnest.

“I hate seeing the both of you get hurt from avoiding something that can be solved if you just… had enough guts to face it together. I know you’re both afraid. But isn’t hurting yourselves by avoiding him worse than whatever you’re so scared of?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod slowly, unsure if your body moved on its own.

Jake watches you carefully, then offers a smaller smile. He shoves his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly back on his heels.

“(Y/N)… I’m not saying this to scare you. But everybody can see it. The way you two look at each other? It’s nothing else but love.”

Your voice trembles as you ask, “Is it really?”

Jake doesn’t hesitate. He nods once, firmly. “I’m no love expert, but I know what I see.”

He pushes away from the railing, stepping back toward the exit. “Now… it’s up to you to decide if you’re ready to accept that or not.”

He pauses, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Are you coming back with me?”

You shake your head, leaning against the cold stone wall, fingers gripping the edge as you whisper, “I’ll… go back by myself.”

Jake studies you for a moment, then nods. He turns away, footsteps echoing lightly as he makes for the exit.

“Jake?” Your voice calls out faintly.

He stops, looks back. “Yeah?”

“…Thank you.”

He exhales, almost smiling, and shakes his head. “Don’t thank me.” His gaze flicks briefly toward Jay, still standing with the clipboard, still stealing glances your way.

“Thank Jay. For making you two find each other at all.”

Jay leaned his weight against his arms, elbows braced on the wooden counter, shoulders slouched.

The glass walls in front of the shop framed the darkening sky—an expanse of navy clouds bleeding into ink, the occasional headlights flashing by in the wet streets outside.

He blew at the strands of hair falling into his eyes, exhaling another sigh that fogged faintly against the counter.

“Just in time, huh…” he mumbled, watching a streak of lightning flash faintly in the distance.

It had been a week. A week since he last saw you. A week of silence gnawing at him more than he cared to admit.

He had buried himself in Hyunjae’s morning and evening shifts, making excuses so his cousin could focus on work, pretending he didn’t mind the extra hours.

Anything to keep his mind and hands busy. But now, with the night so still, the loneliness pressed down heavier than the humid summer rainclouds outside.

Jay slumped even further over the counter, half-hiding behind the tall glass vase of sunflowers that sat by the register.

Their golden heads stood too tall, too loud for his mood, yet he curled slightly behind them as if their wide petals could shield him from the world.

His finger lazily poked at one of the blooms, tracing over the bright yellow.

He glanced to the side, eyes catching on the peonies resting nearby—soft pink, freshly sprayed minutes ago, droplets clinging to their petals like tiny crystals under the shop’s warm lights.

“They used to never last long,” he muttered, words meant for no one but himself. “Always sold out… either Mom or Hyunjae kept them aside for you.”

Jay’s lips pressed into a thin line. He tried not to think about it. Tried not to think about you. But the sight of the untouched peonies sitting pretty and unwanted made the silence in the shop ring louder.

He rubbed at his jaw, groaning lowly. “Great. Now I’m talking to flowers. Fantastic.”

Jay sighed again, heavier this time, before burying his head deeper into the crook of his arm. His lashes brushed against his sleeve as he shut his eyes, letting the sound of thunder rumbling outside seep into the shop, filling every corner.

The bell above the door jingled softly.

Jay didn’t even move. His lips parted with another sigh, assuming it was just another passerby—maybe one of the students from Decelis who usually came in for roses, or worse, to slip him a folded note with a number he’d never call.

He inhaled, sharp through his nose, trying to steady himself.

But when he finally lifted his head, the sight in front of him jolted him fully awake.

You.

Hair loose, cascading just like the last time he saw you—running from him under the starlit field on open mic night.

A white, flowy dress clung gently to your figure, the hem grazing your knees as if the storm outside hadn’t touched you at all.

Without hesitation, you gravitated toward the corner of the shop, fingertips brushing over peonies and lavender as though your body remembered the path here better than your mind.

Jay straightened immediately, wiping his palms against the apron in his lap. His heart thudded so violently he nearly stumbled as he leaned back against the counter for support.

You picked up a small handful of pink peonies, lifting them delicately to your nose. For the briefest moment, he caught it—the flicker of a smile ghosting over your lips.

And then your voice, soft and absent-minded: “Hyunjae… are there daisies?”

Jay’s throat constricted.

You turned then, holding the flowers, and your face—neutral, almost blank—shifted into one of pure shock when your eyes landed on him behind the counter.

Jay didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He only stood there, rooted to the spot, giving you space to take him in as though he wasn’t real.

Slowly, you approached the counter, setting the pink blooms down carefully, almost deliberately, “Just these, please.”

Jay swallowed hard, forcing his body into motion. He picked up the flowers, his fingers brushing over the soft petals, before reaching for the register.

“Hyunjae’s busy… in case you’re wondering.” His gaze flickered up briefly, then away. “I’ve been covering his shifts.”

You nodded wordlessly.

Jay scanned the blooms, punched in numbers, but then paused. His hand lingered over the keys. “No need to pay. It’s on the house.”

You didn’t argue. Didn’t even pretend to protest, just pressed your lips together and looked anywhere but at him.

Jay reached under the counter, pulling out clear plastic wrap. His movements were careful as he bundled the peonies together. He grabbed a pink ribbon, threading it between his fingers, tying it into a neat bow.

His hands faltered for a moment—knuckles tightening—before he loosened his grip with a quiet sigh.

“(Y/N)… can we talk?”

Your chest tightened, but you kept your gaze fixed on the ribbon he’d tied around the flowers. Your lips parted, shaky. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jay.”

Jay exhaled sharply, setting the bouquet down with more force than he intended, the petals trembling against the counter.

“Look—”

“Jay.” Your voice cut through, fragile but firm. “I’m just here for my flowers, please.”

You tried to sound unaffected, to make your tone cool and distant, but the slight tremble in your words betrayed you. You refused to meet his eyes, instead fiddling endlessly with the bracelets on your wrist, each metallic clink amplifying the silence.

Jay shook his head, leaning forward across the counter.

“(Y/N), if I didn’t want to talk to you, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be begging Hyunjae to take back his shifts. I’d let him take over my projects at the company. I wouldn’t—”

“I didn’t ask you to do any of those things.”

Your words were sharp enough to silence him for a moment. You finally looked up, eyes glossy, voice low but cutting.

“If I can’t have my flowers, then I might as well leave.”

Before you could walk away, Jay was already moving. He rounded the counter in two strides, his hand closing gently but firmly around your wrist.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?”

Your hands balled into fists, trembling under his touch. “Jay, please. I can’t do this right now.”

A crack of thunder rattled the windows, followed by the rapid patter of rain as it slammed harder against the glass. Jay’s thumb brushed absently over your pulse, his own voice breaking with quiet desperation.

“Did I do something wrong? Tell me, because I—I don’t know anymore.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“Was it something I said? Something I didn’t say? God, tell me if I made you feel… unworthy, or impossible to be around.”

You shook your head quickly, tears stinging your lashes. “No—you did none of those things. None.”

But still, you pulled away. The absence of his hand burned as you shoved the door open, the bell jingling violently in protest.

The storm swallowed you whole instantly, icy rain soaking into your dress, your hair sticking to your face and shoulders as you walked blindly down the sidewalk.

“(Y/N)!” Jay’s voice chased after you, muffled by the rain. You heard the frantic slam of the door behind you before his footsteps splashed into the puddles, closer, closer.

“Oh, fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, pushing forward until he was nearly at your side. “(Y/N), you’re going to get sick—please, just stop—”

“Leave me alone!” you cried, not turning back, feet splashing through the street.

“Please—it’s cold!”

“Why do you care, Jay?” Your voice cracked, ripping through the storm, jagged and raw.

“Why do you care if I don’t show up? Why do you care if I don’t buy flowers anymore, or if I pretend you don’t exist? Why do you care?”

Jay stood frozen, chest rising and falling, the rain plastering his shirt to his frame, his hair dripping into his eyes. He looked at you like your words had cracked him in two, like each syllable had been a blade against his chest.

“Because you act like I don’t care, but I do!” He stepped forward, voice rising with the thunder.

“I care more than you think. Do you really believe I’d just show up everywhere—for anyone? That I’d chase someone through the rain like this if they meant nothing?”

Your breath faltered, but the storm inside you roared louder than the one outside. You forced yourself to meet his eyes at last, despite the water blurring your vision.

“Stop treating me like one of your girls, Jay.”

He froze. “…What?”

You scoffed bitterly, your laugh laced with venom.

“Don’t act innocent, Park Jongseong. That’s all you do, isn’t it? Flirt, charm, toss around smiles until someone falls for you—and then you leave them to pick up the pieces. Is that what this is? Some game you’re playing with me?”

His expression shattered, disbelief flickering across his features before raw pain settled in. He stepped closer, the rain dripping off his jaw as he shook his head.

“No. (Y/N)… there are no other girls.” His voice cracked, desperate. “It’s not like that. It’s never been like that with you.”

You scoffed again, sharper this time, your body trembling as you turned on your heel, trudging through the sheets of rain.

You didn’t care that your dress was soaked through, clinging to your skin, or that your hair whipped around you like a curtain.

You couldn’t bear to listen. Not to him. Not to that voice that had once been your undoing.

But Jay moved faster. In two strides, his hand shot out, gripping your wrist with a ferocity that spoke louder than any word could.

The rain dripped down his arm, his knuckles white, his grip unrelenting—as if letting go meant losing something he could never get back.

“Please—” his voice cracked, hoarse and raw, as he tugged you back, pulling you flush against his chest. His breath mingled with yours, hot and uneven despite the chill.

His arms wrapped around you from behind, tight, desperate, trembling. “Please, believe me.”

That broke you.

A sob tore through your chest, ragged and loud, swallowed immediately by the storm. Your knees nearly buckled, but Jay was there, spinning you around, leaning you against him as though the rain itself might sweep you away.

His hand cradled the back of your head, pressing your face to his chest, while the other slid around your waist, locking you in place.

“I hate you so much,” you sobbed, fists clutching at his soaked shirt, your words muffled against his heartbeat. “I hate you so much.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice trembling as he lowered his chin to your hair.

Jay’s hold tightened, his body curving around yours, shielding you from the storm even as it battered him. “I know.”

You sobbed harder, your forehead pressing into his soaked shirt, clinging as if the rain itself was trying to tear you away.

He let you—no, he welcomed it—his arms caging you, moving with a gentleness that didn’t match the violent sky.

Every shiver that wracked your body, he caught. Every tear that fell, he tried to wipe away, though his hands were just as wet from the downpour.

His thumb brushed your cheek, trembling, as if he wanted so badly to erase every trace of your pain.

“Don’t cry, please…” His voice broke, raw and pleading. His dark hair clung to his face, rain running down his sharp jawline, but his eyes—God, his eyes—never left yours.

They burned, desperate, terrified, full of something that made your breath catch. “You’re the only one. The only one I’ve ever loved.”

Your head snapped up, eyes wide, your lashes heavy with tears and raindrops. You swore the world stilled—thunder rolling somewhere far away, the storm fading into nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing and the hammer of your heart.

Fresh tears welled, blurring his face, but you couldn’t look away. “Jay…” you whispered, voice breaking like glass.

He leaned down, his hand cupping your face with a reverence that nearly undid you. His thumb traced your cheekbone, careful, hesitant, as if afraid you’d vanish under his touch.

His forehead pressed to yours, and he let out a breath, shaky, his lips ghosting so close you could feel the warmth of him even through the cold rain.

“May I?” His voice was a whisper, but it roared louder than the thunder.

Your breath hitched. You nodded slowly, trembling, eyes fluttering shut as your hand clutched at his soaked shirt, pulling him closer.

And then—he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was everything. He kissed you as if the world was ending tonight and you were the only thing worth saving.

As if every storm in his life had led him here, to you. His lips moved against yours with a softness that made your knees weak, with a devotion so fierce it burned through the cold seeping into your bones.

You felt his hand cradle the back of your head, holding you steady, keeping you close. The taste of rain, of salt from your tears, mixed between you, but none of it mattered.

What mattered was him—his warmth, his trembling, the way he kissed you like you were the only good thing that had ever happened to him.

He only pulled away to let you breathe, his forehead brushing against yours, lips ghosting yours before he dove back in.

This time, the kiss was deeper, rougher, as if he needed to pour every unspoken word into you. His hand cradled the back of your head, keeping you flush against him, chest to chest, heartbeats tangled.

“Jay?” you mumbled, your voice muffled against his lips.

“Yeah?” His reply was immediate, warm, his eyes soft even as his pulse thundered beneath your touch.

“I… I feel dizzy.”

He froze. Just for a second. Then you slumped, your weight suddenly going limp in his arms.

“(Y/N)?” His voice cracked as he pulled back, searching your face. Your lashes fluttered but didn’t lift. Panic sliced through him. “(Y/n)? Hey—hey, come on.”

His hand tapped lightly against your cheek, then a little firmer. “Wake up, baby. Please.”

No response.

He hissed under his breath, pressing his palm to your forehead. The moment the heat hit his skin, his heart lurched. “Shit—you’re burning up.”

He steadied your limp body against him, his jaw clenched tight, and without a second thought he slipped an arm beneath your knees, the other bracing your waist, and scooped you up bridal style.

You felt so light, frighteningly light, as he held you close.

His strides were quick, urgent, rain still slicking his hair to his forehead as he carried you toward his car.

“Stay with me, please,” he whispered, glancing down at your pale face, “don’t do this to me.”

When he reached the car, he cursed in relief. “Thank God.” The backseat was unlocked. He kicked it open with his foot, carefully maneuvering you inside.

His breath shook as he laid you down as gently as possible, not even caring that your clothes were still dripping wet, soaking into the leather.

He brushed a damp strand of hair from your face, fingers trembling. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he muttered, like saying it out loud would make it true.

Leaning over you, his hand lingered on your cheek, thumb stroking small circles. His eyes searched for any flicker of movement, any sign of you stirring. Nothing. His throat tightened.

