#kpopfics

The first time you realized Soobin kept things, it was by accident.

You weren’t supposed to see it.

He’d left his notebook open on the desk while he went to grab something, and you, being you—leaned over out of boredom more than curiosity.

It wasn’t notes. It was… random. A receipt. A dried leaf. A candy wrapper.

You frowned slightly, flipping the page.

A movie ticket stub.

Another page—there was a tiny pressed flower, carefully taped down. And then...

Your handwriting.

You froze.

It was just a scrap of paper. Torn, slightly crumpled, with a messy “don’t forget to eat!!!” written in your rushed handwriting, complete with three aggressively drawn exclamation marks.

You remembered writing it. You’d shoved it into his hand weeks ago when he skipped lunch again.

“…what are you doing?”

You nearly jumped.

Soobin was standing in the doorway, staring at you. Not angry—just… caught.

“I...uh—” You gestured helplessly at the notebook. “You collect trash?”

His ears turned red almost instantly. “It’s not trash.”

“It’s literally a candy wrapper.”

“It was from that place you like,” he muttered, walking over quickly and closing the notebook.

You blinked. “…you kept it because of that?”

He didn’t answer. Which, honestly, was an answer.

You leaned against the desk, crossing your arms. “Okay, but the leaf?”

“…you said it looked like a heart.”

You tried—really tried—not to smile.

“And the receipt?” “You were complaining about the price for ten minutes.” “I still stand by that,” you said immediately. “It was overpriced.”

A pause.

Then, softer, you added, “So you kept it?”

He shrugged, avoiding your eyes. “I just… keep things.”

“Things,” you repeated slowly. “Yeah.” “That remind you of me?”

Silence.

He scratched the back of his neck, clearly debating whether to deny it or not.

“…maybe.”

That did it.

You laughed, not in a teasing way, but something warmer—something that made him glance at you, slightly confused.

“That’s kind of cute, Soobin.”

“It’s not supposed to be cute,” he mumbled.

“Too late.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Instead, he sat down, pulling the notebook closer to him like you might steal it.

You leaned down slightly, peeking at the edge. “What else is in there?”

“Nothing.” “Liar.” “It’s just random stuff.” “Show me.” “No.”

“Show me,” you insisted, nudging his arm.

He held firm for a second—then sighed, like he knew he wasn’t going to win anyway.

“Fine. But don’t laugh.” “I won’t.”

You absolutely would.

He opened it slowly this time, flipping through the pages himself. There was more than you expected.

A bus ticket. A photo booth strip—your faces slightly blurry because you wouldn’t stop moving. A sticky note with a badly drawn star (yours again).

And then—

You pointed. “Wait, that’s from—”

“Yeah,” he said quietly.

It was from a day you barely remembered mentioning. Something small, insignificant to you.

But he had it. Saved. Pressed between pages like it mattered.

“…you’re really serious about this, huh?” you said, softer now.

He didn’t look embarrassed anymore. Just honest.

“I forget things easily,” he admitted. “So I keep stuff instead.”

You tilted your head. “But these are all… me.” “…yeah.”

There was no hesitation that time.

Something in your chest shifted.

Carefully, you reached out, touching the edge of the page where your messy note was taped down.

“You know,” you said, voice quieter than before, “you don’t have to keep pieces of paper to remember me.”

He looked at you then, really looked.

“I know,” he said.

A small pause. “…but I want to.”

That landed heavier than anything else he’d said. You didn’t tease him this time. Didn’t laugh. Instead, you tore a small piece from your own notebook, quickly scribbling something before placing it in front of him.

He blinked. “What’s this?”

“Add it to your collection,” you said.

Suspicious, he picked it up. “you’re cute too (but don’t get used to it)”

His lips pressed together, like he was trying not to smile.

Failed.

“…this one’s staying,” he said. “Obviously.”

He carefully tucked it into the notebook, smoothing it out like it was something fragile.

And for the first time, you noticed—

He wasn’t just keeping things. He was keeping moments. And somehow, without you realizing...

He’d been keeping you, too.

It’s barely sunrise when you wake up to the quiet sound of movement in the kitchen.

For a second, you think you’re imagining it—Louis had insisted the night before that he wasn’t doing anything for his birthday. “Just a normal day,” he’d said, shrugging like it wasn't something worth making a big deal out of.

