Down, down, into an endless, dark abyss. Cold water swallows her whole, dragging her under. She doesn’t fight it. She lets herself sink, her body weightless, her breath slipping away.

Somewhere above the surface, the crowd keeps cheering. But they don’t see her drowning.

Doona opens her eyes—startled.

She’s in her bed. The dim glow of the streetlights outside seeps through her curtains, casting long shadows on the floor. She exhales shakily, running a hand through her messy hair. That dream again. It always comes back.

She turns her head to the side, staring blankly at her phone on the nightstand. The screen is lit up with unread messages—her mother, her old manager, people she doesn’t want to hear from. She lets the phone fall back onto the bed, then pulls the covers over her head.

------------------------------------------------------------

Somewhere far from Seoul, you zip up your backpack, stuffing the last of your things inside.

Your small room feels even smaller now that it’s nearly empty—just a single bed, a wooden desk, and a bookshelf filled with old architecture magazines you’ve collected over the years.

You take a deep breath, letting the silence settle. This is it.

Your mother stands by the door, watching you with a bittersweet smile. “You’ll call often, right?”

“I will,” you reassure her.

Your childhood friend, who drove you here, slaps you on the back. “Don’t forget where you came from, city boy.” His car is cluttered with random things, but most notably, Dream Sweet merch covering the dashboard.

You roll your eyes at him as you load your bags into the trunk. “I don’t think Seoul’s gonna erase my memory.”

The drive is long, but eventually, the skyline of Seoul stretches out before you—tall buildings, flashing billboards, cars honking in every direction. It’s overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

You step out onto the bustling streets, suitcase in hand. This is where your new life begins.

When you finally arrive at the dormitory, it’s nothing special—just an old shared house with a narrow staircase and faded wallpaper. But it’s affordable, and that’s all that matters.

You push open the door, dragging your suitcase inside. The moment you step in, your eyes land on her.

A girl sits lazily on the couch, wearing an oversized sweater, her bare legs curled up against her. Long, dark hair falls messily over her face as she scrolls through her phone.

She doesn’t acknowledge you.

You clear your throat. “Uh… hello?”

No response.

She exhales, annoyed, and turns her head slightly to glance at you. Her gaze is sharp, cold—like she’s looking straight through you.

Then, just as quickly, she looks away.

You shift uncomfortably. Okay… weird first impression.

One of the other housemates greets you instead, giving you a rundown of the place. You listen, but your attention keeps drifting back to the girl on the couch. There’s something about her—something familiar.

Later, when you’re in your room, unpacking your things, you hear movement upstairs. The ceiling creaks as someone moves around. Then—

Thump.

A loud, impatient thud, as if someone is slamming their foot against the floor.

You pause.

Another thump. And another.

It’s coming from her room.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. This is going to be interesting.

The rest of the evening is uneventful—until you spot her on the rooftop.

She’s leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette with a distant look in her eyes. The glow of the city lights reflects off her skin, making her seem almost unreal.

Your phone vibrates.

A message.

Doona: There’s a stalker in my building.

Your brow furrows as you glance up at her.

She’s looking right at you.

The next day, you hum a tune absentmindedly as you leave for class. It’s catchy—one of those songs that sticks in your head.

A voice interrupts you.

“Don’t sing my song.”

You turn around. Doona stands behind you, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.

It takes you a second to process her words.

“…Your song?”

She scoffs. “Unbelievable. You really don’t know who I am?”

You blink. And then it hits you.

Dream Sweet.

She’s that Doona. The center. The voice. The one whose face used to be on posters everywhere.

“I—uh—” You scramble for words. “I just… realized. But I’m not a fan or anything.”

Her lips curl into a bitter smile. “Good.”

Then she turns away, lighting another cigarette. You hesitate for a moment before walking off, leaving her standing there.

That night, you come home late. The first thing you notice is Doona sitting outside in the cold, snowflakes catching in her dark hair.

She looks smaller than before.

You try to walk past her, pretending not to see. But then—

“Hey.”

You pause.

She looks up at you, her eyes slightly red. “Don’t sing my song again.”

