threetone3

[threetone3]

Synopsis: You never meant to fall for your roommate not between the empty ramen cups, unfinished portfolios, and shared silence over midnight coffee. But she was there, day after day, sketching through the quiet, peeling back pieces of you you didn’t know were still soft. You don’t know when it started. You just know you love her and that might be the scariest, realest thing you’ve ever felt.

Word Count: 10,771

Kang Haerin X Male Reader

a/n: when I was starting this one i was crazed in imagination juice but as i progress in the story i dont know how to end it so sorry if the ending feels so rush

Snap. Snap. “That should do it,” you muttered, stepping back from your camera. A lone tree against a tangerine sunset. The last shot you needed.

“Finally. Portfolio half finished. Overseas film studio, here I come.”

You grinned — not because life was good, but because hope was stubborn. You slung your bag over your shoulder and walked home.

Not home exactly.

A room you rent. A box, really — with four walls and just enough air, light, and water pressure to qualify as “livable.”

The door creaked like it hated being opened.

The other side of the room — your neighbor’s — was still untouched, still white as a blank canvas. No one’s ever rented it.

“I’m home,” you said to no one.

Then:

“I’m home, Garfield.”

Your orange tabby greeted you with a familiar meow — less affection, more hunger.

“Alright buddy, let’s feed your fatass.”

You rustled around for his food, poured some into the chipped ceramic bowl.

“Easy on the bites, man. I should take you out for a walk sometime.”

He hissed. Not a fan of cardio.

You collapsed onto the floor by your coffee table — now cluttered with printed photos. Carefully, you clipped them to the clothesline stretching across your wall. Street corners, late skies, cracked reflections in puddles. Fragments of a story you still didn’t know how to tell.

You looked at them like you made something sacred. Maybe you did.

Then you sighed. Time to work.

You showered. Changed. Wore your usual: the same long-sleeve shirt you’ve washed too many times, and your lucky thrifted Carhartt jacket — the one that made you believe, for a brief second, that life might finally shift in your favor.

“Bye, Garfield. Don’t eat the wall paint.”

You stepped out into the shallow hallway.

It was quiet. Eerily so.

The kind of silence that felt like it had its own pulse.

Outside, the city moved. But for now, you walked through it like a camera panning across a quiet frame — just another shadow passing under the light

Haerin’s POV

“Miss, excuse me.”

A whisper behind her, someone trying to squeeze past as they exited the train. Haerin didn’t respond. Just shifted her oversized bag — canvas corners poking through the fabric, brushes wrapped in old scarves — and stepped sideways, eyes still on the screen above.

Arriving at (-) shortly.

She sighed.

Flexed her shoulder, cracked her neck slightly. Then walked out the moment the train doors opened — not waiting, not hesitating. She always exited like she had somewhere better to be. Even if she didn’t.

The streets outside were grey and blinking. She walked like a ghost with a destination, eyes fixed on the crumpled paper she kept rereading — an address scribbled messily. Someone else’s handwriting. Not hers.

And then she saw it.

The apartment.

Its paint was peeling like sunburnt skin. Moss was eating through the wall’s corners like the building was being swallowed inch by inch. The gate creaked open, hesitantly, like it wasn’t used to guests.

She stared for a long moment.

Not in horror.

Just… quiet resignation.

You were spinning lazily in your chair, a pencil resting on your upper lip like you were deep in thought.

You weren’t.

You were thinking about Garfield’s massive appetite.

How the hell are you gonna feed him next week?

Not to mention your own daily survival costs — food, water, electric bills, your dreams?

Then it hit you.

“Ah, shit. The landlady said there’s a new tenant moving in today.”

You stopped spinning. Half-dramatic.

“Just please… not some dude who snores like a truck. Please. Please let it be someone quiet. Or cute. Cute and quiet. Imagine that, bro. Like a poetic girl or somethin’.”

You spun one last time — and the chair gave out.

“Oof. …Oops.”

Flat on your back.

Staring at the ceiling.

Wondering if the universe heard you.

Wondering if that poetic girl even exists.

The door creaked.

Haerin stepped inside. The air was still warm from earlier sun, the lights off, the place half-shadowed.

A shared living room. Tiny kitchenette in the corner. Cramped, quiet — a liminal space between two rented lives.

And then —

a soft rustle.

From under the couch, a round orange body emerged. Lazy, slow, but confident.

Haerin blinked.

The cat blinked back.

She didn’t speak. Just crouched down, reached into her oversized bag, and pulled out a small packed pouch of cat food. Quietly tore it open. Garfield perked up, sniffed, then devoured.

Haerin watched him for a while.

Her hand hovered, then gently rested on his head.

“I wonder what your name is,” she said softly, almost to herself, as she scratched behind his ear.

Garfield purred — rare approval.

Meanwhile, You…

You were already halfway out the studio before the second hand hit your official end shift. Your bag barely zipped, your compilation project saved but not backed up. You didn’t care.

You booked it.

Down the street, around the corner, into a 7/11 like a man chasing a dream.

Four cup noodles.

Two one-liter water bottles.

One hope for survival.

Back home, you pushed open the door, shoulder first.

“I’m home,” you called lazily.

“Garfield—ah, there you are, buddy. Damn, you’re heavy.” You scooped him up, holding him like a child.

“Ready to eat?”

He meowed like clockwork.

You glanced around.

“No visitors today, Garfield?”

As you slid off your jacket and draped it over the counter, a voice, quiet but clear, floated in behind you:

“You talk to your cat?”

You nearly jumped out of your soul. Your elbow knocked a chair over. Clatter.

“Jesus—! Uh, sorry. I didn’t know anyone was… here.” You turned toward her.

She stood by the shared kitchen, her hair still slightly tousled from the wind outside. No shoes, just socks. Her eyes steady, unreadable.

“You must be the new tenant?” you said, catching your breath.

She nodded.

“Mhm.”

No name. No follow-up. Just confirmation — soft and short.

The kind that lingers.

You stood there, still halfway bent from lifting Garfield, one shoe off, your jacket slung carelessly over the back of the chair you just knocked over.

You looked at her.

She looked at Garfield.

Garfield looked at no one. He was too busy licking the floor where the cat food had been.

You cleared your throat.

“Right. Uh—sorry, again. I didn’t think you’d be here. I mean, obviously you’d be here, you live here now, that’s… yeah. Makes sense.”

Nothing. Just her blinking. Slowly.

You tried again.

“So you like cats?”

She tilted her head slightly.

“Not allergic, if that’s what you mean.”

“Ah. Yeah. No, that’s good. That’s good. He, uh, he bites strangers sometimes. Or purrs. He’s complicated.”

You were talking too fast.

You could hear yourself malfunctioning and couldn’t stop.

“I’m Y/N, by the way. I stay in 4B. You probably already know that. Landlady said she gave you the side unit, so…”

Haerin simply nodded again. “I’m Haerin.”

Then, after a pause, added:

“Your cat has good taste in jackets.”

You blinked.

Looked down.

Garfield had made himself at home on your lucky Carhartt. His entire fuzzy orange body sprawled across it like royalty. He was already asleep.

“…Cool. Great. Yeah. That’s his now, I guess.”

Another silence.

You scratched the back of your neck, praying for a meteor to crash through the roof and save you.

Haerin turned slightly, about to head back to her room, but then paused and looked over her shoulder.

“The instant noodles are gonna get cold.”

You looked down. The bag you dropped on the floor. Four cups tilted, water bottles sweating from the humidity.

“Right. Dinner.”

“Gourmet.”

And with that, she turned and disappeared down the hallway, the door to her room clicking shut with the softest thud.

You stood there, blinking.

Garfield snored.

You sat on the floor later that night, cross-legged beside Garfield, who was once again curled into a judgmental orange loaf.

The lights were off except for the one desk lamp you clipped to a window curtain. It cast a yellowish glow over the room, warm and sleepy.

Your noodles had gone cold.

Again.

You were too busy unraveling your social crash-and-burn from earlier.

“Okay, listen,” you said, half-whispering to Garfield like it was a war strategy meeting.

“She’s quiet. Like… poet quiet. And she feeds you like she’s known you since birth. That’s weird, right? Not bad-weird. Like… Miyazaki-weird. Soft-weird.”

Garfield blinked slowly.

Unhelpful.

You sighed and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling where your prints hung from clotheslines like laundry full of sunsets and street lamps.

“She didn’t even flinch when I knocked the chair over. She just stood there. Like some kind of… calm apocalypse.”

No response. Just a tail twitch.

“And she said the thing about my jacket. What did that mean? ‘Good taste in jackets’ — is that flirting? Is that sarcasm? Is she a minimalist? A performance artist?”

Your voice trailed off as you pulled your hoodie over your head, face buried in it.

“You know what, forget it. I’ll just stay quiet. Be normal. No weird vibes.”

You paused.

“…Tomorrow.”

📻

Meanwhile — Haerin’s Room

She sat cross-legged too, mirroring you unknowingly. A small paint-stained pouch lay by her foot, and her suitcase was half-opened, clothes still in travel folds. She wasn’t unpacking. Just… listening.

The wall was thinner than expected.

She heard your voice.

Not clearly. Not word-for-word.

Just the tone — low, fast, stumbling, full of things unsaid.

And for some reason, it made her smile a little.

🎞️

The Next Morning

You were fixing the photos again, straightening a crooked one, when you heard movement behind you — soft steps. A door opening.

You turned.

There she was again. Haerin, in a sweater that looked two sizes too big, holding a mug of tea, no makeup, hair messy.

She stared at the ceiling photos for a second, then asked:

“What are those for?”

You panicked. A beat too long.

“What?”

She nodded at the ceiling.

“The pictures. They always fall at night.”

You scrambled.

“Oh. Uh — portfolio. For this film thing I’m submitting to. Overseas stuff. Big maybe. Probably a no, honestly. But y’know, a guy can dream.”

She didn’t reply right away.

Just stepped a little closer and tilted her head.

“You took all of those?”

You nodded.

“Yeah. Mostly at sundown. I like that time. It makes everything look… nostalgic, even if it just happened five minutes ago.”

She looked at one in particular — a shot of an empty street corner lit by a flickering sign.

“This one looks lonely.”

“That’s my favorite,” you said, then immediately regretted how quickly it came out.

She gave the tiniest smile.

“Figures.”

And just like that, she walked off again. Quiet, back to her room. But this time, her door didn’t close all the way.

It was late afternoon, sunlight dripping in orange through the warped apartment window. You had just stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around your shoulders, hair still damp and smelling faintly like the off-brand citrus shampoo you’ve been using for months.

Your bag was already packed. Camera batteries charged. Tripod sticking awkwardly out the zipper. You moved fast, almost automatically, your thoughts racing faster than your body could keep up.

As you passed her room, you paused.

Hesitated.

Then knocked — softly, with the side of your knuckle, like you were knocking on your own nerves.

“Hey, Haerin.”

Silence.

Then, just to fill it, you kept going:

“Uhhh—I’m heading out. Work stuff. The bathroom’s free now, if you need it.”

Still nothing. You cleared your throat.

“Also, food’s in the fridge. There’s leftover rice and a box of fishballs, unless Garfield found a way to open Tupperware, which wouldn’t surprise me at this point.”

From somewhere inside, a soft shuffle.

“And don’t fall for his doe eyes. He weaponizes them. He’s a manipulator. That’s how he got fat.”

You sighed, adjusting your bag.

“Anyway, I’ll be back late. Gotta shoot a corporate seminar today — nothing fancy. Just middle-aged people pretending they’re excited about pivot tables and synergy. Then a studio gig after that. Might edit on-site if there’s time. Rent’s due next week, and Garfield refuses to get a job.”

Still no answer.

But it felt okay, just saying it.

Like talking to a wall that listened.

You paused again.

“Bye.”

And with that, you left — the door closing behind you with a soft finality, swallowed by the hallway silence.

Twelve hours later.

You came home sore. Eyes strained. Bag heavier than when you left, somehow.

The building hummed with the soft, flickering buzz of broken hallway lights. Your shoulders slumped with the weight of footage you weren’t even proud of, all shot under sterile white conference lights while executives talked about “team culture” and “embracing innovation.”

The fridge was still humming. Garfield meowed like he hadn’t eaten since the Cold War.

You kicked your shoes off, dragging your bag inside, already undoing your tie with one hand—

And froze.

In the shared living space, bathed in soft lamplight, she sat cross-legged on the floor, back straight, hair tied up loosely with a pencil.

She was painting.

Not some grand canvas — just a small wooden board, like the kind you buy for ₱20 at a street stall. Her brush moved slow, gentle, like she wasn’t trying to create art, just to breathe.

It smelled faintly of linseed oil. Music was playing from her phone — something instrumental and slow. You didn’t recognize it, but it made the apartment feel less like a prison, and more like a postcard.

You didn’t say anything.

She didn’t look up.

But there was a second cup of tea on the floor beside her.

Still warm.

THE NEXT DAY

Late afternoon light pooled on the floor like spilled tea.

You stepped out of the bathroom towel-drying your hair, face a little flushed from the steam. Your worn-out polo stuck to your back, and your bag was already pre-packed — overstuffed with a tripod, loose wires, and notebooks with bent corners.

Your camera battery blinked full.

Garfield blinked at you with judgment.

You adjusted your bag, stood in front of her door, and knocked without thinking.

Not loud. Not shy. Just… normal now.

“Hey, Haerin. I’m heading out.”

No answer. But that didn’t matter anymore. You were already talking.

“So, bathroom’s all yours. Shampoo smells like citrus. There’s leftover rice and some vegetables I tried to cook — it’s mid, but edible. I think. Garfield already ate. Or at least, he claims he hasn’t, but I found teeth marks on the fridge handle.”

Still nothing.

You leaned against the doorframe, thinking. Words spilled out like clockwork.

“Got two shoots today. The usual morning slog — corporate stuff, office people doing awkward handshakes and pretending they care. After that, maybe a reshoot for a food vlog ad, if the client actually shows up. Then some quick editing. If I’m lucky, I’ll be home before midnight.”

Still quiet on the other side. But you didn’t mind.

It felt like telling the wall your secrets. Except this wall made tea sometimes and fed your cat.

You smiled a little without realizing.

“Anyway. Don’t wait up or anything. Just… don’t forget to eat. And if Garfield acts cute — don’t. It’s a trap.”

You adjusted your bag again, stepping back.

“Bye.”

And just like that, the doorframe stopped being a conversation point. You walked out into the hallway — headphones in, head down, like you didn’t just narrate your entire life to someone behind a closed door.

Inside Her Room

Haerin sat cross-legged by her bed, brush still in hand, the faint scent of paint lingering like perfume. The cup of tea beside her was still warm.

She didn’t move.

Just looked at the door. The space he left behind.

She didn’t say anything — not because she didn’t want to. But because his voice always filled the silence like he was afraid to leave any gaps. Like silence meant something was missing.

So she listened.

And painted.

Afternoon sunlight leaked through the dusty window like it was trying to escape.

You stepped out of the bathroom with wet hair and your usual frayed polo, a towel slung around your shoulders. Your camera bag sat by the door, already packed — tripod barely zipped in, cables knotted in a way only you understood.

Garfield, your emotional support demon, sat on the couch, glaring like you interrupted his nap.

You passed her door and knocked, same as you always did. Automatic now.

“Hey, Haerin.”

No answer. You didn’t need one.

“I’m heading out. Bathroom’s free — also don’t mind the uhh bite mark on the soap, I think Garfield took a bite thinking it was something or idk he’s wierd.”

You shifted your bag, adjusting the weight on your shoulder.

“There’s leftover rice and fish in the fridge. It’s aggressively mid, but edible. Unless Garfield got there first, in which case, it’s probably licked. Or poisoned. Can’t be sure with him.”

Still quiet.

You tapped your fingers on the doorframe like a nervous metronome.

“First shoot’s at some office — corporate stuff. A guy named Mr. Alan wants to ‘capture synergy’ again. Whatever the hell that means.”

“Then food content work. If the client ghosts, I’ll just film Garfield eating noodles and sell it as performance art.”

You glanced at the cat. He sneezed.

“Okay. Bye. Don’t fall for the tail wag. He’s manipulating you.”

And with that, you left.

Eleven Hours Later

You dragged yourself home, one foot at a time. The hallway light flickered as usual. You unlocked the door and pushed it open — expecting darkness, silence, Garfield.

Instead, you smelled food.

Real food. Warm. Seasoned.

On the table: a plate of reheated rice, a perfectly pan-fried egg, some leftover veggies cut too precisely to be your work. There was even a small bowl of soup — hot enough to still steam slightly.

And next to it, a folded note under your water bottle.

You opened it.

Her handwriting was clean. Sharp but gentle.

“Don’t skip dinner. Eat well to sustain your hard work.”

(P.S. Your cat tried to bite me. Again. I still fed him. He doesn’t deserve it.)

– H.

You stood there a long second, the note still in your hand.

Garfield meowed like he cooked it all himself.

You sat down, slowly.

Your stomach was tired, but your chest was something else — like the soft ache of being noticed.

You picked up your spoon.

“You don’t deserve her, you know that?”

Garfield purred, unapologetic.

You took your first bite, and for the first time in weeks, it felt like you weren’t eating alone.

You were on the floor again, half-talking to Garfield like he was licensed to give life advice. He wasn’t. But no one else was awake at this hour.

“She’s nice, right?” you mumbled.

“Like the quiet kind of nice. I think she’s seen a lot but doesn’t make a show of it.”

Garfield yawned mid-meow. Classic.

“I don’t know, man. I just keep thinking about the way she—”

A door creaked.

Your whole body tensed.

You turned like you’d been caught stealing.

Haerin stood in the dim kitchen light, hoodie sleeves past her fingers, hair tied up in a sleepy bun, eyes heavy.

She opened the fridge.

Paused.

Turned to you, deadpan.

“You ate everything again?”

You stood up too quickly.

“Okay. Look. It wasn’t on purpose. I was editing, and the soup was just—there. And you fed Garfield first so technically I was the second victim.”

She just blinked at you.

“That was for tomorrow.”

You opened your mouth.

Closed it.

Then tried again:

“Let me make it up to you. Sit. Don’t move. I’ll cook something.”

“You’ll what?”

“I can cook! Sort of. Basic survival cooking. The non-toxic kind.”

She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“You used a metal spoon in my non-stick pan.”

“I’ve grown since then.”

She leaned against the counter. “This I need to see.”

And just like that, your mouth had committed you to something your hands had no right performing.

You scrambled into the kitchen, fumbling with the rice cooker, then the eggs, then accidentally pulling out frozen lumpia when you were looking for butter.

Garfield watched you with visible shame.

“Do not judge me,” you whispered to him.

You turned to her.

“So! Any dietary restrictions I should know about? Aside from… hating me?”

Haerin, now sitting at the small table, resting her cheek on one hand, simply replied:

“I don’t eat clowns.”

“…Good. That’s my backup job.”

You kept working, poorly, but with effort. Egg fried rice. A slightly burnt egg. Some chopped up greens you think were still good. You didn’t talk much, except to curse under your breath when you almost dropped the pan.

When you finally plated the food — uneven portions, messy edges, but warm — you set it in front of her and held your breath.

She looked at it. Then at you.

“Is this edible?”

“Define edible.”

She took a bite. Chewed. Swallowed.

“…It’s not bad.”

You blinked.

“Wait, really?”

She nodded once. “Tastes like you cooked it.”

You couldn’t tell if that was an insult or not. But she kept eating.

And she stayed. No retreat to her room. Just soft chewing in the low light, across a tiny table that had never seated two.

You leaned back in your chair, finally exhaling.

Garfield tried to steal a bite.

You smacked his paw away.

“Back off, fatass.”

The sunlight was still gold and sleepy when you stepped out of the bathroom. Hair still damp. Usual thrifted jacket over your wrinkled polo. Your camera bag sat by the door, heavier than usual — stuffed with yesterday’s unedited footage and this morning’s hope that maybe today wouldn’t be a disaster.

Garfield was passed out under the window, belly up, clearly unbothered by the economy.

You walked toward her door without thinking. Like brushing your teeth. Like breathing.

You knocked — gentle, like always.

“Hey, Haerin.”

No answer. You kept going.

“I’m heading out. Bathroom’s free. I restocked the fridge, so there’s rice, eggs, some seaweed packets — and before you ask, yes, I triple-checked the expiration dates. Unlike someone, I’m learning.”

Still no response.

You scratched the back of your neck.

“Today’s lineup: two food stalls to film, one afternoon voiceover gig, and possibly a rushed submission edit if the client decides to be last-minute — which he will. Then I might drop by this studio screening, but only if I don’t crash on the bus first.”

You paused, about to say goodbye…

but the door opened — just a crack.

And there she was.

Messy hair. Half-asleep. Hoodie hanging off one shoulder.

She blinked up at you like the sun offended her.

Then softly — like it was just air passing through her lips:

“You made too much rice last night.”

You froze, a beat too long.

Then awkwardly:

“…I do everything with dramatic flair. Rice included.”

She nodded, then without looking:

“Don’t forget to eat lunch today.”

You didn’t say anything for a second.

Then you smiled. Tired. Warm.

“Yeah. You too.”

She gently closed the door.

You stood there, brain rebooting.

Garfield stretched from the couch like finally, romantic development.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your bag, and walked out.

But this time, you walked just a little slower.

The sun was out. The bus came on time. The first client didn’t cancel.

You were suspicious.

Still, for once, things worked. Your footage looked clean straight out of the camera. The lighting hit right. The sound guy didn’t flake. Someone even gave you free taho while you were setting up the tripod.

It was the kind of day that felt like maybe the universe had accidentally forgotten to punish you.

“Morning, guys!” you called as you entered the studio, finger guns out, coffee in hand.

Your co-workers blinked like you’d grown a second head.

“Did he just say morning without cursing?”

“Who are you and what have you done with Y/N?”

You just laughed. “I don’t know, man. I had a good egg last night. Changed my whole aura.”

You crushed two edits before lunch. Sent files ahead of deadline. Even cleaned your own coffee mug — unprecedented behavior.

Someone offered you extra siomai and you didn’t cry over it. Progress.

“We should frame this day,” one of the interns said. “Y/N’s not yelling at his laptop.”

You grinned.

For once, the city noise didn’t bother you. Even the heat felt survivable.

And for the first time in a long time, your chest didn’t feel like it was full of static

The apartment was still.

Not silent, exactly — the TV buzzed with an old romance film, and Garfield occasionally twitched in his sleep — but the kind of stillness that makes you realize how much space one person can leave behind.

Haerin sat curled into the couch cushion, a blanket over her lap and one hand wrapped around a chipped ceramic mug. The screen flickered in front of her, warm tones and teary close-ups.

A love confession was happening. Something poetic.

Music swelling. Slow zoom.

The girl cried.

Haerin just blinked.

She glanced at Garfield, his body a lazy loaf beside her, tail flicking like he had better things to do than comfort someone watching fake love.

“Do people really do that?” she muttered.

The cat didn’t move.

She nudged him gently, finger on his paw. Still nothing.

She poked his belly. Got a single annoyed kick.

She sighed. A little smile tugged at her mouth — the kind that barely reached the eyes.

“He talks to you like you understand him.”

Garfield yawned like he couldn’t be bothered.

“He’s weird,” she added, quieter. “But he made dinner. He didn’t burn it. He didn’t even pretend it wasn’t for me.”