But of course, he was already awake.

You drag yourself out of bed, still half-asleep, and follow the faint clinking noises. When you reach the doorway, you pause.

He’s standing there in an oversized hoodie, hair messy, squinting at the stove like it personally offended him. There’s flour on his cheek—flour, somehow, and he’s holding a spatula like he’s negotiating with it.

“...Louis?”

He startles so hard he nearly drops it. “You weren’t supposed to be up yet.”

You lean against the doorframe, amused. “It’s my line. It’s your birthday.”

He looks away, ears a little red. “Yeah, well… I thought I’d make breakfast.”

You glance at the counter. It’s… chaotic. Eggs, batter, something that might’ve been pancakes in a past life.

“And this,” you say carefully, “was your plan?”

“It was going better in my head,” he mutters.

You laugh softly and walk over, reaching up to wipe the flour off his cheek with your thumb. He freezes for a moment, then relaxes, watching you in that quiet way he always does, like you’re the only thing worth focusing on.

“You don’t have to do this,” you say. “You’re supposed to be the one being spoiled today.”

He tilts his head. “I like doing things for you.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice. No teasing. Just simple, honest truth. That alone makes your chest feel a little too full.

You sigh dramatically. “Fine. But at least let me help before you accidentally burn the house down.”

“I was not—”

You reach past him and turn off the stove before the pan can prove him wrong.

He huffs, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

The two of you end up working side by side, fixing his… attempt at breakfast. It’s messy, a little chaotic, but comfortable. Every now and then your hands brush, or he leans a little too close to check something that absolutely does not need checking.

At one point, you catch him staring again.

“What?” you ask. “Nothing.” “Louis.”

He hesitates, then shrugs. “It just feels nice.”

“Making lopsided pancakes?”

“No,” he says quietly. “Being here. With you.”

That does it.

You don’t even think—you just step closer and wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his hoodie. He stiffens for half a second before immediately melting into it, arms circling you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Happy birthday,” you mumble against him.

He laughs softly, resting his chin on your head. “You’re supposed to say that after I wake up.”

“You were already up.”

“…Right.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “I have something planned, you know.” His eyes narrow slightly. “Should I be concerned?”

“Very.”

He smiles. one of those real ones, not the teasing kind. The kind that makes his eyes soften and everything else feel a little quieter.

“Then I’m looking forward to it.”

You almost feel bad—almost—remembering how he said he just wanted a normal day.

"I think you'll regret saying that..." "Oh no... what did you plan...?"

You cleared your throat, dramatically. "Alright, riddle time!"

"I go up and down.." "Elevator?" "Nope. I make your heart race..." "You. OH playing minecraft with you at home!" Louis excitedly jumped up and down.

"No bruh I'm not done with my riddle." "What is it, just tell me pleeeeaseeeee" he pleaded.

"I also twist and turn, and will keep you on the edge of your seat! What am I?"

There's a pause.

Louis blinks. "...No, you did not.."

You tilt your head innocently. "No?"

"No," he repeats, already shaking his head in fear. "Absolutely not." he said curtly.

"You didn't even answer my riddle." "I don't need to," he says, pointing at you accusingly. "It's a roller coaster."

You try to keep a straight face. "It could be something else." "It's definitely not something else." "Well, it could be."

"It's not," he insists, voice rising slightly. "You said up and down, twist and turn. What else could that even be?"

You shrug. "It could be downhill karting?"

"Be serious."

You can’t hold it in anymore—you start laughing. His eyes widen. “You are serious.”

“Surprise... Happy birthday?” you offer weakly with a sheepish smile.

“Y/n.”

You reach for his hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“No, it won’t,” he says immediately. “It’ll be terrifying.” “You haven’t even tried it.” “I’ve seen videos,” he shoots back. “People scream. That’s not a good sign.”

“That’s the fun part.” “For you.”

You step closer, tugging his hand gently. “I’ll be with you the whole time.” “That doesn’t change the fact that it goes upside down.”

“Not all of them!” “You didn’t say which one.” “…Okay, that’s fair.”

He squints at you. “You’re evil.” You beam. “And yet you’re still coming with me.”

He hesitates.

You can see the exact moment he debates it—fear versus you.

“…Do I have a choice?” he asks finally. You squeeze his hand. “Nope.”

