Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The bus ride from the airport had been long. Not in distance, exactly, but in the kind of slow-moving, mind-numbing way that made me feel like I’d been travelling for weeks rather than hours. Every minute stretched like elastic. By the time I’d crossed the Han River, my phone had died, and now I was dragging two suitcases, a backpack, and six months’ worth of questionable decisions through the quiet halls of Seoul National’s student admin building.

It smelled like industrial cleaner and printer paper. The kind of place where your entire university life could be boiled down to a barcode and a laminated ID card. I approached the reception desk, nudging my glasses up with the back of my wrist. My palms were sore from gripping the suitcase handles too tightly, and my hoodie was bunched and heavy where my backpack straps had pressed in.

The woman at the desk didn’t look up right away. She was flipping through a folder, occasionally tapping on her keyboard with the edge of a manicured fingernail. I cleared my throat quietly.

“Hi. I’m here for check-in. Emergency housing. Y/N.”

She glanced up, blinking once before nodding. “Transfer student?”

“Yes. Media and Communications.” I said it too fast, like I’d been rehearsing it in my head the entire ride over. Which I had.

She turned to her screen and began typing. “Second-year transfer… arrived today… Ah, yes. Emergency allocation due to late admin approval. We’ve had a few of those this week.”

I didn’t say anything. I already knew I wasn’t supposed to be here. Not really. The transfer had been rushed. I’d applied over winter break and gotten my acceptance early in January. There hadn’t been time for proper accommodation arrangements or a campus tour, or even a roommate questionnaire. Just a clipped email with bold instructions: Check in at the main admin office upon arrival. Temporary housing will be provided.

It had felt like a lifeline at the time. Like Seoul was my shot at resetting everything that had gone sideways in Busan.

The woman slid a clear plastic sleeve across the desk. Inside was a keycard, a printed map, and a small welcome booklet in cheerful fonts that didn’t match the dull grey walls surrounding us.

“You’ve been assigned to Building C, Room 302. That’s one of the overflow dorms used for special cases. It’s not far. Just across the central quad and past the café. There’s a lift inside.”

I frowned slightly as I reached for the sleeve. “Overflow dorms?”

“They’re the last available rooms,” she said simply, already turning to grab a printed slip from a tray. “It’s all noted in the agreement you signed online. These overflow dorms are used for late placements and transfer students. Housing is tight this term. Just for a month while we finalise permanent housing.”

She placed the slip beside the welcome pack and tapped the corner twice. “You’ve got your own keycard, and if anything’s missing or feels off, let the housing supervisor know during your first-week check-in.”

I opened the sleeve and looked at the keycard. My name was printed in bold serif letters, just above a barcode. It felt cold. Official. Like something I couldn’t back out of now, even if I wanted to.

I nodded, even though something uneasy had started crawling beneath my skin. The woman’s tone was pleasant, but distant, like she’d recited the same set of instructions at least a dozen times that day. Nothing about this arrangement felt particularly thought-through.

I tried to keep my voice steady. “So… I’ll be sharing the room?”

“Yes,” she replied. “But you’ll have your own space. If you have any concerns, you can come back during office hours.”

My stomach tightened. I didn’t have the energy to push back. Not after lugging myself across the country in one massive emotional sprint. Not after sleeping on my sister’s lumpy sofa for three weeks while waiting for my paperwork to clear. Not after stuffing my life into boxes and walking away from everything familiar without saying goodbye to anyone who really mattered.

This was what starting over looked like. Awkward, uncomfortable, and sharing a room with a complete stranger.

The woman handed me one last slip of paper. “Wi-Fi details are here. Orientation for transfers is next week, but you can visit the student services office if you need anything before then. Oh, and welcome to Seoul National.”

I gave her the kind of polite smile you give someone when you’re too tired to mean it. “Thanks.”

Turning away from the desk, I dragged both suitcases behind me. Their wheels bumped and caught on the tiled floor as I stepped out into the soft glare of late afternoon. The quad was mostly empty. A few students lounged under the bare trees, heads bent over textbooks or drinks, chatting quietly under scarves. Winter sunlight cut across the pavement in golden slants. It should have felt like a fresh start. Clean. Full of potential.

But all I could feel was how badly I didn’t fit.

Transferring had been my decision. I kept telling myself that. Over and over. I’d sat at my family’s kitchen table not too long ago, buried in a mess of failed coursework and mounting doubts, and made a list. Pros and cons. My old programme, Accounting, went straight into the cons column. My ex-boyfriend’s name was circled, then crossed out. Twice. The words “creative freedom” were scribbled in the margin beside a question mark.

I knew it wasn’t working. The coastal campus, the people who never really saw me, and a major that felt like a polite compromise. I’d chosen my degree to keep the peace. Chosen my friends because they were already there. Chosen my boyfriend because he made me feel less invisible, even if most of the time he also made me feel small.

I tried so hard to convince myself it would all click eventually. That I’d just needed to try harder. Smile more. Stay quiet. Follow the plan. I’d spent a year forcing a version of myself to survive.

By the time winter break rolled around, I couldn’t do it anymore. The panic attacks had been getting worse. One night, I opened the Seoul National website and just applied. I didn’t tell anyone until the acceptance letter came. Changed my major to Media and Communications. Booked a one-way ticket. Packed everything I could carry and left the rest behind.

I didn’t come here to start over. Not exactly. I came here to reclaim something I’d buried under other people’s expectations.

And now I was here. Standing on a quiet campus with a keycard and a printout. About to live with a stranger. Far from home, even if home hadn’t felt like mine in a long time.

I adjusted the straps on my backpack, exhaled slowly, and started following the signs pointing towards Building C.

Building C looked exactly like the kind of place that got labelled as “temporary housing.” The lobby was sterile and beige, lit with flickering fluorescent panels and filled with the soft hum of vending machines that looked like they hadn’t been restocked since last semester. The walls were lined with bulletin boards, half of them peeling, and the other half crowded with faded posters for clubs and events that had already passed.

I dragged my suitcases through the entrance and found the lift tucked in a corner between a recycling station and a notice about quiet hours. I pressed the button and waited, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Everything echoed in here. Every drag of a suitcase, every zip adjustment, every small breath. It made me feel too loud.

When the lift arrived, I stepped inside and hit the button for the third floor. The doors started to slide closed, slowly and reluctantly.

Then a deep voice called out, “Hold the door?”

I pressed the open button just in time.

A guy stepped in, breathless but smiling. He was slim, with bleached blond hair and a face so delicate it looked like someone had drawn him into existence. Ethereal was the only word that came to mind.

He smiled at me as the doors slid shut again. “Thanks. First day?”

I hesitated. “Is it that obvious?”

He laughed softly, not unkindly. “Only because you look like you’re about to drop everything and bolt. And obviously, the suitcases.”

That made me laugh a little, despite myself. “I’ll be fine. Just finding my room.”

“Want help?”

“No, I’ve got it. Thanks.”

He nodded, then offered his hand. “I’m Felix, by the way. I live in 310. If you need anything—corkscrew, printer, mental breakdown supplies—me or my roommate, Jisung, probably have it.”

I shook his hand, surprised by how easy he made it feel. “Y/N. 302.”

“Nice! You're just down the hall.”

I hesitated for a second, shifting my grip on the suitcase handle. “Wait, if this is temporary housing… why are you living here?”

Felix grinned. “Ah, yeah. That’s a bit of a story. When we first moved in, Jisung and I kind of… redecorated. As in, full makeover. Painted the walls, put in shelves, rearranged literally everything. It wasn’t technically allowed, but we made it feel like home, you know?”

I raised an eyebrow. “And they let you stay?”

“Well, they said we’d have to undo everything if we wanted to move into the permanent dorms. Lose our deposit and everything. So we just kept it. It’s not bad, honestly. We meet loads of people cycling through. Makes things more interesting.”

Something tells me Felix got away with a lot of things.

The lift dinged, and the doors opened to the third floor. I stepped out, pulling my suitcases with me.

Felix pointed down the opposite corridor as he exited the elevator. “I’m this way. Don’t be a stranger, yeah?”

I nodded. “Thanks, Felix.”

He gave a little salute before heading off. I turned in the other direction, the faded carpet muting the sound of my suitcase wheels, towards whatever version of chaos was waiting behind the door marked 302.

I followed the numbers along the corridor until I found it. The door was slightly ajar.

Great.

I nudged it open slowly with my foot, half expecting a storage closet or empty space. Instead, I was hit with the sharp tang of acrylic paint and something vaguely citrusy. The room looked like a storm had passed through. Canvases leaned against every available wall, some half-covered with fabric, others still dripping in bold smears of colour. Sketchbooks were stacked haphazardly on the desk. There were clothes thrown over the back of a chair, a half-eaten container of instant noodles balanced precariously on a windowsill, and—

A very shirtless man.

He was standing near the far side of the room, holding a large canvas, completely focused on whatever he was doing. His black hair was tied back messily, neck and collarbones dusted in specks of deep blue paint. When he finally turned to face me, he froze.

We both did.

He blinked. Slowly. Then tilted his head. “You’re not food delivery.”

I stared at him. “You’re not supposed to be half-naked.”

His eyes dropped to his chest like he’d forgotten. “Right. Well, this is my room, so...” He made no move to fix it.

I set my suitcases and backpack down a little harder than I needed to. “I’m Y/N. This is supposed to be my room, too.”

“That explains the suitcases,” he said, finally putting down the canvas. “Admin didn’t say when they’d send someone.”

I stepped further in, carefully navigating between two canvases leaning against each other. The room itself was narrow but functional. Two single beds were pushed against opposite walls, with a desk and chair beside each. One bed was unmade, blankets twisted, and a hoodie half-hanging off the edge. The other was barely visible under a pile of clothes, sketchbooks, and what looked like a crushed takeaway bag. Paint-stained rags were tucked under one of the desks, and the only clean surface in sight was the windowsill, where a cactus sat bravely surviving.

“You could’ve tidied,” I said, trying not to sound too horrified.

He raised a brow. “I didn’t know you were coming today.”

“Well, I didn’t know I’d be walking into a paint explosion and a bare chest, so I guess we’re even.”

He smirked at that, unapologetic. His gaze swept over me once, not in a creepy way, just curious. Appraising. “You always this uptight?”

“Only when strangers take up ninety percent of a shared room.”

He laughed, and it irritated me. He was ridiculously attractive. The kind of face you’d expect to see in a magazine ad for cologne or unaffordable high-end fashion. Defined jawline, soft mouth, eyes sharp enough to cut. And somehow, that just made everything worse. Because I was definitely not in the mood to be charmed by someone who lived like a disaster.

He crossed his arms, paint streaks and all. “Name’s Hyunjin.”

“Y/N.”

“Cool.” He gestured vaguely to the mess behind him. “You can take the bed near the window. I don’t use it much.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What do you mean, you don’t use it much?”

He gave a shrug, as if that explained everything. “I paint late. Usually fall asleep wherever.”

Of course he did.

I dragged my bags toward the window without another word, jaw tight. One look at the cluttered bed made it clear I had no choice. I dropped my backpack and started shifting his stuff - sketchbooks, tangled jumpers, a few crumpled receipts - stacking everything into a precarious pile on his desk. He wandered over just long enough to grab a hoodie and toss a half-finished sketchbook out of the way, helping in the barest, most minimal sense, then returned to his canvas like I wasn’t even there.

This was going to be a long month.

Not just because he was messy and arrogant and clearly allergic to basic boundaries, but because he was a guy. A complete stranger. Who didn’t even blink at answering the door shirtless or leaving his stuff all over what was supposed to be a shared space.

It wasn’t that I thought he’d do anything. It wasn’t even about that. It was the principle of it. The discomfort of having to be constantly aware. Of keeping a towel hung just right and thinking twice before walking around in pyjama shorts. Of knowing that someone I didn’t know, didn’t want to know, was always going to be there, breathing in the same space, painting in the corner like this was his studio, and I was the one intruding.

I’d fought so hard for a fresh start. For a space to rebuild and reset. But space didn’t feel like something I was going to get here. Not with Huynjin taking up all the air.

I cleared my throat.

He didn’t look up. I rolled my eyes and audibly sighed.

“I’m going to the admin office,” I said, keeping my tone as neutral as possible. “To see if there’s any chance of getting this sorted.”

Still nothing. Just the sound of a brush moving across canvas.

Of course.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

I didn’t slam the door when I left, but it was close.

Hyunjin didn’t even flinch. He just kept painting like I hadn’t spoken. Like I didn’t exist.

Fine. Whatever.

I stormed back down the hallway, resisting the urge to mutter insults under my breath. I was trying not to picture what the next month would look like, but my brain had already started constructing vivid, awful possibilities. Me tiptoeing around canvases. Me pretending not to notice his shirts mysteriously disappearing. Me slowly losing my mind while he painted past midnight and left uncapped markers on my pillow.

No. I was not doing this.

By the time I reached the admin building again, I’d worked myself into a calm, polite rage. Not the kind that explodes, but the kind that simmers under your skin and makes everything you say come out just a bit too sweet.

The woman from earlier was still at the desk. She looked up the second I walked in, her expression not exactly surprised.

“Hi again,” I said, as evenly as I could manage.

She gave a small nod. “Room 302?”

“Yes,” I said. “And I really need to talk to someone about that.”

She folded her hands on the desk, waiting.

I inhaled, steady. “No one told me I’d be sharing a room with a boy.”

Her mouth barely twitched. “It’s part of the overflow housing agreement. As I mentioned earlier, the dorms are full this term, so we’ve had to place students in shared units regardless of gender.”

“But that wasn’t made clear,” I said. “And I’m not comfortable with it.”

“We understand that,” she said. Not unkindly, but in the way someone says it when they absolutely don’t intend to change anything. “Unfortunately, our options are limited at the moment. Unless someone else withdraws, we can only offer you a spot on the reassignment list.”

My stomach twisted. “So there’s nothing else?”

“There is a divider we can send to your room,” she offered, like that was supposed to solve everything. “It’s a mobile privacy partition. Plenty of students have found it helpful.”

I stared at her. “There’s barely space to walk in there. I’d have to wedge it between easels and sketchbooks just to sit down.”

“It’s adjustable,” she replied, as if that made it reasonable. “You can position it however works best for you. And we can usually get it delivered within two working days.”

I almost laughed. Not because it was funny, but because if I didn’t, I’d probably start crying right in front of her.

I pressed my fingers into the strap of my bag instead. “Is there at least a timeframe for how long the waitlist takes?”

“It depends entirely on student movement,” she said. “You’ll be notified via email if a space becomes available. In the meantime, you’ll remain in 302.”

I nodded, mostly because I didn’t know what else to do. I could feel the protest rising in my throat, but what was the point? She wasn’t going to pull a key from under the desk and magically say, ‘Here, you’re right. Have a peaceful room with a candle and a throw blanket, and a lock on the door.’

No. I was going back to 302. Back to bare walls, chaotic canvases, and Hyunjin’s ego smeared all over every surface.

“Okay,” I said quietly. “Please put me on the waiting list.”

The woman gave a small nod and turned to her screen, typing a few things in with methodical precision. I heard the printer click to life behind the desk. A few seconds later, she reached for the freshly printed paper and slid it toward me.

“This is your confirmation for the reassignment list. Keep it just in case. If you decide you want the divider, you can request it through the housing portal.”

I took the paper from her, folding it once, then again until it fit tightly into my palm. “Thanks.”

She gave me a thin, administrative smile. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

Unless she had a time machine or a free single room? “No. That’s all.”

I walked out of the building with that tight feeling still stuck in my chest. The kind of hollow frustration that made everything feel too sharp. The pavement outside seemed harder now, the air colder. I shoved the form into my coat pocket and took a deep breath.

So that was that.

I was officially stuck.

The sky had darkened since earlier, fading into a slate grey that matched the mood lodged somewhere in my chest.

Back across campus. Back to Building C.

Each step felt heavier now, like the walk back was more final than it had been the first time. The idea of walking through that door again, of seeing him still shirtless, still smug, still surrounded by creative chaos like it was oxygen, made my shoulders tighten.

But I didn’t really have a choice.

I pushed through the lobby of the dorm and headed for the lift, ignoring the way my reflection in the dull metal doors looked as drained as I felt. I pressed the button for the third floor and crossed my arms as I waited, breathing out slowly.

Okay.

If I were going to survive this month, I needed a plan. Or at least a strategy. Something to give me even the illusion of control.

Rules. Boundaries. Conditions. Visual zones.

We could divide the room in half. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. His mess would stay on his side. His canvases. His paint. His weird sleeping habits. I’d claim the bed by the window and pretend I was living in a different timeline where none of this was actually happening.

Or I could move into the library and become the most dedicated Media and Communications student who ever existed. Sleep between the reference shelves. Live off vending machine coffee.

I’d keep headphones in. Make a point of not engaging. Talk only when necessary and make it clear I had no interest in bonding over shared space or shared playlists or whatever bizarre romantic comedy setup the universe thought this was. I wasn’t here to be part of anyone’s storyline.

It could work.

Probably.

Hopefully.

The lift dinged.

I straightened my shoulders, ignoring the pinch in my neck from tension. If Hyunjin was still painting, fine. If he were still shirtless, even better. Maybe I could start charging him a modesty tax. Every time he walked around half-naked, I got to kick one of his canvases across the room.

Boundaries, I reminded myself. Not violence.

Just as I was about to step forward, a loud and bright voice cut through the hallway.

“Y/N!”

I turned and spotted Felix jogging towards me from the far end of the corridor. His blond hair bounced with each step, and beside him was another boy with soft cheeks and a playful expression that suggested trouble came naturally to him.

Felix grinned as he reached me, not even out of breath. “Perfect timing. I was just telling Jisung about you.”

The boy beside him gave me a curious once-over, then smiled easily. “The mysterious girl in 302. I’ve heard tales.”

I blinked. “Already?”

“I’m very efficient,” Felix said proudly, practically glowing.

Jisung leaned in, grinning. “He is. It’s honestly terrifying. Two minutes ago, we were talking about soup, and now you’ve been officially adopted as our new friend.”

Felix bumped his shoulder with a mock gasp. “Hey! She was adopted the moment I met her.”

They were both sunshine, I realised. The kind of people who could warm up a whole room just by existing in it, and probably short-circuit it too if left unsupervised.

“Jisung,” the other boy added, still chuckling, offering a hand. “Official chaos coordinator of room 310.”

I shook it, feeling myself relax by one millimetre. “Y/N. Unofficial disaster survivor of 302.”

“So I guess you met your roommate.” Felix laughed. “Do you want to see our room? Just for a second. So you know where to run when you inevitably snap.”

I looked toward the elevator, which seemed to be their original destination before I crossed their path. “Weren’t you guys on your way out?”

Felix waved it off. “The soup can wait. This is more important.”

Jisung agreed. “Yeah. Soup is temporary. Emotional stability is forever.”

I looked back toward room 302, then let out a sigh. That could wait. “Sure. Lead the way.”

Their room was at the far end of the hall, the door already open. When I stepped inside, I understood immediately why they hadn’t given it up.

It wasn’t a dorm. It was a curated space. The walls were painted in alternating shades of soft green and warm grey, with posters, plants, and fairy lights strategically placed to look both random and artistic. A few bold, framed anime prints were bolted to the walls like permanent fixtures. One wall was completely covered in vinyl records. A shelf by the window held a mix of books, board games, and what looked like a tiny espresso machine. Their beds were neatly made. One a chaotic pattern of anime characters, and the other muted linens and a folded jumper at the foot.

“You see why we’re not getting that deposit back,” Jisung laughed, flopping onto his bed.

“It looks like an IKEA showroom and an indie café had a baby,” I muttered.

Felix grinned and hopped up onto his desk. “Thank you.”

I hovered near the door, still taking it in. “I feel like I walked through a portal.”

“Y/N,” Jisung said solemnly, “any time you need sanctuary, our door is open. We have snacks. And playlists curated for every emotion and mood.”

Felix shot me a grin and motioned toward the open bed. “Sit, sit. You’re officially in the inner circle now.”

I made my way over, perching on the edge like I wasn’t sure if I was staying five minutes or forever. It was surprisingly soft. The kind of bed that looked effortlessly neat but had clearly been picked out with care, like everything else in this room.

I smiled, despite everything. Then I sighed. “I actually came back from admin just now. No solutions. Apparently, I’m stuck with the guy in 302.”

Felix’s face tilted. “Hyunjin.”

I blinked. “You know him?”

He nodded. “He’s our friend. Don’t worry. He’s not that bad.”

Jisung tilted his head, smirking. “You mean, he’s your—”

Felix launched himself at Jisung before he could finish, half-tackling him with a dramatic groan. “Nope. Don’t start.”

Jisung laughed, rubbing his arm. “I wasn’t gonna say anything.”

Felix looked at me with exaggerated innocence. “Don’t listen to him. Hyunjin’s just... complicated. But he’s not a monster.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that?”

Felix grinned. “Like, eighty-five percent.”

“He’s a mess,” I said flatly. “Like, actual mess. There are canvases on the floor, paint on the walls, sketchbooks on the bed I was supposed to sleep in. He didn’t even look up when I walked in.”

Felix made a face. “Okay. So… he’s not great with first impressions.”

“I was one accidental footstep away from destroying a half-finished oil painting.”

Jisung sat up, eyebrows raised. “Wait. He didn’t clean up? At all?”

“Nope,” I said. “And I’m supposed to just live like that for a month.”

Felix jumped to his feet. “Absolutely not.”

“What?”

“I’m going to tell him to clean up.”

I blinked. “Felix, no—”

But it was too late. He’d already marched out the door, hoodie flapping behind him like a cape.

“Oh god,” I muttered, standing up quickly.

Jisung stood as well, clearly entertained. “This should be fun.”

I trailed behind them both, mentally preparing myself to apologise to Hyunjin for whatever hurricane of energy was about to hit his side of the room.

Felix didn’t knock. He pushed open the door and strode in like he owned the place.

Hyunjin looked up mid-brushstroke, clearly startled. “What the—”

“Dude,” Felix said, stopping in the middle of the room. “You can’t just leave the place looking like this.”

Hyunjin blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Y/N is your roommate,” Felix said, gesturing to me as I hovered in the doorway. “You could at least pretend to be human.”

I opened my mouth. “Felix—”

But Jisung had already stepped inside, surveying the chaos like he was assessing the damage after a small earthquake. “How have you not tripped over your own supplies?”

Hyunjin looked between them, then back at me, raising an eyebrow. One, I now notice, with a deliberate slit shaved through it, clearly a style choice rather than an accident.“Did you bring backup?”

“She’s being polite,” Felix said. “She didn’t even mention the paint rags on the floor or the fact that her bed was covered in your laundry.”

“It wasn’t laundry—” Hyunjin started.

“It was something,” Jisung said, crouching to pick up an empty container of instant noodles. “This is actually a biohazard.”

Hyunjin stared at all three of us like we were mad. “You can’t just barge in here and redecorate.”

“We’re not redecorating,” Felix said sweetly. “We’re cleaning. There’s a difference.”

I tried again. “Felix, it’s fine—”

“It’s really not,” he said, already stacking sketchbooks into a pile. “You deserve to be able to walk through your own room without navigating an obstacle course.”

Hyunjin ran a hand through his hair, visibly torn between protest and reluctant acceptance. “You’re all insane.”

“And you’re filthy,” Jisung said cheerfully, tossing a paint-streaked towel into a laundry basket. “Let us help you.”

To his credit, Hyunjin didn’t resist much after that. He moved canvases out of the way while Jisung started clearing floor space. Felix rearranged the desk, even pausing to wipe it down with a tissue he’d found in his pocket, muttering something about “bare minimum.”

I stood near the wall, completely unsure of what to do.

“You can sit,” Felix said without looking up. “Claim your half. Make it official.”

I moved slowly toward the bed by the window, my bed now, apparently, and adjusted the blanket. I then unzipped one of my suitcases and started pulling out a few basics. A sweatshirt. My toiletry bag. A worn paperback I always travelled with. As the others worked around me, the room gradually shifted from chaos into something almost liveable.

After a few more minutes of shuffling, sorting, and minor scolding, Hyunjin stood with his arms crossed, watching Jisung fold a hoodie and place it neatly on a cleared chair.

“Happy?” he asked, deadpan.

Felix flashed a grin. “Getting there.”

Hyunjin turned to me. “Was it really necessary to bring reinforcements? I was going to clean up once I was done with my painting.”

I folded a hoodie and placed it beside me. “I didn’t plan a full intervention. I just needed to vent, and they volunteered before I could stop them.”

Jisung winked. “That’s what friends are for.”

“You just met,” Hyunjin muttered.

Felix shot him a look. “Some of us are emotionally available, Hyunjin. Try it sometime.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes and turned back to his canvas. “Emotionally available people don’t barge in uninvited.”

“Hey, we knocked.” Felix plopped onto the floor, legs crossed.

Hyunjin didn’t answer, but his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk. He dipped his brush back into the paint, muttering under his breath, “Should’ve asked for a single.”

Jisung lifted both hands in mock surrender, his expression all exaggerated peacekeeping. “Alright. Truce? Clean room. Minimal murder.”

Hyunjin exhaled slowly. “Fine. Truce.”

Our eyes met briefly, and something in his expression softened, just slightly. Not a smile, not even an apology, but something close to acknowledgment. I supposed that counted for something. That, and the fact that he was at least wearing a shirt this time.

I nodded. “Thanks. Really.”

Felix raised his hand. “Any time. Now, who wants soup?”

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The door clicked shut behind them, and for the first time since I arrived, the room was quiet.

Not silent. The heating hummed faintly through the vents, and outside the window, someone laughed as they passed by. But compared to the chaos of earlier, it was still. Almost peaceful.

I sat for a moment on the edge of my bed, letting the quiet settle around me. My suitcase lay half-zipped on the floor still. Clothes spilt out at odd angles, the way they always did when I packed in a rush. I reached down and started to unpack the rest, folding sweaters into the drawer I’d claimed, stacking books on the narrow shelf near my pillow.

One sock at a time. One shirt. One breath.

It was a small comfort, this act of making space. Of turning this half-room into something slightly more mine.

Felix and Jisung had offered to bring soup when the three of them left. They’d asked so cheerfully, like it was the most normal thing in the world to offer comfort food to a near-stranger. I’d declined, just barely, not because I didn’t want it or want to join them, but because I needed this. A moment alone. A chance to recalibrate after a day that felt like someone else’s story entirely.

I hadn’t even been here a full day, and already, it felt like the universe had spun me around and dropped me in the middle of a sitcom pilot.

Temporary housing. A surprise male roommate. Two hilariously chaotic neighbours.

And yet, it wasn’t all bad. Somehow, in the middle of the mess, I’d found two people who felt like warmth. Felix and Jisung were in chaos, yes, but the good kind.

I liked them. Genuinely. Felix’s energy was infectious, all bright eyes and laughter that came easily. Jisung was quieter at first glance, but his humour was sharp and weirdly comforting. Being around them made things feel less foreign.

I hoped I could call them friends someday.

And Hyunjin… well.

I looked across the room, where his side still bore signs of the earlier hurricane. The floor was mostly cleared, sure, and some of his supplies had been stacked away, but it was still his space. Lived-in and loud in its own way.

Knowing he was close to Felix and Jisung made it harder to write him off completely. They didn’t seem like the kind of people who would stick around someone awful. Complicated, maybe. Rude, sure. But not awful.

Still, he hadn’t exactly welcomed me with open arms. But I could be civil. Respectful. It was a small room, and I wasn’t planning to make the month harder than it already promised to be.

I took a few more things out of my suitcase. A framed photo of me and my sister, taken before she left for grad school. A string of fairy lights I wasn’t sure I’d be allowed to hang. A half-used notebook that still smelled faintly of highlighter ink.

This was my corner now. My bed. My rules.

Even if half the room still smelled like oil paint and overconfidence.

I stood, stretching my arms overhead and letting the tension in my shoulders ease. The sky outside had turned dark, the last bit of light fading behind the buildings. Somewhere down the hall, a door slammed. A kettle clicked on.

I breathed in slowly. Then out.

Okay.

So, it hadn’t been a perfect day. But I was still standing. Still breathing. And I wasn’t completely alone. That counted for something.

Eventually, the silence pressed in enough to start moving. My stomach had stopped being subtle a while ago, and even though the idea of eating felt like another task on the to-do list of surviving today, I knew I’d regret skipping it. I grabbed a hoodie and made my way to the vending machines near the lounge.

The corridor lights buzzed faintly overhead as I padded down the hallway in my socks. The vending machine blinked its selection options at me like it was challenging me to make a decision. I settled on a cup of instant noodles, watching it drop with a familiar thunk. A kettle in the shared kitchenette was already halfway through boiling when I reached it, probably left behind by someone else in the building. I took that as a small win and poured the noodles and hot water into the cup, steam curling against my face.

While it cooked, I leaned against the counter and scanned the lounge. A few people were clustered on the worn couches. Two guys playing a racing game, someone scrolling through a tablet with earbuds in, and a girl eating cereal straight from the box.

I offered a small smile to anyone who looked my way. A few smiled back.

Not bad, I thought. Manageable.

I carried my cup to the high counter by the window and sat there quietly, letting the noodles soften. My thoughts drifted as I ate, catching bits of conversation behind me, the occasional outburst of laughter. Just ordinary background noise, and it helped.

When I was finished, I rinsed the cup in the kitchenette sink and wiped down the counter, then headed back toward room 302. The hallway felt quieter than before, like the building was finally settling into the night.

I gathered my pyjamas, towel and toiletry bag, and headed back down the corridor toward the bathrooms. The bathroom was quiet, thankfully. I showered quickly, steam fogging up the mirrors as I changed into my sleep shirt and leggings in the cubicle. The routine helped more than I expected.

By the time I walked back into the room, warm and clean, some of the tension in my shoulders had finally eased. The room was still empty. No sign of Hyunjin yet.

I climbed into bed and pulled the covers around me, tucking myself into the corner closest to the window. After a few seconds of scrolling on my phone, I slipped my earphones in and started a comfort movie on my laptop. Something familiar. I settled on a movie I’d seen a dozen times before, the kind that required no thinking at all. Just something to help me float off, at least until sleep caught up.

I must’ve dozed off halfway through the movie. The familiar dialogue had faded into a comforting hum, the screen casting soft shadows across the blanket pulled up to my chin. I didn’t remember closing my eyes, but I must have, because the next thing I heard was the quiet click of the door.

My eyes fluttered open.

A figure moved carefully in the light of the desk lamp I left on. Hyunjin. He was tiptoeing, well, his version of it, which was still surprisingly loud for someone who seemed so graceful. He moved across the room with a kind of exaggerated caution, gathering what looked like a small toiletry bag and a towel from the shelves near his bed. He turned, spotted me awake, and froze.

“Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, voice low.

“I wasn’t asleep yet,” I mumbled.

He nodded once, almost like he was satisfied he hadn’t done anything too wrong. “Cool. I’ll be quick.”

Then he disappeared into the hallway, the door clicking behind him with a bit more finality than he probably intended.

I stared at the ceiling, the light from my laptop flickering across the blank paint above me. The movie was still playing, but I couldn’t focus on it. Everything about this day had been surreal.

The door opened again after a few minutes.

Hyunjin walked in wearing grey sweatpants and an oversized hoodie, sleeves pushed halfway up his forearms. His hair was damp and tied in a messy knot at the base of his neck. He looked like he belonged on some effortlessly curated lifestyle blog. The only thing ruining the aesthetic was the faint scowl still lingering around his mouth.

He noticed I was still awake, gave a half-second pause, then made his way to his bed and dropped the towel and bag beside it. He didn’t say anything at first. The silence grew awkward, then louder, then almost unbearable.

He cleared his throat.

I pulled out one earbud. “What?”

He shifted, still standing like he hadn’t decided whether to sit or pace. “I wanted to say something. Before this whole ‘temporary roommate’ thing becomes a cold war.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Okay.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I wasn’t exactly welcoming earlier. And yeah, I could’ve… been less of an ass.”

I didn’t say anything, just tilted my head like I was waiting for the actual apology.

“I mean,” he continued, that infuriating grin creeping in, “walking into a half-finished art studio and seeing me half-naked? I get how that could be a shock. Though, to be fair, most people find it a welcome surprise.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh sure, exactly what I imagined my first day to be like. Living the dream.”

He finally sat on the edge of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. “I could say I had a lot going on. That I was distracted. That I didn’t expect a new roommate, especially not one who looked ready to strangle me with a hoodie string, but that’d just be deflecting.”

I blinked. “So what are you saying?”

He shrugged. “That I was rude. And I don’t regret being focused on my work, but I do regret acting like you didn’t exist.”

I paused the movie and looked at him fully. “Did Felix put you up to this?”

That earned me a smirk. “He tried. Told me to be ‘less emotionally blocked,’ which was rich coming from him.”

I almost smiled. Almost. “So why’d you do it?”

His gaze met mine. Steady. Sharp. “Because, believe it or not, I actually don’t like being an ass to people for no reason. And I don’t want to spend a month in a tension-filled shoebox if we can avoid it.”

“That’s fair.”

I studied him for a second longer than I meant to, thrown off by how unexpectedly self-aware he was being. It wasn’t what I expected from someone who earlier treated me more like a sudden inconvenience rather than a real person trying to adjust to the same chaos he was living in. And yet, even with all that blunt honesty, I noticed he hadn’t actually apologised for how he’d made me feel. Not really. But, for someone who looked like he’d sooner chew on his paintbrush than talk about feelings, I figured this was about as close as I was going to get for now.

I sat up a little straighter, crossing my arms over my knees. “Okay. Ground rules.”

Hyunjin didn’t argue. He just leaned back against the wall behind his bed, one knee up, his hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows like he was settling in for a negotiation.

“First,” I said, “headphones in means silence. No talking. No questions.”

He raised his hand in mock solemnity. “Got it. Silence when the earbuds go in. Unless the building is on fire.”

“Exactly.”

He nodded. “Or if you’re being possessed.”

“I’ll allow exceptions for demonic interference.”

I paused, brushing my hair off my shoulder, watching how the lamplight threw long shadows across his bed, broken by the stack of sketchbooks piled unevenly beside it. “Next. No eating each other’s food. Not even a taste. Not even by accident.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though something in his expression suggested he absolutely would, given the right snack.

“Next,” I continued, pointing at the sprawl of canvases and paint tubes on his side. “All your stuff? It stays on your side of the room. We draw an invisible line. No cross-contamination.”

He tilted his head. “You already spilt pens on my desk.”

“Only because there was nowhere else to put them.”

He grinned. “Alright. Truce line down the middle of the room. Invisible, but sacred.”

I nodded. “Sacred. No trespassing. No exceptions.”

There was a lull in the conversation, just enough time for the hum of the radiator to reassert itself. I picked at the edge of my blanket, smoothing it flat against the mattress.

“And,” I added slowly, “maybe next time you’re expecting a new roommate… put on a shirt before greeting them.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Unfortunately, I can’t promise that. Some masterpieces require a specific… range of motion.”

I snorted. “Does modesty not factor into your creative process?”

“Not even a little.”

I gave him a long, dry look. “Okay. Then maybe a warning next time. Like, ‘hey, just so you know, half-naked guy up ahead.’”

“I’ll make a sign,” he said, gesturing toward the door like he was already designing it in his head.

I shook my head, but a reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. He was ridiculous. But in a way that was just slightly too charming to be annoying for long.

“What’s your major again?” I asked, shifting to lean back against the headboard.

“Fine arts,” he said. “Experimental portraiture.”

I arched a brow. “So… Pretentious.”

“Correct,” he said without missing a beat. “And yours?”

“Media and Communications. Focus on documentary production.”

He gave a thoughtful nod. “Ah. So, professional people-watcher.”

“I prefer ‘observer of human behaviour.’

He looked vaguely amused. “Sounds fancier than stalking, I guess. Explains the staring earlier.”

“You were shirtless and surrounded by what looked like an emotional breakdown in paint form. I was trying to assess the threat level.”

He let out a soft laugh, stretching his legs out in front of him. “That’s valid.”

Hyunjin climbed into bed and adjusted the pillow with one hand, then flopped onto his side, facing away from me. The hoodie bunched slightly at his shoulders, and I caught a glimpse of the tattoo on the back of his neck before it disappeared beneath the collar again.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he said into the quiet.

I hesitated, the sound of my name catching me off guard. Then, softer than I meant to, I replied, “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward anymore. Just… there. Like a wall we’d both decided to stop pushing against. At least for now.

I rolled to face the window, reaching over to close the lid of my laptop where it rested beside me. The screen went dark with a quiet snap. I sat up just enough to place it on the desk next to the bed, careful not to knock over the stack of books I’d already started. Then I leaned over to switch off the lamp. The room dimmed to a quiet hush, shadows settling gently into the corners. I slipped back under the blanket, pulling it up to my chin.

This is going to be interesting.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The first week disappeared in a blur of coffee-fuelled mornings and lecture halls that smelled faintly of dust and ambition. Classes started before I’d even fully caught my breath. One moment, I was figuring out how to swipe into the library, and the next, I was neck-deep in reading lists and orientation slides, navigating a campus that felt too big and too loud but somehow exactly where I needed to be.

Media and Communications was everything I had hoped for, and a little bit terrifying, too. My classes were filled with students who spoke like they had podcasts and personal brands, all quick opinions and sharper insights. It was a lot. But it also made me feel alive.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t shrinking myself to fit into a mould that didn’t fit.

Our Documentary Production lecture was my favourite. Something about the way our professor spoke about storytelling. How every frame is a choice, and how the smallest moment can carry weight. It reminded me why I chose this. I wasn’t here to be perfect. I was here to be honest.

I spent most afternoons tucked away in the library, working through storyboarding exercises or editing footage from our first assignment. There was a quiet thrill in learning again, in sitting at a desk because I wanted to, not because I was supposed to.

And I wasn’t invisible here.

One of my classmates, Minseo, waved me over to sit with her on Tuesday. We’d ended up partnered on a group project by Friday. People saw me. Listened when I spoke.

It wasn’t that I magically fit in overnight, but something about Seoul National felt different from my old campus. Like I could build something here instead of endlessly patching up cracks.

The walk across campus to the main quad became one of my favourite parts of the day, especially in the late afternoon when the sun dipped behind the library tower and turned the stone pathways gold. For a few minutes, it felt like I belonged to something bigger than my own nerves.

That didn’t mean everything was perfect. I still missed home some days. Still woke up thinking about what I left behind. But it was a different kind of ache now. Softer. A reminder of why I’d come in the first place.

By the time Friday afternoon rolled around, I actually caught myself looking forward to Monday.

And if that wasn’t progress, I didn’t know what was.

The best part of the week, though, wasn’t the classes. It was Felix and Jisung.

True to their word and their wildly dramatic adoption speech, they made it their mission to include me in everything. Lunch in the quad. Study sessions sprawled across the café tables with half-drunk iced lattes and too many notebooks. Even late-night snack runs when one of them suddenly decided that the only reason they couldn’t finish their coursework was a critical lack of sour worms.

Felix was a fashion design major, which explained a lot. Half his life seemed to be mood boards and fabric swatches. He’d bounce ideas off me in between bites of his kimbap, sketching silhouettes on napkins and asking for my brutally honest opinions on colour schemes.

“Would you wear this?” he’d ask, flipping his notebook toward me without warning.

I’d always tell him not to ask me. Fashion wasn’t exactly my area of expertise. Most days, I lived in basics and whatever was clean, not exactly the voice of authority on statement pieces.

Sometimes I’d nod. Sometimes I’d squint and say, “Only if I were trying to blind someone in a nightclub.”

