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rvp32 · 4 months ago

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Falling for the Unknown

Karina x reader

length: 10K

Thank you so much msafterhours and kesujo for proofreading

The crowd surges with energy, the stadium shaking as Tottenham wins a corner kick. You shift in your seat, the weight of your brace tugging at your leg—a constant reminder that you should be out there on the football pitch, not watching from the stands. Your knee bounces restlessly, gripping them so tightly you're worried they'll snap. All you want is to be out there on the pitch. Not here, not like this, sidelined when every part of you is aching to play.

The seat next to you creaks, and someone slips into it. You glance over and see a woman wearing an oversized hoodie and a cap pulled low over her face. Despite her casual outfit, there’s an air about her—a presence that’s hard to miss. She offers a small nod and an even smaller smile, tucking herself in as though she hopes to disappear.

“Excuse me,” she murmurs, her voice soft but steady.

“No problem,” you reply, shifting slightly.

You try to refocus on the game, but something about her pulls at your attention, her quiet energy filling the space between you. When Son Heung Min takes possession and streaks down the pitch, she leans forward in her seat, her hands balling into excited fists.

“You’re rooting for Tottenham?” you ask, breaking the silence as a half-smile tugs at your lips.

Her focus flickers to you, and you catch the faint curve of a grin under the brim of her cap. “Not Tottenham. Heung Min Son. He’s from Korea. Same as me. Gotta cheer for my own.”

The way she says it—with pride, subtle but unmistakable—makes you smile. She feels familiar, though you can’t put your finger on why.

“Fair enough,” you say with a shrug. “Watching him is great and all, but I’d kill to be out there right now. Watching just isn’t the same when you know what it’s like to play.”

Her head tilts slightly as if she’s studying you. “You used to play?”

“Kind of,” you hedge, not wanting to make it a big deal. “I just... miss it, that’s all. The game. The rush. Being part of it.”

You glance back at her to find her watching you, curious but unreadable.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” she says, her tone casual but pointed.

"Oh, right," you reply, then tell her your name. She repeats it to you and offers a smile and a hand. Her grip is warm but firm, and her smile is understated, but you notice it all the same.

"I'm Jimin"

Her name rolls over you like a mystery, simple yet layered. You get the feeling there’s more to her than meets the eye. And maybe, just maybe, she’s thinking the same thing about you.

The match kicks into high gear, and with every near miss or botched pass, the tension grows. You're so focused on the play that you almost miss the low chuckle beside you.

“Are they trying to lose possession?” Jimin says, biting back a grin as one of United’s midfielders gets dispossessed in a sloppy tackle.

You lean back in mock offense, shaking your head. “Bold words for someone cheering for a team that’s about to concede.”

She gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. “How dare you! Tottenham has been flawless today.”

“Flawless? Did we watch the same first half? Pretty sure Son had a one-on-one and managed to kick it straight at the keeper.”

“That was strategy,” she counters, narrowing her eyes playfully. “He was… throwing the keeper off for the next one.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Ah, of course. Miss on purpose to make him overconfident. Genius.”

She smirks, rolling her eyes but not bothering to defend her logic. You find yourself grinning despite yourself. For someone so discreet, she’s got a lively, quick wit that keeps you on your toes.

A few minutes later, one of your defenders attempts a clearance and shanks it straight up into the air. Tottenham pounces on the mistake, but the shot flies well over the bar.

Jimin lets out a loud, exaggerated sigh. “See, that’s what happens when you make fun of Son. Karma works fast.”

“Yeah?” you reply, gesturing at the field. “Looks to me like karma hit your team there. Did that shot even stay in the stadium?”

Her laugh is soft but genuine, bubbling out before she can stop herself. “Okay, that was bad,” she admits, still giggling. “Maybe they’re tired from carrying the match.”

“Carrying? You mean carrying the ball to their goal line?”

Her jaw drops, and for a second, you’re sure she’s trying to come up with a comeback. Instead, she lightly nudges your arm with her elbow, a mock scolding gesture. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest.” You grin, glancing sideways at her. She’s not looking at the field now, but at you, her face slightly hidden beneath her cap, her expression amused but softer than before.

As the game heats up, you both start reacting in sync—wincing at close calls and groaning when your respective teams miss chances. But there’s a lightness in your shared frustrations, and the banter flows naturally.

When United fumbles an easy counterattack, you drop your head into your hands. “Are we playing with our shoelaces tied together?”

Jimin bursts out laughing, practically leaning into you. “At least they’re consistent! I feel like this could be a comedy show.”

Moments later, Tottenham fluffs a promising free kick, sending the ball soaring into the stands. You glance at her and deadpan, “Your turn. What was that, a field goal attempt?”

She stares at the pitch, lips pressed together in an attempt to look serious, but the edges of her mouth twitch. “I have no explanation,” she says, shaking her head. “Let’s just say they’re… being humble.”

“Humble?”

“Yes,” she nods confidently. “They’re giving United false hope before destroying them.”

“Destroying themselves, maybe.”

You nudge her with your elbow this time, and the spark of challenge in her eyes is enough to tell you she’s about to retort. Before she can, the crowd erupts as United forces a save from Tottenham’s keeper. Both of you pause, swept up in the thrill of the moment.

When the noise dies down, Jimin grins at you. “Okay, fine. Your team has their moments.”

“You mean ‘moment,’ singular,” you reply. “We’ve only had one good play.”

She tilts her head, lips pursed. “You’re more self-aware than I expected.”

“Why, thank you,” you shoot back.

The words hang there for a second, easy but charged. She laughs softly, looking back at the pitch. It’s not much, just a small moment shared between two people in a stadium full of thousands. But somehow, it feels significant.

The final whistle blows and the stadium erupts into a medley of cheers and groans, depending on which side the fans were on. You barely notice. The game could’ve ended an hour ago for all you care. Your thoughts are preoccupied with the woman sitting next to you, the one who somehow turned a frustrating day on the sidelines into something you’re reluctant to let go of.

Jimin stretches her arms lazily, a satisfied grin on her face as the players begin to shake hands on the pitch. “Well, that was fun,” she says, pulling her hoodie tighter. “Stressful, but fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease, gesturing to your team trudging off the field. “I’ve aged ten years watching that mess.”