He sighs, dramatically dropping his head back against the couch. “If I scream, I’m blaming you.” “You’re definitely going to scream.” “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” he mutters.

You grin and pull him up. “That’s fine. I’ll scream louder so no one notices.”

He lets himself be dragged along, still complaining under his breath, but his fingers tighten around yours like he’s not planning to let go anytime soon.

“…You’re holding my hand the entire time,” he adds. You glance at him. “Of course.” “…Even on the big one?”

You smile, softer now. “Especially on the big one.”

He exhales, somewhere between nervous and fond. “…Okay,” he says quietly. “Then maybe it won’t be that bad.”

“See?” you tease. “You’re already getting braver.” “Don’t push it.”

"Heh I guess it's not such a normal day after all." you teased.

"Yeah... this definitely isn't just a normal day." He huffs softly, not letting go of your hand.

---

m.list

You weren’t supposed to argue.

It had started small—something stupid, honestly. A missed call. A short reply. The kind of thing that normally wouldn’t matter.

But it did this time.

“Why do you always do this?” you snapped, arms crossed tightly. “You just disappear and expect me to be okay with it.”

Ohyul exhaled sharply, already frustrated. “I told you I was busy.”

“One message isn’t that hard.” “I did message you.” “Hours later.”

Silence.

The air between you felt so uncomfortable—too tense, too sharp.

“You’re making it a bigger deal than it is,” he said, running a hand through his hair.

And that—that—was the wrong thing to say.

“Of course I am,” you laughed bitterly. “Because it matters to me, Ohyul.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t.” “But you’re acting like it doesn’t!”

Your voice cracked slightly at the end, and you hated that it did. His expression faltered, just for a second...but pride got there first.

“I can’t always be on my phone,” he said, tone firmer now.

“I’m not asking you to be. I’m asking you to care.” “I do care!” “Then show it!”

The words hung there. Heavy. Too heavy.

Neither of you spoke for a moment. The frustration had burned itself out, leaving something quieter behind, something worse.

“…forget it,” you muttered, grabbing your bag.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

You didn’t wait for him to stop you.

----------

You thought that would be it.

A night to cool off. Maybe a message later. But the silence stretched longer than expected. Your phone stayed quiet. And the longer it did, the more your chest tightened.

Maybe you were overreacting. Maybe you pushed too hard. Maybe—

A knock interrupted your thoughts. You froze. Another knock. Softer this time. Slowly, you walked to the door and opened it.

Ohyul stood there.

He looked… different. Not angry or defensive, just tired.

“…hi,” he said.

You swallowed. “Hi.”

Neither of you moved at first.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he started, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “About you making it a big deal.”

You looked down, fingers tightening slightly around the door.

“I was frustrated,” he continued. “But that doesn’t mean you were wrong.”

That made you look up.

“And I’m sorry,” he added. “I should’ve just… texted you properly. It’s not hard.”

The sincerity in his voice made something in your chest loosen.

“I shouldn’t have yelled,” you admitted. “I was just so stressed about work recently and our schedules never seem to match up. I just really… miss you.”

That was it. That was the truth underneath everything.

His expression softened instantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked quietly, a hint of hurt in his voice. “About work, I mean… I didn’t know you were dealing with all that.”

He paused, then added more softly,

“Next time… just tell me, okay?”

Your chest tightened slightly at that and you nodded slowly.

“And... I miss you too.”

A small, fragile silence settled between you again, but this time, it wasn’t heavy. Just… careful.

“…can I come in?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping aside.

He walked in slowly, like he didn’t want to rush anything, and stopped a few steps away from you. For a moment, you just stood there, facing each other. Then he reached out.

Not fully. Just his hand, hesitating slightly in the space between you.

You took it. And that was all it took.

He stepped closer, pulling you into him gently, one hand coming up to rest at your back. You exhaled, tension you didn’t realize you were holding finally slipping away as you leaned into his touch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured against your hair.

“Me too.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes softer now, searching.

“We're okay, right?”

You nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

Then, quietly, “Come here.”

This time, when he leaned in, it felt different. It was slower and more careful, like he didn’t want to mess it up again. His lips brushed yours gently at first, almost testing. You didn’t pull away, so he took it as a sign to deepen it just slightly. Your hand curled into his shirt, holding on.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t dramatic. But it felt genuine.