You don’t understand why she’s saying this. But before you can ask—she starts swaying.

Then she collapses.

“Shit—” You rush forward, catching her just before she hits the ground. Her skin is freezing.

Without wasting a second, you call for an ambulance.

The hospital smells like disinfectant. You sit beside Doona’s bed, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The doctor told you she had hypothermia—her body temperature was dangerously low.

You glance at the bag in your hand. Socks. The doctor said she needed to stay warm.

With a sigh, you kneel down and gently slide them onto her feet.

She stirs slightly, her brow furrowing. But she doesn’t wake up.

You watch her for a moment longer before leaning back in the chair, exhaling deeply.

What have you gotten yourself into?

The last thing you expect after moving to Seoul is to be caught in a snowstorm with an unconscious woman in your arms.

But here you are.

The hospital is quiet, save for the occasional beeping of machines and hushed conversations between nurses.

Doona lies on the bed, looking pale and fragile under the fluorescent lights. The oversized sweater she always wears is crumpled against the sheets.

You sit stiffly beside her, staring at her sleeping face. She looks peaceful, but you can’t shake the image of her collapsing in the snow, her body limp against yours.

The door creaks open.

A nurse walks in, checking Doona’s vitals. Then she turns to you with a small smile.

“You brought her in just in time,” she says.

You glance at her. “Is she okay?”

The nurse nods. “She’ll be fine. But if you hadn’t gotten here so quickly, she might’ve developed hypothermia. You made the right call.”

You exhale, relief washing over you.

The nurse tilts her head. “Are you her guardian?”

You blink. “What?”

“Well, you brought her in, and the way you were panicking earlier…” She chuckles. “You seemed really worried about her.”

You scratch the back of your neck. “I just… happened to be there.”

She hums, clearly unconvinced.

Then, she hands you a small prescription bag.

“She needs warm socks,” the nurse explains. “Her feet were freezing. It’ll help with circulation.”

You frown. “Socks?”

“Yes. And since you’re her ‘guardian,’ you should put them on her.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not her guardian.”

The nurse simply smiles. “Then who is?”

You don’t have an answer for that.

Sighing, you glance back at Doona.

Guardian or not, you’re already involved.

Later That Night Back at the dorm, you sit on the floor with a bag of thick wool socks in front of you.

Doona stirs, shifting slightly under her blanket. She’s still asleep, her breathing steady.

You hesitate.

This feels… weird.

But the nurse told you to do it.

You kneel beside her, carefully pulling the blanket away from her feet.

She’s right—her skin is still ice-cold.

You swallow, then gently slide the socks onto her feet.

They’re warm, fresh from the store.

Once they’re on, you step back, exhaling.

It’s a small thing, but at least she won’t be cold anymore.

You glance at her face.

For the first time, she looks… vulnerable. Not the teasing, unpredictable Doona you’ve come to know.

Just a girl, sleeping quietly.

You shake your head, standing up.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter.

You turn off the light and leave the room.

Unbeknownst to you, Doona stirs again, her fingers curling slightly under the blanket.

And for the first time in a long time—she sleeps peacefully.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor fills the small hospital room. You sit stiffly in the chair beside the bed, arms crossed, eyes locked on the floor. Doona, still tucked under the blanket, stirs slightly, her fingers gripping the fabric before she finally opens her eyes.

For a moment, she blinks up at the ceiling, adjusting to the unfamiliar setting. Then, her gaze shifts to you.

A smirk tugs at her lips.

“So,” she drawls, her voice raspy from sleep, “you’re my guardian now?”

Your jaw tightens. “You heard that?”

She nods, grinning. “Every word.”

You sigh. Of course, she did.

Before you can say anything else, Doona suddenly lifts her foot and plops it onto your lap.

Your body goes rigid.

She tilts her head, watching your reaction with amusement. “Didn’t the nurse say you should put socks on me?”

You stare at her. “Doona.”

She raises a brow. “What? You don’t want to? After all, you’re my guardian, right?”

You exhale sharply, rubbing your temples. “You’re unbelievable.”