He always laughed, unbothered, and adjusted the design anyway.

Jisung was in Creative Writing, which, honestly, explained a lot. There was this intensity to the way he spoke about characters, always scribbling story ideas in the margins of his lecture notes. Every now and then, he’d say something so unexpectedly beautiful, or sad, or quietly profound that it made you stop for a second, unsure how to respond.

One afternoon, Jisung slid his notebook across the table like he sometimes did, looking for my completely unqualified opinion, his pen tapping thoughtfully against the side of his head while I read.

One line stood out. A character describing love like a volcano. Fierce, consuming, something you’d step into even knowing it would burn everything down.

“Too cheesy?” he asked, chewing the end of his pen.

I smiled without looking up. “No. It’s beautiful.”

Jisung went quiet for a second, then grinned like he couldn’t quite help it.

It felt easy with them. Like I’d somehow known them longer than a week. They didn’t make me feel like an outsider. Didn’t expect me to catch up to some impossible inside joke. They just made space for me.

And I found myself wanting to take it.

So when Felix invited me to a get-together that Saturday night, it felt like the most natural thing in the world to say yes.

“Small group,” Felix had promised, flashing that easy grin of his, the kind that made everything sound simple and safe. “Just some of the usual suspects hanging out for a bit. No weird party games, no forced icebreakers, nothing intense, I promise. Just a chill night with our favourite people.”

Normally, a get-together with people I didn’t know would be the last thing I’d say yes to. Small talk and fake smiling until my cheeks ached was never really my idea of a good time.

But with them, it felt different. Comfortable.

Anyone whom Felix and Jisung considered great, I was willing to give the benefit of the doubt.

Maybe with one exception.

The jury was still out on Hyunjin.

Living with Hyunjin was another story entirely.

The first week passed in something close to an uneasy truce. Not bad, exactly. Just distant.

We didn’t speak much. Mostly because we weren’t around much at the same time. He was gone early most mornings, heading to the art studio before I’d even finished brushing my teeth, and came back late, often covered in new streaks of paint and smelling faintly like turpentine and exhaustion.

I spent most of my hours in the library, trying to stay ahead on readings, tweaking my first few assignments, and figuring out where the quietest corners were.

When we did end up in the room at the same time, we didn’t talk much beyond the basics. Things like “how was your day?”, or “can I borrow your highlighter?” One or both of us usually had headphones in, and thanks to rule number one, that meant no talking, no bothering, no forced conversations. I’d glance up occasionally, catching him mid-sketch or mid-yawn, and he’d occasionally glance my way when I was flipping through pages too fast or cursing softly when my laptop froze, but neither of us said anything beyond that.

It was peaceful in its own weird way. Tense at times, sure, like sharing a room with a stranger always would be, but predictable. We stayed on our sides, followed our invisible line, and left it at that.

Mostly.

There were still moments when I’d notice the mess creeping past his half of the room. A hoodie tossed onto the chair we’d silently agreed was neutral ground. A brush rinsed in the bathroom sink and left to dry in our shared cup holder. But for the most part, he kept his chaos contained.

This arrangement, strange as it was, was holding.

At least for now.

But tomorrow’s get-together would change that.

Up until now, Hyunjin and I had existed in this quiet, carefully navigated routine where we barely crossed paths outside of the room.

Tomorrow would be different.

I was about to meet his friends. The people who saw him outside of the mess of canvases and hoodie piles. I couldn’t tell if I was dreading it or looking forward to it.

Maybe both.

It was strange. I didn’t think I wanted Hyunjin to like me, exactly, but I did want to understand him. To see where the sharpness faded, if it did at all.

And maybe, just maybe, it would be easier if we stopped orbiting each other in this weird, silent tension.

Either way, I’d find out tomorrow.

****

The night of the get-together arrived more quickly than I expected. For most of the day, I had been telling myself that I could bail, blaming exhaustion or coursework, but by the late afternoon, something restless built in my chest. A quiet part of me was curious. Curious to see what Hyunjin’s world looked like beyond our four cramped walls. Curious to see if Felix and Jisung's friends were as chaotic and warm as they were.

When I glanced at the clock, it was already edging toward the time Felix said people would start arriving. With a sigh, I pulled myself out of bed, setting aside the reading I had been halfheartedly working through for next week’s class, and dragged my small makeup pouch toward the mirror by my desk.

Hyunjin was already moving around the room when I sat down on my chair, tying my hair back. He had his back turned, rifling through his pile of clothes like he was on some kind of treasure hunt. A t-shirt flew onto his bed. Then another. He mumbled something under his breath that I couldn’t quite catch, probably cursing at the fact that every single item he owned was either wrinkled or covered in paint stains.

I opened my makeup pouch and started with concealer, dabbing it under my eyes as the familiar routine steadied my nerves.

A few seconds later, I caught Hyunjin straightening up out of the corner of my eye, glancing over his shoulder. “Mind if I put on some music? Just for background noise.”

I paused, concealer brush in hand, then shrugged. “Sure. Go ahead.”

He nodded once, crossing the room to his speaker and scrolling through his phone. A moment later, soft, melodic music filled the space. Calm guitar riffs layered with vocals low enough not to distract, just enough to soften the quiet. It was surprisingly gentle, more soothing than anything else. I didn’t expect it from him, but then again, Hyunjin was nothing if not unpredictable.

The makeup mirror caught glimpses of Hyunjin moving behind me, drifting from one side of the room to the other in his usual controlled chaos. He stood in front of his own mirror now, tying and untying his hair in a half-up style that never seemed to sit the way he wanted before finally giving up. I tried to drag my focus back to my reflection, brushing a bit of colour onto my cheeks, but the occasional glance slipped through anyway.

And then, without warning, the shirt he was wearing came off.

I froze, my brush mid-air.

Hyunjin stretched slightly, reaching for a clean sweater he had finally chosen, and the movement pulled the muscles in his back taut. He was all sharp shoulders and narrow waist, pale skin dusted faintly with what I was pretty sure was still dried charcoal. It was objectively unfair how attractive he was. The kind of beautiful that seemed completely accidental, like he didn’t even know or care.

He glanced over, catching my gaze in the mirror. A slow grin spread across his face, lazy and knowing.

“What?” he said, like he didn’t already know.

“Nothing,” I muttered, feeling my cheeks flush, rendering blush completely unnecessary. “Just... surprised you managed to find a clean shirt.”

He laughed, warm and low. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help the corner of my mouth twitching. I quickly looked away and pretended to focus very hard on my eyeliner.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him tug on the black sweater—simple, fitted, ridiculously flattering—and then ruffle his hair until it fell perfectly messy again. Of course it did.

After a beat of silence, he spoke, quieter this time. “You walking there alone?”

I capped my eyeliner, shrugging like it was no big deal. “I was planning to. Felix sent me the address.”

He grabbed his phone from the desk. “I’ll walk with you. I was heading there now anyway.”

I hesitated. For a second, I debated saying no. I could have said I’d meet him there. But something about the way he said it, casual, like an offer rather than an obligation, made me nod instead.

“Alright.” I set my makeup brush down. “I still need a few minutes, though. I have to get changed.”

“Fine by me,” he said, already unlocking his phone and settling back onto his bed, scrolling lazily through whatever had caught his attention.

I paused, waiting.

A second later, it seemed to dawn on him. His head lifted slightly, a small frown tugging at his brow. “Oh. Right.”

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, sliding his phone into his pocket. “I’ll wait outside. Just meet me in the common area when you’re done.”

And with that, he headed for the door, leaving it to click softly shut behind him.

I let out a slow breath and crossed to my side of the room, pulling open the small dresser.

What did people even wear to something like this? Felix had said it was casual, just a few people hanging out at the apartment. But it was also the first time I’d be meeting all of them. I didn’t want to show up looking like I’d just rolled out of bed.

I rifled through my clothes, tugging out a hoodie, then tossing it aside. Too lazy. A fitted sweater? Too serious. I held up a couple of t-shirts, frowning at each one. Plain black. Too harsh? Light grey. Too boring? Why did everything suddenly feel like a personality test?

Eventually, I settled on something safe. A soft long-sleeved top, simple and comfortable but still put together, and my go-to jeans that weren’t too tight but not completely shapeless either. Just enough effort to show I cared, but not enough to look like I was trying too hard.

I changed quickly, smoothing out the fabric over my hips and giving myself a final once-over in the mirror. It would have to do.

After all, it wasn’t like they were going to be analysing my outfit. Probably. Hopefully.

I grabbed my warm jacket from where it hung on the back of my chair, shrugging it on as I headed for the door. The air was sharp now, late winter settling in for its final stretch, and I wasn’t about to freeze just to look casual.

Stepping out into the hallway, I glanced around for Hyunjin. I didn’t have to look far.

He was stretched out on the couch in the common area, one arm draped casually over the backrest, deep in conversation with a girl who looked like she belonged in a magazine.

And there he was. Perfectly at ease. Of course he was.

He looked comfortable. Of course he did.

For a second, I debated turning right back into the room. But then his eyes met mine across the space, steady and unreadable.

He gave a small, polite smile to the girl, said something too quiet for me to hear, and stood. Without a word, he nodded toward the elevator, already heading in that direction.

I adjusted my jacket and followed.

And just like that, the night began, uncertain but already pulling me along.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

We left the dorm room together, falling into step as we made our way across campus. The winter air was sharp, our breath misting in the space between us. For a while, the only sounds were our footsteps against the pavement and the occasional sounds of students laughing and having fun.

Then Hyunjin spoke.

“So, the people you’ll meet tonight... they’re good people.”

I glanced at him, curious. “You sound surprised.”

He laughed under his breath, kicking a stray pebble ahead of him. “I was. When I first met them.”

The wind picked up slightly, tugging at the ends of my hair. I tugged my jacket tighter. I waited, letting him continue.

“Chan, Changbin, and Jeongin live in the apartment,” Hyunjin started, his voice steady against the quiet street. “Chan’s a third-year music production major. Kind of the big brother of the group. He keeps us from burning everything down. Figuratively, but also... occasionally literally.” He gave a small smile like he was remembering something chaotic. “I don’t know how he does it, honestly. Balancing his classes, his own projects, and making sure the rest of us don’t self-destruct in the process.”

“Seems like a full-time job,” I said, smiling despite myself.

He grinned at the pavement. “It is. And I think he’s given up pretending it’s not.”

“Changbin’s in sports psych,” Hyunjin went on, the rhythm of his steps matching his words. “Loud, intense, total heart of gold underneath all that bravado. He’s obsessed with gym playlists. Seriously, pray he doesn’t get anywhere near the speaker system tonight unless you want to work out against your will.”

That pulled a laugh out of me before I could stop it.

“And Jeongin?” I asked, my breath curling in the cold air.

“Youngest of us all. Psychology major. He’s the quiet one at first, all soft smiles and polite nods, but don’t let that fool you.” Hyunjin shot me a look, a faint warning wrapped in fondness. “He notices everything. Things you don’t even realise about yourself. He’s sharp, just subtle about it.”

I tucked my hands deeper into my coat pockets, letting his words settle.

“Minho will be there too,” Hyunjin added after a pause. His voice dropped slightly, not in warning but in respect. “He’s a theatre major. Brutally honest with no filter whatsoever. He’ll tell you exactly what he thinks, whether you asked or not. But once you get used to it, it’s actually kind of refreshing. Like, you never have to second-guess where you stand with him.”

He paused for a beat, then continued, his tone lighter. “And then there’s Seungmin. Law student. The driest sense of humour you’ll ever experience. You’ll think he’s being serious until you realise he’s been messing with you the whole time. He’ll probably call you out on something by the end of the night. Don’t take it to heart, he does it to all of us.”

The way Hyunjin said it was almost fond. Like this mess of personalities somehow fit together in a way that made sense to him, even if it looked like chaos from the outside.

And maybe, I realised, this was his way of preparing me for it. For all of them. Not warning me off, exactly, but giving me the roadmap he wished he’d had. Explaining the noise before I stepped into it and making sure I wasn’t blindsided by the sharp edges or the loud laughter or the way this group crashed into your life like a tidal wave.

Had he already read me that well? Picked up on the hesitation I tried so hard to hide. It felt strange, almost unsettling, that someone who barely spoke to me outside of our cramped room might have seen it anyway.

I shifted my gaze sideways, watching him for a moment as he kept his eyes forward, steps steady on the path ahead, the wind lifting strands of his hair and brushing them gently across his cheek.

“And what about Felix and Jisung?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth softening. “They’ll make you feel like you’ve always been there. Like it doesn’t matter if you just showed up today or have been around for years. They pull people in without even trying.”

For a moment, something shifted between us. A quiet understanding, as if I could finally glimpse what these people meant to him.

“They did the same for you?” I asked softly.

He nodded, kicking at a crack in the pavement. “Yeah. Before them, it was mostly just me and my art. I didn’t really notice how stuck in my own head I was until they showed up and made space for me. Gave me something outside of all the noise I was drowning in.”

I let that sit in the air for a moment, something warm and fragile settling in my chest, before pulling my eyes away from him and focusing on the path ahead again.

“So now you’re playing tour guide for the next stray they picked up?” I teased gently, bumping my shoulder lightly against his.

Hyunjin laughed, shaking his head. “Something like that. I just know how overwhelming it can be to meet so many new people at once. If I can make it a little easier for you than it was for me, then why not?”

I found myself smiling, small and soft, caught off guard by how thoughtful that was. Maybe more touched than I wanted to admit.

After walking a while in comfortable silence, we reached the student apartment building just as laughter filtered down from an open window, warm and inviting against the cold night air. Yellow light spilt from the second floor, music thumping softly behind the walls.

Hyunjin held the door open for me without a word, and I stepped inside, heart beating a little faster than I expected.

At the base of the stairwell, he paused, glancing down at me with a small, knowing smile.

“Ready?”

I drew in a breath, nerves and curiosity tangled up together.

“Ready.”

And we started climbing the stairs. Together.

****

Nothing could have prepared me for this.

From the moment Hyunjin pushed open the apartment door on the second floor, I was swept into a world of chaos. It was loud, bright, and comfortably overwhelming. The apartment itself was warm, filled with mismatched furniture that somehow looked deliberate, posters and fairy lights scattered across the walls, and blankets tossed over sofas. It felt immediately lived-in, a space that welcomed mess without ever feeling untidy, inviting rather than intimidating.

Jisung sat on the floor in front of a large TV, controller gripped tightly, eyes locked on the flashing screen as he shouted passionately at the Mario Kart race unfolding in front of him. Beside him, a younger boy mirrored his intensity, his focus sharp and competitive. Another dark-haired guy lounged behind them on the couch, observing the match with an easy grin. When Jisung’s kart veered off-course, he yelped dramatically and jumped on the boy beside him, who let out an exaggerated groan and pushed him away, both of them laughing as the observer burst into laughter behind them.

From the kitchen came the tantalising aroma of food mixed with a stream of lighthearted bickering. Felix emerged first, looking effortlessly cosy in a soft light blue jumper, balancing two steaming trays of something delicious, his blond hair catching the apartment’s warm glow. Behind him was another guy, sharp-eyed with a knowing smirk, weaving easily through the space as if he had mapped it out a hundred times before.

Across the room, two others stood near a speaker, engaged in an animated debate about music. One had an easy, confident posture, arms crossed as he argued his point. The other was broader and built, his eyes shining with stubborn determination as he gestured emphatically toward a different playlist on his phone.

The moment Hyunjin closed the door behind us, the apartment went noticeably quiet. It was like someone had pressed pause, every face turning in our direction. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a sudden, uncomfortable urge to hide behind Hyunjin's taller frame.

But before I could even fully process my awkwardness, Felix and Jisung had both dropped whatever they were holding, sprinting toward me. They tackled me in an enthusiastic hug, nearly sending me stumbling backwards into Hyunjin.

“You made it!” Felix practically squealed, squeezing me tight.

Jisung, hanging off my shoulder, grinned broadly. “We thought Hyunjin might have scared you away already.”

Then, with a sudden shift in expression, Jisung turned to face me fully, his hands gently but dramatically turning my face toward his, his features set in an exaggerated look of concern.

“Truly, I’m sorry we had to leave early and subject you to spending more time with him,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Hyunjin without even looking. “No one should suffer like that.”

I could practically feel Hyunjin glaring daggers at Jisung, but before I could even open my mouth to respond, a low, warm laugh cut through the chaos. "Guys, relax. Let the poor girl breathe," said the older-looking one by the speaker, his confident stance giving way to an easy smile. He stepped away from the playlist debate, his presence immediately calming. “We should introduce ourselves first, yeah?”

“Girl?” the sharp-eyed one behind Felix interjected dryly, a smirk already tugging at his mouth. "No way she's just a girl. Survived a week with Hyunjin and hasn't smothered him in his sleep yet? She must be a saint."

Laughter rippled through the room. Even Hyunjin let out a quiet chuckle softly behind me. He leaned in slightly, mock-whispering near my ear. “That’s Minho. Remember what I said about him having no filter?”

Minho grinned unapologetically, giving a small wave.

“Okay, okay,” the older boy interrupted, stepping forward with an easy smile, warm and reassuring. “I’m Chan. Welcome to our circus. Sorry in advance.”

He moved easily around the room, pointing to each of them in turn. “The younger one over there is Jeongin,” he said, nodding toward the boy still perched near the TV, his attention now fixed on us. “And this is Changbin,” he added, gesturing toward the broad-shouldered guy who had stepped away from the speaker earlier, a bright, easy smile lighting up his face.

Then he motioned toward the couch, where the other dark-haired boy sat cross-legged, his expression calm but watchful. “That’s Seungmin.” Already watching me, Seungmin gave a small, casual salute.

A grin tugged at Chan’s mouth as he continued, “You’ve obviously met Felix and Jisung already. And Minho,” he added, flicking a glance toward the sharp-eyed boy behind Felix, “our resident critic, who you’ve already been warned about, it seems.”

Felix nudged Chan playfully. “We’re not that bad.”

Chan laughed, eyes crinkling warmly. “Sure, Lix. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Somehow, within minutes, I was settled onto one of the couches, a plate of delicious-smelling food balanced on my lap, the conversation flowing easily around me. The room buzzed with laughter, teasing insults, and constant playful bickering that somehow managed to feel incredibly welcoming.

At some point, Jeongin handed me a controller, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Alright, here is the real test. Let’s see if you’re really one of us.”

I took it hesitantly, laughing as Jisung immediately launched into overly dramatic warnings. “Watch your back with Jeongin,” he said, pointing at him with narrowed eyes. “He looks innocent, but he’s sneakier than a fox.”

A few tense minutes later, filled with frantic button-mashing and far too much shouting, Jeongin crossed the finish line just ahead of me, wearing a grin far too smug for someone who looked so innocent.

Before I could even catch my breath, Felix threw his hands up in mock outrage. “Unfair! You can’t throw her in against Innie for her first game. He’s too good. We need a real test.”

He turned toward Hyunjin, a wicked grin spreading across his angelic face. “Alright, pretty boy. You’re up next.”

Hyunjin gave an exaggerated sigh, already pulling himself off the armrest where he’d been watching with a lazy smile. “Guess someone has to put the new kid in her place.”

He flopped down next to me, facing the TV screen, all long limbs and easy confidence, grabbing the other controller with a dramatic flourish like he was accepting some royal challenge.

“Try to keep up,” he said, shooting me a sideways grin, the kind designed to distract you if you let it.

“Try not to cry when you lose,” I shot back, tightening my grip on the controller.

That earned a chorus of oooohs from around the room, Felix clutching his chest like I’d just delivered a fatal blow and Changbin dramatically covering Jeongin’s eyes.

“Place your bets, everyone,” Chan called from where he stood leaning against the back of the couch. “This is going to be good.”

Minho perched himself on the armrest beside Felix, smirking. “Hyunjin, don’t embarrass yourself. She’s already survived a week with you. Beating you in a game should be the easy part.”

Seungmin, still lounging on the couch, added dryly, “I give it thirty seconds before he blames the controller.”

The race started, and suddenly the room went quiet, all eyes on the screen.

Hyunjin played recklessly, fast and sharp, every move calculated to keep him in the lead while still showing off a little for the crowd behind us. He drifted around corners like he had something to prove, throwing shells without mercy. But I wasn’t backing down. My focus narrowed to the course in front of me, heart pounding as I weaved through item boxes and boosted past hazards.

Jisung narrated dramatically from behind us, voice rising with every turn. “It’s neck and neck! A battle for the ages! Can the newcomer take down the prince himself?”

Hyunjin leaned forward, eyes sharp, a determined grin pulling at his lips. “Not bad,” he muttered, fingers flying across the controls.

“Thanks,” I shot back, “you’re making this easier than I thought.”

That earned a loud whoop from Changbin, who nearly dropped his drink from laughing.

The final lap arrived faster than I expected, both our karts vying for first, bumping side by side in a flurry of sparks. I clenched my jaw, timed my boost perfectly, and surged ahead just as we crossed the finish line.

The room exploded.

Felix threw both hands in the air, yelling like we’d just won a championship. Jisung fell backwards onto the floor in disbelief. Minho let out a sharp, triumphant clap while Seungmin gave a small, satisfied nod.

Hyunjin stared at the screen, stunned for half a second, before groaning and flopping backwards onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable. This is a set-up.”

I grinned, setting the controller down with a quiet laugh.

“Oh, she’s good,” Minho said appreciatively, arms folded smugly across his chest. “Anyone who can knock Hyunjin down a peg is instantly my favourite.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes dramatically, feigning deep offence as Felix cackled loudly beside him. “Not my fault, I went easy on her.”

“Sure, sure,” Chan laughed, eyes twinkling warmly. “Keep telling yourself that, mate.”

The night continued like that, effortless and warm, a comfortable rhythm quickly settling around us. The group moved seamlessly from Mario Kart to a fiercely competitive round of Uno, the cards practically flying across the table amidst laughter and playful accusations of cheating.

I found myself opening up, surprising myself at how easily it came. Sharing small bits about my classes, my first chaotic week at Seoul National, and even the overwhelming feeling of transferring so abruptly. They listened genuinely, chiming in with their own stories, gentle teasing mixed with sincere encouragement. I felt more at ease than I’d thought possible.

Throughout the evening, I couldn’t help noticing Hyunjin, how easily he slipped between conversations, effortlessly confident yet somehow quietly observant. He had a habit of leaning back against furniture, a small, knowing smile always tugging at the corners of his mouth, as though he was enjoying a private joke nobody else could hear. And every now and then, he'd catch my eye, a quiet amusement flickering across his face, making my pulse skip before I could stop it.

At one point, Changbin managed to wrestle control of the speaker again, dramatically announcing it was his turn to educate us on "real" music. Loud beats filled the room instantly, everyone laughing and groaning simultaneously.

“Oh god,” Felix muttered, leaning his head dramatically onto my shoulder. “Now you've seen it all. There’s no going back.”

I laughed, nudging him gently. “I think I can handle it.”

Felix beamed, pulling me into another playful hug without hesitation, an easy, familiar gesture that seemed second nature to him. In the past week, I had learned that this was just who he was. Someone who showed affection through touches and closeness, always making people feel like they belonged.

“See? She’s definitely one of us,” Felix declared, grinning wider.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Hyunjin watching the exchange, his expression unreadable for a moment before he looked away.

Hours passed in a comfortable blur of laughter, games, and easy conversation, and before I knew it, the night had worn on comfortably late. I leaned back against the sofa, feeling a tired warmth spread through my chest, contentment settling quietly into place.

Hyunjin moved to sit beside me, elbows resting on his knees as he glanced sideways. “Surviving?” he asked softly, the confidence in his tone tempered by a surprising sincerity.

“Barely,” I joked, smiling softly. “But yeah, actually, it’s really nice.”

He nodded, eyes meeting mine just briefly. “Good.”

His quiet approval settled softly around me, something small but strangely meaningful. And as I sat there, surrounded by laughter and warmth, I realised that somewhere amidst the noise and the chaos, I felt perfectly, unexpectedly at home.

Someone, I think it was Jisung, suggested heading to a bar nearby for one last drink before calling it a night. There were immediate cheers and groans, a few dramatic complaints about early morning rehearsals and part-time shifts waiting for them tomorrow, but in the end, most of them seemed game.

Felix turned to me with a grin. “You’re coming, right?”

I shook my head, a little regretfully. “I think I’ll call it a night. It’s been a long week, and I’m still recovering from the culture shock of tonight.”

They groaned like I had just ruined the party. Changbin clutched his chest like I’d wounded him.

“No way are we letting you walk back alone,” Chan said firmly, already standing to grab his jacket. “We’ll pass your place on the way to the bar anyway.”

And somehow, despite my half-hearted protests, I found myself surrounded by all of them again as we spilt out onto the quiet street. The night air was sharp, but the warmth of their company made it easy to ignore.

The walk back to the dorms was filled with quiet chatter and bad jokes. Changbin offered to carry me when I stumbled slightly on a loose paving stone, which I declined with a laugh. Felix looped his arm through mine, as if to make sure I didn’t get lost somehow.

When we reached the dorm entrance, they lingered.

Felix hugged me first, arms warm and tight, before he let go with a grin. Jisung followed, squeezing the life out of me and muttering something about making sure I survived another week.

Changbin pulled me into a brief but solid hug, and Jeongin grinned widely as he gave me a quick, cheerful squeeze before stepping back.

Minho didn’t hug me. Instead, he reached out and ruffled my hair, like I was a kid or maybe a stray cat he’d decided wasn’t so bad. “Keep something nearby to throw at him if he wakes you up when he gets back later,” he said, nodding toward Hyunjin.

Seungmin offered another quiet salute, a small, unmistakable smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I turned to Hyunjin last. He didn’t say anything at first. Just bumped his shoulder gently against mine as he passed by, a quiet gesture.

“Don’t wait up,” he said lightly, already walking.

But after a few steps, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. His gaze found me just as I reached the dorm doors.

He waited until I swiped my card and the doors slid open before he gave a small nod and finally turned away, disappearing into the night with the others.

For a moment, I stood there in the quiet, warmth lingering in my chest, wondering how I’d stumbled into this strange, chaotic, unexpected corner of my life.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

By the time I had finally made it into bed, the late-night chill had seeped into the room, leaving the air biting. I tugged the blankets up to my chin, wrapping myself securely beneath the layers, feeling warmth slowly returning to my limbs. Even though my eyelids were already heavy, I took an extra second to tuck one of my throw pillows close to me. Minho’s advice echoed in my head, and I smiled sleepily at the thought. If Hyunjin came stumbling in loudly, at least I’d have something handy to throw.

I dozed lightly at first, the quiet of the room occasionally broken by distant laughter from outside, muffled footsteps down the hall, and the hum of traffic from the street below. Eventually, sleep claimed me, pulling me down gently into darkness.

Somewhere between dreams and reality, the soft click of the door opening tugged me awake. I blinked groggily into the darkness. A figure moved carefully across the room, silhouetted by the faint glow from the window. Hyunjin, clearly trying (and failing) to be quiet, accidentally bumped his knee into the edge of his desk, hissing out a muffled curse.

That was my cue.

Without thinking, I grabbed the pillow beside me and hurled it playfully in his direction. It hit him squarely in the side, catching him off guard. He turned sharply, stumbling slightly and almost knocking over his chair in surprise.

“What the —?” he whispered loudly, half startled and half amused.

I smothered a laugh into my remaining pillow, already wide awake. “Minho told me to do it.”

Hyunjin paused for a second, then let out a quiet chuckle, clearly shaking his head as he tossed the pillow gently back toward my bed. “Should’ve guessed. I’ll deal with him tomorrow.”

“Good luck with that,” I said softly, settling back into bed. “Goodnight, Hyunjin.”

He moved carefully to his side of the room, rustling softly with blankets. “Night, Y/N. No more throwing things, okay?”

“No promises,” I murmured sleepily, already drifting back to sleep, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth.

****

When I woke up the next morning, Hyunjin was already gone. His bed was rumpled and empty, the usual signs of his hurried departure to the studio. Sunlight peeked through the window, casting thin stripes of gold across the carpeted floor. I stretched lazily, feeling unusually rested, despite last night’s late chaos.

The thought made me smile as I pulled on my running clothes and laced up my trainers. Jogging was one of the few habits I’d brought with me from home, and somehow, it had turned into my favourite way to explore the campus. Each run revealed something new, like a tucked-away café, students practising dances on open lawns, or simply the way winter softened the edges of the buildings and made everything feel a bit calmer, a bit quieter.

Stepping outside, I let the crisp air wake me up fully, breathing deeply before setting off along one of my usual routes. The campus was quiet, but already beginning to stir with life. Clusters of students dotted the benches and tables, wrapped warmly in jackets and scarves, sipping coffees or pouring over notebooks and textbooks. The sight felt comforting, a gentle reminder of how much I already loved this place, even after the short time here.

I picked up speed slightly, earphones in, music matching my rhythm as I jogged past familiar sights.

The building ahead stood out from the rest, not just because of its tall windows or weathered brick, but because of the life unfolding around it. Students lounged on the steps and sprawled on the grass, sketchbooks open on their laps or propped against their knees as they drew, focused and unbothered by the cold. Someone strummed a guitar softly under a tree while another sang along, their voices blending gently with the quiet sounds of the morning. Even those just passing by carried that same energy. Bright scarves, painted jackets, unusual accessories that turned their outfits into walking statements. There was no sign needed to know this was the Arts building. The creativity practically spilt from its doors.

While jogging further, I spotted a familiar figure sitting on the broad concrete steps near the entrance. Hyunjin was there, hunched slightly over a cup of coffee, steam curling lazily into the air around him. He was staring absently into space, shoulders relaxed, hair falling gently into his eyes.

He didn’t notice me at first. I slowed slightly, unsure if I should disturb his peaceful moment. But then, as if sensing my presence, he looked up. Our eyes met instantly. I expected a simple wave, a casual acknowledgement from a distance. Instead, he straightened slightly, a soft smile appearing on his face, and waved me over.

Surprised but curious, I jogged closer, slowing to a stop at the bottom of the steps. I pulled one earbud out, letting the music fade into the background as I looked down at him.

“Morning,” I said, slightly breathless. “Didn’t think you’d be awake yet. Feeling okay after last night?”

He shrugged casually, lifting his cup toward me in greeting. “I survived. Somehow managed a few hours of sleep, so I’m not complaining.”

I smiled, pulling out an earbud. “Impressive. I thought for sure you'd be dragging your feet this morning.”

Hyunjin gave a small, amused huff. “I’ve had worse.”

My gaze dropped to the cup in his hand, and curiosity got the better of me. “What’re you drinking?”

He glanced at his coffee briefly before looking back up at me. “Americano. Basically just caffeine and bitterness.”

“That sounds exactly like you,” I teased gently.

He laughed softly, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Ouch. That was cold.”

“What can I say?” I said, grinning. “Someone’s gotta keep that massive ego of yours in check.”

“Good luck with that,” Hyunjin smirked. After a pause, he tilted his head curiously, studying me for a moment. “What about you, though? What’s your usual coffee order?”

I shook my head lightly, stretching my arms above me briefly. “Honestly, I’m more of a juice type of person.”

“Juice?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “What are you, five?”

I rolled my eyes. “Not everyone needs to inject caffeine directly into their bloodstream to function, Hyunjin.”

He laughed again, softer this time, eyes twinkling. “Noted. I won’t judge.”

“Thanks,” I said sarcastically, but my voice softened with sincerity. “Anyway, enjoy your bitter coffee. I’ve still got a few kilometres left to run.”

He nodded, leaning back comfortably on the steps. “Enjoy the rest of your run.”

I grinned, already popping my earbud back in. “Enjoy your brooding.”

His laugh followed me as I set off, resuming my jog. Something warm settled in my chest, unexpected but not unwelcome. I hadn’t anticipated Hyunjin becoming someone I could tease so easily, someone who’d wave me over to chat casually during early morning runs. But somehow, here we were.

My steps felt lighter as I continued, pushing my pace slightly, energised by both the fresh air and the brief but unexpected conversation.

By the time I finally returned to the dorm, my lungs burned pleasantly, and my muscles were satisfyingly tired. I was ready for a hot shower, breakfast, and maybe a few hours spent relaxing before I had to tackle anything productive.

As I stepped into the room, still pulling off my earphones, something bright on my desk caught my eye. Curious, I moved closer and saw a yellow sticky note, the handwriting unfamiliar yet strangely neat:

"In the fridge." A tiny doodle of a juice box with a smiling face sat beside the words, complete with a little straw and sparkles around it.

Frowning slightly, my curiosity growing, I crossed the room toward our tiny fridge and pulled open the door. Inside, nestled between a couple of yogurt cups and a carton of milk,, was a small bottle of juice. Orange, fresh, and clearly placed there intentionally. For me.

A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, warmth spreading through me despite the chill of the open fridge door. It was such a small gesture, barely more than a passing comment turned into something thoughtful, and yet somehow it made everything seem brighter.

I took the juice bottle out, closing the fridge carefully behind me, fingers curling around the cool glass.

Shaking my head gently, I glanced around the room once more, half-expecting Hyunjin to pop out from behind a canvas with a sarcastic comment or playful smirk. But the room was quiet, empty except for the faint lingering scent of paint and coffee.

I smiled quietly to myself, taking a long sip of the juice. Sweet, refreshing, and exactly what I needed after the morning’s run.

Somehow, the world felt just a bit warmer now.

****

The next few days passed in a kind of quiet rhythm, the chaos of my first week settling into something more familiar. Classes kept me busy, and I was starting to find a routine. I’d figured out where to get the best on-campus sandwiches, which lecture halls had the worst acoustics, and which side of the library caught the most sunlight in the afternoon. Slowly, things were starting to make sense.

Back at the dorm, things with Hyunjin had shifted. There was still that natural distance between us, the kind that came from two strangers sharing a space out of necessity, but it wasn’t tense anymore. We’d started talking more. Small things at first, like asking if the other one had eaten, passing each other notes about shared laundry slots, making sarcastic comments about our building’s water pressure. It wasn’t groundbreaking, but it was enough to feel like we were coexisting as something closer to friends than reluctant roommates. There were even moments that caught me off guard. For example the way he’d nudge my cereal box toward me in the morning if I looked half-asleep, or how he’d leave the lamp on if I wasn’t back by the time he went to bed.

I’d been spending more time with the others too. Chan and Changbin had invited me to one of their early morning gym sessions, which I’d barely survived, but I left with aching muscles and a weird sense of pride. Seungmin had somehow roped me, Jeongin and Jisung into a heated board game night, his dry commentary running under his breath the whole time while Jeongin dramatically narrated every move like it was a national broadcast. Even Minho had started referring to me with less sarcasm, which I took as a major win.

But it was Felix I found myself talking to the most. He was easy to be around. Warm, curious, and always ready with an oddly specific piece of advice. One afternoon, we sat outside a little café tucked between lecture halls, both of us nursing cold drinks despite the lingering chill in the air. He was telling me about one of his classes, something to do with group projects and how he always ended up doing more than his fair share.

“It’s fine though,” he shrugged, stirring the ice in his cup with a straw. “I kind of like the control.”

I laughed. “You and Hyunjin both, apparently.” I’d noticed it in the way he set up to paint. Every brush laid out in a perfect line, paints arranged by shade, everything within reach like muscle memory from years of practice. It was quiet, focused control, and oddly calming to watch.

That made his face brighten just slightly, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You’ve been getting along better, huh?”

I nodded, looking down at my drink. “Yeah. It’s... easier now. He’s different when you actually talk to him. Way different from when I met him.”

Felix tilted his head, watching me. “He doesn’t let many people in. But when he does, it’s kind of hard not to get pulled into it.”

There was something in his tone, light but deliberate, that made me glance up. He was still smiling, but it had softened.

“What?” I asked.

He lifted his shoulders casually. “Nothing. Just saying. You two... I don’t know, it makes sense in a weird way.”

I blinked at him. “What does?”

He grinned, not answering directly. “I just think you balance each other out. That’s all.”

Before I could press him, he changed the subject entirely, diving into a story about a girl who’d tried to submit an OOTD TikTok as her final creative project. I let him, but the thought lingered longer than I expected.

Maybe it was the way Hyunjin had started waiting up for me if I got back from study sessions late. Or how he offered me the last granola bar in the cupboard without saying a word. Felix’s words stuck in my mind, for some reason, repeating like a quiet drumbeat in the background of our increasingly normal, increasingly comfortable, day-to-day life.

And I really should have seen it coming.

Felix had invited all of us to get sushi after class. He said he was craving it and that everyone needed a break after a rough week. I hadn’t thought twice about it. It was typical Felix, rounding people up for food and using any excuse to get everyone together. So I showed up at the little place just off campus, cheeks still flushed from rushing to not be late, only to find Hyunjin already seated at a booth by the window.

He looked up at me with mild surprise, offering a half-smile. “Hey. You’re early too?”

I blinked. “I thought I was late.”

We both laughed lightly as I slid into the seat across from him, shaking the chill from my coat. It didn’t feel awkward, just... unexpected. We settled easily into small talk, both assuming the others would trickle in any moment. The waitress brought us menus. We placed our drink orders. Still, no one else arrived.

Then, as if on cue, our phones buzzed at the same time. One after another, messages rolled in on the group chat.

Felix: “Guys, I’m so sorry. Something came up with my group project. I’m out. Eat enough for me too, yeah?”

Jisung: “I think I left my oven on. Or my laptop. Or my oven. Either way, I’m panicking. Can’t come :(”

Chan: “Completely forgot I had a mentor meeting. Enjoy dinner!”

Minho: “Not happening. I don’t eat raw fish unless I catch it myself ;)”

Seungmin: “Still watching the courtroom drama. Things are getting intense. Sorry.”

Jeongin: “I was never invited. Rude.”

I stared at my screen, then slowly lifted my eyes to meet Hyunjin’s across the table. He was already looking at me with that amused expression that tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“We’re being set up,” I said flatly.

Hyunjin let out a soft breath, half a laugh. “Yep.” He leaned back against the booth, gaze flicking back to the messages. “Our friends are the worst.”

“They absolutely are the worst,” I agreed, even as I smiled and rolled my eyes. Because I should have seen it coming.

****

Sushi went surprisingly well.

Despite the setup, the awkward start melted away quickly once the food arrived. Hyunjin made a show of pretending to judge my sushi choices, dramatically gasping when I reached for the inari first. I retaliated by making fun of his chopstick skills. We traded stories. Mine about first-week confusion and almost walking into the wrong lecture hall, his about a sculpture assignment gone horribly wrong last semester that involved superglue and a lost hoodie sleeve.

The conversation bounced easily between teasing and genuine curiosity. There was a rhythm to it, like we’d done this before, like we knew how to speak each other’s language without needing instructions. He asked thoughtful questions about my classes and I found myself leaning in more, not because I couldn’t hear, but because I wanted to be closer.

By the time we stepped out into the night again, I felt lighter. Not just from the meal, but from the strange realisation that I genuinely liked being around him.

We walked slowly, hands in our coat pockets, our breath visible in the cold air.

“So,” Hyunjin said, nudging my shoulder, “what are the odds Felix and Jisung are sitting in the common room waiting for us like proud parents?”

I snorted. “Oh, one hundred percent. Maybe even with popcorn.”

A sly grin tugged at his lips. “Wanna really mess with them?”

I raised a brow. “What, like text them that we’re getting married?”

“Better,” he said, eyes glinting. “We walk in holding hands. Let’s give them something to panic about.”