She watched the screen a bit longer. The couple was dancing now, swaying in a room full of fairy lights.

Haerin tilted her head against the couch and whispered,

“…Do you think he likes me?”

Garfield responded by standing up, stretching, and walking away — tail in her face.

She scoffed softly and pulled the blanket higher.

Didn’t answer her own question.

Didn’t need to.

But the living room felt warmer tonight.

Not because of the TV.

But because of the rice and egg still sitting in the kitchen, in a second bowl, with her name written in tiny letters on a sticky note.

Just in case she wanted more.

It was late when you got home — not too late, just past dinner, where the air outside smelled like burnt oil and street food, and the apartment’s hallway buzzed with old fluorescent lighting.

The door creaked open.

“I’m home,” you called halfheartedly, as always, before toeing your shoes off.

Garfield trotted up first, fat and judgy.

But the living room lights were still on. And Haerin was sitting on the floor this time, sketchpad on her knees, her hair loosely tied and strands falling into her eyes.

She didn’t look up when you entered — not immediately.

But her pencil slowed.

“You’re back early,” she said, quietly.

You grinned. Threw your bag onto the couch and pulled out a small brown paper bag.

“Good day,” you replied. “Got all my shots in. Client didn’t cancel. I didn’t die. Thought I’d reward myself.”

You tossed her the bag gently.

She caught it — raised a brow.

“What’s this?”

“Sweet potato balls. The really good kind, from that sketchy cart on 5th. It’s fresh, so… yeah.”

She peeked inside. Her nose twitched slightly. Maybe a ghost of a smile.

“You brought food?”

You shrugged off your jacket, stretching your sore shoulders.

“I figured you were probably bored out of your mind with Garfield. He’s a terrible conversationalist.”

“He said the same about you.”

You snorted.

She took one of the sweet potato balls, bit into it, and paused.

Then, quietly:

“…It’s really good.”

You sat across from her on the floor, watching her sketchpad lazily as she ate another. You didn’t ask what she was drawing. Not yet.

Instead, you leaned your head back against the wall and sighed.

“Man. I’m gonna crash so hard tonight.”

She didn’t say anything right away. Just kept sketching. But then:

“…You look less tired than usual.”

You blinked.

“Wow. A compliment? From the great Kang Haerin?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

You grinned. Reached into the bag and grabbed a ball for yourself.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment — not uncomfortable, not awkward. Just easy.

And then:

“Hey,” she said, eyes still on her paper. “Thanks.”

You looked over. “For what?”

“…For bringing something back. Even if it’s just food.”

Your lips parted.

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you just nodded.

“Of course. Next time, maybe I’ll bring you something weird. Like a weird keychain or something.”

“Don’t. I hate clutter.”

“…Okay. So a weird pencil it is.”

She rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t stop smiling.

It was early again.

The kind of early where your brain still runs on fumes and the hallway lights flicker like they’re mourning something. Your damp hair stuck to your neck, and your thrifted jacket hung off your shoulder like it was too tired to hold itself up.

You passed her door like you always did.

Knocked — once, soft.

“Hey, Haerin.”

No answer, but you didn’t expect one. You never did.

“Bathroom’s free. I left you half a boiled egg in the fridge, but only because Garfield tried to eat the other half, oh and there’s frozen sausages on the freezer, figured Garfield wouldn’t want frozen food”

Still no sound from inside.

You rubbed your eyes, continued anyway.

“Today’s schedule’s a mess. First a café shoot downtown, then a studio cleanup at three, and if the sky behaves, I’ll try to catch some sunset footage by the pier. Might be late. Or not. Who knows.”

You shifted your camera bag to the other shoulder. You were about to walk away.

Then paused.

Fingers lingering on the doorframe, you cleared your throat.

“…Uh, want something?”

Silence.

You glanced down at your shoes.

“Like, food or whatever. If I pass by somewhere cheap. Not like a big thing. Just…”

The door creaked slightly open — barely, just enough for her voice to slip through.

“Something warm.”

You blinked.

Smiled a little.

“Okay. Something warm.”

You turned and left — footsteps a bit lighter than they were yesterday.

Garfield sat in the corner, watching like he knew something you didn’t.

And maybe he did.

It started out simple.

You left the shoot with enough time to spare before sunset, camera packed, cables tied, half your mind already planning how to frame the pier when the sky turned orange.

And then you remembered it.

“Something warm.”

Three words. Casual. Innocent.

But now they were lodged in your skull like a siren call.

And you panicked.

What did she mean?

Soup? Tea? Something spicy?

Did she mean comforting warm or temperature warm?

What if she didn’t mean food at all?

Was it code for something deeper?

What if you got it wrong?

You found yourself standing frozen in the middle of a convenience store aisle, staring at rows of microwavable meals like they personally betrayed you.

“Okay. Think.”

You muttered under your breath like a man on the edge.

“She likes fish. She hates clutter. She eats like a bird but cooks like she’s feeding a family of five. What does that mean? What does any of that mean??”

You grabbed a miso soup cup. Put it back.

Grabbed hot tea. Put it back.

Picked up an onigiri. Squished it too hard. Put it back.

Your reflection in the freezer door looked concerned.

Your hand hovered over the heated food display — corndogs? Tamago buns?

No. No. Too weird. Too greasy. Too something.

You sighed. Loudly. Desperately.

A worker looked at you with suspicion.

You whispered, “It’s not for me, it’s for someone warm.”

That didn’t help.

In the end, you walked out with a small paper bag. Inside: one steamed red bean bun. Warm. Soft. Just enough sweetness.

And a packet of ginger tea, just in case.

You had no idea if she’d like it. But it was… gentle. Simple. Not too loud. Like her.

You clutched the bag like it held the meaning of life.

🏠

Scene: Something Small, Something Warm

You came home quiet. Not dramatic. Just a soft “I’m home,” as you slipped off your shoes.

Garfield raised his head, blinked once, and went back to sleep.

You peeked into the living room. Haerin was there, curled in her usual corner, sketchpad balanced on her knees.

She looked up as you stepped in — not surprised. Not waiting. Just aware.

You raised the paper bag.

“It’s probably dumb,” you mumbled. “But you said ‘something warm’ so… yeah.”

She took it, careful and light. Peeked inside.

“…A bun?”

“Red bean.” You scratched the back of your neck. “I panicked, okay?”

She stared at it for a second. Then gave the smallest smile you’d ever seen on her — blink-and-you’d-miss-it soft.

She took a bite.

Paused.

Nodded.

“It’s warm.”

You sat across from her, sinking into the floor like you were suddenly very aware of your entire nervous system.

She kept eating.

You didn’t need a bigger thank you than that.

Later that night, the room was still.

Garfield was curled up in a tight loaf at the end of the couch, tail twitching occasionally as if guarding your weird little world.

Haerin was at the coffee table, her sketchbook laid open in front of her, pencil smudges on her sleeve. You were beside her — hunched, cross-legged — papers splayed out like chaos: your portfolio prints, recommendation letters, school suspension documents (you still kept them, weirdly), and old credential sheets you kept meaning to update.

Your back cracked audibly.

“I think I aged twelve years just now.”

“You’re always hunched. You’re going to become a shrimp by thirty.”

You gasped. “Excuse you, I’ll have you know I’m evolving. Shrimp are sleek. Efficient.”

She kept sketching. But you could tell — from the faintest twitch at the corner of her mouth — that she was holding in a smile.

A few minutes passed like that.

Pencil scratches. Paper shuffles.

Soft late-night hum of the city through the window.

Then, without looking up, she held something out to you.

The last bite of the red bean bun.

Still warm from her hand.

“You panicked over this, right?” she asked casually.

You looked at it. Blinked.

“…Kinda.”

“Then you should get to eat some of it too.”

You hesitated — not because of the food, but because of the moment.

You took the bite. Didn’t even pretend not to care.

Chewed slowly, letting the sweetness melt on your tongue.

“It’s better when you share it,” you said.

“It always is,” she replied.

That made you look at her.

But she was back to sketching already.

You chewed the last bite of the red bean bun, nodding in approval.

“Okay, you were right. It’s better when you share it.”

“Obviously.” Haerin said, brushing away a few eraser crumbs. “Warm food’s like a secret. Tastes better when someone else knows it too.”

You stared at her, blinking.

“…That was deep.”

“I have my moments.” She shrugged, still focused on her sketchbook.

You leaned back, stretching your spine with a groan, arms reaching overhead until your fingers brushed the low-hung photos above you — old film shots clipped onto a clothesline, swaying gently under the breeze of the electric fan.

“You know,” you murmured, “most nights I’m dead tired. But this? This is actually… not so bad.”

“Working?” she asked, eyebrow raised.

“Existing,” you said, too quickly.

There was a pause — not heavy, but definite.

Then she nodded, slow. Understanding.

“…I used to think I’d be painting in some seaside city by now.”

That caught your attention.

“You mean like, as a career?”

She gave a short breath — not quite a laugh.

“I had this image. Me. Watercolor skies. Selling prints. Small apartment with windows that faced the ocean.”

She looked down at her drawing.

“But now I make greeting cards about ‘faith’ and ‘healing’ for people I’ve never met. And they barely let me pick the font.”

You sat there, quiet, letting the silence settle between you like a blanket.

Then:

“What would you name your seaside gallery?”

She blinked. “…What?”

“You said you imagined it. So what would the sign outside say?”

She hesitated. Then tilted her head, thoughtful.

“…Maybe something like ‘Canvas Drift.’ Or ‘Low Tide Color.’ I don’t know.”

“Mmm. Sounds like a sad indie band.”

“Exactly.” she smiled.

You shuffled through your portfolio mess until you found one of your favorite shots — a long exposure of the harbor, city lights melting into water.

You handed it to her.

“Put this on your gallery wall then. In your pretend one.”

She took it carefully, holding the edges like it might smudge.

“…You printed this on real paper.”

“Of course I did. I’m dramatic like that.”

She smiled — real this time, lazy and soft — and slid it under the edge of her sketchpad like it belonged there.

Then she looked at you.

“What about you? What did you think you’d be doing by now?”

You chewed your lip.

“I thought I’d be filming weird art house stuff with no budget and too much emotion. You know, handheld shaky shots and cryptic narration about grief and fruit.”

She laughed under her breath. “That tracks.”

“And maybe working in some film collective where everyone smells like cigarettes and regret. But at least it’d be mine.”

You scratched your neck.

“…Now I spend half my time cutting promo reels for fish balls and mall grand openings. Not bad gigs. But not exactly soul-feeding.”

She didn’t say anything — just leaned a little closer, elbow brushing yours.

“Maybe you’ll still get there,” she said softly.

You looked at her.

“Maybe we both will.”

A quiet settled again. But this one was warm. Mutual. Like shared weight.

Outside, the city buzzed low and far away.

Inside, only your small desk lamp lit the room. Garfield snored softly nearby.

Haerin glanced at your unfinished papers. You reached over and gently tugged the edge of her sketchbook.

“Draw me again.”

“What, right now?”

“Yeah. Like this. Late night. Barely human. Peak shrimp form.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t protest.

“…Fine. Sit still. But don’t make weird faces.”

You immediately contorted your expression like a cartoon villain.

“Y/N.”

“Okay, okay!”

She started sketching again — this time slower, looser. You watched her hand move, watched her brows furrow in quiet concentration.

And for a moment — just a brief, wordless moment — you thought:

If this was every night, I wouldn’t mind.

THE NEXT MORNING

You emerged from your room still half-asleep, rubbing your eyes and dragging your feet in socks that Garfield probably kneaded into submission during the night. You stretched, yawned, and instinctively checked the coffee pot.

But when you glanced toward Haerin’s door, you paused.

It was open.

Weird.

You squinted into the living room — and there she was. Dressed. Not just dressed, but put together. Hair tied in a soft twist, clean-cut blouse tucked into slacks, her lips with the faintest touch of something rose-colored.

You blinked, more awake now.

“…Where are you going?” you asked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

She looked up from lacing her shoes. Cool, casual, but her fingers fumbled slightly.

“Interview,” she said, brushing dust off her pants. “There’s this art studio near the riverside. They’re hiring.”

Your eyebrows shot up.

“Wait, that’s great. Like actually.”

“Yeah. I mean… maybe. They said I could bring my portfolio. It’s not formal-formal, but still.”

You nodded. She grabbed her bag. You noticed the rolled-up sketchpad peeking from the side.

You hesitated.

“…Want me to drop you off?”

She turned slowly. Blinking.

“Don’t you use public transport?”

You scratched your head. “Yeah. But I have a car.”

“…You have a ca��”

“In the garage,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “My dad passed it on to me. It’s rare. Like, artifact rare. I barely use it. Used to bring it to car shows and stuff back then.”

She stared.

You shrugged, walking to the fridge for cold water.

“Doesn’t really benefit me anymore. I mean, maybe my ego. But I outgrew that — mostly.”

She tilted her head, still frozen mid-shoe tie.

“…You’re weird.”

“I’m layered.” You smirked. “Like a sad parfait.”

She looked away — but not fast enough to hide the faint smile forming on her lips.

You walked over, opened the freezer, pulled out a leftover steamed bun and tossed it her way. She caught it with both hands.

“Eat. Can’t impress a studio on an empty stomach.”

She looked at the bun. Then at you.

“You’re actually driving?”

“Yup. Just let me tame my hair and threaten Garfield to not destroy the couch while we’re gone.”

She waited at the door, still quiet, still thinking — maybe about the surprise of it all.

You, disappearing behind the bathroom door, said just loud enough to carry:

“…You look like someone who gets hired.”

And on the other side, Haerin stood still for just a second longer than needed.

Then whispered, barely audible:

“Thanks.”

The car purred when it started.

Not growled. Not wheezed. Just that soft, dignified hum of something old and carefully loved.

The inside smelled like worn leather and faded pine air freshener, maybe a hint of camera dust. The seats creaked slightly when she climbed in — unfamiliar to her, but not uncomfortable. You adjusted the rearview mirror, popped on your scratched-up sunglasses like this wasn’t a big deal.

“…You really have a car.”

You glanced at her with a grin. “Told you.”

“It’s… older than I expected.”

“It’s a classic.” You ran a hand along the dashboard. “This thing saw more sunsets than I did at 16.”

You didn’t say it, but she could tell — the car mattered to you.

It wasn’t shiny or fancy. But it was kept. A relic of someone’s past version of you. A timeline you never really talk about.

The two of you drove through the morning haze, city blurring past the windows. She fiddled with the cassette player on the dash.

“Wait — this works?”

You smirked. “Only plays sad folk rock and 80s ballads. Choose your poison.”

She pressed play. A grainy track rolled in — jangly guitar, raw voice, the kind of music that sounded like longing in a bottle.

You glanced at her. She didn’t change it.

The car rolled past slow markets, sleepy streets, early joggers. You didn’t talk much, but the silence was warm. Familiar.

And just as you pulled up in front of the studio — an old three-story building with cracked windows and bright paint — someone whistled.

A guy from inside, probably another artist, leaned halfway out of the entrance door.

“Yo!” he shouted, gesturing at the car. “That a 1985 Celeste? Holy shit, I haven’t seen one in years.”

You blinked, sheepish.

“Yeah. Got it from my dad. She’s temperamental but loyal.”

The guy grinned. “Man, I used to see this at meets. You take her to shows?”

You scratched your neck. “I used to. Kinda grew out of the scene.”

“Shame! That thing’s a gem.”

Haerin watched the exchange silently, eyes flicking between you and the stranger.

You finally stepped out and circled to her side, opening the door like it was no big deal — but there was something about the way you did it. Quiet. Soft.

“Here,” you said. “Go knock ‘em out.”

She stepped out slowly, bag over her shoulder, sketchpad tight to her chest.

The guy at the door nodded at her too. “You riding with this cool guy? Damn, you’re in good hands.”

You looked at her, chuckling a little. “Don’t let that raise your expectations.”

She met your eyes.

There was something unreadable in hers.

“…You’re full of surprises.” she said softly.

You shrugged.

“Only the weird kind.”

She paused at the door. “If I get the job… you’ll drive me again?”

You raised a brow. “If I get paid this week, I’ll throw in coffee.”

She smiled — barely, but it showed.

Then she walked through the door, and you watched it shut behind her like you’d just sent something important into orbit

Haerin came home a little later than expected.

You heard the front door creak open as you were half-dozing on the couch, Garfield sprawled across your chest like he paid rent. You sat up, blinked, and watched her step in — a little slower than usual, not dragging her feet, but not floating either.

She set her bag down without a word. Head lowered. Sketchpad still zipped shut.

You didn’t ask.

You didn’t need to.

You stood up, grabbed your jacket, and gestured toward the door.

“Let’s go.”

She looked at you, confused. “Where?”

“Ramen.” You tossed her your spare hoodie. “The one with the old man who yells when the broth’s too cold.”

“…You don’t have money.”

“I don’t have a lot of money,” you corrected. “But I’ve got enough for noodles. Come on.”

The shop was tucked behind a convenience store, barely wide enough to fit a dozen people. The sign out front had lost two of its letters, so it just said “_men Sho.” But you’d been going there since college — back when your nights ended with rejection emails and shaky shoulders.

The old man behind the counter didn’t greet you. He just grunted, nodded once, and pointed to the same corner seat you always took.

You both sat down. Elbow to elbow.

“Two miso, extra egg,” you told him.

Haerin said nothing, still picking at the edge of a paper napkin.

You watched her for a bit, then finally said:

“They didn’t see it?”

She didn’t look at you.

“They said I was technically good. But my style didn’t match their brand.”

You nodded.

“Translation: ‘we don’t know how to market sincerity.’”

That made her huff. Barely a laugh, but real.

“They asked me if I could draw things more ‘inspirational.’ I asked what they meant, and they showed me a canvas with a bird and the quote ‘Let Go and Let God.’”

You physically winced.

“Oof. That’s a crime.”

“They said my colors were too muted. That the sadness was too heavy.”

The ramen arrived, piping hot, steam curling up into her face. She blinked through it, almost dazed.

“…But sadness is color,” she said softly.

You didn’t say anything.

You just slid her bowl closer.

“Eat. Sadness or not, we don’t waste noodles here.”

The old man muttered something in the back about the eggs being “overboiled again.” Someone at the far end slurped like it was a sport.

Haerin took a bite.

She closed her eyes for half a second longer than she meant to.

“…This is good.”

“Of course it is. This place doesn’t lie.”

She glanced at you. You were already halfway through your bowl like you hadn’t eaten in days.

“You always do this?”

“What? Eat?”

“Take people here when things go wrong.”

You shook your head.

“Nah. Just the ones who don’t pretend they’re fine.”

She looked down again. The steam softened her features, made her seem a little less armored.

She whispered:

“…I really wanted it.”

You nodded.

“Then be sad. But not hungry.”

You both kept eating.

Outside, the neon sign flickered.

Inside, the sadness lingered, but it didn’t suffocate.

Not when there was broth. And steam. And the quiet comfort of someone who didn’t try to fix it — just stayed

The walk back from the ramen shop was quieter than usual — the kind of quiet that wasn’t awkward, just… settled.

The night air was crisp, and the steam from the shop still clung faintly to your clothes. Haerin’s hair fluttered a little in the breeze, hands tucked into her sleeves, shoulders finally a little less heavy.

You both stepped into the apartment like it was routine now — shoes off, Garfield meowing like he hadn’t been fed in centuries.

“Drama queen,” you muttered, scratching his chin as you dropped your keys.

She headed toward her room, but you stopped her halfway.

“Wait.”

She turned. A little curious. A little tired.

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out two things.

One was a small envelope — not sealed, just folded — with something a little stiff inside.

The other?

A tiny keychain.

Just a clear acrylic rectangle. Inside, a mini version of one of her paintings — the one with the girl walking through fog, umbrella bent backward by the wind. Soft colors. Heavy sky.

You held it up sheepishly.

“I know you don’t like clutter,” you said, “but… hey.”

She stared.

You scratched your neck. “The print shop by my work owed me a favor. So I reprinted your sketch. On matte archival. Framed it. It’s in the envelope.”

You handed it to her — cheap plastic frame and all.

“Figured… if that studio can’t see the worth in your work, I’ll show you someone does. Even if it’s just me.”

She didn’t speak.

Not right away.

She just looked down at the keychain in her hand — thumb brushing over the tiny image like it was something fragile, and maybe it was.

Then she looked back up at you.

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“…Thank you.”

You shrugged, trying not to make it a big deal.

“Hang it on your bag. Or don’t. Just… it’s yours.”

There was a pause.

Then she stepped closer — not a hug, not quite — just near enough that you could feel the warmth between you.

“I think I’ll keep it.”

You nodded, quietly relieved.

She smiled — soft, tired, but real.

And then, as she walked to her room, she called over her shoulder:

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not that weird.”

You blinked.

Grinned.

“…That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all week.”

She closed the door behind her.

And for a second, the hallway felt like a lighter place.

It was morning.

Soft, honey-colored light filtered through the cracked blinds, catching the corner of the cheap coffee table and the ceiling clothesline full of photo prints. Outside, a neighbor’s dog barked at absolutely nothing.

Inside, you were crouched in front of Garfield’s bowl, pouring kibble like you were performing a sacred ritual.

Garfield glared at you.

“Don’t give me that look,” you muttered. “I always feed you. You’re not dying.”

He yawned, tail flicking with the laziness of someone who knew you’d give him chicken scraps later anyway.

You sat back on your heels and sighed.

“…She kept the keychain.”

Garfield blinked.

“Like actually clipped it to her bag. Left it swinging there like it’s no big deal. Like she didn’t know I was going to see it and short-circuit internally.”

No response. Garfield began to eat with the determined crunch of someone ignoring your emotional turmoil.

You ran a hand through your hair, eyes still half on the door she’d just walked out of.

“She even wore that muted green coat today. The one that looks like moss and sun and… I don’t know. A painting you’d stare at for way too long in a cold museum.”

A pause.

Garfield licked his paw.

“…I think I’m doomed.”

You flopped onto the couch, staring at the ceiling.

“She didn’t even have to say anything. Just walked past, bag swinging, that dumb little keychain hitting her side like it belongs there. Like I belong there. Which I don’t. Probably.”

Garfield jumped onto your chest.

“Ow—dude, personal space—”

He settled in anyway. A loaf of judgment.

“…But she smiled.” You said it so quietly you barely heard yourself.

“She looked back, and she smiled. And I know I joke, and I ramble, and I offer buns like a nervous idiot, but that smile—”

You sighed again.

“I’d make her ramen every day if she smiled like that.”

Garfield blinked, unimpressed.

“…You’re right. I need help.”

You reached over, grabbed your camera bag from the floor, and started sorting your film rolls like that would distract you.

It didn’t.

Because in your head, she was still there. Bag over her shoulder. Keychain swinging. That look in her eyes — like you weren’t just weird, but wonderful.

And that?

That scared the hell out of you.

But it also made the room feel just a little less lonely.

You were sitting on the living room floor, surrounded by scattered photo prints, rolls of undeveloped film, and Garfield curled in your lap like a lumpy orange secret.

“Okay, this one’s overexposed, but it feels like heartbreak, right?” you were mumbling to yourself, flipping through stacks. “This one looks like a bad indie poster, but maybe in a good way? And this… okay, why is Garfield in half my test shots?”

You didn’t notice the door open.

You didn’t hear the quiet steps.

Not until a voice spoke from just behind you:

“…Are you always like this when I’m not home?”