She laughs, the sound genuine, and you can’t help but smile back. For someone who made such an effort to stay inconspicuous, she’d become the center of your focus. Her easy banter, quick wit, and that occasional spark of mischief made the ninety minutes flash by faster than you thought possible.

People start to filter out of the stands, and you glance at the growing exodus with a sudden pang of panic. You don’t want to leave, at least not before figuring out how to see her again. But how do you ask without sounding like… well, a complete idiot?

“Thanks for keeping me entertained,” you say, testing the waters. “I was worried I’d spend the night sulking, but you made it bearable.”

“Bearable?” she repeats, pretending to be offended. “What a glowing compliment.”

“Fine, you made it… slightly enjoyable,” you say, grinning.

She narrows her eyes at you but lets it slide, standing and dusting imaginary lint off her hoodie. “Well, I’m glad I could brighten up your very exciting night of sitting still.”

You watch as she adjusts her cap, clearly preparing to leave, and the urgency spikes. Your chance is slipping away, and your tongue feels like it’s made of lead.

“Hey,” you blurt out awkwardly, and she pauses, looking at you expectantly. You scramble to keep your tone light. “So… do you, uh, give your number to people who survived watching their team crash and burn?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise, and for a split second, you worry you’ve blown it. But then a small, amused smile plays at her lips.

“Survived, huh?” she echoes, reaching for her phone. “You make a compelling case.”

Your heart jumps as she taps her screen and then holds it out toward you. You quickly input your number and save it. “I’m putting myself down as ‘The Entertained.’ Just so you don’t forget,” you say, trying to hide your nerves with humor.

She laughs softly, tucking the phone back into her hoodie pocket. “I’ll make sure I remember.”

As she starts to step away, she pauses and turns back to you, her expression thoughtful. “By the way, there’s this bar at The Lowry Hotel. Quiet, discreet, nice atmosphere. If you’re free tonight…”

Her words hang in the air, the invitation surprising but undeniably deliberate.

You blink, processing her suggestion as quickly as you can without looking like a complete idiot. “I… yeah, I’d like that,” you manage, your voice betraying the excitement you’re trying to keep in check.

“Good,” she says, her smile small but somehow brighter than the stadium lights. “Meet me there around eight?”

You nod, trying to play it cool despite the fact your heart is doing somersaults. “I’ll be there.”

She gives you a quick wave before disappearing into the dispersing crowd, leaving you sitting there with a racing pulse, a saved number, and a strange feeling that maybe tonight isn’t over just yet.

The crowd thins, the noise of the stadium fading into the background, but your thoughts are anything but quiet. Jimin’s parting words linger in your mind, looping like a highlight reel: Meet me there around eight. You’ve been invited to a lot of things over the years—interviews, parties, sponsorship deals—but this? This felt different.

You finally make your way to the dressing room, joining your teammates. Their banter is loud and animated, dissecting the game’s highs and lows, but you’re barely tuned in. A couple of them throw curious glances your way, probably picking up on your distracted demeanor, but you brush it off with noncommittal smiles and nods. The injury already drew enough unwanted sympathy; you weren’t about to add, “Oh, by the way, I met someone incredible in the stands tonight” into the mix.

After a quick round of goodbyes, you head home, the familiar comfort of your flat both a relief and a source of frustration. Tonight’s meeting looms, and for the first time in ages, you’re genuinely nervous.

Standing in front of your wardrobe, you stare blankly at the options. Button-ups feel too formal, but a hoodie seems too casual. And then there’s the crutch—practical, necessary, and ruining the aesthetic of every potential outfit you try to piece together. You sigh, slumping onto the edge of your bed.

“This shouldn’t be this hard,” you mutter to yourself. But it is.

It’s not just about the clothes. The pressure comes from how rare this feels—how rare she feels. She didn’t look at you like everyone else does, with that glimmer of recognition that usually comes just before the questions, the assumptions, the offers to take a picture. She laughed at your jokes, called you out when you were being cheeky, and for a while, you forgot about the brace around your leg and the ache of not playing.

There’s no way she knew who you were, right? She didn’t talk about goals or rivalries or the usual clichés you’ve grown used to hearing. She felt really—interested in you, not your career or your reputation.

You rub your hands over your face, both excited and nervous. It had been years since anyone made you feel that way. Fame had a way of isolating you, creating a chasm between you and the rest of the world. But Jimin? She didn’t feel like the world—she felt like the bridge you didn’t know you needed.

You glance at the clock: 6:45 p.m. The thought of being late tightens your chest, but the idea of overthinking and over-dressing makes you groan. Standing again, you sift through the closet with a new goal in mind—keep it simple.

Finally, you settle on a clean, dark jacket over a simple shirt, jeans that fit just right, and comfortable shoes that won’t make your crutch feel more awkward than it already does. There’s no denying the crutch complicates things, but for the first time, it feels secondary. Your nerves don’t come from the injury or how people might stare—they come from the thought of seeing her again.

You glance in the mirror and adjust your jacket. It’s not perfect, but it’s good enough. And besides, she already liked you enough to invite you out. Maybe tonight, for once, it’s not about appearances but the connection you hadn’t dared to hope for.

The excitement bubbles under your skin, tempered by discomfort but impossible to ignore. As you grab your keys and head out the door, you can’t stop thinking about the moment she smiled at you and said Good. Tonight felt like it could be something more than just another night—and you couldn’t wait to see if that was true.

The Lowry’s bar hums with gentle, quiet energy as you settle into your seat at the counter, the clink of glassware and a low murmur of voices in the background blending in an almost soothing way. You take in the surroundings—a few scattered patrons, cozy lighting—and fiddle with the cocktail napkin beneath your old fashioned, trying to distract yourself from the small knot of nerves that keeps tightening in your stomach.

You hadn’t realized how tense you’d been until the moment you sat down here, waiting. The minutes crawl by and your mind begins to overthink everything. What if she changes her mind and doesn’t show up? What if she realized inviting you out was a mistake? The simple thought twists something deep inside you.

But just as you’re about to take your first sip, a hand grazes your shoulder—light and gentle, like an electric jolt that cuts through the sea of your anxious thoughts. You snap your head around, and there she is—standing before you, an effortless beauty.