When he pulled away, your foreheads rested together, breaths still uneven.

“I’ll text you,” he said softly.

You huffed a small laugh. “You better.”

“I will.”

A beat.

Then he pressed another kiss to your lips. Short, sweet, like a promise this time.

And somehow, that one felt even more certain than the last.

--- m.list

Ryul wasn't the clingy type.

At least, that's what everyone thought. And usually, they'd be right. Usually... but today? Today, something was off.

You noticed it the second he sat down next to you—closer than normal. Not obviously close, but enough that your shoulders brushed even though there was plenty of space.

"Hi?" you said, glancing at him.

"Mhm"

That was it. No teasing, no random comment. Just that quiet, lazy response.

Suspicious.

"...why are you sitting so close?" "I always sit this close to you." "You literally don't." "I do."

He finally looked at you, completely unfazed. "You keep track?"

"Um...yes??" "Kind of obsessed with me."

You stared at him. "Oh my god." But you didn't move away. Which, unfortunately, seemed to encourage him. Because a few minutes later, his arm shifted, resting along the back of your chair, just behind you. Not around you. Just... there. Like he wasn't even trying.

"Ryul, what do you want. You're being weird..." you muttered.

"Am I?" "Yes." "Feels normal." "It does not feel normal."

He hummed, like he was only half listening.

Across the room, someone called your name. You instinctively turned your head—and immediately felt it.

A light pressure at your side. You looked down.

Ryul's hand. Resting against your waist, casually, like it had always been there.

You blinked. "...what are you doing?"

"Nothing." "This is not nothing." you pointed to his hand on your waist. "It's my hand." "On me." "Yeah."

You turned back to him slowly. "Ryul."

"What." "...you're jealous." "No." "You just—"

"I just put my hand somewhere comfortable."

You let out a disbelieving laugh. "On me?"

"Yeah." "That's your argument?" "It's a good one."

You shook your head, but your heart was doing something stupid again.

"Then why now?"

He didn't answer immediately. Just glanced past you for a second, almost unnoticeable. You followed his gaze. And there it was again. The same person from earlier, hovering just a little too close, looking over like they were debating whether to come talk to you again.

You turned back, slower this time.

"...oh my god, you're actually jealous." you chuckled.

"I'm not." "You are." "I'm not." "You literally—"

His hand pressed slightly more firmly against your waist. Not enough to hurt but just enough to make a point.

You went quiet.

"Stay here," he said, voice low.

Your breath hitched a little. "I wasn't going anywhere."

"Good."

The word came out softer than you expected.

You studied his face. Still calm. Still unreadable. But his hand hadn't moved.

"You're clingy," you said. "Don't start." "You are." "I'm not." "You're literally holding me." "Barely."

You tried to shift away slightly, just to test him.

His hand tightened instantly. Not harsh. Just... not letting you go.

You froze.

"...Ryul." "What." "You didn't let me move." "I didn't stop you." "You literally did."

He tilted his head, considering that. Then, quietly, "Did you want to move?"

You hesitated. "...no." "Then it's fine."

You stared at him, completely off guard. "That's your logic??"

"Works." "It does not work." "You're still here." "...you're impossible."

Ryul shrugged, like it wasn't his problem. But his thumb started moving, tracing random shapes against your side. And that was new.

That was very new.

Your voice softened. "...you're really not going to admit you're jealous?"

"No." "Why?" "Don't need to." "Why not?"

He looked at you then, properly this time.

"Because you already know."

Your chest tightened and for a second, neither of you spoke. Then, quieter, you said, "You're actually such a soft clingy guy."

"Don't spread that around."

You huffed a laugh. "Oh, I will."

His grip shifted, sliding slightly around your waist this time, pulling you just a bit closer.

"Try it," he muttered.

You blinked. "Was that a threat?"

"Maybe." "You're actually insane." "Yeah."

But he didn't let go. Didn't even try to pretend anymore. Instead, he leaned back slightly, still holding you there, like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Stay, please." he said again, softer now.

Not possessive. Not demanding. Just... quiet.

You relaxed into him without thinking. "Okay."

A small pause. Then, almost under his breath—

"Good."

And even though he still looked completely unbothered to anyone else... his hand never left your waist.

Not once.

--- m.list

Morning: vocal rehearsals.

Afternoon: album meetings.

Evening: acting workshops.