I laughed but didn’t pull away when he reached out. His hand was warm, fingers slipping between mine with a familiarity that startled me. The silence stretched for a second too long as we stood just outside the building, both pretending this was all a joke while something fizzled quietly between our palms.

The elevator ride was short, too short, but the warmth stayed.

As the doors slid open onto our floor, we were met exactly as predicted. Felix and Jisung, planted squarely on the couches in the common area, mid-conversation but clearly on lookout duty. Their heads snapped up in perfect sync, eyes going wide as they saw us walk in hand-in-hand.

Felix’s mouth opened, shut, then opened again. “You’re joking.”

Jisung pointed, almost accusing. “You guys… Wait, what?”

Hyunjin didn’t miss a beat. He gave them a completely serene nod, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Evening.”

I tried to suppress my grin, biting the inside of my cheek as we walked past. My heart was fluttering, and my fingers still tingled from his touch. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed to this.

Just as we reached the hallway to our rooms, Hyunjin suddenly stopped. Without warning, he leaned down, wrapped an arm around the backs of my knees, and hoisted me up in one smooth motion.

I yelped. “Hyunjin!”

Felix practically choked in the background. “What is happening?”

Jisung was wheezing. “Are we still joking or should we look away?”

Hyunjin just smirked over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

And with that, he carried me toward our shared dorm room, his laughter echoing against the corridor walls while mine tried to cover how breathless I actually was.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

It had been exactly one week since Felix and Jisung’s matchmaking stunt. Even though they’d eventually caught onto our little act, their teasing had somehow gotten worse, and now every glance, every accidental brush of hands, or even every look that lasted longer than two seconds, earned us knowing smirks and exaggerated winks from our so-called friends.

The days following that evening had been strangely comfortable, filled with gentle banter, easy conversations, and small, thoughtful gestures that seemed to come naturally. Hyunjin had taken to leaving sticky notes scattered around the room with playful reminders and messages, and I had found myself responding in kind. Little moments, insignificant on their own, but they began adding up to something I didn’t quite know how to define.

Today, though, none of that mattered. The temperature outside had plummeted overnight, and, cruelly, the dorm’s ancient heating system had chosen this very morning to die. We’d awoken to an icy chill seeping through the walls, and no amount of optimism could hide how brutally cold it was.

Hyunjin had tried fiddling with the radiator valve while I frantically texted maintenance, but the response was a frustrating, ‘We’re aware of the issue. Please be patient.’ Helpful, really.

That had been nearly twelve hours ago.

Now, as evening fell, the chill had become nearly unbearable. Both of us were bundled in multiple layers of clothes, huddled miserably in our beds, shivering under every blanket and throw we owned.

I groaned softly, pulling my thickest hoodie tighter around myself and burying my nose into a fluffy scarf wrapped around my neck. “I can’t believe this is happening. Isn’t there some law against freezing students alive?”

Hyunjin let out a muffled laugh, peeking out from beneath a mountain of blankets on his side of the room. Two beanies were pulled low over his ears, leaving only his eyes peeking out, narrowed against the cold. “If there isn’t, there should be.”

The silence between us settled again, punctuated by the occasional clatter of my teeth chattering and Hyunjin’s heavy, shuddering breaths as he tried to warm up.

“Maybe we can do something?” I finally suggested, desperation leaking into my voice. “I mean, it’s getting ridiculous.”

Felix and Jisung had gone to crash at some friends’ apartment nearby, apparently one of the few places with working heating. Most of the other students had found ways to escape the cold too, heading to cafés, libraries, or anywhere with central heating that still worked. Our dorm, unfortunately, felt like the inside of a refrigerator.

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow from his blanket cave. “Like what? Start a bonfire in the middle of the room?”

“Tempting,” I said, shivering dramatically. “But probably against dorm regulations.”

He sat up, pushing the blankets back reluctantly, and immediately hissed at the sudden exposure to the icy air. “Okay, what about hot showers? That usually helps, right?”

It was worth a shot. I nodded quickly, already forcing myself to peel away from my blankets and stand, teeth chattering harder as soon as my feet hit the freezing floor, the cold seeping straight through my multiple socks. “Anything is better than this.”

Ten minutes later, we both emerged from steaming showers, feeling temporarily better. But the relief didn’t last long. Within moments of stepping back into our icebox of a dorm room, the warmth faded, leaving us both trembling again.

“Seriously?” Hyunjin muttered through gritted teeth, vigorously rubbing his arms as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “It lasted two seconds.”

“How about exercise?” I said, feeling slightly ridiculous even suggesting it. “We’ll warm up by moving.”

He shrugged helplessly. “Desperate times, right?”

We ended up in the centre of the room, hoodies pulled close, faces flushed from lingering steam as we began jumping jacks. It was absurd, and I knew we must’ve looked insane, but we both silently agreed not to comment. The frantic movements warmed us slightly, but within minutes we were both exhausted and no less freezing.

Panting, Hyunjin flopped back onto his bed climbing underneath the blankets again. “Okay, now I’m just cold and tired.”

I sighed deeply, shoulders slumping. “I give up. I think we just have to accept our fate and freeze to death overnight.” The cold seemed even worse now, mocking our efforts.

“This isn’t working,” I groaned, pulling my legs close and wrapping my arms tightly around myself. “All we’ve done is tire ourselves out.”

Hyunjin made a noise of agreement, but suddenly sat upright, his eyes widening with a newfound energy. “Wait… I have an idea.”

I watched, puzzled, as he scrambled off the bed and crossed the freezing floor in quick strides, kneeling to rummage beneath his cluttered desk. He moved things around, mumbling something about “where is it,” until finally, with a triumphant “aha,” he emerged, holding a half-filled glass bottle filled with clear liquid.

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. “What exactly is that?”

“Something Felix left here a while back,” Hyunjin said, squinting at the label. “He called it emergency vodka. I guess this could warm us up.”

I laughed weakly, teeth still chattering. “Didn’t take Felix for a vodka guy.”

“Exactly,” Hyunjin replied, grinning. “That’s why it’s been sitting untouched. But this qualifies as an emergency, right?”

“At this point, I’ll try anything,” I conceded, pulling my blankets tighter as he grabbed two cups from the small shelf above his bed.

Settling back on the bed, he poured generously into each cup, then leaned across the desk to hand me one with a small, hopeful smile. We both hesitated, glasses raised awkwardly.

“Cheers to… not freezing?” Hyunjin offered with a shrug.

I laughed softly. “To survival.”

We clinked our glasses lightly and took tentative sips. The alcohol burned pleasantly as it slid down my throat, spreading a faint heat through my chest. I winced slightly, feeling my cheeks flush immediately. I wasn’t much of a drinker, and drinking straight vodka probably wasn’t Hyunjin’s brightest idea.

Hyunjin laughed, his own expression twisted in a slight grimace, as if reading my mind. “Okay, this might have been a terrible idea.”

We took another cautious sip, feeling our muscles begin to relax slightly against the biting chill. Hyunjin leaned back, looking thoughtful as he swirled the liquid around in his cup.

“You know,” he began, eyes sparkling with mischief, “we could make this more interesting.”

I raised an eyebrow, suspicious but intrigued. “What did you have in mind?”

“Never Have I Ever,” Hyunjin said simply, the corners of his mouth tugging into a playful smirk. “If we have to drink, we might as well entertain ourselves.”

I hesitated, warmth spreading across my face at the suggestion. “You’re serious?”

He shrugged casually, eyes dancing with challenge. “Scared I’ll learn all your secrets?”

“Not a chance,” I shot back defiantly, straightening up slightly and holding my glass confidently. “Bring it on.”

He chuckled softly, settling comfortably onto his side. “Alright, I’ll start easy. Never have I ever… transferred universities mid-year.”

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly, taking a reluctant sip as he smirked triumphantly.

“Very funny,” I muttered, swallowing the burning liquid and feeling the comforting warmth spread further through my chest. “Never have I ever spent more than twenty-four consecutive hours working on an art project.”

He gave a dramatic sigh, raising his cup and drinking deeply. “Low blow, but fair.”

The questions quickly escalated, both of us trying to catch each other off guard. Hyunjin admitted to once wearing the same hoodie for an entire week during finals, to which I dramatically gasped in mock disgust. I confessed to forgetting an assignment until five minutes before it was due and nearly cried in front of the professor when trying to hand it in.

The more we drank, the more ridiculous our admissions became, laughter gradually replacing the awkward tension until we were clutching our sides and struggling to catch our breath.

Hyunjin wiped tears of laughter from his eyes, his grin wide and uninhibited. “Your turn. Hit me with something good.”

I paused, thinking hard, then met his gaze with a mischievous glint. “Never have I ever… pretended to date someone to prank my friends.”

He feigned indignation, eyes wide as he drank deeply. I drank too, not really thinking this through. “Unfair. That was your idea, too.”

I smirked, nudging him gently with my foot. “You suggested holding hands, remember?”

He flushed lightly, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “Maybe I did.”

We went quiet for a moment, eyes meeting in silent acknowledgment. The playful tension returned, but this time it felt softer, less awkward, warmed by the alcohol and laughter that still lingered in the room.

“Okay, one last round,” Hyunjin said, voice softer now, thoughtful as he studied me carefully. “Never have I ever… thought about what it would be like to actually date the person I was pretending to date.”

My heart skipped a beat, and heat rushed to my cheeks. For a moment, I hesitated, pulse racing nervously beneath his steady gaze. His eyes were gentle, sincere, holding mine without pressure.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, I lifted my glass and took a small sip. The alcohol barely registered compared to the sudden pounding in my chest. The alcohol making me a bit more confident and honest.

To my surprise, Hyunjin raised his own glass as well, drinking quietly. He lowered the glass, watching me with an expression somewhere between shy and relieved.

“Interesting,” he murmured softly.

“Very,” I replied quietly, lips curling into a cautious smile.

We stared at each other, the silence around us charged with possibility. But then another sharp gust of freezing air rushed through the window frame, and we both flinched, momentarily breaking the fragile moment.

Hyunjin sighed dramatically, setting his cup down and rubbing his hands together. “As much as I’d love to freeze to death while learning more about your deepest secrets, we should probably figure out a real solution for tonight.”

I laughed, feeling oddly relieved at his casual ease. “Any suggestions? I’m out of ideas.”

Hyunjin’s eyes darted to our beds thoughtfully, expression suddenly awkward again. He hesitated for a long moment, looking suddenly uncomfortable as he pulled his knees to his chest, biting his lower lip in thought. Eventually, he cleared his throat quietly, eyes darting shyly around the room. “Well, there’s always… you know, moving the beds together?”

The alcohol seemed to have loosened his tongue, softening the embarrassment that flickered briefly across his face. I felt myself flush, but the thought was undeniably appealing, especially considering how the cold had already started to return.

I blinked, heart suddenly beating faster. “Together?”

“Yeah,” he said quickly, voice a little more confident now, though still quiet. “You know, body heat and all that. It’d be warmer. Platonically, obviously.

“Right,” I breathed out, not quite able to meet his eyes, gentle but teasing. “Platonic bed-sharing for survival. Sure.”

He smiled shyly, nodding quickly. “Exactly.”

We stared awkwardly at each other for a heartbeat, tension thick in the icy air before another violent shiver wracked my body. Any discomfort at the suggestion quickly gave way to desperation.

I sighed dramatically, pushing myself up from the bed and already preparing to move it. “Platonic warmth it is, then.”

This definitely wasn’t where I thought the night would take us, but somehow, I didn’t really mind.

We shared a hesitant, almost shy smile before we began pushing our beds together. The two beds pressed together neatly, mattresses aligned perfectly like puzzle pieces, creating a makeshift haven from the cruel temperature outside our walls. Silently, we layered every single blanket, duvet, and throw across the combined bed, a ridiculously thick fortress against the cold.

Hyunjin hovered at the side of the combined beds, arms crossed, shifting nervously. “You know, even though these are technically our designated beds, I usually sleep on the side closest to the door. The left in this case.”

I blinked at him, already pulling the blankets back. “Why?”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “To protect the other person, of course. First line of defense. Intruders, ghosts, whatever. I like to be ready.”

I raised a brow, amused. “Then why didn’t you choose the left side of the room when you moved in?”

His eyes dropped for a second, voice quieter now. “Didn’t think I’d end up wanting to protect my roommate.”

My breath caught for half a second before I covered it with a light laugh. “You’re ridiculous. I always sleep on the left, regardless of where the door is.”

He hesitated, then sighed and climbing into his bed, on the right side of the room. “Fine. I’ll let it slide. Just this once. But you have to protect me now.”

“Duly noted,” I mumbled, slipping quickly beneath the mountain of blankets, sighing with relief at the slight reprieve from the cold. Hyunjin shifted carefully beneath the covers until he settled, a noticeable gap still between us, but close enough that I felt the subtle warmth radiating from his side. The mattress dipped with our shared weight, and the silence that followed felt oddly easy.

My heart was beating a bit too fast, pulse fluttering in my chest as we lay there in silence, eyes fixed determinedly on the ceiling. A wave of awareness coursed through me, hyper-aware of every tiny movement he made.

After a moment, Hyunjin let out a quiet laugh, his breath misting slightly. “This isn’t weird, right?”

“Totally normal,” I responded dryly. “Roommates do this all the time.”

He chuckled softly, a reassuring sound in the quiet. “Good. Glad we cleared that up.”

We fell silent again, both stubbornly pretending that the air wasn’t thick with a different kind of tension now.

“Do you think Felix and Jisung will ever stop teasing us?” Hyunjin suddenly asked, his voice gentle, breaking through the silence.

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me. “Not likely. They live for this stuff.”

Hyunjin hummed softly. “You know, the other day Felix told me we’d make a cute couple.”

I froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the inch of mattress separating us. “Funny,” I whispered, voice shaking slightly, “He said something similar to me, too.”

Silence again, longer this time.

“What did you say?” Hyunjin asked, voice barely audible.

“I told him he was delusional,” I said softly, a slight tremor betraying my attempt at lightness.

Hyunjin let out a gentle laugh, a sound that sent warmth skittering along my spine despite the chill. “Yeah, me too.”

Another quiet stretched between us, and when Hyunjin spoke again, his voice was softer, more uncertain. “Okay… this might be the vodka talking,” he murmured, “but… what if he’s not completely delusional?”

My breath caught. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he whispered, sounding oddly vulnerable, “What if they see something we don’t?”

I swallowed hard, heart suddenly loud in my ears. Carefully, I shifted my gaze towards him, finding his eyes already on mine, faintly visible in the dim glow from the streetlamps outside.

“I think,” I began quietly, carefully choosing my words, “they might be onto something.”

His lips parted slightly, eyes widening before a slow, hesitant smile spread across his face. “Yeah?”

I gave a small nod, unable to hold back my own tentative smile. “Yeah.”

A comfortable silence settled over us, heavy with meaning yet oddly light now that the words were finally out. I shifted slightly closer, barely even conscious of the movement until our arms gently brushed beneath the layers of blankets.

“You’re still cold,” Hyunjin mumbled softly, noticing the way I shivered lightly.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, cheeks warming in embarrassment.

Without another word, he edged a little closer, carefully, until our arms touched. Barely at first, then fully, solid and warm. I didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“Better?” he asked quietly, voice uncertain.

I nodded slowly, heart thudding in my chest, but my body finally easing from the chill. “Much better.” It felt impossibly natural.

“Still platonic?” Hyunjin teased gently, voice laced with amusement but also uncertainty.

I smiled. “Maybe we should reconsider the definition.”

He chuckled softly, relaxing more fully against me. “Agreed.”

With that settled, we lapsed into a peaceful silence, warmth finally filling the room, or maybe just the small space between us.

Tomorrow, we’d deal with broken heaters, relentless teasing, and all the confusion that would inevitably come with whatever this was. But tonight, beneath a mountain of blankets and comfortably pressed against Hyunjin, none of that mattered.

Tonight, everything felt right.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The first thing I noticed when consciousness began seeping back was warmth. Deep, enveloping, radiating through my body and making my skin hum pleasantly. It felt nice, comforting even, until I registered the steady, heavy weight draped securely over my waist.

My eyes fluttered open slowly, the dim morning sunlight filtering softly through the blinds. Blinking groggily, I stared at the ceiling, trying to recall how I'd ended up here. Memories trickled in bit by bit. Yesterday's icy cold, the endless layers of blankets, laughter mixed with vodka, and the quiet intimacy of our hushed conversation. Hyunjin’s arm over me now served as a gentle reminder of our decision to share warmth, to bridge the gap between us for the sake of survival.

I swallowed quietly, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we had become during the night. Our bodies were pressed together tightly, fitting into each other's space seamlessly. Beneath the tangle of blankets, my back rested flush against his chest, feeling each steady rise and fall of his breathing. Every inhale pushed me closer, every exhale drew me in.

My heart quickened as I tried to subtly shift position, testing how deeply asleep he was. Immediately, Hyunjin’s arm tightened around me, his grip pulling me even closer. A rush of heat bloomed in my cheeks at the unexpected possessiveness of his hold. I bit my lip to suppress the jittery flutter in my stomach.

Carefully, trying not to wake him, I tilted my head back, inch by slow inch, until my eyes landed on Hyunjin’s sleeping face.

My breath caught softly.

He looked unguarded and peaceful, so different from the confident artist who had first greeted me with a paintbrush and an overconfident smirk. Long strands of dark hair had escaped his messy ponytail during the night, framing his face in soft waves. Some of it fell loosely across his forehead, casting faint shadows over his relaxed features. His eyelashes rested delicately against the tops of his cheeks, darker in contrast to the gentle sunlight that danced across his skin. The usual sharpness and guardedness he wore were completely absent, replaced instead by a tranquil vulnerability I rarely glimpsed.

For a moment, I simply watched him. The rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing soothed something inside me, calming the rapid pace of my heart. Without realising it, I let my gaze drift downward, noting the graceful curve of his collarbones, the smooth line of his shoulders, until…

I froze.

Where was his shirt?

I sucked in a shaky breath, my heart suddenly pounding erratically. Memories flashed back, fuzzy and distant. At some point during the night, it must have grown too hot beneath our blankets, prompting him to discard his hoodie, and apparently, the shirt underneath. Heat surged through my face again as I quickly looked away, embarrassment mixing with a quiet sense of panic.

As though sensing my discomfort, Hyunjin stirred behind me. His arm shifted slightly, his breathing pattern changing. I tensed, heart racing as his body grew alert. He mumbled softly, barely audible, before stretching against me. His chest pressed even closer into my back. Then, abruptly, his movements stopped.

A beat passed. Two.

Then he jolted awake, sitting up swiftly. His arm fell away, leaving behind a sudden chill against my waist. I turned around quickly to face him, clutching the blankets to my chest. He stared at me, wide-eyed and disoriented, hair adorably tousled from sleep.

For a few tense seconds, silence filled the room, neither of us knowing quite what to say. Then, as if gathering himself, Hyunjin cleared his throat awkwardly, a faint flush creeping up his neck as his lips curved into his familiar cocky smile.

“You know,” he drawled, stretching his arms above his head and leaning casually against the headboard, his confidence sliding into place like a protective shield, “if you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.”

My mouth fell open in disbelief, embarrassment quickly turning to indignation as I grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it straight at him.

“I didn’t —” I sputtered, my face burning even hotter as he caught the pillow effortlessly, chuckling at my reaction.

Hyunjin’s laugh echoed softly around us, his amusement gradually melting away the tension. He raised an eyebrow playfully, tossing the pillow aside. “It’s okay, Y/N. I won’t judge. My arms are very cosy, I get it.”

I groaned, burying my face in my hands as embarrassment washed over me. He was impossible.

“I’m going,” I muttered, scrambling off the makeshift bed and immediately regretting the decision as cold air rushed against my skin. Ignoring Hyunjin’s teasing laughter behind me, I snatched up my phone.

As I awkwardly fumbled with the screen, mostly to avoid looking back at him, a notification caught my eye. “Oh,” I said, voice still rough from sleep, “they fixed the heating overnight.”

Hyunjin hummed behind me, voice still warm with amusement. “Really? So we survived the last night of the Ice Age?”

I rolled my eyes, still flustered, but continued, “Yeah. You can switch it back on. Maybe move the beds back too... while I’m out.”

“That sounds like a very convenient way to avoid manual labour,” he called after me, just as I reached the door.

“Exactly,” I tossed over my shoulder, not daring to look back. Then I was out the door, clutching my toothbrush and shower things like a lifeline, heart racing for reasons I wasn’t quite ready to unpack.

Closing the door securely behind me, I leaned heavily against it, breathing out a long, steadying sigh. My heart was still pounding, my mind racing in confusion at the intensity of my reaction to waking up in his arms. I headed to the shower and turned it on, letting steam gradually fill the small space, clouding the mirror and easing the frantic thoughts running through my head.

As I stepped under the hot spray, tension began melting away, replaced by the calming rhythm of the water hitting my skin. Slowly, rational thought returned, allowing me to process everything more clearly.

It had been innocent, necessary even. We’d needed warmth, and we’d both agreed to share it platonically. Yes. Platonically.

Yet, as I stood there beneath the steady flow of hot water, the image of Hyunjin’s sleeping face lingered stubbornly in my mind.

My cheeks heated again, this time from more than just the shower. I shook my head, trying to clear the thoughts, but they clung stubbornly, refusing to fade. Groaning softly, I reached for my body wash, lathering it onto my skin as if I could scrub away the unexpected feelings that had crept up on me.

But as the minutes ticked by, clarity slowly settled in. I found myself replaying it all. His words, the way he looked at me, the way neither of us moved apart. Maybe it was just the cold. Or the vodka. Or the way shared discomfort can make things feel more intense than they are. I told myself not to overthink it, that I was probably reading too much into a moment that wasn’t meant to mean anything. Still, a small part of me wondered if I was lying to myself.

Stepping out of the shower, I quickly wrapped myself in a towel and moved toward the mirror. The glass was fogged, distorting my reflection. Wiping it clean with one hand, I stared at my flushed, uncertain face, searching for answers that weren’t there.

My heart tightened briefly, a mixture of excitement and apprehension swirling in my chest. Things had undeniably shifted between us, leaving me standing at the edge of something new and unfamiliar.

And as much as I wanted to brush off what happened as just another awkward morning, I couldn’t help but wonder, had Hyunjin felt it too?

Forcing those thoughts aside, I pulled on my running tights and a fitted long-sleeve top, tying my shoelaces with a little more force than necessary. After brushing out my hair and tugging it into a loose ponytail, I gathered my courage to head back to our room.

Hyunjin was already standing near the window, now fully dressed, casually leaning against the frame. I noticed the beds hadn’t been moved back yet, but both were neatly made, blankets smoothed out with quiet precision. He looked up when I entered, expression carefully neutral, though a faint, telltale pink still lingered high on his cheekbones. My heart did a ridiculous little flip in response.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice soft, eyes flickering away for a brief second before meeting mine again. “Look, Y/N, about —”

“It’s okay,” I said gently, shaking my head as a small smile tugged at my lips. I put my shower things away, then moved toward the door again. “We both know it was just because of the cold. No harm done.”

He watched me carefully for a moment, studying my expression as if looking for reassurance. Then his shoulders relaxed visibly, and he nodded once, returning my smile cautiously. “Right. Just the cold.”

An awkward silence settled between us again. We both stood quietly, uncertain but comfortable enough in each other’s presence, until Hyunjin cleared his throat gently.

“You heading out?” he asked, glancing at my running shoes.

I nodded. “Just a short run.”

His brows lifted slightly, eyes flicking toward my still-damp hair. “After you just showered?”

I shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Needed to clear my head.”

He tilted his head, that familiar smirk tugging at his lips. “I was going to say we should get breakfast. You know, so you could repay me for the premium body heat and cuddle service. This kind of luxury doesn’t come free.”

I scoffed, grabbing my phone and earbuds. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Generously ridiculous,” he corrected. “But I’ll take a rain check. And maybe a coffee.”

“Noted,” I said dryly, rolling my eyes.

As I reached the door, his voice followed me, smug and warm. “Don’t stay out too long. You’ll just get cold again and come crawling back.”

I didn’t turn around, but I knew he was grinning. “In your dreams, Hyunjin.”

“Every night,” he called after me.

And despite myself, I was smiling the whole way down the hall.

****

After my run, I found myself sprawled across Felix and Jisung’s impeccably decorated room, my body tired but pleasantly warm from exercise. I’d practically collapsed onto the floor beside Felix’s bed, legs stretched out and still catching my breath, content to stay there for as long as they’d let me.

Felix glanced up from his desk, notebook and colourful markers sprawled across the surface as he sketched absently. “Good run?”

“Exhausting but good,” I admitted, stretching my arms above my head. “It helped clear my mind a bit.”

Jisung spun lazily in his desk chair, turning toward me with a knowing smile. “Clear your mind from what exactly?”

I narrowed my eyes playfully. “You’re fishing.”

“Absolutely,” he admitted shamelessly, leaning forward eagerly. “I need the details about last night. The group chat was suspiciously quiet.”

I groaned, covering my face with a pillow Felix had left conveniently nearby. “It was freezing, that’s all.”

Felix laughed lightly, twirling a marker between his fingers. “Sure, freezing. Hyunjin’s been suspiciously happy today for someone who claims he nearly got frostbite.”

Heat crept into my cheeks as I peeked out from behind the pillow. “It’s not what you think.”

Jisung leaned even closer, eyes sparkling mischievously. “What do we think?”

“Nothing happened,” I insisted, sitting up and adjusting my sweatshirt. “We were just cold. We just moved our beds together to share blankets. The heating was out. You know that.”

Felix tilted his head curiously, setting down his marker with exaggerated care. “And you kept each other warm. Interesting strategy. I mean, we have friends with apartments whose heating was still working.”

“You two are impossible,” I muttered, shaking my head as I reached for my phone, desperate for any kind of distraction.

An email notification flashed across my screen, and I opened it instinctively, grateful for an excuse to avoid their teasing. My heart sank a little as I read the contents, the familiar university header suddenly feeling colder and more official.

“Something wrong?” Felix asked softly, picking up on my sudden change in expression.

I sighed, lowering my phone into my lap. “My new dorm allocation date just came through. I’ll be moving out next week.”

Felix’s smile faltered slightly, his expression turning thoughtful. Jisung stopped spinning entirely, coming to a halt and turning fully toward me, brows furrowed.

“That soon?” Felix asked quietly, concern edging his voice.

I nodded, forcing a small, reassuring smile. “Yeah. It’s fine. I knew it was temporary. And I’ll still see you guys all the time.”

I should be happy. It meant I could finally settle properly, properly making the room mine with decorations, and not live out of boxes. But I’d only just gotten comfortable with having them all so close by. Who knew where I’d end up now?

Jisung offered a sympathetic look. “You better. We can’t lose our honorary roommate now.”

“Exactly,” Felix said firmly, nodding to emphasise the point. “Besides, the second you leave, Hyunjin will regress. He needs you.”

I laughed softly, but the sound felt strained even to my own ears. “I’m sure he’ll survive.”

Felix hesitated, exchanging a quick, meaningful glance with Jisung before turning his gaze back to me, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. He shifted in his seat slightly, clearing his throat in a way that instantly raised my suspicions.

“What is it?” I asked slowly, eyeing him cautiously.

Felix shook his head a little too quickly. “Nothing. It’s just…” He paused, biting his lower lip thoughtfully, clearly debating how much to say. “Did Hyunjin mention his moving date to you?”

My brows furrowed. “No, why? Should he have?”

Felix shrugged lightly, his eyes suddenly too focused on his notebook as he carefully adjusted one of his markers. “No, I guess not. I just assumed he might’ve, given everything.”

I stared at him, suspicion curling around my thoughts. “Given everything?”

He glanced back up at me, lips twitching in a barely concealed smile. “You know, the way things have been lately. You two seem closer. I thought maybe he’d said something.”

I shook my head slowly, feeling suddenly uncertain. “He hasn’t said anything. I just assumed he’d get a similar email soon.”

Felix hummed softly, still not meeting my eyes, and I felt a strange sense of unease building.

Jisung leaned forward, seemingly catching Felix’s hesitation. “Maybe Hyunjin just hasn’t checked his emails yet. You know how he is. If it doesn’t have to do with paint, he tends to ignore it.”

“Probably,” Felix agreed easily, but something about his tone didn’t quite convince me. He still avoided my eyes, and it only made me more curious.

“Felix,” I began carefully, narrowing my eyes at him. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

He finally looked up, eyes wide and innocent. Too innocent. “Nope. Nothing specific. Why?”

“Felix,” I said again, voice firmer now. “You’re fidgeting.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping back in his chair and tossing a pen in the air. “I’m just saying, whatever happens, you’re not going to stop being part of our lives. So don’t stress too much about moving out.”

I blinked. “I’m not stressing.”

“You’re definitely stressing,” Jisung chimed in without looking up from his phone.

Felix smirked. “And besides, if I were psychic, and I’m not saying I am, I’d say everything is exactly where it needs to be.”

I snorted. “Psychic now? What’s next, tarot cards?”

Jisung laughed quietly, nodding solemnly toward Felix. “He actually does this a lot. It’s terrifying. He predicted Changbin’s dating disaster three months ago. Word-for-word.”

Felix smirked triumphantly, tapping his temple lightly. “Fashion design isn’t the only talent I possess, you know.”

I rolled my eyes, unable to stop my smile despite the strange knot forming in my chest. “Whatever you say.”

Jisung leaned back with a mock-serious expression, gesturing broadly as if making an official announcement. “Honestly, we should probably warn your new roommate about how often you’ll be hanging out here. They should know what they’re getting into.”

Grateful for the easy way they lightened the mood, I laughed. Still, as they both turned back to their tasks, Felix resuming his drawing and Jisung spinning idly again, I couldn’t shake the lingering sense of uncertainty.

Felix’s reaction nagged at the edge of my thoughts, quietly whispering that maybe, just maybe, things were about to change far more than I anticipated.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

When I finally wandered back into our room after spending most of the day with Felix and Jisung, Hyunjin still wasn't back yet. The air felt quiet, almost expectant, as I closed the door behind me. My eyes automatically drift toward the beds.

They were still pushed together.

Hours later, they were still like that. A part of me wondered if that meant we were going to sleep like this again tonight.

I wasn't going to overthink it.

I’d half-expected Hyunjin to have moved them apart while I was gone. Maybe it was convenience. Surely, it didn’t mean anything serious.

Quickly distracting myself, I grabbed my laptop and earphones from the desk and climbed onto my side of our still-connected beds. After a moment of hesitation, I decided it couldn’t hurt to just leave them like this for now. It was comfortable, and I wasn’t exactly eager to rearrange furniture on my own. At least, that's what I told myself.

I settled back comfortably against my pillows, dimmed the bedside lamp until it cast a soft, warm glow over the room, and opened my laptop. After browsing aimlessly for a few minutes, I finally settled on a movie I’d seen a dozen times, not in the mood to really think too much. I slipped my earphones in, pulling the blankets up to my chin, and let myself drift into the familiar storyline.

About halfway through the movie, the door clicked open quietly. I glanced up, removing one earbud as Hyunjin stepped inside, immediately noticing the soft lighting and my comfortable position. He paused for a moment, taking in the room and the way I was nestled into the blankets.

“Oh,” he said softly, offering a small, uncertain smile. “Hey. Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb.”

“You’re not,” I reassured quickly, heart rate kicking up a notch despite myself. “Just watching something.”

He closed the door behind him, shedding his coat and dropping his bag beside his desk. His eyes flickered toward our joined beds, and he hesitated just slightly before glancing back at me. “Mind if I join you?”

My pulse jumped again. “Oh, sure. Of course.”

He smiled softly, a gentle expression that made something warm bloom inside my chest, and quietly grabbed a change of clothes before disappearing out the door to the bathroom. I took a deep breath, calming my racing heart, and turned back to the movie as if I hadn’t already lost track of what was happening.

A few minutes later, he emerged in his usual sleep clothes, a simple black t-shirt and soft sweatpants. He carefully climbed into the bed next to me, keeping a respectful amount of space between us. A pleasant warmth radiated from his side, making me suddenly hyper-aware of just how close we actually were. Again.

Without a word, I removed the earphones, switching the sound to the laptop speakers and adjusting the volume so we could both hear comfortably. Hyunjin settled deeper into his pillows, pulling the blanket up to his waist, and turned his attention to the screen.

“What are we watching?” he asked quietly, tilting his head slightly toward me.

“It’s just an old comfort movie,” I admitted shyly, suddenly self-conscious of my choice. “I’ve watched it way too many times.”

His eyes softened in amusement. “Sounds perfect.”

We settled into a comfortable silence as the movie continued, but after a few minutes, Hyunjin leaned slightly toward me, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait, who's this again? Did I miss something important?”

I bit back a smile, glancing sideways at him. “Yeah, she’s the main character’s sister. It’s kind of important.”

“Oh.” He blinked, frowning at the screen. “And... what’s with the letters?”

“They’re her grandmother’s,” I explained patiently, trying to keep the amusement out of my voice. “They found them hidden in the attic earlier.”

He nodded thoughtfully, looking unconvinced but turning back to watch. A few moments later, he tilted his head again. “Okay, but why is everyone acting so weird about it? Are they cursed or something?”

This time, I couldn’t stop myself from laughing softly. “No, Hyunjin. It’s not that kind of movie. Did you even see the beginning?”

He had the decency to look sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Not exactly. I haven’t seen this movie yet.”

“You’re hopeless,” I teased, shaking my head affectionately. “Should I restart it?”

His expression shifted into something playful, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Actually, I have a better idea.”

I raised an eyebrow, sceptical but intrigued. “Oh?”

He nodded seriously, shifting to face me better. “Hot chocolate.”

“Hot chocolate?” I repeated dubiously, glancing toward the window. The night sky was already inky dark. “Isn't it a bit late?”

“It's never too late for hot chocolate,” he insisted confidently, throwing back the covers and moving to the edge of the bed. “Besides, you still owe me for last night’s cuddle services.”

I groaned, rolling my eyes dramatically. “Will you ever let that go?”

“Absolutely not,” he replied cheerfully, already rummaging through his drawers for warmer clothes. “So are you in or not?”

I hesitated, glancing between him and the cozy nest of blankets I was currently curled up in. As appealing as staying warm and comfortable sounded, something about the hopeful look on his face made my heart flutter. I sighed softly, feigning reluctance. “Fine. But only because you’re persistent.”

He shot me a victorious grin, grabbing a fresh sweater and jeans. “Good choice.”

“Where exactly are we going?” I asked curiously, moving to set my laptop aside.

“There’s a little café not too far from here,” he explained, heading toward the bathroom again with his clothes in hand. “It stays open pretty late, and the hot chocolate there is incredible.”

I smiled despite myself, his excitement contagious. “Alright. I guess that sounds pretty good.”

Hyunjin disappeared to the bathroom once more, and I climbed out of bed, stretching out my stiff muscles. I shivered slightly at the chill in the air, already missing the warmth of our shared blankets. I quickly moved toward my wardrobe, pulling out jeans and a soft jumper.

As I changed, I couldn’t help the flutter of nerves and excitement in my chest. Spending time alone with Hyunjin was quickly becoming my favourite thing, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself just yet. I shook my head lightly, trying to ignore the ridiculous grin that was already forming on my lips.

When Hyunjin returned a few minutes later, he paused at the door, glancing at me with a quiet, unreadable expression. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I replied softly, slipping into my coat and pulling on my shoes. “Lead the way.”

He grinned again, brighter this time, and held the door open for me. “After you.”

As we stepped out into the hallway together, I felt a strange, comforting sense of rightness settle over me. Our footsteps echoed softly down the corridor, the world around us hushed and sleepy. I glanced at him from the corner of my eye, heart skipping again when our gazes briefly met and he offered another small smile.

Maybe hot chocolate after midnight wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Hyunjin's shoulder brushed mine lightly as we walked, sending another gentle warmth racing through my veins. I tucked my hands into my coat pockets, taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart.

Whatever was happening between us felt fragile and tentative, but also wonderfully inevitable.

As we stepped into the elevator side by side, Hyunjin bumped my shoulder lightly, eyes sparkling in the fluorescent light. “I hope you know I’m going to milk the cuddle debt thing forever.”

I laughed softly, shaking my head. “I had a feeling you might.”

His grin softened, turning genuine as he glanced at me again, this time holding my gaze a little longer. “Thanks, by the way. For being okay with... everything. Last night, tonight.”

My heart warmed, and I smiled shyly back. “It’s okay. I’m enjoying it.”

We stood quietly for a moment, the elevator gently humming around us, before the doors slid open with a quiet ding. Hyunjin led the way through the lobby and toward the building’s entrance, his pace steady and easy beside me.

The night was cool, the air crisp and clear as we stepped out onto the empty street. The quiet of the campus at this hour felt almost magical, the stillness broken only by our footsteps and the soft hum of distant traffic.

I took a deep breath, glancing up at the clear night sky, stars faintly visible through the city’s glow. Beside me, Hyunjin walked silently, hands tucked deep into his pockets, his expression thoughtful but content.

The quiet wrapped around us as we walked toward the café, our breaths forming soft clouds in the cool night air. Hyunjin led the way, moving confidently through familiar streets and shortcuts I'd never noticed before. My heart thudded softly in my chest, each step feeling oddly significant. Neither of us spoke, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was gentle and warm, as if each unspoken thought hung delicately between us.

Eventually, the café came into view, softly glowing against the darkness. It was tucked away between two taller buildings, with fairy lights strung along the windows, their reflections shimmering faintly on the sidewalk. A wooden sign above the entrance read "Moonlit Brew," painted carefully in white cursive letters.

Hyunjin glanced over his shoulder at me, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. "Here we are. Best hot chocolate on campus, I promise."

"I'll hold you to that," I teased softly, following him inside.

The warmth of the café immediately enveloped me, soothing away the chill from outside. The place had an intimate atmosphere. Small tables clustered comfortably together, soft jazz music drifting through hidden speakers, and the enticing scent of chocolate and cinnamon lingering in the air.

We approached the counter, and Hyunjin confidently ordered two hot chocolates, paying before I had a chance to reach for my wallet.

"I thought I owed you?" I protested softly, nudging him gently with my elbow.

He hesitated, a faint blush colouring his cheeks, suddenly shy. "No, I… I think maybe I'm the one who owes you. For, you know, everything."

I smiled, feeling my own cheeks warm, and decided not to press further. We found a small corner booth by the window, secluded enough that it felt comfortably private.

Once seated, I wrapped my fingers around the warm cup, letting the steam gently warm my face. Hyunjin mirrored my actions, sighing contentedly as he took a careful sip.

"I didn't know this place existed," I admitted softly, glancing around appreciatively.

He chuckled, eyes bright. "It's a bit of a hidden gem. I found it during one of my late-night walks."

"Do you do that often? Late-night walks, I mean," I asked, genuinely curious.

He nodded, looking contemplative. "Yeah. It helps me clear my head, especially after spending too much time in the studio. Sometimes things just… pile up, you know?"

I nodded slowly, understanding what he meant. There was a beat of comfortable silence before Hyunjin shifted slightly, his gaze carefully meeting mine. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course," I said quietly, sensing his seriousness.

He hesitated briefly before speaking again, voice gentle. "Why did you transfer here? I mean, you mentioned a little before, but… you don't have to share if you don't want to."

I took a deep breath, fingers tightening just slightly around my cup. For a moment, I hesitated. But looking at Hyunjin, his expression soft, patient, and open, I found myself wanting to tell him.