She’s dressed in an emerald shirt dress, and the way the light hits it gives the fabric a liquid shine that you can’t help but notice. The rich green hue complements her fair skin, and the dress moves gracefully with her every motion. It fits perfectly, cinched just enough at the waist to highlight her figure. The sleeves fall delicately, and there’s a small slit along one side that catches your eye as she shifts her weight. Her long black hair tumbles over one shoulder in soft waves, framing her face in a way that somehow makes her seem even more striking than when you first met.

Her look is confident, but she doesn’t radiate the usual celebrity vibe—there's no over-the-top flair or pretense. She seems grounded, accessible, someone who isn’t caught up in her appearance, even though it’s clear she could make heads turn effortlessly. As she takes the seat beside you, there’s no sign of the usual guarded behavior of someone used to the spotlight. In that moment, she’s just another person you’re meeting—and it’s oddly refreshing.

“You didn’t have to wait this long,” she teases with a soft, playful smile, her eyes warm with that casual, no-pressure charm. “Were you worried I’d bail?”

You can’t help but feel a little more at ease. “Not at all,” you reply, brushing away the thought of being stood up. “I just got here early.”

She chuckles a sound that immediately sets you even more at ease. “You're definitely on time. I, on the other hand, maybe took my time getting ready.” She taps her fingers on the bar and grins, looking slightly sheepish, though the confidence never fully fades from her presence.

You look her up and down, no longer trying to ignore how stunning she looks in that dress. You take in the way she’s carrying herself without even trying too hard, and for the first time in what feels like a long while, you feel normal sitting beside someone.

“You look great,” you finally manage, your voice softer than you intend, surprised by how genuine your compliment comes across. She didn’t need any fanfare, no show of luxuries or grand gestures—she just is.

“Thanks,” she says, slightly flustered but masking it with a small shrug. “I figured this dress would be fine for a restaurant of this level.”

“I was trying to look decent, too,” you joke. “But I wasn’t sure what ‘decent’ meant in this situation.”

She laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “That makes two of us,” she says, leaning against the bar a little more comfortably as she orders a drink, her tone laid-back and completely at ease.

“So,” she says after a moment, glancing at your drink. “What is it about an old-fashioned you like? Never had one before myself.”

You pause, surprised at the genuine curiosity in her voice—like she’s asking not because she’s trying to keep up with some conversation routine, but because she truly wants to know. “I don’t know, really,” you respond, grateful for the chance to dive into the simplicity of this interaction. “It’s reliable, you know? Like me—when it comes to drinks. Doesn’t need a bunch of flair. Just straight to the point.”

“Straight to the point?” she echoes, eyes gleaming in amusement. “Then I’m glad I’m not a ‘complicated cocktail.’” She laughs at her own joke, nudging you playfully.

It’s funny how quickly the conversation flows—how easily the weight of self-awareness seems to vanish. You’re talking to her just like you would any ordinary person, and she’s responding like you’re just an ordinary guy. For that moment, there’s nothing remarkable about either of you; there’s no fame, no headlines, just two people trying to have a quiet night out after a chance encounter. And for some reason, that makes everything feel all the more real.

As you settle into the rhythm of the conversation, the noise of the world around you fades into the background. And with each passing second, it’s harder and harder to picture the world that she could potentially live in—the one you don’t know about, where she could be someone completely different from the woman you’re laughing with right now.

The conversation flows effortlessly between you two as the night stretches on, each exchange between you both deeper than the last but still lighthearted enough to make you both chuckle without thinking too hard. There’s an ease to it—a sense of freedom in just talking, being completely unaffected by the distractions that life usually throws at you.

“You know, sometimes I think it would be nice to just… disappear,” Jimin says, taking a sip of her drink, her gaze distant for a brief moment. “Not permanently, just… vanish for a while and live somewhere where nobody knows your name. No expectations, no pressures. Just doing whatever you want, you know?”

You nod, feeling a strange sense of understanding. There’s something so undeniably human about the need for freedom. “I get that. It’s easy to get caught up in everything else, especially when people start treating you differently. It's almost like you can’t even exist for yourself anymore.”

She looks over at you, her eyes thoughtful, catching the light from the bar just enough for her long lashes to cast soft shadows against her cheeks. There’s an almost wistful look to her, but it doesn’t diminish the softness in her gaze. “Exactly! Like… you can’t be your real self, because you’re always someone else in their eyes. Whether it’s someone’s idea of who you should be, or the version of you they want you to be, you stop knowing who you are.”

You smile gently, admiring the way her eyes shift when she speaks, the way her voice seems to take on a dreamier, more intimate tone, revealing a side of her you’ve never seen on stage or through the screen. “Yeah,” you reply, “I get it more than you probably think. I’d love to just take a break, and escape for a bit. No cameras. Just… do whatever feels right.”

Her lips curl into a soft smile, and for a moment, it feels like the world stops. “Seems like we’re both yearning for the same thing,” she says. “Maybe we’ll just disappear together.”

The weight of her words sits between you, but before either of you can fully sink into it, she lets out a small laugh. “Can you imagine? You and me, in some random country, pretending to be regular tourists.”

“You think we’d blend in?” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “If people saw you, they’d probably think we were famous from the second we step out.”

“Not true,” she counters, leaning closer, her laugh becoming brighter. “I could wear sunglasses the whole time, and no one would know it’s me.”

“Ha, well I could walk around and claim I’m a professional soccer player for, like… a tiny club or something,” you lied, leaning back in your chair, resting your hand on your drink, you don’t want her entire view about your profession, you want her to genuinely get to know you.

Her eyes flash with mischief. “You? A soccer player? I’ve seen your crutch. Hard to pull that off.” Her words are teasing, but there’s a genuine lightness in her voice that you can’t help but smile at.

She shakes her head, her laughter twinkling like it’s a shared secret, and you catch yourself for a second, admiring how incredibly radiant she looks in this moment. It’s not just the way her face lights up or the way her dress catches the bar lights; it’s the sense of comfort she exudes as if you both get what the other needs.

Suddenly, the waiter comes over, breaking the mood entirely. He’s an older man, and you can see a certain tiredness in his eyes. “Excuse me, but we’ll be closing soon,” he says politely, his voice kind but firm. His words are almost apologetic as he gestures around the bar, indicating that the night is ending.

You glance at Jimin, and both of you are suddenly brought back to the reality of time. There's a momentary, almost imperceptible shift between you both—a small sigh, a quick look, and then that familiar weight of the outside world pressing in.