Her manager was relentless, her team stretched thin, and her body was still reminding her it hadn’t fully recovered. She did her best to push through, but by the second week, even walking into the practice room felt like wading through water.

Still, she smiled. Still, she performed.

Because everyone was watching.

The news of the drama offer had leaked earlier than SM planned, and the entertainment sites had gone wild. Headlines called it the “casting of the year,” and her name trended for three days straight. Fans flooded her socials with messages like “Queen in hanbok, let’s go!!” and “Our Jane leading a sageuk?? Nation’s new actress incoming!”

But the weight of those expectations pressed harder than any stage lights ever had.

“Jane, focus,” the vocal coach snapped lightly, pulling her back to reality. “You missed the pitch.”

She nodded, adjusting her mic. “Sorry. Again.”

Later, in the conference room, stylists spread hanbok sketches across the table—concept designs for the drama. At the same time, another team showed her mood boards for the album photoshoot. The contrast was dizzying—regal warrior in one world, glamorous pop star in the other.

Her manager rubbed her temples. “We’ll have to stagger everything. Album teasers in December, drama filming in January… if you agree to it. But Jane—this will push you to your limits. No room for mistakes.”

Jane stared at the papers. “And if I can’t handle it?”

Her manager’s voice softened. “Then you’ll burn out before the spotlight even reaches you.”

The silence between them said everything.

By nightfall, Jane found herself back in the studio, recording guide vocals. Her throat was tired, but the song felt too personal to leave unfinished. Lyrics about carrying weight alone, about searching for a hand in the dark—it was almost like her heart had written it before her mind caught up.

She closed her eyes, pouring everything into the mic, until her phone buzzed on the table.

A message from Johnny:

She chuckled faintly.

But the next buzz wasn’t Johnny. It was a notification from a news article someone tagged her in.

“Rumored Male Lead for Jane Kim’s Drama: SM’s Jaehyun Considered.”

Her breath caught. She stared at the headline, unable to move.

Across town, Jaehyun was staring at the same article.

The group chat was already exploding with teasing messages, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

He didn’t type anything. He just sat there, phone heavy in his hand, wondering why Jane hadn’t told him herself.

That weekend, their paths finally crossed at the company building. She was coming out of a meeting; he was arriving for a quiet practice.

Their eyes met in the hallway—brief, charged, full of things unsaid.

“Jane,” he said, his voice careful.

“Jaehyun.”

A pause stretched between them, heavy with the weight of both their worlds.

“You didn’t tell me,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. “I didn’t know how.”

Another silence. Then the sound of her manager calling her name from down the hall.

She hesitated, but all she could manage was, “We’ll talk later.”

And then she was gone, leaving him standing there with more questions than answers.

That night, Jane sat alone in her room, the drama script on one side of her desk, her album notes on the other.

Pulled in every direction, she felt like she was standing on the edge of something—something that could either make her soar or break her entirely.

And somewhere in that fragile balance, Jaehyun’s name lingered, unspoken but constant.

Her mornings were dedicated to quiet recovery—short walks in the practice room instead of full rehearsals, vocal warm-ups instead of marathon recordings. In the afternoons, she met with her team to finalize concepts for her first full album. Photoshoot ideas, tracklists, choreography proposals—all piled high, demanding her attention.

Still, she forced herself to take breaks, sipping ginger tea in between meetings, lying down in the studio when her head spun. Johnny texted her every night with reminders like “sleep, you chaos gremlin”, while her manager hovered like a hawk.

But the biggest shock came during a meeting with SM’s casting division.

“Jane,” her manager said, sliding a thick script across the conference table. “This is… something huge.”

She blinked. “A drama?”

“Not just a drama,” the casting director said, eyes gleaming. “A historical epic. Production house Hwarang Films is behind it—the same studio that created the last three record-breaking sageuks. They want you for the lead role.”

Jane’s heart skipped. “Lead role?”

“They saw your variety appearances, your stage presence, and… frankly, they think you’re the only one who can pull it off,” the director explained. “You’d be playing a warrior princess, hidden as a commoner by day, a strategist at night. Strong, layered, unforgettable.”

The weight of the script in her hands felt unreal. She flipped through the first pages—battlefields, royal intrigue, secret love letters, betrayal. It wasn’t lighthearted. It wasn’t easy. It was the kind of drama people cleared their schedules to watch.