She chuckles, wiggling her toes slightly, making herself comfortable in your lap. You can feel the coldness of her skin even through the fabric of your pants.

But before you can retaliate with some remark, she sighs dramatically and looks around. “Ugh. My phone’s dead.”

She pats the bedside table, looking for a charger that isn’t there.

You glance at her. “Do you need one?”

“Obviously.” She leans her head back. “What kind of hospital doesn’t have phone chargers?”

You don’t even hesitate. Standing up, you walk toward the nurses' station.

Doona watches you, mildly surprised.

A moment later, you return, holding a charger.

“The nurse had some extras,” you say, plugging it into the outlet near her bed.

She blinks. “You actually got one?”

“Of course.” You gesture toward her phone. “Give it here.”

Still looking at you, she hands over the device. You plug it in and set it on the table.

Doona stares at the charging screen, then at you.

“You’re weird,” she murmurs.

You frown. “Excuse me?”

She shakes her head with a small laugh. “Most people would’ve ignored me. Or told me to stop being annoying.”

You scoff. “Trust me, I want to.”

She grins. “But you don’t.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you grab the socks from the bag and kneel back beside the bed.

Doona raises an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re really doing it?”

You glance at her with mild irritation. “I’d rather do this now than listen to you complain for another twenty minutes.”

She lets out a soft giggle, then shifts slightly, letting you pull the socks over her feet.

As you do, she watches you closely—studying the way you carefully adjust them, making sure they fit snugly.

It’s a simple gesture. But to her, it’s unfamiliar.

No one’s ever done something like this for her before.

When you finally finish, you sit back with a sigh. “Happy now?”

Doona doesn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she looks down at her feet, then up at you, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah,” she murmurs.

You tilt your head, confused.

But before you can ask, she shifts under the blanket and closes her eyes again, a peaceful expression on her face.

You watch her for a moment.

For the first time since you met her, she looks… at ease.

You don’t know why, but that realization lingers in your mind long after she’s fallen asleep.

------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, your phone buzzes.

Groggy, you rub your eyes and check the screen. It’s Su-jin.

Su-jin : Bad news, man. That tutoring client backed out.

You frown, sitting up.

You : What? Why?

Su-jin : She said you smelled like cigarettes. Thought you were a smoker.

Your jaw clenches. Cigarettes? But you don’t even smoke—

And then it hits you.

Last night.

You were with Doona.

Frustration boils in your chest. You needed that job. Seoul isn’t cheap, and your savings won’t last forever.

You groan, running a hand through your hair. Just great.

A knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts.

You stand up, still half-asleep, and open it.

And there she is.

Doona, crouched down on top of a package—your package.

She peers up at you with a lazy smile. “Morning.”

You blink. “…Why are you sitting on my stuff?”

“Because it’s fun,” she says matter-of-factly. “What’s inside?”

You sigh, stepping past her to pick up the package. “Textbooks.”

She scrunches her nose. “Boring.”

You shake your head, already exhausted. “Move.”

She watches you carefully, then suddenly tilts her head. “Do you wanna eat together?”

You hesitate. “No.”

She pouts. “Come on. Just breakfast.”

“I said no.”

She stares at you for a second longer, but you don’t budge.

Then, with a soft ‘tsk,’ she stands up, brushing off her oversized sweater. “Fine. Suit yourself.”

She turns on her heel and walks back to her room, her long hair swaying behind her.

You shut the door.

She’s… odd.

And yet, there’s something about her that lingers in your mind longer than you’d like.

For the next few days, Doona develops a new habit—bothering you.

It’s always the same thing.

Every morning, she waits for you by your door, inviting you to eat.

“Wanna have breakfast?”

“No.”

Every night, she somehow finds you before you even get home.

“Let’s get dinner.”

“No.”

She doesn’t seem discouraged, though. If anything, she seems amused by how persistent you are in rejecting her.

One evening, you even try changing your routine. You come home later than usual, thinking maybe—just maybe—she’ll get tired of waiting.

But the moment you step into the courtyard, you hear her voice.