"I guess I just needed a change," I began softly, looking down into my cup. "Back home, everything felt like it had been decided for me already. My friends, my major, my boyfriend…"

I paused, heart tightening slightly as the memories resurfaced. "My boyfriend especially. We'd been together for a long time, and it got to a point where I didn't really recognise myself anymore. Everything I did felt like it was to make someone else happy. I studied something I didn't really care about, spent time with people who didn’t really see me. And I realised one day that if I didn't leave, I'd lose myself completely."

When I finally looked up, Hyunjin was watching me closely, eyes gentle. "That's brave," he murmured softly.

"I don't know about brave," I sighed, laughing softly to mask my nerves. "Maybe just desperate. But… coming here was terrifying. The thought of starting over, making new friends, and finding out who I really am. It was overwhelming. It still is sometimes."

He nodded slowly, his eyes far away for a moment before refocusing on me. "I get that feeling. Maybe not exactly the same way, but the idea of never being good enough… It's hard."

I tilted my head slightly, curiosity tugging at me. "What do you mean?"

Hyunjin looked down at his hands, fingers tracing absent-minded patterns against the cup. "I love art. It's been my whole life for as long as I can remember. But no matter how hard I work, there's always this voice in my head saying I'm not enough. Like, no matter how much I paint or draw, it'll never be perfect."

He sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I feel like I’m always chasing something just out of reach."

I watched him quietly, my heart aching softly at his words. "I haven't really seen much of your art," I said gently, "but everyone always praises you. Felix says you’re incredible, Jisung too. They all say your work is amazing."

He chuckled softly, his expression shy. "They're biased. Good friends, but biased."

I smiled gently. "Maybe, but they're also honest. You should trust them more."

He looked up, meeting my eyes again. Something in his gaze softened further, vulnerable. "Maybe I should. I'll show you sometime. Properly."

"I'd really like that," I replied sincerely, my pulse quickening at the genuine warmth in his eyes.

The silence stretched again, more comfortable now. The café was quiet around us, soft music humming gently in the background. I glanced out the window, feeling my heart begin to ache at the thought I'd been trying to avoid.

"I'm moving out soon," I said quietly, breaking the silence with words that felt heavier than I'd intended. "I got my official date today. It's coming up soon."

Hyunjin's expression flickered briefly, something unreadable crossing his face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then seemed to reconsider, closing it again. A small crease appeared between his brows, a quiet conflict clearly playing behind his eyes.

"Hyunjin?" I prompted softly.

He hesitated again before offering a faint, almost sad smile. "It's nothing. That’s exciting. I'm just… I'll miss having you around, you know?"

My heart tightened softly at the sincerity in his voice. "Yeah, me too."

He smiled again, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. After a pause, he sighed gently, pushing his now-empty cup aside. "We should probably head back. It's late."

I nodded quietly, gathering my things. As we stepped back into the chilly night air, the quiet felt heavier now, thoughts and emotions still lingering between us. We walked slowly, footsteps echoing quietly against the empty pavement.

Halfway back, Hyunjin shifted beside me, his fingers brushing lightly against mine before gently slipping around my hand. My heart leapt into my throat, pulse racing as I glanced up in surprise. His expression was shy, but there was a playful glint in his eyes.

"Is this okay?" he asked softly, a teasing smile tugging at his lips. "You know, just to keep our hands warm."

I bit back a shy laugh, cheeks warming furiously as I tightened my fingers gently around his. "Yeah. It's okay."

He smiled brighter at my response, relief softening his features as he squeezed my hand gently. We walked like that the rest of the way, the warmth of his palm pressed securely against mine, a comforting reassurance amidst the growing uncertainty of everything else.

When we finally reached our building, the quiet between us felt different. Charged, but gentle. My thoughts swirled as we stepped back into our room, the warm air immediately comforting against the cold outside.

Without speaking, we slipped back into our sleeping clothes, moving quietly around each other, a comfortable ease now settling in despite the lingering nerves fluttering beneath my skin. The beds still sat pushed together, inviting yet somehow daunting.

Hyunjin hesitated by the bed, his eyes carefully meeting mine. "Are we… sleeping like this again?"

I bit my lip, nodding gently. "Yeah. I mean, if you're okay with it?"

He smiled softly, climbing beneath the blankets without another word. I slipped in beside him, heart fluttering quietly in my chest as we settled into the quiet. After a moment, I shifted slightly, voice barely above a whisper.

"We should do this again," I said softly, turning my head to look at him. "The hot chocolate thing. It was nice."

He nodded slowly, gaze thoughtful. "Yeah. I’d like that too."

A beat passed between us, silence warm but filled with unspoken thoughts. Then, slowly, Hyunjin reached out, his arm gently circling my waist. I held my breath, pulse quickening as he softly tugged me closer.

"Is this okay?" he murmured quietly, uncertainty lingering in his voice.

I smiled shyly, heart racing as I nestled gently against his chest. "Yeah. It's perfect."

He sighed softly, relaxing as he held me close, his warmth enveloping me gently. My head rested lightly against his shoulder, and I could hear the soft, steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Closing my eyes, I finally allowed myself to let go, feeling secure and protected in his embrace. As sleep gently pulled at the edges of my consciousness, I felt Hyunjin shift slightly, his voice soft and barely audible.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

My heart warmed as I whispered back, feeling sleep begin to claim me. "Goodnight, Hyunjin."

Wrapped safely in his arms, I drifted off easily, secure in the quiet certainty that, somehow, everything had changed between us, and maybe that wasn't such a scary thing after all.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The next few days slipped by in a gentle blur, each moment filled with quiet laughter, lingering glances, and the soft warmth of Hyunjin's embrace. Classes passed quickly, homework felt less overwhelming, and every evening ended with us quietly slipping into bed together, gradually moving closer until cuddling had become second nature.

We never discussed it directly; it simply happened, a silent yet mutual agreement. I found myself eagerly looking forward to the evenings, those quiet moments before sleep when we would whisper softly in the dark, his fingers gently tracing lazy patterns along my arm or back, each touch sending quiet sparks of warmth through me. I tried not to overthink it, not to question the tenderness growing between us, but it was getting harder to ignore.

Because the truth was, I was falling for Hyunjin. Fast, and without a safety net.

Our friends had noticed too, judging by Felix's knowing glances and Jisung’s increasingly less subtle hints. They never openly teased us, but their smiles and careful nudges made it clear they were watching our every interaction.

By Friday night, the tension was so thick it felt palpable. We'd all decided to meet at a bar close to campus, and the group squeezed comfortably into a corner booth with an easy view of the lively crowd. Soft music filtered through speakers, and laughter and conversation mingled effortlessly.

Chan was in the middle of a particularly animated story about his latest music project, arms gesturing wildly, Changbin and Jisung hanging onto every word with loud enthusiasm. Minho watched quietly, sipping his drink, amusement glittering in his sharp eyes.

I sat between Felix and Hyunjin, feeling completely sober compared to the rest of them, nursing a lemonade I'd ordered earlier. Hyunjin was also sober, claiming he wanted to remain clear-headed for his early morning painting session tomorrow, but part of me wondered if his reason had more to do with me.

Every few minutes, his fingers brushed lightly against mine beneath the table, softly, hesitantly, as though testing boundaries. Each accidental touch sent quiet electricity up my spine, and each time, Felix would shoot me a subtle, knowing smile across the table.

"Enjoying yourself?" Felix whispered eventually, leaning in closer so only I could hear him clearly.

I flushed slightly, giving him a playful nudge. "Felix, stop."

He laughed softly, eyes sparkling with warmth. "I'm just saying. You two look good together."

My cheeks warmed further, but I didn't argue. Instead, I let my gaze shift quietly toward Hyunjin, noticing the way the dim lights illuminated the angles of his face, highlighting the softness of his lips as he laughed at something Jeongin said.

My pulse quickened. How could anyone be so effortlessly beautiful?

Eventually, Chan yawned dramatically, stretching his arms wide above his head. "I hate to say it, but we should probably head back."

There were a few disappointed groans, but everyone gradually stood, gathering jackets and bags, stepping out into the cool night air. As we walked, conversation flowed freely, laughter echoing off the buildings around us. Hyunjin walked quietly beside me, our hands brushing occasionally, each subtle touch feeling deliberate.

The others gradually peeled away, one by one, heading towards their respective dorms and apartments until it was just the two of us walking silently toward ours. My heart beat faster, nerves dancing quietly beneath my skin, heightened by the soft intimacy that seemed to hang between us.

Neither of us spoke until we'd entered our room, door clicking softly shut behind us. Silence stretched between us for a beat, filled only by the faint hum of the room’s heater. Hyunjin's eyes were intense in the dim lamplight, his expression unreadable yet somehow vulnerable.

Before I could speak, he stepped closer, gently cupping my cheek in his warm palm, thumb brushing tenderly against my skin. My breath caught sharply in my throat, pulse suddenly loud in my ears as his eyes searched mine.

"I can't do this anymore," he murmured softly, voice almost shaking.

I blinked nervously, heart racing. "Do what?"

His gaze softened, thumb gently brushing across my lower lip. "Pretend I don't want this. Pretend I don't think about kissing you every second of the day."

My stomach flipped, a soft breath leaving my lips as I stared up at him, pulse fluttering erratically. "Then stop pretending."

His eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering briefly through his gaze before melting into relief. Slowly, almost reverently, he leaned forward, closing the gap between us.

The moment our lips met, everything around me seemed to dissolve. His kiss was gentle at first, hesitant, exploring. Soft brushes of lips as though testing whether this was real. My heart pounded wildly, and then instinctively, I slid my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. Hyunjin sighed against my mouth, a soft, helpless sound, before pressing closer still, his hands slipping gently to my waist and pulling me firmly against his chest.

The careful restraint between us broke entirely.

Our kisses grew hungrier, more intense. His fingers slid beneath my shirt, tracing gentle lines across my skin, making me gasp softly against his mouth. I tangled my fingers in his hair, feeling the softness of it between my fingers, tugging him gently to deepen the kiss further. His mouth was hot, urgent against mine, each kiss growing more desperate, intoxicating. My pulse hammered in my ears, skin burning from his touch as I pressed closer, unable to think clearly beyond the feeling of his lips, his hands, his warmth.

He pulled away just enough to whisper breathlessly against my lips, "I've wanted to do that for so long."

I laughed softly, dizzy, heart still racing as I rested my forehead against his. "Me too."

His breathing was uneven, eyes dark with desire as he trailed his fingertips slowly down my spine. "Are you sure you're okay with this?"

I nodded instantly, leaning in to brush another gentle kiss against his lips. "More than okay."

Hyunjin smiled softly, lifting me effortlessly and guiding me toward the bed. My back hit the mattress gently, Hyunjin hovering over me, his gaze soft but heated. His lips brushed tenderly against my jaw, then slowly downward, tracing kisses along my throat, each touch leaving fire in its wake. My breathing quickened, back arching instinctively as his hands carefully slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, fingers warm against my bare skin.

His lips returned to mine, passionate and needy, my fingers gripping his shoulders tightly, pulling him impossibly closer. He groaned softly against my mouth, deepening the kiss once more, his hands roaming my waist, mapping out every curve, every sensitive inch of skin, until I was trembling beneath him, craving more.

"Hyunjin," I whispered breathlessly, my voice shaking. He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes gentle and questioning.

"Are you alright?" he murmured softly, concern flickering through the haze of desire.

"Yes," I breathed, cupping his face gently. "Just… don't stop."

His eyes darkened, a quiet smile tugging at his lips as he leaned in again, pressing soft, lingering kisses along my collarbone. I shivered beneath him, feeling warmth pool low in my stomach, each touch and kiss sending heat spiralling through my veins.

We stayed that way, wrapped up in one another, discovering new ways to draw soft gasps and quiet sighs from each other, until eventually our kisses slowed, becoming gentle and tender again, exhaustion finally pulling at our senses.

Hyunjin settled beside me, pulling me close into the warm curve of his body. His fingers traced gentle patterns along my arm, his heart steady and reassuring beneath my palm.

"This feels like a dream," he whispered quietly, pressing a soft kiss against my forehead.

I sighed happily, smiling softly against his chest. "If it is, I never want to wake up."

He chuckled softly, tightening his embrace just slightly. "You know, our friends are going to be unbearable now."

I laughed quietly, tracing idle circles against his chest. "They knew before we did."

Hyunjin hummed softly in agreement, lips pressing another gentle kiss to my temple. "I suppose we should thank them eventually."

"Eventually," I agreed quietly, feeling sleep begin to tug gently at the edges of my mind.

We drifted into silence again, wrapped securely in each other’s arms. The hum of the room softened beneath the sound of our steady breathing. Just before sleep claimed me fully, Hyunjin whispered softly against my hair, his voice quiet yet clear.

"I'm falling for you, you know."

My breath caught slightly, but not in surprise. It was more like relief. Like hearing something I already knew finally spoken aloud.

"I know it’s fast," he added, his thumb gently brushing my arm. "We’ve only known each other a little while. But I mean it."

Warmth spread through my chest, a quiet smile tugging at my lips as I nestled closer.

"I’m falling for you, too," I whispered, my words threading between us in the dim light. "Fast or not."

His arms tightened around me slightly in response, and that was the last thing I felt before sleep pulled me under. Safe. Seen. Wanted.

****

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight was streaming gently through the blinds, casting soft, golden patterns across the tangled sheets. I rolled over, my hand instinctively searching for Hyunjin’s warmth, but the space beside me was empty, cool to the touch. I blinked slowly, the memories of last night washing over me, bringing a faint flush to my cheeks and a smile to my lips.

Slowly sitting up, I stretched, muscles pleasantly aching as I glanced around. My gaze landed on my desk, where a bright yellow sticky note sat neatly placed. A soft smile tugged at my lips as I stood, pulling the note from the surface and reading the familiar, tidy handwriting:

See you later?

My heart fluttered warmly, fingers tracing lightly over the simple words. Smiling softly, I carefully stuck it back onto the desk before grabbing my clothes and towel, ready to shower and prepare for class.

The morning passed by easily enough. Lectures that held my attention, notes that practically filled themselves. And by the time I returned to the dorm, my mood was buoyant, still wrapped comfortably in the lingering warmth from last night.

As I settled into my chair, ready to dive into some much-needed study, a sudden knock at the door pulled my attention away from my textbooks. Frowning slightly, I stood up, tugging open the door with curiosity.

Standing there was a girl I'd never seen before, eyes bright and sparkling with barely-contained excitement. She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, her face alight with anticipation.

"Hi!" she said brightly, voice bubbly and enthusiastic. "You must be Y/N, right?"

"Uh, yeah," I responded slowly, confusion knitting my brows together. "Can I help you with something?"

"I'm Jiwoo," she introduced herself eagerly, stepping forward slightly. "I’m moving in here in a few days and just wanted to come by and check out the space. You know, figure out where I’m going to put my stuff, get a feel for the room and what I still might need."

My heart stumbled, confusion immediately washing over me. "Wait, sorry— you're moving in? Here?"

Jiwoo's smile dimmed slightly at my confusion, a faint look of uncertainty flickering across her face. "Yeah… the university called me yesterday to let me know a space opened up suddenly. They said a student from this room is going abroad soon, so they’re reallocating the spot. Didn't you know?"

I felt the blood drain from my face, a chill sweeping sharply through me. "Going abroad?" My voice was barely a whisper, disbelief and dread twisting tightly in my chest. "I— I didn't know."

She hesitated, clearly sensing something was off. "Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed you'd both know already." She shifted awkwardly on her feet. "Maybe they messed up. Should I come back another time?"

Forcing myself to breathe, I shook my head quickly, mustering a tight smile. "No, it's fine. Let me… show you around."

As I led Jiwoo through the room, showing her the closet space and storage beneath the beds, my mind raced, desperately trying to process what she'd just said. My movements felt stiff and unnatural, answers short and automatic.

Jiwoo was friendly, warm, and endlessly curious, eagerly making plans for how she'd set things up, how she'd organise her desk. Her excitement felt miles away from the heaviness pressing against my chest, the sudden sharp sting of betrayal tightening my throat.

"Do you know when the other student is leaving?" Jiwoo asked tentatively, sensing my lingering unease.

Before I could answer, a figure appeared in the doorway, instantly halting all my thoughts. Hyunjin stood there, framed by the entrance, confusion creasing his brow as he glanced between us.

"Hey," he said slowly, clearly thrown off by the unfamiliar face. "What's going on?"

Jiwoo turned to him immediately, her smile brightening again. "Oh! You must be the one studying abroad. That's so cool. Where are you headed?"

Hyunjin’s expression froze, his eyes flicking instantly to me, searching, panicked. I held his gaze, my heart hammering painfully in my chest, betrayal and hurt welling in my throat.

Swallowing hard, I forced calmness into my voice, but I couldn’t keep out the sharpness. "Jiwoo is my new roommate. She’s moving in here in a few days because, apparently, you're leaving."

Hyunjin’s face paled visibly, guilt flickering clearly in his eyes. His gaze dropped briefly, his fingers curling nervously by his sides.

Jiwoo, sensing the sudden tension, glanced awkwardly between us. "Maybe… I should go?" she suggested hesitantly, sensing she'd stumbled into something deeply private.

"Yeah," I murmured quietly, forcing a small, polite smile for her. "I'll see you soon, Jiwoo."

She nodded quickly, grabbing her bag and slipping past Hyunjin, who stepped aside stiffly to let her leave. Once the door clicked shut behind her, the silence that followed was deafening, thick and charged.

"Y/N," Hyunjin began weakly, stepping cautiously towards me, expression tight with guilt. "Listen, I—"

"When were you going to tell me?" I cut him off, voice shaking slightly despite my attempt to stay calm. "Were you even going to?"

His gaze dropped to the floor again, shoulders slumping in defeat. "I was going to tell you. I swear. I just didn't know how."

"How long have you known?" My voice cracked slightly, emotion bleeding through. Hurt, betrayal, confusion. All of it swirled painfully in my chest.

"Since before we even met," he admitted quietly, his voice low with guilt. "I applied for the programme months ago. Long before you moved in, I didn’t even think I’d get in. They hadn’t contacted me for so long, I assumed it wasn’t happening. And then a few days ago, I got the acceptance email. This morning, they finally confirmed the travel date."

I stared at him, unable to mask the hurt tightening in my chest.

"I didn’t know things would turn out like this, Y/N," he said, his voice rough. "I didn’t know I’d meet you and that everything would change so fast. I didn’t expect to care this much. I thought… I thought I’d have more time to figure it out. To tell you the right way."

"You could've told me," I said sharply, stepping back instinctively, needing space between us. "You had so many chances. We spoke about me moving out, and you just stood there, saying nothing. You watched me stress about it. Why didn’t you say anything?"

His eyes pleaded with mine, pained and full of regret. "Because I was scared," he said, his voice cracking. "I was scared that the moment I said it out loud, it would be real. That everything we were building would shift. I thought if I kept it quiet just a little longer, we’d get more time together. I didn’t want to ruin that."

"So instead, you let me find out from someone else?" My voice trembled as I tried to keep it steady. "You let me feel like a fool."

"I never meant for it to be like that," he said, stepping forward slightly, then stopping himself. "I didn’t mean to lie, I just… kept putting it off. I told myself I’d explain when it felt right, but it never did. And then we got closer, and it felt impossible."

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I tried to hold myself together. My voice came out quieter than I expected, but it still cut through the air between us.

"How long will you be gone?"

Hyunjin hesitated, then finally answered, "A year."

The word landed with a thud in my chest. I took a slow breath, nodding once. "You know that it’s not that you’re leaving, Hyunjin. I’m not mad that you got in or that you’re going. I would never want to hold you back from something like that."

His eyes searched mine, uncertain.

"I’m hurt because you didn’t tell me," I continued, voice shaking. "Because you weren’t honest with me. We shared everything... or at least I thought we did. You could’ve just told me. You should’ve told me. Anything would’ve been better than finding out from a stranger."

His mouth opened like he wanted to explain again, but nothing came out. And honestly, there was nothing left to say that could undo it.

For a long moment, neither of us said anything. The silence pressed in tightly, filled with all the words he should’ve said and all the trust that now felt uncertain.

And then he reached for me desperately, fingers brushing lightly against mine, but I pulled away immediately, shaking my head.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded softly, eyes wide and glassy with desperation. "I never wanted to hurt you."

I forced myself to breathe, fighting back the tears and the anger that threatened to spill over. "But you did, Hyunjin. You did."

He was silent, helplessness etched clearly across his features. My heart ached, but the pain of his betrayal was too fresh, too sharp to ignore.

"I can't do this right now," I whispered finally, voice shaking but firm. Turning quickly, I grabbed my bag, stuffing in a change of clothes and my toothbrush. "I need some space."

"Wait—" Hyunjin's voice cracked desperately, but I didn't stop, refusing to meet his eyes as I zipped up my bag.

"Please, Y/N," he whispered, stepping closer, voice thick with regret. "Don't leave like this. Please talk to me."

I finally turned, my heart breaking as I took in the raw pain in his eyes. But the sting of betrayal was stronger, cutting deeper.

"I trusted you," I said softly, voice trembling but steady. "With everything. And you lied to me."

He flinched visibly at my words, eyes filled with remorse, and as much as I wanted to reach out, to comfort him, to forgive, I couldn't. Not now.

"I’m sorry," he breathed desperately, anguish evident in his voice.

I shook my head, backing towards the door. "I need to go. I can't be here right now."

Without giving him another chance to speak, I turned swiftly, pulling the door open and stepping out into the hall. My footsteps echoed sharply down the corridor, the quiet sound of the door closing softly behind me resonating painfully in my chest.

Every step away felt heavier, harder, as tears finally blurred my vision, slipping down my cheeks. I'd opened myself up completely to him, trusting him with parts of me I'd shared with no one else. The thought of him leaving, of him knowing and choosing not to tell me, hurt more than I could have imagined.

Reaching Felix and Jisung's door, I knocked softly, chest aching with each second I stood waiting. The door swung open quickly, Felix’s warm smile immediately dissolving into a concerned frown.

"Y/N?" he asked softly, stepping aside instantly. "What happened?"

I stepped inside without speaking, the tears now flowing freely, and let myself fall into Felix’s open arms. Behind him, Jisung immediately stood up, worry creasing his brow as he approached carefully.

Felix held me tight, not pressing for details, just murmuring softly and gently stroking my hair. My heart twisted painfully, and as I finally let myself cry, surrounded by their warmth, I realised how deeply I’d fallen for Hyunjin, and how devastatingly he’d broken my trust.

I wasn't sure how we could possibly come back from this, or if we even could. But for now, all I could do was cling tightly to my friends, hoping that somehow, eventually, the hurt would fade.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

The door clicked shut behind her, and I just stood there. Silent. Frozen.

The quiet was immediate and deafening. Like someone had punched a hole in the middle of the world and all the air had rushed out.

Y/N’s perfume still lingered in the air. But she was gone. And I had no one to blame but myself.

How did I fuck this up so royally?

I ran a hand down my face, pacing to the middle of the room before abruptly turning and walking back again. I wanted to scream. To punch something. But all I could do was think about the look in her eyes when she’d calmly said she could not stand to be here anymore. Needed space. Probably as far away from me as possible.

And the worst part? She hadn’t yelled. She hadn’t asked me to explain or fix it. Because in her mind, I’d already made the decision. I’d already betrayed her trust. And she wasn’t wrong.

The email had come through just a few days ago.

Subject: FINAL CONFIRMATION – Berlin Art Exchange 2025

I’d stared at it for nearly an hour before opening it. Then another hour before reading it properly. Then another day, before letting it really sink in.

They wanted me in Berlin. As soon as possible.

A year-long residency. A chance to work in one of the most renowned collaborative studios in Europe. A mentorship opportunity with my favourite mixed-media artist. A spot I didn’t think I’d get when I applied months ago, before I ever knew Y/N existed. Back when the dorm room still felt too quiet, before the walls were filled with her humming while she worked, or our whispered late-night conversations when neither of us could sleep.

Back when I was still just going through the motions.

Now the idea of leaving felt like tearing up roots I didn’t know had grown so deep.

Why didn’t I just tell her?

It wasn’t like I didn’t want to. I rehearsed it a hundred times in my head. But I kept putting it off. Telling myself I’d find the right moment. That I’d explain it when I had the words. But the truth is, I was avoiding it.

Because deep down, I knew what it would mean.

Y/N would never have asked me to stay. That’s not who she is. But if I told her I was going, I’d have to admit that this, whatever we were, had an expiration date.

I thought maybe, if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be real yet.

God, what a cowardly, selfish thing to do.

I sank onto the edge of the bed. No, beds. Still pushed together from the night before. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. The blankets still held the shape of our bodies, the slight indent where she curled into me. The space didn’t feel warm anymore. It felt like a shell.

I should’ve told her the second I got the email. Even if I didn’t have the words yet. Even if I wasn’t sure what we were. Especially because I wasn’t sure. Because we’d just crossed that line, just kissed for the first time, just started something real. And I went and ripped the floor out from under it before it even had the chance to take root.

I thought I had more time.

I didn’t mean to start something only to leave her in the wreckage. But everything happened so fast. One day, we were roommates. Then friends. Then something more. And I told myself I’d figure it out later. That I’d find the perfect moment to tell her. But life doesn’t wait for perfect moments, and now I was left picking up the pieces of something I might’ve ruined forever.

I stood abruptly, grabbing my bag from under the bed and dragging it to the middle of the floor. I tossed in a hoodie. A shirt. Phone charger. Toothbrush. My sketchbook. I couldn’t stay here tonight.

Not because she wasn’t here. But because I was the reason she didn’t want to be. At the very least, she deserved to sleep in her own bed.

I pulled out my phone and messaged Chan.

Me: Can I crash at your place tonight?

It was late, but he responded almost immediately.

Chan: Yeah, of course. You okay?

I stared at the blinking cursor, then turned the phone over without replying.

No. I wasn’t okay.

I zipped the bag closed and stood in the centre of the room one last time, breathing it in. The memories clung to everything. Her laughter bouncing off the walls. The tangle of limbs under the blankets, tentative at first, then natural. Like we had always fit like that.

And now?

I couldn’t even picture her face without my stomach twisting with guilt.

I slipped out quietly, locking the door behind me and tucking the key into my pocket. The hallway was dim and still. I moved quickly, hoodie pulled up, head down. The campus looked different tonight. Like it knew something had broken.

The walk to Chan’s place wasn’t long, but every step felt heavy. Like I was walking further and further away from the chance to fix this.

What would I even say if I could?

Sorry I didn’t tell you I’m leaving the country in three days?

Sorry I kissed you?

Sorry I made you think we could start something only to turn around and vanish?

The truth was, I didn’t expect to fall for her. I didn’t realise that her presence would become a fixture in my every day. That her laughter would be something I craved hearing. That I’d memorise the way she looked when she was focused, or sleepy, or trying not to smile when I said something dumb or arrogant.

I didn’t realise that by the time the programme replied, I wouldn’t be the same person who applied in the first place.

I reached Chan’s apartment and knocked. The door opened almost instantly.

Chan blinked at me, hair tousled, pyjamas slightly wrinkled. “You look like shit.”

“Feel like it too,” I muttered.

He stepped aside and let me in. “Spare bed’s made up. The others are already sleeping.”

I nodded in thanks, stepping into the living room. The warmth was immediate, but it didn’t sink into my chest. Not like her presence used to.

I dropped the bag by the couch and sat down heavily.

Chan hovered for a moment before sitting across from me, arms crossed. “You going to tell me what happened?”

“She found out about the exchange programme in Berlin,” I said quietly.

Chan’s brows furrowed in confusion. “Okay, you told her?”

I shook my head once. “She found out when the new roommate came to look at the room. University told her I was going to Berlin.”

Chan’s brows shot up, his lips parting slightly. “Wait, what? You’re going? I didn’t even know you got in.”

I let out a short, humourless laugh. “Yeah. Found out a few days ago. Got the actual date this morning.”

“Shit,” he whispered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew you applied, but I didn’t know it was… this soon.”

“Neither did I,” I said quietly. “I figured I didn’t get in when I didn’t hear back for months. I just… I wasn’t ready for it to suddenly be real.”

Chan shook his head slowly, still trying to process. “Congratulations, I guess,” he said after a beat, though his tone was tinged with surprise. “But… I didn’t realise you and Y/N were—” He broke off, searching for the right words. “—that close.”

I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Neither did I, at first.”

He studied me for a moment, his expression gentling. “So what happened? You didn’t tell her because…?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, guilt twisting hard in my stomach. “At first, I didn’t tell her about the programme because I didn’t think I got in. I applied months ago, and when I didn’t hear anything for so long, I figured it was over, so it didn’t matter. And then… I did get in. Out of nowhere. And suddenly there was this date, and it was soon, and…” I trailed off, shaking my head.

“I was scared she’d pull away if she knew. And I felt guilty too, because by then it wasn’t just casual anymore. I’d started this… thing with her, and it was deep, and I knew I was going to disappear. So I just kept pushing it out, trying to buy time, thinking maybe I could figure out how to approach it in the right way. How to even explain it.”

My chest felt tight as the words kept spilling. “What would I even say? Do we try long distance? Are we even close enough for that? We’ve only known each other for a few weeks. I couldn’t ask her to wait for me. But I also couldn’t bring myself to risk losing what we had before I had to go.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, letting out a long, slow exhale. He rubbed a hand over his face, muttering something under his breath before looking at me properly. “Hyunjin, I didn’t even know you’d gotten in until today. I knew you’d applied, sure, but… man, this is fast. You’re leaving in days, and she just found out from a stranger. That’s brutal.”

I nodded, the weight of it pressing hard in my chest.

His expression softened slightly. “I’m really proud of you for getting in. This is huge, Hyune. You worked for this, and it’s an incredible opportunity. Not everyone gets a shot like this, and you should be proud of yourself, too.” He paused, the warmth in his voice tempered by the weight of his next words. “But… you really messed this one up. You should’ve told her the second you knew. Even if you didn’t have the answers yet, even if you weren’t sure how she’d react. She deserved to hear it from you.”

I swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at me even more. “I know. I thought I was protecting what we had, but I just made it worse. Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, right? Too bad it doesn’t help when you’ve already blown it.”

“Yeah, it’s a bitch,” Chan said quietly. “Do you still want to go?”

I looked up sharply. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I hesitated, the words heavy in my throat. “I do. I have to. I’ll hate myself if I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I wanted it to cost me… her.”

Chan leaned back, his expression unreadable. “Then you need to figure out how to make it right. She deserves better than finding out like that. And if this matters to you, really matters, then you don’t get to walk away from the mess. You clean it up.”

I let out a shaky breath and nodded. “I know.”

But how do you clean something like this up?

****

The morning air was sharp as I stepped back into the dorm building, a cardboard drink tray balanced in my hand with a coffee and juice from the café on the corner. I’d stopped there mostly because I hadn’t slept a single decent hour and figured caffeine might keep me upright.

Even at Chan’s place, where the couch was warm and the atmosphere calm, my thoughts had spiralled in circles. I kept replaying last night over and over.

Somewhere between ordering my drink and waiting for it, I’d asked for her favourite juice too. I told myself it was just a small gesture, a peace offering, but even as I carried it back, it felt silly. A juice wasn’t going to fix this. Not when the problem was bigger than anything I could hand her in a paper cup.

My hand lingered on the doorknob to our room, but I didn’t turn it. I already knew before I walked in. The stillness on the other side told me everything. When I finally opened the door, it confirmed what I’d suspected: the room was empty.

The beds were separated again.

I looked around the room, and it hit me how wrong it felt now. I wasn’t even gone yet, but she had already pulled herself out of it.

Her blanket and pillow were gone. The desk was too neat. It felt like a hotel room after checkout. Impersonal and cold, even though the faint scent of her shampoo still lingered in the air.

I crossed the room slowly and set the juice down on her desk. My eyes caught on the sticky note sitting there, exactly where I’d left it yesterday morning, back when everything between us still felt easy. I reached out and rubbed my thumb across its corner. “See you later?” I’d written, keeping it light without thinking twice. Now I wished I could time travel, go back to that moment and tell her everything, just to avoid the mess we were standing in now. Instead, the note sat there like some relic from a version of us that didn’t exist anymore.

I knew where she was. Only one place made sense.

My feet moved automatically, heart thudding dully as I walked down the hall. I didn’t even know what I was going to say to her if she opened the door. I just knew I needed to see her. I hesitated only for a second before knocking on Felix and Jisung’s door. The knock echoed louder than I intended.

A few seconds passed, then the door creaked open.

Jisung stood there in sweatpants and a hoodie, hair mussed, eyes wary the moment they landed on me. He didn’t greet me.

“Hey,” I said quietly. “Is Y/N here?”

His jaw clenched just slightly. He didn’t answer right away.

“I really need to talk to her,” I added. “Please.”

He sighed, leaning his weight on the doorframe. “It’s… probably not a good time.”

I nodded slowly. Of course it wasn’t. But the clock was ticking. “I leave soon. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

There was movement behind him.

She stepped into view before he could say anything else.

Y/N.

She was in one of Felix’s hoodies, too big on her, sleeves covering her hands, and her hair was pulled into a loose bun like she hadn’t bothered to do more than brush it once. She looked tired. But not like she hadn’t slept, like she was drained. Like she had nothing left to give me.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, something behind her expression faltered.

Then she pulled it back together.

“You don’t have to explain,” she said evenly. “I get it. You’re leaving. It’s fine. I’m… happy for you.”

“Y/N…” I shifted my weight forward, my voice low. “Can we talk somewhere private? Just for a minute?”

Her brow lifted slightly, like she was considering it, but the hesitation only lasted a second before she shook her head. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“I want to explain,” I pressed, my words almost stumbling over each other. “I want to make this right.”

“You can’t,” she replied, the chill in her tone cutting sharper than if she’d shouted. “You don’t need to. It’s fine.”

“Y/N, please.”

Silence stretched between us. Even Jisung seemed to be holding his breath. His hands fidgeted with the edge of the doorframe like he wasn’t sure if he should step in or disappear.

“Just… go, Hyunjin,” she said finally, her voice soft but final.

“I’m sorry,” I said, voice barely above a whisper.

I stayed there, hoping she might look at me again, give me anything other than this distance. Even anger would be better than this measured detachment. But she kept her gaze steady, and I knew I wasn’t getting past it. Not today.

She didn’t speak again.

So I nodded, stepped back, and let the door close in my face.

The hallway felt colder on the walk back. Every step echoed louder than necessary, like the walls were mocking me. By the time I reached our room, my body moved on autopilot.

I started packing.

Not the neat, gentle kind of packing you do when you’re excited to travel. No, this was the kind of packing you do when you need to move fast. I threw it all into the suitcase without ceremony.

It felt wrong being here. Like I was trespassing on something fragile and sacred that I’d already broken.

And I knew, whatever I was about to leave behind, it might be too late to fix.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

I didn’t sleep much the night I left.

Even tucked under Felix’s extra blanket, curled against the edge of his bed with the soft glow of the hallway light sneaking through the slightly ajar door, my mind refused to shut off. Thoughts twisted and tangled like frayed wires, too much and not enough all at once.

Felix was next to me, his back turned, breaths slow and even in the quiet. This, sharing space and keeping to our own sides, was what sleeping beside a friend looked like. I should have known that what I’d been doing with Hyunjin was something else entirely. That the warmth of him pressed against me, the way we’d tangled ourselves together without thinking, had already been a sign.

I knew I didn’t have the right to react like this. We weren’t official. We hadn’t made promises. Technically, Hyunjin hadn’t broken anything except my trust. But that was the part that stung most. The absence of honesty. The omission.

He had let me fall. Had kissed me like I meant something, held me each night like I belonged in that space beside him. Then let me find out, in the most impersonal way possible, that it was all temporary.

I didn’t expect forever. But I didn’t expect to be blindsided.

The next morning, Felix didn’t ask questions. He just handed me a mug of tea and a pair of socks he claimed were warmer than mine. Jisung tossed me a cereal bar and made a joke about charging me rent. I smiled. Laughed when I could. Pretended that the hole in my chest wasn’t steadily widening.

I stayed with them the next day as well.

I tiptoed back to the room only when I knew Hyunjin was out. I’d memorised his class schedule without meaning to, so I knew when it was safe to slip in and grab fresh clothes or my charger.

The first time I went back was the morning after the fight. I woke up early to grab my shower things from the room, making sure to be in and out before Hyunjin could return. Felix mentioned he’d gone to sleep at Chan’s apartment. I still stayed in Felix and Jisung’s room even though I knew that, not wanting to be alone. Even the thought of sleeping in my bed alone felt like too much.

When I entered the room, a lonely juice was left on my desk. Hyunjin. I’d stood there for a long time, just staring at it, before picking it up and carrying it to the kitchen. I couldn’t drink it. I couldn’t keep it either. I emptied it down the sink and tossed the cup in the bin, the action feeling both deliberate and hollow.

I headed back toward Felix and Jisung’s room, finding them already in the hallway on their way to the kitchen. Without thinking, I asked if they could help me move the beds apart. The words came out quickly, sharp and impulsive, born more from anger and pettiness than any real plan. They both went still for a moment, exchanging a quick look I pretended not to notice. Jisung nodded slowly, and Felix just murmured, “Yeah… sure,” before they kept walking.

After that, every time I returned, the room felt a little emptier. His sketchbooks disappeared from the desk. His closet side grew bare. More of his belongings were packed neatly into boxes stacked beside the door.

It was happening. He was really leaving.

And I should be happy for him. I was. Somewhere beneath the aching mess inside my chest, I was proud of him. An international art exchange was a big deal. Berlin would be amazing for him. He had always seemed meant for more than the four walls we shared.

But I couldn’t stop the bitterness from creeping in whenever I thought about how he hadn’t told me. How I’d fallen into something with him, slowly, gently, genuinely. And he had already been half out the door.

I wasn’t angry anymore. Just… tired. Tired of pretending it didn’t hurt.

By the third day, I was done avoiding my own space.

I didn’t announce anything. I simply gathered my things and moved back. Felix helped me carry my books. Jisung gave me an encouraging nudge before I left their room. When I walked back in, it felt both familiar and foreign.

I settled in quietly, went to my classes, and studied. I told myself I was fine.

Then, a day before his departure, I came back early from a cancelled lecture and found him in the room.

He was kneeling beside one of the open boxes, gently placing a framed photo of our whole friend group into it. He hadn’t heard me come in, or maybe he had and just didn’t know what to say.

Our eyes met when he finally looked up.

Something unreadable flickered across his face, surprise, maybe. Relief. A small breath of hope. “Hey,” he said, voice low, like he didn’t want to disturb the fragile air between us.

I didn’t sit down. Just hovered near the door, heart thudding.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” he added, standing up slowly. “I’ve been trying to come at times when you’re not. I didn’t want to make it worse.”

My fingers curled slightly into the strap of my bag. “Class was cancelled.”

He nodded, shifting awkwardly. “Right.”

A silence stretched between us. Neither of us moved.

Then he rose and took a small step toward me, eyes searching mine, full of words that seemed to press at the back of his throat but never made it out. “Y/N… I —”

“You don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t have overreacted,” I said, forcing my voice to sound steadier than it felt. “It’s not like we were anything official. I just… it caught me off guard. That’s all.”

His face tightened, the smallest shadow of hurt flickering through his expression before he smoothed it away.

It took everything in me to summon a smile. One of those brittle, paper-thin ones you give when you’ve run out of things to fight about and you’re just trying to leave something behind that doesn’t feel jagged. My cheeks strained to hold it in place, but my chest felt hollow. “You’re going to do amazing things in Berlin, Hyunjin. I hope you enjoy every second of it.”