You practically jumped, knocking over your lens cap and two prints.

“I—Haerin—! What the hell, you’re a ghost??”

She was still in her coat, scarf barely unwound. Her hair was slightly windblown. You looked up at her, face burning, trying to hide the way your hand trembled just a little.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You talk to your cat. You talk to your photos. You talk to your rice cooker.”

“It beeps back,” you muttered, recovering. “It’s called companionship.”

She smiled faintly, then sat down on the floor next to you, knees folded beneath her.

“Can I see?”

You blinked. “What?”

“Your prints. The ones you’re mumbling about like they owe you rent.”

You hesitated — then slowly handed her the top stack.

She held them carefully, her fingertips brushing the edges, her expression unreadable.

Photo after photo passed through her hands. Train windows. Crowded alleyways. Kids playing on rooftops. The one of the empty bench with a broken umbrella. The shot of her — blurred, laughing, not knowing you were taking it.

She paused at that one.

“…You took this?”

You scratched the back of your neck. “Accidentally. Sort of. I was testing the shutter speed and…”

You trailed off.

She stared at it for a long moment.

Then placed it aside.

“They’re beautiful.”

You looked at her.

And she was looking at you.

Something unsaid, unformed, hung in the air.

Then she smiled, soft and sure.

“You make sadness look like a memory.”

You didn’t respond. Just… breathed.

And for a second, it was quiet.

Not empty.

Full.

☕

Scene 2: Just Friends, Right?

Haerin sat in the tiny café across from her best friend, Yoona — a girl with bleached hair and paint-stained knuckles, sipping iced coffee like it was oxygen.

“Okay,” Yoona said, narrowing her eyes. “You’ve been zoning out for ten minutes straight and only stirred your drink. Spill.”

Haerin blinked.

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb. You look like you’ve been kissed in a dream. Or hit by a truck. Which one is it?”

Haerin stirred the straw once more. Ice clinked.

She looked away.

“…Neither.”

Yoona tilted her head. “But?”

A beat.

Haerin stared out the window. Soft light filtered through. She held her drink tight.

Then — so quietly she nearly said it to herself:

“…I think I like my roommate.”

Yoona froze.

Then leaned forward like she’d just been handed the plot twist of the century.

“The film boy? The one with the weird cat and the sad-boy camera?”

Haerin almost laughed. Almost.

“…Yeah.”

“Since when?”

Haerin shrugged.

“Since he made ramen after I failed that job. Since he framed my art like it mattered. Since he started leaving orange candies by my sketchbook ‘cause he knows I hate sour ones.”

Yoona smirked.

“That’s not ‘I like him.’ That’s ‘I’m cooked.’”

Haerin sipped her drink.

Didn’t deny it.

“…He talks to his cat, Yoona.”

“And yet.”

“And yet.”

A soft smile. One she didn’t try to hide.

It started with a photo.

You were clicking through shots near the window, camera poised at the perfect golden hour, and caught her pouring tea in the kitchen. The steam curled around her hair, lit like some kind of halo, and when you lowered the camera and said, “You look good in steam,” she rolled her eyes and told you to shut up.

But she was smiling.

The rain was worse that week. She curled up on the couch with Garfield — who, of course, decided her sketchbook was the perfect bed — and you came home soaked to the bone, your shoes squeaking with every step. She didn’t even look up before tossing you a towel.

You mumbled thanks.

She said, “You sound like a wet sock.”

You said, “You’re meaner than you look.”

She didn’t deny it.

One night, you were hanging up your photo prints together, using the clothesline that crisscrossed the living room like some low-budget gallery. One print slipped. You both reached out. Your fingers brushed.

Neither of you moved.

She looked up. Her hair falling in her face. Her eyes not letting go.

You looked away.

But your hand stayed close.

Another night, dinner. Quiet. Shared noodles. She told you about a dream where she was underwater, painting clouds on the ocean floor. You told her about the one where Garfield ran for mayor.

She didn’t even blink.

“I’d vote for him,” she said.

You made coffee at midnight because your brain wouldn’t shut up. She wandered into the kitchen half-asleep, hair a tangled mess, sleeves over her hands.

“Why are you awake?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Because you draw like thunder,” you replied, handing her a cup.

She took it wordlessly. Warm hands. Quiet steam.

“You’re not funny,” she mumbled.

“But you’re still smiling.”

She didn’t deny that either.

Another time, she fell asleep on the couch with a pencil still between her fingers. Garfield lay on her lap like he’d been guarding her. You carefully scooped him up and got clawed for your efforts, but it was worth it. You draped a blanket over her and turned off the lamp. For a long moment, you just watched the way her chest rose and fell. The way she breathed like she’d never been afraid of anything.

You whispered, “You’re ridiculous.”

She didn’t hear.

But maybe she would’ve smiled if she did.

The nights kept stacking. One after the other. Quiet moments that didn’t scream love, but whispered it. A sideways glance. Her sketch of your hands. Your camera pointed at her shoes because she said she hated her face in pictures.

One night on the rooftop, she asked, “If this whole city burned down tomorrow, what would you save?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“You.”

She didn’t say anything.

Just stood up.

And walked inside.

The apartment was dim and quiet. Just the soft buzz of the kitchen light, the occasional creak from the window, and Garfield’s soft snore curled beneath the couch.

You were sitting on the floor, legs stretched out, laptop open in front of you but untouched. Across from you, Haerin sat cross-legged with her sketchbook, a blanket half-draped over her shoulders. You’d both been talking — not about anything important. Movies. Bad food. The time you mistook a director for a janitor and tried to offer him a mop.

She laughed, covering her mouth.

Then it went quiet again.

Comfortably so.

You looked at her.

She was tracing something on the page. Something that looked a lot like your hands.

You said it without thinking:

“I like this.”

She looked up. “Hm?”

“This. Us. Just… talking like this.”

Her eyes lingered on you for a beat too long.

“Me too.”

You scratched the back of your neck, suddenly aware of how close your knees were.

“You’re easy to talk to.”

She smiled.

“You’re easier when you’re not rambling.”

You smirked. “That’s unfair. My rambling’s part of my charm.”

She was quiet again — but her smile didn’t fade.

You shifted, eyes falling to the way her pencil kept moving, slow and absentminded.

“Do you ever get scared you’re not doing enough?”

She looked up. “All the time.”

“Like…” you exhaled, head leaning back against the wall. “Like you’re always one mistake away from ruining everything. Or falling behind. Or being forgotten completely.”

Her pencil stopped.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I think about that too much.”

You didn’t mean for the next words to come out.

But they did.

“You’re the only thing in my life lately that doesn’t make me feel like that.”

She blinked. A little stunned.

Then:

“…Why me?”

You let the silence stretch.

Then turned your head, finally meeting her eyes.

“Because when I’m with you, I stop feeling like I have to prove something. Or run. Or pretend I’m not scared all the time.”

She didn’t look away.

Didn’t fidget.

Just listened.

And then, in the gentlest voice:

“I think I love you.”

Your heart paused — but your hands didn’t shake.

You looked at her, and she wasn’t panicking. She wasn’t backing away from what she said.

She just looked like someone who’d been holding it in too long and finally found space to say it.

“…You think?” you whispered.

A small laugh. A breath.

“I know,” she admitted. “But I’m terrified. Because I don’t know what to do with it.”

You leaned forward just slightly, enough that your knees brushed.

“You don’t have to know.”

She looked down.

“I don’t want to mess this up.”

“You won’t,” you said. “If you let me stay, I’ll show you how to be loved without needing to figure it all out.”

She bit her lip.

“And what about you?”

You smiled.

“I already do.”

[threetone3]

What We Don’t Say Chapter 2: Kang Haerin from Arae

previous | next

Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom, kpop idol x male oc

Words: 3.1k

Chapter 2

“You’re a celebrity, huh?”

In which Jay gets to know the cat girl who stares at him in a good way… according to him, at least. 

Lee Hyunjae

Sometimes I wonder if I did something in my past life to offend the bald-headed demon in our school. 

Relax, I’m just joking… kind of. 

Who am I referring to? Take a wild guess. Not a day goes by that I don’t cross paths with him, and without fail, he always has something to say.

“Your hair’s getting too long, Lee Hyunjae. Cut it by tomorrow.” 

“Where’s your tie, Hyunjae? It’s part of your school uniform, put it back on now.” 

“How many times is that now? This is the third consecutive week where you’ve been late every single day.” 

Okay, maybe some of those comments were warranted. I’m not exactly winning “Model Student of the Year.” But even when he’s nagging me about my earrings or the sweatpants I sneak into uniform rotation (they’re just so much more comfortable), I know Mr. Choi’s just doing his job. A little too enthusiastically, maybe — but it’s not like he actually hates me. In fact, if I’m being honest, I think he might be one of the only adults in this school who actually gives a shit. Case in point — just a few seconds ago: “A minute late to school, as usual,” he sighed, already eyeing my outfit.

He went straight for the ear check. “Earrings. Again. That’s your fifth strike this week, and it’s only Wednesday. You trying to break your own record, Lee Hyunjae?” Classic Mr. Choi. Equal parts exasperation and sarcasm. 

A few other latecomers around us snickered under their breath. I rolled my eyes instinctively and brushed them off — people love to talk when they don’t know anything. I’ve learned to let it slide. Words don’t sting as much when you’re used to hearing worse at home. 

As I scanned the school grounds, my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar girl pointing in my direction where I was standing. My close friend and the resident ray of sunshine in the school, Danielle Marsh, was with a not-so-familiar girl next to her. I waved at Danielle before she finally noticed me. 

“Third time this week?” she called. Wow, so I really am only known in this school for my demerit record, huh. 

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” I responded, referring to the motorcycle I bought with the money my mom left me, because I loved the feeling of riding into the wild with no destination in mind. Well, I worked a part-time job on weekends, so the purchase was worthwhile anyway. 

I noticed the other girl staring at me. I couldn’t really tell from a distance, but it almost looked like she was meticulous with her blinking, in a slow, perceptive, calculating manner, almost like a…cat? It seemed like a ridiculous comparison, but the more I took notice of her features, the more I could see the similarities. 

I saw her turn around and exchange a few words with Danielle, who responded with her signature hearty laugh. Looks like they were hitting it off. 

“Quit staring and get moving to class, Hyunjae. You’re already 5 minutes late.” I looked around, realising that all the other latecomers had already left for period 1. 

As I grumbled and started walking towards my homeroom, a hand grabbed my arm, and I turned to face a worried-looking Mr Choi, an expression I’d already gotten used to from him. 

“Wait, Jay.” 

Oh shit, even his tone was more concerned than usual. 

“If you’re still having problems at home, please reach out. You and I both know what he’s like when he drinks.”

I snorted. “When isn’t he? These days, I think he’s spared more glances at bottles of soju than Hyein, and she’s literally always at home.” 

Mr. Choi sighed again, more defeated than ever. “God knows what happened after graduation… That accident must’ve changed him. Anyway, keep your chin up and look after your sister. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”

With one final nod, he turned and walked back toward the front office. I stood there for a second longer, watching him go. 

Mr. Choi and my parents went way back. They all went to the same college, and from what I heard, my mom used to copy his notes in every class. It’s funny, really — he’s probably been scolding me since before I was even born. 

As I made my way towards my homeroom, I noticed Danielle taking the cat girl to the field. ‘Ah, she must be the new transfer,’ I thought to myself as I recalled Mrs Baek mentioning one. The way she stared at me just now intrigued me. Not to toot my own horn, but a lot of people in this school stare at me. Hoobaes staring in admiration, guys that stare tentatively in wary, or teachers with their judgmental, watchful eyes that constantly kept me on my tiptoes. I hated it. Movies always describe the popular kid as someone who basks in the attention, relishing in the glory, but I just didn’t get it. 

To me, attention came with strings. Expectations. Labels. The way they stared as if they weren’t looking at me, but at a version of myself that I didn’t want to be. The constant whispering, the assumptions—they were just exhausting. 

So when the cat girl looked at me like that, like she was trying to figure something out, I didn’t quite know how to feel. There wasn’t fear or admiration in her eyes. It was more like curiosity. Calm, steady curiosity, like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

And most of all, it didn’t make me uncomfortable—quite the opposite.

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

The first thing I heard when I slid open the door and stepped into the classroom was yet another heavy sigh. 

“Lee Hyunjae, if you miss any more lessons, not even the student council president will be able to help you with your grades. Minji-ssi has many other pressing matters to attend to. You might as well kiss your graduation certificate goodbye at that point.” 

Mrs. Baek didn’t even look up from the attendance sheet. She just pointed to my empty seat at the back and scribbled something down — probably another late mark. I gave her a lazy salute, which earned a glare from Minji, seated at the front of the class, who was already diligently colour-coding her notes. 

Of course she was.

Minji’s always been the “get-things-done” type. If I were a storm, she’d be the emergency drill plan taped to the wall: efficient, serious, a little too sharp around the edges. We’ve known each other since middle school; in fact, we even used to be neighbours. 

We used to know everything about each other, but these days, we barely even talk. She’s busy, I know, what with all the student president business or whatever. Not to mention, she has a crazy mom who starts going batshit crazy whenever she places anything below 1st place on the termly exams. 

But I miss how close we used to be.

I still feel responsible for her, a promise I made to her dad when she moved next door. God, I miss the moments I had with her family as well. Spending time at hers allowed me to forget about my actual one back home. 

Of course, she does have Hanni now, her girlfriend of 2 years. They’re great and all, and I don’t want to impose, but I do feel like if I were to start drifting away from Minji even more, I at least want a bit more closure. 

“Don’t let Jay’s tardiness distract you from your grades, class. Back to page 47. There’s gonna be a pop quiz after we finish this topic as well.” Mrs. Baek announced to the class, eliciting groans and moans that grumbled across the classroom. 

I let my chin fall into my palm and stared blankly at the board. Five minutes into the lesson and I was already zoning out. Studying just wasn’t my thing. 

By the time Mrs. Baek flipped to the next slide, I had already made my decision.

I raised my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Five minutes. If you’re gone longer than that, I’m sending Minji to drag you back.” 

Behind me, Minji raised her arm. “Sorry Mrs Baek, but I actually have a council meeting, like… now.” Mrs. Baek finally looked up and took off her glasses. “Oh, I see. Go ahead then.” Then to me, with a glare: “Lucky you, Hyunjae. But longer than five minutes and your detention will be a hundred times longer.” 

At that, I slid out of my seat, shoved my hands in my pockets, and strolled out into the hall, slightly trailing behind Minji, though she went her separate way, probably to the library where the student council held their meetings.

Slipping out of class, with or without permission, had become the daily norm for me. Most of the time, teachers don’t even realise that I’m gone after a few minutes, so I started making use of it. Sometimes I’d go to the gym and hit the bags, or go to my spot and clear my mind. Or I’d sneak downstairs and spy on my little sister, just to make sure that no creepy hoobaes were bothering her. 

You might think I’m a little weird and possessive for doing that, maybe, but I’m genuinely just concerned. Hyein’s all I have, and I just can’t risk losing her. Besides, Mom made me promise to take care of her, and that’s an oath I never intend to break.

“Jay! There you are.” I turned at the sound of Danielle’s voice and found her jogging up with the transfer girl trailing behind her. She was holding a clipboard, half her hair falling out of its ponytail.

‘Huh, that’s the third time I’ve seen them just this morning.’ I brushed that thought off as I focused on Danielle, who looked like she was panicking to the point of explosion.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I was showing Haerin around, but I totally forgot I have to be at the student council meeting like… now. You know how Minji gets when people are late. Could you take her to the homeroom building for me? It’s the last stop, promise!” 

I looked at her incredulously, “Wait wait wait, that’s it? You’re dumping the new transfer onto me? I’m supposed to have my quiet time now.” I was half-joking, but Danielle’s exasperated look and the cat girl’s unreadable stare made me realise the joke didn’t land.

“Come on, Jay. I’m gonna be late. Help me out just once. I’ll make sure Pham doesn’t bother you with her weird Rocky Balboa impressions whenever you come over during our practice for at least a week.” Danielle was practically begging with pleading eyes. 

“Enticing offer… I’m in. You better hold up your end of the stick, though.” I responded, though really, I genuinely wanted to save Danielle from Minji’s wrath. That girl could really bite your ear off if she wanted to, no boxing reference intended. 

“No problemo, and thanks, Jay. Here, this is Haerin. Haerin, this is Jay, the guy with the earrings you asked about. Jay, try not to corrupt her too fast, please. She’s one of the good ones.” Without another word, Danielle almost glided in the direction of the library. 

“Wow, Minji really has these student council members on a leash, huh?” I glanced at the cat girl, whose name I now knew. The only response I received was a blank stare, the same one I received a while ago when I was standing with my fellow latecomers. She even started blinking slowly, in that same calm, unreadable manner. I was beginning to think it wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Uh... right,” I scratched the back of my neck. I swear I could hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence. “Guess we better head to homeroom, then.” Still no response, not even the slightest nod. 

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “So you’re the quiet type. Cool cool cool, love that for me. Um, do you know which homeroom you’re in?” 

“3-1. Mrs Baek Seong Ja.” 

There it is. I finally managed to hear her voice, though the answer wasn’t what I was looking for, as I cursed under my breath. 

“Shit, you’re in the same homeroom as me.” This was bad; my five minutes were basically up already. “Well, scrap this then, I can’t take you there. Erm, let’s freestyle instead. We’ll go to my favourite spots in school, I’m sure you’ll love them.” 

This finally seemed to form a crack in Haerin’s expression, as for once, she looked just the slightest bit intrigued. 

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

“So, uh, Haerin-ssi, right?” I tried my best to make small talk as I brought her along the corridor that led to the boxing gym. I was forcing myself to change my social behaviour just to fit her vibe; I even slowed down my footsteps to make it seem like I wasn’t just dragging her along on this school tour. 

She nodded in response, then halted her steps and looked at me again. ‘There’s that weird stare… she looks like she’s expecting something from me,” I thought to myself. “Is there something you wanna ask—” 

A loud gasp interrupted me. “Holy shit, aren’t you Kang Haerin? From Arae Tuition?”

A short, chubby hoobae with a bowl cut stared at her in awe. “Oh my god, you are her! I see your posters all the time after school at Arae for math!” He fished out his phone and, rudely, snapped a picture before taking off.

I turned to look at Haerin, expecting to see a happy expression on her face for once, since someone recognised her, but instead I was met with one that seemed even colder than the one she usually wore. 

And of course, because of my amazingly timed humour, I just had to crack a joke then. 

“You’re a celebrity, huh? Sign here, please?”

Of course, it landed just as well as you probably expected. I wasn’t hoping for a reaction, but again, she just stared at me. This time though, she almost had a curious look on her face. 

“You don’t recognise me?” She finally spoke for what felt like the first or second time since I officially met her. 

“No, not really. Am I supposed to?” I didn’t know how to feel. Was she one of those uber-popular influencers on social media or something? The kid just now mentioned something about a tuition centre, though, so probably not. “Sorry, I don’t really go for hagwon. I don’t know who you are.” 

Relief thoroughly washed over her face. “No, no, it's fine. It’s better for me that you don’t, actually.” 

I don’t know why, but that sentence evoked a feeling in me. A weird kind of feeling; it was like a flicker. A subtle pulse of recognition. Not of her name, or face, or whatever Arae Tuition poster she might’ve been on, but of the feeling behind her words.

That sense of wanting to go unnoticed. To not be known for the wrong things. To walk into a room and just be, without people already deciding who you are before you even say a word.

Yeah. I knew that feeling.

So I didn’t say anything back for a moment. Just kept walking beside her in silence. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for the first time since I met her, her steps fell in sync with mine. Still quiet, still cat-like in her movements, but a little less guarded now. Like maybe I wasn’t a threat. Like maybe I didn’t need to be shut out entirely.

“You don’t like being recognised?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice low.

She looked down at her shoes, then ahead again. “Not like that.”

“Like how then?”

She didn’t answer immediately. I almost thought she wouldn’t at all — until she said, “I want to be known, not remembered.”

I slowed down without even thinking. “…What’s the difference?”

She finally looked up at me. Not blinking slowly this time, not observing. Just… looking. “Being remembered means they’ve decided who you are. Being known means they’re still listening.”

That quieted me more than it should’ve. For a second, I forgot I was supposed to be skipping class. Forgot about Mr. Choi’s warnings, Mrs. Baek’s threats or even Minji’s glare from earlier. I just kept staring at her, this girl who didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, didn’t say much — but who somehow made more sense to me than most people did. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I get it. People stare like they’re only seeing the outer shell I built. No one sees the real me. Maybe it’s the same for you.”

Haerin looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak before pausing, like she was contemplating whether to open up or not. 

“You can tell me anything, your secret’s safe with me,” I said with a wink, before immediately cringing inwardly. 

It seemed to work, though, as Haerin finally began to speak up.

“My mom, she… She doesn’t see me for who I am. I think to her, all I am is just a machine—a robot that’s able to help her boost her brand. It’s been like that my entire life. She’s been sending me to study at cram school since I could talk, and now it’s all I can do. Regurgitate information on a piece of paper.” 

I didn’t know what to say at first. There was a heaviness in her voice — not sadness exactly, but something duller. Like it had been worn down over time, sanded smooth from too many years of being unheard. 

“And the worst thing is, it’s the same for everyone. They only know ‘Kang Haerin from Arae’.” She gave a small, humourless huff through her nose. “It is what it is, though.” 

In the heat of the moment, I blurted my inner thoughts out without thinking. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have the privilege of not knowing her. Kang Haerin from Arae, I mean. To me, you’re some weird cat girl who could probably go undefeated in a staring contest tournament. And that’s who I’m interested in learning more about.” 

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how she’d take it — but then she let out a sound. A laugh, a real one this time. It was a combination of a snort and a chuckle, small but genuine. 

And for someone like her, that was the loudest thing in the world.

Sorry bout the delay, I was kinda in a dilemma on whether I should switch perspectives throughout writing this chapter. Here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it, please leave comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉 Any questions about how the story is going to progress are welcome as well, I'd love to share my thought process when writing with you guys.

[threetone3]

Blueprints Of Us (m!reader x IVE's WONYOUNG) - part V

part I - part II - part IV - part IV (finished)

masterlist

Summary: A heartbroken architect. An ambitious girl. They didn't know each other existed - until the day they met in Hong Kong. What began as a pleasant encounter slowly turns into something neither of them planned: a connection, and perhaps... a new beginning.

tags(?): fluff, angst, some "dangerous" details but not over the line (i don't write smut), i don't even know man

WONYOUNG x yourself/Original Male Character

Word count: ~16.9k

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The first thing you registered was how cold your nose felt. The second was the weight of her leg slung across your thigh, tangled in the blanket Wonyoung clearly fought for during the night. Her hand was tucked somewhere under your shirt. She wore your t-shirt, the one she’d stolen to sleep in last night, claiming her pajamas “didn’t feel right”. Typical Wonyoung.

Outside, it was still a bit dark. 6:21AM. Barely 7. You could see the faint outline of rooftops dusted with snow, glowing blue from the streetlights. Seoul was in its winter mood - everything felt muted and a little too cold unless you were buried under a shared blanket. Wonyoung was still asleep, breathing slowly as one cheek squished against your chest, her lips slightly parted. Her hair was a bit messy, strands falling in every direction. You would've laughed if your chest wasn’t aching from how stupidly pretty she looked like that. 