"Right," you say, laughing awkwardly, “Guess it’s already late, huh?”

Jimin seems to be calculating something, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought before meeting your gaze with a sudden gleam of mischief. “Actually,” she begins, her voice dropping to a playful murmur, “if you don’t mind… we could hang out in my room for a bit after. I always end up missing out on the fun when things get too busy. Plus… you don’t seem to be in any rush to go anywhere.”

You grin at her, finding it impossible not to tease. "Ah, so you’re trying to keep me around for more of your delightful company, huh?"

She raises an eyebrow in return, a smirk tugging at her lips. "What, are you saying I couldn’t get enough of you?"

You laugh lightly, the playfulness sparking once again between you two. “You’re right, I could see why you’d need some more of me.” You give her a cheeky wink, and even though you’re half-joking, the warmth from the playful exchange makes you feel suddenly at ease. In her presence, things just seem... lighter.

Jimin laughs again, a sound that sends a pleasant shiver through your chest. “Maybe just this once. You’d be surprised how often I’ve had to cancel plans or end up by myself. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy my time alone, but… tonight’s been Amazing”

The sincerity of her words lingers with you for a moment before your grin returns. "Well, I guess I’ll take you up on your offer," you say, nodding toward the door.

You both stand, the light atmosphere between you two still strong, keeping things easy and uncomplicated as you begin to walk toward the exit. You’re about to follow her when she turns and pauses, giving you a look that’s almost too soft to be fleeting but too playful to be serious.

“Well, come on then," she says, her voice low but excited, full of intent. “Are we going or not?”

The walk to Jimin’s room is lighthearted, with teasing remarks flying back and forth, keeping the mood buoyant. When the elevator doors open, she playfully gestures for you to follow her, her emerald dress swishing gently as she leads the way down the hallway.

“You didn’t expect a five-star suite, did you?” she says over her shoulder, unlocking the door.

“Of course not,” you tease. “But given the night’s events, I’m just glad you’re not leading me to the janitor’s closet.”

She bursts into laughter, shaking her head as she pushes the door open. Her room is modest yet elegant, with warm lighting and a cozy feel. It’s much less extravagant than you’d expect, which, in a way, fits perfectly with the down-to-earth side of her you’ve gotten to know.

As the door shuts behind you, she kicks off her shoes and flops onto the small sofa by the window. “Okay, we’ve discussed soccer and random dreams, but what about food? What’s your guilty pleasure?” she asks, patting the seat beside her.

You drop down onto the couch, leaning back comfortably. “Pizza,” you admit almost sheepishly. “The greasy, extra-cheese kind that’s probably got more calories than I need in a week.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Pizza? That’s so basic! I thought you’d be more creative. Aren’t athletes supposed to have fancy nutrition plans or something?”

“I do,” you retort, smirking. “But pizza is my cheat day savior. Don’t tell me you’re above a classic slice.”

She tilts her head, grinning. “Fine. But if we’re talking cheat foods, I win. Tteokbokki—spicy rice cakes, no competition. If there’s a heaven, it’s probably made of that.”

“Tteokbokki?” you repeat, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re telling me mushy rice cakes drenched in spicy sauce beat pizza?”

“First of all, mushy is the wrong word,” she says, jabbing her finger toward you in mock offense. “And second, tteokbokki is a cultural treasure. You don’t deserve it.”

You both crack up at each other’s exaggerated expressions, bantering back and forth about which food reigns supreme, each escalating into increasingly ridiculous arguments. When you both tire out, the mood has shifted to a calmer energy.

The conversation starts to fade naturally, and silence settles in like a comfortable blanket. You’re sitting closer than you realized, her arm resting just inches from yours. The soft glow of the lamp lights up her features—the gentle curve of her cheekbones, the glint of her eyes that seem to hold a secret only she knows.

And then, without even fully realizing it, you both move at the same time. You lean in, and so does she, the space between you evaporating in an instant.

When your lips meet, the world seems to fade into the background. The kiss is slow and unhurried, and yet it feels like time itself has stopped. Her lips are warm and soft, fitting perfectly against yours, and for those few seconds, it’s as if nothing else matters. Your heart pounds in your chest, loud enough that you’re sure she can hear it.

The kiss lasts only a moment, but it feels eternal, filled with a mix of tenderness and unspoken emotion that you hadn’t realized had built up between you both. When you finally pull back, your eyes meet hers. She’s looking at you, her expression unreadable but not unhappy.

And then it hits you—what just happened. Your stomach flips with a mixture of exhilaration and nerves.

“I… uh…” you begin, trying to find the words, but none come.

Jimin blinks, then lets out a soft laugh, the sound breaking the tension just enough. “Well… that happened,” she says, her voice warm, laced with the same kind of tension that you’re feeling.

“I wasn’t planning on…” you trail off, unsure of how to finish the thought.

“Neither was I,” she says, her lips curving into a small smile. Something is comforting in the way she’s looking at you, her hand unconsciously brushing against yours.

For a moment, you’re both silent, the gravity of what just happened settling in. But beneath the surface of the shock, you feel something else—a flicker of something new, something that feels undeniably right.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The room feels heavy with unspoken emotions, the electricity between you both palpable. You wonder if you should say something, break the silence, or try to bring things back to the easygoing vibe you’d both been enjoying all night. But before you can even think of what to say, Jimin shifts slightly on the couch, her fingers brushing against your knee as if testing the waters.

You glance over at her, and there’s something in her eyes that wasn’t there before—a quiet intensity, a question, and an answer all at once. She’s still close, close enough that you can see the way her lips part slightly, close enough to catch the faint sweetness of her perfume mingled with the softness of something else—moisturizer, maybe, lingering on her skin.

Then, without a word, she leans in.

Her hands find your face first, delicate fingers framing your jaw as her lips crash against yours with a sudden fervor that takes your breath away. This time, there’s no hesitation, no lingering doubt. The kiss is deep and consuming. Her body presses against yours in a way that leaves no space between you, and her warmth is seared into you through the thin fabric of her dress.

You respond instinctively, your hands moving to her waist as if drawn there by some unseen force. Her dress feels silky beneath your fingers, cool to the touch compared to the heat radiating from her skin. The kiss grows more passionate with every second, her lips soft and full, tasting faintly of the wine she sipped earlier, mingled with something uniquely her.