“Everyone in the industry is already buzzing about this project,” her manager added. “If you say yes, it’ll be the most anticipated drama of the year.”

Her throat tightened. “But my album…”

“That’s the tricky part,” her manager admitted. “We’ll have to coordinate carefully. Filming is grueling. The schedule will test you. But if you pull this off…”

Jane sat back, stunned. For so long, she had focused on singing, on proving herself on stage. Acting was something she thought she’d explore eventually, maybe in cameos or side roles. Not this. Not a national project that could define her career.

Later that night, she sat in her practice room, script resting on her lap, untouched. Her phone buzzed.

Jane smiled faintly, but her chest was heavy. The stars she had gazed at in the vacation house felt far away now.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered: What will Jaehyun think?

For now, she had no answers. Just a script that could change everything.

Morning rehearsals bled into afternoon meetings, and nights were swallowed by recording sessions that stretched until dawn. Jane barely remembered what her apartment looked like anymore—she only saw rehearsal rooms, sound booths, and the glow of computer screens reviewing choreography cuts.

“Take five,” the choreographer called, and Jane dropped onto the studio floor, sweat running down her temples. Her lungs burned, but her mind kept racing.

Her manager crouched beside her, handing over a water bottle. “Jane, you’re doing great. The album’s coming together faster than expected. SM is planning for your first full album release in the fall. And—”

Jane looked up, half-expecting more schedules.

“—they’re considering a solo concert next year.”

Her chest tightened—not with fear this time, but disbelief. A solo concert. My name on the stage, the lights, the crowd… It was the kind of dream she had scribbled in journals years ago, not something she expected to hear so soon.

Before she could let it sink in, another piece of news dropped.

“And there’s one more thing.” Her manager’s tone softened. “You’ve been offered the lead role in an upcoming drama.”

Jane blinked. “Drama? As in… acting?”

“Yes. A romance drama, high-profile. They want you as the female lead. The male lead hasn’t been confirmed yet, but the production team is aiming for a name that will draw attention.”

Her heart skipped, though she didn’t know why. Maybe it was nerves, maybe it was the thought of standing across from some stranger and pretending to fall in love when her own heart was still tangled with memories of a rooftop kiss.

“I’ll… think about it,” she said, breathless.

Her manager smiled knowingly. “Don’t think too long. It’s a big opportunity.”

By the end of the week, her body felt like it was running on empty.

She pushed through one last rehearsal, but her steps wavered. When the song ended, she barely made it to the side before her knees buckled. Staff members rushed forward, steadying her arms.

Her vision blurred.

“She’s dehydrated,” someone said.

“Get her IV fluids, now.”

Minutes later, Jane lay on a small cot in the company’s medical room, the faint sting of a needle in her arm, clear fluid dripping steadily into her veins.

She closed her eyes, exhaustion finally catching up to her.

Through the haze, one thought lingered:

Dreams come true. But they weigh heavy too.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, a quieter question stirred.

What happens when your dream collides with your heart?

Jane sat in the backseat of Suho’s car, forehead leaning against the cool glass. Irene hummed softly beside him in the front, scrolling through her phone. The radio played some upbeat pop song, but Jane barely registered it.

Her mind was still back at the vacation house.

Back to lanterns drifting skyward.

Back to Jaehyun’s quiet “I don’t regret it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, and the rooftop kiss replayed like it always did—unexpected, fleeting, but heavy enough to anchor itself in her chest.

By the time they pulled up to her apartment, the sun was dipping low. She dragged her suitcase upstairs, dropped it by the door, and collapsed onto her bed without even changing.

Silence. No Haechan yelling about snacks. No Johnny knocking on her door to drag her into another dumb game. Just silence.

Her phone buzzed.

She smiled faintly at that. But then another notification slid in.

Her breath caught.

Just that. Simple. But her chest tightened all the same.

She stared at the screen, fingers hovering, unsure how to respond. Anything felt too much. Too little. Too obvious.

Finally, she typed:

The three little dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

Jane set the phone down, lying back against her pillow. Her heart refused to calm.

She stared at the ceiling, the faint city glow spilling through her curtains. Life had resumed—practice schedules, work shifts, reality waiting at her doorstep.

But something had shifted.

The world looked the same.

She didn’t feel the same.