For a moment, his lips parted as if he might push past the wall I’d just built, say something that could change this and close the distance, but I’d already moved past him toward my desk. I set my bag down with deliberate care, pulled my headphones from the drawer, and slipped them over my ears.

If he remembered the rule we’d made at the start, headphones on meant no talking, he chose to honour it. Still, I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and almost hesitant, before he turned back to the box at his feet. The silence stretched out, soft and suffocating, settling between us like a layer of dust no one was willing to disturb.

****

I already knew he was leaving that day. I’d known since the morning, when the sun barely rose and the weight in my chest pressed down harder than usual. I kept myself busy, clinging to pointless tasks, like refolding laundry that was already folded and rearranging my books in alphabetical order. Anything to stop my mind from drifting toward the clock. Toward the moment I’d have to face.

But after lunch, while I was sitting in the courtyard with Jisung and Minho, the conversation shifted before I could stop it.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Minho asked casually, halfway through his sandwich.

I froze. “Coming where?”

“Airport,” he said around his mouthful, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Jisung’s chewing slowed. His eyes flicked to Minho, then to me, and he immediately grimaced. “Wait… you don’t know?”

My heart dropped into my stomach. The courtyard noise faded around us, all chatter and clinking trays suddenly muffled.

Minho rolled his eyes and looked between us, his brows knitting together. “Don’t be silly. Of course, she knows. Hyunjin sent a message on the group chat this morning. You are coming tonight, right?” He repeated the question, as if I didn’t hear the first time.

I didn’t answer right away. My body felt tight, like all my muscles had locked into place. Both of them were staring at me, waiting, and I couldn’t meet their eyes. I shook my head slowly, focusing instead on the untouched food in front of me.

“Y/N…” Jisung said gently, his voice softer now. “He’s flying out tonight. Late. I think the flight’s around nine. You can’t not come. He’s leaving for a year. Don’t you think you’ll regret it if you don’t go?”

The words pierced straight through me. Regret. That was already gnawing at me, even as I sat there pretending I didn’t care.

“I’ve already said my goodbyes,” I muttered, pushing a piece of lettuce around with my fork. My throat tightened as the words left me. “I’m sure he won’t miss me.”

Silence hung heavy between us. Jisung’s mouth opened, like he wanted to argue, but he stopped himself, only giving me a look that was equal parts sympathy and frustration.

“He wanted to say goodbye to all of us,” Minho said after a beat, calmer this time, less pushy. “That’s all. Just goodbye.”

I finally glanced up, meeting his gaze for a fraction of a second. Minho’s eyes weren’t pitiying like I feared. They were steady, searching, like he was trying to read the truth off my face.

“I think you should come,” he said quietly. “But only if you want to.”

I hesitated.

Part of me wanted to see him again. To look him in the eye and say the words I hadn’t been able to before. To give him a proper goodbye, instead of this fractured silence.

But the other part of me, the part still sore and bruised, was terrified. Afraid of how it would feel to watch him walk away. Afraid of how much it would hurt to realise he really was gone.

“I think I’ll stay back,” I said finally, forcing a small smile. It took everything in me to pull the corners of my mouth up, but it came out weak, brittle. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

Jisung sighed and let it drop, though the worry never left his face. Minho gave a small nod, almost like he understood more than I wanted him to.

We finished lunch quietly after that.

When I returned to the room, it wasn’t just quiet. It was empty.

His bed was stripped. His desk was cleared.

I stood in the middle of the space, my heart thudding. I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe one last mess, a hoodie draped over the chair, a sneaker abandoned under the desk. Something to prove he’d really been here, that the last few weeks weren’t just a strange, dreamlike blur.

But there was nothing.

Except for a single sticky note pressed neatly to the centre of his desk. His former desk.

“Dear new girl, look after Y/N. She’s special.”

My breath caught.

I don’t know if he meant for me to see it. The new roommate was supposed to move in today. Maybe he thought she’d find it first. Or maybe, maybe he’d known I’d come back here and this would be waiting.

Whichever way, this was him.

Not the boy who forgot to tell me he was leaving. Not the boy who let me walk away without fully figuring it out. But the boy who made room for me on the bed without hesitation. Who bought me hot chocolate after midnight. Who looked at me like I was enough, like I was exactly where I needed to be.

And now he was gone.

I sat down at my desk and let the silence wrap around me.

It was better this way. That’s what I kept telling myself.

He had dreams to chase. I had walls to rebuild. Whatever we were had existed in the in-between, in the liminal space of temporary beds and whispered nights. It couldn’t last.

But that didn’t mean it hadn’t mattered.

And as I sat in the empty room, the quiet pressing in, I realised something I hadn’t wanted to admit.

Even if we hadn’t promised anything, even if we never said the words, some part of me had already chosen him.

And now I had to choose myself again.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

The airport felt like it was moving too fast around me. Screens flashed departure times. Suitcases rattled across the tiled floor. A child laughed somewhere behind me. I stood still in the middle of it all, fingers curled tight around the handle of my carry-on backpack, trying to steady my breath.

I had thought I would feel nothing but excitement when this day came. Berlin. A whole year. A new city, new people, a new version of myself waiting to be uncovered. Instead, my chest felt heavy, as though someone had tied a weight inside me.

They were all there. Chan, Felix, Minho, Jisung, Seungmin, Jeongin, Changbin. My family in everything but blood. They had joked on the way here, Jisung even trying to start a rap battle in the car to lighten the mood, but once we stood in front of the departures gate, the laughter thinned.

It was awkward, no one really knowing how to say goodbye, until Chan pulled me into the first hug. His arms were firm and steady, and when he clapped my back, it was almost too hard, like he was holding in his own emotions. “You’re going to kill it out there,” he said. “Don’t forget to eat properly. And call us, yeah? No disappearing for months at a time.”

I managed a small laugh. “I’ll try not to starve.”

Minho came next, his expression as unreadable as always. He pulled me in quickly, muttering, “Don’t embarrass us in front of the Germans.” But when he stepped back, his eyes flickered softer, almost proud.

Jisung hugged me, rocking me side to side until I laughed. “A whole year without you,” he said, pouting. “Who am I supposed to bother when I’m bored?”

“You’ll survive,” I told him with a small smile, though my throat tightened. He probably would, but I wondered if I would. “Besides, it’s the others’ turn to put up with your antics.”

Seungmin and Jeongin were quieter, though Jeongin squeezed me so tightly it nearly knocked the air out of me. “Send photos,” he demanded, trying to keep his voice steady. “Like, actual proof you’re alive.”

Changbin pulled me into a hug that crushed me against his chest. I almost laughed, but then I felt the way his shoulders tensed, how he didn’t let go right away.

“Don’t go changing too much over there,” he muttered, his voice lower than usual. “We need you the way you are.”

I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath. “I’ll still be me,” I promised, though I wasn’t sure if I was saying it for him or for myself.

He finally eased back, his hand lingering on my arm as though he wanted to keep me tethered. “Good. Because if Berlin messes with you, I’ll fly over and drag you back.”

Then Felix stepped forward. There was no joke on his lips, no easy smile to soften the moment. He had always been the emotional one among us, and I knew this couldn’t be easy for him. It wasn’t for me either. He pulled me into a hard hug, pressing his forehead briefly against my shoulder like he was trying to hold on for just a second longer. When he finally pulled back, he leaned in close enough that only I could hear.

“I’ll look after everyone until you come back,” he whispered.

Everyone. That was what he said. But I knew what he meant. I knew who he meant.

For a second, I couldn’t answer. I just nodded, my throat burning.

They all lingered with me near the security line, even though we had already said goodbye three times. None of us wanted to be the one to walk away first. My flight number blinked on the screen above, reminding me I didn’t have much time left.

And still, I hesitated.

My eyes kept darting toward the entrance behind us, scanning the waves of people dragging their suitcases through. Every time someone with long hair appeared, my chest leapt before crashing down again. She wasn’t here. Of course, she wasn’t here.

But some traitorous part of me kept waiting and hoping.

I imagined her walking through the crowd, out of breath, eyes wide. I imagined her saying she couldn’t let me leave without one last goodbye. I imagined what I would do, whether I would hug her, whether I would say the things I had been holding back. Whether I would beg her to wait for me.

But reality was quieter. Colder. The only faces passing were strangers.

“Jin,” Chan said softly. “You should go. They’re going to close the gate.”

I nodded, but my legs wouldn’t move. Not yet. Not while there was still a sliver of time, a chance she might change her mind.

The others didn’t push me. They just waited, standing in a loose circle around me, like they always had.

Finally, the announcement blared: final call for my flight. My chest caved in.

This was it.

I turned to them one last time. I forced a smile. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jisung swatted my arm, muttering something about me being dramatic. Chan shook his head and said, “We’ll see you soon.”

I lifted my bag and stepped toward the gate. The security officer checked my bag and passport and waved me through. The glass doors slid open.

I didn’t look back.

Because if I did, I knew what would happen. I would see them all standing there, and maybe, just maybe, I would imagine her slipping in at the last second, running toward me. And if I let myself believe that, even for a moment, I wouldn’t make it through these gates.

So I kept my eyes forward.

The corridor felt endless, the fluorescent lights buzzing above me. Every step echoed, each one pulling me further from everything I knew. My home, my friends.

Fear twisted in my stomach. Berlin was big. Unknown with a foreign language. I wondered if I would get lost, if I would find my way, if I would ever feel like I belonged.

But underneath the fear was something else. A flicker of hope. A fresh start. A chance to be more than the boy who hid behind paintbrushes.

I walked faster, almost running now. Not because I wanted to leave them, but because if I stopped, the weight of what I was leaving would crush me.

At the boarding gate, I handed over my ticket. The attendant scanned it, nodded, and let me pass.

I stepped through, clutching the strap of my bag, my heart hammering.

No turning back.

Just forward.

Toward Berlin.

Toward a year that felt like both an ending and a beginning.

****

Berlin felt colder than I expected when the plane door opened. Not the kind of cold that bites, more the kind that settles quietly on your skin and waits. The jet bridge smelled faintly like metal and recycled air. When I stepped into the terminal, the sound changed to wheels rolling over tile and announcements in German first, followed by English.

I was here.

I followed the signs toward baggage claim, yellow blocks of text against clean white. I paused at a window of glass that reflected a worn-out, tired version of me. Flying had never been something I enjoyed, least of all long overnight hauls. And least of all ones that carried me so far from what I knew. Still, I kept walking. I had to.

When I reached baggage claim, the carousel for my flight was already turning. Suitcases rode past like quiet animals. I waited, eyes skimming the belt for the scuffed black case I had bought secondhand last year.

When I finally spotted it, I pulled it off with more effort than was cool and nearly toppled a man beside me who was trying to rescue his own bag. I apologised in Korean by mistake, then in English, then with a sheepish smile that probably made me look younger than I am. He nodded, and we both moved on.

The doors to arrivals slid open with a soft sigh, and I stepped into a sea of signs and faces. Some carried flowers, and some held up names. Someone laughed loudly in the corner near the currency exchange, while a couple hugged, probably reuniting after not seeing each other for a long time.

That is when I saw it. My name, printed in thick, rounded letters on a white card. The girl holding it had blonde hair tucked into a wool beanie and a face that looked both Korean and sunlit. She spotted me at the same time and lifted the sign higher, smiling.

“Hyunjin?” she called, a small question in her voice.

“That is me,” I said, swapping my suitcase handle into my left hand so I could offer my right. “Hi.”

She lowered the sign and shook my hand with a quick, friendly grip. “Nari. I’m part of your programme. The coordinator asked me to meet you. I thought it might be nice for you to hear some Korean when you first arrive. Welcome to Berlin!”

It was true. It felt like a bridge.

“Thank you,” I said. I wanted to say more, something graceful, but my brain was still catching up with everything.

“You look exhausted,” she added, amused. “Bad flight?”

“Too many hours and not enough water,” I said. “I slept for like twenty minutes and woke up with my neck broken.”

She laughed. “I have painkillers in my bag. And a transit card you can borrow until you buy your own. And a list of bakeries, if bread helps you feel human.”

“Bread helps,” I said, smiling.

“Good. There is a place close to your apartment that does poppy-seed rolls that make me believe in love.” She started walking, weaving through the crowd with easy balance. I followed, my suitcase wheels humming behind me. “You have housing through the programme, right? The student apartments near the canal?”

I nodded. “They told me it is about ten minutes by train to the institute. I have not seen it.”

“It is decent,” she said. “I stayed there when I first got here. It’s small, but clean. It also comes with a grumpy neighbour who waters her plants at 6 a.m. on the dot every morning. The apartment block usually gets good lighting, so you’ll be able to paint.” She glanced back, eyes bright. “You are a painter, right? I looked at the list. Your portfolio link was broken, which was annoying, so I am guessing you forgot to update it.”

Heat climbed up the back of my neck. “That is accurate.”

“Fix it,” she said lightly. “Or give me a studio visit when you are ready. I really want to see.”

We reached the train station attached to the terminal, all bare concrete and clean lines. She led me to a ticket machine, bilingual menus flashing from German to English. She talked as we waited, quick and easy, like we had been doing this for months.

“First rule,” she said. “Always validate when a machine asks, even if you think you do not need to. Second rule, be nice to the ticket inspectors. Third rule, hold onto your scarf or the wind will steal it and you will watch it fly down the platform while others around you pretend not to laugh.”

“Have you lost a scarf here?” I asked.

“I have lost three,” she said, then stepped onto the platform as a train pulled in.

I grinned. Nari felt like a breath of fresh air. Even after only a few minutes, she seemed easy to talk to, quick to laugh, and untouched by the weight of what I had left behind. I liked her already. Having a friend here would be a good start.

We boarded the train and found a spot near the door. I stood, holding the pole. She braced her foot against the base of my suitcase so it would not roll.

As the train started moving, the city unfolded outside the window in quick cuts. Grey buildings with graffiti that looked more like murals than tags. A line of trees stripped down to bare branches. People sat with scarves pulled up, books open, headphones in. No one stared.

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“A bit more than a year,” she said. “I was supposed to be here for six months, then I begged to stay. I fell in love with this place. The programme agreed, as long as I help with the next cohort and pretend to be responsible.” She grinned. “I am responsible like forty percent of the time.”

“What do you make?” I asked. She looked at me, curious. “You looked me up, so I get to ask.”

“Mixed media,” she said. “Found objects and paper. I like work that looks fragile, but is secretly stubborn. You?”

“Experimental portraiture,” I said. “Mostly paint. I like layering faces until they blur into something new. It is still portraits, but I like it to feel more like a memory than a likeness.”

Nari’s eyebrows lifted with interest, and a playful smile tugged at her lips. “That sounds beautiful,” she said softly, her eyes bright with curiosity. “I like that. Now I really want to see your work.” She tilted her head slightly, the movement deliberate, almost teasing, as though daring me to invite her to look closer into that part of my world.

The train rocked us side to side. We changed lines once, shifting to a quieter platform where the wind curled around our ankles. Nari pointed out a coffee kiosk and told me which places would overcharge tourists. I tried to absorb it all. The names of streets. The texture of a city that had been rebuilt more than once and wore its history.

We reached my stop and climbed a set of stairs that opened onto a narrow street lined with old buildings. Pale facades, high windows, balconies with iron railings. Somewhere above us, a radio played softly through an open window while someone sang along under their breath. I felt the knot inside my chest loosen, only a little.

“This is your place. You’re on the second floor,” Nari said, stopping in front of a door painted a faded blue. She fished a small envelope from her tote and handed it to me. “These are your keys from the programme office. I picked them up this morning. They said your lease and welcome packet are inside, plus a map and a list of emergency numbers. Your studio orientation is Monday at nine.”

“Thank you,” I said, turning to Nari. “It was good to be greeted with a friendly face.”

“Any time.” She smiled, starting to go, then paused and turned back. “Hey, are you hungry? We could drop your bag and grab those poppy-seed rolls before you crash. Or I can leave you to unpack and sleep for three days.”

“Rolls,” I said, surprising myself. “Then unpack.”

Her smile widened. “Excellent priorities.”

“Let me just set this down.”

I eased the door open and found a stairwell waiting, its walls marked by age, the air holding the dry scent of wood and dust. The inside was lined with other doors, each one leading to another apartment, I assumed.

We climbed two flights to a door with a number eight brass plate. When I opened it, the apartment greeted us with blank walls, a small kitchen, a window that faced a courtyard with a single tree and two doors that probably led to the bathroom and bedroom.

I set my suitcase beside the couch and took a slow breath, looking around. The space did not feel like mine yet, but it could. For the next year, it was mine and mine to make a home. The light fell softly across the floorboards. The radiator ticked once. I imagined canvases leaning where the wall met the corner, brushes lined up in a jar within easy reach. I imagined coffee cups leaving small circles on a cheap coaster. I imagined a jacket tossed over the chair, a sketchbook always open on the desk.

“Ready?” she asked, bringing me back to the present, and I gave a quick nod before locking the door behind us and heading down the stairwell once more.

We walked to the bakery she had mentioned. It was only a few blocks away, and it was the kind of place that glowed from within, glass cases showing off neat rows of bread, sugar-dusted pastries, and the poppy-seed rolls she had promised. I let her order in quick German that sounded effortless, then paid before she could argue. We stood at a small counter by the window and ate in silence. The roll was soft and sweet, seeds cracking gently between my teeth. Warmth spread through my fingers where they touched the paper bag.

“How are you feeling?” she asked at last, watching the street instead of me. “Really.”

I thought about lying. I thought about just shrugging and saying I was fine. But Nari didn’t seem like the type to judge, and if anyone might understand, it would be her. So I told the truth, or at least most of it. “Tired,” I said. “Relieved to be here. Maybe a bit scared. Like I put my life in a box and shipped it somewhere I do not recognise, then followed after it.”

She nodded, and when she met my eyes, it was filled with understanding. “That sounds right. The first week is the hardest, but it gets better fast if you let the city in. I suggest you walk a lot and get lost. Choose a café and decide it is your place. It tricks your brain into thinking you belong.”

“Do you?” I asked. “Think you belong.”

“Some days,” she said. “On the other days, I remind myself I chose this. Choosing has to count for something.”

When we were done eating, we took the long way back to my apartment. We walked past a canal where ducks drifted like scraps of paper, and a wall covered with wheat-pasted posters that had peeled back at the edges to show older layers beneath. The city felt like that. History beneath history.

We stopped at the door, and she turned to me. “Do you want to come up?” I asked.

She shook her head. “No. You need to rest. I just wanted to make sure you got here safely.”

I nodded, not even sure why I’d asked her up in the first place. The weight of exhaustion pulled at me. “You’re very responsible.”

“Forty percent of the time,” she said, her face serious.

The laugh escaped me before I could stop it, too light and too easy.

She tipped her head toward the door. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. Rest up, okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks for picking me up.”

“No problem,” she said, already walking away. “See you on Monday!”

I slipped through the pale blue door and shut it softly behind me. I climbed the stairs slowly, my footsteps echoing in the narrow hall. When I stepped into the apartment, my apartment, I froze on the threshold.

The whirlwind of arriving, paired with the easy warmth of Nari’s welcome, made me forget for a moment where I was and what still lay ahead. Then the weight of it returned. This was it. What I had been working toward, what all the late nights and restless mornings were for.

I knew I needed to unpack, but instead I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to my own breath. The silence pressed against me, not heavy, but noticeable. I took out my phone and opened the group chat with my friends back home.

For a moment, I stared at the names stacked together, hers among them. Y/N. Shit. Would she even want updates from me anymore? Maybe it would be easier to start a new chat, keep things simple. Still, cutting her out like that felt wrong. She was still a friend, or at least I wanted to believe she was. That was tomorrow’s problem to solve.

Tonight, I typed out a short message about arriving safely and sent it seven times, once to each of the group individually.

I did not open my chat with Y/N. There was nothing to write that would make sense now. There was too much to say and no good way to say any of it now. I lay back and stared at the ceiling. The flight caught up with me all at once. My eyes burned. My limbs buzzed with that strange exhaustion that feels like static.

I unzipped my suitcase and dug around for the bare essentials, pulling out a towel, clean clothes, and a small toiletry bag. A shower felt like the only thing standing between me and collapse. After letting the hot water run over me, washing away the stiffness of travel and the weight of the long day, I finally felt human again.

Back in the quiet room, I pulled on a soft pair of pyjamas. It was still early evening, and I knew it probably wasn’t wise to sleep just yet, but the thought of staying awake felt almost impossible. Tomorrow was Sunday, and with no need to be at the studio until Monday, I told myself I still had time to find my rhythm, to figure out both my surroundings and a new sleep schedule.

The mattress dipped beneath my weight as I climbed in, tugging the blanket up to my chin. For the first time that day, my body eased, sinking into the stillness.

My last thought before sleep found me was simple. If I kept moving, one piece at a time, this would become a life. Not the life I left behind, but a life that could make sense.

It would be okay if I let it be okay. If I kept my eyes on the next small thing. Buy a transit card tomorrow. Find a grocery store. Sketch a stranger on the train without making it strange.

Paint something ugly, then paint it better.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The weeks after Hyunjin left blurred in a way that was both sharp and dull. Sharp because of the silence he left behind, and dull because life insisted on moving forward anyway.

Classes swallowed me whole, and I let them. I threw myself into readings, into lectures, into late nights spent shaping projects until my desk looked like a miniature newsroom. For the first time in years, I actually loved what I was studying. Words felt like something I could bend and shape without anyone else’s permission. My professors noticed too, tossing comments like good instincts or keep going onto the margins of my assignments.

The friend group absorbed me easily, like I’d always been meant to be there. Chan checked in when I stayed in the library too long. Felix dragged me to midnight convenience store runs when he thought I looked a bit too stressed. Even Jeongin, who sometimes treated me like an older sibling he’d just acquired, insisted on tagging along whenever I ran the most mundane errands, carrying half my groceries without complaint despite my protests that I could manage on my own.

They didn’t bring him up. Not once. And I hated how much I noticed it.

The silence wasn’t heavy, not exactly, but it was deliberate. Every time his name hovered at the edge of conversation, someone would steer it elsewhere. I played along, grateful on the surface, but underneath, I just felt like the fragile thing in the middle of the table no one wanted to touch. It made me feel guilty. Like I was ruining something for everyone else. Because even though it hurt at first, they should be able to talk about him, joke about old memories, say his name without acting like it was a landmine. Pretending he didn’t exist felt worse than the ache of hearing about him.

Even in the group chat, the difference was obvious. Messages trickled in. Plans, memes, updates. But not as often as before. Sometimes I’d scroll up, rereading old threads that felt louder, fuller, alive in a way this version didn’t. A small, paranoid thought started curling at the back of my mind: maybe there was another chat. One where they could mention him freely without me dragging the mood down.

I told myself it didn’t matter. That it was better not to know.

But late at night, when the room was quiet and my new roommate’s steady breathing was the only sound, I caught myself doing the one thing I swore I wouldn’t. Checking his socials.

The posts came every few days. Messy snapshots of canvases mid-progress, a blurred crowd at a gallery opening, him grinning with strangers under dim café lights. Sometimes he was holding a drink, sometimes a paintbrush, always framed in a way that made him look alive in a city that seemed made for him. Berlin suited him.

He looked happy.

And I told myself I was happy for him, really. I typed the words into my own head like an essay draft I couldn’t quite hand in: I am happy for him. I want him to be happy.

But not as much as I should be.

Because every time I saw his smile on a screen, I remembered the quiet space beside me in bed that no one else noticed. And the laughter I gave my friends, as frequent as it became, never quite reached the same part of me it used to.

****

On a Thursday afternoon, two weeks before mid-semester break, Seungmin slid into the seat across from me in the student café. He set down a tray with two teas and a plate of churros, like he had decided my blood sugar without consulting me, and folded his hands as if we were at a deposition.

“You are going on a date,” he said.

I blinked at him over my laptop. “Hello to you, too.”

“Hi,” he said, unbothered. “You are going on a date.”

“With who,” I asked, mostly to buy time.

“A friend,” he said. “Relax. He’s not a creep. He is a decent person who can hold a conversation and will not make you feel like you are auditioning for anything.”

I set my cursor in the middle of a sentence and watched it blink. “Why do I feel like there is a closing argument coming?”

“Because there is,” he said. “You keep saying you’re fine, and I believe you. But you’re also building your whole routine around avoiding what still hurts. I’m not telling you to fix it, I’m just saying… maybe try something that proves your life isn’t stuck.”

I stared at the churros. Sugar glinted on the edges. “I do not want to use someone.”

“Then do not,” he said, as if it were easy. “Be honest. Go for a coffee. Leave if it is weird. Say you are not ready if you are not. My friend will not break.”

“Who is he?” I asked, already half resigned.

“Yoon Junho,” he said. “Third year Law. I know him from moot court. He reads for fun, he is very patient in queues, and he has the same disgust for group projects that we do. He is normal. Painfully normal, but in a good way.”

“Painfully normal doesn’t exactly sell him,” I said.

“Saturday night. Seven,” he said, sliding one tea toward me. “There’s a small dumpling place near the back gate. You can walk there. If you hate it, text me the letter X and I’ll call with a fake emergency.”

“You have a fake emergency queued up?” I asked.

“I keep a list,” he said, straight-faced. “Fire alarm checks, plumber, rare bird sighting, the usual. And before you argue, I’ve already given him your number, so he’ll probably text you.”

A smile tugged at me before I could stop it. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll go. If it’s terrible, I’m blaming you.”

“Blame me all you want,” Seungmin said. “You’ll still have gone.”

He stood, collecting his tea with a small smile, then paused. “Also, you’re allowed to have a good time. It doesn’t have to mean anything more than that.”

When he left, I stared at my calendar. Saturday had been blank before. I typed in Dumplings with Junho and sat with it for a moment, like I was testing how it looked.

It felt strange, pencilling in something new, something that wasn’t a class deadline or group plan. For months, I’d been circling around the same ache, shaping my life around avoiding it. Now there was at least one evening that wasn’t about avoiding anything. Just… showing up. Meeting someone. Letting the world stretch a little wider again.

****

Saturday crept up in the way weekends do when you’ve made plans while your social battery was full. By the time it arrived, I almost texted to cancel twice. Felix and Jisung must have sensed it, because they came to my room an hour before, sprawling across my bed like it was their job to keep me from bailing.

Jisung scrolled through his phone upside down, making commentary on people’s outfits from some campus gossip page, while Felix flipped through the small pile of sweaters I’d laid out and kept tossing half-serious compliments over his shoulder. It was distracting, which was probably the point.

I changed twice, settling on something simple, then moved to the mirror. My hands were steady enough until I reached for my jewellery. The small studs clicked softly in my fingers, and before I slid them into place, I took a breath that felt too big for such a small room.

For a second, I just watched myself in the glass. The nerves hiding under the makeup, the effort it took to look like I was ready. And in the middle of it, his face flickered across my mind.

I realised it would feel unfair to walk out the door, to sit across from someone new, if I couldn’t even say his name aloud. If I were still keeping it locked up, then what was I really doing?

So before I could lose the nerve, I asked the question that had been sitting on my lips for weeks.

“How’s Hyunjin?” I asked.

The words startled me as much as it did them. For a second, no one spoke. Then Felix’s face softened.

“He’s good,” he said gently, as if weighing whether to go on. I offered a small smile to show it was okay. He nodded and continued, “Really good, actually. Me, Chan, and Bin are flying out over the break to see him. He’s been sending pictures of his work. He looks… happy.”

I nodded, fastening the earring. It didn’t feel like defeat. It felt like a small kind of win, proof that I could say his name and still keep breathing. The ache was there, of course. It would probably still be there for a while, but it wasn’t sharp enough to cut me down this time. It stayed in the background, like a scar you notice only when you press too hard.

“Good,” I said. And I meant it. Because maybe this was how moving forward worked, not by erasing him, but by being able to hold the thought of him and still step into something new. Maybe Seungmin was right, though I’d never admit it to him.

By the time I slipped on my jacket, the idea of the date didn’t feel like an obligation anymore. It felt lighter. Like something I might actually want to give a chance.

****

At six fifty-five, I stood outside the dumpling place with my hands tucked into my jacket pockets. The restaurant was narrow and warm, with steamed-up windows and a line that moved faster than it looked. I watched my breath fog and tried to decide if I felt excited. I felt awake, at least.

“Y/N,” a voice said to my left, careful.

I turned. Junho was taller than I expected, all clean lines and kind eyes. He wore a navy windbreaker and a smile softened by practice. His hair fell neatly across his forehead, the kind of style that would photograph well. He lifted a hand in a small wave. I had to admit, he was handsome.

“Hi,” I said. “You must be the painfully normal one.”

He laughed, surprised, the sound warm enough to cut through the chill of the evening. “Did Seungmin tell you that?”

“Yes,” I admitted. “It was the first thing he told me about you.”

“Wow, what an opener. I’m honestly surprised you said yes to the date.”

“I quite like normal,” I said, letting a smile slip through.

“Then you’re in luck,” he said, eyes glinting. “I’m the most normal guy you’ll ever meet.”

I laughed, surprised at how easily he delivered the line. It wasn’t forced, and it didn’t hang awkwardly in the air. And before I realised it, I was still smiling.

Junho smiled back as he pulled the door of the restaurant open for me. “After you.”

Maybe Seungmin had undersold him.

Inside, the restaurant buzzed with life, chatter rising and falling between the scrape of chairs and the clink of chopsticks. Tables were tucked close together, steam drifting from bamboo baskets stacked high on serving trays. The air smelled rich with garlic and soy, and something sharper that made my stomach growl in spite of my nerves.

It was busy, yes, but cosy too. It felt like exactly the right kind of place for a first date. It was unpolished in a way that made it comfortable. Just warmth, good food, and enough noise to cover awkward silences if we had them.

A server waved us toward a narrow two-seater near the window, the table already set with chipped bowls and silver chopsticks that gleamed under the yellow light. Junho pulled out a chair for me before dropping into his own, his jacket sliding neatly over the backrest.

For a moment, we both took in the scene, steam fogging the glass beside us and the low hum of conversations that belonged to strangers we would never meet again. It felt contained, almost safe.

As I set my phone face down on the table, Junho tilted his head with a curious smile. “So,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Did Seungmin also give you the emergency exit plan?”

I blinked. “What?”

“The emergency text,” Junho said. “Apparently, if you made me uncomfortable, I was supposed to send him an X and he’d call with some fake emergency.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “Wait… he told you that, too?”

Junho nodded, clearly amused. “Which means he double-booked himself. If we’d both sent the X, he would’ve had to come up with two completely different emergencies at once.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head but smiling. “Wait, did he think you’d actually need an escape plan from me?”

Junho leaned back, grinning. “Apparently, he wasn’t sure which one of us to be more worried about.”

I placed a hand over my chest, mock-offended. “Wow. I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Flattered,” he said easily, eyes glinting. “If Seungmin thinks you’re dangerous, that makes you interesting.”

I laughed again, the sound coming more easily than I’d expected.

****

By the time I got back to my room, the hallways had gone quiet, only the occasional door closing somewhere down the corridor. I slipped off my jacket and set my phone on the desk, the faint smell of dumplings still clinging to me.

The date had been… good. Better than I thought it would be. Light, easy, like remembering how to stretch a part of myself I hadn’t used in a while. I caught myself smiling again as I brushed my teeth, not because Junho had said anything earth-shattering, but because for the first time in months, the laughter I gave someone else had felt completely my own.

I lay down, pulling the blanket up, and my mind wandered to the break. The ticket home was already booked. In a few days I’d be back in my old room, with its peeling posters and a window that never shut all the way. I wasn’t sure what to feel about it. Going home meant comfort, yes, but it also meant walking into the space I’d worked so hard to escape. The place where leaving had felt like survival.

Seeing my family again would be its own test. I wanted it, I really did. To hug my mom in the kitchen, to hear my dad complain about traffic, to sit at the table where I’d once convinced myself there had to be more waiting for me outside. But there was a knot in my stomach too, a quiet fear that I might not fit there anymore.

Still, the thought of it didn’t crush me the way it used to. I had friends here now, work I cared about, and maybe even something new starting to take shape. Going home wasn’t running backward. It was just part of the map.

I let out a slow breath, closing my eyes.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

Berlin moved under my feet like a current. Trams hummed past walls layered with old posters and new paint. Bikes threaded through everything with small bells and an attitude that said move or be moved. In the first week, the city felt too loud and too quick, like I had landed inside a song that never paused. By the end of the month, I was singing along.

The days were swallowed by the programme. Lectures with artists whose names I’d only ever seen in textbooks, workshops where I stained my hands alongside people who thought about line and light the same obsessive way I did. Collaboration bled into conversation, and conversation bled into sketches on café napkins. I found myself learning as much from the students around me as from the professors at the front of the room.

Exhibits stacked up faster than I could process. At the first one, a warehouse with concrete floors and a ceiling that flaked when you looked up too long, I stood by my piece pretending I knew what to do with my hands. A stranger asked for a photo with me, then an older woman pressed my elbow and said something in German that I understood only by her smile. The painting sold before I finished my first drink. On the way home, I walked two extra stops in the cold just to feel the air scraping my lungs. I had not felt that weightless in a long time.

After that, everything moved. A group show near Kottbusser Tor. A pop-up in a gallery with white walls that made the black lines of my charcoal look cleaner than I remembered drawing them. Interviews with small magazines that asked about process, experience and influence. Accolades that sounded too formal for the mess that actually made the work. I said thank you a lot.

Parties attached themselves to openings like shadows attach to light. Someone always knew someone who knew a roof with a view. I met people whose names I forgot and people whose names I wrote down in my notes app because I wanted to remember them later. The music changed by room. In the kitchen, something retro that made everyone sway without realising it. In the narrow hall, techno like a heartbeat. I danced when pulled, talked when asked, and let the city teach me how to stay up until birds started arguing in the trees.

In the noise, I almost forgot to miss home. Almost. Busy is a good distraction until it is quiet. When the parties ran out and the door closed on the last laugh, when the studio lights clicked off and I was the only person left, thoughts found me. They came soft and steady, the way fog finds a river. I wondered if she was sleeping on the left side still, out of habit, or if she had changed the rules on herself the way I was trying to. I wondered if she was eating well, if she walked across campus looking down or up, if Felix was looking after her like he promised.

I did not message. My thumb hovered over her name more than once, which is not the same as reaching out. I told myself space matters. That was the deal, even if no one said the words out loud. When the guys called, they kept things light. Changbin showed me a beat he was working on that made the shelves in my studio vibrate through the phone speaker. Chan asked about my sleep as if he were the manager of it. Felix made faces until I laughed without meaning to. They were careful with their stories, and careful with mine. They never said her name. I did not say it either.

When homesickness hit, it hit in odd places. A grocery aisle where the soy sauce bottles were the wrong shape. A bus driver’s ahem that did not sound like any ahem I had ever heard. The way the light fell across my floor at four in the afternoon, thinner than Seoul, more silver. On those days, Nari found me.

We shared studio spaces in the same building for the programme, our doors only a few steps apart. She’d wander into mine with her sketchbook, sometimes dropping into the corner to draw quietly, sometimes circling what I was working on with a question or two that made me rethink the line in front of me. Other times, she didn’t say much at all, just sat there like her presence alone was enough to make the room feel less empty. Once, when the cold leaked through the windows and I was too restless to focus, she handed me a sweater and said to put it on and tell her three things I ate today. When I stalled at two, she rolled her eyes, disappeared down the hall, and came back with the third.

The studio became a second apartment. I left canvases leaning against walls like exhausted people and taped reference photos in crooked rows. I stretched paper on boards and listened to a playlist that tried to pretend it was not all one mood. In the quiet between shows, I started a series I did not tell anyone about. I called it Not Looking. Every piece was a body without a face, a moment caught from behind or from the side, the curve of a shoulder, the suggestion of a mouth. I told myself it was about anonymity and distance. I knew better.

The silhouette came slowly. I sketched the line of her neck on scrap paper first, then on good paper, then on the canvas, each time trying to get the slope right. The posture had to be honest. Not posed. I mixed a grey that leaned warm and another that leaned cool and chased the way they met when light found a collarbone. I painted the hollow where a pendant would rest and left it empty. The hair I left loose, not because that was always how she wore it, but because in my head, that is how absence behaves. Loose. Everywhere.

Sometimes the work felt like a handhold. Sometimes it felt like a trap door. I kept going because stopping would have been louder.

Nari walked in on the third afternoon, and I was still building the same line. I had not heard her come in. She stood quietly in the doorway, then moved to the side so she would not be in front of the canvas. Painters do that for each other without talking about it. She set a paper bag on my table and tugged the glove off her right hand with her teeth.

“You have been here since six this morning,” she said. “Abuse. Of self.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Almost five,” she said, then pushed the bag toward me. “Sandwich. Trust me.”

I wiped my hands and took a bite.

She drifted toward the painting with the easy curiosity of someone who knows you will not be offended. She did not squint or tilt her head for effect. She just looked. Up close, the brushwork was more obvious, the places where I had changed my mind and covered them again.

“It is beautiful,” she said. “And patient.”

I felt something pull under my ribs. “Thank you.”

“Is it someone… specific?” she asked, not coy, only careful.

“A friend,” I said. Then I added, because the word felt simple in a way the situation was not, “Right person, wrong time.”

She did not smile in that pity way I hate. She let the sentence stand like a small sculpture between us, intact, no edits. Then she bumped my arm with her shoulder and said, “Right now, right time, we are late for drinks.”

I checked the clock again, then the floor. Tubes of paint everywhere, rags in a loose pile, a mug with a brush standing like a flag. My brain started sorting. I could clean up, or I could let the mess be here when I came back to it.

She found my scarf and tossed it at me. On her way past the canvas, she traced air above the silhouette without touching it. “You will keep going with this,” she said. Not a question.

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said, then slung her arm around my shoulders and steered me toward the stairs. “Drinks. Now. Your public awaits.”

Her arm stayed there longer than necessary, warm and familiar. It would be easy to call it nothing. It would also be easy to call it something. I settled for the middle. It was both comfort and invitation, and I was not sure which I needed more.

****

(Y/N POV)

The flight home felt shorter than it ever had, maybe because I wasn’t running from anything this time. The hum of the plane and the blur of clouds didn’t carry the same sharp edge they once did. When we landed, I braced myself for the familiar weight in my chest. The old fear that coming back would undo everything I’d built since leaving. But as I wheeled my bag through arrivals, I didn’t feel crushed. Just… present.

My parents greeted me with hugs that lasted long enough to remind me they were parents first, critics second. On the drive home, they filled the silence with updates about neighbours and relatives. Only once did my mom slip in a line about how “it’s good you’re finding yourself there, but you know we miss having you here.” It was soft, not the weapon it might have been a year ago. My dad, hands steady on the wheel, added, “You’ve made your own life now. That’s good.”

The comments stung a little, but only in the way old scars sometimes ache when the weather changes. It wasn’t pressure. It wasn’t chains. Just reminders that leaving had left marks on them, too. I could live with that.

Home looked smaller. My bedroom hadn’t changed, though. The same posters were on the walls, and the same desk was under the window. I dropped my bag and sat on the bed, half expecting it to swallow me whole. It didn’t. The air smelled faintly of detergent and dust, like time had paused in here, waiting for me to return. I wasn’t the same girl who’d escaped these walls, and that realisation was strangely freeing.

A few nights in, Felix FaceTimed me from Berlin. The screen was filled with neon lights and the kind of artsy bar décor that looked like someone had glued a thrift store to a gallery wall. Chan popped into view with a glass in his hand, already laughing about something in the background noise.