Her hands slide to the back of your neck, her touch firm yet tender as she tilts her head, deepening the kiss further. Your senses are overloaded—her scent, her touch, the way her body seems to fit perfectly against yours. The world outside her room ceases to exist, and all that remains is her—her lips, her hands, the sweet and intoxicating press of her body against yours.

You’re acutely aware of everything in this moment: the way her hair brushes against your cheek, the subtle warmth of her breath as the kiss slows just slightly, becoming less urgent but no less intense. Her lips move against yours with a rhythm that feels both deliberate and effortless, each motion sending a shiver down your spine.

Her moisturizer leaves a faint taste of sweetness on her skin as you kiss her deeply, a detail that makes this moment feel impossibly more intimate. The air grows heavier between you, charged with an unspoken understanding that transcends words. Her hands slide downward, resting against your chest as she finally pulls back just a fraction, her lips hovering close to yours as if reluctant to let go entirely.

When her eyes meet yours again, they’re smoldering, and her cheeks flush in a way that only makes her more stunning. She lets out a soft, unsteady breath, and her lips curve into the faintest smile.

“Well…” she murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of your heart pounding in your ears. “That should clear up any doubts, don’t you think?”

Her tone is teasing, but there’s an unmistakable vulnerability in her gaze that makes your chest tighten. You can’t help but laugh softly, the tension breaking just slightly as you rest your forehead lightly against hers.

“Yeah,” you manage to say, your voice husky and tinged with disbelief. “Message received loud and clear.”

She smiles again, her thumb brushing absently against your cheek as her gaze flickers down to your lips and back up to your eyes. It’s clear she’s not in a rush to move away, and you realize that, for the first time in a long while, you feel entirely at ease—no pretenses, no masks, just her and you, connected in a way that feels both new and somehow inevitable.

For a moment, your mind is a whirlwind of emotions. The glow of the soft lighting dances on Jimin's skin, accentuating the curve of her jaw, the delicate shape of her lips, and the faint blush blooming across her cheeks. She looks breathtaking—no, beyond breathtaking—and you can’t help but get lost in the surreal nature of the situation.

Here you are, sitting so intimately close to someone who seemed to fit perfectly with you as if the universe itself had aligned every star to bring you together in this moment. But the intensity of it all—the vulnerability, the yearning in her gaze—has your thoughts racing to places you shouldn’t linger.

Without even realizing it, you lean forward again, capturing her lips in a slower, more deliberate kiss that is still filled with the magnetic pull you feel toward her. Her hands, soft and unyielding, begin to explore your chest, tracing light circles over the fabric of your shirt, the warmth of her palms seeping through. A faint shiver courses through you, but a voice in the back of your head—one part reason, one part hesitation—makes you pull back.

You rest your forehead against hers for a lingering moment, your breath still catching up with the intensity of her kiss. “I don’t know if we should go any further,” you whisper, the words coming out almost reluctantly. “I don’t want us to do something we might regret tomorrow morning.”

The room is silent save for the faint sound of the city outside, the weight of your words hanging in the air. Jimin doesn’t respond immediately, and her silence feels louder than anything she could have said. It creates a sinking feeling in your chest, and for a split second, you wonder if you’ve completely misread her—or worse, let her down.

Taking her lack of response as a quiet agreement, you swallow hard and gently start to shift away from her. “I should probably go,” you murmur, rising to your feet. There’s a soft ache in your voice that even you can hear. This isn’t what you want, but the last thing you’d ever want to do is make her feel rushed into something.

As you head toward the door, a soft, almost imperceptible sound makes you pause—a faint rustling, followed by the light tug of fabric. You glance down, and your heart nearly stops when you see her slender hand gripping the edge of your shirt. Her touch is gentle yet firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“What if I want this?” she asks softly, her voice trembling slightly but resolute. You turn to face her, and the raw emotion in her eyes catches you off guard. “What if I want you? What if this… is what I need?”

The vulnerability in her voice hits you like a wave. Her confession, so open, so unguarded, leaves you speechless for a moment. You can see the truth in her expression, the way her hands cling to your shirt as if letting go would shatter something fragile between you both. She’s not being impulsive—she’s being honest, and it terrifies you how much you want to believe her.

“Jimin,” you whisper, stepping closer and gently cupping her face with your hands, your thumbs brushing against her cheeks. “Are you sure about this?” Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest, caught somewhere between hope and uncertainty.

Her gaze never wavers as she nods, biting her bottom lip. “I’ve never been more sure,” she murmurs, her hands sliding up to rest against your chest. “You’re not like anyone else. With you, I feel... free. I don’t want this night to end.”

Her words wash over you, and any lingering doubts crumble under the weight of the sincerity in her voice.

“Nor do I,” you whisper into her neck as your lips place gentle kisses all over them. Her skin was smooth and smelled like almond vanilla, you couldn’t get enough of her.

Raw desire takes you over more and more, chipping away at your control as your hands caress and explore her body.

“Jimin, any more than this and I won’t stop, this is your last chance to run,” You warn.

There is no reply from her side, but her actions speak a hundred words. The dress she is wearing is now on the floor, exposing her well-sculpted body. The dress she wore earlier didn’t do enough justice to how perfect this woman is.

Looking at her body in nothing but a bra and panties puts you in awe. How could something so perfect exist? The need to touch and feel her takes over and you rush to her. The kiss was a mess both of you longed for each other, there was a need to get closer to her that you couldn’t satisfy. Jimin’s legs now warped around your waist and her back slammed against the wall, the kiss was intoxicating but the need to worship every single inch of her body was more.

The kiss breaks when you pull away from Jimin much to her dismay but you are not going to let go of this chance to worship her body. You trail kisses from her cheeks to her collarbone. Her gentle moans and gasps are driving you crazy. You want this woman screaming and moaning your name.

Your lips latch onto her neck, biting, and nibbling at her sensitive skin. It was going to leave a mark on her pale skin but you didn’t care at least not right now. While your lips were placing naughty little kisses all over her neck, Jimin’s legs let go of you and she is now with each leg around yours. Your hand slowly moves to her panties.

Jimin soaked through her panties and she freezes up with a loud gasp when your hand grabs her inner thigh. Looking at how she reacts, you tease her a little, hands hovering over her thighs tracing her skin and pulling away just before it reaches the place she wants it at.