Your phone buzzed somewhere under your pillow but you didn’t reach for it. Instead, you brushed your thumb along her back, slow, under the fabric of your t-shirt. Wonyoung flinched just a bit from your touch, groaned softly and nuzzled closer.

“You’re warm, oppa.” she muttered, voice hoarse.

“You clingy, baby.”

“I’m cold,” she pouted against your chest.

“You’re literally wearing my t-shirt, princess.”

“Okay.” she paused. “But emotionally cold. I need physical warmth to compensate.”

You let out a laugh.

“So dramatic in the morning.”

She poked your stomach under the blanket.

“So grumpy in the morning. Better get used to it, oppa.”

You then caught her hand gently, brought it up to your lips and kissed her knuckles. That shut Wonyoung up real fast.

“...Oppa.”

“What?”

“You can’t do boyfriend stuff this early.”

“Kinda late for warnings, Wonyoung-ah.”

Wonyoung buried her face back into your chest and groaned.

“Let’s just not get up, oppa. Call in sick. Say you caught feelings and need recovery time.”

“Barom-hyung would tell me to grow up.”

She tilted her head up to look at you. “What if I say it’s my fault?”

“Maybe he’d tell me to take a week off and stay by your side.”

“See?” Wonyoung beamed. “Smart boss.”

You looked down at her, hand playing with her cheek. “You’re warm now?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I should get up.”

“Never.” she said, closing her eyes again. “You passed your exam. I deserve more cuddles.”

You sighed then wrapped your arms around her tighter - not because she asked, but because she needed. Because in that quiet Seoul December morning, in that apartment, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be. 

6:50AM

You had barely shifted the blanket off when Wonyoung let out a dramatic groan and reached up, arms locking tight around your neck.

“Where do you think you are going, oppa?” she mumbled.

“Making breakfast.” you said, half sitting up.

“No, you’re not.”

Wonyoung pulled herself into your lap like gravity didn’t apply to her. Her legs hooked around your waist, knees pressing into your sides and her arms clung tighter until her entire body was pressed to your front - chest to chest, cheek resting on your shoulder.

“I gotta make us breakfast, baby.”

“I’m cold.” she said, muffled.

“You have the blanket.”

“I want you, oppa.”

You tried to stand but Wonyoung didn’t budge, her legs just tightened around you like a warning. You groaned, hands automatically settling on her hips, then sliding lower to support her thighs and the ridiculous length of her legs.

“Your legs are too long, Jang Wonyoung.”

She smirked against your chest. 

“Not my fault I was built for wrapping around you, oppa.”

You didn’t answer. You were too busy walking toward the kitchen, one clingy gorgeous girlfriend still wrapped around your torso like a deluxe human scarf. Her lips brushed against your collarbone lazily, like she was also possessive while sleepy.

“Baby, you know I actually need my hands to cook, right?”

She lifted her head just enough to look at you - eyes still heavy with sleep, but her lips curved into a smug little smile.

“Multitask, architect-nim.”

You rested Wonyoung gently against the counter for half a second so you could grab a pan - only for her to pull you back in, legs tightening again. 

“Baby…” you laughed under your breath. “How am I supposed to cook like this?”

She leaned up, eyes twinkling.

“Figure it out, oppa. You’re smart. You design buildings for a living.”

You sighed, already giving in. With one arm still holding her snug against you, you reached for the pan again. Only this time, your free hand slid down instinctively, gripping the underside of her thigh and landing firmly on her butt to steady her weight. Tight. Secure. Functional. Just like how you design your buildings. Maybe a little too confident.

Wonyoung froze and tilted her head, expression loaded with judgement.

“Oppa.” she said, voice low. “Are you using this as an excuse to grab my butt?”

You didn’t even look down at Wonyoung.

“It’s something called structural support, baby. I’m an architect.”

“Structural support?” she repeated. “You’re not designing a building, you’re holding your girlfriend!”

You adjusted your grip slightly tighter, unapologetically. 

“You’re a skyscraper with legs so you need support. Like that Seocho Garak Tower East in Secho-gu.”

Wonyoung took a moment to process. She tilted her head as she tried to visualize the building - sleek, modern, all glass and curves just in the right places. Sexy in a high budget, skyline defining kind of way-

“Yah!” she smacked your shoulder, laughing. “Did you just call me tall and curvy?”

“I complimented you, in architectural terms.”

“That wasn’t a compliment, oppa.”

“And you’re mad about it because…?”

“Because you compared me to a building.”

“A beautiful one…” you said casually, reaching for the butter while still holding her body against yours with one hand. 

“Iconic. Structural integrity unmatched. Elegant. Sexy…”

Wonyoung groaned and buried her face in your neck, laughing.

“You’re so annoying in the morning, oppa.”

You grinned. “Nope. I’m professionally trained to appreciate good design.”

She slapped your chest lightly and bit her lip, trying not to smile.

“You’re so full of it.”

“And yet…” you paused, leaning down to kiss her temple. “You’re still wrapped around me like I’m the only heater in Seoul.”

Wonyoung then exhaled.

“I’m only allowing you to grab my butt like this because you’re cooking, oppa.”

You looked down at her with a smirk. “So it’s a conditional privilege?”

“Exactly. So use it wisely, architect-nim. One wrong squeeze and you’re done.”

You laughed and shifted your grip lightly but still respectful.

“Got it, princess. Grab with honor. Squeeze with consent.”

She snorted. “You’re lucky I love you, oppa.”

“Okay. And you want to brush your teeth also in this position or what?”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The space smelled like fresh paint and saw dust, mixed with the faint scent of leftover eucalyptus from that one bouquet Wonyoung refused to throw away. The place was almost done. Shelves were installed, the counter was being lacquered tomorrow and the lighting fixtures were already humming softly overhead. The vision she along with Hyewon and Yena’d dreamed about was nearly a reality. You pushed the door open, letting in a gust of winter air and snow with you. The inside was warmer - just enough to melt the cold from your skin. You spotted Wonyoung immediately.

Wonyoung was kneeling on the floor sorting through a box of display jars. Hyewon was by the window wrestling with curtain rods and Yena was… doing some Yena thing. You dropped your bags near the entrance and called out.

“What chaos am I facing today?”

Wonyoung looked up, eyes lighting up instantly. “Oppa!”

She stood - a bit wobbly from sitting too long - and skipped over, wrapping her arms around your waist.

“You came!” she mumbled against your chest.

“I brought drinks. And help, if you guys need.” you offered, holding the takeout tray up.

Yena spoke from across the room. “I only care about the drink, oppa.”

You grinned and set the tray on the table before leaning in to kiss Wonyoung’s temple as she stole the cup labeled with her name.

“You shouldn’t be working after work.” she said softly, glancing up at you with 

You shrugged. “I’d rather be here.”

“Ooh, a domestic man.” Hyewon snorted, twisting something into the wall and pretending not to be jealous. “Someone wife him up already.”

Wonyoung raised her eyebrows like she was already doing exactly that then tugged at your jacket.

“Come with me, oppa. I need help in the storage room.”

“What’s in there?”

“A warzone. And too many vases.”

Yena called out. “Don’t go, oppa. It’s cursed back there. You’ll never return.”

You followed your girlfriend anyway, chuckling as you ducked past the curtain that separated the back room from the main space. It was a bit dusty and stacked from floor to ceiling with boxes, bubble wrapped glassware, and unused display pieces. Wonyoung clicked on the light, shook the drink in her hand and looked at you with the most innocent expression.

“I want the tall shelf moved against that wall. And those baskets sorted by size. And the flower foam unpacked and labeled.”

You stared at Wonyoung, disbelief on your face.

“You said I shouldn’t work after going here from work, baby.”

She smiled. Sweet. Deadly. 

“I meant your real job, oppa.” she lied, sipping her drink again. “This is your side job. With me.”

You squinted at her. “You’re evil, baby.”

Wonyoung grinned, stepping in closer, her voice low and dripping with fake innocence.

“I’ll cuddle you so hard and kiss you until you forget your name, oppa.”

You stared. “Keep talking…”

“Mmm.” she then dragged a box toward you with her foot. “I’ll even give you a massage on your back.”

You picked the box up without breaking eye contact. 

“You know exactly what you’re doing, Wonyoung-ah.”

“I do.” she said sweetly. “And you love me for it, oppa.”

About thirty minutes of unfair work later, the curtain rustled as Wonyoung peeked into the room again, sipping the last of her drink after she’d just sentenced you to unpaid manual labor. You were crouched in the corner, taking some rest after labeling everything, stacking baskets like those Pinterest boards. The tall shelf was perfectly aligned against the wall. It looked professional.

She blinked. “You actually finished, oppa?”

You stood up with a groan and cracked your neck.

“I have a literal architecture degree. I can sort baskets and stuff, baby.”

Wonyoung stepped in, glancing around. “Wow… it’s actually nice.”

“Maybe a thank you would be nice.”

She stepped closer to you, casually cupped your face and kissed you on the lips. It was soft, quick and just smug enough to count as gratitude and manipulation.

“Thank you.” she said sweetly and immediately grabbed your wrist.

“Now come help me with the espresso machine, oppa.”

“Again?” you groan, dragging your feet behind her.

Wonyoung didn’t even look back.

“It’s the last thing. I promise, baby.”

“I love how you’ve started calling me baby too.”

She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk.

“You call me that a hundred times a day, oppa. I’m just matching your energy.”

You scoffed. “No, you’re weaponizing it.”

Wonyoung hummed, knowing how powerful she was. 

“Because if I say it, you get all soft and do whatever I ask.”

“You make me sound so easy”.

“Aren’t you, baby?” Wonyoung said, batting her lashes as she tugged you along by the wrist.

You laughed under your breath, mainly because she was right and you hated that it worked every single time. Just as the two of you emerged from the back, still mid argument, Yena glanced up from where she was.

“Get a room, you two.” Yena said flatly.

“We have one.” Wonyoung replied without missing a beat. “But right now, he’s helping me move the espresso machine.”

“Are you trying to show him off?” Hyewon asked, raising an eyebrow from across the room.

“Absolutely, unnie.”

“Not so subtle now, huh?” you said.

“Duh.” Wonyoung then dragged you to the counter. “You’re good looking, you’re useful and you do things in silence.”

“She just called you her pet, oppa.” Yena snorted.

You looked at Hyewon and Yena. “Is no one gonna protect my dignity here?”

Wonyoung casually patted your chest like what Yena just said was a confirmed fact.

“What dignity, baby?”

You blinked at her.

“Wow.”

Yena cackled. “You love it here, oppa.”

You let out the deepest sigh of your entire post grad life and got to work again. An hour passed. Then another. Somehow, you were still there with Wonyoung as Hyewon and Yena had gone home 20 minutes earlier - sleeves rolled, hand slightly bruised, espresso machine installed, half the decoration rearranged twice because “the lighting was off”. By the time you finally slumped onto the little loveseat near the window, it was almost midnight. The city outside was quiet. Snow dusted the sidewalk in soft streaks. Wonyoung sat beside you, legs tucked up, sipping the hot chocolate she made for you. She had just worked you to the bone for almost four hours straight. She then turned to you when you leaned back, eyes fluttering shut. Her gaze dropped and froze when she saw the faint bruise along your hand. Her whole energy changed in an instant.

She reached for your hand instantly, brushing her thumb over the spot.

“You should’ve told me when it hurt, oppa…”

You peeked one eye open, smirking.

“You were too busy yelling at me about symmetry and spotlight angles.”

Her face fell immediately, all the sass and bossy energy from earlier melted off her features - replaced by quiet guilt that hit her like a punch to the gut.

“I didn’t mean it, oppa.” she said softly. “I didn’t think I was actually pushing you that hard…”

You didn’t let Wonyoung finish. You wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in until she was against your chest.

“Hey.” you rested your chin on top of her head.

“It’s okay. I’m doing it for you.” you murmured. “It’s your dream. And if it means I carry some boxes or take a few bruises, I’ll do it. Everytime.”

Wonyoung let out the softest breath - it sounded like she was holding back tears but didn’t want to make a scene.

“...Still, tell me next time, oppa. I don’t want to hurt you, even if I’m excited.”

You smiled into her hair. “Deal.”

Wonyoung mumbled. “Good. Because you’re mine, oppa. Not disposable.”

You let out a quiet laugh.

“Maybe you could apologize by giving me that massage and cuddling me to death when we get home. You promised.”

“Of course, I promised.” she pouted.

You nodded, dead serious.

“I’ve been emotionally manipulated, physically overworked, and I got a battle wound.”

Wonyoung giggled softly, then kissed your jaw.

“Fine, oppa. I’ll cuddle you until you beg me to let go.”

“Sounds like heaven.”

She stretched, then stood up slowly, hand holding yours.

“Come on, architect-nim. Let’s lock up.”

You groaned as you stood, your back cracking like bubble wrap.

“I better get that deadly massage. I’m serious, baby.”

“You’ll get kisses every ten minutes, oppa.” she said, grabbing your jacket off the rack. She shook it out, then slipped it over your shoulders and tugged the zipper up all the way.

“And a hot pack. And maybe… maybe, I’ll feed you snacks in bed.”

“Now that’s true love.”

Before she could reach for her own things, you grabbed her gloves from the stool by the door.

“Gimme your hands, baby.”

She held them out obediently, palms up and you slid the gloves on for her - slow, careful, tugging each finger into place like she was fragile. Her nose scrunched a little.

“You’re babying me now?”

“It’s only fair. You baby me tonight, I baby you forever.” 

Then you paused. Her cheeks were pink from the cold. So you leaned in to cup her face in both hands and rubbed her cheeks gently with your palms to warm them up. Her lips parted slightly at your action, then you leaned in to kiss her - right there in the quiet shop entrance, just a breath of snow drifting past the glass. Slow and warm. 

“Let’s go home. It’s late.”

Wonyoung looked up at you - glowing and full of warmth - before turning to hit the lights. You helped her close up the studio until the place was bathed in a soft mix of streetlight and moonlight. And then the door clicked shut behind you. 

The street outside was nearly empty, snow falling light and slow like something out of a drama. Your boots crunched against it as you walked, one arm over her shoulders, her body close to yours under the purple puffer jacket. You two didn’t talk much on the way home. The vibe was nice and romantic. You looked down at her as she leaned into you, hair brushing your chin.

I love you so much.

You were in love with Wonyoung, with her cute chaos and elegant charm, her soft apologies and shameless flirting. With the way she worked you to the bone and still made you feel like the luckiest man in the world too. So you held her tighter. 

Two lovers, walking home just shy of midnight.

Hands warm, hearts warmer.

After quick bowls of ramyeon, shared rice crackers on the couch and warm showers, it was somehow 2AM. That’s how you ended up here: face down on the bed, shirtless, barely alive. And Wonyoung? Wonyoung was perched on your lower back, wearing one of your oversized t-shirts. Her legs were on your sides, hair tied up. Her phone rested on the edge of the bed, some massage tutorial playing at half volume.

“Okay…” she mumbled, tapping the screen to rewind. “They said circular motion here…”

You groaned as she pushed her palms into your shoulder blades - surprisingly firm for someone who spent most of her days arranging delicate petals and yelling about shelf placement.

“Oh wait- okay… that’s actually… fuck, that’s good.” you mumbled into the pillow.

Wonyoung giggled, smug as hell.

“Language, oppa. You’re in my care now.”

You grunted. “You swear sometimes too.”

“Barely.” she replied, in that annoyingly innocent and lovely tone that made you want to roll over just to glare at her - if you had the energy to move at all right now.

“Likes that makes you morally superior, baby.”

“It does.” she said, proudly. She then shifted to press into a spot just under your shoulder blade and made you shiver. Full body, involuntary. Wonyoung definitely felt it. It was so obvious she had to gloat.

“Do you think I’m that weak now, oppa?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“No… I take back everything I ever said about you bei- being weak…”

Wonyoung grinned, palms circling slowly over the same spot. 

“That’s what I thought. People who do floral works have strong arms, baby. I lift vases and buckets of water all day.”

“Hot.” 

Wonyoung laughed proudly. That one word gave her the courage to lean forward until her chest pressed against your back, lips brushing your ear as she whispered.

“If you think that’s hot, oppa… wait until I’m on top of you and not massaging.”

You froze. From how fast your heart stopped, how much that one sentence sent heat crawling up your neck. Your breath caught, your fingers curled slightly into the sheets. And for once tonight, you forgot how to speak. There was an obvious pause before your voice came out as you tried to drag it up from the pit of your throat.

“Don’t do that to me, baby.”

You could feel Wonyoung smiling on your back, slow and satisfied. She leaned even closer, chest pressed more firmly against you, arms curling loosely around your shoulder.

“What exactly do I do to you, oppa?”

You clenched your hands in the sheets. 

“You’re the one who said I was strong, oppa.” she kissed your neck lightly. “I’m just using my power to heal you right now.”

You let out a breath - shaky and helpless. No words. You couldn’t say anything to her, not when your brain was static and your heart was trying to escape from your ribs. And then Wonyoung went quiet for a second, choosing her words wisely.

“You know I’ve never done this before, oppa.”

Your body tensed just slightly as her tone had changed, but not out of worry.

“Not like this… Not sitting on someone's back and teasing the hell out of them while also kind of wanting to kiss every inch of their back.” she said.

“I’ve never felt like I could. Before you, oppa.”

That got you. You turned your head a little to catch the side of her face, flushed, eyes focused on your spine since she couldn’t meet your gaze yet. Wonyoung then exhaled through her nose.

“You make me feel safe enough to be annoying and clingy.”

Even though your chest ached with how real she was being, a smile was tugging at your lips.

“You know I love you, Wonyoung-ah.” you murmured.

“I always thought if I got like this with someone, they’d think I was too much. Or dramatic. Or needy. But you-” her voice dipped. “You just act like it’s normal, oppa.”

You reached back, blindly, until you found her wrist. Your thumb brushed over her skin softly.

“It is normal with the right person, baby.” and then.

“I love when you’re annoying and clingy.”

That earned you a shaky laugh from Wonyoung.

“I wasn’t fishing for a comment, oppa.”

“Didn’t say you were.” You smiled into the pillow. Then came a pause as her hand slowly traced slowly all over your back - no tricks, no teasing. Maybe that touch was her way of saying ‘You’re mine’ without needing to speak. Then, quietly.

“I think I want to be with you for the rest of my life, oppa.”

You stopped breathing. It wasn’t dramatic or planned. Wonyoung just said it like she’d already decided. Maybe the truth had been sitting in her chest for weeks, maybe a few months and it slipped out in a moment she felt safest. You stayed still, not wanting to miss a second of this. Everything about this. The sincerity of her voice, the warmth of her touch…

“You mean that?” your voice was barely there now.

She nodded against your back. “Mmm.”

“You feel like home, oppa. I didn’t know it could feel like this with someone.”

That did something to you. It cracked something open deep down - something had been locked up for a long time, and Wonyoung’d just walked into your life and gently broke it wide open. Instead of fear, all you could feel was peace and her love.

“I want that too.” you said softly. “I promise I will try my best for you, Wonyoung.”

The bedroom was now filled with a soft and thick feeling. Her hand never stopped moving on your back, like she was tracing the weight of those words into your skin. Then, barely above a whisper.

“You already are, oppa.”

You closed your eyes and sighed. Nothing but warmth in your body now. Her body on yours, her breath against your neck, her love wrapping around you like a second blanket. Until she decided to ruin it.

SMACK.

“OW! Wonyoung-ah- seriously?”

“Flip over!” she demanded, already bouncing off your back and standing on the floor. Pure cuteness and chaos in her voice. 

“Enough emotional intimacy for one night, oppa. Time for deadly cuddles.”

“You hit me so hard, baby.” you muttered but still rolled over slowly. “I’m losing feeling in my spine.”

“You’re about to lose all feeling once I latch onto you like a koala in mating season.” Wonyoung said it completely seriously. With no shame. And you had the audacity to fall even harder for her. She climbed back on top like she owned the bed and your soul, yanked the blanket over the both of you and immediately wrapped herself around you.

“You better not move, oppa.” she mumbled against your collarbone. “I’m in position and too comfy now.”

Your hand instinctively slid up and down her back, her skin warm under your touch.

“You didn’t even give me time to wear my shirt. It’s winter, Wonyoungie.”

“Exactly~” she nuzzled deeper into your chest. “It’s winter.”

“Baby.”

“Oppa~”

Uh oh.

You heard the danger in her tone. 

“It’s Saturday.” she continued, voice soft and layered with fake innocence. 

“The studio’s closed for now. You’re not working. You basically study everyday already. So why would you prep for that boring architect test thing tomorrow when you could stay in bed and warm me like a good boy?”

Your brain short circuited.

“Good boy?” you repeated.

“Mm.” Wonyoung hummed sweetly, tracing a finger along your collarbone. “My good boy stays right here and keeps me warm and gives me kisses when I ask.”

“I’m a grown man.” but you were malfunctioning. Your protest was weak.

“And yet you’re still under my command, oppa.” she tilted her head. She then slowly moved forward, lips barely brushing your ear, her voice honeyed and low as she continued to attack.

“Just admit it, oppa.” she whispered. “You’d rather stay here all day and let me suffocate you with affection than stare at blueprints or designs… Or your nerdy architect stuff.”

You were defeated. Exhausted. But hey, very much in love.

“Fine… you win.”

“I always win, oppa.”

“I take the day off. Happy?”

Wonyoung beamed, pulling the blanket tighter around the both of you.

“Estatic. Now hush and cuddle me like you mean it.”

You let out a breath, let her bury her freezing feet between your legs and pulled her in closer. Her head was tucked under your chin, hand resting over your chest as she claimed her territory.

“Don’t call me ‘good boy’ again. That’s dangerous.” you mumbled into her hair.

“I call you whatever I want, oppa.” she whispered back with her smug grin. You knew you were done for, without a doubt.

You blinked awake to an empty bed. No warmth by your side. No Wonyoung draped across your chest. No mumbling or sleep kicks. It was quiet. The clock read 8:12AM. You groaned into the pillow, reaching across the sheets for Wonyoung’s warmth. Still warm. Still faintly smelling like her shampoo. No sight of her. But then the bedroom door swung open. There she was.

Jang Wonyoung.

In a black body hugging dress, lips glossy, hair cascading down her shoulders in effortless waves like she was about to do a Vogue cover shoot in your shared apartment. She stood framed in the doorway looking like she hadn’t just destroyed you both physically and emotionally last night.

“Wake up, oppa~” her voice was bright, bossy and way too casual from someone who dressed like that for breakfast.

“Brush your teeth. We have movies to watch and breakfast to eat.”

You sat up slowly, squinting at the sudden presence and your girlfriend  standing in the doorway.

“Damn…” you mumbled, voice rough from sleep “Why do you look like that, baby?”

Wonyoung smiled, one hand on her hip which allowed the dress to hug every curve like it was made only for her. 

“Like what, oppa?”

“Like- fuck…” your voice cracked slightly as you sat up straighter, rubbing the back of your neck. “You’re so beautiful.”

Her lips curved, pleased but trying to play it cool.

“I know. But I like to hear it from you.”

Then she casually walked over to your side of the bed. Bunny slippers on her feet, hips swaying, the black dress hugging her in all the right places like sin disguised as breakfast. Her hair caught the morning light just right.