“Y/N!” Felix grinned, tilting the phone so I could see the chaos around them. “Wish you were here.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re going to make me jealous.”

Chan leaned into the frame, cheeks flushed. “You’d love it. Berlin’s got this energy… It’s insane.”

And then I saw him.

Hyunjin was in the background, profile lit by the bar’s golden lamps. He leaned close to a girl with sharp bangs and an easy smile. She touched his arm, laughing at something he said. The sight caught me off guard, like stumbling into a memory I hadn’t agreed to relive.

Felix must have noticed the way my smile faltered, because he quickly tilted the camera back to his own face. “Anyway, you’ll get the full report when we’re back. Promise.”

I nodded, throat tight but not breaking. “Yeah. Can’t wait to hear.”

The call ended with the usual goodbyes and a chorus of “love yous.” I set my phone down on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling for a long time. The ache was there, familiar, but lighter than it had been. Seeing him happy didn’t gut me the way I once thought it would. It only reminded me that our lives were moving. Separately, but still moving.

Later that week, I met up with old friends at a small bar downtown. The kind with sticky tables and music that tried too hard to be nostalgic. We crowded into a booth, ordered cheap drinks, and traded stories that felt half-familiar, half-strange.

That’s when I saw him.

Across the room, past the blur of bodies and the low thrum of music, a familiar profile caught my eye. Jaehyun. My ex. He looked different. His hair was shorter, styled neatly, shoulders set with a kind of steadiness I didn’t remember, but it was him.

For a beat, neither of us looked away. His gaze found mine, and in that small pocket of recognition, the noise of the bar seemed to dull. He smiled, soft and careful, as if acknowledging both the history between us and the strangeness of this new encounter.

I had known this might happen eventually. We still had friends in common. Same circles, same hangouts. It was only a matter of time before our paths crossed again. Still, the sight of him tugged at something old. The sharp edges of arguments that burned out too fast, the ache of timing that had never quite aligned. We hadn’t been right for each other then.

But now, watching him cross the room with that small, unhurried smile, I couldn’t help but notice how much lighter he seemed.

He slid into the booth across from me like no time had passed, though his presence felt steadier, calmer than it used to. Jaehyun. I hadn’t said his name out loud in so long, but seeing him smile as he set his drink down, it returned easily to my mind.

“Hey,” he said, a little tentative, like he wasn’t sure how welcome he was.

“Hey,” I answered, and to my own surprise, it didn’t feel strange.

The group around us was loud, already shouting over the music, but between us, the conversation slipped into place almost naturally. We traded updates about mutual friends, about old professors, about the bar we used to come to that still smelled faintly of beer, no matter how many times they must have scrubbed the floor. He laughed more easily than I remembered. He listened in a way he hadn’t back then, letting pauses breathe instead of rushing to fill them.

“So you’re still writing?” he asked, swirling his drink.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “And studying. It’s… intense, but good. I love it.”

“That’s great,” he said, and I could tell he meant it. His eyes stayed on me, steady, without flicking to his phone or the door the way they used to when he got restless.

“And you?” I asked. “What have you been up to? Still working at the design agency?”

He shook his head, smiling almost sheepishly. “No. I quit a while ago. I felt like I was just spinning my wheels there. Took some time to reset, and did a few freelance projects… and now—” he hesitated, but his smile grew “—I actually have news.”

I leaned in a little, curious. “Oh?”

“I’m moving,” he said. “To Seoul. Got an offer at a marketing firm there. It’s a good one. Solid team, interesting projects. Feels like the right move.”

For a moment, I just blinked at him. “Seoul?”

“Yeah.” His laugh was nervous but not insecure, the kind of laugh that carried excitement underneath. “It’s big, I know. I’m nervous too. But it’s the first time in a while I’ve felt… certain.”

The Jaehyun I remembered would have said it like a dare, like he needed me to validate the leap he hadn’t thought through. This Jaehyun said it like a choice he had already made and was proud of. It landed differently.

“That’s… wow,” I said. “That’s huge. Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his thumb along the rim of his glass, then glanced back at me. “I’ll be there in a few weeks. And I was actually wondering…” He trailed off, hesitating in a way I’d never seen from him before. “I was wondering if, when you’re back, maybe we could meet up. No pressure. Just to catch up properly. See each other.”

I searched his face for the catch, the old impatience, the angle. But it wasn’t there. He wasn’t performing nostalgia. He wasn’t pushing. It was just sincerity, plain and unguarded.

For the first time in a long time, the thought didn’t make me feel trapped. I didn’t know if it meant anything, or if it ever would. But it didn’t feel like stepping backwards either. It felt… steadier. Familiar and not dangerous. Like remembering how to ride a bike, a skill you don’t forget, even if you aren’t sure you’ll use it again.

I hesitated, letting the silence stretch between us, testing the shape of the idea in my head. Meeting him again didn’t have to mean more than friendship. We had been friends before we were anything else, after all. Maybe we could be that again.

“Yes,” I said finally. “I’d like that.”

His smile widened, not triumphant, just warm. “Good,” he said. “Really good.”

The noise of the bar rushed back around us, but the space between us stayed easy, almost comfortable. There was a gentleness to it that hadn’t been there before, and I found myself grateful for that.

Later, walking home with the night air cool against my face, I realised I wasn’t scared of home anymore. It no longer felt like a cage. It was just one more place I belonged to, even if I didn’t live here. And maybe that was what moving on really was, learning how to hold the past without letting it hold me.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The break ended too quickly, the way breaks always do. The days at home folded into one another, filled with familiar streets and the rhythm of people I’d known all my life. I slept in my old bed, the one that creaked when I rolled over, and woke to the smell of my mom’s coffee drifting up the stairs. My parents slipped small questions into conversations — how the new university was going, whether the course was what I expected. Not disapproving, just cautious. As if testing the balance between curiosity and criticism. They didn’t always understand why I’d chosen to study what I did, but this time, I could tell they were trying. It was softer, and that made it easier to meet them halfway.

I caught up with friends I hadn’t seen in months, slipping back into old cafés and favourite corners of the city like we’d never left them. We talked too loudly, ordered fries we didn’t finish, and told the same stories twice because it felt good to laugh at them again. Some things had changed, but the core of it was steady, a reminder that not everything in my life had shifted beyond recognition.

I even went back to a few places I used to avoid, like the park I’d walked through a hundred times when I felt restless and the bookstore where I’d spent hours pretending I wasn’t lonely. They felt smaller now, not because they had changed, but because I had.

The nights stretched out with family dinners and with laughter tangled with clinking cutlery. My dad insisted on teaching me how to grill meat “properly,” like I hadn’t watched him do it a hundred times before. My mom tucked extra snacks into the side pocket of my bag when she thought I wasn’t looking. I let her.

And just like that, it was over. One day, I was sitting on the floor of my room, folding clothes into my suitcase, and the next I was climbing the dorm stairs again.

Jiwoo looked up from her desk when I came in, earbuds dangling around her neck, a pen still in her hand. “Back already?” she asked.

Since Hyunjin moved out, the room had taken on a different rhythm. Jiwoo kept her side neat, her books stacked in sharp rows, while mine leaned toward clutter no matter how often I tried to tidy. We weren’t close, but we understood each other well enough to make it work. Time together was filled with quick exchanges about schedules, a shared roll of tape when a poster came loose, and the occasional late-night comment tossed across the dark when neither of us could sleep. It wasn’t friendship exactly, but it was uncomplicated, and that was something I probably needed.

“Yeah,” I said, tugging my bag inside. “Break went fast.”

She gave a small nod, turning back to the notes spread across her desk. “Mine too. I’ve got three deadlines this week, so apologies about the mess.”

I smiled faintly, setting my things down on my side of the room.

****

The next afternoon, Felix appeared at my door with a tote bag slung over his shoulder and an excitement that practically bounced out of him.

“You have to see this,” he said before I could even greet him.

He tugged me down the hall and into his room, where prints were spread across the desk and taped haphazardly to the wall. Hyunjin’s work. I recognised the sharp lines, the bursts of colour that always seemed to burn brighter than anything else around them.

Felix stepped back, hands on his hips like a proud curator. “He gave me these to bring back. Said he wants us to have something of his here.”

I stared at the prints, something warm and bittersweet blooming in my chest. “They’re beautiful,” I said softly.

“They are,” Felix agreed, and then he looked at me, almost as if checking whether it was safe to say more. “He’s doing really well. You’d be proud.”

I nodded, swallowing past the knot in my throat. “I am.”

He hesitated, then pointed to the desk. “He sent a lot. You should take one.”

I blinked. “No, Felix, I can’t. That’s —”

“Why not?” he said gently. “He’d want you to have one. He sent back so many. Honestly, he probably sent extras hoping you’d pick one.”

I looked back at the spread, at the overlapping sheets of colour and movement. My hand hovered over several before landing on one near the edge — a charcoal and ink piece, softer than the rest. A single figure stood with their back turned toward a city skyline blurred in blue-grey strokes, the space around them open and unfinished. The quiet in it felt deliberate, like he’d painted silence itself.

Felix glanced over my shoulder. “He made that one after walking home alone from an exhibit,” he said. “Said he wanted to capture what distance feels like.”

I ran my thumb lightly along the edge of the paper. There was something in it — not sadness exactly, just a calm understanding of space and what it costs. “Then this one,” I said quietly.

Felix nodded, relief and something like understanding flickering across his face. “Good choice.”

I held the print carefully by the edges, afraid to hurt it. It didn’t feel like holding on to something that was gone anymore. It just felt honest, like recognising something that had mattered once and knowing it was okay to let it rest there.

Felix dug into his tote then, pulling out a smaller package wrapped in brown paper. “And this is for you. From me. Well, technically from a flea market in Berlin, but I thought of you when I saw it.”

Inside was a delicate silver bookmark, hammered flat with a small compass stamped into the top and the word weitermachen etched along the bottom. I turned it over in my fingers, the metal cool against my skin, and felt a quiet warmth rise in my chest. Trust Felix to find something that said everything without saying much at all.

“Felix…”

“Don’t get all emotional on me,” he said quickly, though his grin gave him away. “It says weitermachen, by the way. Means keep going. Thought it sounded like you.” He nodded at the bookmark before adding, “Just promise me you’ll actually use it and not keep dog-earing your books like a monster.”

I laughed, the sound catching in my chest. “Fine. You win.”

****

That night, after I left Felix and Jisung’s room, I was unpacking my books when my phone buzzed. A message lit up the screen.

Jaehyun: Hey, I’m in town. Want to hang out?

I stared at it for a long moment, debating. Part of me wanted to leave it unanswered, to keep things simple. But another part of me remembered the way the air had felt lighter in that bar back home, how easy it had been to sit across from him without the old weight pressing between us.

Before I could overthink it, I typed back: Sure. When?

****

We met the next evening at a café off campus, one I’d been to before but never at night. Warm light spilt from the windows, catching in the steam of cups carried to waiting tables.

He was already there when I arrived, standing to wave me over. He looked good, relaxed and sure of himself, as if he’d finally grown into his own skin. There was nothing forced about him now, and for once, being around him didn’t feel like holding my breath.

“Y/N,” he said, smiling as I sat down. “Thanks for coming.”

“Of course,” I said, surprising myself with how much I meant it.

For a while, the conversation stayed light. But somewhere between our second coffees, the air shifted.

He leaned back, studying me for a moment. “You seem… different,” he said. “In a good way. Calmer, maybe.”

I laughed softly. “That’s what happens when you stop living on caffeine and for others.”

He smiled, but his voice lowered. “No, I mean it. You used to carry so much weight around. It’s like you learnt how to put it down.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took a sip of my drink instead. The pause wasn’t awkward, though. It felt like breathing space, which was something we hadn’t known how to give each other before.

He cleared his throat. “I should probably say this. I’ve been wanting to for a while, but it felt weird doing it over a text. Back then… I was awful at listening. I made everything about me. You deserved better.”

I met his eyes, surprised by the steadiness in them. “We were both different then,” I said. “You weren’t the only one who didn’t know what they were doing.”

He nodded slowly, his expression softening. “Still. I used to think you leaving was about me. That you were running away from us. But now I get it. You needed to get out and figure out who you were. Honestly…” He smiled faintly. “I admire that. You actually did it. You left, and you built something new.”

Something in my chest tightened, not painfully, just with recognition. The boy who had once pulled too hard now sounded like someone who’d learned how to let go. And I did too.

The rest of the night passed quietly after that. He asked about my classes, not just the titles but the details — what I was writing, what I wanted to do with it. He listened in a way that made me feel like every answer mattered. When I teased him about his old habit of interrupting, he laughed and said, “Yeah, I was the worst. I’ve been working on that.”

It was easy. Easier than I expected.

When he walked me back, the night air cool against our cheeks, he kept just enough distance that it didn’t feel like pressure. At the dorm steps, he paused, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets.

“I’m glad we did this,” he said.

“Me too,” I admitted.

His eyes searched mine, not asking for more than I could give, just letting the moment sit. And for the first time in a long time, I felt something stir that wasn’t weighed down by the past. Not sharp, not overwhelming. Just a warmth I’d almost forgotten.

Maybe this didn’t have to mean everything. Maybe it could just mean a beginning.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

The last day in Berlin felt like it was happening to someone else. The studio looked too clean, the floor swept, and the walls bare except for the pale rectangles where canvases had hung for months. Even the air was different, quieter somehow, as if the city had already started to move on without me. I couldn’t believe how quickly the year had gone. It felt like I had only just arrived, blinking at the unknown and the noise, and now everything I’d built here was being packed into a single suitcase and a few boxes of canvases that would have to be shipped later.

Nari was sprawled on the floor, her knees bent, sketching something in a notebook balanced against her thigh while I packed the last few things. Every few minutes, she’d glance at her phone, then at the clock. “We have one hour before the car comes,” she said. “You should probably stop pretending to organise your brushes and actually pack.”

I looked down at the small pile of brushes and tubes of paint scattered across the desk. “They don’t pack themselves,” I muttered, and she snorted.

“You said that an hour ago.”

“I meant it then, too.”

She closed her sketchbook, stood, and walked over to help, picking up a handful of brushes and rubber-banding them together with practised hands. “You’ll miss this place,” she said. “I can tell.”

I didn’t deny it.

Berlin had been loud, unfiltered, and relentless. It was a city that didn’t care who you were until you proved you could keep up. At first, I hated it: the language, the cold, the speed of it all. But somewhere between the long nights in the studio and the first painting that sold, I’d started to feel like I was part of something that didn’t need explaining.

“I learnt a lot,” I said quietly.

Nari nodded, eyes soft. “You did. We all did.” She dropped the brushes into a pouch and added, “You’ll bring me back here someday.”

“Only if you promise not to turn every stupid thing I did here into a story for my friends when we get back to Korea.”

“No promises,” she said, smiling.

Nari had been there from the start, the first familiar voice in a city that had felt too big for me at first. She’d already been in Berlin a few months when I arrived, so she became my guide through everything from grocery stores to gallery openings. Somewhere along the way, she’d become more than a guide. She was the person I talked to when the homesickness crept in, when calls from Seoul felt like they belonged to someone else’s life. Now she was transferring to my university back home, flying with me the next morning. It felt strange to think we’d both leave this place together.

There was one night when we almost crossed a line. Her hand brushed mine, and for a second, neither of us moved. But it passed. The next morning, she made a joke about how dramatic we must have looked, and I laughed harder than I expected to. After that, things found their balance again. She stayed my closest friend here, steady and unshakable when everything else felt uncertain.

Maybe that was why the thought of leaving felt heavier than I’d expected. I’d spent months building a life that revolved around this rhythm. The studio, the trams, the world outside of Seoul. Packing it away felt like unlearning something I’d just begun to understand.

Later, at the farewell party, the group filled a small gallery space near the river. Music hummed through the walls, lights low and gold. Bottles clinked. Everyone talked too loudly, as if trying to hold off the inevitable quiet that comes after goodbyes.

People hugged me more than once. Someone spilt wine on my shoe and apologised for ten minutes straight. I took photos with classmates, laughed at jokes I only half heard, and let it all wash over me.

When Nari dragged me into a photo booth in the corner, she leaned her head against my shoulder and whispered, “You’re going to be impossible to reach when you’re famous.”

“I’m already impossible to reach,” I said.

She snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself. You just forget to text back.”

As the night wore on, people began drifting out in groups, waving and promising to visit. I stood by the window with my coat over my arm, watching the reflection of the city lights ripple on the river. Nari came up beside me, holding two paper cups of cheap champagne.

“To endings,” she said.

“And beginnings,” I replied.

“Cheesy,” she teased, clinking her cup against mine.

“True,” I said, and we both drank.

****

The flight home was long enough for reflection, but I slept through most of it. I woke only when Nari nudged me, pointing at the small map glowing on the screen in front of her seat. “Look,” she said. “We’re almost there. Seoul soon.”

Her voice carried that quiet excitement of someone who was ready for what came next. I wished I felt the same.

When the wheels finally touched down, everything felt sharper: the air, the language, the sense of familiarity pressing against my ribs.

Chan and Changbin were waiting in arrivals, both grinning like idiots. Chan’s hair was longer and blonde, Changbin’s arms somehow even bigger, and before I could say anything, they were already drawing attention.

Changbin held up a bright cardboard sign that read “SEOUL’S MOST OVERDRAMATIC ARTIST RETURNS” in uneven marker letters, complete with a badly drawn paintbrush at the corner. Beside him, Chan was juggling a small bunch of balloons that kept bumping into his head every time someone walked past.

Before I could even react, they both surged forward, pulling me into a hug that nearly lifted me off the ground.

“Look who’s back in one piece—and somehow even more beautiful,” Changbin said, grinning as he clapped me on the back hard enough to make me stumble a little.

I laughed, steadying myself. “You missed my face that much?”

“Only your face,” he said, still grinning. “The rest of you was optional.”

Chan snorted, nearly losing hold of his balloons. “You two are exactly the same,” he said. “Good to know Berlin didn’t make you mature.”

“Missed you too,” I said, laughing.

Chan turned to Nari with a grin. “Good to see you again,” he said. “Feels like ages since Berlin.”

For a second, I blinked, realising I’d completely forgotten they already knew each other from when Chan and Felix had visited.

Nari smiled, shifting her bag higher on her shoulder. “A few months isn’t ages,” she said. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Still true,” Chan said, reaching out instinctively. “Here, let me take that before you dislocate something.”

She hesitated only a moment before handing it over, murmuring a quick thanks.

Chan slung the strap over his arm, still grinning. “How was the flight? Survive Hyunjin’s snoring?

“I didn’t snore,” I said automatically, earning matching looks from both of them that said otherwise.

Nari chuckled. “Barely slept, actually. Too much turbulence.”

Chan nodded. “Welcome back, both of you. Felix’s on his way. He said something about his taxi driver taking the scenic route. The others have class. They wanted to be here.” He glanced around the arrivals hall, scanning the crowd. “The others are meeting us at my place. You’re both still up for it?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I said. Saying no to Chan was impossible, even though tiredness had consumed my whole body.

“Good,” he said, slinging an arm briefly over my shoulder before handing me the balloons and leading the way toward the exit. “Then let’s go home.”

We’d barely made it ten steps when a familiar voice cut through the noise of the arrivals hall.

“Hyunnie!”

Before I could even turn, Felix came sprinting through the sliding doors, nearly tripping over his own feet. He collided into me full-force, arms wrapping tight around my middle. The balloons bobbed wildly above us.

“Felix,” I laughed, trying to steady both of us. “You’re going to break my ribs before I even get out of the airport.”

He pulled back, still grinning, eyes bright in the fluorescent light. “Worth it. We are so glad you are back. Glad you are in one piece.”

“Mostly,” I said, shaking my head. “You didn’t have to sprint.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for this hug for months.”

Chan groaned, already heading for the doors. “You two can catch up in the car before the security guards throw us out.”

Outside, the air felt heavier, thick with humidity and the faint scent of rain. Seoul. The sky was pale grey, and the noise of traffic hummed like a welcome I didn’t realise I’d missed.

Chan’s car was parked near the curb, half-legal as always. Nari slid into the front seat beside him, while Felix and I took the back. Changbin somehow wedged himself between us, still clutching the ridiculous cardboard sign from the airport like a trophy.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, conversation took over. The car quickly filled with noise, with jokes and updates and laughter tumbling over itself, but I stayed quiet. The rhythm of the city outside the window was familiar and strange all at once. Buildings passed in a blur of glass and neon, and somewhere between the airport and the highway, the thought crept in before I could stop it.

Y/N.

I hadn’t seen her in a year. We’d both had enough distance, enough silence, to pretend we were fine, to build separate lives. But the idea of seeing her again twisted something in my chest.

It wasn’t the same ache it used to be. It was sharper in some places, duller in others. The kind of nervous pull you get when you’re not sure whether something will hurt or heal. I tried to focus on the conversation around me, but every mention of her name, though not many, that Felix or Chan had dropped in Berlin came back now, each one carrying a quiet weight.

Would she be there tonight?

Chan hadn’t said. Maybe he didn’t have to. I could already feel it. That faint, anticipatory flutter that sat just below my ribs.

By the time we turned onto Chan’s street, the noise of the car had blurred into background hum. I caught my reflection faintly in the window: tired eyes, travel-worn, but alert in a way that didn’t make sense.

I’d told myself I was ready to see her again. But as the car slowed in front of the building, my hands tightened around the balloons, and I wasn’t sure whether the feeling in my chest was fear or something I’d been missing for too long.

As we reached the door to his place, the smell of takeout drifted through the hallway, and laughter spilt out before we even opened the door.

Inside, the living room was a mix of jackets, drinks, and people I hadn’t seen in months. Jisung, Minho, Seungmin and Jeongin waved from the couch, grinning, and I barely had time to drop my bag before they were hugging me too.

“You smell like jet lag,” Jisung said.

“You smell like instant noodles.”

“Touché.”

The air was warm, crowded, and familiar. Music played low from Chan’s speaker, the lights soft and yellow. It should have felt perfect. But then my eyes caught on her.

Y/N was standing near the window with a guy beside her, laughing at something he’d said. Her hair was a little longer, her posture straighter, her smile quieter. It hit me in the chest before I had the sense to breathe it away.

As if she’d felt it, her head turned. For a heartbeat, her eyes met mine. The noise of the room blurred. She smiled. Small, soft, polite, maybe, but real. Then she started walking toward us.

Before she could reach me, Felix’s hand landed lightly on my arm, stopping me. His voice dropped low, almost lost under the hum of conversation. “I meant to tell you,” he said, glancing toward her. “I just didn’t know how. The guy with her, that’s Jaehyun. Her ex. They got back together a few months ago.”

The words hit harder than I expected. Not like a punch, more like the sharp inhale after one. For a second, everything tilted, my focus caught between disbelief and the quiet acceptance that comes when something you thought you’d braced for still knocks the air out of you.

I nodded once, because that was all I could do. “Right,” I said, keeping my voice even.

It shouldn’t have mattered. We’d had time. We’d had distance. We’d both lived whole lives without each other in them. But as she came closer, the years in between didn’t feel like enough. I caught the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she got nervous, the small pause before she spoke. The details that used to belong to me.

And suddenly, I wished Felix hadn’t said anything at all.

She reached us a moment later, her steps unhurried but sure. The room seemed to soften around her, the noise dipping just enough for me to hear the way my heart tripped over itself.

“Hyunjin,” she said, and my name sounded the same on her tongue. For a second, neither of us moved, then she smiled a little wider and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around me.

The hug was brief, careful. She smelled faintly of something floral, light and clean, which transported me back to the room we shared. When she pulled back, her hands lingered just a second too long on my arms before she let go.

“It’s really good to see you,” she said.

“You too,” I managed. My voice came out quieter than I meant it to, but she didn’t seem to notice.

She turned slightly as the guy, Jaehyun, stepped up beside her. He looked at me with polite curiosity, as if he had already heard my name a few times in passing.

“This is Jaehyun,” she said. “My boyfriend.”

He extended a hand, easy and confident. “Hey, man. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

I took it, steadying my grip before it could give me away. “Yeah? Hopefully good things.”

“Mostly,” he said, smiling, and for a moment I almost believed him.

Y/N laughed softly, glancing between us like she could sense the awkward edges and wanted to smooth them out. “I didn’t think you’d be back, to be honest,” she said. “Berlin looked amazing. Felix showed me some photos.”

“It was,” I said. “Different. Busy. But good.” I forced a smile that felt stiff around the edges. “You look great, by the way.”

She hesitated, then smiled back, a little shy. “Thanks. You too.”

There was a small pause. Then Felix swooped in, loud as ever, throwing an arm around both of us and changing the subject to something about food and drinks.

The moment dissolved, but the weight of it stayed. Her laugh trailed off somewhere behind me, and even while I joined in with the others, part of me stayed in that short exchange, caught in the sound of her voice saying my name like nothing had changed at all.

Nari had already slipped into easy conversation with my friends, her laugh clear and bright. She was good at that. Fitting in anywhere and finding the thread that kept people talking. I let myself drift to the edge of the room, listening more than speaking.

Every so often, my eyes found Y/N again. She seemed different. The way she spoke now had a quiet steadiness that didn’t used to be there, like she’d learned to measure her words before letting them out. When she laughed, it was softer, trimmed at the edges, as if she’d learned to keep it contained.

Jaehyun stood close beside her, his hand brushing her elbow when he leaned in to say something. It wasn’t possessive, just natural, practised even, and she tilted her head slightly toward him as she listened. The small movement shouldn’t have bothered me, but it did.

I told myself I had no right to notice. I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. Whatever we’d been, whatever I’d thought I’d understood, had been brief, and just a small window of time that had somehow stayed open in my head longer than it should have. But still, part of me liked to believe I’d seen her clearly once, seen something real.

Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe she hadn’t changed at all, and I was just looking too hard, trying to find traces of something that had already moved on.

I looked away, pretending to listen to Seungmin, but the sound of her laugh still lingered, different enough that I almost didn’t recognise it.

The night stretched on. Plates kept appearing. Half-finished appetisers, bowls of noodles passed from hand to hand, and someone kept refilling glasses faster than anyone could keep track. There was a steady rhythm to it, the rise and fall of old friends catching up and easy noise that fills every corner of a room. I laughed when I was supposed to, nodded at stories I half-heard, but my focus drifted more often than I wanted it to.

Nari appeared beside me with a glass of wine. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

“Jet lag,” I said again.

“Sure,” she said, unconvinced. She followed my gaze for half a second before adding, “She looks happy.”

“Yeah.” The word caught slightly in my throat. “She does, I guess.”

Nari sipped her drink, her eyes softening. “You knew this might happen.”

“I didn’t think it would happen this fast.”

She tilted her head. “You wanted her to wait?”

“No,” I said quickly, too quickly. “I just—” I stopped, exhaling. “Forget it.”

She didn’t push, and I was grateful. Instead, she nudged me toward the kitchen, where Chan was stacking empty plates.

“You can help,” Chan said, shoving a plate into my hands.

“I just got off a plane.”

“And I just hosted a dinner,” he shot back. “Teamwork.”

We worked in quiet for a while, the sound of the others fading into the background. From the corner of my eye, I saw Y/N glance our way once. I looked down at the sink, letting the warm water blur my reflection on the plates.

Later, when everyone drifted toward the couch again, someone suggested a game, something half-drunk and competitive that involved shouting answers and throwing cushions. I stayed near the doorway, watching the chaos unfold.

Y/N and Jaehyun sat side by side, her laughter mixing with the noise, his arm draped casually along the back of the couch. It shouldn’t have stung, but it did.

So I leaned closer to Nari, who had just dropped into the seat next to me, and said something teasing and light. Something that made her laugh and hit my arm.

It was harmless. Or it was supposed to be. But when I glanced up again, Y/N’s eyes flicked toward us, quick, unreadable. And the twist in my chest only tightened.

When the night finally started thinning out, Chan pulled out the last of the drinks, Jeongin and Minho started cleaning up, and people trickled toward the door. Y/N and Jaehyun were among the first to leave. I caught a brief moment when she turned to say goodbye.

“It was good to see you,” she said, then added lightly, “Let’s catch up soon.”

It sounded so easy coming from her, as if it didn’t cost anything to say. I nodded, managing a small smile, but something in me kept twisting.

Jaehyun gave me a nod, friendly but cautious, and then they were gone. The door closed behind them, and the room felt too big again.

Nari made her way over to me, also getting ready to leave. “You know,” she said, “if you were trying to make someone jealous, you might want to be a little less obvious next time.”

I blinked, thrown. “What?”

Felix, who was sitting on the arm of the couch nearby, looked up from his phone. “She’s right,” he said. “It was kind of painful to watch. You’re not as subtle as you think, Hyunjin.”

Heat crept up my neck. “That wasn’t what I was doing.”

Nari tilted her head. “Really? Because it felt like you were putting on a show. A bad one.”

I sighed, rubbing a hand over my face. “I didn’t mean to… use you like that.”

Her expression softened, but she didn’t let me off the hook. “I know you didn’t. But you did.” She paused, setting her glass down on the counter. “Don’t worry. I understand. Just don’t go into acting.”

“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.

“I know,” she said, giving a small smile.

Felix stood, stretching. “For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think you both handled it better than expected. But, Hyunjin, next time, maybe just talk to the girl.”

“Right,” I muttered.

Nari laughed softly. “He’s not wrong.” She picked up her jacket, slipping it over her shoulders.

When she walked past me toward the door, she gave my arm a brief, friendly squeeze. And then she was gone, the sound of the door clicking shut louder than it should’ve been.

Berlin had taught me how to create distance, how to translate loneliness into art. But standing there, half a world away from where I’d started, I wondered if I’d just gotten better at painting around the empty spaces instead of filling them.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

Over the next few weeks, we kept crossing paths. It wasn’t intentional, just the way circles overlap when people share too many of the same friends. Dinners, coffee runs, study sessions, and small get-togethers that stretched into late evenings. Every time, Y/N was there, and every time, our conversations stayed safely within their borders. How are classes going? How are you settling back in? How’s the weather? Nothing sharp enough to cut or deep enough to matter.

It wasn’t uncomfortable. The air between us had shifted into something polite and almost careful. Whatever had once been heavy now sat in the background, muted but still there. My feelings hadn’t vanished; they just changed shape. They didn’t ache the way they used to, but they didn’t rest easily either.

Sometimes, I caught myself watching her too long. Not out of longing exactly, but from a sense that something was slightly off. She smiled, she laughed, she joined in the conversations, but there was a distance in her that hadn’t been there before. Like her laughter didn’t reach her eyes fully, or her words came with half a thought held back.

At first, I told myself I was imagining it. That I was projecting, still stuck in whatever version of her I remembered from before. Maybe I’d built that version up too much, convinced myself I knew her deeply when, really, I’d only seen fragments. But even when I tried to dismiss it, the feeling lingered. That faint tension in her shoulders, and the small pauses between her smiles.

Still, I said nothing. Watching her like that felt like tracing an old scar, familiar but pointless. It didn’t hurt anymore, but it reminded me where the wound had been.

And then, little by little, I started to notice more.

It first happened one night at a small bar near campus. The place was packed, dim light flickering off half-empty glasses and the low thrum of some old song playing through the speakers. We’d taken over a corner booth, the table cluttered with plates we’d stopped eating from and drinks that kept being refilled.

Y/N was mid-story, something about a professor mixing up two students’ essays and sending a flustered apology email to the entire class. Her hands moved when she spoke, quick and expressive, the way they always did when she was genuinely amused.

Then Jaehyun cut in. “Wait, wait. Is this the same professor who tried to make everyone meditate before class?”

Y/N hesitated for a second, then nodded, her voice quieter when she answered. “Yeah, that one.”

Jaehyun laughed, loud and effortless. “I knew it. That seems like something he would do.” And then he launched into his own story, a tangent about his old lecturer who made them do trust exercises in one of his classes during his studies. And just like that, her moment disappeared.

She smiled through it, polite, even laughed at the right places, but I saw the shift. Her shoulders drew in slightly, her hands folded around her glass, her eyes on the condensation instead of the conversation.

The others joined in easily, Changbin teasing Seungmin about something, and Jisung adding a joke that made everyone laugh. The laughter rose again, filling the space.

I didn’t add anything. I just took a slow sip of my beer, the bitterness catching at the back of my throat.

She looked fine. To anyone else, just another person in the circle, smiling and nodding at the right moments. But I’d seen her when she was really laughing, when it took over her whole face. Now, something in her felt quieter, almost tucked away. It was subtle, probably invisible to anyone else, but I’d spent a year remembering and replaying the details. The spark was still there, just softer, like she’d learned to keep a little more of herself contained.

Felix caught my eye across the table, his brow slightly furrowed, like he noticed it too. Then the music changed, louder now, and the moment was gone.

I leaned back in my seat, forcing a small smile when Jeongin said something to me, but the bitter taste of the beer stayed. Or maybe it was just the aftertaste of the whole exchange.

I didn’t say anything about it that night. I went home, told myself it was just the noise, the crowd, and what happens when too many people share one conversation. But once I noticed it, I couldn’t unsee it.

It kept happening in different rooms, with different stories, in moments small enough to ignore if you weren’t paying attention. But I was paying attention. I always had been. Each time, Jaehyun cut her off without maybe realising, redirecting her stories or answering for her, and each time, she fell quiet just a little faster.

One instance I could ignore, but as they piled up, they started to itch at the back of my mind, small and persistent, impossible to shake once I had noticed.

It got worse when we were all together. One afternoon, I spotted Y/N sitting with the group in the courtyard outside the university café, sunlight spilling across the tables. For a moment, I thought it was one of those rare days when she was on her own, shoulders loose, and the laughter easy. I joined the group, sliding into an empty chair beside Chan and Changbin, and setting my bag down at my feet. Just as I settled, the café doors opened and Jaehyun stepped out, two takeaway cups in hand. He walked over, sat down beside Y/N like the seat had always been waiting for him, and set one cup in front of her with a grin, proud in the small way people are when they think they’ve done something right.

Something inside me tightened. It felt irrational, probably just the heat, the noise, or the weight of a long day settling under my skin. But the frustration bubbled up anyway, quick and uninvited, and before I could stop myself, I said, “How do you even have time to hang out this much if you’re working full-time now?”

Felix’s foot, sitting across from me, connected sharply with my shin under the table, and I gasped at the unexpected pain.

Beside him, Minho raised his eyebrows and let out a low whistle. “Wow,” he said dryly. “Direct.”

Seungmin snorted into his drink. “That’s saying something, coming from him.”

Jaehyun laughed, easy and unbothered. “Flexible hours,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “Perks of a good team.”

I nodded, pretending that satisfied me, even as Chan shot me a sideways look that said, very clearly, what was that?

I met his stare head-on, lifting my brows in silent defiance, as if to say, What? My jaw tightened slightly.

Y/N’s eyes flicked between us, wide and uncertain. The tension in the air prickled as she lifted the cup, took a sip, and winced almost imperceptibly before setting it down.

“Thank you for the coffee,” she said to Jaehyun, her voice light.

She didn’t even like coffee. Everyone at the table knew that. Even people who’d only spent an afternoon with her knew that. The thought pressed against my chest, small but sharp, and I couldn’t shake it. He’d known her longer than most of us sitting there, longer than I had, and somehow he still didn’t know or didn’t think. How could you sit beside someone, touch their hand, and miss something that simple?

The conversation moved on easily enough, Seungmin and Jeongin launching into a story about some disastrous group project that had everyone laughing again. Y/N joined in, smiling at the right moments, her voice steady and bright, like nothing about the coffee had bothered her at all.

But it still bothered me. It shouldn’t have, but it did. Her cup sat untouched beside her, the lid catching the sunlight, and something about the way she ignored it made my chest tighten.

Before I could think better of it, I pushed my chair back. “I’m gonna grab something to drink,” I muttered, not waiting for anyone to respond as I stood and made my way toward the entrance of the café.

The line was long, the hum of voices constant. I ordered an Americano for myself and a green juice impulsively, the bottle cold and bright against my palm. When I walked back to the table, I wasn’t sure what I was doing, only that the thought had settled in my chest and refused to leave.

The moment I reached the table, it felt like everything narrowed to just the two of us. Me and Y/N. I set the juice down in front of her without ceremony, like it was the most natural thing in the world, even though my pulse was loud in my ears. I didn’t explain. I just said, quietly, “You don’t like coffee.”

The table went quiet. Y/N blinked, clearly surprised, her hand hovering near the untouched cup. Jaehyun’s voice faltered, his eyes flicking from the bottle to me, irritation flashing briefly before he caught it and forced a polite smile. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to.

I straightened, letting the moment hang for a beat before I nodded toward the group. “I’ll see you guys later,” I said, my voice even. Then I turned and walked away, the faint sound of their laughter trying, and failing, to fill the space I left behind.

I walked across campus, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, each step heavier than it needed to be. The afternoon sun was low, stretching shadows across the pavement toward the art building. I told myself I was heading there to be productive, to turn whatever this was into something useful. Painting had always been easier than trying to make sense of what I felt.

I was halfway to the art building when a hand landed on my shoulder.

“You could’ve been a little more subtle, you know,” Chan said, catching up to me.

I huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.”

He gave me a look, walking next to me. “Maybe? Try definitely.”

“It wasn’t planned,” I admitted. “I just –” I exhaled, searching for the words. “She’s not herself. I keep seeing it. The way she talks, the way she smiles.”

Chan crossed his arms. “And that’s your problem because…?”

I stopped walking and stared at the pavement. “I don’t know,” I said quietly. “It just is. It’s bothering me, and I can’t tell if it’s because I still care or because I just can’t stand seeing her like that.”

He was silent for a moment before nodding slowly. “Maybe it’s both.” Then, after a pause, “But if it’s eating at you this much, you should probably talk to her. Next time, maybe skip the k-drama scene.”

That made me laugh weakly. “Yeah. I know. It was impulsive.”

Chan smirked, nudging my shoulder. “Impulsive, yeah… but I’ll give you this, it was pretty damn smooth.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, shaking my head. “Smooth isn’t exactly what I was going for,” I said, though a small part of me was secretly glad he’d said it. At least it hadn’t looked pathetic.

Chan grinned. “Maybe not. But you definitely made a statement.” Chan clapped a hand on my back again. “Now, go paint or something before you spiral. And figure out what you actually want before you start trying to fix her.”

I glanced at him, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “You sound way too rational for a university student.”

He grinned. “Someone’s got to be.”

He headed off toward the parking lot, and I turned back to the art building. The weight in my chest didn’t go away, but at least now I knew what to do with it.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

Chan’s apartment still looked the same as the last time we’d all squeezed into it. The couch sagged a little more in the middle now, like it had survived one movie night too many and was still recovering. Everyone was piled on and around it in some way. Felix was sitting cross-legged on the armrest, Jisung had half slid onto the floor, and Changbin was using a pillow that definitely wasn’t meant to be a pillow.

We were all here for Jeongin’s birthday. Nothing dramatic. Just takeout containers stacked on the coffee table, a Felix-and-Seungmin baked cake waiting in the kitchen that had a fifty-fifty chance of either being incredible or completely inedible, and whatever playlist Chan had thrown on shuffle because no one could agree on music. The windows were open, letting the outside breeze in.

I sat at the table with Jaewyn, though the conversations blurred across the room anyway. We’d all drift between spaces eventually. The room had that easy chaos that only happened when people were used to each other’s rhythms.

Chan was trying to pull Jeongin into the fifth birthday hug of the night, which Jeongin was very clearly trying to escape, weaving around the coffee table like it was an obstacle course. Seungmin sat on the arm of the couch, barely hiding his grin. Jisung was halfway through a story and talking too loudly again, Felix laughing so hard his forehead was pressed against his arm. Minho walked past with a lighter in hand, and no one questioned it.