Jimin whines when your fingers move in the opposite direction. She can’t take much more teasing, and you finally give her the touch she needs. Jimin let out a loud gasp; you rub her clothed pussy for a few more seconds. The room is filled with the sound of Jimin’s sweet moans; her legs are giving in.

“Just take off my panties. Please just stop teasing,” Jimin says, there is growing frustration in her voice, and you are not going to deny her any more pleasure.

The very next moment, you tear away Jimin’s panties and are presented with a glisteningly wet pussy and you are mesmerized by it.

“D-don’t stare,” Jimin’s hands now cover up the very thing you so desperately want to taste.

“No need to be shy, Jimin; you are perfect. Let me worship this perfection, and I will give you a night that you won’t be able to forget,” You say as you place a kiss on the hands that are covering her crotch.

Jimin’s breath hitches at your words, her hands trembling slightly as they shield her from your hungry gaze. The tenderness in your voice, laced with raw desire, sends a shiver down her spine. She hesitates for a moment, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of pink, but then slowly—agonizingly slowly—she lets her hands fall away, revealing herself to you completely. Her vulnerability only makes her more breathtaking, and you feel your own heartbeat thundering in your chest, a perfect rhythm to match hers.

“God, you’re beautiful,” you whisper, your voice thick with awe as you lower yourself closer, your breath warm against her skin. Jimin squirms slightly, her thighs twitching under your touch, but there’s a flicker of trust in her eyes that tells you she’s ready—more than ready. You press a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, eliciting a shaky whimper from her lips, and it’s like a spark igniting something primal between you both.

Your hands slide up her thighs, gentle yet firm, parting her legs just enough to give you access to her glistening core. The heat radiating from her is intoxicating, and when your lips finally brush against her, Jimin’s head falls back with a moan that’s equal parts relief and desperation. “Oh… oh God,” she gasps, her fingers instinctively threading through your hair, pulling you closer as if she’s afraid you’ll tease her again.

You don’t. Not this time. Your tongue traces her slowly at first, savoring the taste of her, the way she trembles beneath you. She’s sweet and addictive, and every little sound she makes—every hitch of her breath, every choked whimper—fuels the fire building inside you. You can feel how much she needs this, how much she needs you, and it’s like the world narrows down to just the two of you, locked in this perfect, electric moment.

Jimin’s hips buck slightly, chasing the sensation, and you respond by deepening your movements, your tongue circling her clit with a deliberate tenderness that has her crying out your name. “Yes—please, don’t stop,” she begs, her voice raw and unraveling. You glance up at her, and the sight nearly undoes you: her eyes half-lidded with lust, her lips parted as she pants, her chest heaving with every breath. She’s a vision of pure, unfiltered need, and you’re determined to give her everything she craves.

Your hands grip her hips, anchoring her as you lose yourself in her, the intimacy of it overwhelming. The way she responds to every flick of your tongue, every press of your lips—it’s like she was made for you, her body fitting against yours as if it’s always belonged there. You can feel the tension coiling tight inside her, her legs trembling as she teeters on the edge, and you want nothing more than to push her over it, to see her fall apart in your arms.

“I’m so close,” Jimin whimpers, her voice breaking as her fingers tighten in your hair. “You feel so good—I can’t—” Her words dissolve into a moan as you suck gently on her clit, your eyes locked on hers. The connection between you is palpable, a current of heat and trust and something deeper that neither of you needs to name. You can feel her unraveling, her body arching toward you, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever witnessed.

When she comes, it’s with a cry that echoes through the room, her entire body shuddering as waves of pleasure crash over her. You don’t stop, guiding her through it with slow, reverent strokes, tasting every pulse of her release. Her hands clutch at you desperately, grounding herself as she rides out the high, and you feel a surge of pride and adoration swelling in your chest. She’s yours at this moment—completely, utterly—and you’re hers just the same.

As her breathing steadies, Jimin looks down at you, her eyes glassy and soft, a lazy smile tugging at her lips. “You’re… incredible,” she murmurs, her voice hoarse but dripping with affection. She reaches for you, pulling you up to her, and when your lips meet hers, it’s a kiss that’s slow and deep, tasting of her and the intimacy you’ve just shared. You can feel her heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours, and it’s like the two of you are one entity, fused by something beyond words.

“I’ve never felt like this,” you admit against her lips, your hand cupping her face as you gaze into her eyes.

“Neither have I,” Jimin whispers back, her voice a soft confession that sends a jolt of heat through you. Her hands roam your chest, tugging at your shirt with an urgency that mirrors the ache building inside you. You help her strip it off, and soon her fingers are tracing the lines of your body, her touch igniting every nerve. She pulls you closer, her lips brushing your ear as she murmurs, “I need you… all of you.”

Her voice undoes you. You shed the rest of your clothes in a frenzy, and when you’re finally bare before her, Jimin’s eyes darken with desire, her breath catching as she takes you in. You position yourself between her thighs, the heat of her core radiating against you, and for a moment, you just look at her—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her chest rises and falls with anticipation. She’s perfect, and you’re about to lose yourself in her completely.

You guide yourself to her entrance, teasing her just for a second, and Jimin’s hips lift toward you, a silent plea. Then, slowly, you push inside her, and the sensation is overwhelming—tight, wet, and so warm that it steals the breath from your lungs. A groan escapes you, raw and unrestrained, as her walls clench around you, welcoming you in like you were always meant to be there. “Fuck, Jimin,” you rasp, your hands gripping her hips as you sink deeper. “You feel… incredible.”

Jimin’s response is a broken moan, her head tipping back as her nails dig into your shoulders. “Oh God, you’re—so deep,” she gasps, her voice trembling with the intensity of it. She’s stretched around you, her body molding to yours like it was crafted just for this moment, and the way she shudders beneath you tells you she’s feeling every inch as keenly as you are. Her eyes flutter shut, then open again, locking onto yours with a look that’s equal parts vulnerability and ecstasy. “It’s like… you’re perfect for me,” she breathes, and the words hit you like a tidal wave, amplifying the intimacy of being buried inside her.

You start to move, slow at first, savoring the way she pulses around you with every thrust. Each motion draws a whimper from her, her legs wrapping around your waist to pull you closer, deeper. “Don’t stop,” she pleads, her voice a sultry melody that drives you wild. You lean down to kiss her, your tongues tangling as your hips find a rhythm, steady and deep. The friction is exquisite, her slick heat enveloping you, and every thrust feels like a declaration of how seamlessly you fit together.