Oh my fucking…

You pushed the blanket off and sat up slowly, still shirtless and barely conscious but instantly weak for her. You instinctively leaned in, reaching for her waist, wanting nothing more than to pull Wonyoung in and bury your face in her stomach. Just to ground yourself and breathe her in. But the second your arms brushed her sides, she pressed one palm flat against your forehead and held you back like a misbehaving dog.

“Nope.” her tone was sweet but lethal. You blinked at that, confused and offended. Wonyoung just smiled, lips all glossy and powerful.

“Brush your teeth and wash your face first, oppa. Then you can hug me.”

“Just one hug, Wonyoungie.” you said. You were still a bit asleep and completely love drunk. You were way too weak for Wonyoung to be standing there in that dress. So, naturally, you leaned forward again - arms stretching toward her waist like your soul needed contact.

Smack.

Her palm met your forehead in a light, warning tap. It didn’t hurt but enough to put you in your place. Your head tilted back slightly from the light impact as you looked at your girlfriend, stunned. Wonyoung stared down at you, attitude shifting suddenly. Her sweetness was still there - buried under a new layer of firm, unshakable authority. Her hands went to her hips, eyes narrowing.

“Oppa.” she said, loud and clear. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Okay…” your voice came out soft. Obedient. A little terrified.

She raised an eyebrow, satisfied. 

“Good~”

Then she spun around, her slippers tapping confidently as she walked out of the room after asserting her dominance. And maybe you should’ve let it go. Maybe. But no. The mischief hit you fast. You smirked, leaning off the bed as your eyes followed the curve of her hips in that damn black dress. Too good and dangerous. Your hand then rose just slightly to aim for a harmless, barely there smack on her butt - just enough to make your presence known. Equal parts flirty and payback, right? She denied you affection and threatened your sanity before breakfast, it was only fair. But Wonyoung stopped mid step and turned back calmly, glaring at you. Her eyes then found your raised hand midair, caught red handed in mischief. Her glossy lips pressed into the faintest smirk. You were busted.

“...Hi?”

Her eyebrow lifted, enough to warn you. The tiny, terrifying arch sent a shiver down your spine.

“Don’t even try it, oppa.” she said. Dead serious.

“Okay.” your voice cracked a little as you dropped your hand down. But Wonyoung wasn’t done. She narrowed her eyes and stepped back closer to you.

“I swear, oppa. If you touch me before you’re clean-” she leaned in slightly. “-you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

You didn’t argue. Shower. Toothbrush. Face wash. The bathroom tiles were icy against your feet, but thankfully the water was still a bit warm - just enough to survive the Seoul winter without crying. You showered like your life depended on it. When you finally stepped out, all dried and dressed in the comfiest sweater you could find, you padded to the living room. Breakfast - toast, eggs and a cute little bowl of strawberries - was already waiting on the coffee table. Wonyoung was sitting on the couch, flipping through movie options with a coffee mug in hand. Her legs were folded beneath her, skin glowing. You cleared your throat. She looked up.

“Can I please hug you now?”

Wonyoung blinked. Then her lips curved into something between a smile and a smirk - sweat, pleased but still holding power.

“Did you brush, oppa?”

“Yes.”

“Face?”

“Washed.”

“Shower?”

“With your eucalyptus body wash. I’m the cleanest man in the whole world right now.”

She narrowed her eyes, unconvinced. She then took a slow slip of her coffee and then put her legs down with flair, crossing one leg over the other as she stared at you like a queen who was considering whether to pardon a criminal.

“Let me smell.”

You stepped forward cautiously and leaned down toward Wonyoung on the couch, angling your neck so she could check it herself. You expected a quick sniff, enough for her to say “okay” and open her arms. But no. Wonyoung leaned in slowly, lips curving into a smirk. Her hand came up to rest on your chest - not pushing you away or pulling you in closer. It just rested there to control the moment. And then, she pressed her nose tight into your neck. It wasn’t soft or subtle. It was a full inhale, right against your skin - hot breath and the scent of her lip gloss lingering just below your ear. Goosebumps spread like wildfires across your back and arms. You actually shivered.

“Wonyoung-ah…” you breathed out. She didn’t flinch but even nuzzled closer. 

“Mm.” she murmured. “You really did use my body wash.”

“Yeah. I- uh… I did.”

She leaned back finally, eyes half lidded and pleased beyond reason. Her lips glistened with that damn gloss and her voice dropped to a smug whisper.

“You smell like eucalyptus and submission, oppa.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

Wonyoung smiled and opened her arms. “Come here, you whipped idiot.”

You crashed straight onto the couch, face falling right into her lap. You buried your face into the soft fabric of her dress, right against her stomach, arms wrapping tightly around her waist like Wonyoung was the safest place on earth. Your actions caught her off guard for a second. Then she eventually melted. Her hand slid into your hair automatically, nails gently scratching your scalp as you clung to her.

“Oppa.” she laughed under her breath. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You tortured me by making me wait forever."

“It was only thirty minutes, baby.”

“Forever.”

She giggled, the sound soft and wicked. She knew exactly how powerful she was and planned to use it until you were nothing but a puddle in her lap. Her fingers continued to comb through your hair. Her other hand calmly reached for her coffee again and sipped it before speaking.

“I really have you wrapped around my finger, right oppa?”

You didn’t deny it. Laying there, head buried against her stomach, arms draped around her waist, you just sighed.

“Like a ribbon.” you muttered.

“Mm.” Wonyoung slid her hand under your chin and tilted your face up. Before you could react, she leaned down and kissed you on the lips - warm, soft, tasting like coffee. 

“And you love it so much, oppa.” she whispered. You just groaned into her mouth and nodded, fully defeated.

Eventually, you both shifted - plates were pulled onto your laps, coffee mugs safely placed on the table. The movie started playing quietly in the background, some lighthearted romance you barely registered because you were stupidly basking in how stupidly happy you felt. At some point, you ended up in her lap again - obviously. Wonyoung had one arm draped across your shoulders, the other reaching into the bowl of strawberries on the table. She picked one, twirled it gently between her fingers for a second then dangled it just above your lips.

“Open.” she commended, already grinning. You tilted your chin up and parted your lips - obedient, too in love to care. She popped the strawberry into your mouth with a pleasant hum then brushed her fingers along your cheek with ridiculous delicacy.

“Good boy.” she said casually.

You paused mid chew. “Baby, you gotta stop calling me that.”

Wonyoung turned her head slowly, a knowing smile spreading across her lips as she picked another strawberry from the bowl. 

“Why?” she asked, pretending she didn’t have a single clue on what kind of effect she had on you. “You don’t like it, oppa?”

“I like it too much.” you admitted, slumping further into her lap. “It short circuits my brain.”

She pouted in fake sympathy, twirling the next strawberry in her fingers like a cat with a mouse.

“Mmm. Poor baby. All soft and squishy just because I praised you a little.”

“Wonyoung-ah.”

“Oppa.”

You look up at her, exasperated. Wonyoung raised the strawberry to your lips again.

“Now open.”

You groaned but still obeyed. She popped it in your mouth and smiled. After a moment, her hand slid from your shoulder to your jaw, thumb playing with your chin. She tilted your face up and leaned down, resting her forehead against yours.

“But you really are my good boy, oppa.” she whispered. You knew you were done for.

“I need some rest.”

“You are already resting.” she giggled and kissed your forehead. “On my lap.”

And that’s where you stayed for a while, the outside world was nothing more than a snowy hum beyond the curtains. Eventually, the day drifted forward as morning turned into afternoon. Wonyoung then had to get up, brushing a kiss to your temple with a whisper of ‘I have some arrangements to prep, oppa’. You, of course, followed. You wanted to be on her lap for the rest of the day but instead, ended up sitting on a stool in the corner of her little work area. Your phone but in your hand, thumb lazily scrolling, but your eyes? Fully on Wonyoung. 

She was standing at her work table, trimming the ends of a bouquet with clean precision. Her hands moved like muscle memory across bunches of fresh rose, lavender, baby’s breath and ranunculus. Her focus, her calm, her grace - all of it did something to you. You’d seen Wonyoung do this a hundred times - but something felt different this time? Maybe it was the way she stood. Maybe it was the way she wore that dress. Or maybe it was just Wonyoung. 

You played a random playlist on your phone, low and lazy, just to fill the quiet. Then, as if the universe was in on your feelings, ‘Flowers’ by Johnny Stimson came on. The soft bassline. The lyrics. The vibe.

You can open up to me

Show me what's inside

Mother nature made us to intertwine

She shifted slightly on her feet, the black dress then pulled taut across her hips. You lost the ability to breathe normally. Your fingers tapped against your knee, pretending to scroll on your phone. But your eyes were watching the way she moved - the care, the skill, the control. Everything Wonyoung did was controlled. And everything about you was unraveling. You stood up.

Lavender elixir so

Full of pheromones

Gimme one taste and you're gone

You walked over to her. Wonyoung didn’t flinch - she just kept trimming stems like you weren’t about to lose your mind. You slipped behind her, hands gently sliding around her waist, resting low on her stomach. She took no time to relax into your touch, head lightly leaning against your shoulder.

“You’re still wearing the dress.” you mumbled, lips grazing the edge of her ear.

“Mmm.”

“And you expect me not to do anything?”

Wonyoung smiled, but her eyes were focused.

“You haven’t done anything, oppa.”

You kissed her cheeks. Once. Then lower, her jaw. Then the side of her neck, barely brushing your lips there.

What if I can't get you out of my thoughts?

What if my seasons don't change?

What if you forget to forget me not

And we fade away?

The lyrics filled the air, sinking into your skin the same way she did - subtly, then all at once. You felt her breath catch, just enough. 

“You smell nice.” you whispered, fingertips grazing the fabric over her waist. Wonyoung finally set the scissors down. She turned around to face you. Her face was unreadable as something was brewing underneath.

“Don’t tempt me, oppa.” she whispered.

You leaned in. “Too late.”

Her hands slid into your sweater, gripping the front of it as you kissed her - this time slower, deeper, a kiss that curled your toes and left no room for second thoughts. You pulled Wonyoung flushed against you, the table behind her nudging the base of her spine as you devoured her mouth.

You're my little flower

Blooming in the night

Only for an hour

The northern lights

The lyrics played in the background like a confession neither of you could say out loud just yet. But it was felt. All of it. Her hands curled tighter into your sweater. Your fingertips danced down her back, slowly tracing the shape of her waist again-

And that’s when she pulled back. Lips parted. Breath trembling. Eyes glazed with everything she was feeling but couldn’t say.

My Casablanca sweetheart

Nectar so divine

Baby, you're the best part of my life

You swore the air shifted when she looked at you like that. The moment hung there, delicate and electric. Wonyoung’s voice was soft. Barely above a whisper.

“You always kiss me like it’s the last time, oppa.”

“I mean, every time I kiss you feels important.”

Wonyoung stared at you for a beat, lashes fluttering. Then, with a breath that felt heavier than it should’ve been, she reached up and pressed her hand gently to your chest.

“Sit down.”

“...What?”

“I have to finish this, oppa.” she said, laughing through the tension, voice still shook lightly. “Before I scold you again.”

“C’mon, Wonyoungie.”

She smiled sweetly, turning back to her bouquet, snipping stems like nothing had happened. “I’m protecting you, oppa. From me.”

There was absolutely nothing you could say to that. You just sat down, knees feeling like pudding. 

The rest of the day felt like something out of a dream you never wanted to wake up from. She worked. You helped. She kissed your cheek when you passed her the right vase. You played her favorite songs on low volume as Wonyoung was deep in her work like a Renaissance muse - your muse.

Dinner was something simple. Delivery, because neither of you could be bothered to cook after all that emotional cardio. You ate on the floor, in front of the couch as Wonyoung leaned her head on your shoulder, both of you wrapped in a big blanket. There were quiet laughs, shared bites, forehead kisses between jokes.

By the time you and her made it to bed, the world outside had gone still. You were laying there - soft light from the bedside lamp casting a warm glow, blankets heavy and comforting. Wonyoung curled into your side, face pressed to your shoulder, fingers trailing lightly over your chest. That’s when you turned your head slightly and asked.

“What’s gotten in you, baby? You’ve been different, today and last night.”

Wonyoung went quiet for a bit to think about it. Then she mumbled, shy but smiling.

“Maybe I just love you so much I couldn’t hide it anymore, oppa.”

Really?

You pulled her closer.

“...Maybe keep it not hiding then, baby.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

From December to early and mid February, your relationship with Wonyoung turned quietly serious even as your lives got even heavier. You were preparing for the last stage of the architecture license exam - which meant longer nights bent over drafting boards, wrist sores from holding a pencil for hours… People had warned you it was brutal. You knew how crazy it was. But it still managed to hit you harder than you ever expected. 

Wonyoung didn’t just witness it - she adapted to it. She brought heat packs when your hands were cramped, massaged your shoulders while reading flower order lists, cooked when you forgot to eat. She even dropped by your workplace with lunch on the roughest days, always smiling like it wasn’t a big deal. Everybody there was jealous. Of course they were. She fitted into your mornings, stealing bites of your toast, reminding you to blink when you stared too hard at lines. At night, you’d come home to Wonyoung humming while she worked on her floral studio dream, cheeks flushed from the cold. You owed Wonyoung. A lot.

Despite the weight of it all, you still made time to live. Christmas was spent with her family, warm and familiar. Her parents showered the two of you with gifts. Wonyoung never left your side, not even when her cousins grilled her about your future wedding. She just smiled and held your hand tighter. New Year’s Eve was quieter, just the two of you kissing on the rooftop of your shared apartment with thick jackets while the Seoul skyline lit up with fireworks. 

Then 설날* came, and you introduced Wonyoung to your parents. It was your turn after all. She wore a soft toned hanbok, bowed respectfully and called your mom ‘eomoni’ with no hesitation or difficulties. Even though she offered to help, your parents wouldn’t let her step inside the kitchen - insisting their ‘precious future daughter-in-law’ should just sit and rest. She even made your relatives laugh and didn’t even flinch when your aunts cornered her with questions. By the end of the night, your mom pulled Wonyoung aside, held her hands tightly and said ‘You’re a blessing to our son’. And your mom wasn’t wrong at all. Not one bit.

*설날/seollal: Korean new year.

One day, the snow hit harder than usual. You’d heard it all over the news - record low temperature, public transport stalling, several small businesses forced to close for a few days. You texted Wonyoung during lunch, asked if she was staying warm. No answer. When you came home from work, jacket still dusted in snow, you found her on the couch - curled up, knees to her chest, sleeves pulled over her hands. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying. Your heart sank.

“Wonyoung-ah?” you called gently, moving toward her. Wonyoung didn’t look up at first. Just shook her head like she didn’t want to talk about it. But when you knelt in front of her, her eyes finally met yours - glassy, full of frustration and exhaustion. 

“They pushed the inspection again, oppa.” she said. “Everything’s delayed until March.”

Wonyoung’s voice cracked just enough to split something open inside your chest. 

“I know it’s not that big of a deal but-” she continued, trying to convince herself. “But I had everything prepared. I had it timed for orders, I sent emails, I made schedules, I-” her breath hitched.

“I work so hard, oppa.” she whispered, her lips trembling. “I gave it everything- I was so close…”

You didn’t wait. You scooped her into your arms before she could even fold in on herself, lifting her gently and sitting down with her on your lap. Her body curled into yours instantly, like she’d been waiting for permission to fall apart. Wonyoung buried her face in your shoulder, her arms wrapping around your neck so tight it nearly choked you but you didn’t care. Her entire body was shaking now. Harsh, quiet sobs punched out of her chest. You held her through it all, one hand smoothing over her back, the other cradling the back of her head. Wonyoung was fragile, precious.

After a while, her sobs started to soften. It was still there, still aching but quieter. She shifted just enough to up at you, eyes swollen and glassy, nose a little red. 

“I really thought I could do it, oppa… I thought I could prove to everyone I wasn’t just all talk.”

You brushed your thumb across her cheek, gently wiping away the wetness there.

“You already did, Wonyoung-ah.” you said softly. “You are doing it. Delays don’t erase the work.”

She blinked, tears pooling again. “But it feels like I failed.”

You let out a soft sigh, brushing the tears away with your knuckle as you looked at her - eyes puffy, lips trembling, so heartbreakingly beautiful even in her lowest moments.

How are you still so beautiful?

“Wonyoung-ah… I face the same shit at work too.” you said. 

“Designs get pushed back, clients ghost, a lot of them are obnoxious, permits take months. One time I worked three straight nights for a client who changed their mind after the deadline, remember?”

Wonyoung shifted, blinking up at you through glassy eyes.

“You were there for me, weren’t you?”

She stayed silent but nodded.

“If I hadn’t met you, I would’ve quit architecture and become a dog walker in Gangnam.” you said dramatically. “Or like, join a cult and scam people on the street.”

That finally did it - a tiny laugh burst out of her, choked a bit by the remnants of her crying. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, embarrassed. Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, embarrassed. 

“There it is!” you whispered. “That’s my girl.”

She immediately buried her face in your chest again, hiding. 

“Stop it, oppa.” she mumbled. “I look so gross right now.”

You laughed, tightening your arms around her, lips brushing the top of her head as you whispered.

“You don’t. Not even a little.”

She groaned into your chest. “My face is puffy, oppa.”

“Still the most beautiful girl I know.”

“My nose is red.”

“Cute.”

“My make up is ruined.”

“Hot.”

Wonyoung squinted at you, a look of sadness and disbelief on her face. “Hot?”

You nodded, completely serious. “Devastating hot.”

She let out a half sob, half laugh sound and smacked your chest weakly. “You’re such a liar, oppa.”

You caught her hand before she could pull it away and brought it to your lips for a soft kiss. 

“You know I never lie about you, Wonyoung-ah.” you murmured. “Especially not about how beautiful you are.”

That shut her up again. Wonyoung knew if she said anything back instantly, she’d cry even harder. So instead, she just melted into you, arms wrapping around your waist again. You leaned your chin against the top of her head, pulling her close like she was made to fit there.

“I’ve got you, Wonyoung-ah. For as long as you need.”

That night, you didn’t let her lift a finger. You cooked while Wonyoung sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket like a sulking princess. She kept trying to help but you gave her that look every time and she finally gave up with a small pout. You even massaged her shoulders after, forced her to drink warm tea and stayed by her side all night. It was all good again, for a while. But as March loomed ahead, so did the weight of reality.

Her floral studio opening was finally opening - design books finalized, stock delivered, invitations prepped and promotions starting to roll out. And you? You were a few weeks from the last stage of the architecture license exam - the hardest thing you’d ever prepared for. Real hand drafted design work, timed constraints, performance pressures… It demanded everything.

And suddenly, everything felt too full. The space you two once treated like your treasure was overflowing with flower buckets and tracing papers. Everything from two different professions were spilling into each other, no clean lines, no negative space. Two passionate people. Two overachievers. Two deadlines clashing in the same apartment. The arguments weren’t big. Just… sharper.

Like when Wonyoung moved your drafting weights off the table and you found them on the kitchen counter, buried under her wrapping paper. Or when you forgot to screw the cap back on floral tape and it dried overnight. She didn’t yell at you. She just sighed and kissed you, saying it was fine. But that long, slow kind of sigh made your chest feel too small. 

There were times you’d both laugh it off. Many times. Except when it didn’t.

-

One night, you were hunched over the dining table again - your third sketch of the day was already half erased, smudges climbed up your wrist like bruises. The sharpener had jammed. The ruler was gone. Again.

“Have you seen my ruler, Wonyoungie?” you asked, not even bothering to look up.

Wonyoung didn’t answer at first. You heard a soft clink. She was in the corner, trimming stems into a metal bowl.

“You left it on the bed, oppa.” 

You blinked.

“Why would I leave it there?”

She didn’t turn around. “I don’t know. Maybe you were measuring in your dreams, oppa.”

You paused, pencil mid air. The sarcasm didn’t hit cute this time. You stared at the half done section in front of you, jaw tight.

“Okay…” you said, voice flat. Wonyoung finally turned over. She was wearing one of your old sweatshirts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her eyes met yours across the room - the usual spark wasn’t there.

“I was joking.” she said, quieter this time. “You’re kinda tense lately, oppa.”

You sighed, pressing the pencil down onto the table a little harder than needed. “I’m sorry, baby. It’s just… this stage is eating me alive.”

Wonyoung didn’t say anything right away. She just nodded and looked down at her flowers, fiddling with her scissors.

“I get that. I really do. But it feels like you’re mad at me, oppa.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m not- Wonyoung-ah. I swear. I'm just tired and I feel like I’m not doing enough. For this exam, for you…”

Wonyoung’s eyes flicked up at that.

“Don’t say that, oppa. You’re doing everything you can.”

She then set the scissors down with a soft click and walked over slowly to you. You stayed frozen in your chair, pencil still in hand, but your grip softened as she came close. Wonyoung crouched next to you, resting her chin on your thigh.

“You’re tired. And I know this exam is killing you.” she said gently. “But please don’t think I need more from you, oppa. You being here and trying hard already means everything, oppa.”

Your hand reached out automatically, fingers brushing through her hair.

“I feel like I’ve been snapping too much lately.” you admitted, the guilt was eating you up.

She nodded but her smile was soft. “You have.”

“Sorry…” you winced.

“But you’ve been hugging me in your sleep. Kissing my shoulder before you leave for work. Carrying my flower vases even when you look like you’re gonna collapse…” she took your hand. “So I forgive you, oppa.”

You exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for days.

“Come here.” you tugged her into her lap. She climbed into your arms without hesitation, arms wrapping around your neck.

“I love you.” you said against her hair.

“I love you more, oppa.” she whispered back. “But if you erase that drawing again, I will definitely scold you.”

You laughed into her shoulder, everything feeling a bit lighter again.

-

It started small, like always. 

You’d just come home from work, drained and quiet. Wonyoung was at the table, her laptop open and a notebook of arrangement ideas on the side. She looked up at you and smiled.

“You didn’t reply to my text, baby.”

You blinked, taking off your coat. “What text?”

She then turned the screen toward you - a photo of a new flower sample. “I sent it hours ago, oppa. I ask what you thought.”

You stared at the screen, mind blank for a second too long. Then you rubbed a hand over your face.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoungie. Work was hell today. I must’ve missed it.”

Wonyoung’s smile faltered a little, just a second. “You always say that lately, oppa.”

Her words weren’t cruel. They were soft and honest - which made them sting worse.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you like that, baby.” your voice was tighter than you intended.

“I know.” she replied quickly. “But it still makes me feel like I don’t matter sometimes, oppa.”

You sighed, not in anger - just exhaustion. 

“Wonyoung-ah, everything’s hitting me at once right now. I’m trying to be okay at work, at the exam, at being… with you.”

“So now I’m just another thing on your to-do list, oppa?” she flinched.

That one hit too hard. You looked at her sharply.

“That’s not what I want.”

“I didn’t say it was, oppa.” her voice cracked at the edges now. “But it’s starting to feel like it.”

Silence quickly settled, thick and cold. Your heart was loud in your chest, but you couldn’t find the next words. Maybe not yet. Not when both of you were teetering between tired and hurt.

Maybe this one wouldn’t end in a soft kiss and forehead touch.

Maybe this time, one of you had to walk away to breathe. 

-

This one started differently. It started with a question.

You were in the middle of sketching out something, you didn’t even remember what it was - pencil tucked behind your ear, back hunched, neck aching. Wonyoung peeked around the doorframe. Her eyes were tired. She held a small stack of flower mockups and a printed draft.