“Hang on for me, (Y/N)… okay? Just—just hang on.” His voice cracked at the end, the plea trembling out of him.

He shut the door with one last glance at you, then tore around the car, legs moving faster than they ever had in his life. His shoes hit the pavement in quick, desperate thuds before he yanked open the driver’s door.

“Shit—fuck.” He cursed under his breath, fumbling with the handle, nearly missing it before pulling himself inside.

His hands shook as he reached over the dash, digging for the key he stupidly left.

“Jay, you fucking idiot,” he muttered harshly, voice raw. “Leaving the damn car unlocked—what were you thinking?”

The metallic jingle of the key rang as he snatched it from the compartment, his breath ragged. He shoved it into the ignition with a trembling hand, twisting until the engine roared alive.

For a second, relief crashed over him like a wave—only to disappear the moment his eyes flicked back at you slumped in the backseat.

He swallowed hard, a shaky sigh ripping from his chest. His knuckles whitened around the steering wheel. “Stay with me, (Y/N). Please. Don’t you dare leave me like this.”

Pressing his foot to the gas, he sped off into the night, tires screeching against asphalt. Every second felt like an hour, every red light a curse he blew past, not caring if it meant trouble later.

One hand gripped the wheel so tight his veins stood out, the other raking through his hair, tugging at the roots as if the pain would keep him steady.

“Fuck—fuck, no, you’re gonna be fine,” he whispered frantically, shaking his head. “Just… breathe for me. Move. Anything. Please.”

He glanced at the rearview mirror, then turned his whole body slightly to look back at you, his chest heaving when you didn’t stir.

“Don’t do this to me, (Y/N). Not you. Not you.” His voice broke mid-sentence, drowned in the sound of the engine and the rush of the wind as he pushed the car faster.

Your lashes flutter against the soft glow spilling from the ceiling light, dimmed low so the room feels warmer, gentler—like it’s meant for resting.

A low groan escapes your throat as your body protests the simple act of moving. Pain flares down your arm when you try to shift, making you hiss under your breath.

Instinctively, you shut your eyes again, sinking into the mattress beneath you—it’s soft, almost too soft, cradling you like it was made to keep you there.

The scent hits you next.

Pine. Air freshener. And a faint trace of men’s cologne—clean, a little sharp. It invades your senses with every breath, dragging you slowly back to consciousness.

This isn’t your room.

Your brows furrow as you exhale shakily, cracking your eyes open once more. The ceiling isn’t familiar, the walls aren’t familiar, and when you tug at the comforter draped over you, you freeze.

Gone is the white dress from earlier. Instead, your body is swallowed in a loose white shirt and gray sweatpants, the fabric soft against your skin. Someone changed you.

Your throat tightens, heart thudding as your hand lifts to rub your eyes.

Your voice comes out hoarse, low, filled with disbelief, “What the hell…?”

You sigh, too exhausted to even question who changed your clothes, a dull groan slipping out when the ache in your head pulses sharper.

Your gaze drifts, blurry at first, over the dark-painted walls, the faint glow of the ceiling light casting warmth over everything.

At the foot of the bed, you notice an expensive gaming setup, sleek monitors and a high-backed chair, cords tucked neatly against the desk. A bookshelf stood proudly to the side, filled and organized, and the room itself was spacious.

Your eyes drift lazily to your side, and your breath falters. Jay is there.

He’s slumped over the study table beside the bed, head resting against his folded arms, chest rising and falling with quiet, even breaths. His black shirt clung slightly from the dampness earlier, though it had dried in most places.

His bangs had dried into soft strands that curved against his forehead, his profile softened in sleep. The sharp line of his nose, the delicate shadow of his lashes brushing against his cheeks—it made your chest loosen.

His glasses were folded neatly next to him, like even in his exhaustion he had taken care.

“Oh,” you breathe out, so quiet it almost isn’t a word—more like the sigh of relief you didn’t know you’d been holding.

You wanted to call out his name, to whisper it just to see if he’d stir, but the sharp lance of pain across your temples makes you hiss instead.

“Oh, God…”

The sound startles him awake. His head jerks up, disoriented for a moment before his eyes widen.

He shoots up so fast he nearly topples the chair, dizziness flickering across his expression, but he doesn’t care—he’s already at your side.

“(Y/N),” his voice is soft, panicked, trembling at the edges. His hands hover for a moment before they find your shoulders, steadying you. “You’re awake.”

Your lips part, voice barely above a whisper. “Where… am I?”

Jay exhales shakily, as if he’s been holding his breath for hours. He moves closer, gently guiding your head against his shoulder, his arm curling protectively around you.

“You’re in my apartment,” he murmurs, voice low, careful. “God, you scared me back there.”

You lean against him, the warmth of his body a stark contrast to the cool ache in your skin. Tilting your head slightly, you look up at him, your voice soft and unsure.

“What… happened?”

Jay sighs, pressing a hand tenderly against your hair, his cheek brushing against the crown of your head. He swallows, cheeks tinting the faintest pink.

“Well… after we—” he hesitates, his voice smaller, almost boyish, “—after we kissed, you just… collapsed. You were burning up. I had to carry you here.”

You wince, guilt tugging at your chest. “God… I’m sorry. What about your car? The seats must be—”

“Unbelievable.” Jay huffs, pulling back just enough to frown down at you. “You pass out in the middle of a storm, running a fever, and the first thing you ask is, ‘what about my car?’”

Despite yourself, a laugh bubbles out, quiet but genuine. “Jay, you own a Ferrari. I think the seats can handle it.”

He scoffs, shaking his head, though the corner of his lips threatens to lift. “And?”

“And,” you tease softly, a smile tugging at your lips, “I don’t understand you sometimes.”

“Good,” he says simply, his eyes softening as they linger on you.

Silence settles, thick but not uncomfortable, the kind that presses with the awareness of everything unspoken. Your throat tightens again, and you clear it nervously, eyes darting away.

“So… who changed me?”

Jay stills. The tips of his ears redden instantly, and he rubs the back of his neck with one hand, flustered. His voice drops, careful, like he’s treading lightly.

“I didn’t. Don’t worry. I called my cousin—the one I told you about.” he sighs, pressing his lips together before admitting, “The one Ni-ki’s always fighting with.”

You blink up at him, and his eyes flicker away as if embarrassed by the confession.

“I called her, and—yeah, usually I’d owe her something, that’s just how it is with us, but this time…”

His voice softens. “She said no need. Because apparently—” his throat bobs, his cheeks turning crimson, “apparently I finally introduced a girl to her.”

Your lips part in surprise, but then curve into a smile—gentle, involuntary. You lean a little more into him, and he doesn’t pull away.

Instead, his hand comes up almost instinctively, fingers threading softly through your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp.

“If you say so,” you murmur, amused at his stubbornness, though your voice carries a warmth you can’t hide.

Jay swallows and clears his throat, forcing his composure. “Well… how are you feeling?”

You exhale slowly, rubbing your temples. “Just… a little dizzy from sitting up too fast.”

He nods immediately, slipping his arm around your shoulders to carefully guide you against the plush headboard. His movements are cautious, as though you’re made of glass.

His hand brushes your forehead, and he hums under his breath in approval.

“Well. Your fever’s gone down.”

A faint smile pulls at your lips. “It was probably just from hunger.”

Jay presses his tongue against his cheek, giving you a look. “Haven’t I told you before you started ghosting me—to start eating your meals properly?”

Your face heats at the reminder, and you duck your gaze with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry.”

He exhales a long sigh, his thumb still absentmindedly grazing your temple. “I know,” he says quietly. Then, after a pause: “So what do you want to eat?”

You tilt your head, studying him, a small playful spark in your eyes. “Are you… going to cook?”

He nods simply, and you grin. “I’d finally get to taste one of your dishes.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, softening into the faintest smile. “Under these circumstances, it’s kind of insane, you know.”

You shrug, lips quirking. “Well. Life’s insane.”

“Fair enough.” He pushes himself up, giving you one last look to make sure you’re steady. “Okay. Stay there. I’ll see what I can find.”

But you pout, the expression instinctive. “But… I wanted to watch you cook.”

Jay freezes for a beat, then glances around the room as though calculating. His eyes land on the blanket draped near the foot of the bed. He nods toward it. “Grab that.”

You blink, confused, but reach for the soft material, clutching it around you. By the time you glance back, he’s already approaching, making a carrying motion with his arms.

“Jay.” You narrow your eyes. “I can walk.”

“I know,” he says simply, voice calm but firm. “But I insist.”

You stare at him, searching for any hint of teasing. There is none—just the quiet determination etched into his features.

You sigh, resigned, but the warmth creeping into your chest betrays you. “…Fine.”

His smile is soft but victorious, and in one fluid motion, he bends, looping an arm behind your legs and another around your back.

Effortlessly, he lifts you. You gasp softly, clutching the blanket closer, but his grip is steady.

The door opens, and the rest of his apartment greets you.

Spacious. Modern. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one wall, sheer curtains pulled aside to reveal the glittering cityscape. The living room is tastefully minimal, a sleek black sofa set against dark wooden floors, a low coffee table glinting faintly under the warm ceiling lights.

To the left, the open kitchen sprawls in full view—polished counters, glossy cabinets, high-end appliances that gleamed like they’d barely been touched.

It’s elegant but lived-in, just like him.

Jay’s voice draws you back. “You’ll see me clearly from here.”

He lowers you gently onto the soft couch, adjusting the blanket around you before pulling back.

You nod, eyes still wandering the expanse of the apartment, before drifting back to him.

He stands there, framed by the glow of the kitchen light, his black shirt clinging to his frame, his hair falling into his eyes.

He looks at you as though he’s memorizing the sight of you curled up in his home.

Jay lets out a quiet breath, the corners of his lips tugging upward into the softest smile. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms lazily, as if he could stand there forever just watching you.

“What do you want to eat?” His voice is gentle, casual, but his eyes never leave you.

Your head snaps up, wide-eyed, startled at the sound of his question.

You pull the blanket tighter against your chest like a shield, cheeks warming when you realize how you must look—dressed in his clothes, hair messy from sleep, curled up on his couch.

“…Anything with soup,” you mumble after a beat, tucking your chin into the fabric. Then, almost shyly, you add in a softer voice, “Please.”

Jay’s chest stirs at that, and he can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him.

“You say that like I wouldn’t make it for you even if you didn’t ask nicely,” he teases, shaking his head as he pushes off the counter.

But inside, he’s not laughing.

Inside, he’s making a mental note: he’s going to have to introduce you to his mom soon. And not just as the loyal flower shop customer she always fusses over.

No, not this time. Not when his mother would take one look at you—curled up in his clothes, asking for soup like it’s the most natural thing in the world—and know exactly what you meant to him.

You nervously play with the ends of your skirt, eyes flicking to the passing streets outside the window. Familiar places you’ve driven past countless times look different now—tinted golden by the way his hand rests against yours.

Jay’s focus stays on the road, his profile sharp and calm, but his free hand is steady, holding yours like it’s second nature. Every now and then, he gives the slightest squeeze.

The music playing low through the speakers hums around the both of you, your phone still connected to the Bluetooth. Jay’s lips move faintly, the softest mumble of lyrics slipping out.

“Baby, I’m perfect for you,” he sings along, barely above a whisper, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear.

Your lips twitch before curling into a smile, a laugh threatening to spill as you turn your gaze on him.

His hair falls softly over his forehead, shifting with every bounce of the car, and the black-and-white plaid polo he threw over his white shirt lays open, casual but unfairly perfect. Denim pants, black Converse—it’s so him.

Effortless, but it knocks the air out of you.

And then you glance down. Your own plaid shirt, the same tones, paired with his spare clothes, matches his.

The realization makes your chest ache in the warmest way possible, and you have to bite your lip to hide the grin that spreads across your face.

The car slows at a red light, and Jay finally glances your way. “What’s up?” His voice is light, curious.

You can’t help it—the laugh bubbles out before you can swallow it down. “It’s nothing. You just…” You tilt your head, cheeks heating, “…you just look cuddly right now.”

Jay blinks before letting out a disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head as he reaches over, fingers brushing the collar of your plaid shirt to straighten it.

“Out of all the things you could’ve thought of, it’s cuddly?”

You shrug, catching his hand before he can pull away and tugging it back into your lap. Your fingers slip between his, intertwining once again. “That’s because you do.”

His jaw relaxes, his lips tugging upward in the faintest smile before he shakes his head, chuckling to himself. The light flicks green, and he drives on, your joined hands resting comfortably between you.

Your smile softens when you recognize the streets rolling by, the familiar curves and corners you’ve memorized from countless trips.

Jay pulls up to the curb, the car easing to a stop in front of the flower shop. You feel the tiniest tug in your chest when he reluctantly pulls his hand from yours, his warmth leaving your palm a little too soon.

He unbuckles quickly, steps out of the driver’s seat, and rounds the front with long strides.

When he opens your door, he extends his hand out toward you, voice gentle. “Come on.”

You slip your hand into his, smiling up at him as you step out. “Thank you.”

“Anytime,” he murmurs, and before you can react, he leans down just enough to press the softest kiss to your hair. It’s delicate, but it leaves your chest twisting as though your heart can’t quite keep up.

The both of you walk toward the shop, the small bell above the door jingling as you step inside.

The usual rush of fresh flowers greets you instantly—soft scents mingling in the air, vibrant colors spilling across each aisle like a living painting.

And, of course, Hyunjae.

He’s leaning against the counter, arms folded, a smirk plastered across his face as though he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

His gaze flicks between the two of you, hand in hand, and he doesn’t even bother to hide the smug tilt of his mouth.

“You two make me sick,” he drawls, shaking his head like he’s the long-suffering victim here.

Heat crawls up your cheeks, and you can’t help but smile sheepishly. Jay, on the other hand, only rolls his eyes. “Shut up, Hyunjae.”

Hyunjae raises his arms in mock surrender, though his grin doesn’t falter. “Whatever you say. (Y/N), I seriously don’t know how you put up with him.”