Hyunjin sat near the end of the couch, one leg stretched out, his fingers tapping absently against the side of his drink cup. He looked relaxed. Or he looked like someone trying to look relaxed. I couldn’t decide which.

Jaewyn rested his arm on the back of my chair, now talking to Changbin about something. His voice was warm, steady, and familiar. It should have grounded me. It didn’t.

The evening felt almost easy.

Almost.

Minho reappeared from the kitchen with the cake, both hands held out like he was carrying something unstable and possibly hazardous. The frosting leaned a little to one side, and the candles were jammed in at uneven angles, but the flame glow made it look soft and golden anyway.

“Alright, birthday ritual number three,” Minho said. “Jeongin, look grateful this time.” Everyone laughed while Jeongin rolled his eyes.

This had all started last year. One late night, too much cheap wine, someone joking about how birthdays were boring, and suddenly we had rules. Traditions. Half-sincere, half-stupid. Number one is a compliment circle that must get way too emotional, which we did while we ate dinner. And number two, a group photo where everyone had to make their “found family documentary pose.” That one was my idea. We had laughed about how ridiculous it all was, but we kept it anyway. The third one was a cake baked by Seungmin and Felix, a birthday Russian roulette.

Hyunjin let out a quiet laugh. “Can’t believe I missed the invention of all this. I would’ve made them worse on purpose.”

Felix leaned across the couch to give Hyunjin a playful head pat. “See? This is why we needed you. We got sentimental instead.”

“Tragic,” Hyunjin said, raising his cup in mock mourning.

We all gathered in, voices overlapping. Chan dimmed the lights. Felix clapped his hands above his head like he was conducting an orchestra. Jisung started the singing way too high, but nobody cared.

Jeongin stood in the middle of it all, face flushed in the warm light of the candles, trying to pretend the attention didn’t make him shy. I watched him smile. A real one. Bright and a little bashful.

“Make a wish,” Seungmin said once the song had finished, nudging him.

Jeongin closed his eyes, breathed in, and blew the candles out in one slow exhale. Everyone cheered like we were celebrating something much bigger than another year.

Minho sliced the cake with hesitation usually reserved for bomb disposal. The first piece held. No one died. That was a good sign.

“Wait,” Jeongin said after taking the first bite, pointing his fork. “This is actually good.”

Seungmin gasped. “It was one time we almost poisoned everyone. One. Time.”

Felix nodded vigorously. “We have grown.”

Changbin snorted, ruffling Felix’s hair. “Debatable, Little One.”

Laughter rose again, light and unburdened. For a moment, I let myself float in it.

The room warmed again, voices rising while everyone ate their piece of cake. Someone leaned over someone else to grab a fork. The cake leaned more and more to the one side, but still held together by probably only love.

After everyone had had their fill, Chan clapped his hands once. “Alright. Documentary photo time.”

That meant everyone moved. Not to pose, exactly, but to arrange themselves into the illusion of being caught mid-life. The rule was always the same: the birthday person in the centre, looking directly at the camera, while everyone else looked like they were in the middle of doing something completely different.

Jeongin settled into the middle of the couch, leaning forward a little, a grin already forming like he couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

Felix flopped onto the floor in front of him, legs crossed, pretending to be reading the back of a snack packet like it was literature. Jisung and Changbin immediately started fake-arguing over a cushion, dramatic pointing included, while Chan held one arm across Changbin’s chest like he was restraining him from launching into battle. Seungmin stretched out lengthwise along the one side of the couch, head in Jeongin’s lap like he had fallen asleep there. Minho balanced on the armrest with a pair of chopsticks, slowly lifting a crumb of cake toward his mouth like he was participating in a very serious tasting ceremony. Hyunjin stayed where he was, elbow hooked over the back of the couch, gaze angled toward the window like he was mid-contemplation scene.

I sat beside Jeongin and picked up an empty shot glass from the coffee table, tilting my head back and pretending to take a miserable, life-altering shot of absolutely nothing.

Across from us, Jaewyn already had Chan’s phone in his hands, lining up the frame. No one had asked him. He just stepped back when everyone started settling into place, positioning himself outside the shot like it was the obvious choice.

The documentary photo was supposed to be of everyone who belonged in the story. And he was behind the camera instead. Which should have bothered me more than it did.

Jaewyn started counting down. The shutter clicked, and everyone broke character at once, stretching, laughing, and shaking out limbs from holding the pose too long.

Felix scrambled up to see the screen first, practically climbing over whoever was in his way. The rest of us drifted in after him, crowding around to get a look at the photo.

“Look at that. I definitely won the argument,” Jisung said smugly.

“You won because Chan was holding me back,” Changbin shot back, giving Jisung a light shove with his shoulder.

Chan didn’t even react. “I do what must be done.”

Minho nodded, solemn. “He is the balance in this household.”

Everyone laughed, and the room eased back into motion, plates being passed around again and conversations picking up where they’d left off.

I sat back at the table. Jaewyn sat next to me.

“This whole documentary photo thing is… something,” he said, amusement threading through his voice. “Who came up with that again?”

“Y/N did,” Felix said brightly, almost proudly.

“Oh. Yeah. That tracks, ” he said, amused. “ Very media student energy. You’re good at making everyday moments feel significant. Which is lucky, since documentary work isn’t exactly… stable or practical.”

The laugh that followed was warm. It was clear that Jaewyn really thought the comment was innocent.

The room fell quiet. Felix’s laugh cut off halfway. Changbin’s fork hovered in mid-air. Jisung’s mouth stayed open like he’d been about to say something and then decided very quickly that he wasn’t.

Jaewyn let out another little laugh, more hesitant now, like he had noticed the shift. “Relax, I’m joking. Obviously. You know I didn’t mean anything by it.”

It was said like affection. Like he thought it was one of those harmless inside jokes, the kind couples laughed about later. But the words landed cleanly, right in the soft part of my chest where I still kept the things I cared about too closely.

I managed a smile, though it felt thin. “I know.”

Hyunjin stood up from where he was quietly observing the scene. The movement was slow enough that everyone noticed it. No one was sure what Hyunjin was about to say, but it was clear from the set of his shoulders and the stillness in his expression that he was angry.

He set his cup down on the table, not loudly, just firmly enough to be final. “It wasn’t a joke,” he said. His tone wasn’t raised or sharp. It was calm, steady, and unmistakably serious.

Jaewyn blinked, surprised. “I was teasing. She knows that.”

Hyunjin didn’t look away, staring straight at Jaewyn with fire in his eyes. “If it were teasing, she would have laughed with you.” The words landed without force, but they didn’t need any. “Don’t diminish her passion and then act like it’s nothing.”

Jaewyn let out a thin laugh that didn’t carry. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“No,” Hyunjin said. “You’re not taking her seriously enough.”

I pushed my chair back before the conversation could continue. “I’m going to the bathroom,” I said, and I kept my voice even because anything else would have broken something I wasn’t ready to look at yet.

I walked down the hall without waiting for reactions, closing the bathroom door behind me and leaving the awkward silence that took over the living room. I leaned my hands on the sink for a moment, breathing slowly, trying to find the space between anger and hurt before either one could settle.

I knew he hadn’t meant it to sting. That was the infuriating part. There had been no malice in his voice, no intention to embarrass me, no awareness that the words had weight. He had said it like someone commenting on the weather. The world was full of people who thought media studies was a soft degree. Who thought documentary work was indulgent or sentimental. I could rationalise that. I had rationalised it before.

But it still hurt. Not because the comment was new, but because it was too familiar. It took me straight back to the reason I left in the first place. The slow, quiet ache of loving something deeply and constantly having to defend the fact that it mattered. The feeling of being asked to apologise for caring.

I turned the tap on and let the water run, washing my hands even though they were clean. I watched the water slide over my fingers, giving myself a task so it looked like I had come in here with a purpose besides escaping. It was easier to pretend I had needed to freshen up rather than admit I had to run.

I dried my hands slowly, waiting for my chest to soften enough that I could walk back out without giving anything away.

But when I opened the door, Hyunjin was there.

He was leaning against the wall across from the bathroom, hands in the pockets of his jeans, shoulders relaxed like he had been waiting but didn’t want it to look like waiting. The hallway light caught along his cheekbone and the bridge of his nose, and it struck me the way it always had, in the quiet and inconvenient way it did before anything ever happened between us. It wasn’t just that he was handsome. Plenty of people were handsome. Hyunjin was the kind of good-looking that didn’t feel deliberate. Like he hadn’t learned it from a mirror. Like it was something the world had decided on his behalf. There was nothing showy or intentional about it. He simply existed, and the rest followed.

His expression was steady, not angry anymore, just open. I hated that I could still read him. I hated that part of me had never really stopped.

It still startled me sometimes, being struck by him like this. I thought that feeling would fade after everything. Whatever we were. However brief it had been. I had expected it to dull or flatten or settle into something simple and distant. But it hadn’t. Not really. It just softened, moved deeper, changed shape, waited.

Even when we stopped being whatever we were trying to be, even when he left, even when the space between us made more sense than being close to him ever had, I never stopped noticing him. The way he listened. The way he tried. The way he cared, quietly and without asking for recognition.

That was the part I had never figured out how to forget.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. We just looked at each other. The hallway felt narrow, and the air still, making everything else in the apartment seem far away.

Then Hyunjin spoke.

“You don’t even like him,” he said.

There was no accusation in it. No victory. Just the truth, spoken plainly.

My heart slammed hard enough to make me dizzy.

“What?” I managed.

He didn’t look triumphant. He looked tired.

“You don’t laugh the way you used to,” he said. “When you’re with him, it’s like you shrink. That’s not the you I remember.”

Anger flared before I could stop it. Hot and immediate, rising from the place where everything I had been swallowing for months had settled. All the things I had set aside. All the explanations I never gave. All the words I chose not to say.

They all surged at once.

“Oh, so you do remember,” I said. My voice didn’t shake. If anything, it was too steady. “You remember me now.”

His expression shifted, just enough to show he felt it.

I kept going. I couldn’t have stopped even if I tried.

“You don’t get to say that,” I said. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you know what I am like with someone. You left, Hyunjin. You left for a year. You didn’t ask me to wait or to keep in touch. And I didn’t ask you to either. I accepted it. I moved on. I chose someone who stayed.”

The hallway felt close and bright. The silence between us had weight now.

“So you don’t get to be jealous,” I finished, breathing hard. “Not now.”

Hyunjin didn’t respond at first. The words seemed to hit him and stayed there. He didn’t look angry. Just hurt. And something in my chest pulled tight, like whatever I had managed to patch up was straining at the seams again.

“I’m not jealous of him,” Hyunjin said. “I’m worried about you.”

The sentence landed differently.

“I see you holding yourself still,” he continued. “You used to move through rooms without waiting to see if it was okay. You didn’t measure yourself against the people around you. You were sure of your place. And right now, it looks like you’re waiting for permission to exist in a conversation.”

My throat tightened. Not because he was wrong.

Because he wasn’t.

I swallowed. “You don’t get to be the one who notices that anymore.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Tried again.

His shoulders shifted, just slightly, like he had started to step toward me before he caught himself. His hand lifted a fraction, as if reaching out had been instinctive, then lowered again when he realised I was watching.

“Y/N…” he said, my name careful in his voice.

The space between us felt too close, even though we weren’t touching. He looked like he had a hundred things to say and no language for any of them. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, the hallway felt heavy with everything we had never actually talked about.

“No,” I said, stepping back. “Don’t say my name like that. You don’t get to want something now that you threw away before.”

He nodded once, like he had prepared for that answer long before I said it.

And I didn’t wait for his reply.

I walked back toward the living room, toward the noise, toward the cake and the laughter and the safety of pretending.

But everything felt just a little out of focus.

Like I had stepped out of myself and could not quite get back in.

I went back to the table and sat down beside Jaewyn. The conversation lifted around me again, loud and easy.

But the room felt colder.

And I felt like I couldn’t quite reach the place where my own voice lived.

Chapter Text

(Hyunin POV)

I didn’t move at first. I just stood there in the hallway, staring at the wall. The quiet settled heavily into my chest. I knew I had crossed a line. Or maybe I had just finally said the thing I had been holding for too long. It didn’t matter. The result felt the same.

I felt like I had been punched. Not hard. Just in the exact place where it counts.

I had always been confident. People said it like it was a fact instead of something I worked at every day. Confident and composed. Sometimes even arrogant, though usually with a smile sharp enough to make it a joke. But Y/N had never been impressed by any of that. She was the one person who always saw past whatever I decided to show. And she could cut straight to the part of me that was real. Even when it hurt.

Especially when it hurt.

I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb into the back of my other hand like I needed to feel something grounded. It took more courage than I wanted to admit just to turn back toward the living room.

The noise returned as soon as I stepped in. Laughter and music humming low. The room was filled with warmth that should have felt easy. Y/N was already sitting at the table again, leaning slightly toward Jaewyn, listening to something he was saying with a soft smile. Like nothing had happened. Like the conversation in the hallway wasn’t still sitting in my chest like a weight.

Felix saw me first. He lifted his hand and waved me over, no big gesture, just a small tug at the air. The warmth of it hit harder than anything else tonight. I crossed the room and sank down on the floor beside him. He didn’t say anything. He just bumped his shoulder lightly against mine once, steady and grounding. I was grateful for it.

The others didn’t mention the tension. They didn’t ask. Seungmin made a dry comment that made Chan laugh. Changbin went on eating like he hadn’t noticed anything at all. It was their way of giving space without making it obvious. A kind of loyalty that didn’t need words.

I tried to join the conversation, but my attention kept drifting. Back to the table. Back to her.

Y/N leaned close to Jaewyn, her voice low, just enough that only he would hear. He nodded. His hand brushed her knee, and then they both stood.

“I think we’re going to head out,” Y/N said to the room.

There were the usual replies. Be safe. Text when you get home. Thanks for coming. See you soon.

Y/N didn’t look at me as she put her coat on. Not once.

I watched them leave. Not because I wanted to. Because I couldn’t stop myself.

My chest tightened, and something inside me felt like it was folding in on itself.

The door clicked shut, and the room went silent. The laughter and warmth from earlier didn’t disappear; it just paused, suspended in the space between all of us. No one moved. No one reached for a drink or tried to make a joke. The music kept playing in the background, but no one seemed to hear it.

I could feel all of them wanting to say something. Anything. Something light. Something reassuring. Something stupid. But no one moved first.

So I did.

I ran a hand through my hair and let out a slow breath. “Jeongin,” I said, looking over at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag that into your birthday.”

Jeongin blinked, then shook his head with a gentle smile. “It’s okay. I never know what to do when everyone is paying attention to me anyway.” He paused, his expression shifting as he realised what he had just said. “I don’t mean I’m glad you’re hurt. Just… It’s fine. Really.”

A faint, short laugh broke around the room, just enough to loosen something in the air.

“What the hell even happened?” Jisung asked finally, eyes wide but not judgmental.

I didn’t look at any of them when I answered. “I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Changbin leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Good. Someone had to say something. I’ve been wanting to for a while.” His voice wasn’t harsh. Just honest.

That surprised me more than anything else tonight.

Felix nodded beside me, quiet but sure. Seungmin didn’t speak, but his expression said enough.

Chan exhaled and rubbed the back of his neck. “So… what now?”

I stared at the table for a moment. The crumbs. The candles burnt down to uneven stubs. The cake leaning to the side. The silence sitting between everything.

“There isn’t a ‘now’,” I said. “I said what I needed to say. The rest is hers. I don’t get to push. Or convince. Or try to make her choose differently.” My throat tightened, but I kept my voice even. “She gets to decide her life. Her relationships and her story. I don’t get to walk back in and take that from her.”

No one argued. No one tried to give me advice. No one said I was wrong or right.

They just sat with me. Which was enough.

The night didn’t end there. It probably should have, but Minho disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a bottle that looked like it should have come with a warning label. He set it down on the coffee table with a dull thud, the label peeling, the liquid inside the colour of something that had no business being consumed.

“No more feelings,” he declared. “Only poor decisions.”

It was exactly what everyone needed.

Felix groaned and grabbed shot glasses anyway. Jisung insisted he could handle it better than anyone, then nearly choked on the first sip. Jeongin accepted his glass with the solemnity of someone preparing for battle, then knocked it back just to prove a point and immediately had to blink hard to stop his eyes from watering. Seungmin insulted three people in a row without changing his expression. Changbin tried to freestyle rap about the cake and rhymed “birthday” with “Thursday” four times. Chan laughed so hard he actually fell sideways onto the couch cushions and stayed there for a full minute. Minho watched all of it with the quiet satisfaction of someone who had successfully instigated mayhem.

We laughed louder than the room required. Laughter that felt like relief. Like breathing with your chest for the first time in hours. The burn of the drink hit my throat and settled low and warm, blurring the sharper edges of the night. Not erasing them but just softening them long enough to breathe.

It didn’t fix anything. But for a while, it made the ache feel further away.

Eventually, the energy thinned. The jokes got slower. Everyone’s words softened around the edges. Chan yawned first, which set off a chain reaction, and soon we were gathering plates and stacking containers.

We said goodnight in that low, tired tone that meant we would all feel this in the morning. Felix hugged me tighter than usual. Chan squeezed my shoulder. No one mentioned the hallway. The silence around it felt like a promise, not avoidance.

I walked back to the dorms alone, the air outside cool against my face, quiet enough to hear my own breathing. The campus lights glowed in hushed pools on the pavement. I didn’t rush. There was nowhere to rush to.

My room looked the same as always when I stepped inside. Small. Uncluttered. One bed, one desk, one window. I sat on the edge of the mattress and let out a long exhale.

Then I lay back, not even bothering to change clothes.

Just like I always did, my hand went to the left side of the bed. The sheets there stayed too neat, too undisturbed. I smoothed them out anyway, flattening a crease that didn’t need flattening.

I had been doing that since things between us changed. It was a habit I never managed to break, a gesture that outlasted the reasons it began.

And for the first time in a long while, a thought came uninvited.

I wondered which side she sleeps on now.

****

I woke up with a headache that settled behind my eyes like a weight someone had forgotten to lift. The room was too bright. The air was dry. My mouth tasted like stale night and bad choices. But the drinking wasn’t the part I regretted. Not really.

Everything from the evening before came back slowly, like light creeping in through a half-closed curtain. The comment. The look on her face. The hallway. The way she walked back to him without turning around.

I stared at my phone for a long time. It sat on the nightstand, screen dark, waiting. All it would take was a few taps. Her name was still near the top of my contact list when I added it as a favourite. It would be easy to type something small.

Are you okay?

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.

But I could hear her voice as clearly as if she were still standing in front of me.

So I left the phone where it was.

Instead, I forced myself up, walked to the small kitchen I shared with the few students on my floor, and made breakfast that was more grease than actual food. Eggs cooked too fast in too much oil. Bacon that smoked up the room. Toast buttered past the point of sensibility. It didn’t fix my headache or undo anything that happened, but the motion of cooking at least made me feel like I was doing something.

After eating, I went straight to the art studio.

Painting had always been how I pulled things apart and put them back where I could stand to look at them. But what came out of me that day wasn’t planned. There was no quiet meaning or gentle expression. Colour hit the canvas heavier than I intended, shapes formed and broke apart before I knew what I was trying to make. I worked too fast. Too hard. My hand ached before the afternoon had even started.

Hours bled into days, the studio and my room becoming the only places I let myself exist.

I told myself it was focus. Dedication. Discipline. That I had assignments to finish and deadlines to meet.

But the truth sat there in the corner of my mind, uninvited and stubborn.

I didn’t want to risk seeing her and Jaewyn together again. Not in the same room. Not laughing. Not sitting close the way she used to sit with me without thinking about it.

Avoidance is easy to disguise as commitment when no one asks too many questions.

Except my friends did notice.

Chan showed up with leftover food and didn’t comment when I barely looked up from the canvas. Seungmin dropped off protein bars and made a face at the state of my kitchen sink. Changbin arrived with two coffees one morning and pretended he just happened to be nearby, even though he absolutely hadn’t. Jisung sat cross-legged on the studio floor and talked nonsense until I found myself smiling again.

Felix came the most. He didn’t pry. He didn’t ask. He just sat beside me sometimes, legs stretched out, back against the wall, quiet enough that I didn’t feel crowded. Presence without pressure.

One afternoon, he came in without knocking, holding two energy drinks and a packet of chips tucked under his arm.

“We’re going away this weekend,” he said, like it was already decided. “And you’re coming.”

I didn’t answer. I kept my eyes on the canvas even though I wasn’t really seeing it anymore.

Felix set one of the drinks on the table. “You haven’t been outside in almost two weeks,” he said.

I huffed out a breath, not quite a laugh. “It hasn’t been two weeks.”

“It almost has,” he said, quiet and sure.

I looked at the painting again. The colours were too loud again. The strokes were uneven, almost frantic. It didn’t look like expression. It looked like a door I couldn’t close.

“I don’t know if I should go,” I said.

Felix didn’t argue. He didn’t reassure. He just shrugged lightly, as if the answer was obvious. “That’s exactly why you’re going.”

He didn’t need to convince me. He didn’t need to push. He had already decided to pull me back to the surface.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The week moved strangely. Not heavy exactly, just off-balance, like the floor tilted a few degrees when I wasn’t looking. I kept telling myself that everything was fine, that nothing had changed, that the hallway conversation could be folded up and set aside like an old receipt you find in your pocket. But small things started catching my attention. The way I spoke quieter when Jaewyn interrupted me. The way I laughed only after checking if he was laughing too. The way I paused before I said anything, just to make sure it would land safely.

I noticed it because Hyunjin had named it. And once something has a name, it becomes impossible to ignore.

It bothered me how much that frustrated me. That it took him saying it for me to look at myself clearly again. I hadn’t even noticed I was doing it. I had just eased into the smaller shape without realising I’d folded myself up to fit. It happened quietly, slowly, like exhaling without knowing you’d been holding your breath in the first place. And somehow it took Hyunjin pointing it out for me to see what had been right in front of me the whole time.

I didn’t go to Hyunjin about it. Obviously. I didn’t want to talk to Chan either because he would try to make it better. Felix would be too gentle. Changbin would try to fight someone. Jisung would offer emotional support through snacks and jokes. Minho would give me one raised eyebrow, wait for me to talk, and say something so precise it would take me hours to recover. And Jeongin… Jeongin would listen too closely, and I wasn’t ready to see myself reflected in someone else’s eyes just yet.

So I went to Seungmin.

We sat outside the café where the afternoon sun hit the pavement in long, slow stretches. Seungmin stirred his drink once and then didn’t touch it again. He just waited. He always waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” I started, and the words felt heavy coming out. “About what Hyunjin said.”

Seungmin didn’t react. Not surprise, not interest, just attention. It made it easier to keep going.

“Even though I hate to admit it, Hyunjin was right,” I said. “I didn’t even see it happening.” I picked at the sleeve of my jacket, staring at nothing in particular. “Somewhere along the way, I stopped choosing myself. I stopped bringing my opinions into conversations. I waited for him to speak first, every time. I didn’t decide that. I just… slipped into it.”

Seungmin stayed quiet, letting me finish.

“I thought it was just comfort,” I continued. “But it wasn’t. It was habit. And I didn’t realise how quickly I could fall back into it.” A shaky breath left me. “It scares me how easy it was.”

The words kept coming, one after another, like once I’d started, I couldn’t stop, like something in me had been waiting for someone who would actually hear them without judgment or trying to make me feel better.

“I looked in the mirror yesterday,” I admitted, voice quieter now. “And I recognised the girl I used to be. The version of me who kept trying to make herself easier to be around. The one who apologised for wanting things.” My throat tightened. “I felt stupid. Like I hadn’t learned anything at all.”

I finally looked up at him. “Did you notice?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

The word didn’t sting. It landed like confirmation of something I already knew.

I exhaled slowly. “And you didn’t say anything.”

“You weren’t ready to hear it,” he said. “And you would have pushed back if any of us had tried.”

He wasn’t wrong. I would have.

I dragged my hands over my face, slow, like I was trying to wipe the old version of myself off. “I feel like I should have known better.”

Seungmin took a sip of his drink, the movement calm and unhurried. “Knowing better doesn’t mean you never slip. It just means you know how to find your way back when you do.”

I looked away, toward the light on the pavement. “I hate that he was the one who saw it first.”

“I don’t agree with the way he said it,” he said. “Or the timing. Or the scene he made. But I’m glad he said something eventually.”

The words settled between us, steady and unembellished. I could hear the sound of traffic in the distance. Someone laughing from inside the café. My own heartbeat, even and tired.

“So what do I do?” I asked, a little bit scared of the answer. “What am I supposed to do now that I see it?”

Seungmin took a moment before answering.

“No one can tell you that,” he said. “We can give opinions. Advice. Sympathy. Jokes. But none of us are in your head.” His eyes met mine, clear and unwavering. “You knew the real you once. Find her again. Then the next step will be obvious.”

I exhaled slowly. My shoulders loosened just a little. The air felt clearer.

“I’ll figure it out,” I said, more to myself than to him.

Seungmin stood and brushed imaginary dust from his jeans, like the conversation had been as natural as discussing lunch menus.

“Good,” he said and gave the smallest, quietest smile. “Tell me when you do. Same team, right?”

He didn’t wait for anything else. Then he turned away before I could answer, hands in pockets, heading toward the cafeteria steps without looking back.

I stayed where I was for a while. I felt raw and awake in a way I hadn’t in a long time.

Deep down, I already knew what the next step needed to be.

****

I knew what I had to do. I had known the moment I walked out of the café with Seungmin. Even before the conversation started, before Seungmin said anything, before I had the language for it. I had felt it forming inside me like a quiet truth that wouldn’t stop pressing at the edges. And maybe I even knew after the conversation in the hallway, if I were being completely honest with myself.

The clarity wasn’t loud. I found myself stuck in a version of life that was steady, yes, but also muted. I had mistaken comfort for closeness and familiarity for connection. I had convinced myself that being calm meant being fulfilled.

But I hadn’t been paying attention. Not to myself. Not for a while.

I used to wake up feeling sharp with my own thoughts, full of things I wanted to say, to make, to chase. Somewhere along the way, that part of me had gone quieter. Gradually. Gently. So gently, I didn’t notice it fading until someone else said the words that forced me to look.

I hated that it was him who saw it. The person who had once undone me. The person who had left. The person I had trained myself to stop reaching for.

But it didn’t make him wrong.

And knowing that meant I couldn’t pretend anymore.

I walked to Jaewyn’s apartment before I could talk myself out of it. I didn’t text or call ahead. I just walked. The air was crisp enough to bite at my skin and wake me from the numbness I had carried for days.

He opened the door with a smile, the familiar one, warm and easy. It made my throat tighten.

“Hey,” he said, moving out of the way to let me in. “I was just about to make tea.”

I stepped inside. The room looked the same as always. Calm. Tidy. Comfortable. There were framed prints on the wall, I had once thought were thoughtful. A blanket folded neatly on the couch. A mug left out from the morning.

Everything was in place. Including me. Except I didn’t feel like I fit there anymore.

“We need to talk,” I said.

His smile faltered. That was all it took. One sentence.

“Oh,” he said. He sat down on the edge of the couch. “Okay. What’s going on?”

I sat across from him. Not beside him. The space felt necessary.

“I don’t think this is working,” I said. The words felt heavy, but not uncertain. “I think we stopped really seeing each other. And I think I let myself ignore that because it was easier than admitting it.”

He blinked. Confusion first, then something sharper.

“Where is this coming from?” he asked.

“I think we worked,” I said, and my voice came out steadier than I expected. “But we worked when I was someone who doesn’t exist anymore. Or someone I outgrew. When I came home, I slid right back into that version of me because it was comfortable and familiar and easy. And I didn’t realise it. Not until now.”

I looked at him, really looked.

“You fell for that version of me. And I tried to become her again because I thought that meant we would still fit. But I’m not her anymore. And the me I am now… doesn’t fit in this. Not without changing myself again. Not without pretending. Not without going backwards.”

His jaw tightened. “So this is about the other night,” he said. “The stupid comment. I told you I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know,” I said. “I know you didn’t. This isn’t about that one thing. It’s about everything that settled quietly under it. I am not the person you fell in love with anymore, and I can’t stop being her.”

He stared at me. The hurt showed before he could hide it.

“So what,” he said, voice low. “You’re just done?”

I swallowed. “I care about you. I do. But I don’t think we’re growing. I think we got comfortable, and then we stopped moving. And I don’t think either of us is happy in that.”

His eyes flashed. “I was happy.”

There was no softness left in his tone.

I took a breath that felt like stepping off something high.

“Were you?” I asked. “Really?”

Silence. Not long. Just enough. His face broke just slightly.

“Yeah,” he said. “I thought we were happy. I really did.”

The words cut right through me, and for a split second, something in me almost reached backwards, almost tried to take it all back just to stop the hurt. But being able to breathe in my own skin again mattered more than staying somewhere I had outgrown.

He looked away. The warmth was gone, replaced with something cold that was not cruelty, just protection.

“I’m really sorry,” I said quietly. It was the only sentence I could manage, even though I knew it wasn’t going to matter much at this point.

“I don’t want to drag this out,” he said. “So if you’re leaving, go.”

I stood. I wanted to say thank you. Or sorry. Or something. But the words I had didn’t feel like the right ones, so I held them instead.

So I just walked out.

I made it halfway down the block before the tears came, and once they started, I couldn’t stop them. It felt like something inside me had cracked open and spilt out, messy and painfully honest. And even through the ache, I knew this was the right thing. Jaewyn didn’t deserve to be hurt just because I hadn’t understood myself.

By the time I reached the dorms, my chest hurt from trying to breathe evenly.

I opened the door to Felix and Jisung’s room without knocking.

They were both there. Felix was on the floor with a blanket wrapped around him, playing on his Switch. Jisung was trying to fix a string of fairy lights that had never worked properly.

They looked up at me at the same time.

They didn’t ask what happened or try to make a joke to soften the moment. Felix took one look at my face and crossed the room instantly, Jisung right behind him. They wrapped around me without hesitation, one on each side, like they’d been waiting for me to fall apart so they could catch me before I hit the ground.

Their arms were warm and solid, and I sank into them before I could think myself out of it.

And something in me loosened. The tightness I had been holding in my chest for weeks, maybe months, finally gave way. I felt my shoulders drop, my breath come easier, like I had been bracing for impact and didn’t need to anymore.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t feel like I was trying to fit myself into the shape of someone I used to be.

With them, in that small room that always smelled faintly like laundry detergent and instant ramen, I felt like myself again.

I felt like home.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

I stayed in Felix and Jisung’s room for a long time that night. I don’t know how long. Long enough for my face to feel tight from crying and my throat to hurt. Long enough for the room to go from dim to dark and then back to that soft glow from the hallway light that always leaked in under the door. They didn’t ask for details. I didn’t need to explain. They just stayed on either side of me, leaning against the wall, waiting for my breathing to steady.

Felix was the one who broke the silence.

“We should go somewhere,” he said, so casually it almost didn’t sound like the start of anything.

Jisung blinked at him. “Like where? The moon?”

Felix leaned over me to playfully slap his leg. “No. The beach.”

Jisung nodded thoughtfully, like this was a perfectly reasonable suggestion at two in the morning. “Right. Obviously.”

Felix looked over at me. His face was soft and earnest. “You need air. New sunlight. New water. New grocery stores with a different layout so your brain resets. And honestly, I think the rest of us do too.”

I let out a breath that was almost a laugh.

Jisung gave a dramatic nod. “That’s actually a good idea. We’ll run into the ocean. Shed our burdens. Get hypothermia. Become stronger.”

“This is why you don’t get to be in charge of the plan,” Felix replied, rolling his eyes.

But the idea stayed and became a reality.

The beach. Just for a weekend. Just to breathe.

By the next afternoon, we had a group chat full of logistics. Jisung had found a rental house near the coast, close enough to drive but far enough that Seoul would blur behind us. It apparently has room for ten, ocean view, a wooden deck and big windows. The whole perfect getaway, while still affordable for a bunch of students. It sounded ideal.

I slept that night better than I had in a while.

Friday morning came hazy and pale. The air smelled like cold pavement and coffee from someone’s travel mug. Some of us didn’t have class. Some of us didn’t ask too many questions about the sudden coughing fits or dramatic messages to professors about fevers.

Chan only said, “If anyone gets caught, we deny knowing them,” while zipping up a cooler bag full of drinks.

Two cars waited outside the dorms, doors open, music blasting from both of them like they were competing for which one could shake the pavement harder. Someone had queued a summer playlist in one, something bass-heavy and chaotic. The other was playing throwback pop at full volume for no reason except that it made everyone yell the lyrics. It felt ridiculous and loud and exactly right.

Felix tossed his bag into the trunk of the first one. “Alright, group division. Car A is The Problem Car,” he said, pointing toward Minho’s car, where Jisung was already shouting about something, and Hyunjin leaned against the hood pretending he wasn’t listening.

Minho raised a hand. “I would like to make it very clear that I did not sign off on the name.”

“No one asked,” Changbin said, dropping his bag into the trunk of the second car. He looked at me, offering the faintest smile. It was gentle. A checking-in smile. I nodded back.

Felix slapped the side of the second car proudly. “And this is Car B,” he said, “The Responsible Stable Supportive Reliable Emotionally Mature Vehicle.”

Seungmin stared at him. “You just described none of us.”

Felix shrugged. “Let me dream.”

So I ended up in the second car with Changbin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin. The safer car. The softer car. The one where I could just be.

The engines started. Someone passed sunglasses around even though it was still overcast. The city moved around us, tall buildings and buses and crosswalks and street signs, busy and humming. I stared out the window and felt something heavy inside me loosen by degrees.

Felix, sitting in the passenger seat, pointed to a building we passed. “Remember when Jisung got stuck in that revolving door because he panicked and wouldn’t step out?”

Seungmin snorted. “He thought it wouldn’t stop moving.”

“It doesn’t stop moving!” Jeongin said from the back. “You exit when it lines up!”

“He missed like eight opportunities,” Felix replied.

Changbin laughed so hard he had to slow at the next light.

I smiled. I loved these ridiculous human beings.

The city eventually thinned out. Tall buildings faded to lower ones, then to wide stretches of open road. The traffic loosened. The sky opened and the world felt a bit bigger.

It didn’t heal anything instantly. But I felt myself breathe deeper than before.

There were small things I noticed as we drove: the light shifting warmer the farther we got from the city, the music sounding different once it was heard on the open highway, the air turning cleaner as the sky widened above us. Little changes that didn’t fix anything, but eased something anyway.

I hadn’t realised how much I had still been holding myself tense.

We stopped halfway to the coast at a petrol station with flickering lights and a store that sold everything from instant noodles to beach floaties shaped like flamingos.

Chan grabbed a basket like we were preparing for a natural disaster. “We need trip supplies.”

“What qualifies as trip supplies?” Seungmin asked.

“Snacks that are regrettable,” Felix jumped in, grabbing a family-sized bag of spicy chips. “Sugary drinks. Maybe gum. Something plastic and brightly coloured we’ll abandon on the sand. Ice cream we’ll fight over.”

Minho found popsicles in a freezer and held one up without speaking, followed by dumping way too many in the basket.

Hyunjin, who I’d assumed was just wandering the aisle, reached past the instant noodles and placed two bottles of questionable alcohol into the cart. Clearly, not anything fancy. Just the ‘let’s regret and forget’ drinks that everyone pretends tastes better than it does.

Changbin appeared behind him and placed a box of headache tablets right on top of the bottles. “For the consequences of that,” he said simply, nodding his head towards the alcohol.

Felix pointed at him. “And this is why he rides in Car B.”

I stood among them, listening, and smiling. The store smelled like freezer air and cheap coffee. There was music playing faintly from a radio behind the counter. The floor was uneven tile, most of which was cracked. The moment was so small and ordinary, but it felt like another part of me was slowly stitching itself back together.

We paid. We returned to the cars, and the drive continued.

Outside the windows, pine forests replaced suburbs. Then dunes. Then glimpses of water, pale blue-grey under a sky that looked like brushed metal. The town near the beach was quiet. Off-season quiet. Windows shuttered. Signs faded from the sun and winter.

The ocean came into view in a slow reveal, the horizon stretching endlessly and softly.

Something in my chest eased some more.

The rental house sat on a slight hill, long and low, with pale wood siding and a porch that faced the sea. The wind carried the smell of salt and cold stone. The air felt different here.

The cars parked and doors flung open with the power of excitement. Everyone stretched and groaned dramatically. The group spilt into the driveway like we had been here before.

I looked around.

Waves rolled in slow, steady repeats. The sky hung low and soft. There were gulls in the distance, and the faint cry of them carried on the wind.

I felt hopeful. This was a really good idea.

Felix bumped his shoulder against mine. “Told you. The sea fixes things.”

“It doesn’t fix everything,” I said.

“No,” he agreed. “Just enough to start.”

I nodded.

The others were already arguing about which bags belonged to whom and whether anyone remembered to bring toothpaste.

I took a slow breath, with the ocean waiting in front of us, endless and open, like there was room for all of it.

The house looked bigger from the outside than it felt once all of us stepped inside. That was the first sign. The second sign was Jisung standing in the middle of the living room, phone in hand, his expression doing a slow slide from confidence into something like horror.

“Okay,” he said finally. “So. I may have… read this wrong.”

No one spoke. That was suspicious on its own.

Jisung cleared his throat. “I saw ‘sleeps ten.’ Which is true. Technically. In total. If you count the floor and possibly the coffee table.”

Minho closed his eyes like he was attempting patience from an ancient spiritual reservoir.

“How many rooms, Sungie?” Chan asked, already sounding resigned.

“Three,” Jisung said.

Everyone groaned at once except Felix, who laughed and clapped like someone had just announced a surprise adventure.

“It is fine,” Felix said. “We are young. We are adaptable. We have survived worse. We lived with Hyunjin’s exam-week personality.”

“Hey!” Hyunjin said, pretending to be offended, but clearly enjoying the banter.

“That was trauma, not resilience,” Seungmin muttered.

After scoping out the house and some careful planning, I ended up sharing a room with Seungmin with two single beds.

Minho and Jisung took one of the doubles, which made sense considering the number of nights Jisung had passed out on Minho’s floor without anyone noticing.

Felix and Hyunjin took the other double. Felix announced, very brightly, that he kicks in his sleep and that Hyunjin “probably deserved to experience that for some unknown reason.” It was said with so much cheer that no one questioned it.

Which left Chan, Changbin and Jeongin surveying an array of sofas.

“We will take the couches,” Chan said, voice full of weary nobility.

“We accept our fate,” Jeongin added, placing a hand on his chest with tragic seriousness.

Changbin just nodded once and muttered, “This is fine,” even though the couch cushions were thin enough to legally only be considered decorative.

Everyone started carrying bags down the hall. I picked up mine and headed to the room I was sharing with Seungmin. It was small, but in a comforting way. Wooden floors. Two low single beds with thin white duvets. A window facing the sea. If I stood at just the right angle, I could see the horizon. That was enough to make something in my chest loosen again.

I placed my bag on the bed nearest the window. Seungmin dropped his on the other bed, already unzipping it to start unpacking.

“We should hold the line if anyone tries to switch with us,” he said, adjusting his pillow. “No negotiations.”

“I don’t think anyone wants to room with either of us,” I said.

He nodded, but quietly muttered. “That’s debatable.”