“Oppa.” she said softly. “Can I show you something real quick?”

You didn’t even turn around. “I’m kinda in the middle of something, baby.”

Wonyoung hesitated. “It’s just the layout for the welcome table. I can’t tell if the lettering feels too busy.”

“I’m sure it’s fine.” you said, still sketching.

Silence. Then came a light sigh.

“Nevermind, oppa.”

You froze. Something about the way Wonyoung said it made your hands pause immediately. But you didn’t say anything. You didn’t turn around. Instead, you pressed the pencil back to paper and kept going. You kept sketching for another minute. Maybe two. But things didn’t make sense to you anymore - the lines, the measurements. You were thinking about her voice. The way Wonyoung said nevermind like she knew exactly how this would go. So you stood up. Wonyoung was in the bedroom. She wasn’t crying. She was crouched beside the rolling cart, restocking twine and tags into labeled compartments like nothing happened. You leaned against the doorframe.

“Hey, baby.”

“What, oppa?” she didn’t look up.

“I’m sorry.”

 Her hands didn’t stop moving. “For what?”

“For brushing you off, earlier.” you swallowed. “I wasn’t trying to. I just- my head’s all over the place.”

Wonyoung gave a small nod but it didn’t feel like forgiveness. “You always do that, oppa.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn't.” she said. “It just feels… I don’t know, familiar.”

“What do you mean, Wonyoung-ah?”

She finally stood up. 

“It means this isn’t the first time. Me coming to you with something small, something that probably doesn’t matter to anyone but me and getting nothing as an answer from you while you do your thing, oppa.”

“I told you I was in the middle of something.”

“And I told you it would take just a few seconds.” she said, voice sharper now. “That’s all I needed from you, oppa. Just look for a few seconds.”

“I do care.” you shot back. “Do you think I enjoy being like this? I’m not ignoring you, I’m drowning.”

“So am I!”

Wonyoung’s voice cracked for the first time, that scared you more than if she’d yelled.

“You think this thing isn’t eating me alive, oppa? You think I don’t want to pause everything and just… be with you? But I can’t because I’m trying to make my dream happen. And sometimes I need you to see it, oppa.”

You were quiet. Chest tight.

“I do, baby.”

“I think we’re both just trying so hard not to fall apart. Somewhere in that, we’re just let things get between us too much.”

You stepped forward, slowly. “I don’t want that.”

“Neither do I, oppa.” her voice was smaller now. “But I’m scared that if we keep doing this - hurting each other without meaning to, it’s just gonna…”

You reached for Wonyoung’s hand. She let you.

“I don’t know how to do this perfectly, baby. But I want to try my best with you.”

She let out a shaky breath. 

“I’m sorry too, oppa. For getting mad at you. And guilt tripping… pushing when you’re clearly just… barely hanging on.”

You pulled Wonyoung in gently and she leaned into you with no resistance.

“I love you.” you murmured in her hair.

“I know.” she whispered. “I love you too, oppa.”

There was nothing dramatic about it. No grand moment, no magic reset. Just two people, a little bruised, arms wrapped around each other in the quiet and hoping that was enough. Maybe for now. 

The next morning, you were making breakfast when Wonyoung leaned over the counter in your oversized hoodie, pressing her cheek to her arm while she scrolled through messages on her phone. The window was slightly opened. You could hear a bird singing outside. The air smelled like butter and coffee. Everything felt almost normal like the fight last night hadn’t happened. She smiled a little when you passed her a plate. 

“Is this even edible, oppa?”

You smirked. “I checked this time, Wonyoungie.”

She took a bite and gave you a dramatic thumbs up. You laughed, low and tired. But at least it was something - nice and peaceful. There was a moment, just then, where everything softened. Where she looked at you and you looked back, it felt like you were back to when these things didn’t matter. And then your phone rang. You stepped out of the kitchen, answering it in the hallway with one hand pressed to the temple. 

Fuck… Not now.

Wonyoung watched you from her seat. You knew she could tell something was wrong. 

“Wonyoung-ah…” you said carefully.

“What was that, oppa?”

You came back to the kitchen, slowly. It felt like you were stepping into a room you’d just set on fire. She was still at the counter, thumb hovering over her phone, eyes on you now. You hesitated.

“They want me in Pohang. Friday morning.”

Her face didn’t move, but something in her shoulders shifted. 

“For how long, oppa?”

“Three to four days…”

You could see Wonyoung counting in her head. Her lips parted but nothing came out. You kept talking like maybe if you filled the space fast enough, you could soften the blow. 

“I’ll be back by your opening. I’ll take the earliest train, baby. I swear. I- I’ll leave straight after I finish everything.”

She blinked. Still not saying anything.

“Wonyoung-ah… Please say something.”

She set her fork down, too gently.

“You said you’d be there, oppa.”

“I know…” you said. “And I still want to be. I just… I can’t promise the timing.”

A long silence stretched between you. Wonyoung looked at everything but your face.

“You’ve missed a lot of things lately.”

“Baby, I haven’t-”

“You have, oppa.” Her voice was scarily calm. “Little things, big things. I didn’t bring them up because I knew you were trying. I know you’re trying.”

“It’s always bad timing.”

You winced. “That’s not fair.”

“No.” Wonyoung stood up now. “What’s not fair is spending weeks planning something I’ve dreamed about for years, and knowing that even on that one day that’s supposed to be about me- you still might not show up, oppa.”

“I’m still trying. I’m doing everything I can to be there.”

“I don’t want you to try.” she snapped. “I want you to be there. Like you said you would. Like you always promise.”

Your voice dropped, sharp. “And what do you want me to do, Jang Wonyoung? Say no and risk my job? Ruin everything I’ve worked so hard for so you won’t feel abandoned for a day?”

Wonyoung recoiled. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for you to immediately regret it. But she was already turning away, arms crossed like she had to physically hold herself together. 

“I think this relationship might be a mistake, oppa.”

You froze. The air left your lungs.

“C’mon, baby. You don’t actually mean that…”

Still no answer. She didn’t deny it. That hurt you, really bad. So the words ripped out before you could stop them.

“You know what? Maybe it is. Since all I care about is stupid buildings and that fucking license exam.”

That was just enough to fuel Wonyoung’s anger. She glared at you, things hadn’t been okay for the last month now. It was time to release it all. Her eyes were sharp, jaw clenched, tears not even falling anymore.

“FUCK YOU, Han Haejoon.” she said. “You think you’re the only person who’s been working hard in this house? What I do is just some shitty girl’s play?”

You laughed. Bitter, ugly. 

“What the hell are you even saying? God, Wonyoung-ah, I’ve watched you obsess over every goddamn petals and call it a fucking ‘business plan’.”

Her mouth dropped open, stunned. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

“Yes. I. Fucking. Am.” you shouted. “I’m tired, okay? I’m so fucking tired of acting like your opening is the only thing that matters while I drown in deadlines and other shit. I have to keep pretending like I’m not falling apart too.”

“Well guess what? You’re not the only one. You’re just the only one allowed to show it.”

You didn’t know what happened at that moment. Were you just too tired to say something back? Was what Wonyoung said the truth? Nothing came out. Wonyoung wiped at her face quickly, like she was angry the tears were finally coming. 

“You’re a fucking coward, Han Haejoon. Do you know that?”

And that was it. The whole apartment went quiet. She walked into the bedroom and closed the door behind her. It wasn’t hard or loud. You stared at the ceiling. Your hands were trembling, chest on fire. You didn’t talk for the rest of the day.

The next few days that followed were silent and slow, wrapped in a tension that didn’t scream- it just sat there. Heavy. Distant. You two avoided each other. Not deliberately, not cruelty. It just naturally happened. Wonyoung stayed mostly in the bedroom, while you retreated to your shared collection room - the one filled with pieces of your life together: Legos, pop ups, her books, a dusty stack of photobooth strips of you two… It used to feel warm. Now it felt like exile.

You slept on the floor with your hoodie pulled over your head, back turned to the door. She didn’t come in. You didn’t expect her to. The apartment felt too big and too small at once. Once, in the hallway, Wonyoung looked like she might say something. But your dumbass turned away before she could even speak a word. On Tuesday, you couldn’t draw. You couldn't study. You sat with your pencil pressed to the paper and didn’t get anything done. From the bedroom, you heard her practicing her opening speech. She sounded steady but you knew. She wasn’t.

Friday morning, you found breakfast waiting on the table in the collection room. Rice. Rolled eggs. Seaweed soup. Your favorite spoon wrapped in Wonyoung’s favorite floral napkin. No note. Just food and care. You stared at it for a long time. But you didn’t eat. It felt like accepting it would mean everything was fine again. But then again, you weren’t sure why this was happening. Everything was so nice and peaceful just a few months ago. You weren’t sure. You didn’t want to overthink too much so you got ready and went straight to work. Her breakfast was still there.

That night, your train was scheduled for 8:30. You packed your bag slowly before dragging your feet to the bedroom. Wonyoung had already cleaned the breakfast. You should’ve eaten it. You should’ve done things differently. The guilt wouldn’t stop humming under your skin. The door creaked open gently. She was sitting on the bed, eyes on her phone. No matter what happened, no matter how hard you both fought, Wonyoung was still the most beautiful woman in your eyes.

“Baby.” you said, voice quiet. “Can I come in?”

Wonyoung didn’t give you an answer. So you stepped in anyway. You stayed near the door since you were scared getting too close might piss her off even more or scare her off.

“I’m sorry, Wonyoung-ah.” you said. “For it all. I should’ve eaten it. I’m sorry for being such a jerk. I didn’t mean any of it. I was scared and tired.”

Silence.

“I know this relationship means a lot to you. It does to me too. I… I don’t want to lose you, Wonyoung.”

You took a breath and stepped closer. You reached out slowly, fingertips grazing her shoulder. She flinched, that was enough to make your hand drop right away. You backed off, like you just touched someone that wasn’t yours anymore.

“I’m really sorry, baby.” you said again. “I know I haven’t been good at showing it lately, but I really love you. I’ve always loved you. I really appreciate the trust you have in me… I’m stupid for acting like that the past weeks.”

Wonyoung didn’t say anything.

“I’ll be there for you, okay? No matter how hard things are… I promise I will try for you, Wonyoung-ah.”

Wonyoung still sat there, closed off. So you stepped back, grabbed your bag from the hallway and closed the bedroom as quietly as you could. You stole one last look for the last time. Still nothing. So you left. 

And when the door clicked shut, Wonyoung finally broke. She folded over slowly, like her body couldn’t even hold it in anymore. Her hands pressed to her eyes, knees drawn in, shoulders shaking. Not because she was mad or she didn’t forgive you. But because she missed you already. Wonyoung didn’t want things to end like this. She cried because she still loved you too much. And now she didn’t know what to do with that love anymore.

 ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

You had barely slept. You stayed behind after the Pohang review long after everyone else had cleared out, doing everything you could to make sure you could leave without any guilt. Things thankfully worked out. Then Monday came. You managed to catch the first KTX back to Seoul, arriving back at about 7AM.  Your eyes were burning, body aching from too many hours in a suit. You didn’t go home or change. You just made one stop - at the little flower shop where you bought Wonyoung flowers on your first dinner together. Then you headed straight to the studio, still holding your breath, hoping you weren’t too late. You two hadn’t texted each other since that day, but somewhere deep down in you, you knew you could still fix this. That it wasn’t too far gone yet. 

The studio smelled like fresh flowers and sweet coffee. Someone had opened the front windows just enough to let Seoul’s spring breeze in. Ribbons fluttered gently from the display hooks, soft music hummed under the murmur of guess. It was everything Wonyoung had dreamed about. Warm petals, clean decorations, the faint bite of lavender from the candle burning on the counter.

Outside, the signage Hyewon and Yena’d agonized over for months now hung proudly above the door. Below it, a small welcome table was already covered in business cards, pastries, and iced teas. Yena had overtaken the center table, buzzing and hyping every guest like she was getting commission. Hyewon stood behind the counter, managing receipts and trying not to fold every time someone complimented the bouquet wall. But you didn’t see Wonyoung out front. Her parents were. And then you decided to walk in. Still in your suit and tie. In your hands was a modest bouquet of the same flowers you bought her on your first dinner together. You bowed quickly to her parents. Her mother blinked in surprise before breaking into a warm smile. Her father pulled you into a hug without any hesitation. “You got back just in time.” he said quietly, patting you on the back. “Good.”

You nodded, too choked to respond. Yena then spotted you. She hurried over, eyes wide.

“Oppa?” she said, her voice made it sound like you weren’t real. “She’s in the back room. Wow… You really came.”

You smiled at her, barely, and walked toward the half open curtain that led to the room. Inside, Wonyoung stood by the prep table, arranging a handful of freesia into a narrow necked vase. 

Her hair was loose, falling in soft curls down her back. She wore a white satin dress - the one you swore made her look like she belonged on a magazine cover. The hem swayed lightly as she moved, brushing against her calves, elegant and effortless. She hadn’t heard you come in. You just stood there, admiring her for a moment. You then crossed the space between you and wrapped your arms around her. Wonyoung startled, tense under your touch then stilled. It only took her a second to realize it was you. Your scent, your arms, your heartbeat right against her spine. She didn’t pull away this time.

Wonyoung turned around slowly, fingers still damp from trimming stems. Her eyes met yours and held. You reached out, offering her the bouquet. The same flowers from your first dinner together, back when things were simple. Just slightly wilted. She hesitated for a second then took them without a word. Wonyoung held them to her chest like she wasn’t even thinking. Her body moved before her mind could catch up.

“I’m sorry, baby.” you said. “For everything. I didn’t text you the past few days… I was stupid for that. I made you feel like you weren’t important when you’re the only thing that’s ever felt certain to me.”

Her expression didn’t give away much. Her eyes flicked side to side, then back at you. Her tongue pressed to the side of her cheeks - once, then twice. That same little tic she had whenever she didn’t want to react too quickly. Wonyoung was taking her time, trying to stay composed. She still didn’t say anything but her fingers adjusted slightly on the bouquet, like she was holding it tighter. And then she spoke.

“You really came back.”

A pause. She smiled. It was small and tired, but it felt real after everything. You couldn’t help but also feel the corners of your lips twitching.

“I missed you, oppa.”

You opened your mouth to say something else. Maybe  another apology - one of many still stuck in your throat. But Wonyoung stepped forward instead. She reached up, fingers slipping around your tie and tugged you down gently and kissed you. And just like that, it was finally perfect again. It was enough. Your hands flew to her waist, pulling her in like you didn’t want to risk losing her again. Wonyoung laughed into the kiss, quiet and breathless, and you didn’t care how messy it was. Everything had been crashing down around you for weeks. But now, in this moment, it finally st-

“Hey…”

You both froze. 

Hyewon stood in the doorway, holding a tray of mini croissants, blinking slowly like her brain was still buffering. Her voice was casual, but her expressions were not. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. It was enough to confirm she saw everything.

“I was just…” she said, stepping further inside toward the guest snacks table. “Croissants. Yena said we were low.”

You and Wonyoung didn’t move. Still a little breathless. Still holding each other. Hyewon glanced over her shoulder.

“So you’re back, oppa.” she said, almost teasing. “Wonyoungie almost cried this morning.”

Wonyoung groaned softly, dropping her forehead to your chest. “Unnie…”

You felt her laugh against you. And you held her a little tighter.

You decided to stay for the rest of the day, even if she didn’t ask you to. You manned the cash box when Hyewon needed a break, helped Yena tie ribbons on bouquets - even when she bullied you for your ugly ties. You cleaned the floor when they got just a bit messy. You ran drinks to guests. You helped them fix the card reader when it suddenly didn’t work. Wonyoung didn’t say much but her eyes found you, often. A glance here. A smile there. Fingers brushing your arms as you two passed each other in the back room. It was easy again.

By the time the last guests left and her parents waved goodbye, Hyewon and Yena shoved the two of you out the door - citing ‘go refuel your love’ as the reason. The sun was already starting to dip behind the buildings. The air had cooled down. Her sandals clicked softly on the pavements as you two walked together home, steady and light. Suddenly, it felt like the whole of Seoul had gone quiet just for the two of you. Like two main characters in a rom-com, having the time of their lives down an empty street in New York - that kind of feeling. Everything golden, suspended, a little too perfect to be real. And yet, somehow, it was.

Wonyoung looked up at you, eyes a little tired but glowing in that way that only happened when she was truly happy.

“Oppa.” she said, squeezing your hand. “You looked weirdly domestic today. Like hot. In a husband kind of way.”

You laughed. “Weirdly? So I’m not hot on usual days?”

“Not in the using scissors and tying ribbons kind of way.” she shrugged and giggled.

“Okay… I see how it is. Me doing domestic labor does something to you, huh?”

“Kinda.” Wonyoung replied, trying to sound like she wasn’t very obviously flirting. “Might make you wear an apron everyday now, oppa. You never wear one when you cook.”

You stopped walking. Wonyoung turned to look at you, confused. “Huh?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you just leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist in one swift move.

“Ah- Oppa!” Wonyoung yelped, laughing as her feet left the ground. You spun her once, then tossed her lightly into the air, just enough to make her squeal and swat your shoulder midair. She landed back in your arms with a thud against your chest, breathless and giggling.

“You’re insane, oppa!” she gasped.

“You started it, Wonyoung-ah.” you said, holding her tighter, forehead pressed against hers. Wonyoung couldn’t stop giggling now, her laughter echoing down the street like something from a dream. And in that moment, you didn’t care about anything but her.

A couple walked past on the other side of the street - maybe teenagers or in their early twenties, holding hands, sipping from a shared cup. The girl nudged her boyfriend, who glanced over and smiled.

“Joonhyuk-ah, that’s so cute.” the girl said.

“Yeah, they look happy.”

You heard it. So did Wonyoung. She groaned into your chest, smiling. “Oppa…”

You grinned, kissing the top of her head. 

“Let them watch, baby.”

But just as you started walking again, the guy across the street stopped.

“Hold the cup, Asa-ah.” he said.

Wonyoung peeked over your shoulder, confused - until the girl let out a squeal. The guy had scooped her up, threw her in the air and shouted-

“I LOVE YOU, ENAMI ASA!”

Right there. On a public street. No hesitation. The girl shrieked and hit him playfully, both happy and terrified while still clinging to his shoulders.

“YAH!! Are you crazy, Seo Joonhyuk?” 

“YES.” he yelled back, throwing her in the air lightly again. “I’m crazy in love with you!!”

You and Wonyoung just stood there. Stunned and silenced. And then, you both burst into laughter. It was the full body, bent over kind of laughing. Wonyoung clutched your arm, trying to stay up right. 

“I can’t- I ca- breathe, oppa.”

“This is crazy.”

“You did that, oppa.”

You looked at each other, grinning like two fools and totally in awe of the ridiculousness of it all. And something about it - the moment, the absurdity, the beautiful display of love on a Seoul street - just made the world feel like a better place. Happier. Wonyoung reached for your hand again.

“We should do that again next time, oppa.”

“Oh yeah? You want me to yeet you into the air while screaming my love for you in the middle of Gangnam next time?”

“Might be hot.” she smirked.

You squeezed her hand. “Noted, baby.”

The two of you kept walking - hearts full, steps in sync, caught up in a rom-com that didn’t need cameras or scripts to feel alive.

 ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The next few weeks passed in a quiet rhythm you both learned to cherish. Wonyoung steadily settled into her new job. There were bad days - long ones, exhausting ones - but she was getting stronger. More sure of herself. 

And you?

You prepped for the last exam like your life depended on it. Late nights, early mornings, scribbled drawings were everywhere on your desk. Wonyoung stayed patient with her quiet support, sometimes sliding a cup of tea onto your desk or falling asleep beside you with a book open on her chest. Then the day finally came.

Exam day. 

You walked into that building with your stomach in knots and your brain already aching, but you did it. You finally got through it all. And when you walked out - shoulders sore, nerves fried, tie loosened around your neck - she was there.

Wonyoung.

In the brightest little dress you’d ever seen, like she had bottled sunlight and poured it all into her dress. A pearly cream dress embroidered with clouds, a curved moon and a sun, hugging her figure like it was made for her. In one hand, she held a bouquet - you weren’t lucid enough after the grueling exam to name a single kind of flower, but in your haze, you could tell Wonyoung made sure they had to match with her outfit. From the wrapping paper to the color palette. She made it herself. You could tell. You blinked hard, overwhelmed.

What would I do without you, baby?

Wonyoung stepped forward without saying anything at first. She just held the bouquet out with both hands, smiling softly like this was what she'd been waiting to do all day. You took it with trembling hands, eyes still locked on the most beautiful woman in the world.

“Congratulations on surviving, oppa.” she said gently. “You did so well!”

Before you could answer, before you could think, Wonyoung leaned in to kiss you. Right there. Outside the exam center. On the pavement where other examinees were dragging their feet and chugging vending machines coffee. For a second, you forgot how drained your body was. You forgot the test, the future, the stress. All you knew was her. When Wonyoung pulled back, your brain was completely blank, except for her. You heard some groan passing by.

“Fuck, even his girlfriend is hot?”

Another guy muttered under his breath. “I just bombed that test and now I gotta watch this shit.”

You couldn’t help it - you laughed. Louder than you meant to and quite shameless. Yeah, architect life was brutal*. Yeah, you were pretty sure your soul was still in that room. But even somehow, even in all that mess, you got lucky.

Real lucky.

*Shout out to all my architect readers (there seems to be more than I think lol)

Wonyoung then gave your tie one last gentle tug to fix it, then pulled back with a gleam in her eye. 

“Let’s go, oppa.” she said, sliding her arm around yours. “I booked dinner at SIGNIEL Seoul.”

She smirked. “81st floor. Window view.”

Your jaw dropped. 

“Is that why you insisted I wear my nicest suit and drive here instead of taking a taxi this morning?”

“Mm hmm.” she said sweetly, already dragging you toward the parking lot. “I wasn’t about to let you stumble into luxury looking like a zombie, oppa.”

You laughed, still dizzy from the kiss. “I don’t deserve you, baby.”

“Correct.” Wonyoung replied quickly. “But you do try really hard, oppa. So I love you a lot.”

Dinner there was something else, like a dream. The restaurant was perched high above the city, everything seemed like a living painting. Seoul glittered below, endless and golden. You barely made it to the table. The second you sat down, Wonyoung leaned over to unclip your tie and pour you water like she’d done this a hundred times. She liked taking care of you but… tonight felt nicer somehow. She then pushed the menu toward you gently.

“You’re allowed to order more than one thing tonight, oppa.” she said. “Or, you know, everything.”

You laughed. 

“You earned it.”

You hadn’t even realized how tired you looked until Wonyoung reached across the table to fix your hair - smoothing the strands on top. She couldn’t help herself after all.

“You look good in dress shirts, oppa.” she added, voice low. “Even when you look half dead.”

You laughed again. “I might cry into this steak tonight. baby.”

“That’s fine.” she said, flipping through her own menu. “Steak’s a good choice. Nice to know you still know what I like even after that grueling test, oppa.”

You leaned your cheek into your hand, watching Wonyoung like she was the only person left on earth.

“Wonyoung-ah. What would I do without you?”

She didn’t look up and just smiled. She clearly knew. 

“Probably forget to eat and wear ugly socks to work.”