You laugh softly, stepping a little further into the shop. The pink roses immediately catch your eye, delicate and full in bloom, their petals glowing under the soft overhead lights.

You glance back at Hyunjae with a playful grin. “Be a sweetheart for me and grab some fresh ones, would you?”

“Unbelievable.” Hyunjae groans, peeling himself off the counter. “Three weeks of you two figuring things out and Jay’s already rubbed off on you. Really?”

Jay snickers beside you, sliding into the aisle as he leans down to inspect the daisies. “Will you add daisies too?”

You nod, fingertips brushing over the white roses next to the pink ones.

Their cool, smooth petals make you sigh as you speak. “You know…I don’t think Mrs. Park will appreciate getting flowers from her own shop.”

You pout slightly, plucking a few white roses and holding them carefully. Jay, who’s quietly pulling out the daisies with practiced ease, hands them over without hesitation.

“Trust me. She will. As long as they’re flowers—especially since they’re coming from you.”

Your throat tightens, and you can only nod wordlessly, your chest tightening with a strange, fluttery ache.

“Here.” Hyunjae’s voice cuts through your thoughts, breaking the fragile bubble.

You glance over to see him carrying a fresh bucket of pink roses, setting it down just beneath the row of sunflowers on the counter.

You walk over, plucking a few stems with care before laying them gently on the counter. “In pink, please.”

Hyunjae only sighs, though his hands move easily, grabbing the pink wrapping paper from beneath the counter. “Pink it is. With a white ribbon, yeah?”

“Yes, please.”

While Hyunjae busies himself with the bouquet, you feel Jay step closer. He lets out a quiet sigh, then slips an arm carefully around your waist, tugging you toward him.

You go willingly, leaning into his side as his voice rumbles low against your ear.

“She’ll love you, okay? She already does.” He pauses, leaning his chin lightly against your hair. “She’ll just love you even more.”

You exhale slowly, leaning into him more, your lips pulling into the faintest pout. “Still…she loves me as her customer. Not as your girlfriend. Even if we aren’t official yet.”

Jay only shakes his head, a small smile curling on his lips as he looks down at you.

His thumb brushes absentminded circles against your side, his voice dropping softer than before.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Hyunjae cleared his throat softly, sliding the bouquet across the counter toward you. The flowers were tied neatly in parchment, a delicate little bow sitting perfectly at the center.

You reached for it, murmuring a small, “Thank you,” as you pulled a bill from your wallet and placed it in his hand.

Hyunjae’s brows immediately furrowed. He glanced at the money, then at you, and finally at Jay, his disbelief written all over his face. “Since when did (Y/N) ever pay?”

You opened your mouth before Jay could even answer, holding up a hand. “It’s for good luck. Let me be.”

That earned a soft laugh from Hyunjae, who shook his head as he tucked the bill into the register. “Good luck, huh? Fine. If that’s what you want to believe.”

He leaned his elbows on the counter, his sharp gaze flicking between you and Jay. His tone was lighter than before, but his words carried weight. “You know, it’s not really my place to say this…”

You tilted your head, waiting.

Hyunjae’s lips curved into the faintest smile as his eyes softened. “But you’re already part of the family, (Y/N). There’s no need to be nervous about it.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. Before you could even think of what to say, Hyunjae shut the register with a quiet click and added with a brighter smile, “So if it makes you feel less nervous—welcome to the family.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and you couldn’t stop the smile that bloomed on your face. You mouthed a soft thank you, and Hyunjae gave you a small nod, like he meant every word.

“I’m only telling the truth,” he said simply, brushing his hands against his apron. “You don’t need any good luck for this.”

You smiled again, warmth pooling in your chest.

“Thanks, man,” Jay said beside you, his voice quieter than usual.

Hyunjae waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Honestly, hearing you say thank you out loud just sounds weird.”

Jay let out a surprised laugh, shoulders shaking, and reached for your hand, tugging you lightly toward the door. You stumbled a little but followed, bouquet pressed against your chest.

“Come on,” Jay murmured as he pushed the glass door open for you, holding it wide as the little bell above chimed.

His eyes lingered on you, just for a second longer than necessary, before he gave you that lopsided grin that always made your heart skip.

You sighed, sinking deeper into the leather seat, the bouquet of flowers pressed tightly against your chest as though it could shield you from the nerves twisting in your stomach.

Through the tinted glass, the streets shifted into something less familiar—larger houses, sprawling lawns, trimmed hedges so neat they looked unreal.

Every property seemed to scream wealth and legacy, and you winced inwardly at how small you felt in comparison.

Jay’s knuckles whitened slightly around the steering wheel, his jaw set the moment the car turned into the neighborhood. The way his shoulders stiffened didn’t go unnoticed.

“Okay,” you muttered, voice a little shaky, “maybe this is a bad idea.”

Jay’s head turned toward you briefly, his eyes steady. “Baby, we’re literally one street away from our house.”

You grimaced, clutching the bouquet tighter. “Still…”

He glanced back at you just in time to catch the way your fingers were twisting anxiously around the ribbon tied at the bouquet’s stem.

His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. “You’re doing that thing with your hands again.”

Your eyes snapped down. “What thing?”

Jay’s voice softened with amusement. “You fiddle with everything when you’re nervous.”

Sure enough, your fingertips were tangled with the bow, tugging at the edges. Heat rushed to your cheeks as you muttered, “Oh… sorry.”

He shook his head, the corners of his lips twitching as though he couldn’t help himself. “Don’t apologize. It’s endearing.”

Your face burned hotter, and you quickly turned to look out the window, hoping the passing scenery would distract you. But your nerves only spiked when Jay slowed the car, pulling into a gated property.

The iron gates swung open silently, revealing a yard so vast it looked like it belonged in a movie.

Rows of colorful flowers lined the paths, tall trees framed the driveway, and right in the center stood a pristine white mansion that filled up your entire view.

You blinked, gripping the bouquet so tightly the stems pressed into your palms. “Now I get why Mrs. Park always wanted me to come over,” you muttered under your breath.

Jay chuckled as he cut the engine, turning slightly to look at you. “Told you you’d love it here. You can even take some plants for your next lab project if you want.”

Your eyes widened, scandalized, as you shook your head. “No way. Some of those plants probably cost more than my entire life.”

You were expecting him to laugh, maybe roll his eyes at your exaggeration—but instead, his brows furrowed, dark bangs shifting slightly as they brushed against his forehead.

“Don’t downgrade yourself like that,” he muttered, almost scolding but not unkind.

The seriousness in his tone made your cheeks warm, and you sheepishly looked down, offering him a small, awkward smile. “Right. Sorry.”

Jay hummed, like he was satisfied enough with your correction, before grabbing the paper bags down by his feet in the car.

Without warning, he pulled something from one of them—a small teal box, sleek and elegant, clearly not something he just picked up casually.

“Okay…” he began, voice unusually hesitant as he reached for your hand. “I was planning to give this to you after all this, but I don’t think I can wait.”

Your breath caught as he flipped the box open, revealing the most beautiful golden bracelet you had ever seen. The chain glimmered under the light, delicate with intricate designs etched into the links.

“Jay…” your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Shh,” he cut you off gently, already looping the bracelet around your wrist with careful precision, his touch lingering longer than necessary. The clasp clicked into place, almost sealing a silent promise.

His lips curled into a smug little smile as he murmured, “No takebacks.”

Then, with a flourish, he raised his own wrist—showing a silver version of the exact same bracelet, resting snugly against his skin. “See? We match.”

Your chest tightened, emotions flooding in faster than you could control. “Jay, this is… this is too much.”

His expression immediately soured, his frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head.

“No, it’s not.” His hand found yours again, warm and steady, before he brought it up to his lips. His kiss was soft, a lingering press against your knuckles that made your pulse stutter.

“I don’t want my parents thinking I’m not spoiling you properly, right?”

You let out a half-laugh, shaking your head as if you could fight the way your heart was racing. “You’re insane.”

Jay chuckled low, eyes glinting as he leaned closer, voice dropping to something intimate—something just for you.

“Insane for you, yeah.”

Your breath hitched, warmth crawling all the way up your neck as he pressed the gentlest kiss to the tip of your nose.

You flushed, caught completely off guard, and he only smiled at the reaction, pulling away like he hadn’t just set your whole chest on fire.

A moment later, he pushed open the driver’s side door, stepping out into the crisp air before rounding the car.

When your door opened, he was there with his hand outstretched, palm warm and steady. You sighed, shaking your head as you slipped your hand into his. “Not fair.”

His grin tilted mischievous. “Nothing’s fair.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. He shut the door behind you, leaning down just slightly to ask, “You ready?”

Your stomach dropped at the sight of the looming white-painted mansion staring you down from the end of the pristine driveway.

“No,” you admitted honestly, clutching the bouquet of pink flowers a little tighter against your chest.

Jay only chuckled, squeezing your hand gently. “It’s now or never.”

The walk to the front steps felt longer than it was, every second filled with the thundering of your heartbeat and the sound of Jay’s even footsteps beside you.

The polished door, accented with brass handles, looked far too intimidating—like it already knew every insecurity you were carrying.

Jay inhaled deeply, raising a hand to knock, when the door practically burst open on its own.

“(Y/N), dear!”

Mrs. Park’s voice was warm, bright, and unapologetically affectionate as she immediately pulled you into a hug.

Your eyes widened at the sudden contact, arms stiff before you managed to return the embrace hesitantly, your cheek pressed against her shoulder.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes sparkled as if she were seeing someone precious.

You cleared your throat nervously, holding up the bouquet like a shield. “Uhm… these are for you. I—I know they’re not much, but—”

“Oh, how wonderful!” she interrupted, hands coming up to clasp the flowers as though they were made of gold. “You remembered I love flowers!”

Relief rushed through you, your lips curving into a sheepish smile. “Of course, Mrs. Park. No worries.”

But she was barely listening, her eyes raking over you again like she needed to memorize everything about you before tugging you right back into another hug.

“I’m sorry,” she laughed softly against your shoulder, squeezing you tight. “I’m just so glad Jay finally brought a girl home. And I’m even more glad that it’s you.”

Heat rushed to your face as you pulled back, your gaze flicking to Jay for a moment—he was standing just behind her, his expression softer than you’d ever seen it.

Turning back to Mrs. Park, you managed a quiet, “Thank you for having me.”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, nonsense! Come in, come in. I cooked a lot of food.” She turned, ushering you both inside with the energy of someone who had been waiting for this moment forever.

The warmth of the house enveloped you instantly—lavender-scented candles burning faintly, polished wood floors gleaming beneath your shoes.

“Oh, and Jay’s dad is in the living room, by the way,” she added as she led you down the hall. “He’s mumbling something about needing to look presentable so Jay’s first girlfriend would like him.”

You froze, heat rushing to your cheeks as her words hung in the air. Slowly, almost cautiously, you turned to look at Jay.

He was already looking at you.

A soft smile curved his lips, the kind that wasn’t laced with his usual sharpness or teasing edge. It was boyish—unguarded—and it mirrored the one tugging at your own mouth before you could even stop it.

For a moment, neither of you said anything.

The hallway was filled only with the muffled sounds of conversation from the living room, but between you two, silence felt comfortable. Heavy, maybe, but not suffocating. Like it was saying all the things words couldn’t.

Jay tilted his head slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t… don’t listen to him. He’s embarrassing.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “He’s not wrong, though.”

Jay’s smile widened just enough to show the tiniest flash of teeth. His hand brushed against yours—not quite holding it, not yet, but lingering there like a promise.

And in that simple moment—his warm gaze steady on you, your laughter still caught in the air—you realized words weren’t needed.

The two of you would be just fine.

⤷ part 1 | part 2 | part 3

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The studio was quiet except for the soft hum of the air conditioner and the faint sound of Chaewon’s breathing as she pushed herself into a deeper forward fold.

You sat on the mat beside her, gently guiding her arms forward while Kazuha hovered nearby, stretching out her own legs. The three of you were the only ones left—everyone else had long since filed out with tired smiles and heavy bags.

Chaewon glanced up at you, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I know I said I’d stop staying late, but…”

“You didn’t have a choice,” you finished for her with a teasing smile.

She laughed, reaching for her toes again with a determined little huff. “Exactly. Coach has been breathing down my neck about my turns, and honestly…”

She sighed dramatically. “I think she’s starting to dream about my pirouettes.”

Kazuha snorted at that, folding forward to touch her nose to her knee. “I’m surprised you’re even here this late. Usually you’re the first one to disappear.”

“Yeah, well,” Chaewon shot back playfully, “it’s either stay here or hear Coach’s lecture tomorrow. I choose life.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you moved into one last seated stretch with them. “One more and we’re done. Then you’re free to escape Coach’s wrath.”

As soon as you all eased out of the final stretch, Kazuha was already on her feet, tossing her water bottle into her bag. Chaewon wasn’t far behind, zipping up her hoodie as she made her way to the door.

“What’s with the rush?” you asked with a curious tilt of your head, watching them pack up so fast it felt like they were running from something.

“Kazuha decided to help me with my literature paper,” Chae-won replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “So now she’s stuck with me until it’s finished.”

Kazuha rolled her eyes fondly. “Stuck? Please. You’re the one who’s going to make me rewrite every sentence twice.”

“You love it.”

“Do not.”

You chuckled at their bickering, trailing after them as you walked them to the door. Kazuha turned back at the threshold, fixing you with a mischievous grin. “Oh, and say hi to my stinky cousin for me, will you?”

You blinked, caught off guard before realizing exactly who she meant. “Stinky cousin?” you echoed, laughing as you shook your head. “Will do.”

She winked and tugged Chae-won out into the hall. “Don’t stay too long, okay? You’re always the last one out.”

“Got it, mom,” you teased as you waved them off, closing the door gently behind them.

You let out a small sigh, turning back toward your things to sit back down—knock knock.