After a few minutes, you shift, gently guiding her onto her side. You lift one of her legs over your shoulder, and when you slide back into her from this new angle, Jimin’s cry is sharp and unrestrained. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her hands fisting the sheets as you hit a spot that makes her entire body quake. You can feel the difference too—the way her walls tighten even more, the way every thrust sends a jolt of pleasure through you both. “You’re so good,” she pants, her eyes glazed with lust as she reaches for you, needing to feel your skin against hers.

You oblige, leaning down to press your chest to hers, your breaths mingling as you pick up the pace. The position lets you grind against her clit with every thrust, and Jimin’s moans turn into desperate, breathless cries. “I can’t—I can’t get enough of you,” she gasps, her hands clutching your back, pulling you impossibly closer. The heat of her, the way she clenches around you, is driving you to the edge, but you hold on, wanting to see her unravel again.

You pull out briefly, earning a needy whimper from Jimin, but you’re quick to reposition her. “On your knees,” you murmur, your voice rough with desire, and she complies eagerly, her body trembling with anticipation. When you enter her from behind, the angle is devastating—for both of you. She’s tighter like this, her ass pressing against your hips as you thrust deep, and the sound she makes is pure bliss, a high-pitched moan that reverberates through the room. “Fuck, you’re—so big,” she groans, her head dropping forward as she pushes back against you, meeting every thrust with equal fervor.

You grip her hips, steadying her as you lose yourself in the rhythm, each movement drawing a symphony of gasps and moans from her. “You take me so well,” you growl, your own pleasure mounting as her walls flutter around you, signaling she’s close again. You reach around, your fingers finding her clit, and the moment you start rubbing tight circles, Jimin’s entire body tenses. “Yes—right there,” she cries, her voice breaking as she rocks against you, chasing that peak.

The sight of her like this—back arched, sweat glistening on her skin, her hair a mess from your hands—sends a surge of possessive pride through you. She’s yours, and you’re hers, and the way you move together feels like a dance you’ve known forever. You thrust harder, deeper, and she matches you, her moans growing louder, more desperate. “I’m gonna—” she starts, but the words dissolve into a scream as she comes undone, her body shaking as her orgasm rips through her.

You slow just enough to let her ride it out, but you’re not done—not by a long shot. You pull her up so her back is flush against your chest, your arms wrapping around her as you thrust up into her still-trembling body. “You’re amazing,” you whisper into her ear, your lips brushing the shell of it as you move slow and deliberate, savoring the aftershocks that ripple through her. Jimin turns her head, capturing your lips in a sloppy, heated kiss, and the way she clenches around you tells you she’s still lost in the haze of pleasure.

“You feel so good inside me,” she murmurs against your mouth, her voice soft but dripping with need. Her hands reach back, tangling in your hair as she grinds against you, urging you to keep going. And you do, shifting her again—this time onto her back, her legs spread wide as you settle between them. When you slide back in, the look in her eyes is pure adoration, and it fuels you as much as the physical sensation of being buried in her once more.

You gaze down at Jimin, her body spread out beneath you, her skin flushed and glistening with sweat. The connection between you feels unbreakable, a current of desire and intimacy that keeps pulling you both deeper. You thrust into her again, slow and deliberate, and her moan is soft but laden with need. “You’re driving me crazy,” she breathes, her hands sliding up your arms to grip your shoulders, pulling you down for a kiss that’s all heat and hunger.

The rhythm builds naturally, your hips rocking into hers as the bed creaks beneath you. Her legs tighten around your waist, urging you deeper, and the way she clenches around you sends a shiver up your spine. “Fuck, Jimin, you’re so tight,” you groan, your voice rough as the pleasure coils tighter inside you. She meets your thrusts with her own, her hips lifting off the mattress, and the friction is maddening. Her breath hitches, her nails digging into your skin, and you can feel her trembling on the edge again.

“I’m—oh God, I’m coming,” she gasps, her eyes fluttering shut as her body arches beneath you. Her orgasm hits hard, her walls pulsing around you in waves that nearly undo you. You grit your teeth, thrusting through it, and the sight of her—head thrown back, lips parted in a silent scream—pushes you over the brink. “Jimin—fuck,” you growl, spilling inside her, your release crashing through you with an intensity that leaves you dizzy. You collapse against her, both of you panting, your foreheads pressed together as you ride out the aftershocks.

But you’re not done—not even close. After a moment, you pull out, earning a whimper of protest from Jimin, but you’re already moving. “Come here,” you murmur, guiding her off the bed and toward the wall. She follows, her legs shaky but her eyes alight with anticipation. You press her back against the cool surface, lifting one of her legs to hook around your hip. “I want you right here,” you say, your voice low and possessive, and she nods eagerly, her hands gripping your shoulders.

You slide back into her, and the angle makes her gasp, her head tipping back against the wall. “Oh—yes,” she moans, her voice echoing faintly in the room. She’s still sensitive from before, and every thrust sends a jolt through her, her body trembling against yours. You brace one hand against the wall beside her head, the other holding her thigh as you move, deep and relentless. “You feel so fucking good,” you mutter, your lips brushing her neck as you nip at her skin. The heat of her, the way she grips you, it’s intoxicating, and you can feel the pressure building again.

Jimin’s hands slide down your back, her nails raking lightly as she clings to you. “Harder,” she pleads, her voice raw, and you oblige, slamming into her with a force that makes her cry out. “Right there—don’t stop,” she gasps, her body tensing as another orgasm builds. You reach between you, your fingers finding her clit, and that’s all it takes. She comes undone with a scream, her body shuddering against the wall, and the sight of her—wild and lost in pleasure—triggers your own release. You groan her name, your hips stuttering as you cum inside her again, the sensation overwhelming as you press yourself flush against her.

You’re both breathless, but the fire between you hasn’t dimmed. After a moment, you pull her away from the wall, her body pliant in your arms, and guide her toward the small desk in the corner of the room. “One more place,” you whisper, a grin tugging at your lips, and Jimin’s eyes sparkle with mischief despite her exhaustion. You turn her around, bending her over the desk, her hands bracing against the edge as she arches her back instinctively.