The rest of dinner felt like falling in love again. The kind of love that was warm, steady or constant. Everything felt too nice, too expensive, too magical for someone who’d spent the last month drowning in architecture license exam stress. Wonyoung was glowing across from you. In that effortless way she always did when she was doing something she loved. And tonight? That thing might be dinner with you. She made you drink water every ten minutes. She cut your steak when your wrist looked like it might give out. She made you take photos together at the table, saying “You’ll thank me later, oppa” while resting her chin on your shoulder as the waiter snapped a few pictures. When desserts came - two little cakes, with ‘congrats oppa’ scribbled in chocolate - she clapped like you’d won the lottery. You watched her eyes light up with every bite, every teasing remark. You listened to her talk about the studio, about how Yena dropped a vase and blamed the wind… Wonyoung filled in every space you hadn’t realized had gone quiet in your chest lately.

After dessert, you leaned back in your chair. You were already imagining crawling into your bed the second you got home. But then, Wonyoung stood up and tugged at your hand.

“C’mon, oppa.” she smiled. “Let’s go to the rooftop. I want to show you something.”

“Rooftop?”

“It’s pretty. Trust me.” she nodded, tugging you toward the elevators.

And of course you did. So you followed her - up, up, past many floors, through the hallway that got quieter and fancier the higher you went up. You noticed her pace change when the elevator hit the hotel suite level. That little bounce in her step. The way Wonyoung bit her lip to hide a smile.

“Wait, baby. This isn’t the rooftop.”

She stopped in front of a sleek white door and pulled out a keycard from her purse. You were shocked.

“No way…”

Wonyoung beamed as she tapped the card and swung the door open. Inside? A suite. A ridiculously beautiful, corner window, high ceiling, imported soft bed kind of suite. You could see the whole city from here, even the Han river looked like it was twinkling for the two of you.

“Wonyoung-ah, you booked a room for this?” you spun around to look at her. 

Wonyoung didn’t answer you right away. Instead, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pressing her cheek to your chest. You felt her heartbeat, calm and steady. She looked up at you.

“Do you remember our first dinner, when we just got back from Hong Kong?” she asked.

You blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“After dinner, we went to my house.”

You nodded slowly. “Right…”

She smiled. “When you left, I kissed you twice. On the cheeks, right oppa?”

You chuckled. “Yeah. And I tried to kiss you on the lips.”

Her brows lifted, lips pouting as if she were saying ‘exactly’. 

“I stopped you.” Wonyoung said softly, pulling back just enough to look at you properly. 

“And I told you to wait your turn.”

“...Baby, are you suggestin-”

“Shh, oppa.” she reached up and placed her finger on your lips. Her voice was steady.

“We’ve been together for almost a year. And this is my first relationship and… everything, I guess. So I was scared at first. I didn’t know how to open up like that - physically, emotionally, all of it.”

You stayed quiet and listened.

“But you never rushed me, oppa. You always respected what I needed. You held me when I cried, stood by me when I was at my worst. You made me feel safe and loved.”

Her eyes didn’t waver.

“And now I’m ready, oppa. I want to be with you tonight. Not because I owe it to you. Because I love you. And I trust you.”

You just stood there, stunned and overwhelmed and so, so in love. Then finally you nodded.

“I love you, Wonyoungie.” you whispered. “More than anything.”

Before you could even say anything else, Wonyoung kissed you - soft at first, then deeper, hungrier until you were stumbling backward and falling onto the bed with her following right after. She crawled into your lap, hands sliding up to unbutton your shirt with a confidence that made your breath catch. Even in this dream-like state, you pulled back just a little, fingers brushing her wrist.

“Wait… do you have protection, baby?” you asked, voice low. Wonyoung didn’t answer as she reached over, opened the drawer on the bedside table and pointed inside. Your heart did a full somersault. You looked at her - flushed, glowing, eyes locked on yours.

“Why are you acting so confident if this is your first time?” you smirked, raising a brow. 

That got her.

Wonyoung’s face twitched as she darted her eyes to the side for a second before she tried to recover. 

“I don’t know…” she mumbled, slurring her words. “I guess-”

She didn’t get to finish. You flipped her over smoothly, catching the soft gasp that left her lips as her back hit the mattress.

“I got it from here.” you murmured, leaning down. Her fingers dug into your shirt, breath hitching as your hand slid against her waist. That was it, the moment everything melted away. 

Just the two of you, finally meeting in the middle. 

No more waiting.

Just love - messy, honest and overwhelming love.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

The next morning, the sun filtered in slowly and hazy through the curtains, shining softly on the sheets. Seoul was still quiet this high up, everything was just a hum below you. Your eyes opened to the sight of her bare shoulder, warm against your chest, fingers still resting where they fell sometime during the night. You almost didn’t want to move. That would ruin everything.

I could get used to this…

Then Wonyoung stirred, her voice muffled against your skin.

“You were… something last night, oppa.”

You let out a quiet laugh, arm tightening around her waist.

“You say that like I wrestled you.”

“You kind of did, you monster.” she teased, voice raspy. “And you’re lucky I let you.”

You glanced down at Wonyoung, strands of her hair splayed across the pillow, that flush still lingering on her chubby morning cheeks.

“Lucky, huh?”

She nodded sleepily. “Mm. One wrong move and I would’ve sent you back to that exam room, oppa.”

You laughed under your breath, hand moving to play with her cheeks. 

“Was I too… rough on you last night?”

Her eyes cracked open just slightly. “Uh… a little.”

“Baby-” your smile faltered.

“But in a good way.” Wonyoung cut in, grinning lazily as she snuggled closer. “Don’t get all guilty on me now, oppa.”

“Okay, just checking.” you let out a breath, relieved.

She hummed. Then after a minute, she said.

“You’re now required by law to take care of me for life, oppa.”

You just laughed. “What law?”

“Mine.” she mumbled, poking your bare chest. “No backing down now, Han Haejoon. That was… a legally blinding act of love last night.”

You laughed again, this time so hard it even shook Wonyoung a bit. 

“What logic is this, judge Jang?”

“Shh.” she yawned, pulling the blanket higher. “I don’t make the rule, oppa. Now take care of me. You are now sentenced to be by my side for life.”

And with that, Wonyoung tucked herself fully against your chest, already drifting again. This girl had just sentenced you to the best punishment ever and went straight to sleep.

“Guilty.” you whispered.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

You didn’t even get the chance to check your exam results first. Wonyoung found out before you did. She barged into your work space with her phone, yelling “Oppa, you passed!” while shoving the screen to your face. You were still processing the word PASS when she started crying, already on the phone with her parents to break the news like she’d been the one who took the test and became a licensed architect. Then, she even called your parents, beaming while she shoved the phone into your hand. From that day on, life got… better.

Her floral studio kept growing. You, now finally a licensed architect, had a steady and growing career at the studio. There were nights you came home too tired to even talk, mornings you overslept together and laughed through the chaos. But you built a rhythm - coffee in the morning, bickering in the grocery aisles, late night delivery food while she wrapped orders on the floor while you revised designs on your tablet. You fought sometimes. Of course, life had to happen. But it was over dumb things and never stuck. You two loved harder, apologized faster and made time for each other.

Two years passed like that. Not fireworks everyday but something much steadier. Real love. A relationship that made room for both of you to grow. And then one night, you looked over at Wonyoung - wearing an oversized hoodie, folding pamphlets for a wedding fair, nose scrunching as she was hyper focused - and something inside you just clicked. You weren’t getting any younger, and honestly, it also felt like the right thing to do. Obvious, even.

You were going to propose.

You wanted to get married. 

You would go to Wonyoung’s parents’ house alone, without her, to ask for their permission to propose to her and spend the rest of your life with her.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

Her dad set his teacup down gently, the soft click echoing throughout the spacious living room. You sat straight, knees politely together, heart pounding. The living room was cozy, warm with afternoon light. Her dad looked at you for a long moment. 

“So, Haejoon-ah.” he said finally, voice low. “You want our permission to propose to our Wonyoung and be our son-in-law?”

You nodded slowly, hands resting on your knees.

“Yes, abeonim. I’ve loved Wonyoung for a very long time. I really appreciate you guys treating me like I was part of your family whenever I come to visit or stay with her. That means a lot to me. You guys know how I treat and treasure Wonyoung. And… I want to spend the rest of my life with Wonyoung - with your blessing.”

There was a soft pause before her mom came to your side. She crossed the expensive looking table in seconds and wrapped her arms around you from the side, pulling you into a tight hug. Her voice cracked right beside your ear.

“Oh, Haejoon-ah. Of course. Of course.” she pulled back to look at you, eyes glassy. “You’ve always been family to us. I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long. Please propose quickly, hmm? I can’t wait anymore. I’ve been dreaming about grandchildren since you two started dating.”

You let out a breathy laugh, heart so full it almost hurt. Her dad shook his head fondly.

“She’s serious, you know.” he said, smiling. “She already showed me baby hanboks the other day.”

You bowed your head, eyes burning in the best way.

“Thank you, abeonim. Eomeonim. I promise I will try my best.”

Her mom nodded through a sniffle. Her dad raised his tea cup one more time.

“Well then.” he said. “It’s time you start planning something special. Our daughter deserves nothing less.”

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon. Rain tapped softly against the windows, and Wonyoung had just curled up on the couch. Her hair tied back, no makeup - just warm and cozy, tucked against the armrest with her legs folded up like a cat. You’d bought the ring a month ago. You had it hidden in the back of your drawer behind an old architecture model. You’d check it every few days like it might disappear if you didn’t. 

Well, today felt right.

So you sat beside Wonyoung with your sketchbook in your lap, pretending to flip through it. She glanced at you lazily, eyes still soft from a nap.

“Can you look at something for me real quick, baby?” you asked, keeping it casual. “New sketch idea.”

“I’ll be brutal, oppa. Don’t cry.” she teased.

She reached for the sketchbook with no hesitation, resting it across her knees. Wonyoung flipped open the cover, expecting blueprints. Concepts. Another half finished draft of whatever you’d been obsessing over this week.

But instead, Wonyoung found herself. 

A pencil drawing of Wonyoung in the kitchen, arms elbow deep in a flower bucket. Her hair was messily tied up. The caption scribbled at the bottom said.

First week moving into her apartment, she was a bit mad that I got some water on her ribbon.

She blinked, confused but still turned the page. Then another drawing.

Wonyoung standing in the back room at her floral studio, doing her things. You still remembered that scene like it was yesterday.

She didn’t know I would come back that early. She didn’t know how hard I ran.

Page after page, it kept going. Small moments. Big ones. Her asleep on your chest. Her on the floor, giggling after your little play fights. Her waiting for you after your last exam in her dress, holding the flowers she arranged herself.

Then came the last page. You, kneeling on the ground.

Sketchbook-you had one hand extended, a ring box open in the center of the page. Below it, in your neatest, straightest hand drawn typography.

Will you marry me, Jang Wonyoung?

Wonyoung stared at the page for a moment, frozen. Then she looked to the side. You were on one knee, for real this time as you held out the box you’d been hiding for a month. You had been gathering up courage for a month now. Her eyes widened. One hand flew to her mouth, the other still gripping the sketchbook like it could steady her. Her chest rose and fell, shaky. You held the box a little tighter now, heart pounding so loud it felt like it filled the room.

“Wonyoung-ah” you said, voice trembling. “Will you marry me?”

Wonyoung let out a choked laugh, a mix of joy and disbelief, and set the sketchbook aside with her shaking hands. She leaned down and crawled toward you on her knees, t-shirt slipping off one shoulder.

“Are you serious, oppa?” she whispered, eyes glossy, a grin breaking through her stunned expression.

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life.” you nodded.

And then she was in your arms - hugging you so tightly the box almost slipped from your hand. Her face was tucked into your neck, shoulders trembling.

“Yes, oppa…” she said. “Yes, oppa. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

Life was crazy. Love came at you fast. You didn’t know what to expect. Still, you wouldn’t change it for anything. 

From a heartbroken man in Hong Kong to a married licensed architect. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

The first morning of your honeymoon came fast too. You woke up slowly, eyes adjusting to soft golden sunlight. The bed was so soft. For a few seconds, you just lay there - staring at the ceiling, heart full, body aching in a good way, wondering how the hell life got you here. And you turned your head toward the couch.

There your wife was.

Wonyoung, curled up on the window side couch in a fluffy robe, hair twisted up in a towel, legs tucked under as she held a small glass of fruit in one hand, nibbling casually. The city behind her didn’t mean anything to you now, it was just there to emphasize her beauty. She looked so good your heart didn’t know how to feel anymore.

“Morning, husband.” Wonyoung said with a grin, biting into a strawberry and raising her brow like she’d caught you in a crime scene. Her voice was warm and low. “Sleep okay?”

You laughed, still a little breathless from everything. From her. From last night. From the fact that this was all real - that you really got to call Wonyoung your wife now. The world kept moving but you felt like time had stopped in this hotel room. Wonyoung, in that sunlight, in that robe, looking at you since you were her future, her ending. The one you’d been fighting for, hurting for, working for.

You finally got Wonyoung.

You married Wonyoung.

And every version of you - the stressed architect, the deep in love boyfriend, the guy who almost lost her on the floral studio opening day - all dreamt of this moment. 

Hey, you made it.

The blueprints weren’t done. Not even close.

But they had never felt more complete. 

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ 

the series finally ended... idk how to feel lol. hope u guys enjoyed it. my 2nd series in just 2 months. crazy!! shout out to all my architects again!!! i giggled a lot writing it lol

[threetone3]

What We Don’t Say Chapter 2: Kang Haerin from Arae

previous | next

Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom, kpop idol x male oc

Words: 3.1k

Chapter 2

“You’re a celebrity, huh?”

In which Jay gets to know the cat girl who stares at him in a good way… according to him, at least. 

Lee Hyunjae

Sometimes I wonder if I did something in my past life to offend the bald-headed demon in our school. 

Relax, I’m just joking… kind of. 

Who am I referring to? Take a wild guess. Not a day goes by that I don’t cross paths with him, and without fail, he always has something to say.

“Your hair’s getting too long, Lee Hyunjae. Cut it by tomorrow.” 

“Where’s your tie, Hyunjae? It’s part of your school uniform, put it back on now.” 

“How many times is that now? This is the third consecutive week where you’ve been late every single day.” 

Okay, maybe some of those comments were warranted. I’m not exactly winning “Model Student of the Year.” But even when he’s nagging me about my earrings or the sweatpants I sneak into uniform rotation (they’re just so much more comfortable), I know Mr. Choi’s just doing his job. A little too enthusiastically, maybe — but it’s not like he actually hates me. In fact, if I’m being honest, I think he might be one of the only adults in this school who actually gives a shit. Case in point — just a few seconds ago: “A minute late to school, as usual,” he sighed, already eyeing my outfit.

He went straight for the ear check. “Earrings. Again. That’s your fifth strike this week, and it’s only Wednesday. You trying to break your own record, Lee Hyunjae?” Classic Mr. Choi. Equal parts exasperation and sarcasm. 

A few other latecomers around us snickered under their breath. I rolled my eyes instinctively and brushed them off — people love to talk when they don’t know anything. I’ve learned to let it slide. Words don’t sting as much when you’re used to hearing worse at home. 

As I scanned the school grounds, my eyes caught a glimpse of a familiar girl pointing in my direction where I was standing. My close friend and the resident ray of sunshine in the school, Danielle Marsh, was with a not-so-familiar girl next to her. I waved at Danielle before she finally noticed me. 

“Third time this week?” she called. Wow, so I really am only known in this school for my demerit record, huh. 

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” I responded, referring to the motorcycle I bought with the money my mom left me, because I loved the feeling of riding into the wild with no destination in mind. Well, I worked a part-time job on weekends, so the purchase was worthwhile anyway. 

I noticed the other girl staring at me. I couldn’t really tell from a distance, but it almost looked like she was meticulous with her blinking, in a slow, perceptive, calculating manner, almost like a…cat? It seemed like a ridiculous comparison, but the more I took notice of her features, the more I could see the similarities. 

I saw her turn around and exchange a few words with Danielle, who responded with her signature hearty laugh. Looks like they were hitting it off. 

“Quit staring and get moving to class, Hyunjae. You’re already 5 minutes late.” I looked around, realising that all the other latecomers had already left for period 1. 

As I grumbled and started walking towards my homeroom, a hand grabbed my arm, and I turned to face a worried-looking Mr Choi, an expression I’d already gotten used to from him. 

“Wait, Jay.” 

Oh shit, even his tone was more concerned than usual. 

“If you’re still having problems at home, please reach out. You and I both know what he’s like when he drinks.”

I snorted. “When isn’t he? These days, I think he’s spared more glances at bottles of soju than Hyein, and she’s literally always at home.” 

Mr. Choi sighed again, more defeated than ever. “God knows what happened after graduation… That accident must’ve changed him. Anyway, keep your chin up and look after your sister. It’s what your mother would’ve wanted.”

With one final nod, he turned and walked back toward the front office. I stood there for a second longer, watching him go. 

Mr. Choi and my parents went way back. They all went to the same college, and from what I heard, my mom used to copy his notes in every class. It’s funny, really — he’s probably been scolding me since before I was even born. 

As I made my way towards my homeroom, I noticed Danielle taking the cat girl to the field. ‘Ah, she must be the new transfer,’ I thought to myself as I recalled Mrs Baek mentioning one. The way she stared at me just now intrigued me. Not to toot my own horn, but a lot of people in this school stare at me. Hoobaes staring in admiration, guys that stare tentatively in wary, or teachers with their judgmental, watchful eyes that constantly kept me on my tiptoes. I hated it. Movies always describe the popular kid as someone who basks in the attention, relishing in the glory, but I just didn’t get it. 

To me, attention came with strings. Expectations. Labels. The way they stared as if they weren’t looking at me, but at a version of myself that I didn’t want to be. The constant whispering, the assumptions—they were just exhausting. 

So when the cat girl looked at me like that, like she was trying to figure something out, I didn’t quite know how to feel. There wasn’t fear or admiration in her eyes. It was more like curiosity. Calm, steady curiosity, like she was watching a puzzle solve itself.

And most of all, it didn’t make me uncomfortable—quite the opposite.

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

The first thing I heard when I slid open the door and stepped into the classroom was yet another heavy sigh. 

“Lee Hyunjae, if you miss any more lessons, not even the student council president will be able to help you with your grades. Minji-ssi has many other pressing matters to attend to. You might as well kiss your graduation certificate goodbye at that point.” 

Mrs. Baek didn’t even look up from the attendance sheet. She just pointed to my empty seat at the back and scribbled something down — probably another late mark. I gave her a lazy salute, which earned a glare from Minji, seated at the front of the class, who was already diligently colour-coding her notes. 

Of course she was.

Minji’s always been the “get-things-done” type. If I were a storm, she’d be the emergency drill plan taped to the wall: efficient, serious, a little too sharp around the edges. We’ve known each other since middle school; in fact, we even used to be neighbours. 

We used to know everything about each other, but these days, we barely even talk. She’s busy, I know, what with all the student president business or whatever. Not to mention, she has a crazy mom who starts going batshit crazy whenever she places anything below 1st place on the termly exams. 

But I miss how close we used to be.

I still feel responsible for her, a promise I made to her dad when she moved next door. God, I miss the moments I had with her family as well. Spending time at hers allowed me to forget about my actual one back home. 

Of course, she does have Hanni now, her girlfriend of 2 years. They’re great and all, and I don’t want to impose, but I do feel like if I were to start drifting away from Minji even more, I at least want a bit more closure. 

“Don’t let Jay’s tardiness distract you from your grades, class. Back to page 47. There’s gonna be a pop quiz after we finish this topic as well.” Mrs. Baek announced to the class, eliciting groans and moans that grumbled across the classroom. 

I let my chin fall into my palm and stared blankly at the board. Five minutes into the lesson and I was already zoning out. Studying just wasn’t my thing. 

By the time Mrs. Baek flipped to the next slide, I had already made my decision.

I raised my hand. “Can I go to the bathroom?” 

She didn’t even blink. “Five minutes. If you’re gone longer than that, I’m sending Minji to drag you back.” 

Behind me, Minji raised her arm. “Sorry Mrs Baek, but I actually have a council meeting, like… now.” Mrs. Baek finally looked up and took off her glasses. “Oh, I see. Go ahead then.” Then to me, with a glare: “Lucky you, Hyunjae. But longer than five minutes and your detention will be a hundred times longer.” 

At that, I slid out of my seat, shoved my hands in my pockets, and strolled out into the hall, slightly trailing behind Minji, though she went her separate way, probably to the library where the student council held their meetings.

Slipping out of class, with or without permission, had become the daily norm for me. Most of the time, teachers don’t even realise that I’m gone after a few minutes, so I started making use of it. Sometimes I’d go to the gym and hit the bags, or go to my spot and clear my mind. Or I’d sneak downstairs and spy on my little sister, just to make sure that no creepy hoobaes were bothering her. 

You might think I’m a little weird and possessive for doing that, maybe, but I’m genuinely just concerned. Hyein’s all I have, and I just can’t risk losing her. Besides, Mom made me promise to take care of her, and that’s an oath I never intend to break.

“Jay! There you are.” I turned at the sound of Danielle’s voice and found her jogging up with the transfer girl trailing behind her. She was holding a clipboard, half her hair falling out of its ponytail.

‘Huh, that’s the third time I’ve seen them just this morning.’ I brushed that thought off as I focused on Danielle, who looked like she was panicking to the point of explosion.

“I was just about to come looking for you,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I was showing Haerin around, but I totally forgot I have to be at the student council meeting like… now. You know how Minji gets when people are late. Could you take her to the homeroom building for me? It’s the last stop, promise!” 

I looked at her incredulously, “Wait wait wait, that’s it? You’re dumping the new transfer onto me? I’m supposed to have my quiet time now.” I was half-joking, but Danielle’s exasperated look and the cat girl’s unreadable stare made me realise the joke didn’t land.

“Come on, Jay. I’m gonna be late. Help me out just once. I’ll make sure Pham doesn’t bother you with her weird Rocky Balboa impressions whenever you come over during our practice for at least a week.” Danielle was practically begging with pleading eyes. 

“Enticing offer… I’m in. You better hold up your end of the stick, though.” I responded, though really, I genuinely wanted to save Danielle from Minji’s wrath. That girl could really bite your ear off if she wanted to, no boxing reference intended. 

“No problemo, and thanks, Jay. Here, this is Haerin. Haerin, this is Jay, the guy with the earrings you asked about. Jay, try not to corrupt her too fast, please. She’s one of the good ones.” Without another word, Danielle almost glided in the direction of the library. 

“Wow, Minji really has these student council members on a leash, huh?” I glanced at the cat girl, whose name I now knew. The only response I received was a blank stare, the same one I received a while ago when I was standing with my fellow latecomers. She even started blinking slowly, in that same calm, unreadable manner. I was beginning to think it wasn’t just a coincidence.

“Uh... right,” I scratched the back of my neck. I swear I could hear the crickets chirping in the awkward silence. “Guess we better head to homeroom, then.” Still no response, not even the slightest nod. 

“Okay,” I muttered under my breath. “So you’re the quiet type. Cool cool cool, love that for me. Um, do you know which homeroom you’re in?” 

“3-1. Mrs Baek Seong Ja.” 

There it is. I finally managed to hear her voice, though the answer wasn’t what I was looking for, as I cursed under my breath. 