The sound made you freeze for a split second before a knowing smile curved on your lips. You didn’t even have to guess. Of course.

Pulling the door open again, you were met with Jay standing there like he owned the place—his black hoodie slightly oversized, matching joggers sitting low on his hips, a guitar slung over his shoulder like an afterthought.

His hair was a little mussed from the chilly air outside, and in his other hand, he held up a paper bag that smelled heavenly.

“Hi, pretty,” he said softly, voice warm and teasing, as if he hadn’t just shown up an hour early.

You hummed, trying to keep your face neutral even as your cheeks warmed at the nickname. “Hi, stranger.”

He scoffed with mock offense, stepping into the studio. “Wow. That’s how you greet the guy bringing you food?”

You laughed under your breath, closing the door behind him. “You’re only forgiven if that smells as good as I think it does.”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You both made your way to the center of the studio where your things were piled up. Jay dropped his guitar case to the side before plopping down cross-legged on the floor, patting the space next to him with an easy grin. You settled in beside him, tucking your legs under you.

“What’s in the bag, Park?” you asked, eyeing it like you were trying to x-ray through the paper.

He smirked, pulling out two steaming bowls with practiced ease. “Curry. From that place near campus you’re obsessed with.”

Your eyes went wide, and you practically beamed at him. “Wait—my favorite curry? The one with the potato croquettes?”

He nodded, already opening one of the bowls and handing it to you along with utensils. “The one and only. Nothing but the best for my favorite girl.”

Your face heated as you took the bowl from him, trying to hide your flustered smile by looking down at the food. “Jay… You didn’t have to. Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” he said casually, opening his own bowl and digging in like this was the most normal thing in the world. “Besides, I couldn’t just let my pretty girl starve after practice. That’d be bad boyfriend behavior.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the way your lips tugged upward. “You’re so ridiculous.”

“And yet here you are, eating curry with me in the middle of an empty studio.” He grinned at you, resting his elbow on his knee and his cheek in his hand as he watched you blow gently on your first spoonful. “So, who’s really ridiculous?”

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “Still you.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, pretty.” His grin was smug as ever, but the warmth in his tone betrayed the softness he always tried—and failed—to mask around you.

You blew on another spoonful, chewing thoughtfully before glancing at him. “So, how’s your Karma guitar solo coming along?”

Jay hummed low in his throat, finishing his own bite before answering. “Pretty good, actually. I just need to change a few notes here and there, smooth out some transitions, and it’ll be good to go for next week’s rehearsal.”

“After we eat,” he said, voice softening at your eager expression. “Don’t wanna get curry all over my strings.”

You nodded, a small smile playing at your lips as you scooped up another bite. “Deal.”

A beat passed before you leaned your chin onto your hand, eyes watching him as he ate with the kind of casual ease that made the air between you feel impossibly light.

“How was your day anyway?” you asked, curious.

He groaned dramatically, shoving another spoonful of curry into his mouth like the memory itself weighed him down. “Heeseung almost fell down the stairs, so… I guess that was funny?”

You froze, blinking before laughter bubbled out of you, the sound echoing lightly in the studio. “What?”

Jay gave you a crooked grin, shaking his head like he still couldn’t believe it. “Yeah. So—during lunch, he’s sitting there all smug and says he’s strong enough to carry Jungwon’s whole drum set down the stairs by himself. Like, the entire kit.”

Your laugh grew louder as you covered your mouth with your hand. “And? What happened?”

Jay chuckled too, his shoulders shaking as he leaned back slightly, enjoying the retelling. “Well, he actually tries it. Gets halfway down and then—boom.”

He clapped his hands together for emphasis. “He slips, lands flat on his ass, and half the drum set crashes down after him.”

You were nearly doubled over now, your bowl forgotten for a moment as tears prickled at the corners of your eyes from laughing so hard. “Oh my god. Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Jay assured with a small smirk.

“His pride, though? Absolutely obliterated. Jungwon wouldn’t stop teasing him. And Ni-ki—oh god—Ni-ki got it on video. I’m pretty sure he’s already made it his lock screen.”

You laughed, barely managing to set your bowl down before you spilled curry everywhere. “I swear,” you wheezed, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, “you guys are a bunch of kids.”

Jay smirked, stabbing his spoon into his curry with mock offense. “You’re telling me. Babysitting them is practically a full-time job at this point.”

The laughter faded into a comfortable quiet as the two of you continued eating, the only sound being the soft clinking of spoons against bowls and the rain still pattering faintly outside.

Then, after a beat, Jay cleared his throat. “Also…”

You looked up at him mid-bite, his voice just a little too careful for comfort.

“I talked to my parents this morning.” His eyes flicked to yours for a second, gauging your reaction, then back down to his bowl.

He swirled his spoon idly in the remaining curry, almost like he was stalling. “And… I might’ve mentioned I have a girlfriend.”

You froze. “You what—” you choked as the last bite of curry went down the wrong pipe.

Jay’s eyes widened as he immediately reached for the iced tea he’d brought, uncapping it and shoving it toward you. “Whoa—hey, here. Don’t die on me now.”

You took the drink and downed it in desperate gulps, coughing a little as Jay patted your back with his free hand. “Breathe, pretty. Deep breaths.”

Once your coughing fit subsided, you turned to glare at him, setting the iced tea down a little too hard. “You what?”

Jay winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Okay—look. My mom’s been asking for months if I finally found someone. She caught me off guard, and I… I panicked.”

“You panicked?!” you whispered harshly, pressing a hand to your face. “Jay—”

“And I said I… kinda did,” he continued quickly, voice dropping low as if it would soften the blow. “Even if it’s… you know. Fake.”

Your hand slid down your face as you groaned. “Oh my god. Park Jongseong.”

“I know,” he muttered, staring at his food like it was about to scold him too.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. “Okay. And? Is that it? Please tell me that’s it.”

“…They, uh…” He paused, finally looking up to meet your incredulous stare. “They want to meet you before college week.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry. What?”

“They just… They’re curious,” he said weakly. “Saturday dinner. At my house.”

“It’s Wednesday, Jay!” you whisper-yelled, running both hands over your face this time. “That’s—what—three days away!”

“I know. I know.” He reached over, carefully prying one of your hands from your face to hold it in his. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I was gonna bring it up earlier but…”

“But?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes at him.

He gave a small, nervous laugh. “You’re scary when you’re mad.”

You swatted at his arm, making him laugh for real this time. “Jay, this isn’t funny! Meeting your parents?!”

He squeezed your hand gently, the playful edge to his smile softening just slightly. “Hey, don’t freak out. You’re the best fake girlfriend I could ask for.”

You stared at him, your stomach flipping in a way that had nothing to do with the curry. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, but I’m also buying dessert after this to make it up to you.” He shot you a hopeful grin. “Deal?”

You sighed, letting your head thump against his shoulder as you muttered, “I’m gonna regret this, aren’t I?”

“Nah,” he said, grinning down at you. “You’ll be great. They’re gonna love you. I already do.”

You froze, feeling your chest tighten as his words sank in—but before you could process it, he was already moving, scooping up his empty bowl like nothing happened.

“Now hurry up and finish. You still have a Karma guitar solo to listen to.”

You let out a low grumble, shoveling in the last spoonfuls of curry while Jay, ever so annoyingly efficient, gathered the empty bowls and tossed them into the nearby trash bin like it was second nature.

“You could at least sound a little less cocky about it,” you muttered under your breath, earning a quiet chuckle from him.

“Hey, I don’t make the rules. I’m just naturally talented.”

Rolling your eyes, you pulled your knees up to your chest as Jay started moving around the studio.

He grabbed his guitar case with one hand and tugged the amplifier closer with the other, his movements so fluid and familiar it was almost like muscle memory.

Then came the microphone stand he’d left leaning against the wall earlier, his black hoodie shifting slightly as he adjusted it with practiced ease.

You watched him silently, your lips curving into a small smile without realizing it. There was something hypnotic about the way he set everything up—so meticulous yet relaxed, his fingers working effortlessly as if this whole process was a second skin.

When he was done, he tapped the mic lightly, listening for the faint echo bouncing across the studio walls. Satisfied, he turned to you with a playful smirk as you aimed your phone camera at him.

He leaned slightly toward the mic, his voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. “This is Jay from Enhypen, Karma guitar solo take one.”

You giggled, biting your lip as you hit record. “Dramatic much?”

But just as his fingers brushed the strings, ready to start, the studio door creaked open.

The sound made both your heads turn as familiar figures strolled in—Jungwon, Ni-ki, Heeseung, and Sunghoon—all carrying their own instrument cases and backpacks.

They froze for a moment upon seeing the two of you, and you swore the tiniest knowing smirk tugged at Heeseung’s lips.

“Yo,” Jungwon said casually, raising a hand in greeting. “Don’t stop. Pretend we’re not here.”

Jay blinked, clearly caught off guard, but Heeseung stepped forward, setting his microphone case down against the wall. “Go on,” he said, nodding toward the setup. “We’ll just observe.”

Jake was already dropping onto the floor beside you with a grin, tugging out his phone like he was about to film too. “Free live performance? Don’t mind if I do.”

“Seriously?” Jay muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Seriously,” Sunghoon echoed as he settled into a chair near the corner.

With a sigh that turned into a quiet laugh, Jay turned back to his guitar. His fingers flexed briefly before resting on the strings, the low hum of the amp filling the space as he strummed experimentally.

The first few notes cut through the air—sharp, clean, and rich with depth. A heavy rock beat built underneath as his fingers danced across the fretboard, smooth yet electric, his body swaying slightly with the rhythm.

Each note was flawless, his precision making it look almost too easy as he transitioned from hard-hitting riffs to softer melodic runs.

You found yourself clutching your phone tighter, the camera still aimed at him as if you could capture the magic in its entirety.

But no recording could do this justice—the way Jay’s brows furrowed in concentration, how his lips parted slightly as his pick dragged across the strings in perfect timing, and the raw energy that seemed to radiate off him in waves.

“Holy shit,” Sunoo whispered under his breath, earning a quiet nudge from Ni-ki.

“Damn right,” Ni-ki said, grinning as he watched their lead guitarist command the room without so much as a single word.

By the time the last note faded, silence hung heavy in the studio.

It was Jungwon who broke it first, his jaw slack as he gawked at Jay. “What the hell, you finally perfected it.” His voice came out almost accusatory, like he couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed.

Heeseung’s laugh echoed across the room as he leaned down to grab his microphone case from where it rested against the wall. “That was insane, man. You’ve been holding out on us, huh?”

Before Jay could respond, Sunoo suddenly appeared beside you, practically bouncing on his toes. “Wait—did you teach him or something?”

You blinked at him, startled, then shook your head quickly. “Me? Sunoo, I know nothing about instruments. I can barely play anything on the recorder.”

Ni-ki pushed himself up from the floor with a lazy grin, his phone already in hand as if he was ready to replay the whole thing.

“Well, whatever you’re doing, keep it up. Jay’s been stressing over that solo for days. This is the first time I’ve seen him play it without swearing halfway through.”

You laughed softly, your eyes drifting back to Jay where he was still cradling his guitar.

Your chest felt oddly warm at Ni-ki’s words, but you pushed it down as you raised your hand, thumb pointed high in the air. “Nice job, rockstar.”

Jay caught your gesture and, despite the faint flush on his cheeks, gave you one of his easy smiles—the kind that made it hard to remember this was supposed to be fake.

“Hey, hey, don’t bask too long in the glory.” Sunghoon’s voice cut in as he shoved his guitar toward Jay’s face, the strap still dangling from his shoulder.

“Fix my E-string, Mr. Perfect Solo. It’s been buzzing like crazy.”

Jay rolled his eyes but took the guitar anyway, resting it on his thigh as his long fingers expertly twisted the tuning pegs. “You could fix this yourself if you didn’t manhandle your strings like a caveman.”

Sunghoon smirked, leaning lazily against the wall. “Why bother when I have you?”

“You guys are hopeless,” Heeseung muttered with a grin, adjusting the strap on his guitar case.

“Agreed.” Ni-ki chimed in with a laugh as he headed toward his bass.

“But hey, at least now our lead guitarist won’t look like he wants to kill someone mid-solo anymore.”

Jay handed Sunghoon’s guitar back after a quick tune-up, his eyes flicking to you for a heartbeat too long. “Done. Anything else? Need me to restring your whole kit too?”

“Tempting,” Sunghoon said with a grin.

Before you could stifle a laugh, Jungwon’s voice cut through the room, catching you completely off guard.

“You know, (Y/n),” he started casually, twirling his drumsticks between nimble fingers, “we might need you here every practice.”

You blinked at him, a little startled, pointing at yourself with a tilt of your head. “Me? Why?”

Jungwon smirked knowingly, leaning back on his stool as his drumsticks tapped against his thighs. “Because Jay does his best when you’re around. It’s like magic or something.”

Your mouth fell open slightly as warmth crept up your neck and settled across your cheeks. “Huh? That’s not—I didn’t—”

“Ahhh, I see it too,” Ni-ki cut in, lounging on one of the amps with his phone in hand.

He absentmindedly tossed his guitar pick in the air before hurling it—playfully, of course—at Jay. It hit his shoulder with a faint plink. “He was so grumpy all week, then you show up and bam, perfect solo.”

Jay’s glare shot toward Ni-ki like a sharp arrow, though it lacked any real bite. “Riki, I will punch you.”

Ni-ki just grinned wider, completely unfazed. “Try me.”

Meanwhile, Sunoo was busy setting up his keyboard on its stand next to Jake, who adjusted the wires without looking up. “It’s true, though,” Sunoo added with a singsong lilt, side-eyeing Jay.

“You’re suspiciously focused whenever your girlfriend visits.” He even made air quotes around the word girlfriend, the teasing tone impossible to miss.

You sank a little lower in your spot, desperately trying to ignore how hot your face felt. “Okay, okay—can we not gang up on me? Or him?” you muttered, flustered, though your lips twitched with the threat of a laugh.