“Took you long enough.”

You nearly jump. She’s sitting on the steps, arms resting on her knees.

“You—” You sigh, exasperated. “Do you do anything else besides wait for me?”

She smirks. “Nope.”

You shake your head, stepping past her. “You’re unbelievable.”

And yet, for some reason, you can’t help but laugh under your breath.

One day, as you’re hanging your laundry, she shows up again.

She leans against the railing, watching you with a lazy expression.

You finally snap. “Do you have a crush on me or something?”

Doona blinks. Then she bursts out laughing.

“You wish,” she teases.

You frown. “Then why do you keep following me around?”

She shrugs. “I just think you’re interesting.”

“You don’t even know me.”

She hums, tapping a finger to her chin. “Then let’s get to know each other.”

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

She tilts her head, then suddenly turns away.

“I was just looking for a friend,” she mutters.

Something about the way she says it makes you pause. It doesn’t sound like an excuse.

But before you can say anything, she closes her eyes and makes a wish, her hands clasped together as the early morning sun rises.

For a second, the light catches on her features—her delicate lashes, the curve of her lips, the peaceful expression on her face.

You almost forget to breathe.

You quickly look away, forcing yourself to focus on your laundry.

This girl is dangerous.

At school, you run into Jin-joo.

She returns your scarf, smiling brightly. “Thanks for this. It really helped the other night.”

You nod. “No problem.”

Your heart feels lighter around her. She’s familiar—someone from your past, someone safe.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Let’s hang out sometime.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “That’d be nice.”

The thought lingers in your mind as you put up tutoring flyers around campus.

But before you can get far, a security guard approaches you.

“Hey, take those down,” he says. “They’re not stamped.”

You frown. “Stamped?”

“You need permission to post flyers here.”

Your shoulders sink. Just your luck.

Sighing, you take them down, stuffing them back into your bag.

Another dead end.

On your way home, your phone rings.

Unknown number.

You answer. “Hello?”

A familiar voice hums through the speaker.

“Hi, tutor.”

Your eye twitches. “Doona.”

She laughs. “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

You exhale sharply. “What do you want?”

“I just wanted to check on you. You seemed really frustrated earlier,” she says, her tone light but teasing. “Wanna talk about it?”

You grip the phone tighter.

“I lost another tutoring gig today,” you admit. “Because of you.”

She hums. “Because of me?”

“I smelled like cigarettes,” you explain. “From when I carried you to the hospital.”

There’s a pause.

Then, her voice softens. “…Oh.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I’m not rich like you, Doona. I can’t just sit around all day.”

Silence.

You suddenly feel guilty.

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that.

But before you can take it back, she speaks.

“Well,” she says lightly, “I hope you find another job soon, tutor.”

And then she hangs up.

You sigh, rubbing your temples.

Why does she make everything so complicated?

The next morning, something feels… different.

You leave your room, expecting to see her waiting.

But she’s not there.

For the first time in days, Doona isn’t following you around.

You should feel relieved.

So why does it bother you?

Later, you knock on her door. No response.

You clear your throat. “Hey.”

Still nothing.

You hesitate before speaking again. “You wanted to eat, right? I’m free now.”

Silence.

You sigh, rubbing the back of your neck. Maybe you really pissed her off.

You walk away.

Days pass. Doona avoids you.

She doesn’t call, doesn’t wait outside your door, doesn’t bother you.

It’s… quiet.

Too quiet.

And for some reason, you miss her presence.

Then, one day, during your lecture, the classroom door suddenly swings open.

And there she is.

Doona walks in casually, ignoring the professor’s protests.

Your classmates whisper amongst themselves, some of them recognizing her.

She strolls up to your desk and leans down.

“You said you’d take me out to eat,” she says. “So let’s go.”

You sigh. “Can’t this wait until after class?”

She pouts. “No.”

You glance at your professor, who looks too shocked to say anything.

“…Fine,” you mutter, standing up.

She grins. “Good choice, tutor.”

As you follow her out, you can’t help but shake your head.

This girl is going to be the death of you.

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