“Shit, you’re in the same homeroom as me.” This was bad; my five minutes were basically up already. “Well, scrap this then, I can’t take you there. Erm, let’s freestyle instead. We’ll go to my favourite spots in school, I’m sure you’ll love them.” 

This finally seemed to form a crack in Haerin’s expression, as for once, she looked just the slightest bit intrigued. 

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊

“So, uh, Haerin-ssi, right?” I tried my best to make small talk as I brought her along the corridor that led to the boxing gym. I was forcing myself to change my social behaviour just to fit her vibe; I even slowed down my footsteps to make it seem like I wasn’t just dragging her along on this school tour. 

She nodded in response, then halted her steps and looked at me again. ‘There’s that weird stare… she looks like she’s expecting something from me,” I thought to myself. “Is there something you wanna ask—” 

A loud gasp interrupted me. “Holy shit, aren’t you Kang Haerin? From Arae Tuition?”

A short, chubby hoobae with a bowl cut stared at her in awe. “Oh my god, you are her! I see your posters all the time after school at Arae for math!” He fished out his phone and, rudely, snapped a picture before taking off.

I turned to look at Haerin, expecting to see a happy expression on her face for once, since someone recognised her, but instead I was met with one that seemed even colder than the one she usually wore. 

And of course, because of my amazingly timed humour, I just had to crack a joke then. 

“You’re a celebrity, huh? Sign here, please?”

Of course, it landed just as well as you probably expected. I wasn’t hoping for a reaction, but again, she just stared at me. This time though, she almost had a curious look on her face. 

“You don’t recognise me?” She finally spoke for what felt like the first or second time since I officially met her. 

“No, not really. Am I supposed to?” I didn’t know how to feel. Was she one of those uber-popular influencers on social media or something? The kid just now mentioned something about a tuition centre, though, so probably not. “Sorry, I don’t really go for hagwon. I don’t know who you are.” 

Relief thoroughly washed over her face. “No, no, it's fine. It’s better for me that you don’t, actually.” 

I don’t know why, but that sentence evoked a feeling in me. A weird kind of feeling; it was like a flicker. A subtle pulse of recognition. Not of her name, or face, or whatever Arae Tuition poster she might’ve been on, but of the feeling behind her words.

That sense of wanting to go unnoticed. To not be known for the wrong things. To walk into a room and just be, without people already deciding who you are before you even say a word.

Yeah. I knew that feeling.

So I didn’t say anything back for a moment. Just kept walking beside her in silence. She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, for the first time since I met her, her steps fell in sync with mine. Still quiet, still cat-like in her movements, but a little less guarded now. Like maybe I wasn’t a threat. Like maybe I didn’t need to be shut out entirely.

“You don’t like being recognised?” I asked eventually, keeping my voice low.

She looked down at her shoes, then ahead again. “Not like that.”

“Like how then?”

She didn’t answer immediately. I almost thought she wouldn’t at all — until she said, “I want to be known, not remembered.”

I slowed down without even thinking. “…What’s the difference?”

She finally looked up at me. Not blinking slowly this time, not observing. Just… looking. “Being remembered means they’ve decided who you are. Being known means they’re still listening.”

That quieted me more than it should’ve. For a second, I forgot I was supposed to be skipping class. Forgot about Mr. Choi’s warnings, Mrs. Baek’s threats or even Minji’s glare from earlier. I just kept staring at her, this girl who didn’t smile, didn’t flinch, didn’t say much — but who somehow made more sense to me than most people did. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I get it. People stare like they’re only seeing the outer shell I built. No one sees the real me. Maybe it’s the same for you.”

Haerin looked up at me and opened her mouth to speak before pausing, like she was contemplating whether to open up or not. 

“You can tell me anything, your secret’s safe with me,” I said with a wink, before immediately cringing inwardly. 

It seemed to work, though, as Haerin finally began to speak up.

“My mom, she… She doesn’t see me for who I am. I think to her, all I am is just a machine—a robot that’s able to help her boost her brand. It’s been like that my entire life. She’s been sending me to study at cram school since I could talk, and now it’s all I can do. Regurgitate information on a piece of paper.” 

I didn’t know what to say at first. There was a heaviness in her voice — not sadness exactly, but something duller. Like it had been worn down over time, sanded smooth from too many years of being unheard. 

“And the worst thing is, it’s the same for everyone. They only know ‘Kang Haerin from Arae’.” She gave a small, humourless huff through her nose. “It is what it is, though.” 

In the heat of the moment, I blurted my inner thoughts out without thinking. 

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I have the privilege of not knowing her. Kang Haerin from Arae, I mean. To me, you’re some weird cat girl who could probably go undefeated in a staring contest tournament. And that’s who I’m interested in learning more about.” 

For a moment, I wasn’t sure how she’d take it — but then she let out a sound. A laugh, a real one this time. It was a combination of a snort and a chuckle, small but genuine. 

And for someone like her, that was the loudest thing in the world.

Sorry bout the delay, I was kinda in a dilemma on whether I should switch perspectives throughout writing this chapter. Here it is, hope you guys enjoyed it, please leave comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉 Any questions about how the story is going to progress are welcome as well, I'd love to share my thought process when writing with you guys.

[threetone3]

wow, and it hasn’t even been a week since I started this blog, thank you everyone 🙏

chapter 2 is dropping real soon, in an hour maybe lol

it took me a while to finish it, I really struggled with the flow for about 3 days before finally deciding to lock in and finish it by today

hope yall enjoy chapter 2 and more to come 😸

[threetone3]

Omg I LOVED Chapter 1 😽 Hopefully more cute daerin moments to come!!! Once again thank you for dropping this BLESSING of a fic

thank you 😭

asks like these got my kicking my feet in the air HAHA

thanks for reading 🫶 there’s gonna be more Daerin interactions for sure so stay tuned for chapter 2 everyone 😋

[threetone3]

loved chapter 1, wanted to ask if you’re only going to be focusing on this series or if you’re open to writing one shots from requests as well, also keep up the good work 👍

holy shit, thank you for being my first ask ever 🙀🤭🫶

to answer your question, this is definitely going to be my main series for a while, i’ve spent quite a while planning this story so i’m definitely gonna be quite serious about it

and as for one shot requests, i’m definitely open to anything as long as i have the time, please do feel free to put in requests or asks like these cuz i’m always looking to improve through different perspectives and opinions on my works

lots of love to everyone who has read chapter 1 so far, i hope to improve and bring you more enjoyment with every next chapter i write 😼

and while you wait for chapter 2, here’s haerin for ya

[threetone3]

okay, this is kinda insane…

every notification i’ve received over the past two days has brought a smile to my face, it really does mean a lot to me 🤧

thanks to everyone for interacting with my story, i’m working on chapter 2 right now and hopefully it’ll come out by tomorrow, stay tuned 🤭

[threetone3]

omg indeed…

huge huge huge thanks to @wonyology for reblogging and helping my story reach more people 🫶 you’re a real one 🙏

and thank you to everyone who interacted with my story, it gives me motivation to improve and work on my series even more

here’s the first chapter of my main project if you guys wanna check it out and leave your thoughts on it 😙

[threetone3]

What We Don't Say Chapter 1: Adventure Is Out There

previous | next

Kang Haerin x Male OC

Tags: fluff, angst, slowburn, romcom

Words: 2.4k

What We Don’t Say: 

Everyone holds their secrets, and everyone has things they don’t share. As friendships form and feelings grow, secrets begin to unravel. And sometimes, the most complicated things aren’t what we say; it’s what we don’t.

Chapter 1

“You’re that hagwon girl, right?” In which Kang Haerin starts a new school after everything falls apart—and meets a bubbly Aussie girl who decides she's going to fix it all. Or at least make her watch Up.

Kang Haerin

I was a few months into my third year in high school when my dad lost his job due to taking bribes, and we had to compensate for it by relocating to a completely different district so that he could find new work. I know it sounds harsh, but thanks to him, I had to transfer to a different school in my senior year—something that might ruin my chances of getting into my dream university. But whatever. What’s done is done. 

As the day I’d been dreading approached, I couldn't shake off the feeling of unease. The thought of starting at a new school filled me with a mix of anxiety and uncertainty, maybe just a slight twinge of anticipation as well. The conversation I had on the phone last night, with words of confirmation and reassurance from my best friend, came drifting back.

"Don't worry, you'll be completely fine there. You're Kang Haerin—straight-A student, vice president of the student council, and last year you received a record-breaking 87 confession letters on Valentine's Day, yet somehow you managed to reject every single one of them. I think you’re gonna be just fine, girl."

Ban Heesoo. Some would describe her as comic relief; the weird girl with the giggly and loud personality in class, perpetually cracking her jokes and being the only person who would laugh at them with her weird guffaws. But to me, she was my trustworthy partner in crime, the only one who understood me and the only friend I ever made. I couldn’t help but let out a little giggle at her words. It was indescribable; she would say things that always managed to make me feel better about myself, but she never made any requests in return. Our relationship dynamic was almost like she was my therapist, and I was her customer who had no idea what was going on with her. But somehow it worked. 

“Thanks, but I don’t know if I can readjust to a new school and catch up on their syllabus at the same time.” I sighed into the phone, questioning whether this was even a good idea.

Heesoo’s reply came fast. “Dude, you were sick and hospitalised for almost a whole month last year and still ranked first in the finals. I don't think you have anything to worry about when it comes to grades. Romantic relationships, however…”

I rolled my eyes as she laughed mockingly.

“First of all, you know how my mom feels about me getting into relationships now. Secondly, every guy at our school was either a hardcore delinquent who didn’t care about studying or a complete nerd who could barely eke out a sentence in front of a girl. There’s a reason why I got 87 letters and not a single face-to-face confession.”

“Okay, counterpoint: they probably didn’t dare approach you anyway because of your stone-cold demeanour. I mean, you were basically known as the Ice Queen in school, and your stage-four terminal case of RBF might be the worst I’ve ever seen. Also, I don’t think you get to say anything about romantically uninclined nerds.”

Damn. Sometimes, Heesoo really knew how to humble me.

“Okay, fine, you’re right. But don’t expect me to show up after graduation with a boyfriend on my arm,” I grumbled.

“I’m counting on it! No boy’s gonna steal my ice-cold Kang Haerin’s heart anyway!” I could imagine her winking at her phone. 

After we said goodbye, I thought about the prospect of having a boyfriend. It was a thought that had been lingering in the back of my head for the past two or three years. Romantic relationships were a national obsession in Korea, despite the overwhelmingly stressful education system. But it was a trend I never got around to joining—probably because I never felt the need. All I focused on were my grades. Maybe that’s why I only ever made one friend in school.

As I started drifting to sleep, I found myself wishing for a different experience in my new school.

“KANG HAERIN! YOU’RE GOING TO BE LATE!”

My eyes shot to the clock again, which read 7:15. Another thing I hated about my dad losing his job: the travel time. Our new house was a 35-minute walk from school with no direct bus—unless I somehow learned to ride a bike in the span of a few weeks.

As I reluctantly got up and started my morning routine, I noticed a weird uneasiness in my stomach. Even my body was physically dreading the thought of meeting new people. Curse this extremist introvert mindset.

🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈🐈

I’d never been late for school before. I’d never missed a day without a valid reason either; it was part and parcel that came with being vice president of the student council with a reputation for keeping a perfect record. So I was already off to a bad start as I trudged toward the front gate, practically dragging myself there after an attempt (albeit a failed one) to run to school, then a Hail Mary sprint once I caught sight of the pearly gates. I glanced at the clock tower: 8:02. There goes my streak. Maybe learning to cycle wasn’t the worst idea after all.

Even just pushing through the rotating door took every last ounce of my strength. As I stepped foot on school grounds and looked around, my eyes met a pair of gorgeous brown ones, flecked with sea-green and a glint in them. 

“Are you the new transfer girl?” Ooh, thick Aussie accent.

“Yeah… Th-That’s me.” I could barely catch my breath. God, running for 30 minutes made saying three words feel like a marathon.

“Ooh, you might wanna take it easy there. You sound kinda out of breath. Don’t worry, it’s your first day, so there’s no punishment this time.”

“Punishment?” I did a double-take. She pointed to a line of about ten students at the side of the gate, where a stern-looking teacher stood holding a clipboard.

“Mr. Choi takes down the names of everyone who’s late. Every time you’re late, you get a demerit point. Ten demerits gets you the grand prize at the gift exchange: ten laps around the track.” The girl explained casually. “There’s also different offences you can get demerits for.” 

I hummed and nodded before noticing a tall student waving at her. Her eyes lit up.

“Third time this week?” she called.

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” the boy replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

I got a good look at him: natural wavy hair, parted in the middle, a bandage on his nose bridge, and what looked like an earring on his left earlobe.

“Are guys allowed to wear earrings here?” I asked.

“Nope. Guess that’s gonna be his fifth strike.” She shrugged. “But honestly, Mr. Choi’s probably given up on him by now. He’s kind of a legend for breaking the record on demerit laps.”

I raised an eyebrow. His vibe definitely fit the high school delinquent stereotype.

“Does he get into trouble often or…?”

My question made her laugh—a bright, open laugh that answered for her.

“His record was 120 laps in one term, I think.”

I would’ve been more shocked at that accomplishment, but her laugh actually took my breath away. It was only our first interaction, and already she felt like the embodiment of a guardian angel, whose mermaid voice could hum a lullaby and put an entire city to sleep.

“Oh, sorry! I completely forgot about your introductory tour. I’m Danielle. I’ll be showing you around today, helping you get settled in. What was your name again?”

“Haerin. Kang Haerin,” I said, finally managing to steady my breath — and my nerves. Spoken interaction had always been something I dreaded, but this girl’s vibrant smile somehow made it manageable. Not that I felt any kind of attraction to her, it was more like watching the sun laugh.

The vibrant smile I received in response to my introduction only further proved my point. “Well, Kang Haerin, let’s get you acquainted with the people here, you’re gonna love them.” A playful frown creased her forehead. “Well, most of them anyway. Follow me—lots of fun stuff awaits. Adventure is out there!” I blinked at her bubbly outburst. Was that a reference I wasn’t getting? 

My expression must’ve given it away, I realised, as she stared at me incredulously. “Are you just shy, or do you really not get the reference?” I didn’t know how to answer her, so I just stared blankly even more. Like I said, spoken interaction queen over here. “Charles Muntz from Up… you know, the saddest movie of all time?” She was practically praying that I would somehow magically understand. I shook my head no, prompting a reaction from Danielle where she all but lost her mind in the kindest way possible, “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s fine, I’m kidnapping you after school today. We’re gonna do an animated movie marathon and a pop quiz right after. I can’t have you not know movie references, imagine what’s gonna happen if you meet Hanni.” She looked genuinely horrified at the thought of me meeting this Hanni girl without studying movie knowledge, as if drawing a comparison to taking the CSAT on one week's notice. 

I wasn’t used to this type of interaction. Maybe only from Heesoo, but never from someone I just met. I couldn’t even sense any animosity coming from Danielle, just playful banter. She was even suggesting that I go over to her house, and she spoke as if I were already part of her life, and she was already planning to introduce me to her other friends, like this Hanni girl. A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in my stomach, as if my body was saying, “She’s nice to you. Don’t screw this up.”

Danielle, on the other hand, has seemingly already forgotten about the interaction that happened just ten seconds ago, as she now has the warmest smile ever plastered on her face. She gestured forward, leading us across the field.

The school grounds were already buzzing. Students milled about in loose clusters, bags slung lazily over their shoulders, loud laughter mixing with the occasional whistle from the PE teacher across the pitch. I followed her in silence, adjusting the strap on my shoulder, with mild stitches in my stomach as a result of my attempted run, which spoke volumes about my athletic ability or lack of it.

“That building’s the gym. You’ll probably hear Coach Baek yelling even when he’s not,” Danielle said, pointing to a tall, white dome-like structure. “And behind it is the boxing club. That’s where Jay practically lives. You’ll get used to the sound of gloves hitting pads before class ends.”

“Jay’s the one with the earring?” I asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

Danielle nodded. “The one and only. Five-time inter-school demerit champion. Our resident ‘bad boy with a surprisingly soft centre’... probably. Don’t tell him I said that.”

I let out a quiet snort — a sound I didn’t even realise escaped.

She turned toward the main building. “You’ll spend most of your time there. Classrooms, labs, the library… and the music club, if you’re lucky.”

There was a brief pause before she added, “I’m in it, by the way—the music club. We write songs, sing, play a little. Nothing formal. Just vibes, really.”

It sounded so easy the way she said it. Like breathing. Like freedom.

We were halfway up the stairs to the building when she suddenly slowed her pace.

“Wait a sec,” she said, peering at me, eyes narrowing slightly. “What did you say your full name was again?”

I blinked. “Kang Haerin.”

Danielle’s eyes widened, then lit up with something between amusement and disbelief. “Oh my god—you’re that hagwon girl?”

I froze. Here it comes.

“Wait, wait, wait—Kang Haerin from Arae Tuition? Your mom’s that insane Korean language tutor with like three YouTube channels and test prep books in bookstores? You’re that Kang Haerin?”

The question — the way she said it—wasn’t cruel. It was just… shocked. And a little fascinated.

I pressed my lips together and nodded once. “Yeah. That’s me.”

She let out a slow whistle. “Wow. You’re kind of legendary. There was this rumour that you did six practice exams a week and scored full marks on all of them. One of my friends used to cry after watching your mock papers.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

Danielle must’ve noticed my silence, because her expression softened. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I just… didn’t expect you to be you.”

“It’s fine,” I said automatically, even though it wasn’t.

People always had a reaction. The hagwon girl. The daughter of the ‘famous’ tutor. The perfectionist who got hospitalised from overwork and still topped the finals.

They never saw the real part. The part where I couldn’t sleep because I was too scared of letting my mom down. The part where my mom smiled at my report card like it was a business win. The part where I listened to her and my dad fight in whispers past midnight, because yelling might damage the brand. 

They just saw the name—the image. 

“Well,” Danielle said, and her voice was quieter this time, “you don’t seem like a hagwon robot. You seem… kind of cool, actually.” 

I wasn’t sure how to respond. So I didn’t. I just looked at her again, that wide-eyed smile and natural warmth. Something about her felt like a direct contradiction to my life. A breath of air when I’d been underwater too long. 

My phone buzzed in my blazer pocket—a message from Heesoo.

Ban Heesoo

u better not be late on ur first day, loser 🙄

also, pls try not to make everyone fall in love with u again 

or do, up to u

I laughed under my breath. 

Danielle peeked over. “Ooh, who’s that? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” 

“She’s my best friend,” I said. “Ban Heesoo.”

Danielle grinned. “She sounds fun.” 

“She is.” 

The silence that followed was easier, less loaded. Like we’d crossed an invisible line — from polite strangers to maybe, possibly not-strangers. 

“Come on,” Danielle said after a moment, tugging me toward the glass doors. “Let’s go find your homeroom. And don’t worry about the hagwon thing. This place? No one’s perfect. That’s kind of the point.” 

And for the first time that morning, I wasn’t sure if I felt dread or something else entirely. 

Please let me know what you think! I learn pretty quick and I'm open to all sorts of comments, feedback, advice, constructive criticism or compliments 😉

[threetone3]

A small sneak peek

I hummed and nodded before noticing a tall student waving at her. Her eyes lit up.

“Third time this week?” she called.

“Nope, fourth. You forgot Monday—I got caught riding Bull to school,” the boy replied sheepishly, scratching the back of his head.

I got a good look at him: natural wavy hair, parted in the middle, a bandage on his nose bridge, and what looked like an earring on his left earlobe.

“Are guys allowed to wear earrings here?” I asked.

“Nope. Guess that’s gonna be his fifth strike.” She shrugged. “But honestly, Mr. Choi’s probably given up on him by now. He’s kind of a legend for breaking the record on demerit laps.”

I raised an eyebrow. His vibe definitely fit the high school delinquent stereotype.

“Does he get into trouble often or…?”

My question made her laugh—a bright, open laugh that basically answered for her.

“His record was 120 laps in one term, I think.”

I would’ve been more shocked at that accomplishment but her laugh actually took my breath away. It was only our first interaction, and already she felt like the embodiment of a guardian angel, whose mermaid voice could hum a lullaby and put an entire city to sleep.

“Oh, sorry! I completely forgot about your introductory tour. I’m Danielle. I’ll be showing you around today, helping you get settled in. What was your name again?”

“Haerin. Kang Haerin,” I said, finally managing to steady my breath ��� and my nerves. Spoken interaction had always been something I dreaded, but this girl’s vibrant smile somehow made it manageable. Not that I felt any kind of attraction to her, it was more like watching the sun laugh.

The vibrant smile I received in response to my introduction only further proved my point. “Well, Kang Haerin, let’s get you acquainted with the people here, you’re gonna love them.” A playful frown creased her forehead. “Well, most of them anyway. Follow me—lots of fun stuff awaits. Adventure is out there!”

[threetone3]

Introduction?

Don’t get how Tumblr works, can’t I just start posting stories and pray for notes and recognition? Lol, just kidding.

About me

I speak English and Chinese, still studying in school (no age reveal though), and I’m really just into anything. Kinda like a “put me on Jeopardy (any trivia show really) and I’d compete pretty well” typa guy? Okay, maybe I’m just tooting my own horn here. But with the amount of free time I have from not studying for school, all of which was spent on either diving deep into K-pop, literature (fan fiction, books, does manga and manhwa count??), shows and films and sports of course, surely I have a pretty good chance to bring home the million dollars.

Heh, I’m pretty proud of that first paragraph, wasn’t that a perfectly natural way to introduce my hobbies and interests…? Yeah my bad, I have a long way to go, that much I know. But I really do have a passion for writing; it's always been an interest of mine, and I just want to test the waters here.

A deeper dive into my interests and favourites, I’m a tripleS and NewJeans stan mainly: my biases are Jiwoo, Hayeon, Kotone, Chaewon for tripleS, Haerin and Minji for NewJeans (please come back), as for my taste in music, for K-pop I really just listen to anything, not that big into boy groups though (apologies to Stays and NCTzens but those groups in particular just aren’t my taste.) I’m fine with the occasional BTS. Other than that, I’m mainly a girl group advocate. In terms of other types of music, I used to listen to MCR religiously, top three bands ready set go: MCR, Oasis, The Strokes. One of my top artists right now is Keshi, but that just comes with being Asian. I do love R&B and rap as well, also Mandopop.

I’d say I’m pretty big into sports, mostly basketball (Knicks) and football (Liverpool), love MMA as well (self proclaimed fighting enthusiast) and watching baseball comes with being in the school team. As for hobbies, I hoop on the weekends, read and write on the weekdays and procrastinate every second of my life.

Sorry if this introduction is a little wordy. I’d love to get to know people online here, I’m always open to meeting people from different countries and cultures as well. My first fic I’m working on is about NewJeans, a pretty lengthy one at that. I’ll post an excerpt soon, any constructive criticism or advice is super welcome.

One last thing, these writers inspired me to start exploring and experimenting with my passion for writing, @chunksworld @capslocked @jupiterpilgrim if you’re into really well-written smut, and @stewpidcheescatarinabluu @wonyology if you’re looking for fics that warm the heart. I aim to grow from the lessons, experiences, and advice I’ll hopefully find, and eventually, I want to pass it down as well.

[threetone3]

Non-writers don't understand how much of writing is just googling things like "when was the croissant invented" for worldbuilding reasons and staring off into the distance.