But Jake, ever the quiet observer, finally looked up from helping Sunoo. A small smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said calmly, “They’re not wrong. You do look lighter when (Y/N)’s here.”

“Really, Jake?” Jay groaned, running a hand down his face. He adjusted the strap of his guitar and shot a look at Heeseung for backup, but the eldest only shrugged with a knowing grin.

“Don’t look at me. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute?” you stammered, eyes darting to Jay, whose own ears were tinged red now.

“Cute,” Heeseung confirmed easily.

Jay pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘I hate all of you’.

Ni-ki, still grinning like a menace, leaned back and propped his feet up on the edge of a chair. “Admit it, hyung. She’s your good luck charm.”

You hid your face in your hands, trying not to combust as Jay’s exasperated sigh turned into a quiet laugh. “You guys are insufferable.”

But even as he said it, his eyes flicked to you—and there was no missing the faint curve of a smile that lingered there, soft and unguarded.

Thursday mornings weren’t supposed to feel this heavy. But there you were—face buried deep into one of Yunjin’s pillows, muffling the urge to scream as the girls lounged around her dorm.

Eunchae, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a half-eaten granola bar in hand, tilted her head at you like you were some strange, wounded animal. “Does anyone know what’s wrong with her?”

Kazuha let out a dramatic sigh from where she was sprawled at the foot of the bed, her long hair spilling over the edge. “Jay’s parents want to meet her.”

Sakura’s head snapped up from her phone so fast, “Your fake boyfriend’s parents?”

You groaned into the pillow again before finally lifting your head with a pitiful expression. “I don’t even know if it’s fake anymore.”

Just then, Yunjin emerged from the bathroom with a towel in hand, raising an eyebrow like she already knew the entire story. “Well, I mean—is he showing signs of actually liking you?”

Chaewon shot her a look from her spot on the vanity stool. “How the hell did you even hear us from in there?”

“Thin walls,” Yunjin replied easily, plopping herself on the bed beside you and Eunchae. “Also, your voices carry like crazy.”

You flopped onto your back, the pillow now squished to your chest, and let out a long, helpless groan. “I don’t know.”

Sakura’s eyes narrowed slightly, her phone forgotten in her lap. “What do you mean you don’t know?”

Pushing the pillow aside, you rubbed at your face like it could scrub away the confusion swirling in your chest. “It’s confusing. He’s confusing.”

“Oh?” Chaewon prompted, clearly intrigued now.

“One moment he’s acting all sweet—buying me food, drying my hair, kissing my head like—like it’s the most natural thing in the world.” You gestured vaguely, words tumbling out like they’d been dammed up for days.

“And the next, he’s getting all shy. Like I’ll catch him staring and he’ll look away so fast it makes me want to scream.”

Kazuha propped her chin on her palm, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Classic, human contradiction.”

Eunchae sat up straighter, tossing her granola wrapper onto Yunjin’s desk. “Okay, but can we go back to the part where you said his parents want to meet you?”

You groaned dramatically, flopping onto your back like the weight of the world had just crushed your chest. “Jay told his parents that he has a girlfriend.”

The word felt foreign—dangerously warm—on your tongue, and you let it hang in the air for a moment, testing how it sounded in your voice. Girlfriend. “And now they want to meet me, I suppose.”

You threw an arm over your eyes, wishing the universe could swallow you whole. “What am I even gonna do?” you mumbled, the words muffled by your sleeve.

Yunjin, ever the instigator, leaned back against your legs with a sly grin. “(Y/N), I need you to be brutally honest with me right now.”

You peeked at her through your arm, your brows furrowed suspiciously. “About…?”

“Do you like him?” she asked, her tone almost teasing but her eyes surprisingly sharp. “Like—actually like him.”

You sat up slightly, propping yourself on your elbows as your lips parted, trying to form a reply.

“I—” You faltered, your brain scrambling for an answer that didn’t make your stomach churn. “…I don’t know.”

Yunjin let out a laugh that was more knowing than mocking, her voice ringing around the dorm. “No. No, you do know. Don’t even try to pull that with me. I know you, and I know when you’re lying to yourself.”

You let your head drop back onto the pillow with a frustrated groan, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Define like.”

Kazuha raised her brows, biting back a laugh as she chimed in. “Like as in… when you’re around him, does it feel a little too easy? Too comfortable? Like maybe you could get used to it?”

Sakura joined in, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed. “And do you ever catch yourself wondering what it’d be like if it wasn’t fake? Like, if it was actually real?”

You stayed silent for a moment too long, and Eunchae let out a loud gasp, smacking her hands together. “Oh my god. You do like him.”

“I—” You covered your face again, muffling a groan. “Maybe? I don’t know. He’s just—ugh—he’s confusing!”

There was a pause before Chaewon’s calm voice cut through the room. “Maybe he’s scared.”

Everyone’s heads snapped toward her.

Chaewon, unfazed by the sudden attention, simply shrugged. “I mean, think about it. He’s probably just as confused as you are, (Y/N).”

You peeked through your fingers, brows furrowed as you sat up a little. “What do you mean?”

She met your gaze evenly, her expression steady in that unnerving Chaewon way. “Based on the things you’ve told us—neither of you really knows where the line is anymore, right? Between what’s fake and what’s not?”

Her words settled into the room like a quiet truth you weren’t ready to name.

You exhaled, rubbing your face as if that could clear the fog from your head. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions,” you muttered, voice lower now.

“What if he’s just… good at playing the part? I mean, he is Park Jongseong. He could sell the act without even trying.”

Sakura, who’d been unusually quiet, mumbled just loud enough for you to hear. “But you’re not playing anymore.”

You froze, eyes flicking to her. She was sitting cross-legged, idly twirling a strand of her hair as her sharp gaze locked on yours. “Not you, at least.”

Your lips parted slightly, but no words came out. You could only stare at her from where you sat, your heart suddenly beating a little too fast.

“I don’t know, guys…” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “I really don’t know.”

Yunjin reached over and squeezed your ankle gently, her voice gentle but knowing. “Then maybe it’s time to stop asking what he feels—and figure out what you want.”

You swallowed hard, her words echoing like a drumbeat in your chest.

Sakura’s voice piped up then, deceptively casual as she scrolled through her phone. “Either way…” she began, her thumb swiping across the screen lazily, “it sounds like you two are tired of pretending.”

She glanced up at you briefly, a faint smile tugging at her lips before she returned her attention to her feed. “Just figure it out before one of you drives the other insane.”

The room quieted after that, all three of them watching you as if waiting for the epiphany to hit.

But before you could process anything—the sharp trill of your phone made you jump slightly.

You scrambled to grab it, your heart skipping a beat as your eyes landed on the caller ID.

Speak of the devil.

“Jay.” You muttered his name softly without meaning to.

You slid your thumb across the screen and pressed it to your ear, trying to sound composed. “Hello?”

“Hi, pretty girl,” came Jay’s familiar voice, warm and teasing. “Are you busy?”

All four girls perked up instantly, eyes zeroing in on you like hawks.

Sakura, seated closest to you, leaned in slightly and shook her head furiously, whispering under her breath, “Say no!”

You covered the mic slightly with your hand, glaring at her with wide eyes before clearing your throat. “Uh… no. I’m not busy.”

Jay let out a breath of relief on the other end, the sound making something in your chest twist. “Okay, good. I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me today. You don’t have afternoon classes, right?”

Your brain short-circuited at the word date. All the air seemed to vanish from the room as you stammered, “Y-Yes.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like warm honey in your ear. “Is that a yes to the date or a yes to no afternoon classes?”

You bit back a laugh, shaking your head as you replied, “To both, Jay.”

There was a pause, and then his laugh—low and absolutely heart-melting—drifted through the line. “Okay then, take your time. I’m parked outside your dorm.”

Your jaw dropped slightly as you shot upright. “You’re what?”

“I’m outside,” he repeated, his tone impossibly casual. “No pressure though. I’ll wait as long as you need.”

The girls erupted into silent chaos around you.

Eunchae clutched a pillow to her face to hide her squeal, Kazuha smacked your knee lightly with her hand mouthing, “Go get ready!” while Yunjin looked entirely too smug.

You could hear the faint sound of music and a car engine in the background of the call as you forced out, “O-Okay. Give me… give me a few minutes.”

“Take your time,” Jay said, his voice dipping softer now. “I’ll be here, pretty girl.”

You hung up shakily and dropped your phone into your lap as the girls stared you down like a pack of wolves.

“You’re going,” Yunjin declared.

Before you could even open your mouth to protest, Sakura shot up from her spot, eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re still sitting there?” she exclaimed, her tone part-scolding, part-amused.

“Girl, there is a hot guitarist outside waiting to take you on a date, and you’re—what—moping on Yunjin’s bed?”

Kazuha grabbed a pillow and smacked your thigh with it—not hard, but enough to make you yelp. “Up. Now.”

“Get your ass up.” Chaewon pointed at you, her tone sharp as her eyes narrowed. “We’re helping you get ready. No negotiations.”

“I—” You sputtered, still flat on your back, clutching the pillow like a lifeline. “Guys, I’m not ready for this—”

“Yes, you are.” Eunchae swooped in like a hawk, grabbing your wrists and tugging you upright with surprising strength for her size.

“Come on. We’re going to your dorm. We need access to your closet, your makeup—basically your whole life.”

“But—”

“No buts!” Yunjin chimed in, already picking up your phone and handing it to you. “Text him to give you fifteen minutes. Twenty if we’re feeling generous.”

Sakura leaned down and grabbed your bag, tossing it over her shoulder like it was hers. “We’re not letting you go out there looking like you’ve been crying into Yunjin’s pillow. No offense.”

You scowled as Eunchae successfully yanked you to your feet, nearly toppling over in the process. “You guys are insane,” you grumbled.

“Insanely supportive,” Kazuha corrected with a grin as she slipped her arm through yours. “Now move before I carry you down the hall.”

You tugged nervously at the edge of your frilly dress, the soft fabric slipping between your fingers as you walked down the dorm lobby.

Thank God Sakura picked out the short-sleeved one—it was humid enough that the thought of wearing long sleeves made you want to melt.

Still, your palms felt clammy for a completely different reason as you exhaled slowly and pushed open the glass doors.

The sight that greeted you nearly made you stop in your tracks.

Park Jongseong, leaning casually against a sleek black sports car. And not just any car—your eyes caught the gleam of a Ferrari logo on the hood before they drifted helplessly back to him.

He was dressed in a crisp white button-up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, dark dress pants hugging his frame, and black leather shoes resting neatly against the pavement.

His hair—usually gelled back for band practice—was loose today, soft strands falling over his forehead in a way that made your chest tighten.

You nearly tripped on your own feet trying to snap yourself out of it.

He’s just Jay. Except ‘just Jay’ had apparently leveled up into a full-fledged heartthrob with a sports car.

The sound of your steps drew his attention. He turned slightly, eyes landing on you—and for a moment, he stilled. His gaze softened instantly, lips parting just barely as if the sight of you knocked the air out of his lungs.

There was a split second where it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of you—his dark eyes drinking in the way your dress fluttered slightly with the breeze, your hair curled perfectly around your face, and your lips tugging nervously into a smile.

“Hi, pretty,” he said finally, his voice lower than usual, almost reverent.

You looked up at him, cheeks heating as you returned the smile. “Hey, handsome.”

That made him pause, a slow grin pulling at his lips as he straightened his posture. “Well, that’s new.”

You let out a breathy laugh, eyes glinting playfully. “What? You really do look handsome, Jay.”

He shook his head softly, a faint flush coloring his ears as he chuckled. “You’re dangerous, you know that?” he muttered, moving closer until he was just in front of you.

His hand slid gently to the small of your back as if it was second nature, guiding you towards the car.

“Dangerous?” you teased, raising a brow.

“For my heart, yeah.” He opened the passenger door for you, meeting your gaze with a boyish smile that nearly undid you. “Now get in before I actually combust standing here.”

You laughed again, ducking your head as you climbed into the car, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. He slid into the driver’s seat with that same boyish grin still tugging at his lips.

You tilted your head, amused, watching as he settled in and glanced your way like you’d just caught him daydreaming.

“What’s wrong?” you asked softly, curious.

Jay shook his head, his grin widening just a little. “Nothing,” he murmured. “I’m just… really happy you’re here.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard for a moment. Before you could say anything, he leaned over slightly, reaching past your shoulder to grab the seatbelt.

The subtle brush of his arm near your face made your breath catch, and your eyes followed his movements as he gently tugged the strap across you and clicked it into place.

His fingers tapped twice against the buckle resting on your stomach, almost absentmindedly, before he pulled back and fastened his own.

Leaning into the seat, you let out a small huff, trying to mask the way your heart was thundering. “So…” you started, turning your head toward him. “Where are we going?”

His lips curved into a teasing smirk as he shifted the car into drive. “That’s a surprise,” he said smoothly. “But just so you know—I’m spoiling you today.”

Your brows furrowed, a playful glare shooting his way. “Jay…”

He only clicked his tongue, his grin never faltering. “I’m immune to that, (Y/N). Try harder.”

You rolled your eyes with a laugh, crossing your arms as he steered the car out of the lot and toward the field’s nearest exit.

The world outside blurred past in a hazy mix of greens and soft sunlight, but inside, it felt like the air was warmer somehow—thicker with a softness you weren’t ready to put a name to.

“You can connect your phone to the Bluetooth, pretty,” he said casually, his eyes still focused on the road.

You perked up, reaching for your tote. “What music do you want?”

“Anything you want,” he replied without hesitation. “I trust your music taste.”

Shaking your head with a fond smile, you unlocked your phone. The first thing you noticed on the car’s screen was the lack of devices saved—just his band’s names and his own. Your eyes flicked to him curiously.

“Don’t worry,” he said suddenly, catching your glance. “I’m loyal to you. Haven’t had any girl in this car besides my mom.”

A laugh bubbled out of you as you shot him a look. “Jay, I didn’t even say anything.”