“God, you’re perfect,” you say, running your hands over her hips before sliding back into her from behind. She’s slick with arousal and your previous releases, and the sensation of entering her again is almost too much. “So wet for me,” you murmur, and she moans in agreement, pushing back against you. Your voice rough as you start to move, slow at first, then faster as her moans grow louder.

“Yes—fuck, yes,” Jimin pants, her voice breaking as you thrust deep, hitting that spot that makes her tremble. The desk rattles beneath her, papers sliding off as you pick up the pace, your hands gripping her hips to keep her steady. She’s a mess of gasps and whimpers, her body responding to every move you make, and you can feel her tightening around you again. “I’m gonna cum—again,” she warns, her voice desperate, and you lean forward, your chest pressed to her back as you drive into her harder.

“Do it,” you growl, your own climax building as her walls flutter around you. She cums with a cry, her body shaking beneath you, and the way she pulses around your cock sends you spiraling into your third release. “Jimin—shit,” you groan, spilling into her once more, your vision blurring as the pleasure crashes over you. You hold her close, both of you trembling as you ride out the high together, the desk creaking under your combined weight.

Finally, you pull out, your legs weak but your heart full. Jimin turns to face you, her face flushed and glowing, a tired but satisfied smile on her lips. “You’re insatiable,” she teases, her voice soft as she steps into your arms. You kiss her gently, tasting the salt of sweat on her lips, and guide her back to the bed.

You collapse onto the mattress together, limbs tangled as you pull her close. “You’re amazing,” you murmur, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She nestles against your chest, her breathing slowing as exhaustion takes over.

“So are you,” she whispers, her voice fading as her eyes flutter shut. You feel the weight of her body relax against yours, her warmth seeping into you, and as your own eyelids grow heavy, you drift off, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat lulling you into a deep, contented sleep.

The morning sun filters through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the tangled sheets. You stir awake, a faint smile tugging at your lips as memories of the night flood back—Jimin’s touch, her voice, the way you fit together so perfectly. You reach out, expecting to feel her warmth beside you, but your hand meets only cool, empty fabric. Your eyes snap open, and a jolt of confusion hits you. She’s not there.

“Jimin?” you call softly, sitting up, your voice hoarse from sleep. The room is silent, eerily still. You scan the space—the wall where you’d pinned her, the desk still askew from your passion—but there’s no sign of her. Panic creeps in as you stumble out of bed, your heart pounding. “She wouldn’t just leave,” you mutter to yourself, tearing through the room in a desperate search for something, anything—a phone number, a hint of where she’s gone.

You flip over pillows, rummage through the bedside drawer, even check under the bed, but there’s nothing. The clothes she’d worn are gone, her presence erased as if she’d never been there. Your chest tightens, a sinking dread replacing the warmth you’d felt just hours ago. Then, on the desk, beneath a shifted paper, you spot it—a small, folded note.

With trembling hands, you pick it up, unfolding it to reveal two simple words in her delicate handwriting: Thank you. That’s it. No explanation, no goodbye, just those two words staring back at you, cold and final. Your breath catches, and a sharp ache blooms in your chest, an icy chill permeating through your bones, leaving you cold and empty. You sink onto the edge of the bed, the note crumpling in your fist as your heart shatters. She’s gone, and all you’re left with is the ghost of her touch and a thank you that feels like a knife to the soul.

The days after Jimin’s disappearance stretch into weeks, then months, each one heavier than the last. You replay that night in your mind endlessly—her gasps, her laughter, the way she’d clung to you—searching for clues you might’ve missed. It’s as if she’d vanished into thin air, leaving only that crumpled thank you note, now worn from being unfolded and refolded in your pocket. Life drags on, hollow and incomplete, and though you try to move forward, a piece of you stays tethered to her, aching with unanswered questions.

Preseason arrives like a lifeline. You’re a midfielder for Manchester United, freshly recovered from a nagging ankle injury that sidelined you for months. The team’s trip to South Korea for a small tournament feels like a chance to shake off the rust—both physical and emotional. The first match is against a local club, and you start on the bench, easing back into the rhythm of the game. The whistle blows for halftime, and you’re jogging back to the pitch, mind focused on tactics, when the stadium erupts into cheers for the halftime performance.

You glance up at the Jumbotron out of habit, and your heart stops. It’s her—Jimin—moving across the stage with a group of dancers, her presence commanding the crowd. She’s radiant, her movements sharp yet fluid, every step a testament to her grace. You freeze mid-stride, the noise of the stadium fading into a dull roar as your eyes lock on her. It’s been months, but the sight of her cracks something open inside you, a flood of longing and disbelief. Then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, her gaze flicks toward the sideline—toward you.

For a split second, her mask slips. Her eyes widen, her step falters ever so slightly, a hiccup in her otherwise flawless performance. Most wouldn’t notice, but you do—you know her, even after all this time. The moment passes, and she recovers, finishing the routine with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. You’re left staring, breathless, as the crowd roars and your teammates nudge you back into motion. The second half begins, but your mind is elsewhere, lost in the shock of seeing her again. You play on autopilot, your body moving while your thoughts whirl—Why is she here? Why didn’t she stay? Manchester United wins, but the victory feels distant, overshadowed by the ghost of her on that stage.

The final whistle blows, and you’re off the pitch in an instant, sprinting toward the tunnel. You scan the shadows, heart hammering, hoping—praying—she’ll be there, waiting. But the tunnel is empty save for staff and lingering reporters. Disappointment crashes over you, sharp and familiar, and you trudge to the locker room, mechanically showering and changing. She’s slipped away again, and the realization stings deeper than before.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder, a teammate claps you on the back. “Oi, mate, someone’s waiting for you outside. Looked pretty anxious.” Your pulse spikes, and you don’t even respond—just bolt for the exit, shoving past curious glances. You step into the cool evening air, and there she is, standing by a barrier, her dancer’s outfit swapped for a simple hoodie and jeans. Her eyes meet yours, and the world narrows to just the two of you, the months apart dissolving in an instant.

You stop a few feet away, breath catching as you take her in—her nervous fidgeting, the way she bites her lip. She looks different, yet achingly familiar. Neither of you moves for a beat, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between you. Then, almost in unison, you both speak, voices soft and tentative.

“Hello,” you say.

“Hello,” she echoes.

And in that single word, a fragile thread reconnects, trembling with possibility.

TBC

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