I smiled, and he gave a single short nod of acknowledgement, which was equivalent to a full hug from Seungmin.

I stepped back into the hallway to head downstairs. The house was quiet there for a moment, just the sound of distant voices and the wind pushing lightly against the windowpanes.

And that was when Hyunjin stepped out of the room opposite mine at the same time.

He had a crumpled t-shirt in his hands, as if he had been trying to decide whether to unpack or just let his clothes live in his bag for three days. His hair was a little messy from travelling, and there was still a faint crease on his cheek where he must have rested his head against the car window.

We both stopped.

He looked up. I looked up.

Our eyes met, and the moment stretched, not long, but long enough to feel like something returned to the surface before either of us could push it back under.

We both looked away at the exact same time. Like it had been rehearsed.

He cleared his throat softly. “Hey.” His voice was gentle.

“Hey,” I said, matching the tone without meaning to.

He gave a small smile. Not the bright one that lit up his whole face. Something smaller. Something almost apologetic, though nothing had been said to apologise for.

“Gonna go see what the kitchen situation is,” he said, holding up the t-shirt like it was part of the explanation. “Before Jisung claims all the snacks.”

I huffed a laugh. “Good luck.”

He nodded once, then headed down the stairs. His steps were unhurried. Mine stayed still. I listened to the sound of him joining the others downstairs, his voice blending into the group, low and warm.

I stood alone in the hallway for a few seconds longer than necessary. I exhaled slowly, then walked toward the stairs, listening to the laughter rising from below.

The sun dipped behind low clouds by the time we finished unpacking and settled. The wind had picked up, carrying the salt-glass sting of the ocean through the open windows. Somewhere outside, waves rolled against the shore in a steady rhythm. It felt like background music to a life I was trying to remember how to live.

Chan announced, with the authority of a general, that tonight was “low effort everything,” which meant no real cooking. We made a dinner of things scavenged from the petrol station, haphazardly-sliced fruit Hyunjin couldn’t leave the store without, differently shaped crackers, a very uneven cheese board, and whatever Seungmin and Jeongin had panicked into buying when left unsupervised in a convenience store.

After we ate, the coffee table was cleared in record time, and everyone moved plates and cups out of the way with the silent coordination of people who had done this many, many times before. The board game box was dragged out from under the TV stand and cracked open like a treasure chest. Inside was a collection that looked like it had been assembled over years and questionable decisions: Monopoly, which the entire room collectively pretended not to see; an old trivia game missing half the answer cards; Settlers of Catan, which drew a chorus of groans and reluctant interest because we all knew it would end in emotional warfare; and Uno in a box held together with tape.

“No,” Seungmin said immediately. “Absolutely not. I refuse to watch our group dynamic collapse on day one because of colourful cards.”

“We are stronger now,” Felix insisted. “We have grown.”

“Changbin nearly threw Jisung off a balcony last time,” Minho said. “Literally two weeks ago.”

“A lot of maturing could happen in two weeks, Minho,” Felix defended.

Seungmin then sighed through his teeth. “Fine. But if anyone throws furniture this time, I’m leaving you all here without a ride home.”

“Love that for us,” Changbin said, already dealing the cards.

We settled on the floor in a loose circle around the table. Someone put on music that didn’t require thinking. The first few rounds were harmless. Then Minho stacked a +4 on top of another +4, and chaos bloomed in slow motion.

“Absolutely illegal!” Chan shouted, pointing as if he were testifying before a court.

“It is morally incorrect,” I added, holding twenty cards and contemplating my life choices.

“It is strategically sound and according to the rules,” Minho replied, completely unbothered.

Felix collapsed sideways into Jeongin’s shoulder, laughing so hard he couldn’t hold his cards. Jeongin patted him once, like he was used to this.

Eventually, after Jisung insisted the deck itself was rigged by dark forces and Changbin refused to apologise for “playing like a champion,” we retired Uno and reached for another option. The one with the black prompt cards and the white answer cards. The game that rewarded the worst humour in the room and punished everyone equally.

Seungmin closed his eyes like he was preparing for battle. “This is going to destroy whatever dignity we have left.”

“Seungmin, I already told you. We are mature,” Felix said, shuffling.

The first prompt card hit the table.

The second card response was so deeply unhinged that Chan choked on his drink, Jisung fell backwards onto a pillow, and I laughed harder than I had in weeks. Real laughter. The kind that reached my ribs and pushed its way out before I could think.

It startled me. The sound of it. The feel of it.

It startled someone else, too.

I glanced up in the middle of that laugh. Not meaning to. Just a reflex.

Hyunjin was looking at me.

Not staring. Just… seeing.

His expression softened for one brief second before he looked back down at his cards, smoothing his face back into something unreadable.

I didn’t know what to do with the feeling that left behind.

So I laughed again, louder this time.

Later, when the alcohol had settled into everyone’s limbs and the laughter softened into tired contentment, people started drifting to their rooms.

Jisung and Minho argued quietly down the hall about who got the side of the bed closer to the door.

Chan tried to help set up blankets for the couch and managed to fall into the cushions in a slow, heavy collapse like a log being felled in a forest.

Jeongin brushed his teeth in the kitchen sink for absolutely no reason.

Felix yawned so dramatically that he nearly fell sideways into Hyunjin, who caught him with only mild annoyance.

Seungmin stretched, gathered his hoodie, and nodded toward the staircase. “Come on. Before they all decide our beds are community property. I’m locking the doors in 10 minutes.”

I stood, blanket still wrapped around my shoulders like a cape. I gathered my cards, put them back into the box, stacked the bowls, and moved the empty glasses to the counter. Not because I had to. Because I wanted to leave the room soft for the morning.

As I turned to go upstairs, I glanced back once.

Hyunjin was still on the floor, collecting cups. His hair fell forward a little as he leaned down, and he pushed it back behind his ear. He was smiling at something Changbin had said. Not for the group. Not for me. Just for himself.

It was a good smile.

And something inside me recognised it without pain.

I turned and followed Seungmin up the stairs.

The hallway was dim. The floorboards creaked softly under our feet. The ocean murmured outside, steady and endless.

I wasn’t walking away from anything this time.

I was just walking to bed.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

The house was quiet when I woke up, a quiet that happens after people have laughed too loudly for too long the night before. My head ached behind my eyes, the dull, heavy sort of ache that came from alcohol that was definitely chosen for enthusiasm rather than quality. We didn’t even go too hard, but the intense feelings that bubbled in me probably didn’t help. I lay still for a moment, listening. Someone was snoring lightly in the living room. Pipes hummed faintly in the walls. Wind moved through the curtains.

Felix was still asleep beside me, one foot sticking out from the blanket, arm thrown across the empty space between our beds, his hair in a mess across the pillow. He luckily didn’t injure me too much while sleeping. I rubbed my eyes, sat up slowly, and stretched until I felt the pull in my shoulders release.

I needed air.

I slipped on a hoodie, grabbed my sketchbook from my bag, and ducked out of the room. The hallway creaked in complaint under my steps. I tried to be quiet, but the house was old and every surface wanted to announce movement. When I made it to the kitchen, I found Minho leaning on the counter, sipping coffee like he hadn’t drunk anything at all last night.

He glanced over once. “You look alive enough.”

“You look suspiciously fine,” I said.

“I do not drink to the point of regret,” he replied, and lifted his mug slightly as though offering a silent toast to his own self-control.

I poured myself coffee and stepped outside before anyone else could wake up and ask how I was. The porch overlooked the sand dunes and the stretch of early morning sky, pale blue softening into gold at the edges. The air tasted clean. Not city air. Salt. Pine. Something older and steadier than the last few weeks inside my head.

I sat on the steps with my sketchbook open on my knee. Pencil against paper felt familiar. A place I knew how to exist in. I didn’t think about what I was drawing. I just let my hand move. Shapes formed. Lines repeated. A shoulder. The sweep of hair. A quiet mouth. I turned the page before it could become too recognisable.

Footsteps behind me were soft but not cautious. I knew the sound without needing to look.

Y/N.

She stepped outside slowly, like she wasn’t sure whether she was interrupting something. She had a book tucked under her arm, a mug in her hand and her hair pulled back loosely. Her eyes met mine just for a moment, and I realised I was holding my breath.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning.”

She sat on the other end of the porch on one of the lounging chairs, opening her book but not really reading the first page. I again didn’t mean to draw her. But my hand slowed, softened, adjusted around the memory of her shape anyway, as if my hands were moving on their own.

The silence wasn’t tense. Not comfortable either. Something in between. Something that understood that hurt had happened, but neither wanted to hold it like a weapon anymore.

The sea moved steadily in front of us, the waves folding over themselves in slow rhythm. Gulls called somewhere distant. Coffee steamed in my mug. I could hear her breathing, quiet and steady.

She turned a page.

I drew another line.

It felt almost peaceful. The longer we sat there, the easier it became to stay.

After a while of silence and mending, the screen door banged open behind us, and Chan stumbled out, rubbing his face like he had been dragged through sleep backwards.

“It is beach weather,” he announced, voice hoarse. “We are going to the beach. Everyone hydrate and put on some sunscreen.”

He didn’t wait for agreement. He marched back inside to wake the others, apparently believing that authority was enough to motivate an entire household of hungover twenty-somethings.

Y/N let out a small laugh. Another one of hers I hadn’t heard in a while. It hit me straight in the ribs.

We stood up at the same time. Not coordinated. Just… parallel. We went back inside with the rest, the house filling with groans and complaints and an argument about sunscreen.

Eventually, we ended up on the sand.

Jisung and Changbin ran around in the ocean like it was trying to kill them, and they were determined to kill it first. The water was cold, and they shouted about it loudly. Chan paced near the shoreline, reminding everyone to drink water and pointing out where the tide was creeping in. Felix wandered slowly, collecting shells like each one had a personality he needed to get to know before choosing. Seungmin sat on a towel with sunglasses on, quietly judging everyone in a way that was almost comforting. Minho knelt in the sand beside Jeongin, constructing what appeared to be a fortified kingdom of moats and sculpted turrets, while also trying to convince Jeongin to allow himself to be buried in the sand. Jeongin refused. Minho kept asking anyway.

It felt like we had gone back to something simple, where being loud and ridiculous and unguarded was allowed. An innocence that only shows up when no one is trying to perform adulthood. The sea brought it out of us, like the tide pulling something gentle back to shore.

I set up the umbrella we found in the closet back at the house, anchoring it into the sand while the wind tried to make it its enemy. Once it was steady, I sat down. I didn’t expect Y/N to join me.

But she did.

She settled on the towel beside mine, legs stretched out, sunglasses perched on her head. She didn’t look at me; she looked at the sea.

“It feels different here,” she said quietly.

“Yeah.”

The conversation could have stopped there. It almost did. But she continued, voice light, like she didn’t want to examine the words too closely.

She shook sand from the towel over her legs, brushing it absently. I adjusted the umbrella so the light didn’t hit her eyes. Neither of us acknowledged it.

“It’s quieter than I expected,” she said.

I followed her gaze out to the shoreline. “Off-season,” I replied. “Everyone’s at work. Or doing something responsible.”

“So we are the irresponsible ones?”

“We’ve always been the irresponsible ones,” I said, and she let out a soft laugh. It landed in my chest too easily.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, looking back toward the water. “I forgot how loud Jisung is when he’s happy.”

“He only has one volume.”

“Tragic for the rest of us.”

We watched Changbin attempt to tackle him into a wave. Both lost.

Another pause settled.

I could feel the words gathering in my throat. The apology. Or something shaped like one. I had rehearsed it too many times in my head already.

But it felt delicate. Like picking up something fragile without knowing if it had cracks already.

She leaned back, arms supporting her. “I always forget how salty the air tastes at the ocean.”

“Yeah.”

“Feels like it sticks to your skin.”

“Yeah.”

I could hear myself answering in monosyllables like an idiot. I wanted to say something else, something useful. Something that mattered.

She smiled. Warm. Familiar.

The moment opened, just wide enough.

I nearly said it then.

I’m sorry I left the way I did.

But the words stalled. Because if I said it the wrong way, too heavy and too soon, it would shatter whatever this was. This careful, precarious, almost-peace.

Instead, I asked, “How are your projects going?”

She blinked, like she hadn’t expected the question. “They’re… fine. I’m working on one about memory and relationships.” She paused. “Well. Trying to. I keep changing the structure.”

I nodded once. “So you’ve already planned out every section, sketched the visual language, colour palette, and how you want it to feel—”

She squinted at me. “Hyunjin.”

“And now,” I continued, ignoring the warning in her tone, “you’re avoiding actually starting because the beginning feels too final and you don’t want to get it wrong.”

Her mouth fell open slightly. Seen.

“…You remember that?”

I didn’t look at her when I answered. It felt too direct, too easy to say the wrong thing if I held her gaze. But my voice didn’t waver.

I nodded. “I remember more than you think.”

Silence followed. She didn’t look away, just sat with it, and I could almost see her thinking through a hundred possible responses. I wished I could skip ahead somehow, past all the careful steps and past the distance, to a version of us where I could just pull her into my chest and let it be simple again.

But we weren’t there.

Not yet. And I didn’t even know if there would be a yet. She had just walked out of something, and I had no right to want more than whatever she was able to give. Whatever she chose to give. If she decided we were better as something distant but warm, I would take it. If she decided we were nothing at all, I would take that too.

Even something small and friendly would have been enough.

Before either of us could choose the direction of the conversation would go, Chan’s voice cut across the beach like a foghorn:

“EVERYBODY PUT ON SUNSCREEN OR I SWEAR TO GOD.”

Jisung immediately pretended to drown himself in a wave.

Felix collected another shell and completely ignored Chan’s outburst.

Minho, elbow-deep in sand, shouted, “JEONGIN ACCEPT YOUR FATE.”

Jeongin refused with his whole soul.

She laughed again, louder this time, and the moment passed like a small wave pulling back before it could reach our feet.

I let it go.

For now.

Not because I didn’t want to say it.

But because I wanted to say it right.

Evening light poured into the kitchen in that soft gold tone houses near the coast seemed to collect. It made the counters shine, caught in the glass jars, and warmed the floorboards. The place was small though: one narrow counter, one wobbly cutting board, cupboards that stuck when you tried to close them. Whoever designed it had clearly assumed only one person would ever use the space at a time.

So naturally, nine of us tried to cook dinner at once.

Felix was at the stove attempting to sauté vegetables while Jisung hovered beside him, holding a wooden spoon like it was a microphone. Minho had appointed himself Knife Supervisor and was watching anyone who got near the chopping board as if they were holding explosives. Changbin kept opening the fridge door just to stare at the contents, as though new food might appear if he looked long enough.

Chan and Jeongin were in charge of washing dishes as they were used, except they were mostly just talking, occasionally remembering to turn on the tap. Seungmin leaned against the counter, handing out critiques every thirty seconds and contributing exactly nothing.

And Y/N was near the sink, tying her hair up, sleeves rolled, waiting for any instructions to come her way.

I was at the counter, slicing bell peppers, when she moved toward me. She reached for a mixing bowl on the shelf above my head at the same moment I stepped forward to grab it.

Our hands touched the edge of the bowl at the exact same time.

We both froze. That brief shock when muscle memory remembers something your mind is trying to forget.

Her fingers were warm.

Mine twitched back first.

She let go a second after.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, voice soft, almost too soft to hear over Jisung narrating his own cooking like a TV chef.

“No. You take it,” I said, stepping back.

She didn’t move for a second. Her eyes flicked to mine, steady and searching. Something passed between us then. Recognition? A memory? Did she feel what I felt? The echo of what we had been?

Maybe none of that. Maybe all of that.

She lowered her gaze and reached for the bowl again, slower this time.

I stepped further back, giving space. There were too many unsaid things sitting on the counter with the vegetables.

She carried the bowl to the stove, Felix making room immediately. Of course he did. Felix always noticed the quiet things.

I stood still for a second longer than I meant to. Then Minho nudged my shoulder with the blunt end of a spatula.

“Move,” he said. “Unless you plan to season the peppers with emotional tension.”

I blinked, startled into a short laugh. “I—yeah. Sorry.”

“You’re allowed to exist in the kitchen, genius,” he said, already turning back to supervise Jisung’s questionable onion-cutting technique. “Just do it further left.”

So I did.

We cooked. Slowly, clumsily, and loudly. We burned one pan, dropped two forks, and nearly set a dish towel on fire. Felix told three stories that had no ending. Changbin and Jisung rapped to the rhythm of chopping. Minho complained about the lack of garlic and spice. Chan insisted on playing music and switched the playlist every four minutes. Jeongin and Seungmin sang harmony with songs that absolutely did not call for harmony.

Y/N stirred something softly at the stove. Laughing when Changbin dropped noodles all over the floor. Nudging Felix aside so the food didn’t burn. Rolling her eyes at something Jisung said. Leaning back against the counter when she thought no one was looking.

Every time, it felt like that version of her was resurfacing.

Chapter Text

(Y/N POV)

The others chose a film that I had already seen twice, which felt perfect because it meant I could sit with them and not have to concentrate. Ten minutes in, I realised I was not watching at all. The room was warm with bodies and soft with the sounds of people who had eaten too much and were pretending not to be tired. Laughter rolled across the sofa like a blanket someone kept adjusting. Then a quiet scene arrived on the screen and, as if cued by it, my thoughts tipped back into the place I had been avoiding all day.

I stood up from the couch and pulled one of the hoodies from the peg by the door, probably Chan’s, a size too big and soft from being washed too many times. Felix glanced over from the couch, eyes warm and understanding without needing context.

“Just getting some air,” I said.

He nodded once, small and steady. No questions. No fuss.

I stepped outside and let the door fall closed behind me, the sound of the movie fading into the hush of the shore.

The beach looked different at night. The tide had fallen back, leaving a long slick strip of dark sand that reflected the sky like someone had poured ink over a mirror. The air smelled like seaweed and salt and something cold that felt clean in my lungs. A few lights pricked at the edge of the water where houses sat farther down the shore. The wind pushed my hair across my mouth. I tucked it into the hood and walked.

The sand sighed beneath my feet. Foam traced thin white lines that broke and reformed around my trainers. Every so often a wave reached farther than expected and caught my ankles, the water sharp enough to pull a gasp out of me, then amusing enough to make me smile at myself for caring about wet socks when the rest of me felt heavier than it had in weeks.

I thought about the morning. Coffee on the porch. The quiet between us that had not felt hostile. The way normal had sat next to not-normal without either of us naming it. I thought about the kitchen later, too small for all of us, elbows knocking, a near collision with Hyunjin when we both reached for the mixing bowl, that flash of stillness, then the careful step back that felt like a truce signed with our hands.

I walked until my breath settled and I could hear the pattern of the waves as if they were counting for me. When I looked up, there was someone else moving along the shore from the opposite direction. A figure in a dark jacket, head bent, hands deep in pockets. The wind shifted and lifted his hair, and I knew.

We both slowed. There was nowhere to go that did not look like avoidance, and I was tired of pretending I did not notice the obvious.
We slowed to a stop a few steps apart. The tide moved behind him in steady lines, the water whispering in and out like it had all the time in the world. I pulled the hood tighter around my face, mostly for something to do with my hands.

He looked at me, then down at the sand between us, then back up. The lines of his face were pulled carefully and contained. He had always worn emotions like a painter’s palette, everything visible if you knew what colours to look for. He had also learned to hide that skill when he wanted to, which made the restraint on his mouth now feel like something he was holding set to a low flame.

Then, his eyes dropped to the hoodie. A small, surprised laugh slipped out of him.

“That is mine,” he said.

I blinked, looking down. The drawstrings were uneven, and the cuffs were rough from being chewed on. Not Chan’s at all. I must have grabbed it by instinct or muscle memory or something I did not want to examine too closely.

“Oh,” I said quietly. “Sorry. I didn’t realise.”

“You do not have to apologise.” His voice was soft. It was not teasing or irritated. Just gentle. “You can wear it. It suits you.”

I didn’t know what to do with that, so I just nodded, fingers curling into the fabric. The wind lifted the ends of his hair. The moonlight made everything in his expression too honest.

He took a breath. His shoulders dipped a little with it.

“Actually,” he said, “I should be the one apologising.”

“It’s okay,” I answered, too quickly. “It’s okay. Really. I know you weren’t trying to embarrass me or start something. I know you think you made a scene, but you didn’t. You were just being protective. It’s alright. And a small part of me—” I broke off and swallowed. The truth was sitting right there, asking to be picked up. “A small part of me was grateful that someone said it out loud.”

He shook his head, not in disagreement with the content so much as with the idea that this was the apology he wanted to offer. “No, I didn’t mean that,” he said, voice low, pushed by the wind and pulled back again. “I mean, yes, I am sorry I made it uncomfortable in front of everyone. But I came out here to say I am sorry for last year. For leaving and for how I handled it. For not asking myself harder questions when they needed to be asked. For not being honest with you or about what I wanted.”

I looked past him at the black line of horizon. The urge to say not here rose up reflexively, the way your body moves away from heat before your mind has measured the temperature.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this on a beach at night,” I said, aiming for a joke that did not land.

He stepped a fraction closer, then stopped himself, and I saw the small shift in his shoulders where he held that impulse back. “I know,” he said. “But if I do not say it now, I am going to return to that house and pretend to watch a film while my brain eats itself. I am not asking you for anything. I just need to put this somewhere that is not only my head. You can forget it after. We can go back to being civil, and I will make sure it is not uncomfortable for you.”

There was something so painfully careful about the way he spoke that I felt anger and affection collide. He was trying to be measured. He was choosing adult sentences as if they might save us from the past. I did not know what to do with the tenderness that stirred under the irritation. The irritation with himself.

“You make it sound manageable,” I said. “And none of this has felt manageable for a long time.”

“I know.” His mouth twitched as if the truth of that had bitten him. “We did not know each other for long. Not if you measure time like normal people do. Those weeks were a handful of pages, but I do not think I have ever known anything as clearly as I knew you then. It felt like when a painting comes together by accident and you realise your hands understood something your brain had not caught up with yet.” He exhaled, visible in the chilly night air. “No one has ever looked at me and seen everything I was trying to hide, and not run. You did.”

The words moved through me like a wave that did not crash, only lifted and set me down again somewhere slightly different. My eyes stung. I told myself it was the wind.

“I did not know how to ask you to wait,” he said. “Every part of me was screaming it, and I said nothing because I thought asking would be selfish. I thought leaving quietly and trusting time to be merciful was the kind thing. I was wrong.”

I rubbed my fingers together inside the sleeves of the hoodie. The fabric had caught the smell of the house, of our dinner, of salt and something citrus that must have been from an orange someone peeled earlier. I could not decide whether to stand straighter or fold in.

“I should have fought harder as well,” I said, the admission tasting old and new at the same time. “It’s not all on you. I think about that sometimes, and I hate that I do, because it changes nothing, and I am tired of narratives that ask women to fight harder just to be heard.”

He closed his eyes for a second. “You should not have had to fight at all.”

We were closer without either of us stepping. Maybe the tide had brought the world in a little. Maybe we had both leaned forward at once and were pretending not to notice.

“What do we do with this?” I asked, and my voice betrayed more than I wanted it to.

He shook his head again, smaller this time. “You do not need to do anything. You just got out of a relationship. I have no right to want more than you can give, or more than you want to give. I am here. That is all I can say without asking for something that would not be fair to you.”

The wind lifted his hair again. The moon cleared a small patch of cloud and left a paler path on the water.

“I am angry,” I said. “At you, at myself, at timing, at how easily I forgot to check whether I was still in the room. I am sad. I am also confused, and I hate that word, but it is the only honest one I have. You are saying beautiful things on a beach, and a part of me wants to cry and a part of me wants to laugh because it is so us to find the worst possible setting for something that matters.”

He huffed a breath that tried to be a laugh and did not quite make it. “I am a walking bad timing machine.”

“That is true,” I said, and the smallest smile found my mouth before it left again.

He took another half-step, then stopped. The restraint looked like it cost him. “I meant what I said in the house,” he went on. “About not taking you seriously enough, about how the people around you should never make you smaller. I should have said it in private. I should have asked you first how you felt before I decided the room needed a hero. I am sorry.”

He looked down at the line our footprints had made, then back at me. “I want to be your friend. Properly. I want to sit on porches and talk about nothing and cut fruit too neatly because I am annoying, and I want to do it without you worrying that every silence is a trap. I want you to have the space to decide what any of this is without me treading all over your choices.”

I felt my throat close around a reply that did not know its shape yet. Anger flickered, then softened. Grief pressed in from a year ago and from last week and from five minutes before I stepped onto the sand. Underneath all of it, something steadier waited. I did not know its name, only that it was patient.

“We are not the people we were,” I said. “Back then, I liked the version of me you saw. The brave one. She felt new. I am trying to find her again, and I keep discovering there is more to me than that. I do not know what fits where yet.”

“You do not owe me a version,” he said, and there was no performance in it. “You owe yourself the room to breathe.”

We stood there, watching each other, and it felt like standing in the doorway of a house you might move into, trying to imagine where the furniture would go, recognising the light on the walls but not yet sure if your things would sit there well.

I stepped forward without realising I had. He did the smallest mirror of the motion. We were close enough now that I could see the salt crystals on the edge of his lashes, or maybe I only thought I could because he was a person you always saw in more detail than anyone else.

“This is dangerous,” I said, and it sounded almost amused against my will.

“I agree,” he said. “Which is why I am going to do the sensible thing and step back before we pretend distance is a decision we did not make.”

He moved a little away, enough that I could feel my chest expand properly again. His hands came out of his pockets. He hesitated, then reached for mine, and the contact felt like the past and the present negotiated something small and precise. His fingers closed around my hand, warm despite the cold, and he squeezed once. He did not hold on. He let go as if he was returning something I had dropped, and I had the ridiculous urge to say thank you for a gesture that no one else in the world would have understood as a sentence.

We looked at each other. Whatever answer we were trying to find did not arrive, and that felt honest rather than disappointing.

“I cannot do more than this tonight,” I said.

“I know,” he answered.

For a second, we just stood there. A part of me expected him to step back first, to turn toward the house, to end the moment in the familiar way he always had before.

But he didn’t move.

He stayed where he was, steady, and rooted. I realised, slowly and with something like surprise threading through my ribs, that when he said he was here, he meant it. He was not going to walk away. Not this time.

So I did.

I turned first, because staying any longer would have meant choosing something I did not trust myself to choose. The wind caught the end of my hoodie string and whipped it across my cheek. I adjusted it and started back along the waterline. Sand gave under my steps and filled my footprints almost at once. I did not look back because I knew he would still be there, and I did not want my face to give me away.

The tide sighed and rearranged itself around my ankles. The house lights grew brighter with each minute. I walked as if I could stitch my thoughts into something neat if I only kept moving.

I thought about beds, because of course I did. About routine and muscle memory. I had always slept on the right with Jaewyn, even when the right was by a wall or under a window that rattled. It had felt easy to default to that, as if my body knew where to go without me telling it. I wondered, absurdly and with a flare of something I refused to name, which side Hyunjin took for himself now when he was alone or with someone.

By the time I reached the steps up to the house, my cheeks were stiff with salt. I wiped them with the sleeve and breathed until my face felt like mine again. Through the window, I could see the glow from the living room, the warm spill of lamplight over blankets and cushions. Felix was curled up with his knees tucked under him, Seungmin half-asleep beside him. Chan and Changbin were arguing softly about something on the screen. Jeongin had his chin propped on the back of the couch. Jisung laughed at something Minho muttered.

They were my people. My home. My small universe. And not one of them knew what had just come undone and reformed itself in pieces on the shoreline.

I turned back toward the beach.

Hyunjin was still standing where I had left him, hands in his pockets, head tilted slightly as he watched the ocean. He didn’t move. He didn’t look lost. Just quiet. Like he was giving the moment room to settle instead of rushing to decide what it meant.

The waves kept rising and falling, knitting themselves into the dark.

I stood there a moment longer, watching him watch the sea. Then, I let myself in quietly and closed the door.

Chapter Text

(Hyunjin POV)

The warmth of the house hit me as soon as I stepped back inside, thick and soft and humming with leftover laughter. The movie was still playing. Someone on the screen was dramatic-crying over something ridiculous, and Jisung was narrating it under his breath like bad theatre commentary. The light from the lamps made everything look golden and tired. The air smelled faintly of buttered popcorn and the sea we had tracked in on our shoes.

Y/N wasn’t on the couches.

My heart reacted before my thoughts did, a quick, unsteady shift in my chest. It probably meant nothing. She could have gone to bed. Or showered. Or needed space, which would be fair. Reasonable and expected. We let out a lot of emotion on the beach. I was feeling emotionally drained as well. I could not expect proximity.

I kept my eyes on the floor so I didn’t accidentally search for her anyway.

The others lifted their heads with silent acknowledgement when I walked through the room. A way of saying, we saw you go, we see you back, and we’re not making it a thing.

Chan was half-reclined on one of the huge floor cushions, wrapped in a throw blanket that wasn’t quite long enough for his legs. Jeongin had fallen sideways against the arm of the couch, blinking slowly like he was seconds from sleep. Changbin was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

I went into the kitchen. The sink gleamed faintly from someone cleaning up earlier. I took a glass from the cupboard, filled it slowly with water, and drank half of it in one go. My throat felt tight. The cold water didn’t change anything about that, but I kept drinking anyway.

I rested my hands on either side of the counter, palms flat. The surface was cool beneath my skin, and I let myself breathe. Slow enough that I could actually feel the breath enter and leave my body.

The floor creaked behind me.

Felix didn’t say anything at first. He just came forward and stood beside me, his shoulder almost touching mine. His eyes were soft. He set his hand between my shoulder blades, giving the smallest, warmest pressure. Not pushing. Not holding. Just there.

It was enough.

I let out a breath I’ve held for too long.

He didn’t ask anything. He didn’t need to. He just stood beside me while I steadied my breathing. After a few minutes, he pulled me into a one-armed hug, brief and certain, the sort that said I didn’t owe him an explanation for him to care, and then he headed back to the others.

I finished the rest of the water. It did not solve anything. But it grounded me. Sometimes that was all that mattered.

I went back to the living room. There was a space left open on the floor cushion by Chan. I sat there, cross-legged, letting myself lean back into the softness. The movie kept playing. The room murmured with half-asleep noises. The atmosphere had shifted into that late-night haze where everyone was too tired to pretend to be anything but exactly themselves.

Seungmin went to bed first. Felix followed soon after, dragging a blanket behind him like a cape. Jisung laughed at him, but stood up too, stretching like a cat. Minho retreated wordlessly, already half-asleep on his feet.

It was probably time for me to head to bed as well. I could see Chan, Changbin and Jeongin settling into their makeshift beds on the couches. I murmured a goodnight and headed down the hall.

The house was quiet back here. Every board in the floor whispered under my feet. I reached my room and opened the door softly

The room was dim except for the thin silver stripe of moonlight slipping in through the curtains. Felix was already asleep, curled beneath the blanket, his breathing soft and even.

I moved quietly, crossing to the chair where I’d left my bag, still unopened since we arrived. I pulled out a clean shirt and a pair of joggers, careful not to let the zip catch or scrape against anything that might wake Felix.

The floor creaked once as I stepped toward the bathroom. I winced instinctively, glancing back at the bed, but the body didn’t stir.

I closed the bathroom door, took a brief shower, changed quickly, folded my clothes over my arm, and picked up my toothbrush from the counter.

The mirror was mostly fogged, softening the edges of my reflection until I barely looked awake. I started brushing my teeth, the sound small against the silence. My eyes lingered on my reflection as the foam built up, thoughts looping faster than the motion of my hand.

What was supposed to happen now? Would things with Y/N stay suspended in that fragile in-between? The words were finally out in the open, yet the space between us felt just as uncertain, like standing in the quiet after a storm, waiting for the air to clear enough to see what had changed.
I didn’t have the energy to guess. The questions came in waves, and I let them pass, too tired to chase any of them to shore.

I spat, rinsed, and set the toothbrush back down, watching a bead of water slide down the handle. Enough. I could overthink it all night and still wake up lost in the same questions.

I gripped the edges of the sink, exhaled once, and shook my head. “Tomorrow’s problem,” I muttered under my breath.

For now, I just needed sleep. Steady and uncomplicated, like maybe the bed really did hold the answers I couldn’t reach tonight.

I switched off the bathroom light and returned to the room, walking to the bed as quietly as I could. The mattress dipped under my weight, the sheets still faintly cool from an open window. I settled onto my side, facing Felix’s back, a familiar shape curled toward the edge of the bed. My body began to unclench, ready to let sleep do the work my thoughts couldn’t.

Then, as my eyes adjusted to the dark, the moonlight from the window shifted across the pillow. The hair spilling over it wasn’t blonde. It caught the moonlight differently. Darker, softer, familiar. Every thought in my head stopped instantly.

My breath caught.

Y/N.

I went still, heart thudding once, hard and certain.

I blinked, half convinced exhaustion had finally taken me somewhere unreal. Slowly, I pushed myself up on one elbow and glanced around. The framed print above the nightstand was the same. My hoodie was still hanging off the chair. My shoes sat neatly by the wall where I’d left them.

No mistake. This was my room.

My room, and she was in my bed.

I stayed perfectly still, caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. Every thought collided in my head at once. What was I supposed to do? Say something? Move? Pretend to be asleep? This wasn’t a situation I could reason my way through. It was too close, too strange, too fragile to risk the wrong decision.

My pulse was loud in my ears, a rhythm I felt in my throat. I could reach out, just to make sure she was really there, but what if she woke up and thought I’d misunderstood everything? What was the appropriate response to finding the person who had haunted your dreams asleep in your bed by choice?

I swallowed, pressing my palm against the mattress as if that could steady me.

And then, as if she could hear the noise inside my head, or the sound of my heart trying to escape my ribs, she moved.

She shifted beneath the covers, first a small movement, then another. Her shoulder rolled, her head turning until she was facing me. For a moment, she stayed like that, eyes still closed, breathing even. Then, as if deciding something within herself, she moved closer. The blanket rustled, the space between us narrowing until her forehead rested just below my chin.

Every nerve in my body woke up at once. I froze, barely daring to breathe. This wasn’t accidental, not the way her hand brushed lightly against my chest, or how she settled into the curve of me like she’s returning to a familiar spot she visited often.

My mind scrambled to keep up. Was she awake? Was she sure? I could feel her pulse, steady and calm, so close it felt like it might sync with mine. I stayed still, afraid to move, to disturb the fragile choice hanging in the air between us.

Then she sighed and that was when I knew. She was awake. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Her voice came out low, barely a whisper against the dark. “Is this okay?”

The question lodged somewhere deep in my chest. Something inside me snapped into clarity. The confusion, the hesitation, all of it folded into one simple truth: she wanted to be here.

I didn’t answer with words. I just let my arm move around her, slow and deliberate, closing the small space left between us.

She exhaled softly, a sound that settled everything. She leaned into me without a sound, her fingers finding the edge of my shirt and rested there, light as a promise. The warmth of her skin seeped through the fabric, anchoring me in a way nothing else had in months.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t move more than necessary. I just let the moment exist.

After a while, her breathing softened again, and mine followed. The weight in my chest lightened. The tension that had been living in my shoulders for months eased. My breathing matched hers without me meaning it to.

I bent my head slightly, close enough that my lips brushed her hair, and pressed a quiet kiss there.

The world outside the window kept moving, waves folding and unfolding against the sand. But in that small, still space, everything finally felt at rest.

****

(Y/N POV)

The morning after the beach felt like waking up inside a held breath. The house stirred slowly with soft footsteps, coffee cups clinking, the smell of toast and sea air weaving together.

The night before had been confusion wrapped in clarity. When I came back from the beach, my head was spinning with every word, every look, every almost-moment. My heart didn’t feel broken anymore, but it didn’t feel whole either. It just felt awake.

Last night, the light from the living room had spilled into the hallway as I walked up the stairs, the sound of laughter still echoing faintly from below. I paused at the top, halfway between my room and his. The doors stood opposite each other, both half-closed, both waiting.

And that was when everything clicked.

It wasn’t a rush or a revelation. It was quiet, certain, like the slow turn of a lock finally finding its key. I realised that what I wanted wasn’t distance, or closure, or even safety. I wanted him. Not the memory of him, not the version that left, but the man who came back and stayed.

This wasn’t Jaewyn. This wasn’t regression. This was me, choosing. Clearly, completely and deeply.

Before I could overthink it, I turned and went back downstairs. Felix was still awake, curled up on the couch with a blanket, eyes heavy from half a movie. I knelt beside him and leaned close.

“Hey,” I whispered. “Can we switch beds tonight?”

He blinked at me, the sleep fading from his face as a slow grin appeared. For a second, he just looked at me, really looked, then whispered back, “Finally.”

My cheeks warmed, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Yeah?” I asked softly.

He nodded, still grinning. “Go.”

So I did.

And the rest of the night unfolded exactly as it was meant to.

When I woke, the room was filled with pale light softening everything it touched. It took a few seconds to realise why the warmth against my back felt different, why the steady rise and fall beneath my shoulder matched a rhythm that wasn’t mine.

Hyunjin stirred at almost the same time. For a brief, suspended moment, neither of us moved. The air felt thick with something delicate, something unspoken but understood. When I finally turned, his eyes were already open. Sleep-mussed hair, slow-blinking confusion, the faintest smile that looked more like disbelief.

“Morning,” I said softly.

“Morning,” he echoed, voice rough with sleep.

We stayed there, tangled but still, like any sudden movement might break the spell. Eventually, I shifted onto my side to face him properly. The closeness felt new and familiar all at once.

The conversation came in pieces, soft and halting. It wasn’t easy, but it was honest. We talked about timing, about the versions of ourselves that had collided and broken apart, and about how neither of us wanted to rebuild what we’d been before. We wanted something better.

So we started there. Slowly and carefully. Getting to know each other again, not as if we were repeating a story, but rewriting it. It wasn’t about fixing what had gone wrong. It was about seeing who we’d both become since it did.

And somehow, it worked.

Months passed. The small things stitched themselves into something real again. Study sessions that turned into dinners, messages that never really stopped, hot chocolates at midnight, and visits that kept stretching longer until it didn’t make sense to keep returning to different rooms.

Now, we were in Berlin. A short getaway before the real world of work sucked me in.

The city hummed with energy. Streets lined with trees just starting to turn gold. Cafés spilling out onto pavements. Music drifting from somewhere you couldn’t quite place. It was all movement and stillness at once. It was just like Hyunjin described.

We stood on a bridge overlooking the Spree, wind pulling at our hair, the light slanting low across the water. His hand brushed mine, fingers lacing together like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Thank you,” I said, watching the ripples shift below us. “For showing me your Berlin.”

He glanced at me, his smile small but warm. “I wish it was the second time I got to.”

I turned to him, already understanding. He meant the first time, the time where he’d come here alone and I’d stayed behind, both of us too stubborn and unsure.

I smiled at him and squeezed his hand. “I like that it’s only happening now,” I said. “You can show me what this city gave you. The person you became while you were here.”

He let out a quiet laugh, low and thoughtful. “You know,” he said, “I used to picture you here. Every street, every gallery, every late-night walk. I wanted you to see it all.”

I looked up at him. “Now I am.”

His smile softened, that small, unguarded one that always reached his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “Now you are.”

For a long while, we stayed like that. The city stretching out before us, the sky deepening to blue. There was no rush, no uncertainty, no pretending. Just the realisation that after everything, the distance, the silence, the wrong timing, we’d found our back.

Maybe that was all it had ever been about. Not the perfect moment, but the right one.

And this time, neither of us would walk away.