He stopped at a red light, the car humming quietly beneath you as he turned his head toward you fully now, eyes soft. “Yeah, but I need to reassure you anyway.”

Your chest tightened a little at his sincerity, and you found yourself smiling as you murmured, “Yeah, but I know you, Jay—not all of you, but I know you.”

That seemed to make something flicker in his eyes. His lips twitched into a small, almost shy smile as he reached out, resting his hand on the edge of your seat. He hesitated, fingers curling slightly as he glanced at you.

“Can I?” he asked quietly, nodding slightly toward where his hand hovered near your thigh.

You swallowed, warmth blooming in your chest as you nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

His hand rested gently on your bare thigh, his thumb brushing the soft fabric of your dress as if testing your comfort. He gave it a light squeeze, the gesture careful yet grounding.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, yeah?” he murmured, voice soft.

You laughed, placing your hand over his instinctively, your thumb rubbing lightly over his knuckles. “With you? Never.”

His eyes softened even more at that, and as the light turned green and he began driving again, his thumb stayed tracing light circles on your skin, like he didn’t want to let go.

You laughed, shaking your head as Jay clicked his tongue disapprovingly the second your hand brushed the passenger door handle.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt with one swift motion. Before you could even process it, he was already out of the car, circling around to your side.

“Jay—” you started, still grinning as he pulled the door open smoothly.

“Out,” he said firmly but with a teasing smile, offering his hand. “And don’t even think about opening your own door again. You hear me?”

You placed your hand in his, letting him help you out of the car. “So dramatic,” you teased, your laughter spilling into the warm air.

He shut the door gently behind you, locking the car with a soft beep as his hand found yours again. Intertwining your fingers with his, he tugged you toward the sidewalk with a shake of his head.

“It’s not dramatic,” he said matter-of-factly. “It’s just the bare minimum I should do for you.”

That made your chest tighten unexpectedly, your lips curving into a soft smile. “You say that like you’re trying to set the bar way too high for any other guy.”

“Good,” he replied without missing a beat. “That’s the plan.”

You let out another laugh as he squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The late afternoon air felt cooler here, tinged with the faint scent of expensive perfumes wafting from the nearby boutiques.

You realized you two were no longer near campus—this was the high-end district of Seoul, filled with designer stores, sleek cafes, and towering luxury hotels.

“Where are we going?” you asked, tilting your head to glance at him as he guided you around a group of tourists.

“Secret,” Jay said, lips curling into that mischievous smirk that made your heart stutter.

You sighed dramatically, though you couldn’t hide your grin. “You love keeping me in suspense, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he hummed. “But I promise it’s worth it.”

As you walked, your small bag started slipping off your shoulder, but before you could adjust it, Jay had already noticed.

“Here—let me,” he said, reaching for it. You opened your mouth to protest, but he’d already slid the strap over his own shoulder like it was second nature.

You stared for a second before breaking into a laugh. “You look so cute carrying that, you know?”

Jay raised a brow but didn’t hand it back. “Cute? No. Cool. I’m redefining what cool looks like.”

You snorted, your fingers brushing against his as he adjusted the tote strap over his shoulder. “What happened to Decelis’ finest guitarist, huh? The one who makes girls swoon and guys jealous just by existing?”

He let out a soft laugh, his eyes flicking down at you with a kind of warmth that made your stomach flutter. “He fell in love with a ballerina—that’s what happened.”

Your laugh echoed down the sidewalk before you could stop it, earning a sheepish grin from Jay as he tugged you a little closer.

“Cheesy,” you teased lightly, but your voice betrayed the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“You love it,” he murmured, giving your hand a gentle squeeze as you crossed the last street.

Before you could respond, he stopped in front of a pristine glass storefront. You blinked, staring up at the familiar elegant lettering.

“Tiffany & Co…?” you asked slowly, brows furrowing as you looked from the glittering jewelry displays to him.

Jay didn’t even falter. He gave a polite nod to the doormen, who immediately held the door open for him like he was a regular. You hesitated, letting him pull you inside as the cool air of the luxury boutique wrapped around you.

“For your mom?” you asked again, tilting your head up at him.

“Yes,” Jay said simply. Then, his lips quirked as he added, “And for you.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, tugging lightly on his hand. “No, Jay. Absolutely not. This is too much.”

His grin didn’t waver as he tugged you further inside, his fingers tightening around yours just enough to remind you he wasn’t letting go. “What did I say about spoiling you, hmm?”

“Jay—” you started again, but he only shot you a pointed look over his shoulder, the kind that had your protests dying in your throat.

“This isn’t a debate,” he said, voice calm but playful as he led you toward the necklace section. “You’re getting something. End of story.”

You sighed, shaking your head with a helpless smile as you let him drag you deeper into the store. An assistant approached with a polite bow, but Jay held up a hand.

“We’ll ask for assistance when we need it,” he said smoothly, his tone polite but firm. She nodded, stepping back a few feet to give you space but remaining close enough to help if needed.

You watched him in quiet awe as he leaned slightly over the glass display case, eyes scanning the delicate gold and silver chains laid out like art pieces.

There was something about the way he moved—calm, certain, like he belonged here—that sent a strange warmth through your chest.

“So…” Jay murmured, his voice thoughtful. “Which one do you think she’d appreciate?”

You blinked, realizing he was asking for your opinion. “Well, what does your mom prefer? Gold or silver?”

“Gold,” he said without hesitation, his gaze never leaving the display.

You hummed, your eyes moving slowly over the rows of necklaces.

You spotted a few that stood out and leaned closer, pointing gently. “The lock ones on the right—they’re elegant but simple. Or the double links near them. Both feel classic.”

Jay followed your finger, his lips twitching into a small smile as his eyes softened. “Yeah, I think you’re right. She’d like that.”

Without wasting another second, he raised a hand slightly and caught the attention of the assistant waiting nearby. “Could we see these four up close, please?” he asked smoothly, his tone respectful yet effortlessly confident.

“Of course, sir,” she said with a polite bow, immediately retrieving the keys from her waist and unlocking the glass case.

She delicately set the velvet trays on the counter, each one gleaming under the boutique’s soft lights.

Jay glanced at you and tilted his head toward the display. “Think you can hold these for me?”

You blinked, surprised at his request. “Me?”

“Yeah, you.” His lips quirked, and there was something so boyish in his grin that it made your heart flutter. “I trust your judgment, pretty.”

The assistant smiled faintly but didn’t comment as she carefully lifted the necklaces, handing them to you one by one. You cradled the delicate chains in your hands, careful not to let them tangle as Jay studied each one.

He picked up the first of the four—the double-link gold necklace—letting the chain glint between his fingers. As he did, his other hand came to rest gently against your lower back.

“Do you think this one’s better?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost as if the question wasn’t entirely about the necklace.

You stepped closer instinctively, the space between you two shrinking as your eyes flicked between the necklace he held and the others resting against your palms.

The scent of his cologne was warm and familiar, wrapping around you like a second skin.

You tilted your head, brows furrowed slightly in thought. “Yeah… it does look better. It’s more delicate. Feels timeless, you know?”

His gaze flickered down at you for a brief second, and you swore there was something softer in his eyes before he turned back to the assistant.

“We’ll take this one,” he said decisively. Then, after a beat, he added, “And the bracelet version too—same style.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, already moving to fetch the matching bracelet.

Jay hummed, satisfied, and gently guided you away from the necklace section, his hand still resting on the small of your back. The warmth of his touch lingered as he led you toward one of the elegant displays near the window.

He stopped in front of one of the displays, eyes scanning the rows of delicate pieces arranged perfectly on velvet.

“Which do you prefer?” he asked casually, his voice low but laced with something more—an edge of curiosity. “Gold or silver?”

You let out a small sigh, knowing where this was going. “Gold,” you admitted quietly, trying not to meet his eyes.

He nodded as if he already expected the answer, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “Good choice.”

Before you could say anything else, movement caught his eye. The assistant was walking toward you again, carrying another velvet tray carefully in both hands. Jay raised a brow and greeted her with a polite nod.

“Hi, yes,” he said smoothly, “can we also see the ribbon jewelry set in gold?”

Your head snapped up, brows furrowed as you turned to him. “Jay—” you started, ready to protest.

But he was quicker. His arm slid fully around your waist this time, pulling you flush to his side in a way that made your words catch in your throat. “Shh. Humor me, yeah?” he murmured, the corner of his mouth twitching as he shot you a teasing look.

You could feel your face heat, but before you could recover, the assistant placed the tray delicately on the glass counter in front of you.

“This set includes the necklace, earrings, and two matching bracelets,” she explained pleasantly. “The design is one of our more popular styles—timeless yet modern.”

Jay’s eyes flicked over the pieces briefly before he spoke again. “Can we also see the bracelets individually? I want to compare them side by side.”

“Of course, sir.” She gave him a professional smile and moved swiftly to arrange them, opening another tray to present the individual bracelets.

You glanced up at him with wide eyes, whispering harshly, “Jay, this is too much—”

But he only tightened his hold on you slightly, leaning down just enough so his words were meant for you alone. “Didn’t I tell you?” His voice was warm, almost coaxing. “You’re next after my mom.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You swore the pounding of your heart could be heard over the soft music playing in the store.

Jay’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down your lower back, his thumb tracing idle circles against the fabric of your dress. “Relax, pretty,” he murmured, voice so soft it made your breath catch. “I got you.”

You turned your face slightly toward him, your protest barely a whisper. “Jay, this is way too much. I can’t—”

But he wasn’t looking at you; his sharp eyes were fixed on the velvet tray, the glint of gold reflecting in them as if he were memorizing every curve and clasp of the pieces. With a quiet hum, he nodded as though making a final decision.

“We’ll take the whole set,” Jay said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Thank you.”

The assistant’s eyes lit up with professional delight as she gave a small bow. “Of course, sir. I’ll have them prepared for packaging right away. Would you like them gift-wrapped?”

“Two separate wraps,” Jay replied smoothly, his hand still anchored at your waist.

You blinked up at him, still trying to form words, your stomach doing an anxious flip at his casual declaration. “Park Jong—”

“Shh,” he hushed you gently, giving your side a little squeeze. “You’re not talking me out of this.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he said, his tone playful yet resolute. “Didn’t I say I’d spoil you today?”

You could only sigh in defeat, your shoulders dropping as he laced your fingers together again. He led you toward the cashier with an easy stride, handing over his black card like it was second nature.

The assistant, all smiles and bows, handed him the elegantly wrapped Tiffany bags with a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”

Jay took them with one hand, the other still holding yours, and nodded politely. “Thank you.”

As the two of you stepped out of the store, the cool breeze brushing past, Jay glanced at you and chuckled softly. “Stop frowning. We’re just starting our date.”

You gave him a side-eye, your brow raised in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me you’re going to keep wasting your money on me.”

He let out a short huff, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “It’s not wasting,” he corrected, his voice bordering on mock offense. “I’m spoiling you because I want to.”

“Jay—”

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head, a grin spreading across his face. “No arguments. Now come on.”

Before you could say anything else, he was tugging you gently toward another store just a few doors down. It wasn’t until you looked up at the glass windows that your heart sank further.

“Dior? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously,” he said casually, pushing the door open and guiding you inside.

You barely had time to admire the pristine interior before Jay was leading you straight to the makeup section, his expression smug. “Here’s the deal,” he said, stopping in front of the counter filled with rows of lipsticks and foundations. “We are not leaving this store unless you walk out with at least three full paper bags of products.”

Your jaw nearly hit the floor as you turned to him with wide eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’m dead serious.” He leaned slightly, so close you could smell the faint trace of his cologne. “Pretty girls deserve pretty things. And I don’t want to hear a word of protest.”

“I don’t even wear that much makeup!” you argued, heat rising to your cheeks.

Jay chuckled, the sound low and far too amused for your liking. “Don’t act like I haven’t seen your lip gloss collection,” he teased, reaching out to tap the tip of your nose with his finger.

Your jaw dropped slightly. “Excuse me? How do you—”

He shrugged nonchalantly, a boyish grin tugging at his lips. “Plus, Kazuha told me—said you only buy those when you do well on your performances.”

He leaned against the pristine white counter, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on you like you were the only person in the room. “So consider this a little pregame before college week.”

“Jay—” you groaned, trying to bury your face in your hands, but he was faster. He gently pulled your hands away, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent your heart tumbling.

“What?” he said, tilting his head slightly, that soft smile still plastered on his face. “You’re cute when you’re flustered. Now, pick your favorites, or I swear I’ll empty out this entire store if I have to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying your best to look stern. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.” He raised a brow, already reaching for a display of blush compacts and handing you one. “Here, this one’s perfect for you. See how soft the color is? Matches how your cheeks look right now.”

You groaned again, fighting the smile threatening to break free. “I’m never going shopping with you again.”

The soft glow of golden chandeliers bathed the rooftop restaurant in warmth, the classical music weaving gently through the quiet hum of conversations around you.

The plates in front of you were long forgotten, your laughter spilling into the air as Jay recounted stories about his family.

“…and I swear, my mom has this weird habit of showing off my most embarrassing childhood photos to every single guest whenever I bring the guys over. Like, full-on photo albums—me with missing teeth, crooked bowl cuts, the works.”

You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand as you leaned just slightly closer to him. “You? Bowl cuts? No way.”

Jay’s lips curved into a sheepish grin, his shoulder brushing against yours. “Oh, it was tragic. Jungwon still brings it up whenever he wants to piss me off.”

Your eyes flickered across the booth, landing on the small mountain of shopping bags piled neatly on the seats across from you. Dior, Tiffany, Prada, Chanel—little luxury boxes tied with ribbons—it was enough to make your head spin. Jay noticed, following your gaze.

“There’s a lot more coming, you know,” he said softly, swirling the wine in his glass with practiced ease. “This isn’t going to be our last date. I promise.”

Your lips parted slightly at his words, but before you could speak, he reached out and gently took your hand in his, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Yeah?” you murmured, warmth blooming in your chest as you tilted your head to look at him.

“Yeah.” His smile softened, almost boyish, as his dark eyes lingered on yours. “You’re stuck with me now, pretty girl.”

A quiet laugh escaped your lips as you leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling his body relax against yours. You caught the faint scent of his cologne—woodsy and warm—comforting in the cool night air drifting in from the open balcony doors.

Jay pressed a lingering kiss to the crown of your head, his fingers lacing with yours. “This feels right, doesn’t it?” he murmured against your hair.

Your chest tightened at his words, but you found yourself nodding slightly, voice barely above a whisper. “It does.”

For a fleeting moment, Jay’s thumb brushed over your knuckles like he wanted to say more—like there was something heavy sitting in his chest that he couldn’t quite push out.

But before either of you could name whatever this was, you let out a quiet sigh and broke the moment.

“It’s getting late,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone light. “Should we head back?”

Jay blinked at you, lips parting as if to protest, but he caught himself. Instead, he gave you the smallest smile, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. Let’s get you home, pretty girl.”

He slid out of the leather booth first, his movements fluid and effortless, then turned back to you with his hand outstretched. “Come on.”

You placed your hand in his, letting him help you up. His grip was warm—steady.

“Thanks,” you whispered, still avoiding his gaze, and he just hummed softly in response.

With surprising ease, Jay gathered the mountain of luxury paper bags in one arm, the soft crinkle of expensive packaging filling the air.

He somehow still managed to keep your small bag slung on his shoulder, his free hand gently finding its place at your lower back as he guided you toward the exit.

The receptionist bowed politely as you approached. “Have a lovely evening,” they said warmly, already reaching to press the elevator button for you both.

“Thank you,” Jay said with a polite nod, flashing them a brief, charming smile before glancing down at you. “Did you have fun?”

You nodded, lips curling faintly despite the whirlwind in your chest. “Yeah. More than I thought I would.”

“That’s good,” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and laced with something unreadable.

You hummed softly as you both stepped inside the elevator, the golden lights reflecting off the polished walls. You leaned ever so slightly into him, and Jay—like it was second nature—wrapped an arm securely around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Still,” you murmured, tilting your head up to glance at him. “You went overboard.”

He smirked down at you, eyes crinkling in that boyish way that made your stomach flip. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “Jay—”

The soft ding of the elevator cut you off as the doors slid open to reveal the lobby. He held you against him a second longer before gently guiding you forward, his hand never leaving your lower back.

The warm night air kissed your skin as you both stepped outside. Jay led you down the steps and toward his car parked in front of the restaurant—its sleek black frame glinting under the streetlights like something out of a movie.

He popped the trunk open, and your mouth fell open slightly at the sight. A pile of designer paper bags stared back at you like a monument to today’s extravagance.

You turned to him, eyes narrowing in playful disbelief. “Overboard,” you said flatly, crossing your arms.

Jay only chuckled, completely unbothered as he placed the last few shopping bags carefully into the trunk. “That’s called giving my girlfriend the love she deserves.”

“Girlfriend,” you echoed under your breath, testing the word again like it was foreign.

He shut the trunk with a soft thud and turned back to you, his grin widening at your expression. “Don’t give me that look. I warned you, didn’t I? Spoiling you is non-negotiable.”

You sighed dramatically as he guided you to the passenger seat, his hand warm and steady on your back. “Men. I swear.”

Jay’s laughter followed you as he opened the car door for you. “You say that now, but you didn’t seem to mind when I carried your bag earlier,” he teased.

You shot him a glare as you settled into the seat. “That’s different. That was chivalry, not… whatever this is.”

He leaned in slightly, smirking as he buckled your seatbelt for you. “This is me making sure my ballerina never forgets how much she means to me—even if it’s fake.”

Your breath caught for a second at the way his voice softened at the end. But before you could respond, he closed the door gently and rounded the car, slipping effortlessly into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life, low and smooth, as Jay pulled the car out of the parking lot. The night had settled into a quiet calm, the streets of Seoul mostly empty now, save for the occasional taxi or late-night pedestrian.

Jay’s thumb rubbed lazy circles on your thigh, his other hand steady on the wheel as he drove.

You, on the other hand, toyed absentmindedly with the silver bracelets dangling off his wrist, watching the way they caught the dim lights from passing streetlamps.

He hummed along with the tune, the sound so low it almost blended with the music. As the car slowed to a red light, Jay turned his head slightly, his eyes soft and warm in the glow of the traffic signal.

“Do you wanna go on another one next week?” he asked, voice careful but hopeful.

Your lips curved into a small smile as you met his gaze. He looked so devastatingly gentle in that moment, the boyishness in his expression completely disarming. “I’d like that,” you replied softly.

A sound of approval rumbled from his chest, and he gave your thigh a gentle squeeze before turning his attention back to the road as the light flicked green.

You bit back a grin, tracing little patterns over the back of his hand with your fingertips before speaking up again. “I forgot to tell you something.”

“Mmhm?” Jay glanced at you, brows raising slightly in curiosity.

“I was talking to my older brother yesterday on call,” you began, fiddling with the hem of your dress now. “And, well… he may or may not have spilled to my parents that I’m dating someone.”

Jay barked out a laugh, the sound echoing through the car as he shook his head in disbelief. “Oh, really now?” he teased, giving your thigh another squeeze that made you squirm slightly in your seat.

“Don’t laugh!” you said with mock indignation, though your cheeks were already heating. “He didn’t even let me explain it’s fake—he just went on and on about how ‘finally, she has a boyfriend.’”

Jay grinned, eyes flicking to you briefly with a glint of amusement. “Well… maybe it’s not such a bad thing. At least now they’re expecting me too.”

You shot him a look. “Jay—”

“What?” he said innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “I should thank your brother for making my life easier. Guess we’re both meeting the parents soon, huh?”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands as he laughed again, his fingers tapping affectionately against your thigh like he was enjoying every second of your flustered state.

“Relax, pretty. We’ll survive this,” Jay said warmly. “Besides, fake or not, I’ll make a good impression.”

“You better,” you replied with a teasing side glance, though your stomach flipped at how easily he said it—like meeting your parents wasn’t a terrifying milestone but just another thing on his to-do list.

Jay smirked, the corners of his lips twitching upward as he took a sharp turn into a shortcut you recognized. The streetlights flickered overhead, casting soft, fleeting shadows across his face.

“I’m pretty sure your brother and I would get along just fine,” he said confidently, eyes flicking to you briefly before returning to the road.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Good luck with that. He hates every boy that so much as breathes in my direction.”

Jay chuckled at that, the sound low and amused as he neared the university gates. His car slowed to a crawl as he scanned his ID, the gate lifting lazily to let him through.

“First of all,” he began, his voice carrying that trademark confidence, “I’m not a boy. I’m a man. And second…” He glanced at you again, something softer now in his eyes. “You don’t have to overthink this, (Y/N). Trust me—I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You looked at him, studying the little details in his expression. The sharp line of his jaw, the slight curve of his lips, the uncharacteristic gentleness in his gaze. With a small sigh, you admitted, “I trust you. Enough, at least.”

Jay’s grin widened like you’d just handed him the win in some unspoken game. “Good. Because I won’t let you down.”

As he turned down the road that ran alongside the university’s field, his tone shifted—lighter, more teasing. “So, it’s this Sunday, huh?”

“Mm-hm,” you murmured, fiddling with the hem of your dress again.

Jay laughed, shaking his head as he cruised past the empty bleachers and toward your dorm building. “Cute. My parents this Saturday, then yours the next.”

You gave him an incredulous look, your brows knitting together. “You make it sound like we’re actually—”

“Dating?” he finished for you smoothly, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in a small, knowing smirk.

Your face heated instantly, and you quickly looked away, glaring out the window to hide it. “Shut up.”

But Jay only chuckled, pulling to a stop in front of your dorm and shifting the car into park. “Relax, pretty. One step at a time.”

You smiled at him softly, your heart still doing that ridiculous fluttering thing it always seemed to do around him. Jay unbuckled his seatbelt, pushing his door open and stepping out into the cool night air.

You followed him with your eyes as he rounded the sleek car with unhurried steps, the faint sound of his leather shoes against the pavement oddly comforting.

He opened your door with ease, offering his already outstretched hand. “Let’s go, pretty,” he said with that small grin that made your chest ache in the most confusing way.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased lightly, slipping your hand into his.

“Always,” he replied, helping you out of the car with a gentle tug.

He didn’t let go as he moved to the trunk, popping it open to reveal the small mountain of designer shopping bags. You were about to reach for your share when his hand darted out, his voice firm yet playful. “No.”

You blinked up at him. “Jay—”

“Nope,” he interrupted smoothly, gathering your bags with one arm and slinging them on his arm effortlessly. “What did I say about letting me spoil you? Hands off.”

“Meanie,” you muttered, trying to hide your fond smile as he came back to your side.

“And yet, here you are,” he said, intertwining his fingers with yours as though it was second nature. The warmth of his palm against yours made something in your stomach flip.

The two of you walked toward the dorm entrance, the sound of your shoes clicking softly against the tiled floor as you headed to the nearest elevator. Jay pressed the button, and to your surprise, the doors slid open immediately.

Inside, the ride was quiet—not the awkward kind, but the sort that felt calming. Comfortable.

Jay’s thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles, and you caught yourself sneaking a glance at him, only to find him already looking down at you with the faintest of smiles.

The elevator dinged, and you both stepped out, walking side by side down the familiar hallway until you reached your door. You stopped, turning to him with a small smile and nodding at the number plate.

“Well… this is my stop.”

Jay smiled back, his hand still securely holding yours like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. “Looks like it.”

You unlocked the door and pushed it open, gesturing inside. “Just drop the bags here. I’ll sort them out later.”

He obeyed, setting the bags neatly by the door before straightening to his full height again. Behind him, Doobu was sitting on your bed, tail flicking lazily. Jay’s face brightened at the sight.

“Hey there, little princess,” he greeted softly, earning a slow blink and a small meow from your cat. Jay chuckled. “I think she likes me more than your brother will.”

You laughed as you stepped closer to him. “Don’t push your luck.”

Jay turned back to you, his smile softening into something that made your breath catch for the hundredth time that day. “I really hope you had fun, (Y/N). And not just because you’re trying to spare my ego or something.”

You tilted your head at him, your hand resting lightly on his chest. “Jay,” you started, your voice warm, “I really did. Thank you. For all of this. You didn’t have to, but—you did. So… thank you.”

His hand slipped to your waist, pulling you gently closer. The scent of his cologne hit you all over again—clean, warm, undeniably Jay.

Before you could overthink it, you leaned up onto your toes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He stilled instantly, eyes blinking wide as if his brain short-circuited.

You grinned, barely holding back a giggle as you pressed another kiss to the same spot, lingering just a second longer this time.

Jay let out a sharp laugh, his ears faintly pink. “You little tease,” he murmured, his voice lower now, playful yet slightly dazed.

You laughed, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Get used to it, Decelis’ finest guitarist.”

His grin widened at the nickname, his thumb brushing over your side in a way that sent shivers up your spine. “Oh, I already am.”

And just before he finally, reluctantly stepped back toward the door, he gave you one last look—soft, boyish, and so devastatingly warm. “Goodnight, pretty. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Jay,” you whispered, leaning against the doorframe as you watched him leave.

You sat stiffly in the passenger seat, a pristine white cake box resting delicately on your lap. Your fingers absently toyed with the soft pink ribbon tied neatly around it, occasionally brushing against the glossy strawberries glistening on top of the cheesecake visible through the clear window.

With your other hand, you fiddled with the necklace resting against your collarbone—the same gold chain Jay had bought you two days ago. It felt heavier than usual today, like it carried the weight of your thoughts.

You sighed. Again.

Jay, who had been stealing glances at you from the driver’s seat, finally let out a quiet sigh of his own. Without saying a word, he reached over and gently pried your fingers from the pendant, intertwining your hand with his instead.

He lifted it to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your knuckles before letting your joined hands rest on his thigh.

“Relax, (Y/N),” he said, his tone warm but firm. “They’re going to love you. Yeah?”

You bit your lip and turned to him with a pout. “You say that like it’s a guarantee.”

“It is.” His voice didn’t waver, not even a little.

The car slowed as the light ahead turned red, and Jay smoothly brought it to a stop. You shifted slightly in your seat, twisting to face him fully. “Jay,” you murmured softly, “come closer for a second.”

He raised a brow but leaned in obediently, his warm brown eyes meeting yours in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun.

You reached up, brushing a stubborn strand of his dark hair away from his forehead, tucking it gently back into place. Your fingers brushed the rim of his glasses as you pushed them slightly up the bridge of his nose.

“There,” you said with a satisfied little smile. “Done.”

Jay’s lips quirked, but he didn’t lean back. “That was it? You called me over just to fix my hair and glasses?”

“And to tell you,” you added, pulling away slightly as you eyed him with mock seriousness, “that you really look like a human strawberry right now.”

For a moment, Jay blinked at you. Then, his laughter filled the car, warm and rich. “A strawberry? Really?”

“I’m serious!” you insisted, pointing at his outfit with your free hand. “When you said you wanted to match, I thought you were joking. But no—you actually showed up in a pink button-up.”

Jay glanced down at his shirt with an exaggerated frown. The sleeves were rolled up neatly to his elbows, two buttons undone at the top just enough to reveal the thin silver chain resting against his collarbone.

He shifted slightly in his seat, his black dress pants stretching as he adjusted. “And what’s wrong with that?” he teased. “I happen to pull off pink extremely well, thank you very much.”

You snorted. “I didn’t say it looked bad. Just… sweet. Soft. Strawberry-like.”

“Soft, huh?” He tilted his head at you, his grin morphing into something more boyish. Then, as if to flip the tables, he reached out suddenly, tucking a stray piece of your hair behind your ear with gentle fingers.

“I think it’s cute,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek in a fleeting touch. “Matching with you like this? Feels right.”

The air between you seemed to still for a moment. Your breath caught as you took in the sight of him—his pink shirt, the faint scent of his cologne, and those warm, steady eyes.

Jay’s gaze softened even more as he caught it. Without saying a word, he brought your joined hands to his lips again, pressing another featherlight kiss to your knuckles before returning his hand to rest on your thigh.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the car turned smoothly into a private driveway, making you pause as your surroundings shifted.

Your eyes widened at the sight ahead—fresh flower beds lining both sides of the pavement in neat rows, bursts of color blooming under the watchful hands of gardeners tending to them carefully.

The faint scent of roses and jasmine carried into the car through the slightly cracked window.

“Jay,” you whispered, in awe.

He only hummed, lips tugging into a knowing smile as he slowed to a stop in front of tall black gates. A security guard stationed in a small booth glanced up, instantly recognizing the sleek car.

As Jay drove further in, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring at the grand fountain in the center of the roundabout, water cascading down in elegant streams.

The driveway curved around it, leading to a cluster of parked luxury cars on one side and the towering white doors of the house ahead.

Your fingers unconsciously tightened around the ribbon on the cake box still resting in your lap.

“Relax, okay?” Jay’s voice cut through your daze, warm and steady as always. “Breathe. They’re going to love you.”

You turned your head to him, biting your lip nervously, but his reassuring smile was enough to make your shoulders ease—just a little.

The car rolled into the nearest empty space, and Jay shifted it into park before cutting the engine. Without giving you a chance to fumble with the door handle, he was already out, rounding the car in confident strides.

He opened your door smoothly, his hand reaching for the cake as his other wrapped snugly around your waist once you stepped out.

His thumb rubbed small circles against your side, calming you in the middle of your racing thoughts.

“You’ve got this,” he murmured, his voice low just for you. “Promise.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but your words got stuck in your throat as your eyes shot up at the sound of the white doors opening.

A tall, graceful woman stepped out, dressed in an elegant but simple dress that somehow made her presence even more commanding.

She smiled warmly the second her eyes landed on the two of you, and your stomach twisted in nervous knots.

Jay’s grip on you tightened ever so slightly as he straightened, calling out, “Hey, Mom.”

Her face lit up even more as she closed the distance, her heels clicking softly against the marble steps. She didn’t hesitate—her arms instantly wrapping around her only son in a tight hug.

“Jay,” she said with a soft laugh. “You never visit without making me wait at the door.”

He chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to her temple as he adjusted the cake in his other hand. “Didn’t expect you to be outside already.”

Her gaze flicked past him to you, and before you could so much as bow or offer a nervous greeting, her warm smile widened.

“And this must be (Y/N),” she said brightly.

You straightened, clutching your hands nervously in front of you. “Hi, Mrs. Park. It’s so nice to—”

But your sentence was cut off by a soft gasp as she closed the distance and pulled you right into a hug.

You stiffened in surprise, eyes going wide, but her embrace was so gentle, so natural, that you found yourself slowly relaxing.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she murmured with a laugh, “no need for formalities. You’re practically family already.”

You blinked at her in stunned silence as she pulled back slightly, holding you at arm’s length to get a better look at you.

Jay, still holding the cake, chuckled under his breath as his mother’s hands gently brushed at your sleeves like she was fixing invisible wrinkles.

You blinked at her in stunned silence as she pulled back slightly, holding you at arm’s length like she was memorizing every little detail of you. Her warm smile never faltered, her eyes crinkling with quiet amusement.

“You’re even prettier in person,” she said sweetly before turning her gaze—now sharper, slightly teasing—to her son. “Good taste, Jay.”

Jay smirked like he’d been waiting for that compliment all day. “I told you so.”

Before you could recover from the heat flooding your cheeks, Mrs. Park looped her arm through yours without hesitation, as though you’d known her for years.

“Come in, sweetheart. Lunch is almost ready,” she said, gently tugging you forward. “Jay’s father is upstairs taking some calls, but he’ll be down in a bit.”

The grand double doors opened fully to reveal the inside of the Park residence.

Your breath caught slightly at the sight—marble floors, high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, and tasteful pieces of art hung neatly along the cream walls.

Jay followed behind with an easy stride, the cheesecake box now in the hands of a waiting maid who bowed politely before heading toward the kitchen.

He slipped past you two to settle onto one of the elegant cream sofas in the living room, his long legs crossing as he leaned back comfortably.

“Oh yeah, Mom,” Jay said, casually resting an arm along the back of the sofa. “Your gifts are still in the car. I’ll grab them later.”

His mother turned to him so fast you thought you might’ve imagined it, clicking her tongue with mock disapproval.

“Your pretty girlfriend is sitting right in front of you, and you’re thinking about gifts for me?”

Your lips parted in a quiet giggle at the sight of them—Jay rolling his eyes while Mrs. Park fixed him with a look that could cut glass if it wanted to.

“Don’t mind him,” she said, squeezing your arm before sitting beside you gracefully. “He can be a little stupid sometimes.”

You stifled another laugh, but it slipped out anyway as you said, “Yeah. He is.”

Jay’s head snapped toward the both of you, his eyes narrowing as his jaw dropped slightly in exaggerated offense. “Wow. I visit for the first time in months, and this is what I get? Betrayal from both of you?”

Mrs. Park waved him off like a fly, completely unfazed by her son’s theatrics. “Hush.”

You bit your lip to keep from laughing as she turned her full attention to you. Her voice softened a little, though her eyes still held that spark of curiosity only a mother could have.

“So tell me, (Y/N),” she started, folding her hands in her lap. “What year are you in? Same year as Jay?”

You nodded politely. “Yes, ma’am. We’re both in third second year.”

“And your major?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

“Dance,” you replied with a small smile. “I focus mostly on ballet.”

Her eyes lit up at that. “Ballet? How lovely! Do you enjoy it?”

“I do. It’s challenging but rewarding.”

She hummed approvingly, the corner of her lips twitching up. “I’ll have to see a performance someday. Jay never stops bragging about you, you know.”

Jay, who was lazily scrolling through his phone like he wasn’t listening, immediately sat up straighter. “Mom—”

But Mrs. Park wasn’t finished. Her tone was still gentle, but there was something playful—something probing—beneath her next question.

“Do you love my son?”

The room went quiet. Jay stiffened visibly, his head snapping toward you as he muttered in a panicked voice, “Mom—”

But you didn’t let him finish.

“Yes,” you said softly, meeting Mrs. Park’s eyes with surprising steadiness.

Jay froze beside you, lips parting slightly as his brows shot up.

Mrs. Park’s smile softened into something warm—warm and knowing—as she reached over to pat your hand affectionately. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

You were about to respond, but a deep, booming voice echoed from the hallway, startling you slightly.

“Is that who I think it is?”

All three of you turned your heads at once. Jay’s lips tugged into a knowing smile, already bracing himself as a tall, broad-shouldered man came into view.

He moved with the confidence of someone who owned the room without trying. His dark hair was streaked with gray at the temples, his crisp dress shirt neatly tucked into tailored slacks, yet his grin was boyish—almost identical to Jay’s.

“Dad,” Jay greeted casually as he stood, the older man pulling his son into a tight hug and giving him a few firm pats on the back.

“And this must be (Y/N),” Mr. Park said warmly, his gaze falling on you with such familiarity that it made your stomach flutter nervously.

You began to stand out of reflex, but he waved you down with a hearty laugh. “No, no need for that.”

Still flustered, you reached out a hand to shake instead. “It’s very nice to meet you, sir.”

He chuckled, gripping your hand firmly yet gently. “Ah, so polite. I still can’t believe my future daughter-in-law is finally here.”

Your cheeks flamed instantly, heat crawling up your neck as you sputtered out a quiet, “Oh, um—”

“Dad, not you too,” Jay groaned, dragging a hand down his face as his father laughed even harder, the sound booming around the elegant living room.

“I’m just saying what your mother already confirmed,” Mr. Park teased, clapping Jay on the shoulder so hard it nearly made him stumble.

Your lips curved into a smile as you watched the two banter effortlessly. It was almost uncanny—Jay standing there with a scowl that didn’t reach his eyes, his father grinning knowingly at him.

They mirrored each other, from their sharp jawlines to the way their brows furrowed in mock annoyance.

“They’re like copies of each other, aren’t they?” a soft voice murmured beside you.

You turned your head to see Mrs. Park leaning closer, amusement dancing in her eyes as she whispered conspiratorially, “Uncanny, right?”

You nodded with a small laugh, whispering back, “Exactly alike.”

Mrs. Park straightened with a graceful sigh, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. She approached her husband, giving his arm a gentle squeeze. “Well, we’ll leave you two to talk. I should check on lunch.”

She glanced toward Jay with a knowing smile. “Jay, give (Y/N) a tour of the house, will you? Don’t let her get bored.”

“Yes, Mom,” Jay replied dutifully, though there was a faint blush creeping up his neck.

Mr. Park chuckled, his voice booming again as he teased, “And don’t keep her in one place too long. She might realize what she’s getting into.”

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, covering your mouth, as Jay scoffed and shot his dad a playful glare. “Ha. Ha. Real funny, Dad.”

Jay turned to you then, a faux pout tugging at his lips as he walked over.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and swayed you gently side to side. “And you,” he teased, narrowing his eyes fondly. “Don’t encourage him.”

You giggled, pressing your palms against his chest as he pulled back just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“I didn’t even say anything,” you defended, still laughing.

“Uh-huh. Sure.” Jay shook his head, the faintest grin tugging at his lips as he gave your hand a squeeze and started walking further into the house.

“You and your dad are so alike,” you said teasingly, eyeing their similarities—their confident stride, the way they carried their humor with ease.

Jay let out a playful groan. “Unfortunately.” He rubbed his thumb gently over your knuckles as if to distract himself from the jab, though his smile gave him away.

You giggled softly at his reaction, and the two of you continued down the long, sunlit hallway. Your eyes caught on the oversized childhood portraits lining the walls—each frame grand and polished, the photos inside capturing various milestones of Jay’s younger years.

One in particular made you slow your steps. It was a photo of him, probably no older than seven, sitting cross-legged on the grass with a toothy grin, holding what looked like a baby bird in his tiny palms. His cheeks were round, his hair a little too long and messy.

“You were so cute,” you said with a teasing lilt, pointing at the frame. “What happened?”

Jay stopped with you, his eyes landing on the photo, and a chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Well, he turned emo like you said,” he replied dryly, making you burst out laughing.

You bumped your shoulder against his playfully, and he grinned down at you as you leaned your head against his shoulder.

He tilted his head slightly so it rested gently against yours for a moment, the two of you walking in slow, comfortable strides.

“This house is so… big,” you murmured after a beat, your fingers still intertwined with his.

Jay hummed. “Too big sometimes,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t feel that way when I’m here with you.”

Your heart thudded at his words, and you chose to say nothing—just squeezing his hand gently as the hallway opened up to tall glass doors leading to the garden.

He pushed them open for you, the scent of roses and freshly cut grass greeting your senses. A soft breeze brushed past, carrying faint notes of lavender from one of the far beds.

You stepped inside and turned to take in the view—the rows of rose bushes, the way the sunlight dappled across the lawn, and the sound of birds chirping lazily in the distance.

“It’s so peaceful,” you whispered, resting your hands on the railing.

Jay stepped up behind you, his arms sliding around your waist naturally. You leaned back into him, sighing contentedly as he pressed his chin lightly to your shoulder.

“What’s in that pretty little mind of yours?” he murmured, his voice soft and low.

“Nothing,” you replied, tilting your head slightly so you could glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Your parents… they’re really nice people. It’s not as scary as I thought it’d be.”

You shifted slightly in his arms, turning enough to press a light kiss to the sharp edge of his jaw. He stilled for a moment, then exhaled, his hands tightening around your waist.

“I love the garden,” you said softly, facing forward again. “It’s so peaceful. Like, I could stay here all day.”

Jay rested his chin on the crown of your head, his fingers rubbing gentle circles against your stomach. “I used to run here a lot,” he admitted.

“Whenever I’d get sick of hearing my tutors drone on back in middle school, I’d sneak out here and just breathe.”

You chuckled quietly, craning your neck slightly to look up at him. “Very Jay of you,” you teased.

“Hey,” he said with a small huff of laughter, his lips curving upward as he looked down at you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s very you to ditch lessons and go find flowers,” you replied with a grin, reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

Jay leaned down a little, his nose brushing against your temple as he murmured, “Maybe I was waiting for someone to enjoy them with.”

Your breath caught slightly at his words, but before you could reply, a faint voice called out from the house—Mrs. Park letting you know lunch was ready.

The dining room was warm with the faint smell of garlic butter and roasted vegetables wafting through the air.

You and Mrs. Park were laughing, your hands lightly covering your mouth as Jay sat stiffly beside you, his ears tinged red as he stubbornly chewed on a carrot stick, eyes fixed anywhere but on yours.

You were mid-story, recalling with animated gestures how Jay had, for the fifth time in a row, flat-out refused to let you pay for lunch when you’d tried last weekend.

“I swear, I even sneakily handed my card to the waiter before the meal ended, and you know what he did?” you said dramatically, turning to Mrs. Park for effect. “Jay somehow still found out and slipped his in after.”

Mrs. Park gasped in mock offense, her hand flying to her chest. “No!”

“Yes!” you huffed, laughing lightly. “I mean, I understand he wants to be a good boyfriend, but please, let me pay sometimes! Just once.”

You turned to look at Jay beside you, your lips tugging into a teasing smile. “Right, Jay?”

Jay didn’t even lift his gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line as he reached across the table to take another carrot from the plate. His ears betrayed him though, glowing crimson.

Mrs. Park laughed warmly, shaking her head as she took a sip of her wine. “That’s his love language, dear. He’s been like that since he was young—refuses to let us pay for anything once he started earning on his own.”

You laughed too, resting your chin in your hand as you looked at Jay fondly. “He’s really stubborn,” you murmured with a smile, your eyes softening despite your teasing tone.